The morning after a breakup always felt like shit.
Kanata Yukimura sat on the third-floor balcony of the old storage wing of Mishiro High, a spot where only he and the janitor bothered to visit. His legs hung over the ledge, swinging carelessly above the courtyard where the marching band used to practice.
Now? Nothing. Just wind, dust, and that hollow ache in his chest.
"You won't understand me."
Those were Serizawa's last words to him. She didn't cry. She didn't flinch. She just looked at him with those cold, tired eyes like she was already somewhere else.
And maybe she was.
Takeshi.
His best friend.
Kanata clenched the railing hard enough to whiten his knuckles. He could still remember the text he got the same night.
"Sorry, bro... it just happened."
Bullshit.
"Guess I really didn't understand her," Kanata muttered, forcing a smile. His laugh was dry, more of a breath than anything else. The school bell had rung fifteen minutes ago, and class was in session. He didn't care. He didn't want to see their faces. Not hers. Not his.
The door behind him creaked open.
Footsteps. Soft but confident.
"Skipping again, Mr. Broken Heart?" came a teasing voice.
Kanata didn't need to look to know it was Kanami Tsukino.
Her scent was unmistakable—lavender and sweat, the signature of a girl who jogged to school and didn't believe in perfumes. She walked up beside him and leaned against the railing, arms crossed beneath her chest.
A generous chest, he couldn't help but notice. Not for the first time.
Kanami had always been a tomboy, his next-door neighbor since elementary school. She used to race him in flip-flops, climb trees faster than most boys, and punch harder than anyone else in middle school.
But somewhere between then and now, she'd grown curves. Dangerous curves.
"I'm not skipping," Kanata said. "I'm just… observing."
Kanami raised an eyebrow. "Observing your own misery from a higher elevation?" She poked his cheek with a lazy finger. "So dramatic."
Kanata sighed. "You heard, huh?"
"Everyone heard. Serizawa dumped you like last week's test paper." She smirked, then looked away. "And then Takeshi? Damn. That's cold."
Kanata stayed quiet.
She peeked at him. "You okay?"
"No."
"Good."
He turned to her, confused.
She grinned. "Means you're still alive in there."
He couldn't help it—he laughed. Just a bit. Kanami always had that effect. A storm in a school uniform, her short skirt slightly crooked, white blouse unbuttoned at the top just enough to distract even the most focused monks.
"C'mon, let's ditch together. I brought melon bread."
Kanata shook his head. "I'm not hungry."
Kanami leaned in suddenly, her breath hot on his ear. "What if I said I'd feed you by mouth?"
He blinked. "You what—"
She pulled away, laughing her ass off. "Kidding! Geez, you're so easy to tease when you're sulking. I kinda like you like this."
"You're evil," Kanata muttered.
"You're welcome."
They shared a moment of silence, the kind that only came from years of knowing someone. Then, something in the distance caught his eye.
At the gate.
A man.
Stumbling.
His shirt was soaked in blood.
"Kanami," Kanata said, pointing. "You see that?"
She turned. Her expression shifted instantly.
"What the hell…?"
The man dragged one foot, leaving a streak of something dark and wet behind him. His jaw hung open, crooked, like it had been dislocated.
Another figure came running—Mr. Hayasaka, one of the PE teachers.
"Hey! Sir, are you all right?" Hayasaka called out.
The man didn't respond. He limped forward, raising his arms in a jagged, twitchy motion.
And then—
He lunged.
With a gurgling snarl, the man bit into Hayasaka's neck like a wild dog.
Blood sprayed.
Kanami gasped, stumbling back against Kanata.
"Is this a prank?" she whispered, horrified.
"No," Kanata said, heart hammering. "That's real."
Other teachers rushed in—Mr. Ogi, the security guard, even the old school nurse—but it was too late.
Hayasaka collapsed, twitching, screaming. Then he went still.
But moments later—he twitched again.
He got up.
Wrong. Broken. Changed.
His eyes were milky. His movements unnatural.
And he lunged at another teacher.
"Kanami, run!" Kanata shouted.
They sprinted down the hallway, her hand grabbing his sleeve tightly. The intercom crackled.
"All students are advised to remain in their classrooms and lock the doors. I repeat—lock the doors. This is not a drill."
The screams were getting louder.
Kanata's feet pounded the linoleum as they turned the corner. He could see the Sword Club room just ahead.
"Takiya-senpai!" Kanata yelled, skidding to a stop.
A tall, toned girl with shoulder-length dark hair stood inside, drawing a practice blade from its stand. Takiya Shino, captain of the Kendo Club, looked far too calm.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"No time!" Kanami shouted, slamming the door shut behind them. "They're killing people. Eating them!"
Takiya blinked, then nodded. "Understood." She handed Kanata a bokken.
"Do you know how to use one?"
"I've watched you guys spar. I can swing."
"Swing like your life depends on it."
More screams.
Then a thud.
And another.
The windows rattled.
Kanata peeked outside. A student—no, something wearing a student's uniform—was slamming into the walls, twitching and growling. Its mouth was red. Torn.
Kanami whimpered beside him. "What the hell is going on? Is this a virus? Some chemical thing?"
Kanata didn't answer. His heart pounded in his chest like a war drum.
This wasn't heartbreak.
This wasn't drama.
This was the end of the goddamn world.
The door burst open.
It was the janitor.
But his jaw was missing.
And he charged.
Kanata swung.
The bokken connected with a crack, sending the old man crashing into a desk.
Takiya followed up with a brutal overhead strike, snapping the wooden sword in half on the creature's head.
It still moved.
Kanami screamed and kicked it in the face, buying just enough time for Takiya to grab a metal rod from the supply rack and stab it through the skull.
The body twitched, then went still.
Heavy breathing filled the room.
"Kanata," Kanami whispered. "What do we do?"
He didn't know. His body shook. His thoughts were racing. But somewhere, buried under all the fear, betrayal, and confusion, was one primal truth.
Survive.
That was it.
"I don't care why this is happening," he said, gripping the bokken tighter. "I don't care about Serizawa. Or Takeshi. Or anything else."
He looked at the two girls beside him. One bloodied. One shaking.
"I just want to be alive."
And outside the window…
The dead kept coming.
---
To Be Continued .