The Mafia Heiress's Comeback: She's More Than You Think novel Chapter 43

Chapter 43 Where Is My

Rifle

Morris was the one who raised the question.

He seemed to be the only student holding out any hope for Maren.

“Morris, have you lost your mind? How could you suggest such a thing?”

“That’s absurd. Next, you’ll be saying Maren is a special forces agent on a secret mission to spy on our academy, right?” another added sarcastically.

Everyone thought Morris was delusional for his support of Maren.

“Let me set the record straight. Morris and his incompetent team couldn’t keep up with Maren, and now he’s overcompensating by singing her praises. He’s just trying to cover up his own failure!” Hannah interjected, stepping into the conversation.

This explanation resonated instantly, further diminishing the crowd’s already low opinion of both Maren and

Morris.

Maren was considered incompetent, and Morris was seen as incapable of even capturing her a pair deemed utterly ineffectual.

“Mr. Chadwick, surely that can’t be true, can it? We only have handguns. How could a handgun achieve such

long–range precision?” Nadia, always sharp in her studies, voiced her skepticism.

Typically, a handgun’s effective range is limited to about fifty meters; beyond that, accuracy and lethality fall off

significantly.

How could a bullet have accurately struck from hundreds of meters away?

“Handguns lack the precision for such distances; only sniper rifles, like those carried by the instructors, have

that capability,” Nadia added, looking at Jeff and his team’s equipment.

This confirmed their elimination had been orchestrated by the instructors.

Wilbur, listening intently, admired Nadia’s sharp analysis. He respected her capabilities, unlike Maren’s, which

he had always questioned.

“Indeed, handguns are insufficient for such a task. Could it be, then, that Maren somehow used a sniper rifle against you?” Alberto inquired, looking keenly at Nadia.

Before she could answer, chuckles erupted around them. The idea of Maren accessing an instructor’s sniper

rifle seemed far–fetched.

Wilbur interjected, “How would Maren even access such a weapon? And aren’t all instructors accounted for

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Chapter 43 Where Is My Rifle

with their weapons? Let’s see… Wait, why is there one missing?”

Counting the instructors, Wilbur noted a discrepancy; there seemed to be one less than before the exercise. What could explain the missing instructor?

“Phew, I’m beat. Sorry for the delay. I’m back now!” Just then, Max emerged from the forest, his camouflage uniform smeared with dirt, and he slumped to the ground, visibly exhausted.

Maren’s actions were maddening! She had left without even untying him, which was the reason for his late

arrival.

The unexpected appearance of Max took everyone by surprise.

Given that the assembly time had long since passed, and timeliness was crucial in the military, his lateness was

glaring.

He was a mess, drenched in mud and sap, with leaves adhered to his uniform.

He barely looked like a soldier at all.

“Max, where have you been? Why are you arriving so late, and in such a condition?” Jeff asked.

Earlier attempts to reach Max had failed; he hadn’t responded to his communicator until after the exercise was over, telling them he’d be right behind them. Yet, he had only just arrived.

Such negligence was a grave failure of his duties as a soldier.

“Ask her!” Max exclaimed, pointing angrily at Maren in the crowd, his eyes burning with resentment.

The notion of being outmaneuvered by a student clearly stung, as a hint of embarrassment washed over his

face.

At that moment, Maren turned to Max, her comment causing a collective gasp. “Impressive. You freed yourself quicker than expected. Maybe you’re not as incompetent as I assumed.”

“Enough games! Where is my sniper rifle?” Max confronted Maren, urgency lacing his voice.

It was then that everyone realized Max had come back without his weapon.

“It was too cumbersome for me to lug around, so I left it by you after I used it. Didn’t you pick it up?” Maren responded with a nonchalant shrug.