Chapter 10(Draft) Kiana Kaslana: Tuna Heiress?
The three of them slipped back inside the bakery, breaths ragged, boots tracking streaks of dried blood across the flour-dusted floor. Adrian shoved the door shut and leaned against it for a heartbeat—just long enough to push the adrenaline down.
"Ken," he said, voice low but steady, "front barricade. Reinforce it."
"On it," Ken said immediately, he didn't argue. Didn't hesitate. He was already dragging a table across the floor, the wood screeching against tile as he jammed it under the handle and began trying to make makeshift braces using nails and materials they found earlier.
Kiana lingered near the threshold, shifting her bat from hand to hand like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to lower her guard. She opened her mouth—then snapped it shut, biting her lip. For once, the words didn't come.
Adrian didn't wait. He strode past the counter, boots crunching over cracked tiles. "I'm checking the alley entrance," he called over his shoulder. "If more wandered over from the noise, I need to know before they flank us."
Ken gave a quick nod without looking up. "Got it."
Kiana blinked. "…There's a back door?"
Adrian shot her a brief glance. "There's always a back door." He pushed through the kitchen. "And right now, that's the problem."
"I wasn't that loud…" she muttered defensively.
Ken snorted. "You announced yourself to three different streets," hammering a nail into the barricade with a wrench.
Adrian didn't react. He pushed through the kitchen, the metallic scent of old pipes mixing with the damp-mold smell of the rear hallway. At the back door, he tested the latch, then twisted the deadbolt twice. Outside, the groans hadn't stopped. Not three or four—dozens, echoing from the bus road. Drawn by her shouting. By her chaos.
Of course, he thought, jaw tight. What was I even expecting? She didn't think this through.
When he returned, Ken had secured the front. Kiana sat on an overturned flour sack, bat across her knees, eyes fixed on the boarded windows every time a moan drifted in. She looked… younger than he remembered. Less like a warrior, more like a kid who'd bitten off more than she could chew.
"All clear?" Ken asked.
"As clear as it gets," Adrian said. "They're gathering in the alley. Might take hours for them to wander off."
Kiana winced. "…Sorry."
Adrian raised a brow. "For the horde? Or the door?"
"Yes," she mumbled.
Ken huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
Silence settled after that. Not awkward—just heavy. The kind that followed survival, when adrenaline faded and reality started creeping back in.
"Um… names?" she asked, gesturing between them with her bat. "Since, y'know… we just fought a horde together."
"Ken," he said simply, pointing a thumb at himself. "And that's Adrian."
Her bright blue eyes flicked to Adrian, curious, assessing. "Adrian, huh. Nice to meet you. I'm Kiana Kaslana—of the Kaslana family. My dad says I'm destined to be a great knight someday!" She grinned, but it wavered at the edges, like she wasn't sure anyone still believed in "destiny."
Then her stomach growled—loud, insistent, comically untimely.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "…Okay, fine. Also very hungry."
Adrian almost smiled. Classic Kiana. But he kept his voice flat. "Is that why you were trying to split our door in half?"
"I knocked first!" she protested, raising the bat like a shield. "Then I called out! You didn't answer, so I—okay, maybe I got a little forceful."
"You tried to cave it in with a baseball bat," Adrian deadpanned.
"Urgent situations call for extreme measures!"
Adrian pinched the bridge of his nose. And here I thought today couldn't get weirder. "Right," he muttered. "Classic Tuna Heiress behavior."
Kiana tilted her head. "…Tuna what?"
Ken frowned, confused. "What's a tuna heiress?"
Adrian didn't explain. He just glanced at her—pristine uniform, perfectly tied stockings, Twin drill tails, the way she carried herself like the world isn't breaking down—and said, "You give off the vibe."
"I do not!" she insisted, crossing her arms. "I don't even know what that means, but i'm definitely not it!"
"You kinda do," Ken offered, not unkindly, though he clearly had no idea what Adrian was referencing.
Kiana narrowed her eyes. "You two are ganging up on me."
"For survival reasons," Adrian said, already turning toward the kitchen. "Hungry Kaslanas are statistically more destructive."
"Also for morale reasons," Adrian said lightly, though inwardly he wondered if that was the least ridiculous explanation he could give.
"Oh, so teasing the hungry heiress is morale boosting?"
*Grrr*
Adrian didn't answer. Instead, he glanced at her stomach, which had just growled again louder this time, then toward their dwindling supplies and their backpacks with the stuff they just scavenged.
