"A plate of slightly spoiled fried rice."

"After consumption: Satiety +3, Stamina +3."

"10% chance of negative status: stomach cramps."

South City.

Outskirts. A small farmhouse.

Nate Rivers stared at the floating text in midair, stood up, and took the steaming plate of fried rice from the girl sitting across from him. He smiled and said, "It’s been out a while—might’ve gone bad. I’ll grab you a fresh one."

"I wasn’t planning to eat it anyway." The girl sat primly, dressed to the nines—completely out of place in the worn-down farmhouse. She wrinkled her nose. "Nate, I’ve had enough. If you keep clinging to this dump of a farm, I’m done."

Nate paused, plate in hand. He stared at his girlfriend, expression flat. "Let's get one thing straight. This isn’t a dump—it’s a fully functional farm with dining, planting, fishing, and livestock operations."

"And every cent of your living expenses this past year came from this ‘dump’ you look down on."

"Even that thirty-thousand-dollar Chanel you’re wearing—I paid for it."

Nate Rivers.

26 years old.

Jobless. Inherited a broken-down estate. Spends his time farming and raising sheep.

The girl—Bella McCarthy—was his girlfriend. Used to be close. Now, not so much.

"I'm not joking, Nate! Everyone at the office laughs behind my back. They think I’m dating a farmer. If you don't get a better job, I’m not marrying you." Bella stiffened, eyes locked on his.

Nate frowned.

Their wedding was supposed to be in three months.

He looked out the window at the run-down fields. Something twisted in his chest.

More data appeared before his eyes.

"A poorly managed estate."

"Size: 30 acres."

"Functions: fishing, farming, construction."

"Profit/loss: Deficit."

Seven days ago, something changed in his body.

Everything he looked at came with stats like these.

After multiple tests, he realized this so-called power only worked inside the estate. Outside? Nothing. Same as anyone else.

A "golden finger" maybe—but it hadn’t changed his life.

He wasn’t rich.

Wasn’t on top of the world.

Wasn’t even keeping his girlfriend.

He stayed quiet for a long while. Then finally, he gave in with a sigh.

"Fine. I’ll look for a job outside."

Bella's face lit up with a touch of smugness.

But before the smile could settle, a mechanical female voice suddenly echoed in Nate’s mind—cold and emotionless.

"Apocalypse Game matchmaking complete. Loading now. Please wait…”

Nate froze.

Thought he'd imagined it.

He glanced at Bella. "Did you hear that?"

Did the golden finger just mutate?“Don’t change the topic!” Bella McCarthy crossed her arms, feeling this was the moment to strike and get rid of the last obstacle between her and Nate. “You want to get married? Fine. But you have to get rid of that little burden first.”

Nate Rivers froze, brows tightening. “What did you just say?”

“I said, send Mia to an orphanage. She’s not related to you anyway—”

“Bullshit.”

A low, sharp voice cut through the room.

The plate in Nate’s hand slammed down at Bella's feet, shattering loud and hard. Warm rice splattered across her, staining the fancy Chanel scarf she loved so much.

“Nate! Are you insane?!” Bella screeched.

He didn't flinch. He just pointed at the door. “Get out. Now. Unless you want me to lose control.”

“You’re a damn lunatic!” she yelled, stumbling back. “Don’t think no one else wants me! Let me tell you, the deputy director at my firm’s been chasing me for months. The second I say yes, I’ll be living a life a hundred times better than this dump!”

…

The front door of the manor's reception room slammed open, then shut with a bang as Bella stormed off, her rage and fury trailing behind.

Nate stood by the window, hands in his pockets, face like stone.

“Deputy director, huh? Big shot. Just don’t come crying later… idiot.”

Right then, two small heads peeked from the doorway.

Well, one head and one feral-looking black-backed wolfdog.

The little girl had delicate features, short scruffy hair that looked a bit dry, and a chubby little face that made her look even younger. Mia Rivers. Seven.

