First Blood and the Protagonist's Cheat Body
I had entered a zombie apocalypse novel. The first to attack was a female zombie. Thankfully she didn't pull any dirty tackle and was charging at me with pure animal instinct. That made it easy.
"Uwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!"
I swung the self-defense baton gripped in my right hand straight at her head. At least that's what I intended, but the baton missed. The female zombie had ducked at the last second. A curse shot up my throat, but I forced myself to stay calm.
".............Fuck!"
When I thrust out my left arm—the one I'd planned to use as a shield—the female zombie latched onto it and refused to let go. She even went completely limp, which was downright vicious. With one arm pinned, it was obvious the male zombie was supposed to finish me off. As expected of pharmacist zombies, they were terrifyingly clever.
And then the male zombie did tackle me. But I'd already learned my lesson from getting bitten once, so I wasn't falling for it.
"You son of a bitch!"
I drove a knee kick into him immediately, and the male zombie collapsed to the floor. I stomped down on his head with my full weight. Normally this wouldn't be enough to kill a person, but once turned, a zombie's bones and flesh soften up. Even though two weeks had passed and their bodies had grown somewhat tougher, I believed they were still fragile enough. I kept pressing down with everything I had.
"There!"
With a sickening crunch, the male zombie stopped moving. The female zombie instantly released her bite and backed away to create distance. Then she started feinting, slowly moving her upper body up and down in an attempt to trick me. It didn't work. After all, I'd just get bitten once and then kill them for good. Actually, now that I thought about it, there was no need to let myself get bitten at all.
I thrust my left arm forward and charged with everything I had, slamming into the female zombie. She flew backward, smashed into the wall, and rolled across the floor. All that remained was to pin her neck with my knee and crush her skull.
I grabbed the baton and brought it down again and again until her head was destroyed. By the time I finished, I was so exhausted I wanted to collapse on the spot, but I couldn't afford to fall yet. I quickly scanned the area and went straight for the gauze and saline solution. The gauze that had fallen on the ground might be contaminated, so I tore open a fresh pack and clenched it between my teeth. Because what came next was going to hurt like a motherfucker.
"...............!!!!!!!!!!"
It hurt so fucking much. If I hadn't used the gauze as a gag, I'd be rolling around on the floor cursing by now. I'd rather wear a Magall armband at this point. Just thinking about having to repeat this bullshit several more times in the future brought tears to my eyes. No—I was already sobbing uncontrollably. I could feel tears and snot streaming down and pooling at my chin. But fuck, it hurt so bad. The bite alone was agonizing enough, yet I still had to pour saline into the wound and scrape out all the sticky filth inside.
The one small mercy was that the blood-clotting agent got absorbed into the body. If it didn't, I'd have been screaming about stopping the bleeding on top of everything else.
"...............!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
I could barely breathe. The state of my left arm was especially bad—even lightly tapping my fingertips sent waves of excruciating pain through me. But I didn't want to die, so I poured the saline in heavy streams and dug into the wound with my right hand. The gauze in my mouth was already soaked through. Saliva was pooling at my chin and dripping freely now. I couldn't spare the attention to care. I'd only finished disinfecting half the wound on my left arm.
I bit down hard on the gauze again and tore into the wound. Left arm done. Right arm next. Right arm done. Left leg. Left leg done. Right leg. Finally both shoulders. I kept digging until fresh red blood flowed, then applied the medicine. I wrapped the gauze tightly, secured it with tape, and forced myself to stand.
I wanted nothing more than to pass out right there, but I couldn't faint in this place. I had to reach the PC Bang. Yes—to survive, I had to make it to the PC Bang.
"Fuck…"
I gathered everything I'd dropped, then headed for the bathroom. There was no toilet paper in the women's restroom, so I had to take some from the men's. After wiping the mess off my face, I picked up the baseball bat, promising myself I'd come back for the rest later. I half-pulled the self-defense baton from its holder and looped it around my wrist just in case.
"..............................."
I grabbed a broom, slowly opened the door, and checked outside. It had already gotten dark, but no zombies were visible. They must not have come out of the building yet. Counting my blessings, I wedged the broom into the door handle, turned left, and ran.
I frantically opened the emergency exit, slipped inside, and closed the door behind me. Taking deep breaths, I stepped into the PC Bang.
"Whoa…"
I had no strength left to walk. I slowly knelt, then collapsed forward. Gathering the last of my energy, I rolled onto my back and blacked out.
When I regained consciousness, several hours had passed. Having slept on the floor, I was freezing and my nose was so stuffed with snot that breathing through it was uncomfortable. I had no choice but to breathe through my mouth as I sat up, but the world spun. Everything in front of me appeared double, and I could barely keep my balance. Instinct told me what I needed to do: eat whatever I could, then lie down and sleep.