Priority assessment:
Hungry Kaslana
High energy
Low impulse control
Currently armed with blunt weapon
Conclusion: feed immediately.
Priority one: feeding the Kaslana before she goes full chaos mode.
Kiana groaned softly, curling in on herself. "…Okay, seriously, do you have any food?"
Ken shot a glance at Adrian.
Adrian didn't look back. "We've got stew. Leftover from lunch." He paused at the counter, hesitating only a second before lifting the pot lid. "Rationed, though. We don't have enough to feed an army."
Kiana's eyes lit up like he'd offered salvation. "So… yes?"
"It's a cautious yes," he said, ladling two bowls. "Eat. Shut up. Don't break anything else." Better her full, less destructive. That's survival logic right there.
She scrambled over, nearly tripping on her own feet. "Deal!"
As she devoured the stew in hungry silence, Adrian watched her—not with fear, but with a quiet dread. She had no idea what she was. No idea what was coming. And in this world, ignorance wasn't bliss. It was a countdown.
Ken leaned against the counter, voice low. "She's… kinda intense?."
"She's a Kaslana," Adrian murmured. "It's in the family business."
Outside, the moans continued—fainter now, but persistent. The world hadn't forgotten them.
And for the first time since the collapse, the bakery didn't feel like a refuge.
It felt like the calm before the storm had found them.
Kiana scraped the last bit of stew from her bowl, tilting it almost upside down before finally admitting defeat. She let out a satisfied breath, shoulders sagging in relief as warmth settled into her stomach.
"…Okay," she said quietly, setting the bowl down with exaggerated care. "That might've saved my life."
Ken walked over and peeked into the pot Adrian had left on the counter. He lifted the lid, stared for a second, then slowly looked at Adrian.
"…So," Ken said cautiously, "what's for dinner?"
Adrian glanced over. "You're looking at it."
Ken tipped the pot again, as if more food might magically appear if he angled it differently. Nothing but a thin layer of broth clung to the bottom.
He looked at Kiana.
Kiana looked at the ceiling.
"…Hypothetically," Ken continued, "if someone—not naming names—ate most of the emergency stew… do we have a backup plan?"
Kiana raised a hand halfway. "…In my defense, I was dying."
"You were dramatic," Adrian corrected calmly, already moving toward one of their backpacks near the back wall.
Adrian crouched by their bags and pulled out two dented cans from their earlier run. He set them on the counter with a soft clink.
One sardines.
One tuna.
Ken leaned over his shoulder. "Please tell me that's not dog food."
"It's sardines and tuna," Adrian said. He turned it slightly. "Probably."
"Probably?" Ken looked incredulous.
Kiana blinked. "…You brought tuna?"
Adrian gave her a sideways look. "I didn't realize royalty was present when I picked it up."
Ken snorted.
"I am not royalty," she muttered. "…Also I call dibs on the tuna."
Ken blinked at her. "…Didn't you just finish most of the leftover stew?"
She froze.
"…That was earlier," she said defensively.
"It was fifteen minutes ago."
"I was recovering from near death!"
"You were emotionally hungry," Ken corrected.
Adrian ignored both of them and reached for a pan. "You're getting whatever I cook," he said calmly.
The bakery kitchen still looked like it had been abandoned mid-shift—clean counters dusted lightly with flour, utensils hanging neatly, a mixing bowl still sitting beside a half-measured scoop of sugar. Nothing destroyed. Just… empty.
He sliced an onion, the sharp scent cutting through the stale air, then poured a thin layer of oil into the pan. The quiet sizzle that followed filled the room with something warm and normal.
Both cans opened with a metallic pop. Sardines first, breaking apart as they hit the heat. Tuna second—firmer, bulkier—mixed together with herbs salvaged from a forgotten jar.
Kiana leaned closer, watching like it was a magic trick. "…Okay that already smells illegal."
Ken crossed his arms. "I still think she shouldn't get dibs on the tuna."
"I am not a threat to tuna," she protested.
"You absolutely are."
Adrian flattened rough pieces of dough from leftover flour and water, stuffing them with the fish mixture before pressing them into the pan. The bread crisped slowly, soaking up oil and flavor until the kitchen smelled less like canned food and more like something you'd actually look forward to eating.
When he finally set three uneven stuffed flatbreads on a tray, they gathered around one of the small bakery tables near the window. Evening light slipped through the loosely nailed boards, cutting long quiet lines across the floor.
