Highschool Of The Dead: Dead Man’s Tale.

10+ Chapters ahead on Patreon.com/LordCampione.

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Saeko Busujima stood before the school’s trophy case, her gaze lost in reflection. Her thigh-length purple hair, styled in a triangular fringe that barely touched the ridge of her nose, framed her solemn blue eyes. Tall and statuesque, especially for a Japanese girl, she towered with an air of detached grace. 

The object of her attention was a national medal, prominently displayed, which had once been awarded to her father during his own high school days.

“Don’t tell me the captain of the Kendo club is skipping classes,” a taunting voice broke her reverie. Saeko’s eyes shifted from the gleaming medals to the reflection of four figures approaching her—local bullies known more for their bravado than brains. To Saeko, they were mere nuisances, bugs undeserving of her attention or energy.

“You know, I heard you had enough endurance to train for hours, why don’t we test that out?” one of the boys said, a smirk playing on his lips as he daringly placed his arm over her shoulder, his hand inching dangerously close to her breasts.

In that instant, Saeko’s gaze hardened, her blue eyes turning icy with a glare that could silence a room. 

Inside, Saeko’s mind raced with the teachings of Bushido—the warrior’s code that preached not only skill but also restraint. She could easily break his arm, incapacitate him before his friends could react, a lesson in fear. But that would violate her principles, principles that dictated she use her skills for defense and honor, not for proving points against fools.

Thus, she stood still, her body rigid with tension, her breathing controlled. Her voice, when she spoke, was low but clear. “Remove your hand, or I remove it for you.” The words were calm but carried a weight that made the boy’s smirk falter, his friends shifting uncomfortably behind him.

“What, we were just going to ask you if you wanted to join us for a smoke?” 

The insinuation was clear, and Saeko couldn’t help but snort in disdain. She knew the underlying meaning all too well, but she chose to ignore them and walk away. However, her retreat was abruptly halted when one of the boys, his ego bruised by her dismissive snort, grabbed a handful of her uniform at the shoulder. 

“Look here, bitch, when I am being nice—“ 

A dark thrill surged through Saeko. This confrontation had escalated beyond verbal sparring, and part of her, a part she kept tightly reined in, relished the prospect of violence. 

I can finally let her out, she thought. 

Saeko’s eyes gleamed, her body already shifting into a stance that promised retribution. She could visualize the swift, satisfying motion needed to incapacitate her assailant, to send a clear, unequivocal message to anyone who dared cross her.

A voice sliced through the tension. 

“And here we have the local bullies harassing an innocent, typical high school behavior,” Saya announced, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she stepped into the scene, flanked by Kozen and Kohta, who looked on awkwardly.

Saeko paused, her body coiled with unreleased energy, as she turned to see Saya calmly addressing the situation. The interruption was both an irritant and a relief. While it thwarted her immediate desire to exact physical vengeance, it also pulled her back from a brink she seldom allowed herself to visit. 

“Oh Saya, we were just playing around.” 

His words dripped with a feigned familiarity, as though he and Saya shared a close connection. However, Saya’s expression remained icy; the pink-haired girl barely acknowledged his existence in any way.

“Get out of my face.”

The bullies, recognizing the danger in escalating the situation further, especially with someone like Saya, nodded reluctantly and began to disengage.

But before they could retreat completely, Kohta grabbed one of the bullies by the arm. 

“You are going to face justice for what you did to that poor innocent helpless girl,” he declared, his voice filled with a righteous fervor that made Saeko involuntarily sweatdrop at the dramatic adjectives, while Kozen visibly facepalmed at his friend’s frankly stupid idea of showing off to Saya.

“Let go of me, you porky,” the bully snarled, his anger flaring as he swung a clenched fist towards Kohta, aiming to land a sucker punch.

However, before the punch could connect, something fast intercepted it. Kozen, with a fluid and almost effortless motion, stepped in. He caught the bully's fist mid-air, his grasp firm and unyielding. The bully struggled, his face contorted with effort as he tried to free his hand, but Kozen’s grip was ironclad. Casually, the black teen pushed the hand back towards the bully, forcing him into an awkward stance that left him unable to strike or even resist effectively.

Feeling his pride stung by Kozen’s effortless control, the boy’s frustration boiled over, and he shouted, “Oi, let go of me or else I’ll show you why I am the all-time MMA champion, Musashi!” 

Kozen blinked at the declaration, a flicker of amusement crossing his features before he casually released the boy’s hand. The bully, interpreting this as intimidation, smirked triumphantly, believing his bluff had succeeded. His smirk widened until Kozen dryly remarked, “Identity theft is a crime, Mr. Fake Musashi.”

The boy’s confidence faltered, a wave of panic replacing the earlier arrogance. In a last-ditch effort to assert his dominance, he lunged forward, bellowing, “I am Musashi!” He aimed a headbutt straight at Kozen, a move he had perfected over time, a head-to-chin attack that had knocked out others before, establishing his reign among the bullies.

Kozen, however, was not an average teenager to be felled by such tactics. 

As the bully launched into the air, Kozen’s training and reflexes took over. He smoothly stepped to the side, his movements precise and calculated. As the boy’s head came barreling towards where Kozen’s chin had been just a moment earlier, Kozen shifted his weight and used the bully’s own momentum against him.

With a deft turn of his body, Kozen extended his arm, palm open, connecting with the back of the boy’s head. The force was not brutal, but it was perfectly aimed and timed, using the bully’s forward motion to enhance the impact. The strike was enough to disorient and stagger the boy, who crumpled to the ground in a heap, the air of menace he once carried evaporating as he hit the floor, unconscious from the precise counterattack.

Kozen stood over him, his expression unchanging, calm and in control. There was no gloating, no triumph in his stance—only the quiet confidence of someone who knew how to handle himself in a confrontation without resorting to excessive violence. 

Saya observed the unfolding chaos with amusement.

Handsome, tall, and can fight. You are becoming more interesting, Kozen, she mused silently, her eyes tracing his movements with an appreciative gaze. He was exactly the type of person who could peak her interest.

Her contemplation was abruptly interrupted by the thud of a body hitting the floor. Turning her attention, she saw Kohta, his fist still extended from delivering a sucker punch that had knocked out one of the bullies. The heavier boy looked towards Saya, seeking approval, but the pink-haired girl merely shook her head slightly. 

“I am not impressed.”

 She recognized she was leading Kohta on, a deliberate ploy to see how far he would go to win her favor. It was purely entertainment for her, a game to stave off boredom, especially now that Kozen had caught her eye.

Kohta’s face fell at her unspoken disapproval. Before the mood could settle, another disturbance—a couple more bodies hitting the floor—redirected everyone’s attention.

Saeko was dispatching two more bullies with precise karate chops. Her actions were swift and decisive, leaving the bullies incapacitated in quick succession. After handling the immediate threat, she made a beeline towards Kozen.

“Do you want to join the Kendo club?” she asked, her tone more of a challenge than an invitation.

“No.”

He had caught the unnerving intensity in Saeko’s eyes. 

It wasn’t the friendly challenge; it was something more primal. Her gaze held a ferocity that spoke of battles not confined to wooden swords and dojo mats. It was as if she was sizing him up for a real fight, one that satisfied a deeper, more visceral thrill—a hint of desire for violence.

Choosing to distance himself from the crazy, Kozen politely declined, turning his attention back to Saya. 

“Saya, let’s continue with the tour.”

“Of course.”