"Zhang Jun, let's break up."
Khanh Vy's voice came through the phone cold enough that it took Zhang Jun a few seconds to fully process what she'd said.
He was sitting behind the register at Dai Jun General Store, one hand still resting on the dog-eared credit ledger. Outside, the old sign swung in the night wind, *clank-clank*, *clank-clank*. Inside, a single fluorescent tube flickered overhead, casting pale light across shelves of instant noodles, bottled water, cooking oil, and stacks of cardboard boxes pushed against the wall.
"Why so sudden?"
His throat was dry.
Khanh Vy laughed. It wasn't loud, but it landed worse than a slap.
"Sudden? Zhang Jun, take a good look at yourself. Three years since graduation, more jobs than I can count. You never last long enough to warm a seat before they let you go. How much is even left in your wallet?"
Zhang Jun said nothing.
She pressed harder.
"What kind of future are you offering me? This beat-up little store? The sign out front is half-peeled, the fridge sounds like a tractor, and half the stuff on your shelves is about to expire. How long are you planning to hold on to this place?"
Zhang Jun looked up at the sign hanging inside the store.
*Dai Jun General Store.*
The red characters had faded to a dull rust. His parents had left him this place. It was the last thing that had stayed on his side after the funerals, the debt, and the days when everyone else turned away.
On the other end of the line, Khanh Vy didn't give him room to speak.
"My rent next month is three and a half million. My credit card balance is over ten million. Can you cover that? No. You can't even order a decent meal without checking the prices first, then sitting there doing the math on how short you'll be this month."
Her voice caught for a beat, then dropped—quieter, more deliberate.
"Hoang Vu bought me a car. He just opened a new company and put part of it in my name. Do you understand what I'm saying, Zhang Jun? I'm exhausted. We're not on the same road anymore."
"Vy—"
"Don't look for me."
The call ended.
*Beep. Beep. Beep.*
The flat tone echoed through the empty store. Zhang Jun held the phone for a long time. When the screen went dark, he finally set it down.
The folding cot behind the counter let out a *creak* as he dropped onto it. The smell of damp cardboard, instant noodles, cheap cigarettes, and old medicated oil all blended together—familiar enough to make his chest tighten.
This was the last place he had to come back to.
The phone lit up again.
A message from an unknown number, but Zhang Jun knew exactly who it was.
*"Three days left. Principal plus interest: 420 million. Don't pay and get ready to close up. We'll come pull your sign down first. Whatever's still owed after that, we'll collect off you directly."*
Zhang Jun stared at the message, fingers tightening around the edge of the phone.
To pay for his parents' treatment, he'd taken out loan shark debt—over two hundred million, through someone he knew at the market. When he signed the papers, they told him it was just a short-term bridge loan, pay it back next month and it's done. But hospitals don't wait, medicine doesn't wait, and interest least of all.
In under a year, the debt had ballooned past four hundred million.
His parents didn't make it anyway.
He couldn't pay it back.
In the end, all they'd left him was Dai Jun General Store, a few old shelves, and a debt crushing down on his neck.
Zhang Jun looked around the store.
The glass display case for cigarettes sat to the left of the register. Across from it, cases of instant noodles, bottled water, boxed milk, fish sauce, laundry detergent. In the corner, a credit ledger for the regulars in the neighborhood—names written in his mother's handwriting, some owing a few dozen thousand, some a few hundred, many entries untouched for so long no one brought them up anymore.
This store had once fed his whole family.
Now it was the last shelter he had.
If he lost this too, Zhang Jun would have nothing left at all.
He drew in a breath, but his chest still felt like someone had wedged a stone inside it. His throat burned. He braced a hand on the counter and started to push himself up to grab a bottle of water from the cooler.
The moment his feet touched the tile floor—
The fluorescent light above him flared.
A sharp crackling sound split the air, like a wire being yanked apart.
The entire store shook.
Not the gentle tremor of a truck rolling past. This was something grabbing the whole alley and wrenching it sideways.
"What the—"
Zhang Jun grabbed the nearest shelf. A few packs of instant noodles tumbled from the top row and rolled across the floor to his feet.
Through the glass door, the yellow streetlights outside stretched into warped, smeared streaks. The sound of motorbikes in the alley, dogs barking, the noise from the bar at the end of the street—all of it compressed into a single moment.
