Reborn With Infinite Supplies System in Apocalypse

Chapter 7 - Rumors About Him

Rhea learned about Kyle from a whisper.

Not an announcement. Not a scream. A whisper passed from mouth to mouth like a disease that didn’t want to be noticed yet.

“There’s a boy outside,” someone said quietly near the dorm stairs.

Rhea paused mid-step.

“A boy?” another girl scoffed. “Everyone outside is dead.”

“Not him.”

That was enough to make Rhea stop walking altogether.

She stood still, arms folded loosely across her chest, her expression unchanged. Around her, the girls’ campus buzzed with nervous motion—footsteps echoing, voices overlapping, panic simmering just below the surface. It had been hours since the gates sealed. Hours since the boys’ zones went silent.

Hunger had begun to sharpen people’s voices.

“What do you mean, not him?” a third girl asked.

“They’re saying he has food.”

The word hit harder than any scream.

Food.

Rhea turned slowly, her gaze settling on the group huddled near the bulletin board. Three girls, all from different departments, all speaking too softly for comfort. One kept glancing over her shoulder, as if afraid the rumour itself might hear her.

“That’s impossible,” someone muttered. “Every store is empty.”

“I know,” the first girl whispered back. “But that’s what makes it worse.”

Rhea approached without urgency. When she stopped beside them, the conversation faltered. A few eyes flicked toward her, then away.

Ice-cold beauty, they called her. Not because she was cruel, but because she didn’t react the way people expected. No tears. No hysterics. No dramatic collapses. She observed. Calculated. Waited.

Fear didn’t disappear just because it was silent.

“Who is he?” Rhea asked.

Her voice was calm, almost bored. It drew attention immediately.

The girl who had first spoken swallowed. “Kyle. From the outer blocks. Engineering department, maybe. I don’t know him personally.”

“But you know the rumour,” Rhea said.

The girl nodded. “They say he ate. Like… really ate. Hot food.”

A ripple went through the small group.

Someone laughed nervously. “That’s sick. You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.”

Rhea leaned lightly against the wall, considering. Hot food meant fuel. Fuel meant access. Access meant leverage.

“Where did you hear this?” she asked.

“From my roommate’s cousin,” the girl said. “She saw him. He came back carrying something that smelled like soup.”

“Smelled like soup,” another girl repeated faintly.

The words sounded obscene.

Rhea’s mind moved quickly. Smell was hard to fake. Hunger sharpened senses. If someone said food smelled real, it probably was.

“Why hasn’t he shared it?” someone demanded suddenly, voice rising. “If he has food, why isn’t he helping?”

The question hung heavy.

Rhea straightened. “Because people don’t hide charity.”

A few heads turned toward her.

“If he had enough to help freely,” she continued, “we’d already know his name. Properly. Loudly.”

Silence followed.

Someone else spoke, lower this time. “Then why hide it?”

Rhea met her gaze. “Because food isn’t just food anymore.”

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. Everyone understood, even if they didn’t want to say it out loud.

Food was power.

The rumour spread faster after that. Like fire through dry grass.

By nightfall, Kyle’s name was everywhere.

“He’s hoarding.”

“He’s trading it for something.”

“My friend said he made a girl clean for it.”

“No, I heard worse.”

Rhea listened to every version without reacting.

Some said Kyle was kind but cautious. Others said he was dangerous. A few whispered things that made Rhea’s jaw tighten—suggestions of humiliation, of forced favours, of intentions no one wanted to name directly.

“They say he’s waiting,” one girl said near the water station, eyes darting. “Letting us starve so we’ll beg.”

“That’s disgusting,” another snapped. “Men like that always show their true faces in chaos.”

Rhea filled her bottle slowly, hands steady.

“Has anyone actually met him?” she asked.

The answer was always the same.

No.

Speculation grew teeth in that absence.

By the next morning, hunger had turned suspicion into hostility.

“He’s probably lying.”

“He wants attention.”

“He’s baiting us.”

“If he really has food, someone should take it from him.”

That last one came from a girl whose hands were shaking badly enough that she had spilt half her water ration.

Rhea watched her quietly.

Desperation made people reckless. Reckless people didn’t survive long.

She returned to her dorm room and sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall. Her reflection in the darkened window stared back—straight posture, expression controlled, eyes sharp.

Kyle.

A variable.

Variables were dangerous if left untested.

She replayed the rumours, filtering emotion from fact. One detail repeated across versions: he didn’t deny having food. He didn’t boast either. He let people talk.

That suggested confidence.

Or a trap.

Either way, ignorance was worse.

Rhea stood.

When she stepped back into the hallway, voices followed her.

“Where are you going?”

“Rhea, don’t.”

She ignored them and walked toward the common area, where a group had gathered around a makeshift notice board filled with scribbled plans and half-formed strategies.

She raised her voice—not loud, but clear.

“I’ll meet him.”

The room froze.

A dozen faces turned toward her at once.

“Are you insane?” someone blurted.

“You can’t go alone.”

“He might be dangerous.”

Rhea met each protest with the same calm stare.

“That’s exactly why I should go,” she said. “I won’t panic. I won’t beg. I won’t provoke him.”

“And if the rumours are true?” another girl asked quietly. “If he’s expecting something… else?”

Rhea didn’t look away. “Then I’ll find out.”

Fear flickered through the room.

“You don’t owe us that,” someone said.

Rhea shook her head slightly. “I owe myself clarity.”

She grabbed a jacket and slung it over her shoulders. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but her hands didn’t tremble. She had survived by discipline long before the world ended.

At the door, she paused.

“If I don’t come back,” she said calmly, “assume the worst.”

No one laughed.

Rhea stepped into the corridor leading toward the sealed exit point where rumours said Kyle had been seen last.

Alone.

Behind her, whispers erupted again—but this time, they weren’t about Kyle.

They were about whether the ice-cold beauty would break first.