Harem Apocalypse: My Seed is the Cure?!-Chapter 206: Discussion With Maribel [1]

"Hey."

A hand landed firmly on my shoulder, jolting me from unconsciousness. My eyes snapped open as my head lifted, neck protesting the awkward angle I’d been slumped in against the reception desk.

Maribel stood above me, her expression caught somewhere between concern and complete bewilderment.

"Did you just take a nap?" Her voice carried pure incredulity, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was witnessing. "Right here? Right now?"

"Huh... I don’t know," I mumbled, my voice thick and sluggish with residual sleep.

But even as I spoke, the evidence was undeniable. I could feel the embarrassing trail of drool that had escaped from the corner of my mouth, now drying uncomfortably on my chin. My eyes felt gritty and heavy, weighted down by exhaustion that hadn’t been satisfied by whatever brief unconsciousness I’d managed to steal. My entire body still screamed with fatigue, every muscle aching as I remained slouched against the wooden desk at my back.

"What if an Infected had arrived?" Maribel’s tone sharpened, taking on an almost scolding quality that reminded me oddly of a frustrated teacher. "Why are you being so careless? They could have torn you apart while you were sleeping!"

Her eyes flashed with something that looked suspiciously like genuine anger, though whether it was directed at me or at the situation itself, I couldn’t quite tell.

"I would have known if any Infected got close," I replied after a moment, my voice gaining some steadiness even if my body hadn’t caught up yet.

It wasn’t bravado or empty confidence—it was simple fact. My Dullahan senses operated on a level that transcended normal human awareness, functioning even when my conscious mind had shut down for rest. They would have screamed warnings at me long before any shambling corpse could have gotten within striking distance. An instinctive alarm system that never truly slept, even when I did.

Besides, I was immune to the infection itself. A bite couldn’t turn me, couldn’t spread the virus through my altered biology. At worst, an Infected might wake me up by trying to chew through my flesh—unpleasant certainly, but not fatal. Unless one managed to tear out my throat before I could react, causing me to bleed out to death. But I had confidence in my senses, in that supernatural awareness that had kept me alive this long.

Though admittedly, perhaps it had been somewhat reckless. A Hybrid Infected would have presented an entirely different challenge, one that might have required more than passive awareness to survive. But exhaustion had made the decision for me, pulling me under whether I’d intended it or not.

Wait—I remembered something now. The fog of waking was clearing, and with it came the memory of what had occupied my unconscious mind.

I’d been dreaming.

Briefly, fragmentarily, but definitely dreaming. The images flickered through my memory like frames from an old film, disjointed but recognizable.

High school. It had been about high school.

A few months ago, back when that mundane world still existed. And of course, inevitably, the dream had featured Emily.

The realization felt strange, almost surreal now that I was fully awake and contemplating it. Back then—was it really only three months ago?—my entire world had revolved around such a small orbit. My mother had been the center of everything, the one constant that gave my life meaning and structure. And high school... high school had been something I endured rather than enjoyed. An awkward, lonely existence for someone who couldn’t seem to make friends, who’d never quite figured out how to connect with his peers in any meaningful way.

The only thing that had made those halls bearable, the only light that had broken through that social isolation, had been Emily. She’d been like some kind of ideal—the perfect girl who existed just beyond my reach, beautiful and kind and completely unattainable to someone like me.

God, thinking about it now made me cringe internally. The embarrassment crept up my neck like heat, coloring my thoughts with uncomfortable self-awareness. Maybe it was the apocalypse that had forced me to mature, to gain perspective I’d lacked before. But looking back at that version of myself, I could see how much time I’d wasted. All those hours spent obsessing over a girl I’d never even had the courage to approach properly, held back by crushing self-deprecation and fear of rejection.

I could have done so many other things. Could have tried to build real connections, develop actual skills, pursue interests beyond my narrow fixation. Instead, I’d let myself stagnate in that comfortable misery, too afraid to reach for anything better.

"Be assertive, Ryan. Otherwise you’ll never enjoy your life enough. You’ll look back and realize you wasted it being too afraid to live."

That was what my mom used to tell me.

Back then, I hadn’t really understood what she meant. Or maybe I had understood on some level but hadn’t been ready to accept the truth of it. I’d smiled, nodded, assured her I’d try harder, and then gone right back to my patterns of avoidance and hesitation.

But now? Now I understood perfectly.

