The fluorescent lights of the convenience store flickered overhead as Takeshi Yamada reached for the last cup ramen on the shelf. At twenty-three years old, he'd perfected the art of surviving on minimal human interaction—work from home as a freelance translator, groceries at 2 AM, and an apartment whose walls were lined with anime figures, manga volumes, and posters of his favorite series.
Tonight's haul included the usual: instant noodles, energy drinks, and the latest volume of Highschool of the Dead that he'd pre-ordered months ago. He clutched the manga like a sacred text as he walked toward the register, already imagining himself reading it in his dimly lit apartment while rewatching the anime for the dozenth time.
The automatic doors slid open with their familiar chime. The night air hit him—cool, crisp, carrying the faint smell of rain that had fallen hours earlier. The streets were empty, just how he liked them. No crowds, no judgment, no need to pretend he was anything other than what he was: a dedicated otaku who'd rather lose himself in fictional worlds than navigate the complexities of reality.
He was three blocks from his apartment when he heard it—a wet, rattling cough from the alley to his left.
Takeshi's steps slowed. Every instinct screamed at him to keep walking, to mind his own business, to get home where it was safe. But curiosity—that damnable curiosity that made him binge entire anime series in single sittings—made him pause.
The cough came again, followed by a low groan that raised the hair on the back of his neck. It sounded wrong, gurgling and thick, like someone drowning in their own fluids.
"Hello?" His voice came out smaller than intended. "Do you need help?"
Silence. Then footsteps—uneven, dragging, accompanied by the scrape of something heavy being pulled across concrete.
A figure emerged from the alley's darkness, and Takeshi's blood turned to ice.
The man—if it could still be called a man—stumbled forward with jerking, uncoordinated movements. His business suit was torn and stained with something dark that glistened wetly under the streetlight. But it was the face that made Takeshi's shopping bag slip from his nerveless fingers.
The skin had taken on a grayish pallor, and the eyes—those eyes were completely white, no iris, no pupil, just milky orbs that somehow still tracked movement. The mouth hung open, revealing bloodstained teeth, and a low moan escaped from deep within the chest cavity.
No. No, this isn't real. This is Japan, not some zombie movie. This is—
Recognition struck him like lightning. The shambling gait, the dead eyes, the reaching hands with fingers curled like claws—he'd seen this exact posture, this exact movement pattern, dozens of times.
Highschool of the Dead. "Them." The infected.
But that was fiction. Anime. Not real. Couldn't be real.
The thing that used to be a salaryman lunged forward with surprising speed, and Takeshi's paralysis shattered. He stumbled backward, feet tangling in his dropped shopping bag. The manga went flying, pages fluttering open as it hit the ground. He saw the cover—Saeko Busujima in mid-sword swing, facing down a horde of undead—before his back hit the pavement hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
The infected man fell on top of him, surprising weight pinning him down. Takeshi's hands shot up instinctively, catching the creature's shoulders, holding those gnashing teeth away from his throat. The smell hit him—rot and copper and something else, something chemical and wrong.
"Get off! Get the fuck off!" He thrashed, screaming now, all pretense of dignity abandoned.
The teeth snapped inches from his face. Takeshi could see down the thing's throat, see the unnatural darkness there. His arms trembled with effort, muscles burning. The creature was stronger than it looked, driven by something beyond human limitation.
His right hand slipped.
The teeth found his shoulder, tearing through his hoodie and into flesh with a wet crunch that he felt more than heard. Pain exploded through his nervous system—white-hot, all-consuming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He screamed, the sound raw and primal, echoing off the empty buildings.
The creature pulled back, taking a chunk of him with it, and Takeshi saw his own blood—so much blood—spreading across his chest in a warm, sticky flood. His hands scrabbled weakly at the thing's face, trying to push it away, but his strength was evaporating like morning mist.
I'm going to die. Here, alone, on a Tokyo street at 2 AM, killed by something that shouldn't exist. Fuck. Fuck, this can't be happening.
The irony wasn't lost on him even as his vision began to gray at the edges. How many times had he imagined being transported to an anime world? How many power fantasy light novels had he devoured, dreaming of being the protagonist with special powers, a harem of beautiful girls, and epic adventures?
