CHAPTER 5 — "Stability"
The silence hangs there—thin, fragile, almost breakable—her question still floating in the stale air like smoke.
Will you… be with me?
I don't touch that. I don't go near that. I'm not stupid.
Instead, I push off the wall and move toward her slowly, crouching in front of where she sits slumped against the counter. Her pink hair is sticking to her cheek, her breaths shallow, her fingers trembling. She's trying to look composed, but she's doing a terrible job of hiding how much she hurts.
"You're injured," I say. My voice stays flat. Practical. Detached. "Let me clean this before it gets infected."
That's it. That's all she gets from me right now. No emotional landmine. No rope to grab onto.
Her lips part—like she wants to repeat the question—but she swallows it down and nods instead. Quiet. Obedient. Or maybe just in shock.
Either way, it makes things easier.
I pull the battered first-aid kit closer, snapping it open. Inside: alcohol wipes, gauze, a few bandages, medical tape, nothing fancy. But I'll make it work.
"Give me your arm," I tell her.
She extends it slowly.
The moment she moves, her breath hitching, I can see it clearly—the swelling, the bruising pattern, the subtle bend. Forearm fracture. Not compound. Lucky.
Still bad.
I take her arm gently, turning it just enough to look at the bruising under the skin. Purple-black, blotchy. Not fresh—an hour old at least. Maybe two. Her fingers twitch when I adjust her wrist.
"Something grabbed you," I say.
She nods, barely. "A… zombie. It yanked me back when I tripped. I fell on my arm."
Ah. That explains the angle.
"Try not to move," I say.
Her inhale is sharp when the alcohol pad touches her skin, but she doesn't pull away. Just swallows the sound. Tough girl. Or too used to it.
"You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt," I say, my voice a little softer.
"I know." Her voice is small, quiet. "I just… I'm used to powering through."
Figures.There's something deeper there—something I could pick at. But I don't. Not right now.
I clean the worst of it, then grab the ruler I swiped earlier from the office and the package of gauze. I make a shitty splint. Better than nothing. Then I wrap it and help make it a sling. I stabilize and wrapped her arm to her torso. She can't move her arm now, but she probably doesn't want to move it.
"You're good at this," she says softly.
"I may have watched a few hospital shows," I say. "Blame the apocalypse for making them actually useful."
She gives a tiny exhale, almost a laugh. Almost.
I tighten the wrap around her forearm, careful but firm. "This'll help with the pain. Don't use the arm. Period."
She nods again. Her eyes stay focused on me—watching every movement. Observant. She misses nothing.
"Alright," I say, shifting my attention. "Now the leg."
Her blush is immediate. he cheeks turned pink.
Cute.
I pretend not to notice. "Can I lift the fabric?"
She nods. I push the torn fabric of her skirt aside. The slash on her outer thigh is deeper than I thought—red, swollen, jagged.
"This is going to sting."
"It already does," she whispers.
I clean it. She bites her lip so hard it goes white, but again—no flinching.
Then a thought hits me.
God, if only I had a healing skill right now.
And hey… I do have those orbs.
I pull them from my pocket. Five left—three red, one orange, one white. I look them over, and for some reason, my hand drifts toward the white one first.
Rare? Special? No idea. But whatever.
I crush it.
Ding.
A soft chime in my head.
Skill Obtained: Extra — Inventory
My chest tightens with excitement—bright, sharp, electric—so strong I almost laugh.
Inventory (Extra)
You have created a personal spatial storage pocket linked directly to your mana core.
Allows you to store and retrieve non-living objects
Storage Capacity: 10,000 Items
Weight Reduction: 100% (items stored weigh nothing)
Holy shit.
This is the kind of thing that changes everything.
If she weren't here, I'd be cackling like a supervillain.
But she is here, so I keep my composure. Barely , but I feel grin on my face.
She stares at me. "What… was that?"
"A skill orb," I say. "Gives a random skill when you crush it."
Her gaze flicks to her hands, then back at me—hopeful, confused, overwhelmed.
She's processing a lot. Good. Time for more.
I shift, leaning back slightly. "Try opening your stat screen."
"My… what?"
"Stats," I say plainly. "Call 'System Status.' Just trust me."
