Here is the translation and localization of the chapters, continuing with the name Kagehiro Shiro and the established setting.
"Mhm. I can squeeze four in the back, one in the front, and maybe one or two in the trunk. We can make it work."
Thinking about it now, Shizuka-sensei felt it was a stroke of luck that she had given the Aston Martin to Shiro. If she hadn't, they wouldn't have all fit in her other car. The Aston Martin was a strict two-seater—since Shiro was only going to pick up his little girlfriend, two seats were more than enough for him.
She tucked her car keys into her pocket for easy access. "Alright, let's move."
"We're counting on you, Hayama," she added.
"Understood, Shizuka-sensei," Hayama replied firmly.
The time was 2:58 PM. The spring sun sat perfectly in the center of the sky, and the breeze was so gentle it felt like a lullaby.
As Kagehiro Shiro changed into his outdoor shoes and stepped out of the building, the brilliant sunlight told him there was still time. That gave him a sliver of peace. Daylight was far safer than the night; once the sun went down, the true chaos would begin. The clarity of the light made it impossible for anything to hide in the shadows.
He noticed the zombie at the exit was already dead. Its neck had been snapped—not a natural death. Between the time he had first seen the creature and now—barely thirty minutes—someone had found the resolve to come out here and put it down. Likely Shizuka-sensei, Shiro thought. Truly a kind-hearted adult.
Shiro stepped around the corpse and exited the school gates. Across the road, past the fence, he could see a row of parked cars. This was a private lot, not a public one; every spot belonged to a specific owner.
Since it was still work hours, the adjacent residential buildings were silent. In an apocalypse, that silence felt eerie.
Well, it is the end of the world, so I guess 'eerie' is the new 'normal', Shiro mused.
If there was anyone left in those buildings, it was likely stay-at-home wives. Modern economic pressure meant the number of full-time housewives had dropped since the last century, but it was still a common enough lifestyle for the older generation. Shiro realized Hachiman's dream of becoming a "professional house husband" was a steep climb—first, he'd have to find a "sugar mommy."
Shiro actually thought Shizuka-sensei was a prime candidate for Hachiman. She had a house, a car, and the "Teacher-Student" romance had a certain poetic beauty to it, like something out of the Man'yoshu.
Shiro turned right and began to run. The parking lot was south of the school; the sea was to the west. He sprinted across the intersection toward a corner of dense greenery that acted as a windbreak for the lot. He had to run a wide circle to find the entrance to the fenced-in area.
Even before he reached it, he saw a figure standing in the distance, frozen like a statue. As he got closer, he saw a man in a tie who had already succumbed to the virus. His milky-white eyes and bulging pupils gave him a horrific, vacant look.
"Hey, still in there?" Shiro called out, just in case.
The "thing" heard the sound and turned, stumbling toward the source with a raspy groan. "Ugh..."
No hope left, Shiro thought. The man hadn't finished his final transformation yet; his movements were sluggish, and his body was unmarred. If he were a true "corpse," he'd be stiff, but as a zombie, his muscles were still pliable, just directed by a dead brain.
Shiro gave him peace. He tripped the creature's left leg, shoved its chest, and as it struggled to crawl back up, Shiro delivered a heavy stomp to its neck.
Snap.
Despite the dozens of cars in the lot, he spotted it instantly: the crimson Aston Martin. The sleek red paint gleamed like fire, its low profile standing out among the boxy family sedans like a predator in a flock of sheep.
No wonder Shizuka-sensei parked it outside. Bringing a car like this into a school lot was far too flashy for a teacher—it screamed of extravagance.
He clicked the key fob. The lights flashed. This was the one. He opened the door and realized it was indeed a two-seater. Shizuka-sensei likely only ever drove it alone.
He started the engine. The roar of the high-performance motor echoed through the empty lot. He gripped the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator. The car slid smoothly out of its spot.