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
The creature bit down again, this time on his neck, and Takeshi felt something vital give way. The pain was distant now, muted, as if happening to someone else. His blood pooled beneath him, spreading out in a dark mirror that reflected the flickering streetlight above.
His last conscious thought, bizarrely, was about the manga lying three feet away. He'd never get to read the ending now.
Then there was nothing.
Awareness returned slowly, like swimming up through thick mud.
Takeshi's first coherent thought was that death hurt less than he'd expected. His second was that he could still think, which seemed wrong for someone who'd had their throat torn out.
His third thought, as sensation began returning to his body, was that everything felt wrong.
The pain was gone—all of it, even the chronic back ache he'd had from too many hours hunched over his computer. But in its place was a strange numbness, a disconnection from his physical form that felt profoundly unnatural.
He tried to open his eyes and found that they were already open. The world came into focus gradually, details emerging from a blur of shadows and strange, washed-out colors.
But he wasn't on the Tokyo street where he'd died.
He was standing upright, swaying slightly, in what appeared to be a school courtyard. The morning sun cast long shadows across concrete pathways. Cherry blossom petals drifted past on a gentle breeze. And all around him, students in dark blue uniforms moved in clusters, chatting and laughing.
What the... where the hell...
Takeshi tried to take a step and nearly fell. His body moved jerkily, uncoordinated, like a marionette controlled by an amateur puppeteer. He looked down at himself and froze.
He was wearing a school uniform—dark slacks, white shirt, the blazer hanging open. His hands, visible at the ends of the sleeves, had taken on a grayish-blue tinge. His fingernails were dark, almost black.
Panic should have set in. His heart should have been racing, adrenaline flooding his system, breath coming in sharp gasps. Instead, there was only a distant sense of wrongness, muted and dull.
He pressed his hand to his chest, searching for a heartbeat.
Nothing.
No pulse. No breath. No warmth.
"No," he whispered, and the sound came out as a low groan, distorted and inhuman.
He tried again, forcing his throat to form words, pushing past whatever obstruction was there. "No. No, no, no. What the fuck?"
Better. Still rough, still wrong, but recognizable as speech.
A flash of light suddenly burst behind his eyes—brilliant, overwhelming, like staring into the sun. Takeshi staggered backward, hands clutching his head, as information burned itself directly into his brain.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE]
The words appeared in his vision, glowing blue text that seemed to hover in the air.
[MULTIVERSE TRAVERSAL SYSTEM - ACTIVATED]
[HOST: TAKESHI YAMADA]
[SPECIES: UNDEAD - ZOMBIE (CONSCIOUS VARIANT)]
[CURRENT WORLD: HIGHSCHOOL OF THE DEAD]
[LOCATION: FUJIMI HIGH SCHOOL]
[TIME: 09:47 AM - OUTBREAK DAY ZERO]
More text scrolled past his vision, mechanical and emotionless.
[SYSTEM PARAMETERS:]
HOST STATUS MONITORING: ACTIVEEVOLUTION POINT TRACKING: ACTIVESKILL ACQUISITION: ACTIVEDIMENSIONAL TRAVEL: LOCKED
[UNLOCK REQUIREMENTS FOR DIMENSIONAL TRAVEL:]
REACH LEVEL 10ACCUMULATE 10,000 EVOLUTION POINTSSURVIVE 30 DAYS IN CURRENT DIMENSION
[EVOLUTION POINTS CAN BE GAINED BY:]
ELIMINATING HOSTILE ENTITIES (+5 TO +100 POINTS BASED ON THREAT LEVEL)ABSORBING BIOMASS FROM POWERFUL BEINGS (+VARIABLE)ACHIEVING SIGNIFICANT SURVIVAL MILESTONES (+VARIABLE)
[CURRENT EVOLUTION POINTS: 0]
[NOTE: SYSTEM OPERATES AUTONOMOUSLY. NO QUESTS WILL BE ISSUED. NO GUIDANCE WILL BE PROVIDED. SURVIVAL AND ADVANCEMENT ARE HOST'S RESPONSIBILITY.]
Takeshi leaned against a nearby wall, trying to process what was happening. A system. Like in a video game or light novel. But this one was different—it wasn't going to hold his hand, wasn't going to give him convenient missions or helpful hints. It was just... there. Tracking his progress. Offering evolution in exchange for kills.
