Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 155.1: Heavy Hitter (1)
There’s little real distinction between a scavenger and a looter.
At any time, a scavenger can become a looter, and a looter can revert just as easily.
Resisting the urge to become a looter when you spot someone weaker, yet loaded with supplies, is a tremendous act of self-restraint.
Even I had to fight off the urge to become a looter when I first encountered Rebecca and her daughter.
Still, there is a clear line drawn between scavengers and looters.
Pride, mostly.
In fact, many scavengers take pride in what they do.
“At least we don’t kill people to take their stuff. We just pick up what others have thrown away.”
To them, the greatest insult isn’t cursing their parents or stating hard truths.
“It means we’re not the kind of scum who gave up on being human like looters did.”
They react more sensitively to being called looters than to anything else.
Right now, puffing on a cigarette in front of me, is “Minsik” Lee Do-won—one of those types.
Despite his respectable name, Lee Do-won, he’s known as “Minsik” because he served prison time under the prewar Minsik Law and boasts about it like it’s a badge of honor.
Lee Do-won leads a massive scavenger group called the Minsik Faction.
edly active since immediately after the war, his group—numbering over 300 members, likely including family—is as powerful as any refugee collective.
It sounds absurd, but they supposedly have the firepower to deal with not just zombies, cultists, and looters, but even mutated creatures and humanoid-tracker monsters.
The reason Minsik is so adamant about separating himself from looters is probably due to criticisms that his group only pretends to be scavengers but are, in reality, looters.
At any rate, this man is one of the key stakeholders in the major issue at hand—“the bridge.”
He profits from Bridge A, and so he insists that Bridge B should be destroyed.
Standing in opposition to him is another scavenger faction, the Resellers, led by Kim Tae-young.
“Apologies. There was a crack at the site. I got delayed checking the situation before issuing the order.”
He looks to be in his late 40s. Black horn-rimmed glasses, tight suit—quite stylish.
His group is strong too, but not as much as the Minsik Faction.
With around 100 members—about a third the size—they prefer operating in safer, closer regions rather than venturing deep into dangerous zones like Minsik’s people.
Ordinarily, strength decides things, so siding with the Minsik Faction would make more sense.
It’s also the most economical solution.
But then a third party got involved in this onion-layered mess.
“Everyone’s here. Before we review the agenda, please look over the materials I’ve prepared.”
An aging man with graying hair handed out faintly printed flyers.
Eo Moon-soo.
A self-proclaimed “citizen representative.”
Originally the leader of a small refugee shelter, he joined the new Seoul project with others, and somewhere along the way, he started proclaiming himself the representative of all citizens gathered there. Now he’s even got a seat at the table.
His only disclosed qualification? Being the building rep at a housing association.
According to Woo Min-hee, his presence is a consequence of the old government’s failures.
“We can’t help it. The jokers in old Seoul messed around so badly that public trust in the government’s at rock bottom. We’re just inheriting their mess.”
Put another way, it’s the price we pay for operating under the name of the Republic of Korea.
Even with the collapse of society, the fact that Korea is a democratic nation remains unshaken.
Plenty of eyes are watching Eo Moon-soo.
Not out of fondness, but to see what the government will do with him.
He’s like a canary in the coal mine.
Anyway, this man is backing the minority faction led by Kim Tae-young, arguing that Bridge A should be destroyed.
The handouts he distributed today were about that:
[A More Rational Bridge Preservation Plan for Seoul’s Future]
I looked through it.
Stripping away the pointless introduction and bloated commentary, the proposal boils down to sparing Bridge B and demolishing Bridge A.
You could call it tabloid trash, but it had some merit. You could tell he put some real thought into it.
Like planning for future scalability.
As the new Seoul stabilized, the number of people flooding into the city visibly increased.
The staff compiling statistics were stunned—where had all these people been hiding?
It’s not so surprising, really.
As I’ve always emphasized, human adaptability and will to survive far exceed what we imagine.
After all, humanity survived a long ice age. It’s only natural.
The meeting dragged past the two-hour mark.
“......”
My head was pounding.
Moments like these make me wish we had a former lawmaker like Park Sang-min around.
Say what you will about them, but managing sharp group conflicts was their job.
Sadly, almost no former lawmakers survived.
The powerful—the so-called real players—all went to Jeju, and I have no way of knowing what became of them. The rest followed paths similar to Park Sang-min.
Just like fish can’t survive without water, their support, privileges, and state backing all dried up, and they faded away into the shadows of ruin.
Like most such matters, this one already had a predetermined outcome.
Bridge A must be destroyed.
Bridge B is backed by a line of high-rises that act as shields, making it hard to lure in shelling. If we destroy Bridge B instead, the resulting gap would be too wide, and monsters could bypass the bridge entirely by crossing the riverbed.
That would be game over.
New Seoul would fall.
Maybe things would be different if Kang Han-min helped.
But he won’t.
Holding a meeting when the outcome is already decided feels pointless.
I understand the necessity, but attending such a session is draining—mentally and physically.
As the government official suggested, we didn’t reach a conclusion today.
It’s not really about the decision.
The explosive charges have already been planted at key points on Bridge A.
All it takes is pressing a button, and it will collapse.
We don’t need Minsik’s consent.
If monsters rush in, we’ll follow the predetermined protocol and blow the bridge.
So the real point is just to keep this charade of a meeting going until then.
Kind of like giving Eo Moon-soo a seat at the table to maintain appearances.
“It makes sense, I guess. But I’m not buying it.”
Kim Byeong-cheol, seated nearby, spoke while lighting a cigarette, his tone sharp.
