Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 118.1: Story (1)

There are several annual events in Korea.

Typhoons are one of them.

The signs had been noticeable for days.

Thick clouds filled the sky without a gap, intermittent rain came and went, and sudden gusts of wind swept violently across the mountains and fields.

These were the usual precursors of an approaching typhoon.

The final confirmation came when Woo Min-hee posted on the forum, warning about the powerful typhoon headed our way.

With the Meteorological Agency out of commission, supercomputer-assisted forecasts were no longer possible. However, based on weather satellite imagery, the size and trajectory of the storm suggested that it was moving counterclockwise toward the capital region with a force comparable to the infamous Maemi typhoon.

An emergency was declared.

Having already experienced the sheer terror of natural disasters multiple times, I gathered everyone—including Da-jeong—and issued instructions.

For the first time in a while, the excavator rolled out of the garage and began digging up the ground, while a small bulldozer busily moved the piled-up dirt beyond the outer walls.

It was such a large-scale operation that anyone passing by outside would inevitably notice, but that didn’t mean we could afford to leave it undone.

On the day of the typhoon, I had everyone stay inside my bunker—the safest place available.

Even Cheon Young-jae, who usually insisted on sleeping outside, laid out a sleeping bag inside. That’s how serious the situation was.

As the typhoon made landfall, I chewed on a caffeine capsule and braced for an all-nighter.

Where was the rainwater pooling? Where was it flowing?

With bloodshot eyes, I monitored the streams of water, ensuring they were directed toward the pre-dug drainage channels. If any unexpected flow appeared, I used a shovel to block and redirect it in the right direction.

The excavator was also put to full use. frёewebηovel.cѳm

“Damn. This rain is relentless.”

The forecast was spot on.

It poured as if the sky itself had been torn open.

It reminded me of last year’s torrential downpours.

But unlike last year, I now had reliable comrades, making it easier to manage.

At around 2 a.m., the rain started to let up. Encouraged by my team, I decided to get some rest inside the bunker.

Carefully stepping between the sleeping bags so as not to disturb anyone, I made my way down to the second floor.

Privacy was extremely important to me, so I had already set up my own refuge near the generator on the second floor.

My essentials were simple: a bottle of water, a stack of dry towels and clothes, and my laptop.

After wiping myself down, I changed into fresh underwear and slipped into my sleeping bag in high spirits before booting up my laptop.

“······.”

Tack tack tack.

MugwagumNewbie: What do you call a group of 304 Koreans?

I was just about to type the punchline—Korea Ginseng Corporation.

Lately, I felt my sense of humor had improved significantly.

To be precise, I had simply copied a joke someone posted on our forum two years ago.

Just as I uploaded my “killer” joke and waited for reactions, someone knocked on the hatch.

“Skelton. You’re still up, right?”

It was Defender’s younger sister.

I stepped out and was immediately hit by the glare of a bright light.

Everyone was awake, gathered around the glowing bulb.

I had a pretty good idea why.

Rumble!

With the storm still raging, the torrential rain and thunder could escalate into an emergency at any moment, forcing us outside. Rather than sleeping, everyone had chosen to stay alert.

“Might as well share some stories while we’re all here. Doesn’t look like we’re getting any sleep tonight. Who knows when water might start leaking in?”

Cheon Young-jae lightened the mood.

To me, even an hour of sleep was better than nothing, making this a highly inefficient use of time. But since typhoons didn’t always follow my expectations, I decided to join them.

All eyes turned to me.

The burden of leadership, I suppose.

It seemed I was chosen as the first storyteller.

I gave a slight nod and pictured a man in my mind.

“There once was a great man called John Nae-non.”

“John what?”

Cheon Young-jae muttered nonsense, so I held up a finger.

A warning.

“······As you all know, John Nae-non was the founder of PaleNet. He was originally a hunter trained in an academy, but his innate business acumen and keen nose for money allowed him to amass a fortune. With that money, he created PaleNet. And with that, he became a legend. I respect him immensely and strive to be like him.”

I wasn’t one for long, drawn-out storytelling—I had never been trained in that sort of thing.

What mattered was the core message.

Though brief, I believed I had done a fine job summarizing the life of a man who had lived a truly heroic existence.

But my thoughts didn’t necessarily align with those of others.

“?”

“Huh?”

“What the hell.”

The reactions were lukewarm.

Even Defender, my old internet friend, couldn’t resist throwing in a deeply offensive comment.

“He was a scam artist. Didn’t he just use Viva! Apocalypse! as a stepping stone to fatten his own wallet?”

I was about to argue when Cheon Young-jae interjected.

“Next.”

I guess we were moving on.

Well, it didn’t really matter.

A giant like John Nae-non could only be judged on a historical scale.

That said, the silence stretched on.

Did no one else have a story to tell?

