I Woke Up With a Cheat Body
I ended up inside a zombie apocalypse novel. Despite all the complicated thoughts swirling in my head, sleep came surprisingly easy. It made sense. This body wasn't exactly well-trained. Sure, there were moments when I felt a sudden surge of strength right when things got fucked, but normally I was just a soft college girl type. Swinging a baseball bat at full power five times was enough to leave me gasping for breath.
"Ha, fuck."
I got up, slung the headset around my neck, and stretched. I didn't need to look in a mirror to know I had to start training my stamina. If I ran into two or more zombies in this condition, I'd be nothing but a meal. Or I'd have to sacrifice an arm or leg just to escape. I figured the kind of luck I'd had with the janitor zombie wasn't going to happen again. If I got bitten next time, my whole body would get eaten. And there'd be even worse wounds, bleeding everywhere.
"Fuuuuck........."
I roughly knew how wounds like this were handled in the novel. If you had time, you stopped the bleeding, disinfected it, and treated it properly. If you didn't have time? Then you just had to cauterize the wound. There were tons of scenes where characters pressed red-hot blades against injuries. Sure, there was a risk of dying from the burns, but it beat bleeding out. Better to maybe die later than die right now.
"Fuck."
I told myself I couldn't afford to be this scared, but my body had already given in to fear. At this rate, going outside seemed like something I should put off for a while. My head was screaming at me to fight, but my body wasn't going to cooperate. Hesitate like that and you'd just get eaten by zombies. Just like those survivors I'd seen from the veranda. Slowly devoured starting from their arms and legs.
"There was something in the setting about that, right...?"
Zombie teeth contained a substance that prevented blood from clotting. This mildly toxic material stopped survivors from dying of excessive blood loss. Of course, because it was toxic, they'd end up dying from infection not long after. And usually they'd get eaten by zombies before the infection even finished them off. That's why I'd scraped out the wound after getting bitten by the janitor. The toxic stuff didn't enter the bloodstream—it stayed near the wound.
"What a fucking idiot. If I'd used this brain to study, I could've gotten into a good university ages ago."
Thinking about how I was desperately trying to recall the setting of a novel I'd only read once to survive made me laugh. I'd almost never used my head this hard to remember something. Even during exams, I'd just wing it thinking things would somehow work out. Still, it was a relief that my brain worked properly now that I was facing death. If it hadn't, I might've seriously had to consider suicide.
"Let's see here."
I decided to fill my stomach first and rummaged through the frozen foods. As long as they hadn't been opened, they should still be edible. Normally I'd have to force it down like swallowing bitter medicine, but luckily I had electricity. The bicycle generator had an outlet. So I could just plug the microwave in there and cook.
"Ugh."
I grunted as I hauled the heavier-than-expected generator outside and plugged in the microwave. Now all that was left was eating. These were all things I had to finish within a month anyway. Eating a lot wouldn't be a problem. There was even an electric kettle, so I could finally have proper ramen.
I squatted beside the generator for a while and started cooking. Honestly, calling it cooking was generous. I just poured hot water into a cup of Sari Gomtang ramen, waited a bit, then added some frozen dumplings on top. And to finish it off, a piping hot bowl of Hetbahn rice.
"Fuck, this is heaven."
The food disappeared in no time. I scraped up every last drop of broth and grain of rice, then flopped onto the floor. I already knew what I had to do next. Exercise, and then head to the place mentioned in the diary. ......Of course it'd be great if things went smoothly, but at the very least I was a survivor, so I figured I could get some help.
Luckily the guy had set up various exercise equipment for his out-of-shape self. There was a stand for push-ups, dumbbells, still-sealed resistance bands, and a dusty book about home training. While thinking about how impressively varied his collection was and digging through the room, something fell from the ceiling and bonked me on the head. It was a photo album. In other words, an album containing the man's life story.
He must have looked through it regularly to reminisce, because the album was in good condition. Other than a bit of dust on the cover, it was practically brand new.
"This could be useful as a bribe."
If any of the man's friends were still alive, this would make for some excellent negotiation material. I hated how I could only think in these terms, but there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted to live. I wanted to keep on living. If I hadn't known about the bunker and the safehouse, I might have just passed it by, but now that I knew, it felt too wasteful to ignore.
I knew myself too well. Every time I faced hardship in the future, I'd endlessly regret it. I should've gone into the bunker back then. I should've headed to the safehouse instead. It was obvious.
"Fucking idiot."
