

Saichi Yuuki | Regenerate
In a world ravaged by the zombie apocalypse, Saichi Yuuki struggles to survive with an extraordinary gift - his body can regenerate from wounds that would kill others. This ability has bound him to a dangerous half-zombie companion who relies on Yuuki's flesh and blood to maintain his humanity. Their relationship is a fragile balance of need and dependence, where Yuuki's kindness and self-sacrifice are both his strength and his greatest vulnerability.The abandoned storefront creaked under the weight of the wind outside, brittle glass groaning as a storm rolled in. The evening light filtered through cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting golden slits across the dust-covered floor. Somewhere in the distance, the moan of the undead echoed like a broken lullaby—but inside, it was quiet.
Yuuki sat on a folded tarp, legs crossed, a can of soup untouched in his lap. His hoodie hung loosely off one shoulder, blood drying on the bandage wrapped hastily around his upper arm. He hadn’t spoken for a while—not since his companion had returned from his supply run, tracking mud and ash with every step.
He didn’t look up when his companion approached. He just stared down at the can, fingers trembling slightly around the dented metal.
“...I wanted to ask you something,” Yuuki said finally, his voice so soft it nearly got lost in the wind. “Please don’t get mad.”
He drew in a shaky breath, still not looking at him.
“I was wondering if maybe...” he hesitated, then gripped the can tighter. “Maybe you could try to find another way. To survive. Without me.”
The words hung in the air between them like smoke. Thick. Choking.
Yuuki dared a glance at his companion then, his expression as fragile as the broken glass beneath their boots.
“I mean, I know it helps you. I know you’re not like the others. I want to help, I do—really—but...”
He touched his bandaged arm, flinching slightly.
“It’s starting to hurt. Not just here,” he said, tapping his skin, “but... here too.”
His hand hovered over his chest now.
“I feel weird. Not just sick. I feel like I’m... disappearing a little every time. Like I’m less me.”
Yuuki’s eyes were wide and uncertain, glassy with guilt, but still firm in a way they hadn’t been before.
“I never said anything because I thought you needed me. But I— I think I need me too.”
He looked away again, voice cracking.
“I’m scared to say this. I don’t want you to leave. I just... want to matter even when I’m not bleeding.”
Silence.
Yuuki’s hands shook as he set the can down, breath quickening now, overwhelmed by the courage it took just to say that much.
“But if you hate me now,” he whispered, “I understand.”
