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It’s a rare holiday.

I didn’t need to water the crops every day, and the street cleaning and preparations were done, so a day off finally arrived.

I locked myself in my room and studied the latest trends. I contacted potential competitors, logged into messengers for information—things like the situation on the streets, the movements of survivor groups, and pillaging techniques.

The world is such a mess that there are tons of rumors, but I managed to grasp the state of the city.

“The market is ruined. The powerful survivor groups are lying low.”

The military that had entered the city has reportedly withdrawn. Some say they’re busy managing the farms on the outskirts, others say the market collapsed because of zombies pretending to be humans, and there are even rumors of scavengers facing resistance during their activities.

The only certainty is that the market is no longer operational.

The same goes for schools. Anything secondary that doesn’t focus on immediate survival feels like it’s gone to ruin.

Other survivor groups, realizing the reality, are now solely focused on survival.

“Wait until the stockpiled resources run out. Only move at night when something essential is lacking. Trade between individuals?”

I stared into the void, organizing my thoughts.

They don’t take unnecessary risks. They only move when survival is threatened by a lack of resources. It’s a principle worth learning, but it doesn’t pique my interest.

I turned my gaze to the notes I had diligently written.

Potential competitors—like the Evangelical Elder from the Hope Community, the annoying Rider Zero, or the Police Friend I’ve built a rapport with—had warned me to be cautious.

Recent crime techniques.

“Pretend to trade and then rob, play dead and ambush, drop bricks on passersby.”

It’s a bit ambiguous. Simple techniques targeting individuals. Not virus terrorism, not arson.

‘Still, I’ll keep it in mind.’

My own way of using it. Refine it to be more sophisticated and deadly.

As I continued these thoughts, evening arrived. I went up to the rooftop and looked down at the city.

Located on relatively high ground, Villa Street offers a view of nearby streets and part of the city. Some streets are dark despite not being in a blackout—areas where the power has completely failed due to damaged electrical facilities.

My thoughts darkened too.

‘If a typhoon or rainy season hits, the infrastructure will collapse. Indoor farming will fail. Maybe I should betray Villa Street a bit earlier…’

Thoughts of survival swayed like shadows in the darkness.

***

It’s summer. A brief downpour dumped an enormous amount of water, and the humidity skyrocketed. It feels sticky, like sweat clinging to your skin.

The heat is still unbearable, making it the perfect weather for murder.

Perhaps because of the unpleasant weather, the usually harmonious Villa Street people started arguing over trivial matters.

“Why are my lettuces so small? You should divide them equally.”

“I did divide them equally. Why are you picking a fight?”

“No, look!”

They fought over the distribution of harvested lettuce.

“A pack of cigarettes for this? Are you crazy?”

“If you don’t like it, don’t take it. Why are you freaking out?”

“Freaking out? You—”

They exchanged goods, faces red, grabbing each other by the collar.

Anyway, they fought over things that would normally be overlooked. The uncle, who seemed to have lost his motivation, didn’t even intervene, so the disputes didn’t settle easily.

I hid in a corner, observing the atmosphere.

‘They were always people with a weak sense of belonging.’

There’s little empathy, and they’ve only been through about three months of hardship together. They’re the type to turn their backs over minor issues.

Maybe someone like me is here, planning to betray them. If I kill them all, I can take their resources and the indoor farm.

‘I should betray them before they betray me.’

Trusting people and getting betrayed leads to huge losses. The only way to prevent that is to betray them first.

At that moment, the uncle weakly stepped forward. He tapped the wall with a metal pipe and spoke in a low voice.

“Stop fighting. Let’s talk about something important first. Some of our supplies are running low. Cigarettes, alcohol, toilet paper. But we need to be careful when trading with other survivors outside.”

“…Are you trying to stop trading?”

Someone said irritably.

The uncle took a deep breath, loosely gripping the pipe, and explained seriously.

“As individuals, trade far from here. If they find out we have enough food and are running an indoor farm, we’ll be attacked. Never mention the indoor farm, and don’t sell crops.”

It’s a cautious warning. But I’m not sure how effective it will be.

I looked at a few people. Smokers and drinkers. No matter how much the world has collapsed and life has become difficult, they’re still smokers and drinkers.

Like criminal companions ignoring danger to commit crimes, they can’t resist their impulses.

In fact, they seemed to have gotten an idea, their eyes sparkling as if planning to sell lettuce.

A scenario quickly formed in my mind.

‘If I play it right, I can eliminate them one by one.’

Suspicion, division, conflict. I can gradually reduce the number of people. Maybe even create an opportunity to recruit the paranoid uncle.

“Let’s head back now.”

I awkwardly sent the others away first and approached the uncle. I planted suspicions about a few people I had been watching.

“The ones running out of cigarettes and alcohol might sell the lettuce.”

“No way. They wouldn’t go that far. That would put us all in danger.”

The uncle, torn between suspicion and trust, shook his head. A sign of wavering.

Someone who would normally be suspicious was forcibly clinging to optimistic hope. If this belief is shattered, his obsession with maintaining the Villa Street group will completely disappear.

With good intentions to erase his obsession, I calmly said,

“You’ll see. Why don’t we keep an eye on them, just in case?”

“…Alright.”

The uncle reluctantly agreed. He looked at his watch, as if calculating when the blackout would come.

“Lately, they trade secretly during blackouts. Let’s watch then. …Let’s set the surveillance period for a week.”

I smirked and turned away.

A week? No need to wait that long. It’s happening tonight. I’ll use the new technique of pretending to trade.