Kiana took a bite first—and immediately went still.
"…Okay," she said softly, eyes wide. "You win. Tuna privileges revoked. I trust you completely."
Ken laughed under his breath and took a bite of his own. "…Yeah. This is dangerously good. Apocalypse MasterChef."
Adrian just sat down and ate.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were chewing and distant groans drifting past outside like slow thunder.
And despite everything—the abandoned bakery, the monsters beyond the walls, the fact they'd only known each other for hours—
it felt almost… normal.
For a few minutes, they just ate.
Not rushed like before. Not desperate.
Just… eating.
Ken wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back slightly.
"So…" he said casually, glancing between them. "What's our game plan, people?"
Ken shrugged. "We can't just keep wandering until we get eaten by… whatever's out there. Now that we can actually sit down without dying, might as well figure out where everyone's heading."
His eyes shifted to Kiana, softer this time.
"What about you?" he asked. "What were you doing before you ran into us? Got somewhere you're trying to go?"
Kiana hesitated.
Her usual bright energy dimmed just slightly.
"I was… with my aunts," she said slowly. "They were helping me settle down here and getting me accustomed to the city since I'm attending school here, but we got separated when everything went crazy. I've been moving since then. Trying to look for them. Looking for… anyone, really."
Adrian's grip on his fork paused for half a second before he forced it to move again.
School. Chiba academy probably. Aunts. Maybe Theresa and someone else. Moving in. A life that sounded painfully normal.
Ken's expression softened. "That's… rough," he said quietly. "City went to hell fast. Hard to keep track of anyone when the sky decides to start ending."
Kiana gave a small, crooked smile. "Yeah… one second we were arguing about furniture, next second everything was on fire and people were running." She stared down at her food. "I thought if I just kept moving, I'd run into them eventually."
Silence settled for a moment—not heavy, just thoughtful.
Ken hesitated slightly. "You think they made it?" he asked gently, not pushing—just careful.
For a split second, Kiana's eyes flickered—something quieter passing through them—before she suddenly straightened up again, smile snapping back into place like a light switching on.
"Don't worry about them," she said, waving her hand casually. "They're strong. Like— really strong. Honestly? They're almost as strong as my dad." Her grin widened, full of stubborn confidence. "If anything, they're probably out there right now looking for me. So yeah— I've got full faith they're fine."
Ken let out a small breath, half relieved, half impressed. "Damn. Must be nice having family like that."
"Yeah," she said softly—but there was pride there too. "It is."
Adrian watched her quietly over the rim of his cup.
Unshaken optimism. Absolute belief.
Classic Kaslana.
He knew—at least from what he remembered—that strength wasn't an exaggeration. If anything, she was probably underselling it. But memory wasn't reality here. Not fully. Not safely. And confidence like that… in a world that chewed through certainty… could be either armor or a blindfold.
Still… the way she said it didn't feel naïve.
It felt like faith chosen on purpose.
Ken tapped his fork lightly against his plate. "Well," he said, easing the mood back into something lighter, "sounds like they raised you tough at least."
"Told you," Kiana replied proudly, taking another bite. "Kaslana training."
Adrian's mouth twitched faintly at that.
Kaslana training.
If only they knew what that really meant.
He kept eating, listening more than speaking—watching how she leaned forward when she talked, how quickly her energy filled the space, how naturally Ken responded to the optimism. The bakery felt warmer with her voice in it. Louder, too… but warmer.
Ken gestured vaguely with his spoon. "So until you find them… you sticking around with us then?"
Kiana glanced between them again, a hint of hesitation returning—but softer this time. "If that's okay," she said. "I mean… I don't want to just invite myself."
Ken shrugged easily. "More people means better odds. And you already proved you can swing a bat without taking our heads off. That's a plus."
She looked at Adrian next—waiting for the real answer.
He considered her for a moment before nodding once. "We move carefully," he said. "We watch each other's backs, and no running off on your own. If that works for you… then yeah. Stay."
Her shoulders relaxed instantly. "Deal."
Adrian looked back down at his plate, but his thoughts kept moving.
Three people now.
Three variables.
Three chances to survive… or three ways things could go wrong.
Outside, something scraped lightly against the boards covering the window—but it didn't hit hard enough to be a threat.
Inside, three plates slowly emptied.
Three strangers trading stories in a place that still smelled faintly of sugar and bread.
And for the first time since the world ended…
dinner felt almost normal.