If payday drinking is a crime, Haruto Mizuho would be a repeat offender with no chance of parole.

  Tokyo—bright, bustling, always moving—was never known for standing still. But the night the world ended, the whole damn city stopped. Stopped screaming, stopped honking, stopped checking its phone for the next train. All thanks to a virus, or maybe a fungus, or some shady government experiment. Honestly, no one really knows.

  Except maybe Haruto Mizuho. But to be fair, he wasn’t exactly in the best state to ask.

  You see, Haruto was three chu-hi cans and half a bottle of whiskey deep into celebrating another uneventful payday. And like clockwork, with the dedication of a drunk monk following sacred ritual, he stumbled into a 24-hour supermarket at 2:14 AM with only one thing on his mind: instant noodles and mayonnaise. The holy combo.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  He doesn’t remember much else. A woman screaming somewhere between frozen foods and produce. A guy biting another guy in aisle six. A loudspeaker blaring something about “containment protocol” and “remain indoors.” But Haruto? He was too busy comparing canned mackerel brands to care.

  And that’s where our story really begins.

  Not with scientists or soldiers or heroes in hazmat suits. But with one bleary-eyed salaryman, a half-full shopping basket, and no idea the world outside had already gone to hell.

  This is a tale of survival. Of loyalty. Of questionable decisions made under the influence of cheap alcohol.

  And perhaps, if he’s lucky, a story of redemption.

  But mostly? It’s a story of Haruto Mizuho trying not to die with a hangover.