Better Omevia ad: Le "ventre de SOPK" n'est pas du gras.

C'est ma femme qui m'a traîné à Bali. Moi je n'y croyais pas une seconde. Et c'est une guérisseuse de 76 ans qui a regardé mon ventre une fois et m'a dit ce qu'aucun médecin ne m'avait dit en France en quinze ans. "Ce n'est pas de la graisse. C'est ce que ton corps essaie d'évacuer depuis dix ans et qu'il n'arrive plus à faire sortir." Je m'appelle Robert. J'ai 58 ans. J'ai dirigé une petite entreprise de menuiserie pendant trente ans, et je l'ai vendue il y a deux ans. Je pensais que la retraite, ce serait la belle vie. La vérité, c'est que du jour au lendemain, je me suis retrouvé assis dans un fauteuil, à ne plus savoir quoi faire de mes journées, avec un corps que je ne reconnaissais plus dans le miroir. Mon ventre avait gonflé au point que je ne fermais plus la moitié de mes pantalons. Je me réveillais à 3h du matin chaque nuit, le cœur qui cognait sans raison. Je me sentais lourd, vidé, dans le brouillard - je cherchais mes mots en pleine conversation. J'avais 58 ans et je me sentais comme un homme de 75. Et puis un matin, en montant un simple escalier, j'ai eu une douleur dans la poitrine qui m'a plié en deux. Ma femme m'a emmené aux urgences le soir même. Les examens étaient bons. Cœur correct. CRP normale. Bilan hépatique normal. "Monsieur, à votre âge, après une vie de travail, c'est le contre-coup. Perdez un peu de ventre, prenez du magnésium, marchez. Ça passera." Six mois de magnésium. Six mois de marche. Rien n'avait bougé. Mon ventre ressortait toujours après chaque repas. Je m'endormais devant la télé à 21h. Je me réveillais toujours à 3h. Alors quand Hélène, ma femme, a réservé deux places pour une retraite de yoga à Bali - dix jours dans un centre tenu par une vieille guérisseuse balinaise - j'ai dit oui juste pour avoir la paix. Je n'y croyais pas. Pour moi, c'était des bougies parfumées et des gens qui respirent par le ventre. Je ne savais pas que j'allais y trouver la réponse à tout. Anjali avait 76 ans. Petite. Sèche. Des cheveux blancs tirés en chignon. Le genre de femme qui te regarde et tu as l'impression qu'elle voit à travers toi. Le premier matin, on s'est tous présentés en cercle sur la terrasse en bois. Quand mon tour est arrivé, j'ai dit mon prénom, mon âge, et que j'étais là "pour accompagner ma femme." Elle a hoché la tête. Puis elle m'a regardé droit dans les yeux et elle a dit, devant tout le groupe: "Ton ventre. Depuis combien de temps il ne dégonfle plus?" J'ai été pris de court. Aucun homme ne se fait poser cette question aussi directement. J'ai dit "je ne sais pas, deux ans, peut-être plus." Elle a hoché la tête à nouveau. Et elle a dit le mot qui a tout changé. "Ce n'est pas du ventre de bière, Robert. C'est de l'ama. Et tu en portes bien avant ta retraite." Ama. Je n'avais jamais entendu ce mot. Plus tard ce jour-là, elle m'a fait venir dans sa petite cuisine ouverte sur le jardin. Elle a sorti deux verres d'eau chaude et elle m'a expliqué. "Ama, c'est ce que les médecins ayurvédiques nomment depuis 4 000 ans. C'est l'accumulation. Tout ce que ton corps essaie d'évacuer depuis des années et qu'il n'arrive pas à faire sortir. Métaux lourds dans l'eau du robinet. Médicaments. Alcool. Conservateurs. Stress de trente ans de travail." Elle a fait un geste circulaire autour de son propre ventre. "Tout ça reste piégé. Année après année. Couche par couche. Et le corps gonfle pour essayer de protéger les organes. Ce n'est pas de la graisse. C'est ton corps qui te dit qu'il étouffe." Puis elle a dit le mot qui m'a coupé le souffle. "Stagnant." "Ton corps est stagnant, Robert. Comme l'eau d'un étang qui ne coule plus. Et quand le corps est stagnant, l'esprit l'est aussi." Je suis resté silencieux. Parce que ce mot - stagnant - c'était exactement comment je me sentais depuis que j'avais vendu l'entreprise. À l'arrêt. Inutile. Un homme qui s'était levé à 5h pendant trente ans et qui ne savait plus pourquoi se lever. Anjali parlait de mon corps, mais elle décrivait ma vie entière. Et alors elle a dit quelque chose qui m'a glacé. "Les Français prennent des médicaments le matin pour des problèmes qui sortent à minuit. C'est pour ça que les Français sont malades." J'ai regardé cette femme de 76 ans, vive, claire, sans une once de graisse au ventre, qui mangeait du riz et du curry trois fois par jour, qui ne prenait aucun médicament, qui dormait huit heures par nuit depuis ses vingt ans. Et j'ai compris que j'avais affaire à quelqu'un qui savait quelque chose que mon médecin ne savait pas. Le soir même, après le dîner, elle m'a emmené dans une petite pièce à l'arrière du centre. Sol en terre battue. Une bassine en cuivre posée sur un tabouret bas. De l'eau chaude. Des sels marins. Quelques pierres volcaniques noires au fond. "Trente minutes. Chaque soir. Avant de dormir. Tu trempes tes pieds." Je l'ai regardée comme si elle me demandait de boire l'océan. "C'est tout?" "C'est tout. Mais c'est tout ce qui compte." Elle s'est assise à côté de moi pendant que je trempais mes pieds. Et elle m'a expliqué le mécanisme. "Le corps a deux façons d'évacuer ce qui le pollue. La première, c'est par l'intérieur - le foie, les reins, les intestins. Cette voie est saturée chez toi. Trop d'années. Trop d'accumulation. C'est pour ça que les compléments ne marchent pas. Tu pousses des choses dans un système qui ne peut plus rien évacuer." "La deuxième voie, c'est par la peau. Et spécifiquement par les pieds. Tu as 2 000 pores par centimètre carré aux pieds. Plus que partout ailleurs sur ton corps. Plus qu'aux mains. Plus qu'au visage. C'est la plus grande zone de sortie du corps humain." "Quand tu trempes tes pieds dans une eau salée, chaude, minéralisée, tu crées un appel. L'eau attire vers elle. Les déchets stockés dans les tissus migrent vers les pores. Sortent. Dans l'eau." Elle a montré la bassine. "Tu vois l'eau changer de couleur en 30 minutes. Tu vois ce qui sort. Aucun médicament ne te montre ça. Aucun complément ne te montre ça. La bassine te montre tout." Puis elle a expliqué le timing. "Et tu le fais le soir. Parce que c'est la nuit que ton corps essaie de se nettoyer. Entre minuit et 4 heures, ton système lymphatique - ton drainage - tourne à plein régime. Mais s'il est saturé, il déclenche une réponse inflammatoire qui te réveille à 3h du matin, le cœur qui cogne. Ce n'est pas l'âge, Robert. C'est ton corps qui crie à l'aide la nuit. Donne-lui une porte de sortie avant qu'il ne dorme, et il arrête de crier." J'étais assis là, un homme de 58 ans, les pieds dans une bassine, à écouter une femme balinaise m'expliquer ma propre physiologie mieux que mon médecin en quinze ans de consultations. Au bout de 30 minutes, j'ai sorti mes pieds. L'eau était brune. Pas brun clair. Brun foncé. Avec des particules en surface. Un dépôt huileux sur les bords de la bassine. J'ai regardé Anjali. Elle a souri. "C'était dans toi, Robert. Maintenant c'est dans la bassine." Cette nuit-là, j'ai dormi sept heures d'affilée pour la première fois en deux ans. Pendant les dix jours de la retraite, je l'ai fait chaque soir. Le ventre a commencé à dégonfler dès la troisième nuit. Pas un peu. Visiblement. Je me regardais dans la glace et je voyais un homme que je n'avais pas vu depuis cinq ans. Le brouillard s'est levé vers le cinquième jour. Je me suis surpris à lire un journal en entier sans relire trois fois le même paragraphe. Première fois depuis que j'avais vendu l'entreprise. À la fin de la retraite, j'avais perdu sept centimètres de tour de taille. Sans changer mon alimentation. Sans faire plus de sport. Juste 30 minutes les pieds dans une bassine chaque soir. Et le plus dingue? En rentrant, je suis tombé sur Bernard, un vieux copain que je n'avais pas vu depuis un an, devant la boulangerie. Il m'a regardé deux secondes de trop et il a dit: "Robert? Mais