My name is Lucy Lyons. Born on December 16th, I've turned 16 years old this year. It's ironic, really. Just because my birthdate corresponds to my age, I thought this year would be special—a step closer to adulthood.

One day, my friends invited me to a party at a KTV. At first, I hesitated. I'd never been to such places without my parents. But the allure was too strong to resist—especially when I heard that a wealthy girl, whom I barely knew, was footing the bill for everything.

‘The world of the wealthy is so different,’ I thought.

The girl hosting the party exuded opulence with her choice of clothing, a luxurious purse, a stunning blue dress, and wavy blonde hair. She was undeniably beautiful. As I observed her, I couldn't help but feel inadequate in comparison. Deep down, I wished I could be like her.

Throughout the event, I continuously stuffed my mouth with food, listened to the song’s others sang, and watched them dance. Even my so-called friend joined in the dancing. While those girls reveled in their joyous moves, I quietly consumed my food.

‘That blonde hair must have cost a fortune,’ I mused. In our school, students were only allowed to have black hair to comply with the dress code. Any other color would result in having your hair cut off.

‘Money holds a unique power,’ I thought.

I'm not struggling financially, that's for sure. Yet, even among the affluent, there exist varying degrees of wealth and social status. My parents are both doctors, and I am their sole child.

“I miss them,” I whispered, turning over in bed, attempting to suppress memories from the past.

Today is the day of the base gathering, and Lucas departed with the group half an hour ago. Left alone, I find myself with nothing to do.

“I took a life,” the realization echoes in my mind. What would my parents think of me if they saw me now? Would they be disappointed? Frightened? Lucas has tried to reassure me, but uncertainty still lingers.

I'm not the same daughter they knew. This world is reshaping me, altering my very core. I ended a woman's life because she stole our food out of hunger and fear. I massacred a group of people who were merely protecting their leader, unaware of their leader's cannibalistic tendencies.

Is what I did wrong? I could have incapacitated them, but I didn't.

I took their lives.

I plunged my hand into the lifeless body of a man, my fingers toying with his organs in a crazed attempt to suppress my own fear and cowardice. Lucas assured me it was alright, but was it really? I can't help but wonder what everyone thinks of me now. ‘Am I a monster? Will they regret raising me?’

That day still haunts me; its memories make my heart race.

“When all life began to mutate, the once silent night descended into chaos.” That's what Lucas told me when we discussed that fateful night and its significance. He claimed his night was relatively calm, but on second thought, it was anything but peaceful.

The music in the KTV abruptly ceased, people began to drop, and then, in an instant, they transformed into flesh-eating monsters and started chasing the living. What did friendship even mean in that harrowing moment? I was pushed by a friend as we desperately tried to escape. I ran and ran until I spotted a taxi amid the bedlam.

Lucas questioned what had happened to the animals at the zoo if all life had mutated. I had no answer. It's still difficult to fathom a day like that—unforeseen and horrifying. The taxi driver abruptly halted and turned to attack one of us. I fled as quickly as possible, dodging the panicked crowd. So many were trampled, their screams ringing in my ears.

I was helpless, running as far as my trembling legs could take me. I had never experienced such intense hunger before; I was on the brink of starvation. Though my family wasn't as well-off as the girl with blonde hair, we had never anticipated that starvation would befall us. But it wasn't “we,” it was just me—I was alone.

For three agonizing days, I endured the pangs of hunger. If I hadn't gorged myself at the party, I might have succumbed already. Everything spiraled downward. I recall the overwhelming fear that gripped me, the days spent at eerily quiet construction sites, and the echo of human screams fading into silence.

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Summoning my last reserves of courage, I ventured out in search of sustenance. Unfortunately, I was too paralyzed by fear, and my willpower shattered. I ended up being pursued by zombies; I thought my end had come. Fortunately, I screamed for help, and Lucas heard me.

