The location where Defender took the photo was easy to deduce.

    It was a vast stretch of farmland, once golden with ripened crops before the war began.

    Though officially registered as agricultural land (???), not a mountain or forest, turning it into a construction site isn’t a simple feat.

    From my frequent trips through the area, I’d never seen any sign of construction.

    Defender must have passed through by chance.

    He often mentioned being near Gwanggyo, and the landscapes in his endless murder-proof photos hinted at a heavily forested, mountainous region.

    Maybe this guy just roams around a lot?

    But it’s unlikely he uses vehicles or other transportation.

    The only thing I found near the tracks left by my buggy were footprints — male-sized sneakers heading eastward.

    The trail vanished amidst the overgrown reeds.

    Why head east, though?

    I don’t care, and I have no way to find out.

    The real issue is Defender’s recent behavior.

    [ Defender has sent you a friend request. ]

    I didn’t even know Viva! Apocalypse! had a friend feature until now.

    Why?

    Because no one’s ever sent me a request before.

    Why this guy of all people?@@@@

    To be honest, I dislike him.

    I can understand the necessity of killing in this post-apocalyptic world, but his behavior — launching into murder sprees and proudly posting about them as soon as the war broke out — feels fundamentally twisted.

    Even now, after unblocking him, those feelings haven’t changed much.

    [ Accept ] [ Decline ]

    Two clear options.

    Yet, for some reason, I haven’t pressed the decline button.

    *

    The War, One Year and Ten Months Later

    The war had been raging for one year and ten months.

    Today’s outside temperature: 32°C. A midsummer day.

    At this time of year, the community forum habitually fills with posts cursing the harshness of Korea’s four seasons and the mythical foresight of Dangun, Korea’s legendary founder.

    I, however, am not afraid of summer.

    Indoor temperature: 24°C.

    That’s the current temperature inside my bunker.

    Yes, my bunker has air conditioning.

    On the dining table are the Assassin’s Pasta I prepared earlier and a bowl of shaved ice topped with condensed milk and canned red beans, freshly made with finely crushed ice.

    When I take a big spoonful of the shaved ice after the warm pasta lingers in my mouth...

    “Ahhh~.”

    The brain-freezing pain, sharp and reverberating, comes paired with pure happiness.

    A summer delight, you might call it.

    I’m not oblivious.

    I didn’t post pictures of my shaved ice on the community forum.

    As it is, I’m already hated without reason. If I went around flaunting these small luxuries, the only person who’d still read my posts would be some weirdo like Human Hunter!

    Although I’m an unpopular user on the forums, I can confidently say that my quality of life ranks among the top tier.

    Frankly, to find someone who eats and lives as well as I do, you’d probably have to look at the billionaire types who built their fortresses.

    The cornerstone of my luxurious life is, above all else, abundant electricity.

    My power setup is on another level.

    While most community users rely on small generators running on gasoline or gas, I operate an industrial-grade diesel generator, the kind you’d find powering a factory.

    I call it the Skeleton Heart, and it’s massive—larger than many standard bunkers. As its name suggests, it’s the beating heart of my sanctuary.

    Its performance is exceptional.

    As long as there’s fuel, it generates massive amounts of electricity, enough to fully charge dozens of batteries in a flash and still have power to spare.

    Of course, it has its downsides: high installation costs, noise, and a ridiculous amount of gas emissions.

    I covered the installation costs by buying cheap land, and the noise isn’t an issue since I’m in an uninhabited area. But the gas emissions were a real headache during the bunker construction phase, almost as troublesome as managing the groundwater.

    I drilled no fewer than seven ventilation shafts and finally managed to build a duct system after countless trials and errors.

    Even so, when the generator runs, black smoke billows from the vents in thick plumes.

    I tried installing filtration systems to reduce the visible smoke, but they didn’t make much difference. From a distance, you might miss it, but if anyone has a direct line of sight to my bunker, they can easily spot the seven columns of smoke.

    For this reason, I usually run the generator only at night. Especially on stormy or windy nights, I sometimes run it intentionally, even if I don’t need electricity, to charge the batteries.

    But this abundance comes with a condition: there must be no people nearby.

    “You’re quite cautious for someone so young. Did you get bullied in school or something? Anyway, have you been living here alone?”

    “I don’t intend to talk much. Keep it short.”

    “Ha, sure, I’ll keep it brief.”

    Smiling amiably, Choi’s demeanor suddenly shifted as he raised his voice.

    “You said this was your land, right? That’s ancient history.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Ownership has been reset. All property deeds are void. Outside major cities, it’s a free-for-all. Whoever claims it, owns it.”

    He waved his papers in front of me.

    “This is our permit.”

    At that moment, I understood why refugees had reappeared after being gone for so long.

    The situation in Seoul might be worse than I’d imagined.

    “Judging by your condition, you must be one of those doomsday preppers. Don’t worry, we won’t touch your land. Our goal is over there,” Choi said, gesturing toward the U.S. base.

    “We’ll just borrow this area until we finish clearing that place out. Isn’t that reasonable, former landowner?”

    Choi smirked, his hand brushing against the pistol at his belt.

    I deliberated briefly. Should I kill them all or endure this?

    “Two days. You can stay for two days,” I said.

    It was a conditional allowance, driven by the desire to avoid unnecessary conflict. These weren’t raiders, after all.

    “Two days? That’s too short, but fine,” Choi replied.

    And so began an uneasy cohabitation.

    The greatest discomfort wasn’t their presence but the inability to use my generator.

    The battery reserves were draining quickly.

    Inside my bunker, the temperature rose uncomfortably, and candles replaced the lighting.

    Worst of all, the temperature in the underground freezer was rising faster than expected.

    Hours at most.

    If the freezer, which had maintained sub-zero temperatures, absorbed the summer heat, my precious food supply would be ruined.

    Despite the agreement, Choi and his men overstayed their welcome.

    On the third day, the emergency door to my main bunker rattled.

    “Hey, there’s a door here!”

    They had found it.

    “Push it! Push harder!”

    Their voices were a nightmare come to life.

    A moment of silence followed, then Choi’s voice boomed from just outside the steel door.

    “You’re in there, aren’t you? Hey, come out and let’s talk!”

    I stepped out unarmed, carrying only cigarettes.

    “It’s hot under the sun. Why don’t you wait inside the bunker? I’ll bring out food and drinks. For now, have some cigarettes.”

    Choi smirked, taking a cigarette and lighting it.

    “Now, that’s more like it. I knew there was a proper bunker behind that door.”

    His smugness was palpable as he placed a hand on my shoulder and took a deep drag of his cigarette.

    “You worked hard on this place. Don’t worry, we’re not raiders. Once we settle the U.S. base, we’ll be neighbors. I’ll even introduce you to some nice girls. My friends’ daughters are idol-level beauties!”

    His "friend request" ended in an explosion.

    I hunted down the survivors, Choi included.

    “How... how could you...?”

    His death left me unmoved.

    More pressing matters awaited.

    I restarted the generator, restoring power.

    Cool air returned to my bunker, and the freezer’s temperature dropped back to safe levels.

    Standing in front of the air conditioner, basking in the refreshing breeze, I allowed myself a rare, satisfied smile.

    [You have accepted Defender’s friend request.]

    Defender seemed overjoyed.

    Defender: (Touched) “Skeleton finally accepted my friend request! Thanks, buddy!”

    I briefly reflected.

    Defender and I are just ordinary people surviving the apocalypse.

    We’re not so different.

    Both of us have reverse scales—lines no one can cross without provoking us.

    The only difference is that Defender’s line is just a bit bigger than mine.

    That’s all.