The stairwell ended in darkness.

They pushed open a rusted metal hatch—
It groaned loud enough to make everyone flinch.

What lay beyond was vast… and dead silent.

An old metro platform.

No hum of lights.
No voice announcements.
Just still air and shadows that seemed to stretch forever.

Their footsteps echoed softly on cracked tiles.

The escalators were frozen mid-climb, their steps caked with dust.

Everyone pulled out their phones, switching on their flashlights.

Thin beams of light cut through the dark like needles. But they revealed little—just rows of empty benches, an old vending machine half-shattered, and a timetable that hadn’t changed in years.

No sound.

No life.

J-in swung his flashlight toward the tracks. “No rats, no bugs, no blood. That’s either a good sign or a really bad one.”

Masaru knelt beside the edge of the platform, peering down. “Rails are still intact… if a train’s coming through here, it’d have to run straight past this line.”

Yamada ran a hand through his hair, torch shaking slightly. “Anyone else feel like we’re being watched?”

No one answered.

They all did.

And somewhere far down the tunnel… something shifted.

Just once.

A small sound.

Like metal against stone. 
They moved as one. Lights up.  

Yamada stayed low, his breath steady. He veered off slightly toward the edge of the platform, back pressed against a concrete wall beside the escalator shaft.

The others stayed behind, watching him from a distance.

He raised a hand slowly—signal to wait.
Then bent down.

One eye peeking around the corner.

On the far side of the station—beyond the broken escalator—there were small shuttered shops lined up. A bent drink machine. A souvenir stall frozen in time.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to adjust to the dark.

Then—
He heard it.

A sound. Wet. Slow.

Dragging.

“Shit…” he whispered.

Yamada pressed tighter against the wall, tilted his head just enough to see both ends of the corridor.

And then he saw them.

A group—maybe six or seven.

Some limping. Some crawling.
Some… still gnawing on whatever they’d cornered before this.

Their limbs twisted wrong.
Blood soaked their shirts, and one of them had no lower jaw at all—just an open neck dripping onto the floor.

They hadn’t noticed him yet.

Yamada pulled back behind the wall, heart racing.

He tapped his phone screen to kill the flashlight.

Then slowly whispered, almost too low to hear—

“…We’ve got company.”

Masaru turned sharply. His brows furrowed, and he immediately raised a hand toward Yamada—not a wave, but a flat-palmed “are-you-kidding-me” gesture.

“Can you be serious for one damn second?” Masaru hissed, voice sharp and low.

Yamada blinked, genuinely confused.

“What? I’m telling you there are infected right—”

Before he could finish, Masaru gave him a slight nod.

Everyone silently fell into formation behind him, crouching low and close. The only sound was the soft crunch of old dust beneath their feet.

Yamada took the lead, back pressed against the wall. He bent slowly, peering around the corner again. Shadows moved—slow, twitchy, blood-stained figures loitered in the corridor ahead.

He raised two fingers.

Seven of them. First lane.

He glanced back, eyes serious for once, and then moved—no words, no sound. His feet stepped like whispers on the cracked tiles as he crossed to the other side.

The rest followed. One by one. Ducking low. Breathing through clenched teeth.

They passed the first lane.

Seven infected stood just a few meters away, but their heads were turned, attention elsewhere. Masaru held his breath until his lungs screamed.

No one noticed.

They kept moving.

Second lane.

Yamada halted again, crouching low behind a broken vending machine. He peeked through the shattered glass.

Twelve.

A whole dozen.

And closer this time.

Their breathing was louder. One of the infected twitched and stumbled forward slightly—but didn’t see them.

Kaito flinched. Sakura grabbed his sleeve instinctively.

Yamada signaled a turn.

They diverted, slipping past the broken columns and into the back service passage of the platform. It reeked of rust, oil, and old water—but it was safe.

They had reached the backside of the platform.

For now.

Masaru exhaled, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

“That was too close.”

Yamada looked back at them with a tired grin. “Told you. I can be serious.”

Masaru rolled his eyes.

“Don't get used to it.”

He reached into his coat, pulled out the folded metro map they’d scavenged from the station wall earlier.
Unfolded it slowly. Traced a finger along the faded blue lines.

“If this is correct,” Masaru muttered, “then right above this platform… there should be a live station. Still running. Regular trains.”

Everyone leaned in.

Sakura squinted at the map. “You mean… there’s a working subway? People?”

Masaru nodded once. “If it wasn’t shut down already.”

Their eyes followed his hand as he pointed up—to their left.

There it was.
A rust-covered escalator, frozen mid-motion.
And beside it—
An old concrete stairwell, curling upward into darkness.

The faded sign above read:

Exit B - Regional Subway Terminal
To Northbound & Intercity Lines

J-in muttered under his breath.
“If this works, I’ll tattoo Masaru’s face on my back.”

Masaru didn’t look up from the map. “Don’t. My jawline’s too sharp for cheap ink.”

A small, dry laugh escaped Sakura.

But it was short-lived.

Everyone turned toward the stairs and the broken escalator— and starts moving.

One by one, they ascended the cracked stone steps, flashlights casting long, shaky shadows along the walls. The air grew colder the higher they climbed. Dust coated the railings like frost.

