Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

​At first, April’s movements were purely analytical. She moved down the obsidian racks with the goal to just get things over with, tossing items at Nat based strictly on durability and size. Black button-downs. Thick cotton trousers. Heavy leather jackets.

​But as her fingers brushed against the luxury fabrics, something strange began to happen.

​The deep, buried instincts of a woman who spent her previous existence staring at rags and ash suddenly collided with the overwhelming abundance of an elite, high-society clothing archive.

The texture of the fabrics was flawless. The structural cuts were immaculate.

​Before she even realized what was happening, the disease called shopping fever completely seized her cognitive functions.

​”The weaving in this material seems very resilient,” April murmured, her eyes widening by a fraction as she pulled a tailored, charcoal-grey trench coat off the rack.

She turned sharply, holding it up against Nat’s broad shoulders. ”The stitching along the seams is double-layered. It will provide just about a little resistance against physical friction.”

​”See? I told you you’d get into the groove,” Nat cackled, completely amused as she began aggressively pulling more items from the shelves, her deadpan mask completely fracturing under the sheer thrill of accumulating premium assets.

​”Mr. Collins, try this one,” she commanded, tossing a deep crimson silk shirt at his chest. ”And these dark, tailored trousers. I think the pocket of this one is great for hiding things like guns or ammunition.”

​”Whatever you say, boss,” Nat snickered, willingly letting himself be steered around like her personal dress-up mannequin.

​By the time the shopping frenzy finally ran its course, the afternoon sun had already begun to dip below the city’s commercial horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the boutique’s glass facade.

​April stood in the center of the private lounge, looking down at her own reflection in the full-length mirror. She hadn’t just dressed Nat; the mafia lord had managed to casually slip several luxury pieces into her own hands while she was distracted by the hoarding high of shopping fever.

​She was currently dressed in a crisp, sharp midnight-black silk blouse buttoned tightly to her throat, paired with a tailored charcoal blazer and dark, slim-fitting trousers that tucked perfectly into a pair of black sneakers.

Combined with her tight, utilitarian ponytail and her natural, untouchable stillness, she looked less like a runaway maid and more like a high-ranking syndicate executive preparing to conduct a high-stakes audit on a Chivago gambling house.

​Nat stepped out of the changing room right beside her, completely transformed.

He wore the deep crimson shirt she had chosen, the top three buttons left carelessly undone to expose his collarbone tattoos, covered by a heavy, perfectly fitted black leather jacket and dark tailored trousers.

​”Well, look at us,” Nat rumbled, stepping up behind her reflection with a slow, predatory grin. ”We look like a couple of corporate warlords ready to buy out the entire strip.”

​April was about to make a remark when her stomach suddenly gave a loud, incredibly unglamorous rumble, shattering the elite aesthetic in an instant.

​She froze, her deadpan mask locking right back into place as her hand instinctively flew to her midsection. She blinked, glancing at the digital clock on the wall. 17:45.

​”Just how... did the time fly so rapidly?” she wondered out loud, her voice dropping into a dazed, flat whisper. They were supposed to go check her bunker space but it looked like that would have to be postponed.

She was completely depleted.

She hadn’t eaten anything since that single piece of melon at breakfast.

​”Time flies when you’re preparing for the end of the world, sweetheart,” Nat laughed loudly, gesturing toward the massive mountain of glossy, black boutique shopping bags currently stacked by the checkout counter.

There were easily over thirty bags packed with high-end designer suits, silk shirts, tactical-style outerwear, and premium leather boots.

​The mountain of clothes easily totaled over several hundred thousand dollars—a drop in the bucket for Nat’s accounts.

​April stared at the mountain of bags. Her fingers twitched automatically. With a single, silent thought, she could deploy her Level 2 spatial dimension and make the entire pile instantly vanish into her space within a fraction of a second. It would save immense energy.

​But she didn’t. She looked toward the glass doors where Samuel was quietly waiting by the entrance. He had come out from the vehicle after waiting for her for hours, feeling it was about time she was done, and she would be needing his assistance.

​”Samuel,” April called out. ”Inform the boutique management to have all of these delivered directly to the Reed mountain estate by this evening.”

​”Right away, Miss April,” Samuel replied, a subtle, highly satisfied smirk crossing his face as he logged the command.

He was thoroughly relieved she hadn’t given the red-haired psychopath the satisfaction of seeing her use her extraordinary abilities for something as trivial as a shopping trip which he definitely initiated.

​Nat walked out ahead of her, his boots striking the stone floor quietly as he pushed the automated glass doors open. He tilted his head back, inhaling the cool evening air as his lopsided smirk returned.

​”It’s the end of the world soon, little seer,” Nat remarked, his deep voice carrying a strange, dark trace of genuine contentment. ”But no one ever said anything about not having a grim face while preparing for it. Come on, let’s go grab a bite.”

April did not object. After all, she was starving.

The restaurant Nat selected was tucked down a quiet brick alleyway in the older district.

It wasn’t the kind of place that boasted crystal chandeliers or valets in crisp uniforms, but the doors and the rich, roasted scent of garlic and seared beef drifting into the street made it clear the food wasn’t cheap either.

​The hostess didn’t even blink at Nat’s crimson silk shirt, left open at the collar to reveal the dark ink trailing up his throat. Instead, her eyes went straight to the massive silver-and-black canine padding calmly at April’s side.

​”We have a private alcove available in the back,” the hostess said instantly, bowing them through. ”Dogs are perfectly welcome, provided they remain in their best behavior.”

​”He’s a good boy,” April stated, her tone flat but defensive as she slid into the booth.

​Rufus immediately dropped his heavy body onto the floor rug right next to her sneakers, his tail giving a single, polite thump.