Chapter 3: the world after the fall

As Seijiro drifted off to sleep, his dreams carried him back to the days when old man Shintaro was teaching him martial arts. In the stillness of the dojo, the faint smell of tatami mats and the soft hum of the wind outside made the setting peaceful, but his training had always been intense.

Shintaro, with his weathered face and sharp eyes, stood tall in front of him, exuding the strength of a man who had seen war but found peace in discipline. His movements were precise, every step a testament to years of mastery.

"Seijiro," the old man began, his voice a mix of calm wisdom and firmness, "as a special forces soldier, you're required to learn four to five martial arts. But I didn't stop there. I mastered seven, and now, I'm going to teach them to you."

Seijiro stood in awe, the young version of himself hanging on every word.

"The martial arts I've mastered are Judo, Jiu-Jitsu, Taekwondo, Kyokushin Karate, Boxing, Kali Arnis, and Kickboxing," Shintaro said, demonstrating short, swift movements for each one as he named them. "Each one has its purpose, its strength, and together, they make a warrior capable of facing any threat."

Seijiro watched as Shintaro flowed effortlessly from one form to another, each movement packed with power and precision, yet restrained with control. He remembered how the old man's strikes seemed to cut through the air, yet his stance remained balanced.

"Why do I need to learn all of these?" Seijiro had asked back then, his young voice filled with curiosity.

Shintaro's smile was soft but knowing. "It's not about the fighting, Seijiro. It's about control. Control of your body, your mind, and your emotions. Each of these arts will teach you something different, but in the end, it's the balance that makes you strong."

The dream continued, filled with flashes of intense training sessions—throws, grapples, strikes, and defenses. Seijiro's body ached in his sleep, as if reliving the exhaustion of those days.

As the dream shifted, Seijiro found himself older, sparring with Shintaro in the dojo. His strikes were faster now, his movements more confident, yet Shintaro still effortlessly countered each one, giving only enough resistance to push Seijiro without overpowering him.

"Remember," Shintaro's voice echoed in the dream, "a true warrior doesn't seek conflict, but when it comes, they are prepared. Mastering yourself is the first step in mastering any opponent."

Seijiro swung a kick in the dream, but as his foot connected with Shintaro, the image of the old man began to fade, replaced by a world now in ruin. The peaceful dojo vanished, and Seijiro found himself standing amidst the chaotic streets of Tokyo, the memory of his master's lessons still fresh in his mind, but the world around him was now completely different—a world after the fall.

Suddenly, Seijiro woke up in a cold sweat, the vivid dream lingering in his thoughts. His body still felt tense from the memories of his training, but outside his window, the world was no longer the one of his youth, the one where he had been under Shintaro's guidance.

Now, it was a world gripped by fear, disease, and chaos. The city had become a battleground, and Seijiro knew that the skills he had learned as a child were now his greatest hope for survival.

"Old man Shintaro," he muttered, staring at the ceiling, "I'll put your teachings to good use. I'll survive, and I'll protect the ones I care about."

With that, Seijiro got up from his makeshift bed, ready to face the broken world outside.

The morning light filtered in through the cracks in the broken windows, casting faint rays across Seijiro's makeshift shelter. He stretched, feeling the aches of exhaustion settle into his muscles, remnants of his encounter with the infected in the convenience store. The memories of his grandmother, his town, and Shintaro's lessons fueled a fire inside him, reminding him of his purpose.

After a quick meal of instant noodles, he gathered what few supplies he could—bottled water, some snacks and put them in a backpack, then he picked a sturdy metal pipe he'd found as an improvised weapon. Stepping outside, Seijiro braced himself for the desolation awaiting him.

Tokyo, once vibrant and bustling, had become a city of broken dreams. Cars were abandoned along the roads, their windows shattered, and signs of hasty evacuations were everywhere. Buildings that once held life and energy now loomed silently, their shadows dark and cold. The streets, once filled with laughter and the clamor of daily life, were eerily silent save for the occasional, unsettling groans of the infected.

As he moved through the streets, Seijiro kept his senses sharp, staying alert for any movement or sound. He knew he'd have to rely on every bit of Shintaro's training to survive here. But even in the chaos, his mission was clear: get to Shinjuku and check on his friends, then find a way back to Iwate to ensure Sae's safety.

As Seijiro moved cautiously through the empty streets, he couldn't help but feel exposed, gripping his makeshift metal pipe tightly. Every sound—whether the wind brushing against broken glass or the distant groans of the infected—made him tense, his senses on high alert.

Just as he was about to cross into another alley, something caught his eye: a broken window with cracked, faded lettering above it. The sign read Muramasa Armory.

Inside, dim light illuminated rows of shelves filled with all sorts of equipment. Seijiro's heart raced. Weapons weren't exactly easy to come by, and lucking into an armory seemed like fate itself.

With one quick glance over his shoulder to ensure the street was clear, he climbed through the shattered window. The place was in disarray, shelves overturned, and the floor littered with broken glass and bits of debris. But, thankfully, most of the weapons remained intact.

Seijiro moved quickly, checking each shelf. His eyes first landed on a small but sturdy dagger, its blade still sharp despite a slight layer of dust. He took it in hand, testing its balance, and slid it into his belt. Next, on a lower shelf, he spotted a pistol—compact, with a few magazines lying next to it. He picked it up, his fingers wrapping around the cold metal grip. After checking the chamber and quickly familiarizing himself with its weight, he tucked it into a makeshift holster he fashioned from his belt.

Then, toward the back of the shop, Seijiro's gaze was drawn to a weapon that immediately commanded respect: a long katana resting on a display rack. Its blade gleamed faintly in the dim light filtering through the cracked window. Gently, he reached for the katana, lifting it with reverence. The weapon felt like an extension of his arm—elegant, deadly, and surprisingly light.

