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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Hiding a House in the Apocalypse
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1. Old Man Kim
The story of how the world fell apart and turned into a total mess is long, tedious, and complicated, but even within that, there are plenty of entertaining episodes.
For instance, my wise preparation for the future, as Park Gyu.
From self-proclaimed intellectuals to YouTubers like Rex Car, everyone had been harping on about a crisis looming over humanity, but among civilians, only two types actually prepared for it.
Those overflowing with so much money they could build a private bunker on their land, or the bold risk-takers who could deny reality and bet everything on vague possibilities.
I was the latter.
The moment I sensed the crisis, I boldly liquidated my assets to prepare for the coming apocalypse.
I didn't have much inherited wealth, but I had savings I'd accumulated.
I worked in a job where saving money was inevitable, and toward the end, I slept only about four hours a day, ramping up my workload like a madman.
Still, without the riches of those ultra-wealthy folks, I picked up skills in my spare time amid the grueling labor.
Basic electrical work, construction, heavy machinery operation, drug and chemical synthesis, foundational medicine, and so on. Anything I couldn't grasp, I bought books or video tutorials and stored them away.
The most crucial part was choosing where to settle.
It wasn't an easy decision.
I consulted survival experts, civilians who'd survived war zones, remote explorers, and later, the doomsday prepper community "Viva! Apocalypse!" that I'll introduce.
After long deliberation, I selected a site based on four key conditions.
First, a place with no people around, where no one would come looking even in a crisis.
Second, yet maintaining a proper distance from a major city.
Third, the terrain of the hideout.
Fourth, the price.
The first condition was the absolute basics.
For someone building their own fortress against the apocalypse, the greatest threat wasn't monsters or zombie hordes—it was humans themselves.
In fact, humans remained the primary threat to my apocalyptic life throughout.
However, humans are a species that struggles to survive alone.
The second condition might seem to contradict the first, but it was vitally important.
If you could trade with the city, you could obtain not just essential supplies but also valuable information during a crisis.
Venturing out from a safe hideout into the dangerous outside world was extremely risky, but holing up in a bunker and ignoring the massive storm approaching was a guaranteed death sentence.
The third condition was the foundation for the endless struggle that would last until my dying breath.
The hideout needed to allow surveillance in all directions and be hard to spot from outside.
Defensive strength came next.
No matter how defensible the terrain, once the hideout was exposed, I couldn't hold it alone.
Humans are the animal species—excluding insects—with the largest population.
Oh, soil quality and groundwater were important too.
The ground had to be soft enough to dig deep, and groundwater would become my lifeline once utilities were cut.
Of course, all these factors had to fit within my budget.
Currency becomes worthless paper after the world collapses, but to prepare before that, you need money.
The site I chose was a wooded hillside between an airbase and a golf course.
It was sparsely populated, easy to monitor, and at a suitable distance from the metropolis—but it had a fatal flaw.
The land had no road access; it was what they call blind land.
It was an unavoidable choice.
Blind land was several to dozens of times cheaper than comparable plots.
Unscrupulous waste disposers had used it as a dumping ground for construction debris, piling up industrial trash mountains, which helped keep the price low.
Still, I secured a fairly large plot.
It was spacious enough to rival the neighboring golf course.
The lack-of-road issue was resolved by paying usage fees to the adjacent landowner and providing free labor during harvest seasons, but it wasn't easy.
"You're from Seoul? Alright, let's get along."
I don't remember the old man's name now, but his surname was definitely Kim.
A scrawny, short man in his seventies with a Chungcheong dialect, his first impression wasn't great.
As expected, Old Man Kim's temper was so nasty it occasionally sparked murderous impulses even in someone as detached as me.
He'd nitpick at every chance, demand restorations to original condition, block the only road with obstacles as a daily routine, and constantly show up asking for help with odd jobs.
When he banged on my container home door at 3 a.m. demanding labor help, I seriously wanted to shove him into a rice paddy.
What could I do? You get what you pay for.
The money saved on cheap land went entirely into heavy machinery, construction materials, and survival supplies.
I got an excavator, loader, rock drill, forklift, and more.
Hiring pros might be cheaper and more expert for a single bunker, but my plan was to endlessly expand and modify my hideout.
My 220,000 pyeong of land would be my territory, foundation, and life's fortress in a crumbling world.
Naturally, I started by hiring people.
You can't match professionals' skills and know-how with just internet tutorials and lectures.
"No way, boss. All this equipment is yours? What on earth are you planning?"
The contractors were uniformly shocked by my heavy machinery collection.
"Well, I sort of developed a hobby in this area."
I brushed it off vaguely and worked to win them over.
They were reluctant at first about the client jumping into the work, but after a few rounds of drinks and snacks, they moved like one team with me.
From them, I learned blood-and-bones knowledge no lecture or book could teach: how to dig into the earth, how to shore it up, ideal cement mixes and pouring methods, and more.
But all good things must come to an end.
Once major construction began, Old Man Kim started throwing tantrums.
"What the hell are you doing there, calling all these people and clanging around? Got development permits?"
After putting up with his outbursts for a month, I figured out why.
He just needed an outlet for stress.
An aging body, life not going well, suffocating loneliness, impending death.
A vague despair I could only dimly understand had turned him into this irritable old man.
Though village gossip suggested his temper was never great to begin with.
His nickname was world-class bastard. World-class bastard.
Thanks to that bastard's antics, my first bunker construction faced constant interference and even drew complaints from the workers.
I wasn't a saint either, so as my patience wore thin, I spotted an unfamiliar car parked at Old Man Kim's isolated house.
