HOTD: A New Dawn

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Memories are the cornerstone of someone's identity. They drive people forward. It gives them coherence and reason for actions and words. 

What is a man without the weight of his past? A shell of his former self?

Tysone had died, but this new Tysone had not. No matter how hard he dug through his mind, any information regarding himself of this reality—his predecessor—didn't exist. It was as if his brain had been restored to factory settings somehow. 

He couldn't wrap his head around it. Did it make sense that Tysone had a doppelganger in a fictional world, or did he inadvertently miss the train for the afterlife and found himself in some cosmic crack between dimensions? If he got there on his own, his lack of identity and memories in this world could be explained. 

But he had died. 

Right? 

Tysone didn't believe Klein decided to save him at the very last moment. Malik had been very eager to tear his trachea out; he'd have bled out before Klein even mustered the ridiculous thought of saving him. 

"Does it even matter at this point?"

Tysone stood in front of the door of a dilapidated apartment. He had luckily found a lease agreement in his bag; it turns out that the other Tysone had just rented the place, which explained the lack of funds. The keys jiggled as he inserted them into the hole, twisted, and swung the door open.

There were only two rooms. One was the main one, which doubled up as a kitchen and a living room; the bedroom being in another.

The place looked fairly empty and newly refurbished, despite how run-down it looked on the outside. To be honest, he didn't have high expectations, but at least there was a mattress in the bedroom. 

There was a small fridge in the kitchenette. It was empty. 'Looks like I'll be losing weight for the foreseeable future.' He chuckled darkly. 

There was a small fridge in the kitchenette. It was empty. 'Looks like I'll be losing weight for the foreseeable future.' He chuckled darkly.

At least the water and heating worked well. He walked into the bathroom. He unintentionally glanced at the mirror. He looked weary; he had been through way too much shit. There was still a vague sense of hope that upon dawn, he'd wake up in his previous world, either slowly bleeding to death or forced to listen to one of Klein's uninspiring monologues before a bullet penetrated his skull.

After a long and contemplative shower, Tysone dragged himself to bed. The sheets were stark white, and the mattress squeaked every time he moved a muscle. It wasn't all too comfortable, but it would do the job.

He grabbed his phone. An old model. Not so fancy. No games. Internet and calls; that was the gist of it. He read the history of the last messages, either sent or received. There were few contacts. 'Mom', 'Dad', and 'Fire Breather'.

Wait, Fire Breather?

After reading through a few old chats, Tysone was able to puzzle out the true identity of this enigmatic Fire Breather.

His younger sister. Apparently a year younger than the original Tysone.

So he had a family... no, he didn't, but this Tysone did, and for him, perhaps, it was for the best. The lack of memories made any potential and lingering connection as feeble as thin strands of hair, liable to break under any unintended movement.

And, if the most recents exchange 'Tysone' had with his parents was anything to go by, he'd hardly see them going forward. It turns out that his presence in Japan was not mere coincidence—he was here since he was part of a student exchange programme. "Fujimi Gakuen University, huh?"

He still had a couple of months before classes started. Ample time to prepare appropriately, get a hang of the language, and fix his money situation. The thought of asking his parents for money left a bitter taste in his mouth; it was not as if they were rich either. A middle-income family that barely scraped up enough money for the airfare.

The student exchange programme was not a well-funded one, unfortunately.

"Money. I need money."

Money enabled human survival.

Capitalism and consumerism is the same everywhere, anime or not.

He didn't think Bitcoin existed in this world, or Amazon, or any big corporation that was in its infancy stage. As far as Tysone saw from the old-fashioned TVs displayed on windows and billboards, the setting of HOTD was likely in the early 2000s.

'Come on... think... this is an anime universe. It doesn't have to adhere to my beliefs of reality. Anything could happen here, right? There has to be a quick way to make a buck.'

But then, there weren't superhumans or magic or elves... it was just a zombie apocalypse universe that revolved around horny high schoolers being the last hopes for humanity.

'I could work as a tutor, but if I can't even speak Japanese, who am I going to teach? And there's the age gap, anyway. No middle-schooler parents in Japan would allow their progeny to mingle with dark-skinned strangers.' He let out a frustrated groan as he laid back.

Perhaps he would have been able to gather funds by going around beating up local mooks or criminals… no, in a world like HighSchool of the Dead—as clique and typical it may have seemed at first glance to his previous self—violence was not going to fly for a long time. Japan had its share of gang wars as well, but that was in its streets and gang-ridden back allies... that was not going to pay the bills.

YouTube and other mainstream applications didn't exist. Could he steal the idea? But where would he find a coder that'd work for free? Maybe Saya could introduce him to someone.

Surely, a genius such as herself should be able to help him...

A genius, huh.

Tysone's eyes sparkled. 'Does Saya know how to code?' 

Even if she didn't know, wouldn't she be able to learn it faster than anyone else? 

'Well, there's plenty of time to try something out, and the worst that can happen is her laughing at my ideas. At least, I'm not completely hopeless as I believed myself to be.'

Of course, it was not as if YouTube or Twitch would be relevant in the apocalypse. Tysone chuckled at the thought of him live streaming himself killing zombies and saying, 'Hey, chat, chat! Did you see that? That head exploded! So cool, right!? You think so too? I know! Buy my NFT collection, you won't regret it.'

So, money was an obvious box to add to his mental checklist. 

Next was networking; Tysone knew the importance of allies he could trust his life with. He couldn't possibly survive all by himself, and even if he could, it wouldn't be a life worth living. He knew his limitations, and he sought to fill those gaps by surrounding himself with talented people. 

Naturally, he had to work his way from the ground up. After all, as he was now, Tysone was lacking in many areas. Which brought him to his next point.

Individual strength and a sharp acumen. He'd never try to reach Saya's level of intellect—that was a wall he could never overcome, but knowledge was something he could weaponize. 

As for his strength. Tysone closed his eyes, briefly. Muscle strength. Flexibility. Speed. Technique. Those were things he could acquire. He'd sharpen his fist, and his brain. Even his smile; he had to be likable to attract the right sort of crowd. 

It wasn't long before his eyes grew heavy. His meticulous planning stuttered to a halt when a yawn tore his mouth wide open. Part of him didn't want to succumb to the feeling, because he knew. 

He knew that Malik's zombified face would haunt him even in his dreams. 

…

Takagi's Estate — Saya's bedroom. 

The pink-haired girl in question was all rolled up on the bed, donning tight shorts and a tank top that enveloped her youthful and well-developing femininity. She had a pillow clutched between her arms as she stared at her phone.

In the darkness of the room, the display's light bathed her face. 

She had a chat open, though the conversation lacked that same wit and sass she had with Tysone. It was mostly one-sided with Takashi, with a painfully obvious lack of interest from him. 

"Stupid Takashi. Stupid, stupid, stupid." The boy whose attention she was vying for was as oblivious as a capybara. Or maybe he merely pretended to be—that would honestly hurt a lot more. 

Saya tossed her phone aside, retreating into her comforting blankets and pillows. She blinked, eyes heavy and thoughtful. Tysone's insightful words over corn potage replayed in her mind. The more it did, the more it began to make sense, cementing itself as some sort of unshakable truth she chose to be blind to. 

'Should I just give up on Takashi? It's not that just because we're childhood friends that we should grow up to be… to be lovers as well.' For a genius, that kind of logic didn't hold water, but she liked to romanticize the idea. 

Saya huffed, closing her eyes. 

Who'd have thought it'd be a stupid foreigner that would so tactfully open her eyes.