He stood and gently unzipped the large floral quilt draped across the back of their living room couch. It was old but clean, probably something Miko's mother liked to use on cold nights. He took one last look at the bodies. Three people—once a family—now reduced to still, quiet corpses.
With a deep breath, he knelt down and carefully laid the quilt over them. One by one. The mother first, then the sister, then the father. Riku didn't flinch, even as the faint metallic scent of drying blood lingered in the air. He made sure every face was covered. It felt like the least he could do.
There was a long silence in the house after that. No moans, no groans. Just the occasional creak of floorboards and the distant sound of wind brushing past a cracked window.
Riku stood up, adjusted the sling of his M4A1, and started to look around. His boots softly crunched over broken glass and bits of debris as he moved through the home. He passed by framed photos of happier times—Miko as a child in her school uniform, holding her mother's hand. A photo of the entire family in Kyoto during autumn, red leaves in the background.
Everything felt frozen in time.
Eventually, he pushed open a side door and entered the garage.
His brows rose slightly. Parked neatly inside, untouched, was a brand new Range Rover Velar—sleek, black, with chrome accents that still shimmered under the dim fluorescent garage light. The tires looked untouched, the body unscathed. He gave a low whistle.
"They are really well off huh."
He approached it and peeked through the window. Full tank. Spotless leather seats. Even had some emergency supplies in the back—Miko's father must have been the type to prepare for anything.
Riku smiled faintly. "Guess her family was really well off."
He returned to the house, making his way up the wooden staircase. It groaned under his weight, but didn't break. He knocked gently on the slightly open bedroom door.
"Miko?"
"Come in," her soft voice called.
He pushed the door open.
Her room was exactly how he expected it—neatly kept, pastel-colored walls, and plushies arranged across a shelf above her bed. The bedsheets were pink, with little flower patterns, and her curtains were lacy and white, fluttering slightly from the draft of the half-open window. On the wall hung posters of boy bands, and a corkboard full of Polaroids and cute notes from friends.
She was kneeling beside an open hard-shell luggage, slowly folding clothes and stacking them neatly inside.
"Need help?" Riku asked.
She shook her head without looking up. "No… I'm almost done."
Riku watched her for a moment. There was something solemn about the way she packed—not frantic or messy, but methodical, like she was preserving something. Memories, maybe. Or a sense of control in a world where they had so little.
"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind," Riku said, backing out quietly.
He headed back downstairs and opened the fridge.
To his surprise, it was fully stocked.
Fresh vegetables. Packaged meats. Bottled water. Several cartons of milk, juices, energy drinks. Shelves filled with ramen, canned food, rice bags stacked in the pantry.
"They must've gone grocery shopping before everything went to hell," he muttered.
He pulled out several large tote bags from a drawer and began packing supplies. Rice, pasta, canned tuna, soup, crackers. Anything that would last a while and didn't need refrigeration. He found a few boxes of chocolate cookies and chips, too—and tossed those in without hesitation.
By the time Miko came down carrying her luggage, Riku had already loaded up the food on the counter.
She stared for a moment, as if surprised.
"We are going to take the food to the apartment. We have to get as many supplies as we can," Riku explained. "I hope it's okay."
"No it's okay…it's not like anyone would eat it anyways."
They finished packing in silence. When it was done, Riku tossed the bags near the garage door and finally slumped onto the couch with a long sigh.
Miko joined him after a moment, sitting beside him with a half-empty bag of chips in her lap. She tore it open, grabbed a few, and chewed slowly.
Riku accepted the offer when she held it out to him.
The salty crunch was weirdly comforting.
For a while, they just sat there—eating chips, drinking soda, and staring at nothing.
They hadn't talked much after packing. There wasn't anything to say. Everything that needed to be said had already been said upstairs.
Miko leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
"Can we stay a little longer?" she asked.
"As long as we are not going to spend a day here of course," Riku said, a request like that is normal as if granting her a wish. She just lost her parents after all, so he must be accommodating to her.
The softness of the sofa was so inviting that Riku felt his muscles relaxing more than he intended. The backrest seemed to cradle his shoulders, and the quiet atmosphere was starting to lull him.
His eyes fluttered once. Then again.
Miko noticed immediately. She shifted slightly, lifting her head from his shoulder, and looked at him with a gentle smile.
"It's okay," she said in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. "You can take a nap, Riku. You've done enough today."
He blinked a few more times, resisting. "No… I'm fine. Just resting my eyes."
She giggled faintly. "That's what people always say before they start snoring."
He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not true. I don't snore."
Miko picked up one of the throw pillows and placed it behind his head, adjusting it until it supported his neck properly.
"Seriously. Get some rest. You fought off dozens of zombies today. You carried heavy bags. And…" Her voice quieted. "You protected me. Let me return the favor."
Riku looked at her for a moment, studying her face. There was a certain calmness there now—not peace, not really, but something close to it. As if in this brief moment, in the remnants of her broken home, she had found a little piece of comfort.
"Alright," he finally said, exhaling deeply. "But just for a bit."
"I'll keep watch," she said, sitting up straighter. "I promise. Nothing will happen to you. I won't let anything happen. Not like… like what happened to them."
Her voice cracked at the end, but she held it together. Riku didn't mention it. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the tension fade from his shoulders.
Sleep didn't take long to find him.
Miko stayed seated beside him, legs curled up on the couch. She kept glancing at him from time to time, making sure his breathing stayed steady. For the first time since the outbreak began, he looked completely relaxed—no furrowed brows, no hands on a weapon. Just… asleep.