POV: Jun-ho
The first light of dawn spilled over the dorm courtyard in muted streaks of gold and gray.
Dew clung to the grass, sparkling in a way that felt cruelly indifferent to the chaos of the night before. The air smelled faintly of salt and smoke, a reminder that the ocean was so close, and yet unreachable.
We gathered near the collapsed cafeteria entrance, half of us still shivering from adrenaline, half from the cold wind whipping off the cliffs. Ara moved among the students, checking straps, bows, and knives with quiet precision.
Minjae was pacing, fists clenched, muttering under his breath, a restless energy I recognized from the gym—but now sharper, more urgent.
I surveyed the group. Nineteen faces, some pale, some smeared with blood, all staring at me like I should have the answers.
I didn't.
But I had to look like I did.
"Morning. We're not safe here. Dorms are compromised. We move as a unit. First rule: watch each other's backs." I said, voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. Jisoo nodded, silently pulling a map from his bag. "We should check all the escape routes and mark potential choke points." He said.
His voice had that calm, rational tone I always relied on, but now, it sounded like a whisper against the screaming reality outside.
Ara knelt beside him, scanning the map with a practiced eye.
Her finger traced the path across campus, bridges, and alleyways. "We move from dorms to central quad, then follow the service road to the northern cliffs. Quiet. Avoid open spaces as much as possible." She said.
I felt the weight settle on me. They weren't asking—they were waiting. Waiting for a plan. For someone to lead. And the truth was, it had to be me.
We ate quickly, a meager breakfast scavenged from vending machines and abandoned kitchens—crackers, bottled water, a few protein bars.
The act of sitting, of chewing, felt surreal. The world had gone to hell, and here we were, pretending it was normal. Minjae broke the silence first, cracking a joke about the taste of vending machine peanut butter.
The laugh that followed was small but real, tense, like it had to be squeezed out of our lungs.
For a moment, the fear eased, and I saw them not as panicked teenagers, but as people—people I had to protect. I caught Ara's glance from across the group. She didn't smile, but her eyes softened just a fraction.
A silent acknowledgment that we were both paying attention, both calculating, both ready to move when the time came.
"Jun-ho. We need to check the side road. Might be safer than the quad." Minjae said, standing abruptly. I raised an eyebrow. "You want to scout it?" He hesitated, then nodded. "I'll go. Cover me if it goes bad."
The boy's chest puffed slightly with pride, though his hands shook just a little.
I could see the muscle memory from his MMA training kicking in—his posture, his fists ready—but now applied in a way that wasn't just about winning fights. It was about survival. I gave him a nod. "Go. I'll follow with the rest."
He disappeared down the narrow path between the dorms, and I felt a flicker of respect for him. Courage wasn't the absence of fear. It was acting despite it.
Ara and I moved silently through the courtyard toward the service road. Side by side, but not touching. Not yet. Her steps were quiet, calculated; mine were heavier but careful, tuned to every sound around us.
I could feel her reading me the way I read her: every pause, every glance, every subtle shift in posture. A silent dialogue, unspoken.
"Gap in the fence, thirty meters ahead. Two exits." She whispered. "Got it. First one?" I nodded. Her lips barely twitched. "Depends on the group. Small risk, less exposure." I realized then that this was the first time we'd truly coordinated in life-or-death conditions—not instructions, not orders, but understanding.
Something had shifted between us, something slow and dangerous, like the tide creeping over rocks.
—
The first real test came unexpectedly.
A cluster of Echoes emerged near the central quad, voices distorted, sobbing and screaming. The younger students froze, one of them gripping Ara's jacket, eyes wide.
I barked a command: "Form a line! Don't run!"
Minjae surged forward without hesitation, grabbing a fallen branch and swinging it at one of the nearest Echoes. The creature wavered, hissed, then fell back, momentarily stunned.
I blinked. Respect filled me. He hadn't waited for permission. He hadn't hesitated. He had acted. And it worked. I took control of the next steps instinctively. "Ara, lead the group to the first exit. I'll cover the rear with Minjae."
Her calm acceptance was almost unnerving. She didn't question me. She moved like we had done this a hundred times, though we hadn't done it once.
We pushed forward, keeping the younger students tight. Every turn of the corner, every shadow cast by the morning sun across broken concrete, felt like it could be the last. My muscles burned, my lungs screamed, but I couldn't falter.
Leadership wasn't about glory. It was about making the right call, fast, when every second counted. And right now, right calls were survival.
The choice came sooner than I expected.
A narrow bridge spanned the service road, slick with dew and scattered debris. One path led to the campus parking lot; the other along the cliff edge. Both were risky.
The Echoes were converging from the quad. The younger students looked to me. Ara's eyes met mine.
I swallowed hard.
"Cliff path. Move fast. No one stops." I said. I knew the risk. One misstep and someone could fall. But the alternative—the quad—was death. I had to decide. "Understood." Minjae nodded sharply.
We began the careful climb along the cliff path, bodies pressed close to the wall of the cliff, shoes slipping on the wet grass.
Ara kept an arrow nocked, scanning for movement. I stayed in the middle, flanked by Minjae and the students.
I caught a flicker of movement behind us. Drifters, fast and erratic, moving with sudden bursts of speed. My chest tightened. I could feel the fear clawing at my ribs, but control was the only weapon I had.
"Step on my heels. Don't look back. Stay low." I instructed, voice steady though my hands shook.
The group moved as one, silent and tense. Every breath sounded like thunder in my ears. I could feel Jun-ho—the protector, the decision-maker—emerging from the chaos of fear and indecision.
—
By the time we reached the end of the cliff path, heartbeats were hammering, lungs screaming, sweat and dirt coating our skin.
The Echoes were too far behind to catch us now, but the danger hadn't ended. The island was compromised. Every step forward would bring more. I turned to the group, chest heaving. They looked at me not with fear, but with trust.
And I realized—I had just taken the first real step into leadership. Not because I wanted it, not because I sought it, but because survival demanded it.
Ara's hand brushed mine for just a fraction as she adjusted a student's backpack.
It was fleeting, almost accidental, but my chest tightened. A reminder that even here, in the shadow of chaos, we could feel something human, something fragile. I swallowed, forcing my focus back to the path ahead.
The faint, rising groan of hundreds of zombies echoed from the central campus. I didn't look back. I didn't need to. The real horror was waiting for us.
And there was no turning back.