Cyrus stepped out of his apartment and into a scene of warmth and peace. Parents laughed with their children in the square. Their faces were bright with carefree smiles. He knew better. In a month, this idyllic picture would shatter like glass.

He quickened his pace. Just a short walk away stood a Michelin three-star restaurant. It was a place he had never dared enter. After all, a single meal there cost at least 1,000 dollars..

Today he did not care. He had already died once. If that did not call for celebration, what would?

Inside, Cyrus chose a seat by the window and ordered the most expensive dishes along with a bottle of Chateau Lafite. By the time the waiter left, the bill had already climbed to nearly 10,000 dollars.

The servers eyed him with curiosity and envy, likely taking him for some spoiled heir. What ordinary man would throw away that much money on a single meal?

Cyrus did not bother to explain. When the dishes arrived, filling the table with color and fragrance, he dug in without restraint.

After half a year of freezing to death in the Frostfall, tasting food like this again nearly moved him to tears. He ate ravenously, almost feral, drawing whispers from nearby tables.

He could not care less. They had no idea. When the world collapsed, people would beg on their knees for a single pack of instant noodles. Civilization and morals would vanish overnight.

As Cyrus ate, a woman outside the window stopped short. She was striking, with long hair flowing, immaculate makeup, Gucci heels tapping lightly against the pavement, and a Louis Vuitton bag swinging from her arm.

It was Diana Feynor, the same woman who had once lured him into opening his door only to betray him and watch as others beat him to death. Walking beside her was her closest friend, Natalie Lockwood.

The two often loitered around upscale places like this. Not because they could afford them, but because they hoped to spot some wealthy heir to ensnare.

As expected, Diana's eyes widened when she glanced inside. "Wait, that's Cyrus! How could he possibly afford a place like this?"

Natalie covered her mouth in surprise. "You mean Cyrus has been a rich heir all this time?"

Then she cast Diana a sly look. "Girl, you're lucky. The guy who's chased you for years turns out to be a secret rich heir."

Her gaze flicked to the feast before Cyrus. "Look at that table. That's at least 10 grand. Who else but a rich heir would spend that on dinner?"

Diana pursed her lips as her mind raced. For two and a half years, Cyrus had pursued her without pause. She had never accepted, but she never rejected him either.

To her, he had always been a backup, useful enough to keep close but never worth commitment.

Now doubt crept in. Could he actually be a hidden heir, pretending to be ordinary to test her love? The idea thrilled her. If it were true, she believed all she had to do was nod and he would drop to one knee.

Natalie tugged at her arm. "Let's go in and say hi. Maybe he'll invite us over."

Her real goal was obvious—the food. Most people would never taste three-star Michelin cuisine in their lives.

Diana hesitated, then shook her head. "No. That would make me look like I'm chasing his money. Let's wait outside. If we bump into him, it'll seem natural."

She was not stupid. One meal was not worth ruining her goddess-like image. If Cyrus truly was rich, she would stay firmly on the pedestal, holding all the power.

Therefore, the two women lingered nearby, waiting.

Inside, Cyrus ate until his stomach was round and full. The flavors were not as heavenly as the price suggested, but to a man who had starved through the apocalypse, it was a feast beyond measure.

Next, he planned to stop by the supermarket to test how much his pocket dimension could store. It was better to be cautious now than risk disaster later.

He paid the bill with a wave of his hand and stepped out into the afternoon sun.

A sweet, saccharine voice echoed behind him. "Cyrus! What a coincidence."

He turned to find Diana and Natalie.

Diana tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and exposed the curve of her neck and the pale pink of her earlobe. It was a practiced, subtle move meant to stir a man's heart.

In his past life, it had worked. Not anymore.

Cyrus' eyes went cold. He remembered how she had set him up, had watched while his ribs were broken one by one, and had demanded his bones be boiled into soup.

The world's end was near, so killing her now would not be a problem. His chest tightened with the urge to strike her down.

Diana shivered under his stare. "Cyrus, what's wrong?"

He pulled back, his expression flat. "Nothing. Thought you were someone else."

He changed his mind. Killing her now would be too easy and merciful. The law still mattered for one more month.

It was better to let her live and taste despair first. He had numerous ways to make her die screaming.

For now, survival came first. His priority was to build the safest shelter possible, a fortress against the end of the world.