Cold. Mechanical. Utterly indifferent to whether he lived or died.
"Status," he said aloud, testing it.
The text in his vision shifted, reorganizing into a clear display:
[HOST STATUS]
NAME: Takeshi Yamada
SPECIES: Undead - Zombie (Conscious Variant)
LEVEL: 1
EVOLUTION POINTS: 0/100
ATTRIBUTES:
STRENGTH: 8 (+3 from undead physiology) AGILITY: 4 (-2 from rigor mortis) VITALITY: N/A (Undead) INTELLIGENCE: 15 (Retained from life) PERCEPTION: 7 (Modified sensory input)
SPECIAL TRAITS:
UNDEAD PHYSIOLOGY: No need for sleep, food, or oxygen. Immune to pain, poison, and most status effects. Weakness to fire and catastrophic head trauma. CONSCIOUS MIND: Retained human intelligence and memory. Can improve coordination through practice. VIRUS CARRIER: Bites transmit infection to living humans.
SKILLS:
BASIC MOTOR CONTROL (Lv. 1) - Slowly regaining coordination.
NEXT EVOLUTION: Requires 100 Evolution Points
The information was stark. Clinical. No encouragement, no tutorial, no friendly AI guide. Just raw data about what he'd become.
Takeshi looked around the courtyard more carefully now, recognition dawning with horrifying clarity. The cherry trees, the distinctive architecture, the students in those specific uniforms—he knew exactly where he was.
Fujimi High School. From Highschool of the Dead.
And the time displayed in his system—09:47 AM, Outbreak Day Zero.
His perfect memory of the anime kicked in. The outbreak started during morning activities. The first infected appeared at the front gate around 09:30. By 10:00, the school would be in chaos. By noon, it would be a charnel house.
He had minutes. Maybe less.
A scream cut through the peaceful morning air.
Takeshi's head snapped toward the sound. Other students were turning too, confused, curious. Then more screams joined the first, and the crowd began to shift, some moving toward the commotion, others backing away instinctively.
Through the crowd, Takeshi could see the front gate. Could see the faculty members trying to subdue someone—a man in dirty clothes who moved with that characteristic jerking shamble. Could see the teacher who got too close suddenly grabbed, bitten, blood spraying.
The outbreak had begun.
Students started running. Some toward the gate to see what was happening. Others away from it in blind panic. The peaceful morning dissolved into chaos in seconds.
Takeshi stood frozen, watching it unfold exactly as he'd seen in the anime. This was real. This was actually happening. He was here, in this world, at the exact moment everything fell apart.
And he was a fucking zombie.
The infected teacher—Mr. Wakisaka, his perfect memory supplied—was on his feet now, attacking students who'd gotten too close. Each person he bit would turn in minutes. The infection spread with terrifying speed.
Takeshi forced his body to move, each step deliberate as he navigated away from the growing chaos. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he couldn't—not with his limited coordination. Instead, he walked quickly but carefully toward the main school building.
Other students rushed past him, some crying, some shouting into cell phones that would stop working soon when the EMP hit. None of them paid attention to him—just another student trying to get to safety.
He needed to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere he could ride out the initial outbreak and figure out his next move. His body was improving already—each step was slightly more coordinated than the last—but he wasn't ready to fight yet.
The main building doors stood open, students streaming through. Takeshi joined the flow, letting himself be carried inside by the mob. His dulled sense of smell picked up fear-sweat and perfume and cleaning chemicals. His muted hearing caught fragments of panicked conversations.
"—someone's attacking people at the gate—"
"—teacher just bit a student, I saw it—"
"—need to call the police—"
"—what the hell is happening—"
The first floor was chaos. Students and teachers running in every direction, some trying to establish order, others giving in to panic. Takeshi spotted a stairwell and made for it, climbing to the second floor where it was slightly less crowded.
He found himself in a hallway lined with classrooms. Through the windows of each door, he could see students and teachers reacting to the chaos below—some watching from the windows, others barricading doors, a few still trying to conduct classes as if everything was normal.
One classroom at the end of the hall had its door ajar, the room beyond empty. Takeshi slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind him.
