Aria stood up with a soft smile.

  "Miles, it was me who asked them to bring you here. There's something important I need to tell you."

  Since he was already here, Miles didn’t bother putting on airs. After taking a seat, Aria continued,

  "You must have heard about what happened at the Xikang Pharmaceutical Plant last night. The entire city is now under lockdown; they're hunting for so-called terrorists. But... do you know who these 'terrorists' actually are?"

  Derek laughed.

  "How would we know? Even if you told us their names, we wouldn't recognize them."

  Aria shook her head and handed over a folder.

  "These are confidential documents and photos I got from my father. Take a look. It'll all make sense."

  Curious, Derek took the folder. As he and Nate flipped through the contents, their faces quickly turned grim—then, strangely, excited.

  Miles didn’t even need to look; their expressions told him everything. It had to be photos taken by reporters last night, along with some Special Forces reports.

  Seeing that Miles wasn’t even glancing at the documents, Aria frowned.

  "You're not going to look? It's important."

  "I already know what's in there," Miles said flatly. "Why are you telling us all this? Trying to get us to leave Chicago?"

  Aria shook her head, her expression serious.

  "No. No one is allowed to leave the city anymore. The only way is to survive the crisis. But we both know this isn’t just another lockdown—this could turn into one of those disaster movies. That's why my father is organizing a special training camp, pulling elite soldiers from the military and Special Forces stationed here.

  I want you to join. It’s the only way you’ll be safe... and the only way I can have some peace of mind."

  Miles looked into her pleading eyes and sighed.

  "Ordinary civilians like me don't just get accepted into elite training programs. What did you have to sacrifice to make this happen?"

  "Don't worry about that," Aria said, almost begging. "Just promise me you’ll go. Even if you just learn some survival skills, it’s worth it."

  At that moment, a man next to Aria chuckled.

  "Sharp, aren’t you?" he said. "I’m Logan, Aria’s brother. She promised our father that if he let you into the program, she'd agree to an arranged marriage with some rich stranger she’s never even met. So... what do you think?"

  Miles stiffened, anger flashing across his face.

  "Aria, is that true?

  If you do this, how do you expect me to live with myself? I won't let the woman I love sacrifice her future just so I can survive a little longer.

  I know I'm just a nobody. Your family would never accept me anyway.

  Let's end this cleanly—I want you to live a happy life, not spend it trapped in misery because of me."

  Aria bit her lip hard, tears brimming in her eyes.

  "You don't understand... If something happens to you, how could I ever be happy?"

  Logan clapped his hands and laughed.

  "Good. You haven't disappointed me. At least my sister hasn’t fallen for a coward. You're still a man, Miles.

  Listen—it's not like you have zero chance with Aria. My grandfather, a retired general, values strength above all else. Money and status mean nothing to him.

  If you can achieve something truly impressive by the annual Chicago Elite Gathering on December 12, I'll personally introduce you to him.

  If the old man approves of you... no one in the family will object anymore."

  Caleb's eyes lit up.

  "Strength? You mean military power, or personal combat ability?"

  Logan smiled.

  "Either works. You have six months. I’ll bring you to the gathering, but from there, it’s up to you.

  Every guest will be a major player in this city. If you’re still a nobody by then, you won’t just lose your chance with Aria—you’ll be humiliated in front of everyone."

  Miles stood up, smiling calmly.

  "Six months? That’s enough.

  Aria, I promise you—I won't let you down."

  Aria wiped her eyes and nodded fiercely.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "And I won’t let you down either. We’ll both fight for this."

  A woman sitting next to Logan, elegant and composed, raised her glass.

  "I like your spirit. I really hope the day comes when you can walk out of that hall, hand in hand with Aria.

  I'm Lena, Aria’s cousin. Here’s to Aria finding someone truly worthy."

  They all rose, clinking glasses and downing their drinks in one gulp.

  As they sat back down, a stream of exquisite dishes flooded the table.

  For a while, the group simply enjoyed the meal without worry.

  But as the plates cleared, Miles suddenly said,

  "This biohazard incident—it’s just the beginning. It mirrors the early stages of those zombie apocalypse movies.

  I predict things will get out of hand by this afternoon.

  Once the virus fully activates, half the city could be infected within hours."

  Lena nodded seriously.

