The uniform fit like it had been tailored for him.
Gabriel stood in front of the full-length mirror, buttoning the navy-blue blazer over his crisp white shirt. The slacks were ironed perfectly, the black shoes already broken in just enough to be comfortable. A small school crest rested over his left chest pocket: Fujimi Academy.
Everything was too exact.
Not just the size—it was the way it settled on his shoulders, the way the fabric adjusted as he moved, like the threads knew how he walked.
It made his skin itch, and not from the material.
He turned slightly, testing the fit. Then again. His stance was rigid without meaning to be. Back straight. Chin level. The kind of posture that came from training, not habit.
He'd never stood like this back home.
Not when he'd spent years slouched at a computer desk, dragging himself between part-time jobs. But now?
He shifted his balance to one leg. The movement was silent, seamless. No hesitation between thought and motion. When he flexed his hand, he could feel every tendon move like a finely tuned engine.
"Okay... that's not normal."
He dropped into a crouch and sprang up without effort. No joint stiffness. No imbalance. The apex body pack didn't just give him strength—it gave him efficiency.
It was more than he asked for.
A sharp ping echoed inside his skull again—not like a notification this time. Like a dial turning.
[Language Module: Japanese – Installed.]
[All local communication will now be translated, interpreted, and spoken fluently.]
He blinked. "Wait, wha—"
Then a voice spoke—muffled, through the wall. A neighbor.
"あっ,急がなきゃ.もう遅れる!"
"Ah! I'm gonna be late!"
He understood it instantly. The rhythm, the meaning, even the slang nuance—like he'd been living in Japan his entire life.
But when he opened his mouth to repeat the phrase out loud, he said it in Japanese, perfectly. His own voice didn't even sound foreign.
"Okay," he said slowly. "That's... that's creepy."
He reached for the wallet again and flipped open the ID.
Gabriel De Leon. Grade 11. Class 2-B. Fujimi Academy.
There was no entry photo border—this wasn't pasted in. The print quality matched every other student card he'd ever seen. The edges were slightly worn, like he'd used it for months.
Whoever—or whatever—put him here, they didn't half-ass it.
He checked the System timer again.
[Countdown: 02:02:44]
Still ticking.
Whatever was coming… he had just over two hours to figure out how to blend in.
He picked up the phone, slung the school bag over his shoulder, and headed to the door. A final mirror glance caught him as he passed—he looked taller than he remembered. His eyes were sharper. Calmer.
He paused for a breath. Then opened the door and stepped out.
The city was waiting.
The door shut behind him with a soft click, and Gabriel stepped into the sunlight.
It was morning, maybe a little past 7:30. The streets were alive, but not crowded—just enough movement to make it feel like a weekday in a suburban Japanese city. Cars passed slowly. A bus idled near the corner. Bikes zipped by in the bike lane with the occasional bell chime.
A cool breeze rolled off the pavement, mixed with the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery. Pigeons clustered around a vending machine. Children ran past in yellow caps, laughing on their way to elementary school.
It felt... ideal.
Too ideal.
Gabriel walked slowly, adjusting the strap of the school bag over his shoulder. His steps were quiet. The shoes barely made a sound. Every instinct in him, enhanced or not, was telling him the same thing.
This place is real.
But it isn't right.
He passed a group of high school students chatting beside a convenience store. A newspaper rack outside showed a date—current year, current month. Nothing looked off at first glance.
Then something did.
Two voices stood out across the intersection.
"—I'm not just being paranoid, Takashi!"
"Well, then what do you want me to do, Rei? We're not even—"
Gabriel stopped at the crosswalk.
Across the street stood a girl with fiery orange hair tied in a ponytail—Rei Miyamoto. She was jabbing her finger at a tall, scruffy-haired guy in a school blazer. Takashi Komuro.
Same uniforms. Same faces. Same voices.
They were real.
They looked frustrated, caught in the middle of something that had nothing to do with him. Rei was clearly pissed about something, and Takashi looked half-dead with stress already. They weren't acting. They weren't "playing roles." They were living their lives like this was just another morning.
Gabriel stepped back slightly from the curb.
It really was Highschool of the Dead.
And if that was true—if the timeline matched what he remembered—he had less than three hours before all of that fell apart.
Before he could process what to do next, a shout hit him from the other direction.
"Gooojo-kuuuun! You forgot the wig case again, you absolute idiot!"
