There's No Love In the Deathzone (BL) novel Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Chapter 145. Dangling Thread

Zein wasn’t a picky eater, or rather, someone who grew up without barely any food couldn’t afford to be picky.

That being said, his tongue had been spoiled with many delicacies in the green-zone, things that he had never tasted before. From the cafeteria’s food to the more delectable meals that Bassena or Radia took him to, even the junk food that Han Shin ordered for him from time to time.

Among those foods, there was something that he had craved yet hadn’t gotten in a while; the taste of a home-cooked meal.

Zein could cook, just about. But his cooking skill was derived from survival; how to utilize nearly expired canned food and hunted game, or how to fix a meal in the dungeon. He could barely call it cooking, honestly--if someone should throw him a bunch of normal ingredients and seasonings, he would get confused, much more the fancier version.

But Zein also had no grandiose vision of home-cooked meals. It was just whatever the grandma next door shared with him. The watery soup with barely any substance, and toasted stale bread. It had minimum seasoning, since those were crazy expensive in the red-zone, but the first time Zein tasted it, it was the best thing in the world for him. It chased away the harsh cold and loneliness.

It was the taste of warmth and sincerity.

The lunch reminded him of that feeling.

The daughter’s husband owned a small eatery that provided a buffet of home-cooked meals for a low price. It was the favorite of students and drivers, for the cost-effective yet still tasty food. At the end of the day, they would donate the leftover to the food bank, and the husband cooked free breakfast for the homeless shelter on the weekend.

The lunch that the husband cook wasn’t anything fancy, just what one would find in normal households, really. So he was trembling at first, knowing that the Bassena Vaski was tagging along. While Zein was becoming famous, the daughter already knew that Zein was a red-zone dweller, and the old man told them the guide wouldn’t mind eating a home-cooked meal.

But what about Bassena Vaski? Someone born and grew up in the upper class of the green-zone?

So they were nervous and frantic about everything, which was quite useless, since Bassena ate everything without a fuss, even looking like he actually enjoyed it. Whether the esper truly liked the food or was just being polite, it slowly chased away the anxiety gripping the foundation’s staff, and the lunch became more cordial and warm in the end.

And it did taste good. Fresh ingredients, perfect seasoning, with a bunch of sincerity. It truly spelled home-cooked meal, and reminded Zein of the time he ate the grandma’s food when she was still healthy.

The closest he had to that sensation, surprisingly, was the breakfast he got this morning, although it was just simple toast and fried egg. Unfortunately, they were rather in a hurry this morning, so Zein had no time to savor what it felt like to have someone fix him a meal; not out of duty, not for profit, but just because.

They probably didn’t know, but the lunch had a great role in convincing Zein to sign a contract with them.

He did go there because he felt the work they had done with the proposal was adequate. But the reason why he came in person was also to see if he felt he could trust these people with the project. That it wouldn’t just be a group of people who kept faithful appearances while siphoning the money into their own pockets.

He wanted people who would carry his intention well, and fulfill it to the best of their ability. Because what Zein wanted was simple, yet at the same time hard to provide.

He just wished that those kids in the red-zone could taste warm meals too. Ones that weren’t just hot, but also made with warmth.

Because more than anything, the grandma’s meals were what made him still hold into the thread of humanity. The flickering warmth that kept his numb, frozen heart from shattering. Without that occasional spark of kindness, he didn’t think he could weather the storm of life that well. He would probably abandon the twins, or perhaps his life already.

"The management plan and fund distribution are fine," Zein said once they seated in the Director’s office after lunch. There was the Director, the old man’s daughter, and two other men who were part of the team handling the project. "But I heard you face some difficulties."

The Director turned to look at one of the men, who introduced himself as Reed. The man started to explain calmly, albeit with a troubled face. "As you know, Sir, when it comes to building something permanent, the hardest hurdle was to acquire the land and the license," Zein didn’t know, but he just nodded and let the man continue. "Regarding both, the red-zone had different rules."

"I know that," Zein hummed in response. "I don’t think acquiring land would be difficult. There’s no way Araka would have finished rebuilding the destroyed residential area. The leftover miasma from the outbreak five years ago would have only dissipated after two years, and with so many owners dead, lands would be available for purchase from whoever claimed ownership over it."

The people looked stunned at Zein’s deep understanding of the place. Perhaps because of his softer eyes and cleaner appearance, as well as his reputation as one of green-zone’s most coveted guides, they forgot that the client used to live there.

"Y-yes, if it’s about the land, we already made a survey and found a suitable place. We also had tried to talk to the owner about a purchase and gain a favorable reaction," the man replied. "As you said, there’s a lot of vacant lot because of the last dungeon break, and rather than keeping an empty land, the owners would rather receive money for it."

Zein nodded in agreement. They could probably buy it for cheap too, since no one in their right mind wanted to buy some lot in the red-zone. So whoever owned the land would be happily parted with it even if they go with the cheapest offer.

He forgot about this. No, the red-zone had no official governmental tax. In the first place, there were no government facilities there. What they called a ’tax’ was simply a stipend they needed to pay to the ’landlord’, who in turn was charged with security. _{freeweɓnovel.cѳm}