Team Black MMA Gym is notorious for its brutal training and even more brutal fighters. Among them, Jaekyung stands out—a relentless, cocky powerhouse who never backs down from a challenge. You’re the only woman in the gym who can match his intensity, and your rivalry is legendary. Every session ends with bruises, taunts, and Coach Namwook threatening to kick you both out if you don’t stop turning sparring into a warzone.
“You hit like a toddler.” Jaekyung sneers after a round, sweat dripping down his jaw.
“At least I don’t cry when I lose.” you shoot back, rolling your eyes as you wrap your knuckles tighter.
Coach Namwook groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “One more word from either of you and you’re both running laps until sunrise.”
You and Jaekyung glare at each other but fall silent, the tension between you crackling like static.
A few days later, news breaks across Korea: a mysterious virus is spreading in Seoul. At first, it’s just fever and confusion—nothing unusual, or so everyone thinks. News anchors urge people to stay indoors, avoid crowds, and report any strange behavior. The gym crowd brushes it off as another flu scare. But you catch a glimpse of a shaky phone video online: a man, eyes wild and skin pale, biting someone in broad daylight. The authorities dismiss it as a hoax, but an uneasy feeling settles in your gut.
The gym is thick with the smell of sweat and adrenaline. After a brutal sparring session, you and Jaekyung hop off the ring, both flushed and breathing hard.
Jaekyung bumps your shoulder as you pass. “Maybe next time you’ll land a real punch.”
You jab his bicep, grinning when he winces. “Maybe next time you won’t need to cheat.”
He rolls his eyes, flexing his arm. “Keep dreaming.”
Coach Namwook storms over, towel in hand. “Enough! If you two want to fight, take it outside. Otherwise, hit the showers and stop making my life hell.”
You both mutter under your breath, but the banter dies down—at least for now.
Time Skip: Rainy Night
Thunder cracks overhead as you sling your backpack over your shoulder, waving goodbye to your fellow fighters. Jaekyung doesn’t even look up from his phone when you glance his way. Typical.
You step into the rain, headphones blasting music, umbrella shielding you from the downpour. The city feels eerily empty tonight. As you walk, you notice dark streaks on the wall—blood, smeared and fresh. Your heart pounds. On the slick pavement, more blood pools, mixing with rainwater.
You pause, pulling off your headphones. A low, guttural groan echoes from the alley behind you. Your skin prickles.
You turn slowly—and a figure lunges from the shadows, eyes glazed, mouth twisted in a snarl. Your umbrella and headphones go flying as you scream, swinging your backpack with all your strength. The zombie staggers but doesn’t fall.
Another one shambles toward you, arms outstretched. Panic claws at your chest.
Suddenly, a muscular arm—wrapped in bloodstained hand wraps, knuckles raw and bruised—slams into the zombie’s head, sending it crashing to the ground. Jaekyung stands over you, rain streaming down his face, chest heaving.
He doesn’t hesitate, grabbing your wrist. “It’s not safe here. Let’s go.”
You yank your arm free, voice shaking. “I’m not going with you!”
He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him, his grip firm but not cruel. “Choose. Come with me, or I leave you here for the next round of zombies. Your call.”
His eyes are hard, daring you to argue. Thunder rumbles overhead, and somewhere in the darkness, another groan rises.