"So, where exactly did you come from, stranger?"
After ten minutes of walking in a silence that I found heavy, but she seemed to find comfortable, Isabella suddenly broke the quiet with her question. During that time, I had been totally absorbed in the chaotic landscape of my own mind.
In truth, I had never taken the old man's stories to heart. I had always assumed he was a master of fabrication, a lonely soul weaving lies to pass the time.
However, every sensory detail around me—the smell of exhaust, the distant hum of a functional city, the sheer lack of monsters—proved otherwise. Against all logic, I had been teleported back in time nearly ninety-nine years, dropped into the precise moment the world began to die.
It was a terrifying era to inhabit. According to the records of my time, the initial death toll of the apocalypse was staggering, with statistics suggesting that over 90% of the global population was wiped out within the first few years. It wasn't merely a severe blow to human civilisation; it was an extinction-level event that erased millennia of technological and cultural achievement in a heartbeat.
I struggled to decide whether I should be grateful to the old man or resentful. No sane person would ever volunteer to walk into this meat grinder. And yet, I now held a singular, golden opportunity: I had the chance to obtain a Class at the moment of its inception. I could rewrite the script of my life before the ink even dried.
"What makes you think I'm a stranger?" I asked plainly, trying to keep my voice steady while my thoughts spiralled. I was trying to cross-reference everything I knew about the apocalypse, but I ran into a major obstacle: I was working with two completely different versions of history.
The "Official Records" of the Three Kingdoms claimed that humanity had been helpless, focusing solely on primitive survival and relying entirely on the "Angels" for salvation. In that version, we were pathetic victims.
But the old man's narrative was a legendary epic—a story of fierce resistance, strategic brilliance, and human heroes who won massive victories against the initial tides of monsters. Looking at Isabella, I couldn't help but frown. The timeline of events matched in both versions, but the roles played by humans were worlds apart.
"C'mon, it isn't that hard to figure out," Isabella said, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Your name is unusual, and your clothes... well, they look like they've seen better days. It isn't just your Asian features, either; it's your accent. It sounds a little weird, a little funny—like you're translating a dead language in your head as you speak."
I looked at her, forced to concede the point. According to the old man's tales, she was a girl of legendary wit—a brilliant mind who had dreamed of becoming President of the United States before the sky broke. Every detail matched: the sharp gaze, the effortless confidence, the relentless curiosity.
I couldn't help but wonder why a person of her calibre was missing from the official histories. If she was as significant as the old man claimed, her absence from the records of the Three Kingdoms was a glaring omission.
The old man's voice echoed in my mind once more: If many of the Classless have such outstanding talents, how is it that your ancestors failed this badly? The answer felt colder and more conspiratorial than I was ready to admit.
"You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she asked, her voice tinged with mock sadness.
"Tell me about yourself first," I replied, desperately buying time. I needed to construct a backstory that wouldn't sound insane. If the old man was right, having this girl by my side was the single most important factor for my survival in the next two hours.
"Oh, that's fair. I shouldn't be so nosy without sharing first," she said, adjusting her glasses. "I'm originally from Washington, D.C. I'm only in the city to attend the World Student Forum. I travelled here with a group from my high school, but to be honest, they aren't exactly the best company."
"Bullying you?" I asked, trying to recall the specific details of her life from the memory orbs. I felt a sharp pang of regret. I had treated those stories like background noise, never imagining I would need to know her favourite colour or her high school rivalries to survive the day. Because I had dismissed the old man as a lunatic, I had discarded the very intelligence report I now needed.
"You could call it that," she admitted with a shrug, her tone remarkably calm. It was the calm of someone who had already outgrown her peers. "But this is my last year. Once I graduate, I'm heading to one of the big universities to start my real life. I have goals, and I don't intend to let them go to waste."
"And what are those goals?" I asked, keeping the conversation focused on her. Every second she spent talking was a second I spent preparing for the moment the sky would turn red.
"You'd probably laugh if I told you what they are," she said, her voice dropping into a hesitant, self-conscious tone. I couldn't prevent a small, knowing smile from tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Don't tell me you aim to become the President of this country one day," I said. I watched her facial expression with surgical diligence, my eyes tracking every twitch of her brow and every flicker of her pupils.
