POV: Jun-ho
The morning air hung heavy over the dorm courtyard, thick with fog drifting off the cliffs.
Sunlight tried to push through, but it barely warmed the damp chill that clung to our jackets. Ara and I moved along the perimeter, silent and alert, our footsteps muted on the cracked concrete. Every creak of the old dorms, every rustle of leaves in the nearby forest, made my chest tighten.
Ara's bow hung loose at her side, the metal catching the gray light.
She scanned the edges of the courtyard with practiced precision. I felt the weight of her gaze, calm but sharp, as though she could read the coming danger before it even appeared.
"Jun-ho. Look over there." She murmured, stopping mid-step. A student from another class was hunched near the edge of the lawn, moving oddly. His shoulders twitched, his head tilted at an unnatural angle.
His hands clenched and unclenched as he muttered something under his breath—a string of syllables that didn't make sense.
I froze. Something about his movements wasn't right. His pupils darted, unfocused, his lips moving as though trying to speak but choking on the words.
"Hey. It's okay. Jun-ho here. You're safe." I called gently, stepping closer, raising my hands slightly so I wouldn't startle him. The student's eyes locked onto mine. For a moment, something human lingered—recognition, fear—but it was fleeting. His lips twisted in a grimace, and a guttural sound escaped him, low and vibrating, almost animal.
"Easy. We're not going to hurt you. Come on." I whispered, crouching.
But he didn't come.
Instead, he lurched toward me, staggering and uneven, a violent shiver running through his frame.
Panic clawed at my chest. What's happening? I reached to steady him, to pull him back to reason—but his eyes went blank, and a scream burst from his throat. I realized then, too late, that this was no ordinary illness. Something had changed him. Something had taken him.
The attack hit before I could think. His arms swung wildly, a flailing, uncontrolled force.
I dove, grabbing his wrist mid-swing, using his momentum to throw him to the ground in a wrestling roll.
My body moved on instinct—grappling, twisting, holding—but he wasn't human anymore.
His strength came from raw panic, and his teeth gnawed at my arm as I pinned him, choking back the instinct to strike too hard.
I can't break the line. I won't kill an uninfected human.
Instead, I locked him in a hold, a judo twist keeping him restrained. His screams echoed through the courtyard, sharp, frantic, and unending. Ara's voice cut through the noise, calm but urgent.
"Jun-ho! Step back! Others are—"
I spun, holding him steady, heart hammering. The courtyard was filling with students, their faces pale, mouths open in horror. Several younger students shrank behind a bench, clutching each other.
I could feel their fear pressing against me, a tidal wave threatening to sweep us all away. But I couldn't falter. Not now.
"Stay behind me! Do not move!" I shouted, my voice steadier than I felt. The student thrashed, finally breaking free from my grip. He bolted toward the dorm buildings, stumbling and screaming, drawing the attention of more students.
The sound was magnetic—repulsive, horrifying—and I could already see the panic spreading like wildfire.
I sprinted, weaving between students frozen in disbelief, grabbing a younger girl by the wrist and dragging her behind a parked car. Ara mirrored me, her bow ready, eyes scanning every shadow, every movement. Minjae arrived at my side, fists clenched. "Jun-ho, what the hell—"
"Don't stop! Keep them calm. Move toward the side gates!" I barked. The courtyard erupted. Students were screaming, running in every direction.
Some froze, staring at the first infected as if hoping it would vanish.
I could see it now—the student's face twisted, veins prominent, teeth bared in a grotesque parody of a smile. His jerky, broken movements were terrifyingly fast. I lunged, intercepting a younger boy about to stumble into the path of the infected. I threw him behind me, catching his fall, pinning him gently to prevent panic.
I can't let anyone die if I can help it.
But the infected student wasn't alone.
From the trees at the edge of the courtyard, another figure staggered into view, slower, more deliberate—an Echo, I realized in horror. The scream of the first student drew it in like a beacon.
I had to act.
Using every instinct, every grappling move I had practiced over years of MMA and wrestling, I confronted the first student.
I didn't hit; I restrained, twisted, leveraged. Each hold was calculated to subdue, to contain, not harm. Yet his strength was a force I hadn't trained against—a flailing, mindless determination.
The ground beneath us shook as he thrashed, and I felt my arm begin to ache under the strain. My lungs burned, but I didn't release. Not yet. Ara moved beside me silently, cutting off another student from wandering into danger.
Her calm precision contrasted sharply with the chaos. For a moment, I was grateful she was here, that someone else was as in control as I had to pretend to be.
And then it came—the first real moral choice.
The younger students were cornered near the dorm steps. If I continued restraining the infected student here, I couldn't get to them fast enough. If I abandoned him, he might attack someone else.
I had seconds to decide.
I made the choice.
I disengaged from the struggling student with a controlled shove, directing him toward an empty alley, using the terrain to slow him.
I sprinted toward the younger students, grabbing a pair of them, pulling them into a tight group behind me. My mind raced—use momentum, don't hurt them, don't break the line, but get them safe.
I could hear the infected student's scream echoing off the walls as he lunged after me.
Ara intercepted, her bow poised, and I realized we were working in tandem without words—silent coordination born of necessity.
The courtyard had become a nightmare. Students were running, screaming, some frozen in disbelief. The infected student from earlier had broken into the dorms, dragging the panic with him.
I stopped briefly, panting, heart hammering in my chest.
The horror of what I had just faced pressed down on me.
The disbelief, the raw, unfiltered terror of seeing someone I knew—a peer, a classmate—turned into something monstrous…it was overwhelming.
I clenched my fists, feeling the strain of restraint, the ache in my muscles, the moral line I refused to cross. I had acted violently, yes—but not lethally. Not yet.
A final scream cut through the air, high and panicked, piercing the island's fog. The sound carried across the cliffs, across the dorms, and I knew that we had only just begun. The first contact had been made.
And the nightmare was no longer distant. It had arrived.