I was already twenty-six and had done absolutely nothing at home. I'd only pretended to study to avoid getting scolded, and spent all my free time playing around. I'd sleep until one in the afternoon, shove whatever into my mouth, then kill time watching anime or reading novels before playing games and spewing curses. For dinner I'd order delivery and be too lazy to do the dishes, just rolling around in bed. Then after ten o'clock I'd start my vicious trolling as a malicious anonymous user, either writer-killing or stirring up trouble.
At this point I almost felt like being sucked into the novel was actually better. I was moving more diligently than ever before. I was living, and leaving proof that I was alive. I was trying to do something of my own will and making plans for the future.
"When I meet the author later, maybe I should thank him."
Of course I'd conveniently leave out the part about me being that malicious troll. If the author ever found out what kind of shit I'd written online, I'd definitely get punched at least once. Actually, getting off with just one punch would be lucky. Even if I got rolled up in a mat and beaten with a club, I wouldn't have any excuses.
"Idiot. Dumbass. Sigh."
Only empty laughter leaked out. But after laughing like that, the depression seemed to lift a little. Maybe doing self-deprecating gags like this from now on wouldn't be so bad. It was more fun than I expected, and definitely better than staying depressed or blaming others.
So I walked to the mirror with a smile and said,
"Who am I?"
I recalled a post I'd seen online while trying to decide what line to deliver. It was the one that mocked social service agents—public interest workers—by calling them "Agent." So I immediately said it.
"Agent Kim."
The beautiful girl in the mirror struck a triumphant pose. It was pretty damn stupid-looking, but my mood improved even more.
I'd used up some electricity running the microwave and boiling water earlier. After doing a bit of cleanup, I figured I might as well pedal the generator, so I quickly tidied up and got on the bike. As I slowly started pressing the pedals, a display on the handlebars showed that power was being generated.
"Ooh........."
The output slowly climbed, fluctuating between 10W and 15W. I roughly understood what the display meant. It was saying that pedaling for an hour would generate about that much. My motivation took a slight hit, but I couldn't afford to be lazy. The zombies were only going to get stronger from now on. There would be zombies that wouldn't even flinch no matter how hard I swung my baseball bat. Rather than pathetically begging for my life in front of them, I'd rather swing a weapon. And for that, I needed to build up my body more.
Of course, it wasn't long before I had to slump over the handlebars. It was fucking exhausting. My breathing grew ragged and I could taste something sweet in my mouth. But I had no choice but to keep moving my feet. Because not even ten minutes had passed yet. Now six minutes had gone by. Telling myself I should at least reach ten minutes even if I pedaled slowly, I kept going until the ten-minute mark, then immediately stopped.
I staggered back into the room and collapsed onto the bed. I'd thought I'd rest a bit and pedal some more, but it seemed I'd just passed out. And quite spectacularly, drooling all over the place. When I checked the clock, I'd slept at least six hours.
"Ah, the wound."
I was supposed to apply medicine three times a day, but I'd already missed several applications. Worried it might have gotten worse, I carefully peeled off the gauze, only to see something strange.
"This..... wasn't this wound supposed to be healing...?"
The wound had healed completely. There wasn't even a scar, as if I'd never been bitten in the first place. And my body's condition felt a bit off too. I'd pedaled until I was completely exhausted, so there should've been some kind of aftereffect. But I felt absolutely nothing—like I was in perfect condition—which made it even more bizarre. My stomach was incredibly hungry, but with all the food I had, that wasn't a problem.
Wait a second. I'd seen this description somewhere before.
"Could this be......?"
This was exactly how the protagonist had been described. After the zombie apocalypse broke out, he'd gained an incredible body. Superhuman physical abilities and rock-solid mental strength. Even if he got hurt, eating would make his body recover quickly, and each recovery made him stronger than before. The feeling and sensation matched the description of when the protagonist first realized his ability.
But the protagonist had been left with scars, and the more his body recovered, the bigger those scars grew. So it seemed a little different from mine.
"But who cares about that? The important thing is that I seem to have gained an ability similar to the protagonist's."
The author had reincarnated me into the novel, but at least he'd given me something. Just to be sure, I tried swinging the baseball bat. I swung it with full power seven times and could still stand. Normally after swinging it full force six times I'd have collapsed, unable to even get up while catching my breath.
I had gotten stronger. And it seemed I'd awakened an ability of the same type as the protagonist. Whether it was from killing zombies or from getting bitten by one, I wasn't sure.
I stood in front of the mirror once more, caught my breath, and spoke.
"Who am I?"
The beautiful girl in the mirror smiled, looking even more triumphant than before.
"Agent Kim. Ha, fuck. This is so goddamn stupid."
Still, the feeling wasn't bad, so I was satisfied. I wanted to exercise more, but I was too hungry to continue. Even Mount Geumgang looks better after a meal, right? I had to eat something if I wanted to survive.