Chapter Six: The Price of a Degree
By the end of the week, Dginnie had learned three important things about Ruthlessly Robust Beast Academy.
First, the institution was extremely good at education.
Second, the institution was extremely good at providing students with resources.
Third, the institution had a reproductive agenda that could make a family planning office look like a casual hobby club.
Her classes were, in fact, excellent.
The accounting lectures were clear and rigorous. The financial mathematics modules were challenging enough to keep her awake. The economics department employed lecturers who could explain complex market behaviour without making her want to throw herself into a gravity tube.
The reproductive health courses were also surprisingly informative.
Dginnie had expected a series of embarrassing lectures about mating rituals.
Instead, she learned about species-specific health requirements, fertility management, genetic screening, reproductive endocrinology, and the physiological differences between the major beast clans.
The academy took these subjects seriously.
Very seriously.
The instructors were professional. The materials were scientifically detailed. The practical sessions were conducted under strict consent and safety protocols.
Dginnie had to admit that the curriculum was not inherently unreasonable.
She simply objected to the assumption that her academic education should come with a mandatory romantic objective.
There was a difference between teaching someone about reproduction and expecting them to reproduce.
She wrote that distinction in her notes.
Then she underlined it twice.
Her second week was also when she discovered that Kael was not merely a large, fluffy roommate with an inconveniently attractive face.
He was a senior student in strategic resource management.
He had an excellent academic record.
He was financially independent.
He had several investment accounts.
He owned a small apartment in the capital.
He also had a part-time position in the academy's logistics department, where he apparently spent his afternoons helping to coordinate supply chains for institutions across three planetary regions.
In other words, he was precisely the sort of person Dginnie had hoped to meet when she imagined finding a sensible man.
This was deeply inconvenient.
She preferred her potential romantic interests to be less obviously suitable.
It made rejecting them easier.
Unfortunately, Kael seemed determined to make himself useful.
When her learning device malfunctioned, he helped her repair it.
When she struggled to understand the academy's transport network, he showed her the fastest routes.
When she accidentally ordered the wrong ingredients from the food dispenser, he taught her how to correct the order.
When she discovered that the academy's financial software used a system of automated predictive accounting, he explained the underlying logic without making her feel stupid for asking.
He never mocked her ignorance of local customs.
He never complained when she asked questions.
He never tried to touch her without permission.
And he always seemed to know when she was tired enough that she needed food more than advice.
It was infuriating.
One evening, she found him sitting at the kitchen counter, reviewing a financial report.
She had spent the afternoon in lectures, the evening in the library, and the last hour trying to understand a particularly complicated section of the an economy calculation mathematical model. That was while trying to also understand the full length, weight and depth of her student fees and how to achieve financial freedom without having to give up her reproductive rights.
She dropped into the chair opposite him.
"I have a question."
He looked up.
"That makes approximately two hundred and forty-seven since you arrived."
"You're counting?"
"No. I'm estimating."
"Very helpful."
"What is it?"
Dginnie placed her device on the table.
"How much money would you need to sponsor a student through a four-year degree?"
Kael's expression changed.
"Why?"
"Because I'm trying to determine whether the sponsorship requirement is financially realistic."
"It depends on the programme."
"Accounting and finance."
"Tuition, accommodation, living expenses, and the required welfare provisions?"
"Yes."
He thought for a moment.
"Less than most people assume. The academy subsidises a substantial portion of the educational costs. A private sponsor would pay the remaining fees and provide whatever additional support the contract requires."
Dginnie took out a notebook.
"Could you give me an approximate figure?"
He did.
She wrote it down.
Then she calculated the total cost of her degree.
Then she calculated the cost of living.
Then she added a contingency fund.
Then she calculated how much she would need to earn if she wanted to remain financially independent.
Kael watched her.
"You could afford that."
Dginnie looked up.
"Could I?"
"Yes. With the right job, probably."
She stared at the figures.
The amount was not insignificant, but it was not impossible.
It was simply difficult to earn while studying full-time.
Which, she supposed, was precisely why the academy had designed its scholarship system as it had.
Talented students received educational support.
Sponsors received access to potential mates.
The academy received educated graduates and, hopefully, a new generation of cubs.
Everyone benefited.