The problem was that understanding had come too late, in a world where there was precious little life left to enjoy. I wanted desperately to live fully, to embrace existence without the chains of fear and doubt that had held me back before. But what did that mean when everyone I loved was either dead, missing, or in danger? When Elena was still out there somewhere, possibly suffering, while I remained powerless to find her? When the Starakians hung over this broken world like an executioner’s blade, waiting to fall?

A sudden sharp sting lanced through my wounded arm, yanking me violently back to the present.

"Ngh!" I hissed through clenched teeth, my head snapping down to locate the source of pain.

Maribel had moved while I’d been lost in thought. She now knelt in front of me, a white first-aid kit open beside her on the dusty floor. In her hands she held a piece of gauze soaked with what my nose identified as rubbing alcohol, which she was currently pressing against the bullet wound in my left arm with more determination than finesse.

"Where did you get that?" I asked.

"Here," she replied shortly, not bothering to elaborate as she continued cleaning around the wound site.

"Is that why you stormed off earlier?" The question emerged with a note of genuine surprise coloring my tone.

I’d assumed she’d left in a huff after my laughter at her ’superhero’ comment, maybe gone to sulk in another part of the building or to put distance between us while she cooled down. The possibility that she’d actually been searching for medical supplies to help me hadn’t even crossed my mind.

"Don’t move," she said instead of answering, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

She dabbed carefully at the dried blood crusting around the entry wound, her movements slow and methodical. The alcohol burned like liquid fire as it worked its way into the damaged tissue, making my muscles tense involuntarily. I watched her work, noting the slight furrow of concentration between her brows, the way her teeth worried at her lower lip as she tried to clean the wound without causing unnecessary pain.

When she reached for the roll of bandages, her inexperience became even more apparent. Her fingers fumbled slightly with the wrapping, uncertain of the proper tension or technique.

"This is your first time doing this, isn’t it?" I said, unable to keep a faint note of amusement from creeping into my voice despite the circumstances.

It was completely different than Ivy’s careful and perfect work.

Her hands stilled immediately. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, flashing with irritation. "Then do it yourself," she shot back sharply, starting to pull away from me.

"Wait, sorry," I said quickly, my hand shooting out to catch her wrist before she could fully retreat. The contact seemed to surprise her, her eyes widening slightly as they dropped to where my fingers circled her arm. "I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just... I’m on edge. About everything. But I appreciate this. Really. Thank you."

The words came out more earnest than I’d intended. She’d gone looking for supplies to help me when she could have just left me to deal with my own wounds. That meant something, even if I wasn’t entirely sure what. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Maribel held my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across her features. Then she gave a small nod and returned to her task, her movements gentler now as she resumed wrapping the bandage around my arm.

"You’ll need to have Shawn remove that bullet," she stated after a stretch of silence, her tone matter-of-fact as she secured the bandages more carefully now. "This is just to stop the bleeding and keep it clean. The bullet’s still lodged in there, and it needs to come out properly."

"Yeah," I agreed absently, my thoughts already drifting again despite my best efforts to stay present.

Maribel finished with the bandage, tying it off with a final tug that made me wince slightly. Then she sat back on her heels, her hands resting on her thighs as she looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher.

"Did you know that girl?" The question emerged quietly, carefully, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she should be asking but couldn’t help herself. "The one from before. Emily."

"Yeah."

I could feel Maribel’s eyes on me, waiting for elaboration. The silence pressed down, expectant and patient. I knew I should probably say more, should explain at least the basics so she could understand why I’d reacted the way I had and everything supernatural but the words felt stuck somewhere in my chest.

Her gaze intensified. It was clear she wasn’t going to let this go without more information.

"She was my classmate," I finally continued. "At my high school. We escaped together when everything started falling apart. That was... that was three months ago now."

Maribel’s hands, which had been methodically repacking the first-aid kit, suddenly went still. Her head snapped up. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed, then opened again as if she struggled to process what I said.

"Y... You’re a high schooler?" she stammered, disbelief coating every words. "You’re—you’re what, seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Seventeen..." I trailed off, letting the number hang in the air between us.

That made it what—three times now someone had reacted like this? Molly, Carmen and Shannon... and now Maribel. Each one had looked at me like I’d just claimed to be an alien masquerading as a teenage boy.

Did I really look that old? Like Twenty‑five, maybe? I mean, sure, I’d grown taller over the last few months—probably another side effect of the awakening—but there were plenty of guys my age just as tall.

