Greetings fellow readers. MasterW here
New chapter for you guys, talk you for following this story so far. I hope you guys enjoy it.
Without any further to do, enjoy!
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(Next Day)
(Third Person's POV)
Morning arrived with a clear sky and a high sun, painting it in bright, optimistic light. The city's rhythm resumed, workers streaming towards offices, students shuffling to schools, filling the streets with a familiar symphony of movement and sound.
Moving against this tide of commuters, a pair of strikingly handsome, white-haired men walked side by side.
One looked thoroughly wrecked, yawning widely into his hand, his posture slouched in exhaustion.
The other moved with his usual, untroubled calm, as if he'd had a full eight hours of perfect sleep.
"Aaahh…" Gojo yawned, the sound long and dramatic. He rubbed his eyes beneath his ever-present blindfold. "I can't believe we spent the whole night doing that. My thumbs are gonna fall off"
"You were the one who insisted on continuing, Satoru," Akira stated, not looking at him, his gaze fixed forward on the path to Sobu High.
"I needed a rematch! I have a reputation to uphold! I couldn't just let that loss stand!"
"Yet you proceeded to lose every subsequent match. The entire night."
"Tch." Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets, a pout evident in his voice. "Next time, I'm bringing my whole library. We're settling this. Best of five-hundred. No holding back."
"Hmm," Akira replied, a sound that could mean either a confirmation or a dismissal. He finally glanced at Gojo. "Wouldn't your time be better spent actually teaching your students? I am certain they are waiting for their sensei"
"Nah, they're fine," Gojo dismissed with a lazy wave. "They're not morning people either. I bet they're all still happily snoozing. Teenagers need their beauty sleep, you know? It's completely necessary"
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Meanwhile, at Tokyo Jujutsu High Training Field
The morning sun beat down on the empty training grounds. Three figures sat in a perfect triangle of silent, simmering irritation
"...."
"...."
"....."
Panda broke the silence, his stuffed head tilting. "So… are we doing 'patient meditation' today? Is this the lesson?"
Maki's eye twitched. She checked her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. "...Okay. Where is this asshole?"
Inumaki simply stared at the spot where Gojo was supposed to be, his expression deadpan. "Salmon roe." [Absolutely nowhere]
Their teacher had been very clear the day before: 'Be on the field at 6 AM sharp for special morning conditioning, followed by a mission briefing!' They had been here, ready, at 5:45. It was now 8:07.
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Back on the street, Gojo stretched his arms above his head, his joints popping. "I'm sure they're just doing some warm-up stretches or something. Very responsible." He patted Akira's shoulder with a final, comradely thump. "Well, this was fun! I'm gonna head back to the clan compound, take a shower that lasts approximately three hours, and then maybe mosey on over to school. See you later, new Strongest!"
Akira gave a slight, acknowledging nod as Gojo turned a corner and vanished, likely teleporting away to avoid any actual responsibility.
What neither of them paid any overt attention to, though whether they genuinely didn't notice or simply deemed it unworthy of acknowledgment was debatable, was a girl with large glasses partially hidden behind a lamppost.
She had witnessed the entire exchange.
Her glasses fogged up completely as she watched the easy, familiar dynamic between the two devastatingly attractive men.
A deep blush spread across her cheeks. With trembling, excited hands, she pulled out a thick notebook. On its cover, written in careful, elegant script, were the words: "BL - The Forbidden Family Romance."
Her pen flew across the page, words spilling out in a fervent rush.
'The morning after their intense, private "training session," Gojo-sama looked beautifully disheveled, a rare vulnerability in his eyes only for him. Yoshioka-sensei, ever the stoic pillar, pretended indifference, but the subtle softening of his gaze as he watched Gojo-sama yawn…! The tension! The domesticity! The way Gojo-sama called him the "new Strongest"—was it a title, or a pet name?! And the parting shoulder touch…!!!'
She squeaked quietly into her sleeve, her imagination already into multiple scenarios, each more degenerate than the other.
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(Busujima Saeko's POV)
Fujimi Academy was a private institution where the children of the elite mingled under a facade of rigorous education.
The rules here were fluid, bent by wealth and influence. Attendance was a suggestion, not a requirement, so long as grades, often secured by private tutors, remained acceptable.
