Chapter 3
After solving the electricity issue, I went online and contacted several local wholesalers.
I placed a large order: bottled water, instant noodles, ready-to-eat meals, self-heating hotpots, canned luncheon meat, compressed biscuits, various canned goods, as well as some chocolate and milk powder to keep my energy up once the apocalypse began.
For the meals, I chose fully cooked, sealed dishes—ones that only needed boiling water to reheat. Super convenient.
Sure, these meals had a bad reputation—tasteless and unhealthy.
But they came in a wide variety, had a long shelf life, and, honestly, they beat chewing on the same dry biscuit every day when fresh ingredients were out of reach.
I transferred the deposit to the seller and asked him to prepare everything for delivery in three days.
That night, I found an excuse not to return to Jake's place.
The next morning, I drove straight to the grain and oil market nearby.
I bought ten bags each of 20-kilo rice and flour, plus a few sacks of peanuts and soybeans—items with long shelf lives that could easily last a year or two in dry, ventilated storage.
Besides the basics, I also stocked up on preserved sausages, cured meats, and dried mushrooms, wood ear fungus, and beef jerky.
Speaking of jerky—I tasted a piece before buying, and nearly cracked a tooth. It was like chewing on concrete.
Since the shelter was still under construction, I temporarily stored everything in another one of my properties, treating it as a transition depot.
Once the renovations were finished, I would move everything back into the shelter.
That afternoon, I hit the supermarket and bought enough personal hygiene products to last several years.
Then I stopped by a pharmacy, picked up boxes of basic medication and vitamin tablets, and dropped everything off at the depot.
Only then did I bother to put on a show—driving back to Jake's place with a trunk full of supplies.
He'd also hired a construction team to work on his shelter.
But the timeline was tight, and he didn't have much money to offer. The progress was painfully slow.
In my past life, I'd been blind to Jake's true nature. I gave him everything—money, trust, even my future.
He completed his shelter in just three days, hoarded a mountain of supplies, and then kicked me out the moment the world started falling apart.
This time, I wouldn't be that stupid again.
Jake was so anxious, he kept pacing back and forth, urging the workers to move faster.
But the more he pushed them, the more half-heartedly they worked. Slower, even.
When I returned with the supplies, he rushed up to me, looking both frustrated and hopeful.
"At this rate," he complained, "we won't be ready in time before the world ends."
I acted like I didn't catch his drift. Offered some words of encouragement, sympathy… but never once brought up money.
And every time he tried to steer the conversation in that direction, I shut him down first.
"I mean, what if the apocalypse doesn't really happen?" I'd say, frowning. "What if we're just throwing away all this money for nothing?"
It left him flustered and speechless every time.
Watching him fume in frustration, I almost burst out laughing.
To avoid raising suspicion, I once again used the excuse of gathering more supplies to slip away from Jake—back to my real base of operations.