07:12 – Beast Theory in 48 minutes | Location: Obsidian Wing Refectory
The refectory's floating tables spun like lazy carousels, each platter a miniature battlefield of mana-infused cuisine. Dragon-haunch medallions bled gold when sliced; phoenix-egg soufflés rose and fell with the diner's heartbeat; a single sip of starlight nectar could make a Taker's pupils dilate into galaxies. The air itself tasted of sex and ambition.
Arya's stomach growled loud enough to rattle nearby cutlery. Alexander's rooftop conquest still thrummed in her veins—level 12, skin flushed, brand pulsing like a second clit. She wore Taker Uniform V5: liquid-obsidian catsuit with cutouts that framed the brand and the curve of her hips. Every step made the fabric whisper seduce, conquer, level.
A new quest pinged in the corner of her vision, glowing crimson.
[SIDE QUEST: CUPID PROTOCOL – CAFETERIA MATCHMAKING]
[OBJECTIVE: Pair GIVER 47 (Milo Arkwright) & GIVER 82 (Lena Veyl) before 08:00]
[REWARD: +2 LEVELS | CAFETERIA VIP PASS (UNLIMITED DESSERTS)]
[FAILURE: RANDOM WARDROBE MALFUNCTION IN BEAST THEORY AMPHITHEATER]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE BEAST THEORY WITHOUT MOANING ALEXANDER'S NAME]
[REWARD: +1 LEVEL | BONUS CHARM +5]
[TIMER: 00:47:55]
She spotted them instantly.
Milo Arkwright – level 4, copper curls, freckles like spilled cinnamon, hiding behind a teapot that trembled in sync with his nerves. His rune-etched gloves flickered with repair magic; he was the cadet who fixed library caravans after dragon raids.
Lena Veyl – level 4, teal hair in twin buns, glasses fogged from miso-dragon broth, sketching containment sigils on a napkin with a stylus that sparked. She catalogued the same caravans Milo repaired. Soul-bond probability: 89%.
Both radiated shyness so potent it bent the light around them.
Arya slid into the wedge between their tables like she'd been invited. "Hi. I'm your new wing-woman. System says you're overdue for a meet-cute."
Milo squeaked—actually squeaked. Lena dropped her stylus; it rolled, clattering, until Arya's telekinesis (Rank D) caught it mid-air and floated it back to Lena's fingers. Their hands brushed. Static sparked. Their runes flared in perfect harmonic resonance—gold and teal threads weaving a heart shape in the air.
[SOUL-BOND COMPATIBILITY CONFIRMED – 89.3%]
Lena blushed the color of fresh dragon blood. "W-we barely know each other…"
"Perfect," Arya grinned. "First dates are overrated. Let's skip to the good part."
She snapped her fingers. The floating table spun 180°, aligning Milo and Lena face-to-face. Trays slid aside with a gentle telekinetic nudge; a single candle of blue phoenix-flame ignited between them, scenting the air with cinnamon and longing.
Phase 1: Ice-breaker.
"Milo, tell Lena the real reason you became a Giver."
He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing. "I… I wanted to protect the library caravans. Books are… important. They're how we remember who we were before the beasts."
Lena's eyes lit up behind fogged glasses. "I catalog the caravans! I've seen your repair sigils—they're beautiful. The way you reinforce the parchment with micro-runes… it's art."
Milo's freckles darkened. "You… you noticed?"
Phase 2: Physical proximity.
Arya used telekinesis to "accidentally" knock Milo's teacup. It tipped in slow-motion; Lena caught it—fingers brushing, lingering. The contact sent a visible ripple through their runes. The candle flame turned pink. The table's rotation locked into a perfect heart shape.
Phase 3: The kiss.
Arya stood, shielding them from prying eyes with her body. "Three-second rule. Kiss or the tea explodes into lust-mist and embarrasses you for a week."
Milo went scarlet. Lena went bold. She grabbed his collar—tiny hands surprisingly strong—and planted one. Soft, clumsy, perfect. Milo's hands hovered, then settled on her waist like he'd been born to hold her. The candle flared into a miniature firework. The refectory's ambient magic hummed approval.
[QUEST OBJECTIVE 1 COMPLETE – PAIRING SUCCESSFUL]
[MILO & LENA → SOUL-BOND FORMED | COMBINED LEVEL +3 → LEVEL 7 EACH]
The refectory erupted. Upperclassmen banged goblets. Someone started a chant: "Freshman! Freshman!" A crystal orb floated overhead, recording for the rumor mill.
Arya blew the new couple a kiss and sauntered toward the dessert bar, hips swaying. The system rewarded her instantly.
[ARYA → LEVEL 14]
[TRAIT UNLOCKED: MATCHMAKER'S TOUCH – 10% CHANCE TO FORCE CRUSH ON CONTACT]
[CAFETERIA VIP PASS UNLOCKED – UNLIMITED DESSERTS]
Liora, three tables away, crushed her goblet into ice shards that melted into her wine. Her glare could've frozen a dragon mid-roar.
07:38 – 22 minutes to Beast Theory
Arya was halfway to the dessert bar when a shadow fell across her path.