Except, perhaps, the students who had no interest in marrying before graduation.
Or the students who wanted to choose their partners without a financial deadline.
Or the students who would rather not have their biological compatibility displayed on a public database.
Dginnie sighed.
"I understand the economic rationale."
Kael nodded.
"But?"
"But I don't like it."
"Fair enough."
She looked at him.
"You don't think I'm being unreasonable?"
"No."
"Really?"
"You're allowed to disagree with an institution's policies even when you understand why they exist."
Dginnie stared at him.
Then she slowly closed her notebook.
That was a remarkably sensible thing to say.
It was also precisely the sort of thing she had hoped a future partner would understand.
She did not like where this was going.
Not one bit.
"So," she said, changing the subject, "what beast are you?"
Kael blinked.
Then he laughed.
"You still haven't figured it out?"
"No!"
"You're studying beast anatomy."
"I'm studying accounting!"
"You have three zoology textbooks on your device."
"Those are compulsory modules!"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter.
"Take a guess."
Dginnie studied him.
Fluffy ears.
Fluffy tail.
Sharp teeth.
Large muscles.
Excellent hearing, judging by the way he could identify her footsteps from the corridor.
He had a keen sense of smell, too. She had once brought a bag of sweet pastries into the suite, and he had appeared in the kitchen before she had even opened the packaging.
Wolf?
Possibly.
But his ears were a little rounder than she expected.
And his tail was far too thick.
A large feline, perhaps?
No. His facial structure was wrong.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Some kind of bear?"
Kael looked offended.
"Do I look like a bear?"
"You look like you could wrestle one."
"That isn't the same thing."
"Fine. A wolf."
He shook his head.
"A fox?"
"No."
"A lynx?"
"No."
"A large, carnivorous rabbit?"
He stared at her.
Dginnie stared back.
Then he began laughing so hard that his ears flattened.
She folded her arms.
"I'm doing my best."
"I can see that."
"Well, perhaps you should wear a name tag."
He wiped a hand over his face.
"Would it help if I told you that my clan is known for its strength, territorial instincts, and excellent resource management?"
Dginnie considered this.
"No."
He laughed again.
She picked up her device.
"I'll find out eventually."
"I'm sure you will."
She rose from her chair.
Then she paused.
"Kael?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
His expression softened.
"For what?"
"For helping me."
He looked at her for a moment.
Then his tail moved slowly behind him.
"You're welcome, Dginnie."
She returned to her room.
Behind her, she heard him exhale.
Then he muttered something under his breath.
She did not catch the words.
But she had the distinct impression that her roommate was experiencing a problem of his own.
------------------------------------------------
Chapter Seven: A Little Problem Called Consent
The academy's compatibility practicals began in the third week.
Dginnie approached them with the grim determination of a woman who had accepted that her life was no longer under her control but was prepared to negotiate for partial custody.
The first session was theoretical.
The second involved simulated compatibility assessments.
The third required students to practise identifying courtship signals from different beast clans.
Dginnie failed spectacularly.
She identified a display of dominance as a request for personal space.
She mistook a courtship offering for a warning.
She interpreted a perfectly ordinary territorial gesture as an invitation to discuss property law.
The instructor eventually put down her assessment sheet.
"Miss Inlost, may I ask whether you have prior experience with beastmen?"
"No."
"Any experience observing their courtship behaviours?"
"No."
"Any experience living with one?"
Dginnie hesitated.
"Does sharing a suite with a very large man who keeps showing me his tail count?"
The instructor blinked.
Then she slowly removed her glasses.
"His tail?"
"Yes."
"Miss Inlost."
"Yes?"
"That is a significant courtship signal in his clan."
Dginnie closed her eyes.
"I know that now."
"How long has this been happening?"
"Since the first day."
The instructor looked at her.
Then she looked at the ceiling.
Then she sighed.
"Well. At least you're learning."
Dginnie was not sure whether that was comforting.
By the end of the session, she had acquired a list of twenty-seven courtship signals, twelve categories of compatibility indicators, and a strong desire to move to a remote island where the only living creature was a very polite accounting robot.
Unfortunately, the next session was worse.
The students were divided into small groups and asked to identify potential compatibility conflicts based on hypothetical scenarios.
