Survival in the Class: I'm the Only Boy on the Bus

In Zhang Zizhong's eyes, eight Chinese soldiers, also dressed in faded light blue coarse cloth uniforms and wearing blue octagonal caps, were charging towards him from behind, fearless of death, spurred on by the bugle call, shouting angrily:

"kill!"

"Brothers, let's fucking charge one more time!"

"Communicator? Communicator? Xiao Zhong!! Damn it! You can't sleep! Your mission isn't finished yet! Wake up! Sleep my ass!"...

Their bodies were no longer transparent, and they each held a large sword to kill bandits, their red cloths fluttering in the cold wind.

Zhang Zizhong stared blankly as familiar faces passed him and rushed towards the group of Japanese chickens. He couldn't tell if this was reality or a hallucination, but he was definitely feeling his blood boil.

He never imagined that his 80-year-old body could once again make his blood boil.

They raised their broadswords and engaged the C-level Japanese zombies in close combat, each using the "Eight Blades of Breaking the Edge" sword technique.

In an instant, countless flashes of light appeared in the Japanese-style chicken, and more flesh and blood flew out, with the slicing sound of the knife tips cutting through flesh ringing out continuously.

Zhang Zizhong was clearly standing on a mountain of corpses, not fighting the Japanese, yet several bloody marks suddenly appeared on his body, and his light blue military uniform also had several scratches.

The grass beneath their feet had turned a darker red, gathering into a stream of blood that flowed down the grass toward the river on the bank.

Dark red blood slid down the concrete riverbank and fell into the black river water.

The river, which should have been azure, turned black due to the heavy dark clouds in the sky, and its surface reflected the images of the Golden Scale City walls and the ice-blue giant sword.

At this moment, wisps of dark red appeared in the black river water, like red flags fluttering in the wind under dark clouds.

Zhang Zizhong stared blankly as the familiar figures fought fiercely against the Japanese invaders. He thought he had returned to the elite squad, watching his older brothers roar as they raised their swords and swung them at the Japanese invaders again and again.

Zhang Zizhong is over 80 years old and has experienced countless life-and-death situations and storms. He rarely sheds tears anymore, but the scene before him made tears involuntarily stream down his face.

He counted the number of people fighting the Japanese, only to find that there were only 7 of them. His elite squad had 9 members, but now one was missing.

*Thud!*

A hand several times rougher than Zhang Zizhong's patted Zhang Zizhong's left shoulder heavily.

Zhang Zizhong subconsciously turned his head to look, only to find that he could only look up at the figure beside him, just like he used to have to look up at his old squad leader and older brothers.

Zhang Zizhong's eyes widened suddenly, his pupils dilated, and more tears streamed down his face, sliding down the wrinkles on his cheeks.

This man was also wearing a light blue coarse cloth military uniform, but his uniform was the most tattered.

He was stronger and taller than all the Chinese soldiers who fought against the Japanese.

He held a bugle tied with red cloth in his left hand and carried a large sword for killing bandits on his back.

He stood atop the mountain of corpses, looking at Hikawa Kenyu, who was still resting against a tree root with his eyes closed. His gaze was even more murderous than Zhang Zizhong's, like a fierce tiger that had been completely enraged, its eyes blazing with fury.

When Zhang Zizhong saw this person, no matter how old he was, he felt like a child who hadn't grown up.

Zhang Zizhong's lips trembled as he slowly uttered three words:

"Old...Old squad leader!"

As Zhang Zizhong spoke, several more scratches appeared on his light blue coarse cloth military uniform, and bright red blood dripped down the uniform, but his adrenaline surged to its peak, and he felt no pain whatsoever.

On the blade of the [Killing Bandits Greatsword] still stuck in the mountain of corpses, more blood and chunks of flesh appeared, and more blood mingled with the blade.

The old squad leader's figure was no longer transparent; it was no different from a real person.

The old squad leader turned to look at Zhang Zizhong, the ferocity on his face vanishing, replaced by a mixture of relief and reproach. He slapped Zhang Zizhong on the back of the head.

"Xiao Zhong, who do you think you are?!"

"You almost died!"

"We told you not to try to tough it out, just let us handle it, we'll be your messengers!"

The old squad leader gently placed his right hand on Zhang Zizhong's head, which was covered in gray hair, and rubbed it:

"Xiao Zhong, you're really going to die! Can't you leave this instance?"

