What does it mean for a middleman to profit from the price difference?

Watching his little sister push open the door, only to flee in a panic a moment later, Chen Shang sank into thought.

“Having a sister is really inconvenient—no matter what I’m doing, I end up getting interrupted.”

He sighed helplessly as he began to repack the scattered merchandise on his bed.

Worse yet, Nayuda’s affection rating had dropped another three points, now sitting at sixteen.

But compared to his sister’s opinion, there was something else much more pressing for Chen Shang at the moment.

He opened his system interface and navigated to the “Collapse Core” plugin.

His Collapse Points had now reached eight. In other words, in just a few short hours, he’d accrued two more points.

Everything was just as the core’s description had promised: as long as he kept creating variables and steering the game’s plot off its intended course, he’d be rewarded with points.

It was like entropy increasing in a closed space, throwing the order of energy into chaos.

Chen Shang opened the Collapse Core’s shop, only to freeze when he saw the prices.

“Hey, isn’t this a bit much?”

A dozen or so items popped up, but most required double-digit points, and some even cost in the hundreds.

The cheapest was the “Unstable Amplifier,” which randomly increased one of his stats by 0.1. Even though it sounded dubious at best, it still cost ten points.

His newbie benefit, “Gene Modification Agent 01,” needed a staggering one hundred points.

Most importantly, according to the instructions, this gene agent would leave a strong resistance in the body, meaning future doses would only ever yield a total boost of +0.1 to all attributes.

In short, he didn’t have enough points for anything truly valuable.

Just then, something caught his eye.

He clicked on a product called the “Mysterious Weapon Pack.” It only cost twenty points.

Getting a weapon in Night Axis City wasn’t difficult, but the word “mysterious” piqued his curiosity.

The pack contained fourteen unique weapons and could only be purchased once. Upon buying, he’d receive one at random.

“So it’s a lottery draw…” Chen Shang mused, feeling a surge of excitement.

Who could resist the allure of a gacha system with a built-in guarantee? And how exactly would the weapon be delivered to him?

“It’s decided, then. As soon as I save up twenty points, I’m drawing!”

…

By the time school let out the next day, Chen Shang’s Collapse Points had already risen to eighteen.

He opened PushBlog, where the top trending topic was still Jin Yuchuang. The site, however, was already in an uproar over him.

“Who even is this Jin Yuchuang? How dare he let his fans insult our E.X.$.L idols!”

“Enough already! With Jin Yuchuang’s level of celebrity, does he really have the nerve to call himself the pinnacle of showbiz?”

After days of subtle instigation, Jin Yuchuang had unwittingly become the entertainment industry’s public enemy.

In this fevered atmosphere, his fans naturally refused to back down, launching fierce counterattacks.

Even the few fans who sensed something amiss couldn’t hold out—seeing their beloved idol being dragged through the mud by the entire internet, their last shreds of rationality quickly evaporated, replaced by a burning mission to “defend the best brother.”

Meanwhile, Black Calista’s posting accounts had multiplied into the thousands—or maybe not quite that many, but Chen Shang couldn’t be bothered to count. The important thing was, they’d firmly seized control of the public narrative, ensuring Jin Yuchuang made an enemy wherever he turned.

More amusing still, Jin Yuchuang’s fans seemed to be losing their minds, expanding their battles beyond the entertainment circle to other corners of the web.

“Isn’t the protagonist of Little Jin’s new film, ‘Nuclear Rebirth,’ supposed to be a total loser and a fat shut-in? Are you kidding me? Does our brother really deserve to play the lead in such trash?”

“And have you seen that new Little Jin fanfic? That wretch of an author wrote him as a weak, submissive bottom! Can’t she write properly? Our brother is definitely a top!”

“Ladies, letting this kind of fanfic circulate is the greatest insult to our dear Chuang. Let’s unite and petition to have this site taken down!”

Watching the fans start flame wars everywhere, Chen Shang could barely contain his laughter.

Public opinion was an unquenchable fire—it only burned itself out once everything around it was reduced to ashes.

“You lot… never fail to surprise me.”

At this rate, he’d have enough points to enjoy a round of gacha fun by tonight.

Now that he thought about it, it had almost been a week since the school year began at Upper City High. Most students had already formed their own little groups and joined clubs they fancied.

Even Nayuda had received an acceptance letter from the track and field team and was off training after class.

As for Chen Shang, he was left to walk home alone. Without the constant chatter of a little sister, the rare silence felt almost peaceful.

On reflection, he’d spent the entire first week neither joining a club nor making any friends. To his classmates, he was probably just another hopeless, introverted shut-in.