A shiny new Mercedes Benz.
A man resembling Old Man Kim but taller and younger stood there with a middle-aged woman whose mouth pursed sourly.
"That bastard's spawn..."
The words slipped out involuntarily.
Old Man Kim had never mentioned family.
He fiddled with his phone and attempted calls when I helped with chores, so I figured he had some, but this was the first time seeing them.
That day, I discovered the true stain on Old Man Kim's heart.
"No, sell this land. We'll take care of you. We're offering to look after you—why the hell are you making a fuss?!"
The man who looked like Old Man Kim grabbed him by the collar and shook him like a toy.
The pursed-lip woman just watched, showing no intent to intervene.
She even smirked with satisfaction, silently cheering her husband on.
"Fuck. I put up with all your shitty moods growing up, but you give prime land to your daughter and garbage dump to your eldest son. Do you even know how much that bastard Park next door looks down on me these days?"
The man's voice rose higher.
Lots of pent-up resentment, apparently.
Old Man Kim's temper was nasty enough to provoke killing intent even in me.
But it was crossing the line.
"That fucker you babied runs around in a fancy apartment living it up, while your son—bearing your name—is scraping by, begging for his kid's English kindergarten fees!"
I could see him endlessly amplifying his inner rage, ramping up the emotional intensity.
"You gonna sell? Or not?"
When the man raised his fist, I cleared my throat loudly.
He glared at me with a furious face.
What did he want?
As I stared back, he sheepishly lowered his fist and grumbled something inaudible.
Meanwhile, Old Man Kim, collared, hung limp unlike himself, weakly shaking his head.
His gaze was fixed on his crumbling house.
"Fuck!!!"
The man spat curses, dropped Old Man Kim, and headed to the Benz with his wife.
As he opened the door, he hurled a vicious parting shot.
"We're not bringing Youngjin starting this Chuseok!"
After the car left, I pondered briefly.
Should I ignore the dazed Old Man Kim or offer a word of comfort?
I disliked him as much as his son did, but I still needed his cooperation for now.
Suppressing my irritation, I approached.
"You saw it all, huh."
Old Man Kim spoke without looking at me.
His gaze remained fixed on the crumbling house.
I pulled out a lollipop, popped it in my mouth, squatted beside him, and looked at the rundown house together.
"Your son?"
"...Do you have parents?"
I shook my head.
"They died in an accident."
"I see."
"It was a long time ago. Anyway, that's rough."
"I didn't give him cheap land."
Old Man Kim sighed deeply at the departing Benz.
"When I gifted it, that land was worth way more..."
"The land you gave your son."
Old Man Kim nodded and pulled out a cigarette.
I lit it for him, and he began his story with a hollow chuckle.
"The land I gave my daughter was blind land like yours. Even worse—worthless dirt hill shit. Who knew a 10-lane highway would cut right in front? Who knew a tunnel and new town would pop up on that backwater?"
His life played out exactly as expected.
Not a good dad, not a great dad.
A worthless dad who constantly tormented his family with tantrums and violence.
He lived as a world-class bastard his whole life, then in his later years, got a big payout from eminent domain and leveled up to rich dad—a boring life.
Otherwise, his kids might have cut him off long ago.
To wrap up quickly, I blurted out,
"Why not sell that house? Sell it and move elsewhere—problem solved, right?"
"Can't do that. Just can't."
The old man exhaled white smoke and looked up at the sky.
"My dead wife's ghost is there. Putting up with a world-class bastard like me her whole life..."
I still don't know what I did right for Old Man Kim.
One thing's certain: that short talk paved a 10-lane highway through his heart.
After that, he stopped blocking construction vehicles or complaining.
No clashes meant we naturally got along better, and I even volunteered to help him out.
Neighbors might as well be friends—nothing to lose from getting close.
There were perks too.
I learned farming knowledge hard for a city boy to pick up.
"Farming's all about the lunar calendar. Solar's useless. Follow the lunar, the solar terms. Solar terms are key."
He vaguely sensed what I was up to.
"You one of those survivalist doomsday nuts trending lately?"
"Something like that."
"Don't you need seedlings for that? Gotta eat veggies even if the world ends."
"Can you grow them underground?"
"Sunlight, water, fertilizer—grow anything. Seedlings these days are top-notch. Key is sincerity."
Many solar terms passed after that, but his kids never visited.
On Lunar New Year and Chuseok, I'd watch from afar as he stood alone in the yard of his crumbling house, blankly staring toward the road.
Years later, when China started the war, a missile from them struck the capital region.
Old Man Kim came rushing to my bunker in a panic.
It was the first time I'd seen him so flustered.
"Check on my son for me."
When comms recovered and I checked the casualty lists, I had bad news.
Old Man Kim just bowed his head silently.
No tears, no sobs.
Who knows what wind blew then.
"The world's about to end soon. If you're okay with it, come to my bunker?"
I made an offer against my principles.
Old Man Kim looked up at me.
He smiled at me.
"Wait a bit. Got something to prepare."
"Something to prepare?"
"Something for you."
He was a man capable of warmer smiles than I thought.
When I went back, he was hanging from the beam of the house he'd guarded, swaying like straw rope.
Below his cooling feet, seedling packets were neatly packaged with care.
I couldn't recover his body.
Nuclear attack sirens wailed everywhere, heralding the world's end.
I grabbed just the seedlings and rushed to the bunker.
In the end, it was the wise choice.
The raging flames of nuclear fission that followed incinerated the crumbling house and body without a trace.