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The world has been hit by the Apocalypse. A world where poverty and scarcity choke people’s throats. Factories have stopped, logistics have been cut off, and the moment everything halts, death follows.

Even though the world we knew has died, people have stubbornly adapted and survived. Each found their own way to change and endure.

The teacher who visited us recently was no different.

I opened my eyes wide in disbelief, staring at the uncle. I couldn’t believe my ears.

“…A school? You’re saying we’re building a school?”

The teacher had gathered other surviving teachers and tutors to announce a plan to rebuild a school. And not just any school—a large-scale one.

“It’s a big deal. They’re collecting tuition from parents, donations, and even requesting cooperation from the military and police.”

The uncle flipped through his notebook as he continued explaining.

Even in this state of the world, parents’ passion for education hasn’t died. The response has been overwhelmingly positive, and kind-hearted people are making small donations.

Listening to this, it wasn’t just a school—it was the birth of a new community.

A school running on donated food and resources. The military is also involved, providing barbed wire and soldiers in exchange for their share, and the police are doing something similar.

‘The military is probably gathering combat data and adjusting strategies. But a school?’

I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t like it.

Modern society has already crumbled. We’ve regressed to a time where even minors were put to work if they could labor.

The loss of labor, the tuition fees, the donations—it all felt like a loss.

“Did we donate anything?”

“Not really. We’ve been sharing resources fairly. As a group, we don’t have extra to donate. But…”

The uncle turned his head to look out the window. People scattered around Villa Street.

“Parents of the kids, even the elderly, have been donating a little. It’s for the kids. For the school.”

I slapped my forehead.

Wasting precious food like that. Can people even survive like this? Did we stockpile resources too early and too much? Was sharing them equally a mistake?

The teacher and the school started to feel like a black hole, sucking up others’ resources while engaging in low-value actions. Worse than Sajihyeok, a bigger scammer.

Sure, kids symbolize hope, the future, and protection, but this isn’t the world to care about that.

We have to stop this.

“Remote learning would be tough. Where are they planning to set up the school?”

“They’re inviting people tomorrow for a promotional event. Let’s go see it for ourselves.”

It seems like they’re running it like a corporate or investment briefing. I quietly gripped the handle of my hammer, lost in thought.

***

The new school building wasn’t in a commercial area but in a residential one. A school in zombie territory would be too dangerous for commuting, so one in human territory was the better option.

The uncle, the kids from Villa Street, their parents, and I arrived much earlier than the scheduled presentation time, but a good number of people had already gathered.

Middle and high school students in uniforms, elementary kids in casual clothes, and their parents—more than expected. The atmosphere was filled with curiosity and hope, which felt unsettling.

From the main gate, the scene was uncomfortable. Barbed wire on the walls, barricades at the entrance, and two soldiers guarding it.

A mom from Villa Street patted her kids’ heads.

“Now, say hello to the soldier uncles.”

“Hello, uncles!”

The kids bowed.

“They’re not uncles…”

“Hello!”

The soldiers smiled at the kids, waving back.

They say wounds inflicted by people are healed by people. The soldiers, once mentally unstable, seemed to be recovering by engaging in justified actions and mingling with the community.

It felt like a campaign to improve public perception.

‘This is problematic.’

A kind of information warfare is underway, with the military striking back. Friendly soldiers, safety-guaranteeing soldiers, child-protecting soldiers.

They’re not to be underestimated. Minimizing losses, gauging local sentiment, securing food, and mental recovery—they’ve quickly adjusted their strategy.

“…I’ll look around on my own.”

“Alright. I’ll check out the teachers.”

After parting with the uncle, I headed to the playground.

There were academy buses and police officers there, with the police explaining something to the parents.

“Worried about your kids’ commute? Don’t be. We’ll operate a school bus with police escorts, and if we run out of fuel or the roads are blocked, the police will take them home.”

The officer tapped his handgun reassuringly.

The school and the kids. A powerful alliance formed in the city for their sake. It made me uneasy.

It felt like the world before the collapse. A functioning society with authority. A safe daily life.

‘This isn’t right. It’s the Apocalypse. We should be acting like gangs, moving like warlords.’

Kill people! Pillage resources! Kidnap kids for ransom! Use them as child labor! Isn’t that the Apocalypse vibe?

I felt suffocated by the unfamiliar atmosphere. Like wearing clothes that didn’t fit.

I swung my hammer in the air and crossed the playground to the auditorium, where the presentation would take place and where the school had stacked various supplies.

A murmur of voices reached me.

“They’ve prepared well.”

“At this level, the tuition doesn’t feel wasted.”

Parents flipped through books stacked against the auditorium walls, chatting.

I blended in, examining the books.

‘Not new books.’

