Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

When the silver dome lifted, a deeply comforting, intensely rich aroma hit the suite—a roasted, slow-cooked fragrance that smelled like centuries of traditional mastery packed into a single plate.

Philippe had prepared a crispy-skinned, slow-braised duck leg, glazed in a dark, spiced plum and star anise reduction, served over a bed of fragrant jasmine rice and charred greens.

”It looks simple,” Emily said, picking up her chopsticks—one she clumsily knew how to use.

”Simple dishes leave no room to hide mistakes,” April countered smoothly, taking a tender portion of the duck alongside a spoonful of the glistening glaze.

The meat practically fell off the bone, rich and savory, while the tart sweetness of the plum reduction cut perfectly through the natural richness of the duck. It was warm, deeply satisfying, and completely devoid of pretense—a brilliant showcase of his versatility after his savory pork knuckle stew from the first round.

April found herself taking a second bite, nodding slowly. ”It’s good.” She whispered, ”Very good. But... It’s nine-point-six at best.”

The scoreboard flashed: STATION 24: 9.6.

Emily looked down through the glass as the score flashed across the venue. There was no helping it—as comforting and masterful as Philippe’s duck had been, it simply couldn’t reach the immaculate, transcendent level of the Japanese master’s snapper.

Still, a warm, quiet spark of pride bloomed in Emily’s chest. Standing completely alone, without a high-end team or a prestigious academy behind him, he had gone toe-to-toe with elite culinary champions and claimed a top-tier score.

Below, Philippe stared at the 9.6 on the master board. A long, relieved exhale escaped his lips, blowing out the last lingering trace of tension. A faint, genuine smile broke across his freckled face, and he bowed deeply toward the upper judging gallery, satisfied with the work of his own hands.

”Renzo takes today’s ten million,” April said smoothly, standing up and smoothing down her skirt. ”But Philippe proved he does have what it takes to be a master chef, whether he graduated from some big school or not.”

She smiled, a rare spark of genuine respect warming her dark eyes. ”That’s real talent right there.”

Emily turned back to her twin, her eyes shining brightly. ”I knew it! You see, April? Talent and a good heart always shine through.”

”Talent, yes. But don’t go confusing grit with romance, Emily,” April countered gently, though the dry edge in her voice had softened into an easy, relaxed rhythm.

She flicked her wrist, silently sweeping the remaining portions of both masterworks into her spatial dimension. The exquisite snapper broth and the duck in plum reduction vanished into timeless stasis, joining the growing mountain of gourmet feasts saved away for the future.

Samuel stepped forward, holding open the suite’s private double doors. ”The arena is clearing down below, Miss April. Vehicle arrangements for the return trip to the villa are ready whenever you wish to depart.”

”Good,” April murmured, crossing her arms as she took one last glance down at the cavernous venue.

Down on the floor, the master board was powering down, but the air still held the lingering, rich aromas of roasted spices, seared meats, and delicate caramel. Hundreds of plates had passed through their suite today, and this was only the very beginning. Tomorrow would bring a whole new batch of sea masters, fresh ingredients, and high-stakes culinary battles.

April looked over at Emily, whose energy seemed entirely restored after a day of top-tier tasting. ”Come along, Emily. Let’s get some rest. Tomorrow is the seafood theme, and I intend to harvest the ocean.”

As they boarded the elevator, Emily began to feel a little bit... uncomfortable.

April glanced over at her as the metallic doors of the private elevator slid open on the ground floor. After a full day of top-tier tasting, her sister’s energy seemed completely restored, yet she was practically dancing on her feet, shifting uncomfortably from one shoe to the other as they stepped out into the quiet luxury corridor.

”What’s the matter with you?” April asked, raising an eyebrow.

”Um... April? I actually really need to use the restroom,” Emily confessed, a flustered blush rising on her cheeks. ”All that tea and broth...”

”There was a private rest suite right behind our judging counter upstairs,” April said, looking at her in exasperation.

”I know, but I didn’t really feel the need to go until now! I’m sorry.” Emily whined softly, clutching her purse.

”The drive back to the estate is nearly half an hour. Can you hold it?”

Emily immediately shook her head. ”No, I can’t wait that long!”

Before April could even say another word, Emily turned toward a side hallway. ”I’m going to find the nearest one here!” she called out, already practically jogging away.

”Wait, Emily!” April called out, frowning. She immediately turned to Samuel. ”Samuel, go with her.”

Samuel hesitated for a second, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the hallway light. ”Miss April, leaving you unescorted in this service section while Mr. Reed and the others wait in the main garage is—”

”I don’t care,” April interrupted, her tone leaving zero room for argument. ”It doesn’t matter. Just go. I’ll walk out toward the VIP entrance myself. This area is guarded, but I don’t want anything happening to Emily.”

Samuel bowed his head swiftly. ”Understood, Miss April.” Without another word, he turned and moved with rapid, silent strides down the hallway after Emily.

April watched him vanish around the bend, taking a quiet breath. She quickly turned around to head toward the exit doors before any unforeseen situation arose, but unfortunately, it found her regardless.

Splash!

A heavy, lukewarm shock hit April square across her front.

The dark, thick stench of hot kitchen runoff and leftover frying oil drenched her, soaking instantly through the fabric of her dress and splashing up along her neck and sleeves.

April froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

The slick, heavy weight of murky grease clung to her skin like a suffocating second layer.

In a terrifying split second, her mind flashed backward—dragging her straight back to the icy, filthy gutters of her past life, to the dark back-alleys during the apocalypse where she had been pushed into stagnant, foul water, left shivering and filthy while people laughed.

That same disgusting, slimy sensation crept over her skin, sending a violent spike of cold panic through her chest.

”Hey! Are you blind or what?!” a sharp, shrill voice shrieked right in front of her.

Standing in the doorway of a utility alcove was a middle-aged cleaning supervisor wearing an apron, clutching a dirty plastic bucket. She didn’t even check to see who April was; her face was already twisted into a scowl of pure, venomous irritation.

”What are you even doing wandering around the back staff corridor?!” the woman snapped loudly, pointing a grease-stained finger at April’s face. ”Only venue employees are allowed back here! You walked right into my dump area!”