What Fell from the Sky (2)
After the zombie wave engulfed the city, our daily lives changed quite a bit.
For starters, we had plenty of food. Beverages, snacks, instant ramen—all stocked up. Sauces like soy sauce, gochujang, sesame oil, cooking oil. Pasta and noodles with year-long shelf lives, cheese, and garaetteok that could last ages in the freezer. Everything from the large mart, and we still had it in abundance. Rice, our staple, piled up in ton quantities when combined with the third-floor warehouse stock. The daily necessities on the second floor were helping fortify the building too. No one would go unwashed for lack of soap or shampoo for years to come.
But the usual chores were off the table now. No more stripping aluminum panels from outside or welding them over windows and shutters. So the survivors set up targets in the kendo hall occupying half the fourth floor and started archery practice. That was pretty much their entire routine.
Why the kendo hall? We'd all agreed to avoid even the elevator's ding. Down to the mart from the fourth floor—on foot, as quietly as possible. That was the rule.
Hoon-i's family got special treatment. With a baby in the house, we padded their walls with quilted blankets and wood for makeshift soundproofing to muffle cries. Still, it sucked not getting sunlight. We worked around it by visiting other apartments during quiet times when the kid wasn't fussing.
The tenth floor, with its shifted lifestyle, had turned into a bizarre sight. No outdoor work, no indoor chores—nothing left but archery practice to learn weapon handling. TV was out, so leisure meant Netflix or YouTube at best.
What else was there? The doors stayed wide open, just like before. Total openness, privacy be damned. People wandered into neighbors' places without a second thought, munching snacks and chatting away.
After the zombie wave hit, we actually felt closer, more bonded than ever.
But some doors were shut. Code for "sex in progress—do not disturb."
In a building full of mixed genders with nothing but archery and hanging out to do—and zombies rampaging below—libidos were spiking like never before. Hooking up at all hours.
Jun-hyeok and Tae-young had already added one or two of the new women as partners. And shithead—no, Han Tae—was grinning ear-to-ear, hanging around some girl his age. Teaching her how to bake bread, or whatever.
The fear only lasted that first day. By day two, three, four—we'd adapted completely.
Wake up, fuck, practice archery, eat, fuck, hang out till dinner, fuck again. No one here judged it as slutty or weird. Even Halmae knew but pretended not to, just busying herself prepping preserved foods in her room.
The old normal, pre-apocalypse life, was crumbling away inside us—slowly, but surely.
"Ngh...!"
I gripped Eun-seo's hips and thrust in deep. Flooding her full. Her moans mixed with the pleasure surging up my spine. We clung together, catching our breath.
"Oppa, wanna make pizza bread? We've still got tons of sweet corn. Top it with sliced cheddar and mozzarella—should be tasty."
Eun-seo and I turned. Ye-eun, reading So-eun's comic, had spoken up.
"Sounds good," Eun-seo said with a smile.
I was still panting, so I just nodded and grinned. Sucked her nipple once more before getting up.
"Ahh..." A happy little sound. Made me happy too.
Damn, wiped out. Three rounds since morning.
"Where's Su-hyeon?"
"Said she wants to learn comic drawing from So-eun. They're in her room."
"Ah, got it." I nodded to Ye-eun and headed to the bathroom. Sweaty as hell.
Comics, huh. Good. Webtoons and webnovels—barely any sites left functional now. I never read 'em, so no clue how they ran, but So-eun and Ye-eun said no new updates anymore. Almost all gone. Apps and sites shutting down left and right. One or two holding out, maybe. No fresh chapters, so just rereading old stuff.
Wonder if the authors all died or something.
I cranked the shower, rinsing off the sweat, pondering.
...Internet dying off more each day? Gonna get boring.
Should've raided a comic shop, hauled back stacks of manga. Old ones are fun too. Naruto, One Piece—whole series. Hunter x Hunter was solid. Did Chainsaw Man end? Damn. Missed opportunity.
Three partners ain't bad. Problem is, skipping one means hugging the other two too. Thank fuck for the stamina achievement skill. These past days hammered home how clutch Survival Expert is. Best spec ever.
And it didn't stop there.
That woman from the mart who'd freaked at my blood-soaked state? She'd been hovering around me lately.
"Ah, hello..."
Ran into her heading out with my bow. Who knows how many times now. On purpose, no doubt.
I smiled, keeping suspicions under wraps. "Hey. Feeling better?"
"Yes... much... thank you." Quick bow, then gone.
...Hmm.
Most women who'd fled the Cockroaches showed zero interest in guys. Only a couple joined Jun-hyeok and Tae-young. The rest were still healing body and soul. Our women—same boat—and Su-hyeon's crew hung out with them, cooking treats, helping recovery.
But men? Probably the last thing on their minds for a while.
This one was different. Or maybe my blood-drenched entrance—dripping from weapons, clothes, hair, chin, fresh from slaughter with killer eyes—left an impression up close.
Makes sense. Women's hearts are mysteries.
I slung bow and quiver over my shoulder and hit the rooftop. My routine: wake, love on my girls—Su-hyeon, Ye-eun, Eun-seo—then up here shooting arrows. Eighty to ninety a day. With replicated arrows plus originals, sniping eight to ninety zombies till nightfall. My limit.
"Status."
Chosen One | Wild Hunter Specialization
Level: 48 | Title: Growing
Day four holding strong. Level 48 already. Hunt through tonight, hit 52. Leveling pace—four or five a day—not bad, but it itches. Oughta be sweeping four, five hundred daily!
HP at 100, Sense booming—feels possible! But nah. Can't AoE those fuckers.
...Molotovs? Hmm... not a bad idea. But with what? Hardware store down there, but no gasoline, no kerosene. Just cooking oils, olive oil, shit like that.
What then? Fuck. Need experience making 'em.
And do Molotov kills even give XP? So far, all mine—arrows or blades, targets I picked dropping by my hand.
Molotovs splash. Hits bystanders too. Not direct kills—collateral. Might not count.
Worth testing once.
Musing that, I nocked an arrow, drew.
Twang—thwip.
Stepped on a chair, aimed down. Arrow pierced skull instantly. No thrill, no nothing. Just retrieve.
Twang—thwip.
Arrow whistled, cratered cranium. Pulled another.
Then—a distant drone from the sky. Looked up: light aircraft.
...These guys again. Still shitting from above.
Something thud-thud-thud dropping. No clue what the hell.
Shook my head, drew again.
Twang—