Multiverse travel starts from a crossover right?

"Takashi."

"Wake up, Takashi."

"KOMURO TAKASHI!"

Alright, alright! No need to yell. My head already feels like I got drop-kicked by reality itself.

I force my eyes open. Everything's blurry, like I'm waking up after a night of bad decisions and worse life choices. The voices around me sound like they're coming through a tin can.

I blink. Faces. A lot of them. Some familiar, others… not.

"What…?" My throat is drier than an isekai protagonist's tragic backstory.

"Get out," a man in the centre barks, his tone making it clear that my presence is about as welcome as a filler episode in a battle shonen.

Wait. That guy looks familiar. Why does he look familiar? And why do I feel like I just got slapped with a truckload of—

PAIN.

I clutch my head as memories hit me like a badly timed gacha roll—unexpected and painful.

And then it clicks.

My eyes snap to the people around me. My stomach does a flip.

Oh. Oh, no.

I know these people. I know this school.

And I definitely know that childhood friend with enough emotional baggage to sink a battleship.

"Get out," the man repeats, sounding increasingly done with my existence.

Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm getting out. No need to be dramatic.

I stumble toward the door, muttering, "Sorry," out of pure muscle memory before stepping into the hallway.

Leaning against the wall, I exhale.

"What the hell is going on…?"

I'm Komuro Takashi. That much is clear.

But here's the kicker: I just remembered my past life.

A life where I was an otaku.

And that's not even the worst part.

This world? Fictional.

An anime.

A manga.

Depending on how you look at it.

Fuck.

And not just any anime.

Highschool of the Dead.

Ah yes. That series. The one where physics don't exist, zombies pop up like side quests, and survival is secondary to strategic camera angles.

Oh, and let's not forget:

A lot of girls.

Saeko, the badass swordfighter senior. Rei, the childhood friend with a love-hate dynamic. Saya, the tsundere genius.

"Childhood friends… but now, just in name," I mutter, realising my relationship with them is already on thin ice.

But that's not the real problem.

The real problem is… something's off.

This doesn't feel like just Highschool of the Dead.

I frown, digging through my memory. There's someone in my class who shouldn't be here.

I narrow my eyes, trying to recall.

Then—BAM.

Tomo Aizawa.

Wait, what?!

Loud, energetic, and built like she could bench-press me. She's from a completely different series.

And then another face surfaces in my mind.

Blonde. Bright eyes. A confident, playful smirk.

Marin Kitagawa.

The cosplay queen herself.

…Okay. Now we're in full-on WTF territory.

And it's not just them. I can already think of others. People who should not be here.

This isn't just Highschool of the Dead. This is a crossover.

But how big of one? That, I don't know yet.

And honestly?

I don't care.

Because I am, without a doubt, a man of culture.

This isn't a problem.

This is an opportunity.

A chance to do what every man of culture dreams of.

A harem.

I smirk, running a hand through my hair.

"Alright… first things first."

The apocalypse is coming.

Which means I need a plan.

Weapons. Training. Safe zones. Figuring out how far this crossover goes.

And, of course, testing the most important thing.

Taking a deep breath, I mutter the words every reincarnator, isekai protagonist, and system-lit reader dreams of:

"System."

…Come on, don't leave me hanging here.

**********

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