Armed men stood at the entrance to the marketplace.

One of them gave me a long, scrutinizing look before walking over at an unhurried pace.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you before. First time here, right?”

“Yes. First time.”

“Where you from?”

His eyes flicked to the three firearms I was carrying.

If you’re lugging around three guns, even the most oblivious person will peg you as dangerous.

“I came through the place with the big dogs.”

At my words, the man’s expression shifted to startled surprise.

“You mean you came through where those mutation dogs are? Alone?”

“Yes.”

“For real. You’ve got some guts.”

He stepped aside to let me pass and asked,

“You here to buy or sell?”

I pulled out John Nae-non from inside my coat.

“What the— Is that... a mouse?”

“Any chance there’s a vet around here?”

“A vet?”

The man wrinkled his nose.

“A vet... Ah, over there. There’s a rumor the head doc at the quack clinic used to be a vet.”

He pointed toward a stall flying a flag that looked vaguely like the Red Cross.

I asked one more thing.

“Sorry, but I’m also looking for someone.”

“Someone?”

“Yes. I was wondering if there might be anyone who used to work in programming.”

“A programmer... Hmm. Not sure if anyone’s looking for that kind of skill, but try the open lot over there. You never know.”

I looked toward the open lot.

“...”

Best not to go.

Even in the apocalypse, a proper programmer wasn’t going to just drop from the sky.

It was obvious—developer skills aren’t much use when it comes to the fight for survival.

I gave him a polite nod of thanks and stepped into the marketplace.

First impression: bigger than it looked.

Plenty of merchants, plenty of customers.

Some were just one-off peddlers passing through, but quite a few looked like they’d set up permanent stalls.

Most of the “customers,” though, didn’t seem like they were here to buy. More like they were out to kill time.

I couldn’t prove it, but I spotted the kind of people who looked like they were just waiting for a chance to steal or snatch whatever someone dropped.

One thing caught my attention—how they heated the place.

There wasn’t snow piled up, but it was around 5°C with the wind cutting through.

Forget heaters or hot air blowers like before the war—out here, everyone was exposed to the elements. Yet the market kept going thanks to a unique heating method.

Hot bricks.

They piled bricks in something like a kiln until they were good and hot, then scooped them out with something like a snow shovel and slipped them between the thighs of merchants sitting under blanket-like skirts.

Men or women, didn’t matter—once you had a brick radiating heat between your legs, you’d be pretty warm.

Maybe that’s why business seemed good.

They had four people just to tend the kiln.

A young woman working the bellows noticed me watching and glanced my way, wary.

I almost walked off, but curiosity got the better of me.

“This thing?”

I ended up asking her about it.

“Yeah. I was wondering where the idea came from. First time I’ve seen it.”

Her wary expression softened, and she gave a little chuckle before answering.

“Our boss said he got the idea from a German novel. Something about it winning a Nobel Prize.”

Plain face, but a pretty voice. Clear, precise diction with a pleasant tone.

Defender had liked women with good voices, too.

And then there’s someone else who can’t resist young women—John Nae-non.

The little guy had been limp and still in my pocket, but now he poked his head out.

Something lit up in the woman’s eyes.

“Oh? This is... a mouse?”

First time.

First time anyone’s actually guessed his species.

Because of his size, most people who thought he was cute assumed he was a hamster.

Even Kim Daram had once asked if he was a hamster.

So having someone recognize him as a mouse actually felt good.

“Yeah. A mouse.”

“Is he mutated?”

“Yes.”

“I see...”

“Well, I’ll be going then.”

Leaving the novel heating method behind, I headed toward the cluster of central stalls.

Ammo, food, lamp oil, synthetic fuel, unrefined opioid painkillers, alcohol, matches and charcoal, clothing.

Some sold luxury bags and jewelry.

Luxury bags, with brand labels that were hard to get even in department stores before the war—probably impossible to sell now.

The leather was too far gone. Calfskin gets grain damage after just a year of use.

Jewelry, on the other hand, keeps its value if stored well.

Markets in the apocalypse always had two professionals: the cell phone guy and the doctor.

The two most in-demand trades in the end times.

Word was, the phone guy earned better than the doctor.

Even the best doctor can’t do much without equipment or proper meds. But to fix a phone, you need both the know-how and the parts.

And you could make extra on the side by swapping in crappier components during repairs.

“Hey, mister! Don’t you use a phone? I can fix it good as new. Even Necropolis-capable!”

Hearing “Necropolis” from some random phone guy was a strange feeling.

Me and Ballantine had risked our lives for that tech, and here it was—just part of someone else’s everyday hustle.

The doctor, today’s real destination, was set up under a patchwork tent. The green army fabric stood out.

He didn’t even have the money for a hot brick—just huddled under layers of blankets over a padded coat. Only lifted his head when I coughed.

“Oh, a customer?”

Nothing like Kim Daram’s husband. Even with his pride worn down lately, that man still held onto a trace of an elite’s dignity. This guy looked like he’d thrown that away long ago.

