001: I Became a Landlord in a Ruined World
Every morning, I wake up in bed, do some simple stretching, brew a cup of instant coffee, head up to the rooftop, and sip it while gazing out at the ruins of Seoul to start my day.
One year and six months ago, South Korea fell. Mysterious gates opened all across the world, unleashing monsters. Some could be handled by the military, but the stronger ones mercilessly crushed armed forces equipped with modern weaponry. At the same time, Awakeners appeared worldwide—humans who transcended human limits.
The South Korean government threw them into the military, forming Awakener units for a nationwide purge operation. But true to form for Korean politicians, they bungled it with endless desk-jockey bureaucracy and political infighting. The Awakener units made some propaganda wins, but they alone couldn't reverse the tide.
News came that North Korea had completely collapsed, and the next day, fed up with the higher-ups' nonsense, the Awakener unit commanders staged a coup. They splintered off, turning into warlords. The government lost all influence, clinging to loyalist forces to rule just a fragment of Seoul. Civilians either fled to other warlord territories or banded into small groups around non-military Awakeners, struggling to survive.
"Wish I had an Americano."
And so, in this ruined world, I became a Landlord.
The day the gates opened, I awakened too. I'd heard most Awakeners gain superhuman physical abilities, but mine was different.
Landlord Ability. That's what I awakened.
This 200-pyeong two-story house I live in became a sanctuary. A barrier surrounds it within a 20-meter radius—no one enters without my permission. All electronics inside work perfectly and never break. Heating works, and hot water is infinite. It's straight-up a superpower.
I lost my parents young and inherited this mansion and money. Relatives eyed the inheritance greedily, but my father's will named his friend as my guardian, shielding me from them. He never touched the assets until I turned eighteen, then handed everything over.
With no friends and no college, I holed up in this massive house after adulthood, playing games every day. Then humanity's worst disaster hit.
When South Korea descended into anarchy, some Awakener groups noticed the only intact mansion amid the ruins and attacked the barrier for a month, sensing something off. But it didn't even scratch.
They gave up and proposed a trade. On set days, I give them clean water, laundered clothes they leave, and charged electronics in exchange for food, medicine, and such. With infinite electricity and water, I'm profiting without spending a dime.
In a world where people die without a sip of clean water—let alone showers—I soak every evening in a huge tub filled with hot water and bath salts.
Living in luxury amid the apocalypse. But one serious problem: loneliness.
Humans are social creatures, they say. Even I, who thought I could live without contact forever, now feel extreme isolation.
I was arrogant. Before, games and online communities kept me connected virtually, so I never felt lonely and thought myself strong. Now, my only human interaction is curt trades on Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays with outsiders.
I even look forward to those just for the talk. Computers work, but no internet means no online chats. I heard satellites are fine and could enable net if connected, but I lack the know-how.
My mind's growing unstable—I can feel it. Last week, I nearly invited attackers from a year ago in for coffee.
"Haa."
After coffee on the ruins, my day begins. Wednesdays and Thursdays, I trade with Awakeners from a group called "Crossroads," whose base is over two hours' walk away.
They told me this area became ruins due to high-level monsters during the gate crisis, and no one settles here since. Early on, hordes tried breaking the barrier but gave up after a week unscratched, now avoiding it.
Crossroads attacked longest to seize my home. Now trade partners, once raiders. Wanting even them inside shows my mental state is at breaking point.
Trades are simple: Launder their clothes, boil rags and bandages overnight twice, dry on rooftop, charge gadgets.
Most annoying: Filling twenty 20-liter jugs with tap water weekly and hauling to the yard.
Fridays, I trade with Jeong Su-hwan, leader of a small survivor group and an Awakener.
Eight months ago, lying down at dawn, I heard wailing outside. The Landlord Ability blocks outer sounds, but I avoid mute mode to stay aware.
Outside, a blood-soaked man begged for medicine at the barrier. I just wanted sleep, so grabbed meds from Crossroads trades, asked what he needed. He thanked like I'd saved him, headbutting asphalt in tears.
I tossed a sealed box with syringes, ethanol, suture kit, saline, anti-inflammatories, antibiotics.
He vowed to return. A month later, he did—his wife had been critically injured.
Wanting repayment, I trade for luxuries. I give bottled water and laundered clothes; he brings comics, novels.
His face when I first asked for books in this harsh world—priceless. Worthless kindling to most.
He's hauled them weekly or biweekly, genre-blind, for seven months. I said it's enough, but he insists books can't match the meds' value.
Lately, Fridays I make breakfast, wait for him, take books, pass food plate outside, eat and chat together.
Partly for info, but these short talks keep my sanity intact. Dangerous area limits to 10 minutes.
I could let him in, but don't fully trust him yet.
Awakening Landlord Ability, I instinctively knew: To enter barrier needs my "access card"; house needs "residency"; settling grants "citizenship." I can revoke anytime.
Threats or unwanted? "Deport" outside. Never tested, but instinctive.
If someone inside snaps and kills me before deportation? Unknown. So, despite aching loneliness, I desperately hold back inviting others.
"I'm happy. I'm not lonely."
After daily routine, reading comics from Jeong Su-hwan, at 11 p.m. I lie in bed. Regular sleep preserves sanity.
"I... I'm... happy."
To deny my mental illness—and that I can't hold out longer—I stare at the dark ceiling nightly, parroting meaningless words like a broken bird before sleep.
Sighing at the futility, eyes closing for sleep, a woman's wailing pierced from outside.
"Please... anyone, help us!"
"Huh?"
In 1.5 years, no real woman sighted or heard. I bolted up, peeked through curtains.
Too dark, but a woman piggybacked another, slamming head into barrier, sobbing.
Thud thud.
"Please! PLEEEASE...!"
She kept bashing, then despaired, slumping, laying the other on her lap, head bowed silently.
"..."
Tranced, I left room, slipped on slippers, flashlight on, opened door.
Chilly night air hit with blood and rotten stench.
Bloodstained fatigues, matted unwashed hair—woman cradling lookalike, stared at me tearfully.
Thinking it a dream? Rubbing eyes amid tears, staring repeatedly.
Awkward silence. I spoke first.
"Who are you?"