One scenario involved a feline beastman who frequently brought gifts to a prospective mate.
Dginnie immediately identified the problem.
"He's spending money without discussing the budget."
The instructor stared at her.
"That's not the primary issue."
"It is if he's using joint funds."
"The scenario specifies that the gifts are purchased from his personal income."
"Then the issue is that he hasn't established whether the recipient wants gifts."
The instructor paused.
"Go on."
"He's assuming that his preferred method of expressing affection is welcome. He should ask what the other person is comfortable with. If she dislikes receiving gifts, he needs to stop."
A student across the table raised his hand.
"But gifts are an established courtship signal in that clan."
"That doesn't mean everyone has to accept them."
The student frowned.
"Then how is he supposed to court her?"
"By finding out what she likes."
There was a brief silence.
Then the instructor smiled.
"Excellent answer."
Dginnie blinked.
It was?
The instructor continued, "Traditional courtship practices provide useful information, but they do not replace communication between individuals. A recognised signal is not a substitute for consent."
Dginnie sat up straighter.
Finally.
A concept she understood.
She wrote it down.
COURTSHIP SIGNALS ARE NOT CONTRACTS.
Then she underlined it.
Twice.
She was going to need that sentence.
Possibly engraved on a plaque.
Possibly printed on a very large banner.
Possibly tattooed across the academy's entrance gates.
The next scenario concerned a wolf beastman whose prospective mate had touched his ears.
Dginnie went completely still.
The instructor read the scenario aloud.
"The female student believed that touching the ears was a harmless gesture of affection. The male student interpreted the action as a sign of serious romantic interest. What should happen next?"
Dginnie raised her hand.
"Communication."
"Explain."
"They should discuss what the gesture means to each of them. Neither person should assume the other has agreed to a relationship simply because they interpreted the same action differently."
The instructor nodded.
"Correct."
Dginnie exhaled.
Then the instructor added, "Of course, the male student's interpretation may be understandable given his clan's cultural conventions."
Dginnie nodded.
"Yes. Understandable, but not binding."
"Precisely."
Dginnie wrote that down, too.
She was beginning to feel better.
Perhaps this world was not entirely unreasonable.
Perhaps she could learn the customs without surrendering her autonomy.
Perhaps she could find a partner who understood the difference between attraction and entitlement.
Perhaps she could even enjoy the process.
Then the instructor announced the practical exercise.
Students would work in pairs to practise identifying and responding to courtship signals.
Dginnie looked around the room.
The student seated beside her smiled.
He had small horns, dark hair, and an expression of such cheerful confidence that she immediately suspected he was about to do something inconvenient.
"Would you like to practise with me?" he asked.
"Certainly," Dginnie replied cautiously.
He leaned forward.
His horns glowed faintly.
Dginnie stared at them.
Then she looked at the instructor.
Then back at the student.
"Are your horns supposed to do that?"
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
He smiled.
"It means I'm interested in you."
Dginnie took a slow breath.
"Thank you for telling me."
"You're welcome."
"I would prefer to keep this exercise strictly educational."
His smile faltered.
Then he nodded.
"Understood."
The horns stopped glowing.
Dginnie stared.
"That was it?"
"That was it."
"You just stopped?"
"Of course."
She blinked.
He looked confused.
"Why wouldn't I?"
Dginnie had no answer.
Not a good one, anyway.
She had spent so much time worrying about the academy's reproductive expectations that she had almost forgotten that individuals could still behave like individuals.
Some would be pushy.
Some would be inconsiderate.
Some would be perfectly decent.
She would have to learn to tell the difference.
It was not an entirely unfamiliar problem.
She had been doing it all her previous life.
----------------------------------------------------
Chapter Eight: The Richest Man in the Room
Dginnie met the hotel magnate on Friday.
His name was Oren Valis.
He was handsome, impeccably dressed, and the owner of a hospitality empire that included luxury hotels, private skyship terminals, and several holiday resorts on planets Dginnie had never heard of.
He was also thirty-four, financially independent, and apparently looking for a long-term partner.
Dginnie liked him immediately.
Dginnie liked him immediately.
Not romantically.
Financially.
He arrived at their meeting with a neat folder of documents.
