Clatter. Click. Thud.

We found the medical bay.

But inside, it was a mess—blood and filth covered the floors and walls.

I sent the others outside for a moment and got to work.

The medicines I had already gathered were placed on the shelves.

Normally, I’d have to gather scrap, build a makeshift workbench and break down about twenty storage crates just to level up my skill—

But Crafters didn’t need that.

It was an innate ability.

Clack.

I picked up the broken tiles, setting them in the Crafting Kit for reassembly.

Crafters could repair structures by collecting basic materials.

Other classes had to hire or request help.

But a Crafter could just do it themselves.

“Alright, that’s the tiles done.”

I laid a cleaning cloth soaked in detergent over a stained cover.

It was still strange—how my body moved on its own.

The stench of old blood stung my nose.

Three major battles—spiders, zombies and the Hammerhead.

Carrying heavy supplies. Moving constantly. Hours of work.

Logically, I should’ve collapsed from exhaustion by now.

But like a character in-game, my body kept going, scrubbing away the bloodstains.

Scrub. Scrub.

In the apocalypse, infection was the greatest enemy.

Sick bays where unclean people constantly entered.

Blood-covered rooms where the injured were left to rot.

If a wounded person stayed in the wrong place, they’d be dead within days.

Antibiotics would be ideal, but finding them wasn’t easy.

Basic medicine production required pharmaceutical knowledge and unless we happened to find a group of pharmacists, we’d need an entire school to train them.

It wasn’t a simple task.

"Done."

But treating wounds before they got infected solved the problem.

A clean medical room and basic medical knowledge were enough.

Rumble. Thunk-thunk-thunk.

Right on time, the generator came online.

The ceiling lights flickered, slowly stabilizing.

There was a sink in the room, but until I checked the water tanks, I couldn’t risk using it.

Snap.

I pulled on rubber gloves from the emergency medical kit and kicked the door open.

"How’s her condition?"

“…Much better, other than the yellow discharge still oozing from her wound. It means the antidote is working, let's move."

I lifted Sarah onto the examination table, placing a metal basin beneath her leg.

As I pressed around the wound, a mix of blood and venom oozed freely.

“…We’ll have to leave it like this until the rest of the poison drains. She’ll be weak, so she’ll need something warm to eat.”

“I’ll check the canned food.”

"Not yet, the smell of blood and the generator noise will attract things. We need a barricade first."

"Then… the metal furniture?"

"Exactly, unused steel cabinets would work."

Curtis, who had been holding Sarah’s hand, finally spoke.

“There’s welding equipment nearby. You probably noticed—this bunker was almost finished. The unfinished residential areas and power rooms still have a lot of tools lying around.”

That was good.

If I could start welding early, our barricades would be stronger.

Even makeshift weapons could have higher durability.

I drained more of the venom into a plastic container.

As I worked, Curtis placed a hand on mine.

“I apologize… For earlier.”

I tore off a handful of gauze, gently wiping away the fluids.

Alcohol wipes were rare, but once we had a distillery, we could make our own.

"I understand, family is important."

In the game, blood-related NPCs had high loyalty to each other.

If you acted hostile, they’d immediately retaliate—sometimes fatally.

More than once, I’d tried to recruit a survivor—only to find out they were related to a hostile raider, leading to an ugly family reunion.

Of course, if you treated them well, they repaid you in full.

"Do you… have family?"

"It's not common for entire families to enter bunkers together."

“…I see, my apologies."

I finished wrapping the bandages and handed Curtis a bottle of ibuprofen from the shelf.

"If the pain gets too bad, let her take one pill with water."

“Painkillers?”

"Yes."

“…Alright."

I peeled off the rubber gloves and tossed them into the plastic bin.

In the game, you could just burn trash to dispose of it.

Here? It was more complicated.

Back in rural areas, people burned plastic with everything else.

The stench was unbearable.

"When James gets back, I'm heading out to set up the barricades."

“…You’ve pushed yourself enough. Stay here, I’ll stand guard."

"Tomorrow, I won’t be able to move anyway."

Normally, actions were spread out.

The game had a Fatigue System.

After combat? Rest.

After heavy labor? Rest.

After mental shock? Rest.

If you ignored it, your Strength and Agility would take a major debuff.

Creak.

James entered, but I held up an arm, stopping him before he rushed forward.

"I just finished treating her, don’t touch her with dirty hands."

His arms and clothes were covered in oil stains.

His eyes met mine—but they weren’t as hostile as before.

Not like when I was crafting the antidote.

"…"

Sarah, now breathing peacefully, had fallen asleep.

James hesitated.

Then, finally, lowered his head.

“…Thank God."

James staggered, dropping to his knees, his rifle barely holding him up as tears fell to the ground.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be coming with me for this.

I picked up the scrap materials, stood up and closed the door behind me.

A barricade needed wooden planks and metal scraps.

I couldn’t use metal scraps—they were too valuable for tools.