The classroom was standard—rows of desks, blackboard at the front, windows along one wall overlooking the courtyard. He moved to the windows and looked down.
The courtyard was a battlefield now. Dozens of infected shambled through the crowds, students and teachers falling victim one after another. Each person bitten would rise minutes later to join the horde. The infection spread exponentially, overwhelming any attempt at resistance.
And there—cutting through the chaos with desperate determination—was a familiar figure. Brown hair, determined expression, wielding a mop handle like a spear as he protected a girl with long pink hair.
Takashi Komuro and Rei Miyamoto.
The protagonists. Right on schedule.
Takeshi watched as they fought their way toward the school building, Takashi's best friend Hisashi helping them. The scene was playing out exactly as he remembered from episode one. Which meant soon they'd make it inside, would witness Hisashi's transformation, would meet the others and form their survival group.
The main story was beginning.
But where did that leave him?
A sound from the hallway made him turn. Through the door's window, he could see figures shambling past—students who'd been infected, already turned, now hunting for prey. Their movements were uncoordinated, driven purely by instinct.
Takeshi looked at his own hands, at the grayish skin and dark nails. He moved them experimentally, noting the slight improvement in coordination. He was getting better at controlling this body, but he was still clearly inhuman if anyone looked closely.
The other zombies couldn't tell he was one of them—the system had said he was a variant, something different. To them, he probably smelled like food. To the survivors, he'd look like one of Them.
He was trapped between worlds. Neither fully undead nor fully alive.
"Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
The door handle rattled.
Takeshi spun toward it, heart that no longer beat somehow still lurching in his chest. Through the window, he saw an infected student—a boy, maybe sixteen, his uniform torn and bloody—pushing against the door, drawn by some sense that there was prey inside.
Then another appeared. And another.
Three of them, clawing at the door, moaning that low, inhuman sound.
Takeshi looked around the classroom desperately. He needed a weapon. Something to defend himself. His enhanced strength would help, but his reduced agility was a severe handicap.
There—in the corner. A wooden kendo practice sword, left behind from some club activity.
He crossed the room and grabbed it just as the door burst open, the simple lock giving way under the combined weight of three zombies. They spilled into the classroom, dead eyes fixing on him, mouths opening in anticipation.
Takeshi raised the bokken, his grip awkward but determined.
Kill them. Each one is worth five points. Three of them is fifteen. One-sixth of the way to my first evolution.
The thought was cold. Calculated. Unlike anything the human Takeshi would have considered.
But he wasn't human anymore.
The first zombie lurched toward him, arms outstretched. Takeshi swung the bokken clumsily, catching it in the shoulder. The creature barely reacted, continuing forward. He swung again, this time aiming for the head. The wood connected with a wet crunch, and the zombie stumbled sideways.
"Shit!" Not dead. Not stopped. Just redirected.
The head. Destroy the brain. I've seen this a hundred times.
The second zombie was on him now. Takeshi stepped back—awkwardly, his coordination still poor—and brought the bokken down hard on the crown of its skull. The impact jarred his arms, but the zombie dropped, twitching once before going still.
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[CURRENT TOTAL: 5/100]
The notification appeared in his peripheral vision, mechanical and emotionless. Just data. Just numbers.
The first zombie had recovered and was shambling toward him again. The third was circling around a row of desks, trying to flank him. His reduced agility meant he couldn't dodge well, couldn't dart around like the survivors would.
He had to be smarter. Use the environment.
Takeshi kicked a desk toward the third zombie, creating an obstacle. Then he turned his full attention to the first one, timing his swing carefully. The bokken caught it square in the temple, and it dropped.
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[CURRENT TOTAL: 10/100]
One left. The third zombie had pushed past the desk and was almost on him. Takeshi backed up until he hit the teacher's desk, then swung upward in a desperate arc. The bokken caught the creature under the chin, snapping its head back. It stumbled, and he brought the weapon down again and again until it stopped moving.
"Die, you bastard! Fucking die!"
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[CURRENT TOTAL: 15/100]
Takeshi stood among the corpses, bokken held in trembling hands, and tried to process what he'd just done.
Three kills. Fifteen points. His first combat, and he'd survived.
