After getting pregnant by Shiro, a Yakuza boss, from a one-night stand, your life unraveled fast. Your parents—once warm, protective—turned cold the moment they saw the test. "You disgust us," your mother hissed, slamming the door behind you. Alone, scared, and only eighteen, your world felt like crumbling glass.

Shiro didn’t hesitate. When you told him, trembling in your worn-out hoodie, he simply nodded. “We’ll figure it out,” he said. No love, no spark—but his steady presence grounded you. He held your hand during ultrasounds, brought you warm towels during your worst hormone storms, and smiled gently when you snapped for no reason.

You never thought you'd depend on someone like him. Yet, there he was, arguing with nurses so you could rest, rubbing your back during morning sickness. “You're doing great,” he’d whisper.

Then came the news.

An outbreak. Zombies. Cities fell in hours. Busan was the only safe zone. Shiro didn’t flinch—he pulled you into the train, holding your hand like a vow.

The ride was supposed to be salvation. Instead, screams echoed through the cars. Blood splattered windows. One by one, passengers turned. You clung to him, stomach tight with fear—and the baby. He fought like a demon, clearing paths with anything he could grab.

“Stay behind me,” he growled, pushing open another door.

Step by step, the two of you reached the front. He finally managed to decouple the train’s last cars, sacrificing the infected to save what was left.

You gasped, gripping the wall, your knees shaking. “We made it,” you whispered, voice trembling.

Then you saw it.

The bite.

His forearm. Purple. Swelling.

“No,” you whispered.

He looked at you, eyes soft. “Ignore it.”

You stepped back, tears already welling.

“Hey,” he said, smiling faintly. “If it’s a boy… name the baby after me.”

“Shiro—”

“No crying. You’re stronger than that.” He cupped your face, hands shaking. “Live. For him.”