I needed to know. I had to confirm if the girl walking beside me was truly the legendary figure the old man had described, or if I was merely chasing ghosts in a dying timeline.
"H—How did you guess that?!" Isabella's face was a mask of pure shock, as if I had caught her red-handed in the middle of a crime.
Her surprise was nothing compared to mine. A cold rush of adrenaline flooded my system. It's real, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. She is exactly who he said she was. Every word the old man spoke... it was the truth.
"I just guessed the most difficult dream a person could possibly have," I replied smoothly, making sure not to give her any reason to doubt my presence or my motives. "But honestly, it's a noble ambition for someone like you. Most people are too afraid to even think that big."
"You speak as if you're an old man yourself," she chuckled, her face suddenly beaming with a radiant, genuine happiness.
Seeing her reaction, I realised she was likely a very lonely girl—misunderstood by her peers and mocked for a vision of the future that seemed impossible to them. In a strange, poignant way, she was exactly like me. I felt as though I understood her better than anyone she had ever met.
We were two of a kind: solitary fighters waging private wars against a world that had already decided we were nothing. We were both struggling against the odds, though she didn't yet realise that her "odds" were about to become infinitely more lethal.
"I just admire your ambition," I added, realising that validating her dreams was the fastest way to earn her trust. "I wish I had the courage to harbour dreams as grand as yours."
"Then what are your dreams, Hi?" she asked.
I paused, correcting her gently. "It's Hye. It rhymes with 'hey,' not 'hi.'"
"Still a funny name to me," she giggled, her mood lifting further. "Tell me then, Hye. What do you want out of this life?"
I looked up at her bright, unsuspecting smile and felt myself sinking into a deep well of memory. All the hardships I had endured in my previous life resurfaced in a flash—the crushing weight of injustice, the systematic blocks placed in my path by the High Classes, and the daily humiliation of being considered "trash." Everything I had experienced was there, hovering in front of my eyes like a fading nightmare I was desperate to outrun.
"I want... To do more than just exist. I want to survive and thrive in this world," I said slowly, each word heavy with a meaning she couldn't possibly grasp.
"I believe you'll do just fine," she said, completely unaware of the looming catastrophe. "Oh, look—we've arrived already. Time really flew by."
In front of us lay the sprawling, verdant expanse of Central Park. This was the place I had chosen as the anchor for my journey—the starting point of the new world.
The park was crowded, a microcosm of New York City's bustling energy. Seeing these people walking their dogs, chatting on benches, and laughing without a care in the world filled me with a sharp, bitter jealousy.
I came from a world where survival meant bowing your head, lowering your eyes, and dampening your voice so as not to offend the "superior" races. I had always thought I was "living" before, but seeing these people—whose only worries were trivial things like work deadlines and monthly salaries—made me realize the truth. I hadn't been living; I had been surviving in a vast, open-air prison that had stripped away everything meaningful, especially hope.
"Where do you want to go first?" she asked as we stepped onto the paved paths of the park. "The Metropolitan Museum of Art? That's where the student forum is supposed to take place."
"We still have some time before that, right?" I asked. I knew the meeting would never happen. In less than an hour, the "meeting" would become a place of chaos and death. I needed to guide her somewhere safer, somewhere open, before the sky tore open.
"We have..." she checked her phone, "...about three hours left."
"Good," I said. "Let's head toward the Great Lawn instead."
"Aren't you hungry?" she asked suddenly. "Why don't we grab something to eat on the way? My treat."
I knew that food, as this world defined it, was about to become an extinct luxury. I had heard legends of the "Fast Food" era—specifically the burger, a delicacy I had never actually tasted. If this was to be the last hour of civilisation, I wanted to know what I had been missing.
"Let's have a burger, then," I said firmly.
"Good choice! I'm actually craving one myself."
As we walked toward a nearby food stand, I felt a cold resolve settle over me. I don't care who is right or who is wrong, I told myself, my fingers curling into tight fists. The history books, the old man, the Angels—none of it matters. All I want is to seize a Class of my own and survive this madness. I'm done being a loser. For once in my life, I am going to be a winner. A real winner.
I followed Isabella's lead, my eyes scanning the clear blue sky, waiting for the first crack to appear.