The wind in East Berlin was bone-chilling this February.

Werner Betelich followed Fatty Wolf across Alexanderplatz.

Werner’s calm demeanor during yesterday’s deal had impressed Fatty Wolf. So today, Fatty Wolf had taken the initiative to show him a real black market.

Alexanderplatz, East Berlin’s most famous landmark.

It was supposed to be a shining example of socialist construction. A massive television tower was being built, and slogans like "Build a Better Future" were everywhere. But what Werner saw was a different scene entirely.

People gathered in small groups at the edge of the square. They looked like they were waiting for the tram, but their eyes were actually scanning the crowd, searching for something. Occasionally, someone would quietly approach another, murmur something almost inaudibly, and then they would quickly part ways.

"See that guy in the blue hat?" Fatty Wolf lowered his voice. "He specializes in buying cigarettes from West Germany. A pack of Marlboros can fetch thirty East German Marks, more than a regular worker’s wages for two days."

Werner followed Fatty Wolf’s gaze. The man in the blue hat was talking to a middle-aged woman. She furtively pulled a small paper-wrapped package from her handbag, and the man quickly took it and stuffed it inside his coat.

"That one over there pretending to read the paper," Fatty Wolf continued, "deals in Coca-Cola. He can sell a single bottle for fifteen Marks."

’Fifteen Marks for one bottle?’ Werner was secretly astounded. In West Berlin, that much money could buy a dozen Cokes.

"And that one..." Fatty Wolf pointed in another direction. "He buys West German Marks. The official exchange rate is one-to-one, but he’ll give you one-to-four, or even one-to-five."

Werner observed the men closely. Their movements were practiced. They were acutely aware of their surroundings, ready to react to anything unexpected at a moment’s notice.

This was the malformed product of East Germany’s planned economy—a vast underground commercial network that existed to satisfy the demands the state couldn’t meet.

"Aren’t they afraid of getting caught?"

"Of course they are, but what can you do?" Fatty Wolf sneered. "The government says it guarantees supply, but what’s the reality? You can’t even buy something as basic as coffee. People have to live, so they find a way."

They turned into a small alley. Fatty Wolf stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door and knocked a specific pattern.

The door opened a crack, revealing a pair of wary eyes. After confirming it was Fatty Wolf, the person opened the door completely.

"Come on in, but it’s a bit crowded today."

Werner followed Fatty Wolf into the basement, and the scene before him was stunning.

The shelves were neatly lined with all sorts of "contraband": Marlboro cigarettes stacked like pyramids, the red Lipton Tea logo gleaming in the dim light, and even a few cans of the legendary Coca-Cola.

But what caught Werner’s eye were several bags of coffee beans on the top shelf.

"Colombian coffee, sixty East German Marks a bag." The basement’s proprietor, Klaus, noticed Werner’s gaze. "The real stuff, not that damned substitute."

Hearing the word "substitute," Werner couldn’t help but recall the bitter drink he’d had that morning—the coffee substitute bought from a state-run store.

It was a mixture of ground barley, chicory root, and acorns, colored with caramel. The government called it "coffee," but everyone knew it was a far cry from the real thing.

The East German Government had its reasons for doing this. Real coffee beans had to be purchased with precious Western currency, and the East German Mark was practically worthless on the international market.

To preserve its foreign currency reserves for more important industrial raw material imports, the East German Government had no choice but to cut corners on consumer goods.

The coffee substitute became a stopgap measure—it could satisfy the public’s psychological need for coffee while also conserving foreign currency.

Of course, the price of this policy was that the people could only drink this tasteless "pseudo-coffee," deluding themselves into imagining a normal life.

The same logic applied to the block of black bread Werner had bought from the state-run bakery that morning—it was hard as a rock, stretched with potato flour and various other grains.

It was another product of scarcity. With insufficient wheat flour, bakeries had to use potato flour to make up the difference.