qu'est-ce que tu as fait? Tu as rajeuni de dix ans." Je dormais. Mon ventre dégonflait. Pour la première fois depuis deux ans, je me sentais redevenir un homme, pas un retraité qui attend. Je suis rentré déterminé à continuer. Et c'est là que les choses se sont compliquées. J'ai acheté une bassine en plastique sur internet. Du gros sel. J'ai essayé de reproduire ce qu'Anjali faisait. Eau chaude. Sel. Mes pieds dedans trente minutes. L'eau ne changeait pas de couleur. Pas un peu. Pas du tout. Limpide après 30 minutes. J'étais furieux. Je me suis dit que c'était un truc qui ne marchait qu'à Bali - le climat, l'air, l'énergie du lieu. Tout ce que ma raison d'ancien artisan refusait d'admettre mais que mon corps réclamait. Pendant deux semaines, mon ventre a recommencé à gonfler. Le brouillard est revenu. Les réveils à 3h aussi. J'ai écrit à Anjali. Je lui ai expliqué. Elle m'a répondu en deux phrases. "Ce n'est pas le sel qui fait sortir. C'est le courant ionique. Tu as besoin d'un appareil qui crée le gradient électrique. Pas juste de l'eau salée." Le courant ionique. Anjali, du fond de son centre balinais sans électricité dans la moitié des pièces, comprenait l'électrochimie mieux que moi. J'ai cherché. Des heures de recherche. La bassine traditionnelle à Bali avait du cuivre, des pierres volcaniques chargées en minéraux, de l'eau d'une source thermale - tout ça créait naturellement un faible courant ionique entre les minéraux et la peau. Mon bac en plastique avec du gros sel ne créait aucun gradient. Rien ne sortait parce que rien n'était attiré dehors. J'ai cherché les versions modernes. Spa ionique pour les pieds. Appareils calibrés. J'ai acheté le premier que j'ai trouvé. 39€ sur un site chinois. L'électrode s'est oxydée à la troisième utilisation. L'eau devenait marron en cinq minutes - mais pas parce que des déchets sortaient, parce que le module en métal bon marché rouillait dans l'eau salée. Moi qui ai travaillé le métal toute ma vie, ça je l'ai vu tout de suite. J'ai jeté ça. J'ai recommencé. Deuxième appareil. 79€. Champ ionique qui s'effondrait après dix minutes. Il faut tenir les 30 minutes complètes pour atteindre la couche profonde - Anjali me l'avait répété trois fois. Cet appareil ne tenait pas. Je commençais à perdre espoir. Je me disais que cette pratique avait peut-être besoin d'une bassine en cuivre antique transmise par cinq générations de guérisseuses, et que rien de moderne ne pourrait reproduire ça. Puis mon gendre m'a parlé d'une marque française. Lensa. Sa mère l'utilisait depuis six mois. Il m'a dit "essaie. S'il ne marche pas, ils remboursent. Tu n'as rien à perdre." J'ai commandé. 99€. Livraison gratuite. Garantie 90 jours. Première séance avec le Lensa. Eau tiède. Sels marins. Trente minutes. Je n'attendais plus rien - j'avais déjà été déçu deux fois. J'ai sorti mes pieds à la fin. L'eau était brun foncé. Exactement comme à Bali. Avec les particules à la surface. Le dépôt huileux sur les bords. Tout pareil. Pas la couleur de la rouille. La couleur de ce qui était stocké dans mes tissus depuis trente ans et qui sortait enfin. J'ai pris une photo. Je l'ai envoyée à Anjali avec un message: "J'ai retrouvé la bassine." Elle a répondu un seul mot. "Continue." Semaine 1 - Plus d'activité intestinale. Quelque chose se débloquait. L'eau de la bassine devenait plus foncée chaque soir. Pas moins. Plus. Comme si plus j'en sortais, plus il y en avait à sortir. Semaine 2 - Le ventre a recommencé à dégonfler. Pas autant qu'à Bali la première fois, mais clairement. Mes pantalons fermaient à nouveau. Mon visage avait perdu cette bouffissure que je portais sans même m'en rendre compte. Semaine 3 - Le sommeil. Le sommeil, surtout. Je dormais sept à huit heures d'affilée, chaque nuit. Plus de réveils à 3h. Plus de cœur qui cogne. Je me réveillais en forme pour la première fois depuis des années. Semaine 4 - Le brouillard parti complètement. Je me suis remis à bricoler dans mon atelier, à finir des meubles que j'avais laissés en plan depuis deux ans. Hélène m'a dit "Robert, te revoilà. Le vrai toi." Semaine 6 - J'ai emmené mes petits-enfants au parc un dimanche. J'ai porté le petit dernier sur mes épaules sur 400 mètres, et je suis monté en haut du toboggan avec lui. Il y a six mois, je n'aurais pas pu monter l'escalier sans m'arrêter. Ma fille m'a regardé faire, et je l'ai vue se retenir de pleurer. Trois mois plus tard, j'ai écrit à Anjali un long mail pour tout lui raconter. Elle m'a répondu en quatre lignes. "Robert. Ce n'est pas le ventre qui est parti. C'est ce qui était stagnant en toi qui est sorti. Le corps suit l'esprit. L'esprit suit le corps. Tu as nettoyé les deux en même temps. Continue." Et elle avait raison. Parce que ce n'est pas juste mon ventre qui a dégonflé. C'est ma vie qui a recommencé à bouger. J'ai rouvert l'atelier au fond du jardin. J'ai repris le vélo le dimanche matin. J'ai recommencé à dire oui aux invitations que je déclinais depuis deux ans. Le corps stagnant rend l'esprit stagnant. Quand le corps recommence à drainer, l'esprit recommence à avancer. Bon. Je vous raconte tout ça pour une raison. Si vous avez plus de 50 ans, que votre ventre ne dégonfle plus, que vous vous réveillez à 3h du matin le cœur qui cogne, que vous vous sentez lourd et vidé alors que tous vos examens reviennent "normaux"... Ce n'est pas dans votre tête. Ce n'est pas le stress. Ce n'est pas l'âge. C'est de l'ama. C'est de l'accumulation. C'est ce que votre corps essaie d'évacuer depuis des années et qu'il n'arrive plus à faire sortir par les voies normales, parce qu'elles sont saturées. Et vous ne réglerez pas ça avec un complément de plus. Pas avec un régime de plus. Pas avec une cure détox orale qui va vous donner la diarrhée pendant trois jours et rien d'autre. Vous le réglerez en donnant à votre corps la voie de sortie qu'il réclame depuis des années. Par les pieds. Le soir. Avec un courant ionique stable qui crée le gradient nécessaire pour que les déchets sortent. C'est ce que les hommes et les femmes d'Asie font depuis 4 000 ans. C'est ce qu'Anjali m'a appris à 76 ans. Et c'est ce que je fais maintenant chaque soir, dans mon salon, un Lensa au pied de mon fauteuil. Lensa fait une promo en ce moment. Garantie 90 jours satisfait ou remboursé. Trois mois entiers pour le tester chez vous. Si rien ne change, vous renvoyez, ils remboursent. Sans poser de questions. Livraison gratuite en France. C'est une petite entreprise française. Production limitée. Ils sont souvent en rupture - quand j'en ai recommandé un à mon frère en mars, il a attendu six semaines. Donc si vous cliquez et qu'ils ont du stock, ne traînez pas. Je vous mets le lien en bas. Allez lire comment ça fonctionne avant d'acheter quoi que ce soit, chez eux ou ailleurs. Mais croyez-moi sur un point: si votre corps essaie de vous dire quelque chose depuis des années, et que personne ne vous écoute, c'est peut-être le moment d'écouter. Moi, j'ai attendu une douleur dans la poitrine pour comprendre. N'attendez pas la vôtre. Anjali avait raison. Les Français prennent des médicaments le matin pour des problèmes qui sortent à minuit. Arrêtez d'avaler. Commencez à drainer. 👉 https://offer.trylensa.com/lp1

