Jin's focus shifted back to the mundane, though his mind remained a hyper-active calculator. He wasn't just shopping; he was preparing for a long-term siege. As a devil, his metabolic needs and lifestyle requirements necessitated a balance between frugality and high-quality recovery tools.
He navigated the aisles with surgical precision.
• Hygiene Basics: He bypassed the 800-point whitening kits and grabbed a standard toothpaste and toothbrush set for 300 Private Points.
• Body Care: He ignored the scented lavender and lime luxury soaps (2,500 points) and opted for a high-volume, unscented set of shower gel and shampoo for 800 Private Points.
• The Comfort Compromise: While he chose a plain medium-grade 500-point white towel, he refused to skimp on hygiene maintenance, selecting a superior detergent for 800 Points to ensure his uniforms remained pristine.
• Household Tools: A broom and dustpan set of moderate quality for 800 Private Points. He knew cheap plastic would snap within a month; durability was a hidden form of savings.
• Wardrobe: Simple, unadorned T-shirts and half-pants for lounging—300 Points each. However, for undergarments, he prioritized material over aesthetics, spending 6,000 Points for four sets of high-comfort, breathable cotton.
• The Privacy guard: He choose a basic IKEA curtains for 1,000 private points, simply durable and will do their work just fine.
• The Sleep Sanctum: This was where Jin's "cost-cutting" ended. He spent 4,500 Points on a high-thread-count duvet and pillowcase combo. A devil's efficiency was tied directly to the quality of his rest.
When Jin reached the kitchenware section, his steps halted. His gaze involuntarily drifted towards the sign next to it indicating the direction of the 'School Cafeteria'.
The "School Cafeteria" signs pointed toward standard 200-point meals. For a human, this was sustainable. For Jin, whose caloric intake was triple that of a normal student, the cafeteria was a financial black hole.
Jin decided to play strategically. Instead of cafeteria meals, he decided to make his own meals. And for that, he needed some cooking tools.
From basic models to deluxe sets, various cooking utensils were displayed on the shelves.
• The cutting knife: He picked up a medium-priced stainless steel kitchen knife costing around 2500 Private Points, carefully feeling the grip of the handle and the sharpness of the blade with his thumb.
• Other Kitchenware: Finally, after intense internal calculation, he made a decision, and that is to select a basic but fully functional set of pots and pans (wok + soup pot, etc.) for costing around 6000 Private Points.
• Knife sets: He choose an entry-level knife set including a kitchen knife, fruit knife, and peeler costing around 4500 Private Points
• Chopping board: He picked a thick cutting board costing around 1000 Private Points.
• Other utensils for cooking: He picked up other utensils like spatula, ladle, etc. for approximately around 2000 Private Points total.
The Cooker: The induction cooktop sat in its modest packaging, a silent testament to Jin's pragmatism.
Unlike the high-end, branded appliances that boasted sleek touchscreens, various modes and voice commands, this unit was utilitarian—a black glass slab with a watt management regulator, designed for one purpose: efficiency.
It had cost him 4,249 Private Points. To the average student of Class 1-D, this was a boring purchase, a waste of "fun money." To Jin, it was a long-term hedge against the unpredictable.
He was a man who viewed food as fuel, yet he refused to be a slave to the mediocre. By controlling his own kitchen, he controlled his health, his budget, and his time.
While he hadn't yet tasted the cafeteria's offerings, he knew instinctively that "free" or "cheap" food in a closed ecosystem usually came with a hidden cost—be it nutritional deficiency or the psychological toll of standing in a crowded line. His own cooking skills were a weapon he intended to keep sharp.
• Hobbies and Stationery: Turning his attention to the stationery aisle, Jin's movements became surgical. He wasn't just buying school supplies; he was assembling a kit for intellectual warfare.
He bypassed the flashy, neon-coloured notebooks and went straight for the professional-grade tools. He selected mechanical pencils with balanced centers of gravity, specialized erasers that wouldn't smudge.
As a reincarnated person, manga palgiarism is a must for them who knows how to draw. It's Jin's only hobby, to draw manga. That's why he grabbed a suite of manga-grade drawing tools: feather sweepers, blue pencils, screentones, ink, dip pens with D-nibs and G-nibs.
He carefully inspected a batch of B4 Kent paper—20 sheets for 550 private points. These weren't for a casual hobby; they were for precision. For future use.
By the time he reached the checkout, his cart held a meticulously curated collection of stationery totalling 2,249 points.
As Jin pushed his cart toward the exit, he paused by the 'Basic Supplies · Free Collection' box. It was a dismal corner, smelling faintly of bleach and cheap starch.
Inside lay the "minimum survival guarantee": scratchy white bedsheets, duvet covers that felt like paper, and soap that looked like it would strip skin as easily as dirt.
He picked up a free towel. The texture was akin to fine-grit sandpaper. He compared it to the plush, medium-grade towel in his cart. The difference was the difference between a human being and a prisoner.
Beside him, the air was thick with the boisterous laughter of two boys from his grade. One was dragging a flimsy set of free bedding from the box, his face twisted in a grimace of aristocratic disgust.
"Dude, just make do with the free stuff for now!" his companion urged, practically vibrating with excitement.
He was clutching a brand-new game console, the metallic foil on the box gleaming under the supermarket lights.