Teachers, whose annual salaries amounted to pocket change for most families here, turned a blind eye to most of their students' behaviors
There were exceptions, of course. Educators with their own financial and political backing, but for the most part, the student body existed in a state of privileged autonomy.
If a class was deemed unimportant, or simply boring, students were free to drift to the soccer fields, the track, or wherever else their whims took them.
It was in one of the school's many sanctuaries, the traditional wooden dojo of the Kendo Club, that Busujima Saeko sat in serene stillness.
The morning light slanted through the high windows, illuminating motes of dust and the naked blade laid before her on the polished floor.
Sandai-Kitetsu. The katana resting in front of her on top of a red cloth.
She stared at it, feeling its silent mockery. Last night's practice had been a complete failure, causing her present frustration.
The blade was temperamental, a wild thing. It cut when it decided to cut, resisting her will as if it had a mind of its own. She had not yet tamed it.
"Haa…" She released a controlled breath, leaning back to look at the ceiling's wooden beams. "Maybe it was a test from Yoshioka-sensei."
He had seen the darkness coiled at her core, the thrill she took on the paint of others, the silent predator hiding inside the carcass of a noble and elegant young lady, and he had not flinched.
He had accepted it.
Then, he had given her this: a sword as bloodthirsty as her own latent nature, if not more so.
The message was clear.
Only by embracing her true self, by unleashing that controlled ferocity, could she hope to master the power he had unlocked within her.
Speaking of power…
She flexed her hand, studying her callouses gained from hours and hours of holding a bokken.
Since Yoshioka-sensei had meddled with her being, imposing a "Heavenly Restriction" that traded away a normal life for monstrous physical prowess, she had been learning its contours.
Her strength was a live wire humming beneath her skin, a potential she had to consciously stifle with every movement.
Fighting the "weaklings" here, even in kendo practice, was an exercise in restraint.
A serious hit from her could shatter bones, pulverize organs.
It brought no pleasure, only the tedious anxiety of causing an accidental manslaughter.
Not that the police could likely hold her, but fighting her way out of custody seemed like a drag
"Busujima-san."
The voice from the doorway was polite, professional. Saeko turned to see Hayashi Kyoko-sensei, the faculty advisor in charge of club budgets.
The woman had light brown eyes behind glasses, reddish-brown hair in a loose ponytail with strands framing her face, and a full, curvaceous figure.
She entered, closing the door softly behind her. "I'm sorry to interrupt your practice."
"It's no problem, Hayashi-sensei," Saeko said, rising smoothly to her feet. "Do you need anything?"
"Yes, well," Kyoko adjusted her glasses, a clipboard in hand. "I wanted to check the Kendo Club's budget allocations. There seems to be a minor discrepancy in the quarterly distribution, and I wanted to verify the paperwork before submitting the adjustments."
"Of course, Sensei. I'll check the club office for the files." Saeko bent and picked up Sandai-Kitetsu, carefully wrapping the blade in the dark silk cloth it rested on.
"Is… is that a real katana?" Kyoko asked, her voice tinged with surprise and a hint of unease.
"Indeed."
"Umm… isn't that dangerous? Having a real blade on school grounds?"
"Hayashi-sensei, we are the Kendo club. The katana is our emblem," Saeko replied, her tone calm but firm. "This one is here for display and ceremonial purposes. It will not be touched by any… unworthy hands."
Kyoko hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. Just… be careful with it."
"I will be, Hayashi-sensei."
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(Komuro Takashi's POV)
On the elevated walkway overlooking the school's grand entrance, Komuro Takashi's world was a much smaller, more miserable place.
He leaned against the railing, the cityscape a blur beyond the school gates.
His thoughts were a toxic loop: Rei, his childhood friend, the pinky promise they'd made, her sudden, unexplained shift to dating his best friend. The confrontation, her screaming at him before walking away. It all felt like a sick joke.
"Pinky promise…" he muttered to the empty sky. "What a load of bullshit."
A commotion below drew his eye.
At the front gate, a disheveled-looking man was hitting the doors of the school. Tejima-sensei, the stern PE teacher, marched out with another faculty member to intervene.
What happened next was completely unexpected for him
As Tejima-sensei grabbed the stranger's arm, the man lunged forward and sank his teeth into the teacher's forearm with a sickening rip. A chunk of flesh came away, blood arcing through the air.
