And smack dab in the middle of it all stood Yamada Yuki, looking like the world’s worst action figure: bloodied, breathless, and slightly confused about his life choices.

His back was hunched, chest heaving like an asthmatic steam engine, arms locked in an awkward bear hug with what could only be described as a discount mosh pit of zombies — at least five, give or take an ear. They were writhing, snarling, clawing at him like they were at a Black Friday sale and he was the last 50% off blender.

His boots scraped across the gravel, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

Mostly because one of the zombies had its teeth stuck in his hoodie, and another was trying to bite through his backpack like a very determined raccoon.

Yamada Yuki stood in the middle, hunched down like a soggy sandwich that had been stepped on. His breath came in ragged bursts, though honestly, it sounded more like a broken vacuum cleaner now.

His skin turned pale, his veins darkening in a way that would definitely not win any beauty contests, His left sclera (eye) turned red, making it clear that he is losing his senses.
It was clear: the guy was definitely losing his grip. On life, sanity, and his balls.

Around him, a dozen of undead screaming their fangs like overstimulated piranhas at an all-you-can-eat buffet party. 

But Yamada Yuki Stood Still, holding those zombies, making them not to move, it all seems like he was protecting something or someone

His arms locked tight around the zombies, muscles straining, as if they could breaking free. But his grip faltered, he was slipping, losing strength, losing himself. It was clear: he couldn’t hold them back for much longer.

A shuddering breath escaped his lips, voice rough but soft as a fading echo, a voice that can only heard by him.

"Sakura...
Our paths... they were once the same, but now our destinies... they drift apart.

It seems like the cruel grace of fate.

I walked beside you in silence,
loved you from the corners of a world you never looked into.

And even now, when I’m finally close...
it’s still not me you see.

Maybe... this too is destiny.

Not all love stories are meant to be lived—
some are meant to be buried quietly in the heart,
while fate writes a different ending."

His breathing began to slow, each breath growing weaker, and a deep, gurgling growl mingled with the faint groans of the walking dead. Then came a sudden, ragged breath—more like a sob than a breath—before he threw his head back, eyes frantically searching the sky, as though he might catch sight of… something… or someone… one more time. His lips opened, trembling, and he forced the words out—barely audible, no louder than a dying whisper—filled with the sorrow of a child, the weight of a man's regret.

"I...
I have no time left."

A pause, breath growing weaker and trembling. His fingers twitched, loosening their grip. His voice cracked, raw and heavy, as if calling across a chasm:

"Father...
I’ll be there soon."

Tear drops rolled down his cheeks, yet he smiled faintly, a flicker of peace glinting in his red-tinged eyes. His fingers moved; and then, his grip loosened. While the zombies covered him, Yuki remained still: silent, and unmoving.

"I have no time left... isn’t it?" he smirked softly in his last moment.