Apocalypse Rebirth: Making Billions With My Fortune-Telling Skill

Before Nat could shoot back another dry remark, the door of the judging suite clicked open once again.

The temperature in the room instantly plummeted.

Xavier stepped through the threshold first, his tall, imposing silhouette casting a long shadow across the polished floorboards. Right behind him was Alexander, effortlessly elegant in a dark, bespoke coat, his gaze sweeping the suite like a sovereign inspecting a compromised territory.

Neither man looked surprised to see Nat sitting there, but the sheer, silent wave of hostility radiating off them made the air feel suddenly thick enough to choke on.

Xavier’s eyes locked onto Nat’s boots, still casually propped on the edge of the glass coffee table near April’s chair. His jaw tightened into a rigid, dangerous line.

”I see the venue security remains as useless as ever,” Alexander observed smoothly, stepping past Xavier with fluid grace. He didn’t even spare Nat a full glance, treating the mafia leader like an unwelcome stain on an expensive carpet. His eyes landed directly on April, softening just a fraction. ”Morning, April. I trust your morning commute wasn’t overly plagued by strays?”

”It was peaceful until about five minutes ago,” April answered smoothly, finally setting her clipboard down on her lap. She looked up at the two newcomers, entirely unbothered by the sudden crowding of five extraordinarily men into one room. ”You two took your time.”

”We had to ensure the venue’s secondary security perimeter was completely locked down,” Xavier said, his deep, rumbling voice carrying an underlying edge as he walked over to stand near the side of her chair, effectively cutting off Nat’s line of sight. He cast a sharp, warning glare down at Nat. ”Some people have a habit of slithering through cracks.”

Nat just let out a low, gravelly chuckle, slowly swinging his boots off the table and leaning back into the armchair, interlacing his thick fingers over his stomach.

”Slithering?” Nat drawled, his amber eyes glinting with pure arrogance. ”I walked right through the front door, Reed. Your guards didn’t even dare ask for a pass. Maybe you should hire men who don’t tremble when a real predator walks by.”

”Ahem,” Samuel interrupted again, stepping forward just half a pace. ”The first round of dishes is scheduled to be served in precisely three minutes. I suggest everyone find a seat and maintain an environment conducive to Miss April’s evaluation.”

Oliver, still sitting on the single sofa with his legs crossed, pushed his glasses up his nose with a cool, clinical indifference. ”Indeed. The constant dick-measuring is severely degrading the atmospheric air quality in here. Some of us are actually interested in the scientific study of space manipulation.”

Alexander’s eyes flicked over to Oliver, a cold, mocking smirk touching his lips. ”And some of us are wondering why a doctor is sitting in a judging suite instead of writing prescriptions in a clinic.”

”I am here because Miss April authorized my research on her spatial manipulation,” Oliver replied seamlessly, his voice entirely devoid of warmth. ”And also, I believe she asked me specifically to check on her body since some pair of hands definitely did not know what it meant to handle with care. So, right now, she is under my direct supervision.”

April let out a quiet, exasperated breath, leaning her head back against the leather cushion of her chair for a brief moment before sitting up straight. The sheer density of dangerous ego in this suite was reaching critical mass, but as her analytical mind surveyed the five men—a Saint, a High Steward, a villain, a knight, and a unclassed Doctor—she couldn’t help the faint, dry humor that touched the depth of her eyes.

But honeslty, I am curious to know at what level Oliver’s trust is in me. Not up to 80%, but maybe close?

”I think it’s time everyone settled down.” April said, and the silence that followed was immediate and total. ”Will you finally stop arguing?”

Xavier took a seat on the leather sofa opposite Oliver, his eyes dark with a quiet, lingering possessiveness as he kept his posture rigid. Alexander pulled out a high-backed chair near the grand window, crossing one leg over the other with aristocratic grace, his gaze fixed intently on April.

Even Nat kept his mouth shut, though his lips remained curved in that lazy, arrogant smirk as he leaned his head back against the cushions.

”Thank you,” she said softly and then looked over at Emily who tried her hardest to pretend like she wasn’t in the room. The pressure from these men was no joke. ”Emily, it’s time for the tasting,” she said and Emily lifted her head.

”Right.”

Emily quickly scrambled out of her corner, holding a clipboard like a shield as she stepped up beside April’s chair, and sat in the same space with her sister. Moving under the crushing weight of five immense, hyper-focused presences in one room was no small feat. Her hands trembled just a fraction as she picked up her own set of silver utensils.

”Look at that—you guys argued so much you made Emily uncomfortable,” April said, her voice smooth as she reached over to rub her thumb gently over Emily’s cheek. The timid twin squinted her eyes slightly, relaxing as she let her sister dote on her.

”It’s fine,” Emily said softly, ”It’s not like they were fighting me. They were fighting themselves, rather.”

She let out a small, quiet laugh, leaning in close to April’s ear with a giddy, conspiratorial expression to whisper the last bit. ”They’re just jealous of each other.”

Though Emily kept her voice low, the room was so unnaturally silent that her words echoed clearly to every pair of sharp ears present.

A collective, heavy stillness settled over the men.

Nat let out a dark, raspy hum, leaning his head back against his armchair with a faint, shameless smirk. He didn’t even bother denying it. Across from him, Xavier’s jaw clenched tightly as a faint, stubborn flush crept up the back of his neck, his eyes shifting away to focus intensely on the rotor.

Alexander simply raised his eyebrows, shy amusement flickering in his gaze as he took a slow sip of his water, while Oliver adjusted his glasses with rigid, clinical precision, entirely refusing to acknowledge the observation... And neither did he deny it.

Samuel, however, had no single reaction.

”Observation noted,” April murmured, a playful curve touching her lips as she glanced around at the flustered, possessive lineup. She turned back to her plate, cutting another delicate piece of the snapper. ”Let’s stick to judging the food, shall we?”