Ma gynécologue m'a regardée et m'a dit quelque chose que je n'attendais pas. « Isabelle, ce ventre n'est pas de la graisse. » J'avais 54 ans. Je venais de lui montrer les photos que j'avais prises de moi le mois précédent, lors d'un mariage. Des photos que j'avais demandé à ma fille de supprimer immédiatement. Des photos où je ne me reconnaissais plus. Je n'avais pas changé d'alimentation. Je ne mangeais pas plus qu'avant. Je faisais du yoga trois fois par semaine depuis sept ans. Et pourtant, depuis dix-huit mois, mon ventre avait changé. Pas de façon dramatique. Pas d'un coup. Progressivement. Comme si quelque chose s'était installé sans demander la permission. Un ventre rond, dur, tendu. Pas mou comme de la graisse. Dur. Gonflé. Qui ne partait pas. Le matin, je me levais plate. À midi, je desserrais ma ceinture. Le soir, je portais des tuniques pour cacher ce qui se passait à l'intérieur. J'avais arrêté de porter des robes ajustées. Arrêté de me mettre en maillot de bain sans un paréo. Arrêté d'apparaître sur les photos. — Ma gynécologue a posé les photos sur son bureau. « Ce que vous voyez ici, ce n'est pas du tissu adipeux. C'est de la rétention. De l'inflammation. Votre corps est en train de traverser une transition hormonale majeure — et votre système lymphatique ne suit plus. » Elle m'a expliqué ce que personne ne m'avait jamais dit clairement. À la ménopause, les œstrogènes chutent. Et les œstrogènes jouent un rôle direct dans la régulation du système lymphatique — ce réseau de drainage qui évacue les déchets, les toxines, les liquides en excès de vos tissus. Quand les œstrogènes baissent, le système lymphatique ralentit. Les déchets qui devraient être évacués s'accumulent dans les tissus abdominaux. Les liquides stagnent. L'inflammation s'installe. Et le ventre gonfle — pas parce que vous mangez trop, mais parce que votre corps n'arrive plus à évacuer ce qu'il devrait évacuer. C'est pour ça que ce ventre est dur. Tendu. Résistant à tout. C'est pour ça que le sport ne change rien. Que le régime ne change rien. Que les probiotiques ne changent rien. Vous ne combattez pas de la graisse. Vous combattez un système de drainage qui s'est mis en veille. — J'avais dépensé plus de 1 600 euros en deux ans. Des compléments de drainage lymphatique. Des cures détox. Des probiotiques haut de gamme. Du magnésium. Du curcuma. Des tisanes drainantes. Des séances de massage lymphatique à 75 euros l'heure — que je devais répéter chaque semaine parce que les résultats disparaissaient en quarante-huit heures. J'avais essayé un régime sans gluten pendant trois mois. Sans lactose pendant deux mois. J'avais supprimé l'alcool pendant six semaines. Mon ventre était resté exactement pareil. Et chaque matin, en m'habillant, je ressentais cette même chose difficile à nommer. Pas de la tristesse. Pas vraiment. Plutôt une forme de résignation. Comme si mon corps était devenu quelque chose que je subissais plutôt que quelque chose qui m'appartenait. — « Alors pourquoi rien ne fonctionne ? » Ma gynécologue a pris le temps de répondre. « Parce que vous essayez d'atteindre les tissus profonds par l'estomac. Et ça ne marche pas. » Elle m'a expliqué le problème avec tous les compléments oraux. L'estomac détruit entre 70 et 80 % des principes actifs avant même qu'ils atteignent les tissus ciblés. Ce qui survit se dilue sur plusieurs mètres d'intestin. Au moment où les substances actives arrivent là où la stagnation a lieu — dans les tissus abdominaux profonds, dans les parois lymphatiques — il ne reste presque rien. Et les massages lymphatiques ? Ils déplacent le liquide en surface. Ils ne l'évacuent pas. C'est pour ça que les résultats disparaissent en deux jours. Le liquide revient exactement là où il était. « La seule façon d'atteindre les tissus profonds sans passer par l'estomac, c'est par la peau. » — Elle m'a parlé de l'huile de ricin. Pas comme laxatif — je lui ai dit immédiatement que j'avais essayé ça une fois, des années plus tôt, et que je ne recommencerais jamais. Elle a souri. « Non. Pas par voie orale. Par voie transdermique. Appliquée directement sur la peau abdominale, avec une compression soutenue. » L'huile de ricin contient 90 % d'acide ricinoléique. Un composé lipophile — qui se dissout dans les graisses et peut traverser les couches de peau pour atteindre les tissus sous-jacents. Sans passer par l'estomac. Sans être détruite par l'acidité gastrique. Appliquée sur l'abdomen avec une compression maintenue plusieurs heures, elle stimule mécaniquement la circulation lymphatique locale. Elle réduit l'inflammation des tissus. Elle aide le corps à évacuer ce qui stagne depuis des mois. « Et la nuit est le meilleur moment », a-t-elle ajouté. « Entre 1h et 3h du matin, le foie travaille à son maximum. C'est la fenêtre où le corps essaie naturellement de se nettoyer. Si les canaux sont ouverts à ce moment-là, le drainage se fait vraiment. » J'ai repensé à tous mes réveils nocturnes. Ce cœur qui battait trop vite à 3h du matin. Cette impossibilité de me rendormir. « Six à huit heures de compression nocturne. C'est tout ce qu'il faut. » — Je suis rentrée chez moi et j'ai essayé de reproduire ça moi-même. Acheté de l'huile de ricin biologique en pharmacie. Imbibé un vieux t-shirt. Enroulé du film alimentaire autour de ma taille pour maintenir le tout en place. Désastre complet. L'huile a traversé le tissu en moins d'une heure. Les draps étaient tachés. Le film plastique s'est défait pendant mon sommeil. Je me suis réveillée à 2h du matin avec le tissu remonté sous les côtes et de l'huile partout dans le lit. J'ai essayé trois nuits. Trois nuits de chaos. La quatrième nuit, j'ai cherché une solution plus pratique. — C'est comme ça que j'ai trouvé Onela. Une bouteille d'huile de ricin biologique, pressée à froid, sans hexane. Et une ceinture de compression en coton biologique et bambou — des fibres conçues pour retenir l'huile à pleine concentration sans fuite. Une couche extérieure imperméable pour protéger les draps. Des sangles réglables qui restent en place toute la nuit, quelle que soit la position de sommeil. Pas de film plastique. Pas de bricolage. Pas de désordre. Trois minutes avant de se coucher. On applique l'huile sur l'abdomen. On met la ceinture. On dort. C'est tout. — La première semaine, mon transit s'est régularisé. Pas de façon brutale. Une évacuation progressive, quotidienne. Comme si quelque chose se remettait doucement en mouvement après avoir été immobile trop longtemps. Mon ventre était moins lourd après les repas. Je respirais mieux en fin de journée. La deuxième semaine, j'ai fait quelque chose que je n'avais pas fait depuis deux ans. Je me suis regardée de profil dans le miroir après le dîner. Mon ventre était plat. Pas plus plat qu'avant le repas. Plat. J'ai attendu. J'ai mangé normalement. Et le lendemain matin, pareil. Je suis restée assise sur le bord du lit quelques minutes. Pas de tension. Pas de pression. Pas besoin de desserrer quoi que ce soit. La troisième semaine — la semaine où toutes mes cures précédentes s'effondraient — rien n'est revenu. Pour la première fois depuis dix-huit mois, j'avais dépassé la troisième semaine sans rechute. — Les réveils à 3h du matin ont disparu à la quatrième semaine. Complètement. Je dormais toute la nuit. Un sommeil profond, continu. Je me réveillais reposée — vraiment reposée. À la cinquième semaine, le brouillard mental a commencé à se lever. Un matin, j'ai animé une réunion de deux heures sans perdre le fil une seule fois. J'ai retrouvé mes mots. Cette sensation de coton dans la tête avait disparu. Une collègue m'a demandé si j'avais changé de coiffure. « Non. » « Tu as l'air différente. Plus légère. » Je n'ai pas su quoi répondre. À la sixième semaine, les jambes lourdes en fin de journée avaient disparu. Mon humeur était plus stable. J'avais perdu quatre kilos sans changer mon alimentation, sans ajouter une seule séance de sport. — J'avais commandé deux packs. J'ai offert le second à ma sœur, qui traversait exactement la même chose depuis un an. Cinq jours plus tard, elle m'a appelée. « Isabelle. C'est quoi ce truc ? » Je me suis mise à rire. « Pourquoi ? » « J'ai dormi toute la nuit. D'une traite. Mon mari l'a remarqué avant même que j'en parle. » « Je sais. » C'est tout ce que j'ai répondu. « Je sais. » Parce qu'à ce stade, je comprenais exactement ce qu'elle ressentait. — Trois mois plus tard, je suis retournée voir ma gynécologue pour mon bilan annuel. Elle m'a regardée entrer dans son