A few minutes after midnight.
Nikolas harrumphed, pushing aside the system's taunting. He had no time to figure out what his title meant, and the irritation of being second—after all his preparation—still stung. It felt like the system was mocking him.
He walked back inside the house where his family gathered in the living room. Their faces, a mix of confusion and wonder, told him they were all lost in their status screens.
[I think I acted the same…] Nikolas mused, a faint smile crossing his lips as he recalled his initial encounter with the system long before meeting Yuemura. But there was no time for nostalgia now.
[Well then, the time is ripe and I can't waste it here.] The first week of the apocalypse was crucial, and he needed to move fast—faster than anyone else to gain an edge.
His mission for the night was clear: clean the neighborhood of threats. Ignoring his family, he strode to his room, slipped on his black tactical clothes, and grabbed his prepared backpack. The young man then secured his katana and tanto to his waist, grabbed the pistols and rifles he had 'borrowed' from the army, and immediately then returned to the living room.
There, his family, along with Master Yuemura—who had become part of the family—were glued to the TV. The reporter on screen was frantic, asking a government official for answers. Chaos was erupting everywhere, but Nikolas barely glanced at it.
His family, sensing his presence, turned to look at him.
Reginald's eyes narrowed as he saw the weapons his son carried. The realization hit him. So that's where the stolen army arsenal had gone, the incident he saw on the news was his son's fault!
Reginald's eyes narrowed as he saw the weapons his son carried. The realization hit him. [So that's where the missing arsenal had gone...] Though he frowned, he didn't say a word. He understood that Nikolas had done it for their survival.
""Where... where are you going?" Emilia asked, though she already knew.
"I'm going to clear the neighborhood of those disgusting things," Nikolas replied with a reassuring smile. Before she could protest, he added, "Don't worry, Mom. It's not my first time!"
She gave a small smile at his joke. There was nothing she could do to stop him.
"If I waste time, more people will die." Nikolas muttered. He was about to head out when his father stood up abruptly.
"I'm going with you!" Reginald declared, his voice firm.
Nikolas paused, giving his father a long look. Reginald was a seasoned police officer with over two decades of experience, well-acquainted with death and danger.
[Having him with me might not be such a bad idea... It'll be easier to level him up a bit. Then, he can handle things on his own.] Nikolas thought. He didn't plan on babysitting them forever.
"Fine, but under one condition," Nikolas raised a finger. "You follow my lead. No rushing in. And remember—this isn't your world anymore. We can't save everyone."
Reginald's brows furrowed, deep in thought. After a moment, he nodded. "I understand. From now on, I'll be counting on your experience, son."
At that moment, Erick jumped from the couch raising his right hand high to volunteer himself, but before he could say anything Nikolas cut him off.
"Nikolas cut him off sharply. "No, you're not. You're staying right here." He pointed at the ground with finality. "You're still just a kid."
"But I've already killed one!" Erick protested, his frustration clear.
Nikolas hesitated. Erick was right—he had taken down a zombie before. The memory of it flashed in his mind, but it didn't change the fact that Erick wasn't ready for what lay ahead.
"Kid..." Nikolas murmured, his voice softening. For a moment, he was lost in thought, memories from his past life flooding back.
"I'm almost an adult! I can help!" Erick continued, but his words barely registered as Nikolas's mind focused on something else—something critical.
[Dammit, how could I forget about the orphanage!?]
His heart sank. The orphanage in their neighborhood had been renowned as one of the best in the area, filled with children who had no families of their own. In his past life, when disaster struck, no one had the time or resources to save those kids. The result? Every one of them perished, and the orphanage became a horrifying nest of zombified children. People had underestimated the threat, ignoring it until it was too late. Within a year, the place was swarming with evolved, powerful zombies that decimated several nearby safe zones.
Determined not to let history repeat itself, Nikolas turned to Master Yuemura, his face etched with urgency.
"Master, I need your help," Nikolas said quickly, his voice steady but serious.