Shadow, the dog, saw Nate and wagged violently, drooling as he stared at the chicken leg on the table. Too bad Mia had his ears clamped down tight—he couldn’t move a step, just whimpered pathetically.

Nate’s eyes paused on her.

“Mia.”

Species: Human Cub

Age: Seven

Strength: 1

Intelligence: 3

Agility: 1

Spirit: 9

Satiety: 99

Assessment: A weak, pitiful little rascal — full of spirit, endlessly hungry.

“Big Bro,” Mia said in her not-so-perfect accent, “I saw Sister Bella storm off just now. Did you guys fight again?”

Nate gave a small nod, not really answering.

“Was it because of me?” She pouted and asked quietly.

To be fair, that was the third girlfriend who left Nate because of her.

She might’ve been only seven, but she wasn’t clueless.

Nate’s eyes softened. He messed up her neat little haircut into a bird’s nest. “She wasn’t good enough for you anyway. Out with the old, in with someone better. I’ll find you a cooler sister-in-law someday.”

“’Kay!” She nodded hard, then held her stomach pitifully. “Big Bro, I’m hungry again…”

Nate chuckled out loud. The sting of heartbreak didn’t hit so hard when she was around.

No blood tie between them, but that never mattered. She was family.

Blood? It meant nothing compared to this.“I’ll make fried rice real quick.” Nate Rivers tidied up the mess on the ground, tied on his apron, and headed toward the kitchen.

Just before stepping in, his eyes fell on Shadow—the Czech wolfdog currently pinned under little Mia Rivers’ knee, whining after trying to sneak some food.

“Shadow”

Species: Czech Wolfdog

Age: 3

Strength: 5

Intelligence: 2

Speed: 12

Average adult: 10

Spirit: 5

Hunger: 35

Assessment: Fierce and loyal, this Czech Wolfdog only shows softness to those it trusts. Warning: If it arches its back, bares its teeth, and starts growling... run. Just run!

Nate let out a sigh.

Seriously, what kind of weird cheat is this? A glorified appraisal skill? Or some kind of walking scanner?

Then he remembered that strange voice earlier when he’d been arguing with Bella McCarthy.

“Doomsday Game…”

Lately, weird stuff had been happening. Like snow falling in June, or entire herds of livestock dropping dead for no reason.

Rubbing his temples, Nate walked into the kitchen, grabbed a sack of rice, and scooped out what he needed. He washed it clean, going through the motions.

Then it happened again. A crisp female voice echoed in his ears.

“Ding! Game successfully loaded. Shelter link completed. Point shop activated. Newbie reward delivered! Player may now inspect.”

The sudden voice made Nate jump.

Before he could react, a blinding pain hit his head like someone was stabbing a spike through his brain.

In the blink of an eye, it felt like someone had crammed a massive drive into his skull—data flooding in nonstop. He gasped and opened his eyes again, now staring at a translucent new interface floating before him.

“DOOMSDAY GAME

Player: Nate Rivers

Shelter: A rundown estate

LV1

Shelter Skill - Level 1 Reward: Eye of Truth

All creatures and objects display as data in the player’s vision

Level: Guesthouse-grade

Upgrade to Fortress-grade requires 8,000,000 points!

Area: 30 mu”

Current zones: Lodging Area, Farming Zone, Pasture, Rocky Terrain

Out on the farm, glowing grids sliced the land into seven or eight sections.

“Level-3 sunlit zone: Ideal for farming. Crop growth speed increased.”

“Lush pasture: Excellent grazing ground for cattle and sheep.”

“Rocky edge: Best spot for building fortifications. Half the work, twice the result.”

Nate’s jaw dropped. Then the top right of the interface flashed with a blood-red alert:

“Doomsday approaches. Natural disasters and extinction await. Your shelter is your only fortress. Seize this chance—rebuild civilization from the ruins!”

“Player’s sole mission: Survive the Doomsday Game and turn your shelter into the strongest fortress imaginable!”

“Time remaining until the Fall of the Devouring Age: 5 hours 59 minutes 36 seconds!”