Holding the katana in his right hand, the pistol securely at his side, and the dagger within easy reach, Seijiro felt a renewed sense of confidence and strength.

He stepped back out onto the street, knowing that he was now equipped to defend himself and confront whatever dangers lay ahead. Each step he took felt more assured, the weapons giving him a sense of readiness as he pressed on toward Shinjuku highschool, determined to find his friends and protect the people he cared about.

As Seijiro stepped out of the store, he felt a small measure of gratitude toward the shop owner who once stocked it with supplies, giving him a fighting chance. He resumed his path toward the school, but the hope of a clear journey quickly faded when he stumbled upon something far more terrifying than any infected he had encountered before.

This creature was a mutant zombie, its form horribly twisted and distorted beyond that of the usual infected. Its body was grotesque and hulking, with sinewy muscles bulging beneath torn, pale, and nearly translucent skin. Jagged bone fragments jutted out from its shoulders and elbows, giving it a jagged, monstrous outline. Its elongated arms ended in clawed, crooked hands, with talons sharp enough to rip through flesh and bone. The face was a nightmare: a gaping maw filled with needle-like teeth, yellowed and caked with blood, with a nose that seemed to have decayed into nothing. Black veins of rot spread beneath the skin, tracing up to its cloudy, lifeless eyes that stared with an eerie intensity.

It crouched on the ground, hunched over the body of its latest victim, tearing flesh with sickening enthusiasm. Seijiro's breath caught, and he tightened his grip on the katana, hoping he could go unnoticed just long enough to slip away. But then, as if sensing him, the mutant stopped mid-bite. It slowly lifted its head, its clouded eyes locking onto him, and let out a low, guttural growl.

It rose to its full height, towering above Seijiro, then launched itself forward with terrifying speed, far faster than he had expected. The ground shook slightly beneath its charge. Seijiro braced himself, swinging his katana to counter, but the impact was like colliding with a boulder. The force reverberated up his arms, making them tremble from the strain.

"It's this strong already?" he muttered to himself, his voice tense. "And all it takes is one bite… How is that fair?"

He jumped back, eyeing the creature carefully as it prepared to strike again. He knew running wasn't an option; the chances of another path to the school being safe were slim. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and smirked, shifting into a stance that felt all too familiar.

"Alright," he muttered, locking eyes with the monstrous figure as it tensed to lunge. "Looks like I'll have to finish this here."

The mutant snarled, its blood-streaked mouth pulling back to reveal rows of decayed, jagged teeth. It was faster than Seijiro expected, lunging forward with incredible speed and force. He barely had time to bring his katana up to block, but the impact rattled his entire body, his feet digging into the ground to keep from being thrown backward.

The creature swung its clawed arm at him again, aiming to tear him apart. Seijiro dodged to the side, but not fast enough. Its claws grazed his arm, slicing through his sleeve and leaving three deep, bleeding gashes. Seijiro winced, clenching his teeth, and struck back with his katana, aiming to slash across its abdomen. His blade cut deep, but the mutant barely flinched. Instead, it twisted, its grotesque muscles bulging, and slammed its fist into Seijiro's chest.

The impact sent Seijiro stumbling backward, nearly knocking the wind out of him. He could feel the bruises already forming beneath his ribs. "Damn... this thing's way stronger than it looks," he muttered, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.

The mutant's eyes zeroed in on him, glinting with a disturbing intelligence as if it understood just how vulnerable he was. It crouched low, its muscles bunching as it prepared to pounce. Seijiro raised his katana, his hands trembling slightly from the fatigue and pain coursing through his body.

With a feral scream, the creature lunged again, its claws outstretched. Seijiro swung his blade to meet it, aiming for its exposed neck. But it was too fast. The creature swerved mid-air, dodging his strike, and barreled into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Seijiro gasped as the mutant's weight pinned him down, its claws digging into his shoulders. It opened its mouth wide, leaning in to bite down on his throat.

Seijiro struggled, his arms pinned under its weight, his heart pounding as he fought against the creature's iron grip. Thinking quickly, he managed to twist his hips, freeing one leg, and kicked up with all his strength, catching the mutant under its jaw. The blow was enough to knock it back just a little, giving Seijiro the space he needed to roll away. He scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving, clutching his katana tightly as he eyed the creature warily.

The mutant growled, enraged, and came at him again. Desperation flooded Seijiro's mind as he parried blow after blow, each strike pushing him closer to his limits. His arms trembled with exhaustion, and every block sent shocks of pain radiating through his battered muscles. "I can't... keep this up," he thought, panic flaring as he stumbled back, barely avoiding a swipe that would have taken his head off.

The mutant lunged again, and in a last-ditch move, Seijiro thrust his katana forward, aiming blindly. The blade connected, piercing through the creature's chest, but it wasn't enough to bring it down. The mutant shrieked in rage and lunged at him one final time.

In that critical moment, Seijiro's foot caught on a loose rock, and he stumbled backward, landing hard on the ground. He expected to feel the creature's claws tearing into him, but instead, the mutant's own momentum drove it forward, impaling itself further on his katana. The blade pierced straight through its heart, emerging out of its back as it collapsed on top of him.

Panting heavily, Seijiro shoved the heavy body off him, his entire body shaking from the narrow escape. He lay there on the ground for a moment, staring up at the sky, his heart still racing. "Guess luck's still on my side," he muttered, wincing as he forced himself to stand, gripping his katana with blood-stained hands.

Bruised, bloodied, but alive, Seijiro continued on, realizing just how close he had come to death.