CHAPTER 60: SUSPICION

The office door clicked shut, and the survivors didn’t know what he was doing in there. To them, it looked like the strange boy who had arrived with military-grade weapons, fought like a soldier, and claimed leadership without hesitation had now locked himself away, leaving them to wonder what schemes brewed behind those closed doors.

Down in the basement, the atmosphere was brittle. The fifty-five survivors huddled in groups, voices hushed but tense, eyes flicking often toward the stairwell that led up to the main floor. Every now and then, someone muttered Riku’s name like a curse. Others kept silent, but their silence carried its own sharp edge.

Murata sat against the wall with three of the older men who had been with him from the beginning. His hands were clasped, elbows resting on his knees, his jaw tight as he listened to the murmurs ripple around them.

"He’s dangerous," one of the men whispered harshly. His name was Takuya, a broad-shouldered construction worker with a short fuse. "The kid walks in with guns no one in this country should even own, and suddenly he’s barking orders like we’re his soldiers. You saw it—he nearly killed Satoshi for raising a bat. What kind of leader threatens his own people like that?"

"He saved us," another man countered, though his tone carried no confidence. This was Kenji, a thin salaryman with glasses, always the one to try smoothing tensions. "If he hadn’t been here, the dead would’ve poured in through the front. We’d be corpses. Or worse. Maybe we should give him a chance."

"Give him a chance?" Takuya spat on the floor. "You call this leadership? He’s what—eighteen? Nineteen? A kid! And he has more guns than the police ever did. Where the hell did he even get them? You think that’s normal?"

The third man, old Nishimura with his cane, rubbed his jaw. His eyes were tired, but sharp. "Normal doesn’t exist anymore. He’s not wrong about order—we were splitting into factions even before he showed up. Half of you wanted to run, the other half to stay. He forced a decision. That takes steel."

"It takes arrogance," Takuya snapped. "He didn’t ask, he demanded. Next thing you know, he’ll be rationing how many bites we’re allowed to eat or who gets to breathe air. Mark my words, Murata—this boy’s not here to save us. He’s here to rule us."

Murata’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t spoken since the conversation began, but the weight of his silence pressed heavier than any argument. He remembered the fight upstairs—the way Riku had dismantled men twice his size without killing them, the way his eyes had burned like tempered steel. Murata knew discipline when he saw it. Riku wasn’t flailing like the rest of them; he was trained, or at least something close to it.

But that was exactly what unsettled him.

"Murata," Nishimura said, turning to him now. "You’re the one the people listen to. What do you think? Is this boy really fit to lead us?"

The room quieted, heads turning toward Murata. Even those across the basement strained their ears, waiting for his answer.

Murata leaned back slowly, arms folding across his chest. His voice, when it came, was calm, but heavy. "He’s strong. Smarter than most of us. And he knows how to fight. That much is clear."

Some nods. Some frowns.

"But," Murata continued, his tone sharpening, "strength alone doesn’t make a leader. He gave us rules, yes—but rules built on fear. You all felt it. Every word was a threat. That kind of leadership... it doesn’t last. It breeds resentment."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the survivors. Takuya smirked, vindicated.

Kenji pushed his glasses up nervously. "Then what do we do? He has the guns. He has the food locked down already. If we defy him, we’ll just be—"

"Dead," Takuya cut in bitterly. "Or shot."

Nishimura shook his head. "Not necessarily. He didn’t shoot anyone when he had the chance. That tells me he’s holding back. He’s not bloodthirsty. Not yet."

Murata’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling, toward the office above where Riku was holed up. "He’s dangerous because he believes he’s right. Men like that bend others to their will, whether they realize it or not." He leaned forward, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. "I don’t trust him. Not yet. And until I do, we watch him. Closely."

Upstairs, Suzune, Miko, and Ichika lingered near the office door, keeping Hana between them. They hadn’t missed the way some survivors had stared daggers at them in the basement.

"Do you feel it?" Suzune asked quietly, her voice edged with unease.

Miko nodded, her Glock tucked close to her thigh. "They blame us. Not just Riku. Us too. Because we’re with him."

Ichika crossed her arms, scowling. "Let them glare. Without Riku, they’d be dead. They should be grateful."