Even without a license, the mechanics of driving were simple enough, though his sense of distance and foot-pressure was a bit unrefined. He steered the car out of the lot and onto the coastal highway, heading toward Tokyo.
This was the scenic route circling Tokyo Bay—a wide road far from the crowded city centers. He saw no other cars, let alone people. In Chiba, the road hugged the shore; as it entered Tokyo, it merged with the metropolitan grid, but as long as he kept the sea to his left, he was on the right track.
One hand on the wheel, Shiro used the other to unlock his phone and set the navigation for Toyogasaki Academy. The car didn't have a built-in GPS, so he had to rely on his phone.
Toyogasaki was in Chiyoda Ward—the heart of Tokyo. Along with Minato and Chuo wards, it made up the central core of the capital, housing the nation's political, administrative, and judicial functions. It made sense that the daughter of a British diplomat would attend a school there, even if Toyogasaki wasn't the most prestigious academy in the area.
That title belonged to Shuchiin Academy in Minato Ward—a school for the elite of the elite. While a commoner could technically get in through academic merit, they were a rare breed; most students were "lifers" who had been in the Shuchiin system since kindergarten. Shiro had considered Shuchiin but ultimately decided against it. He didn't want the stress. He'd even thought about that "Advanced Nurturing High School" on the artificial island in the bay—free tuition was tempting—but he had settled on a peaceful life at Sobu High instead.
Peaceful life? Yeah, right! Shiro thought, his annoyance mounting. This was supposed to be a slice-of-life world! Why did I get dropped into a Resident Evil script?!
As he drove, Shiro's anger flared. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. He had finally made it to a peaceful era! He had his whole life mapped out. He was going to date Utaha, go to the same university, marry her after graduation, buy a house in Tokyo, and work from home. They'd have two kids—a boy and a girl—send them to the grandparents in the countryside, and travel the world together. Their first stop was supposed to be his ancestral home in the East.
The sight of a growing crowd of "people" on the road ahead snapped him out of his reverie.
"Sorry, Shizuka-sensei..." Shiro muttered. He didn't want to do this, but... "Your car probably isn't coming back in one piece."
He turned the wheel and floored it. The red Aston Martin tore through the gaps in the shambling crowd. The scream of the engine drew the monsters' attention, their sluggish steps quickening as they tried to chase the car, only to be left behind in a cloud of exhaust as the red streak vanished toward Tokyo.
"Nishimura, get the gate locked! Maeno, Mishima, find some people and bring those basketball hoops over here to block the entrance! And you, student—yes, you! Go to the sports equipment warehouse and find anything that can be used as a weapon!"
Ishikawa-sensei sat perched high atop a tennis umpire's chair, shouting orders at the students huddled in the tennis courts. The word "haughty" didn't even begin to describe his demeanor.
Several teachers had gathered the students on the athletic field, and Ishikawa—the most senior among them—had seized command. He had forced everyone into the fenced-in tennis courts. The space was now packed with a shivering, huddled mass of students. Ishikawa looked down at the sea of heads from his perch, directing them like an overseer.
He watched as a few students hurried off to fetch the basketball hoops while others headed for the warehouse behind the main building. Once they returned, he planned to use chains and heavy locks to seal the only entrance to the courts. It looked like a concentration camp, except they were locking themselves inside.
As the students returned with the heavy hoops, the space inside the fence grew even more cramped. But the group returning from the warehouse had brought more than just equipment—they were being followed by a few "uninvited guests."
"HELP!"
"HELP US!"
The zombies chasing them were moving at the pace of a steady jog. They weren't slow.
The sight of the approaching horde sent a jolt of terror through Ishikawa. "Lock the gate! Now!" he screamed.
"But Sensei... the others are still out there—"
"Do it! We have to protect the majority!" Ishikawa barked.
Nishimura slowly pulled the gate shut and wound the heavy chains through the mesh, just as they had planned. He looked up for a split second, seeing his classmates waving their hands and screaming "Wait! Stop!" as they sprinted toward the fence. He clicked the padlock shut.
