Awls That Pierce Pockets

"First, let me explain the item types."

At the crow's words and a flick of her hand, a drawing board reappeared over the open shop window, sketching itself into existence.

Cute cartoon panels divided the board from A to F. Haejun glanced at me for a cue, then shot his hand up at once.

"I think I've got this! A-Type is the best and F-Type is the worst, right?"

"Huh? Nope."

"…."

"Pfft."

Soeun covered her mouth and laughed under her breath, having caught on to why he'd jumped in so suddenly — but Haejun, sitting right beside her, heard every bit of it.

He wilted after fishing for points and only embarrassing himself. The crow, for her part, seemed pleased with the enthusiasm regardless.

"It's fine. Still, being this eager to learn is very…"

"Just explain already. Stop patting yourself on the back."

"…Come on, I wanted to enjoy the moment a little!"

She huffed and scribbled furious little marks all over the board to show how mad she was, then finally sighed at the sight of me chewing a chocolate bar without so much as a blink and got back to the lesson.

"As I said a moment ago, these six types are not a ranking chart. There are far too many products to sort them by simple tier."

Even so, if you absolutely had to draw a standard performance gap, A-Type would sit at the bottom and F-Type at the top.

I swallowed the last scrap of chocolate bar and said,

"What? Then why bother naming them with letters that make it confusing?"

"They're not just letters. They're abbreviations of English words — one of this world's primary languages."

"What a pain in the ass way to name things."

"…Could you at least call it dedication? I proposed this whole world-specific mechanism to upper management while Master was showering and eating."

She fixed me with a hard stare, then scrawled something across the board and slapped it for effect. It spun around on the rebound, revealing the reverse side.

"A stands for After — after the collapse. B stands for Before — before the collapse."

"Oh… isn't that just retrofitting?"

"C is Care, for items that demand caution. D is Danger, for items you take on at your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own risk. E is Effect, for items with special properties."

"Ooh… yeah, still looks like retrofitting no matter how I look at it."

She ignored me completely, though those red eyes kept boring into me the whole time. Then she stamped a star on the last remaining type and said,

"And finally — F-Type, for Force. Blood-loan products from our dimensional welfare district, stocked for apocalypse-afflicted races like yourselves. Items carrying supernatural power from other dimensions."

"That assault rifle the gentleman beside Master was so obsessed with — an A-Type — becomes nothing at all once you reach F-Type."

With that, the anger on her face vanished as if it had never been there, and she looked over our group with a sudden, quiet calm.

The settling mood pulled me with it. I let the tension I'd deliberately jacked up ease off, and opened my mouth.

"If they're that incredible, the prices must be just as incredible."

"The minimum unit runs into the thousands. But Master — and Master's companions — let me say just one thing."

At a gesture from the crow, the playfully drawn board and the flashy shop window both vanished, leaving only a stark white screen that put her alone in the frame.

Then, with the gravity of a civil servant in a full suit, she straightened the bandages on her body and looked our way.

At the crow's words, everyone seated in the café fell silent.

After the warm showers and the full dinner, the light atmosphere the crow and I had deliberately built snuffed out like a candle. The heavy air of the city outside settled into its place.

That cold slap of reality drained the brightness from Sujin's face; she drew into herself, and Yejin and Yujin put their arms around her from either side.

When the crow beckoned me closer to the monitor, I told the others to rest and walked over alone.

"Master, from tomorrow on you'll need to put even more effort into gathering resources."

"…Yeah. I know."

"And that favor I mentioned earlier — I'll tell you when the time comes, in a few days."

"A few days?"

"Precisely four days from now. On the seventh day after the collapse."

The first branching point of the Stage of Destruction overseen by Mira — a cataclysm for the world.

I frowned at the cryptic phrasing. The crow glanced upward for a moment, then spoke to me in something close to a whisper.

"The end of the Prologue. That moment will be critically important for Master and for humanity. Stockpile as many resources as you can until then."

Whether those resources were food, corpses, or Tar — it didn't matter.

"It's late, so I'll leave ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the explanation here. The detailed shop breakdown can wait until tomorrow, yes?"

"Yeah. Thanks for playing along. Kill the lights."

With everyone watching me from their makeshift beds, the fluorescent tubes and the monitor that had lit the room in a single wash of light all went dark.

