Antisocial Prologue

Chapter 0. Prologue

Three months after the zombie outbreak.

That was the first time Boyeon came out of her bunker and encountered a fellow human since the disaster occurred. 

However, he pointed a gun at Boyeon’s head without warning.

‘He is still alive…’

Boyeon’s image was reflected in his eerily unsettling eyes. Her delicate features, smooth skin, neatly rounded nails, glossy hair, and the faint scent of soap…

It felt as though he were evaluating an object, calculating its worth—whether to destroy it or put it to use.

“P-please save me….”

An ordinary person would be overwhelmed with stress just from having a gun aimed at their head. Boyeon’s heart pounded, and her body trembled uncontrollably.

All she could do was force open her throat, tight with fear, and plead.

‘How could she have been hiding?’

A flicker of interest surfaced in his pitch-black eyes.

His gaze shifted to the underground stairs behind Boyeon, who was crouched down. They were made of solid concrete.

“A bunker?” 

This was a wealthy house. Rich people always had strange hobbies. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside, still keeping the gun pointed at Boyeon.

She had no choice but to raise her hands and retreat hesitantly. There was no time to analyze the man, no chance to understand why he was pointing a gun at her or how to react.

Panic clouded her thoughts, making it impossible to meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes dropped to his feet—military boots.

But he wasn’t wearing a military uniform. Outside, zombies roamed freely, yet he stood there in light cotton pants and short sleeves, as if completely unbothered by the risk of being bitten.

He also wore a combat harness designed to hold magazines. Every time he moved, the soft fabric of his shirt caught on the harness, pulling taut and revealing his sharply defined muscles in an almost menacing way.

He was larger and more muscular than any man Boyeon had ever seen—nothing like her college classmates. He seemed more like a war-hardened general or a barbarian from an ancient battlefield, someone who could crush her effortlessly.

Yet, past the thick Adam’s apple, his face held a cold, almost sculpted beauty. His black hair and striking red lips formed a contrast that was unnervingly alluring. He had an uncommon, handsome face, but his aura was so frigid that fear was Boyeon’s first instinct.

“Are you a soldier…?” she asked, clinging to a fragile thread of hope.

“No.”

The corners of his red lips curved upward smoothly. His dark hair partially veiled his eyes—eyes that were oddly unfocused as they turned toward her.

It was chilling.

Boyeon felt like prey tossed before a predator, every instinct in her body screaming at her to run.

But where?

Her trembling gaze darted to the gun’s muzzle. There was no escaping this—no chance of winning in a one-on-one fight, not against someone like him. And he was armed.

The terrifying certainty settled in her mind: resisting meant death.

“Please put the gun away…”

Boyeon pleaded in a trembling voice, barely above a whisper. Her sobs broke through the words, raw and desperate. By now, the man must have realized—she had no intention of resisting.

Yet, he only tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. His expression seemed to ask if begging was even necessary. His cold eyes held no hesitation, no aversion to taking a life.

“P-please… save me…”

The instinctual fear of death gripped her, and she whispered again, clinging to the hope of survival.

“If you want this place… you can stay here…”

The underground bunker had enough supplies to last. Her aunt had warned her never to let anyone in, but right now, that rule meant nothing—her life was on the line.

But the man’s expression darkened. His eyebrows knit together slightly, displeased.

He was probably thinking the same thing she feared.

It would be easier to kill her and take the bunker.

“You need to know the password to get in…”

“……”

“I’ll tell you…”

“……”

“Please save me…”

The man, who had been lost in thought, finally spoke.

“What other use do you have?”

His voice was deep and smooth, yet utterly devoid of warmth.

Use? Boyeon realized then—he was just as dangerous as the zombies outside. Maybe even worse.

Her expression twisted in despair. She had been caught by the wrong person.

“I can operate a surveillance drone… clean… cook…”

He regarded her with an indifferent gaze, as if she were nothing more than an insignificant insect.

It wasn’t enough.

Boyeon saw it in his eyes. Her face contorted further, panic and helplessness tightening around her like a noose.

“I’ll do whatever you tell me to do… So please spare me…”

His eyes, like it started its hunt, flashed darkly in the silence. Staring intently at Boyeon’s emotionful face, his hand, holding the gun, reached out to her.

Shudder. The hand that brushed against Boyeon’s earlobe was unbearably hot and firm. It traced a slow path from her ear to her cheek, lingering over her soft skin before sliding down to the nape of her neck.

His fingers brushed through her hair, guiding it over her chest. The sensation sent a shiver through her—an unsettling mix of fear and something she couldn’t name.

Thump. The solid barrel of the gun pressed against her back. It hadn’t been fired, yet it burned against her skin as if searing through her. A sting spread across her back, and cold sweat trickled down her spine.

At any moment, the deafening crack of a gunshot could shatter the silence.

Slowly, he pulled her closer. Boyeon was too terrified to resist. Her body had no strength left—it barely felt like her own.

Like a fragile bird caught in a predator’s grasp, she moved as he willed, powerless against his grip.

“….!”

Thud. Boyeon’s cheek pressed against his solid chest, the stark contrast between their physiques impossible to ignore.

She was soft, fragile—so delicate that she seemed utterly harmless. His hands moved slowly, stroking her trembling shoulders, reveling in the way she shuddered beneath his touch.

The supplies in the bunker, the stockpile Boyeon’s grandfather had left for her—none of it really mattered. In a lawless world, the strong took what they wanted from the weak. That was the natural order.

Companions were meaningless to him. People were burdens, liabilities. Boyeon was no exception—weak, naive, and bound to become an annoyance.

Killing her would have been easier. A single gunshot, and she’d be gone.

So why hadn’t he pulled the trigger?

His body answered before his mind did. It had been too long since he last relieved himself, and the sight of her tear-streaked face and curvaceous figure had stirred something dark and primal within him. If not for that, Boyeon would already be dead.

“If you’re not a woman….”

He didn’t bother to hide that fact and slowly whispered in Boyeon’s ear.

“I don’t need you.”

Thump. Her thin body convulsed, trembling uncontrollably. Boyeon wasn’t naive—she understood his intentions all too well.

Fear constricted her chest, making it impossible to breathe properly. Each breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, her panting uneven and desperate.

She sounded pitiful, like a small bird with broken wings, trapped in the grasp of something far stronger than herself.

At that moment, Boyeon realized that the man’s penis that was touching her was stiffly erect.

“How old are you?”

His hand continued to stroke Boyeon’s head, her fear palpable as she remained frozen, unsure of how to respond. His question came sharply, cutting through the tension.

“Hic, nhn….”

Boyeon burst into tears. The man didn’t react nor care about her silent struggle—he simply continued to stroke her small head, as if trying to soothe her.

He seemed to understand there was no need to rush. His calm, detached demeanor only made the situation feel more suffocating. To Boyeon, it was like being trapped in a swamp with no escape, each touch and word a whisper from the devil himself.

What would happen if I refused? I didn’t want to know. She was scared.

“I-I’m of age… Hic, I’m an adult, please…”

In the end, Boyeon had no choice but to beg. Her voice trembled, breaking with misery as fear consumed her. The man, without a word, obediently holstered his gun and stepped back. Boyeon, her body shaking with exhaustion and terror, collapsed under the weight of it all. 

Just as she faltered, a large hand caught her at the waist, steadying her fragile form.