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The sushi shop owner, who couldn’t sell pufferfish poison, let out a deep sigh and irritably slammed down a fish. The flailing fish fainted on the spot.

“Even the people with bows come asking for the poison I’m supposed to throw away. But I use farmed pufferfish. No poison.”

“Ah…”

I was lost in thought for a moment before lifting my head.

How to get pufferfish poison from this tough owner? I thought of sneaking away with a trash bag, scavenger-style, since the pufferfish innards would just be thrown out as regular trash anyway.

But if there’s no poison to begin with, it’s pointless. I quickly changed my approach.

“Do you know any sushi shops that use wild pufferfish?”

“Hmm. Even if there are, the supply’s been dry lately.”

Swish, swish, swish—

The knife skillfully prepared the fish, slicing it into bite-sized pieces with an artistic touch.

It was the gesture of a master who had poured passion and time into their craft. But even such a master seemed stressed, as a dark tone crept into their voice.

“Because of the zombies, the supply’s been cut off. Business has been so bad that I can barely manage deliveries. I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

Even in the apocalypse, a chef stubbornly running their business vents their struggles.

Suddenly, my inner aspiring scenario writer jumped out. A life of relentless challenges without giving up on dreams. That experience resonated with the chef.

‘If he can’t get fish, he might start serving zombie sashimi.’

A bizarre scene popped into my head.

A city with dried-up logistics. Streets running out of food. The only lit-up sushi shop, where the owner, grinning eerily, prepares zombies like pufferfish.

“The respiratory system of zombies has poison, so it needs detoxification. But this part here is edible.”

The owner, with human organs tattooed instead of fish, preparing zombies…

I shuddered involuntarily before snapping back to reality. A disappointed sigh escaped me.

“I was going to use it as poison for zombies. What a shame.”

“If you’re looking for poison, wouldn’t it be better to search for mushrooms? Even with fish, if the supply dries up, you can’t get any.”

The owner, neatly packing sushi into lunchbox-like containers, glanced at me.

Mushrooms, huh. This city has no sea, but mushrooms from the mountains are a steady resource.

Just as I was lost in thought—

Ding-dong, the bell on the door rang as a group of people rushed in. They looked like the local vigilante group, wearing fluorescent vests and taking off their helmets.

“Hey, boss. Bring us some good sake and sushi.”

“…You still haven’t paid for the last tab.”

The atmosphere turned tense. The owner narrowed his eyes at them, while the unwelcome guests, more like thugs than vigilantes, laughed and brandished their weapons.

“Payment? We’re the ones protecting your business. It’s only possible because we’re killing zombies. Don’t be stingy over a few meals.”

So, they’re more like a local gang than a vigilante group.

I assessed their weapons. They weren’t impressive—just leather jackets and crowbars.

‘Even the Delivery Vigilante Group seems stronger.’

They didn’t seem to have the potential to grow into a large organization like Pastor’s Hope Church. No need to plan any weeding operations.

I casually spoke to the owner.

“Owner, pack three servings of the freshest stuff. Oh, and make it sea fish.”

Since I’m here, I might as well pack some sushi for the pillager family. Once the supply dries up, we won’t be able to eat this anymore.

“Sure. Order confirmed. I’ll serve these folks first, then handle the delivery orders. Is that okay?”

“I don’t mind waiting.”

Time isn’t an issue.

I need to think about the poison I can obtain long-term. Or the poison overflowing in the city. Antifreeze isn’t bad, but you’d need to drink almost a whole bottle to reach the lethal dose.

‘Are there any drugs in hospitals or pharmacies that can be used as poison? Something that kills in small doses. Or mushrooms?’

As I tapped on my phone, one of the thugs approached me.

The leader of this patrol group, an uncle, looked me over and handed me a business card.

“Young man, you look sturdy. How about working with us?”

“…Work?”

I took the card and read it. Some fancy title like “Safety Measures Committee Member” for this district. A classic scam tactic. Impressive-sounding names.

“We’re doing good work here. Keeping the streets safe from zombies! Helping shopkeepers and their families make a living!”

He sat right next to me, gesturing enthusiastically as he tried to persuade me.

“But we need more hands. Young man, what do you say? The pay isn’t great, but you won’t go hungry.”

“No thanks. I’m good.”

