Nathan stood quietly inside his wooden fortress, the pistol hanging loosely in his hand while the faint ringing in his ears slowly faded into something tolerable.
Reality had just delivered a very educational slap across his face — or perhaps… his ears.
A loud one.
A very loud one.
And now, as the adrenaline settled, uninvited thoughts crept in relentlessly.
…Am I actually capable of defending myself?
His eyes drifted toward the thick wooden walls surrounding him — three meters (10 ft) tall and equally thick. Earlier, he had admired them with pride.
Now?
They looked… less reassuring.
How many zombies are actually going to come…? Ten? Fifty? A hundred?
He imagined gray hands clawing over the walls. Bodies piling. Wood splintering.
Him screaming while desperately reloading like a discount action movie's hero.
His stomach tightened.
Is this improvised fortress even strong enough?
Another doubt followed immediately.
Is my ammo enough?
Forty-four bullets remaining.
Forty-four chances.
Forty-four mistakes allowed.
That number suddenly felt extremely small.
The spiral of negative thoughts began accelerating.
What if I miss?
What if they run?
What if they climb?
What if—
Nathan abruptly slapped his cheek.
"NOPE!"
The sound echoed softly.
"We are not doing an anxiety speedrun today."
He inhaled deeply and forced the thoughts away as quickly as they came.
Because panic wouldn't help. But preparation would.
He glanced toward the sky outside the wall.
"…Should I gather more wood?" he muttered. "Sell more, buy more ammo…"
The idea tempted him.
More SC meant safety.
Safety meant survival.
But when he opened his system clock, the answer appeared immediately.
[Monster spawning will begin in: 57 minutes, 17 seconds…]
Nathan stared.
"Yeah…" He slowly exhaled. "Bad idea."
Running around harvesting trees now would drain his stamina — and exhaustion before combat sounded like an excellent way to die embarrassingly.
He shook his head.
"I need to save energy. And do more practice."
Because one fact had become painfully clear:
He believed there was absolutely no way he could hit a moving zombie with his current skill level.
So he had to improve.
Now.
Nathan summoned a wooden cube and sat carefully, letting his body relax while his ears continued recovering.
"…Okay," he murmured. "Step one: calm down."
Step two arrived immediately.
Food.
His stomach growled loud enough to be mistaken as an code-red signal — which technically is.
"Right… I haven't eaten since this morning."
He opened Storage and pulled out a bottle of water and one emergency provision pack.
The packaging looked sterile — suspiciously so.
Nathan tore it open… and immediately winced.
Inside lay a moss-colored, rectangular bar that looks like something straight out of mortuary.
He stared at it.
"…Is this thing edible?"
He brought it closer and sniffed.
A bitter medicinal smell assaulted his nose.
"…Why does this look like cartoon-character's vomit fused with hospital supplies?"
Unfortunately, alternatives did not exist.
The shop sold only the same thing in the food category, the forest also offered no visible fruit that looks edible. And hunger was beginning to negotiate aggressively.
Nathan sighed heavily.
"Well, it's called 'emergency' for a reason…" he raised the bar and accepted his fate, preparing to take a bite. "Alright, here goes nothing…"
Instant regret.
His taste buds were assaulted by something indescribable — a horrifying fusion of chalk, expired vitamins, and emotional disappointment.
His entire body recoiled. Every instinct screamed to spit the 'dangerous' substance out.
But he stubbornly refused.
With effort greater than cutting down more than three hundred cubic meters of forest, Nathan forced himself to chew…
…and swallow.
He stared into the distance.
"It tastes like… something born from the forbidden love between attic dust and ICU ambience."
Ten long minutes passed as he slowly consumed the bar through sheer determination and mild suffering.
Finally, he emptied a water bottle in one long gulp, trying to erase every trace of regret.
"I love my new lifestyle already," he declared flatly.
His stomach was no longer empty, which technically counted as success.
Emotionally, however, he felt betrayed.
Shaking off the lingering aftertaste, Nathan reopened the shop menu.
"Alright," he said, scrolling through categories. "If I'm going to keep practicing, I need something that prevents my ears from filing a resignation letter."
He searched for sound protection device.
Then he found it.