"Anyway, points will be credited next month, and then you can get whatever you want! Look at this thing—it's the Pro version! It's awesome!"
The console had likely cost upward of 60,000 points. Jin watched them with a gaze that was neither judgmental nor pitying.
It was the look a scientist gives a lab rat about to step on an electrified plate. Class 1-D was already proving to be a reservoir of mediocrity.
Jin's Reflection on this move of school's 'Free supply' was a trap for the short-sighted. It was a safety net designed to be so uncomfortable that any person with a shred of dignity would scramble to climb out of it.
And yet, the sheer volume of free supplies suggested a grim reality, the school expected a large portion of the student body to fail.
These weren't just for first-year "idiots." They were for the upperclassmen who had been broken by the system—the losers who had spent their "blood" on games and were now relegated to sandpaper towels and starch-heavy rations.
At the checkout counter, the electronic display flickered as the items were scanned. The final tally: 39,998 PPt.
The cashier, a tall third-year with a weary posture and a "Student Worker" badge, handed over the delivery slip for the induction cooktop.
"Kitchen utensils will be delivered and installed shortly," he said. His voice was polite, but his eyes told a different story.
He looked at Jin's bags—the Kent paper, the cooktop, the decent linens—and his lip curled in a subtle sneer.
To this veteran, Jin was just another "rich" freshman playing house with a fortune he didn't realize was vanishing.
Jin didn't blink. He reached out and swiped his private terminal.
The cashier's sneer didn't just fade; it evaporated. His jaw tightened as he stared at the balance displayed on his screen: 1,600,000 Private Points.
In an environment where points were "blood," Jin was a walking blood bank. The cashier's eyes darted from the screen to Jin's face, searching for a sign of arrogance or explanation. He found neither. Jin simply retracted his terminal and walked away.
The realization settled in Jin's mind with the weight of an iron slab: Points were the lifeblood of this island. Having private points means having respect.
Their quantity didn't just determine what you ate; it determined your status, your leverage, and your survival. Those around him, clutching their game consoles and designer sneakers, were haemorrhaging their lifeblood before they even knew the rules of the game.
"Corresponding points," Hoshinomiya Chie had said. She hadn't said "100,000 points." The ambiguity was a jagged hook, and his classmates had swallowed it whole.
Next month, when the "blood" failed to flow into their accounts, these "lambs" would be desperate. They would beg. They would borrow. And Jin would be there to provide—at a price of course.
As he exited the store, the automatic doors hissed shut behind him. He didn't look back at Horikita or Ayanokoji. He was playing a different game entirely.
Dormitory Building B
The walk to Dormitory Building B was a trek through a manicured paradise that felt increasingly like a gilded cage. The grey-white exterior of the building was sterile and imposing. Inside, the corridor was a vacuum of sound, smelling of fresh carpet and industrial disinfectant.
He found Room B-307. The lock clicked with a digital chime.
The room was a microcosm of the school's philosophy, compact, efficient, and hauntingly empty. On the bed lay the rough, free bedding he had seen earlier—the school's default setting for its students.
Jin set to work immediately. He was not a man who procrastinated on logistics. He flipped through the Dormitory Management Handbook, his eyes scanning for the fine print.
Jin put down his belongings and quickly flipped through the handbook for key clauses:
● Water and Electricity: Free within basic limits (cold water 5 tons/month, hot water 3 tons/month, electricity 200 units/month).
Excess usage is charged (cold water: 100 Private Points/ton, hot water: 300 Private Points/ton, electricity: 5 Private Points/unit).
● Public Facilities: Each floor has a public laundry room (200 Private Points/use) and a public kitchen (requires reservation, must be thoroughly cleaned after use, violations will incur fines).
● High-power appliances (such as rice cookers, induction cookers, etc.) are not prohibited inside the room, though electricity charges would be included in the occupant's monthly electricity uusage.
The rules regarding appliances were particularly telling. High-power devices were allowed, but only if installed by school personnel. (this cost is borne by the school. Students who modify them privately will be severely punished).
This rule wasn't for safety—it was for surveillance and control. The school wanted to know exactly who was living comfortably and who was scraping by.
Jin stripped the bed of its coarse, school-issue sheets and replaced them with his own. This wasn't a luxury; it was an investment.
Sleep was the foundation of cognitive function. If he was to outmaneuver the geniuses and the sharks of this school, he couldn't afford a backache from a cheap mattress or a restless night caused by itchy fabric.
He hung the curtains, shielding his sanctuary from the prying eyes of the courtyard. He organized his stationery with mathematical precision—pens aligned, paper stacked, erasers within reach.
Finally, he hung his uniform on the back of the door. It was a sharp, crisp garment that felt like a costume for the role he was about to play.
Standing by the window, he looked down at the courtyard. Below, a group of students were huddled together, laughing as they unboxed a pair of limited-edition sneakers.
They looked happy. They looked free.
But to Jin, they looked like ghosts.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long, sharp shadows across the artificial island.
Everything was new. Everything was tidy. But beneath the glamour lay the S-System—a cold, calculating machine that weighed human worth in digits.
He hadn't bought his kitchen tools yet, deciding to save that for a final assessment of his needs.
"I'll indulge today," he murmured to the empty room. He would go to the cafeteria, taste the "blood" of the school, and observe the lambs one last time before the slaughter began.