Kōta Takamatsu leaned heavily against the fire escape railing, the cold metal biting into his palms. The bitter taste of betrayal still coated his tongue—childhood friend Miyamoto Rei and his own buddy Igo Hisashi, tangled together in lies. Below, the manicured grounds of Fujimi Academy offered no solace, only a hollow backdrop to his churning thoughts.
Clang! The steel door at the base of the stairs shuddered open. High heels clicked sharply on the grating.
"Seriously, Takamatsu?" Kōryō Saya's voice sliced through the quiet, laced with exasperation and something softer. "Every single time life kicks you, you crawl up here to sulk like a grade-schooler. Skipping classes since the semester started? At this rate, you'll be repeating the year, genius."
Takamatsu didn't turn. "Look who's talking. Fifth period isn't even over yet."
Fifth period. In Japanese schools, that meant 1:30 PM. If Takamatsu was right about it still running... that placed the impending disaster squarely around 2 PM. The clock in the nurse's office already showed 1:50. In minutes, the world would fracture.
Inside the infirmary, the air hung thick with antiseptic and impending doom.
"Hey, Yoru?" Nurse Shizuka Marikawa chirped, her voice muffled as she rested her colossal bust on the desk, chin propped in her hands. She beamed at the boy by the window. "Fifth period's ticking away. Shouldn't you be in class?"
Her tone held no real urgency. Honestly, Shizuka didn't mind the company. The nurse's office was a lonely outpost—like the body's appendix, mostly ignored until something went wrong. Days stretched into silence. So this strange boy, clinging stubbornly to her infirmary? She couldn't fathom why, but the warmth of his presence was... nice.
"Genius privilege," Yoru (or "Nightmare," as some knew him) shot back, stealing Saya's line with a smirk. "Sitting with the brain-dead masses? It's an IQ drain."
"Wow! You really are amazing, Yoru-kun!" Shizuka's eyes sparkled with genuine, if utterly misplaced, admiration.
Across the room, Ross and Sapphire exchanged a loaded glance. They'd been faking symptoms too, holed up in the sterile room. Watching Yoru spin his ridiculous tale to the oblivious nurse, his demeanor unnervingly calm, set them on edge.
"Is he... cracked?" Sapphire hissed, leaning close to Ross. "This isn't the same guy from before. It's like a switch flipped."
CLANG! CLANG!
The sound echoed from the direction of the main gate—heavy, rhythmic impacts against metal.
Ross and Sapphire bolted upright, scrambling to the window beside Yoru. "Yoru, was that—?"
Yoru gave a single, grim nod. No point in speculation now. The script of Highschool of the Dead had begun its relentless roll.
"Hmm? What's everyone looking at?" Shizuka bounced over, curiosity overriding professionalism. She leaned heavily against Yoru's back, her impossible softness pressing into him as she draped her arms over his shoulders, peering out. "Something interesting?"
The sheer, blinding expanse of pale flesh left Ross momentarily stunned. A sharp gasp escaped him. Beside him, Sapphire's expression darkened like storm clouds. Her hand shot out—THWACK!—two fingers jabbed hard into Ross's eyes.
"GAHHHH! MY EYES!" Ross crumpled, writhing on the sterile floor, clutching his face.
Simultaneously, at Fujimi Academy's main gate.
THUD. THUD. THUD. A man in a rumpled salaryman suit hurled himself relentlessly against the heavy iron gates. The flimsy center latch groaned, rattling violently with each impact, threatening to snap.
A group of teachers and groundskeepers rushed towards the commotion. Leading them was a stern-faced, bespectacled beauty – Ms. Kobayashi. "Sir!" she called out, voice sharp with authority. "This is a school! Cease this disturbance immediately, or we will contact the authorities!"
The salaryman paused. For a heartbeat, the unnatural stillness hung. Then, as if her words were static, he lunged forward again. CRASH!
"Ah, forget the warnings, Ms. Kobayashi!" boomed Tetsuro Shidō, the burly P.E. teacher. Eager to impress the cool beauty, he flexed a muscular arm. "Let me handle this brute!" He shoved his arm through the gap in the gates, grabbing the man's collar, and yanked him hard against the bars.
He didn't notice the coppery tang of blood clinging to the man's suit.
"Shidō-sensei! Please, no excessive force!" Ms. Kobayashi warned, wary of lawsuits.
Shidō turned, aiming a reassuring, manga-hero grin her way. It froze on his face. A savage strength wrenched his captive arm. The salaryman's hands clamped onto his forearm like manacles. The man's jaw unhinged unnaturally wide, revealing blood-smeared teeth, and lunged—
SHINK!
A figure erupted from the trees across the street—a middle-aged man in a worn leather jacket. He moved with startling speed, a long ash-wood spear gripped in his hands. In three strides, he covered half the road. The spear tip flashed downward.
THWUNK! The hardened point punched through the back of the salaryman's neck, erupting from his gaping mouth in a spray of foul, dark blood that splattered Shidō's stunned face. The body slumped.
"AAAAAH! MURDER! HE KILLED HIM!" Ms. Kobayashi shrieked, stumbling backward. The other men fumbled with riot control poles, voices cracking. "Call the police! NOW!"
"Stop screeching!" The spearman's voice was gravelly, exhausted. He didn't advance, merely used his weapon to roll the corpse over, revealing a horrific, ragged wound on the shoulder—flesh torn away as if by a wild animal. "These things aren't people anymore."
Shidō, pale but forcing himself forward, stared at the wound. "W-what... what is this?"
"The Dead," the spearman stated flatly. "Corpses walking. And anyone they bite or scratch joins them. Forget the police." He gestured vaguely towards the city skyline. "Bedlam City's already gone dark. Cops are drowning. No one's coming to save you."
His words sounded like madness. But the broken body on the pavement, the frantic busy signal tones as teachers desperately redialed emergency services... the horrifying truth settled over them like a suffocating blanket.
The Hour of the Dead had come.