He had reviewed her academic profile, her scholarship requirements, and her career goals.
He had also prepared a proposed sponsorship arrangement.
Dginnie was impressed.
This was a man who understood paperwork.
They sat in a private dining room overlooking the capital.
A meal appeared on the table, courtesy of a service robot.
Oren opened his folder.
"I understand that your primary objective is to complete your degree."
"Yes."
"And that you would prefer to remain financially independent."
"Whenever possible."
"That is reasonable."
Dginnie felt a surge of relief.
Finally, someone who did not regard her academic ambitions as an obstacle to romance.
Oren continued, "My company has an educational sponsorship programme. We fund promising students in several fields, particularly finance, economics, and resource management."
Dginnie sat up straight.
"Really?"
"Yes. In exchange, sponsored students agree to a period of employment with one of our subsidiaries after graduation."
She considered this.
A work commitment.
That was perfectly reasonable.
Many scholarships came with employment obligations.
"How long?"
"Five years."
She winced slightly.
Five years was a long time, but it was not unreasonable if the salary was competitive.
"What would the salary be?"
Oren named a figure.
Dginnie nearly dropped her fork.
It was good.
Very good.
More than she had expected to earn immediately after graduation.
She calculated the likely savings in her head.
She could pay off her debts.
She could establish an emergency fund.
She could invest.
She could eventually buy a home.
She could afford children without having to calculate whether an extra serving of meat would destroy the household budget.
This was excellent.
She looked at Oren with renewed respect.
"I would like to review the full contract."
"Of course."
He slid the folder towards her.
Dginnie opened it.
The first section covered employment.
The second covered salary.
The third covered housing.
The fourth covered confidentiality.
The fifth covered family benefits.
She paused.
Then she turned to the next page.
MATEBOND AND FAMILY FORMATION CLAUSE
Dginnie stared at the heading.
Slowly, she looked up.
Oren folded his hands.
"I should explain that the sponsorship arrangement is designed primarily for students seeking a long-term partner. The educational funding is part of the broader relationship agreement."
Dginnie closed the folder.
"You're proposing to sponsor my degree in exchange for a matebond."
"Yes."
"And employment with your company."
"Yes."
"And the expectation that we will eventually have children."
"Provided we're mutually compatible and both wish to proceed with family formation."
Dginnie stared at him.
That last part was, at least, reasonable.
But the overall arrangement was beginning to look less like an educational sponsorship and more like a very expensive marriage proposal.
"May I ask why you want to meet me specifically?"
"Your academic results are excellent. Your health profile is promising. Your compatibility assessment is unusually high for several members of my clan."
"Your clan?"
Oren smiled.
"I'm a silver fox beastman."
Dginnie nodded slowly.
Of course he was.
A rich fox.
Naturally.
She should have guessed.
"And what would happen if we discovered that we weren't romantically compatible?"
"The sponsorship arrangement could be terminated, subject to the terms of the contract."
Dginnie closed her eyes.
There it was.
The trap.
Not necessarily a malicious trap, but a trap all the same.
If she accepted the arrangement, she could receive an excellent education, a well-paying job, and a comfortable future.
But she would be financially dependent on a man she barely knew, with her degree and career tied to the success of a relationship that might not work.
If they fell in love, wonderful.
If they did not, she might lose everything.
It was a risk.
A very large risk.
She opened her eyes.
"Mr. Valis, I appreciate your offer. Truly. But I don't think I can accept a sponsorship arrangement that makes my education dependent on the success of a romantic relationship."
Oren regarded her thoughtfully.
"Even with the financial benefits?"
"Even with the financial benefits."
"May I ask why?"
Dginnie considered the question.
Then she answered honestly.
"Because I want a partner, not a financial lifeline. If I choose someone because I love them, I want to be able to stay because I love them. Not because leaving would destroy my future."
Oren was silent for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"That's a fair distinction."
Dginnie relaxed slightly.
He did not look offended.
He did not try to persuade her.
He simply closed the folder and set it aside.
"I suspect you'll find that many of the academy's prospective sponsors have not considered the matter from your perspective."
"Perhaps."
"Then I hope you find someone who has."
Dginnie smiled.
"Thank you."
They finished their meal.
They discussed the economy.
