The restaurant owner who couldn't sell the blowfish poison let out a deep sigh and angrily slammed down a fish. The flapping fish immediately passed out.

"Even the people with bows who come here ask me to give them the poison that I'm going to throw away anyway. But I only use farmed blowfish. There's no poison."

"Ah..."

I got lost in various thoughts and looked up.

Trying to get the blowfish poison from the formidable owner. Since the blowfish innards would be thrown away as regular trash anyway, I thought about just sneakily taking the trash bag as a scavenger.

But without the poison, it's impossible. I immediately changed the direction of my question.

"Do you know of any sushi restaurants that use wild blowfish?"

"Well, even if there are, the supply has been so low these days."

Snip snip snip-

The knife skills were at an artistic level as he meticulously prepared the fish, cutting the flesh into bite-sized pieces.

It was the skilled movements of a master who had invested time and passion into this work. But even this master seemed stressed, his voice dark.

"The supply is just not good because of the zombies. And business has been so bad that I can barely manage deliveries. I wonder how long I can keep this up."

Even in the apocalypse, this chef stubbornly continued his business, lamenting the hardships of making a living.

Suddenly, the screenwriter in me emerged. A life of never giving up on dreams and only challenging. That experience empathized with the chef.

'This person might start serving zombie sushi if he can't get fish.'

Strange scenes started to form in my mind.

A city with dried-up logistics. Streets lacking food. In the only lit-up sushi restaurant, the owner would eerily chuckle as he prepared zombies the way he did blowfish.

- The zombies' respiratory systems contain poison, so they need to be detoxified, and this place can eat them.

The owner with tattoos of human organs instead of fish would be preparing the zombies...

I shuddered involuntarily before snapping out of it. A regretful tone came out of my mouth.

"I was going to use the zombie poison, but that's a shame."

"If you're looking for poison, it's better to try finding mushrooms. Even if it's fish, you can't get it with the logistics dried up."

The owner, neatly packing the sushi in lunch box-like containers, glanced at me.

Mushrooms. This city certainly had no ocean, and steadily available mushrooms from the mountains would be better.

That's when I was lost in thought.

Ding-dong, the bell on the door rang as a few people rushed in. They looked like the neighborhood watch, flashing their neon vests as they took off their helmets.

"Hey, boss. Bring out some good sake and sushi."

"...You didn't even pay your tab from last time."

The atmosphere was not normal. The boss narrowed his eyes and looked at them, and the unwelcome guests, who were more like gangsters than neighborhood watch, laughed while wielding weapons.

"What's the bill? We're the ones protecting your business, aren't we? It's all possible because we're the ones killing zombies for you. You shouldn't be ungrateful for a few meals."

They were not the neighborhood watch, but a gang that had appeared in this area.

I examined their weapons. They were insignificant, just leather jackets and crowbars.

'The delivery neighborhood watch seems stronger than these.'

They didn't seem to have the potential to grow into a huge group like the Pastor's Hope Church. I didn't need to plan any weeding operations.

I spoke comfortably to the boss.

"Boss, can you pack 3 servings of fresh ones for me? Ah, with seafood."

Since I came this far, I should pack some sushi for the marauder's family to eat. When the logistics dry up, they won't be able to eat even if they want to.

"Okay, I've noted your order. I'll serve these customers first, and then I'll serve you after finishing the delivery orders, is that okay?"

"It's fine to wait."

Time is not a problem.

In the long run, I need to think about the poison I can obtain, or the abundant poison in the city. Antifreeze is not bad either, but it takes almost a bottle of water to be lethal.

'Are there any drugs in the hospital or pharmacy that can be used as poison? Something that can kill in small amounts. Or mushrooms?'

As I was tapping on my phone, the unwelcome guest approached me.

The man who seemed to be the leader of the neighborhood watch patrol. He looked me over and handed me a business card.

"Young friend, you look quite sturdy. Would you like to work with us?"

"...Work?"

I took the business card and read it. It was a grandiose position as a member of some kind of safety committee in this area. Isn't this a basic scam tactic? Impressive names.

"We're good people, you know. Huh? A safe neighborhood from zombies! Helping the store families continue their livelihoods!"

The unwelcome guest sat down next to me, waving his hand to persuade me.

"But it's a job that requires a lot of manpower, you know. Young friend, what do you think? We can't pay much, but at least you won't go hungry."

"No, thanks. I won't do it."

I chuckled and placed the business card on the table. I remembered what I needed to remember. The address of this neighborhood watch headquarters.

If necessary, I'll put them on the looting list. They were only worth that much to me. They weren't real experts or real survivors.

