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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: High Risk, High Return (3), Paso Robles
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Despite the boy's reassurance not to mind, Lee Yura looked dead on her feet. She'd been like that the whole way. It was understandable, having caused a crisis through her own mistake. At least no one was hurt.
Still, the increase in "Combat Fatigue" was minimal. Winter had shouldered the most dangerous role. He'd put in a lot of effort to console her, too.
At the intersection of Riverside Avenue heading south and the open 13th Street to the east, the boy pointed to a small shop nearby.
"Shall we take a short break there?"
"Won't we run out of time?"
The other two men's attitudes were a bit more polite than before. A glimpse of growing respect and waning familiarity.
"I think it'll be fine. Probably. Plus, there's something we need to do now."
"Something we need to do...?"
Instead of answering, the boy pressed close to the wall. The sign was missing. The front was plate glass, with several tables inside. The menu indicated it was a pizza place.
Opening the door produced a noise. The jingle of a bell. His nerves sharpened. If there was an infected variant inside, it'd come out at the sound. But it was quiet. He signaled all clear to the rear. The three followed in order. Tense expressions. To signal relaxation, the boy loudly dragged a chair.
"Sit down."
The group hesitated before following suit. The boy undid the duffel bag one of the men was carrying. He pulled out heaps of canned goods they'd packed at the start. No need for utensils. Forks and knives were on each table. Just dust them off.
"You've probably never had enough to eat, right? Rare opportunity. Eat your fill."
For refugees, the sensation of fullness was a faded memory. Park Jinseok and An Jejung exchanged glances. Communication transcending generations.
"The thing you mentioned we needed to do..."
"Yeah. What else? If we distribute after arriving, there'll be eyes watching. Hard to give extra just to you guys. Gotta have some flexibility in life, right?"
Jejung rubbed his balding head with a grin.
"Haha, the young captain definitely has leadership qualities. Absolutely. Flexibility is key."
The two men eagerly cracked open cans. Meat first. Boys will be boys. Meanwhile, Yura sat glumly. Her symptoms were mild for now, but left alone, she might end up with a semi-permanent status ailment. Like depression or combat fatigue syndrome. Winter forced a smile and slid a can toward her. He popped the lid before she could protest.
"Eat up. It'll go to waste."
"...I don't deserve it."
"Hmm..."
What action was best here? What expression? After rummaging through memories, the boy picked up a fork. He stabbed a chunk of meat submerged in thick broth. This kind of canned meat was usually cheap. But a luxury for refugees.
Sure enough, Yura swallowed at the smell. Gulp. Her face flushed red.
"Ah... th-this..."
"Go ahead."
"..."
"Come on, sis."
"S-Sis...?"
Jejung and Jinseok, who had been stuffing their mouths full of meat and chomping away like typical guys, froze stiff. The boy who mercilessly sliced through formerly human infected variants had called her "sis." No wonder the shock.
This was closer to his true feelings than usual. Still, showing it was another matter.
A brilliant yet inhuman leader was great for earning authority, but always being that way spelled trouble.
'They'll build their own delusions.'
He's different from us. Exceptional, not quite human. If that deepened, people turned him into an idol, harboring unrealistic expectations.
He's different from us. He'll always succeed. Impossible as it was, he could do anything.
That faith-like conviction was a double-edged sword. The moment it failed even once—the moment the faith crumbled—people would tear into the failure like starving dogs.
So sometimes, he needed to show an ordinary side. Pretending perfect leadership only suited times when no other means could give hope.
Balancing that was tricky.
Yura floundered, but Winter didn't withdraw his hand. Her face was dirty from not washing properly, yet he could tell it reddened. From embarrassment. Too early for romantic feelings.
"Here—"
"Good job."
Seeing her squeeze her eyes shut and accept it, Winter smiled quietly. Yura looked tearful, but for a different reason now. When he stabbed another piece and offered it, she panicked and waved her hands.
"I-I can eat it myself now!"
"It's punishment for making us worry."
"..."
Perfect timing. Jejung and Jinseok chuckled lowly. Yura shot the two men a wet-eyed glare, then resigned and ate obediently. Even knowing it was calculated, Winter felt enjoyment. She was older, but her teary look was cute.
'Why?'
He wasn't sure himself.
Women ate slower than men anyway. Especially if they hadn't eaten their fill in months. In that time, the men polished off five cans each. Winter started worrying.
"I said eat your fill, but I'm concerned you might get sick."
"Whoa, Captain. I'm an ex-Marine, you know."
Jejung's cheeky reply. Cheekiness masking awkwardness. Better than their earlier wariness. Probably a personality trait bonus. Meaning calculated actions weren't exclusive to players.
Winter nodded.
"Fair enough... We still have time, so eat more if you want. We'll divide it up again when we arrive anyway."
Actually, it was a bit tight. Infected variants were more active at night, and lights made them visible. They needed to arrive before sunset completely. But he didn't show the worry. No need if he wasn't backing down.
They spent about 40 minutes, then resumed moving.
Paso Robles was bisected east-west by Highway 101, and 13th Street, a city road, crossed it via an elevated section. Along the open left and right views, abandoned vehicles and prowling variants were visible.
All signals at the first intersection past the overpass were out. Power was cut. They should've kept transmission for survivors who hadn't evacuated, but the government feared fires or accidents from shorts. He'd heard it on the radio. Makes sense with all the unattended electronics. Accidents were inevitable.
No major incidents. The group was extra vigilant after the church skirmish, jumping at every cross they saw. They spotted three in under a kilometer past the overpass. Two Baptist churches, one Catholic cathedral. All doors open. Some variants lurking. Before they noticed, the boy shot holes in their heads.
