The Collapse of Everyday Life and True Freedom
The morning at Myeongin University Affiliated High School, located on the outskirts of Seoul, was utterly ordinary. True to its status as a university-affiliated institution, the campus was vast, the athletic fields offered unobstructed views, and the buildings stood neatly maintained. Though it had been established long ago, it showed no signs of neglect—a space where the accumulated routines of countless people had layered over the years. Students who had finished arriving at school scattered into their classrooms, chatting, dozing off, or flipping through workbooks as they let the day that hadn't fully begun slip away. The third-year classrooms were no exception.
On the TV mounted on the front wall, the usual morning news played.
But Kang Ha-neul, sitting by the window in the back of the classroom, wore a different expression. She had placed a small whetstone on her desk and was slowly sharpening the blade of a folding knife. Her long black hair flowed loosely over her shoulders and down her back, and even beneath her neatly worn uniform, her body—honed by years of athletic training—showed through subtly. Her wrists and arms moved with minimal force but perfect precision, and each time the blade glided across the whetstone, it produced a thin, low scraping sound. The faint metallic rasp blended into the chatter of voices, the scraping of chairs, and the ringing of phone notifications.
Still, the students nearby glanced at her and chuckled.
"There she goes again."
"That's her hobby. The kendo club's ace is on another level."
Remarks that sounded like teasing mixed in—international tournament champion, or how she was twenty but still a third-year. Ha-neul paid no mind to those stares or judgments. They weren't entirely wrong, after all. She was the kendo club's ace, with consecutive victories in domestic competitions, overseas invitationals, and international tournaments alike. The problem was that her intense training and frequent tournament appearances meant she missed far too many school days, eventually leading to her being held back for insufficient attendance. So even though she was twenty, she remained a high school senior.
But none of that really mattered. As a physical education prodigy, her university admission was already secured. Her situation was completely different from the other students who lived and died by their CSAT scores. That was why Ha-neul was sharpening a blade in class instead of working through problem sets.
The blade slid across the whetstone once more. She lifted it briefly, holding it up to the light. The edge reflected the glow sharply enough, yet she didn't seem satisfied and returned it to the stone. She hadn't walked the path of the sword merely as a hobby. A sword was originally made to cut people—an implement optimized to carry force, strike at the perfect angle, and slice through flesh and bone. In modern society, however, it had been reduced to a sport. Kendo had become a game of scoring points, and techniques meant to kill had been whittled down into rules that prevented serious injury. The mocking reminder that it was all useless against guns was just the cherry on top.
That truth had always left Ha-neul with a strange sense of frustration. She honed her edge through endless repetition, yet those skills would never truly shine in the world she lived in. It was a thirst that had built up over the years, difficult to put into words.
At that moment, the TV screen flickered.
The screen glitched and cut out briefly. Every student in the classroom lifted their heads at once. But soon enough, they went back to chatting as if nothing had happened. The broadcast resumed shortly after, and the bell for first period rang. The morning passed just like that.
Students focused on their lessons, others nodded off despite their best efforts, and some only fell quiet when a teacher walked past their gossiping group. It was another perfectly ordinary class period.
Then came lunch.
Students dashed toward the cafeteria, headed for the athletic fields, or stayed in the classroom to unwrap snacks they'd bought in advance. The entire school burst into noise once more as everyone moved at once. Classroom doors opened and closed repeatedly, and countless voices echoed through the hallways. It all felt like a completely normal, everyday lunch break.
Until the scream tore through the corridor.
"Aaaaaaaaagh!!!"
The sudden, piercing shriek made the students eating lunch in the classroom freeze with utensils still in hand.
"What the hell?"
A student near the door smirked and looked that way. The moment they thought a fight might have broken out, something slammed hard into the door from the hallway. Thud. A student tumbled inside. His face was deathly pale, and his hands scrabbled weakly against the floor. He opened his mouth to say something.
"S-save—"
Before he could finish, something leaped on top of him. Crunch. The sound of human flesh being torn apart was heavier and wetter than anyone expected. What was biting into the fallen student's neck had clearly been a 'person' only moments ago. Its uniform shirt was soaked in blood, its eyes were cloudy and unfocused, and its jaw jerked in unnatural, mechanical spasms as it ripped away chunks of meat. Bone and blood vessels glistened through the torn throat, and shredded flesh clung to its lips before dropping to the floor. Blood sprayed across the threshold and the classroom tiles. The student whose throat had been ripped open gushed blood for a few seconds before going completely limp.
"Kyaaaaaaaaaah!!!"
Screams erupted. Students kicked over chairs as they scrambled backward; others froze like ice, unable to process what they were seeing. Meanwhile, the same nightmare was unfolding in rapid succession down the hallway, flooding into the classroom through the open door. Beyond the doorway, the corridor was already stained deep red. Students shoved and tripped over one another while more of those corpse-like things swarmed over them.
"It's zombies!" one student shouted, but the others were too stunned by the sudden collapse of normalcy to respond properly.