"Tell them to go away! Don't let them lead those monsters to us!" Ishikawa yelled from his chair.
"Get away from here! Don't come this way!" the students inside the fence began to shout.
"Please! Open the gate! Let us in!" The students outside, some wielding baseball bats, had reached the fence. They couldn't hear—or refused to hear—what the people inside were screaming.
They gripped the chain-link fence, their hands shaking as they hammered on the wire. The fence rattled loudly but held firm.
"What are you doing?! It's locked! Get away!" Ishikawa roared from above.
The students outside finally realized the truth as they saw the tangled chains and the basketball hoops braced against the door.
"Let's go!" one of them shouted, grabbing a friend who was still frantically rattling the fence.
They turned to run, but it was too late. A shadow lunged from behind, tackling one boy to the ground. A horrific scream tore through the air as blood sprayed against the pavement and the fence.
"AH!" The students pressed against the wire inside scrambled back in horror, tripping over each other.
The boy who had been bitten clawed at the fence, his eyes bloodshot and wide with agony. He had only gone to the warehouse because a friend asked him to; now, his life was ending in a red blur.
The other survivors began to run a desperate circle around the tennis courts, playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek with the monsters. One boy, fueled by desperation, swung his baseball bat and cracked the skull of the nearest zombie, sending it sprawling.
But the other monsters saw him fall behind. They swarmed him like a pile of playing cards, pinning him to the ground. His grip on the bat finally went slack.
"Yoshida!" a student inside the fence cried out, but the sound was muffled by the wire. Oh, so you knew him, the people around him thought coldly.
The remaining survivors vanished around the corner of the school building, but moments later, a new group of zombies appeared, drawn by the noise. The creatures that had been eating Yoshida looked up, their bloody faces turning toward the new prey.
Yoshida, mangled and unrecognizable, let out a wet, guttural groan. His fingers dug into the asphalt as he struggled to stand. He was no longer a student; he was a monster.
The people inside the fence watched the carnage in stunned silence.
"Hey, Kasumigaoka Utaha. Are you really just going to let that man keep shouting nonsense?"
"Sawamura Eriri, before you say anything else, could you please stop using my full name?"
Eriri, the girl shouting in Utaha's face, lowered her head slightly and pointed toward the locked gate.
With her doll-like blonde hair, porcelain skin, and her current look of wide-eyed vulnerability, she was a girl who would have immediately drawn the protective instincts of any man. She was a "half-Japanese, half-British" beauty who had grown up in Japan—Sawamura Spencer Eriri.
Along with Utaha, she was one of the "Two Great Beauties" of Toyogasaki.
Usually, Eriri maintained the image of a refined, high-class lady, but beneath that mask lay a fierce, obsessive "Otaku" soul. Unlike Utaha's elegant, consistent persona, Eriri was a girl of extremes.
Currently, the suffocating anxiety of being "trapped" in this cage was making her lash out at Utaha, who had been the one to suggest they gather at the athletic field in the first place. Eriri had called her mother—her father was currently locked down at the embassy—but her mother couldn't drive. She had been fantasizing about her father coming to rescue her, only to realize she was now locked behind a gate she couldn't open.
The sense of safety she had hoped for was gone, replaced by the crushing weight of the crowd's panic.
Utaha, however, was just as frustrated. She had originally planned to lead everyone to the school auditorium, only to find the doors were locked tight. By the time they reached the field, the teachers had arrived and seized control.
When Ishikawa-sensei decided to lock everyone in the tennis court, Utaha had approached Tsushima-sensei, the Japanese teacher, and asked how they were supposed to leave.
The man had only stammered about "waiting for rescue" and "calling the police."
Wait for rescue? Utaha thought bitterly. Didn't anyone try to call?
They had. But the lines were dead.
Locking themselves in a cage with only one exit was madness. If a "thing" appeared inside the fence, there would be nowhere to run. They were sitting ducks.
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