Using vehicles for cover while moving was good, but variants might hide underneath. Occasionally crouching flat to peer far was safer. Combat boots were tough; a bite wouldn't be fatal. But no complacency.
"That looks like Daniel Lewis Middle School."
Shortly after passing the cathedral, Winter pointed toward the school buildings. An unusually large tree shaded the entrance. A yellow warning sign showed an adult leading a child across the street. "SCHOOL XING" written on it.
Past a blocking truck, sure enough. A new sign appeared with the school name. Below, a simple notice on yellow with orange border announced exam schedules. Exams that would never happen now.
Unlike Korean schools, no walls enclosed it. A few variants wandered the open corridors. Winter could've handled it quick, but the group's growth mattered. He singled out the most vulnerable, Yura first. The other two guarded flanks and rear.
"Can you hit the head from this range?"
"Eep..."
Unconfident response. Closest group about 30 meters. Five of them. Hadn't spotted them yet. They just poked around, thinking something was inside.
Considering a rifle's standard engagement range, even an amateur could land hits. No guarantee on headshots.
Winter opened his skill screen and poured some church-earned EXP into "Instruction." The progress bar filled, ranks rising sequentially. To level 7. Expert entry for now.
He raised "Close Combat" from 8 and "Personal Firearms Proficiency" from 9 to 10.
Spare EXP remained, but this world's developments were fluid. Better to keep reserves for the unexpected to avoid powerlessness.
"Instruction" was a leadership skill boosting acquisition efficiency for companions or during teaching. Winter directed Yura.
"Good chance to gain experience. Rifle up. I'll handle any issues, so relax."
Attacked variants alerted allies if not instant-killed. Meaning he'd intervene immediately. After repeated coaxing, Yura finally nodded and raised her rifle.
Posture sloppy. No training traces. Makes sense; mastering a few days' lessons in combat would be prodigious talent. Knowledge alone wasn't enough. Winter adjusted the stock to her shoulder, pressed down, and critiqued her breathing.
"Breathing's ragged."
Harsh breaths made the muzzle bob. Plus, her hand on the foregrip shook. Too tense. Ruined aiming.
"Finger off the trigger. No rush. Take time, shoot when ready."
The boy added pressure with his hand on her shoulder. Repeated encouragement, and Yura gradually steadied her breath. One eye shut, aligning sights.
Sometimes they say to adjust aim height by distance since bullets spin up and down. But that's wrong. Spin affects trajectory, but not up-down. Just a gentle parabola. Though precise aiming causes slight muzzle rise, hitting above point of aim in some ranges.
Explaining this, Winter sought not understanding, but psychological stability. Focusing on his not-short tale helped her relax. Indeed, her shaking nearly stopped. Auditory focus.
"Good. Much better. Posture's great."
Praise generously. Crucial for building confidence. Overdo to unnaturalness and it'd backfire, but Yura had no spare attention.
Judging her ready, Winter instructed again.
"Finger on trigger now. Selector to semi-auto, three-round burst. Aim at the leftmost variant. Shoot when ready. No need to announce. I'll handle anything. Got it?"
"Got it, Captain."
Hearing that, Winter shouldered his own rifle. "Personal Firearms Proficiency" made it swift.
Yura fired.
Pfft! Suppressed, muffled bursts. The variant at the end jerked. Like hammer-struck. Dark red blood splattered the wall. Not dead center head, but one round shattered the spine.
Thud. Target down. Others whirled at the sound. But facing different directions. Hadn't spotted them.
Yura froze at the sudden motion. Winter soothed again.
"It's fine, fine. Relax. You did great. Now, leftmost again. Process sequentially. Breathe steady, calm, then fire."
About twenty seconds later, three more bursts. This time, not perfect. They faced the fallen one, side-on. Temple piercing would've been ideal. One miss, the other two smashed cheekbone and jaw.
"Eek!"
Target with dangling half-jaw. As it turned toward them in shock, Yura stiffened. It spotted them. Instant, Winter's round pierced its forehead. Head snapped back. Torso swept down. Limbs convulsed.
"See? I can cover most mistakes. Don't fear. Calm shot and done. You'll get used to it."
"Y-Yes..."
Sweat beaded Yura's forehead despite the chill. Boy glanced, thinking to pack a handkerchief next time. Interpersonal relations and control AI interaction evaluations offered separate rewards.
Shooting continued until seven variants were down. Hit rate about half. Winter covered failures. They never detected the group.
"Good work, Yura. Impressive for a first time. Take a break now."
"Yes, Captain. Whew... Thanks. Feels like I gained some confidence."
She knew she'd been accommodated. Yura beamed. Gas mask hid all but smiling eyes, yet a good face. Winter nodded and continued.
"Next, the five in the grass center. Jinseok, appreciate if you handle it."
"Let's do it."
Eager response. Competitive spirit toward Winter. He'd peeked while guarding, knew how. Cleared easier than Yura.
Last, self-proclaimed Marine Jejung shot more casually than the pair. Low hit rate for that; overconfidence caused errors?
"Haha, whoops. No excuse. Been out of the Corps too long..."
The middle-aged man scratched sheepishly. Maybe the Marine claim was false. Not important.
Sky darkening. Still over an hour margin. By briefed EENT (End of Evening Nautical Twilight).
EENT: when light fully vanishes post-sunset. Sky doesn't blacken instantly after sundown. Precise twilight end was helpful.
"Now, search from the first building. I'll lead, follow."
Daniel Lewis Middle School comprised several single-story buildings. None huge, so Winter estimated 10-20 minutes per.