But the business card I had placed on the table fluttered and fell to the floor with a thud. The unwelcome guest glared at the card, then angrily raised his voice.

"Young friend, you're so impolite. I'm being so nice to you!"

He stood up and looked down at me. The weapon in his hand was ominously raised, and the neighborhood watch sitting at the table or the boss adding something to the soup were glancing at me out of the corner of their eyes.

I'm flustered.

'No. Why did the business card fall?'

I'm really unlucky. I was trying to let it slide.

I pondered for a moment. There were a lot of weapons they were carrying, but what would be the appropriate weapon now.

'I should take out the water gun.'

I took out a small water gun and pointed it at the opponent's head. The face of the opponent who had lowered their mask to eat.

The unwelcome guests stepped back when they saw the water gun. In a normal world without maniacs, it might have been seen as a prank, but not in this city at least.

"...A virus?"

"Yes. There was someone spraying a disinfectant, trying to find an antidote, right? That's a good idea."

It's a water gun filled with zombie saliva after experiencing the wave. It fits perfectly in this restaurant setting.

"Hey, hey, you crazy person! Are you a terrorist?!"

"Wear a helmet!"

The neighborhood watch hurriedly put on their masks and helmets. And they approached threateningly, waving their weapons.

But I took out a pistol with my other hand. It was loaded with only three lethal rounds.

"Let's just let this go. These days, if you get angry, someone has to die."

"Are you going to rob the police?"

The voice sounded like he couldn't believe the sight in front of him. The neighborhood watch stepped back.

"Members, let's not deal with this mentally unstable person. We shouldn't mess with this kind of person."

As if waiting for that line, the unwelcome guest turned his body.

The tension was relieved. The unwelcome guest went to the other end of the table, and the sound of the boss artistically cooking continued.

I tapped on my phone, searching for mushroom information, and sighed.

'I really don't know about mushrooms.'

I can't distinguish edible mushrooms from real poisonous ones. If I'm not careful, I'll just end up feeding the zombies.

Around that time, the food was served. The boss placed a large bowl of steaming porridge on the table.

"This is a porridge made with seaweed and tender internal organs. Since it's raining and a bit cold, I chose this to warm your body."

"As expected, boss. I've never seen anyone in this neighborhood cook as well as you."

The neighborhood watch, with their helmets and masks removed, hurriedly scooped up the porridge. They kept glancing at me, as if keeping me under surveillance.

But it seems they were watching the wrong target.

The unwelcome guest, who had been almost drinking the porridge and putting sushi in his mouth, wiping his lips, asked,

"But what kind of fish is the internal organ in the porridge? It's delicious."

"Of course it's delicious. It's a rare ingredient. It must have been a taste you've never had before."

"No wonder. The sushi didn't taste good."

The boss observed the unwelcome guest with an unfathomable gaze. As if carefully examining the reaction of a customer who had eaten his cooking. Or like a cold-blooded scientist analyzing an experimental subject.

He said,

"It's wild puffer fish internal organs. Your lips aren't moving well, and you feel like vomiting, don't you?"

"What?"

The movements of the neighborhood watch suddenly stopped. They stood up in shock, their eyes wide open, staring at the chef. But it seems the poison had already spread to their limbs.

Thud, two people fell over.

The boss looked at them with a curious expression.

"Maybe I put in much more than the lethal dose. The symptoms are appearing quickly."

"Why, why."

The unwelcome guest spoke, but his pronunciation was strange. His tongue felt stiff and rigid.

"It's the bill for the food. Since the troublemakers ate the food meant for the real customers, you have to pay the price. But how was the taste? I've never eaten wild puffer fish internal organs before."

"Ugh, uhhh."

Creaking, the unwelcome guest and the neighborhood watch were moving, but their movements were like a broken machine. Paralysis.

The boss let out a regretful sigh.

"It's really a shame. I wanted to hear the description of the taste at least."

A madman. Is this the apocalypse, that madmen are popping up everywhere?

The boss, who had hidden the puffer fish poison to use it alone, pulled out a chilling knife, leaped over the table, and slashed the unwelcome guest's neck. The knife blade cleanly severed the carotid artery, just like slicing sashimi.

And when that blade was about to turn towards the paralyzed other neighborhood watch members,

I stepped in.

"Boss, that's not a good idea."

"...You wanted the puffer poison, didn't you? I'll give it to you, just don't interfere-"

"No, it's not that. If you kill them all by the knife, it won't look right."

As a reward for receiving the puffer poison, I should help a little. I took out a hammer, and with the other hand, I snatched the crowbar from the unwelcome guest's hand.