cabinet. Elle a souri avant même que je m'assoie. « Vous avez l'air différente. » Je lui ai raconté. Elle a sorti son téléphone avant que j'aie terminé. Elle a noté le nom. Onela. « Pour mes autres patientes », a-t-elle dit. — Aujourd'hui, je comprends ce qui s'était passé. Mon ventre n'était pas de la graisse. Il n'avait jamais été de la graisse. C'était mon système lymphatique qui avait ralenti avec la chute des œstrogènes. Des déchets qui stagnaient dans mes tissus abdominaux au lieu d'être évacués. Une inflammation silencieuse qui se propageait — ventre, jambes, sommeil, énergie, humeur. Et personne ne me l'avait dit clairement avant. Parce que ça n'apparaît pas sur les analyses classiques. Parce que la médecine conventionnelle cherche des maladies. Pas des systèmes qui ralentissent. La réponse n'était pas dans un régime de plus. Pas dans un complément de plus. Pas dans une séance de massage de plus. Elle était par la peau. Pendant que je dormais. — Si vous vous reconnaissez dans cette histoire... Si votre ventre a changé depuis la ménopause malgré une alimentation correcte et du sport régulier. Si ce ventre est dur, tendu, résistant à tout. Si vous vous réveillez épuisée malgré des nuits complètes. Si les compléments ont fonctionné deux semaines puis se sont effondrés. Si vous avez arrêté de porter certains vêtements. Arrêté d'apparaître sur les photos. Alors écoutez-moi. Ce n'est peut-être pas votre faute. Ce n'est peut-être pas l'âge. Votre système lymphatique essaie peut-être simplement de vous dire qu'il a besoin d'aide. Et il existe une façon de l'aider. Par la peau. Pendant que vous dormez. Sans pilules. Sans régime. Sans abonnement mensuel. — Le Pack Détox Onela est disponible via le lien ci-dessous. Huile de ricin bio pressée à froid + ceinture de compression nocturne en coton biologique. Livraison offerte. Garantie satisfait ou remboursée 90 jours. Si vous ne constatez aucun changement, vous êtes remboursée intégralement. Sans question. Les stocks sont limités. Si le produit est encore disponible quand vous lisez ceci, c'est le bon moment.

"My biological father forced me to sell the shares my mother left behind. After being reborn, I signed the papers without hesitation, took the billion dollars, and walked away. Everyone laughed and called me stupid. What they didn't know was that one month later, the apocalypse would arrive—and money would become worthless paper. I used that billion dollars to rent out the warehouses of three massive supermarkets and stuffed my dimensional storage with rice, flour, meat, and bottled water..." ................................................................................ Chapter 1 Return From the Apocalypse "Hiss!" It hurt so much! A searing sting spread across the back of Cheryl Schneider's hand, slowly pulling her hazy consciousness back into focus. She lowered her head and saw a vivid red scratch. Warm sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling window to her left, dancing across her palm. Sunlight?! She remembered that after the world plunged into extreme cold, she hadn't seen sunlight that bright in a very long time. Instinctively, Cheryl looked outside the window. Blue sky, lush green grass, and rare blossoms carefully tended by gardeners... Cheryl was completely dumbfounded. Wasn't she dead in that world-shattering apocalypse? So why was she in the former Schneider Villa again? Her heart began pounding wildly. She stared wide-eyed, greedily taking in everything before her—until her gaze landed on the young woman beside her. At that moment, the woman was lifting a vibrant emerald pendant toward her neck. Cheryl's pupils shrank sharply. It's mine! The moment the thought formed, she shot forward and reached out. Smack! She yanked her pendant back from that woman's neck, leaving a glaring red mark across that woman's fair neck. At the same time, a piercing scream rang out. "Ah!" The young woman clutched her neck, her face twisting in pain. "Oh my God, Angela! What's wrong? Let me see!" "William, go get Dr. Zinn now!" A middle-aged couple, sitting nearby and drinking coffee while reading the newspaper, rushed over at the commotion and fussed anxiously over the young woman. Seeing the loving family of three before her, Cheryl let out a cold smile. Angela! Fiona! Gregory! It was her "sweet and adorable" younger sister, her "gentle and kind" stepmother, and her "fair and impartial" father. She never expected they would meet again like that. "Cheryl, what did you do to Angela?!" Gregory Schneider snapped without asking, immediately scolding her. Cheryl replied calmly, "I just took back what belongs to me. What's the problem with that?" Her voice was flat, and her expression was cold. Gregory froze for a moment at her tone of defiance, then grew even angrier. "It's just a damn necklace, not some priceless treasure. If Angela wants it, just give it to her! You're petty like your dead mother. Absolutely embarrassing!" Seeing the bloody mark on Angela Schneider's neck, Fiona Schneider looked distressed, but she still put on a fake peacemaker act. "Hubby, don't be mad. I'm sure Cheryl didn't mean to do it." Then she turned to Cheryl, wearing a look of false tolerance. "Cheryl, did you forget? You promised your father you'd give this to Angela as a birthday gift. If you changed your mind and don't want to give it anymore, you could've told me. Do you really think I'd force you? Snatching it back like that? That's something a robber would do. Look what you did—Angela's neck is bleeding." "Give it back to Angela right now and apologize!" Gregory said with open disgust. "If she doesn't forgive you, then get out of here!" Nestled in Fiona's arms, Angela watched Cheryl with barely concealed glee. She knew that as long as Gregory spoke, Cheryl would obey—no matter how reluctant she was. That emerald pendant she had inexplicably longed for day and night would soon be hers. But the next moment, Cheryl gave a soft laugh. Under their stunned gazes, she turned and walked away. "Stop right there!" Gregory roared. "If you dare walk out that door today, don't ever come back!" Cheryl paused briefly, letting out a mocking chuckle. "As you wish!" With that, she walked straight out without looking back. ... Once outside, standing beneath the blinding sunlight, Cheryl checked the time on her phone. It was August 25, 2040—08:58 a.m. Then she pinched her thigh hard. It hurts! So it's real. Not a dream! I've truly been reborn! She was reborn one month before the apocalypse. On September 25, 2040, fate played a cruel joke on humanity. Relentless torrential rains fell without pause, nearly submerging the entire planet. It marked the beginning of the apocalypse. In that apocalypse, she had struggled desperately and lived in misery. Like a feral dog, she fought countless others just to snatch scraps of food to survive. In sharp contrast, Angela and Fiona had remained polished and well-fed, while Angela always seemed able to produce endless supplies out of thin air. Cheryl had envied them before, but she believed it was simply because Gregory provided everything for them as a high-ranking official in the base. Only before her death, when she saw a chocolate cake appear in Angela's hand out of nowhere, did she learn the truth. Angela's fake, sugary voice echoed endlessly in her mind. "Thank you for giving me such a magical pendant, Cheryl!" The one in Angela's hand had been the emerald pendant left to Cheryl by her maternal grandmother before she passed away. Yet before the apocalypse arrived, Angela had snatched it away under the excuse of a birthday gift. A thought flashed through Cheryl's mind. Without hesitation, she bit her finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the pendant. The instant the blood touched it, a flash of white light burst before her eyes. When the