Maybe this was my chance to defend John Nae-non’s honor.

As I was selecting a positive anecdote about him, someone raised their hand.

Ha Tae-hoon.

“Hmm?”

I was surprised.

He wasn’t exactly known for being an entertaining speaker. What was he planning to say?

Still, it was his turn, so I kept my mouth shut and waited.

“Everyone knows about Park Penguin, right?”

Everyone nodded.

It seemed that, at least among this group, Park Penguin’s reputation exceeded John Nae-non’s.

“That guy was honestly nothing special, wasn’t he? I mean, look at the early refugee camp leaders. Most of them were former corporate CEOs, high court judges, or university presidents.”

So, a story about refugee camps?

That was outside my area of expertise.

Sure, there were posts on the forum about life in the camps, but most were just personal complaints—petty gripes and frustrations.

Once in a while, an actual story would circulate, but none had left much of an impression on me.

Maybe because I had zero intention of ever living in a refugee camp.

Still, Park Penguin was someone I did know.

Not personally, but I was well aware of his rising influence and power.

In a world where the government had collapsed, having the ability to command over ten thousand people meant holding absolute authority.

But Park Penguin—real name Park Jin-gu, father of two sons—had been an ordinary man before the war.

That much was certain.

I had proof hanging on my wall.

A business card reading: Park Jin-gu, CEO of Aram Iron Door Center.

“He was originally based in Gwangjin District. You know, one of the places that got hit by a nuke. Everyone who didn’t listen and stayed outside died, while those in bunkers survived. And as you all know, the first refugee camps were built around bunkers.”

Ha Tae-hoon glanced around, seeking agreement.

Everyone nodded.

Except me.

I simply stared at him blankly.

“······So, after the camps were established, the usual things started happening.”

Was he ignoring me?

Sure, Ha Tae-hoon was my senior by two cohorts, but that didn’t mean I could just be brushed aside.

“Wait.”

I raised my hand.

Ha Tae-hoon looked at me.

“The first refugee camps were made like that?”

Everyone turned to stare at me.

Not exactly a friendly reaction.

Thinking fast, I smoothed over the situation.

“Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense. Please, continue, Senior Ha.”

After a brief awkward silence, Ha Tae-hoon resumed his story.

“It’s a well-known tale. Some of you might already know it.”

Park Jin-gu, who would later become known as Park Penguin, was an utterly ordinary man.

In his youth, he spent his time on pointless nonsense, met a woman he got along with, got married, and had children.

After a short but sufficiently frustrating and humiliating career in the workforce, he took over his father’s business and ran ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) a store. He had no preparation whatsoever when the war broke out and ended up in a refugee camp.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Refugee camps were filled with all sorts of people.

People from all walks of life who would have never crossed paths otherwise were forced together.

Judges, doctors, and professors—those who had been respected even before the war—continued to receive that same respect inside the camp. However, in the face of the camp’s harsh conditions and shortages, that respect quickly eroded.

Soon, those with power, those who could treat others as they pleased, those who could be endlessly selfish, raised their voices and took priority in rations and privileges.

Ordinary people harbored resentment, but the threats, fear, and overwhelming power of those at the top forced them to endure.

With the entire nation paralyzed by war, there was no functioning system for complaints or justice. When an ordinary citizen reported their grievances to the government, they were publicly beaten by an infamous thug—simply because they had dared to file a complaint.

That thug was Jeong Won-sik, the biggest problem of Gwangjin District’s 23rd Refugee Camp.

He was what you’d call a professional fighter—strong enough to have won matches in pro tournaments held in the U.S.

At first, Jeong Won-sik was as quiet as any other refugee. But soon, he revealed his true nature. Relying on his physical prowess, especially his fists, he began to intimidate and terrorize people.

He had a favorite phrase:

"If you don’t like it, fight me. If you win, I’ll bow my head. I’ll do whatever you say."

It was the kind of nonsense you’d expect from a bunch of teenage delinquents, but he had a solid reason for saying it.

There was no one in the camp who could beat him.

At the time, the camp leader was a former high court judge. He was well aware that Jeong Won-sik was causing problems, but just as he had in his past career, he ignored the real issues.

Once Jeong Won-sik realized even the camp leader feared him, he became even bolder, even more violent.

And then, he laid his hands on a young girl who had lost her parents and family.

The next day, her body was found hanging.

But no one said a word.

No one could say a word.

Park Jin-gu and Jeong Won-sik crossed paths by pure chance.

Park Jin-gu’s son had been playing with a ball when it accidentally rolled toward Jeong Won-sik.

The ball didn’t even touch him, but he still called the boy over and slapped him.

So hard that two of his teeth flew out.

And that wasn’t enough for him.

He got on top of the unconscious child, strangling him while laughing.

"Where’s your dad? Tell him to crawl out here."

