Reborn As A Doomsday Villainess-Chapter 176

The numbers continued.

As they climbed higher, more people stopped trying. They knew the odds already.

"67. 68. 69."

Some sobbed in place. Others stared blankly at the buses, unable to process that their lives now rested on luck, speed, and cruel timing.

"70. 71. 72."

Feng Yizhou didn’t waver, instead he asked Sun Zi Mo to hurry up.

"73. 74. 75."

Feng Yizhou watched the lady break down, the horror on her face was clear when she realized she couldn’t get on the first bus and she wasn’t sure if she would get on the second bus.

He stepped out for another briefing now that the first bus was filled.

"In this bus only 65 of you get to enter. Sun Zi Mo will resume the count. Once it gets to 140. The rest of you unfortunately will be left behind."

Silence. Then a sharp inhale somewhere in the crowd. A young man cursed under his breath. Another person let out a dry, hollow laugh.

Left behind.

It meant death. Everyone knew it.

No one asked why they couldn’t take more. No one dared. There were already too many people staring at them like enemies—those who hadn’t made it onto the first bus, those who’d realized they were now clinging to the edge of the last chance.

Sun Zi Mo stepped forward again, mechanical and detached.

"76."

The number was like a trigger. A woman rushed forward, dragging a limping teenager with her.

"77. 78. 79."

Each number landed like a blow. People began inching forward, subtle and desperate.

"80. 81. 82."

An old man hesitated when his number was called. His legs were weak, his back hunched, but he moved, pushed by the terrified strength of survival.

"83."

Someone screamed behind the line—someone too far back, someone who already knew they wouldn’t make it.

"84. 85."

A boy barely sixteen staggered forward, carrying his younger sister on his back. Sun Zi Mo didn’t comment, didn’t care. Two people for one count. That wasn’t allowed. But Feng Yizhou glanced over, made a quick calculation in his head, and gave a slight tilt of his chin.

The boy passed. The girl stayed on his back.

"86. 87. 88."

Another scuffle. A man tried to bribe someone ahead of him. He offered food, a watch, even tried to hand over a sealed bottle of clean water.

No one took it.

"89. 90. 91."

A mother sobbed silently as she let her daughter go ahead of her. "I’ll wait for the next one," she whispered, even though everyone knew there wasn’t a next one.

"92."

The daughter turned to run back, but was blocked by the bodies behind her. She screamed her mother’s name, but the noise swallowed it whole.

"93. 94. 95."

A sharp cough echoed from someone behind the line. Heads whipped toward the sound, and the crowd subtly shifted, pulling away. No one wanted to stand next to someone sick.

"96."

A child tripped and fell trying to reach the steps. Sun Zi Mo bent down, lifted her up without a word, and carried her into the bus himself. The moment lingered—strangely gentle, strangely human—but it passed quickly.

"97. 98. 99."

The numbers came faster now. Everyone knew it was ending.

"100. 101. 102."

People were shoving forward more openly, eyes wide, chests heaving with fear.

"103. 104."

A man dropped to his knees in front of Feng Yizhou. "Please. My wife—she’s pregnant. She can’t run. She needs help."

Feng Yizhou looked at him, but didn’t speak.

Sun Zi Mo called, "105."

Another person ran forward. The man on his knees cried harder.

"Please—just one more. One more for my wife—"

"106. 107. 108."

A woman started hyperventilating. Her hands clutched her throat as if she couldn’t breathe. People around her shuffled away.

"109. 110."

A childless couple walked up holding hands. They didn’t speak. They just stared straight ahead. Their number had come.

"111. 112. 113."

Feng Yizhou turned and looked at the line still remaining. Too many faces. Not enough space.

"114. 115."

A girl in a school uniform stepped forward. She had no backpack, no food, nothing. Just wide eyes and torn shoes.

"116."

Only twenty-four spots left.

And so many more bodies than that.

"117. 118. 119."

Some people began edging away from the line altogether. Accepting it. Or maybe not wanting to die in a stampede.

