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The battle to reclaim the mart ended with the military’s victory. But it was a victory filled with wounds.

After the battle, soldiers who had thrown off their gas masks wore expressions of madness. They sat scattered about two meters apart, clutching their heads, smoking with trembling hands, or staring blankly into the void while holding their firearms.

Someone was sobbing, clutching the corpse of another soldier.

The squad leaders and company commanders were no different. They barely held onto their sanity while managing the aftermath, their faces dark. One squad leader was even vomiting.

I quietly recalled the battlefield I had seen through the drone.

“The firepower was impressive. But that’s all.”

Rifles and machine guns supporting the firepower. They poured out an overwhelming amount of bullets, enough to clear out the swarming zombies. The casualty exchange ratio was almost at the level of a massacre.

But many soldiers also died. The consumption of ammunition, which was hard to replenish, was also a problem.

The gains were minimal. I turned my gaze toward the military.

“…”

The company commander stood still, his head bowed, looking at the duffel bag.

They had collected the remaining resources from the mart, but there wasn’t much. Many had been torn apart by zombies, and many more had been contaminated by the virus after being hit by bullets during the battle.

A victory, but one with greater losses. If you consider the exchange of human resources—soldiers—and material resources—ammunition—it was almost like being scammed.

The police officer leader smirked.

“You underestimated the zombies. The attack itself didn’t make sense from the start. Where are you going to replenish soldiers and ammunition after they’re gone?”

He was right. To maximize the military’s advantages against zombies, they needed to focus on defense. They needed to create a battlefield where they could use barbed wire, machine guns, artillery support, tanks—all the tools of war.

If they fought like that once, the zombies wouldn’t even come.

But if they went on the offensive, they would inevitably suffer terrible resource depletion.

Or they could target people instead of zombies.

I licked my dry lips and lowered my voice.

“No matter how I think about it, the remaining forces can’t clear out the zombies in the city.”

“Of course not. They’d need at least a division-level force or be prepared to turn the city into ruins to even have a chance. It’s impossible.”

“Then how will these forces get food? The losses were this bad just for one mart.”

At my question, everyone fell silent.

For a moment, tense glances were directed at the soldiers. If that firepower were turned on people. If they turned into pillagers. It was just imagination, but it was a highly possible future.

Everyone was already wary of it.

“…But we can’t touch them. The difference in firepower is too severe.”

“No, there is a way.”

A direct confrontation is difficult. The only way is to cowardly, long-term shift the losses onto them.

I pointed to the food in the duffel bag. Even from a distance, it was clear there wasn’t much. Instead, the duffel bags and military backpacks they had brought were mostly empty. Their thin shapes seemed to symbolize the military’s extinguished dreams.

It was also a sign that the second wave wasn’t far off.

“There aren’t many resources left in the mart. The zombies gathered in the shopping district will soon spill out into the streets.”

“…Should we hand that over to the military? Waste their ammunition?”

The simple context was just that.

But I added a more detailed plan. I laid out a simple scenario.

Warn them about the second wave and advertise the military as the only hope. If the military accepts it, they’ll engage in battle and deplete their resources. If they don’t? The military’s reputation will be ruined.

“And lately, I’ve been getting messages like this.”

I turned on my phone and showed them a message I had sent from another account.

A recruitment notice from the military. An exaggerated advertisement promising plentiful meals and safe housing. It was a message I had fabricated and spread, but I shook my phone as if I knew nothing.

“Someone, I don’t know who, is trying to push survivors toward the military. Let’s use this too.”

“That’s fake, right? But even fakes can be useful.”

“What kind of message? I didn’t get it.”

That’s when it happened. Someone leaned in to look at my phone. It was Rider Zero.

She had been covering her ears, complaining about the gunfire, but when she saw the message, she made a disgusted sound.

“Isn’t this the guy I blocked?”

“…Who?”

“There was this guy who made a ridiculous request to bring zombies to me before. This feels exactly like him, full of malice.”

“…”

You still remember that? Do you really want to become a zero-life? And malice? Where is there good and evil in the struggle to survive?

Rider Zero stomped her feet and lamented.

“Aren’t people like this more dangerous than the military? They seem like the type who can’t stand to see others succeed. Trying to send zombies to the Hope Community, harassing the military. They’re no different from the people posting about raiding the police.”

That’s also me. It’s annoying. It’s like I’m the bad guy.

