Reborn With Infinite Supplies System in Apocalypse

Chapter 3 - Paradise Has Rules

The world blinked.

That was the only way to describe it. One second, I stood in a courtyard filled with screaming, crying, and the metallic stench of fear. Next, all sound vanished, cut cleanly, as if someone had slammed a door on reality itself.

I didn’t feel myself move.

There was no falling, no pulling sensation, no flash of light. Just absence—then presence.

I stood on smooth white marble.

The air was cool and perfectly still, carrying a faint, neutral scent that reminded me of nothing at all. No blood. No smoke. No rot. The silence was so complete it rang in my ears.

I turned slowly, every muscle coiled, expecting a trap.

The space was vast but not endless. A high ceiling curved overhead like the inside of a dome, seamless and glowing softly with indirect light. Tall windows lined one side, revealing an impossibly blue sky—too blue, like a painting that hadn’t learned subtlety yet. Beyond the glass stretched rolling green fields, water that sparkled under a calm sun, and distant trees that never swayed.

No wind.

No birds.

No life.

It was beautiful in the way mannequins were beautiful.

“Paradise,” I murmured.

My voice sounded wrong here. Too loud. Too human.

A table stood at the centre of the room, long and elegant, set with white porcelain plates and polished silverware. Crystal glasses reflected the ambient glow. At the far end stood a man.

He wore a black vest over a white shirt, sleeves crisp, posture straight. His hair was neatly combed, his face calm to the point of blankness. His eyes followed me, but there was no curiosity in them.

A waiter.

Not a metaphor. Not a projection. A waiter.

He inclined his head slightly when our eyes met. No smile. No greeting.

I didn’t trust him.

I took a step forward. The marble was warm under my feet, steady, real. This place had weight. Texture. Rules.

“Where am I?” I asked.

The waiter did not answer.

“Can you speak?” I tried.

Nothing.

I circled the table, scanning for doors, seams, anything that suggested an exit. There were none. Just the room, the windows, the view that never changed.

“This is the Paradise Space,” I said slowly, testing the words. They tasted like something pre-written, something that had been waiting for me to say them.

The air vibrated.

A translucent panel materialised in front of me, larger than before, clearer. The same cold precision, the same impersonal calm.

Private Space Initialised.

Designation: Paradise.

I exhaled through my nose. “Figures.”

Images flickered briefly across the panel. Storage rooms stacked with crates. Tanks of clear water. Shelves lined with food—fresh fruit, sealed rations, canned goods, things I hadn’t seen outside advertisements in months during my first life.

My throat tightened.

Food.

Real food.

Not scraps. Not mouldy leftovers. Not the kind you traded your dignity for and still went hungry afterwards.

My body reacted before my mind did. Saliva flooded my mouth. My stomach clenched, suddenly loud, suddenly awake. The hunger I thought I’d left behind rushed back like a memory given teeth.

I reached for the nearest plate.

My fingers passed straight through it.

The illusion shattered instantly. The table vanished. The food disappeared. The room remained empty and silent again, like it was waiting to see what I’d learned.

I froze, hand still outstretched.

A dry laugh escaped me, short and sharp. “So that’s how it is.”

The panel has been updated.

Supplies are not freely accessible.

Of course they weren’t.

A second object appeared, floating gently down until it rested on the marble between the waiter and me. A single sheet of paper. Plain white. No glow. No hologram.

Paper.

I crouched and picked it up. It felt real. Thin. Slightly textured.

At the top, written in clean, black text, were three words.

Paradise Space Rules.

I scanned the page, then slower, my expression tightening with each line.

Rule One: The Paradise Space is absolute. No external entities may enter without authorisation.

Rule Two: Time within the Paradise Space is suspended relative to the outside world.

Rule Three: All supplies are governed by System Conditions.

My jaw clenched. I looked up at the waiter. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked.

“System Conditions,” I repeated quietly. “That’s the catch.”

The paper grew warm in my hands.

The text shifted.

Additional Condition Unlocked.

New words bled onto the page as if written by an invisible hand.

Supplies require Emotional Function Points.

I stared.

Once.

Twice.

Then I laughed, this time longer, lower, the sound echoing faintly in the perfect space.

“Emotional,” I said. “Of course.”

Images flashed through my mind without permission. Fear on people’s faces. Desperation. Gratitude twisted into resentment. The way hunger stripped people down to their rawest selves.

Emotion had been the real currency all along. Food was just the excuse.

“How do I earn them?” I asked, already knowing the answer wouldn’t be simple.

The panel responded immediately, as if pleased by the question.

Emotional Function Points are generated through targeted emotional responses.

Valid sources: Humans.

Intensity and authenticity determine yield.

I closed my eyes.

Not kindness. Not charity.

Reaction.

Fear. Relief. Shame. Desire. Gratitude. Anger.

All of it could be measured. Converted. Spent.

I opened my eyes and looked at the waiter again. He stood patiently, hands folded behind his back, a symbol of service without agency.

“You don’t eat,” I said. “You don’t feel. You don’t count.”

The waiter did not respond.

Outside this space, the world was collapsing. Inside it, abundance waited behind a price tag written in human weakness.

In my first life, I had starved because I gave too much away. Because I believed emotions mattered more than control.

This time, emotions were the control.

I folded the rule sheet carefully and slid it into my pocket. My heartbeat was steady now. Cold. Focused.

“If the world wants me to survive,” I said softly to the empty paradise, “it’ll have to feel something for it.”

The panel pulsed once.

Supply access locked.

Emotional Function Points required.

Somewhere beyond this perfect silence, people were screaming.

I turned toward the invisible exit, already planning my return.

Paradise had rules.

And I intended to master every one of them.