It wasn''t surprising that Chairman Park Cheol-joo''s security detail included Hunters, but I didn’t expect one of them to be someone I knew.

    Kim Pil-seong, one of the guards, accompanied Ji Young-hee to my bunker.

    A fellow graduate from my academy days—and even a former classmate.

    Not that it was shocking; our cohort consisted of 1,200 trainees. Most are dead now, but a fair number of them survived and continue to operate in this harsh world.

    "Park Gyu... it really is you."

    With so many classmates, it’s normal to forget faces, but I remembered Kim Pil-seong.

    I specifically recalled him for lasting quite a while against me during our simulated melee combat exercise using cold weapons.

    7.8 seconds.@@@@

    That’s how long it took for me to disarm him.

    "...Sh*t."

    Right after losing, he cursed—a breach of our academy’s strict etiquette rules.

    Our instructor, Jang Ki-young, was especially intolerant of profanity.

    "You, step forward! Hunters do not curse! Repeat after me!"

    With his thunderous voice, Instructor Jang summoned Pil-seong and promptly subjected him to disciplinary drills.

    Later, I heard that Pil-seong came from a lineage of kendo practitioners who ran a dojo for generations, and he was a black belt himself.

    No wonder he’d reacted with such fury when he lost.

    After that, he vanished from my life. He likely operated in China, but he must have been assigned to different missions and fought on other battlefronts.

    Over a decade later, here we were, two former classmates reunited.

    The lanky, short-haired boy I remembered had transformed into a muscular man with tanned skin and long hair slicked back into a ponytail.

    "Wow..."

    Kim Pil-seong looked at my camouflaged bunker and let out a wry laugh, his expression incredulous.

    "How does anyone live in a place like this?"

    Of course, no one would want to.

    But telling the truth wouldn’t benefit me, so I kept a straight face and replied evenly.

    "The mountain is a mountain, and the water is water. Home is wherever you make it."

    I’ve never been a skilled liar, but life has taught me to fake it when necessary.

    After all, I’ve even pretended to be a woman online—this was a trivial falsehood by comparison.

    "Here, take this."

    Pil-seong, at least, had manners.

    He wasn’t empty-handed. He handed me a large container of oil while Ji Young-hee carried a bulging black bag.

    Inside the bag were yesterday’s leftover beef, fresh vegetables, instant rice, combat rations, and even water purification capsules.

    "You didn’t have to bring all this."

    I waved my hands dismissively but still accepted the gifts. Practicality outweighed pride in this world.

    Food like this—fresh vegetables and premium protein—was rare luxury.

    I’d take eating beef for a thousand days over gnawing on roe deer sausages for ten thousand.

    Ji Young-hee smiled softly.

    "We owe you for your help before, and we figured you might need these."

    Her thoughtfulness was evident.

    I nodded in gratitude.

    "Have you been living here the whole time?" Pil-seong asked as he surveyed my bunker.

    His question caught me off guard.

    We might be former classmates, but we were practically strangers now. His sudden familiarity felt jarring.

    After a pause, I answered vaguely, "On and off. I go to Incheon when there’s work, then come back here when it dries up."

    "I see."

    He glanced toward the low hill where my main bunker was situated.

    "That’s the highest ground here. Good vantage point to keep an eye on everything."

    "...Yeah."

    He then grinned, his expression turning mischievous.

    "Your whole setup feels... sharp. Like the whole place is on edge."

    Had he sensed it?

    The death traps hidden in my seemingly haphazard domain?

    With a sly smile, he asked, "You set up booby traps, didn’t you?"

    It seemed his experience in combat had made him perceptive.

    "I’ve set up a few, yeah," I admitted half-heartedly.

    "I knew it."

    Pil-seong nodded approvingly, clearly pleased for some reason.

    "You’re heading to Japan, I hear," I said quickly, steering the conversation in a different direction.

    Pil-seong glanced at Ji Young-hee.

    "She can fill you in. I’ll take a quick nap in the car—I’ve been up all night keeping watch."

    After scanning my territory one last time, he let out a long yawn and headed to the SUV’s passenger seat.

    Through the open door, I saw his booted feet dangling out lazily.

    "How’s your father?" I asked Ji Young-hee.

    The question wasn’t entirely intentional. I mostly wanted to buy some time, given how unexpectedly sharp Pil-seong had been.

    Thankfully, Ji Young-hee smiled as she answered, "He’s staying with Chairman Park Cheol-joo."

    She raised her hands in mock exasperation, shaking her head.

    "He finally got what he wanted."

    "What do you mean?"

    "He’s finally living the life of a chaebol."

    Her explanation shed light on what had happened.

    Apparently, her father, Ji Chang-soo, had purchased Park Cheol-joo’s estate—or what was left of it.

    I didn’t ask how he’d managed to amass the money during an apocalypse, but Ji Chang-soo had somehow become the proud owner of the Seokju Group’s ruined mansion.

