[TL: Due to lacking support this series may be cancelled if you wish for it to continue message in the discord server.]

"Ghhhk…"

I tried to get up.

But my body wouldn’t move.

My arms—

They wouldn’t bend.

What time was it?

How long had I been asleep?

"Urgh…"

The hard floor had felt fine yesterday.

But now—my back, my legs, my neck—

Everything was stiff.

"Whoa, whoa. Don’t move all at once."

A firm hand steadied me, carefully pulling me upright.

Through my half-lidded eyes, a water bottle appeared.

"The sun is up, time to wake up."

“…Hard to tell when everything’s pitch black.”

“We’re in a bunker, but we still need to keep a schedule.”

There was a clock, then.

Made sense.

A clock would keep rest and work periods in order.

But… the debuff from sleeping on bare ground wasn’t a joke.

I needed to build at least a makeshift bed—fast.

“I checked the electric stove. We’re finally getting a proper meal—canned ham.”

“…Canned ham?”

Canned ham.

I knew ham—especially with rice, it was oily, savory and delicious.

But canned ham?

"I know it’s terrible, but we’re not exactly getting premium pork cuts in this hellhole and bacon? Forget about it."

Any meat was good with freshly cooked rice.

But this was a post-apocalyptic mix of Russia and America.

So… how did they eat canned ham here?

Did they spread it on bread?

Wait… Did they even have bread?

“Oh, and… Sarah woke up.”

“That’s good.”

Injured people were usually a burden.

They consumed resources without contributing.

If infection set in, we’d burn through medical supplies and if her caretaker got injured, it could spread even further.

Recovering fast was best for everyone.

“Since we’re eating anyway, could you check on her condition?”

I wasn’t a doctor.

But with those eyes full of trust, I couldn’t exactly say no.

Limping through the halls, I saw the fortified barricades sealing the entrance.

Zombies couldn’t climb and even if they did, we’d hear them.

So it was safe—for now.

Then—

That smell.

That salty, smoky smell—

Oh, no.

“…That’s the canned ham?”

"Smells great, doesn’t it?"

That was Spam.

That was literally Spam.

“My dad taught me this. It’s better grilled—pairs well with stale crackers."

No.

There was no better way than eating it over steaming white rice.

"You probably haven’t tried it, but it’s a surprisingly good meal. Of course… not exactly the same as a proper breakfast—bacon, eggs, toast…."

Bacon, eggs, toast.

Bacon needed a ranch for pigs.

Eggs needed chickens.

Bread meant farming wheat.

In the game, I’d force-fed survivors rations for efficiency.

But a real meal?

It actually reduced depression.

“We’re here, Sarah’s inside.”

Lost in thought, I had reached the makeshift living quarters.

The room was next to the medical bay, likely a storage area before it was repurposed.

Scattered across the floor were thin sleeping mats.

"Oh, the doctor is finally up."

When did I go from yellow monkey to doctor?

James led the way as I leaned against the wall.

Huh.

Power cables.

This detail hadn’t been in the game.

“How’s your body?”

“Sore, but manageable.”

"I could tell, you were running around non-stop yesterday. Figured you’d need some protein."

Ah.

That oily, salty scent.

The kind that clogged arteries.

…Should I just grow rice?

If I could find seeds, it was possible.

It would be late-game content, though and I’d need a farmer.

Or I’d have to learn it myself and farming wasn’t going to get game mechanics to help me.

“What are you thinking about? Staring at the meat like that.”

"I'm not drooling over—oh."

James and Curtis were staring at me.

I wiped my mouth.

Damn.

That much?

"You ever had it before?"

"Uh, yeah. In Korea, we have Budae Jjigae—‘Army Stew.’ It started with old U.S. military rations—canned ham, beans, sausages… sometimes cheese."

“…Stew? With canned ham?"

"Yeah. We’d mix it with beef broth, canned beans in ketchup sauce—"

Curtis’s expression soured.

James’s too.

“…It’s delicious."

“…Didn’t realize Koreans were into weird food."

"W-We eat anything. It’s good, trust me."

Why were they reacting like this?

It was good.

…No.

I needed to speed up our tech tree.

They needed to taste Spam with rice.

Fast.

"Anyway… Can you check on Sarah?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Curtis waved me off, his face still twisted with mild disgust.

Leaving the kitchen, I walked down the darkened hall.

The medical bay was slightly open.

But if I just walked in—

Knock, knock.

