Chapter 1: The Absolute Clumsiness

Private Eleanor Vance was a disaster, or at least that was what everyone in Company 3, 1st Training Battalion, thought.

On the first Monday of the advanced training course, the scorching heat of the training ground seemed only to highlight her awkwardness. While the other recruits were tightly gripping their T91 rifles and moving swiftly to command, Eleanor Vance stumbled, her limbs flailing.

“Private Eleanor Vance!” Staff Sergeant Marcus Rourke roared, his voice like a blaring alarm. Rourke was a large, sun-tanned man with a thick beard and eyes as sharp as razors. “What are you holding, a hoe? That is a military weapon, not a toy!”

Eleanor Vance flinched. The rifle slipped from her grasp, hitting the sandy ground with a dry ‘clack.’ Suppressed laughter echoed across the field.

“Sorry, Staff Sergeant!” Eleanor Vance scrambled to pick up the rifle, her face flushed. Her elbow accidentally knocked Rourke’s head.

Rourke closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Twenty push-ups! Now! And after that, you will clean the entire company’s latrine with a toothbrush. You are the worst Private I have seen in my twenty years of service.”

Eleanor Vance accepted the punishment with a strange, passive obedience, without resistance. She did the push-ups slowly, awkwardly, looking like a dropped rag doll.

Captain David Thorne, Commander of Company 3, observed the entire incident from the shelter of the guard post. He narrowed his eyes at Eleanor Vance. This girl was not just incompetent; she was… anomalous. Her file was clean, no criminal record, a normal family background. Yet, she was the only person in his training history who had received latrine-cleaning punishment three days in a row.

That evening, in the mess hall, Private Caleb Finch, who prided himself on his marksmanship, boasted to the group.

“That Vance, I bet she doesn’t know how to load a magazine. Maybe she thinks the rifle runs on solar power. It’s an embarrassment to our unit.”

The entire table burst into laughter. Eleanor Vance sat in a secluded corner, head bowed over her meal. She didn’t react, didn’t argue, just silently endured the insults. Everyone treated her like a joke, a “punching bag” to vent the stress of training.

Chapter 2: The Continuous Failure

The following weeks passed in Eleanor Vance’s continuous streak of failures.

Prone Firing Drill: When all recruits lay down, aiming their muzzles at the target 100 meters away, Eleanor Vance was the only one who couldn’t steady her breathing. Staff Sergeant Rourke had to personally come to correct her posture.

“Lie down! Breathe out! Hold the trigger steady!” Rourke grumbled.

Eleanor Vance complied, but her hands were trembling. When she pulled the trigger, the shot rang out and missed the target completely, embedding itself in the restricted area nearby.

“Oh my God, Vance! Are you shooting at birds?” A comrade mocked.

“Not a single hit on the target. Not! One! Hit!” Captain Thorne shook his head reviewing the scorecard. This wasn’t just poor skill; it was utter incompetence. He began to doubt her cognitive ability. “Does she have a neurological issue?” he wondered.

Rope Climb and Obstacle Course: Eleanor Vance fared no better in physical drills. When navigating the 3-meter wall, she slipped, tumbling into the sand. When climbing the rope, she only made it halfway before letting go, dropping like a sack of potatoes.

Each time she fell, she fell… professionally. Although she acted in pain, her injuries were always minor, just small bruises. This completely contradicted the clumsiness she displayed. A normal person would suffer a sprain, but Eleanor Vance always knew how to land to minimize serious injury.

Eleanor Vance’s ineptitude had gone beyond acceptable limits. Captain Thorne decided he had to meet her to issue a final warning.

“Private Eleanor Vance,” Captain Thorne called her into his office after dinner. His office was small, clean, smelling only of coffee and paper.

Eleanor Vance stood at attention, her uniform soaked with sweat.

“Have a seat.” Thorne gestured, his voice calm but cold. “I just reviewed your file. Everything is normal. But the reality is the opposite. You are a waste of resources and are lowering the morale of the entire company. I am considering discharging you for failing to meet the minimum standards.”

Eleanor Vance looked him straight in the eye, her gaze empty, emotionless. “I understand, Captain. I will try harder.”

“Try harder?” Thorne scoffed. “You don’t know how to hold a rifle. You don’t know how to run. You don’t have the aptitude of a soldier. This is not a place for pointless ‘trying harder.’ I give you one week. If you don’t score at least 50% on the marksmanship test by the end of the week, you will leave.”

“Understood, Captain,” she replied, her voice as flat as a machine.

Chapter 3: The Unexpected Photo

Captain Thorne felt frustrated. He hated dismissing recruits, but Eleanor Vance was an unacceptable case.

