Jiwoo searched every corner of the house—drawers, cabinets, even under the bed—hoping to find something useful. Food, water, anything that could keep him alive.
Nothing.
He let out a sharp, frustrated breath. Great. Just great.
"If I don't go out and find food, I'm gonna starve to death," he muttered.
Then a chilling thought hit him like ice water.
Judging by the state of the city outside… Gu Si Wook hadn't met Lee Hyunseok yet. This had to be before the events of the novel—an untold backstory that had never been written.
"In other words," Jiwoo said aloud, running a hand through his white hair, "the novel hasn't even started yet."
His stomach sank. He remembered exactly how Gu Si Wook had been introduced—bleeding, barely clinging to life when Hyunseok found him.
Of all the characters… why the hell did I have to be him? Jiwoo cursed under his breath. An omega destined for a tragic death—that was his body, his fate.
Still, starving in this ruined city would only make that fate come sooner. He had no choice.
He scavenged the house more thoroughly, ignoring the creaking floorboards and the way shadows seemed to twist in corners. A worn-out stick. A shard of broken glass. Some rope from a half-collapsed shelf. He tied them together, forming something vaguely resembling a sword. Not much, but better than nothing. It wasn't going to stop a monster, but at least it might save him from a stray scavenger—or buy him a few extra seconds.
His eyes swept over the room again, searching for anything else—a blanket, scraps of cloth, a bottle of water—but there was nothing. He tugged on loose, more comfortable clothing he had found: a thick, faded jacket that allowed freedom of movement and offered a tiny layer of protection.
Standing at the front door, he gripped the makeshift weapon tightly. His fingers ached from the tension, but he forced himself to take slow, steady breaths.
"You can do this, Baek Jiwoo," he whispered to himself, voice low but fierce. "You can survive."
He peeked outside. The streets were silent, the ruins stretching endlessly in all directions. Half-collapsed buildings loomed like broken teeth, and the faint sound of distant movement reminded him that danger lurked everywhere. Every instinct screamed at him to run back inside, to hide forever—but he knew that wouldn't help. Hunger would make him weak, and weakness meant death.
Jiwoo stepped forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. Each movement felt surreal, as if he were walking in a nightmare he couldn't wake from. The wind carried the stench of decay and charred wood, making him gag. He tightened his grip on the makeshift sword, every sense alert.
He paused in the doorway, glancing back at the small, crumbling house that had been his only shelter. It offered nothing now. He had to face the city. He had to survive.
One step, then another.
The ruined streets stretched before him like a battlefield. Shadows shifted in corners, and faint, guttural noises echoed in the distance. Monsters. Scavengers. Death in every shape and form.
Jiwoo's pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to focus. Hunger. Cold. Fear. He had to use all of it. Every ounce of energy, every shred of cunning, would count if he wanted to survive today.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady the shaking of his hands. With one last glance at the broken home behind him, Jiwoo tightened his grip on the makeshift weapon and stepped fully into the ruins.
Danger was waiting. And he had no choice but to meet it head-on.