He's a brave soul, though he occasionally wears a shy demeanor. Since that day, he's been my mentor, teaching me skills essential for survival; dispatching zombies, utilizing the system, wielding a sword, and even taking a life—human life.

Initially, he playfully dubbed me the “Sheltered Daughter.” I resisted at first, but now I realize I truly was sheltered. If this catastrophe hadn't unfolded, even if I weren't conventionally attractive, I might have enjoyed a simple, content life. Regrettably, that's nothing more than a wistful fantasy these days.

However, fantasy is typically characterized by its lack of grounding in reality—a creation of the imagination with no tangible basis, like myths, gods, and goddesses.

But a new reality has emerged—an unexpected twist.

Magic has become tangible. It flows through me, through Lucas. We've traversed dimensions, teleported even, and witnessed the stirring of legendary creatures we thought were mere fables.

Harnessing that unreal power, Lucas and I have decimated hordes of zombies, even rescuing Sarah and dispelling her daughter's undue fear of her. We've corrected misconceptions and rectified misunderstandings between them.

Yet, heroes, we are not. We've bartered those men's lives for the liberty of the women sheltered by Sarah. Is cannibalism truly the pinnacle of wrong? I grapple with uncertainty.

“Lucy, lunchtime!” echoes a voice.

“Just a moment, coming!” I respond.

Observing the watch Lucas insisted I wear, it reads noon; 12:00 p.m.

This morning, the women shared their meal schedule. Lunch at noon, dinner at 7 pm. Edith, the lady responsible for food, informed me. Initially skeptical of their treatment, I've realized they're content with their roles, and so I've held my judgment.

Arriving here yesterday has brought immense relief—escaping another encounter with an unstable group.

I slip into the blue shirt and skirt Lucas and I pilfered from the supermarket. After wearing pants for so long, I long for a more comfortable outfit in this tranquil setting.

After nearly 5 minutes, I'm dressed and ready to step into the kitchen.

However, not all the men departed for the mall.

Seated next to Aunt Edith on the floor, I receive a bowl of porridge. It's a new experience, and I find it quite delightful.

I've missed the rice. Perhaps this place could finally offer me the comfort I crave. After finishing my meal, I'm insistent on clearing my plate, despite initial protestations from the aunties. They relent, expressing gratitude before leaving the kitchen.

Cleaning up the dishes consumes half an hour, and my arms are fatigued. Yet, I feel I've not done enough to show my gratitude. When an uncle approaches, requesting help with tidying his room, I readily agree.

Perhaps Lucas is correct in labeling me naïve.

Upon entering his room, I found him standing by the door, his gaze locked on me. As I cleaned, organized, and tidied his space, an unsettling feeling crept over me. It was as if I were being dissected by his eyes. But I brushed it aside, berating myself for paranoia.

No harm would come, I reasoned. I wasn't particularly attractive. My figure lacked any eye-catching curves.

“Um... Uncle, I've finished,” I stammered, seeking an exit. I inclined my head slightly, preparing to depart.

Then he reached out, his grip closing around my hand. Shock surged through me, and my stomach plummeted. I attempted to pull away, struggling with the little strength I had left. But his hold only tightened, propelling me onto the bed.

My head connected with the mattress, sending a wave of dizziness and nausea through me. He loomed over me, pressing against me, a sickening proximity that ignited panic. Instinctively, I tried to scream, my voice a trapped wail.

His hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my cries. I fought to bite his hand, but it was futile. He watched, his lips curling in a predatory manner, treating me like delectable prey.

His grip was suffocating, his palms large enough to engulf my head and muzzle my cries. I felt my fear manifest as tears began to spill. Dread engulfed me, not only for what he intended to do but for the sinister motives that fueled his actions.

Terror coursed through me. All I desired was to break free, to escape his clutches.

I scolded myself internally, urging my own defiance. Why are you struggling? He's just an ordinary middle-aged man. You're a tier-one human, twice as strong as an average man, and you wield a superpower. Use it!

But I couldn't.

At that moment, my heart sank.