I groped my way to the generator, plugged in the power, and started the microwave. My vision was blurry, I was running a fever, and I had zero appetite. Worst possible conditions for eating, but if I wanted to live, I had to force something down.
I half-assedly wiped my hands, tore open the frozen meals, and started shoving them into my mouth. After eating, I felt like I had a little strength back.
"Guess I should… clean up."
I tossed the trash, unplugged the outlet to save power, then went into the room, untied the bag from my waist, and collapsed onto the bed. I pulled the blanket up to my neck, wound the clock, and closed my eyes.
When I woke again, a full day had passed.
"................................"
I was starving. And thirsty. Extremely thirsty. I reached out blindly and found the bag I'd taken off yesterday. I'd definitely packed food in the waist bag, so I sat up abruptly and rummaged through it. I gulped down bottled water first, then tore into chocolate and snacks. It wasn't enough. Half-crawling, I left the room and turned the microwave back on. Plenty of frozen food remained, and there was twice as much of everything else.
"This is insane."
No matter how much I ate, the hunger wouldn't quit. I kept pulling out more frozen meals halfway through. Only after stuffing myself like a starved ghost did my mind finally clear. I needed to apply medicine. It had been stinging and burning like hell before I passed out yesterday—if I didn't treat it soon, things would get ugly. I was obviously going to run out of ointment, but before heading to the pharmacy I wanted to cover my arms at least, so I tore open more gauze.
"Ah, right. The fire."
Last time I'd done it without one, but now I had so many places to treat that I had no choice. I brought over the stand lamp from the room, plugged it in, and turned it on. When I brought my arm close to the heat, the wounds looked like they'd been washed clean. Not completely healed, of course. The deeper gashes were still visible. But even so, it was safe to say they'd mostly recovered.
"Holy shit."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. A body that could heal almost any wound with just a little rest? Of course, it was obvious I'd need to replenish nutrients like crazy. The reason I'd eaten like a glutton earlier must have been to fuel that healing. But food could always be scavenged later, so it didn't matter. Eventually my organs would get stronger too, letting me digest even spoiled food without issue.
That's how the protagonist's ability worked. The guy could eat a two-month-old hamburger and stroll around like nothing happened. Back then I'd gone on the gallery stirring up drama, calling it bullshit. Now that I was experiencing it myself, my perspective had completely changed.
"If it's for survival, I could eat anything."
Really. I felt like I could stomach anything if it meant staying alive. I'd probably scrape up and eat someone's vomit with gratitude. It was still way better than dying. Obviously. If you want to keep living, you can't afford to be picky about hot or cold water.
"Ah, the pharmacy."
For the wounds that still weren't fully healed, I needed to go get some proper ointment. Besides, the medicine I'd taken from the manager's house was already half gone. The fact that any remained after all the times I'd used it was honestly surprising. Come to think of it, I thought I'd seen a convenience store yesterday too.
"The convenience store is still too dangerous…"
The clock read 9 p.m. This was around the time the zombies would start leaving the building and moving around, so going outside was impossible. That meant the pharmacy was also out of reach. To get there in the first place, I'd have to go through the emergency stairs.
"Fuck."
In the end, if I wanted any kind of decent daily life, I had no choice but to clear out the zombies on those stairs. There were at least five or six. But maybe I could handle them now. I let myself run with that optimistic scenario. Actually, I could just practice first.
I pulled out the baseball bat that had been stuck in the corner, went outside, and stood in an open area. Then I swung it through the air with all my strength. Shockingly, even after thirty full swings I wasn't tired. My breathing had grown a little heavy, but I still had plenty left in the tank. I couldn't help but be amazed. Is this really my body? The thought came out involuntarily.
Now that I thought about it, today I could focus on practice instead of regular exercise. I had time to kill anyway. So I'd practice swinging the baseball bat.
"Ah, but first—kill the lights."
I unplugged every outlet, then started swinging again. The nearby computers and desks kept getting in the way, so I decided to reorganize while I was at it and stripped off my outer layer. Organizing turned out to be simple. Move the chairs, crawl underneath to unplug all the cables, repeat, then set the towers and speakers on the floor. Once a desk was empty, I grunted and shoved it to the side.
"..............................."
The current me could lift desks two meters wide. Sure, I had to rest for five minutes afterward, but the fact that I could lift them was what mattered. After pushing everything to one side, a decent training space opened up.
"Whew."
I drained an entire bottle of water, took care of business, and came back out. Luckily the toilet was the flush kind and still had water in the tank. There was toilet paper too. As soon as I finished preparing, I started swinging the baseball bat again. I focused on delivering accurate, powerful strikes toward imaginary zombies floating in the air.
I repeated the cycle—sweating buckets while swinging, then resting—until I checked the clock again. It was 7 a.m.