Soichiro didn't understand. More precisely, he realized too late, failing to erect a bastion of protection around himself and his family.
The world was racing at a gallop, throwing off the saddle those who couldn't keep up—awaiting them was only one merciless fate.
Death.
Just that morning, everything had seemed relatively normal, no different from the previous day. A workday, with students hurrying to school and adults plunging into the routine of labor and everyday concerns. Today, Soichiro had to deal with several postponed matters, and the day promised to be more eventful and exhausting than ordinary weekdays.
He couldn't stand leaving questions unresolved, but life didn't always go according to plan: sometimes mental fatigue piled up, sometimes urgent tasks surfaced, demanding full attention.
Soichiro wasn't a key figure in his country, but he couldn't be called an ordinary citizen either. He always had to vigilantly monitor his surroundings, the behavior of people around him, and react promptly to any signals.
Takagi had heard snippets of news swirling around politicians: the situation was clearly heating up.
But what exactly was happening? He didn't know.
They told him nothing; the information was carefully concealed, and even his sources were in the dark—for them, everything remained strictly classified.
At first, Soichiro assumed the worst: war.
People were eternally at war, even in an era when they had all the tools for negotiations and compromises—but stubbornly stood their ground.
Takagi imagined a scenario involving nuclear weapons, where Japan would be in the crosshairs.
His face instantly darkened: throughout history, the country had endured two atomic attacks, claiming countless lives and sowing seeds of fear and despair. Clenching his fists until they cracked, he recalled this with pain—as a patriot, he longed to do everything possible for the good of his homeland.
Since access to internal information was blocked, Soichiro turned to external sources. But there—silence.
Countries continued to quarrel, accusing each other of all sins; in poor regions, riots and clashes with authorities flared up.
Everything seemed mundane, without particular alarms.
However, Takagi noticed something strange with their "neighbor"—in China.
This giant was always up to something suspicious, spawning problems: from environmental damage to economic instability, which made it increasingly aggressive toward Japan. Therefore, Tokyo always kept Beijing in its sights.
This time was no exception. China had already "distinguished" itself when a virus "accidentally" leaked into the world, claiming millions of lives. Beijing denied guilt to the last, evaded and concealed, but Japan didn't give up: politicians persistently demanded acknowledgment so that other countries could apply pressure and undermine China's growing prestige on the world stage.
When the virus spread, it seemed like just a severe flu, not causing panic. But the symptoms turned out to be far more brutal: unbearable fever, dizziness, blood pressure spikes, debilitating weakness, nausea—and horrifying mortality among the elderly and children.
In Japan, elders were always revered, their experience respected, and children protected as the nation's future. And here China seemed to have decided to strike at the very foundations—at the residents, at stability. Politicians didn't hesitate: they latched onto this "carcass" of the big neighbor, but it merely brushed them off, ignoring the accusations. However, problems began to seep further—beyond the nearest borders—and the situation escalated to a far more massive and dangerous level than it had initially appeared.
That period was etched firmly in Soichiro Takagi's memory: everyone warily watched China's antics.
And now, a news flash about a new outbreak—a virus transmitted by insects, particularly mosquitoes.
Upon receiving the alarming report, Takagi began preparing: stocking up on supplies, minimizing contacts with people, switching his daughter to home schooling.
It seemed everything would repeat as before: months in self-isolation, government decrees on lockdown, street disinfection by special services.
Back then, Soichiro hadn't been prepared, caught the infection, and barely recovered—but with complications. His body took a serious hit to the heart: now it sometimes ached, and habitual workouts were harder, though he always kept himself in shape.
When his subordinates delivered supplies to the house, Soichiro gave final instructions. They were already unloading crates when suddenly something happened that turned everything upside down, causing shock and complete confusion in the adult's mind.
"I hope you bought everything on the list?" he asked, surveying the piles of boxes.
"Yes, Takagi-sama," replied one of the men, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Everything as specified, and even..."