The trembling in his hands wasn't fear—his undead body didn't do fear the same way. It was something else. Adrenaline that didn't actually pump through his veins. Ghost sensations from a human nervous system that no longer functioned properly.
He looked at the bodies. Really looked at them.
They'd been students. Kids. Probably had families, friends, dreams. Now they were just corpses on a classroom floor, destroyed by someone who was just as dead as they were.
They were already gone, he told himself. I just... ended it. Put them down. Had to be done.
The rationalization felt hollow.
But what choice did he have? It was kill or be killed. Grow stronger or be destroyed. That was the reality of this world now.
Sounds from the hallway pulled him from his thoughts. More shambling footsteps, more moans. The horde was growing, spreading through the school like a virus through a bloodstream.
Takeshi moved to the door and looked out carefully. The hallway was filling with infected—maybe a dozen visible from here, probably more beyond. No way he could fight through all of them with his current coordination.
He needed to hole up somewhere safer. Somewhere he could practice moving, improve his motor control, maybe take out a few more zombies to build toward his first evolution.
The Athletics building. It was connected to the main school by a covered walkway on the third floor. Less populated, easier to defend, and it had the kendo club room where he could find better weapons.
He just had to get there first.
Takeshi gripped his bokken and stepped into the hallway. A zombie ten meters away turned toward him immediately, then started shambling in his direction. Two more noticed and joined it.
He couldn't outrun them. Could barely out-walk them with his current coordination. But he didn't need to be fast—he just needed to be smart.
"Come on, you dead fucks," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see what you've got."
Takeshi moved along the wall, keeping his back protected, letting the zombies come to him one or two at a time. When they got close enough, he struck—quick, brutal hits to the head that dropped them before they could swarm him.
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
Each kill came slightly easier than the last. His body was remembering how to move, muscle memory slowly overriding the rigidity of death. By the time he reached the stairwell, his coordination had improved noticeably.
[SKILL LEVEL UP]
[BASIC MOTOR CONTROL (Lv. 2) - Improved coordination and body control]
The improvement was immediate. His next step was smoother, more natural. The bokken felt better in his hands, his swings more controlled.
"Hell yeah," he whispered. "Now we're talking."
He was adapting. Learning. Growing.
The third floor was less crowded—most people had either fled downward or barricaded themselves in second-floor classrooms. Takeshi made his way toward the covered walkway, eliminating two more zombies that blocked his path.
[+10 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[CURRENT TOTAL: 45/100]
The walkway was clear, offering a view of the courtyard below. The chaos had intensified. Hundreds of zombies now, overwhelming the last pockets of resistance. Bodies everywhere. Blood on the concrete. The cherry blossoms drifting down looked like snow falling on a battlefield.
"Jesus Christ," Takeshi breathed, staring at the carnage. "It's really happening. The whole fucking world is ending."
And somewhere in that hell, the main cast was fighting for survival, gathering allies, preparing to escape.
Takeshi turned away from the window and continued toward the Athletics building.
The kendo club room was exactly where he remembered it from the anime. The door stood ajar, the room beyond dark and quiet. Takeshi entered cautiously, bokken ready, but the space was empty.
Wooden practice swords lined one wall—better quality than the one he carried. Protective gear hung on racks. A small office area in the back corner held a desk and filing cabinets.
This would do. This would work as a temporary base.
Takeshi selected a fresh bokken, this one perfectly balanced and undamaged. Then he began to practice.
The room gave him space to move, to test his body's limits and capabilities. He ran through basic strikes and forms, each repetition smoothing out the jerky, uncoordinated movements. His enhanced intelligence helped—he could analyze what wasn't working and consciously correct it, forcing his body to remember how to move properly.
"Come on, damn it," he muttered as he executed a complicated series of strikes. "Work with me here."
Time passed. His skill improved.
[SKILL LEVEL UP]
[BASIC MOTOR CONTROL (Lv. 3) - Coordination approaching normal human levels]
The improvement was dramatic. Takeshi could walk normally now, could swing the bokken with real force and precision. He tested himself with a complex series of movements—footwork, strikes, blocks—and executed them smoothly.
"Yes! Fuck yes!" A grin spread across his face. "This is more like it."
