Apocalypse King: Recruiting S-Tier Beauties With My Ruler System Chapter 72: Getting To Know Shen Yifei

JOHN WANG — POV

March 17th, 2025 — 5:11 PM

Zone 3A-Δ — Ninth Floor Base

The door shut behind with a clunk of steel teeth as I returned to the ninth floor.

I didn’t announce myself. This was my area, and there wasn’t any need for to do so. So I moved towards the common room, with a steady pace, tapping across the tile floor still cold from morning cleanup. Past the side rooms and armour, past the mounted whiteboard, until the corridor opened into the common room.

And then I saw her.

Shen Yifei.

She was mid-stretch, ass raised, spine curved low in a predatory arch. Arms locked straight. Legs tense. Everything pulled taut like a bowstring seconds before it snapped. Her skin glead faintly under the overhead fluorescents—sweat-slick, alive, the kind of sheen earned in the fight, not faked in front of a mirror.

Leggings like a second skin.Tank top barely clinging to her chest—thin, damp, no bra. Every inhale outlined the shape of her ribs.

Every exhale rolled down the slope of her back, through the curve of her waist, and into the soft, firm swell of hips she probably didn’t even think about when she moved.

But I did.

She wasn’t doing this for .

But I’d still thank her for it.

Then she shifted—slowly, deliberately.

One arm extended forward, the other sweeping back. A dancer’s control and the making of a wonderful maid.

Shen Yifei was a woman who didn’t need to try to be sexual—she just was.

But there was sway in her hips that didn’t belong in a sparring session. And that pause, just long enough between transitions, told she knew exactly how she looked.

She wasn’t doing it for .

But she’d wanted to notice.

I didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to.

"...Tsk," she muffled her voice using her sleeve, and lowered her hips. "Pervert."

I leaned against the doorfra, arms crossed. Let her squirm without showing it.

"Not my fault you’re doing squats in the middle of the base dressed like that."

"It’s called working out," she snapped, still not looking at . "You know, what people with discipline do."

"You’re sweating like a sinner in church."

"I didn’t know you were coming back," she shot, turning just enough for to see the pink climbing her ears. "If I had, I’d have worn a hazmat suit."

"Sha," I muttered, stepping closer. "Would’ve missed the view."

Her fingers tightened around the towel near her mat.

She sat down fast—too fast—legs tucked, eyes studiously averted. Her ponytail was a ss, hair sticking to the curve of her cheek.

"You’re still staring."

"I don’t stare." I tilted my head. "I study."

"Don’t be a perv."

"Don’t be interesting."

That earned a real glare this ti. Eyes narrow. Lips pressed tight. But the red in her cheeks deepened, and her breath skipped once before catching up.

"...Didn’t think you’d be back yet," she said, quieter. "Thought you had another patrol shift."

"I ca back early."

"Why?"

"Wanted to see soone."

Her eyes flicked up. Just once. Then back down.

"...You’re insufferable."

"And you’re glowing."

"I’m sweaty."

"I didn’t say it was a bad thing."

She looked away, muttering sothing under her breath that I didn’t catch. I grabbed her water bottle, deliberately brushing her arm. She flinched. Warm skin. Slight tremor. But no recoil. Not this ti.

"You’re disgusting," she said, standing quickly, towel tossed over one shoulder. "You reek. Go shower. You’re ruining the oxygen."

"Then how about you join ?"

"W-What!?" Yifei’s face turned bright red, her twintails flopping around as she pointed at .

"Who do you take for?"

"Well okay then, but make sure you cook sothing good, there’s food in the freezer."

She hesitated. Her lips parted—closed. Then, flatly: "I’ll think about it..."

I didn’t understand why, but sothing about Yifei made want to tease her, because her face looked a little upset, I stopped and turned back, calling out. "Hey, you looked beautiful... doing your thing... your yoga."

Shen Yifei.

Rough edges. Snapping voice.

A woman who wore her walls like armour and punched with her heart when no one looked.

But I was looking. And I saw it.

She wanted there.

Even if she’d chew off her tongue before admitting it.

I watched her shocked little gaze, reminding of a squirrel. Her hair was a ss, and my breath stank of whiskey. Neither of us had said what we ant. Not really.

When I grinned at her, she huffed and turned her back to , but I caught the flicker of a smile she tried to hide in her shoulder.

