The air inside the convenience store was stale, heavy with the metallic tang of dried blood and the sour stench of rotting flesh outside. Dust motes drifted lazily through shafts of sunlight that slipped in through broken glass, their quiet shimmer at odds with the tension coiling through the room.
No one spoke.
But everyone was watching.
Imura sat on a crate, his crowbar balanced across his knees, his dark eyes half-lidded but sharp, observing them like a predator surveying prey. His clones flickered faintly in the corners of the room, silent and watchful. The others pretended not to notice, but their unease showed in every twitch, every glance.
He was in control. And he knew it.
Kenji
Kenji crouched near the far shelf, sorting through dented cans with trembling hands. His face was pale, his lips cracked, his breaths shallow and quick. When a can slipped and clattered loudly against the tile, he froze, shoulders tightening like a rabbit caught in open field.
His eyes darted immediately to Imura.
Imura smirked faintly, watching him squirm.
"Relax," he said, voice calm but edged with mockery. "If I wanted you dead, you'd already be a stain on the floor."
Kenji swallowed hard, bobbing his head rapidly. "Y-Yes… I-I'm sorry…"
The words tumbled out automatically, like a servant apologizing to a master.
He's already broken, Imura thought with satisfaction. Fear was the strongest leash, and Kenji's was knotted tight around his neck.
Taro
Taro sat slumped against the counter, one arm crossed over his bruised ribs, his face pale and twisted with pain. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tried to mask the weakness, but every shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed it.
His knife lay limply on the floor beside him. Forgotten.
Imura studied him without pity. Strong once, maybe. But strength without will is as worthless as a blade without an edge.
When Taro finally lifted his eyes, it wasn't to Imura but to Rin. His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but the words never came. He just sighed and looked away again, defeated.
He's finished. Dead weight. The others will see it soon.
Daichi
Daichi was different.
He sat near the doorway, spear balanced across his lap, his back straight and his jaw clenched. His gaze tracked every movement in the room, but unlike the others, it wasn't fear that sharpened his eyes—it was suspicion.
Every time Imura's clones shifted faintly in the corner of his vision, Daichi's hand tightened on his weapon.
The soldier still thinks he has control, Imura thought, smirking inwardly. Let him. Suspicion is just another form of fear. Eventually, it will hollow him out like the rest.
Saya
Saya sat glued to Imura's side, her small hands gripping his shirt as though afraid he would vanish if she let go. Her head rested against his chest, her brown eyes heavy with exhaustion yet soft with a growing attachment that bordered on worship.
Her blouse was wrinkled and loose at the collar, exposing the delicate curve of her collarbone. Every time Imura shifted, she shifted with him, like a shadow that could not bear separation.
She had stopped trembling after the last horde—not because her fear was gone, but because she had surrendered it to him completely.
Rin
And then there was Rin.
She sat a short distance away, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, chin resting lightly on her forearm. Her gray eyes were razor sharp, but shadows lingered beneath them. Her blouse clung to her damp skin, the faint line of her bra visible through torn fabric. Her lips—still swollen from the night before—pressed into a thin, unreadable line.
Every so often, she glanced toward Imura and Saya together.
Every time, her jaw tightened, and her chest rose in a sharper breath.
Jealousy. Anger. Longing. Perfect.
The Question
It was Kenji who finally broke the silence, his voice small and uncertain.
"Why… why do they keep following you?"
The words hung heavy in the air.
Daichi's eyes flicked toward him sharply. Taro turned his head weakly, expression pained. Rin lifted her chin, glaring. Saya clutched tighter at Imura's shirt.
Imura tilted his head, amused. "Because they understand the truth."
Kenji blinked nervously. "The… truth?"
"That I'm the only one worth following." His tone was calm, but it rang with absolute finality. "Without me, you'd all already be corpses."
Saya nodded immediately, her small voice breaking into the silence. "It's true. I'd be dead without him. I… I don't want to live without him anymore."
Her confession drew every eye in the room.
Rin flinched, but said nothing, her nails digging into her palms.
Daichi's jaw tightened, his voice low but edged. "You're not a god."
Imura chuckled softly. "No. I'm worse. Gods don't bother getting their hands dirty."
The silence afterward was suffocating. No one argued. Not even Rin.
A Private Clash
Later, while the others rested, Rin cornered Saya near the shelves. Her gray eyes burned like flint, her voice sharp and low.
"You can't trust him."
Saya froze, clutching a can of food to her chest like a shield. "I-I do trust him! He's the only reason I'm alive!"
"He's using you," Rin hissed. "He's using all of us. You're too blind to see it."
Saya's lips trembled, tears welling in her eyes. But her voice rose, desperate and raw. "Even if he is… I don't care! I need him! Without him, I'll die!"
Rin faltered.
For the briefest moment, her eyes softened, her lips parting. But pride snapped the weakness shut.
"You're a fool," she muttered, shoving past her.
Saya bit her lip until it bled, staring after her with wide, tearful eyes.
From across the room, Imura watched it all unfold.
His smirk widened.
Perfect. The cracks are spreading exactly where I want them.
Imura leaned back against his crate, crowbar across his knees, eyes closing in mock rest. His clones shifted silently in the shadows.
The boys were fracturing.
The girls were tightening around him, jealousy and fear binding them more than chains ever could.
It was only a matter of time before they broke completely.
And when they did, they wouldn't just follow him.
They would worship him.