"AAAAAAH!" Tejima's scream tore through the peaceful courtyard.
The other teacher rushed to help, but Tejima, clutching his mangled arm, suddenly surged up and buried his teeth in the other man's neck. The teacher gurgled, collapsing in a spray of crimson.
Takashi's face drained of color. "What the hell is going on?!"
A manic laugh, high and delighted, sounded right beside him.
"Hahahahaha! What fun! So, it begins! Had to practice the whole night, but with something this simple, it worked! Oh yeah, gotta open the veil, too!"
Takashi whirled. A man stood there, leaning casually against the railing as if watching a fireworks display. But this was no man. His skin was a patchwork of grey and blue, crisscrossed by thick, black stitches. His long, greyish-blue hair was sectioned into three tails. His grin was wide, his gray eyes sparkling with childish glee.
Takashi could only stare, frozen.
The stitched man noticed his gaze. "Huh? Someone here!" His expression brightened further. "Oh, you can help me spread the infection more! I played a game last night, and there were these 'Special Zombies' in it. Can you help me make one? Pretty please?"
Before Takashi could process the insane request, the stitched man's hand was already reaching out, moving with unnatural speed.
The last thing Takashi saw was a palm covered in stitches coming to rest gently on his forehead.
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(Busujima Saeko's POV)
Back in the dojo, a primal alarm shrieked in Saeko's nerves.
She raised her head, nostrils flaring. The air, once clean with the scent of old wood and polish, now carried a foul, familiar undercurrent, the distinct, rotten stench of concentrated Cursed Energy.
She turned sharply to the window, startling Kyoko, who was reviewing a form.
"Something wrong, Busujima-san?"
Saeko didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the scene below.
Students who had been milling about on the sports fields were now covered in dark, wet stains. Their movements were wrong, shambling, jerky, uncoordinated.
Some were missing parts of their bodies. They moved with forward, mindlessly and without purpose
"!!" A sharp breath hissed through Saeko's teeth.
Kyoko hurried to the window, following her gaze. "Huh? What's the matter?! Is something happe—Ah?!"
Her voice died in a gasp. She saw a student trip and fall. Two of the shambling figures were on them in an instant. The brief, violent struggle ended with a wet, tearing sound she wished she could unsee
"What's going on?!" Kyoko whispered. Her knuckles white on the windowsill.
The school's PA system crackled to life with a jarring squeal of feedback.
"{Attention all teachers and students! Attention all teachers and students! At the moment there is a violent struggle going on in the premises of the school! Students stay with your teachers and follow their instructions!}"
A moment of stunned silence gripped the school.
Then the broadcast continued.
"{GAAAAAAAAAAH!!! HELP ME!! STOP!! HELP ME!! I'M GOING TO DIE!!!}"
The voice was pure, undiluted terror, cut off by a loud, wet CRUNCH, followed by the sound of hungry gnawing. Then, dead air.
The dam broke.
A unified, earsplitting scream of panic erupted from a hundred throats at once, followed by the thunderous stampede of fleeing students.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH" The sound of hundreds of students going outside their classrooms and trying to escape resounded on the school grounds. Many trampled and ran over each other, going over their fellow students, all for the sake of surviving.
Kyoko stood paralyzed, her mind refusing to process the horror. Saeko, however, was already moving.
The mystery was solved: this was the work of a Cursed Spirit or a Curse User. She knew what she had to do
She ripped the silk cloth away from Sandai-Kitetsu, the dark red sheath feeling instantly alive and eager in her grip.
"Busujima-san?! what are you doing?!" Kyoko cried.
"Staying here won't do us any good. Those things are already overrunning the school, and the chaos will only make it worse."
"Chaos?! Things?! Busujima-san, what are you talking about?!"
"No time, Hayashi-sensei. Just stay close to me."
With determined, silent steps, Saeko slid open the dojo door and stepped into the hallway. The sounds of distant screams and pounding feet were louder here. And at the far end of the corridor, two figures were shambling toward them. Their uniforms were torn and blood-soaked, their skin a pallid grey, their eyes vacant and milky. One dragged a ruined leg behind it.
"What… what are those things?" Kyoko breathed, shrinking back.
