(An AI generated story - because many other authors are doing it)
A Transmigrator's Guide to Accounting, Finance, and Accidental Mating
Chapter One: Full scholarship
Dginnie Inlost had three goals in life.
First, she wanted to graduate.
Second, she wanted to find a job that paid enough for her to afford food, housing, and the occasional luxury of not having to calculate whether buying a bottle of cooking oil would leave her short on rent.
Third, she wanted to find a decent man who understood the first two goals and would not make achieving them significantly more difficult.
These were not particularly ambitious goals.
In her previous life, she had considered them the bare minimum for a functioning adult.
In her current life, they had taken on the grandeur of an epic quest.
She had transmigrated.
Not that anyone in this world had believed her when she tried to explain it.
She had been born into a world of beastmen, where humans could assume animal forms, where entire cities floated above the clouds, and where the public transportation system included gravity-assisted teleportation tubes that could deposit commuters on the other side of the city in less time than it took to complain about traffic.
There were hover bikes.
There were skyships.
There were teleportation booths that looked suspiciously like the old telephone booths she remembered from her previous life, except that these ones required a destination code and a biometric scan before making their passengers disappear with a soft pop.
There were domestic robots that could cook, clean, do laundry, and apparently judge people for failing to sort their recycling correctly.
There were medical scanners that could identify a vitamin deficiency before the patient had finished describing their symptoms.
And there were beastmen who considered all of this perfectly ordinary.
Dginnie had initially been optimistic.
She had read enough novels to know how these things worked.
A transmigrator arrived in another world. A system appeared. A mysterious voice announced a mission. A golden finger bestowed miraculous abilities. Alternatively, the transmigrator brought knowledge from the modern world and revolutionised the local economy by inventing something as astonishing as a bicycle.
Dginnie had waited patiently for her system.
Nothing happened.
She had waited for her golden finger.
Nothing happened.
She had tried shouting at the sky, staring at walls, closing her eyes and concentrating, and even saying the word system in several different tones of voice.
Nothing happened.
She had tried shouting at the sky, staring at walls, closing her eyes and concentrating, and even saying the word system in several different tones of voice.
Nothing happened.
She had eventually accepted that the universe had apparently decided she was not worth the administrative overhead.
Then she had tried to exploit her modern knowledge.
This had lasted approximately three days.
On the first day, she had attempted to explain the concept of an electric motor to a mechanic.
The mechanic had looked at her with the polite concern reserved for people who had suffered a head injury.
On the second day, she had tried to suggest improvements to food preservation.
The shopkeeper had shown her a refrigerator that could preserve food for six months without appreciable loss of nutritional value.
On the third day, she had tried to sell someone a recipe.
The recipe was rejected because a domestic cooking unit could already produce it with better consistency, lower energy consumption, and a fraction of the preparation time.
Dginnie had gone home, sat on her bed, and stared at the ceiling.
Her modern world had not been modern enough.
In this world, her previous life was practically prehistory.
So she had started over.
She learned the language properly. She learned how the local economy worked. She learned to use the technology without accidentally ordering six hundred kilograms of flour when she wanted six hundred grams.
She took whatever part-time work she could find.
She studied at night.
She ate cheap food, wore second-hand clothes, and became intimately acquainted with the sort of budgeting that involved calculating the nutritional value of every coin.
She made mistakes.
She learned from them.
She made more mistakes.
She learned from those, too.
Eventually, she passed the entrance examinations for Ruthlessly Robust Beast Academy, the most prestigious institution in the capital.
And she won a full scholarship.
A FULL scholarship.
Tuition. Accommodation. Learning materials. Basic living provisions.
The sort of opportunity that could change a person's life.
Dginnie had sat on the floor of her cramped rented room when the acceptance notification arrived. She had read it three times before she believed it.
Then she had cried.
Not dramatically. Not beautifully.
She had cried with her face buried in a pillow because she was exhausted, relieved, and fairly certain that if she did not cry, her body would find some other inconvenient way to express the accumulated stress of the past several years.
The next morning, she had washed her face, eaten breakfast, and begun preparing for the future.
She was going to graduate.
She was going to find a decent job.
She was going to build a stable life.
And then, perhaps, she would find a man.
A reasonable man.
A man who understood that romance was lovely, but electricity bills were not paid through the power of love.
They would work together. They would support each other. They would eventually have children, who would grow up in a comfortable home and attend good schools.
The children would probably be rebellious and ungrateful.
That was practically a law of nature.
They would complain about chores, demand expensive things, and accuse their parents of being embarrassing when seen in public. They would have no idea how many sacrifices had gone into ensuring that they could eat, sleep, and attend school without worrying about whether the roof might leak.
Dginnie would love them anyway.
She might occasionally remind them of the price of their shoes.
She would absolutely keep the receipts.
It was a perfectly respectable future.
A sensible future.
A future that, as she was about to discover, had very little to do with the future Ruthlessly Robust Beast Academy had planned for her.
-------------------------------------------------------------
The academy shuttle deposited Dginnie at the main gates on a bright Monday morning.
She stepped out, adjusted the straps of her luggage, and looked up.
The gates were enormous.