light faded, the pendant had disappeared, replaced by a small red birthmark in the center of her palm. With a shift of thought, a storage space appeared in her mind. Inside was a foggy, square-shaped, and empty area. But Cheryl was thrilled. It was real. Everything was real. Her rebirth was real. Her storage space was also real! She broke into a wide grin. Slowly, the grin turned into laughter. Then laughter mixed with tears. In her previous life, because she endured every grievance and backed down, she ended up dying without even a proper burial. With this second chance at life, she was determined to make them repay every injustice she had suffered! Ignoring the strange looks from passersby, Cheryl hailed a taxi and returned to the small apartment she once lived in. The moment she closed the door, she eagerly used her mind to open the storage space and began testing it. The space was enormous, about the size of two soccer fields. Thick fog stretched across all sides, sealed off by an invisible barrier. Cheryl silently thought about going in, but she remained standing exactly where she was. Only the phone in her hand had vanished, appearing soundlessly inside the storage space. Suppressing the excitement rising in her chest, she continued testing the space by using items from her room. She kept loading things in and pulling them back out, not calming down until she was completely worn out. Chapter 2 The Spatial Portal It was a static space measuring 300 feet in length, width, and height. It couldn't store living creatures, but it preserved freshness. Hot water placed inside stayed boiling, no matter how long it remained stored. When taken out, it was exactly as hot as when it had been put in. "Ding! Smart Q here with a reminder. It's 10:00 a.m. Drakoria time." The sudden voice notification snapped Cheryl out of her excitement of exploring the storage space. Today was August 25, 2040. There was only one month left before the apocalypse would arrive. Time was tight. She couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Cheryl sat at the main desk. As memories of the disasters from her previous life surfaced, she began organizing a list of supplies she would need. First came relentless rain, followed by endless flooding, then extreme heat, extreme cold... Each disaster was something humanity today could barely imagine. In her previous life, with nothing to her name, she had gritted her teeth and survived until the third year of the apocalypse, enduring almost every hardship imaginable. But this time, she would never allow herself to fall into such desperate circumstances again. Food and water were essential. Medicine, too. In the chaotic world of the apocalypse, sometimes a single, insignificant anti-inflammatory pill could save a life. Beyond that, she needed clothing, shoes, cold-weather gear, tents, and sleeping bags for outdoor survival, vehicles and speedboats for emergency escape, and essential materials like candles, matches, emergency lights, batteries, and power supplies. Cheryl wrote down anything that came to mind in her notebook without missing a single item. As she continued writing, she suddenly remembered a bandit gang from her previous life. They had lived in extreme luxury during the apocalypse, surviving through robbery, murder, and looting. Meanwhile, ordinary people with no weapons had struggled just to stay alive. So self-defense weapons were absolutely critical. Too bad firearm regulations here in Drakoria were extremely strict. Ordinary people had no realistic way to obtain guns. The same problem applied to gasoline for cars and speedboats. Without proper permits, it wasn't sold in bulk domestically. The only option was repeatedly driving to gas stations, filling the tank, then siphoning the fuel out afterward. It was a huge hassle, and she wouldn't collect much. If only I could go to Lumoria... She had too little time. The true catastrophic flooding wouldn't arrive until a month later. However, the continuous rain, the early signs of the apocalypse, would begin much sooner. Cheryl remembered that in another ten days, all international flights would be suspended due to worsening weather. Ten days probably wasn't even enough time for a visa to be approved. Just then, a glowing panel suddenly appeared in her mind. "Apocalypse Preparation Portal Activated. Destination: Any location on Earthspire. "Usage Method: Select coordinates from the spatial map to initiate teleportation. "Usage Rules: "1. Portal Availability Period: August 25, 2040, 8:58 a.m. to September 24, 2040, 11:59 p.m. "2. Number of Uses: 10 times. "3. Maximum Stay Duration at Destination: 72 hours. After time expires, automatic return to starting coordinates." Staring at the glowing panel in her mind, Cheryl froze, unable to react for a long time. An apocalypse preparation portal! It could send her anywhere on Earthspire! Didn't that mean she could go to Lumoria and collect gasoline and firearms? The surprise made Cheryl tremble with excitement. Lumoria didn't just have gasoline and weapons. There were also mountains of rice, flour, cooking oil, and milk that were unused and wasted by the ton. As long as she had money, she could buy anything in that country. Thinking about money, Cheryl's overheated mind finally cooled down a little. She glanced at her account balance. There was only 1,746,753 dollars. That was the Schneider Group's dividend. The greedy Schneiders hadn't yet spent every last cent because it had been delayed by a month. If a few more days went by, there might not be a single cent left. Over a million sounded like a lot, but it was nowhere near enough for her to stock up on supplies in Lumoria. After a moment's thought, she picked up her phone and typed quickly into the Schneider Group shareholders' chat, "I'm selling 20% of my shares. The starting price is one billion. Full payment only. First come first served!" Those 20% shares had been left to her by her late mother. In her previous life, Gregory had always tried to buy them at a dirt-cheap price, but her mother's will had prevented her from agreeing. This time, Cheryl knew the apocalypse was coming. All the money and shares would eventually be nothing but scraps of paper. So next, she would sell those shares to stock up on survival supplies for the apocalypse. But she definitely wasn't going to sell them for peanuts! The moment she sent out the message, her phone kept pinging nonstop. The whole group chat practically exploded. Some were asking if it was real; some were placing bids right away. Cheryl ignored them all and went back to reorganizing her inventory list. Since she was heading to Lumoria, some things didn't need to be bought in Drakoria, such as rice, flour, and cooking oil. Even though large-scale food sales weren't illegal in Drakoria, a few hundred to a thousand tons would still attract attention. And unlike Lumoria, Drakoria was crowded with less land, so she wasn't going to fight locals for it. But those Drakoria-exclusive delicacies? Absolutely essential. God knew how much she had missed fondue, barbecue, and spicy noodle soup during the apocalypse. Thinking about it, she just bought it. Opening an online shopping app, she saw all kinds of foods and clicked without hesitation, then started placing orders like crazy. She stocked up on instant noodles—beef, chicken, sour, spicy—every flavor up to the sellers' stock limit. She also grabbed spicy ramen, beef ramen, spicy noodle soup, beef vermicelli, microwavable meal kits, and frozen rice meals. With staple foods covered, she couldn't skip side dishes and snacks. She ordered ten boxes each of ham sausages—pork, chicken, and fish varieties. When she saw spicy chicken wings, lemon chicken wings, and crispy fried wings, she instantly cleared the entire stock. Seeing the recommended canned foods