Saeko didn't answer. She exploded forward.
"Busujima-san?! Wait!"
But Saeko was already a blur. The wind of her passage whipped Kyoko's ponytail and sent the papers on her clipboard flying. In the span of a heartbeat, Saeko closed the distance.
Her hand found the hilt. The blade seemed to leap into her grip, the draw a single, seamless motion, a horizontal silver crescent that whispered through the air.
Shing
There was no dramatic clash, only the clean, sharp sound of a perfect cut.
Saeko's momentum carried her two paces past the walking corpses before she stopped, her back to them. In the same fluid motion, she flicked the blood from the blade and guided it back into the sheath with a soft, definitive click.
Only then did the result manifest.
A thin red line appeared horizontally across the foreheads of both creatures. Then, with a wet, sliding sound, the entire upper third of their skulls, everything above the eyebrows, tilted back and slid off, hitting the floor with twin, sickening thuds. Dark blood and other matter splashed across the pristine hallway walls and floor
Saeko did not look back. "Let's go, Hayashi-sensei"
She began walking down the hall, stepping calmly and ignoring the twitching bodies behind her
Kyoko stood frozen, her glasses slightly askew, staring at the gory scene and then at the retreating, calm figure of her student.
Her mind struggled to comprehend the brutal violence she had just witnessed.
"Wait! Busujima-san!" she finally managed to yell, her voice trembling, as she stumbled after the calm student
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The school's infirmary, once filled with lazy students sleeping in or the occasional anemic, had become a morgue.
Corpses in bloodied uniforms lay strewn across the floor, while a few injured students moaned in pain, restrained to beds by makeshift bandages.
The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood
In the center of the nightmare stood the school nurse, Marikawa Shizuka. A young woman with impossible curves, most pronounced by her enormous bust, she cut a surreal figure amidst the gore.
Her waist-length blonde hair, with its framing bangs, was slightly disheveled, and her hazel eyes held a lazy, almost detached expression.
She adjusted her latex gloves as she peered at the lifeless body of a student on a gurney.
"We're in trouble…" she murmured, more to herself than anyone. "Neither the police nor the Fir-fighters are picking up. The phone lines are dead" She prodded the corpse's cold arm "I performed a medical examination on one of them earlier, but he was definitely dead. Then he got up. Everything about this… it's just like a low-budget movie"
"IS THIS REALLY THE RIGHT TIME TO BE SO FASCINATED WITH THIS!?" Screamed a student nearby, a boy named Ishii Kazu. He was frantically pushing a heavy cabinet against the door, which shuddered under the weight of bodies pounding from the other side. "Let's get out of here, Shizuka-sensei!!"
"Wait just a minute," Shizuka said calmly, turning to a supply cabinet. She began methodically filling a duffel bag with bottles of disinfectant, rolls of bandages, and packets of medicine. "There's something I need to take with me. In a crisis, medical supplies are—"
"PLEASE MOVE QUICKER, SHIZUKA-SENSEI!"
CRASH!
The windows lining the hallway side of the infirmary shattered inward.
Glass shards sprayed across the room as multiple grey, shambling forms clambered through the broken frame. One lurched toward Ishii, who raised a broken chair leg in a desperate defense. The creature ignored the blow, grabbing his arm and sinking its teeth deep into his forearm with a sickening tear.
"AAAAH!" Ishii screamed, dropping his weapon, his face contorted in agony. He kicked the zombie back, clutching his bleeding arm. "SENSEI! RUN AWAY!"
Shizuka finally turned, her bag only half-full. She blinked, looking at the brave, wounded student. "Ahh… Umm," she said, pointing a gloved finger at him. "What was your name again?"
"Huh?!"
Before he could answer, the zombie he'd kicked recovered and lurched past him, its milky eyes fixed on the nurse. It reached for her, its bloody fingers inches from her lab coat. Shizuka stumbled backwards, tripping over a fallen stool and landing hard on the floor. The corpse loomed over her, its jaws opening wide for a bite.
SHING.
A silver blur cut through the air. The zombie's outstretched arm severed cleanly at the elbow, thumping to the floor beside Shizuka. In the same instant, its head tilted, then toppled from its shoulders, landing with a wet thud. The headless body swayed for a moment before collapsing.