Not merely tall, but magnificently, offensively tall, as though the architects had decided that ordinary gates were insufficient for an institution whose alumni included planetary financiers, military commanders, scientific pioneers, and enough wealthy beastmen to distort several regional housing markets.
Beyond them stood a collection of buildings that seemed to have been designed by someone who had never encountered a budget constraint.
Silver towers gleamed beneath the sun. Transparent walkways connected suspended gardens. Small transport platforms glided between buildings. A flock of tiny maintenance drones moved across the façade of the main administration building, polishing its surface until it shone.
Above the entrance, enormous characters announced the institution's name.
RUTHLESSLY ROBUST BEAST ACADEMY.
Below that, in smaller lettering:
Cultivating Excellence. Preserving the Species. Securing the Future.
Dginnie read the motto.
She blinked.
She read it again.
Preserving the species?
Well.
That was an oddly dramatic way of describing higher education.
Perhaps the beastmen had a particularly competitive academic culture.
She could understand that. If the population was divided among different beast clans, perhaps the academy had a tradition of encouraging talented students to contribute to their respective communities.
It was a little strange, but every society had its own priorities.
Dginnie squared her shoulders and walked through the gates.
She was here to study accounting and finance.
Numbers were universal.
Surely, in a world where teleportation booths existed, the basic principles of debits, credits, cash flow, and financial risk management remained reasonably stable.
She would learn the local regulations, master the software, graduate with excellent results, and find a job.
Simple.
She repeated this to herself as she entered the admissions hall.
She repeated it while waiting in line.
She repeated it when an administrative robot scanned her scholarship documents and announced that she had been assigned to a premium scholarship accommodation category.
She repeated it when she received her student identification card.
And she repeated it when a cheerful administrative assistant led her to a room containing several enormous containers.
"Your initial student provisions," the assistant explained. "Your clothing and personal supplies have been selected according to your size and health profile. Your learning device has been configured with the curriculum for your programme. The standard monthly replenishment schedule will begin next month."
"Oh, thank you!" Dginnie said.
This was excellent.
An entire wardrobe.
An electronic learning device.
Books and study materials.
And enough basic supplies to keep her from having to spend her first month calculating whether she could afford soap.
The academy was even better than she had expected.
She might actually be able to save some money.
Perhaps she could afford a little dessert now and then.
Perhaps she could buy a proper pillow.
Perhaps she could finally stop using a calculator to determine whether a second serving of meat was financially irresponsible.
Her eyes grew moist.
She was going to be fine.
She really was.
Then she opened the first container.
Uniforms.
Excellent.
She opened the second.
Personal hygiene supplies.
Also excellent.
She opened the third.
Underwear.
Fine.
She opened the fourth.
More underwear.
Rather a lot of underwear, actually.
There were everyday garments, sports garments, thermal garments, sleep garments, and several categories whose purposes were not immediately obvious.
Dginnie picked up a small, delicate garment between two fingers.
It was made of lace.
There was so much lace that she wondered whether the manufacturer had been paid by the metre.
It was also, she realised after turning it around, almost entirely transparent.
She stared at it.
Then she found the slit.
She stared at that, too.
Slowly, she lowered the garment back into the container.
Perhaps it was a ceremonial item.
A traditional garment worn during important cultural events.
That would explain the lace.
And the transparency.
And the slit.
Probably.
She opened the next box.
Her expression froze.
Condoms.
Boxes and boxes of condoms.
Different sizes. Different materials. Different types.
There were lubricants, reproductive health products, pregnancy tests, and several other items that made her increasingly reluctant to continue unpacking.
She picked up the inventory sheet.
It helpfully explained that the supplies were intended to support the health, comfort, and reproductive autonomy of students throughout their studies.
Reproductive autonomy.
That sounded very progressive.
She appreciated that.
But why did a university student need enough reproductive supplies to stock a small pharmacy?
Had there been a misunderstanding?
Perhaps the containers intended for the medical department had been delivered to her room by mistake.
Yes.
That had to be it.
She checked the labels.
Her name.
Her student number.
Her accommodation assignment.
Her scholarship category.
Everything was correct.
Dginnie sat down on the edge of her bed.
She looked at the containers.
Then she looked at her student identification card.
Then she looked back at the containers.
"Well," she murmured, "at least I'll never have to buy toilet paper."
It was the only comfort she could find.
And, as it turned out, it was not even the correct comfort.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Two: Accounting, Finance, and the Art of Getting Pregnant
Dginnie spent the next hour trying to convince herself that she was overreacting.
Perhaps beastmen simply had a different attitude towards intimacy.
Perhaps the academy was unusually committed to student welfare.
Perhaps the generous supply of reproductive health products was an expression of the institution's enlightened approach to personal responsibility.
Perhaps the transparent lace garments were a cultural thing.
Perhaps.
She was a very reasonable woman. She was perfectly capable of accepting that other societies had customs she did not understand.
She was not, however, prepared to discover that her entire academic timetable was dedicated to those customs.
The first indication came when she synchronised her electronic learning device with the academy's central timetable.
A series of notifications appeared.
WELCOME TO RUTHLESSLY ROBUST BEAST ACADEMY!
Your academic journey begins today.
Please review your timetable, confirm your compulsory modules, and familiarise yourself with the student welfare regulations.
