Innovation (1)

The notification floated in front of me, glowing with that familiar blue light.

Blueprint Copy. So it literally means I can copy any tile I own? And drop it anywhere I want?

“Isn’t this… pretty good?”

It seemed more than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠good. It seemed fucking amazing. If I could take tiles I already owned and paste them at any coordinates or location I chose, that was straight-up broken.

“Holy shit…?”

A legendary SSSR-rank Awakened has appeared. And who am I, you ask?

“An Architect. Ar. Chi. Tect.”

An Awakened born from the Black Zone. Class: Architect.

“Kuh-guh-guh-guhk!!!”

Just from the description, it looked ridiculously overpowered at first glance.

“But I’m Shin Sok. I’m not going to get screwed that easily anymore.”

This damn System. There was no way it would hand out such a clearly broken ability without strings attached.

“There’s definitely some harsh retaliation coming my way.”

It was obviously going to demand something from me in return. I kept reading the rest of the explanation carefully.

“Huh?”

The first ones were free and it was just a daily maintenance fee on top?

“This is actually amazing?”

Wait, was the System being generous for once? But there was more text below.

“Oh?”

My eyes snapped wide open. So it wasn’t just about copying tiles and keeping their functions. It actively helped create value.

In other words, the System wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t make me take a loss for no reason. Of course! I knew it!

“All praise to the System.”

The System had a plan all along.

The ownership period was plenty, and I received 109,000 stones every three days. For now, I had some breathing room. Of course I’d still need to calculate carefully since there would be extra maintenance costs.

“Ugh… math is hard.”

Simple arithmetic had always been my weakness. But the new ability itself was incredibly appealing. Being able to set up offline shops would help the people outside and improve my own magic stone situation at the same time.

“Man, this System is pretty sharp.”

Having only two tiles available right now was a bit limiting, but that number would probably increase when I leveled up the skill. It was fine for the moment.

“Anyway.”

Time to figure out what people needed most. If I was going to open an offline shop, I wanted to copy a tile that would help them the most. Something directly tied to their survival. Something they would use constantly.

“I have to walk the middle path here.”

Helping others was embarrassing, but it would also help my magic stone income. With that thought, I opened the gallery.

The gallery was still flooded with posts about the food I had sold earlier.

Beyond the joyful verification posts, the gallery was filled with desperate, survival-level screams buried between the lines.

“Tsk…”

I naturally logged in with my Troll Baeksu account instead of the official shop one and dropped a casual post.

The replies flooded in the moment I posted.

“Wow, you guys are hilarious.”

I chuckled and typed another reply.

I personally find seeing zombies every day the worst. Not even joking.

Is this for real?

They answered more seriously than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I expected.

“Wait, these problems are actually brutal…?”

I had been about to reply that burning meat because I messed up the heat control was the hardest part for me, but I decided against it.

Plus…

“What the hell. They need everything.”

They couldn’t even fulfill the most basic three human desires and were risking their lives every single day.

“This is perfect?”

No matter which tile I copied and installed, it looked like the usage fees would roll in nicely. It was a total blue ocean market.

But the opposite thought also hit me.

“This isn’t perfect at all…?”

Shit. So this is why so many people were dying. They weren’t just fighting zombies; they were living in practically prehistoric conditions because of the total lack of infrastructure.

“Living… really isn’t easy, huh…”

Okay, okay. Needs assessment complete. I wanted to solve everything for them at once, but I only had two copyable tiles available right now.

“Tsk…”

I rested my chin on my hand and stared hard at the blueprint of the first basement floor floating in the air. Out of all those desperate needs, which two tiles would create the biggest impact? What did they need more than anything else? What would generate explosive demand and bring me a mountain of magic stones?

“Obviously a damn toilet.”

I made the decision without hesitation.

Near Migeum Station, at the border between the Orange Zone and Yellow Zone.

Mornings here always began with a horrific stench.

“Ugh…”

A female Stalker brushed back her hair, matted stiff with dried blood, and let out a deep sigh.

Six months after the apocalypse. In this brutal world where law and morality had collapsed, the first thing to be completely destroyed wasn’t public order. It was hygiene and basic human dignity.

Let alone running water or electricity, it had been a long time since anyone had seen even the most basic infrastructure. The alleys around the station where survivors gathered and the half-destroyed apartment complexes had become nothing less than enormous open-air toilets.

Every corner by the exits and every shuttered storefront was piled high with feces and filth. Mixed in with rotting corpses, the smell was enough to paralyze your nose.

“I want to wash… I really do… Just once, I want to wash properly.”

The dark red blood and viscera she’d been sprayed with during a fight with a mutant a few days ago had hardened on her clothes and skin like a helmet. Mold and eczema had broken out, making her want to tear her own flesh off from the unbearable itching.

But in this ruined world, washing your body with clean water was an unimaginable luxury. When there wasn’t even enough water to drink, where would water for washing come from?

“Please… I hope some water collected today…”

She scratched violently at her itchy arm and headed toward an empty lot where people rarely went. It was a blind spot where she had secretly set up a makeshift filtration device a few days ago using discarded plastic bottles, charcoal, and scraps of cloth.

If even a few drops of dew had gathered overnight, she could at least wipe the blood crust off her face and body.

“Please… just a little.”

She licked her dry lips and was about to look into the water collector of the dusty filtration device when—

Viiiing—!

A geometric pattern of blue light suddenly spread through the air, warping the space.

“Zombie?”

The woman fell backward in terror.

Fwaaaash—!

A flash of light so intense she couldn’t keep her eyes open struck the dirt ground. When the light faded, an alien structure stood there that simply did not belong in the ruined world.

“What… what is that…?”

Her pupils shook violently. In the middle of the wasteland stood a perfectly square cube finished with immaculately white, smooth marble tiles. Softly glowing LED indirect lighting. Spotless automatic glass doors. The quiet hum of a ventilation fan and the cool, fresh breeze of air conditioning brushed against her cheek.

“Ah…”

And the scent carried on that breeze. It wasn’t the smell of rotting corpses, blood, or waste. It was the faint, refreshing aroma of a lavender diffuser—the kind you would have smelled in the powder room of a luxury department store ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before the apocalypse.

Forgetting both the itch and the fear, she rose as if in a trance and slowly approached. The interior beyond the glass door was even more unreal.

A perfectly dry floor with not a drop of moisture. A large, crystal-clear mirror. Below it, a sparkling stainless steel faucet and pump-type hand soap. Neatly hung on the wall were three-ply embossed toilet paper and a gleaming white toilet.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Can I… wash here? Is water actually going to come out…?”

She stared at her filthy reflection in the silver faucet and muttered.

“This can’t be real…”

With trembling hands, she carefully reached out and grasped the glass door handle as reverently as if it were a holy relic.

Ding—!

“...Huh?”

She gasped. That distinctive blue window. The payment system demanding magic stones. And above all, that familiar name.

“D-Did the System… build a restroom for us…?”