Highschool Of The Dead: Dead Man’s Tale.

Principal Katsuro Tanaka was pacing behind his desk, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was one of those days when nothing seemed to go right, and the latest news hadn’t helped. His affair with the school lunch lady now seemed trivial in comparison to the fresh crisis unfolding under his watch.

He had just received a frantic call from one of the teachers: a fight had broken out in one of the classrooms. The details were still murky, but the outcome was alarmingly clear—an entire class was now in the school’s infirmary, nursing various injuries.

Katsuro’s heart raced, not with concern for the injured students, but with the cold, gripping fear of the repercussions this incident would bring. The potential headlines flashed through his mind, each more condemning than the last. 

School Fight Ends in Hospitalization: Principal’s Leadership Questioned, he imagined, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple.

Katsuro rubbed his temples, his thoughts racing. How would he spin this? What would he say to the press? The school’s reputation, his reputation, was on the line.

He needed a plan, a way to mitigate the damage. 

Perhaps he could frame it as an isolated incident. 

Yes, that might work. 

He could emphasize the school’s swift response, the immediate medical attention the students received, perhaps even highlight some vague, pre-existing tension among the students that the school had hitherto been unaware of.

Katsuro sighed deeply, sinking into his chair. 

This was a mess, a dangerous mess that could very well be the end of his tenure as principal if not handled correctly. 

His mind raced with strategies. 

The idea of finding scapegoats among the students to appease the outraged parents seemed like his best option. Focusing on the two students who had emerged relatively unscathed from the melee could work to his advantage. 

Expel them, blame them for inciting the violence, and it’s done.

Just as he was about to outline this strategy in more detail, a firm knock at the door interrupted his train of thought. 

“I am busy!”

However, the voice that answered back wasn’t one he could ignore. 

“I think you can make time for the two students you are going to expel,” said a calm, assertive teenage voice. 

The confidence and directness of the statement sent a shiver down Katsuro’s spine. He wasn’t used to being addressed this way by a student, and the implication that they knew of his thoughts rattled him.

“Come … in.”

The door swung open, and the two students stepped inside. 

“Good morning, Principal Tanaka,” the duo bowed.

As they greeted him, Katsuro felt a tightening in his stomach. 

These were not the cowering, guilty students he had hoped to manipulate. 

Sitting up straighter, he clasped his hands together on the desk, attempting to reclaim some semblance of authority. 

“To what do I owe this visit?” he asked, trying to mask his nervousness with a veneer of administrative indifference.

“Kozen and Kohta, I didn’t expect two of our new students to be such troublemakers.” Kohta, the nerves apparent on his face, seemed to struggle to maintain composure, while Kozen simply smiled—a confident, knowing smile that unnerved him.

What was he so confident about?

The answer came swiftly as Kozen placed a phone in front of him, its screen playing a series of video clips. Each segment showed other teens initiating aggression towards Kozen, carefully edited to end just at the moments that might suggest retaliation or further context. The principal watched in silence, his anxiety mounting with each clip.

Katsuro, who had a habit of overanalyzing a situation—a trait that often served him well in the cutthroat administrative environment—paused to consider why the two boys would present this evidence to him directly. Why show him this? Unless…

His thoughts raced as he began to see the larger picture. The videos were edited strategically, each cut crafted to paint Kozen and Kohta as victims, the rest of the class as aggressors.

His pulse quickened as he realized the implications. The clips, while potentially misleading, were explosive in nature. If these videos were to reach the media, they could spark a scandal of considerable magnitude, possibly attracting national, even international attention. The notion that these students had pre-empted his plan to make them scapegoats and were now armed with material that could manipulate public perception was horrifying.

As this realization sank in, a desperate plan formed in Katsuro’s mind. He reached for the phone, intending to seize and destroy it, to eliminate the evidence that could undermine his position and the school’s reputation. But as his fingers closed around the device, he found that he could not budge it—an inch.

Kozen’s grip on the phone was ironclad, his strength startling. The principal’s hands trembled with the effort, sweat beading on his forehead, turning into streams running down his temples. He felt like he was under a scalding shower, his shirt sticking to his back, his suit becoming a suffocating cage.

Kozen’s smile widened, not a flicker of effort on his face as he maintained control over the phone. 

“I think it’s best if we keep this for now, Principal Tanaka,” Kozen said calmly, his voice steady and imbued with a quiet power that left no room for argument.

“You…” he began, but the words caught in his throat.

“Principal, this is to show our innocence, you will side with us, won’t you?” Kozen’s voice was calm, almost eerily serene, yet the underlying threat was unmistakable. It was a clever juxtaposition that unnerved Katsuro even further.

“You are playing a dangerous game.”

The smile never left Kozen’s face, a clear sign he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by the principal’s attempt at asserting authority. 

“Sir, you should always side with the innocent,” he replied smoothly, as if reciting a well-rehearsed line from a play.

“And what about the rest of the kids in the infirmary?!” Katsuro’s voice rose in volume, his frustration boiling over into anger.

Kozen glanced at Kohta, who quickly chimed in, “Nothing to do with us, and I am sure you can convince them of this fact. And don’t try to break the phone, I have already made copies of the footage.” 

Kozen gave his friend a thumbs up.

Katsuro wanted to shout, to unleash the turmoil churning inside him, but he knew that any outward display of anger would only weaken his position further. These two boys held all the cards; they had effectively checkmated him within the confines of his own office.

He found himself between a rock and a hard place, trapped by the potential fallout of the footage they possessed. Throwing these two under the bus was no longer an option—their footage could kill the school’s reputation and his career. Yet, their suggestion, to coerce the other students into silence, though repugnant, appeared to be his only viable way out.

As much as he detested the idea, he had no choice but to comply. 

“I’ll see what I can do, boys. I am a man of honor, I will always side with the innocent,” he said, his words dripping with a hypocrisy that felt faker than the body of Kim Kardashian.

Katsuro watched as Kozen and Kohta nodded, apparently satisfied, and made their way out of the office. The door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded like a jail cell locking. Left alone, Katsuro slumped back into his chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He rubbed his temples, the stress of the confrontation mingling with a deep, pervasive dread.

How did it come to this? He wondered. And also, who are these kids?!

Author Note: More chapters on [email protected]/LordCampione.