Chapter 1117: Chapter 1117 Physics
“W-What at is this?”
“It tastes like premium beef but… not.”
“It’s too tender to be normal!”
“And the flavor—how is it this good?!”
The won turned toward Miku expectantly, but Miku could only chuckle before her eyes shifted toward Ross.
“Ross cooked it?”
“No wonder!”
“I should’ve known!”
Miku nodded proudly. “Well, I cooked the base, but Ross added his own spices and ingredients. And when Ross finishes a dish…” She exhaled deeply, almost reverently. “It becos sothing else.”
Ace leaned back, arms crossed as he spoke like a man who had been blessed for years. “After eating Ross’s cooking, everything else feels dull. The flavors… they’re on another level.”
The newcors took another bite.
“This tastes magical…”
“No—divine!”
“It feels like my entire body is warming up!”
“My fatigue is disappearing!”
One of them lifted her bowl to drink straight from it.
“Who is this man?!”
Their heads turned toward Ross again.
He sat quietly on a wooden bench, still looking a little pale, hands folded over his lap. A tired, humble smile rested on his lips.
To them, he looked like a fragile hero forcing himself to stay strong despite the blood he had spilled minutes earlier.
But inside—
Ross was smiling in triumph.
Just as planned.
His cooking was another weapon, another way to make them admire him, trust him, rely on him.
The won continued eating, savoring every spoonful.
“It’s so flavorful…”
“Each sip tastes different—deeper, richer!”
“I feel like crying. Is food supposed to be this good?”
“I didn’t know soup could taste like heaven…”
Miku laughed softly. “Welco to Ross’s cooking.”
Ace nodded. “You get used to it. Eventually.”
All five newcors stared at Ross with stars in their eyes—gratitude, awe, and budding infatuation mixing into a single overwhelming emotion.
Libby pressed her bowl to her chest like it was sacred. “Ross… thank you for saving … and for this…”
Another girl whispered, “He’s… amazing.”
Another murmured, “He risked his life… to save soone he barely knows.”
And another added quietly, cheeks slightly red, “And he can cook like this…”
Their admiration deepened, solidified.
Ross kept his smile soft, humble… perfectly innocent.
Inside his mind, however—
Step two complete, he thought with satisfaction. Healing act successful. Cooking supremacy confird. They’re hooked.
And so he sat there, surrounded by warm gazes and blushes, while the aroma of his heavenly soup filled the room.
***
An hour later, when the last bowls were wiped clean and everyone had settled into the warm, gentle glow of a full al, the atmosphere finally felt calm enough for the five won to speak.
They had eaten quietly at first, as if afraid the food might disappear if they made too much noise.
Now, huddled together on the long couch, they exchanged looks—silent encouragents—before deciding it was ti to tell the truth.
Giana sat at the center of the group, her fingers intertwined tightly with the others’.
Her eyes flickered from Ross to the rest of the room. She swallowed once, hard, and began.
They told Ross and the others everything.
They had been survivors—lucky ones, or so they thought.
Their camp had once been a refuge, a walled compound built from scrap tal, broken cars, and whatever else they could shove into place.
More than a hundred people had lived there—families, loners, elderly survivors, even a few children.
Life had been difficult, but it had been life, and in the apocalypse, that was priceless.
For a while, they managed. They hunted, scavenged, grew what little crops they could.
Their leader, an older man nad Donovan, kept order and made sure disputes were settled quickly and fairly.
He wasn’t perfect, but he was humane—a rare quality in a dying world.
Everything fell apart the morning Donovan was found dead.
He had been murdered brutally, his throat slit, his belongings ransacked.
The camp fell into chaos, and in that chaos, a new leader rose—Bruno.
A hulking man with a shaved head, scarred knuckles, and a voice that silenced argunts by sheer force.
He declared Donovan weak and claid that only strength could keep them alive.
At first, people accepted it. They were scared. They wanted direction. But then the whispers began.
Won waking up with bruises they couldn’t explain.
Girls going to sleep and never leaving their tents alone again.
A handful of won confiding in each other about being cornered, groped, threatened.
But none dared speak publicly.
Bruno had loyal n—thugs who patrolled the camp like guard dogs.
The first woman who tried to report Bruno… disappeared.
The second was found dead near the fences.
The third had her entire family threatened.
And so fear beca the new law of the camp.
Giana’s voice shook as she continued.
“We… we thought maybe it wouldn’t reach us. That if we kept our heads down, if we didn’t draw attention, we’d be safe.”
Her hands trembled. One of the other won, Valery, squeezed her arm gently.
“But then,” Valery whispered, “Bruno started choosing. Like we were… things.” Her breath hitched.
“He would stare at us every day. We knew it was only a matter of ti.”
They planned their escape for weeks.
They scavenged a map, gathered small food portions, identified weak points in the patrol schedule.
But even then, escaping was nearly impossible.
The camp was surrounded by makeshift walls and guarded by n who enjoyed violence.
They escaped anyway.
In the middle of the night, while a fire broke out on the west side, diverting most of Bruno’s n.
They ran barefoot through brush and dirt, not daring to stop, even as debris tore at their legs and lungs burned for air.
For an hour, they wandered, starving, exhausted, always looking over their shoulders and hiding from zombies.
They heard voices once—Bruno’s n searching for them—but they hid until the footsteps faded.
“And then… we saw the lights here,” Giana said, voice barely above a whisper. “We didn’t know if anyone kind lived here. But we had no choice.”
Her eyes glistened with tears she tried to blink away. “We just… hoped.”
She opened her mouth to continue—but froze.
THUD!
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