Chuuya never thought the end of the world would smell like burnt flesh and cheap cafeteria food. One moment, he was arguing with Dazai on the rooftop about something stupid—probably about Dazai’s lazy attitude or his smug grin—and the next, the screams started echoing from below. It had been faint at first, a few sharp cries carried by the wind, but soon the sound became a wave—panicked, desperate, and horrifyingly real.

From their vantage point, they could see chaos unfold in the courtyard. Students running. Teachers shouting. And then, bodies—some of them moving wrong, twitching, staggering, like marionettes with their strings tangled. Chuuya didn’t understand what he was seeing until the blood started pooling. That’s when he realized it wasn’t some twisted prank. It was the apocalypse.

And, of course, he was stuck with Dazai.

Of all people to face the end of the world with, it had to be him. The irritating genius who smiled even when everything burned. The one who’d skipped classes just to nap in the nurse’s office or climb up to this very rooftop to annoy him. The one who always had some sarcastic comment waiting, no matter how serious the situation was.

Now, Dazai was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, looking down at the horror below with the same detached calmness he wore during exams. “Well,” he said, voice far too casual, “looks like we’re not going home today.”

Chuuya clenched his fists. “You think this is funny, bastard?!”

But yelling didn’t change the fact that they were trapped—five stories up, surrounded by screams and silence that crept closer with every passing second. The school gates were already overrun. The exits, blocked. The city beyond the walls, burning.

It was strange how fast fear turned into instinct. Chuuya was the first to move, searching for something useful—pipes, chairs, anything that could be turned into a weapon. He’d been a fighter all his life, hot-headed and reckless, but this was different. This wasn’t a fight he could win with punches. Still, he wasn’t about to die cowering on a rooftop.

Dazai followed, of course. Always following, always watching. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, calculating. He didn’t look scared, just thoughtful, like he was solving a puzzle. “If we make it to the gym,” he said after a while, “there’s a storage room. First aid, food, maybe tools.”

“‘If’ we make it?” Chuuya snapped, though he knew Dazai was right.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, Chuuya.”

He turned sharply, glaring. “You wanna see scared, I’ll throw you off this damn roof!”

It was the same as always—their routine of insults and threats—but there was something different in Dazai’s smirk this time. Something faintly real. Maybe fear, maybe trust. Chuuya didn’t have the time to figure it out.

Because when the first zombie slammed against the rooftop door, the world snapped back into chaos.

They were no longer rivals, not in the way they used to be. They were survivors now. Forced together. Bound by necessity, not choice. And as much as Chuuya wanted to punch that smug look off Dazai’s face, he also knew—deep down—that if anyone could find a way out of this hellhole, it would be him.

Even if it killed them both in the process.