Jiwoo kept running until his lungs burned, legs trembling under him, refusing to look back. When he finally stopped, his chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face, and his legs felt like lead.
"That… was nerve-racking," he muttered between ragged breaths, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Looking around, he realized he'd reached a quieter, more isolated part of the city. No monsters in sight. No distant groans, no movement—only silence. For the first time since stepping outside, the calm felt almost comforting, though he knew it was temporary.
That's when he saw it: a 7/11 convenience store.
This time, the doors weren't locked. Relief surged through him like a lifeline. He slipped inside cautiously, scanning the shelves. Most of the food was still intact, though some cans were dented, some bottles dusty. He checked expiration dates, tossing out anything unsafe, and gulped down a bottle of water in one go. The cool liquid hit his dry throat like heaven, and he felt some of the tension in his chest ease.
In the staff room, he discovered a dusty backpack, likely abandoned when the apocalypse first struck. Perfect for carrying supplies. He stuffed it with food, water, and whatever small essentials he could find before turning his attention to his weapon.
Using scraps of cloth, rope, and tape, Jiwoo managed to reinforce his makeshift blade, wrapping the handle for better grip and carefully adjusting the balance. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Every improvement mattered in a city where every shadow could hide death.
Satisfied, he decided to rest for a moment. He locked the doors tight, double-checking every latch and bolt, and then leaned against the wall. The day's exhaustion hit him like a wave, and his eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
Sleep claimed him almost instantly.
When he opened his eyes again, darkness still enveloped the store—but something was wrong.
A face filled his vision.
Lee Kibong.
Jiwoo's body stiffened, panic surging through him instantly. He was about to shout, but a strong hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his voice.
The alpha's gaze was sharp, intense, and commanding, warning him to stay silent. Every instinct in Jiwoo screamed danger.
Only then did he notice the faint, guttural growls outside. Shadows moved against the windows, shapes that weren't quite human. Monsters had followed him—or maybe they had been waiting for him here.
His heart pounded in his chest. The quiet relief of the 7/11 had been a trap, or at least an illusion. This place was far more dangerous than the streets he had escaped from.
Jiwoo tried to calm his racing thoughts. One wrong move, one sudden sound, and he could be torn apart—or worse, caught by Kibong if the alpha misunderstood his intentions. He had to think fast. Survival now meant not just avoiding monsters, but navigating the unpredictable presence of the male lead.
His fingers tightened instinctively around the reinforced blade, even as Kibong's hand remained over his mouth, warning him to stay still. Jiwoo swallowed, forcing down his fear, trying to steady his shaking body.
Every shadow outside, every faint scrape against the walls, told him one thing: this world was unforgiving. And he was still learning the rules.
For the first time, Jiwoo realized that surviving the apocalypse wasn't just about avoiding death—it was about staying one step ahead of everyone and everything.