The school had become a tomb.
By the second day, everything had changed. The students were thinner, dirtier, and quieter. Screams no longer startled them. Cheong-san had killed his first infected classmate. On-jo had watched her friend bleed out. Su-hyeok had led them through broken halls and over bodies just to find a new place to hide. And Nam-ra—perfect, cold Nam-ra—was no longer entirely human.
She had been bitten. But unlike the others, she didn't turn completely. Somehow, she retained her mind. Her senses sharpened, her strength increased, but the hunger—the zombie part of her—whispered constantly. The group didn't know whether to treat her as friend or threat. She didn't know either.
Meanwhile, another danger stalked the school: Yoon Gwi-nam, once a bully, now something much worse. Also a halfbie, like Nam-ra, but without conscience. The virus twisted him into a monster that couldn't die, and he enjoyed the chaos. He hunted Cheong-san with an obsessive fury, blaming him for his own transformation. Every time they fought, Cheong-san came away bloodied and bruised. But he never gave up.
Food ran out. Water was scarce. Hopes of rescue faded.
When they made it to the rooftop, flares and screams in the distance told them the city of Hyosan was already lost. The military declared martial law. Anyone in the city was considered infected. Bombs rained from the sky. Entire neighborhoods were erased in fire. The students realized the truth: no one was coming for them.
Cheong-san finally made a choice. He led Gwi-nam away from the others in a desperate bid to stop him once and for all. In a brutal confrontation on a burning stairwell, Cheong-san pushed Gwi-nam—and himself—into the flames. On-jo, watching from afar, screamed his name, but he was gone.
His sacrifice bought the others a chance to escape.
They ran. Through the forest, across rivers, and into the uncertain world outside Hyosan. Not all of them made it. But a few did.
Weeks later, the survivors stood at the edge of the ruins, staring at the city that had once been their home. Nam-ra, now living in exile, appeared briefly from the shadows. She had chosen to stay behind—not as a monster, but as a guardian for others like her. Her goodbye was silent but full of meaning.
"We're not just survivors," On-jo whispered. "We're what's left."
The group walked away. Not as students. Not as children. But as people who had faced the end—and lived.