—

The couch creaked under my weight, but not from age.

It was new.

Built by my hands. Crafted through my system.

Steel fra. Reinforced stitching. Dense mory-core padding was designed to take a full combat drop without warping.

Stupid luxury in a place like this.

But maybe that’s why I built it. Because when the world outside was nothing but ruins and rot, I needed one damn thing that didn’t break when you leaned on it.

Yifei’s eyes flicked to it the second I sat down — quick, sharp — then away like it didn’t matter.

I dropped onto the sofa like a bomb, leaning against the soft and comfortable cushioning and backrest, lying on my side while gazing at Yifei. My eyes felt heavy, and the stress that made everything so difficult started fading the mont I did.

A shower would’ve been smart. If Jiang Roulan and Mu Qinglan were here to cover the base, I would’ve gone already.

Instead, I stretched and enjoyed the lewd sight of Yifei’s movents, even though she complained, I couldn’t help but wonder why she moved... and started again right in front of without a care.

So I tried to avoid letting her distract . Neck rolls. Shoulder circles. Breathing exercises to keep the blood moving.

Across the room, Yifei was still pretending to perform her positions. Still pretending she wasn’t glancing at between forms.

Every ti the muscles in my arms flexed, every slow stretch of my back, her eyes twitched toward , just for a second too long.

I decided to make it worse.

Dropped off the couch, palms flat against the clean tiles, and started slow pushups. Controlled. Grounded. Letting every line of effort show.

Not to show off.

Not really.

Just because so parts of surviving ant proving you were still alive.

"You’re unbelievable," she muttered finally.

I pushed up, held it. Glanced sideways.

"Stretching," I said.

"You could stretch without flexing like you’re posing for a porno."

"Could," I agreed. "But where’s the fun in that?"

Her cheeks burned red, not rage, not sha. Sothing in between. Sothing she didn’t have a na for yet.

She crossed her arms. Stayed standing.Right near the arm of the new couch.Right near .

"You know," I said, shifting into slow squats, "you’re welco to sit."

She stiffened imdiately. Gave the couch a look like it might bite her.

"I’m fine."

"Suit yourself," I said easily. "It’s just... handmade. First one in this base that doesn’t reek of old sweat and regret."

Her mouth twitched.

"You an you made it."

"Who knows?"

She hesitated.

Just long enough that I could see the thought of fighting in her head, Pride said to stay standing. Curiosity said Maybe just sit for a second.

Finally, with an aggravated noise in her throat, she dropped onto the farthest edge of the couch, stiff as a rifle barrel, arms still crossed.

Not close. But closer than Yifei ever dared before.

"I’m not sitting here because you asked," she snapped.

"Wouldn’t dream of thinking it."

"This is just... practical. Tactical resting."

"Very tactical," I said, deadpan. "Textbook strategy."

She glared. I smiled — slow and lazy — and went back to stretching.

The couch didn’t creak under her weight.

Because it was built for more.

Because it was built to last.

Just like .

And maybe—maybe—soday she’d realise she could lean into it without breaking.

Palms against the cold steel-reinforced floor.

Breath steady. My Body locked into a slow, brutal rhythm of Handstand push-ups.

Each rise dragged strength up my arms, into my back, my chest, my core.Each controlled descent was a reminder of the weight I carried — and the weight I refused to drop.

I heard her shift behind .

The faint creak of the leather couch.The barest scuff of her sock against the tile.

She wasn’t leaving.

Wasn’t mocking.

When she spoke, her voice barely lifted above a whisper.Soft.Unsteady at the edges.

"...How long have you been fighting like this?"

The question wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t ant to wound.

It sounded almost... genuinely curious.

Genuinely careful.

"Four days... since the end, before that... I never trained so... seriously." My breath beca harsh when reaching double digits, the burning in my biceps and shoulders growing like a wildfire.

Pushed up. Held it. Muscles trembling slightly now — not from weakness, but from the steady demand.

I didn’t look at her, nor did I need to, because I could feel her watching . Not like before — not with that prickly defensiveness or wary distrust.

This was different.

A passionate look...

Her gaze tracked every line of tension stretched across my fra — my arms straining, my chest bare under the rising hem of my shirt, my abdon tight with control.

Lower.

Lower.

She didn’t even bother hiding her perverted gaze now.