'Well... the job class probably plays a role too, right? Aside from skills... hmm! That must be it!'
It's not that I mind them having more mana than me, but... come on, I nearly died trying to get my mana over 100; surely I'm allowed to be a little self-conscious about that fact, right?
*Fwip*
Snapping out of the most idiotic daydream I'd had so far, I saw my dad basically shove the orange into his mouth and eat the whole thing—peel and all.
'Isn't the peel bad for your stomach?'
Just as that thought crossed my mind, my dad spat out most of the peel—well-chewed—and looked at me with an expression that said, "Got any more?". So, naturally, I took the last one I had out of my item box and handed it to him.
My mom stepped up beside me and whispered in my ear:
"Son, do you have anything else on you? I'm hungry too."
"Huh? But Mari said you guys had enough food."
Or at least, that's what I'd heard.
"We did, but... remember? We had to use some of it for bait, and we ate the rest on the first day. On the second... well..."
Instead of finishing her sentence, she gestured toward her nose. I understood immediately.
Mari *had* said they were surrounded by a horde of monsters—not zombies. The zombies only showed up later, and a horde of monsters is probably more bearable (olfactorily and visually speaking) than a horde of zombies.
Are monsters stinky? Probably.
Stinkier than a pack of zombies? Hardly.
"So, would it still be a bad idea to eat right now?"
The answer: no.
The smell of hot iron still permeated the office—the best smell to accompany a meal? Of course not.
Better than the smell of zombies? Definitely.
The only things left were a pack of crackers and two more bottles of water, aside from the rats—three I'd already drained dry, and two more that were still "intact."
I highly doubted she'd want bloodless rats, so I took out the crackers and the water instead.
"Sorry, this is all there is."
"No, it's fine. I'm hungry, but ever since I ended up like this, I don't need much food."
She said this with a faint smile, popping a cracker into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, repeated the process twice more, drank half the bottle in one go, and stopped.
"🤨😟 Shouldn't you eat more?"
"No, no—like I said, I don't need to eat much."
*Ggrroooowwwll*
The sound of her stomach wasn't convincing at all.
"😑 Moooooom..."
She didn't look me in the eye when she answered.
"I-I-I wasn't lying when I said I don't need to eat much right now..."
"But... 🤨?"
She didn't answer for a few moments.
"But... I—or rather, this body—prefers foods that have more... What do you and Mari call it again, sis?"
Well, that made sense. In 99% of stories, angels are spiritual beings that struggle to maintain a presence in the physical world, and when they do, they usually face restrictions. If my mom had turned into an angel, a restriction limiting her diet to just mana—or food grown with mana, or something like that—wouldn't be impossible.
"But then why did you eat the crackers?"
"I can still eat regular food; just not in large quantities."
It was practically nothing when you look at it—just three crackers and half a bottle of water. That wouldn't even stave off hunger, let alone sustain someone who—technically speaking—had gone a whole day without eating.
"Eh, that doesn't really matter right now," my dad said, straightening up and spitting out the rest of the orange pulp. "The important thing is what we do next."
"What do you mean?"
"With the rushed modifications I made, the car should run for at least two hours. But the tank is less than a fifth full—and that includes the reserve. Add in the gas you brought, Nando, and we've probably got about seven or nine liters."
Okay, that wasn't bad; it would be more than enough to get home. With that much fuel and time, we could drive a round trip from the south to the north of Curitiba.
To me, the right move was obvious: use the gas I brought, load up the car, use it to break through the zombie crowd, and head home. Mission accomplished—congratulations all around.
That was actually exactly what I was about to say.
"But given the situation, we either go home or try to reach Ju's place. I can't guarantee we'd make it there and back, though."
"What do you mean?! Two hours and ten liters is more than enough to get to her house and back!" I protested, and Mijhanmae agreed.
"Usually, yes—but not right now," he began to explain. "The modifications were rushed, so I couldn't fine-tune everything—honestly, I barely managed to tune anything—to an effective level. Especially since I didn't really expect it to work in the first place, to be honest."