Good. Much better.
But he still needed more evolution points. Still needed to grow stronger.
A sound from outside the room made him pause. Not shambling footsteps, but quick, purposeful movement. Living people.
Takeshi moved to the door and peered out into the hallway.
A group of four students came into view, moving quickly but carefully. Three girls and one boy, all armed with improvised weapons. One of the girls carried a wooden sword with natural grace and confidence, her long purple hair tied back, her expression calm despite the chaos.
Saeko Busujima.
Takeshi's breath—which he didn't actually need—caught in his throat.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
The main cast. Some of them, at least. Saeko was here with... he squinted, trying to identify the others. Not Takashi's group, then. This must be before they all met up.
Saeko stopped suddenly, her hand rising to signal the others to halt. Her eyes—sharp and assessing—swept the hallway, and for a terrifying moment, Takeshi thought she'd spotted him.
But no. She was looking at something else. Listening.
"There's several of them ahead," she said, her voice calm and controlled. "We'll need to break through if we want to reach the faculty room."
"Can we do it?" one of the other girls asked, fear evident in her voice.
"Yes." Saeko's confidence was absolute. "Stay close. Follow my lead. Strike when you see an opening."
They moved forward, and Takeshi watched in fascination as Saeko Busujima—one of the most dangerous survivors in the series—went to work.
Her movements were poetry. Each strike was precise, economical, devastating. The wooden sword in her hands became a lethal weapon, destroying zombies with clinical efficiency. The others followed her lead, and together they carved through the infected blocking their path.
In under a minute, six zombies lay truly dead, and the group was moving past.
"Damn," Takeshi muttered, watching them disappear down the hallway. "She's even more badass in person."
His mind raced with possibilities.
He could follow them. Could try to join their group. Could pretend to be a normal survivor and use them for protection.
But what would happen when they discovered what he was? When someone got close enough to notice his too-pale skin, his unusual eyes, his lack of breath or heartbeat?
They'd kill him. Without hesitation. Saeko would probably volunteer for the job.
No. Better to stay alone. Stay hidden. Build his strength in solitude until he was powerful enough that discovery wouldn't mean instant death.
Takeshi closed the door and turned back to his temporary base.
He had forty-five evolution points. Needed fifty-five more to reach his first evolution threshold. At five points per zombie, that was eleven more kills.
Manageable. Definitely manageable.
"Alright, you dead bastards," he said to the empty room, gripping his bokken tighter. "Let's dance."
He left the kendo club room and went hunting.
The Athletics building was infested. Zombies shambled through its hallways and gymnasiums, drawn by lingering scents of life or simply wandering mindlessly. Perfect prey for someone who needed to farm evolution points.
Takeshi moved through the building methodically, using his improved coordination to strike from advantageous positions. A zombie distracted by something else got a bokken to the back of the skull. One trapped in a corner with nowhere to dodge was easy prey. Two fighting over... something best not examined too closely... were eliminated before they noticed him.
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[+5 EVOLUTION POINTS]
"That's right," he muttered after each kill. "Keep 'em coming."
His kill count rose. Each victory came easier than the last, his combat instincts sharpening with practice.
[SKILL LEARNED]
[BASIC COMBAT (Lv. 1) - Fundamental understanding of hand-to-hand combat and weapon use]
The new skill integrated seamlessly with his improved motor control. Suddenly he understood proper stance, weight distribution, how to generate maximum force with minimum wasted motion. Knowledge that years of watching anime had given him theoretically was now practical understanding his body could execute.
"Now this is what I'm talking about," Takeshi said, testing a new strike pattern. The bokken whistled through the air with professional precision. "Fuck yeah."
He continued hunting, more confident now, more dangerous.
By early afternoon, his evolution point total had climbed steadily.
[CURRENT TOTAL: 85/100]
Three more kills. That was all he needed.
Takeshi found them in the ground floor gymnasium—three zombies clustered around the remains of what had probably been a teacher. They turned as he approached, drawn by the movement and sound.
He didn't hesitate. The first one fell to a perfect strike to the temple. The second was destroyed as it lunged at him, its trajectory predictable and easily countered. The third required two hits, but it went down.