"Heh?" Shizuka stared, wide-eyed, at the twitching pieces.
Standing in the shattered window frame was Busujima Saeko. Sandai-Kitetsu was in her hand, its dark grey blade now gleaming with a fresh, wet crimson sheen. Behind her in the hallway, Shizuka could see the still-twitching remains of several other zombies, neatly bisected.
Saeko didn't pause. She flowed into the room at rapid speeds. Another zombie near Ishii turned toward her. Her sword moved again, a vertical slash so fast it was almost invisible. The creature split cleanly from crown to groin, its two halves slumping apart. She spun, her blade a whispering slink, decapitating the last zombie in the room with contemptuous ease.
In the sudden, ringing silence that followed, broken only by Ishii's pained gasps, Saeko looked down at her blade. A slow, slight, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. The sword felt different in her grip, responsive, eager, satisfied. The earlier resistance was gone.
"So," she whispered, her voice low. "Blood was what you wanted after all."
At that moment, Kyoko carefully climbed through the broken window, her face pale but determined. She saw Shizuka on the floor and rushed to her.
"Shizuka-chan!"
"Kyoko-chan!"
The two women scrambled toward each other and embraced tightly, a moment of profound relief at seeing each other safe and sound
"What's going on? What are these things?" Kyoko asked, her voice trembling.
"I don't know," Shizuka replied, her clinical detachment finally cracking into confusion. "Everything just went into chaos all of a sudden"
While the teachers talked, Saeko walked over to Ishii Kazu, who was slumped against a bed, clutching his savaged arm.
She knelt beside him, her eyes analyzing the wound. The flesh was torn and purplish around the edges, but to her enhanced senses, it was obvious, the injury seethed with a vile, clinging Cursed Energy
"I'm the president of the Kendo Club, Busujima Saeko," She said, her voice calm and clear. "What's your name?"
"Ishii… Kazu," he gritted out through the pain.
"Ishii-kun, you did well in protecting Marikawa-sensei. I admire your courage." She placed a firm, steadying hand on his uninjured shoulder "Do you know what happens to people who get bitten by these things?" She didn't wait for an answer "They become one of them. Do you want your parents, your friends, to see you like that? A mindless monster?" She leaned closer, her eyes holding his. "I can help you. I can spare you that fate. But it must be now."
Ishii Kazu looked from his mangled arm to the headless corpses around the room, then up into Saeko's serene, ruthless face.
He saw no pity, only a grim, respectful stare. He swallowed hard, tears of pain and fear mixing on his cheeks. He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement.
"Please…" he whispered. "Do it."
Saeko stood, the movement fluid. She unsheathed Sandai-Kitetsu once more.
Shizuka and Kyoko, seeing the drawn blade pointed at the wounded student, broke apart and rushed forward.
"Huh? What are you doing?" Shizuka cried, her medical instincts overriding her fear.
"Busujima-san, he's injured! We have to help him!" Kyoko pleaded, reaching out.
Saeko didn't even glance at them. Her focus was entirely on Ishii. "Please don't interrupt," she said, her voice cutting through their protests like her sword through flesh. "This is a matter of protecting a man's pride."
She raised the tip of the katana, aiming it unerringly at Ishii's heart. He looked up at her, his eyes wide but accepting.
"Wait—!" Kyoko screamed.
STAB
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In another wing of the sprawling academy, the oppressive silence was broken only by the faint, wet dragging sounds of feet on linoleum.
Two figures moved with a tense caution.
They were a teenage girl of under-average height with long pink hair kept in twin ponytails, her sharp eyes analyzing everything. Beside her, breathing heavily, a short, overweight male student clutching a nail gun heavily modified with wood and tape to resemble a crude rifle.
At a corner, Saya stopped. She picked up a soaking wet towel from a discarded janitor's cart. With a careful, underhand throw, she lobbed it. It struck a shambling corpse square in the back of the head with a soft thump.
The zombie barely stumbled. It showed no reaction to the impact, continuing its mindless shuffle down the hall… until the wet towel slid off and hit the floor with a distinct, sloppy splat. Instantly, the corpse stopped, turned its head erratically, and began grasping at the air near the source of the sound.
"Hmm," Saya hummed, a curious note in her voice.