"Aaaa!" a piercing scream tore through the air.
Soichiro and his interlocutor turned sharply, freezing before a mesmerizing yet horrifying scene.
One of the subordinates lunged at another, sinking his teeth into the throat and tearing the flesh. Crimson blood spurted in a fountain, staining the asphalt. The others froze in stupor, gripped by fear beyond imagination. No one was prepared for this—even Soichiro was momentarily stunned by the sight. But his mind, tempered by years, having seen plenty of nightmares, recovered faster than the rest. Before the attacker released the victim and pounced on the next, Takagi grabbed the nearest crowbar and swung it full force straight at the former subordinate's head.
The skull cracked like a shell, the tip of the crowbar piercing the brain. The body went limp and collapsed to the ground, leaving everyone in shocked silence.
They knew who they worked for and were accustomed to dark deeds, so the killing itself didn't break them—but what had led to this?
What madness?
All stared at the corpse, and then a low, guttural moan sounded:
"R-r-r..."
Shock washed over them in a wave. Before their eyes, the guy who should have been bleeding out in agony or already breathed his last, stirred.
Something devilish was clearly afoot in this world.
***
As soon as Soichiro dealt with the immediate threats and gathered loyal people around him as quickly as possible to consider the next steps, the epidemic flared up with renewed vigor—at a supernatural, unthinkable pace.
Personally observing the street, he saw people succumbing to panic: a stampede began, chaos engulfed everything like a tsunami. Screams, groans of agony, and cries rent the air, and the smell of death and decay intensified with each hour, permeating the lungs with acrid bitterness.
Takagi quickly armed his subordinates, hastily erected barricades around the house—and they managed to localize the first outbreak hotspots.
Together with the team, they repelled small assaults from the undead, whose moans echoed in the silence. His gaze involuntarily slid toward Fujima Academy, and Soichiro sighed heavily.
"I hope Saya is alright," he muttered, glancing in that direction from time to time. He believed in his daughter: she wasn't one to give up so easily. His father's heart told him—she would cope with this scourge.
"Dear..." a melodic, familiar voice sounded.
Soichiro turned and saw his wife, Yuriko: her face was distorted by anxiety, lips pursed from stress and worry for their daughter.
"I know, but... you understand, I can't just sit idly by," Soichiro replied quietly.
In response, Yuriko merely approached closer and began carefully wiping sweat and dirt from his face with a damp cloth.
Soichiro was silent, but gratitude flickered in his gaze—in such moments, he especially appreciated her care.
It seemed these little things, so insignificant against the backdrop of chaos, touched the soul most deeply.
Of course, he wanted to drop everything and rush to Saya, to snatch her from this hell.
But reality was harsh: how could he help his daughter if even here, at home, they were barely holding on?
With each hour, the situation could plunge into an even greater abyss, but hope stubbornly flickered in his soul.
He believed in Saya—she was a Takagi!
Courage and perseverance always surged in their veins, the will never to surrender in the face of adversity, but to overcome it.
And if... no, he chased that thought away.
"We need to check the western side and prepare for a sortie," he cut off, adjusting his gear and collar.
Adding nothing more, he moved forward, leaving Yuriko in contemplation.
She silently watched her departing husband's back, full of unspoken fears, then turned her head toward the school. Not wanting to delve into gloomy thoughts, she adjusted the holster with her pistol, carefully checking to ensure the weapon wouldn't fail at the crucial moment, and followed him.
They indeed had enough of their own concerns—a sortie to their daughter still seemed impossible. First, they needed to deal with the piling problems.
And then. I will definitely go for her. Find out what happened, even if... even if she's no longer ours.
Meanwhile, Soichiro and his team erected the first barricades, set up observation posts, and introduced round-the-clock shifts—so that no undead could approach unnoticed.
"We're moving out. Time is short!"
"Yes, Takagi-sama!" they responded in unison, with a note of respect.
