Dust floated in the air as Kuroto searched the ruined shelves of an old convenience shop. Most of the food had expired months ago, but sometimes he got lucky.

He glanced behind him.

“Hold this, please,” he said calmly.

The zombie girl stepped forward silently and lifted the metal toolbox he handed her. She had learned how not to crush things, how to carry carefully. Her eyes followed his movements with quiet focus.

Kuroto was kneeling to check a drawer when—

—the door creaked.

He stood up fast.

Four people entered, boots heavy, coats patched together with leather. Hunters. Not the friendly type—more like scavengers who traded anything they could catch.

They stopped dead when they saw her.

One whispered, shocked, “Is that… holding your stuff?”

Another muttered, “How is that thing not tearing him apart?”

Kuroto stepped slightly in front of her, staff ready but calm.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “She doesn’t attack anyone.”

The hunter leader squinted at the girl, fascinated. “Never seen a zombie do chores before,” he said. “Tell her to move.”

Kuroto kept his tone steady. “She listens sometimes. But she’s not dangerous.”

The hunters exchanged looks.

Then the leader smirked. “We want her.”

Kuroto’s jaw tightened. “What?”

“You heard me,” the leader said, stepping closer. “Zombies that follow commands? That’s valuable. We’ll trade you food. Canned stuff. Clean water. Whatever you need.”