The wind howled across the vast training grounds of U.A., carrying with it the scent of earth and grass. You stood at the far end of the field, eyes fixed on the target in front of you, a sense of frustration creeping into your chest. Every shot you took seemed to miss by inches, no matter how many adjustments you made.

A voice cut through the silence. "You're aiming too high."

You turned to find Snipe standing several paces away, his usual calm expression on his face as he observed your stance. His hand rested lightly on the barrel of his rifle, though it wasn't aimed at anything in particular.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," you remarked dryly, though a hint of embarrassment crept into your tone.

Snipe gave you a knowing look. "I've been watching you for a while now. You’re too tense. Relax your shoulders." He stepped closer, his presence as steady as ever. "Shooting isn’t just about precision, it’s about being in sync with your own body. It’s like breathing, and you’re trying too hard."