CHAPTER 57: RULES OF SURVIVAL

The silence stretched, taut as a wire. Dust floated in the narrow beams of light filtering through broken glass above, and the low chorus of moans outside made the whole supermarket feel like it was breathing with the dead.

Fifty pairs of eyes watched Riku, waiting, some filled with hate, some with uncertainty. None with trust. Not yet.

Riku stood his ground, the sling of the M4 snug against his chest, hands loose but ready.

"From now on," he said again, voice sharper, "things change."

Murata folded his arms slowly, as though testing how much weight those words carried. His face was impassive, but Riku didn’t miss the way his jaw flexed. "Go on," Murata said. "We’re listening."

"You barred the dock on us," Riku said, his tone flat but cutting. "That nearly killed me. Nearly killed my little sister Hana." He inclined his head toward the little girl peeking nervously from Suzune’s coat. "That won’t happen again. If I’m outside that door, it opens. No excuses."

A ripple went through the crowd—murmurs, low arguments. A man spat near the shelves.

"Why should we trust you with that power? You’re armed to the teeth. You could open it to anyone you like. Bring in worse than us."

Riku’s gaze snapped to him. "If I wanted this place for myself, you wouldn’t be standing. I had twenty chances in the last five minutes to put bullets in you. I didn’t. That’s why you’ll trust me."

The man swallowed and looked down.

Miko stepped forward, her Glock low but visible. "You’re alive because we pulled the gate shut this morning," she said. "You eat tonight because I cleaned out the corpses. If you think you can last a week without order, you’re welcome to walk out those doors and prove it."

The mob flinched at her bite, but Murata held up a hand. "So the first rule is—doors open when you say so." His tone was heavy, laced with accusation. "What else?"

Riku scanned the room, counting breaths. He could feel the pressure building, the way one wrong word could ignite another riot. He forced calm into his voice, but kept the edge of command. "Food. It gets rationed. Strictly. No one touches supplies without approval. We distribute fair, no exceptions."

"That’s ours!" a woman blurted. She was thin, cheeks hollow, desperation in her voice. "We scavenged it, we—"

"You hoarded it," Riku cut in. "While people starved two floors down. You call that survival? That’s suicide spread thin. One slip, one missing can, and people start killing each other before the dead even get here. Not on my watch."

Suzune, who had been silent until now, lifted her chin. "He’s right. We’ve been eating scraps in that apartment for days. If it weren’t for him, Hana and I would already be—" Her voice cracked, but she steadied it. "Order is the only chance we have."

Of course that was a lie yet the words carried more weight than Riku expected. Some of the mob lowered their weapons outright. Others shifted, shame flickering in their eyes. But not all.

Murata’s brow furrowed. "You’re talking about leadership. You’re talking about control. You’re what—seventeen?"

"Eighteen," Riku said evenly. "Old enough to bleed, old enough to shoot, old enough to bury the people you couldn’t save. Age doesn’t matter anymore. Results do."

A low growl of discontent bubbled in the crowd. One man shoved forward, his bat still gripped white-knuckled. "You think you’re our savior because you’ve got a rifle and some fancy moves? You’re nothing but a kid with delusions. We won’t be ruled by you!"

Riku stepped into his space so fast the man jolted. He didn’t strike. Didn’t even raise his rifle. He just leaned in, voice cold enough to freeze marrow. "Then go outside right now. Take your bat, take your pride, and see how long you last."

The man’s breath hitched. His eyes darted to the barricaded door, where the groans of the dead pressed like a tide. Slowly, the bat dipped toward the floor.

Riku didn’t smile. "That’s what I thought."

He turned back to the mob. "The third rule—no one touches my gear. No one touches my weapons. Not my M4, not Miko’s Glock, not anything we carry. You try to strip me again, I won’t be polite next time."

That landed heavy. Even Murata’s eyes flickered, a flash of something like respect cutting through the tension.

Ichika whispered behind Riku, just loud enough for him to catch. "He’s... scary when he talks like that."

"Good," Suzune murmured. "Let them be scared."

The air thickened with shifting emotions—resentment, fear, grudging acknowledgement. It wasn’t victory yet, but the mob’s fire was smothering under Riku’s cold command.

Murata finally exhaled, the faintest sign of pressure releasing. "You want rules? Fine. But rules don’t come from one man. If you want to lead, then you answer to the group."

Riku’s eyes locked on him. "I’ll answer to results. If people eat, if they sleep safe, if they stop dying in the aisles, then you’ll have your proof. Until then, you’ll answer to me."

