Chapter 155: Evaluation (Part I)

Beep, beep...

The reveille sounded. Zhou Sen quickly got out of bed, put on his training uniform, washed up, and headed downstairs to fall in.

Standing in the formation, Zhou Sen watched as Saburo Shibuya and the others walked over. For no apparent reason, his left eyelid twitched.

Left eye twitching spells disaster?

This was hardly an auspicious sign. Although Zhou Sen did not believe in such superstitions, the sudden occurrence still left him with a vague sense of unease.

Kyuma Yamagata delivered a brief speech before announcing the commencement of the assessments.

The first test was breath-holding (prepared as a preliminary for swimming). One should not mistake this assessment for a mere child's game.

Everyone prepared themselves.

"Alright, ten seconds to prepare!" Second Lieutenant Ozawa announced loudly, holding a stopwatch.

"5, 4, 3... 1!"

All six individuals submerged their heads into the water tanks simultaneously.

Tick, tick, tick...

Time ticked away second by second. The people underwater held their breath, while the onlookers stared intently, waiting to see who would surface first.

With a blink of an eye, two minutes had passed!

Miraculously, everyone's breath-holding time had exceeded the baseline, which greatly surprised Saburo Shibuya and Toshi Yamamoto. A normal person could hold their breath for about a minute; managing two minutes meant one was either exceptionally gifted or had undergone professional training.

Two minutes and fifteen seconds ticked by. Finally, someone could no longer hold out. It was "Bread." He burst out from beneath the water, greedily gasping for air, his eyes completely bloodshot.

This was already a very impressive result.

Next came "Lilac." She held out for just three seconds longer than "Bread." Although it was slightly below her personal best, it was still a commendable performance, especially considering she was a woman whose lung capacity was naturally inferior to a man's.

Then followed "Carpenter" and "Hunter." Both surpassed two minutes and thirty seconds, successfully clearing the passing threshold previously announced by Second Lieutenant Ozawa.

Only Zhou Sen and Sato remained in the tanks.

Zhou Sen's personal best was three minutes and one second, while Sato held a strong record of two minutes and fifty-eight seconds. However, at this level, improving one's time by even a single second was exceptionally difficult.

It was evident that the ultimate victor of this event would undoubtedly emerge between these two.

Two minutes and fifty seconds had passed. Underwater, both men had their fists clenched tightly. Although neither knew the exact condition of the other, they could both sense that their opponent was still holding on.

Yet both continued to endure.

Two minutes and fifty-three seconds, fifty-four seconds...

Gritting his teeth, Zhou Sen fought desperately to hold his breath. Veins bulged on his neck, and his entire face twisted into a fierce expression underwater.

Sato fared no better; even his legs were trembling continuously.

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, three minutes!

Both men had actually surpassed the three-minute mark. Sato had broken his personal best, whereas Zhou Sen had not yet reached his, and their contest continued.

Three minutes and one second, three minutes and two seconds, three minutes...

Ha!

Almost simultaneously, Zhou Sen and Sato broke the surface of the water, reaching up to wipe the droplets from their faces as they gasped for fresh air!

Evidently, in this breath-holding assessment, Sato—who had consistently lost to Zhou Sen in the past—had fought to a complete draw this time.

Everyone felt a touch of surprise.

After all, being off by a second or two in breath-holding could be endured through sheer willpower, but in their usual trials, Sato always lost by at least three seconds.

Closing such a gap meant either he had deliberately concealed his true capability previously or he had experienced a sudden breakthrough today.

After breakfast.

Mountain armed cross-country running.

The requirements were identical for everyone: a twenty-pound weighted pack, running from the base over a mountain peak, and returning from the other side. The round trip was approximately ten kilometers, with a passing time limit of two hours!

In the past, this had been a mandatory daily drill, rain or shine.

In this discipline, Zhou Sen indeed lost far more often than he won. Physical stamina was his weak point, and his past training certainly could not match Sato's long-term persistence.

However, in the later stages, the two men's times had become virtually indistinguishable.