Cyrus' attitude toward Diana remained ice-cold. She and Natalie sensed something was off, but after convincing themselves he was secretly a wealthy heir, neither grew angry. Instead, they eagerly closed the distance between them.

So what if rich men had bad tempers? That was just their personality.

"Hey, Cyrus, did you just eat at that restaurant?" Natalie asked, pretending casual curiosity.

Cyrus' brow tightened slightly. He had not forgotten that this woman was as guilty as Diana. She had helped lure him in, leading him to his near-death.

"Yeah." His reply was flat, clipped. He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned, and headed for the supermarket.

The two women hurried after him.

"Cyrus, where are you going?" Diana asked with a sweet smile.

"The supermarket." His tone remained cold, edged with irritation.

If not for the plan he had in mind—making her taste despair before ending her—he might have struck her on the spot.

Diana shot Natalie a look.

Natalie quickly added, "What a coincidence! We were just about to do some shopping too. Let's go together!"

It clicked instantly. They must have seen him dining at the Michelin-starred restaurant, assumed he was a hidden heir, and were now tripping over themselves to cozy up.

He could not be bothered to explain, so he kept walking.

The more indifferent he acted, the more convinced they became. Only someone with serious money could afford such arrogance.

The two trailed him closely. Diana brushed against his arm from time to time, then pretended to shy away, cheeks pink, as if flustered by the "accidental" touch.

Cyrus sneered inwardly. 'What an actress. If she entered the entertainment industry, she would win Best Actress without question.'

Inside the supermarket, he grabbed a cart and pushed straight toward the food aisles.

The women followed, each taking a cart.

"Were you eating with someone earlier?" Diana asked sweetly.

"I ate alone. Problem?" he replied sharply.

She rushed to explain. "No, no, of course not! I just thought that meal was expensive, so maybe you were hosting someone important."

Natalie blurted, "But your salary's just over two grand a month, right? That dinner cost at least six months' wages. Looks like your family left you more than a little inheritance."

Diana glared at her. 'Idiot! Never ask about money directly. Talk about feelings with the rich, money with the poor.'

Realizing her mistake, Natalie forced a laugh. "I was just kidding! We're all friends here, who cares about money?"

Cyrus ignored them completely. He reached the shelves and stared at the neatly stacked goods, feeling as if he had stumbled into a treasure vault. In his last life, he had stretched a pack of pasta over two days. He knew hunger intimately.

Now, his hunger was for stockpiling.

He began sweeping food into the cart: sausages, pasta, seasonings, and many more. He grabbed them in bulk.

Diana and Natalie stared, dumbfounded.

"Cyrus, why are you buying so much? Going camping or something?"

"Mm." His answer was as bland as ever.

Natalie leaned in to whisper, "Would a real rich heir stock up on this stuff for camping?"

Diana frowned, but the memory of his Michelin-starred feast kept her doubts at bay. She rushed forward eagerly. "Do you need help?"

'A free labor offer. Why refuse?' he thought.

Watching her play the innocent damsel stirred dark amusement in him. A plan began to form. He had one month to prepare for the apocalypse. With his ability and access to Volmart's warehouse, securing supplies was trivial.

But if he let Diana see just enough to think he had a secret stash, she would come crawling when the world collapsed and would beg him to save her. And when she did, he would let her choke on despair before crushing her completely.

Even if she tried to leak news to those vulture-like neighbors, it would not matter. His safehouse would be impregnable.

'Let them come. I will turn their siege into their graves,' he thought with a twisted smile.

Yes. This was worth considering.

He would hire a security firm and build the strongest fortress money could buy. If that failed, he would fall back on Plan B, a hidden underground shelter in the wilderness. They were both solid plans.

"Push the cart for me then," Cyrus said smoothly.

Diana beamed. "Of course!"

He then told Natalie to fetch him another cart. She looked uneasy but obeyed.

They followed him as he piled in long-lasting food: noodles, sausages, cured meats, canned goods. Then he filled another cart with fresh meat, fruits, vegetables, even living fish, to test how his pocket-dimension ability handled perishables.

By the end, his three carts overflowed.

He handed the heaviest, loaded with beef, lamb, and canned goods—over four hundred pounds—to the two women. They staggered under the weight, drenched in sweat.

"Cyrus, who's going to eat all this?" Diana whined with a pout. "Are you hosting some big event?"

Cyrus chuckled darkly. "Storms come without warning. What if the world ended tomorrow? Better to stock up for the worst."