That weekend, Thorne received a classified call from the High Command. It was a request for additional background checks and the latest photographs of all current recruits, including Eleanor Vance.

“That’s strange,” Thorne muttered. The High Command rarely concerned itself with low-ranking recruits.

He began cross-referencing files. When he opened Eleanor Vance’s digital folder, everything was the same: birth certificate, medical exam, nothing outstanding. But at the bottom of the file, there was a tiny, embedded code, hidden deep within the system’s encryption.

Thorne clicked on the code, and a red warning window appeared: “Accessing Top Secret Density Information – Level 5 Clearance Required.”

Thorne frowned. Level 5 was reserved for special operations, beyond the purview of the regular military. He didn’t have access.

However, seconds later, an email arrived in his inbox, with no sender, just a single attachment. He hesitantly opened the file.

Inside was a photograph.

Not a portrait. It was an action shot, partially cropped, blurry and dusty. It was a combat scene in a devastated urban environment, seemingly in some Middle Eastern region. A female figure was kneeling, her assault rifle (not the T91 training type but a specialized weapon) resting perfectly on her shoulder. Half her face was obscured by a dark scarf and a pair of night-vision goggles folded up, but the sharp chin, the curve of her neatly tied hair, and especially the eyes…

Those eyes were completely different from the empty gaze of the clumsy Private Eleanor Vance.

The eyes in the photo were icy, focused, without a trace of fear or hesitation. She was aiming with the precision of a professional assassin. Her posture—perfectly balanced, elbows tucked, hips steady—was the prone position Thorne had spent the entire week trying to teach Eleanor Vance, yet she had pretended to be incapable.

Thorne stared at the photo. The rifle in the picture was held so securely that it seemed like a part of her body.

He zoomed in on the picture. Yes. It was Eleanor Vance.

Just above the photo, there was a typed passage:

Unit: Strategic Response Group Delta. Code Name: Nightingale. Mission: Hostage Rescue, Territory X (Top Secret). Result: Success. Evaluation: Commander of Special Forces Unit 4 praised “the ability to infiltrate and neutralize threats without noise or trace. The rifle is used like a third arm.” Note: Has been redeployed back into the country. Undercover Mission: Currently Active.

Captain Thorne felt a chill run down his spine. Private Eleanor Vance was not an incompetent recruit. She was a secret agent.

Her clumsiness was not a deficiency. It was an act.

Chapter 4: The Unveiling Act

That night, Thorne couldn’t sleep. He reviewed Staff Sergeant Rourke’s reports on Eleanor Vance: dropping equipment, inability to disassemble a weapon, frequent falls. All were actions executed perfectly to build the image of a failure.

He decided to confront her. But not with ordinary words.

The next morning, Company 3 gathered again at the firing range. Eleanor Vance was still last in line, with her familiar look of apprehension.

When it was Eleanor Vance’s turn, Staff Sergeant Rourke was ready to erupt. “Shoot like a soldier, Vance! Otherwise, next week you’ll be home doing laundry for your mother!”

Eleanor Vance awkwardly loaded the magazine, dropping the entire clip onto the ground. Staff Sergeant Rourke rolled his eyes again.

Captain Thorne approached. He said nothing to Eleanor Vance or Staff Sergeant Rourke. He simply stood still, looked Eleanor Vance straight in the eye, and spoke a single sentence, his voice low, just loud enough for her to hear, using a phrase he had read in her classified file:

“The gold has been extracted. We need a new supply chain.”

Eleanor Vance’s empty eyes instantly changed. For a moment, the cold, sharp, calculating gaze of “Nightingale” emerged. It lasted only a second, but it was enough for Thorne to confirm everything.

Eleanor Vance gave a slight smirk, a smile almost imperceptible, then she reverted to her anxious expression.

She softly replied, whispering: “The depot is full, Captain. I am looking for a safer means of transport.”

Thorne nodded. Her mission was “Undercover Assignment.” She was looking for a “safer means of transport”—meaning she was seeking a target, a person involved in the supply chain. And that target, surely, must be within Company 3.

“Begin!” Thorne ordered loudly, as if no private conversation had taken place.

Eleanor Vance tremblingly lifted the rifle. This time, she didn’t drop the magazine. She placed the rifle on her shoulder in an odd way, like a novice.

Boom! The first shot missed completely.

Staff Sergeant Rourke sighed in disappointment.

Thorne remained standing. He knew she couldn’t shoot that badly. She was putting on a “show.”

“Vance!” Thorne called, this time using his sternest voice. “Have you forgotten the fundamentals? What is your objective?”

Eleanor Vance blinked, seemingly trying to remember.