I asked without much expectation,

“Do you see animals, too?”

“Animals?”

I pulled out John Nae-non.

“Hamster?”

Didn’t get much hope from him.

But just as I turned to leave,

“If it’s a hamster, the brick girl ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) might know. She had a big hamster, even mutated. Dumb as rocks, but kind of our shelter’s mascot.”

So they were from the same shelter. Still tied together.

Not that owning a mutation hamster meant she’d know how to extend its life.

Still, she’d caught John Nae-non’s interest earlier.

Maybe it wasn’t just that she was young—he didn’t react like that to every woman. Maybe something about her voice, her manner, her scent reminded him of his old owner.

John Nae-non had lived for that previous owner. Even after meeting me, he’d been listless. We never really connected—I just assumed he’d be there.

Maybe, after his owner’s death, life had already lost meaning for him.

With that bitter thought, I went to find her.

“That’s too bad, but there’s nothing I can do,” she said immediately upon seeing him.

She held out her hand, and he lifted his head, sniffing.

Her eyes softened.

“Be good to him. He doesn’t have much time left.”

She stroked his head, and he closed his eyes, savoring it.

“Why does he like you? He doesn’t even like me much.”

“I don’t know.”

She smiled faintly.

“You said he had an owner before? Maybe he sees a bit of them in me.”

Yeah... I thought so too.

People say animals live in the moment, but they must have memories they miss.

Memories grow heavier as the end draws near.

A coarse shout shattered the mood.

“Enough chatting! How long are you gonna stand around flapping your gums?”

A man hauling bricks glared at us.

She glanced his way. “Yeah, coming.”

Didn’t look like she was treated well.

Then again, who’s treated well these days?

Work itself is a blessing now.

I watched her for a bit, then walked over to the man.

“What?”

I shoved something into his hand—a pack of sugar I’d brought for barter.

He tasted it with a finger, then stared at me.

“You trying to sleep with her?”

I shook my head, but he kept talking.

“Won’t happen. She’s gentle, but stubborn. You know the type.”

“Just want to talk.”

I showed him John Nae-non.

“Hamster?”

Another ordinary guy.

Her name was Yoo Jeong-min. She’d survived the apocalypse with her family, losing some and sending others away.

“My little brother’s in the army. We used to live together, but when he got married, I left. The woman he brought didn’t like me.”

She looked younger than she was—early twenties, I thought, but she was in her early thirties.

There was no real reason to talk to her.

Just that John Nae-non liked her.

Maybe it was a kind of atonement. I’d used him as a tool, never really cared for him.

Not sure if this late kindness meant anything to him... but he liked it.

Still, time was short.

Two p.m.—time to leave.

We had to cross dog territory before sunset.

“Hayang,” I called, using his old name.

He opened his eyes and looked at my hand.

“Let’s go.”

Reluctant, but he climbed into his pouch.

“This is goodbye,” I thought. Or maybe I’d come back once more, to tell her when he died.

She gave a quiet smile and went back to the kiln.

The trip home was tense—seven dogs now, watching us but not attacking.

Back in the bunker, I checked on him. He slept deeply, like he was dreaming.

Early morning, he stopped moving, eyes closed forever.

Sometimes his tiny limbs twitched, like he was drifting into the dream world.

I stayed by his side. Didn’t touch him—just being there would be enough.

A sudden shudder ran through him. The final threshold.

“Hayang.”

No answer. Movement stopped. Breathing stopped.

Death had come.

“John Nae-non,” I murmured without thinking.

He opened his eyes, looked at me, twitched his nose, and made a faint sound.

Then closed them again.

That faint ripple stayed in my chest.

“He’s dead?”

“Finally gone, huh.”

“Lived a full life, though.”

Cheon Young-jae’s words summed it up.

The great John Nae-non’s namesake had gone on his last journey.

I returned to the market within the week—generator trouble. Took Young-jae this time.

The dogs still numbered seven.

The part I needed didn’t take long to find—just a bit of haggling.

Only then did I look for Yoo Jeong-min.

“Who’s she?” Young-jae asked, eyeing her.

“She’s connected to John Nae-non.”

As I’d planned, I told her he’d died.

“I see...” She bowed her head briefly, then smiled gently.

“I think he was happy. There’s nothing worse than dying alone. Animals too—especially intelligent ones.”

Empty words, maybe, but they eased something lodged in my chest.

Young-jae gave me a look—pressuring me to introduce him—but I asked her instead,

“What did you do before?”

“Developer,” she said.

“A developer?”

“Web development. Even did front-end at a big company once. Not that it matters now.”

Young-jae jumped in. “Ooh, a programmer?”

“Yes. Something like that.”

“Wow. That’s great!”

“And... who are you?” she asked him.

Listening to their awkward chatter, I mouthed the name John Nae-non to myself.

My role model John Nae-non had died in radiation. My partner John Nae-non had died here.

And yet... he still lived.

“...Yeah.”

As long as that noble meaning carried on, John Nae-non’s life would be extended.