I chuckled and placed the card on the table. I memorized the address of their headquarters.

I’ll add them to the pillaging list if needed. That’s all they’re worth. Not real experts or survivors.

But the card fluttered off the table and landed on the floor. The thug glared at it, then angrily spoke up.

“Young man, where are your manners? I’m being nice here!”

He stood up abruptly, towering over me. The weapon in his hand looked menacing, and the other vigilantes and the owner glanced at me nervously.

This is awkward.

‘Why did the card fall?’

Really bad luck. I was trying to let it slide.

I pondered for a moment. I have a lot of weapons on me, but which one’s appropriate right now?

‘I’ll pull out the water gun.’

I took out a small water gun and aimed it at his head. His face, mask lowered to eat.

The thugs hesitated when they saw the water gun. In a normal world, it would look like a joke, but not in this city.

“…Virus?”

“Yep. Remember that guy who sprayed antibodies with a sprayer? Good idea, huh.”

It’s a water gun mixed with zombie saliva after the wave. Perfect for a restaurant setting.

“You, you crazy man! A terrorist?!”

“Put on your helmets!”

The vigilantes hurriedly pulled up their masks and put on their helmets. They brandished their weapons threateningly, but—

I pulled out a pistol with my other hand. A gun loaded with three lethal rounds.

“Let’s just let this go. In this world, if tempers flare, someone’s bound to die.”

“Are you robbing the police?”

Their voices were disbelieving, as if they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. The vigilantes backed off.

“Sir, let’s not deal with this lunatic. You shouldn’t mess with people like this.”

As if waiting for those words, the thug turned away.

The tension eased. The thug moved to the far end of the table, and the sound of the owner’s artistic cooking resumed.

I tapped on my phone, searching for mushroom info, and sighed.

‘I really don’t know about mushrooms.’

I can’t tell edible mushrooms from deadly ones. If I mess up, I’ll just end up feeding zombies.

By then, the food was ready. The owner served steaming porridge in a large bowl.

“Seaweed and fresh innards porridge. It’s been raining, so I made something warm to heat you up.”

“You’re the best, boss. I’ve never seen anyone cook as well as you in this district.”

The vigilantes, helmets and masks off, eagerly dug in. They kept glancing at me, still wary.

But their wariness was misplaced.

As they slurped the porridge, drank sake, laughed, and stuffed sushi into their mouths, one of the thugs touched his lips and asked.

“By the way, what fish innards are in this porridge? It’s delicious.”

“Must be good. It’s a rare ingredient. Probably a taste you’ve never had before.”

“No wonder. The sushi didn’t taste as good.”

The owner observed the thug with an unreadable gaze, like a chef carefully watching a customer’s reaction to their dish. Or like a cold scientist analyzing an experiment.

He spoke.

“It’s wild pufferfish innards. Are your lips feeling numb? Is nausea rising?”

“What?”

The vigilantes froze. They stared at the owner in shock, then stood up abruptly. But the poison must have already spread to their limbs.

Thud, two of them collapsed.

The owner looked at them curiously.

“I added way more than the lethal dose. The symptoms are showing up fast.”

“Why, why.”

The thug tried to speak, but his words were slurred. His tongue felt stiff.

“It’s the price of the meal. Real customers’ food went into your mouths, so you have to pay the price. By the way, how did it taste? I’ve never tried wild pufferfish innards myself.”

“Eek, eek.”

The thug and vigilantes moved jerkily, like broken machines. Paralysis.

The owner sighed regretfully.

“Such a shame. I wanted to hear your description of the taste.”

He’s insane. Is it the apocalypse? Crazy people are popping up everywhere.

The owner, who had hidden the pufferfish poison for himself, pulled out a chilling knife and slashed the thug’s throat as he crossed the table. The blade, as natural as slicing sashimi, cleanly severed the carotid artery.

As the blade turned toward the other paralyzed vigilantes—

I stepped in.

“Owner, that’s a bit much.”

“…You wanted the pufferfish poison, right? I’ll give it to you, so don’t interfere—”

“It’s not that. If they all die from knife wounds, it’ll look suspicious.”

I’ll help a bit in exchange for the poison. I pulled out a hammer and snatched the crowbar from the thug’s hand.

A voice mixed with shock erupted from my mouth.

“Oh my! The vigilantes turned into zombies! Killing each other! What a tragic scene!”

