Chapter 124

Yohan doubted his ears.

A nuclear power plant is going to explode?

It was something he had never even imagined.

Just like a scene you’d only encounter in the media, the idea of such a situation unfolding before his eyes felt as unreal as the appearance of zombies.

A reactor explosion, and radiation exposure.

Even without experiencing it firsthand, he already knew how terrifying the aftermath and ripple effects would be. It was a fight with no possibility of counterattack.

Why is this happening? Why can’t they just leave us alone? If the culprit behind this situation were in front of him, he’d want to grab them by the collar and shake them.

Suppressing his wildly beating heart, Yohan asked Rina again.

“What do you mean? A nuclear power plant is going to explode?”

“Exactly what I said. I had a dream of the power plant exploding.”

Rina, her face agitated, described the scene she had seen. It had been a particularly short dream.

A power plant marked with the ionizing radiation symbol, with bright yellow flames and black smoke rising from it—yet no one was trying to put out the fire or stop the accident.

Only zombies, drawn like moths to a flame, were charging toward the blaze and the bodies.

“No, that can’t be…”

Yohan tried to deny it. That couldn’t be. Nuclear reactors were being shut down globally, and even if one was still operational, it wouldn’t just explode because of zombies.

In times of war, power plants are among the first places protected by military force. Even if leadership collapsed, reinforcements would have continued arriving based on the standard protocol until the shutdown was complete.

Even from what he remembered before the regression, he’d never heard of a nuclear power plant exploding during the three years.

That’s what he had believed…

So why?

As a storm of thoughts raged in Yohan’s mind, a bell suddenly rang in his head. One of the most significant differences from before the regression.

‘Could it be because the zombies started spreading faster?’

The zombie outbreak had indeed accelerated. The emergence of mutants, the speed at which people became infected, even the collapse of military operations—it had all happened more quickly.

Before the regression, military operations had continued until the power plants were shut down, but this time, they might have failed.

Still, it was hard to believe. Was South Korea’s military really so incompetent that they couldn’t even shut down a power plant?

That couldn’t be true.

Shaking his head, Yohan asked Rina,

“Do you know where it is?”

“Tianwan…”

“What?”

“Tianwan. I saw the sign.”

“China?”

“I think so.”

“What about the timing?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell. The dream was too short…”

Yohan nodded. China. Tianwan. What was certain was that the very fact she had a prophetic dream meant it would affect them as well.

Panic and anger could come later. First, they had to address the situation.

Yohan immediately summoned the search team captains and the core administrators of Sindo. An emergency broadcast rang out, and people who had just woken up rushed over upon hearing Yohan’s voice.

As soon as they gathered, they stared blankly at him upon hearing the bombshell announcement: “A nuclear power plant might be exploding.”

“Tianwan—does anyone know where that is?”

Jae-ho was the one to respond.

“The Tianwan power plant is on the Shandong Peninsula. It’s one of the closest Chinese reactors to South Korea.”

At his answer, Yohan’s expression twisted.

The Shandong Peninsula—practically right next door. If the reactor exploded there, they would be 100% exposed to radiation. As if to confirm this terrifying reality, Jae-ho grabbed his head with both hands.

“Ah… How could we have missed something this terrible?”

“What do you mean?”

“It was inevitable that a reactor would explode. We were just too focused on immediate survival to see it.”

“Explain more clearly.”

“…During a national emergency, nuclear power plants are prioritized as critical infrastructure. When the zombie crisis broke out, the government and related personnel likely shut down all reactors immediately. But to fully shut down a plant, it takes at least one year, up to five years, of maintenance.”

The more Jae-ho spoke, the paler everyone’s faces became.

“Once uranium begins to split—meaning once a reactor is active—it takes at least a year, sometimes up to five, for the heat it generates to dissipate even after the plant is shut down. We’re approaching the one-year mark since the apocalypse began, so if any reactor was overtaken early on, it’s about time for one to explode.”

People looked as though they were hearing incomprehensible theories in a math or science class, while Jae-ho continued, unable to suppress his urgency.

“The reactor’s coolant has completely evaporated, and the automated diesel engine has stopped working. Everyone who could manage it has turned into zombies. This is just the beginning. Even now, reactor pressure is building. Within a few years, power plants in China, Japan, and Korea will explode one after another like dominoes—ah!”

Here’s the crux of it. The workers responsible for maintaining the coolant system, the safety mechanism that prevents explosions, had all become zombies. And even the backup diesel systems—essentially the insurance—had shut down over time. So now, with no management, the reactor had exploded.

“Pandora’s box… has been opened.”

Even if they couldn’t fully grasp the technical explanation, they understood at least one thing: the explosion was ongoing—and unpreventable.

People’s faces turned ashen.

This was a fear unlike anything they had faced before.

“What about safe zones?”

“There are none. Not within the country. Unless we dig a tunnel deep underground…”

People couldn’t hide their groans. The mood sank even further, but Yohan didn’t point it out. He felt the same way.

Still, he had no intention of accepting this outcome quietly.

He would survive.

No matter the trials or dangers, no matter how relentlessly this damn apocalypse tried to kill him—

He would struggle to the bitter end to survive.

The apocalypse had declared checkmate.

It had demanded his defeat.

No matter how hard you struggle, the ending is already set. All you have to do is accept the words “Game Over” floating against a bleak gray backdrop.

Like hell I will.

Until the very last breath leaves my body, I’ll thrash like a worm to survive.

“What about overseas?”

“…Excuse me?”

“You said the country’s not safe. What about abroad?”