"What are you doing, Takagi-san?" The boy whispered. His knuckles white on his makeshift gun.
"Don't worry about it and keep your pie hole shut" she replied in a hushed, dismissive tone.
She threw another wet towel, this time aiming for the wall a few meters away. Splat. The corpse immediately shambled towards the new sound, walking face-first into the wall and clawing at the empty space before it.
"See? He didn't react to being hit. Only to the sound of the impact. Probably temperature, too" Takagi analyzed, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "This experiment just makes me hate them even more."
She turned and began walking in the opposite direction. The fat boy hurried to keep up. "So… we're trying to get outside, then?"
"What are you implying?"
"That… things could get really bad if we keep this slow pace."
"Then you better shut your mouth and pick up your pace, fatty!"
They moved as quickly as they dared, the eerie silence pressing in on them, until they reached a heavy fire door that should have led to a stairwell. Saya grabbed the handle and pushed
It didn't budge.
"Huh? It's locked?!" she exclaimed, her cool façade cracking for a second. She threw her shoulder against it, then started jiggling the handle violently.
While Saya was preoccupied, a low groan echoed from the corridor behind them. The fat boy turned, his blood running cold.
From intersecting hallways, dozens of the shambling figures were converging, drawn by the noise. They formed a slow, relentless wall of decaying flesh and vacant eyes, cutting off their retreat.
The boy immediately dropped to one knee, raising his nail-gun. His hands, which had been trembling moments before, steadied. He took a breath, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Nails shot through the air with surprising accuracy. One punched through a zombie's eye socket, another buried itself in a forehead. The creatures stumbled and fell.
Saya, between frantic attempts to break the lock, glanced back and saw his shooting. "How can you be so good at shooting if you've never done it before?!"
"It's not like that?! But could you please help me fight them?!" The boy cried, reloading another magazine of nails with frantic speed.
"Why should I do something like that?"
"BECAUSE I'M ALMOST OUT OF AMMO!!"
"So what? I'll help when you're out?!"
"But they're right behind you…" The boy said, his voice dropping to a horrified whisper as he stared past her.
Saya whirled around.
A zombie, its jaw hanging loose, one arm torn off at the elbow, was mere inches from her. It must have been lurking in a side alcove. Its remaining hand reached for her hair.
"AAAAAAAAHH!!"
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"AAAAAAAAHH!!"
The scream tore through the muffled horror of the school.
Two students who had been moving cautiously together, a young man with gray hair and brown-eyes, and a girl with waist-length orange-brown hair tied in a small, neat ponytail, froze.
They exchanged a single, determined glance. Without a word, they broke into a run, following the sound of terror.
They skidded around a corner just in time to see a surreal and brutal scene.
The pink-haired girl, Takagi Saya, had a heavy-duty power drill in her hands, its bit spinning with a high-pitched whine.
She was driving it directly into the temple of the one-armed zombie before her. Her face a mask of fury and terror. Blood and grey matter sprayed in a grisly arc as the drill tore through bone and brain
"You little shit! Die! Die! DIE!" she screamed, the sound raw and hysterical.
The gray-haired boy moved instantly, raising the metal pipe he carried, ready to charge the other zombies closing in from down the hall. But before he could take a step, a purple blur shot towards the zombies
It was a girl with long, flowing purple hair, moving with a grace and speed that seemed impossible.
In her hands was a katana that became a silver arc in the air. She ran towards the zombies without fear and tore through them.
Each step was a pivot, each movement of her arms a precise, lethal arc. Heads rolled from shoulders, torsos were cleaved in two, limbs were severed at the joints. It was a whirlwind of blood and limbs. In less than three seconds, the dozen advancing corpses were reduced to twitching, separated parts on the floor.
The purple-haired girl stopped, standing amidst the carnage. She flicked her wrist, sending a cascade of dark blood off her blade, before smoothly sheathing it with a soft, final click.
From the direction she came, two teachers hurried into view: Marikawa Shizuka, the voluptuous blonde nurse, and Hayashi Kyoko, her brown-haired colleague.
Takagi Saya, her drill now silent and dripping blood, stared at the gore around her. The adrenaline drained away, leaving her hollow and shaking. Her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees on the blood-slicked floor.
"Takagi-san!" The orange haired girl cried, rushing forward with her boy companion close behind. "Are you... okay?" Rei asked, her voice gentle.