The crowbar I raised high came down on the twitching face of a paralyzed vigilante. The hook-like part smashed into his face, followed by the rice bowl, hammer, and other vigilantes’ weapons brutally striking people.

In an instant, the upscale sushi shop turned into a chaotic mess. Corpses littered the place.

I marveled.

‘Poison is indeed the best.’

Fighting so many directly wouldn’t have been as safe.

The owner chuckled behind me. Whether it was admiration or shock, I couldn’t tell.

“Customer, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a customer. Just give me the poison. Don’t lie and say you don’t have it.”

The owner went back to the kitchen and started packing the hidden pufferfish innards into a side dish container.

The back of a master who had dedicated his life to cooking.

I quietly watched him.

‘Recruitment is a no-go.’

He’s a pillager reject. Not because he’s worthless or his personality doesn’t fit. It’s not that. The owner has a dream.

Cooking is his joy, and serving his dishes to customers is his happiness.

He’ll probably keep running his business even in a zombie-filled apocalypse. That’s his dream.

‘He doesn’t fit with pillagers.’

We pillagers have no dreams. We’re beast-like humans surviving day by day. Castaways swept away by the waves of viruses and zombies.

Drifters without self-realization or dreams for the future, facing dangers as they come, scavenging for the resources needed to live.

But there’s something to learn from the owner.

A realization struck me.

‘Poison, disguise.’

The owner’s madness was mixed with his dream as a chef. Pufferfish poison was disguised as delicious food. Mushrooms and other toxic creatures are the same.

Simple poison has little meaning. Poison and madness cleverly disguised are the light this era needs. In other words, vision and leadership.

I bowed my head slightly, lost in thought.

‘What should the pillager group aim for?’

What should we strive for in the waves of disaster? Should we just wander, battered by the daily onslaught? It’s a tough question.

By then, the owner handed me something. Pufferfish innards packed in a disposable container, like the ones used for soybean paste soup or dongchimi.

“It won’t kill many. Tetrodotoxin’s lethal dose is 16mg, but this is mixed with blood and innards. And if you use a small amount, symptoms take 3 to 6 hours to show.”

“Got it, I’ll use it well. …By the way, when will the packed order be ready?”

“I’ll clean up the shop later. I’ll make yours first.”

The owner sanitized his hands and knife neatly, then started slicing sashimi again.

A peaceful atmosphere flowed through the sushi shop at noon.

***

Every group has its poisonous individuals. People who only ruin the group, offer no help, and slowly drive the group to its death.

So, what happens to a group when the poisonous individuals leave?

I found the answer from Rider Zero.

“Hello, owner! I’m here for a delivery, but… huh? Aren’t these the local vigilantes?”

Rider Zero, who came for a delivery order, stood at the entrance, looking surprised. The owner calmly explained.

“Someone turned into a zombie, and they started killing each other. It’ll take a bit to finish packing your order. Is that okay?”

“Of course! These guys always looked grumpy anyway. Good riddance. …Oh, Deacon Kwon, is that you?”

Rider Zero, sitting next to me after taking off her helmet, looked at me with wide eyes.

“The church, no, the community really misses you. What have you been up to lately?”

“Just living. How’s the church?”

I hid my resentment and asked her, pretending to be concerned about the community I left. I was genuinely curious too.

Is it time to harvest?

She laughed cheerfully.

“They’re doing great. I’ve been around, and they’re the most well-prepared.”

“…Really?”

Why, why are they doing well? This makes us, the pillager members, seem like the cancer of the group. Me, Thief Elder, Electric Thief. Just the three of us left, and they’re thriving?

This doesn’t make sense.

“How are they handling zombie waves?”

“They’re not coming, apparently.”

…Not coming? Why? Why? Why?

Rider Zero explained casually.

“After one fight, they must’ve decided it wasn’t worth it. Even the muscle zombies are attacking other places now. The church building’s practically a fortress. The metalworkers’ union? Someone who worked there joined and helped with the armaments.”

She described the building’s features.

Molotov cocktails, slingshots, slingshot bolts, car doors and hoods ripped off for makeshift shields. Most importantly, the people’s faces were filled with hope, a sense of belonging, and unity.

I was stunned. The Hope Community we left was thriving. Really thriving.

 

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