A voice of shocked exclamation burst out.

"My goodness! The neighborhood watch turning into zombies! Killing each other! How tragic!"

The crowbar I held high came down on the paralyzed, twitching face of the neighborhood watch. The hooked part struck their faces, and then the rice bowl, hammer, and other weapons of the neighborhood watch were roughly thrust into the people.

In an instant, the luxurious sushi restaurant turned into a mess. Corpses were strewn everywhere.

I marveled.

'Indeed, the poison is good.'

It's not safe even to fight directly with many more opponents.

The boss let out a hollow laugh behind me. I couldn't tell if it was admiration or horror.

"Sir, where are you from and what are you doing?"

"I'm a customer. Just provide the poison, don't lie and say you don't have it."

The boss went back to the kitchen, hastily putting the hidden puffer fish internal organs into a side dish container.

The back of the master who had dedicated his life to that cuisine.

I watched him silently.

'Recruitment is not possible.'

The looter has failed. It's not that the chef is worthless or that his personality is unlike a looter. That was not the problem. The boss had a dream.

The chef who enjoys cooking and is happy to serve his customers the food he has made.

He will probably continue to operate even in an apocalypse filled with zombies. Because that was his dream.

'He doesn't fit in with the looters.'

We looters have no dreams. We are like animals just struggling to survive day by day. Castaways adrift in the waves of the virus and zombies.

Without self-realization or dreams and hopes for the future, we are just drifting castaways facing the dangers that come our way and seeking the resources we need to live.

But there was something to be learned from the boss.

A sudden realization flashed through my mind.

'Poison, disguise.'

The boss's madness was mixed with his dream as a chef. The puffer fish poison was disguised as a delicious dish. The same goes for mushrooms and all kinds of toxic organisms.

Simple toxicity has little meaning. It is the toxicity and madness disguised as plausible that is the light needed in this era. In other words, it is a vision and leadership.

I bowed my head slightly and fell into thought.

'As for the looter group, what should I aim for?'

What should we strive for in the midst of the disaster waves? Should we just keep colliding with the waves that come every day? It's a difficult problem.

Around this time, the boss held out his hand to me. A disposable container containing puffer fish innards, like miso soup or dongchimi.

"It won't kill many. The lethal dose of tetrodotoxin is 16mg, but this is mixed with innards and blood. And if you put in less, the symptoms will take 3 to 6 hours to appear."

"Yes, I'll use it well. ...And when will the takeout order be ready?"

"I'll take care of cleaning up the store later. I'll make it for you first."

The boss disinfected his hands and knife, then started slicing the sashimi again.

A peaceful atmosphere flowed in the daytime sushi restaurant.

***

There are toxic people in a group. People who only ruin the group, are of no help, and gradually drive the group to death.

Then what will happen to the group when the toxic people are gone?

I found the answer from Rider Zero.

"Hello, boss! I came for the delivery, heh. Isn't this the neighborhood watch?"

Rider Zero, who came to deliver the order, stood at the entrance and showed a surprised expression. The boss said calmly,

"Suddenly someone turned into a zombie and started killing each other. The takeout will take a little while, is that okay?"

"Of course! These people didn't look very nice anyway, it's good. ...Aren't you the elder?"

Rider Zero, who confirmed it was me, sat down next to me. She took off her helmet, her eyes wide open as she looked at me.

"The people from the church, I mean, the community, really miss Elder Kwon. What have you been up to these days?"

"I'm just living, you know. How's the church?"

I hid my resentment and spoke to her, seeming concerned about the community she had left. I was actually curious as well.

"Has the time of harvest come?"

She laughed cheerfully.

"It's doing really well. I've been going around and that place is the best prepared."

"...Is that so?"

Why, why is it doing well? This makes it seem like we, the looter members, are the cancer cells of the group. Me, the thief elder, the electric thief. Just the three of us leaving, and it's doing well?

This doesn't make sense.

"How are the zombie waves?"

"They're not coming."

...They're not coming? Why? Why? Why?

Rider Zero explained bluntly.

"They must have fought once and decided it's not working. That muscular zombie was also leading a group and attacking other places. And the church building has almost become a fortress. The metalworkers' union? Someone who worked there joined and helped with the armaments."

She described the building's features in a matter-of-fact manner.

Molotov cocktails, slingshots, slingshot bolts, scavenged car doors and hoods hastily made into shields. Most importantly, the faces of the people were filled with the light of hope, united and with a sense of belonging.

I opened my mouth, stunned. The hopeful community we had left was doing very well. Truly.