I stayed in the alley long after the System's words disappeared, trying to decide whether to laugh, scream, or throw up.
Zombie girlfriends? Houses that could move? A magical voice that could take over my body if I panicked badly enough?
"Yeah. Sure. Completely normal."
The worst part was that I remembered dying. I remembered teeth sinking into my neck, hands tearing at me, and the terrible moment I couldn't even scream anymore. Nothing about that had felt like a dream.
I dragged out my phone. The date was exactly two weeks before the apocalypse, and the receipt in my pocket matched it.
A blue window blinked into existence.
**SYSTEM NOTICE\~**
**Time remaining until Day 0: 14 days.**
**Host survival preparations recommended!**
"Thanks for the groundbreaking advice."
It was a little after ten forty-five. Somewhere beyond the alley a woman laughed, a delivery van honked, and ordinary life carried on. Nobody knew what was coming.
But I did.
I forced myself onto my feet. Last time I'd waited too long to take danger seriously. This time I had fourteen days, a strange System, and one enormous advantage: I knew what failure felt like.
---
At home, I stared at shelves covering every wall.
Anime figurines. Limited-edition games. Signed collector boxes. Statues I'd ordered from overseas and waited months to receive. I had spent years building this collection, and no visitor had ever failed to comment on it.
Usually the comments weren't flattering.
*You spent how much on a doll?*
*Shouldn't you buy something grown-up?*
I'd rolled my eyes and bought another one.
Now, for the first time, I looked at my collection and saw something besides comfort.
I opened my banking app.
Just over twenty thousand dollars remained from the inheritance Grandma had left when she died.
I swallowed.
She had left me considerably more than that. Most of the difference had disappeared into my hobby. I'd called every purchase an investment, partly because I believed it, and partly because it was easier than admitting how much I liked owning beautiful things.
"Sorry, Grandma."
Then I opened the spreadsheet where I recorded editions, certificates, original prices, and recent collector sales.
I started calculating and checking current market prices, and calculating again.
"Wait. Seriously?"
Some of those supposedly childish purchases had appreciated. A lot. A sealed figure I'd bought on release was worth several times what I'd paid. Rare collector boxes had become impossible to find. The market value of the collection was now close to a hundred and ninety thousand dollars.
I sat down hard.
"I was wasteful," I whispered. Then a laugh escaped. "But apparently I was wasteful *intelligently*."
Getting that much would take careful auctions, patient negotiations, and months I didn't have. I needed buyers now.
I opened a calculator.
Sixty-five percent of current value.
At that price, even if the estimates varied, the total could reach a little over a hundred and twenty thousand dollars.
I stared at the result.
I'd been hoping I could scrape together eighty or ninety thousand if I sold everything in a hurry. Maybe a hundred if some generous collectors appeared. The calculation in front of me was considerably better.
Of course, projected money wasn't money in the bank. I had to sell the damn things first.
I wrote three figures in a notebook:
**AVAILABLE CASH: approximately $20,000.**
**COLLECTION: approximately $190,000 market value; offer at 65%.**
**HOUSE: $57,000 asking price for a fast cash sale.**
The house was mine outright. Small, aging, but livable. Fifty-seven thousand would be a steal to someone who wanted a quick deal.
A grim smile pulled at my mouth.
"They won't have much time to enjoy it."
It was a horrible thought. I still wrote the price down.
If everything worked, I could have nearly two hundred thousand dollars to prepare with. With luck, enough to do more than barricade a door.
---
Around noon, I remembered a video I'd seen about underground homes built from cargo containers joined by giant circular tubes.
Back then I'd imagined an underground gaming paradise.
Now I imagined walls between me and a thousand hungry mouths.
I searched through videos, construction articles, property listings, and photographs of buried shelters. Some looked like secret military installations. Some looked like expensive death traps.
One engineer warned that ordinary shipping containers weren't designed to carry the weight of tons of soil on their roofs. Another explained groundwater, drainage, structural reinforcement, ventilation, and emergency exits.
"Okay. So burying a metal box and hoping for the best is out."
My first sketch had two reinforced container sections connected by a wide circular passage. One for sleeping and supplies, one for equipment. A second exit if I could manage it. Real ventilation, drainage, and a way to produce electricity.
I scratched out half the design almost immediately.
Fourteen days. No professional crew on standby. No land yet. This wasn't a fantasy game where a building appeared because I had enough gold.
A basic functional shelter was the goal. The underground dream could grow later, if I lived long enough.
I searched for cheap rural plots outside the city, focusing on places accessible without major highways. Every listing raised a new problem. Flood-prone land. No legal access. Uncertain soil. Sellers who wouldn't close quickly.
Still, I saved promising listings and highlighted the owners who advertised cash deals.
Then came vehicles.
In my first life, the roads had become graveyards of abandoned cars. I wanted something tougher than an ordinary vehicle, preferably with room for supplies and windows that wouldn't shatter when desperate hands struck them.
Old armored cash vans appeared in my search results. Some were outrageously priced; others might be possible after the sales. I bookmarked a few and compared their condition and repair needs.
An armored vehicle with a dead engine would be a very fancy coffin.
By two, my notebook was full of circles, arrows, question marks, and numbers. I hadn't even eaten.
"Wonderful. Preparing to survive starvation by forgetting lunch."
