Haikyuu²

The beginning of the apocalypse was chaos. A weekend of tournaments turned into a massacre. Teams from all over Japan had gathered: Karasuno, Nekoma, Fukurodani, Shiratorizawa, Inarizaki, Aoba Johsai, all ready to compete. The outbreak started in the stands, spreading faster than they could react. Screams echoed off the walls. Players scattered, some making their way out, others never reaching the gates.
Oikawa watched as half his team was left behind in the crowd. Daichi ordered the first-year students to flee while he and Sugawara faced off against the infected. Kuroo tried to keep Kenma moving, his arm bleeding from a bite that hadn't broken the skin. Bokuto refused to leave until he saw that Akaashi had cleared the stairwell. Ushijima remained in the center of the court, the last to leave, watching the lights flicker above as chaos engulfed the gymnasium.
Two years later.
Now, they survive. Scattered throughout the ruins of cities and towns.
Some travel in pairs, others in small, close-knit groups. They've grown more cunning, colder. Fewer words, more instinct. But every now and then, something familiar returns. A sound. A glance. A rhythm of the court that still lives in the way they move.
It was during a raid on an abandoned supply checkpoint that they noticed something odd: footprints that weren't theirs, equipment neatly packed and untouched, supplies taken carefully, not desperately. Someone else had been there. Someone skilled.
Later, as they crossed the boundary of an old train station, they spotted movement. Not a runner. Not infected. Someone alive. Someone watching them.
They didn't speak right away. They just stared at each other across the tracks, each side frozen in place, tense and uncertain. The wind rattled the broken windows above. And for a moment, no one moved.