There was movement inside.

"Come in—ehem—come in."

A hoarse voice.

Slowly, I pushed the door open.

Inside, Sarah was sitting up, her hair a tangled mess.

“…Mm.”

One look told me she needed her bandages changed.

There was alcohol in the emergency kit, right?

Without speaking, I sanitized my hands, slipping on gloves.

From the corner, a deep inhale.

"—I heard you saved me."

"It was just what needed to be done."

Snap.

I tightened my gloves, carefully cutting away the bandages.

Blood had dried around the wound.

Gently, I dabbed at the seeping fluids.

“‘Needed to be done,’ huh.”

Sarah watched me, her expression unreadable.

Then—

She flinched.

"Ugh—!"

"Does it hurt?"

"The alcohol—hiss…"

"Jeez."

I quickly covered the wound with gauze and wrapped a fresh bandage around it.

It would take time to fully heal.

"Think you can move?"

"I'm starving... Maybe after I eat something."

"Fair enough."

"I’ll bring food. Grilled canned ham and crackers, I think?"

"…I haven’t eaten anything green in so long."

"Vegetables."

"Yeah, vegetables. I know it’s a luxury, but… Cola. I miss Cola."

That settles it.

The moment we fortify this place, I’m starting a farm.

"I was just complaining. If I said that to Dad or Grandpa, they’d just remind me how many times I’ve said it already. I know it’s not their fault but…"

She pressed a hand against her wound, then grabbed painkillers and a bottle of water from her bedside.

Her feet touched the ground—a brief grimace—

"Let’s go, time to eat."

"I was going to bring it here."

"You said we need to keep this room clean, right? And my leg’s not broken."

Most people would rest more.

But she was pushing herself.

Why?

"Are you coming?"

"Just finishing up here."

She nodded and limped toward the door.

Soon, laughter and conversation filled the halls.

Of course.

She was the treasured daughter and granddaughter of this family.

Leaving the medical bay, my gaze naturally drifted to the barricades.

"…"

I gave them a shake.

Pressed my foot against them.

Solid.

They wouldn’t fall easily—

"Gyaaah!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

M-My hand—!

Even in the dark, I saw it.

That was—

"What’s wro—FUCK!"

The flashlight flickered on, revealing—

A horde of zombies pressing against the barricade.

Their arms flailing, pushing, leaning their weight into the metal sheets.

"You didn’t get bit, did you?!"

"N-No! Don’t shoot!"

They were drawn by the light and the smell of food.

Luckily, they were old, slow zombies—

But still.

"Shit, I’m low on ammo."

"How many?"

At least ten, maybe more.

"Checking the other side—"

"Sarah, give Hyunwoo the shotgun."

"Got it."

If we didn’t deal with this, it would happen every meal and if we didn’t clean up the bodies, the rotting stench would make life unbearable.

"No time to rest."

Either we killed them now—

Or we built the firepower to handle them later.

"The other side is clear."

"No activity, we should move."

"No, we hold this position."

Other characters in this game thrived as wanderers.

Leave the spawn point.

Scavenge efficiently.

Get into a larger city-run community.

Earn money through quests.

Buy food.

Repeat.

That was how most players survived.

But me?

I was a Crafter.

I could build anything with my own hands and my goal wasn’t wandering—it was to build my own community.

A place so self-sufficient, I wouldn’t have to lift a finger.

I had to push through this early hardship.

"Hold this place? We don’t have the ammo."

"The generator’s running, the water pump needs checking."

"The medical bay is built, but we can always—"

"Sarah is injured, she needs rest or her wound will reopen."

"…If you’re treating me differently because I’m a woman, I—"

"You’re not a woman right now. You’re an injured person and if that wound festers, I can’t fix it."

It had nothing to do with gender.

To me, everyone here was future labor.

If one of them died, James and Curtis would lose it.

Worst case? Suicide.

That was something I could not afford.

"We’re low on ammo, right?"

"5.56 and buckshot, both."

"If it’s buckshot, I can make some right now."

Their stares all turned toward me.

"…You’re joking."

"I’m not. If you bring me the materials, I can do it."

That was the Crafter’s job.

Guns.

Power.

Water.

Food.

A Crafter could make it all.

"Get me scrap metal, gunpowder and plastic containers."

"That’s… all you need?"

"Move, before more show up."

Before even eating, I grabbed the welder and metal sheets.

I had to work fast.