Dginnie smiled.
She tapped the timetable.
Her smile faded.
She read the first line.
Then the second.
Then the third.
She scrolled down.
And down.
And down.
By the time she reached the end, she had stopped blinking.
Her timetable read:
Year One, Semester One: Accounting and Finance
- Introduction to Reproductive Health.
- Introduction to Birth Control Management and Conceiving Healthy Cubs.
- Introduction to Female Beast Health Management.
- Introduction to Male Beast Health Management.
- Introduction to Beast Anatomy and Zoology.
- Introduction to Conception and Early-Stage Pregnancy.
- Introduction to Mating Rituals of the 100 Major Beast Clans.
- Introduction to the Mating Rituals of Other Beast Clans.
- Preparing for Sexual Intercourse by the Individual.
- Introduction to Sexual Pleasures Between Mates.
- Beast Compatibility Practicals.
- Introduction to Financial Accounting.
- Introduction to Economic Principles.
- Introduction to Business Mathematics.
- Introduction to Capital Management.
Dginnie stared.
She scrolled back to the top.
Then she checked her course registration.
Programme: Accounting and Finance.
Correct.
Qualification: Bachelor of Accounting and Finance.
Correct.
Study Mode: Full-Time.
Correct.
Scholarship Status: Full Scholarship, Conditional.
Correct.
She stared at the word conditional.
It had been there in her acceptance letter, of course. She remembered reading it. Every scholarship had conditions. Maintain a certain grade point average, attend classes, comply with the institution's regulations, and do not set fire to the laboratory.
She had assumed the conditions would be along those lines.
Perhaps she had been naive.
No.
She had been optimistic.
There was a difference.
Dginnie opened the academy's curriculum guide.
The first paragraph cheerfully explained that the academy considered the physical, emotional, reproductive, and intellectual development of its students to be inseparable components of a complete education.
The second paragraph explained that all students, regardless of academic discipline, were required to complete the reproductive health curriculum.
The third paragraph explained that compatibility education was essential for the long-term stability of beast society.
Dginnie read that paragraph twice.
She was beginning to suspect that the academy had an entirely different understanding of the purpose of higher education.
She opened the course descriptions.
Introduction to Reproductive Health: An overview of reproductive anatomy, health maintenance, fertility cycles, and the physiological characteristics of the major beast clans.
Reasonable enough.
Introduction to Birth Control Management and Conceiving Healthy Cubs: A comprehensive examination of reproductive planning, fertility management, genetic health screening, and the responsibilities associated with raising offspring.
Still reasonable.
Introduction to Mating Rituals of the 100 Major Beast Clans: An introduction to the behavioural patterns, courtship conventions, and compatibility signals of the major beast clans.
Dginnie paused.
Compatibility signals?
She remembered the enormous gates.
Cultivating Excellence. Preserving the Species. Securing the Future.
Slowly, dread began to settle in her stomach.
She opened her scholarship contract.
She had already read the main sections when she accepted the offer. Academic performance requirements, attendance, conduct, confidentiality, the usual bureaucratic material.
But the document had been long.
Very long.
There had been supplementary regulations, several annexes, and a series of consent forms that she had signed electronically after the admissions officer assured her that they were standard documents.
Dginnie had been tired.
She had been so tired.
She had been working part-time, studying for entrance examinations, and trying to ensure that she had enough money to travel to the capital.
She had read the large print carefully.
She had skimmed the supplementary provisions.
She had trusted the institution.
It was, she now realised, a mistake.
She searched the document for the words compatibility and matebond.
The search results appeared immediately.
Dginnie clicked the first one.
Her eyes moved across the screen.
Then stopped.
Then moved backwards.
Then stopped again.
She read the passage aloud.
"'Full-scholarship recipients shall participate in the academy's compulsory compatibility and reproductive education programme. Each recipient shall make a good-faith effort to establish a mutually consensual, registered matebond with a compatible partner within the first academic year.'"
She swallowed.
She continued.
"'Following the establishment of a matebond, the recipient's sponsoring mate shall assume primary responsibility for the continuation of tuition funding and associated educational expenses. The academy shall continue to provide standard monthly welfare and sanitary provisions, together with such additional support as may be available under the applicable student welfare regulations.'"
Her fingers tightened around the device.
There was more.
Of course there was more.
"'Students who have not established a matebond by the conclusion of their first academic year may be transferred to the participation-only scholarship category, subject to review. Such students may complete approved coursework but shall not be eligible for the full degree award unless the sponsorship requirement is subsequently satisfied.'"
Dginnie stopped breathing.
Participation-only?
She scrolled.
"'Pregnancy and childbirth are recognised as normal life events and shall not, in themselves, constitute grounds for academic penalty. Eligible students may apply for deferred coursework, subject to a maximum accumulated deferment of five academic years. Cubs may accompany their parents to approved classes during the early stages of life, subject to the relevant health and safety provisions.'"
She stared at the screen.
The words began to blur.
She blinked hard.
Then she went back to the beginning and read the entire section again.
The meaning did not change.
The academy expected her to find a mate.
Within one year.
The mate was expected to sponsor her studies.
Pregnancy was not merely permitted but explicitly accommodated.