On the way to my personal sofa, a thin voice brushed my ear.

"I'll be counting on you going forward, Master."

"Sleep well."

The next day.

"…You son of a bitch. You fucking with me right now?"

As the sun rose and survivors across the ruined city opened their eyes, one group had managed — after three days of fending off corpse attacks — to seize a building that housed a club.

Of course, "seize" was generous. Food was still scarce, and like everyone else in the city their future was a blank wall. The reason they'd at least secured immediate safety was simple: most of the men in the group were gangsters with real fighting experience.

This wasn't the old days when blades flew in every alley brawl — the times had changed — but their own quiet league still ran in the backstreets, and that was enough to make the difference.

They'd spent the night holding the club entrance against things that came at them with teeth instead of fists, and only now, having finally gotten a few hours of sleep, were their nerves raw and frayed in the morning light.

When the leader — the most senior of the gangsters — spat out a string of curses, every face in the room went rigid.

Even the women who'd been hanging off either side of him, cooing for an extra scrap of the meager rations, flinched and edged back. Across from him, the man he was dressing down didn't shrink at all. His eyes just kept rolling, restless and calculating.

"…Does it sound like a lie to you?"

"Then you think about it. Whether a single word of that shit you just ran is worth believing."

"What reason would I have to lie in a situation like this, hyung-nim?"

"What reason? Plenty. It's obviously about that dead bastard Yeongsu."

"…."

The man glared at him until he shut his mouth, then chewed irritably through the cheap bar snacks sitting in front of him.

There wasn't a drop of alcohol on the table. He swallowed the morning "meal," rubbed his tired eyes, and went on.

"Minjae. It's day four of this goddamn nightmare. You know that, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right?"

"…Yes, hyung-nim."

"A person can be a total psycho, an animal — and they'll still have a scrap of sanity and judgment left."

But in a world where man-eating monsters were running wild, even if your head had completely flipped —

"What kind of insane fuck decides, not alone but as a whole group, to start eating people the same way those things do? In Korea, no less."

"…."

"Even those Jijonpa psychos never carved up anything that was still alive."

"…I know it sounds hard to believe. I get that."

WHAM!

The moment the words left Minjae's mouth, the man slammed his fist into the table.

"And that bastard sits in front of me and spouts that kind of bullshit!"

Then, catching himself, he glanced toward the entrance and ordered the subordinate standing nearby to keep a tight watch on the door.

"Fuck. As if those corpse bastards weren't already enough of a headache."

He dragged a greasy hand down his face, forced the throbbing stress back under control, and slowly fixed his eyes on Minjae again.

"Just be honest. I won't say a word."

Truth was, he'd been the one who forced Minjae out on patrol yesterday. He couldn't push much harder than this.

"Did you run from a zombie pack on your own? Or did you use Yeongsu as bait?"

"…Hyung-nim."

"Come on. Be straight with me, Minjae."

In a world gone to hell like this, the man understood better than anyone how much every single body counted. So he put on a smile that didn't fit his face and looked at the pale man named Minjae.

Minjae slowly lowered his gaze to the man's wrist.

He stared at the watch strapped around that thick wrist, then raised his head again and opened his mouth.

Meeting those eyes, the man felt an extreme, inexplicable dread.

"I'm sorry. Those crazy bastards are nearby right now."

"…You — you fucking—?!"

"It was the only way I could stay alive."

Selling out his own crew's location.

That single act had been the only lifeline keeping his head attached from last night until this moment.

Minjae swallowed hard against a dry throat and looked toward the club entrance, which was growing noisier by the second.

"You son of a BITCH!!!"

He fled from the man charging at him with murder in his eyes, and as he ran he remembered the conversation from a few hours earlier.

You go in first and check. If there's no problem, stay inside and wait.

Say whatever you want to your friends — I don't care. Your only job is to make sure they can't run.

…Couldn't I at least warn them?

I said I don't care.

Keep them from running, and we'll spare your life.

Minjae remembered the old man who'd said it while toying with a worn knife, and the figures in prison uniforms standing behind him like a cold wall. He fled deeper into the club with everything he had.

In this pitch-dark underground club, he was terrified of being mistaken for one of them — and butchered the same way.