In truth, for the first ten days, Zhou Sen had carried the standard twenty-pound load. Later, he approached Ozawa and had him procure two five-pound sandbag leg weights, meaning his actual load was thirty pounds!

There was no alternative. If he wanted to win against his opponent, he had to be ruthless with himself. The soles of his feet had blistered, healed, blistered again, and finally hardened into thick layers of calluses.

A twenty-pound load felt entirely different from a thirty-pound one; compared to his usual burden, it suddenly felt remarkably light.

"Ready, begin!"

With packs on their backs and rifles slung over their shoulders, the six individuals stepped onto the armed cross-country route. The entire path was monitored by supervisors.

Taking shortcuts, resting, or waiting for others to catch up so they could return together was entirely out of the question. Upon reaching the other side of the mountain, they were required to retrieve a red ribbon and tie it around their necks; only then would the full journey be deemed complete.

Furthermore, the designated route was the most direct one. Taking a detour would only increase the distance, and observers and supervisors were stationed along the path.

Cheating was quite impossible.

Having tied with Zhou Sen in the breath-holding test, Sato's morale was soaring. He surged ahead of the pack like a reckless wild boar.

Zhou Sen followed closely behind, maintaining a distance of only about ten meters. He kept this pace, clinging to him like sticky rice candy.

It was not yet time to exert full force; he needed to conserve his energy and build up momentum. Charging forward with reckless abandon like Sato would inevitably lead to exhaustion in the later stages.

This fellow was always like this.

Forty minutes later, the halfway point was reached. Sato looked back, flashed a smirk at Zhou Sen, and said, "I know you added two leg weights to your training in the past, carrying ten extra pounds. Did you really think you were the only one who added weight?"

Zhou Sen's heart skipped a beat, and a flicker of astonishment inevitably crossed his face.

"Ha ha..." Sato laughed loudly and strode ahead.

Zhou Sen stepped forward, retrieved his red ribbon, and tied it around his neck. He then unbuckled his rucksack, poured out two heavy stones from inside, and muttered to himself, "I've gotten so used to it; it doesn't feel right without hauling an extra couple of rocks!"

Looking back and seeing Zhou Sen pull two stones from his pack, Sato's smile instantly vanished from his face...

Re-securing his backpack, Zhou Sen gave chase, increasing his speed by a good thirty percent compared to before, and quickly caught up with Sato.

He passed him, widening the distance...

The gap grew larger and larger until Sato could only catch distant glimpses of his retreating back.

By the time Zhou Sen was already resting at the finish line, sipping water, Sato finally appeared within everyone's field of vision, arriving five minutes later than Zhou Sen.

In this round, Sato suffered a crushing defeat!

The outcome left Toshi Yamamoto's face as dark as the bottom of a charred cooking pot.

The remaining squad members arrived one after another. The last to arrive was "Lilac." As a woman, she had always finished at the bottom, and this time proved to be no exception.

Next was the marksmanship contest.

"Senior Yamagata, would it be permissible to add an event? Before shooting, let us include a firearm-assembly stage, judging based on assembly time and shooting accuracy. What do you think?" Toshi Yamamoto suddenly proposed.

"This..." Kyuma Yamagata was deeply displeased. The rules had already been established; what on earth did this fellow think he was doing by trying to alter them at the last minute?

"Report!"

"Young Master, speak," Yamagata acknowledged.

"I agree to the additional test, but I have a condition of my own," Zhou Sen said loudly.

"State it."

"I want to be blindfolded!" Zhou Sen declared.

"What? Young Master, this is no time for jokes..." Second Lieutenant Ozawa stepped forward hurriedly upon hearing this, issuing a reprimand.

"If the Assassin lacks the courage to accept the challenge, then forget it!" Zhou Sen flashed a wide grin at Sato. You concealed your true strength, but did you think I hadn't?