And if she failed to find a sponsor, she might spend years studying only to receive a certificate of participation instead of the degree she had worked so hard to obtain.
Dginnie slowly placed the device on her bed.
She covered her face with both hands.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then, very quietly, she whispered, "I want to speak to the manager."
Unfortunately, the manager was the entire beast civilisation.
And it appeared to have a very specific agenda.
--------------------------------------------------------------
There were two things Dginnie knew about university education.
The first was that universities liked money.
The second was that universities liked money so much that they would find creative ways to acquire it.
Her previous world's universities had tuition fees, accommodation fees, administrative fees, student service fees, laboratory fees, and enough miscellaneous charges to make a person suspect that breathing on campus might eventually become a billable service.
But at least the financial arrangement had been relatively straightforward.
You paid the institution.
The institution taught you.
You graduated.
Hopefully, you found a job.
Here, the arrangement appeared to be different.
The institution taught you.
You found a mate.
Your mate paid the institution.
And, if everything went according to plan, the institution acquired a new generation of educated beast cubs.
Dginnie sat at her desk and opened a blank document.
She titled it:
EMERGENCY LIFE PLAN: REVISED VERSION
Underneath, she wrote:
Problem One: Scholarship conditions are insane.
She considered this.
Then she deleted insane and replaced it with unexpectedly complicated.
She did not want to be unfair.
Perhaps there were legitimate reasons for the system.
The beastmen had advanced medical technology, but technology did not necessarily solve every demographic problem. Perhaps some clans had low birth rates. Perhaps interspecies compatibility was difficult to achieve. Perhaps the academy had been established partly to encourage educated beastmen to form stable families.
She could understand the social reasoning.
What she could not understand was why the institution had concealed the practical implications behind several hundred pages of legal language.
She added a second line.
Problem Two: I need to find out whether the sponsorship requirement is negotiable.
A third followed.
Problem Three: I need to find out whether the academy's compatibility programme is as horrifying as it sounds.
She paused.
Then she added:
Problem Four: I need to identify the person responsible for designing this timetable and ask whether they have ever heard of accounting.
There.
A plan.
It was not a good plan, but it was a plan.
Dginnie had survived worse.
She had survived a world where the price of vegetables changed twice a day, where a broken appliance could destroy an entire month's savings, and where every job application seemed to require three years of experience for an entry-level position.
She had survived transmigration without a system, without a golden finger, and without the ability to invent anything more impressive than a slightly more efficient spreadsheet.
She could survive a university.
Probably.
She opened the academy's student handbook and searched for the section on scholarship appeals.
There were several options.
Academic hardship.
Medical hardship.
Financial hardship.
Family hardship.
Exceptional circumstances.
Dginnie selected Exceptional Circumstances.
The application form asked her to describe the circumstances affecting her scholarship eligibility.
She typed:
I was not aware that the full scholarship required me to obtain a mate within the first academic year.
She read it.
Then she deleted it.
It sounded rather foolish when written down.
She had signed the contract.
Whether she had understood it or not, the institution had evidence of her consent.
She tried again.
I would like to request clarification regarding the requirement to establish a matebond as a condition of continued scholarship funding. Specifically, I would like to know whether alternative sponsorship arrangements are available.
Better.
Professional.
Reasonable.
She submitted the enquiry.
The response arrived forty-seven seconds later.
Dear Student Inlost,
Thank you for contacting the Scholarship Administration Office.
The requirements associated with your scholarship category are standard and are not generally subject to individual exemption. Students experiencing difficulties may consult their assigned welfare adviser.
We would also like to remind you that compatibility sessions are available throughout the week. Early participation is strongly encouraged, as successful matches may require time to establish. While at least one matebond is required by the end of your first year, you are welcome to establish more than one if required.
We wish you every success in your academic and personal development.
Dginnie read the message.
Then she read it again.
Then she closed the notification.
"Of course," she said.
She leaned back in her chair and looked at the ceiling.
Somewhere, in a distant corner of the universe, an author was probably laughing.
She sincerely hoped that author developed a persistent itch in an inaccessible location.
-----------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three: The Roommate Problem
Dginnie's next problem was her accommodation.
She had expected a dormitory.
She had expected a small room, a narrow bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and perhaps a communal bathroom.
She had expected to share a corridor with other students.
What she had not expected was a suite with two bedrooms, a common living area, a kitchenette, a private bathroom, and a panoramic view of the capital's floating gardens.
Nor had she expected the academy to assign her a roommate who looked as though he could lift the entire building and relocate it if he disliked the view.
He was standing in the common area when she entered.
He was tall.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Very tall.
The second thing she noticed was that he had shoulders broad enough to make the doorway look poorly designed.
The third thing she noticed was that he was wearing a sleeveless shirt.
This was not, in itself, remarkable.
The problem was that the shirt appeared to have been designed by someone who believed fabric was an optional accessory for men with sufficiently developed pectoral muscles.
His arms were muscular. His waist was narrow. His abdomen was an exercise in anatomical overachievement.
His hair was dark, slightly tousled, and long enough to fall across his forehead.
Two fluffy ears protruded from the top of his head.
A large, equally fluffy tail moved lazily behind him.
He had a handsome face, sharp eyes, and a full set of teeth that made Dginnie think of a predator.