"Yuemura's face lit up with a smile. "Feel free to say it! It's been a long time since this old bag of bones has been useful."
Nikolas didn't waste time. "I need you to go to the orphanage. Eliminate every single zombie you find and rescue any kids that are still alive."
Yuemura's smile faltered as he considered the task. While he trusted Nikolas, the thought of bringing children into the group seemed like a liability. Yet, seeing his disciple's uncharacteristic urgency, he held back his doubts.
Nikolas noticed the brief flicker of hesitation in Yuemura's eyes. "Master," he said firmly, "the apocalypse isn't ending anytime soon. We'll need people—good people—as time goes on. They won't be a burden; they'll be an asset."
Yuemura nodded, understanding the logic. Without further hesitation, Nikolas handed Yuemura a Glock. "Better to be prepared," he said. Then, turning to Erick, he handed him the IMBEL MD97 assault rifle.
"You're staying here, Erick," Nikolas said, his voice brooking no argument. "Your job is to protect Mom."
Erick stared at the rifle in his hands, panic flashing across his face. "But I don't know how to shoot!" he protested. "I've never even held a real gun before! The closest I've come is video games, and that's not exactly the same."
Nikolas smirked. "You don't need to shoot. Just show off. People won't know you don't actually know how to use it. Most of the time, the sight of a gun is enough to scare them away. And besides," Nikolas added, "shooting will only attract more zombies."
Reginald chuckled, stepping forward. "Don't worry, kid. It's easier than you think. I'll teach you tomorrow."
Erick sighed, still unsure but nodding reluctantly.
Nikolas glanced at the group one last time, his tone sharpening as he prepared to leave. "Alright, it's decided. Oh, and don't spend your free attribute points yet. Save them for emergencies."
He turned to Reginald. "Let's go, Dad. Grab a gun and a backpack. Tonight, we have three objectives: kill as many zombies as possible, collect their blood and eyes, and level up."
"And... save people?" Reginald asked, his voice laced with the weight of his former duty as a police officer. It wasn't just an instinct; it was a question of principle. Yet, deep down, he understood that this was Nikolas's call. This world was no longer governed by rules he knew—Nikolas was the only one with experience in this new, nightmarish reality. Reginald wasn't ready to take charge, not when the stakes were this high, not when one wrong decision could cost them everything.
"If the opportunity arises and it's safe, we will, Dad," Nikolas replied firmly. Though his heart ached for humanity, he wasn't a hero anyway. He was still adjusting to the idea of not being a lone wolf this time around. As far as he was concerned, his family came first. Saving others was a distant second.
[I'm not here to play the hero saving damsels in distress…]
Nikolas eyed his father, who was gearing up in full medieval armor: metallic boots, shoulder pads, gauntlets, and even his gleaming helmet. The sight of him looked almost absurd under the soft glow of the living room lamp. The polished metal reflected the light like a beacon, and Nikolas grimaced.
"Put on something to cover the armor," he said. "A black jacket, maybe. The world's already insane right now—we don't need to look like walking targets."
Reginald nodded, removing the helmet with a sheepish smile before rummaging for a large black coat to throw over his armor. The clinking of metal quieted as he adjusted it, the transformation into something more discreet almost comical.
Once ready, the two headed toward the door. But before leaving, Nikolas turned to Yuemura, who had been silently observing the exchange.
"Master, use the pickup truck. Get to the orphanage and handle things there. I'll meet you once we're done," Nikolas instructed.
Yuemura grinned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Understood, Nikolas. It'll be good to stretch these old bones."
As the sound of Yuemura preparing the truck filled the background, Nikolas and Reginald stepped into the quiet, eerie night. The streetlights flickered, and the distant groans of the undead echoed faintly. Nikolas adjusted the katana at his side and gave his father a nod.
"Stay close, stay quiet, and remember—no rash moves," he said.
"Got it," Reginald replied, his tone steady, though there was a glint of determination in his eyes.
Together, they descended into the chaos of the new world