Chapter 3The Post-Apocalyptic BBQ Joint

I lay in bed that night, holding the crystals, grinning like an idiot.

Customer served. New ingredients unlocked, right?

Sure enough, when I opened the fridge, the crystals vanished from my hand.

Reaching in, alongside the pork belly, I pulled out a giant squid. Grilled squid, my love!

Those twenty skewers were worth it!

I picked out a few squids and threw them on the grill. I was so sick of pork belly.

Tonight’s dinner: Grilled Squid!

...

For the next few days, no new customers came.

This place is desolate. Aside from passing zombies, there are no living things. I survived on pork belly and squid for half a week. Even the squid was starting to lose its appeal.

Was my prayer heard? Just as I wished for a new customer, there was a knock on the door again.

I looked through the glass. It was the customer from last week.

The boy named Kyle.

He was shouting anxiously:

"Boss! Boss, please save my brother! I can pay with crystals!"

I realized he was supporting someone. It was too dark to see clearly before. The man was hurt badly, blood dripping everywhere. He couldn't stand straight, leaning heavily on Kyle.

Kyle's eyes were red with desperation. "Boss, please! I brought crystals this time, lots of crystals!"

This kid was polite when he paid last time and didn't ask too many questions. I liked him. I quickly opened the door to let them in.

"What happened?"

Kyle wiped away tears, voice full of hate. "People ambushed me for my crystals. My brother came to save me and got jumped!"

"He would have been fine, but he just killed a Level 4 zombie and hadn't recovered yet..."

"Those animals!" He clenched his fist, then begged:

"Boss, do you have medicine? I'll trade all my crystals!"

He pulled handfuls of shiny crystals from his pocket.

Green, yellow, red. They rolled on the table, glittering beautifully.

A few days ago, I was living in a peaceful city. The worst violence I saw was a drunk fight with beer bottles.

I'd never seen a living person this bloody.

I didn't care about the money. I told Kyle to put the man on the cot in the back room. It was my nap bed—small, but clean.

Kyle struggled to get him onto the bed. His brother was tall, probably over 6'2". His feet hung off the edge.

I got a basin of hot water and wiped the blood off his face with a damp towel.

Pushing aside his blood-matted hair, I realized this man was handsome.

High nose bridge, sharp jawline. Even with his eyes closed, his thick lashes trembled.

Even unconscious, his brow was furrowed tight in pain.

His clothes were soaked in blood. I hesitated and handed the towel to Kyle.

"You do it."

Kyle didn't hesitate. He ripped his brother's shirt open right in front of me.

Wow. Defined muscles. That six-pack was stacked neater than my meat inventory. But it was covered in fresh wounds and old scars.

Such a waste of a prime human specimen. I peeked from the side, handing bandages to Kyle.

Since I lived in this shop, doing prep work and grilling, I kept a stock of basic meds.

Kyle glanced at me, grateful. "Thank you, Boss. I'll repay you."

I waved my hand. "Don't mention it."