It was true, though who would believe him?

Diana giggled, brushing it off. "If you don't want to say, fine. But you owe me a meal for helping today!"

Her eyes sparkled. She wanted dinner at the Michelin-starred restaurant.

"Sure," Cyrus said with a faint smile. "But I'm busy this month. Next month, then."

Her eyes lit up. "Deal!"

Natalie grinned. "Count me in too!"

Just pushing a cart for a fancy dinner? It was thrilling.

Diana shot her a glare, but Natalie ignored her.

At checkout, Cyrus paid more than 2,000 dollars without hesitation. These supplies were priceless. In the apocalypse, not even a mountain of gold could buy a loaf of bread.

The supermarket let him borrow the carts to wheel everything back. He made no effort to hide his attitude, ordering the two women to push them home. He could have driven and loaded them all himself, but with free labor in front of him, why waste the chance?

They complained nonstop, but the promise of luxury food kept them moving.

Together, they pushed their mountain of supplies through the gates of the residential complex.

The three of them pushed the loaded carts back into the residential complex. Cyrus' neighbors spotted them along the way and began whispering. Cyrus did not care. Now that those two women had witnessed his shopping spree, secrecy was impossible.

If survival had been his only goal, he could have sold everything, vanished into the wilderness, and built an impregnable fortress. But what about revenge? What about the neighbors who had literally torn him apart in his past life?

Until he killed them all, the knot in his chest would never loosen.

One survival plan required staying in this very community, repaying every betrayal with a cruelty of his own design. That plan relied on the security company constructing a truly unbreakable safehouse. Failing that, Plan B awaited: an underground shelter far from civilization.

He scanned the smiling neighbors. To them, his overflowing carts were a curiosity, fodder for gossip. However, Cyrus already knew the truth—when the world collapsed, these same people would try to smash down his door and strip his home bare.

He was not afraid. Not this time. He would ensure they saw the food, smelled it, hungered for it, and still could not touch a single bite. That would be his revenge.

He and Diana lived in the same apartment block. As a supervisor at the Volmart warehouse, his neighbors often asked him to buy discounted stock. Everyone knew him.

Seeing them haul three carts of food, a grandmother out with her grandson waddled over.

"Oh, Cyrus, why so much? Did the warehouse mark this down?" Her eyes gleamed at the sight of fresh beef and lamb. "You'll never eat it all. Why not share some with the neighbors?"

It was Linda Matthews, a busybody on the Neighborhood Committee who loved throwing her weight around. She always schemed for freebies. In Cyrus' past life, she had guilt-tripped him into handing over food. When the mob stormed his apartment, she had been fiercer than the young men.

Diana and Natalie stepped back. "It's all Cyrus'. We were just helping him carry it."

Linda turned her smile on him. "Come now, Cyrus. These must be from the warehouse. Why not let me have a little?"

Even as she spoke, her brat of a grandson, Timmy Benson, climbed onto the cart and grabbed a box of imported chocolates worth over 40 dollars.

Cyrus snatched it back without hesitation and said coldly, "Sorry. These are mine."

The apocalypse was only a month away. He had no time for politeness with scavengers.

Linda's face darkened. "You!"

Her fury at the disrespect was palpable. Her spoiled grandson wailed louder, pointing a chubby finger. "You're a bad man! Give me the chocolate, or I'll beat you to death!"

Cyrus fixed him with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "Say another word, and I'll slap your mouth."

The boy froze, then exploded into sobs, rolled on the ground, and threw a tantrum.

Linda rushed to soothe him, leering at Cyrus. "How could you pick on a child? It's just a box of chocolates! Give it to him. I'll pay you back later. Do you think I'm trying to take advantage of you?"

Cyrus sneered. Everyone paid with mobile apps now. If she had meant to pay, she could have done it instantly.

"I said it's mine. If you want chocolate, go buy it yourself." He barked a cold laugh and walked away with Diana and Natalie.

Behind them, Linda's shrill curses rattled the courtyard, but Cyrus ignored them.

Linda's son and daughter-in-law worked far from home, leaving her alone to care for Timmy. She normally bought only a day's worth of food, never more, which meant their house always ran out of supplies first when disaster struck.

In his last life, he had helped her. This time, he would not. Without stockpiles, Linda and Timmy would be lucky to survive ten days once Frostfall began. He had no interest in arguing with walking corpses.

Once the carts reached his apartment, Cyrus dismissed the women.

