(Hua's POV)
It had been almost two days since the disaster struck—when people suddenly turned into crazed monsters, like zombies straight out of a horror movie.
As an introverted and socially awkward girl, Hua rarely socialized. Ironically, that isolation might have saved her life.
When chaos broke out, she had been in her dorm room with her only friend, Carole. It was evening, and most students were still out, with curfew not hitting until 7 PM. Fewer people meant fewer infected around them—at least for a while.
They planned to hide in the dorm until help arrived. But their plan had a critical flaw: food. The school usually served meals in a cafeteria, and most students didn't stock up supplies in their rooms. The dorm itself had barely anything.
Eventually, hunger left them no choice. Carole suggested they try other rooms.
But the plan quickly fell apart. Most doors were locked, and breaking them risked drawing attention from the infected. Worse, even if they succeeded, the odds of finding food were low.
Still, driven by desperation, they tried.
They found nothing. Worse, they encountered a zombie inside one of the rooms. In the chaos, Carole was bitten—injured and likely infected.
Hua refused to give up. Carole was the only person who had ever been kind to her—back when everyone else shunned her for being a girl from the countryside. She couldn't let her die.
So, armed only with the martial arts her father had taught her, Hua ventured out to find food and medical supplies.
The streets had turned into a nightmare. Corpses. Screams. Infected wandering aimlessly. But she fought through, again and again.
She discovered something strange.
During one encounter, a zombie had scratched her arm. She panicked—convinced she was doomed like Carole. But minutes passed. Then a few hours passed. Nothing happened. No fever. No convulsions. No hunger for flesh.
She believed she was immune. Somehow.
That realization changed everything. With new resolve, Hua became bolder. She fought her way to the infirmary and looted what little medicine she could get. Then she slipped into the convenience store between the school and the dorm, scavenging enough food to last a few days.
But the infected had followed her.
They'd trailed her scent or maybe just the noise she made. She couldn't shake them off—not with the area this close to the city center, where the infected swarmed like flies.
She couldn't afford to take a long detour either. Carole needed help now.
So she ran straight back—hoping she could outrun them and slam the dorm gate shut before they caught up.
She failed.
The gate wouldn't lock in time. Zombies poured in from both directions. She had no choice but to sprint up the stairs, using furniture along the way to impede their movements.
When she reached the third floor and turned toward the opposite stairwell, something impossible happened.
A black butterfly fluttered in the air.
And then—he appeared. A man stepping out from a swirling portal of darkness on a bicycle before crashing into a wall.
She barely caught a glimpse of him. But instinct screamed at her not to stop.
"Sorry…" she muttered under her breath, guilt stabbing into her chest like a knife.
She kept running. She had no choice.
Between saving a stranger…
And the one person who had shown her kindness when she had no one…
Hua chose Carole.
But then, behind her—
A scream.
A taunting, mocking yell from the man echoed behind her. He was drawing the undead away from her… buying her time.
The realization slammed into her like a blow to the chest. Her steps faltered. Guilt flared in her heart like a raw wound torn open—but she kept running.
If she turned back now, his sacrifice would be meaningless.
As she neared her room, her ears picked up the uneven footsteps behind her—the few straggling zombies still on her trail.
With swift, practiced motions, Hua spun around. The crack of bone and the wet crunch of impact echoed in the narrow corridor as she dispatched them with ruthless efficiency.
The silence that followed was unnerving.
She pulled out her keys, her fingers trembling slightly from adrenaline and shame, and unlocked the door to her shared room. A soft click behind her, and she was inside.
She didn't breathe a sigh of relief.
She just ran—to Carole.
But before she could touch Carole, she noticed her dirty hands and quickly washed them in the bathroom.
The dim light in the room flickered faintly. Carole lay on her bed, sweat beading across her forehead, her breaths shallow but steady.
A fever. Nothing more. It still could be handled.
Hua quickly dropped her bag and pulled out the small hoard of medicine she'd risked her life to get. Her fingers moved with urgency—sorting through painkillers, antibiotics, antiseptics—until she found the right ones.
"Hua...? You're back?" Carole's voice was faint, cracked like dry paper. Her eyelids fluttered open, and her pale face softened in relief at the sight of her friend.
She tried to sit up, only to cough from a parched throat.
"Don't push yourself." Hua knelt beside her and offered a bottle of water and the medicine. "Here. Drink this first."
Carole didn't argue. She downed the pills, then slowly ate the bread Hua offered. Her hands were still shaking.
Hua turned to the first aid supplies. She cleaned Carole's wound with antiseptic—her hands working on autopilot. The sharp scent of alcohol mixed with the ever-present odor of sweat and faint rot that clung to the building like a second skin. She applied ointment, then carefully wrapped the injury with fresh bandages.
Or maybe not so carefully.
"Hua…"
"...Hua?"
"Fu Hua!"
"Huh? What?" Her head jerked up.
A light slap tapped her forehead, snapping her from her trance. Carole gave her a look—one of those dry, knowing ones that only a close friend could pull off in the middle of a post-apocalyptic fever dream.
"The bandage is too tight," Carole said, lifting her arm slightly. "You're cutting off my blood flow."
She took the bandage roll from Hua's hand and nodded toward the door. "Also… someone's knocking. And unless zombies suddenly grew manners, I don't think it's one of them."
"Sorry, I just— Wait, what?"
Hua stood up abruptly. "Someone's knocking…?"
She rushed to the door, pressing her eye to the peephole.
Her breath caught.
"It's him…" she whispered, part in disbelief, part in guilt, and part in… relief.
Carole watched from the bed, reading Hua's expression like a book. She'd already guessed the truth from the moment Hua woke her with that shaken, faraway look in her eyes. And she had heard something earlier—the distant clash of battle.
She hadn't asked.
Not then.
At first, she assumed Hua had found the military rescue team. Honestly, she never expected Hua to make it back alive at all. Martial arts training or not, facing a horde alone was suicide.
But clearly…
It didn't seem to be the case.
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