Then silence.
The entire block went dark.
His phone lost signal. The security camera in the corner of the store blinked red twice, then went dead.
Zhang Jun stood frozen, staring through the glass.
The familiar alley outside was changing.
The asphalt in front of the store twisted like a corrupted video frame, then resolved into cracked gray concrete. The row of buildings across the street—a few four-story walk-ups and a cheap rice shop—was replaced by the ruins of high-rises, walls stripped bare, windows black as empty eye sockets.
A smell seeped through the door frame: rust, mildew, rot.
It all happened in under ten seconds.
When everything settled, Zhang Jun was still standing in the same spot, knuckles white where he gripped the shelf.
Outside Dai Jun General Store, there was no longer an alley in an old neighborhood.
What lay before him was a dead city.
Shattered towers jutted into a yellow-gray sky. The road had collapsed in chunks; burned-out car frames lay tilted in the street like the carcasses of large animals. Rusted billboards swayed in the wind, letting out a dry, rhythmic *creak*.
No moon.
No stars.
Just a sky the color of dirty water, heavy enough to make breathing feel like work.
*Where is this?*
*What film crew could build an entire street like this?*
*Or have I actually lost my mind?*
The pain of being left, of the debt, of his parents' deaths—all of it was swallowed whole by something larger and colder.
Then, from somewhere inside his head, a soft *ding* rang out.
A pale blue panel materialized in front of Zhang Jun, thin as a pane of floating glass.
*[First connection complete.]*
*[Current world: Collapse World.]*
*[Dai Jun General Store has become a Spatial Anchor.]*
*[Absolute Safe Zone activated.]*
*[Within the store's boundaries, the Shopkeeper is immune to all damage. Unauthorized individuals cannot enter.]*
Zhang Jun read each line. His mind was blank.
*Connection?*
*Collapse World?*
*Immune to all damage?*
He reached out and touched the glowing panel. His fingers passed through empty air without resistance.
Not a hallucination.
At least, it was real enough that he couldn't convince himself this was just a dizzy spell.
In other words: he was still inside his own store, but the store had been dragged to another world.
"Oh—"
A hoarse sound rose from somewhere down the block.
It was like wind forcing itself through a rusted pipe, or a throat that had been torn open still trying to make noise.
The hair on Zhang Jun's scalp prickled.
He turned slowly toward the sound.
From the darkness beneath an abandoned building, more than ten figures lurched into the open. Their clothes were shredded, caked with grime and dried black stains. They moved stiffly, joints twisted at wrong angles, each step dragging like something was pulling at the bones from inside.
*People?*
No.
Zhang Jun could see it clearly—the ashen, bloodless skin. The clouded eyes rolling without focus. One of them was missing nearly half its face, exposing gum line and blackened muscle.
*Deadwalkers.*
The word surfaced in his mind like an alarm.
At first, the Deadwalkers just drifted aimlessly through the ruined street. But quickly, one of them stopped. Its head snapped toward Dai Jun General Store.
Toward the only light still burning in the entire dead block.
A second later, all of them turned.
"AHHH!"
The shriek tore through the night.
The whole pack lunged toward the store.
They moved faster than anything Zhang Jun had ever seen in a movie. Those rigid legs hammered down on cracked pavement; fingernails raked across rusted car bodies; the clatter of joints mixed with the howl of hunger.
*Run.*
That was the only thought left in Zhang Jun's head.
But run where?
The store was barely twenty square meters. The back wall was solid brick. The only exit was directly in front of the oncoming horde.
The first one hit the glass door.
It raised a hand—black, hooked nails—and slammed it down.
Zhang Jun stumbled back on instinct, heart seizing in his throat.
*Boom!*
The glass shuddered under the impact.
But it didn't break.
Zhang Jun opened his eyes.
The Deadwalker was pressed against the door. Its rotting fist was flat against the glass, but the pane—thin enough that one good hit should have shattered it—held perfectly still.
A faint ripple of pale blue light passed across the surface and vanished.
Unable to break through, the Deadwalker went berserk. It used its head, its shoulder, its entire decaying body, slamming into the glass over and over.
*Boom! Boom! Boom!*
The rest of the pack piled in.
