"Damn, no way—Ethan's not dead, is he!?"
"Crap, what do we do? Yesterday I was teasing him half the night and he just kept coughing… wait, didn't someone say he was vomiting blood? Could it be true?"
"Vomiting blood? Don't be ridiculous! This is Ethan we're talking about. The guy who had half the girls at Riverdale University chasing him isn't going to keel over from heartbreak. Do you think he's like you, crying over every crush?"
"Don't joke around! Somebody call Fang—has anyone dialed for an ambulance yet!?"
The voices swirled around him like an echo chamber, loud, panicked, overlapping.
Pain.
Every nerve in Ethan White's body screamed with agony. His muscles twisted like iron wires ready to snap. His head throbbed as though a hammer pounded against his skull. Every organ, every cell carried the fire of infection, transmitting it all at once to his brain.
Yet in the middle of the storm, when consciousness flickered back, Ethan's first reaction wasn't despair.
It was relief.
He was alive.
His bloodshot eyes cracked open. The quilt beneath him was shredded, torn by his own convulsing hands. Dried streaks of blood stained the pillow, evidence of what he had coughed up during the night.
But none of that mattered. He was still breathing.
Alive.
That alone was enough to make his lips twitch into a faint, bitter smile.
Two familiar faces hovered near his bed—friends from his dorm, worried yet confused. Seeing them through the haze of pain made Ethan's already pale face even whiter, but he forced himself to steady.
"I'm fine," he rasped, voice hoarse. "Don't make such a fuss. I just drank too much last night, upset my stomach, that's all. Sorry to worry you guys."
The relief on their faces was immediate.
Mark Zhao, the oldest in the dorm, still frowned. "Ethan, if you feel off, just say it. Don't try to act tough. Health comes first—your body is your capital for the future."
Kevin Lin nodded quickly. "Yeah. But I've never seen you drink before. What's going on? Don't tell me it's really because of heartbreak?"
Someone snorted from the back. Eric Li, the one with black-rimmed glasses, leaned lazily on his chair, smirking. "Heartbreak? Please. If Ethan didn't even fall for Song Li, the campus goddess, then what kind of heartbreak are we talking about? What, did a fairy descend from heaven to dump him?"
His tone dripped with sarcasm.
"Enough, Eric," Kevin shot back. "If you can't say something useful, just shut it. We're worried enough as it is."
Eric only shrugged, raising his hands as if surrendering. But when his gaze flicked back to Ethan, he froze.
Because Ethan was staring at him.
It wasn't the look of an ordinary college student. It was cold, sharp, suffocating. The kind of stare a predator gave prey—merciless, inevitable.
Eric's chest tightened. It reminded him of a trip to the zoo as a child, when a Siberian tiger had fixed its golden eyes on him through the bars. Only this time, there were no bars.
The murderous pressure lasted only seconds before fading, but Eric's face had gone pale. He sank into his chair without another word.
Ethan let it go. He had no time to waste on petty jealousy or dorm politics.
After a few more reassurances, Mark and Kevin finally relaxed. Their shoulders slumped with exhaustion—they had clearly stayed up half the night worrying.
"You should rest," Mark said. "I'll let Fang know about what happened."
"Yeah," Kevin added. "We'll cover for you if the roll call happens. Just sleep."
Ethan gave them a faint smile. "Take care of yourselves too. Don't stay up all night gaming. Use this time to train your bodies. It's like sharpening your blade before the battle."
His words made little sense to them. They exchanged puzzled glances, but didn't argue. With tired nods, they shuffled out of the dorm.
The door clicked shut. Silence settled in.
Ethan lay back, his body trembling with lingering weakness. Yet inside, beneath the exhaustion, his mind was racing.
He had done it.
He had injected zombie blood into himself—and survived.
That fact alone meant one thing: his Virus Resistance talent was real. It had begun to activate.
Even though he had only taken a small dose, that syringe of corrupted blood would have been enough to turn three or four normal people into zombies within minutes.
But he was alive.
More than alive—his body had endured it.
Ethan exhaled, shaky but triumphant. Still, a shadow lingered. It seemed that resisting the virus alone wasn't enough to awaken his talent fully.
Disappointment prickled. Perhaps it wasn't so simple.
Yet he reminded himself: the analyses from future forums had said it clearly. In the ten days before the apocalypse, when the magnetic field began to influence Earth, talents slowly stirred awake. His risk had accelerated the process.
The version of him from his last life had only awakened an E-rank Virus Resistance talent. But this time?
This time, who knew how far it might evolve?
As he lay there, thoughts tumbling, something impossible happened.
A golden spark flashed before his eyes.
The air shimmered. A translucent blue curtain of light unfolded around him like water.
Ethan stiffened. Then realization hit, and his disappointment vanished in a rush of exhilaration.
The System.
The will of the universe was descending!
Lines of cold text scrolled across the shimmering screen:
[The Will of the Universe: You have been chosen as a Forerunner. Your talent has the opportunity to awaken early. The countdown to the Blue Star Trial Grounds has begun: 9 days, 17 hours, 31 minutes, 51 seconds…]
Ethan's breath caught.
Forerunner.
Awaken early.
Before he could even absorb it, another notification echoed inside his mind:
[You have obtained a special title: Forerunner.]
[Forerunner (Special Title, has no level. The attribute bonus takes effect even if the title is not equipped): Only those who awaken their talent before the official start of the trial possess this title. Attributes: Strength +5%, Constitution +5%, Agility +5%, Spirit +5%. Experience gain +10%.]
Ethan's eyes widened. His heart pounded with raw excitement.
"Holy…" he muttered under his breath.
Titles. In the apocalypse, titles were rare props that boosted attributes, usually tied to achievements or milestones. But unlike equipment, most titles only worked when worn.
Yet this title—the Forerunner—was always active.
It didn't matter if he equipped it or not. The stat bonuses were permanent.
And the bonuses themselves—percentages, not flat numbers—meant they would only scale higher as he grew stronger. Plus, an experience gain boost? That was priceless.
He laughed quietly, a sound filled with disbelief and triumph. The benefits of awakening early were far greater than he had ever imagined.
Then, the final notification appeared.
[You have awakened your talent: Virus King (SSS)!]
The words burned into his soul.
Ethan froze.
His chest rose and fell sharply. His throat went dry.
Not E-rank.
Not even A-rank.
But SSS.
The pinnacle. The kind of talent that gods themselves coveted.
Virus Resistance had evolved. No—transcended.
Now, he wasn't just immune. He was master of the infection.
The Virus King.
Ethan White closed his eyes. For the first time since his rebirth, true exhilaration filled him.
This was it. His second chance at life had begun.
And this time, he would not crawl at the feet of any god.
He would rise above them.
---