Gabriel turned instinctively.
Across another block—brighter colors this time—he saw her.
Pink jacket, short skirt, long blonde hair in two tied twintails. A tote bag with anime pins. Standing outside a convenience store, one hand on her hip, the other holding up a purple wig box like it was evidence of a crime.
Marin Kitagawa.
Live. Animated. Breathing. Laughing.
And in the flesh.
Gabriel stared.
Her voice, her mannerisms—it was unmistakable. She was chewing someone out with that same casual energy, no sense of danger in her. A few meters behind her, Wakana Gojo stood with a bag of melon bread and a face full of guilt.
So now it wasn't just HOTD.
This world had other characters mixed in. Different anime, different tones—and they were here. In the same city. Living like they'd always belonged.
Gabriel took a half-step backward onto the sidewalk, one hand slipping into his blazer pocket like he was just adjusting something.
[Environmental Assessment Confirmed.]
[Multiple Dimensional Markers Detected.]
His jaw tightened.
So the System knew this world was a crossover.
And apparently, it didn't plan to explain why.
- - - - - - - -
The gates of Fujimi Academy stood ahead—tall, black, and polished like they'd been scrubbed for an open house.
Gabriel passed through them with a slow breath.
It looked just like it did in the anime. Wide courtyard, well-maintained hedges, the main school building stretching up three stories, all in crisp white and glass. Students swarmed in from every direction, walking in twos and threes, chatting and laughing, shoes clicking against the tiled entrance.
No guards. No tension.
It was the exact calm before a storm.
His footsteps fell into rhythm with the crowd. He kept his head low, letting the flow of uniforms and chatter mask him. A few students glanced his way—he was taller than average, and unfamiliar—but no one stared too long.
At the front entrance, a small side desk waited just inside the door, manned by a bored receptionist with a nameplate that read "Kojima".
She looked up as he approached. "Ah, De Leon-kun, yes?"
Gabriel nodded, cautiously. "That's me."
She handed him a paper slip with his locker number and a basic campus map. "You're in Class 2-B. Second floor, third door on the left."
Her Japanese was smooth and rapid—but the System handled every word like it was his native tongue. It still threw him.
"Thanks," he said.
She smiled, already moving to the next task.
Like he'd been enrolled here all year.
He turned and started toward the stairwell.
Halfway up, he saw her.
Purple hair, long and straight. A calm presence like gravity.
Saeko Busujima, upperclassman, vice president of the kendo club.
She was descending the stairs, moving quietly in the opposite direction. Her shoes made no sound. Her expression was unreadable—but her eyes met his for just a moment.
A full second. Maybe two.
Not curiosity. Not suspicion.
Just... a quiet reading.
Then she walked past without a word.
Gabriel didn't stop. But he felt it—the same way an animal feels another predator walk by in the wild.
He reached the second floor.
The hallway was clean, windows lining one side with bright morning sun spilling in. Students shuffled past, opening shoe lockers, grabbing water bottles, joking around.
He followed the map to the third door.
Classroom 2-B.
He slid the door open and stepped in.
Dozens of eyes turned to him at once.
He scanned them automatically.
Front row. A girl with long red hair—Itsuki Nakano—was frowning over a bento box.
Second row A soft-looking girl with headphones—Miku Nakano—glanced up at him, then quickly looked down.
Middle row. A blonde girl in a pink hoodie—Marin—blinked twice, tilted her head, and smiled.
Far left.Nino Nakano rolled her eyes. He hadn't even done anything yet.
Back row by the window. One empty seat. Right by the glass.
The teacher, a balding man with coffee breath and a bad tie, looked up from his attendance sheet.
"Ah! Our transfer student."
He gestured Gabriel forward.
"This is Gabriel De Leon. He's just moved to Japan from the Philippines. Fluent in Japanese, so don't be shy."
The teacher turned toward him. "Go ahead and introduce yourself."
Gabriel kept it short. "Gabriel. You can call me Gabe, if it's easier."
A few students muttered to each other. Marin whispered something to Miku. A couple of the guys looked unimpressed.
He said nothing else, just bowed and waited.
The teacher nodded. "Take the open seat in the back."
Gabriel walked between the rows, every sense on alert. He sat down by the window, next to Miku, and dropped his bag beside the desk.
The bell rang.
As the teacher turned to the board, Gabriel looked outside at the perfect morning sky.
[Countdown: 01:42:08].