“I’ll worry about school once I’m finished with Jin Yuchuang’s business.”

He yawned, exhausted. “Unbelievable—I get isekai’d just to go through high school again…”

But today, Chen Shang had more important things to do.

He took the train, crossing half of Night Axis City to reach the “White Cathedral District,” the city’s infamous fog-shrouded zone.

Nearly a century ago, this was Night Axis City’s industrial heart, as prosperous as the city center itself.

But as times changed, its industries faded into obsolescence, leaving behind nothing but rusted, abandoned factories, hollow-eyed unemployed drifters, and ever-present, choking smoke.

Chen Shang hurried through the murky streets, finally stopping in front of a small chapel welded together out of armored plates.

He pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight of a massive iron cross, from which hung a statue of a young girl.

“Welcome, lost lamb. May the Goddess of Radiation guide your way!”

A priest in a black robe and a silver mask approached.

“I’m here to buy something from your Father,” Chen Shang said, his face obscured by a dust mask and glasses.

“Follow me, please.”

The priest’s voice was muffled and raspy beneath the mask, with a sickly sweet stench, heavily masked by perfume, oozing from his body. It was enough to make one’s skin crawl.

Led by the priest, Chen Shang was taken down to a basement.

“Father, you have a visitor,” the priest said, bowing at the door before withdrawing.

Inside, six enormous computer screens hung on the walls, each streaming a different virtual idol’s live feed.

Seated before them was a middle-aged man in a black robe and mask, a cross pendant on his chest.

Sensing someone enter, the Father switched off the screens, slowly rising to peer at Chen Shang through the mask’s narrow eyeholes.

“What do you want to buy?” the priest asked, his tone listless and betraying a certain lack of energy.

Chen Shang pulled a list from his pocket and set it on the table.

The Father picked it up and read aloud in a low voice: “Bugs, miniature voice players, explosives… and you want a small remote-controlled truck, preferably with a loudspeaker?”

“That’s right. How much for all of it?” Chen Shang asked.

“Five hundred thousand,” the priest replied without hesitation. “That’s just an estimate—the final price depends on inventory.”

Despite the steep price, Chen Shang simply pulled a package from his bag and smiled.

“What if I give you this?”

“What’s this…” The Father watched as Chen Shang slowly opened the bag.

Instantly, the man let out a shrill cry and dashed over at lightning speed.

“An Ameng autographed poster? Two of them! From her birthday event two years ago—limited edition, long sold out! I spent a year stalking the dark web and never found one!”

His voice was trembling with excitement, and his eyes blazed behind the mask’s slits.

“How much do you want for them?”

Chen Shang pondered for a moment, then replied meaningfully, “I’d be happy to give them to you for free, as long as our deal goes through…”

“One hundred thousand—final offer!” the Father blurted, gritting his teeth.

“Deal!” Chen Shang handed over the whole bag of merchandise.

The priest snatched up one of the autographed posters and, abandoning all composure, pressed it to his lips, kissing it fervently.

“Ameng, my Ameng… I finally have you… Sob sob… Young man, you’re an angel sent by God himself!”

Watching the priest lose himself completely, Chen Shang could only sigh inwardly.

Yesterday, he’d bought the autographs from that mechanical monk—not for himself, but to resell them at another black market for a tidy profit.

The White Cathedral District’s black market was run by a greedy priest. His wares were more extensive than most, but his prices were several times higher.

But this priest had a fatal flaw: he was a delusional superfan, obsessed with virtual idols. Show him any piece of idol merchandise and he’d lose all rational thought.

Even so, Chen Shang hadn’t expected the man’s obsession to reach such pathological extremes.

In the game, only the female leads had complex, detailed AI routines. The rest, like this priest, were run by “free-range AI”—given a few basic personality keywords and left to improvise.

All the devs had intended was to give the priest a quirky “idol fan” trait to make the world feel more cyberpunk (and unhinged).

But it seemed the AI had completely run wild.

In any case, Chen Shang’s goal was achieved. After finishing an ecstatic session with his new posters, the priest took Chen Shang’s conveniently acquired Night Emblem and went to the storeroom.

Before long, he handed Chen Shang a heavy metal case. “Everything you asked for is in here, plus a few little extras. The truck’s in the garage whenever you want to pick it up.”

“Thank you,” Chen Shang replied, accepting the case with a flourish.

The priest then handed him a business card, adding warmly, “If you ever have a family member pass away, contact our church—we offer funeral services at a fifteen percent discount.”

Chen Shang frowned, pausing for a moment before smiling wryly.

“You really are a business genius.”