When Did I Become An Artifact Dealer?! - Chapter 6: Father

“Better to have and not need than to need and not have.”

Sky Ishiyama is a nerd with Photographic Memory who after the bumps and turns in his life, turned to be a Doomsday Prepper.

The story takes place in our world where our MC was diving through the Dark Web just for fun and discovered something that could only be found in books, movies, novels, manga, anime, or games.

Zombies, Walkers, Freaks, Infected, Biters, or whatever you may call them.

They're fucking real.

Ever wondered what you could do in a zombie apocalypse where you actually know what you're doing? Actually surviving properly while preventing stupid deaths? Doing what is right and necessary? Or better yet, actually doing what you shout in the monitor when you're watching a film?

Our MC is coupled with the knowledge of not just fighting z's but actually surviving by securing his home, finding allies, scavenging for supplies, building a community and so much more.

If you could, kindly like the tags I've put up and it would be huge, huge help for me, thanks in advance! Also, a comment, a review, or even a vote of a single power stone would help me out a lot! Thanks again!

[WARNING:FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY]This is the story of how I made my own harem with the help of my step-sister.Anyway read 3 chapters yourself than decide yourself, if you wanna go further!!

What happens when, in the midst of struggling to keep up with life, you suddenly discover that you were a princess in a past life? Now, you're just a waitress with a drunken mother and a pile of bills to pay. But deep down, you know one thing: you’ll find the stupid jerk responsible for ending your royal life, no matter what it takes.Alexia POV:Then there are the spoiled, narcissistic rich jerks who think their daddy's car gives them a free pass to treat women like objects. Not today, Satan. These guys are like walking perfume ads with egos bigger than their bank accounts. I swear, they should just marry themselves—they're clearly their own type.When one of those jerks lands at my table, I can smell the entitlement from a mile away. I don't even wait for the inevitable sleazy pickup line or the “accidental” brush of their hand against mine. Nope. I pawn them off on one of the other waiters faster than you can say “unpaid rent.”