"Don't forget you owe us dinner!" Diana teased, batting her eyes.

The sight made his stomach turn. He muttered a vague response, too disgusted to care.

The women lingered, hoping to catch a hint of hidden wealth. When they realized he had no interest in entertaining them, they left reluctantly.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Cyrus summoned his pocket dimension and sent all the supplies into the white void. He wanted to see if they would change overnight.

By the time he finished, it was late. Instead of sleeping, he pulled out pen and paper and began drafting a one-month survival plan. Lazy as he had been in the past, the will to survive could unlock hidden potential.

He wrote: [To live luxuriously in the apocalypse, food comes first.]

He could easily acquire ordinary groceries. The real stockpiling would come from the warehouse, but only cautiously, only at the right moment. A few days in jail for theft would mean certain death.

He wrote the word "Food."

"Next is heat and warmth. Once the power grid fails, air conditioners are useless. A fireplace is the best option," he muttered.

He thought of Eldora's brutal winters. Fireplaces had kept people alive for centuries.

"If that's the case, I need to renovate the house—better insulation, proper heat-proofing." The thought stirred the memory of burglars breaking in during his last life, and his chest tightened at the recollection.

"This time, I'll turn my place into a steel fortress. Step one: reinforce every wall with heavy steel plates or alloy so it can withstand a blast."

In the apocalypse, people would kill for scraps. There was no room for mistakes. He had already died once and would not go through that again.

Securing a safehouse was simpler. Volaris had security firms catering to the rich, offering custom-built, fortified panic rooms. He recalled reading about a billionaire who had built a bunker capable of surviving small nuclear strikes.

"Next is medicine. I cannot afford to get sick. There's no treatment if I do. Volmart's warehouses stock basic drugs for cold, fever, and minor illnesses. But that's not enough. This ice storm will last decades at least. I need to be fully prepared."

Fortunately, he had contacts in hospital logistics. Money could buy any medicine he required.

He tapped the pen on the notebook, eyes sharp. "Last problem… Weapons."

Once civilization collapsed, violence would dominate. To survive, he needed firepower. He was no martial artist, and even masters fell to blades and bullets.

"Machetes, crowbars, and axes are easy to obtain. I also have sources for crossbows, air rifles, and compound bows. As for guns, foreign imports are best. That means the black market."

He rubbed his chin. Traveling abroad was unrealistic, but he still had a month. With enough cash, a way would turn up.

For three hours, he mapped out every detail. Only then did he take a long, hot shower before collapsing onto his bed.

…

The next morning, Cyrus woke groggy, still shaken by nightmares. Yet the warmth of his bed was real, and he drew a long, steady breath. Memories of the apocalypse had scarred him, but he refused to relive them. This time, he would be ready.

After breakfast, he checked his pocket dimension. To his delight, the meat, fruit, and vegetables he had left there overnight remained unchanged. Meat was hard to judge in just a day, but fruit and vegetables usually spoiled quickly. Inside the pocket dimension, they looked as fresh as if he had bought them yesterday.

"My pocket dimension exists outside this world. Maybe time works differently there. It could move slower or even stand still. Incredible. This means I can store anything I want without a single worry," he murmured.

The only exceptions were the fish. All of them were dead. Even in death, they looked lifelike, without a hint of decay.

Rubbing his chin, Cyrus realized he had just discovered another rule of the pocket dimension. "So living things can't survive here. That rules out hiding in it myself."

It was not a big loss. His apartment was far more comfortable. As long as supplies stayed fresh, he was more than satisfied.

An idea struck him. If meat and vegetables did not expire, what about prepared meals?

Cyrus could cook, but he was no chef. Eventually, he would tire of his own food. Why not stockpile ready-made gourmet dishes?

He picked up his phone and dialed the Grand Heritage Hotel, the most luxurious five-star hotel in Volaris. They offered delivery, and their food was excellent.

"Hello, this is the Grand Heritage Hotel. How can we help you?"

"Hello. I'm hosting guests at home," Cyrus said without hesitation. "I need enough food to cover 500 tables for the banquet."

Silence followed. Even for them, 500 tables of food was an extraordinary demand. At 800 dollars per table, the total exceeded 400,000 dollars.

The receptionist stammered, "P-Please hold. I need to get the manager."

Moments later, another voice came on the line. "Good afternoon, sir. I'm Dylan Thompson, the hotel manager. May I have your name?"