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... as a result of the zombie purge.

Upon hearing the news, Seongho immediately grabbed his outer coat.

The place he arrived at was the main building where food was being distributed. It was crowded with people waiting to receive their evening meals.

Seongho quickly found Ahn Hee-seob among the crowd and approached him.

"...What exactly can you do?"

Seongho repeated the same words he had just told Ahn Hee-seob, who now wore a tense expression.

"I can ...

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At this time, his brother hadn’t experienced a car accident while his parents were in good health and weren’t seriously ill. The Chen family was still the prosperous Chen family and everyone thought he was a good-for-nothing who was useless and easily taken advantage of.

“He only knows how to quarrel with his older brother every day. He is arrogant and willful!”

“He looks good, but unfortunately, he is an idiot.”

“Isn’t he a useless person? Just serve him well.”

“It is a pity about that child of the Chen family.”

There were the group of scoundrel friends who were full of thoughts, the rats eyeing him covetously and the old, cunning people who were secretly scheming.

Chen Qizhao put on a mask of arrogance again. ‘Do you like acting so much? Why don’t we act together?’

It wasn’t until later that everyone discovered that at the end of the play, they would either go bankrupt or be imprisoned.

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“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

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Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

……………………………………………………………

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