Takagi looked up, her eyes wide and unfocused. "...Miyamoto," She mumbled in recognition as the orange haired girl help her stand up
Saeko walked calmly toward the group, her demeanor unsettlingly serene amidst the slaughter. "You know Nurse Marikawa and Hayashi-sensei, right?" She said, her voice calm. "I'm Busujima Saeko. Nice to meet you all."
The gray-haired boy, swallowing his awe and fear, bowed slightly. "I'm Hisashi Igou. Nice to meet you, senpai"
The orange haired girl followed, her eyes wide with a different kind of recognition. "I'm Miyamoto Rei. You… you won the national kendo tournament last year, didn't you, Busujima-senpai?"
The fat boy, wiping sweat from his brow, stepped closer. "I'm Hirano Kohta. Nice to meet you."
"What is with you all being so chummy with one another?!" Takagi suddenly shrieked, lashing out to the group in from of her. Her voice was frayed with panic. "If you keep acting like this, standing around making introductions, we're all going to die!"
"That's enough, Takagi-san"
Saeko's voice cut through the girl's hysteria, not loud, but imbued with an undeniable authority.
She walked over and placed a firm, grounding hand on Takagi's trembling shoulder. Then, gently but insistently, she turned the pink-haired girl to face a nearby window, its glass reflecting the horrific scene in the hallway.
"Look," Saeko said softly.
Takagi stared at her reflection. The girl in the glass was covered from head to toe in splatters of dark blood and bits of viscera. Her pink hair was matted with gore, her face smeared with it. Her regal and dignified form marred with red that painted her once white school uniform
A choked sound escaped her lips. The defiant, sharp-tongued front shattered completely. Her knees buckled again, and she began to sob uncontrollably. Great heaving sobs of terror, disgust, and utter helplessness.
Saeko knelt beside her, ignoring the blood soaking into her own uniform. She didn't hug her, but she placed a steadying hand on her back
"Umm guys?" Kohta interrupted the moment
"What?" Rei asked with an aggressive tone "Can't you wait a moment?"
"No, it's.... it's not even midday, right?"
"Yes, why?"
"Why is it dark outside?"
The group turned, and saw a black wall covering a little bit outside the school perimeter
Saeko quickly stood up and saw it, instantly recognizing it "A veil?"
"A what?!"
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The staff room offered an illusion of safety and a small refugee for the group.
It was a space of normalcy, filing cabinets, a coffee maker, desks cluttered with boxes full of papers, now serving as a makeshift fortress in a world gone mad.
Hirano Kohta and Hisashi Igou worked quickly, efficiently barricading the door with heavy teacher's desks, chairs, and a filing cabinet, creating a temporary, barrier against the horrors outside
Saeko stood apart, a silent sentinel by the large window.
She wasn't looking at the school grounds, but at the unnatural darkness that had fallen over them. I
It was a solid, opaque wall of black, swallowing the world beyond the school gates. Her blue eyes narrowed, analyzing the phenomenon.
In the small kitchenette attached to the room, Takagi Saya scrubbed furiously at her uniform and face with a wet paper towel. The pink of her hair was streaked with diluted red, and her hands trembled slightly.
Kohta, after helping with the barricade, approached her cautiously "Glasses?" he asked, noticing the thick-framed spectacles now perched on her nose.
"So what?!" she snapped, though her usual venom was diluted by exhaustion "My contacts were irritating me, so I took them off! Got a problem with it, fatty?"
He wisely shook his head and backed away.
Miyamoto Rei and Hisashi approached her next, their expressions anxious. "Takagi-san," Rei began softly, "have you seen Takashi?"
Saya paused her scrubbing, looking at them over the rim of her glasses. "I was going to ask you guys the same thing. I thought for sure he'd be with you two."
Hisashi shook his head grimly. "No. We haven't seen him since before… all this started."
"He must be around somewhere," Saya said, trying to sound confident as she wrung out the bloody towel. "He's a tough guy. Stubborn, too."
At one of the teacher's desks, Shizuka fiddled with a landline phone, holding the receiver to her ear before slamming it down in frustration. She then tried a small portable TV on a cart, twisting the antenna. The screen showed nothing but frantic, chaotic static. "Neither the phones nor the TV are getting any signal. What in the world is going on?" She gestured helplessly toward the window. "And why is it night? It was just morning!"