Government propaganda claimed it was "nutritious whole-grain bread," but everyone knew that if there were enough high-quality wheat, no one would choose to eat this coarse, unpalatable stuff.

"You can’t even call that stuff coffee," Fatty Wolf added from the side. "It tastes like dishwater. But what can you do? Real coffee is too scarce, so people just have to make do."

Werner nodded to himself. This was the logic of East Germany’s planned economy: if you can’t meet the demand, just lower the standard and fool the people with substitutes. Then, use the propaganda machine to tell them that these inferior replacements are actually "healthier" and "more suitable for the builders of socialism."

"Besides this good stuff, I’ve also got some cheaper options." Klaus pointed to the bottom shelf. "African coffee beans. The quality is so-so, but they’re real. Ten Marks a bag, much better than that substitute crap."

Just then, a familiar mechanical voice sounded in Werner’s mind:

[System Notification: Coffee-related policies are about to be adjusted.]

[Recommendation: Monitor changes in the supply chain.] 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

[Warning: Information incomplete. Host analysis required for completion.]

Werner narrowed his eyes. The system’s prompts were always concise but packed with information. ’Policy adjustments, supply chain changes... what does that mean?’

He began to covertly gather clues.

"How’s the coffee business been lately?" Werner asked nonchalantly.

"What do you think?" Klaus grumbled. "The government keeps saying it’ll guarantee supply, but the state stores have nothing but that damned substitute coffee. If people want a cup of the real thing, they have to come to us."

"Is your supply chain stable?" Werner continued, fishing for information.

"That’s the problem." Klaus shook his head. "The border checks are getting stricter, so it’s getting harder to get goods from West Berlin. As for the Soviet Union, their supply isn’t as stable as it used to be, either."

Fatty Wolf nodded in agreement. "It’s getting really difficult to get a batch of good coffee these days."

Werner nodded thoughtfully. He appeared calm on the surface, but his mind was racing.

Unstable supply channels, reduced supply from the Soviet Union... These fragments of information started to piece together in his mind.

As a history enthusiast who had traveled back from the year 2025, he had some memory of the major historical events of this era.

Werner closed his eyes, and historical knowledge from his past life surfaced: In 1959, the Cuban Revolution led by Castro succeeded, overthrowing the Batista regime. After the victory, Cuba quickly aligned with the Soviet bloc, becoming a socialist state.

But the crucial point was that after the revolution, the Cuban government completely changed its economic structure.

To facilitate barter trade with the Soviet Union, Cuba shifted its entire economic focus to sugar cane production.

"Sugar for oil, sugar for weapons, sugar for industrial equipment"—this became the main theme of the Cuban economy.

And what about coffee?

Werner analyzed the situation calmly: coffee cultivation required a great deal of labor and land, but in the Soviet trade system, sugar cane was far more valuable than coffee. Therefore, the Cuban government had unhesitatingly converted coffee plantations into sugar cane fields. The production and export of coffee were no longer top priorities for the Cuban government, so output was bound to decrease year after year.

’Damn, that’s it,’ Werner cursed inwardly.

As a northern country, East Germany’s climate was completely unsuitable for growing coffee beans. All of its coffee had to be imported.

And the Soviet Union, as the "big brother" of the socialist bloc, had always been East Germany’s main supplier of coffee.

The Soviet Union would import coffee beans from Cuba and then distribute them to the various Warsaw Pact Countries—this was the socialist "international division of labor."

But now, with Cuba’s coffee production plummeting, the Soviet Union itself was facing shortages. How could it have any surplus to give to its younger brothers?

More importantly, Werner recalled a slogan he had seen that morning when passing through Alexanderplatz: "Be Frugal! Drink Less Coffee and More Barley Beverages!"

At the time, he had thought it was just standard government propaganda. Now, it was clear they were preemptively warning the public.

The government had already sniffed out the coming crisis and was starting to use its propaganda machine to guide the public to lower their expectations for coffee.

All the clues pointed to one conclusion: a coffee supply crisis was about to erupt!