    Ji Young-hee even showed me a photo.

    The only thing he did right was marry well.His greatest achievement was nepotism, thriving under government protection.Without his father’s shadow, he wouldn’t even manage a corner store.

    “INFP? INFP?”

    Park Cheol-joo suddenly leaned in close, blurting out nonsense.

    “...What?”

    “Are you an INFP?”

    “What are you talking about?”

    “Don’t you know MBTI?”

    I vaguely recalled hearing about it—a personality test dividing people into sixteen types. Another pseudo-science, no different from zodiac signs or blood type personality theories.

    Certainly not a topic I expected from someone claiming to be a business mogul.

    “You seem like an INFP. Am I right?”

    “I have no idea what that is.”

    “I’m an ENFP. The Campaigner! Full of spark and creativity—that’s me!”

    He grinned brightly, rattling off his MBTI type like an excitable teenager.

    For a moment, I genuinely wondered if this man was just a middle schooler masquerading as a chairman.

    “Ha! They say INFPs and ENFPs don’t really click, and it’s true! I’m not feeling that spark between us.”

    What was with the piercing gaze he’d given me earlier?

    Was he evaluating me based on personality types this whole time?

    “Take this quick test.”

    He handed me a tablet.

    "Free Personality Type Assessment (MBTI)"

    “Try it. It won’t take long.”

    “No.”

    “Just once! What’s the harm?”

    “I said no.”

    Seeing my growing annoyance, he backed off, smiling slyly and pointing at me with both index fingers.

    “Knew it—you’re totally an INFP!”

    This was Park Cheol-joo.

    *

    “Chairman Park has been like this ever since the bombardment,” explained a man introduced as Park Cheol-joo’s son-in-law, Go Seong-jun.

    “He was always cheerful, but he’s become even more lively since then.”

    “It sounds like he’s been eating a lot of salted pollock roe,” I quipped.

    “...?”

    “Never mind. Please, continue.”

    Go Seong-jun, a sharp-looking man, cast me a skeptical glance, his expression wordlessly saying, "This guy?"

    I wasn’t sure if my joke warranted such a dry reaction. At least Ji Young-hee chuckled softly beside us.

    Once the mood settled, Go Seong-jun resumed speaking.

    The Mission

    “We need your escort to the rendezvous point with the Chinese. Aside from the mutant dogs, there shouldn’t be significant danger.”

    The Chinese.

    I couldn’t help but be curious. What kind of lives were the Chinese, who had landed on this land, leading? What circumstances drove them to trade with Koreans despite the chaos?

    “We’re prepared to offer food, fuel, and medical services as compensation. Ten hours a week of duty at most. We also have a specialist doctor—this could be a good chance for you to get a health checkup!”

    “A specialist?”

    That caught my attention.

    But the primary reason I accepted the offer wasn’t the doctor—it was Gold.

    Kim Pil-seong was, as far as I knew, a former A-rank Hunter by the old standards. He was highly experienced and armed with top-tier Hunter equipment.

    His group of soldiers wasn’t ordinary either.

    Though dressed in civilian clothes, I was certain they were military men. Soldiers who had seen significant combat, likely former members of the Corps faction''s private army.

    If they clashed with Gold, he’d literally end up as dog meat.

    Of course, my curiosity about the Chinese also played a significant role in my decision.

    The Rendezvous

    We set out in SUVs toward the rendezvous point.

    The area was a reclaimed land strip bordered to the south by a zombie-infested city and to the north by a deep bay that resembled a river.

    From a distance, the Chinese approached in modified SUVs with their headlights on.

    The red flags attached to their vehicles stirred memories of a tedious past.

    “Be cautious. Who knows what they’re planning,” Kim Pil-seong warned.

    Drones from both sides hovered overhead, scanning for ambushes or dangerous equipment.

    After a prolonged standoff and mutual surveillance, the two groups finally met.

    Kim Pil-seong, fluent in Chinese, began speaking with a man dressed in tattered military fatigues.

    Their conversation seemed productive. After some time, the two exchanged fist bumps.

    Food and fuel were handed over from our side, while the Chinese brought forward a heavy piece of equipment loaded on a forklift.

    The machinery was so massive that it made the 3.5-ton truck carrying it wobble under its weight.

    Though I knew aircraft engines were large, this engine for a 15-seat jet seemed excessively oversized.

    A Disturbing Discovery

    A sudden gust of wind from the bay dislodged a wooden panel covering the equipment.

    What lay beneath was not an engine.

    It was a simple, conical piece of metal.

    Not an aircraft engine.

    I knew instantly what it was.

    My stomach churned as the realization struck me.

    It was a nuclear bomb.

    I averted my eyes, pretending not to notice.

    There was no other choice.

    Acknowledging what I had seen would only invite trouble.

    And trouble was the last thing I needed.