Let me explain something real quick.
I, Natsu Heart, did NOT sign up for this. I ain't no superhero. I don't have powers. I don't shoot lasers out my butt. I don't even own a gym membership! All I wanted… was some damn ramen. 🍜
Just one pack. Spicy chicken flavor. Maybe two if I was feelin' wild and reckless with my sodium intake.
But nah. The universe woke up and chose violence.
It said, "Let's drop an alien invasion, add some zombies, toss in a yandere, and dump it all on this broke dude who just wanted to eat and nap."
So now I'm sprinting through the middle of Shibuya, in my slippers, dodging an alien that looks like a radioactive jellyfish wearing an LED vest, while vending machines are literally exploding around me like I'm stuck in a Final Destination spin-off.
And the aliens? Oh boy. These things talk like somebody slapped a modem and a sea cucumber together and gave it a Bluetooth speaker.
"Gribblee zorrrrk vrrreeee!!"
That's what it said. No subtitles. Just fax machine noises and trauma.
I duck behind a row of newspaper stands, only for a zombie to come flying out of a nearby FamilyMart window like it was auditioning for Wipeout: Undead Edition. It does a somersault, lands, and looks me dead in the eye.
"Aw hell no," I whisper.
And then I scream. Not a cool scream. Not an action-hero roar.
No.I scream like someone who just saw a rat in their shoe. Like a grown man losing his soul over a spider in the shower.
"HELP! Somebody call—uhh—Netflix!?"
I trip, because of course I do, and the zombie lunges—
SHINK!
A pink blur slices through the air. The zombie's head spins like a Beyblade and hits the pavement with a thud. Standing in front of me is a girl—no, an angel of violence—with bright pink hair, a Japanese school uniform, and a katana that looks too clean for this messy world.
She turns to me with a sweet, almost sinister smile.
"You're mine now."
"...Excuse me?"
"My soulmate. It's fate. I just killed for you. That means we're married~"
And that's how I met Haku.Beautiful. Deadly. Absolutely unhinged.Her hobbies include: swordplay, staring too long without blinking, and romantic declarations with murder in the background.
She grabs my hand—like we're skipping through a meadow, except the "meadow" is on fire and full of brain-hungry monsters—and drags me through the wreckage.
We barely make it to the shattered front doors of Walmart when a new challenger appears.
BOOM!A figure flies through the automatic doors—no joke, like an action movie entrance—and slides into frame wearing combat boots, glitter on their cheeks, and a cape made out of reusable shopping bags.
"GET DOWN!" the figure yells.
He throws something shiny at a flying alien drone—it's a compact mirror. Not even a weapon. A makeup mirror.
BANG!The drone explodes like it got roasted by Rihanna.
I stare at this majestic, glittery warrior like he just fell out of a Final Fantasy cosplay convention.
"Who—what—HUH?!"
He poses dramatically, one hand on his hip, the other twirling a brush.
"Name's Marcus. I fight with style. And honey—your hoodie is a fashion war crime."
That's how I met Marcus.Makeup guru by day. Alien exterminator by night.He could contour a jawline with one hand and slap a zombie with the other. And don't even get me started on the sass. Man's a whole mood.
So now it's us.Me, a ramen-deprived nobody.Haku, a pink-haired yandere who might actually love me or might stab me.And Marcus, fabulous enough to survive an apocalypse using only eyeliner and attitude.
We duck behind a stack of toilet paper near aisle 5—still somehow fully stocked—and take a breather while the chaos continues outside.
Aliens screaming. Zombies gnashing. Explosions. Lasers.A dude in a Pikachu onesie running with a flaming churro.
I look at my new "team," my "soulmate," and my makeup-wielding hero.
"This is it?" I ask. "We're the resistance?"
Haku smiles like she's in a romance anime.Marcus adjusts his glitter.I accept that I may never eat ramen again.
Welcome to The War of Walmart.Where love is a battlefield.And the aisles are paved with danger, discounts, and drama.