Chapter 5 The Past

Eva's POV: After leaving the space, a house appeared in my mind. As long as I focused my thoughts, I could sense everything inside. To understand the space's functions, I conducted a test with ice water. Except for the balcony and garden, all other areas had a preservation effect. Items could be stored and retrieved using my mind, and the timer remained paused—only when someone entered did it start counting down automatically. Time was tight; I had no leisure to unravel its mysteries. Having been given a second chance at life and possessing this space, I had to seize the opportunity to change my tragic fate. I remembered that in the hundred years of the apocalypse, the first disaster was a super hurricane, followed closely by torrential rain. Setting aside unnecessary emotions, I took out paper and pen to draft a supply list. I was a lone wolf. Though an old lone wolf raised me, and we coexisted peacefully with a few others, conflicts still arose when searching for food in the wild. The old lone wolf never thought much of these struggles. He believed it was in a werewolf's nature, so he turned a blind eye to the fights between us young wolves. If a pup died in a fight, he would simply say, "Poor kid." From a young age, I knew I had to be selfish—I couldn't afford to suffer losses or let others push me around. Every lone wolf possessed a strong sense of crisis. So, at an early age, I started trying to hunt on my own, selling any surplus prey in Wolftown. As I grew older, I started taking on odd jobs for the lazier werewolves in town—anything, as long as they paid me. Later, the old lone wolf told me that even a lone wolf should go to school. I asked him, "What is school? Will it help me catch prey and make money?" He answered with certainty, "Of course. Learning will make you smarter, and that will help you hunt and earn money more skillfully." So, I spent some money and went to school in Wolftown. At first, I thought he had tricked me. Learning was boring—especially the werewolf script in textbooks, which looked like tiny ants crawling across the page. But fortunately, I was smart. My grades were always excellent, and since I had been hunting from a young age, I was physically strong. When it came to competitions, no one in school could surpass me. As the old lone wolf aged, he became more prone to illness. To reduce medical expenses, I chose to study medicine at university. It sounded ridiculous—a lone wolf with exceptional skills choosing such an obscure field—but I did it anyway. My hunting abilities were well-known in school. Because of this, werewolf parents in town started entrusting their children to me, asking me to teach them how to hunt. Look at that. The society had made werewolves lazier and lazier! They wouldn't even teach their own pups how to hunt. But when I saw the money in their hands, I figured maybe social development wasn't such a bad thing. After all, I could earn 200 for just an hour of hunting lessons! I needed money. As resources became scarcer, money could still buy a lot. As long as I didn't step on the toes of the pack's inner circle, I was willing to do anything. Once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf. I couldn't fit into any pack, so I had no choice but to remain one. I had saved nearly 200,000, planning to find a stable place to live after graduating from university—after the old lone wolf passed away. Now, that plan was useless. I had a medical class in the afternoon, and at night, I taught students how to hunt in the dark forest. But none of that mattered anymore. At the onset of the disaster, global currencies would inflate rapidly. In werewolf society, even a small piece of beef could skyrocket to 1,000 dollars. But as resources became scarcer and violence escalated, money would lose its value. Some places would no longer accept official currency, replacing it with a strict barter system. That meant I had to spend my money as quickly as possible, converting it into supplies before its value plummeted. With every passing second, I knew exactly when my savings would become worthless—worth less than a blank sheet of paper. Before the great hurricane arrived, I had to stock up.