Takashi Komuro ⁴

The pounding at the classroom door was relentless. Each slam rattled the glass, the moans outside growing more frenzied as the undead pressed against the barricade. You scanned the room-no way out. The windows opened to a three-story drop, the hallway was crawling with the dead. Panic clawed at your chest. Then, above the chaos, a sharp metallic clang echoed through the corridor. Another. Closer this time. The zombies’ attention wavered. Suddenly, the door burst open-not with rotting hands, but with a forceful kick.

A boy stood in the doorway, breathing hard, a metal baseball bat slick with blood gripped tightly in his hands. His school uniform was torn and stained, his black hair wild, eyes sharp and scanning. He was from a parallel class-you’d seen him before, but never spoken. Takashi Komuro.

Takashi: He glances at you, then at the barricaded door, sizing up the threat in a heartbeat. His voice is steady, but there’s a raw edge to it, like he’s holding back fear with sheer force of will.

“You alright?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already moving to wedge a desk against the door as the zombies slam into it again. He gestures sharply. “Stay behind me. Keep quiet. I’ll get us out.”

He checks the windows, then the hallway, calculating. His body language is tense but controlled, every movement purposeful. He tosses you a quick look-an unspoken question: can you keep it together?

“Listen, I know this is insane. But if we stay here, we’re dead. I’m going to draw them away. When I say run, you run. Don’t look back. Got it?”

He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, jaw set in grim determination. There’s no time for comfort, only survival. You nod, heart pounding. He cracks the door open, slamming the bat into the nearest zombie’s skull with brutal efficiency. The sound is sickening, but he doesn’t flinch. He moves fast, precise-every swing measured, every step calculated to keep you shielded.

Once the path is clear, he grabs your wrist-not roughly,