"120. 121. 122."

The woman from before—the one who had given up her child—finally moved. She stood, face streaked with dust and dried tears.

"123."

She took a step forward.

Sun Zi Mo hesitated, then called, "124."

She looked like she wanted to scream, but didn’t. Her legs moved stiffly, robotically.

"125."

Fifteen left.

The man who had begged for his pregnant wife was still on the ground. Now his wife had joined him, her belly round, her eyes glassy.

"126. 127."

Someone at the back shouted, "What about the sick?! What about the babies?! You said we’d all—!"

Feng Yizhou didn’t even look.

"128. 129."

A teenager with a makeshift crutch limped forward, and someone helped him into the bus.

"130."

Only ten more.

A man with bloodied knuckles stood silently, watching the count rise. He didn’t try to move forward. Just stared at the numbers as though waiting for them to claim him.

"131. 132. 133."

Sun Zi Mo’s voice was starting to falter, barely audible above the sobs and murmurs.

"134."

A girl of maybe five ran forward, calling for her parents. No one came.

Feng Yizhou signaled. She was allowed.

"135. 136. 137."

More people broke away now. Some stood in place. Others sank to the ground. Some turned their backs to the bus entirely.

"138."

The woman with the baby bump stumbled forward. Someone reached out to help her. She didn’t look back at her husband.

"139."

The woman who had been desperately wailing to meet her child, screamed, turning to Feng Yizhou with tears in her eyes.

"Please, please, I beg you... I beg you sir, please..he’s my only son.."

Feng Yizhou sighed. He couldn’t decide who got in for the first 140, but the last ten was his to decide.

Right now he couldn’t be unfair. Not until the 140th person had entered.

A woman wearing a green dress stepped up for the 139th spot, she flashed Feng Yizhou a smirk as she got in.

"Alright. We’ve gone one spot left. 140th..step up.."

No one moved.

And the silence stretched too long. Even the breeze that had rustled through the makeshift camp earlier seemed to vanish, leaving the world suspended in breathless stillness.

One spot left. Everyone knew what it meant. It wasn’t just survival, but finality.

Whoever took it would live, and everyone else would be left to whatever horrors lay beyond the perimeter.

No one knew if another bus would ever come, but most doubted it.

"Step forward," Sun Zi Mo repeated, softer now, almost a whisper.

The woman who had screamed earlier, still shaking, lunged toward the front, but she wasn’t the only one.

Four others moved at once - a teenager with scraped knees, the man with bloodied knuckles, the pregnant woman’s husband, who had found his feet again, and the mother who had let her daughter go ahead, her face pale and set with stubborn grief.

Chaos broke out, and they collided, jostling for position. People behind them surged and then hesitated what was the point now?

There was only one spot, and only one.

The man with the bloodied hands reached first. He grabbed the railing of the bus, hoisting himself halfway up before someone yanked him down.

He grunted, falling hard onto his side, but he didn’t let go.

He clung to the bar with one hand, his body scraping the dirt.

The mother was screaming, and the teenager was crying now, breath coming in heaving gasps.

Sun Zi Mo tried to step forward, but Feng Yizhou lifted a hand, stopping him.

His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes moved quickly, calculating, weighing on the odds and deciding on what to do.

"Enough," he said finally. The word dropped like a stone into a flood, and the struggling slowed.

Not because they wanted it to, but because something in Feng Yizhou’s voice cut through them, it was sharp as a blade.

He took a step forward and said, "The last spot does not go to the loudest."

He scanned the crowd, not just the ones still fighting for that last space, but everyone, the ones who had quietly accepted their face, the one who were crying, the watchers who never even tried.

Some looked down, while others met his eyes. "You all had your reasons and your stories. I believe..many of them, but we don’t have the luxury of stories right now."

He turned to Sun Zi Mo and said, "Get the child." Everyone stilled.

Sun Zi Mo blinked, then nodded and moved toward the teenager, the one with the scraped knees who had moved first but was shoved back.