The moment the message sent, the chat went silent.
Elric could imagine them staring at their phones in disbelief, Jacob's face surely turning an interesting shade of purple.
Jacob's reply came seconds later, full of rage.
Jacob Short:[You bastard! You dare talk about my girl like that?!]
His face, wherever he was, must have turned purple with fury. Rich or not, even a guy like Jacob knew—She was the kind of woman you didn't let slip away.
Elric leaned back in his chair, satisfied, a cold smile playing at his lips.
You humiliated me once. Let's see how you feel when I trample your pride in front of everyone.
Jacob Short treated Grace Winters like a goddess, always flaunting her in front of others, posting photos of her on social media with captions about how lucky he was. For two years, he had chased her tirelessly, showering her with gifts and attention—designer handbags, expensive dinners, weekend trips to luxury resorts.
Yet despite all that effort, despite all that money spent, he hadn't even held her hand. Grace maintained a careful distance, accepting his gifts with gracious smiles but never allowing the relationship to progress beyond a certain point. To Jacob, that only made her more desirable—a challenge to be conquered, a trophy to be won.
How could he ever let a guy like Elric get involved with her?
"Just you wait, Elric," Jacob sneered in the dorm room, his voice trembling with rage as he paced back and forth, his phone clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles had turned white. "When this disaster is over, I'll make sure you understand the gap between someone like me and someone like you."
"That's right, Short," Gavin Ross chimed in, slapping the desk for emphasis, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "After this is over, we're gonna beat the crap out of him again. Looks like last time was too light."
Ryan Lowe added with a laugh, though it sounded somewhat forced, "The guy actually dares to go after your girl? He should take a look in the mirror first."
"Exactly. Just some water bottles and snack packs, and suddenly he thinks he's hot shit."
The three of them cursed Elric bitterly, puffing themselves up with false bravado, their voices growing louder and more aggressive as they fed off each other's anger.
But once their anger subsided, once the adrenaline of righteous indignation faded, silence filled the dorm room.
Heavy. Oppressive. Uncomfortable.
Their throats were dry—painfully, unbearably dry. Every swallow felt like sandpaper scraping down their esophagus.
None of them had the foresight to stock up on food or water. They'd laughed at the people panic-buying supplies in those first chaotic hours, calling them paranoid idiots, confident that the government would restore order within days.
None of them had the guts to venture out through the poisonous mist that smothered the city. They'd watched from their window as a neighbor collapsed just meters from the dorm building entrance, convulsing on the ground before going still. No one had gone to help him.
By the fifth day of the apocalypse, they hadn't had a sip of clean water in three days.
All three slowly turned their eyes toward the windowsill.
Lined up there were a few plastic bottles filled with yellow liquid.
They weren't drinks. They weren't even safe. They were the waste of the past few days, left there because they had been too lazy—or perhaps too disgusted with themselves—to take it downstairs.
Now… it looked like their only option.
The three of them exchanged glances. No one spoke. No one wanted to be the first to suggest what they were all thinking.
But in that silence, a grim understanding passed between them.
Meanwhile, Elric had no idea his three former roommates had already sunk to drinking their own urine.
The rich aroma filled the room. After a hearty meal—he'd eaten until he was genuinely full, a luxury he rarely experienced even before the apocalypse—Elric leaned back in satisfaction, scrolling through his phone.
The situation outside was deteriorating rapidly. The news feeds, when they managed to load through the spotty internet connection, painted an increasingly grim picture.
More and more food and water sources had become contaminated by the spreading black substance. Some kind of alien spore or fungal growth, the scientists speculated, though no one really knew for certain. Clean supplies were now priceless treasures, worth more than gold or diamonds or any amount of money.
Every hour, more private messages flooded in from women—students, neighbors, even strangers from nearby groups he had joined online for university activities or local events.
Their messages varied in tone. Some were polite, almost formal, asking if he might have any extra supplies to spare. Others were more direct, offering various forms of compensation. A few were surprisingly bold, their offers leaving little to the imagination.
But when he clicked on their profiles, scrolling through their photos with a critical eye, the photos they sent disappointed him. Not one met the requirements set by his System.
For those women, Elric replied politely with a refusal, keeping his messages short and apologetic.
Elric:Sorry, my supplies are limited. I need to prioritize my own survival. I hope you understand.
Some snapped instantly, their desperation transforming into vitriol.
You're blind! I'm offering you everything and you reject me?
Arrogant bastard. You'll regret this when you're the one starving.
Who do you think you are? You're just some poor scholarship student!
Elric didn't bother wasting words. He simply ignored them, blocking the particularly aggressive ones without a second thought.
Still… he was frustrated.
Where are the real beauties? How long are they planning to play reserved while the world burns?
The System's mission was clear: he needed to find a woman who met specific criteria—beauty rating above 85, compatibility above 70%, and willingness to form a genuine connection. Only then would he receive the next reward, the next upgrade to his abilities.
His eyes narrowed as his thoughts drifted toward one woman in particular.
He pulled out the system's outdated scan, focusing his mind on the interface until it materialized before him. A flickering image appeared before his eyes, translucent and ghostly: Natasha, his university instructor.
The tall, long-legged beauty was curled up on her bed, trembling. Even through the System's somewhat grainy projection, he could see her condition was visibly worse than before. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, her face pale, her body curled into a fetal position.
"If I don't find a suitable candidate today…" Elric murmured to himself, his expression hardening as he stared at the image, weighing his options with cold calculation, "then Natasha… I'll have no choice but to focus on you again."
Inside her dorm—the staff residential building that was supposed to be better maintained, safer, more comfortable than the student dormitories—Natasha felt like she was dying.
Her lips were cracked and bleeding, each movement of her mouth sending sharp stabs of pain through her face. Her stomach was hollow, cramping with hunger pangs that came in waves. Her head spun with dizziness, the room tilting and swaying even though she was lying perfectly still.
She hadn't had a sip of water in over a day and a half.
Two nights ago, she had finished the last of her instant noodles and bottled water—meager supplies that she'd kept in her room for late-night grading sessions. She'd rationed them as carefully as she could, but they'd run out far too quickly.
Now, there was nothing left.
Nothing but the slowly encroaching darkness at the edges of her vision and the terrible, desperate thirst that consumed every thought.
Is this how it ends? she wondered, staring at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. Twenty-eight years old, and I die of dehydration in my own bedroom?
Her phone lay beside her on the bed, battery at 3%, the screen dark. She didn't have the strength to reach for it anymore.