Maribel blinked at me, still trying to wrap her head around it. "You’re not lying, are you?"

I frowned. "Why would I lie about that?"

She crossed her arms, her tone shifting from disbelief to something sharper. "Fine then, tell me the truth—are you even human?"

I met her eyes. "I am human."

"Then explain how you ran like that," she shot back without missing a beat. "And how you barely flinched after getting shot. You’re still walking around with a bullet in your arm like it’s nothing!"

I sighed heavily, dragging a hand down my face. I’d been hoping to avoid this conversation altogether. The less anyone from the Boardwalk community knew, the safer they’d all be. As Margaret had said, people already had enough to deal with—constant hunger, raiders, sickness, Callighan’s group breathing down their necks. They didn’t need the added complication of knowing two alien factions were fighting a hidden war right in the middle of their broken world.

"Do you really want to know about it?" I asked.

Maribel’s eyes didn’t change. "I want to know."

Her seriousness made me hesitate, but I shook my head. "It’s better if you don’t. It won’t change anything except fill your head with more questions and darker thoughts."

"What darker thoughts than the ones I already have?" She asked. "People die every week, and there is Callighan. You really think there’s worse news than that?"

"I think you already have enough to handle with Callighan breathing down your neck," I said. "Add this on top of it, and you’ll wish you hadn’t asked. Some things..." I looked away, my voice dropping, "...are better left secret."

Maribel squared her shoulders stubbornly. "Then maybe bury them later. If it’s that dangerous, people deserve to know—"

"It’s not a threat to any of you," I cut in before she could build momentum. My tone softened, but the words came sharper than I intended. "Not exactly. Not right now. And believe me, the last thing you want is to get tangled up in that mess."

Her brows drew together. "I don’t want to get involved," she said slowly. "But you expect me to just ignore what I saw? The speed—you, that girl, the way you both moved? You think I can pretend none of it happened?"

"Yeah," I said quietly. "That’s exactly what I expect."

Her mouth opened to protest, but I raised a hand before she could speak again. "Knowledge is a curse sometimes. You think you want answers, but once you have them, you can’t go back. Sometimes ignorance really is mercy."

For a long moment she said nothing. Her gaze dropped to the floor, her lips pressed thin. The silence stretched between us until she finally nodded.

"Fine," she said, her voice quieter but still clipped. "You don’t have to tell me."

The sudden acceptance threw me off. I’d expected another argument, maybe a full‑blown interrogation. But she just seemed... resigned. I could see it in her eyes, that small flicker of frustration mixed with reluctant understanding. Maybe she realized how serious I was—how much danger there was behind what I wasn’t saying.

Still, the disappointment in her face made something twist uncomfortably inside me.

"I am human," I said after a while, breaking the silence. Her head lifted again, curiosity reigniting behind her guarded expression. "I was born human. But after the virus spread, something in me changed. I became... like this."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Something to do with the Virus?"

I shook my head slowly. "Not exactly. The virus triggered it, but it didn’t cause it. There’s something else inside me.... It gives me strength, speed... supernatural abilities that normal people shouldn’t have."

"Supernatural abilities?" She repeated softly.

"Yeah," I said, allowing a faint, humorless smile. "You could call it that."

She blinked a few times, still trying to process. "Like what, exactly?"

I held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "I think I told you enough already," I said trying to end the discussion. "If it helps, you can stick to your first theory—think of me as a superhero."

Her face flushed instantly, the pink blooming across her cheeks. The memory of her earlier comment must’ve hit her at the same moment as mine did.

"You’re anything but a superhero," she muttered, recovering enough to shoot me a glare. "Dream on."

The corner of my mouth twitched upward as I leaned back. "Sydney calls me that all the time."

Maribel snorted softly. "Of course she does."

"I did save Shannon, though," I added with mock defensiveness, mostly to see how she’d respond.

I didn’t even like being called a superhero. But a part of me couldn’t resist answer to her, watching how she’d argue back.

Maribel’s lips parted, searching for an argument and finding none. She sputtered for a second before blurting out, "That... that was something any decent person would’ve done!"

"I don’t think most ordinary people could’ve heard her screams from three streets away," I countered, smirking faintly. "Or sprinted straight into a swarm of Infected to pull her out alive. But hey, if that’s how little Shannon’s life is worth to you—"

"Hey!" I flinched as she suddenly jabbed a finger into my freshly bandaged arm.