---
I bought groceries before doing anything else.
Water, rice, canned beans, soup, peanut butter, rechargable batteries, cranck chargers for batteries, soap, first-aid supplies, and food I could eat without electricity. I refused to empty Grandma's remaining money on my first shopping trip but I made sure to buy some essentials. I needed liquidity for land, a vehicle, and contractors.
At the hardware store I picked up a sturdier door lock, rechargeable flashlights, and supplies for the back window that never sealed properly.
A news alert appeared as I carried bags into the house: police were investigating an unusually violent attack in a neighboring district.
I stopped reading halfway through.
Had that happened before? Had I simply ignored it while playing games?
The System had said the spread had already begun.
I pictured the supermarket cashier, unaware of what was coming. I couldn't save everyone. That didn't make it easier.
I put the groceries away and started photographing my collectibles.
---
Selling the collection was painful in a strangely ordinary way.
I wiped dust from display cases. Checked certificates. Photographed seals and edition numbers. Wrote short, accurate descriptions. Every item had a memory attached.
The first listing went live.
Then the next.
I priced everything at sixty-five percent of its estimated current collector value. No negotiations, no holds, buyers paid shipping, first confirmed payment got the item.
My phone buzzed before I finished photographing the next figure.
**SOLD.**
"Already?"
Another notification arrived.
Then two more.
Messages piled up from collectors asking whether the prices were mistakes. One buyer purchased three pieces together and paid the shipping without complaint. Another demanded to know whether I had more from the same series.
I laughed aloud.
"Apparently I should've opened a store."
By late afternoon I had packed several paid orders and still had dozens of pieces to list. The money wasn't all cleared into my account yet, and I couldn't count it until the transactions settled. But people were buying faster than I could type.
For the first time, the number I'd written in the notebook looked possible.
---
At four thirty I caught myself thinking about Herino Misaka.
And the fake dead cat.
The System had forced me to lie to her because I'd been falling apart. It might have prevented me from ruining everything, but that didn't make the lie fair to her.
Her profile had said she hated manipulation.
"Great first impression, idiot."
I could have left it alone. I had more urgent tasks.
Except she'd looked genuinely worried about me.
I returned to the game store.
Herino was straightening a display when she saw me. "You're back? Did you forget something?"
"Yeah. An apology. A real one."
She blinked.
"The cat story wasn't true," I said. "I don't have a cat. Something happened today that scared me, and I panicked. I shouldn't have lied to you."
Her smile disappeared.
**AFFECTION UPDATE\~ HERINO MISAKA: 18%.**
Ouch.
"You made that up?" she asked.
"Yes. And I'm sorry."
"I told you about my cat because I thought you understood."
"I know. You were kind to me, and I didn't deserve that kindness under false pretenses."
She folded her arms and studied me.
"Why tell me now?"
"Because the lie bothered me. You deserved the truth."
She sighed. "I'm still angry."
"Fair."
"But coming back was better than letting me believe it forever."
**AFFECTION UPDATE\~ HERINO MISAKA: 24%.**
I resisted the urge to look directly at the floating text.
She noticed a bit of packing tape stuck to my sleeve. "What have you been doing?"
"Selling half my childhood, apparently."
"What?"
"Collector figurines, games, that sort of thing. I'm trying to fund a completely ridiculous home project."
"What kind of home project?"
"An underground one."
She stared.
"Like a mole?"
"A very ambitious mole with excellent Wi-Fi."
She burst out laughing.
**AFFECTION UPDATE\~ HERINO MISAKA: 27%.**
"You're weird," she said, smiling again.
"That's fair too."
"Well, next time you're having a bad day, just tell me. No fictional dead cats."
"Deal."
As I left, she called after me, "And play the game you bought! I promise it was good."
"I will!"
Outside, the System displayed another panel.
**TIER 1 REQUIREMENTS\~**
**Affection: 27% — COMPLETE.**
**Mutual kiss: INCOMPLETE.**
**Reward: 1,000 lbs of gaming snacks — LOCKED.**
I exhaled.
All I need now is to figure out how to get her to kiss me, great.
---
At nine that evening, my living room looked as if a collectibles shop had exploded.
Packing materials covered the floor. Paid shipping labels waited beside sealed boxes. My phone kept vibrating with purchase notifications.
I checked the totals carefully, separating completed payments from offers and messages. Plenty of listings still needed to go up, and more than one buyer had asked questions without committing.
But the speed of the first sales was astonishing.
Maybe I'd actually pull this off before the next two days were over.
I checked the saved rural properties and armored vans once more. Tomorrow I'd call sellers, investigate quick purchase options, and see whether a contractor could put together a safe temporary base on a ridiculous deadline.
Then I wrote one line beneath everything else.
**SURVIVE FIRST. BUILD BETTER LATER.**
I took Mystic Madness from its bag and played for twenty minutes. Onscreen, a peasant began gathering resources to build a kingdom.
"Same idea," I told him. "Just with fewer zombies. Probably."
When I shut it off, the house was quiet except for another soft notification from my phone.
Another paid order.
I smiled, exhausted.
Fourteen days remained. I wasn't ready. Not remotely.
But this time I had a plan, a collection that might save my life, and a reason to get out of bed tomorrow.
I turned off the light.
"Let's hope i can come up with a build tomorrow."