She could not determine which predator.
Wolf?
Tiger?
Leopard?
Some enormous bear-like creature?
Perhaps a carnivorous reptile?
The ears and tail were clearly mammalian, but the teeth were not particularly helpful. His canines were prominent, and the shape of his jaw suggested that his species had not evolved around a diet of steamed vegetables.
He turned towards her.
His ears twitched.
"You're Inlost?"
Dginnie adjusted the strap of her bag.
"Yes. Dginnie Inlost. I believe we're roommates."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then his tail moved again.
"You're smaller than I expected."
Dginnie looked up at him.
She was not particularly short by human standards.
By his standards, she apparently qualified as portable luggage.
"Thank you?"
His eyebrows drew together.
"That wasn't an insult."
"Wonderful. I'll try not to take it as one."
He stared at her.
She stared back.
Then one of his ears tilted slightly.
"You're strange."
"That's a relief. I was worried I'd be ordinary."
For the first time, his expression changed.
It was subtle.
The corner of his mouth moved.
His tail swished once.
Dginnie noticed both things.
She had no idea what either meant.
He extended a hand.
"Kael Veyr."
She shook it.
His hand was enormous.
Warm, too.
His grip was careful, which she appreciated. She had once shaken hands with a man who seemed to believe the purpose of a handshake was to establish dominance by crushing the other person's bones.
Kael did not do that.
He simply held her hand for a moment, then released it.
"Welcome home."
Dginnie blinked.
"Sorry?"
"Our suite." He gestured around them. "Welcome home."
"Oh."
That was unexpectedly considerate.
"Thank you."
He watched her for another moment.
Then he picked up her largest suitcase.
Dginnie immediately reached for it.
"I can manage that."
"I know."
He carried it towards the spare bedroom.
She followed him, mildly offended by the fact that he had managed to make her feel both grateful and patronised in the space of three seconds.
He placed the suitcase beside the bed.
"Your room has its own bathroom. The cleaning unit runs at six in the morning, but you can adjust the schedule. The kitchen's shared. The refrigerator identifies food ownership automatically, so you don't need to label anything unless you want to."
Dginnie stared at him.
He continued.
"The shower temperature is adjustable by voice. The bed can change firmness. Don't put anything metal in the waste disposal unit. It will probably reject it, but the maintenance drone will complain."
"That's very helpful."
He shrugged.
"I've been here for two years."
She glanced around.
The room was larger than the entire apartment she had rented during the last six months of her previous life.
The bed looked as though it had been designed for someone who valued both comfort and the continued existence of their spine.
The desk was equipped with a built-in display.
The wardrobe could apparently regulate clothing temperature and humidity.
The bathroom mirror had a medical scanning function.
Dginnie was beginning to suspect that the academy's definition of a basic student room was somewhat different from her own.
She turned back to Kael.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"Why are we sharing a suite?"
He blinked.
"Because we're roommates."
"Yes, I gathered that. I meant, why are we roommates? I assumed accommodation was separated by gender."
"It usually is."
Dginnie waited.
Kael waited.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
Finally, she said, "And?"
"And we're compatible."
Dginnie felt something cold slide down her spine.
"Compatible in what sense?"
His ears twitched.
"Your compatibility assessment."
"My what?"
"The assessment you completed during admissions."
She remembered an enormous questionnaire.
Questions about her preferred living environment, sleep schedule, dietary habits, health conditions, and tolerance for noise.
There had also been questions about her preferences regarding personal space, social interaction, and conflict resolution.
She had thought it was a roommate-matching survey.
It had not occurred to her that the academy might be using the information for anything else.
"What did the assessment say?"
Kael looked faintly surprised.
"You didn't read the results?"
"No."
"They assigned us a high compatibility rating."
"High compatibility."
"Yes."
Dginnie stared at him.
Then she slowly turned towards her luggage.
She had brought three suitcases.
One contained clothes.
One contained books and personal belongings.
The third contained a carefully organised collection of cheap snacks she had bought in bulk before travelling to the capital.
She had not packed a weapon.
She was beginning to regret that decision.
"Kael," she said carefully, "I think there may have been a misunderstanding."
"What misunderstanding?"
"I am here to study accounting."
"I know."
"And finance."
"I know."
"And I would prefer to keep my living arrangements entirely professional."
He looked at her.
Then, to her astonishment, he laughed.
It was a low, warm sound.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
Just genuinely amused.
"You're worried I'm going to jump you?"
Dginnie nearly swallowed her tongue.
"I did not say that!"
"You implied it."
"I implied that I value appropriate boundaries."
"Of course."
He was still smiling.
Dginnie decided that she disliked his smile.
Not because it was unattractive.
Because it was attractive enough to be distracting, and she had absolutely no intention of being distracted by a man who might represent a compulsory component of her scholarship.
"Do you know what the academy's compatibility programme involves?" she asked.
"Yes."
"And you know that scholarship students are expected to establish a matebond within their first year?"
"Yes."
"And you're comfortable with that?"
Kael's smile faded slightly.
He studied her face.
"Are you?"
Dginnie opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Then she sighed.
"No."
He nodded once.
"Then we don't do anything you're uncomfortable with."
She blinked.
It was such a simple answer that she had no idea what to do with it.