Their nails dragged across the door with a high-pitched *screech* that crawled up the spine. Rotting faces pressed flat against the glass, features smearing grotesquely against the pane. Their mouths hung open—black inside—screaming endlessly at the man on the other side.
Outside was a scene straight out of hell.
Inside, Dai Jun General Store was perfectly, eerily still.
The shelves didn't shake. The cooler didn't tip. Even the packs of instant noodles on the floor hadn't moved an inch.
*Absolute Safe Zone. Immune to all damage. Unauthorized individuals cannot enter.*
The cold lines of text surfaced again in Zhang Jun's mind.
He looked at the Deadwalkers losing their minds outside the door, then looked back at his own store.
His heartbeat slowed. He was safe.
Once he was certain the horde outside genuinely couldn't get in, the wire that had been pulled taut to its limit inside Zhang Jun's head finally went slack.
He slid down the side of the register counter and sat on the tile floor.
The crash after surviving something too big left his whole body hollow. His hands were still cold, his heart still pounding—but at least he could breathe.
Right now, Zhang Jun needed to sort out two things.
Where was he?
And how did he get back?
"System?"
He tried calling out in his head.
The pale blue panel appeared instantly, quiet and waiting.
*[Spatial General Store]*
*[Shopkeeper: Zhang Jun]*
*[Current world: Collapse World]*
*[Store status: Absolute Safe Zone]*
*[Feature: Spatial Transfer]*
*[Cooldown: 11:59:45]*
*[Note: After each transfer, the store remains in the target world for 12 hours. When the cooldown expires, the Shopkeeper may choose to return at any time.]*
*[During the transfer period, the original world will detect no anomaly related to the store's disappearance.]*
He could go back.
Zhang Jun stared at the countdown. The iron band around his chest loosened, just slightly.
As long as there was a way home, things hadn't hit rock bottom yet.
But a new problem surfaced almost immediately.
He had to stay here for nearly twelve hours.
Zhang Jun looked up through the glass door.
The Deadwalkers were still out there, tireless. They kept cycling through the same motions—headbutting, slamming, raking their nails against the glass—as if one more try was all it would take to tear the living thing inside apart.
His scalp prickled again.
Zhang Jun reached for his shirt pocket out of habit, but it was empty. He'd quit smoking months ago to save money.
He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair, eyes sweeping the store's twenty-odd square meters.
The shelves held cases of instant noodles, bottled water, sausage sticks, packaged bread, crackers, boxed milk, canned goods, and a few bottles of energy drink. Most of it was stock he'd bought from a cheap supplier—some of it less than a month from expiring.
Back in his world, all of it combined wasn't worth much.
In Khanh Vy's words, it wouldn't cover a corner of her credit card bill.
But here?
The thought flickered, and Zhang Jun's heart kicked hard.
He'd read enough post-apocalyptic fiction to know the rules. A world that had already collapsed, Deadwalkers filling the streets, order gone—what actually had value?
Not gold.
Not diamonds.
Clean food and clean water.
His breathing came faster without him meaning it to.
Zhang Jun pushed to his feet, crossed to the shelves, and picked up the most ordinary bottle of water he had.
The cool weight of it in his palm pulled his scattered thoughts back into focus.
In his world, this bottle sold for five thousand dong.
In a dead city full of Deadwalkers, what was it worth?
What about a sausage stick?
A pack of instant noodles that could fill an empty stomach?
The light in Zhang Jun's eyes sharpened.
The dull misery of the breakup, of being cornered by loan sharks—in that moment, something hotter burned it all away.
He thought about the 420-million-dong debt.
He thought about Khanh Vy's voice on the phone.
*"What kind of future are you offering me?"*
A future?
Zhang Jun turned and looked at the Deadwalkers screaming outside the glass. This time, his eyes held something other than fear.
If this wasn't a future, what was?
Forget the breakup.
Forget the loan sharks.
He could get rich.
A rush of excitement he'd never felt before ran the length of his spine. He wasn't the unemployed man backed into a corner anymore. He wasn't the broke shopkeeper counting coins in a debt ledger.
In this world, he was the only one holding the supply.
This worn-out, paint-peeling little store that everyone had looked down on—it wasn't a burden.
It was a gold mine.