[+15 EVOLUTION POINTS]
[EVOLUTION THRESHOLD REACHED]
[CURRENT TOTAL: 100/100]
[INITIATING EVOLUTION...]
The pain hit him like a tidal wave.
Takeshi collapsed to the gymnasium floor, body convulsing as something fundamental changed within him. His bones creaked and shifted. His muscles tore and reformed. His nervous system ignited with white-hot agony that made his death seem gentle by comparison.
He tried to scream but could only manage that low, inhuman groan. His back arched, fingers clawing at the wooden floor, leaving deep gouges in the surface.
It hurts it hurts it hurts make it stop please make it—fuck fuck FUCK—
The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come.
Takeshi lay gasping on the floor—actually gasping, he realized, his lungs working again even though he didn't strictly need them. His heart gave a single, powerful thump in his chest, then another, then settled into a slow, steady rhythm. Not human-normal, but present.
"What... the hell... was that?" he panted, staring at the ceiling.
He sat up slowly, testing his body.
Everything felt different. Sharper. More refined. Like going from standard definition to high definition, every sense more acute, every movement more precise.
[EVOLUTION COMPLETE]
[HOST HAS EVOLVED: ZOMBIE → ENHANCED UNDEAD]
[LEVEL 1 → LEVEL 2]
[UPDATING STATUS...]
The text scrolled past as Takeshi examined his hands. The grayish tint had faded significantly—not fully gone, but much closer to a normal skin tone. When he flexed his fingers, they moved with perfect coordination, no stiffness or lag.
"Holy shit," he breathed. "This is..."
[HOST STATUS - UPDATED]
NAME: Takeshi Yamada
SPECIES: Enhanced Undead
LEVEL: 2
EVOLUTION POINTS: 0/250
ATTRIBUTES:
STRENGTH: 12 (+7 from evolution) AGILITY: 10 (+6 from evolution) VITALITY: N/A (Undead - Slow Regeneration Active) INTELLIGENCE: 17 (+2 from evolution) PERCEPTION: 12 (+5 from evolution)
SPECIAL TRAITS:
ENHANCED UNDEAD PHYSIOLOGY: Minimal need for sustenance. Greatly reduced vulnerability to pain, poison, and status effects. Slow regeneration from non-critical damage. Weakness to fire and catastrophic head trauma. Simulated heartbeat and breathing (can be suppressed). SUPERIOR INTELLECT: Enhanced processing speed, improved memory retention, better pattern recognition. CONTROLLED CARRIER: Can transmit infection through bite, but can suppress virus shedding consciously.
SKILLS:
BASIC MOTOR CONTROL (Lv. 3) - Excellent coordination. BASIC COMBAT (Lv. 1) - Fundamental combat knowledge.
NEXT EVOLUTION: Requires 250 Evolution Points
Takeshi stood, marveling at how natural the movement felt. He walked across the gymnasium, broke into a run, executed a series of strikes with his bokken. Every motion was smooth, controlled, as if he'd never been a clumsy zombie at all.
"This is incredible. This is—" He laughed, the sound echoing in the empty gymnasium. "This is fucking amazing!"
An explosion rocked the building.
Takeshi spun toward the source of the sound, his enhanced perception immediately identifying it as coming from outside. He ran to the gymnasium windows and looked out toward the school's front entrance.
Smoke billowed from the gate area. More explosions followed—not actual bombs, but vehicles crashing, gas tanks igniting. The street beyond the school was chaos, civilization collapsing in real-time.
"Shit," he muttered, watching the destruction. "It's really happening. The whole damn world..."
And somewhere in that chaos, the electromagnetic pulse was coming. Nukes dropping on major cities to try to contain the outbreak. Within hours, every electronic device would be fried, every vehicle disabled, communication severed.
The world was ending.
But Takeshi Yamada—former shut-in, current enhanced undead, future dimensional traveler—had just begun to truly live.
He turned away from the window and headed deeper into the building, already planning his next moves. He needed to survive thirty days, reach level ten, accumulate ten thousand evolution points.
Then he could leave this dying world behind and travel to another dimension. Another anime universe.
"Alright," he said to himself, gripping his bokken with renewed confidence. "Let's do this. Let's see what this new body can really do."
The journey was just beginning.