“My objective…” she stammered, “is to… find steadiness.”

Thorne understood. She wanted a plausible command to “be steady” and complete her performance.

Thorne glanced at Staff Sergeant Rourke. “Staff Sergeant Rourke, ensure Private Vance focuses. Show her how a real operative looks at the target.”

Staff Sergeant Rourke stepped forward, angry. “Look at what? She looks like she’s seeing ghosts! Here, Vance, look at this!”

Staff Sergeant Rourke raised his rifle, in a swift motion, he shouldered it, aimed straight, and pointed. “This! This is how a real soldier holds a rifle. Steady as a rock!”

At that exact moment, Eleanor Vance raised her rifle to her shoulder. But this movement was completely different. It was no longer clumsiness.

In an instant, the clumsy Private Eleanor Vance vanished.

Thorne saw her movements: the subtle shift of her center of gravity, the silent shouldering of the stock, the way she held her breath, all so fast that no one but him could have noticed.

Boom!

The shot rang out.

This time, the paper target wasn’t just hit. It was shredded right at the bullseye. A perfect hole.

The entire firing range fell silent.

Staff Sergeant Rourke’s eyes widened. “What just happened?”

Eleanor Vance immediately returned to her role, stammering again. “I… I don’t know, Staff Sergeant! I just… did it by accident!” She tremblingly lowered the rifle.

Thorne stepped forward, taking the rifle. His hand touched the barrel. It wasn’t hot. She needed only one shot to prove to him that she knew exactly what she was doing.

“An accident is still an achievement,” Thorne said, his voice calm. “Continue training.”

He walked away, leaving behind the shock and doubt.

Chapter 5: The Undercover Assignment

Late at night, after everyone was asleep, Thorne knocked on Private Eleanor Vance’s door. She was sitting on her bed, cleaning the T91 rifle meticulously, not with clumsiness but with the proficiency of an artisan.

“Come in, Captain Thorne,” she said, without turning her head. Her voice was now deep, cold, and confident, with no trace of stammering.

Thorne stepped inside, closing the door. “You made me look bad in front of Staff Sergeant Rourke, Nightingale. One bullseye is not the ‘failure’ standard we agreed upon.”

Eleanor Vance put the rifle down and looked up. She was no longer the plump, timid girl. She had lost weight rapidly during training and now, with her determined eyes, she exuded sharpness and danger.

“They were getting suspicious. Private Caleb Finch started observing too much,” Eleanor Vance explained. “I needed a little ‘accidental achievement’ for them to think I’m still incompetent but occasionally lucky. Excessive continuous clumsiness raises suspicion. People are more willing to accept ‘sudden luck’ than ‘continuous catastrophe.’”

Thorne sat down on the folding chair. “What is your mission? Why Company 3?”

Eleanor Vance stood up, taking a USB drive from the sole of her boot. “The old encryption system has been compromised. It is believed that a ‘Gold Spy’ is operating within this Battalion, transferring sensitive information about overseas campaigns to the enemy.

She plugged the USB into Thorne’s laptop. The screen displayed a series of complex diagrams.

“I was sent here to find that ‘supply chain.’ This person is known to have access to classified files, using that information to deal with an external organization. That organization is called ‘Gold.’ I believe the ‘safer means of transport’ is the new radio system installed here, a system only a few trained personnel have access to.”

“Then why pretend to be incompetent?”

Eleanor Vance looked at him with an icy gaze. “The smartest person is the most forgotten. If I were an excellent recruit, everyone would observe me. If I were a perfect secret agent, they would be wary. But if I am a miserable failure, they ignore me, treating me as a nobody. I can move, observe, and gather information without any hindrance. People even actively avoid me.”

Thorne recalled Private Finch’s mocking words. “Private Finch said you don’t know how to load a magazine.”

Eleanor Vance smirked, the smile this time being pure self-satisfaction. “Exactly. When I dropped the magazine, Private Finch was the first to rush over to help me pick it up. I managed to plant a tiny listening chip in his jacket zipper during that time.”

Captain Thorne leaned back. It was frightening.

“So, who is your target?” Thorne asked.

Eleanor Vance pointed to the diagram on the screen. “Based on data access patterns and habits, I narrowed it down to three people. Among them, the highest probability belongs to someone very patriotic, very hardworking, and always serious.”

“Staff Sergeant Rourke?” Thorne asked, surprised.

Eleanor Vance shook her head. “No. Someone closer.”

She pointed her finger at another face on the diagram.

“Private Caleb Finch.”

Thorne was stunned. “Impossible! He is one of my best recruits!”

