They never saw it coming.
While Chairman Sakayanagi desperately tried to maintain the illusion of order, clinging to school rules and hierarchy like a drowning man to driftwood, while Ryueen Kakeru grinded contribution points like an obedient soldier climbing a ladder that led nowhere—someone else had already flipped the board entirely.
Ayanokouji Kiyotaka kicked the door open.
The heavy oak slammed against the wall with a satisfying crack, the sound echoing through the empty corridor like a declaration of war.
Behind him, a girl with brown-scarlet hair styled in perfect twin-tails stepped forward, her dark red eyes gleaming with barely contained delight as she took in the scene—the luxurious office, the imposing desk, the wall of books that had probably never been read.
Her smile was wide, unhinged, the expression of someone who had been waiting for this moment far too long.
"Ayanokouji-senpai!" she chirped, practically vibrating with energy. "I told you I'd find the firearms. They're all here, just like I said. That old man thought his office was the safest place on the island—locked everything in his precious safe, thinking no one could get in."
She laughed, a light, airy sound that somehow carried an edge of menace. "I unlocked the door for you, by the way. He really should have invested in better security."
She gestured dramatically at the massive safe built into the wall behind the Chairman's desk, hidden behind a painting that now lay discarded on the floor.
Ayanokouji didn't respond immediately.
He simply walked to the safe, knelt, and began working on the lock.
His fingers moved with practiced precision, feeling the tumblers, reading the mechanism like a blind man reading braille.
There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. Just cold, efficient competence.
"I doubt this is the only cache," he said quietly, not looking up from his work. "But it's the largest. The Chairman always believed in centralized control. Keep everything important in one place, watch it yourself. It's a philosophy that worked in peacetime."
The lock clicked.
The heavy door swung open.
Inside, nestled in foam padding like a collector's display, were dozens of compact firearms.
Pistols of various makes, a few submachine guns, boxes upon boxes of ammunition.
Enough to arm a small militia.
Sudo Ken, who had followed silently behind, let out a low whistle.
His eyes actually sparkled—the kind of raw, unfiltered excitement that came from a jock realizing he'd just made first string.
"Holy shit, Ayanokouji. There's enough here to—" He stopped, suddenly aware of how loud his voice was in the tense silence.
Even Suzune Horikita, usually so controlled, couldn't completely hide her surprise.
Her crimson eyes widened fractionally as she took in the arsenal before her.
She recovered quickly, composing her features into their usual mask of cool indifference, but Ayanokouji noticed.
He always noticed.
Yes. They were all here.
Behind him, gathered in the Chairman's violated office, stood his inner circle. The White Room students—Ichika Amasawa, her unhinged grin still firmly in place; Takuya Yagami, watching silently from the corner, his eyes calculating; and several others whose faces betrayed nothing but absolute readiness.
Sudo Ken, massive and eager, already mentally testing the weight of the guns he'd soon hold. Suzune Horikita, struggling to reconcile her rigid sense of order with the chaos unfolding around her.
And more—students from various classes who had recognized, long before this moment, that the old rules were dead and that following the right leader was the only path to survival.
Ayanokouji selected a Mossberg 500 shotgun from the rack, testing its weight in his palm with the casual familiarity of someone who had held guns before—who had been trained to hold guns before, in a place where childhood was a luxury no one could afford.
He checked the load—thumb pressing the magazine tube—racked the slide once to feel the mechanism, then tucked it into his shoulder.
"Alright, everyone."
The room fell silent instantly.
All eyes were on him.
"This is just the beginning. We take every firearm we can find. Every bullet. Every magazine. The school will try to maintain its games—points, contributions, hierarchy. They'll cling to their rules because rules are all they understand."
He paused, letting his gaze sweep across each face.
"But we don't play games."
His voice was quiet, but it filled the room like thunder.
"We make the rules."
The effect was instantaneous. Ichika Amasawa actually squealed, pressing her hands to her cheeks like a fangirl at a concert.
"Kya! Ayanokouji-senpai, you're so cool! Say it again! Say it again!"
Sudo let out a whoop, pumping his fist in the air. "That's what I'm talking about! BANZAI!"
The cry was taken up by others in the room—a growing chorus of voices, some eager, some hesitant, all caught up in the momentum of something larger than themselves.
"Banzai!"
"BANZAI!"
The word echoed off the walls of the Chairman's office, a battle cry for a new order.
They moved like ghosts after that.
Every White Room student Ayanokouji had positioned across the island became eyes and ears, feeding him information with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine.
They knew where every hidden cache was located. Every supply drop the school had tried to conceal. Every firearm that the administration had hoped to control.
While Ryueen Kakeru led his followers on glorified clean-up missions, bashing zombie skulls for contribution points like a medieval peasant hoping to impress his lord, Ayanokouji's group systematically stripped the island of its real power.
Guns disappeared from hiding spots. Ammunition vanished from locked rooms. By the time anyone noticed, it was far too late.
They didn't take everything, of course. That would have been sloppy. The school still had weapons. Still had resources. Still had the illusion of control. But Ayanokouji's group now had enough.
Enough to be a threat.
Enough to be a power.
Enough to ensure that when the real negotiations began, they wouldn't be begging at the table.
They would be sitting at the head of it.
And while Ryueen Kakeru continued to play the school's game, grinding points and climbing a ladder that led to a chair that would never truly be his, Ayanokouji's faction had already stopped playing entirely.
They were rewriting the rules.
And the game would never be the same.
...
This is very Ayanokouji's move, isn't it? Yeah—he didn't prepare in advance. There was no need to. Doing so before the chaos would have exposed him, and cameras are everywhere in this school.
He only needed to take control of the White Room while everyone else scrambled in chaos, sweep in where the firearms were located, and take them—all while pretending to run for his life with Sudo like in the previous chapter.
Then he launched checkmate while even the school's own system didn't see him as a threat, only an asset.
The White Room operatives didn't need to be recruited during the chaos. They were already there. Already infiltrated. Already waiting for someone to follow.
When the world ended, they didn't look to the Chairman. They didn't look to the teachers. They looked to him—the son of their leader, the masterpiece of their system, the one person whose authority superseded every fake hierarchy the school had ever built.
By the time anyone thought to ask "wait, where's the White Room kid?", the guns were already gone, the operatives had already switched allegiance, and he was already surrounded by armed cultists chanting his name.
Checkmate in zero moves.
Now he had guns, people, and cults under his wing. Next would be a brutal civil war over ownership of the school—before he expanded outward and used the zombie apocalypse to build a new civilization in the anime world of Japan, with this isolated private island school as his power base.
So yeah—this is a story of hegemony and conquest, not survival.
(And of course, all the girls waiting to be smut are also essential to the plan. XD)
That's what the story's about: a smart, ruthless man building an empire during the apocalypse. Along the way, he's going to fuck a lot of attractive women and kill a lot of people who get in his way.
If that's not your thing, that's fine. But I'm not pretending it's anything else.