Which meant I had to break down nearby supply crates.

Crack.

I cut the wood multiple times with my knife, weakening the structure before prying it apart.

After repeating the process several times, planks tumbled onto the ground.

I dumped them into the marked crafting zone, drawn in white chalk and then my body moved on its own.

I stacked the planks.

Hammered in the nails scavenged from the broken crates.

Thin planks shouldn’t have been this sturdy.

Yet before I knew it, I was standing behind a waist-high barricade.

“…Looks solid.”

"Ah."

James approached, carrying several metal sheets and bundles of planks.

He dropped them beside me.

“I brought some reinforcement materials and… you asked for a welding kit.”

It was the same welding kit engineers carried in-game.

With this, my progress would skyrocket.

A few metal sheets, wooden planks, and about eight nails—

That was all it took to build a proper workbench and with a workbench—

I could craft military-grade firearms.

Even if they were civilian models, limited to semi-auto, it was still better than nothing.

Even better, I’d be able to manufacture magazines and rifle rounds.

“Sarah… She’s my only daughter.”

“If you’re trying to apologize, I’ll accept it in welding supplies.”

“No, I just… thought you should hear this.”

Holding the welder, James sat down.

He ran a hand through his beard.

“My father is a war hero. Before all this, he was invited to ceremonies, taken on tours of old battlefields and he was even interviewed.”

“Normandy.”

“Normandy, yeah. Though he never saw his military success as something to be proud of.”

He had called his survival luck.

A battlefield where countless soldiers were gunned down.

A shoreline of blood and bullets, just to secure a beachhead.

Maybe that was why.

“But the son of a successful soldier? Naturally, he’d look up to his father. People around me pushed me in that direction, too… so I enlisted. Same unit as my father.”

He cleared his throat, coughing before pulling a water bottle from his pack.

He offered it to me.

No reason to refuse.

I was exhausted.

“When my daughter was six, I was deployed to Iraq. A battlefield where mortar shells and bullets rained constantly. Some called it an easy war—but there’s no such thing as an ‘easy battlefield.’”

“People get shot.”

“Brothers-in-arms scream. Machine guns spit casings like they’re breathing fire. You pull the trigger at shadows, not knowing if you hit anything.”

He finished his bottle and tossed it into the scrap bin.

For a moment, the corridor echoed loudly.

“I was fine with all of it. No matter what people said, I was fighting for my country and I returned alive to my daughter. But then.”

"But then?"

“When Sarah was ten, I got a message. Her mother was cheating with a restaurant employee.”

“…Ah.”

“She was smart or maybe it was revenge against a mother who ignored her. That little girl took photo after photo, sending them to me.”

A long sigh.

The air grew heavier.

“I left the military at forty. After that, I devoted myself to my daughter. I swore to God—I was never neglectful. But my father’s words stuck with me.”

“…What did he say?”

"That the military is the most beautiful lie—it makes patriotism sound sweet, while making you sacrifice the things that matter most."

“…”

"Imagine being a child, sitting in a courtroom, hearing your parents scream legal jargon at each other. Imagine how horrible that must have been and yet—she was so smart, so strong and so proud…”

A few tears fell into his beard.

His hairy forearm wiped them away.

"Hyunwoo… Thank you for saving my daughter."

His deep, steady voice echoed through the corridor.

“If there’s anything I can do to repay you…”

This tone.

It was clear.

I had passed a certain threshold of trust.

I wasn’t just a newcomer anymore.

I was one of them.

In that case—

“We need more metal sheets to reinforce the barricades. More nails and planks, too.”

“…That’s all?”

“Well, it’s not like I can ask for money, can I?”

“I’ve got a wedding ring, small diamond in the setting.”

“...What.”

“If you want it, take it. My ex-wife took the other half anyway, it’s useless to me now.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with a diamond in an apocalypse?

He actually started digging through his pack before I grabbed his wrist.

“No seriously, the supplies are enough.”

“But—you got involved in my daughter’s fight.”

“And isn’t it normal to help someone in your own community?”

I picked up the welder mask, sliding it over my head.

I suddenly remembered.

Back when I first cleared the tutorial in-game.

When my character unlocked welding, but didn’t wear a mask—

He went blind.

"So if it's normal to help you, then it's normal that you brought me these supplies."

“…”

“And one day, I’ll need help, too. That’s more than enough."

James stood in silence.

I turned my back to him.

The muscle pain was already setting in.

I needed to finish before I couldn’t move.

I lowered the mask and fired up the welder.

A blue flame roared to life, illuminating the darkness.

"Get me those metal plates, James. I know you’d rather be resting with your daughter."

As if watching for a moment, his shadow briefly darkened my workspace.

Then—

Thump.

A gentle tap on my back.

Followed by the sound of footsteps retreating down the corridor.

Tsssht. Tsssht.

The wires slid into place as I fused them together.

It was already this easy to gain trust.

I wondered—

How much would they freak out when I started mass-producing ammo?