With the effects of the "Sunflower Manual" stacked on top of each other, my strength had now reached 264% of my original power. My speed was at 330%, my reflexes at 250%, and my poison resistance at 220%. On top of that, I had the "Mystic Vision" ability and a 20% boost in defense. With these enhancements, I finally had some confidence in surviving this zombie apocalypse.

  I clenched my fists, deep in thought. That woman... Sophie. I needed to be on guard around her. She was too strange. The first time I met her, she was screaming in terror, running from zombies. The second time, she came back wielding a stick to save me. After that, she remained eerily calm and composed—far too much so for a fragile city girl. Who exactly was she?

  I moved silently onto the balcony. From there, I had a clear view of the study. With the moonlight and my "Mystic Vision," I peered inside and was instantly stunned. Sophie was sitting there, her bare back facing the window, carefully wiping down a long, fresh scar across her skin. The wound had only just begun to scab—it was recent. But how had she gotten such a deep gash, over more than 7.87" ? As if sensing my gaze, she turned slightly in my direction. My enhanced reflexes kicked in immediately. There was no way she should have been able to detect me with my reaction speed boosted to 250%. Before she could see me, I ducked down and slipped back into my room.

  A moment later, I heard a soft creak as her door opened. Her footsteps, light and cautious, stopped outside my door. She lingered there for a few seconds before heading back to her room. Before my enhancements, I wouldn’t have noticed such subtle movements. But now, even with my heightened senses, I still find her approach unsettling. Who was this woman? She was definitely not normal. My wariness of her reached its peak.

  I didn't sleep a wink that night. As the first light of dawn crept through the window, I checked the clock—5:12 AM. I sat up. Last night had confirmed one thing: after using "Sunflower Codex," the fatigue faded within seven minutes, restoring me to normal. But Sophie's mystery still lingered in my mind. I couldn't let her control my access to food or water.

  I dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen. There was half a barrel of water left, plus 36 bottles of emergency mineral water. I grabbed four bottles and started cooking. Rice, four eggs, and two sausages—one of the only two dishes I knew how to make. "Sausage and Egg Stir-Fry."

  As I cooked, I heard movement behind me. Sophie had woken up and was washing her face with a bucket of water. I pretended nothing had happened last night and grinned at her sleepy face. "Morning, kiddo."

  She didn't respond. I smirked and focused on cooking. As a dedicated homebody, my culinary skills weren’t bad at all.

  When breakfast was ready, we sat at the table. Just as I was about to tease her, she spoke first. "You saw my scar last night, didn't you?"

  My mind went blank for a second.

  Before I could respond, Sophie moved. In a flash, a cold blade was pressed against my neck.

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  Damn, she was fast!

  Her voice was low and sharp. "Who are you, really?"

  I'd already hesitated once. No way was I making that mistake again. I put on an exaggeratedly frightened look (though I was genuinely terrified—who knew if she would actually slit my throat?) and stammered, "Sophie, what the hell? What's wrong with you this early in the morning? Put the knife down! If you hurt me, who's going to protect you? Could you really live with that?"

  Sophie studied my face. I met her cold, icy gaze. Finally, she lowered the knife, walked to the door, put on her shoes, and left without another word. The door clicked shut. I sat frozen at the table, unmoved for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, I picked up my chopsticks and silently ate my meal. I didn't even bother checking where she had gone.

  After breakfast, I packed my bag—two T-shirts, a pair of pants, all the bandages and medical supplies I had, six bottles of water, and two kitchen knives. With my current strength, carrying this load was effortless.

  I picked up a metal rod, left in my place by my buddy Ares. He once joked, "If I ever get jumped, use this to bail me out." I laughed at the time, saying, "Sure thing. I'll hand it to the guy beating you up and say, ‘Here, use this instead—it'll be more satisfying.'" We laughed about it then.

  My first destination: Ares’s place.

  His home was only three kilometers away, across a commercial street. I had tried checking online to see if he was still alive, but the internet was down. No choice—I had to go there in person.

  For the second time, I kicked open my apartment building's entrance. With "Sunflower Codex" activated and no lingering weakness, I felt invincible. Scanning my surroundings with my enhanced reflexes, I noticed something strange.

  The zombies in the area had disappeared overnight.

  The ground was littered with shattered wood, broken glass, and mechanical debris—leftovers from yesterday's chaos. But there was no sign of zombies. Just streaks of blood and chunks of flesh.

  I wanted to test my strength on a few zombies, but to my frustration, none were around. The situation felt like… taking a full dose of an energy drink and then getting locked in a room with nothing to do. That kind of unbearable frustration.

  I arrived at the commercial street and finally spotted a few zombies, wandering aimlessly. I didn't rush in headfirst. First, I needed supplies—food and water, for both myself and Ares.

  Most of the shops had their doors shut tight. Cars were scattered across the road, some crashed into each other. Ahead, I spotted a man crouching beside a row of vehicles, checking each one carefully. He was definitely human—not a zombie. My heart skipped. The second uninfected person I'd seen.

  Crouching low, I moved toward him, my speed at 330%. Even if something went wrong, I could escape in seconds.

  As I got closer, my "Mystic Vision" sharpened my vision. The man was in his early twenties, dressed in casual clothes, his white T-shirt stained with blood. He was searching for a working car. When he noticed me, I held up a finger to my lips—"Shh." He made no move, just stared at me warily.

  I approached and whispered, "Feels good to see another survivor."

  He eyed the metal rod in my hands, his body tensing. His hand moved to his waist, as if ready to draw a weapon. "Where did you come from?"

  I gestured behind me. "Riverside Apartments. Are you looking for a car? On the streets like this, driving might be suicide."

  Before he could answer, his expression changed—his pupils contracted.

  I didn't turn around. Could be a trick.

  Then I heard the unmistakable growl of a zombie.

  Damn. This time, it was real.

  The guy bolted.

  "Hey! It's just one zombie! What are you running for?!" I called after him.

  He shouted back, "There won't be just one for long!"

  Right on cue, guttural roars erupted from every direction.