"What did you want to talk about, Kei Karuizawa?"
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka's voice was calm, almost detached, as he walked through the hallway with the unhurried pace of someone taking a casual stroll rather than navigating an apocalypse.
Students hurried past in both directions—some armed, some terrified, some already carrying the blank stare of people who had seen too much.
The distant sounds of gunfire and screaming echoed through the corridors like the heartbeat of a dying world.
Kei walked at his left side, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed with each step. She kept glancing at him—at his profile, his expression, the way he seemed utterly unbothered by the nightmare unfolding around them. How could anyone be so calm?
"Thank you, Ayanokouji-kun." The words tumbled out before she could overthink them, raw and genuine. "I don't know what would have happened to our class without you. To me without you." Her voice wavered slightly, memories of Yamauchi's eyes, his words, his intentions flashing through her mind. "Thank you for saving me."
In another timeline—one Kei would never know—things had been different. Ryueen had targeted her, used her. Her character had been forged in the fires of that conflict, her bond with Ayanokouji cemented through shared secrets and survival.
But not here.
Here, Ryueen had never bothered with Class D. They weren't a threat.
His plans during the island exam had proceeded smoothly, and the trash class had been beneath his notice.
The Class C girls who might have tormented her had found other targets.
Other victims.
Here, Kei Karuizawa was still the queen of Class D—untouched, untested, unaware of the strength that lay dormant within her.
And Ayanokouji Kiyotaka was still a stranger.
They had never exchanged more than a handful of words.
And yet, when the world ended, he was the one who walked through the door.
Ayanokouji's response was characteristically flat, devoid of the warmth she craved but somehow still right.
"I didn't save you." He didn't look at her as he spoke, his eyes scanning the hallway ahead with that perpetual, unreadable vigilance. "I simply arrived at the right time and the right place. The credit belongs to circumstance, not intention."
Kei blinked, unsure how to respond to that. Was he being modest? Dismissive? Or did he genuinely see it that way—his actions as mere coincidence rather than heroism?
"If you want to save yourself," he continued, his tone shifting slightly, becoming something almost like instruction, "go and apologize to Ichika. Tell her you're not a threat. Tell her you want to become stronger and need her guidance."
Kei's steps faltered. "Ichika? That girl who looked at me like she wanted to—"
"She will." Ayanokouji cut her off, not unkindly. "She'll probably beat you. Brutally. Repeatedly. She won't go easy on you just because you're new or weak or afraid."
Finally, he turned to look at her, and in those flat, endless eyes, Kei saw something she couldn't quite name. "But if you survive her training—if you endure—you will have agency. Power. A place in this new world that isn't dependent on men like Yamauchi deciding whether to protect you or use you."
He reached out and patted her shoulder—a brief, firm pressure that made her entire body stiffen instinctively.
For one horrible second, her mind flashed back to Yamauchi's eyes, to that greasy, invasive gaze that had stripped her naked and assessed her like meat.
Then she realized it was him. Ayanokouji.
The boy who had walked through gunfire and zombies to reach their classroom. The boy who had stood between her and the predators without hesitation.
She relaxed into his touch, her face warming with a blush she couldn't control.
This wasn't Yamauchi.
This wasn't any of them.
This was the boy who had saved her.
"I... I'll try my best, Ayanokouji-kun." The words came out softer than she intended, almost breathless. "I promise."
"I'll do what you said. I'll get stronger."
Ayanokouji nodded once, a small gesture of satisfaction, and continued walking.
They passed through corridor after corridor, navigating the chaos with that same unhurried pace.
Kei stayed close, hyperaware of his presence beside her, the warmth of his hand still lingering on her shoulder long after he'd withdrawn it.
Eventually, they arrived at their destination.
The Student Council Room.
The door was slightly ajar, light spilling through the crack.
Voices murmured inside—calm, measured, utterly at odds with the screaming chaos elsewhere in the school.
Ayanokouji pushed the door open without ceremony.
And there, standing at the head of the council table as if he'd never left, was the former Student Council President himself.
Manabu Horikita.
The man who was supposed to have graduated.
Supposed to have moved on.
Supposed to be anywhere but here, in the middle of an apocalypse, standing in a room full of armed students and military-grade equipment.