“Uh, well, give me a second!”

Flustered, Jae-ho rushed out. Ten silent minutes passed before he returned from his library with a world map.

He unfurled the tightly rolled map, anchored both ends, and popped the board marker cap with his mouth.

“If we expand the scope globally, there are safe zones. To be safe even with radiation spreading worldwide, we need to go to a no-wind zone. All the way to the southern hemisphere.”

Then he circled three areas.

Australia, New Zealand, Hawaii.

“The safest place is Hawaii, which was recently declared a radiation safe zone by the U.S. Or southern New Zealand and Australia. But those are too far… I wonder if there are any countries overseas safe from zombies?”

“No idea. But we have to assume there aren’t. If this disaster were limited to Korea or Asia, U.S. troops would’ve already stormed in by now.”

“You’re right. America never abandons its soldiers.”

That unwavering belief that the homeland would protect them supported the strength of the U.S. military. Historically, the U.S. had honored that trust.

If this crisis had been limited to Korea or Asia, American fighter jets would’ve been swarming the skies to rescue stationed troops.

But no such hopeful signs had come. That meant the U.S. had also collapsed, or at the very least, was in such a dire state that it couldn’t even extract its citizens abroad.

If even China and the U.S. were caught up in this disaster, then it was likely that this had become a global catastrophe.

“Then we’re out of options. The best evacuation points reachable by sea are those three. Hawaii’s complete isolation is both its strength and weakness. New Zealand and Australia may still have zombies, but getting supplies there would be easier than in Hawaii.”

“The distance?”

At Yohan’s question, Jae-ho lowered his head.

“To be honest… it’s practically impossible. Even going around Japan to get to Hawaii is over 8,000 kilometers. New Zealand is even farther. It’s not just hard to fit everyone into that tiny fishing boat—even if we stuffed people in, we’d break down before even getting past Jeju Island.”

Even without stating it outright, the despair was obvious. Jae-ho didn’t bother mentioning the lack of crew either.

No navigator, no crew. A voyage of thousands of kilometers would be no different from a new form of suicide. They’d likely die before even facing radiation exposure.

They’d have to brave the open sea. One misstep in navigation, and they’d be adrift instantly.

And once adrift, it would turn into a brutal fight against starvation. That much was guaranteed.

“There’s no hope in that fishing boat. What I’m counting on is the warship we captured. What do you think—if we can get it running, is it possible?”

“Huh?”

“That warship. If it has enough fuel, can we make it?”

Yohan’s unexpected question sent Jae-ho’s thoughts spinning. A warship. A warship, huh.

It might actually work. Even with his poor seamanship, he could use the onboard GPS and backup radar systems.

“If it really is a warship… it’s theoretically possible. If it’s definitely an Incheon-class frigate, based on cruising range and fuel capacity, it could just barely make it to Hawaii.”

“You said it was Incheon-class?”

“Well, I thought so… but the equipment is a bit different. The Mistral system you used is usually only on the Ulsan or Pohang-class ships. And there’s no sign of the anti-submarine helicopter that usually comes with the Incheon-class. I’m starting to doubt it.”

As he finished, Luca cut in.

“That’s definitely Incheon-class. The Mistral was added. Plus, that’s not a naval Mistral—it’s an air force variant. And the helicopter? Who knows, someone probably made off with it.”

Like me.

Murmuring to himself, Luca nodded as Jae-ho followed along.

“Anyway, it’s barely doable. But with our current manpower, operating that ship…”

It was possible. If they could get it running.

Of course, it was a ridiculous assumption.

“The chances are slim… Honestly, it’s a stretch.”

“…”

“Maybe we should’ve saved at least one navy guy?”

Sweeper, who had been listening silently, asked Yohan. Luca answered instead.

“Wouldn’t have mattered much. Warship operations are highly specialized. If it’s not your field, you’re clueless. Doesn’t matter if you’re a non-commissioned officer or an officer.”

While the others argued, Yohan was deep in thought. His mind was made up.

Even if it was impossible—he’d do everything up to the point where it wasn’t.

Resolute, Yohan opened his sharp eyes and addressed the group.

“Let’s set our course.”

Everyone’s gaze focused on him. In the face of a cruel, miserable reality, if there was one shred of hope left, it was the unshakable trust in the dependable leader who had protected them. That trust shone in their eyes.

“All operations are canceled. The mutant Piccolo, the military base at Yeongjongdo—none of it matters. From now on, our focus is escaping the radiation zone. We’re taking that warship and heading overseas.”

Firm, confident tone. The assurance in Yohan’s voice lifted the expressions of those around him. A visibly relieved Sweeper and Seri chimed in.

“This is what the kids call a ‘get out of Korea’ moment, right?”

“You really sound like an old man when you say ‘the kids,’ oppa.”

Yohan raised his hand slightly—a signal to stop chatting. The two immediately fell silent.

“Rina.”

“Yes, Yohan.”

“You remember what I said before? That we had to stop being hostile toward humanity and fight for the survival of our species.”

“Yes, you said that.”

“Sorry, but that kind of thing just doesn’t suit me.”

Rina gave him a steady look.

“If someone’s trying to assign me the task of saving humanity, they’ve got the wrong guy. My goal is survival. Mine, and the survival of the people here. That’s it.”

No one replied, but their faces were filled with admiration. Yohan met each of their gazes and spoke silently through his eyes.

Trust me. I’ll carry us through this.

And everyone, except Sweeper, answered with their eyes.

“…But hey, do you all have visas?”