[Earmuff — Standard: 10 SC]
[Earmuff — Automatic Sound Filter: 350 SC]
Nathan stared at the second option longingly.
"…One day," he whispered, like a man gazing at luxury real estate.
He checked his balance again.
[SC: 100]
"Yeah. No… the budget committee has rejected this proposal."
He purchased the standard earmuffs without hesitation.
A simple padded headset materialized in his hands — practical, unremarkable, and most importantly, affordable.
Next item.
Light.
The sun was descending, shadows stretching across the clearing. Night combat without visibility sounded like an excellent way to accidentally shoot his own foot.
Scrolling again, he found:
[Flashlight: 10 SC]
"Geh, no batteries…" Nathan complained.
Still, he bought two AA batteries anyway — one SC each.
One last item caught his attention.
[Lighter: 5 SC]
He paused.
"…I firmly refuse to do the caveman's way of starting fire — my hands already sore just by imagining it."
Purchase confirmed.
His balance updated.
[SC: 73]
Nathan folded his arms proudly.
"Emergency fund secured."
He placed the earmuffs over his ears.
The outside world dulled slightly — not silent, but comfortably softened.
"Oh wow," he sighed. "Modern civilization really peaked with ear protection."
Feeling considerably less fragile, Nathan returned to his training position.
Same setup. Same wooden cube target.
Same distance — roughly five meters (5.4 yd).
He raised the pistol again, grip tighter this time.
Shoulders steadier.
Breath controlled.
He fired—
*Bang.*
The sound arrived muffled through the earmuffs, no longer rattling his brain.
Second shot.
Third.
Fourth.
Each recoil felt more predictable now. His hands adjusted instinctively as if he'd been doing this for years, correcting alignment faster each time.
Nathan fired slowly, and carefully.
Ten shots total — including the first one — before he felt satisfied.
When the last shell casing fell, he lowered the pistol and stared at the target.
Every bullet had struck the wooden cube.
Not perfect grouping.
But hits. All of them.
He blinked.
"…Well."
He counted again.
Ten shots. Zero misses.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
"Maybe…" he said carefully, almost afraid to jinx it, "I'm actually built for this."
Confidence returned — cautious, but enough to push back the gnawing fear within him.
Not young-master-protagonist level of confidence.
More like 'a guy who might survive longer than five minutes' kind of confidence.
And honestly, he would take that.
• × • × • × •
About ten minutes before monster spawn, Nathan shifted focus to preparation.
He retrieved several thin wooden pieces from the Storage and arranged them into a small pile.
Perfect kindling.
He flicked the lighter.
*Chk.*
A small flame appeared.
Moments later, fire caught the wood, crackling softly as orange light filled the fortress interior.
Nathan added thicker blocks gradually until a steady campfire burned.
Warm, bright enough for visibility, and psychologically comforting.
"All essentials of human survival," he nodded.
Next came ammunition management.
He retrieved fifteen 9mm rounds from the Storage.
They appeared instantly in his palm — loose and individual.
Nathan stared at them.
"…Of course they didn't come inside a full magazine," he sighed. "Stop expecting everything to work like video games, Nathan."
He stored four rounds back then pressed the magazine release.
*Slip.*
The magazine slid free into his hand.
One by one, he pressed the rounds inside. The spring resisted stubbornly.
"…How am I supposed to reload like this while fighting zombies?" he muttered.
He already knew the answer:
Be fast.
And pray nothing tried to eat him mid-process.
After finishing, he inserted the magazine back into the pistol.
*CLICK.*
The sound felt reassuringly final.
Status: fifteen rounds in the magazine. Plus one in the chamber.
Fully loaded.
Nathan checked the clock again.
[Monster spawning will begin in: 58 seconds…]
His heartbeat quickened immediately.
He stood slowly, firelight dancing behind as he climbed the ladder.
The forest beyond the walls had grown darker, quieter — as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Nathan removed the earmuffs and hung them around his neck.
He needed to hear everything now.
Every step.
Every movement.
He tightened his grip on the pistol.
"…Alright," he said quietly.
A nervous smile appeared despite himself.
"Let's pray I don't become zombie dinner tonight."
He tightened his grip on the gun, and staring toward the dimly illuminated forest beyond.
"Bring it on, zombies." a small swallow. "…Do your worst."