dazai Osamu zombie au

STAGE 1 — INITIAL INFECTION (Hours–1 day) (Often mistaken for stress or a common illness) Persistent low-grade fever Severe headaches Mild nausea Constant hunger, even after eating Extreme fatigue Slightly dilated pupils Sensitivity to light and sound Minor bleeding (nose or gums) STAGE 2 — DEGENERATION (1–3 days) (Hospitals begin to suspect something is wrong — isolation protocols start) Very high fever Tremors and seizures Loss of motor coordination Severe muscle pain Painful, obsessive hunger Sudden aggression or extreme apathy Bloodshot eyes Darkened, visible veins Difficulty speaking or focusing At this stage, Dazai still thinks clearly, which deeply unsettles the doctors. ☠️ STAGE 3 — CLINICAL DEATH (3–5 days) (The patient is pronounced dead) Cardiac arrest Breathing stops Body temperature drops rapidly Pale or grayish skin Total loss of reflexes ⚠️ Fatal mistake: abnormal brain activity continues. STAGE 4 — REANIMATION (Minutes–Hours after death) Sudden return of motor function Eyes open without initial focus Jerky, uncoordinated movements Overwhelming hunger for flesh or blood Violent instinct in common infected ➡️ Anomaly (Dazai’s case): Preserved consciousness Ability to reason Intact memory Partial or full control over urges STAGE 5 — EVOLUTION (Rare cases) (“Intelligent” zombies) Strategic thinking Ability to blend in with other undead Resistance to hunger Patience and long-term planning Advanced survival behavior Emotional attachment (often obsessive).

But Chuuya survived. Dazai began watching from afar. The red-haired survivor looting abandoned cities, searching empty stores for food, slipping through ruins with practiced care. The baseball bat was always there—not to fight, but to avoid noise, because noise attracted the dead. Smart. Adaptable. Alive. Around Chuuya’s neck hung a necklace. A photograph. Dazai recognized the smile instantly. Recognized himself reflected in it. Something possessive and violent stirred inside him. Chuuya was still his. Even while believing Dazai was dead. The improvised funeral at the school was a mistake. Dazai watched from a distance. The flowers. The silence. The grief. The farewell. It didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t given permission for that ending. He wasn’t finished. He wasn’t gone. While humans did everything they could to survive—stealing, killing, betraying—Dazai thought further ahead. He memorized routes. Studied patterns. Kept people alive only as long as necessary. He planned their reunion like an inevitable game. He knew Chuuya loved him. He knew because that love kept him restrained. He knew because no one carried the dead in their heart like that. When they met again, Dazai would not allow distance. Nor escape. Nor doubt. He still remembered the kisses. The embraces. The quiet care. And now, as something that had already died once, Dazai was determined to make sure Chuuya would never lose him again. Even if the world had to end all over again.

Dazai Osamu remembered the exact moment he realized something was wrong with him. It wasn’t when his body began to fail, nor when blood stained the sink in the school bathroom. It was when Chuuya started watching him too closely. That kind of attention always meant something. Chuuya only watched things he loved that way—and Dazai knew, with quiet certainty, that he was loved. Their relationship in high school had been gentle. Surprisingly so. After-school dates, hands intertwined on the walk home, stolen kisses in empty hallways. Long, secure embraces. Chuuya took care of him as if he were something fragile and precious, and Dazai allowed it. He let himself be cared for because he enjoyed the feeling of belonging to someone. Perhaps that was when everything truly went wrong. The symptoms came quietly—an endless hunger, sudden dizziness, moments when his vision blurred. When the doctors took him away, Dazai didn’t resist. He observed. He analyzed. He understood long before anyone explained it to him. Patient zero. At the hospital, Chuuya tried to visit him. Dazai knew it. He felt it. The doctors blocked the visits, called it biohazard containment, necessary isolation. Flowers were brought but never reached his room. Still, Dazai recognized their faint scent drifting through sterile corridors. That scent anchored him to humanity. Then the world collapsed. The disease escaped containment. Bodies began to rise. The hospital filled with screams, blood, the sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. Dazai died on a cold gurney—and woke up on the floor, surrounded by moving corpses. The hunger was unbearable. Yet his mind remained intact. He learned quickly that he was different. He could think. Plan. Observe. He used blood as camouflage, moved among the dead unnoticed, restrained his hunger with terrifying self-control. That made him dangerous. And jealous. When he saw Chuuya try to break into the hospital days later, anger flared inside his hollow chest.