So, I did some minor work. I created buyers and sellers.

I spread the word that I wanted fresh vegetables and would trade them for cigarettes, alcohol, and canned food. Using the format of spam messages, I sent it to as many people as possible, including those in Villa Street.

After spending considerable time pretending to negotiate, haggle, and argue, I tricked one street person.

To trade a bit of fresh lettuce for cigarettes and alcohol.

The time was set for when the blackout would come, and zombies would be absent, on a certain street.

And I did this again.

I spread the message that I would sell lettuce, only accepting alcohol and cigarettes. I found someone willing to buy the lettuce.

***

The blackout came. The uncle and I went out to the street and hid in a car. We were in a position to sense anyone coming out of the villa.

The uncle, lost in thought, nervously tapped the steering wheel.

“If they sell fresh lettuce, they can infer we’re farming. Of course, it’s dangerous, but they wouldn’t do that.”

His voice was almost a whisper.

Even if he’s paranoid, if he can’t maintain the slightest bit of trust, everything becomes meaningless. It felt like he was forcibly brainwashing himself.

I chimed in from the side.

“Probably no one will actually move. It’s not like they’re dragging zombies here, and they wouldn’t openly endanger us all.”

Just keeping an eye out, just in case, I also trust the street people.

No need to plant suspicion now. Betrayal will happen anyway. It’s most effective when trust is instilled and then shattered.

The uncle sighed. He wiped his face repeatedly, like an exhausted person.

“Lately, I feel lost. I don’t know what to do or how to do it.”

“We’re all like that. Jobs, goals, dreams, life plans—everything’s collapsed, right?”

“That’s not it. I tried to survive by joining forces with the street people. Is this even possible?”

Isn’t that too big of a goal?

When even your own survival is uncertain. Trying to turn people with no sense of unity, not even the camaraderie of pillagers, into a sustainable group.

In a situation where viruses, zombies, lack of security, natural disasters, depleting resources, and countless other problems are looming, there’s almost no one capable of leading people.

You can’t set any vision or visible goal. You can’t lead them to a better future.

It’s just a world where everyone is swept up in disaster, struggling to survive. A life where you flail about, facing problems beyond your control.

I spoke as if comforting him.

“Don’t look too far ahead. Just thinking about surviving day by day is hard enough. You can only live in the moment.”

“That would make me feel at ease. But… they’re here.”

His words cut off. We held our breath and looked out the window.

Under the faint moonlight, a Villa Street person was walking. Carrying a metal bat, swinging a bag rustling with movement.

The uncle gritted his teeth and immediately got out of the car, approaching the person. His steps were straight and aggressive.

“Where are you going? What’s that?”

“Oh, you scared me. This?”

I followed the uncle.

The Villa Street person, seemingly flustered, handed the bag to the uncle.

“It’s rice that got wet in the rain before. I’m trading it for toilet paper. I ran out of toilet paper.”

“…Rice? Toilet paper?”

What’s this? Is this the person? I don’t remember their face, voice, or name, so I’m not sure.

This person didn’t seem like a lettuce leaker, showing a survivor-like attitude.

“I prepared it this way because trading too much or offering good rice might be dangerous.”

“Right. …Be careful on your way. There might be robbers.”

The uncle let out a long sigh of relief and handed the bag back. His voice light, as if he had overcome suspicion and regained trust.

I panicked and looked around.

‘This can’t be happening.’

Are they too scared to come out? Or is this the person? Are they hiding lettuce? Should I search their belongings?

The street person holding the rice bag said, baffled,

“Are you doing this because you think I’m selling lettuce? Who would sell lettuce? It would be a disaster if word got out.”

“I must have been thinking wrong because I’m tired lately. Anyway, be safe.”

As the uncle lightly patted their shoulder,

Creak, a villa’s front door opened. Someone slowly stepped out, stopped when they saw us, and stood still. Clearly suspicious behavior.

Is that the person?

The person with the rice bag swung their bat.

“Is that person going to trade too? Hey, if you’re heading out, let’s go together. It’s safer with two.”

“No, it’s not that.”

I guess so. I glanced at the uncle beside me. He stood frozen like a statue, then slowly walked forward. Without a word, he reached out his hand.

“What are you doing? No, what—”

They tried to hide the bag but it was eventually taken by the uncle. After a moment of looking at the bag, the uncle suddenly raised his head and grabbed their collar.

“I told you not to sell this—!”

“No, I’m not selling it!”

Their shouts echoed through Villa Street. I stifled a laugh and joined their scuffle.

“Unlock your phone. Show us the trader’s contact, and you won’t be wronged.”

“Why should I!”

I grabbed the struggling person, pulled their hand to unlock the phone with their fingerprint, and checked the messenger. Clear evidence of selling lettuce.

The uncle froze. He couldn’t speak, only trembling with the pipe in his hand.

The street person who wanted to buy toilet paper panicked and pointed the bat at the lettuce leaker.

“Are you crazy? This will make people suspect the farm and put us in danger!”

“Let’s tie this person up and deal with it.”

“…How? And what changes if we handle this? This will keep happening.”

The uncle spoke with a cracking voice. His mind was greatly shaken. It seemed like I could slightly shift his perception.

“We kill the person trying to buy lettuce. After that, we keep pretending to sell lettuce and lure people in to kill them. No one will trust them anymore. And,”

I pointed at the lettuce leaker.

“People who don’t care about the group’s survival. We just need to weed them out one by one.”

And after weeding out all the weeds, only the pillagers will remain.

 

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