26 February 2027
6:36 AM
Sunlight crept across his face.
He groaned, turning his head away.
"Huh… morning already?" he muttered.
"I wish night could last as long as I want."
Reluctantly, he sat up and stretched his arms above his head.
Crack. Crack.
The sharp sound of bones echoed through the empty room.
"What should I even do today…" he said to himself. "I never imagined I'd survive a whole year after collecting all those supplies. It'd be a waste not to use them."
He stood and walked toward the washroom, carrying a bottle of water he had gathered from different places over time.
After brushing his teeth, he skipped bathing—not out of laziness, but necessity. Water was too precious now.
During the last rainy season, he had managed to collect a decent amount of rainwater, but even that supply had begun to run dry.
Later, he cooked a simple meal—rice mixed with fresh yogurt and just a pinch of salt.
For him, it was heaven.
After eating, he climbed to the rooftop garden and looked toward the corner where three cows and two calves grazed peacefully.
He had saved them during the apocalypse—before the Mushroom Heads could reach them.
These things really aren't zombies, he thought.
In every novel, manhwa, and TV series he'd ever known, a single bite turned a person into one of them.
But Mushroom Heads didn't care about infection.
They didn't convert.
They consumed.
They ate humans until nothing remained but bones.
If someone escaped after being bitten, they stayed human. He had met one such person once.
They didn't die from infection.
They died from blood loss.
And it didn't stop with humans.
Cows. Dogs. Cats. Vegetables. Cooked food. Fruits.
Everything.
Once, he had seen them hunt—climbing trees at night, silently grabbing a sleeping pigeon and devouring it before it could even wake.
He let out a dry laugh.
"Yeah… reality was never going to be like fiction."
His thoughts were interrupted when a small calf nudged his leg with its head.
"Hey," he said, smiling faintly. "A little too excited to fight the guy who feeds you, huh?"
The other calf showed no interest, too busy drinking its mother's milk.
"Well," he said, glancing at them, "looks like I can milk you today."
He crouched and gently scratched the calf's head. It leaned into his hand, clearly enjoying the attention.
"Alright, alright," he chuckled. "Go play with your mother."
He stood and took a slow walk around the area.
At first, this place had been completely unfamiliar. But after clearing out every Mushroom Head nearby, it had finally become… peaceful.
The building wasn't very large. Construction had stopped after the fifth floor, leaving a wide open area filled with soil—perfect for farming.
As he walked, his fingers brushed against the walls.
Nearby grew rows of vegetables he had planted himself:
Beans 🫛, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots.
Apple and lemon trees stood heavy with fruit, alongside several papaya trees.
"It's strange," he muttered. "Crops grow way too fast here… like I'm using bone meal in Minecraft."
The cows, too, had grown unnaturally large.
When he first brought them here, their height barely reached his shoulders.
Now, they almost matched him.
Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside and began harvesting vegetables.
"I never imagined I'd start farming before turning fifty," he said. "Guess life really is unpredictable."
His beard had grown thick over time—something he never liked—but never bothered to shave.
Back in his room, he picked up a handmade calendar stitched together from torn pages.
He crossed out today's date.
26 February.
"Huh," he murmured. "My birthday's tomorrow."
For a moment, he stood still.
Even before the apocalypse, he had stopped celebrating his birthday. It never felt necessary.
But now…
"Well," he said softly, "I'll celebrate."
He smiled to himself.
"I survived this world. I deserve a reward."
His expression turned serious.
"And who knows… it might be my last."
"I don't want to take that chance."