**Chapter 1: The Boy Who Refused to Die**
The apocalypse had finally ended.
For seven brutal years, from 2019 to 2026, humanity had endured a nightmare beyond anything previous generations could have imagined. Cities burned. Nations crumbled. Families were shattered. Entire populations vanished under relentless waves of violence, famine, disease, and chaos.
The world survived, but it was forever changed.
As peace slowly returned, humanity began rebuilding from the ashes. Old governments, weakened and fractured, lost their grip on power. In their place, new powers rose: influential families, military strongmen, and powerful organizations that carved out territories for themselves.
Within a few short years, the world had become something unrecognizable.
Modern technology still hummed along—smartphones, advanced hospitals, cars on the streets, and an active internet. Yet layered over this foundation was something older, almost feudal. Kings, queens, princes, and noble houses had reemerged as central figures in society.
It was a modern world dressed in the trappings of an ancient one.
And in this strange new era, the year was 2035.
---
**Apoloma Hospital**
One of the largest medical centers in the region.
Normally, its halls were orderly and calm. Today, they were anything but.
"Hurry!"
"Clear the way!"
"Emergency incoming!"
Doctors and nurses rushed through the corridors as the wheels of a gurney clattered loudly across the polished floors. A team of medical staff surrounded the bed, pushing it urgently toward the operating theater. The tension in the air was thick.
Even seasoned doctors wore grave expressions.
The patient on the gurney looked like he should already be dead.
His body was drenched in blood. His face was a mangled ruin—one ear completely severed, deep gashes across his cheeks, three long slashes running down his nose. His skin was torn in dozens of places, bullet wounds riddled his torso, and bruises covered nearly every visible inch of flesh. What remained of his clothes were little more than blood-soaked scraps.
Worst of all were his eyes—brutally damaged beyond recognition.
A young nurse stared at him and swallowed hard.
"How is he still alive?" she whispered.
No one answered. They were all thinking the same thing.
A person with these injuries should have died hours ago. Yet the heart monitor continued to show a faint, stubborn rhythm. His heart was still beating—weak, slow, but beating.
As if something inside him simply refused to surrender.
"Prepare Operating Theater Three," the head surgeon ordered. "Blood transfusion, now. We're losing him."
The team moved with practiced urgency. The doors swung open, and the boy was rushed inside.
---
The patient's name was Akonosra Josho.
Or simply Joso.
At least, that was what his medical file said.
While the doctors fought desperately to save his life, another scene was unfolding elsewhere in the hospital.
---
Several police vehicles pulled up outside Apoloma Hospital. Doors opened, and officers stepped out with serious expressions. Their captain, a middle-aged man with sharp, weary eyes, stared at the building.
"We check every lead," he said.
"Understood, sir."
The team entered and headed straight for the reception desk. A nurse rose to greet them with a polite smile.
"Good afternoon, officers."
The captain nodded. "Good afternoon. We'd like to speak with the head doctor."
"I'm sorry, sir. He's currently in surgery."
The captain was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "We can wait." He reached into his coat and placed a photograph on the counter. "But first, I need to ask—have you seen this man?"
The picture showed a young man in prison garb. His face was hard, his expression cold, a prisoner number printed across his chest.
The nurse studied it carefully before shaking her head. "No, sir. I don't believe so."
The captain sighed. He'd heard that answer many times already. "Please look again. This man is extremely dangerous. He escaped from prison three days ago. Killed multiple guards and several inmates in the process."
The surrounding nurses began listening in.
"After escaping," the captain continued, his voice growing heavier, "he attacked a Yakuza family compound. Alone."
The nurse blinked. "Alone?"
"Yes. He walked in by himself and killed everyone inside. Men. Women. Bodyguards. Executives. Not even the young heir was spared. The boy was around the same age as the suspect."
A heavy silence fell over the reception area.
The captain leaned forward slightly. "He was badly injured during the attack. CCTV showed an ambulance picking up someone matching his description, but we lost the trail. If you see him, contact us immediately."
The nurse examined the photo once more, then shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. I haven't seen him."
The captain stared at her for a long moment before nodding. "Understood."
As the officers moved on to question other staff, the nurse finally let out a shaky breath.
---
Two hours later, the doors of Operating Theater Three opened.
Exhausted doctors and nurses began filing out, stretching stiff shoulders and removing masks. The head doctor emerged last, but unlike the others, a faint smile played on his lips.
Several nurses approached him quickly.
"Doctor? How is he?"
The head doctor let out a soft laugh. "Alive."
The staff exchanged stunned glances.
"Alive?" one repeated.
"Yes. Alive." He shook his head in disbelief. "That boy… he's unbelievable."
One nurse asked hesitantly, "Will he make it?"
"I believe he will," the doctor replied, glancing back toward the theater. "Physically, his condition is catastrophic. But mentally?" He smiled. "He's a monster. I've never seen a survival instinct like this. It was as if his body was ready to die, but his will simply refused."
---
The head doctor headed to his office, desperate for a chair and a cup of coffee. Instead, he found someone waiting.
The same police captain from earlier stood up as he entered.
"Doctor."
"Officer," the doctor replied with a polite nod. "What can I do for you?"
The captain produced the same photograph and placed it on the desk. "Have you seen this man?"
The doctor glanced at the image and blinked. "Oh."
The captain's eyes sharpened. "You recognize him?"
"Of course," the doctor said casually. "I just finished operating on him."
A stunned silence filled the room.
The captain's face flooded with relief. "We found him."
He sat down heavily, shoulders finally relaxing after weeks of dead ends. The doctor watched him quietly for a moment, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Officer… if you don't mind me asking, who exactly is this young man?"
The captain stared at the photograph for several long seconds. His expression shifted from relief to something far more complex—confusion, uncertainty, and perhaps even a trace of fear.