This world is a messed-up place.
Your worth is decided by your status. If you're a doctor, an engineer, or someone
with money, society praises you. But if you're ordinary—if you have a normal
job—society looks down on you.
The world is divided into rich, poor, and middle class. The rich can do anything
they want. The poor remain poor no matter what they do—no one cares. And the
middle class can't do much because of their endless responsibilities.
There is only one thing everyone truly respects. MONEY.
Money is the most important thing in this world. People will work for it, lie for it…
even kill each other for it.
Sometimes, I wonder—what if a zombie apocalypse broke out? What would people
do when money and status no longer matter? When death comes for everyone
equally?
---
My name is Shirou Hiroshi. I'm an engineering dropout who works as a delivery
guy to support my family.
I have an older brother, Seiji, a younger sister, Zuiya, and our pet cat, Lily. We
might not have much, but we are happy.
And there's one more thing about me…
I was never good at studies. I sucked at sports. I felt useless.
But I refused to stay that way.
I started training.
Push-ups until my arms gave out. Running until my lungs burned. Punching an old
sandbag until my knuckles bled. Every day. Every night.
I wasn't training for money. I wasn't training for fame.
I was training to become like the heroes I admired in anime— people who stood up
when no one else would.
It wasn't just exercise. It became my purpose. My way of saying, "I may be a
nobody… but I won't stay weak."
What I didn't know was that I had a special gift— an ability to mimic any skill I saw
just once. But I never had the chance to use it for real. Even now, I can only use a
fraction of that power—barely twenty percent.
---
Somewhere far away, a scientist dumped her failed cancer cure into a remote
river. No one knew there were fish there—but one swam through the toxic water.
*Bloop… bloop…*
Its body warped. Its eyes turned white. Then it bit another fish.
*Chomp! Chomp!*
The infection spread rapidly. Within hours, an entire school of fish had turned into
zombie-like predators.
---
Two fishermen, Haruto and Takashi, caught one of these creatures.
"ARGHHHHH! W-What the hell is this thing?!" Haruto screamed, dropping his net.
"Stop yelling, idiot! You'll scare the other fish!" Takashi snapped.
Haruto shoved the strange catch toward him. "Look! What IS this thing?!"
Takashi's face went pale. "Wha… what is this? It's dead, right?"
"Don't touch it!" Haruto warned. "Throw it back! It's dangerous!"
Takashi hesitated. "What if this is some new species? We could get rich overnight!"
Money. Always money.
Haruto reluctantly nodded. "Fine. But you capture it."
"What?! That's not fair! Fine—then I get more money!"
"Okay, okay! We'll do it together!"
They reached for the fish.
*CRUNCH!*
"ARGHHHHH!" Takashi screamed as it bit into his hand and leapt back into the
water.
Minutes later, he began coughing violently. *Hack! Hack!* Blood splattered onto
the boat.
His eyes turned white. His skin went gray.
Haruto backed away, terrified. "S-Stay away from me! What's happening to you?!"
Takashi's body twitched and convulsed. Soon, both fishermen were infected.
---
Later that night, Shirou walked home from the convenience store, lost in thought.
"Urgh… people never stop fighting," he muttered as he passed a crowd running in
panic. He thought it was just another brawl and kept walking.
When he reached his apartment and opened the door—
"EEEEEOOOOYAAAHHH!"
His family's screams echoed through the house.
"What the hell?!" Shirou burst inside—
Only to freeze.
*GRAAAAAHHHH!*
A zombie was closing in on his family.
Shirou's breathing turned ragged. "W-What the hell is that?! Am I… dreaming?!"
But there was no time to think.
"Even if this is a dream," Shirou growled, "I have to protect them!"
He grabbed the wooden baseball bat leaning by the door.
*WHOOSH!* *CRACK!*
The zombie's skull exploded. Blood sprayed across the room—and onto Shirou.
He froze for a moment.
That zombie… it was one of his neighbors.
He had struck from behind, out of pure instinct. But now, standing over the corpse,
his stomach twisted.
"I-I just… killed someone…"
But there was no time to hesitate.
"Mom, Dad! Is everyone okay?!"
"We're fine!" his mom said, still shaking.
"Shirou!" Seiji shouted. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," Shirou said through heavy breathing. "I'll protect you all!"
---
More zombies appeared outside. Then—
*WHUP-WHUP-WHUP!*
The sound of helicopter blades cut through the night.
"Everyone, to the roof!" Shirou shouted.
"But Shirou—"
"Just trust me!"
They ran upstairs. *Pitter-pitter-pitter!*
Before they could reach the terrace—
*GRAAAHHHH!*
Another zombie appeared in front of them. Shirou froze again.
His heart pounded painfully.
This zombie was also one of his neighbors. But this time, he was face-to-face with
him.
He hesitated. He didn't want to swing.
Memories of seeing the man every morning, sharing polite greetings, flashed in his
mind.
His hands trembled.
---
Then Shirou remembered why he had trained.
All those years of sweat and pain. Running under the summer sun. Punching until
his fists bled. Lifting weights when no one was watching.
He didn't do all of that just to freeze now.
He did it so he could protect his family.
His fear burned away.
And then—
It was as if a hidden door in his brain had opened. His ability awakened.
Images flashed in his mind—the anime he had watched a hundred times. The hero
swinging his katana in a deadly flurry. The attack that struck every vital point in
seconds.
Shirou ran to the kitchen, grabbed two large knives, and took a stance.
"This is insane… but if I saw it once, I can do it."
He gripped the knives tightly.
"Crimson Moon Blade!"
*SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!*
The knives struck with blinding speed, each blow hitting vital points as if guided by
instinct. Blood splattered the hallway as the zombie collapsed, lifeless.
Shirou's hands shook—not from fear, but from adrenaline.
(I… I did it. I really copied that move…)
"Go! Get to the roof!" he shouted, snapping back to focus.
---
On the rooftop, a military helicopter hovered overhead.
"Throw the ladder!" an officer shouted.
Shirou's family climbed aboard. The soldiers checked them—no one was infected.
"Alright, they're clear. Let's move out!"
But Shirou stayed behind.
"Why aren't you climbing?!" an officer yelled.
Shirou's eyes burned with determination. "I'm going back. I'm going to save
everyone I can."
"Are you crazy?! You're lucky to even be alive!"
"I don't care! Just tell my family… I died like a man."
Before anyone could stop him, he leapt from the rooftop.
The officer froze for a moment, staring at Shirou as the boy landed on the ground
below.
Then—slowly—he smirked.
In all his years of service, he had seen countless people panic during crises. Beg
for help. Cry. Run.
But never had he seen eyes like Shirou's. Eyes that burned with a will to fight, even
in the face of death.
"This kid… he's not running to die," the officer muttered. "He might just pull off a
miracle."
He threw Shirou a handgun and a walkie-talkie.
"Take these, kid! Call us if you find survivors. We'll come for them."
Shirou caught them. "Thanks. I'll do my best."
"Don't thank me," the officer said, his smirk fading into a serious expression. "Just
come back alive."
---
And thus began Shirou's journey— a one-man mission to save as many people as
he could.
Would he succeed?
Only time would tell.