They discussed the capital's housing market.
They discussed the advantages of automated accounting systems and the difficulties of forecasting consumer behaviour across different planetary regions.
It was, Dginnie decided, an excellent evening.
Not a romantic one.
But an excellent one.
When she returned to the suite, Kael was waiting in the common room.
He looked up from his device.
"How was your meeting?"
"Good."
"Did you like him?"
"Yes."
Kael's tail stopped moving.
Dginnie set down her bag.
"He was very professional. He prepared a sponsorship proposal, and we had an interesting discussion about the financial implications."
"Did you accept?"
"No."
Kael looked at her.
"Why not?"
"Because his sponsorship arrangement was tied to a matebond."
"Oh."
"And I don't want my education to depend on whether a relationship succeeds."
Kael was quiet for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"That makes sense."
Dginnie looked at him.
There it was again.
That infuriatingly reasonable response.
She sat down opposite him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Why are you so interested in me?"
Kael did not answer immediately.
His ears moved slightly.
His tail curled around the side of his chair.
Then he said, "Because you're interesting."
Dginnie blinked.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"You don't want to sponsor my education?"
"I could."
"That wasn't my question."
He smiled faintly.
"No. I don't want you to choose me because you need my money."
Dginnie stared at him.
For a moment, she could not think of anything to say.
Then she looked away.
"That's a rather inconvenient answer."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you sound like a decent person."
He laughed softly.
"Is that a problem?"
"It could become one."
His ears perked up.
His tail began moving again.
Dginnie saw it.
This time, she knew exactly what it meant.
She pointed at him.
"Don't."
He looked innocent.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Your tail is flirting with me."
"My tail has a mind of its own."
"Please tell it to behave."
He laughed.
Dginnie covered her face with her hands.
She was doomed.
Absolutely doomed.
And the worst part was that she was beginning to suspect she might not mind.
-----------------------------------------------------
Chapter Nine: The Problem With Being a Rare Resource
The following Monday, Dginnie received an invitation to meet the dean.
She assumed it was about her scholarship.
This assumption was correct.
It was also about several other things.
The dean's office was located on the upper floor of the main administration tower, where the windows overlooked the entire capital.
The dean herself was a distinguished older beastwoman with silver hair, elegant horns, and the sort of calm expression that suggested she had spent decades dealing with students who thought they were the first people ever to encounter a bureaucratic problem.
She gestured towards a chair.
"Miss Inlost. Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for seeing me."
"I understand you've been asking questions about your scholarship requirements."
Dginnie resisted the urge to say that asking questions was generally considered an important part of higher education.
"Yes."
"Good. I prefer students who ask questions."
That was unexpected.
The dean folded her hands.
"Your scholarship category is unusual. Full scholarships are awarded to students with exceptional academic potential, but the academy's funding resources are finite. The sponsorship system was established to encourage long-term investment in gifted individuals."
Dginnie nodded.
"I understand the economic rationale."
"Do you?"
"Yes. The academy subsidises tuition and basic living expenses. Sponsors contribute additional funding in exchange for a formal relationship, and the institution benefits from increased family formation among educated beastmen."
The dean regarded her with interest.
"That's a concise summary."
"I've been thinking about it."
"I can see that."
Dginnie took a breath.
"My concern is that the system places students under financial pressure to establish a matebond. Even if participation is technically voluntary, the consequences of failing to find a sponsor can be severe."
The dean did not interrupt.
Dginnie continued.
"I don't think that's necessarily fair. A student might be academically capable but not romantically interested in anyone available. Or they might want a relationship but not be ready to commit within a year. Or they might be incompatible with every prospective sponsor."
"All valid concerns."
"And I don't think education should depend on a person's willingness to enter a romantic relationship."
The dean leaned back.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she smiled.
"You're not the first student to raise these concerns."
Dginnie felt a flicker of hope.
"But?"
"But the system has survived several decades of review. It has considerable support among the major clans, and many students benefit from it."
"I don't doubt that."
"Then what would you propose instead?"
Dginnie hesitated.
She had not expected the dean to ask her for a proposal.
She had expected a polite explanation of why nothing could be done.
But this was an academy.
A place where people studied systems, evaluated problems, and developed solutions.
Perhaps she could approach this the way she approached accounting.