below, Cheryl's eyes lit up, and she added them to her cart. That was good stuff. Even without the space's preservation effect, it would still stay good for a long time. Along with compressed biscuits, those were hard currency for trading in a supply-short apocalypse. And the taste was way better than compressed biscuits. There were canned ham, canned pork stew, canned sardines, canned mackerel, canned tuna, canned green beans, canned peaches, canned oranges, canned strawberries, and canned mixed vegetables. She added anything the store had. Of course, easy-to-store, filling compressed biscuits couldn't be skipped. It was 48 packs per box, and she picked 100 boxes right away. Then there was energy-storing chocolate—dark and white—999 of each type. The stock limit was 999. Soon, her cart was full. She quickly checked out and paid. The total was 476,484 dollars. Money really burned fast; just a fraction of what she bought ate up a quarter of her savings. Chapter 3 Keep Buying As one order after another went through, confirmations kept popping up from sellers. They were all checking if Cheryl had accidentally clicked the wrong quantity. To avoid any delay in shipping due to their doubts, she quickly replied, "No mistake. Please ship as soon as possible!" After sending that, she was about to move on to the next round when a call interface popped up. Seeing the name on the screen, Cheryl let out a cold snort and answered. The moment she picked up, Gregory's roar came through the phone. "Cheryl! What the hell are you doing? Who allowed you to sell your shares? Get into the group and retract that message right now!" Cheryl held the phone a few inches away. Only after the harsh shouting stopped did she speak calmly, "The shares are mine. So what if I'm selling them? What does it have to do with you?" Gregory fumed, "What do you mean? Those are Schneider Group shares! They belong to the Schneiders—they're mine! How can you sell them to outsiders?" Cheryl sneered. "I can't sell them to outsiders? Want me to sell them to you? Give me one billion then! Since you're my father by blood, I'll set that as the starting price. You have three days. If you transfer one billion to my account, I'll transfer all my shares to you." Gregory took a deep breath, trying to soothe her. "Cheryl, I know you're mad at me, but I'm doing this for your own good. You're my daughter. That means my stuff is yours too." Even though 20% of Schneider Group was worth far more than one billion, Cheryl was his child. So in his opinion, her possessions were his. He didn't want to spend a penny, let alone one billion. "If you need money, just tell me. I won't refuse. You're still young. You can't safely keep a billion in your hands. Maybe I can hold it for you first..." Cheryl didn't bother with his nonsense and cut him off. "You know the value of these shares. If you're not interested, I'm sure others will be. Remember—one billion within three days, or the shares go to someone else. No extensions!" Without waiting for a reply, she hung up. Not long after, the phone rang again. Cheryl ignored it, put it on silent, and went inside to change into a set of workout clothes. Before that billion hit her account, she only had a little over one million left. Every bit needed to be turned into supplies. After all, money would become the least useful thing in the apocalypse. ... Leaving the neighborhood, Cheryl picked a small street-side restaurant to grab a meal. She directly ordered a beef stir-fry with rice and egg drop soup. Tender beef, the heat of chili, the sourness of green beans—all the aromas rising in steam made her mouth water. A big spoonful went in, and her taste buds were overwhelmed by the long-missed flavor, nearly bringing her to tears. How many years had it been since she'd eaten something that good? The simplest comfort foods made Cheryl devour them like a starved wolf. Thinking about how she wouldn't be able to eat food like this anymore after the apocalypse, she grabbed the menu and started rattling off orders. "Spicy sausage stew, fish stew, Cajun-style chicken, beef stir-fry, grilled chicken skewers, rotisserie chicken, seasoned fries, sautéed cabbage..." The more dishes she read, the more the small restaurant owner stared in disbelief. What kind of quirk is this? Reading the menu aloud like she's performing? "Fifty orders of each dish," she said. If not for fear of scaring the owner, she'd have ordered 1,000. After all, time in her storage space was completely frozen. What went in would stay perfectly preserved until she took it out. Hot meals stored now could be eaten later, saving cooking time. In the apocalypse, even lighting a fire for food would be a luxury. Despite her restraint, the owner was still shocked by the almost-cleared-out menu. "F-fifty orders?" Cheryl calmly explained, "Yes, for my staff's meals. I'll pick them up in three batches. Any problem?" "N-no problem. No problem at all!" Doing this deal practically equaled a month's business for his little restaurant. Problem or not, he had to make it work. He would even call his parents or in-laws to help if needed. After scheduling the pickup, Cheryl scanned to pay a deposit of 30,000. Then she dashed to the nearest dealership and spent tens of thousands to buy a small cargo van. The cargo space measured 13.6 ft × 7.5 ft × 7.5 ft. It was perfect for a mobile warehouse. She climbed in and immediately headed to the city's largest outdoor gear mall. The three-story mall was stocked with everything from inflatable boats to alcohol stoves and flint. The first floor was for major outdoor equipment, such as watercraft, mountain bikes, ski gear, and scuba gear. Cheryl didn't think twice and bought the flagship item from every store. In less than half an hour, she had purchased two small speedboats, two jet skis, four inflatable boats, four inflatable rafts, four fat-tire bikes, two snowmobiles, four sets of scuba gear, two paragliders, and two high-powered diesel generators. All of those were indispensable in an apocalypse. Life-saving supplies couldn't be taken lightly, and everything had to be top quality. Although Lumoria might offer more advanced products, Cheryl believed in the principle of better too much than too little, so she decided to buy a full batch domestically first. As for the gasoline and diesel needed for speedboats and jet ski engines, she naturally planned to stockpile those in Lumoria. After finishing the first floor, Cheryl headed straight to the second floor. At a glance, it was filled with mountaineering and rock-climbing gear. Those were also essential equipment for surviving the apocalypse. She bought tents, backpacks, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, air mattresses, fire axes, climbing ropes, rock anchors, climbing harnesses, ascenders, descenders, big and small carabiners, slings, and climbing hammers. Then she bought alcohol lamps, alcohol stoves, solid fuel tablets, portable gas stoves, propane canisters, multi-tool water bottles, reusable straws, water purification bottles, compasses, binoculars, waterproof flashlights, knives, and high-capacity solar chargers. As for entrenching shovels, the must-have outdoor camping tool that could double as both a utility tool and a self-defense weapon, she bought them by the case. Condor BG05 Entrenching Shovel—manganese steel, 3 adjustable positions, 200 units. Gerber D57 Multipurpose Folding Shovel—all-in-one, outdoor essential, 200 units. SOG Emergency Folding Shovel—collapsible for easy storage, 200 units. Fiskars Multifunctional Shovel—convert between shovel and hoe, foldable, 200 units. Estwing 205 Entrenching Shovel—ash wood handle, hardened steel blade, 200 units. Cheryl moved like a gust of wind, sweeping through every corner of the mall. Every store clerk was grinning from ear to ear.