He looked up as they entered, his sharp eyes assessing them both in a single glance.
Beside him stood Tachibana, his ever-present secretary, her expression as professional and unreadable as ever.
"Ah." Manabu's voice was calm, controlled, utterly unsurprised by their arrival. "Ayanokouji. I was wondering when you'd show up."
Kei stared, her mouth slightly open, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.
The former student council president. Here. Now.
What the hell was going on?
...
Meanwhile, in the Girl's Dormitory
Haruka Hasebe pressed herself against the wall, her back flat against the cold plaster, her breath coming in shallow, controlled gasps.
Across the small room, Sakura Airi huddled in the corner, knees drawn up to her chest, her entire body trembling like a leaf in a storm.
The sounds outside were a symphony of horror.
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
The door—their only barrier between survival and oblivion—shuddered with each impact.
Something on the other side wanted in. Wanted them.
The wood creaked and groaned with every blow, the frame splintering millimeter by millimeter.
And beyond that door, echoing through the dormitory corridors, came the screams.
Girls from other rooms, other floors, other buildings—their terror carried through the walls in waves.
Some screams cut off abruptly, replaced by wet, tearing sounds and the mindless growling of the infected.
Others continued, rising in pitch and desperation until they, too, were silenced.
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
"Will there be help, Haruka?" Airi's voice was barely a whisper, fractured by panic and the threat of sobs. Her eyes—those beautiful, expressive eyes that had always struggled to meet anyone's gaze—were fixed on the shuddering door like a rabbit watching a wolf approach.
"We don't know how long we can stay trapped here... We don't know if anyone even knows we're alive..."
Haruka forced steel into her voice.
She was terrified—every fiber of her being wanted to curl up and cry—but Airi needed her to be strong.
So she would be strong.
"They will come."
The words came out firmer than she felt.
"We're not alone here, Airi. Freshmen are trapped. Upperclassmen are trapped. The whole school is in this together. They can't abandon us. They won't."
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
Airi's breath hitched. "But why haven't they left already? The announcement—it was so loud. Shouldn't it have attracted them away? Drawn them somewhere else?"
Haruka's expression twisted with bitter understanding. She had been thinking the same thing, hoping the same thing, praying that the school-wide broadcast would pull the infected away from their door.
But the screams.
The screams.
"Those girls..." Haruka's voice cracked. "They screamed so loud. So much noise. It doesn't matter how loud the announcement was—the infected are already here, already feeding. Sound attracts them, but so does fresh meat. And there's so much of it..."
SLAM. SLAM—CRACK.
The door splintered.
Both girls' hearts stopped.
Through the gap in the wood, they could see them now—the dead eyes, the rotting flesh, the reaching hands.
The growls grew louder, more eager, as the infected sensed prey so close.
SLAM. CRACK. SLAM.
The door wouldn't last much longer.
Airi's scream tore from her throat before she could stop it—a raw, primal sound of pure terror.
"ARGH!!!"
"Oh no." Haruka's hand flew to her mouth, stifling Sakura's scream, but it was too late.
The damage was done.
The growling intensified.
More hands joined the assault on the door.
The infected had heard them. Knew they were here.
Fear carved itself into their faces—not the abstract fear of imagination, but the concrete, immediate terror of death pressing against the only barrier between them and oblivion.
SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.
Haruka grabbed Airi's hand, squeezing with desperate strength.
She looked around the room frantically, searching for anything—a weapon, an escape, a miracle.
There was nothing. Just a small dorm room, a window too high to jump from, and a door that was seconds away from failing.
SLAM. CRACK. SLAM.
"Haruka..." Airi's voice was barely audible now, choked with tears. "I'm scared. I'm so scared..."
"Me too." Haruka whispered back, pulling her friend closer. "Me too."
SLAM. CRACK. SPLINTER.
The door bulged inward.
Neither of them knew if they could hold on. Neither of them knew if reinforcement would arrive in time.
All they had was each other, a failing door, and the sound of death growing louder with every passing second.
Outside, the infected howled with hunger.
Inside, two girls held each other and prayed for a miracle.
Will Ayanokouji find them in time?