Zhang Jun walked to the door and stood behind the glass, protected by the Absolute Safe Zone, studying the Deadwalkers outside more carefully.
They were still clawing frantically, still slamming their rotting bodies against the pane, still howling.
But the longer he watched, the more the fear in his chest transformed into something harder to name.
Deadwalkers meant this place wasn't safe.
Not safe meant supplies were scarce.
Which meant as long as this world stayed in chaos, every bottle of water and pack of noodles in his hands had value.
Zhang Jun twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a long pull.
The cold water slid down his throat and put out the last of the panic, leaving only a low, steady fire burning in his chest.
He couldn't sit here trembling for twelve hours.
He needed to use these twelve hours to make his first sale.
Zhang Jun started running the numbers fast.
One bottle of water for one chỉ of gold?
No.
In the Collapse, whoever held the goods set the price.
One bottle of water for ten grams of gold.
One pack of noodles for a hundred grams.
And not just gold. He needed things with even more value—weapons, protective gear, medicine, or anything this world produced that his didn't.
The excitement surged fast, but Zhang Jun forced himself to slow down.
Acting reckless in an unfamiliar, dangerous place was just another way to die.
He had the goods. But he needed customers before he could sell anything.
The question was: where were the survivors?
If this world had collapsed to this point, anyone still alive was hiding somewhere, watching every sound and movement outside. Nobody was stupid enough to just wander out into a street full of Deadwalkers.
And right now, more than ten of them were blocking the front of his store.
Even if the store was safe, no one outside would know that.
Zhang Jun looked at the Deadwalkers, then back at the shelves behind him.
Wait out twelve hours, then slink back home to face a 420-million-dong debt?
Not a chance.
He needed bait.
Something compelling enough that survivors hiding in the dark would smell it, see it, and find themselves unable to look away.
His gaze landed on a bright red case of instant noodles sitting on the middle shelf.
Beef broth flavor.
In a world that smelled of rust, mold, and rot, what could hit human instinct harder than the smell of hot noodles?
Hunger could pull people out of their better judgment.
Use it.
Zhang Jun crouched and pulled a dusty electric kettle from under the counter, then found a large ceramic bowl. This was the setup he used on the nights he stayed late to watch the store.
He plugged it in and pressed the switch.
The kettle hummed softly to life.
The store still had power.
Zhang Jun looked up at the old fluorescent tube glowing on the ceiling, and the steadiness in his chest grew a little thicker.
This space, anchored here by the System, seemed completely sealed off from the outside. No matter what the dead city looked like beyond the glass, Dai Jun General Store kept running like normal.
The water boiled fast.
Zhang Jun tore open a pack of noodles, dropped the brick into the bowl, then shook in the seasoning packet, the oil packet, and the dried vegetable packet.
He poured the boiling water over it all. Steam rose in a white curl.
The rich smell of instant noodles bloomed through the small store.
It was just the familiar scent of cheap industrial seasoning packets, chili oil, and dried vegetables—so ordinary that back in the old world, nobody would have given it a second thought. But set against a world already rotting at its seams, it became unreasonably, almost absurdly, appealing.
Even Zhang Jun couldn't stop himself from swallowing dry.
There was the smell.
But how was he supposed to get it outside?
He couldn't open the door.
Zhang Jun swept his eyes around the store, then looked up at the corner of the ceiling near the back of the counter. A small exhaust fan sat there, its blades caked with grease and dust. Back when his parents used to cook in the shop sometimes, that fan had pushed the smoke smell out.
No idea if it still worked.
He dragged a plastic chair over, climbed up, and reached for the switch.
*Click.*
The fan sat silent for two seconds.
Then it let out a dry, rasping whine, and the blades began to turn—slow and reluctant, like an old man dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.
Air moved.
Zhang Jun immediately carried the steaming bowl of noodles over and set it directly beneath the exhaust fan.
The noodle smell caught the airflow, rode it up through the narrow duct, and spilled out into the dead street below.
In a place where the only scents left were rot and rusted metal, the smell of hot food was like a lit match thrown into the dark.
Once everything was in place, Zhang Jun moved back to the glass door.
He sat down, eyes fixed on the street outside—one part of his attention tracking any movement out there, the other watching the countdown still ticking slowly across the glowing display.