"My biological father forced me to sell the shares my mother left behind. After being reborn, I signed the papers without hesitation, took the billion dollars, and walked away. Everyone laughed and called me stupid. What they didn't know was that one month later, the apocalypse would arrive—and money would become worthless paper. I used that billion dollars to rent out the warehouses of three massive supermarkets and stuffed my dimensional storage with rice, flour, meat, and bottled water..." ................................................................................ Chapter 1 Return From the Apocalypse "Hiss!" It hurt so much! A searing sting spread across the back of Cheryl Schneider's hand, slowly pulling her hazy consciousness back into focus. She lowered her head and saw a vivid red scratch. Warm sunlight streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling window to her left, dancing across her palm. Sunlight?! She remembered that after the world plunged into extreme cold, she hadn't seen sunlight that bright in a very long time. Instinctively, Cheryl looked outside the window. Blue sky, lush green grass, and rare blossoms carefully tended by gardeners... Cheryl was completely dumbfounded. Wasn't she dead in that world-shattering apocalypse? So why was she in the former Schneider Villa again? Her heart began pounding wildly. She stared wide-eyed, greedily taking in everything before her—until her gaze landed on the young woman beside her. At that moment, the woman was lifting a vibrant emerald pendant toward her neck. Cheryl's pupils shrank sharply. It's mine! The moment the thought formed, she shot forward and reached out. Smack! She yanked her pendant back from that woman's neck, leaving a glaring red mark across that woman's fair neck. At the same time, a piercing scream rang out. "Ah!" The young woman clutched her neck, her face twisting in pain. "Oh my God, Angela! What's wrong? Let me see!" "William, go get Dr. Zinn now!" A middle-aged couple, sitting nearby and drinking coffee while reading the newspaper, rushed over at the commotion and fussed anxiously over the young woman. Seeing the loving family of three before her, Cheryl let out a cold smile. Angela! Fiona! Gregory! It was her "sweet and adorable" younger sister, her "gentle and kind" stepmother, and her "fair and impartial" father. She never expected they would meet again like that. "Cheryl, what did you do to Angela?!" Gregory Schneider snapped without asking, immediately scolding her. Cheryl replied calmly, "I just took back what belongs to me. What's the problem with that?" Her voice was flat, and her expression was cold. Gregory froze for a moment at her tone of defiance, then grew even angrier. "It's just a damn necklace, not some priceless treasure. If Angela wants it, just give it to her! You're petty like your dead mother. Absolutely embarrassing!" Seeing the bloody mark on Angela Schneider's neck, Fiona Schneider looked distressed, but she still put on a fake peacemaker act. "Hubby, don't be mad. I'm sure Cheryl didn't mean to do it." Then she turned to Cheryl, wearing a look of false tolerance. "Cheryl, did you forget? You promised your father you'd give this to Angela as a birthday gift. If you changed your mind and don't want to give it anymore, you could've told me. Do you really think I'd force you? Snatching it back like that? That's something a robber would do. Look what you did—Angela's neck is bleeding." "Give it back to Angela right now and apologize!" Gregory said with open disgust. "If she doesn't forgive you, then get out of here!" Nestled in Fiona's arms, Angela watched Cheryl with barely concealed glee. She knew that as long as Gregory spoke, Cheryl would obey—no matter how reluctant she was. That emerald pendant she had inexplicably longed for day and night would soon be hers. But the next moment, Cheryl gave a soft laugh. Under their stunned gazes, she turned and walked away. "Stop right there!" Gregory roared. "If you dare walk out that door today, don't ever come back!" Cheryl paused briefly, letting out a mocking chuckle. "As you wish!" With that, she walked straight out without looking back. ... Once outside, standing beneath the blinding sunlight, Cheryl checked the time on her phone. It was August 25, 2040—08:58 a.m. Then she pinched her thigh hard. It hurts! So it's real. Not a dream! I've truly been reborn! She was reborn one month before the apocalypse. On September 25, 2040, fate played a cruel joke on humanity. Relentless torrential rains fell without pause, nearly submerging the entire planet. It marked the beginning of the apocalypse. In that apocalypse, she had struggled desperately and lived in misery. Like a feral dog, she fought countless others just to snatch scraps of food to survive. In sharp contrast, Angela and Fiona had remained polished and well-fed, while Angela always seemed able to produce endless supplies out of thin air. Cheryl had envied them before, but she believed it was simply because Gregory provided everything for them as a high-ranking official in the base. Only before her death, when she saw a chocolate cake appear in Angela's hand out of nowhere, did she learn the truth. Angela's fake, sugary voice echoed endlessly in her mind. "Thank you for giving me such a magical pendant, Cheryl!" The one in Angela's hand had been the emerald pendant left to Cheryl by her maternal grandmother before she passed away. Yet before the apocalypse arrived, Angela had snatched it away under the excuse of a birthday gift. A thought flashed through Cheryl's mind. Without hesitation, she bit her finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the pendant. The instant the blood touched it, a flash of white light burst before her eyes. When the light faded, the pendant had disappeared, replaced by a small red birthmark in the center of her palm. With a shift of thought, a storage space appeared in her mind. Inside was a foggy, square-shaped, and empty area. But Cheryl was thrilled. It was real. Everything was real. Her rebirth was real. Her storage space was also real! She broke into a wide grin. Slowly, the grin turned into laughter. Then laughter mixed with tears. In her previous life, because she endured every grievance and backed down, she ended up dying without even a proper burial. With this second chance at life, she was determined to make them repay every injustice she had suffered! Ignoring the strange looks from passersby, Cheryl hailed a taxi and returned to the small apartment she once lived in. The moment she closed the door, she eagerly used her mind to open the storage space and began testing it. The space was enormous, about the size of two soccer fields. Thick fog stretched across all sides, sealed off by an invisible barrier. Cheryl silently thought about going in, but she remained standing exactly where she was. Only the phone in her hand had vanished, appearing soundlessly inside the storage space. Suppressing the excitement rising in her chest, she continued testing the space by using items from her room. She kept loading things in and pulling them back out, not calming down until she was completely worn out. Chapter 2 The Spatial Portal It was a static space measuring 300 feet in length, width, and height. It couldn't store living creatures, but it preserved freshness. Hot water placed inside stayed boiling, no matter how long it remained stored. When taken out, it was exactly as hot as when it had been put in. "Ding! Smart Q here with a reminder. It's 10:00 a.m. Drakoria time." The sudden voice notification snapped Cheryl out of her excitement of exploring the storage space. Today was August 25, 2040. There was only one month left before the apocalypse would arrive. Time was tight. She couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Cheryl sat at the main desk. As memories of the disasters from her previous life surfaced, she began organizing a list of supplies she would need. First came relentless rain, followed by endless flooding, then extreme heat, extreme cold... Each disaster was something humanity today could barely imagine. In her previous life, with nothing to her name, she had gritted her teeth and survived until the third year of the apocalypse, enduring almost every hardship imaginable. But this time, she would never allow herself to fall into such desperate circumstances again. Food and water were essential. Medicine, too. In the chaotic world of the apocalypse, sometimes a single, insignificant anti-inflammatory pill could save a life. Beyond that, she needed clothing, shoes, cold-weather gear, tents, and sleeping bags for outdoor survival, vehicles and speedboats for emergency escape, and essential materials like candles, matches, emergency lights, batteries, and power supplies. Cheryl wrote down anything that came to mind in her notebook without missing a single item. As she continued writing, she suddenly remembered a bandit gang from her previous life. They had lived in extreme luxury during the apocalypse, surviving through robbery, murder, and looting. Meanwhile, ordinary people with no weapons had struggled just to stay alive. So self-defense weapons were absolutely critical. Too bad firearm regulations here in Drakoria were extremely strict. Ordinary people had no realistic way to obtain guns. The same problem applied to gasoline for cars and speedboats. Without proper permits, it wasn't sold in bulk domestically. The only option was repeatedly driving to gas stations, filling the tank, then siphoning the fuel out afterward. It was a huge hassle, and she wouldn't collect much. If only I could go to Lumoria... She had too little time. The true catastrophic flooding wouldn't arrive until a month later. However, the continuous rain, the early signs of the apocalypse, would begin much sooner. Cheryl remembered that in another ten days, all international flights would be suspended due to worsening weather. Ten days probably wasn't even enough time for a visa to be approved. Just then, a glowing panel suddenly appeared in her mind. "Apocalypse Preparation Portal Activated. Destination: Any location on Earthspire. "Usage Method: Select coordinates from the spatial map to initiate teleportation. "Usage Rules: "1. Portal Availability Period: August 25, 2040, 8:58 a.m. to September 24, 2040, 11:59 p.m. "2. Number of Uses: 10 times. "3. Maximum Stay Duration at Destination: 72 hours. After time expires, automatic return to starting coordinates." Staring at the glowing panel in her mind, Cheryl froze, unable to react for a long time. An apocalypse preparation portal! It could send her anywhere on Earthspire! Didn't that mean she could go to Lumoria and collect