When Park Jin-gu arrived, alerted by the neighbors, his son was barely clinging to life.

Seeing the state of his child, his blood boiled with rage.

But he endured.

"This your kid?"

Jeong Won-sik tapped Jin-gu’s cheek the same way he had done to his son.

Park Jin-gu bowed his head and apologized.

"I’m truly sorry. I failed to teach my child properly. I sincerely apologize."

Jeong Won-sik was taken aback.

Normally, when a parent saw their child beaten to that extent, they would lose all reason and charge at him. He loved that—he loved breaking them even further.

But Park Jin-gu didn’t take the bait.

For a brief moment, Jeong Won-sik had a bad feeling.

But he ignored it and continued with his usual routine—crushing the weak beneath him.

"What did you do before the war, old man?"

"I ran a hardware store."

"Pfft—fucking worthless job. Just get lost, you piece of shit. Take your dumbass kid with you."

Without another word, Park Jin-gu picked up his unconscious son and left.

The people around murmured in hushed voices.

Jeong Won-sik’s eyes flared as he turned to them.

"Anyone got a problem? Step the fuck up. Why are you all so goddamn scared? If you got a pair, then fucking fight me!"

While Jeong Won-sik was shouting, Park Jin-gu quietly sought out a few people he was close with.

Ordinary men—fathers, just like him—who worked in public labor together.

He handed each of them a pack of cigarettes from their rations and spoke.

"I’m going to kill Jeong Won-sik."

His neighbors were shocked.

They had thought he was just another average guy like them.

"Jingu, what the hell are you talking about?"

"How do you plan to kill him? That guy’s a monster."

In response, Park Jin-gu casually picked up a metal pipe lying on the ground.

"No matter how strong he is, a single hit to the back of the head with this will turn him into a cripple."

His voice was steady.

His expression was determined.

"I’ll land the first blow."

One of the men frantically waved his hands.

"You can’t kill him. You’ll get arrested. There are still police around, even if they’re useless."

"Yeah, you know how it works, right? If they think someone’s dangerous, they’ll turn a blind eye to whatever they do. But if it’s someone manageable, they’ll throw the book at them for the smallest thing."

At that, Park Jin-gu smiled.

"Then we just have to look dangerous, don’t we?"

He stepped forward.

"Meet me at 2 a.m."

At the time, death was common, but murder was still rare.

Even a post from Defender would’ve been shocking enough to make waves back then.

But Park Jin-gu had made up his mind.

That night, as Jeong Won-sik was absorbed in a game of hwatu, Park Jin-gu appeared behind him.

He had a metal pipe in his hands.

As the other gamblers let out startled screams, Park Jin-gu swung.

Clang!

Jeong Won-sik collapsed.

For a moment, his trained body instinctively tried to rise, but he couldn’t move.

Pure intent to kill easily overpowered crude malice.

Park Jin-gu kept swinging.

Crack!

Another bone snapped.

"Agh!"

Drowning out Jeong Won-sik’s groan, Park Jin-gu shouted:

"Get out here!"

As the thug writhed on the ground, unable to get up, the others rushed in and finished the job.

His arms and legs were shattered.

His entire body—bones, tendons—was thoroughly broken.

"P-please... spare me..."

As the barely conscious Jeong Won-sik begged for his life, Park Jin-gu turned to the men and women who had been gambling with him.

Calmly, he spoke.

"Tonight, Jeong Won-sik got drunk and fell down the stairs. You understand, right?"

Three days later, Jeong Won-sik died.

No one was arrested.

No one was charged.

But everyone knew.

They all knew who had solved the problem of the tyrant Jeong Won-sik.

They all knew who had become the true leader of the refugee camp.

This was the first step of the man who would come to be known as Park Penguin.

"······That was Park Penguin? I thought you were talking about someone else."

"It’s a template story. Every refugee camp had one. But still—hearing about an asshole getting what he deserved never gets old."

"Mr. Penguin may seem ordinary, but he’s got real grit. When he had everyone spinning in circles like actual penguins, I thought it was stupid—but it actually worked. Thanks to that, the kids survived too."

Ha Tae-hoon’s story got a much better reception than my John Nae-non tale.

Completely different reactions.

"Hmm······."

Should I tell another story?

If I wanted to make everyone understand how cool John Nae-non was, what kind of story would work best?

Just as I was seriously considering my next move, someone else raised their hand.

Slightly irritated, I turned to see who it was.

Bang Jae-hyuk.

This guy...

I don’t remember him being particularly entertaining.

Was he going to talk about getting shot in the knee or something?

As I made various guesses, Bang Jae-hyuk grinned.

"Do you guys know about Vivarium?"

Vivarium.

A self-sustaining ecosystem within a confined space.

"There was a huge bio-dome in Chungcheong Province."