Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 157.1: Team (1)

Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 157.1: Team (1)

Since Woo Min-hee returned, nothing specific about what she did has been revealed.
The contents of the meetings were kept strictly confidential, attended only by her and the drifters from Jeju.
One thing was certain—Jang Hyun-jin, who used to smirk arrogantly in front of us, had that smug smile wiped clean off his face.
Whether it's true or not, rumor has it he walked out of the meeting room and punched a random wall in frustration, his whole body trembling with rage.
There were whispers that Gong Gyeong-min came back here afterward, but before that, we received word from Woo Min-hee’s side.
[The refugee relocation has been canceled.]
We’d just averted the detonation of a human bomb—nearly 50,000 people—set to drop into New Seoul at any moment.
In time, that many people would certainly become a source of vitality and power for the city. But that was a story for the future.
Bringing in 50,000 people—not just any refugees, but “Jeju-origin” ones—right before a battle was no different than telling everyone here to die.
Of course, Woo Min-hee also delivered some bad news.
[Support from the Jeju government is unlikely.]
That one, I wasn’t sure how to take.
Kim Byeong-cheol took it as good news.
“Anyway, those bastards never planned to help us in the first place. Honestly, this is better. Now we know for sure—we have to rely on ourselves instead of clinging to impossible hope.”
As time passed, news about the Jeju immigration fleet became public.
They decided to endure on their own, using the remaining refugee facilities in Incheon.
They did agree to send a small number of people here, though—and apparently, even that was something Woo Min-hee signed off on.
Anyway, the situation was now crystal clear.
We were alone.
We had to survive the upcoming crisis with our own strength.
But are we really alone?
It’s been four years since the war began.
Contrary to expectations, complete civilizational collapse and the loss of human decency didn’t happen.
On top of countless corpses, we survived, each in our own way. We adapted.
We made friends. We built trust.
We’ll prove that those years weren’t wasted.
*
My relationship with Kim Daram was still running on parallel tracks.
Until now, I tried to ignore it—but not anymore.
Our relationship, stained by all kinds of marks, probably couldn’t return to what it once was. But at the very least, it needed closure.
So I called her out.
The reason was the upcoming battle.
In other words, I was asking her to stake her life on this.
“Impossible.”
Kim Daram’s response was pessimistic.
It wasn’t a knee-jerk rejection.
She’d been on the same battlefield as I had.
“...You know, right? How terrifying a large-scale eruption is.”
She was talking about the so-called Defense of Beijing—the first and last battle where humans and monsters clashed head-on.
China had poured all its wealth and resources into defending its capital.
Fighter jets roared across the sky in constant waves, unleashing relentless bombardments. Thousands of artillery cannons, fed by tens of thousands of supply trucks, traced thick black rings of fire around the city’s outer perimeter.
Thousands of anti-monster tanks, predecessors to Korea’s clunky tank units, held the city’s borders. Unsurprisingly, three full People's Liberation Army group armies and reserve units totaling about half a million troops were deployed.
It was the greatest concentration of military power in a single city since World War II—and the result was still humanity’s defeat.
Humanity couldn’t overcome the monsters.
The air force dominated the skies, and the artillery blanketed the land with fire, annihilating monsters from a distance—but the rifts simply kept spewing out more.
If even a single segment of the human defensive wall collapsed, it crumbled like wet paper.
Only now do we understand the existence of “General-types,” but back then, the very idea of monsters using tactical maneuvers was considered nonsense.
The monsters advanced straight toward command centers, paralyzing leadership, and that paralysis spread to the entire army.
There were capable, open-minded commanders on the front lines—but mutual distrust and old political rivalries pushed them all to ruin.
The number of combat deaths was edly under 1,000. But in the civil war between PLA units that broke out afterward, nearly 30,000 soldiers disappeared.
As for the number of civilians who died—China gave up counting. No need to mention it.
Our team was stationed at Xiangyuan, a narrow sector of the front line.
It was just east of headquarters and the northernmost final defense line.
