Tomie’s enthusiasm seemed to stem from a mix of curiosity and envy.

She grabbed my left hand and ran her fingers over the diamond-shaped mark, clicking her tongue in mock frustration. Predictably, nothing happened, and her face quickly fell into a disappointed frown.

"So, defeating the Phantom Hound is how you met the Agent? Lucky you—you beat me to it."

"Don't kid around," I replied flatly.

"It's just an oversized invisible dog. If it were me, one punch would’ve been enough." Tomie leaped back, throwing a series of shadowboxing jabs into the air.

Clearly, she hadn’t seen the Phantom Hound in action. Her bravado made it easy to dismiss its true danger.

"You box?" I asked.

"Yeah, I love anything related to fighting—sports, novels, games, you name it. I’ve tried my hand at all kinds of martial arts since I was a kid."

"Sounds impressive," I admitted, raising an eyebrow. "Ever been in a real fight?"

She looked genuinely surprised by the question.

"Why else learn how to fight?"

Ah, she wasn’t joking. Straightforward to a fault.

Still, she didn’t match my mental image of someone prone to violence. Her appearance was far from what I'd associate with a brawler.

"And you?" she shot back. "If you managed to kill the Phantom Hound, you must know how to handle yourself in a fight."

"I don’t like fighting," I said, putting on a serious face. "I’m a model student."

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Sure you are," she said, rolling her eyes and turning her head away. Then she muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Liar."

"Hey!" I barked. "Keep it down—you’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?"

"So, what’s the plan now? Got any ideas?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Not a clue," Tomie admitted casually, showing no hint of worry. "I just got here. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do yet."

She wasn’t being modest—her words carried a ring of honesty.

So, I laid out my plan.

"If we can find the key to the big iron door, we can get out of here."

"Get out?" she echoed. "And then what? Go where?"

I had no answer to that.

"Staying here isn’t exactly a great option," I muttered, grasping for justification.

"Fair enough," Tomie said with a shrug. "Maybe we’ll run into others outside. But it’s dangerous—I saw some things leaping between rooftops earlier. They didn’t look friendly."

"And even if we open the iron door, it’ll be tough to get out unscathed," she added, her eyes drifting toward the shambling corpses outside.

To this day, I still couldn’t figure out which senses the undead retained. If they only relied on smell, we might be able to slip past them. But if their hearing worked, the sound of the door opening would draw them in like a dinner bell.

It was a grim thought—one I’d been avoiding.

"If we can’t go through the front door, the only other option is scaling the wall," I said. But even that posed a problem—the wall was lined with shards of jagged glass.

"What about food?" she asked.

"Let’s search every room in this place first," Tomie suggested. "Maybe we’ll find some supplies—or even other survivors."

I nodded in agreement.

We decided to start with the room the Phantom Hound had turned into its dining hall.

Before we began, Tomie insisted on checking out the "restaurant." I stood outside, bracing myself to watch the spectacle.

To my surprise, she strolled in without hesitation, as though she were walking through her own backyard. Unfazed by the stench and the grotesque piles of corpses, she took her time inspecting the room, clicking her tongue in what could only be described as detached curiosity.

Then she began rifling through the cabinets and shelves with a speed and efficiency that suggested she’d done this before. Her movements were confident and practiced, like she’d rehearsed this scene a dozen times.

She stuffed anything useful into a cloth grocery bag, slung it over her shoulder, and sauntered back out with a smug grin.

"Honestly, it’s just gross and a little smelly. Dead bodies and dead pigs—same thing, right? Just a chunk of meat."

"Stop it already! What are you, a psychopathic serial killer?!" I snapped.

Tomie burst out laughing while I scowled and fumbled with the keyring, searching for the one that matched the door ahead.