"It isn't night," Saeko's voice cut through the room, calm and certain. She didn't turn from the window "It's a veil"
"You said that word before," Kyoko said, stepping closer. "'Veil.' Not to imply anything, Busujima-san, but… you seem to know more about what's happening than any of us."
All eyes in the room turned to the purple-haired kendo champion.
Kohta stopped fiddling with his nail gun. Hisashi and Rei leaned forward. Even Takagi paused her cleaning, watching Saeko intently.
Saeko took a slow, deep breath. She finally turned from the window to face them, her posture straight, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her katana.
"There are things," she began, her voice low and deliberate, "called Cursed Spirits"
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In a darkened, blood-spattered hallway, the air was thick with the stench of viscera and blood that painted the walls. Cowering against a walk, his glasses askew and his once expensive and elegant suit torn, was Shidou Koichi. A man whose life had been defined by pedigree and privilege, now reduced to a trembling heap of raw terror.
His fear was justified.
Looming around him, blocking every potential escape, were monstrosities. They were humanoid, but stretched and distorted to nearly nine feet tall, their muscles grotesquely swollen and knotted under grey, mottled skin.
Their faces were slack, jaws hanging open with rows of jagged, mismatched teeth. These were not the shambling corpses from the halls; these were deliberate, powerful abominations.
And in the center of this ring of horrors, kneeling casually as if chatting with a friend, was the source of it all.
A seemingly young man with blue skin, a face stitched together like a discarded doll, and eyes gleaming with manic curiosity.
"Oh, a teacher, right?" the stitched man said, his voice cheerful. "I'm Mahito! Nice to meet you!"
"N-nice to meet you…" Koichi squeaked out, the polite reflex ingrained in him overriding his sheer terror.
"Hey now, I introduced myself. It's only fair that you introduce yourself too!" Mahito chirped, tilting his head.
"I… I'm Koichi… Shidou Koichi," the teacher stammered
"What subject do you teach, teach?"
"I… teach literature… I'm also… the track field advisor…" Each word was a struggle, a pathetic attempt to assert some scrap of his former identity
"I see, I see!" Mahito nodded twice, as if filing away fascinating trivia. The grotesque giants around them remained perfectly still, awaiting their master's will
The oppressive silence, broken only by Koichi's ragged breathing, became too much. His survival instinct, warped by a lifetime of using his family's influence as a shield, kicked in.
He fell forward onto his knees, hands clasped in a desperate plea.
"I… My father is a very important politician!" he blurted out, tears mixing with the sweat on his face. "A member of the Diet! I can get you anything! Money! Women! Influence! Anything you want! Just… just please, let me live!"
Mahito's stitched face shifted into a thoughtful pout. "Oh, negotiating. I heard politicians like to do that stuff" He tapped his chin "Huh… I don't really need any of those. But how about this? Let's make a deal!"
"…A deal?" Koichi whispered, a sliver of desperate hope piercing his fear.
"Yeah! You see, I think there are a couple more survivors skulking around the school. Annoying little things, like cockroaches. So, how about this?" Mahito leaned forward, his gray eyes locking onto Koichi's. "I will grant you control of my 'Super Zombies' And you… you will use them to hunt the survivors down for me. Clean up the rest of the pests, I don't care how, just deal with them. How about that?"
The offer was insane.
But in Koichi's panicked mind, it transformed instantly. Control. Power. Survival. He wouldn't be prey; he would be the hunter.
He could live. He could even… enjoy it. A dark, shameful thrill shot through him.
"YES!" he shouted, the word bursting from him. "I WILL DO IT! I'LL HUNT THEM ALL DOWN FOR YOU!"
"Good!" Mahito beamed, a child pleased with a new playmate. "Now, let's shake on it!"
He extended a hand, palm up, the black stitches stark against his blue skin.
Without a second thought, Koichi grabbed it, his grip frantic and tight.
The moment their hands connected, it felt like plunging his arm into a vat of molten lead and freezing nitrogen simultaneously.
A violent, alien energy, Mahito's Cursed Technique, surged into Koichi's body, not through his veins, but through his very soul.
"AAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"