gasoline and firearms? The surprise made Cheryl tremble with excitement. Lumoria didn't just have gasoline and weapons. There were also mountains of rice, flour, cooking oil, and milk that were unused and wasted by the ton. As long as she had money, she could buy anything in that country. Thinking about money, Cheryl's overheated mind finally cooled down a little. She glanced at her account balance. There was only 1,746,753 dollars. That was the Schneider Group's dividend. The greedy Schneiders hadn't yet spent every last cent because it had been delayed by a month. If a few more days went by, there might not be a single cent left. Over a million sounded like a lot, but it was nowhere near enough for her to stock up on supplies in Lumoria. After a moment's thought, she picked up her phone and typed quickly into the Schneider Group shareholders' chat, "I'm selling 20% of my shares. The starting price is one billion. Full payment only. First come first served!" Those 20% shares had been left to her by her late mother. In her previous life, Gregory had always tried to buy them at a dirt-cheap price, but her mother's will had prevented her from agreeing. This time, Cheryl knew the apocalypse was coming. All the money and shares would eventually be nothing but scraps of paper. So next, she would sell those shares to stock up on survival supplies for the apocalypse. But she definitely wasn't going to sell them for peanuts! The moment she sent out the message, her phone kept pinging nonstop. The whole group chat practically exploded. Some were asking if it was real; some were placing bids right away. Cheryl ignored them all and went back to reorganizing her inventory list. Since she was heading to Lumoria, some things didn't need to be bought in Drakoria, such as rice, flour, and cooking oil. Even though large-scale food sales weren't illegal in Drakoria, a few hundred to a thousand tons would still attract attention. And unlike Lumoria, Drakoria was crowded with less land, so she wasn't going to fight locals for it. But those Drakoria-exclusive delicacies? Absolutely essential. God knew how much she had missed fondue, barbecue, and spicy noodle soup during the apocalypse. Thinking about it, she just bought it. Opening an online shopping app, she saw all kinds of foods and clicked without hesitation, then started placing orders like crazy. She stocked up on instant noodles—beef, chicken, sour, spicy—every flavor up to the sellers' stock limit. She also grabbed spicy ramen, beef ramen, spicy noodle soup, beef vermicelli, microwavable meal kits, and frozen rice meals. With staple foods covered, she couldn't skip side dishes and snacks. She ordered ten boxes each of ham sausages—pork, chicken, and fish varieties. When she saw spicy chicken wings, lemon chicken wings, and crispy fried wings, she instantly cleared the entire stock. Seeing the recommended canned foods below, Cheryl's eyes lit up, and she added them to her cart. That was good stuff. Even without the space's preservation effect, it would still stay good for a long time. Along with compressed biscuits, those were hard currency for trading in a supply-short apocalypse. And the taste was way better than compressed biscuits. There were canned ham, canned pork stew, canned sardines, canned mackerel, canned tuna, canned green beans, canned peaches, canned oranges, canned strawberries, and canned mixed vegetables. She added anything the store had. Of course, easy-to-store, filling compressed biscuits couldn't be skipped. It was 48 packs per box, and she picked 100 boxes right away. Then there was energy-storing chocolate—dark and white—999 of each type. The stock limit was 999. Soon, her cart was full. She quickly checked out and paid. The total was 476,484 dollars. Money really burned fast; just a fraction of what she bought ate up a quarter of her savings. Chapter 3 Keep Buying As one order after another went through, confirmations kept popping up from sellers. They were all checking if Cheryl had accidentally clicked the wrong quantity. To avoid any delay in shipping due to their doubts, she quickly replied, "No mistake. Please ship as soon as possible!" After sending that, she was about to move on to the next round when a call interface popped up. Seeing the name on the screen, Cheryl let out a cold snort and answered. The moment she picked up, Gregory's roar came through the phone. "Cheryl! What the hell are you doing? Who allowed you to sell your shares? Get into the group and retract that message right now!" Cheryl held the phone a few inches away. Only after the harsh shouting stopped did she speak calmly, "The shares are mine. So what if I'm selling them? What does it have to do with you?" Gregory fumed, "What do you mean? Those are Schneider Group shares! They belong to the Schneiders—they're mine! How can you sell them to outsiders?" Cheryl sneered. "I can't sell them to outsiders? Want me to sell them to you? Give me one billion then! Since you're my father by blood, I'll set that as the starting price. You have three days. If you transfer one billion to my account, I'll transfer all my shares to you." Gregory took a deep breath, trying to soothe her. "Cheryl, I know you're mad at me, but I'm doing this for your own good. You're my daughter. That means my stuff is yours too." Even though 20% of Schneider Group was worth far more than one billion, Cheryl was his child. So in his opinion, her possessions were his. He didn't want to spend a penny, let alone one billion. "If you need money, just tell me. I won't refuse. You're still young. You can't safely keep a billion in your hands. Maybe I can hold it for you first..." Cheryl didn't bother with his nonsense and cut him off. "You know the value of these shares. If you're not interested, I'm sure others will be. Remember—one billion within three days, or the shares go to someone else. No extensions!" Without waiting for a reply, she hung up. Not long after, the phone rang again. Cheryl ignored it, put it on silent, and went inside to change into a set of workout clothes. Before that billion hit her account, she only had a little over one million left. Every bit needed to be turned into supplies. After all, money would become the least useful thing in the apocalypse. ... Leaving the neighborhood, Cheryl picked a small street-side restaurant to grab a meal. She directly ordered a beef stir-fry with rice and egg drop soup. Tender beef, the heat of chili, the sourness of green beans—all the aromas rising in steam made her mouth water. A big spoonful went in, and her taste buds were overwhelmed by the long-missed flavor, nearly bringing her to tears. How many years had it been since she'd eaten something that good? The simplest comfort foods made Cheryl devour them like a starved wolf. Thinking about how she wouldn't be able to eat food like this anymore after the apocalypse, she grabbed the menu and started rattling off orders. "Spicy sausage stew, fish stew, Cajun-style chicken, beef stir-fry, grilled chicken skewers, rotisserie chicken, seasoned fries, sautéed cabbage..." The more dishes she read, the more the small restaurant owner stared in disbelief. What kind of quirk is this? Reading the menu aloud like she's performing? "Fifty orders of each dish," she said. If not for fear of scaring the owner, she'd have ordered 1,000. After all, time in her storage space was completely frozen. What went in would stay perfectly preserved until she took it out. Hot meals stored now could be eaten later, saving cooking time. In the apocalypse, even lighting a fire for food would be a luxury. Despite her restraint, the owner was still shocked by the almost-cleared-out menu. "F-fifty orders?" Cheryl calmly explained, "Yes, for my staff's meals. I'll pick them up in three batches. Any problem?" "N-no problem. No problem at all!" Doing this deal practically equaled a month's business for his little restaurant. Problem or not, he had to make it work. He would even call his parents or in-laws to help if needed. After scheduling the pickup, Cheryl scanned to pay a deposit of 30,000. Then she dashed to the nearest dealership and spent tens of thousands to buy a small cargo van. The cargo space measured 13.6 ft × 7.5 ft × 7.5 ft. It was perfect for a mobile warehouse. She climbed in and immediately headed to the city's largest outdoor gear mall. The three-story mall was stocked with everything from inflatable boats to alcohol stoves and flint. The first floor was for major outdoor equipment, such as watercraft, mountain bikes, ski gear, and scuba gear. Cheryl didn't think twice and bought the flagship item from every store. In less than half an hour, she had purchased two small speedboats, two jet skis, four inflatable boats, four inflatable rafts, four fat-tire bikes, two snowmobiles, four sets of scuba gear, two paragliders, and two high-powered diesel generators. All of those were indispensable in an apocalypse. Life-saving supplies couldn't be taken lightly, and everything had to be top quality. Although Lumoria might offer more advanced products, Cheryl believed in the principle of better too much than too little, so she decided to buy a full batch domestically first. As for the gasoline and diesel needed for speedboats and jet ski engines, she naturally planned to stockpile those in Lumoria. After finishing the first floor, Cheryl headed straight to the second floor. At a glance, it was filled with mountaineering and rock-climbing gear. Those were also essential equipment for surviving the apocalypse. She bought tents, backpacks, sleeping bags, sleeping pads, air mattresses, fire axes, climbing ropes, rock anchors, climbing harnesses, ascenders, descenders, big and small carabiners, slings, and climbing hammers. Then she bought alcohol lamps, alcohol stoves, solid fuel tablets, portable gas stoves, propane canisters, multi-tool water bottles, reusable straws, water purification bottles, compasses, binoculars, waterproof flashlights, knives, and high-capacity solar chargers. As for entrenching shovels, the must-have outdoor camping tool that could double as both a utility tool and a self-defense weapon, she bought them by the case. Condor BG05 Entrenching Shovel—manganese steel, 3 adjustable positions, 200 units. Gerber D57 Multipurpose Folding Shovel—all-in-one, outdoor essential, 200 units. SOG Emergency Folding Shovel—collapsible for easy storage, 200 units. Fiskars Multifunctional Shovel—convert between shovel and hoe, foldable, 200 units. Estwing 205 Entrenching Shovel—ash wood handle, hardened steel blade, 200 units. Cheryl moved like a gust of wind, sweeping through every corner of the mall. Every store clerk was grinning from ear to ear.