Identify the problem.
Identify the constraints.
Find an alternative that preserved the benefits while reducing the disadvantages.
She straightened.
"Separate the educational funding from the matebond requirement."
The dean's eyebrows rose.
"Go on."
"Students could receive a basic scholarship based on academic merit. Additional funding could be awarded through research grants, employment, or independent sponsorship. A sponsor could still offer financial support to a prospective mate, but the student wouldn't lose their degree eligibility if the relationship failed."
The dean considered this.
"That would require additional funding."
"Yes."
"And a more complicated administrative system."
"Yes."
"And it would reduce the incentive for some students to enter matebonds."
"Probably."
The dean smiled.
"Then you understand the difficulties."
"I do."
Dginnie met her gaze.
"But I also think the academy is underestimating the cost of pressuring talented students into unsuitable relationships. A student who is financially secure may be more willing to choose a compatible partner. A student who is afraid of losing their degree may accept a relationship they would otherwise reject."
The dean was silent.
Dginnie continued.
"And if the academy genuinely wants stable families, it should encourage people to form relationships they actually want. Not relationships they feel they need in order to graduate."
The dean looked at her for a long moment.
Then she nodded slowly.
"That's an interesting argument, Miss Inlost."
Dginnie allowed herself a cautious breath.
"Thank you."
"I can't promise that the policy will change."
"I understand."
"But I can promise that your concerns will be reviewed."
Dginnie stood.
"Thank you for your time."
The dean smiled.
"One more thing."
Dginnie paused.
"Yes?"
"Your compatibility profile has attracted considerable interest from several senior members of the academy."
Dginnie froze.
"Senior members?"
"Professors. Researchers. Department heads."
"Of course."
"Some of them have expressed an interest in sponsoring your education."
Dginnie stared at the dean.
The dean's expression remained perfectly serene.
"You're welcome to decline any offer. I merely thought you should be aware of the opportunities available to you."
Dginnie slowly sat back down.
"Dean."
"Yes?"
"I would like to ask you something."
"Certainly."
"Does the academy have a policy against exploiting its students?"
The dean blinked.
Then, to Dginnie's astonishment, she laughed.
Not a polite little chuckle.
A genuine laugh.
"Miss Inlost," she said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, "I think you're going to be very interesting to have around."
Dginnie was beginning to fear that everyone thought so.
And she was beginning to suspect that being interesting in this world was going to be very expensive.
-------------------------------------------------------
Chapter Ten: The First Rule of Accounting
Dginnie spent the next month doing what she did best.
She studied.
She worked.
She calculated.
She learned the academy's systems, mastered its software, and discovered that she had a particular talent for identifying inefficiencies in financial processes.
Her accounting lecturer noticed.
Then her economics lecturer noticed.
Then a researcher from the resource management department asked whether she would be interested in assisting with a project.
Dginnie accepted the work.
It paid well.
Not spectacularly, but well enough that she could begin saving money.
She opened a dedicated savings account.
Then an emergency fund.
Then a separate account for future tuition expenses.
She calculated her projected income and expenses for the next four years.
She built a financial model.
She updated it every week.
And slowly, very slowly, the numbers began to look encouraging.
She might actually be able to fund her education herself.
It would be difficult.
She would have to work hard.
She would have to maintain excellent grades.
She would have to avoid unnecessary expenses.
She would probably have to give up some luxuries.
But she could do it.
She had done harder things before.
The academy's sponsorship requirement remained a problem, but she was no longer quite as frightened of it.
She had options.
She had a growing network of people who respected her abilities.
And she had a roommate who, despite his enormous size and inconveniently fluffy tail, had become a surprisingly reliable friend.
Kael helped her with her studies when she needed it.
She helped him with his financial reports when he needed it.
They cooked together.
They studied together.
They occasionally argued about the refrigerator's food allocation system.
Once, she discovered that he had eaten the last of her favourite pastries.
He apologised by ordering an entire box.
She informed him that this was an unacceptable method of conflict resolution.
He asked whether she wanted him to return the box.
She told him that would be wasteful.
He laughed so hard that his ears flattened.
She had begun to enjoy his company.
This was dangerous.
She knew it was dangerous.