He continued, "The compatibility assessment isn't a mating contract. Neither is sharing a room. The academy can recommend a partner, but it can't force you to accept one."
"But the scholarship—"
"The scholarship is a different matter." His expression became more serious. "The funding requirements are unpleasant, but you should speak to your welfare adviser before assuming you have no alternatives."
Dginnie looked at him.
For the first time since arriving at the academy, she felt as though someone had given her a piece of useful information without wrapping it in fifty pages of legal language.
"Thank you."
Kael nodded.
Then his tail curled slightly behind him.
Dginnie glanced at it.
It was extraordinarily fluffy.
She looked away.
She looked back.
It was still extraordinarily fluffy.
She looked away again.
This was ridiculous.
She was an adult woman.
She had survived transmigration.
She had earned a place at the most prestigious academy in the capital.
She was not going to be defeated by a tail.
"So," Kael said, "what beast are you?"
Dginnie turned back to him.
"I'm sorry?"
"Your beast form."
"My what?"
He stared at her.
She stared at him.
His ears slowly angled backwards.
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"Your beast form."
Dginnie considered her options.
She could lie.
She could pretend to be offended.
She could explain that she was a transmigrator from another world where people did not turn into animals.
She could also throw herself out of the window and hope the academy had a sufficiently advanced emergency landing system.
"I don't have one," she said finally.
Kael went very still.
His tail stopped moving.
His ears stood upright.
For one terrible moment, Dginnie wondered whether she had accidentally insulted his entire ancestry.
Then he said, very quietly, "You're human?"
"Yes."
"Completely human?"
"As far as I know."
He stared at her.
Dginnie shifted uncomfortably.
"Is that a problem?"
"No."
He said it too quickly.
Then he looked away.
"No," he repeated. "It's not a problem."
His tail began moving again.
A little faster this time.
Dginnie wondered whether he was nervous.
Then she remembered that she had absolutely no idea how to interpret beastman body language.
Perhaps the tail meant he was annoyed.
Perhaps it meant he was happy.
Perhaps it meant he needed to use the bathroom.
She was not going to ask.
Not today.
She had enough problems.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Four: A Very Fluffy Administrative Crisis
Dginnie discovered the truth about Kael's tail the following morning.
She was sitting at the kitchen counter, eating breakfast, when he emerged from his bedroom.
His hair was damp from the shower.
His ears were relaxed.
His tail was moving slowly from side to side.
He looked irritatingly well-rested.
Dginnie, who had spent half the night reading the academy regulations, looked as though she had been personally victimised by the education system.
Kael glanced at her.
"You didn't sleep."
"I slept."
"How long?"
"Long enough."
"That's not a number."
"Neither is long enough."
He opened the refrigerator.
The food dispenser produced a plate of something that looked like eggs, although Dginnie had learned not to assume anything about local food based on appearance.
He placed the plate on the counter and sat opposite her.
"What are you reading?"
"Your institution's attempts to ruin my life."
He looked at her electronic device.
"The scholarship contract?"
"Yes."
"Have you spoken to your adviser?"
"I have an appointment this afternoon."
"Good."
He took a bite of his breakfast.
Dginnie watched him for a moment.
Then she said, "Can I ask you something else?"
"You're very inquisitive."
"I'm an accounting student. It's practically a medical condition."
He gave her a brief smile.
She decided not to acknowledge it.
"Why are you showing your ears and tail?"
He stopped chewing.
Slowly, he lowered his fork.
"What?"
"Your ears and tail. Why aren't you concealing them?"
He looked at her for several seconds.
Then he said, "Because I'm comfortable."
"Comfortable."
"Yes."
"Wouldn't it be more convenient to conceal them? You wouldn't have to worry about people touching them accidentally."
His ears moved.
Dginnie watched them.
One tilted slightly forward.
The other followed.
It was fascinating.
She had never seen anything quite like it.
"Why would people touch them accidentally?" he asked.
"I don't know. Someone might bump into you. Or your tail might get caught in a door. Or someone might mistake it for a cushion."
Kael stared at her.
Then he put his fork down.
"Dginnie."
"Yes?"
"Are you serious?"
"Entirely."
He covered his mouth with one hand.
His shoulders shook.
Dginnie narrowed her eyes.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are literally shaking."
He made a strangled sound.
Then he laughed.
Dginnie put down her spoon.
"I see. Very mature."
"I'm sorry." He took a breath, visibly trying to regain control of himself. "It's just that most people know what it means when a beastman displays his ears and tail."
Dginnie froze.
A dreadful suspicion began to form.
She looked at his ears.
Then his tail.
Then his face.
"Oh, no."
His expression softened.
"Yes."
"Oh, absolutely not."
He blinked.
"What?"
"You're flirting with me."
He became very still.
Dginnie pointed at his tail.
"You've been flirting with me."
His ears went rigid.
His tail stopped moving.
Then, with extraordinary care, he asked, "What makes you think that?"
"Your ears. Your tail. Your entire furry situation."
"My entire furry situation?"
"Don't distract me."
He pressed his lips together.
She could practically see him trying not to laugh.
Dginnie was not amused.
"I have been sharing a suite with you for less than twenty-four hours, and you've been walking around displaying your beast features as though I should somehow understand what that means."