She hesitates. She just stares me in eye, looking hard, as if I'm pranking her. Like she's pretty sure I'm either insane or playing with her.
But after a moment, she closes her eyes.
"System Status."
She gasps.
Bingo.
Her eyes flick around, reading invisible text. I wait. Let her absorb it. Then—
"What are your numbers?"
She still seems unsure whether answering me is the right move—but she does anyway.
"…Physique: 6. Mind: 9. Spirit: 14. Will: 15. Perception: 5."
Interesting.
Low Physique, and perception. A soft, quiet girl with low physical power… but her Spirit? And Will?
Those numbers are nothing to scoff at. Her spirit is higher than mine.
And the way she keeps surviving? That 'Will' tracks.
She keeps reading for a moment—then her shoulders sink slightly.
"…I don't have any skills," she whispers.
Expected.
A long quiet silence stetted between us. After a good 5 minutes I finally exhale and stand up. I open my palm and look over the remaining orbs again. Three red. One orange. "Well I'm unsure how many skills I can have, and what the colors mean. I'm going to use the orange one... and i can give you a red one... but I don't want to give a red away for free. "
I said finally breaking the silence. While I don't hate the idea of giving her a skill orb... for free? Yea not happening. and it's true, i've read books where you only get like 5 skills slots due to the soul power or something, and right now I don't want to take any chances. Besides I have 3 red ones, I can give her one since I want different colors, and in the future I'll have her give me an orb. As I'm making future plans alexiy speaks up interrupting my thoughts.
Her head snaps up—eyes wide.
"I can… I can pay you," she stammers. "I have money— around two-hundred—in my account—"
I laugh before I can stop myself. Quiet but sharp. "Pffft-Hehe..."
"Cute," I say.
Her blush deepens.
"Money's worthless now," I tell her. "The only thing that matters is power. Strength. If someone stronger walked into this gas station, they could take all our supplies and we couldn't stop them. This—" I gesture toward the broken windows, the half-lit sign outside, the empty road, the shambling silhouettes in the distance. "—is the wilds now. Society is gone. No law. No government coming to fix this... not any time soon."
She's quiet. Listening. Really listening.
I continue, "We either get stronger or we die. That's it. The world we knew has ended. It's every man for himself now. There is no room for peace in this chaotic world."
Long silence.
And then, she shifts—slow, deliberate—until she's kneeling.
Her forehead touches the dirty floor.
"I'll follow you," she whispers. Her voice cracks. "I'm scared. I'm so lost and scared right now." I could tell she's fighting holding back her tears.
"I don't know what's happening. But you… you know something. You have skills. You're strong. If you give me a skill… I'll serve you. I'll help you fight. I'll do the chores, carry things, cook—anything. Just…"
Her breath shatters a little.
"Please save me. Please save my family."
For a moment, I say nothing.
Not because I don't know what to say.
But because she means every word.
She's not bargaining.
She's pleading.
And if I said yes—to anything—she'd believe me. Completely. Fully. She'd latch onto that promise like a drowning person grabbing a rope.
There's something dangerous about that.
Dangerous for her. Dangerous for me.
She finally lifts her head, her eyes-wet but steady-met mine. Her pink eyes seemed to be filled with emotions. Desperation, fear, hope. She was waiting for an answer.
Damn it.
I exhale.
"…Back to your first question," I murmur.
Her breath catches. Her cheeks flush again. She straightens a little, eyes locked onto mine with raw, trembling hope.
"Will you… be with me?" she repeats.
Barely audible.
God, she actually asked it again.
I look at her—really look at her—and for some reason that makes my chest tighten. Something warm. Something uncomfortable.
"I'm not answering that yet," I say finally.
Her face falls. Not dramatically. Just a small drop in her shoulders, a soft exhale of disappointment that she tries—and fails—to hide. Like she lost all hope.
"But," I add, "I'm not kicking you out tonight."
She looks up again.
"I'll keep you alive... for now" I continue. "That's more than I planned to promise anyone today."
Her lips part. Tremble. Not with fear.
Something else. Something dangerous. Well I think hope is dangerous.
"…Thank you," she whispers.
And for some insane reason?
It feels like the world outside goes quiet just so I can hear it.