Jobless Man’s Zombie Survival Life - Chapter 3: My Guiding Principle

Chapter 3: My Guiding Principle

T/N: Ossan – a rude way of calling a middle-aged man

It’s probably been three days since I beat that ossan next door to death after he turned into something like a zombie.

I’ve been holed up at home ever since.

Every door and window locked, curtains drawn, living in a pitch-dark house, wrapped in blankets.

Stuffing my face with whatever’s in the fridge, then sleeping. Over and over.

I didn’t turn on the TV.

Couldn’t stand making any noise.

I kept imagining that ossan, rotting in the garden, getting up to attack me.

In that timeless, day-or-night blur, I was in shock.

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It wasn’t killing that ossan that shook me.

It was only feeling a tiny bit of guilt about it.

Sure, I was frantic at the time.

If I’d hesitated, I’d probably be the one lying in the garden.

No doubt about it.

That ossan wasn’t human anymore.

It’s simplistic, but he was a straight-up “zombie.”

Still, just because he was a monster, is it okay to feel this little guilt for beating him to death with my own hands?

It’s like the level of guilt you’d feel for stealing an abandoned bike.

Not that I’ve ever done that.

What the hell am I? Was I always this cold-blooded?

I’m better than those idiot panic movie characters, but is this okay for a human?

This mindset’s straight-up villain territory.

The kind of villain who dies pathetically in the climax.

Like always these past three days, I was about to spiral into self-loathing again.

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Wait, aren’t I forgetting something important?

“No cigarettes…! None…!! It’s been three days since I smoked!!!”

Once I realized, it was over—my brain was all cigarettes, all the time.

The regret over that ossan? Shoved to the corner in a heartbeat.

If that ossan had been a decent guy, I’d probably be agonizing more.

But really, how was he? Every damn day, hounding me with “jobless this, jobless that.”

No matter what I said or did, he’d twist it into something bad and come at me again.

He even once said out of nowhere that I must be broke.

When I told him I had savings, he got pissed.

Now I’m mad.

Why do I have to care about that sarcastic, unlikeable middle-aged jerk?

He probably didn’t even have a shred of self left in that state. Probably. Definitely.

He was like a wild animal coming at me.

I only hesitated because he still looked human.

If anything, I put that pitiful, beastly ossan out of his misery.

Before he could hurt some helpless bystander.

This… this isn’t villain behavior—it’s a light-side protagonist move, right?

Ugh, I’m losing it! I haven’t gone this long without a smoke in years, and my thoughts are a mess!!

Wasting my precious smoking time on some half-assed remorse for that ossan? Damn it!!

No point overthinking! It’s messed up, but it is what it is!!

Keep it simple! Let’s do this!!

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What do I want? → To smoke cigarettes!

How do I want to live? → I don’t wanna die!

So what do I do? → Survive!

For how long? → Hell if I know! Till I get bored!!

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Hell yeah!! Done!!!

Pretty damn fine answer, if I do say so.

I can die anytime—jump off the roof, or slather myself in butter and dive into a zombie horde.

It’s hard to believe that ossan was the only zombie.

If he was, the cops or Jieitai would’ve nabbed or shot him by now.

I can’t think straight right now, but if I ever lose all hope, I’ll revisit this.

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With a rough plan set, I felt a lot better.

It’s ridiculous, but with zombies out there, being a bit unhinged might help me survive.

My guiding principle? “Live till I’m bored!” That’s it!