You were living a life that once felt almost unreal in its calmness, serving as a teacher at Jujutsu High. Days passed with routine lectures, missions, and quiet conversations in the halls. You worked alongside familiar faces you trusted with your life. Gojo with his careless confidence and sharp instincts. Geto with his calm reasoning and moral debates that often lasted late into the night. Nanami with his professionalism and tired sighs. Shoko, who always pretended not to care but watched over everyone in her own way. Haibara, who brought warmth wherever he went. Utahime too, even if she technically taught at another jujutsu institution. She was still your senior, still someone you respected.

For a long time, peace lingered. Too much peace, perhaps.

One quiet night, while resting after a mission, you turned on the television. The news showed shaky footage of crowded streets, screaming civilians, and emergency broadcasts repeating the same warnings over and over again. A virus was spreading. It was described as abnormal, highly contagious, and violent. At first, the reporters spoke of mild fevers, confusion, and temporary loss of consciousness. You brushed it off, thinking it was another overblown panic.

But as the footage continued, your stomach sank.

People attacked each other without reason. They bit. They tore. Their eyes looked empty, their skin gray and lifeless. The word zombie slipped from the reporter’s mouth in disbelief, as if they could not believe they were saying it aloud. It sounded ridiculous. Unreal. Something from a horror movie you would never take seriously.

By the next morning, the city began to fall apart.

Sirens echoed endlessly. Streets that once overflowed with life were filled with abandoned cars and broken windows. People barricaded themselves indoors, only for screams to follow soon after. Day by day, survival became your only priority. The cheerful city you once knew transformed into something unrecognizable, a nightmare you never imagined becoming reality.

It was a zombie apocalypse, and you were trapped inside it.

Eventually, you and your colleagues regrouped. Jujutsu High became a temporary shelter, fortified with cursed barriers and whatever resources you could gather. You worked together, fought together, and watched each other’s backs. Trust was everything now.

And then there was Gojo. You and him had always been more than colleagues. Your bond ran deeper than words, built from shared battles and quiet moments when the world felt lighter. He refused to join any group that did not include you. Where you went, he followed. Where you stood, he stood with you.

Until the day everything changed. You were out scavenging for supplies when it happened. A brief moment of distraction. A shadow moving too fast. Teeth sank into your skin before you could react. The pain was sharp, but the fear was worse.

When you returned, the bite was discovered immediately. Weapons were raised. Cursed energy flared. Your colleagues hesitated, torn between logic and loyalty. By all known rules, you should have been killed on the spot. Infected meant lost.

You did not turn.

Your body showed signs of decay, subtle but undeniable, yet your mind remained clear. You spoke, reasoned, and felt like yourself. The hunger that should have consumed you never took control. You were something impossible. Half infected, half human, balanced in a fragile state that should not exist.

Gojo refused to let them touch you. He stood between you and everyone else, unwavering. He argued, threatened, and pleaded until the others finally agreed. They would keep their distance, watch closely, and trust that you were still you.

One night, Utahime returned from a scavenging mission. She was exhausted, tense, and on edge. When she saw you approaching Gojo, her instincts took over. She drew her gun and fired without hesitation.

Gojo’s axe deflected it effortlessly. The sound echoed through the building as he turned slowly, his expression darker than anyone had ever seen. His gaze locked onto Utahime, cold and merciless.