Reborn With Infinite Supplies System in Apocalypse

Chapter 9 - The Six

I didn’t choose them at random.

That was the mistake people always made when they talked about power. They imagined instinct, impulse, desire. They imagined chaos. But real leverage came from selection.

I watched the campus for an entire afternoon before I made a single move.

From the shadowed upper floor of a half-collapsed lecture building across the street, I could see the sealed gates, the patrol paths improvised by the girls inside, the way groups formed and dissolved as hunger gnawed at patience. Fear had stabilised into something quieter now. Calculation. Resentment. Hope twisted thin.

Hunger sharpened personalities.

That was what I was testing.

The first was obvious.

Aarohi, the campus beauty.

She didn’t try to hide it, didn’t need to. Even now, unwashed, exhausted, she carried herself like she expected the world to look at her. People listened when she spoke. Not because she shouted, but because she made decisions sound inevitable. She rationed water. Broke up arguments. Put herself between panic and collapse.

Leadership through presence.

Hunger hadn’t bent her yet. It had only made her quieter.

The second was Rhea.

Ice-cold, disciplined, eyes always moving. She had already crossed the line once and survived it. That alone set her apart. She didn’t gossip. Didn’t speculate. She observed and stored information like ammunition.

Humiliation had fed her body. It had not fed her loyalty.

Good.

The third was Mira.

The rich girl.

She had started loud and furious, demanding answers from phones that no longer worked, calling names that meant nothing now. But hunger had humbled her fast. She cried at night, where she thought no one could hear. During the day, she clung to order, to routine, to the illusion that money still mattered.

It didn’t.

But belief in status was its own weakness.

The fourth was Nisha.

Arrogant. Sharp-tongued. Used to winning arguments through volume and confidence. She challenged everyone, questioned every decision, scoffed at every rumour about me.

Men like him always want something filthy, she said loudly one morning, making sure others heard.

Her hunger burned hot and reckless. Anger was her shield.

Anger was cheap.

The fifth was Lina.

The bitten girl.

She hadn’t turned. Not yet. Fear had isolated her faster than infection ever could. People avoided her. Watched her. Whispered. Every cough drew eyes. Every flinch sparked distance.

She was starving faster than the others.

Fear had already paid once.

The sixth surprised even me.

Anaya.

Quiet. Average. The kind of girl people forgot to describe when asked who stood out. She followed rules, cleaned when told, and waited for her turn. She didn’t complain about hunger. Didn’t cry. Didn’t demand.

She lied to herself better than anyone else.

Those were the six.

Not the strongest. Not the prettiest. Not the loudest.

The most reactive.

I made contact one by one.

Never together.

Never the same way twice.

Aarohi came first.

She didn’t beg. She didn’t accuse. She asked questions. Measured words. Tried to negotiate access for others before herself.

Honesty radiated from her. So did restraint.

The system rewarded her.

Barely.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Restraint. Yield: Low.

Interesting, but inefficient.

Mira was next.

She cried the moment she smelled food. Apologised for things she hadn’t done. Promised things she couldn’t deliver. Her gratitude was loud, messy, and genuine.

The system is approved.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Gratitude. Yield: Moderate.

Nisha tried to challenge me.

She scoffed at the cleaning. Refused at first. Mocked the rules. When hunger finally broke through her pride, it did so explosively. She shouted. Insulted me. Then asked anyway, voice shaking with fury she couldn’t sustain.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Anger. Yield: Moderate.

Lina barely needed prompting.

Fear still lived in her bones. She shook when I spoke. Flinched when I moved. When I told her to clean, she did it without a word, eyes hollow, hope already abandoned.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Fear. Yield: Significant.

Rhea’s humiliation had been sharper than any of them.

High yield.

Consistent.

Predictable.

Then there was Anaya.

She stood in front of me with her hands folded, posture perfect, eyes downcast.

“I’ll do whatever you need,” she said softly.

That was the first warning.

People who said that too easily always meant something else.

I watched her clean. Watched the way she slowed her movements when she thought I was observing, sped them up when she thought I wasn’t. Watched her breathe shallowly, like she was afraid of making noise.

When she finished, she turned to me.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

The system hesitated.

Then responded.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Submission. Yield: Low.

Lower than Rhea. Lower than Lina.

I frowned inwardly.

“Is that all?” I asked.

She looked up quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes met mine for a split second, then dropped again.

“Yes,” she said. “I just want to eat.”

That was the lie.

Not the obvious one. Not the dramatic kind.

The quiet one.

I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Look at me.”

She did.

Her eyes were dry. Alert. Calculating.

“I’m scared,” she said suddenly. “I’m terrified you’ll stop letting me come back.”

The words trembled. The expression did not.

The system flared.

Emotional Function Points acquired: Fabricated Vulnerability. Yield: High.

I froze.

Fabricated.

The panel didn’t lie. It never did.

Her fear wasn’t real. But the intent was.

She was performing emotion. Shaping it. Offering what she thought I wanted to see.

And the system rewarded her more than honesty ever had.

I stared at her as the tray appeared.

She took it with steady hands.

A liar.

And a dangerous one.

I smiled slowly, not at her, but at the realisation settling into place.

The system didn’t care about the truth.

It cared about effect.

And lies, when crafted well, were worth more than sincerity.

The game had just changed.