I struggled to maintain my expression as I looked at Rider Zero. Are small pranks not enough?

‘…When the fuel runs out, the motorcycle will become trash. We’ll see then.’

Fortunately, no one paid attention to Rider Zero’s words. The police officer leader shook his head dismissively.

“There were crazy people even when the world was fine. There were criminals who killed for no reason. What do you expect in a world like this? Anyway, let’s do it indirectly.”

Having set our direction, we slowly retreated. The battle was over. We had confirmed the military’s results, so there was no reason to stay.

The mart, now just ruins, grew distant. I suddenly looked at the mart. A battlefield where only defeat remained. Zombies died, people died, and there was no food.

In the end, even if everyone dies, it’s a world where you have to fight just to not die immediately.

***

The most scarce resource in the city was food. All sorts of mechanical devices and other resources were abundant. Blankets, clothes, computers, printers, gas burners, pots, lighters—these tools actually lasted longer than food.

Enough to make flyers and distribute them.

Many groups scattered warnings and advertisements at the same time.

Warnings that a zombie wave was coming soon. Warnings to prepare for the summer monsoon.

Advertisements that the military would prevent this by clearing out the zombies. Images of the military easily cleaning out marts were added, advertising that clearing zombies was nothing for the military.

Some groups even mixed in fake recruitment ads.

‘It’s a time-consuming task. We’ll have to take it slow and see how things go.’

The apocalypse I created was slowly spreading. Few believed it, but many knew about the contents of the apocalypse.

That was important. Distrust? It’s a necessary step for prophecies or apocalypses. Just like in disaster movies where the scientist warning of disaster is persecuted, the story becomes more believable after persecution.

“This is also farming.”

Planting the seeds of information and words in people’s hearts. I wonder how it will bloom.

And the intangible farming took many forms.

Children. Originally, they would have gone through resocialization in school, learning the necessary knowledge to become members of society. But in the apocalypse, they received education to become excellent survivors.

I watched as the children received various kinds of education from the adults.

“Don’t think about fighting. You can’t win by charging in.”

“Don’t shoot water guns at people. Aim at anyone threatening you. Aim for the face when you shoot.”

Out on the streets, using the zombies I had tied up as teaching materials.

Jeondohyeong, who was watching beside me, glanced at me.

“You’re not calling this human farming, are you? No, it seems like it. Keep that thought to yourself. Saying it won’t do any good.”

“What human farming? These kids are already pulling their weight. There’s no need to raise them further.”

“…Are you really a madman?”

Jeondohyeong shook his head and turned on his phone, exchanging messages with Na Yae-ji.

I had no interest in that. I quietly watched the children.

The school and education system had long since collapsed. If the current adults are the first generation of the apocalypse, what kind of world will the second generation, who grew up in the apocalypse, or the third generation, born into this world, live in?

The disconnection of knowledge, the barbarism that has become basic, the possibility of not even recognizing the remnants of civilization. Living by blindly believing safety rules like boiling water or covering your mouth without understanding why.

I suddenly lamented like an elder marveling at technological advancement.

‘That would be interesting too. Was I born too early?’

If this world is the apocalypse, wouldn’t the world they grow up in be post-apocalyptic?

As I thought this, the children’s mother hesitantly approached the uncle. She carefully held her phone and brought up a topic.

“Excuse me, would it be okay to invite a teacher?”

“A teacher? Is there a surviving teacher?”

I also turned my head. A teacher? It’s possible. Before the apocalypse got serious, there were online lectures.

But is it necessary? Do we need that kind of manpower?

“Yes… They said they would teach the children if we provide food and housing. I want the children to receive proper education.”

“Wait. Give me the teacher’s number.”

The suspicious uncle wanted to investigate first. I frowned.

What’s the point of studying in a world like this? They should be making more flower pots or learning how to deal with zombies and people.

And the teacher didn’t seem good either. Asking for food and housing.

“They’re just kids. They shouldn’t only learn harsh things.”

“It seems like a simple teacher. We’ll interview them first and decide.”

But regardless of my thoughts, the people saw the children as the future’s hope and invited the teacher.

“Uh… Goodbye!”

The teacher fled after seeing the corpse crosses and the hanging protestor’s corpse. As people looked at me with incomprehensible glances, I awkwardly scratched my head.

The scarecrow’s performance was excellent.

 

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