In the sterile quiet of the school infirmary, Goku stared, utterly captivated. The woman before him was the very definition of a two-dimensional fantasy made flesh. Voluminous curves strained against her nurse's uniform, and her face held a sweet, dazed innocence that was dangerously alluring. Damn… Only in an anime world could someone like this exist.
"Eh? Hayashi-sensei, are you alright? Do you feel unwell?" Nurse Shizuka Marikawa mumbled, tilting her head as she noticed the pair's harried entrance. The natural, oblivious innocence in her gaze sent a jolt through Goku. For a split second, his warrior's instincts were overridden by a far more primal urge.
He took a steadying breath, forcing his heart rate down. "Gather essential medical supplies. You're coming with me. Now."
Shizuka blinked slowly, her expression one of pure confusion. "Come with you? Where? Has there been an accident?"
"No time for questions—just move!" Goku's tone brooked no argument. Explaining the apocalypse to someone this blissfully unaware felt futile. Hayashi, still pale but recovering her senses, added urgently, "Please, Marikawa-sensei, do as he says. We'll explain on the way!"
Though bewildered, Shizuka began to efficiently pack a first-aid kit, her movements causing distracting shifts in her silhouette. Goku swallowed hard, tearing his gaze away. Unbearable. She's a hazard all on her own.
"See something you like? You're staring like a complete creep, you know." Hayashi's voice cut through his thoughts, sharper than he expected. For some reason, seeing him ogle the nurse sparked a flicker of irrational irritation in her chest.
"Ahem! Just… assessing the situation," Goku coughed, his eyes darting for an excuse to look elsewhere. They landed on a mop in the corner. Perfect. He strode over, ripped off the head, and hefted the stout wooden handle. It was about a meter long—crude, but an ideal tool for bashing skulls without revealing the full, terrifying extent of his power.
By the time Shizuka had her bag ready, the school's atmosphere had shifted. Distant screams, once isolated, were now punctuated by a rising chorus of panicked shouts and guttural moans. The calm of twenty minutes prior was utterly shattered.
Leading the two women into the hallway, Goku felt a thrill of anticipation. Alright… let's see who else is still breathing in this mess.
Chaos had taken root. The orderly world of Fujimi Academy was crumbling under a tide of shambling, hungry corpses. The PA system had died mid-sentence with a final, blood-curdling scream, leaving a silence more terrifying than any alarm. Classrooms disgorged streams of screaming students and teachers, only for many to be dragged down in the stampede, their cries soon replaced by the wet sounds of feeding. The infection spread geometrically—a single bite dooming another, who would rise moments later.
Goku casually brought his makeshift staff down on a nearby zombie, caving in its temple with a sickening crack. He eyed the growing number of figures lurching toward them from both ends of the corridor. "They multiply fast. Already everywhere. Totally unscientific."
Shizuka peered around his shoulder, her brow furrowed in clinical confusion. "What's wrong with these people? Is this a new type of aggressive behavioral disorder? Why are they trying to bite?"
"Disorder? They're zombies!" Goku snapped, shoving another one back with the butt of his staff.
"Zombies? Like in the movies?" she asked, her tone one of academic curiosity rather than fear.
"Exactly like in the movies. Get bitten, and you join the cast. Permanently."
"A pathogen transmitted through saliva and bodily fluids? I think I've read theories about something similar…" Shizuka mused, tapping a finger against her lip.
"Like the Black Death in the 14th century," Hayashi supplied from behind them, her voice tense.
"Ah, yes!" Shizuka's eyes lit up with recognition. "That pandemic wiped out nearly a third of Europe's population at the time…"
"This isn't a history seminar! Just stay close and don't get bitten!" Goku was simultaneously exasperated and amazed. Her sheer, airheaded obliviousness was a kind of armor against terror.
Dispatching another zombie, Goku glanced back at the teacher. "Come to think of it, I never got your full name."
She hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Mian… Katsumi Mian. You can just call me Hayashi-sensei."
"I'm Shizuka Marikawa! The school nurse! You can call me Marikawa-sensei!" Shizuka announced cheerfully, as if introducing herself at a staff meeting.
Goku nodded. "Son Goku. I'm… let's say I'm visiting from abroad. Consider it a working vacation."
"Wow! Your Japanese is impeccable!" Shizuka stared at him, genuinely impressed.
The comment gave Goku a moment's internal pause. The common language in his world wasn't Japanese. So how was he not only speaking it fluently but understanding every word? A side-effect of the transit? A built-in system translation protocol? He shrugged mentally. Whatever it is, it's convenient. Makes world-hopping a lot simpler.
With the two women in tow, Goku carved a path through the undead. Each swing of his staff was economical, brutally efficient, sending zombies crumpling to the floor. He fought for the modest points, yes, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the wide-eyed, awestruck looks the women shot his way with each display of effortless strength.
Truthfully, he could have cleared the entire school if he'd wanted to. But he was no altruistic hero, and the effort of saving every stranger held little appeal. His priorities were elsewhere.
What interested him now were the principal survivors—specifically, the story's heroines. Finding them, earning their trust, and perhaps offering them a one-way ticket out of this nightmare held far more appeal. The school echoed with terror, a symphony of screams that guided him.
As they passed a storage closet, a boy's agonized shriek was cut short, followed by a girl's frantic, piercing cries. Goku had intended to pass by, but the source was directly on their path. He changed direction, shoving the door open. Might as well look. If she's worth saving… well, that's just a bonus.
Three zombies were pawing at the half-open door. Goku dispatched them with three short, sharp thrusts of his staff. Inside, the scene was grim. A heavyset boy lay on the floor, two zombies feasting on him, his struggles already stilled. Cowering in the corner was a girl with sharp, intelligent eyes and a notable figure, her face a mask of pure terror as three more zombies closed in on her.
Definitely a keeper.
In a blur of motion almost too fast to see, Goku was beside her. Three swift, downward strikes reduced the attacking zombies to twitching heaps. He then strode over and ended the suffering of the two over the boy with two precise blows.
Hayashi and Shizuka rushed in. Hayashi immediately went to the trembling girl, wrapping her in a protective hug and murmuring soft reassurances. The girl buried her face in the teacher's shoulder, sobs wracking her frame. Goku watched, feeling a strange twinge of envy.
When the girl finally looked up, sniffling, Goku snapped his fingers in recognition. Of course. Takagi Saya, the group's sharp-tongued genius.
His eyes flicked to the motionless form of the chubby boy—Kohta Hirano, the story's otaku weaponsmith. A one-second moment of silent acknowledgment passed. Goku's early arrival had drawn a larger horde, altering the timeline just enough. The butterfly's wings had flapped, and in this new reality, Kohta never had the chance to reach his homemade crossbow or the infamous chainsaw. Without those, he hadn't stood a chance.
Traumatized by his gruesome death and her own brush with it, Saya was a far cry from the verbally abrasive girl from the story. She simply clung to Hayashi, her body trembling with residual shock.
"There, there… It's over now. You're safe," Shizuka soothed, adding her own comforting embrace. Sandwiched between the two women's warmth, Saya's breathing gradually evened. "Th-thank you… I'm… I'm okay now."
From the hallway outside, the sound of frantic, running footsteps suddenly echoed, growing rapidly louder.