Climbing into the vehicles, they set out from the mansion in formation.
Soichiro was already plotting the route: first on the list was a large hypermarket—there they could stock up on everything necessary. But, looking out the window, he saw a crowd at the entrance—pure chaos—and the plan had to be scrapped. Instead, they decided to clear out small shops: pharmacies, groceries, seize nearby gas stations, and stock up on fuel.
After clearing a gas station, they moved to the next: clean water. This was almost the main issue—supplies were sufficient for now, but not for long. They urgently needed to set up purification and reach the station outside the city to start it up.
While Soichiro unfolded the map, marking key points with circles and scouting shortcuts, reality threw another curveball. To reach a gas station five minutes' walk away, they had to make a huge detour due to debris piles and abandoned cars—time stretched to half an hour.
Too much. They needed to prioritize road clearing.
First and foremost, he considered it important to boost the team's morale: provide them with comfort, take care of their families.
They had to check nearby houses—some were lucky, their relatives were alive, in shock and confusion. They took them along, returning to the mansion in batches—and so several times.
Takagi understood: there was a mountain of work, impossible to do it all. But the main thing now was to gather as many people as possible around, mark clear roads and gas stations on the map.
Not forgetting the police station—there were weapons—he approached closer but heard gunshots and saw a horde of corpses besieging the building.
His face wrinkled in annoyance: the plan fell through. Better to make do with their own reserves—hotels and abandoned buildings where he had long hidden illegal weapons.
After all, you never know when they'll come in handy. And now, it seemed, that hour had come.
His father, while alive, had taught him the wisdom of leadership, everything needed to always be prepared. Including—creating caches so thoroughly that they couldn't be tracked or found. They reached the nearest hides, and glancing out the window, Soichiro saw the sun dipping toward sunset.
"We're heading back," he commanded clearly.
The driver nodded, turning the car around, and the convoy followed, changing route to the path back to headquarters. Everyone involuntarily exhaled: the tension accumulated in their bodies eased slightly.
Though some remained on guard—like the driver, who, though glad to return, still felt nervous.
Sweat streamed down his temples: danger could lurk around the corner. It had happened before—on a quiet street without a zombie crowd, and around the bend... a horde of countless bodies.
Then they barely managed to turn around, change route, and make a detour, but all worked out.
Now, fortunately, the convoy safely reached the large Takagi mansion.
***
The day began even more productively than the previous one.
Problems multiplied like a snowball, with no end in sight—all of them falling on Soichiro's shoulders as the leader.
But in the end, he decided to set priorities: first the most urgent, the rest postponed.
Carefully patrolling the territory, he incidentally assessed the condition of the mansion's residents—checking each for signs of infection, not missing the slightest detail.
He didn't want to return to ruins, so safety came first, and only then—basic needs.
Another sortie: they cleared the perimeter, and now, a day later, Takagi could confidently say—there were too many corpses. In small groups, they posed no threat, but when they came en masse, real problems began.
Therefore, he devised a plan: divide the packs, destroy them piecemeal, while clearing roads to make them cleaner and more passable.
Amid these tasks, the day imperceptibly approached lunch, and Soichiro, having delivered another group of survivors, decided to return to the mansion.
Arriving at the site and starting to direct the unloading, he suddenly caught the hum of conversations—coming from the crowd.
Takagi knew: such clusters of words rarely boded well.
Where there are gossips and whispers, conspiracies, slander, unnecessary ideas easily arise.
As a leader, he had to intervene without delay—find out what was going on and calm the people.
Approaching the group closer, he froze for a moment in confusion, hearing such a familiar voice, almost unrecognizable from excitement:
"D-Dad!"
His body was enveloped in a warm, so familiar embrace from his daughter. Soichiro's stoic face trembled for a second—he wanted to squeeze Saya in return, never let go, and whisper how much he loved her.
But the words stuck in his throat, and instead, he quietly said:
"Welcome back, Saya."