The crowd stirred again—some nods, some mutters, some silence. The balance was shifting, delicate as glass. Riku could feel it. One wrong breath and it would shatter.

He took that chance and pressed harder. "Last rule. Anyone who endangers the group—by stealing, by hoarding, by sabotaging a door when children are outside—answers to me. And I promise you this: I won’t be kind."

The silence that followed was colder than the grave.

Hana clung tighter to Suzune’s hand, eyes wide. Even Ichika looked rattled, though she tried to hide it with a scowl. Miko, by contrast, stood taller, her lips pressed in a thin, proud line.

Murata’s expression hardened, but he didn’t argue. He simply stared at Riku for a long, grinding moment, then gave the smallest of nods. "Then we’ll see if your rules hold."

The bats clattered to the floor, one by one. The mob, fractured and weary, began to disperse, some throwing Riku looks of hate, others of confusion, a few of quiet relief.

But the message had sunk in.

The dead weren’t the only monsters clawing at the door.

And Riku had just declared war on the living.

The crowd broke apart slowly, like a tide dragging itself back out to sea. Some lingered, throwing him wary looks, but no one raised a weapon again. Riku let the silence hold a moment longer before he turned, signaling with a short nod.

"Downstairs," he said. His voice was low, but it carried enough authority that no one argued.

Miko fell in step beside him, her pistol still in hand, eyes scanning corners as though expecting another ambush. Suzune kept Hana close, one arm wrapped firmly around her shoulder, while Ichika followed with that scowl of hers, trying to mask her nerves.

The walk down to the basement was tense. Every creak of the floorboards echoed like a gunshot. Survivors trailed after them, not in a mob this time but in scattered groups, whispering and glancing between one another. Riku could feel the weight of their stares pressing into his back.

At the base of the stairs, the air was cooler, heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies and canned food. The basement, once a storage area, had been converted into a makeshift camp. Blankets and cardboard were spread across the floor, pallets stacked against the walls, and a few small lanterns burned, casting the survivors in flickering light.

Dozens of eyes turned toward them. Mothers clutching children. Men hunched in corners. Teenagers trying to look braver than they felt. Murata followed last, his face hard, though he made no move to stop what came next.

Riku stepped forward, shoulders squared, the sling of his M4 snug across his chest. "Listen up," he said, his voice cutting clean through the murmur. "You’ve seen me fight. You’ve seen what happens when you test me. Now you’re going to hear this plain."

The chatter died completely.

Riku gestured toward the girls behind him. "These are my people. Suzune, Ichika, and Miko, Miko you already met. And this," he rested a hand gently on Hana’s shoulder, "is my sister. Their safety is tied to mine. If you want me here, they stay here too. No questions."

Hana clung to him tighter, eyes darting nervously across the basement.

Suzune, sensing the weight of the moment, spoke up. "We didn’t come here to steal anything. We came because we can’t survive alone anymore. Riku is the reason we’re still alive."

That simple truth hung in the air. A few of the survivors shifted, their eyes softening at Hana’s small figure pressed against her brother’s side.

Riku nodded once at Suzune’s words, then faced the camp again. "I’m assuming leadership here. I’ve laid down the rules—food rationing, open doors, no one touches our weapons, and no sabotage. Anyone who wants to challenge me can step forward now."

He let the silence stretch. His eyes swept across every face in the room, daring them to move. No one did. Not Murata, not the men with bats, not the woman with the chair leg.

"Good," Riku said at last. His tone softened just slightly, though the steel remained. "Then from this moment, we’re one camp. We work together, we survive together. You break the rules, you answer to me."

The tension eased at last. Some of the survivors nodded faintly, relief flickering across their features. Others simply sagged where they sat, exhaustion overtaking their anger. The mob’s fire was gone; in its place was weary acceptance.

As Riku lowered his rifle, the familiar cold pulse of the System stirred in the back of his mind. A translucent pane flashed across his vision:

[System Notification]

55 survivors secured under your leadership.

Reward Gained:

+5,000 SP × 55 = 275,000 SP

+1,000 XP × 55 = 55,000 XP

The numbers burned into his vision, sharp and clear. His SP balance surged like a dam breaking, his level bar climbing fast.

Riku inhaled deeply, letting the figures settle. Power. Leverage. And responsibility. All tied to the lives staring back at him now.

He exhaled slow, meeting Murata’s eyes across the room. The man gave no smile, no approval—only a curt nod. But he hadn’t objected. No one had.

For now, the camp was his.