Perhaps Natasha was right. Maybe siding with Elric really was the right move—the only move that made sense in this insane new world.
Sure, Elric didn't look like much at first glance—just another survivor in worn tactical gear, someone who could blend into the background of desperate people trying to survive. But he wasn't some washed-up scavenger fighting over scraps either.
He was powerful. Genuinely, terrifyingly powerful in ways that defied explanation.
Capable of things that seemed impossible—teleportation, spatial manipulation, surgical precision with invisible blades.
And most importantly… he had supplies. Real, abundant supplies.
Clean water by the thousands of bottles. Real food that wasn't contaminated or rotting. Protection from the horrors outside that no one else could provide.
Grace's thoughts twisted in circles as she sat in the dim light of the old campus activity room, surrounded by trembling teachers and broken glass that crunched underfoot. Her mind was a battlefield of competing needs and emotions.
If she followed Elric, maybe her safety—her future—could finally be secured in a world where nothing else was certain.
Her heart said yes, screaming at her to accept, to survive. But her pride held her back like an anchor.
Her husband's body was still cold in the hallway just floors below. Just hours ago—barely six hours—she'd been sobbing over him, holding his hand as he bled out from internal injuries.
And now she was thinking of siding with another man? Of becoming part of some survival harem?
The thought burned with guilt so intense it felt physical, like swallowing acid.
Before she could form a response, before she could voice her acceptance or rejection, a sharp voice broke the air like shattering glass.
"Natasha, I can't believe you," snapped a woman with thick glasses—Professor Davis from the mathematics department. "How could you say something so shameless? So disgusting?"
Another teacher, a heavyset woman named Helen, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "You think everyone's like you? If you want to throw yourself at a man for food, fine. But don't drag the rest of us down with you!"
Natasha didn't even blink at the accusations. Her gaze was calm, almost pitying, as if she were watching children argue about rules in a game that had already ended.
"Say what you want," she said evenly, her voice carrying quiet authority. "But this isn't about pride anymore. It's not about reputation or dignity or what people think. It's about survival. Pure and simple."
Her voice carried through the room, quiet but cutting like a surgical blade.
"When the world ended, our jobs, our morals, our reputations—they all went with it. They died along with civilization. Out there, the weak die screaming. You can choose to be proud and starve in the dark, or you can live under protection. Elric has power, food, and clean water. He's offering safety—nothing more, nothing less."
The two women scoffed, but their confidence faltered visibly as Natasha pulled out her phone with deliberate slowness.
She showed them a photo—a picture she'd taken earlier of freshly roasted lamb shanks, their golden skin glistening under firelight, fat and juices visible, perfectly cooked.
"Real food," she said softly, her voice dropping to something almost intimate. "Unspoiled. Unpolluted. Cooked to perfection. Enough to feed everyone here for a week. All Elric asked was that I find women from among the survivors to join our group. That's it."
Grace's stomach twisted painfully at the sight of the meat, cramping with hunger so intense it made her dizzy. She hadn't eaten properly in days—nothing but stale crackers and contaminated water that made her sick.
The others—those same women who'd shouted righteous indignation just seconds ago—were staring too, their eyes glazed. Their gazes lingered too long on the photo, pupils dilating.
Natasha noticed their expressions and smiled faintly, knowing she'd won. "If Grace doesn't want to, that's fine. I'm not forcing anyone. But if anyone else is interested, Elric won't turn you away."
It was like lighting a fuse on a powder keg.
"I… I'm interested!" blurted Professor Davis, the woman with glasses who'd been condemning Natasha moments ago. Her voice cracked with desperation.
"What about me?" Helen added quickly, almost frantically. "I can cook, clean—I'll do anything! Please!"
Grace blinked rapidly, her mind struggling to process what was happening. What?
Just seconds ago, these women had been screaming about dignity and self-respect and moral standards—and now they were falling over each other to get a chance at safety, abandoning their principles the moment real food appeared.
"You've got to be kidding me…" muttered one of the male teachers nearby, stunned into speaking. "Did you all just switch sides that fast?"
Grace's fists clenched so hard her nails bit into her palms. Her hesitation transformed into panic.
If she waited any longer, if she hesitated while others accepted, she might lose her only chance at survival. The spots might fill up. Elric might decide he had enough people.
She stood suddenly, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and grabbed Natasha's hand with desperate strength.
"Wait—I'll go. I'll come with you."
The words tumbled out before she could second-guess them.
Natasha smiled, genuine relief washing over her features. A faint sigh escaped her lips.
"Good," she whispered, squeezing Grace's hand. "You made the right—"
CRASH!
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