Gently running his fingers through her pink hair, he caught the salty glint of tears in her eyes and began to soothe her, stroking her back.
While Saya buried her face in his chest, finally feeling a surge of warmth and safety, her other companions froze in confusion.
Takashi looked lost, only tightly gripping Rei's hand, who, in turn, didn't take her worried gaze off him. Alice stood next to Shizuka, clutching her palm; the teacher kept glancing at the touching reunion scene, her eyes warm with a soft smile.
Saeko felt awkward—in a suspended state, in Meilin's arms, under the scrutiny of curious onlookers with gaping mouths.
She was used to such attention from tournaments, when crowds of eyes devoured her every move, but here, in this chaos, a slight discomfort still pricked.
And Meylen?
She stood with a nonchalant smile, not missing the chance to touch her "beloved"—Saeko, whom she held in a "bridal carry" style. Meylen's fingers slid along her sides, checking how soft the skin was in some places and firm in others, as if appraising a rare exhibit.
Saeko, of course, felt these touches—bold, without asking—and shot Meylen a furious glare, full of silent reproach:
Stop it already!
Meylen blinked in surprise, catching that wrinkled, almost childlike expression—so cute!
"Ah, my Saeko, as always charming! Coo-coo!" she whispered, and her features instantly softened, as if the sun bloomed behind them, and rose petals swirled around—a scene straight from a romantic comedy.
Saeko clearly didn't share the enthusiasm; her thoughts were far from flirting. But Meylen no longer held back—her fingers reached for the "beloved's" lips, promising a more thorough "exploration."
At that moment, a small hand intervened: Alice touched the hem of Meylen's dress, puffing her cheeks and plaintively saying:
"I want to be carried!"
Meylen's smile faltered slightly—suspended between desire and reality. For such an intrusion, when the main action was about to start, she would have killed anyone else on the spot. But this was Alice...
Sigh. Fine, another time, — she thought, lowering Saeko to the ground.
She, not expecting this, squealed in surprise
"Ai!" and plopped onto her bottom, staring up in shock.
Her face flushed with anger and offense, but Meylen, paying no attention, gracefully scooped up Alice into her arms.
The girl immediately settled comfortably, pressing her face to Meylen's shoulder, who involuntarily stepped toward the stunned Soichiro and Saya, catching onlookers' gazes along the way—they stared like at a free show with melons. Melons, by the way, are tasty, but Meylen preferred grapes. Wonder what fruits you like?
Whispers around grew:
"...Wonder who she is?"
"Don't know... Seems she arrived with the head's daughter?"
"But she's so beautiful..."
"Hey! Is that all that concerns you? And how they even appeared here—like out of thin air?!"
"Yeah, she's really graceful..."
"Hey!"
Meylen let the buzzing pass by her ears—with her natural grace and charm, she approached Takagi.
Saya noticed the familiar shadow, turned sharply: her face instantly hardened. She instinctively stepped forward, shielding her father, ready to protect him at any cost. Soichiro was taken aback but decided not to interfere—better to stay silent and later question his daughter in detail. That would be wiser.
Meylen caught the reaction and mentally clicked her tongue: she expected a storm, a spectacle, maybe even a chance to push the head aside and undermine his authority in front of everyone—who knows?
But Saya as a shield-bearer... This put Meylen in the position of a haughty lady intimidating ordinary citizens.
Her features distorted for a moment, but she merely snorted with a cool smile and, turning around, headed toward the mansion.
First, Takagi's father's office—maybe there's fine wine stashed there? And a soft chair to finally relax...
Stroking Alice's hair—she had settled comfortably in her embrace, pressing her cheek and involuntarily making Meilin's black heart beat faster—she felt warmth spreading in her chest.
It's nice when someone loves you—at least one person in this world. And nothing more is needed.
Though...
No, lie all you want: all girls should adore her like Alice! And Meylen would achieve that—no matter the cost!