The Manipulative Survivor [Highschool of the dead]

The buzzing neon lights of the city reflected off the rain-soaked streets, creating a disorienting blur of colors. The man walked with a purpose, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. He had lived in this city his entire life, and it had shaped him into what he was—cunning, manipulative, and utterly devoid of any moral compass.

He had spent years honing his craft, mastering the art of deception, and exploiting the weaknesses of others for his gain. A few clever words, a well-placed threat, or a bit of blackmail were all it took to get what he wanted. To him, people were just tools—means to an end. Whether it was for money, power, or simply his own sick amusement, he would use them and discard them without a second thought.

Tonight was no different. He had just finished dealing with a "business associate" who had tried to double-cross him. The man's face had gone pale when he realized the extent of the trap that had been laid for him, but by then it was too late. A few well-chosen threats, and the man had been begging to do whatever was asked of him.

As he walked down the alley, the rain started coming down harder, but he didn't care. The thrill of having someone completely at his mercy was enough to keep him warm. His thoughts drifted to the latest game he had been playing—a survival horror game set in a world overrun by zombies. The game was nothing special, but he found it amusing. He enjoyed the sense of control, of being the one who decided who lived and who died. In the game, just like in life, he was the one in charge.

But then, out of nowhere, he felt it—a sharp, searing pain in his chest. He stumbled, clutching at his heart, but his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground. Panic set in as he realized what was happening. A heart attack? Here? Now? His mind raced, trying to process the situation, but the pain was overwhelming. His vision blurred, and he felt the cold, wet ground beneath him as darkness began to close in.

His last conscious thought was one of anger. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. He had been in control. He had been the one pulling the strings. How could it all just end like this, so suddenly, so senselessly? The thought of dying in a dirty alley, alone and powerless, filled him with a bitter sense of resentment as his world went black.

But that wasn't the end. In fact, it was only the beginning.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the brightness. It wasn't the dim, flickering light of the city alleyway. It was something else entirely. He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. He was no longer lying on the cold, wet ground. Instead, he was in a bed—a comfortable, warm bed. Sunlight streamed in through a window, casting a golden glow across the room.

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming. But as he pushed himself up, the details started to come into focus. This wasn't his apartment. The walls were painted a soft, pale color, and the furniture was simple but functional. There were posters on the walls—posters of anime characters and a desk cluttered with textbooks and notebooks. The realization hit him like a freight train. This was a teenager's room.

"What the hell…?" he muttered to himself, his voice sounding different, higher-pitched. He jumped out of bed, feeling an unfamiliar lightness in his limbs. Panic set in as he ran to the mirror hanging on the wall. The face staring back at him wasn't his. It was the face of a young Japanese teenager, with tousled black hair and wide brown eyes. The face was familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. Then it clicked.

"Takashi Komuro," he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

This was impossible. Takashi Komuro was a fictional character, the protagonist of the manga series *Highschool of the Dead*. He had read the manga years ago, enjoying the chaotic blend of zombie horror and fanservice. But how could he be looking at Takashi's reflection in the mirror? How could he be in Takashi's body?

He turned away from the mirror, his mind racing. Was this some kind of sick joke? Had he gone insane? He tried to recall the events leading up to this moment—the heart attack, the darkness. Maybe he was dead, and this was some kind of afterlife. But why *this* world? Why *this* body?

He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think clearly. The only explanation that made any sense, as insane as it sounded, was that he had somehow been transmigrated into the world of *Highschool of the Dead*. He was now in the body of Takashi Komuro, a high school student living in Japan, just two days before a zombie outbreak would devastate the world.

As the reality of his situation began to sink in, he felt a surge of emotion—fear, confusion, and something else. It was excitement. In his previous life, he had been in control, but here, he could be so much more. The world was about to descend into chaos, and he was at the center of it. He could rewrite the story, bend it to his will. The possibilities were endless.

But first, he needed to get a grip on his new reality. He sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through Takashi's hair. The memories of this body were still intact, blending with his own. He could recall Takashi's life, his friendships, his relationships, and most importantly, his knowledge of what was to come.

"Two days," he muttered to himself. "I have two days before the outbreak."

He needed to prepare, but more than that, he needed to start planning. This wasn't just about survival. It was about control, power, and satisfaction. The girls in this world—Rei, Saeko, Saya, and the others—they were all beautiful, strong, and vulnerable. In the chaos of the outbreak, they would need someone to rely on, someone to protect them. And who better to fulfill that role than him? He could make them his, in every sense of the word.

But he had to be careful. He had two days to lay the groundwork. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes. He needed to blend in, act like Takashi, and build trust. Once the outbreak began, he could start to reveal his true nature, slowly and subtly. The girls would come to him for protection, and by then, it would be too late for them to realize what kind of person he really was.

As he formulated his plan, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if something was stirring deep within his soul, something foreign and powerful. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feeling, and suddenly, it was as if a floodgate had opened in his mind. Information, abilities, and rules began to flow into his consciousness, overwhelming him with their complexity.

When the flood finally subsided, he was left with an understanding—a new ability that had somehow become part of him during his transition between worlds. It was called "limited skill creation."