Dozens of monsters, including mid-sized ones, assaulted our sector without pause.
The official record says 36 were killed, but by our memory, we took down over 50.
We held our zone, but the neighboring Wangzhaoyuan sector collapsed, wiping out key figures in the command.
There were rumors that Wangzhaoyuan was intentionally allowed to fall for political reasons—but that doesn’t matter now.
Once Wangzhaoyuan was breached, the battle was over.
In a way, we were stationed at the very heart of humanity’s last full-scale resistance—Beijing.
“...Unlike back then, we’re short on everything now. Manpower, equipment, even the number of hunters.”
There’s no shame in Kim Daram showing weakness.
No one has the right to criticize her.
Despite her many personal flaws and questionable behavior, she was one of the best-performing hunters in the fiercest battle of all.
She’s still my best partner.
“But unlike Beijing, there are fewer people here.”
Back then, the Beijing metropolitan area had a population of 20 million.
Even before that, it was packed. And like Korea—or maybe Korea was copying China—authorities had crammed even more people into the city for protection from mutations and zombies.
Naturally, the rift had spewed out monsters matching that number—20 million.
But now, New Seoul’s population sits at 280,000, according to the latest census.
It might be more, might be less—but compared to Beijing, it’s a drop in the ocean.
“We won’t be seeing a horde that big. Plus, unlike back then, we’ve built proper defenses. Kill zones, even.”
“...”
Kim Daram still said nothing, her expression stiff.
We had powerful Regular Awakened fighters too—but I didn’t mention them.
They were still psychologically crushed by the “voice” emitted by the General-type.
“Haa.”
Kim Daram sighed and looked at me with tired eyes.
“Can we actually win?”
It would’ve been easy to throw out an empty assurance.
But I know her too well.
Right now, Kim Daram is demanding the truth.
We’d entrusted our lives to each other more than once.
To perform our deadly dance again, we needed trust.
I looked straight at her and said clearly:
“The odds are slim.”
“Of course.”
“But not zero.”
She fell silent, staring into my eyes.
“...We just have to take down the General-type.”
“The General-type.”
She knew exactly what I meant.
“That thing’s never been defeated. That’s why it still goes by the name you gave it.”
“This time, it will be.”
Kim Daram let out a heavy sigh.
As always, she was more grounded in reality than I was—clearly not convinced.
But she knew too.
I didn’t want to say it, but I brought up the reality she was avoiding.
“Is there anywhere else for you to go?”
She looked away.
Her eyes drifted for a while before turning back to me.
“Your bunker?”
“The one with the toilet in the middle? You said you’d rather die than raise a kid there.”
“Ha.”
She gave a short laugh.
Her first smile.
“If we defeat the General-type, Kang Han-min will move.”
That was my own theory.
But I was sure—if the greatest threat was eliminated, Kang Han-min wouldn’t abandon his fellow humans, his resources.
“Kang Han-min.”
She said his name with disgust.
“You ever seen him?”
She turned away and asked.
I answered honestly.
“I’ve seen him. But he...”
“What was he like?”
“...He wasn’t quite the Kang Han-min I remembered.”
“Really?”
She wiped the area around her mouth, a flicker of unease visible in her eyes.
“And you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never crossed paths with him. But...”
She hesitated.
“There were rumors. That he was involved in forcibly recruiting Awakened kids.”
“He was?”
“Woo Min-hee took the blame, but the word was Kang Han-min was behind it. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. Why would someone as unknown as her get such sweeping authority unless someone powerful was backing her?”
Kim Daram suddenly slumped her shoulders.
“...Dongtak.”
She murmured his name softly.
“My Dongtak is Awakened.”
“Seriously? How strong?”
“Enough to turn the sheet white...”
I hadn’t known.
That her son was an Awakened.
Or maybe he’d only awakened recently.
The world’s being consumed by erosion by the day, after all.
“If Kang Han-min shows up, he’ll take my kid for sure.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
She looked up at me.