Kael stared at her.
Then he said, "You thought I was doing it accidentally?"
"I thought it was a medical condition!"
He made another strangled noise.
Dginnie folded her arms.
"Go on. Laugh. Get it out of your system."
He did.
For nearly a full minute.
Dginnie considered throwing a piece of toast at him.
When he finally recovered, his ears were angled backwards, and his cheeks were faintly flushed.
"All right," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
"Then explain."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Showing your beast features can mean different things depending on the context. Some people do it because they're comfortable. Some do it because they're relaxed around someone. Some do it because they're interested in them."
"Interested."
"Romantically."
Dginnie closed her eyes.
She had known it.
She had absolutely known it.
Somewhere, deep inside her, the part of her brain responsible for recognising obvious social disasters had been screaming.
"And the tail?" she asked weakly.
"Also body language."
"Wonderful."
"Why?"
She opened her eyes.
"Because I thought it was fluffy."
Kael blinked.
She looked at him with the solemn dignity of a woman whose life had become an academic case study in cultural misunderstanding.
"It is fluffy," he said.
"That is not the point."
"What is the point?"
"The point is that I wanted to touch it."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Kael's ears shot straight up.
His tail puffed out so dramatically that Dginnie wondered whether it had doubled in size.
She stared.
He stared.
Then he turned his head away.
For the first time since she had met him, Kael Veyr appeared to have completely lost the ability to speak.
Dginnie felt a sudden, terrible sense of triumph.
At last.
A weakness.
She leaned forward.
"So?"
He cleared his throat.
"So what?"
"Am I allowed to touch it?"
His tail gave a violent twitch.
Dginnie smiled.
"Without taking responsibility?"
Kael turned back to her.
His expression was so carefully composed that she almost believed he was unaffected.
Almost.
"That depends on what you mean by responsibility."
Dginnie pointed a finger at him.
"No."
"I haven't said anything."
"You were about to."
"Perhaps."
"No."
His mouth curved.
"Then the answer is yes. You may touch my tail, provided you ask first and stop if I ask you to stop. It doesn't obligate you to anything else."
Dginnie paused.
That was a remarkably reasonable answer.
She had expected a complicated cultural explanation involving courtship, exclusivity, and perhaps a legally binding document.
Instead, he had given her permission to pet a tail.
She considered this.
Then she asked, "Can I do it now?"
Kael's ears twitched.
"Yes."
Dginnie stood, walked around the counter, and approached him.
His tail was magnificent.
It was thick, dark, and unbelievably soft-looking.
She reached out cautiously.
Kael held perfectly still.
Her fingers sank into the fur.
Dginnie stopped breathing.
It was softer than it looked.
It was warmer than she expected.
It was, without question, the finest thing she had touched since arriving in this world.
She stroked it once.
Twice.
Then she looked up at Kael.
He was staring straight ahead.
His ears were rigid.
His shoulders were tense.
His tail had become so still that she wondered whether he was holding his breath.
He away from her.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"Fine."
"You look uncomfortable."
"I'm fine."
"Your ears are doing something strange."
"They're not."
"They are."
He closed his eyes.
"Dginnie."
"Yes?"
"Please keep petting it or stop. You're making this worse."
She withdrew her hand.
Kael opened his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Dginnie said, "Well. That was educational."
He looked at her.
She looked at him.
And then, to her horror, she realised what she had just done.
She had touched the tail of a man who was flirting with her.
In beastman culture.
In a prestigious beast academy.
While living in the same suite.
Where she was contractually expected to find a mate within the year.
Dginnie slowly returned to her chair.
She picked up her spoon.
She took a bite of breakfast.
She chewed.
She swallowed.
Then she whispered, "I'm going to need a bigger handbook."
Kael, whose tail was still puffed up, nodded gravely.
"Probably."
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Chapter Five: The Compatibility Market
Dginnie attended her first compatibility session that afternoon.
She had imagined a quiet room.
Perhaps a counsellor's office.
Possibly a series of interviews with prospective partners, during which everyone would behave like rational adults discussing long-term compatibility.
She had expected questions about finances, living arrangements, professional goals, and family planning.
She had even prepared a list.
Her list included:
- Employment expectations.
- Financial independence.
- Division of household responsibilities.
- Attitudes towards children.
- Conflict resolution.
- Long-term housing plans.
- Whether the prospective partner believed cooking was a basic life skill or an optional hobby.
She had not prepared for the ballroom.
The compatibility centre occupied an entire wing of the academy's main administration complex.
The compatibility centre occupied an entire wing of the academy's main administration complex.
Its entrance was decorated with flowers.
The reception hall contained elegant seating areas, refreshments, and a series of transparent displays showing the profiles of registered participants.
A string quartet played soft music near the windows.
Several impeccably dressed beastmen stood in small groups, talking to one another.
Some had horns.
Some had wings.
Some had scales.
One man had six arms.
Dginnie looked at him.
He noticed.
She quickly looked away.
She was trying to be polite.
She was also trying to determine whether she would need to learn six-handed handshaking etiquette.
A woman in a formal uniform approached her.
"Miss Inlost?"
"Yes."