The old sergeant drew his broadsword from behind him, his eyes fixed on the Japanese soldiers at the foot of the mountain of corpses, his glare rising again:

"The rest can be left to my brothers."

"Get out of here right now! There's no one on the bus who can save you!"

The old squad leader actually knew that Zhang Zizhong wouldn't leave, but he still had to say it.

These words are a manifestation of fear, a survival instinct.

Zhang Zizhong was slightly taken aback when he heard what the old squad leader said.

He didn't understand how the old squad leader knew he was in the instance and could leave it at any time.

How did the old squad leader know that one of those little girls could save him?

Even he himself didn't know this...

Moreover... the old squad leader that Zhang Zizhong knew would not persuade him to leave and abandon the civilians.

Once I leave, these civilians will definitely be gone...

Therefore, Zhang Zizhong understood that the old squad leader and the older brothers might just be his illusion, but this illusion felt so real.

Blood was dripping from Zhang Zizhong's body. After taking a deep breath, he shook his head with a bitter smile and raised his hand to wipe the corner of his eye haphazardly with the back of his hand.

*Pfft!*

Zhang Zizhong yanked the "Great Sword for Killing Bandits" that was stuck in the mountain of corpses.

He casually tore a piece of yellowish-brown military uniform from the Japanese chicken.

As Zhang Zizhong wiped the blade, he calmly said:

"When my parents were killed by the Japanese... I was gone..."

Zhang Zizhong gripped the blade tightly with his right hand:

"While you, old squad leaders, were fighting to the death against the Japanese, I was gone!"

Zhang Zizhong looked up, staring intently at the group of Japanese chickens at his feet, his eyes bloodshot.

"My brothers' bodies were desecrated with bayonets by the Japanese, so I fucking left too!"

Zhang Zizhong took a deep breath and gripped the knife with all his might:

"Today... I, Zhang Zizhong, am not leaving..."

Zhang Zizhong suppressed his fear and his instinct for survival, and resolutely chose to stay.

The old squad leader smiled, a very happy and gratified smile.

He plunged his broadsword into the dead chicken at his feet, then reached into Zhang Zizhong's breast pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes and matches that he had entrusted to Zhang Zizhong for safekeeping.

The old squad leader took two cigarettes from the pack, put one in his mouth, and handed the other one to Zhang Zizhong upside down, shaking it slightly.

"Want one?"

Zhang Zizhong smiled and took the cigarette from the old squad leader, then put it in his mouth. He was about to take the matchbox from the old squad leader's hand and light it for him himself.

But he was too late. The old squad leader had already struck a match, and the orange-red flame ignited on the top of the match, swaying in the cold wind.

The old squad leader held the match close to Zhang Zizhong's cigarette and used his left hand to shield it from the wind.

Zhang Zizhong didn't hesitate. He lowered his head slightly and accepted the cigarette that the old squad leader personally lit for him.

Despite Zhang Zizhong's seemingly calm demeanor, he was actually deeply moved and shocked. His eyes reddened, his lips trembled slightly, and even the cigarettes he smoked seemed to shake.

For a man, having his father offer him a cigarette and light it for him is the highest honor.

This means your father approves of you.

For soldiers, being offered a cigarette or having a cigarette lit by their sergeant is an unparalleled honor!

This also means that the old squad leader approves of you!

After lighting cigarettes for Zhang Zizhong and himself, the old squad leader took a deep drag and slowly exhaled.

He handed the bugle, bound with red cloth, to Zhang Zizhong:

"Xiao Zhong, it's not easy for us brothers to come back to see you."

"Give us guys another ring...?"

Zhang Zizhong nodded, took the bugle with his left hand, and took a quick drag of his cigarette.

The smoke burns rapidly and shortens quickly.

In no time, the cigarette burned down to the butt...

Zhang Zizhong spat out the cigarette butt, exhaled a long, thick cloud of smoke, raised the bugle in his left hand, and skillfully blew the charge.

In the eyes of ordinary people, there is no such thing as an old squad leader or an older brother.

All that could be seen was Zhang Zizhong frantically swinging his knife amidst a horde of C-level Japanese zombies.

one more time.

Even though he was covered in wounds, even though his light blue military uniform had turned completely dark red.

He kept swinging his knife...