Chapter 91
At that moment, everyone in the group harbored their own private calculations.
Those with little or no food at home naturally supported centralized distribution.
But those who still had supplies—how could they possibly be willing to hand everything over?
If they did, wouldn’t it simply benefit those who had nothing?
By rationing carefully, they could last a long time on their own.
Unsurprisingly, the residents with food reserves sided with the black-profile user, finding 201’s proposal almost laughable.
[ I don’t agree with centralized distribution. ]
[ Same here. ]
...
One after another, messages appeared—each from households that still had food to spare.
Sensing the shift in momentum, 201 quickly tagged the black-profile user and demanded:
[ Are you even from our building? Why haven’t you listed your unit number? Are you here to cause trouble? Admin, kick him out! ]
To 201, the black-profile user was a thorn in the side—someone who couldn’t be allowed to keep talking, lest he ruin everything.
[ Then tell us—who do you suggest should manage everyone? ]
The black-profile user pressed on.
The group fell silent for a full half-minute.
Then, a new message broke the stillness:
[ 3-902: If I remember correctly, 201’s aunt works in the community office. She’s always been quite helpful. Why not let her manage things for us? ]
The "aunt" mentioned by 902 was none other than Mrs. Warren.
She was indeed a community administrator and had served as the building coordinator during the pandemic—handling registrations and distributing supplies.
[ 3-201: I do have some experience managing situations like this. If no one objects, I’m willing to take on the role. ]
A few voices immediately echoed their support. Within just a handful of messages, 201 was pushed into the position of "leader."
Some residents, their phones already dead, didn’t even have the chance to object.
201 quickly delivered an impassioned acceptance speech, outlining plans and asserting authority—then added that she would begin collecting food supplies in the coming days, urging everyone to prepare.
***
Richard Stone lounged on his sofa, one leg crossed lazily over the other.
The air conditioner hummed softly, filling the room with a cool, crisp chill. A glass of iced drink rested within reach, condensation beading along its surface, while a movie flickered across the television screen.
The oppressive heat outside felt like it belonged to another world entirely—unable to touch him.
As he scrolled through the messages on his phone, a faint, amused smile tugged at his lips.
"Going door to door collecting food? ...How interesting."
He didn’t bother replying in the group chat.
The black-profile account was his alternate account—and he was also the group admin.
With a casual flick of his finger, he removed 201 from the chat entirely.
The once noisy stream of notifications fell silent in an instant.
"So damn loud. I’m sick of their nonsense," Richard muttered with a smirk.
The person he had just kicked out—201—was Mrs. Warren.
She had just secured her position as "leader" with the help of a few familiar residents and was in the middle of delivering her speech, building authority and painting a vision of the future.
The moment she hit send, a notification popped up.
You have been removed from the group chat.
Mrs. Warren froze, stunned. Then fury erupted.
"Which bastard kicked me out?!"
Richard, meanwhile, didn’t find anything wrong with what he’d done.
After casually resolving the "Mrs. Warren problem," he leaned back and began going through his unread messages at an unhurried pace.
Not only had his messages piled up to 99+, but even his social feed notifications had hit the same number.
He tapped into the pinned chat with Hannah first.
These days, Hannah was nothing more than a source of idle amusement—his own little digital plaything to pass the time.
An hour earlier, she had sent him a selfie.
She was dressed in something light and revealing, her lips painted a vivid red, her expression soft and enticing—heavy with unspoken suggestion.
Richard’s lips curled slightly, a trace of mockery in his smile.
After all this time... she had finally lowered herself.
Looks like she’s running out of food. Otherwise, Hannah would never have sent him a photo like that.
That woman had always prided herself on her dignity—especially in front of him. Always wanting to have it both ways, acting virtuous while keeping him on a leash.
"Being reborn really is a blessing."
Richard let out a soft chuckle, a warped satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
In his previous life, how could he ever have seen Hannah humble herself like this?
Back then, he had been the one chasing after her—devoted, indulgent, placing her above everything else.
Whatever Hannah wanted, he gave.
Even in the apocalypse, he had never let her go hungry. Every scrap of food he found, he saved for her first.
And how had she repaid him?
At the thought of his past life, a vicious shadow flashed through Richard’s gaze.
He had given her everything—heart, soul, unquestioning loyalty. Willingly reduced himself to nothing more than her devoted follower.
And in the end... he had died because of that very devotion.
Hannah hadn’t just betrayed him—she had joined forces with her best friend Olivia and outsiders to carve him up alive.
That agony—the tearing, the dismemberment—he still remembered it vividly.
This time...
He would make sure she suffered a fate worse than death.
Richard drew in a slow breath, steadying himself.
Fortunately, fate had given him another chance.
He had been reborn—before the apocalypse began.
And in this life, not only had he awakened a spatial ability, but he had also prepared in advance.
With the knowledge from his past life, he was certain he would thrive in the apocalypse—rise above the chaos and dominate it.
The thought of his storage space, packed to the brim with supplies, settled his mind.
Casually, he replied to Hannah with a single message:
[Richard Stone: Nice body.]
Then, one by one, he pulled out all kinds of food from his storage space and spread them across the coffee table.
Fried chicken. Cola. Grilled skewers.
Soon, the table was overflowing.
He snapped a photo and sent it to Hannah.
[Richard Stone: This is what I’m having today. Tastes pretty average.]
Exiting her chat, Richard tapped into Olivia’s conversation.
Lately, Olivia had also been sending him bold, provocative photos—far more daring than Hannah’s.
He responded with a few perfunctory lines before opening his social feed.
Over the past few days, he had occasionally posted snapshots of his meals—lobster, steak—each dish carefully photographed and uploaded.
His feed was flooded with likes and comments, the numbers nearly matching.
AAA Building Supplies, Mr. Yates: Bro, where are you making your fortune these days? Eating like this... can I buy some from you? I’ll pay five times the price!
Milly: OMG, it’s been ages! Where are you staying now? Want me to come keep you company? We can chat and grill—wouldn’t that be perfect?
Lanette: I’m running out of food at home. You’re eating like this every day—could you lend me some? I’ll drive over to pick it up.
Nana Fairy: Misteerrr, you’re living so well~ I want some too... maybe I could come stay with you~
XX: Haha, posting old photos every day to show off—what’s the point? Bet you don’t even have instant noodles left at home.
Richard’s eyes lingered on that last comment. His brow lifted slightly, and he let out a cold laugh.
With a flick of his hand, an entire wall of instant noodles appeared before him.
He took out his phone, snapped a picture, and replied:
[Richard Stone: Take a look—do I have any?]
The moment he sent it, even more private messages flooded in—people asking to borrow supplies, others hinting at moving in with him.
Richard cleared the notifications without a second thought and returned to his chats.
All of this, he had done it deliberately for Hannah to see.
He wanted her to watch, to crave, to starve—slowly grinding down her pride bit by bit.
Richard took a bite of fried chicken, eyes narrowing in satisfaction, then snapped another photo and sent it to her.