Into the Apocalypse: Saving My Favorite Villain-Chapter 118: Matthew’s Thoughts

"You there, kid—don’t sit alone with that grim look on your face. Come over here."

The voice cut through the stagnant air with irritating cheerfulness, clashing violently with the gray, ruined world around us.

It sounded too alive, too careless, like something that belonged to a past that no longer existed.

I slowly turned my head toward the source of the sound.

I saw the man known as Robin waving at me with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if we were still living in an era where such gestures meant friendliness instead of obligation.

For a brief moment, I considered ignoring him entirely.

I had never cared much for gatherings, even before the world ended.

And after everything that had happened to me, the very idea of sitting among people—pretending to belong—felt absurd.

Even now, even though my appearance had finally recovered to something vaguely human.

Even though there were people around me willing to talk, joke, and even sit beside me without recoiling in fear or whispering the word monster under their breath, something inside me remained fundamentally broken.

After living for years trapped in that grotesque form, after being hunted, avoided, cursed, and treated as something less than human.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that I felt no real sense of belonging to humanity anymore.

I had been alone for far too long.

A beast for far too long.

So long, in fact, that every trace of warmth, trust, and human attachment had been slowly scraped away, leaving behind something cold, sharp, and painfully aware of its own existence.

In the beginning, when I first opened my eyes here, I hadn’t even understood where I was.

I didn’t know whether this was reality or some elaborate hallucination created by a dying mind desperately clinging to familiar images.

The air smelled different—cleaner. The sky was still blue.

The screams that haunted my memories were absent, replaced by distant engine noises and muted conversation.

For days, I existed in a state of quiet confusion, observing from the edges, listening carefully, collecting fragments of information from conversations that weren’t meant for my ears.

Then, piece by piece, the truth revealed itself.

I wasn’t particularly obsessed with fantasy novels, but even I knew what reincarnation meant.

What does time regression mean? What it meant when reality suddenly mirrored the cruel clichés of fiction.

Somehow, against all logic and probability, I had been sent back in time.

Years into the past.

More precisely, the apocalypse had only begun a few months ago.

The realization didn’t bring relief or excitement.

Instead, it settled heavily in my chest, suffocating and cold.

Everything made sense then.

The reason there were still people traveling together in organized groups.

The reason there was canned food, bottled water, and sealed snacks piled carelessly inside vehicles.

In my previous life, such things had vanished within the first year.

People would have killed for half a can of beans or a single sip of clean water.

Even the blood these people mourned and cried over—spilled during skirmishes, accidents, or zombie attacks—was a blessing compared to the future I remembered.

Because that blood still belonged to humans.

A few years from now, blood would no longer be human at all.

They didn’t know.

None of them did.

They didn’t know that these tall buildings would eventually collapse into meaningless piles of rubble, or that abandoned shops would be stripped bare, burned, and erased from memory.

They didn’t know that roads would disappear beneath layers of decay and bones.

Nothing would remain.

Not cities. Not nations. Not hope.

I exhaled slowly and shook my head, forcing those memories back where they belonged. This wasn’t the time to drown in the past.

The convoy was already preparing to move again.

People shouted orders, engines roared to life, and the uneasy tension of constant movement filled the air.

I walked toward them with measured steps, neither eager nor reluctant.

It had to be said—Cassel’s team was strong. Even from the very beginning of the apocalypse, they had been far more organized, disciplined, and ruthless than most groups.

With my current strength, and even with my knowledge of the future, I doubted I could defeat such a well-coordinated force head-on.

"Come on," someone muttered nearby. "The boss says we’re moving again. This time we’ll find a proper place to stay. Somewhere we can hide from the zombies for a while."

"I can’t believe we’re doing almost all the dirty work while those three teams just sit back and hide behind us."

"Don’t remind me. If the boss hadn’t told us to ignore them and treat them like air, I would’ve already blasted a water ball over their heads."

"Look how they sit quietly and comfortably eating, there isn’t even a speck of dust on their hands, while I had to stuff my mouth with food like a dog because I was afraid of having some unwashed zombie blood on my hands."

"Enough. Stop complaining and pack up faster."

The last voice carried authority. Immediate silence followed, and everyone obeyed without question.

I watched the man who had spoken—tall, broad-shouldered, his posture relaxed yet alert.

He didn’t need to raise his voice.

His presence alone was enough.

Second-in-command.

Right after that bastard of a boss.

As if sensing my gaze, he turned and walked toward me.

His blue eyes studied my face carefully, lingering longer than necessary.

There was no overt hostility there—only calculation, curiosity, and something darker beneath the surface.

"Your name is Matthew, right?" he asked calmly. "Can you drive?"

Straightforward. Efficient. No wasted words.

Before the apocalypse, I had driven plenty of times.

And although I hadn’t touched a steering wheel for years after everything collapsed, muscle memory didn’t vanish so easily.

Besides, laws no longer existed in this world.

Even children drove if someone handed them the keys.

"Yes," I replied. "I can."

"Good." A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Then go to that car. You’ll be the driver."

He jerked his thumb behind him, and only then did I understand the amusement in his eyes.

That bastard was sharp.

Sharp enough to notice the tension between Cassel and me.

Sharp enough to sense hatred before it fully surfaced.

And now, he was deliberately placing me in the boss’s own car.

A provocation. A test. Or simply entertainment.

I met his gaze calmly and felt my lips curl into a subtle smile.

I liked this man.

This morning, I had wanted to ride in the same car as Rosalia—the girl who had saved my life, healed my body, and unknowingly altered the course of fate.

In my previous life, she had never stood beside Cassel.

She had never saved me. The world had already diverged from the path I remembered.

After asking around, I learned that she had joined Cassel’s team early on, contributed greatly, and naturally became his lover.

And it was because of her—only because of her—that I had agreed to stay.

But Cassel had used his authority to block every attempt I made to approach her.

He wouldn’t let me sit with her, eat beside her, or speak to her without supervision.

Now that an opportunity had presented itself, I had no intention of refusing.

"All right," I said lightly. "I’ll go now."

I headed toward the vehicle but deliberately slowed my steps, waiting until the other cars began moving and the engines drowned out casual conversation.

Only then did I reach for the driver’s door.

A hand shot out and clamped tightly around my wrist.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

Pain flared, but I didn’t struggle. I simply smiled.

"I’m here to drive."

Hatred twisted his face. His grip tightened until my bones protested.

Then—

"Cassel? Matthew? Why aren’t you inside yet?"

Rosalia’s voice cut through the tension.

Instantly, his hand released me.

My wrist throbbed, red and bruised, but I ignored it.

"We’re coming," he said softly. "Put your head back inside. The wind is strong."

When she disappeared, his gaze returned to me—sharp, threatening, filled with killing intent.

He advanced a few steps, and when the distance between us had nearly vanished, he spoke in a soft, faint voice.

"Don’t try to take what doesn’t belong to you."

He seemed almost afraid that Rosalia might overhear our conversation.

His voice dropped to a mere whisper, yet it did nothing to lessen the gravity of his threat toward me.

Not that I was actually afraid of his threat.

Anyway, I clearly heard him say again, "Stay away from what belongs to me, or I will erase your entire existence."

The line sounded almost cliché, like something a spoiled rich kid would say.

Yet I knew all too well the extent of this man’s power—even without the end of the world, he would be capable of carrying out his threats.

How much more so in a world like this?

I met his stare without backing down.

Whether something belonged to me or not—

Whether it was out of greed for something or not.

Only time would decide.