At the top, a rusted metal gate stood half-open. Masaru nudged it gently. It let out a low, whining screech.

They entered the Regional Subway Terminal.

It was quiet.
Too quiet.

The overhead lights flickered dimly—like the whole system was running on its last breath. Pale yellow bulbs buzzed faintly above tiled walls smeared with old flyers and dust.

No trains. No voices. No movement.

They moved forward slowly, footsteps echoing.

Then—
A sound.

Music.
Faint. Almost too soft to register.

A song playing over the terminal speakers, as if nothing had changed.

J-in stopped in his tracks.
“Wait… is that—?”

Yamada tilted his head. “That’s… an old city broadcast jingle, right? Like… for tourism?”

Sakura whispered, “Why would it still be playing…?”

Masaru’s jaw clenched.
“It shouldn’t be.”

The music played on.
Cheerful.
Out of place.
Like someone was singing.

Not a recording. Not a speaker.
A voice.

They all froze.
J-in mouthed silently, “Did you hear that?”

Masaru nodded slowly, his hand already drifting to the hilt of the saw.
The others stood still, barely breathing.

The singing…
It was coming from the left side of the platform—where the terminal widened into a maintenance corridor.

There, half-shadowed behind old partition walls and crates, stood a large metal cabin—maybe a control room or old staff area. A yellow light flickered above it. The song drifted from within, soft and clear.

“…hontou ni daisuki datta…”

Sakura's eyes narrowed.
“That’s not a speaker. That’s someone… singing.”

Masaru raised a hand slowly, signaling for silence. Then he moved—quiet, measured steps toward the cabin. The others followed, tense, tight in formation.

Each creak of their shoes against the dusty tile felt too loud.
Each breath caught in their throats.

They turned left, inch by inch, rounding the corner—
The singing grew louder.

“…sayonara wa iwanai yo…”

They reached the near the cabin. 

Masaru leaned in, peeking through the grime.
He squinted.

Yamada pointed his hand upwards to see what's there.

And then—
they saw
Subway Lost and Found Center.

The singing had stopped.

Masaru placed his hand gently on the door handle.
Everyone behind him stiffened.
He looked back once—eyes locking with Yamada, who gave a subtle nod.
J-in held his breath. Sakura tightened her grip on the rebar.
Kaito? He was halfway behind a vending machine, just in case.

Creak.
The door opened.

The hinges groaned. The metal felt cold under Masaru’s palm.
They peeked inside.

Rows of shelves—
Old suitcases, umbrellas, purses, and plastic crates labeled with faded dates.

But the place wasn’t what they expected.
It was… decorated. Beautifully.

Paper lanterns strung up along the ceiling beams.
Soft, warm LED fairy lights ran between the racks.
A handmade banner, painted in watercolor strokes.

In the far corner, a folding table was set up with boxes of crackers, canned juice, and some sealed bento packs—
Real food.
People sat on cushions, quietly eating, chatting in low voices. Survivors.
A small radio played faint ambient music near them.

And in front of it all—sitting on a slightly raised bench like it was a stage—
A girl.

The same girl they heard earlier.
Now unplugged from her mic, resting it in her lap.

She wore patched jeans, a knitted cardigan, and a smile that looked too calm for a place like this.

Her gaze drifted to them—Masaru and the others standing in the doorway.

Forks paused mid-air. Juice boxes stopped halfway to mouths.

One by one, heads turned toward Masaru and others standing at the entrance—dust-covered, weapons in hand, and eyes full of exhaustion.

A middle-aged man near the radio stood up, clutching a metal rod instinctively.
“Who are they?” he whispered sharply. “Where did they come from?”

A girl by the food table muttered, “They don’t look like they’re from around here…”

Another voice—nervous, younger—“One of them’s got blood on his shirt…”

J-in immediately raised both hands. “Hey!”

Masaru stepped forward calmly, putting a hand on J-in’s shoulder to lower his volume.

A teenage boy near the entrance squinted at J-in.

“Wait… is that…?”

A woman gasped, almost dropping her cup. “That’s J-in! J-in the prank guy!”

Someone in the back pointed. “No way—you’re the guy from the videos!”

The mood flipped like a switch. People started murmuring, whispering excitedly.

“Dude, I followed you before the crash—your haunted hotel prank was legendary!”

“Wasn’t he the one they blamed for the whole zombie thing?”

“No no, that was just a rumor—he didn’t do it, right?”

J-in blinked, dumbfounded, looking around as more people gathered. A small group had already pulled out their phones, checking battery or hoping for some leftover footage.

Masaru groaned softly. “Oh god.”

Sakura whispered, “They… know him?”

Yamada raised an eyebrow. “You’re famous here, too? Seriously?”

J-in gave a sheepish grin, scratching the back of his head.
“Uh… I guess I have fans in the apocalypse now?”

"Looks like they made their way out here," the girl by the radio said, stepping forward.

J-in muttered under his breath, “This just turned into a Ghibli movie…”

Masaru stepped forward cautiously.
“What is this place?”

The girl stood up slowly, gesturing around.

"A place that still remembers what peace feels like.”
She gave a soft smile. “It's a safe ZOne.”