By the time Nara Vivienne carried the thirtieth box of water into the steel room, sweat had soaked through her sleeves.  

She straightened her back, breathing hard, and looked up at the camera mounted above the door.  

“I’m done,” she said, voice echoing faintly in the metallic space.  

Reina’s voice came through the intercom, steady and emotionless.  

“Understood. Please exit the room.”  

Nara hesitated. In this world, trust was extinct. Every trade was supposed to be eye for eye, item for item—verified, confirmed, exchanged simultaneously.  

But this mysterious supplier? He demanded that all goods be delivered first, with no one ever seeing him in person.  

Still, rumors said he never cheated anyone.  

So she stepped out, the steel door slamming shut behind her.  

Five minutes later, the opposite room’s door unlocked with a metallic hiss.  

Inside were five large boxes—her food trade.  

Reina’s voice sounded again, detached as always.  

“Load your goods and leave when you’re done. Transaction complete.”  

Nara opened one of the boxes, still cautious.  

Canned food, sealed, properly labeled, exactly what was promised.  

Relief softened her expression for the first time in days. 

She carried each box to her truck, stacking them neatly and covering them with a black tarp.  

When she went back for the last one, something caught her eye.  

Behind the final crate sat another box—smaller, marked with handwritten words in looping, graceful letters:  

**“For the beautiful one.”**

Nara froze.  

She looked around, half expecting someone to jump out, then carefully lifted the lid.  

Inside—fruit. Apples, oranges, even a few pears.  

Her breath hitched. Fresh fruit was rarer than gold these days.  

She stared at the colors as if she were looking at a memory from another life.  

After a long pause, she carried the box to her truck, set it gently among the supplies, and turned to face the camera once more.  

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Great Supplier of the End. Thank you for the fruit.”  

The monitor light blinked once in acknowledgment, but no voice replied.  

Inside Hancock Fortress, silence did not last long.  

Gene Hancock was now surrounded—five women standing like an interrogation squad.  

Kayla crossed her arms. “Explain.”  

Liz leaned against the table, smirking. “Oh, this should be good.”  

Alyssa adjusted her glasses. “Statistically, this isn’t coincidence. Every time the trader is female—attractive female—there’s a bonus box.”  

Reina’s tone was sharp. “And you claim *you* didn’t do it?”  

Freya tilted her head. “Maybe the fortress just… likes pretty people?”  

Gene raised his hands defensively. 

“Hey, don’t look at me. The system—uh, I mean—the process is automated. I don’t add anything.”  

Kayla narrowed her eyes. “Automated, huh? Convenient.”  

“Seriously,” Gene said, backing toward his chair. “I swear, I didn’t pack any fruit.”  

Liz’s grin widened. “Oh, sure. Because fruit just magically appears for *beautiful* women.”  

The group closed in, their voices overlapping.  

Gene sighed. Another morning, another battlefield.  

He slumped into his seat and muttered under his breath,  

“Maybe I should just start trading my sanity next.”