"Fine, I accept!" Sato had not expected Zhou Sen to propose a blindfolded assembly and shooting contest. Such a feat could only be accomplished by an expert marksman. Even factoring in the time Zhou Sen had spent handling firearms back when he was a police officer, could it possibly compare to his own duration of training?

"Blindfolding is a matter between the two of you; the others will undergo the standard assessment!" After conferring with Saburo Shibuya and Toshi Yamamoto, Kyuma Yamagata approved the arrangement.

Six Tokarev T-30 pistols were distributed to the six individuals. Once completely disassembled, the parts were placed on the tables before them.

Each person was given five rounds of ammunition.

Fifty meters ahead, stationary pistol targets were erected!

Zhou Sen and Sato took their positions. After examining the firearm components and the target placements, they picked up the prepared black cloth blindfolds and covered their eyes.

"Alright, ready, begin!"

Zhou Sen's hands moved with the agility of butterflies weaving through flowers, swiftly gathering the components and assembling the weapon with a speed that was dazzling to behold.

Furthermore, once the pistol was fully assembled, he fired directly without even pulling the slide.

After pulling the trigger five times, he tore off his blindfold.

Sato's speed was also formidable, but his final motion lagged behind Zhou Sen by a fraction of a beat.

By the time both of them had finished shooting, the fastest among the remaining four participants had only just completed assembling his pistol.

"Young Master, all five rounds hit the target! Three shots scored nine rings, two shots scored ten rings, for a total of forty-seven rings!"

"Assassin, all five rounds hit the target! Two shots scored nine rings, one shot scored eight rings, two shots scored ten rings, for a total of forty-six rings!"

...

Without a doubt, Zhou Sen had won once again. Aside from his superior accuracy, his speed in the preceding steps had also edged out Sato's.

He had chambered a round while assembling the weapon, which was why he did not need to rack the slide during the shooting phase and could fire immediately.

No one had taught him this trick; he had learned it simply by watching "movies" from future generations. Originally, he had not intended to employ it, but circumstances had driven him to this point.

Hearing this, Sato's face turned pale. He admitted that he had been rattled by Zhou Sen's unorthodox maneuver, causing his final shot to fall below his usual standard.

Following the stationary targets came the moving targets. Zhou Sen's shooting stability was still slightly inferior to Sato's, but under the pressure of having lost the previous round, Sato's performance was adversely affected.

Although he handled the moving targets reasonably well, he ended up drawing even with Zhou Sen—a target type where Zhou Sen had previously always suffered defeat.

The fixed rifle target was Zhou Sen's forte. Historically, in terms of rifle marksmanship on stationary targets, he had always held a slight edge over Sato.

After all, marksmanship sometimes truly depended on raw talent. While pouring ammunition into training could produce a skilled sharpshooter, one required a sufficient supply of ammunition to begin with.

Those who could transform into master marksmen within a short span of time relied entirely on innate aptitude.

Zhou Sen had not possessed such talent previously, but now he seemed to have experienced an epiphany, as though a special seal within his body had been unlocked.

On the stationary targets, Zhou Sen emerged victorious. Yet Sato remained formidable; despite suffering a setback, he had managed to keep his cool and produce a score superior to his usual averages.

This fellow was truly formidable.

As for the moving targets, Zhou Sen's marksmanship intuition lagged behind his opponent's, and he lost to Sato by a mere single ring. This in itself was already a commendable showing.

In the past, he would have lost by a much wider margin.

Zhou Sen's performance had already provided Saburo Shibuya with ample pleasant surprises. Throughout the morning's assessments and contests, Zhou Sen had lost only a single event while either winning or drawing in all the others. Such results left him overjoyed.

Although several more assessments lay ahead—including direct combat trials—as long as Zhou Sen did not perform dismally, Shibuya had sufficient justification to strongly back him before Secret Service Director Sanzaburo Hata to carry out the mission.

That fellow Sato resembled a regular soldier or an assassin rather than an operative or a spy; dispatching someone of that profile would likely result in failure even at the enemy's border checkpoint.

Time and opportunity, after all, waited for no one.