They must have collected textbooks left in schools, with scribbles and names still on them. Names of students who might already be dead, like relics.

There were also clean workbooks, likely taken from bookstores or academies.

And then there were instruments and art supplies, utterly useless in the Apocalypse.

‘No weapons. No zombies captured for educational purposes. This isn’t Apocalypse-tailored education.’

I eyed everything suspiciously. It’s a presentation. There must be intent behind this setup. After pondering for a while, I figured it out.

“A flute? Wow, I used to get hit by my teacher with one of these.”

“Crayons… I loved drawing so much.”

Parents were reminiscing. Without computers or tablets, they were drawn to tools of their past, sharing memories.

Parents who had never met before relaxed, bonding over shared nostalgia.

It was a tactic to create a good first impression of the school. A familiar school. A place where parents could share their childhood with their kids.

Already, the parents seemed to let their guard down.

So, when the teachers took the stage, the response was warm. Applause and hopeful eyes greeted them.

“Thank you all for coming. It shows how much you want to give your children a glimpse of the ordinary world we once knew.”

An elderly grandmother, the representative, spoke slowly.

From the whispers around, she seemed to be a former principal or vice-principal. The speech was predictably dull.

Children are the hope of the future, education helps them grow into that hope, blah blah. No matter the disaster, we can’t give up on educating our kids. Let them experience a normal student life, not just survival and disaster…

‘Why waste so much time on fluff?’

Just get to the point. As educators, this is our only way to survive. Education is a product. If we can’t sell it, we’ll starve, so we’ll do our best.

I looked around, but surprisingly, people seemed deeply moved by the grandmother’s words.

Parents, police, even soldiers.

The mood was off. I needed to adjust. I quickly softened my frown and muttered.

“Good speech.”

“Smart. They’ve tapped into the hopes of well-off parents.”

The uncle next to me spoke in a somber tone, subtly pointing around.

“These are from big survivor groups, people who are well-fed. Those struggling to survive can’t afford tuition. Do you know what this is?”

“What?”

Was there something I missed? The uncle spoke briefly.

“Alumni networks. Reviving them for a new era.”

Alumni networks. I suddenly envisioned the future. If the current adults die off, these kids will band together under the name of this school.

Is this preparation for the future? Giving kids a label to unite under?

Moreover, kids who focus on survival versus those who attend school and gain knowledge—the gap…

I looked around. People who didn’t look hungry, like the city’s nobility. A school to maintain their connections.

The uncle coldly added.

“We need to subtly exclude the kids’ parents. Kids talk. They might leak important information without realizing it.”

“Understood.”

This isn’t just about showing kids a better world. It’s a long-term investment, a human farm.

I closed my eyes. I’d let my guard down.

‘Right. People aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t send their kids to school just to relive their school days.’

Complacency is the fastest path to death. I need to stay sharp. Doubt, discern intentions, calculate unseen gains and losses.

The grandmother’s voice continued.

Plans for quarantine, police using tasers if students turn into zombies, teaching zombie and pillager defense in PE, basic farming and repair skills…

By then, I’d finished my calculations.

‘The school’s existence is a threat to me.’

The military’s image improvement alone is enough. With bullets and firearms still around, the military is a wildcard. A school that hinders efforts to tarnish the military’s image is unnecessary.

Most of all, I disliked the possibility of the school becoming a focal point. People grow stronger when united. If groups merge around the school and kids, a massive, hard-to-handle group could form.

‘Zombies or people, numbers need to drop.’

Limited city resources.

Fewer people consuming resources mean more for me. Suspicion, division, fighting, death—that’s the way. The fewer people, the less resource consumption.

Small groups bickering is ideal.

I clasped my hands in prayer.

‘Please, zombies. Show up. Create chaos.’

If a parent—no, a student—turns into a zombie here, it’d be great. Please, someone turn. Kill someone by accident. Cause division.

Did my prayer work?

“Tomorrow, we’ll have the entrance ceremony—”

“Graaah!”

“No!”

As the presentation neared its end, a uniformed student turned into a zombie. Bloodshot eyes gleaming, it lunged at those nearby.

But unfortunately, what I wanted didn’t happen. The people here had survival experience equal to mine.

“Bite! That’s it!”

Someone offered their arm without hesitation. A man in a leather jacket, using his tough clothing to block the bite, then pinning the zombie down with his weight.

“Move aside!”

Simultaneously, police pushed through the crowd. A taser and two handcuffs. The zombie was subdued in seconds. The officer cuffed the zombie’s wrists and ankles, then bowed to its parents.

“What would you like to do? We can escort it home, or handle it discreetly…”

“…Take it home.”

The zombie’s father turned away silently. Tired, resigned, or just numb.

Either way, the school’s presentation concluded.

The uncle and I left with stiff expressions.

 

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