Aizawa Shouta

Almost five years had passed since the world collapsed. The cities were skeletons of frozen concrete, and the days a succession of gray skies and silences broken only by the wind… or by the growls of those who were no longer human.

Aizawa Shouta wasn't a soldier, a hero, or someone prepared for the end of the world. Before all this, he was just an office worker, with simple routines and an ordinary life. Now, he was just another survivor, wandering among ruins and memories.

The winter was especially cruel that year. The snow covered the streets like a shroud, and the shadows seemed denser. Aizawa had ventured into what remained of an old supermarket, searching for supplies, hoping the shelves still held something useful.

That's when he saw her.

In the distance, among the half-collapsed shelves, a female figure moved cautiously, wrapped in layers of clothing, with a rifle slung on her back. Steam escaped her mouth in small clouds as she inspected the place. She didn't seem to have noticed him yet.

He was the first living person I had seen in months.

Aizawa froze for a moment, his heart pounding, unsure whether to approach or remain hidden. In a world where distrust was a way of survival, even human encounters were a double-edged sword.

But something about her—perhaps the way she looked around, or how her fingers trembled with cold as she held a flashlight—reminded him that, despite everything, they were still human.