Chapter 220
Chapter 220
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Private Life
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We arrived at a small village called Linton.
The zombies that came running at the sight of our parked car were swiftly taken care of by Phillip and Grace.
Carrie didn't seem particularly frightened by the zombies. In fact, she was proactive enough to ask if she could handle them herself.
Phillip freaked out at the sight and held her back.
Carrie had quite a bold personality.
That might be why Phillip kept her from leaving the island.
"How should we do this? Stick together?"
After everyone had geared up, Phillip asked Grace.
"Let's split up. Un-ho and I'll go together."
Phillip flinched at Grace's words.
"Phillip, why don't you go solo? Carrie would be safer sticking here."
I wanted Phillip out of the picture.
He was a total eyesore among all these beauties.
Beyond my personal interests, it only made sense safety-wise to stick with the two awakeners.
"......Carrie sticks with me."
Phillip dismissed my suggestion out of hand, as if it wasn't even worth considering.
My idea was perfectly reasonable for Carrie's safety, but jealousy had him beyond rational thought.
"Tch! I wanna go with Un-ho."
Carrie grumbled, but Phillip ignored her completely.
She seemed thrilled just to be off the island for once, so she didn't push back further and went along with his call.
We parted ways with Carrie and her group, dealing with the occasional zombie that popped up as we began scouting the village.
"Un-ho, how much can that superpower of yours hold?"
Grace asked, curiosity piqued.
From her perspective, my inventory's capacity was crucial—it determined how much we could haul back.
"Won't run short."
"That's... impressive."
「Grace, found a grocery store.」
Radio crackled from Phillip.
"Got it, Phillip. We'll scout other stuff."
Grace replied into the radio and kept searching.
She ducked into a clothing store next.
The door was locked, but snapping the handle was child's play for an awakener like her.
"Clothes?"
"Yeah, supplies at the settlement aren't exactly plentiful. It's getting chilly out... Even on supply runs, other essentials take priority, so we can't stock up much. That okay?"
She was worried about the bulk.
"Can fit every last piece here, no problem."
Time to flex for the girl you're into.
"For real? ...Just how big is it?"
"Haven't measured it exactly."
Grace lit up at that, darting not just through the store but the whole building, sweeping up anything worthwhile into my inventory.
Zombies popped up now and then, but Grace handled them solo—no need for me to step in.
Once we'd grabbed our fill, we headed back to the truck and piled the haul into the bed.
She asked me to stash the leftovers in her warehouse later—once she unlocked it—keeping it on the down-low.
No need to hide my ability, but making it our secret meant more alone time with Grace.
"What the..."
Carrie's group returned laden with food, only to gape at the truck bed stuffed to the brim.
"Whoa... Grace, you nabbed all this in the meantime?"
"Un-ho's doing."
Grace grinned, slapping my back.
I shot Phillip a smug look-down.
Sure enough, he wore a sour, chewed-lemon face.
Compared to our haul, his backpack looked downright pathetic.
With results like this, even he couldn't complain now.
Back in the truck, bed loaded beyond generous.
"Piece of cake!"
Carrie crowed from the driver's seat, all puffed up.
"Today's haul went smooth."
Phillip tried reining in her excitement from shotgun, but she blew it off.
"Oh, Phillip? Next run's with Un-ho. Heads up. And FYI, not asking your permission—just his."
"Haa..."
Phillip massaged his temple like a headache brewing, glaring daggers my way.
Blames me for this mess?
......Can't deny some fault.
Other awakeners might humor Phillip's plea to leave his sister behind on runs, but not me.
Had I shot down Carrie's request, she never would've trusted me enough to tag along.
Dragging his little sis into danger? Yeah, I could see looking villainous.
......So I magnanimously decided to forgive my antagonistic pal Phillip.
We rolled up to the island hauling several times the usual load. Folks marveled at the bounty, thrilled.
Camp residents swarmed out to unload.
One woman shifting clothes stumbled, bumping into me and planting flat on her butt.
My gaze naturally drifted her way.
Light brown hair and eyes—a stunner.
'Name was... Rachel?'
Simple reason I remembered her name.
She's a knockout.
One of this island's top three beauties.
Top three? My personal ranking, of course.
Proof I didn't waste that week loafing.
Scrutinized the island ladies, picked my trio.
Grace, Carrie, Rachel.
Liliana would've pitied such shallow pursuits...
Too bad—Rachel's married. Kid too.
If she were the sole island beauty, might've been worth pursuing.
But with Grace and Carrie around? Messing with her risked tanking their favor.
Cut ties decisively.
Doesn't change she's gorgeous, though.
Extended a hand to her seated self.
She flinched at the sight.
Like bracing for a hit, body tensing protectively.
Eyes quivered with unease.
Awkward, even though I'd done nothing wrong.
"......You alright?"
"Y-yes. S-sorry."
Face flushing—embarrassed by her odd reaction—she took my hand gingerly, pulling herself up.
Felt a faint tremble in her grip.
Closer look: cheek faintly swollen.
No way from the fall.
She bowed quick, grabbed her load, and limped off toward camp.
Leg seemed off too—not from just now.
Spotted it before; always seemed under the weather.
"......"
"Her husband's beating her."
Grace sidled up, face full of pity.
"They just let it slide?"
Not out of sympathy—pure curiosity.
Grace didn't strike me as the type to stand by, and hubby wasn't an awakener. Ending him wouldn't be hard if she wanted.
"Tried separating them... but she wouldn't have it. Just issued a warning for now."
Separation...
I'd have buried the bastard somewhere, but Grace wasn't going that far.
Modern morals still clinging, I guess.
Eh... People's lives are unpredictable.
......Family drama's messy anyway—not my circus, not my monkeys.
Especially if she won't budge.
No easy fix.
Stuck in the middle? You'd just look like the creep.
And with that, her story faded from memory.
Late evening.
Torrential downpour.
Roof held—no leaks, thankfully.
"Rachel!!"
A man's bellow cut through.
Normal ears might've missed it amid the storm. Plus, her place was next door.
Not just calling her name.
Rage laced the shout.
Curiosity spiked—extended my senses into their home.
"G-gonna go!!"
Classic thug face, clad in a white tank and boxer shorts. No bulk, but tall—pushing 180cm, built to survive.
'That her husband?'
Guy like that drives home life's unfairness.
With her?
Not that I clock men much—never seen his mug before.
'Fair enough, don't know many dudes.'
Rachel was soaked—must've been out in the rain.
"Y-you goddamn bitch. Where the hell you been, rolling in now?!"
"Y-you told me to... fill the bath..."
"Bitch can't even grovel and apologize—gotta mouth off?"
Full wind-up slap cracked her cheek.
-Smack!
She reeled, crumpling to the floor. He didn't stop—stomped her back, then kicked.