“That’s why he is the perfect target, Captain. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, the lead sheep. He boasts about his marksmanship, but I discovered his high accuracy is thanks to a small, illegally attached laser sight on his rifle. That suggests he can sacrifice integrity for personal gain. My mission is to catch him in the act of transmitting information using the new radio system.”

Chapter 6: The Final Gambit

Captain Thorne decided to cooperate with Eleanor Vance. Under her direction, he began to create a simulated environment to expose the Gold Spy.

“We need bait,” Eleanor Vance said. “Let’s leak a highly classified but harmless piece of information about a mock drill this weekend. If Private Finch is the target, he will try to transfer this information.”

Thorne complied. He created a fake report, placed it in a simple locked folder on his desk, ensuring only Private Finch could see it while cleaning the office according to the roster.

On Thursday night, Eleanor Vance and Thorne secretly ambushed near the radio station.

“He will have to act tonight. The ‘fake’ drill is on Saturday. He needs at least one day to get the information out,” Eleanor Vance whispered, her voice firm.

Exactly at 2 AM, a shadowy figure sneaked into the radio station. It was Private Caleb Finch.

He put on gloves, opened the radio equipment, and began tapping a sequence of codes.

“He’s encrypting the message,” Eleanor Vance whispered. “He is the target. Now!”

Thorne and Eleanor Vance burst in.

Private Finch was taken by surprise, but he tried to resist. But even the best-trained soldier could not match a secret agent.

Eleanor Vance was anything but clumsy.

She moved like lightning, dodging Finch’s punch, then using her elbow to lock his neck. Her movements were fast, decisive, and ruthless—pure Special Forces hand-to-hand combat technique.

Private Finch fell, the radio equipment clattering.

“Who… who are you?” Finch stammered, his eyes filled with terror.

Eleanor Vance looked at him with an emotionless gaze. “I am Private Eleanor Vance. The one the entire company laughed at for not knowing how to hold a rifle.”

Thorne stepped forward, handcuffing Finch. “The culprit is apprehended. This report will be transferred directly to High Command.”

Chapter 7: The New Position

The next morning, Private Caleb Finch was quietly removed. No one in the company knew what had happened. The official story was that Finch had fallen gravely ill and had to be immediately discharged.

Staff Sergeant Rourke was perplexed. “A real shame. He was an excellent soldier.”

Captain Thorne just nodded. “There are things we cannot see with the naked eye, Staff Sergeant.”

Eleanor Vance completed her mission, and her undercover story ended. She no longer needed to play the clumsy role.

In the final marksmanship practice, Private Eleanor Vance stepped onto the range. No more trembling, no more dropped magazines. She stood straight, took the T91 rifle, and loaded the ammunition with smooth precision.

Everyone held their breath. They were used to a disaster Eleanor Vance, and this sudden change frightened them.

Staff Sergeant Rourke ordered: “Fire!”

Eleanor Vance aimed, her posture steady as a rock. She pulled the trigger.

Boom!

One shot. Ten shots.

Ten bullet holes, ten hits dead center. The paper target was almost shredded at the 10-point area.

Staff Sergeant Rourke looked at the score sheet, then stared at Eleanor Vance. His jaw dropped.

“Impossible… What did you do? Who taught you?”

Eleanor Vance smiled, a radiant, confident smile that made her look beautiful and dangerous.

“I’m just a Private, Staff Sergeant. I just tried harder to learn.”

Captain Thorne stood beside Staff Sergeant Rourke. He gave a slight smirk. He knew that her “trying harder” spanned an entire international career, through the world’s most dangerous war zones.

After that test, no one mocked Eleanor Vance again. Everyone respected her, but no one dared to understand why she had suddenly become the best marksman in the company overnight.

That afternoon, Thorne met Eleanor Vance for the last time. She was wearing her uniform, but not the recruit’s outfit. It was a simple, rankless uniform, but with a subtle Strategic Delta patch, recognizable only to those in the know.

“Mission accomplished, Captain. The Gold Spy has been transferred. I have to go.”

“Where will you go?” Thorne asked.

“There will be another recruit who needs surveillance, in another unit. Or perhaps, a canteen staff member on assignment,” she smiled lightly. “People are looking for heroes. They never look for the forgotten ones.”

Thorne gave a military salute. Eleanor Vance responded with a nod, not a rigid salute, but a gesture of mutual respect between two operatives.

“Good luck, Nightingale.”

“Goodbye, Captain.”

Eleanor Vance turned her back and walked away. Her silhouette disappeared behind the gate of the training camp. Unlike her first entry, her steps were now light, decisive, carrying the lethal sharpness of a top agent who had completed her mission.

And the entire army, those who had laughed at her, were completely unaware that they had just been protected by the very person they had once ridiculed.