"Welcome to the compatibility centre. I'm Adviser Merrow. I'll be overseeing your introductory session."
"Thank you."
"Please follow me."
Dginnie followed her through a corridor into a private consultation room.
The adviser gestured towards a chair.
Dginnie sat.
A display appeared on the wall.
It contained her profile.
Her name.
Her age.
Her academic programme.
Her health information.
Her scholarship status.
Her compatibility rating.
And a list of her potential matches.
Dginnie stared at the screen.
There were thirty-seven names.
Thirty-seven.
She had been at the academy for less than two days.
"Is this a mistake?" she asked.
"No. Your compatibility profile has attracted considerable interest."
"Why?"
The adviser looked surprised.
"You're a full-scholarship student at Ruthlessly Robust Beast Academy."
"Yes, but—"
"Your academic aptitude places you in a very small percentage of the population. Your educational prospects are excellent, and your health profile indicates no significant barriers to reproductive compatibility."
Dginnie stared at her.
The adviser continued in the same pleasant tone.
"Your human physiology is also of considerable interest to several research institutions and beast clans. Humans are exceptionally rare in the capital, and successful cross-species compatibility is a subject of ongoing scientific and demographic interest."
Dginnie felt a headache forming behind her eyes.
"So I'm popular because I'm academically gifted and biologically unusual."
"That's one way to describe it."
"And everyone here wants to mate with me?"
"Not everyone. Some are interested in sponsorship arrangements. Others are seeking long-term partners. A few have expressed an interest in supporting your academic career without necessarily pursuing a matebond."
Dginnie stared at the adviser.
"That last category exists?"
"Certainly."
"Why didn't anyone tell me that?"
"Because you're only at the beginning of the programme. We usually explain the various arrangements during the introductory session."
Dginnie took a slow breath.
Perhaps there was hope.
Perhaps she could find a sponsor who would fund her studies without expecting a romantic relationship.
Perhaps she could negotiate a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Perhaps she could graduate without having to turn her love life into a competitive bidding process.
She leaned forward.
"Can you tell me more about the sponsorship-only arrangements?"
"Of course. However, they are relatively uncommon among full-scholarship students."
"Why?"
"Because most sponsors prefer to establish a matebond if the compatibility rating is sufficiently high."
"Of course they do."
The adviser smiled sympathetically.
"You're welcome to decline any prospective partner. The compatibility sessions are voluntary, and no student is required to accept a match."
Dginnie seized upon this information.
"Then what happens if I decline everyone?"
"That depends on your scholarship status."
The headache became a migraine.
"Of course it does."
Adviser Merrow brought up another screen.
"This is the current list of participants registered for today's session. You're free to review their profiles and select anyone you'd like to meet."
Dginnie glanced at the names.
There were wealthy heirs.
Successful business owners.
Graduates of the academy.
Researchers.
Military officers.
A few professors.
She stopped scrolling.
Then she scrolled back up.
"Professors?"
"Yes."
"Teachers can participate?"
"Certainly. The academy has a policy permitting qualified staff members to register for compatibility sessions, provided they comply with the relevant conflict-of-interest regulations."
Dginnie stared at the screen.
A professor of economics was apparently interested in meeting her.
So was a senior researcher in reproductive genetics.
So was a man who owned a chain of luxury hotels.
So was a beastman whose occupation was listed as interstellar resource acquisition.
She did not know what that meant.
She was not sure she wanted to know.
"Is this a matchmaking service or a recruitment fair?"
The adviser considered the question.
"Both, in a sense."
Dginnie covered her face.
She had come to university to learn accounting.
She was now being presented with a catalogue of potential mates.
There was a hotel magnate.
There was a professor.
There was a man with six arms.
And somewhere in her suite, a very fluffy beastman was probably still recovering from having his tail petted.
She lowered her hands.
"Can I ask a question?"
"Certainly."
"Is there anyone here who just wants to have dinner with me and discuss the economy?"
Adviser Merrow paused.
Then she smiled.
"Several, actually."
Dginnie sat up straight.
"Really?"
"Yes. Financial compatibility is a significant component of long-term partnership assessments. We have participants who are particularly interested in meeting students of accounting and finance."
For the first time that afternoon, Dginnie felt a flicker of genuine hope.
Perhaps this would work out after all.
Perhaps she could find someone sensible.
Someone who valued her intelligence.
Someone who understood that a woman's academic ambitions were not an obstacle to her future family.
Someone who would happily discuss household budgets, investment strategies, and the merits of fixed versus variable interest rates over dinner.
She could work with that.
She could absolutely work with that.
Then Adviser Merrow added, "Of course, some participants may also be interested in your fertility prospects, so I recommend reviewing their profiles carefully."
Dginnie slowly lowered her head onto the desk.
She stayed there for several seconds.
Then she lifted it again.
"Please show me the hotel magnate."
The adviser blinked.
"The hotel magnate?"
"Yes."
"May I ask why?"
Dginnie straightened her clothes.
"Because if I'm going to be commercially evaluated, I would at least like to meet someone who understands the importance of a good balance sheet."
Adviser Merrow stared at her.
Then she began to laugh.
Dginnie did not mind.
It was the first time anyone had laughed with her rather than at her.
And, for the moment, she would take what she could get.
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