But she had also begun to understand that not every relationship was a trap.
Some people were simply decent.
Some people could be trusted.
Some people would help you without demanding that you surrender your future in exchange.
And some people, apparently, had very fluffy tails.
One evening, as they sat together reviewing their respective assignments, Kael glanced at her notebook.
"What are you working on?"
"Financial projections."
"For your degree?"
"Yes."
He leaned over to look.
She showed him the figures.
He studied them.
Then he nodded.
"You're doing well."
"I know."
He looked at her.
She looked back.
Then she smiled.
"Sorry. That sounded arrogant."
"No. It sounded confident."
Dginnie considered this.
Confidence was something she had been trying to develop since arriving in this world.
She had spent so long struggling to survive that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to believe she could do more than simply endure.
Now, for the first time in years, she was beginning to feel optimistic.
She had a future.
Not a guaranteed future.
Not an easy future.
But one she could work towards.
She could graduate.
She could find a good job.
She could build a stable life.
She could eventually find a partner who respected her.
Perhaps they would have children.
Perhaps they would not.
Perhaps they would live in a comfortable apartment, or a house, or somewhere with a garden.
Perhaps their children would be rebellious and ungrateful.
She would love them anyway.
She would teach them to budget.
She would absolutely keep the receipts.
Dginnie smiled to herself.
Then Kael said, "You know, if you ever wanted a sponsor, I would be willing to discuss it."
Her smile vanished.
She turned slowly towards him.
"Kael."
"Yes?"
"Did you just propose a business arrangement?"
"Not exactly."
"Then what exactly did you propose?"
He looked at her for a moment.
His ears moved slightly.
His tail curled around the leg of his chair.
Then he said, "I'd like to be someone you can rely on."
Dginnie stared at him.
There was no grand declaration.
No dramatic promise.
No insistence that she accept his help.
He simply looked at her, waiting.
She thought about the past month.
The meals they had shared.
The lectures they had complained about.
The evenings spent studying.
The way he always asked before touching her.
The way he listened when she spoke.
The way he treated her ambitions as something worth protecting rather than something to be negotiated away.
And, of course, the tail.
The ridiculously fluffy tail.
Dginnie looked at it.
Kael followed her gaze.
Then he looked back at her.
"Would you like to touch it?"
She considered the question.
Then she smiled.
"Yes, please."
He moved his chair closer.
She reached out and stroked the thick fur.
His ears perked up.
His tail swished.
Dginnie laughed.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Flirting."
He smiled.
"Perhaps."
She shook her head.
Then she continued petting his tail.
For a little while, neither of them spoke.
Outside the window, the capital glittered beneath the evening sky. Skyships moved between the towers. Hover bikes traced bright lines through the air. Far below, commuters entered gravity tubes and disappeared into the city's vast transportation network.
Dginnie had arrived in this world with nothing.
No system.
No special abilities.
No secret knowledge that could transform civilisation.
No guarantee that she would ever find her place.
She had been frightened, exhausted, and entirely out of her depth.
But she had learned.
She had worked.
She had made mistakes, corrected them, and kept going.
And now she was sitting in a beautiful apartment at the most prestigious academy in the capital, petting the tail of a man who might, someday, become someone very important to her.
Her degree was still a problem.
Her scholarship was still a problem.
The academy's reproductive policies were still a problem.
She had not solved everything.
Not even close.
But for the first time since transmigrating, she felt that she was no longer merely surviving.
She was building something.
A future.
A life.
Perhaps even a family, if she eventually wanted one.
Dginnie leaned back in her chair.
"Kael?"
"Yes?"
"I have a question."
He sighed theatrically.
"Of course you do."
She ignored him.
"If I touch your tail, does that mean we're dating?"
"No."
"Does it mean we're engaged?"
"No."
"Does it mean we're going to be matebound?"
"No."
"Does it mean I owe you anything?"
His expression softened.
"No. It just means that you really like my fluffy tail."
Dginnie nodded thoughtfully.
"That's right. Excellent."
She stroked his tail once more.
"Then may I continue?"
Kael smiled.
"By all means."
She settled back into her chair.
Her financial projections could wait another five minutes.
For now, she had a fluffy tail, a warm apartment, and a future that was finally beginning to look promising.