In the midst of that surreal scene, Kang Ha-neul stood quietly. Her gaze swept over the blood and corpses littering the hallway, and the students who died only to rise again. What looked like pure horror and chaos to everyone else appeared entirely different to her. After watching in silence for a moment, the faintest, shallow smile brushed across her lips.
The low voice that slipped out carried an emotion far from mere surprise. She rose from her seat and, instead of joining the students screaming and rushing toward the exit, walked toward the back of the classroom. She opened the cleaning supply closet and pulled out a mop.
"Hey, what are you doing!?" someone yelled from behind her, but Ha-neul didn't answer. She planted her foot on the mop head and snapped it with a sharp crack. She examined the broken end for a moment. It wasn't as sharp as a real spear, but it looked like it could pierce flesh well enough if thrust properly. She gripped it like a spear. The feel in her palm was crude, but serviceable.
The moment she stepped into the hallway, the nearest zombie locked onto her. A male student with half his face torn away staggered forward with his mouth agape and arms outstretched. Ha-neul didn't retreat. She lowered her stance, and the instant the creature lunged with its face thrust forward, she drove the makeshift spear straight ahead.
Thud.
The broken end of the mop handle sank beneath its jaw. The upward thrust carried all the way into its skull, and the wooden tip drove deeper than expected. The zombie's body stiffened, then collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut. Ha-neul yanked the handle free. Blood and grayish brain matter clung stickily to the end. She stared at it for a second, then the corner of her mouth curved up a little more.
The head was the weak point. Even after rising from death, a pierced skull stopped them completely. She didn't know the exact mechanics yet, but she wasn't particularly curious. What mattered was how quickly she could assess the situation in front of her.
Down the hallway, toward the special annex. Beyond that lay the kendo club room—and inside it was her sword. A real blade, one she had even obtained an official permit to keep at school. Not a competition-grade fake, but a genuine edge capable of slicing through living flesh. The stick in her hand would work for now, but a real sword would let her cut through the zombies far more easily and quickly.
Ha-neul gripped the mop handle tightly once more and strode down the blood-soaked corridor. The hallway was littered with blood, entrails, fallen bodies, and torn fragments of uniforms. Blood splatters stained not only the walls and floor but even the ceiling. In front of one classroom, a zombie was devouring a fallen student's abdomen. A little farther ahead, another zombie leaned against the wall, slowly shaking its head as blood dripped from its body. Somewhere, a still-living voice cried out, "Help me!" only to be swallowed by the wet sounds of tearing flesh and snapping bone.
Kang Ha-neul walked through it all.
She wasn't without fear. She understood this was a dangerous situation, that one wrong move could leave her lying on the floor just like the others. But something moved her before the fear could take hold.
Finally... finally...!
About halfway down the corridor, another zombie spotted her and charged. It was a male student whose jaw had been half torn away. His steps were clumsy, but the momentum was threatening enough. Ha-neul sidestepped smoothly and thrust the handle forward. The target was the same. The wooden tip punched through the jaw and into the brain, and the zombie froze in place. She twisted the handle free and lightly shoved the collapsing body aside.
Her conviction had grown firmer. Destroy the brain or sever the connection between it and the body. A little farther on, she noticed a student crawling across the floor. Both legs had been nearly torn off and were barely recognizable, leaving a long trail of blood behind him. When he saw her, he reached out desperately for help. But the wound had already begun discoloring strangely, and the veins bulging beneath his skin looked grotesque.
This one's already too far gone.
Ha-neul reached her conclusion instantly. The student barely managed to open his mouth.
"Help..."
She flicked open her folding knife and slashed the back of his neck with a short, precise stroke. The central nerve connecting the brain to the body was severed. The student's body convulsed violently before going limp. His eyes were still alive, but he would never rise again. Even as a zombie.
Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact. It wasn't that she didn't value human life—she simply knew that hesitation would only make things more dangerous.
At the end of the corridor stood the special annex. Ha-neul walked on, cutting through the stench of blood, the screams, and the groans. Inside one classroom, three zombies were tearing into different corpses. Fingers lay scattered, entrails spilled between bones, and half-chewed lumps of flesh had been tossed beside a pair of sneakers. It was a horrific sight that should have made anyone turn away. But after glancing at it briefly, Ha-neul smiled—very slowly.
She had spent years sharpening and polishing her blade. She had trained her body, corrected her form, and refined her techniques. Even within the confines of a sport far removed from real combat, she had tried to preserve every ounce of sharpness she could. Yet those skills had nowhere to go in reality. A sword was a weapon, and swordsmanship was a killing art. Techniques for cutting people had no place in modern civilization.
But now, things were different.
Those things were no longer human.
Therefore—she could cut them.
That simple realization made Ha-neul's steps feel lighter. She gripped the handle again. The special annex was still a short distance away, but it didn't matter. Anything blocking her path could simply be cleared. Pierce the head, slash the back of the neck, step over the corpses piling at her feet. That was all.
Ha-neul's eyes gleamed coldly. Within them burned something far deeper than fear—an emotion long suppressed, finally allowed to breathe. At the far end of the corridor, more zombies lifted their heads. She walked straight toward them. And once again, blood began to spray.