  "I agree. But the authorities are too bureaucratic—they'll wait for 'official' reports. By the time they act, it’ll be too late."

  Logan leaned forward, intrigued.

  "Oh? Why are you so sure things will go south by this afternoon?

  You speak like it’s inevitable, not just a possibility."

  Miles smiled coldly.

  "Look at what happened at Xikang Pharma—it took less than 24 hours from patient zero to full outbreak.

  Now imagine if it wasn’t living people being infected, but corpses—already dead and reanimating.

  The timeline shrinks drastically.

  I’d bet anything that the real chaos starts by this afternoon, or tonight at the latest. And when it does... the police department will become a slaughterhouse."

  Logan nodded gravely.

  "Good insight. I’ll make some calls, see if we can at least contain it inside the precinct.

  As for inside... well, there’s nothing I can do about that.

  I’m heading out. You all should prepare too."

  Lena stood up and said briskly,

  "Agreed. No more chatting—start prepping.

  When the outbreak hits, you won't survive sitting around.

  Aria, come on. Don’t waste time acting sentimental."

  The group quickly split up.

  Derek borrowed some cash from Miles and rushed to stockpile long-lasting food.

  Nate went off to scrounge up weapons—what kind, they didn’t know yet.

  At the school gates, just as Miles was about to head to the precinct, two black sedans screeched to a halt around him.

  Four men in black suits sprang out, surrounding him.

  Miles frowned slightly when he recognized the butler from years ago, who glared at him coldly.

  After a long pause, the butler sneered,

  "The young miss wanted to say her final goodbyes.

  Listen, kid—you’re a toad trying to eat swan meat.

  Know your place. If you keep dreaming above your station, it’ll end badly for you and everyone around you."

  Miles stared him down and said quietly,

  "My life is none of your business.

  Do your job. Nothing more."

  The butler's eyes narrowed dangerously.

  "You’ve grown a spine these past four years, huh?

  Don’t think just because the young miss likes you, we won’t crush you."

  He nodded slightly, and one of the bodyguards threw a heavy punch at Miles' stomach.

  Miles managed to catch the fist, but the sheer force numbed his hand.

  Before he could react, another man smashed a fist into his back, and the first bodyguard kneed him viciously in the gut.

  Miles doubled over, bile rising in his throat.

  The butler snorted.

  "Violence is the fastest way to solve problems.

  This is just a warning.

  Next time, it won’t be fists—it’ll be bullets.

  In the chaos of a terrorist attack, no one would notice a dead student."

  The men piled back into their cars and sped off, leaving Miles half-kneeling on the sidewalk, gasping for air.

  If he hadn't recently improved physically, that beating might have put him down for hours.

  Still clutching his ribs, he forced himself to stand, ignoring the gawking students around him.

  He needed power. Desperately.

  Against trained bodyguards, his current skills were barely enough to stay alive, let alone win.

  And he couldn’t afford to use his Greedy Blade recklessly—killing now would only bring worse trouble.

  When Miles finally reached the precinct, the place was chaos.

  Hundreds of reporters swarmed the gates while inside, the police were overwhelmed.

  More than half the corpses had already been sent to local hospitals.

  Listening to the reporters yammering, Miles could only shake his head.

  They were unwittingly helping spread the infection.

  Around 3 PM, it happened.

  The precinct exploded into panic—screams, shots fired into the air as officers tried not to hit civilians.

  They couldn’t fire directly at the infected; the crowd was too dense.

  In desperation, Special Forces units switched to knives for close-quarters combat.

  But it was too late.

  Infections spread like wildfire, and even some Special Forces operatives were bitten.

  Outside, the military sealed the perimeter, rounding up everyone trying to escape for quarantine.

  Inside, the Special Forces finally switched to live rounds.

  In the chaos, Miles slipped inside the building, hiding in a small office to observe.

  Watching the soldiers ruthlessly gunning down the infected, he couldn't help but wince.

  All that experience... wasted.

  He needed to get to the detention cells.

  With a floor plan in mind, it wasn't hard—police stations weren’t exactly mazes.

  Miles moved swiftly, stepping over corpses and avoiding detection.

  It seemed the officers had learned after the pharmaceutical disaster: every zombie was shot straight through the head.

  Smart.

  But it wouldn’t be enough