Procurement and Dormitory

The self-introduction session ended amidst laughter and excitement. Carrying their hopes for a new life and the thrill of first encounters, students left the classroom in small groups. Shimiya Kuki did not join any clique; he stepped alone into the spacious, bright hallway. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows sliced the afternoon sunlight into neat blocks of light, casting them onto the mirror-like floor. The air carried the faint, distinctive smell of a new building, mixed with an intangible pressure called "rules."

He did not head straight back to the dormitory. The phrase "corresponding personal points will be distributed each month" from Hoshinomiya-sensei's gentle voice—especially the word "corresponding"—put him on alert. The material foundation for the next three years had been completely framed by the points system. The initial 100,000 personal points were not just an abstract string of numbers before he understood their true value. The instinct for survival drove him to act immediately: to grasp the real "circulation" veins of this island—goods and their prices—and to verify his conjectures.

Crossing the skybridge, the view opened up. A neatly planned, modern shopping street unfolded before him. The streets were clean, lined with shops on both sides, and soft LED signs flickered with enticing light. The air was mixed with the scent of coffee, fruit, and a restlessness called "consumption."

Quite a few new students had already gathered here. Their faces beamed with excitement and curiosity as they poured into stores in groups of three or five. A small queue had formed in front of a vending machine. Shimiya Kuki's gaze precisely swept over the price tags:

● Vending machine mineral water: 60 PP

● Convenience store bread: 100 PP

● Stationery store basic notebook: 100 PP

● Simple cafeteria set meal: starting from 200 PP

Every item that sustained life or provided convenience came with a clear price tag. He headed straight for a large supermarket with a clear goal. Pushing a shopping cart, he moved silently between the bright shelves. His movements were unhurried, his eyes sharp as they scanned price tags, his brain performing a cold calculation of cost-effectiveness.

Toiletries section: He picked up the most basic toothbrush and toothpaste set (300 PP), bypassing the adjacent product claiming whitening effects (800 PP). For towels, he chose the plain-colored one with acceptable texture but the lowest price (500 PP).

Cleaning tools section: A broom and dustpan set (800 PP) was a necessity; he took the most basic model.

Underwear section: Several sets of plain underwear (1500 PP/set), comfortable in material but utterly devoid of decoration.

When he reached the kitchenware section, he stopped. The shelves displayed everything from basic models to luxury sets of cookware. He picked up a mid-priced stainless steel kitchen knife (2500 PP), feeling the grip of the handle and the sharpness of the blade with his fingertip, but his gaze involuntarily drifted toward a sign pointing to the "school cafeteria." A set meal there started at 200 PP, with unknown taste and nutrition, and relying on the cafeteria long-term would inevitably be costly.

In the end, after a fierce internal calculation, he made his decision: select a most basic but functional set of pots (frying pan + soup pot, etc.: 6000 PP), an entry-level knife set including a chef's knife, fruit knife, and peeler (4500 PP), a thick cutting board (1000 PP), and a few necessary utensils (spatula, ladle, etc.: totaling about 2000 PP).

This decision was not an impulse buy but a cold strategic choice for survival. He was used to controlling his intake, both in taste and cost. Though he didn't know how the cafeteria food tasted, he might try it sometime; he had quite a bit of confidence in his own cooking skills.

Pushing the cart piled with necessities toward the checkout, his gaze swept over a [Basic Supplies · Free Collection] box in the corner near the supermarket entrance: cheap pens, thin notebooks, rough white sheets, pillowcases, and duvet covers, inferior soap, and stiff, dry free towels.

"Free." He picked up a free towel; the texture was coarse. Nearby, a new student was pulling that thin bedding set from the [Free Collection] box, a look of obvious disgust on his face. His companion, meanwhile, was hugging a brand-new game console box, excitedly patting his shoulder: "Dude, just make do with the free stuff for now! Points will come next month anyway, then you can swap for whatever you want! Look at this new console I got—awesome!" He shook the box with its flashy pattern, clearly having spent a considerable number of points.

Shimiya Kuki expressionlessly put down the free towel. The cold sense of reality stung: "Free" only meant "minimum survival guarantee"—rough, cheap, utterly undignified, just enough to keep from freezing or starving to death. Since it existed, there was demand; he didn't believe these supplies were prepared only for new students. The supplies here were very abundant. Some new students might spend a lot of points on enjoyment, but at most fewer than twenty people, while these supplies could supply an entire grade.

At checkout, the numbers jumping on the electronic screen finally settled at [18500 PP]. The cashier handed over the receipt and a delivery note: "Kitchenware will be delivered and installed later." Shimiya Kuki calmly swiped his card, using the school-issued "welcome points." This "gift" just covered this purchase. Watching those jumping numbers disappear, a realization crystallized in his mind: Points were the blood of this island. Their increase or decrease "correspondingly" determined the quality of survival. Losing them meant losing far more than just pocket money. The faces around him, excited over game consoles, new clothes, and electronics, seemed to him somewhat naive about the value of this "blood." At the very least, he couldn't spend recklessly until next month's points were distributed.

Moreover, Hoshinomiya-sensei only said that corresponding personal points would be distributed next month—she never said the amount would be 100,000 points.

Carrying the heavy shopping bag, he left the bustling shopping street. Following the terminal's directions, he walked toward Dormitory Area B. The grayish-white exterior walls looked cold and hard under the sunlight. Swiping his card to enter, the long corridor, carpeted with new carpet, was unusually quiet, filled with the smell of disinfectant and new carpet.

He found [B-307], swiped his card, and opened the door.

The room was small, with a compact layout. On the single bed by the window lay that glaringly rough free bedding set. On the desk sat the Dormitory Management Manual. Kuki put down his things, picked up the manual, and quickly flipped through the key clauses:

● Water and electricity: Free within basic limits (cold water 5 tons/month, hot water 3 tons/month, electricity 200 kWh/month). Excess will be charged (cold water: 100 PP/ton, hot water: 300 PP/ton, electricity: 5 PP/kWh).

● Public facilities: Each floor has a public laundry room (200 PP/use) and a public kitchen (reservation required; must be thoroughly cleaned after use; violations will result in fines).

He could check the public kitchen's prices later.

High-power appliances (such as rice cookers and induction cookers) are not prohibited in the room. However, relevant equipment must be installed by school-appointed personnel, and some devices will have safety mechanisms installed (this cost is covered by the school; unauthorized modifications by students will result in severe punishment).

He put away his purchases. He folded the free bedding and placed it in a corner, then laid out the slightly softer sheets and duvet cover he had bought (an investment in "sleep quality" he deemed worthwhile). He put toiletries in the bathroom and stationery on the desk.

After finishing, he stood by the window. In the courtyard, a few new students were excitedly showing off new sneakers and game consoles, their laughter faintly audible. The sun was bright, and everything on the artificial island was brand new and clean.

Yet, in Shimiya Kuki's eyes, beneath this gloss lay the cold scale of the S System, the humiliating baseline drawn by free supplies, and the cost trap woven by dormitory rules. His purchased kitchenware hadn't arrived yet, so today he would indulge and sample the school's food.