"That’s not how people work," Suzune said. "Fear twists them. And Murata... he’s not happy."

Inside the office, Riku was still immersed in the System’s interface, scanning aircraft blueprints, calculating costs, weighing options. He didn’t hear the whispers spreading like wildfire below, the muttered curses, the suspicious eyes.

But he felt the tension in the air the moment he stepped out.

When the office door opened, every head in the basement turned toward him. The conversations cut short. The air was thick, charged. Riku’s eyes swept across them, reading the unease in their faces, the way their grips tightened on improvised weapons, the way they clustered closer together as though bracing against him.

He didn’t need the System to tell him what this was. Doubt. Suspicion. Fear.

Murata stood slowly, his frame casting a long shadow against the lantern glow. His eyes locked on Riku’s, cold and assessing.

"You’ve been up there a long time," Murata said evenly. "What exactly are you planning, boy?"

Riku didn’t flinch. He adjusted the sling of his M4 across his chest, his expression unreadable. "Planning how to keep you alive tomorrow. The dead aren’t going to stop knocking just because you don’t like my rules."

Murmurs broke out. Some nods. Some glares.

Takuya’s voice rang louder than the rest. "Or maybe you’re planning how to turn this place into your little kingdom."

A ripple of agreement, ugly and low.

Riku’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm, sharp as glass. "If I wanted a kingdom, you’d already be kneeling. I’m not here to play tyrant. I’m here because without me, you’ll all be corpses by the end of the week."

That silenced them, but only for a heartbeat. The tension didn’t break—it deepened, like a storm gathering weight.

Murata studied him long and hard, then finally spoke. "Then prove it. Not with words. With action."

The basement waited, breathless.

Riku met Murata’s stare, and for a long moment, neither man looked away. The unspoken line between them had been drawn.

This camp wasn’t unified. Not yet. And Riku knew it.

But if he wanted control, if he wanted loyalty—he would have to earn it in a way that left no room for doubt.

Riku turned away from the basement crowd after Murata’s last words, the echo of suspicion still heavy in the air. He didn’t miss the eyes that followed him as he headed back upstairs—eyes that measured him like a stranger who had wandered into their midst, not the one who had kept them alive.

When he reached the office, Suzune was already there, arms folded tight across her chest. Ichika leaned against the wall with a scowl fixed on her face, and Miko stood near the desk, her hand resting on her Glock though she didn’t raise it. Hana sat quietly in the chair, hugging her knees, her wide eyes darting nervously between them all.

Suzune spoke first, her voice soft but sharp at the edges. "Riku, they don’t trust you. And honestly... I don’t think they ever will."

Ichika pushed off the wall, her arms falling to her sides. "She’s right. They look at us like we’re intruders. Outsiders. Every time I walk past, I feel it—the glares, the whispers. It’s not just them not trusting you. It’s us too. We’re not welcome here."

Miko’s expression was colder, harder, but the tightness in her jaw betrayed her unease. "They’re scared. And fear makes people stupid. If it comes down to choosing between us and themselves, they’ll throw us out without hesitation." She tapped the desk lightly, her eyes never leaving his. "I won’t lie, Riku. I don’t feel safe here."

Riku listened, arms folded across his chest, letting their words hang in the stale office air. Hana shifted uncomfortably, leaning closer to Suzune for comfort. The weight of their doubt pressed heavy, but he didn’t flinch.

"Look at me," he said finally. His voice wasn’t raised, but it carried. "Do you think I don’t see it? The way they stare, the way Murata measures every move I make? I know. I feel it too. But listen—this doesn’t end in chaos. It ends with order. They don’t have to like me. They just have to follow. And they will, once they see results."

Suzune’s eyes softened, but her worry didn’t vanish. "And if they don’t?"

"Then we make sure we’re strong enough that it doesn’t matter," Riku said firmly. He glanced at each of them in turn—Suzune, Ichika, Miko. "I promised I’d keep you safe. I don’t care if it’s fifty people in a basement or five hundred—nothing changes that. You’re with me. And as long as I breathe, no one here is going to touch you."

Ichika exhaled, her scowl easing slightly, though she muttered, "You’d better be right."

"Riku..." Miko said in a dreamy sigh.