At seven in the morning on August 8, Haizaki woke up on time.
Putting on a jacket, he went to the window to check the weather.
Compared to the previous two days, the wind and rain had both weakened considerably. It seemed the most violent phase of the storm had already passed.
Haizaki estimated that in another two days, the weather would clear up.
"Please clear up soon."
Eight consecutive days of heavy rain and oppressive weather had dragged down his mood, not to mention the problems that had arisen between him and Utaha.
After a quick wash, Haizaki went to the kitchen on the first floor to prepare breakfast.
Bread, pancakes, sliced tomatoes, grilled sausages, and seaweed soup.
A very ordinary breakfast.
As usual, he prepared breakfast for Utaha as well.
The previous cold war had been caused by Utaha, but this time, it was his fault.
Haizaki estimated that this time, the two of them would remain in a "cold war" state for quite a while.
Even so, he still hoped to maintain at least a minimal level of friendliness.
Putting on a raincoat and rain boots, he headed out—finish the inspection early and return early.
"I'm heading out."
The only response was silent loneliness.
Haizaki simply pulled up the hood of his raincoat and opened the door. Wind mixed with rain rushed straight at him.
Villa No. 4 had no issues.
Perhaps because three chickens had gone out for a one-day storm excursion, with only two returning, the eight chickens today were unusually calm. They stayed quietly in the relocated room and did not appear overly nervous at Haizaki's arrival.
Recalling how tense and frightened the chickens, ducks, and geese used to be during earlier inspections, a faint smile crossed Haizaki's face.
As living creatures, they could often sense danger.
After replenishing feed and clean water and confirming there were no problems, Haizaki left Villa No. 4 and headed to Villa No. 6.
Villa No. 6 was severely damaged. The windows of three rooms on the second floor were broken, and all the flour and rice inside had been soaked.
Smelling the faint mustiness in the rooms, he knew that once the weather cleared, he would need to dispose of the flour and rice.
Next was Villa No. 7.
No problems.
After that, Haizaki went to other villas, reinforcing windows and checking supplies and equipment once again.
However, at Villa No. 12, Haizaki unexpectedly discovered the only hen that had died.
Its small body was wedged into the shrubs of a flowerbed, wings spread, feathers scattered nearby, eyes wide open—unmistakably dead.
"I told you to stay put in the room."
The window had broken and rain had poured in, but as long as the chickens didn't act recklessly, they basically wouldn't go outside.
Haizaki even suspected that the rooster, in pursuit of "freedom," had leapt out through the window, with two hens following behind.
Outside the window lay a symbol of freedom, their hope for tomorrow.
The result was a harsh slap from reality.
The storm had taught them a brutal lesson.
The instigator rooster survived, while one hen died.
It was the ultimate irony.
"But don't worry—you still have a use."
Haizaki had no intention of wasting the hen.
Even in death, its body would still serve a purpose.
He took out a plastic bag and placed the hen inside.
Chicken for dinner tonight.
…
There was still plenty of leftover cold rice from last night—more than enough to make fried rice. However, for nearly four months, his fried rice had contained no eggs.
This often made Haizaki complain that it wasn't authentic and lacked something.
He really missed the taste of eggs.
The thawed steak set out in the morning had fully defrosted. After draining off the liquid, Haizaki placed it into a pan with heated butter.
On the flat pan, two small steaks sizzled. Haizaki added a small splash of red wine for seasoning. Once the aroma of meat rose, he flipped them and continued pan-frying.
He took out a plate from the cupboard and served fried rice according to Utaha's portion size.
"Turn off the heat. Done."
As Haizaki pressed the switch, the induction stove stopped.
Using chopsticks, he placed the steaks on top of the fried rice and put seasoning into a small dish on the side.
He picked up the tray with lunch and headed upstairs.
"You didn't eat?"
Seeing the untouched breakfast tray outside the door, Haizaki couldn't quite describe how he felt.
She must really be angry, unwilling to eat food he made.
If that were all, it wouldn't be too bad—but none of the other food in the fridge had been touched either. In other words, Utaha hadn't eaten breakfast at all.
Why go that far?
She was only harming her own body.
*Knock, knock…*
Haizaki knocked on the door.
*Knock, knock…*
There was no response.
"Kasumigaoka-san, I'm leaving lunch at your door."
With no response, Haizaki had no choice but to set the lunch down outside.
He could imagine her dissatisfaction, resentment, and frustration over what happened yesterday.
But what could he do?
He couldn't respond.
Utaha would forget everything that had happened in this world and return to her original life trajectory, while he would continue walking the uncertain path of apocalyptic redemption.
One day, dying in some unknown world—perhaps that would be his ending.
Responding now might only bring more pain in the future.
"I'm heading out. Eat early."
Haizaki added one more concerned reminder.
With wind and rain raging outside, he had no intention of going out again.
He returned to his room, put in his earphones, and opened a book he hadn't finished yet.
Another advantage of the "Trans-Spatiotemporal Human Civilization Salvation System" was that the flow of time during his missions differed from that of the original world.
In other words, he could have more time for learning and training, improving his overall abilities.
But there was one major problem: his lifespan.
Did the year he spent in the "Solitary Apocalypse" consume an actual year of his life, or was it calculated based on the time elapsed in the original world?
If it was the latter, then it was a huge gain—extra time out of nowhere. But if it was the former, he would have to seriously consider the issue of lifespan.
If each apocalyptic world consumed one year of life, then assuming his body remained strong until age forty-five, he could only enter twenty-eight apocalyptic worlds. That sounded like a lot, but in the end, Haizaki still wanted to live—truly live.
Under the current circumstances, all he could do was hope that future apocalyptic worlds would contain items or technologies that could slow aging or extend lifespan.
With such items or technologies, he would gain more bargaining power—power to negotiate with alliances, nations, corporations, and financial conglomerates.
To confront the final catastrophe, the strength of all humanity would be required.
Relying on him alone to defeat the ultimate apocalypse was absolutely impossible.
No matter how strong he became, he was still just one person, and there were limits to what he could do.
…