“What kind of moron calls for a meeting in a crisis like this? Too many cooks spoil the broth. Listen to every damn voice and you end up solving nothing!”
He might be justified saying that.
Kim Byeong-cheol earned more respect as an administrator than as a soldier.
Though his domain collapsed due to infighting in the Legion faction, the area around Wonju under his management was once one of the most prosperous and developed regions.
But compared to Seoul, that city was a speck. Its population small.
Without the people’s backing, it fell. He himself ended up a precarious “contracted general.”
Where there are people, conflict is inevitable.
Even my tiny domain was full of disputes. Thinking a city positioning itself as Seoul’s successor wouldn’t have conflicts is absurd.
Then again, maybe if we all became zombies, we could build a society without strife.
In the end, consensus is essential for people to live together.
That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after all my dealings.
What matters most in this issue is convincing Minsik.
Apocalypse or not, some good has come of it.
It’s like the wheat and the chaff were finally separated.
No more people lording over others just because they inherited wealth or slapped on a proportional rep badge.
)
Minsik—Lee Do-won—had ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) every right to be the leader of his group.
As I approached, he offered me a cigarette.
Prewar, filtered cigarette no less.
I’m not fond of menthol, but seeing the heavy look in his eyes, there weren’t many valid excuses to refuse.
“You’re gonna blow up the bridge, aren’t you?”
Minsik already knew.
I mean, with hundreds under his command, someone must’ve seen something during those midnight preparations.
He lit my cigarette for me.
The clean, untainted smoke cleared my head for a moment as I gathered my thoughts.
The government officer Woo Min-hee sent me advised delaying as long as possible, then detonating the bridge under the excuse of “unavoidable monster threat.”
That’s the best move in a situation like this.
After all, even criminal law makes exceptions under extreme duress—“justifiable emergency.”
But I didn’t feel like lying so blatantly.
Who knows how long I’ll live, anyway?
Surviving as long as possible used to be the goal. Now I have another.
Maybe I’ll end up like those comrades who fell in the last battle—slipping into eternal sleep.
“Yeah... probably.”
Even I thought my answer was pathetic.
The old Park Gyu would never have responded like that.
My answers used to be either yes or no.
No hedging. No avoidance. No clumsy hypotheticals.
“...Shit. I had a feeling.”
Minsik sighed and looked off toward the bridge with glazed eyes.
After staring silently for a while, he snorted.
“If that’s your call, I’ll follow it. That’s the right thing to do, yeah? You’ve got the authority to give the order, don’t you?”
I had nothing to say to that. It didn’t deserve agreement or denial.
I stayed quiet.
“Well, we don’t care. That bastard’s probably off getting drunk with his buddy Eo Moon-soo. Can’t see past his own nose.”
There was a cold flash in Minsik’s eyes.
“...We’ve got more people. And more of ours have killed.”
I understood.
If the bridge is destroyed, and their usual routes are cut off, they’ll suppress Kim Tae-young’s gang by force.
A stark reminder of how thin the line between scavenger and looter really is.
And honestly, if he does that, there’s not much we can do.
New Seoul’s administrative power only extends to this small urban center. Outside it? We’re clueless. And frankly, we don’t care.
So I said nothing when he implied he’d “deal with” Kim Tae-young.
Maybe my silence bored him, because Minsik glanced over at me with bloodshot eyes.
What was he about to say?
“You know Cho Young-chun?”
A random, unfamiliar name.
“Cho Young-chun?”
Minsik turned his head skyward.
“Might be a name you’ve never heard.”
Then he looked back at me.
“You like baseball?”
“Baseball?”
“Yeah. Pro baseball.”
I don’t particularly care for it.
But it’s not completely irrelevant.
Before the incident, my father would get home early and sit in front of the TV watching baseball. That image is burned into the fiery heart of my hatred.
“He was a player, right?”
“Ah.”
So we’re talking about an athlete.
No wonder I didn’t know.
Minsik smirked strangely.
“Caught a lot of flak, but to me, he was a hero. Still remember it. Fifth grade. The team driver waved him over, but he came back and signed my glove.”
“...I see.”
If this man’s in his 50s now, then that athlete must be in his 60s or maybe even 70s.
But why bring him up?
He’s probably dead by now, considering the times.
Only a handful of famous people made it to Jeju.
Maybe reading my thoughts, Minsik turned to me and asked:
“That guy... he’s still alive.”
“What?”
“Alive. Right in the middle of Seoul.”
Minsik chuckled aloud.
“Looks like hell, though.”
It is surprising.
A baseball star from the past, surviving in the heart of Seoul.
His survival instincts must rival Mgu’s.
But what’s the relevance to today’s matter?
I waited for him to continue.
Minsik sighed and went on.
“...If that bridge goes, we can’t help him anymore.”
That might be true.
If Bridge A is cut, round trips would waste more than 10 km.
Even if Minsik’s group is well-trained and organized, venturing into North Han River Seoul is no joke.
So I asked:
“Then why not bring him here?”
Though I already suspected the answer.
If Minsik adored this ex-player so much, he’d have already brought him in.
As expected—
“Said he’d rather die there...”
“Not much you can do, then.”
You can’t stop someone determined to die.
Not God, not a counselor—only they can change their mind.
Postwar data shows that over 90% of those who attempt suicide once will try again.
Superstitious folks say they’re possessed.
Honestly, maybe I was too, in a way.
“He said... he’s waiting for his son.”
In the silence, Minsik added quietly.
“His son?”
He exhaled deeply and nodded.
“...I just don’t want to see him die like that.”
And so, a mix of fan devotion and grim practicality brought me face-to-face with a forgotten pro baseball player I’d never known.
Chapter 155.1: Heavy Hitter (1)
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