I don't blame him. This would be the first time he had to deal with an engine in an environment lacking the proper equipment—a task that even a specialized mechanic or engineer would find difficult.
No!
Let's be honest. If anyone else tried to do the same thing, they'd fail. Without a doubt.
"The thing is, with the modifications, I managed to partially replace the electrical system with mana, but it was basically like hammering a square peg into a round hole until it 'fit'."
He said, running a hand over his face—a habit of his when he was nervous. "Ugh... just remembering the headache..."
I raised my hand before he could get sidetracked like I often did. "Dad, go on."
"Well, the fact is, even though it fit, it wasn't something that was meant to be there; in other scenarios, it would either fail to work or break down shortly after. To prevent that, I had to implement a 'damage dispersal' method."
"Is that the reason for the two-hour time limit?"
"That's the reason for the two-hour limit, but that's not all." We waited for him to gather his thoughts before he spoke again. "To get both the engine and the 'electrical system' running, I had to build an improvised converter that connects directly to the fuel supply."
He pointed to the small black box. "It, functions just like that converter, but still not in a desirable way. But that ended up creating a massive demand for fuel."
"I'm afraid to ask, but exactly how massive?"
"According to the data from my work, the engine now needs 10 liters to cover 1.5 kilometers."
Okay, this is a problem—a pretty big problem.
***************
After what Dad said, I decided to "eat" a little something to shake off the anger caused by the situation. It didn't really help.
'Why? Why is it that whenever one problem gets solved, a bigger one pops up?!'
10 liters for 1.5 kilometers? What kind of f*********** energy conversion is that?!!!!!
I was having a total mental meltdown on one side, while my mom had just sat down on the ground in shock, muttering something. If I really tried, I could probably hear it, but you didn't need to be a genius to know what she was saying.
Forcing myself to calm down, I went back to my dad (who was still sitting on the ground, leaning his back against the car) and, trying to sound as calm as possible, I said:
"Okay, let's say we get the fuel. Would those two hours be the total time the car can run, or is it some kind of daily limit?"
"Total time. After that, the engine seizes up and stops working. You'd have to replace the whole thing."
Hhuuuummmff... I expected as much, but hearing it out loud is still annoying.
'Well... that actually wasn't as bad as other things that could happen. It would be a hassle to find another intact engine, sure. But at least it could be fixed—much better than if the car exploded or just spontaneously fell apart.'
"And also..." *Sigh*... of course there was something else. "There's the risk of the tank's converter overloading from use and exploding."
.....
It was just because I said that, wasn't it?
"Okay, well, we just won't let it get to that point, right?"
Now, let me think for a moment.
It's probably about a 10-minute drive from here to Ju's place—less than 5 kilometers (I think)—and that trip alone would burn through 40 liters. Add in the return trip, assuming traffic isn't too clogged with hordes of zombies or monsters along the way. From there to my house should be another 30 minutes by car.
That makes 40 minutes and about 15 kilometers in total, which means we're going to need...
"At least 160 liters of gasoline."
....
"Well, it could be worse."
I said this into the silence hanging between us—and I was serious; things *could* be worse. Though (again) they could also be a whole lot better.
Fate at least gave us a hand this time—after all, it stranded us at a gas station, so the fuel itself is easy to find. Actually getting hold of it and transporting it, though, is going to be the hard part.
"Okay, so where are the pumps? I'll make a quick run, put the pump into the [Item Box], come back here, and hold the fort while you finish up whatever needs doing and go get Ju."
"That won't work, son," my mother said quietly, having recovered a bit from the shock.
"Why not?"
"The gas pumps themselves hardly have any fuel in them; the fuel is in the underground tanks."
"Okay, so we just go into the basement and—"
"There is no basement entrance; the tank is right over there."
My father stood up and pointed outside at a specific spot within the zombie horde—or more precisely, at what looked like a manhole cover in their midst.
.....
'I repeat: why is it that every time we solve one problem, another one pops up right after!!!!!!'