After all the storms we’d weathered, I gazed down at my beloved junior and said calmly:
“Daram.”
She knew.
How much of a taboo Kang Han-min and Na Hye-in had been for me.
But it was different now.
“When the time comes, I’ll face him myself.”
I could do it now.
Assuming, of course, we survive the General-type—humanity’s undefeated enemy.
If I can get past that...
“After this fight ends.”
Then I’ll be able to face him as an equal.
Maybe not in strength—but in the size of my soul.
Kim Daram stood up.
Clack—
She checked her weapon as swiftly as I would.
With a shallow sigh, she cast off her worries and looked at me with her signature panther-like sharpness.
“Eyes forward.”
“...”
“Just like before.”
I nodded.
“I’m counting on you, Flawless.”
*
Hunter teams operate in squads of four.
Each country uses different terminology.
In the U.S., it’s called a “lance.” In the U.K., a “squad.”
Team structure depends on the team leader’s preferences, but generally consists of a Heavy (rear fire support with heavy weapons or high-powered rifles), a Spotter (mid-range support and field coordination), and an Assault (close combatant within barrier range).
Those are the three core roles.
Our team had already filled the Heavy and Assault spots.
The Spotter role would be filled by Cheon Young-jae—who had somehow become my most dependable ally.
“Of course I’m going!”
He agreed without hesitation when I asked. His cheerful expression made me think I was right to hold out.
He had caused me no small amount of trouble over time.
Patience isn’t always a virtue—but in this case, it had brought me the gift of a new teammate.
But now, hunter teams had a new role.
The Awakened.
Here in New Seoul, I’d personally designed, tested, and combat-verified this new role. It was effective against monsters—and people.
Just one Regular Awakened was enough to stop any surprise attack from hostile humans.
Considering that most hunter casualties in China were caused by other humans, this was a major leap forward.
But this time, we couldn’t use Awakened.
The General-type emits fear and psychological suppression targeting Regular Awakened and above.
I’d need to think more about the fourth slot.
There was too much we still needed.
We required external help.
Yes, war destroyed everything. But we knew some groups had risen from the ashes.
I was planning to ask them for help.
I didn’t know how much support they could offer—but it was better than facing this apocalyptic rift disaster alone.
Luckily, I personally knew the leader of one such powerful group.
Tap tap tap
SKELTON: (Greeting) How’ve you been?
I sent a message to King for the first time in a while.
CrunchRoll: What’s up?
A reply came instantly.
But I had a bad feeling.
That old instinct of a veteran Viva! Apocalypse! user was sounding the alarm.
Sure enough—
CrunchRoll: You’re in New Seoul, right?
He knew where I was.
Well, it wasn’t like I’d been operating in secret.
And someone who ruled a mega-city of tens of thousands probably had his own intel network.
SKELTON: Yeah.
I answered honestly.
CrunchRoll: Guess things aren’t going well over there?
SKELTON: Honestly, no.
CrunchRoll: Sorry, but we’re in over our heads here too.
SKELTON: Yeah?
CrunchRoll: Sorry about that.
CrunchRoll: I’m not feeling well today. Let’s talk another time.
“...”
So it wasn’t going to be easy, just as I’d expected.
That’s how expectations go—always wrong.
But I couldn’t give up hope.
Beep—beep—beep—
I tried to [N O V E L I G H T] contact Park Penguin.
No answer.
Was something wrong?
Or was he deliberately avoiding me?
I knew it was naive to complain about how cold the world had become—but when no one answers you in your time of need, it still hurts.
After four failed attempts, I stepped outside to get some air.
Craving a cigarette—but held it in.
No cigarettes.
If I had no network, I’d have to rely on Kim Byeong-cheol’s.
Even if he broke off from the Legion faction, maybe some of his old buddies still wanted to return to the Republic of Korea.
With such hopeless thoughts, I headed toward the meeting room.
Someone suddenly appeared in front of me.
“Do you have a moment?”
A fanatic.
No—Ham Chun-ok.

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Chapter 157.1: Team (1)