---
Beast Theory Survival Challenge: No Moaning Alexander's Name
The secondary objective pulsed like a second heartbeat. She had to survive the upcoming dragon combat practical without letting Alexander's name slip—especially difficult given the rooftop still throbbed between her thighs.
She grabbed a phoenix-egg éclair (it purred when bitten) and turned—to find Alexander Nicholas leaning against a pillar of living flame.
He'd changed into the formal Giver cadet uniform: midnight blue coat with silver runes, collar high, sleeves rolled to reveal forearms corded with muscle. The coat did nothing to hide the memory of what lay beneath. His hair was tousled, one lock falling over storm-gray eyes that pinned her in place.
"Matchmaking now?" His voice was amused, but his gaze was dark. "Thought you were here to level, not play Cupid."
The crush hit like a dragon tail—sudden, breath-stealing. The system confirmed:
[TRAIT DETECTED: ALEXANDER NICHOLAS – CHARM AURA (PASSIVE)]
[RESISTANCE CHECK: FAILED]
[STATUS: INSTANT CRUSH – DURATION 24H]
She stopped a foot away, close enough to smell cedar and ozone. "Jealous?"
"Murderously." He reached out, thumb brushing her lower lip. "You've got frosting on your mouth."
Liar. She'd eaten nothing. But she licked his thumb anyway—slow, deliberate. His pupils blew wide.
"Careful," he warned. "I've got dragon patrol in ten minutes. You keep that up, I'll drag you into the pantry and we'll both be late."
The thought sent heat pooling between her thighs. "Promises, promises."
He leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Tonight. After curfew. My room. Bring the corset shards—I want to see how they cut."
Then he was gone, coat flaring like wings. Half the refectory watched him go. The other half watched Arya watch him go.
Liora appeared at her elbow, voice venomous. "You're collecting Givers like trading cards. Careful they don't trade you."
Arya smiled sweetly. "Worried you'll be the last one picked?"
Ice crackled along Liora's fingertips. "Beast Theory. Front row. Try not to moan his name when the dragons bite."
Challenge accepted.
07:55 – Beast Theory Amphitheater
The coliseum was carved into a cliff face, open to the sky. Tiered benches of black stone descended toward a sand pit the size of a football field. Above, iron cages rattled with chained dragons—juvenile dragons the size of buses, scales shimmering like oil slicks. The air stank of sulfur, blood, and anticipation.
Arya claimed front row center, Alexander's warning echoing: Don't moan my name.
Cassia dropped beside her, still fuming. "You think you're hot shit now, huh? Level 14 after one night. Bet I can make you scream louder than Alexander ever could."
Before Arya could respond, Cassia snapped her fingers. A rune circle flared beneath Arya's seat—FIRE TRAP: INFERNAL TICKLER.
The bench ignited. Not burning—tickling. Flames shaped like feathers danced across Arya's thighs, under her arms, along the soles of her feet. The sensation was maddening—pleasure-pain that made her squirm and gasp.
[ENVIRONMENTAL EFFECT: TICKLE HELL – LIBIDO +500% | VOICE CONTROL -80%]
She bit her lip hard to keep from laughing—or moaning. The class noticed. Whispers rippled.
Cassia smirked. "Let's see you survive this without—"
The trap backfired.
Arya's Pain/Pleasure Conversion trait activated. The tickling flames converted into raw sexual energy, funneling straight into her core. Her back arched; a low, involuntary sound escaped—not Alexander's name, but close.
The system exploded.
[TRAIT OVERLOAD: P/P CONVERSION → RANK B]
[ARYA → LEVEL 15]
[WARDROBE AUTO-STRIP PROTOCOL ENGAGED]
The catsuit liquefied, peeling away in strips that dissolved into black mist. Arya was left in Taker Uniform V0—strategically placed obsidian pasties and a thong that was more suggestion than fabric. The brand glowed like a neon sign: LEVEL 15.
The amphitheater went dead silent.
Then the dragons roared.
08:00 – Practical Combat: dragon Subjugation
Professor Nyxara strode into the pit, whip cracking. "Today's lesson: dragon Subjugation 101. Volunteers will face a Tier-5 dragon. Objective: immobilize without killing. Bonus points for style."
Her gaze landed on Arya—nearly naked, brand blazing, pasties glittering. "Freshman. Center stage."
The class parted. Cassia looked horrified. Liora looked *murderously* pleased.
A cage opened. The dragon that emerged was a nightmare of emerald scales and molten gold eyes. It sniffed the air, zeroed in on Arya, and charged.
[COMBAT MODE ACTIVATED]
[DRAGON: TIER-5 EMERALD WYRM]
[POWERS AVAILABLE: TELEKINESIS D | TELEPATHY D | SPEED E | STRENGTH E | BLINK STEP (3/DAY)]
```
Arya didn't think. She moved.
Blink Step #1 – she teleported three meters left, dodging a tail swipe that cratered the sand.
Telekinesis yanked the dragon's front legs out from under it, slamming its jaw into the ground.
Telepathy flooded its mind with images of submission—kittens, belly rubs, a nice sunbeam. The beast hesitated, confused.
She vaulted onto its back, thighs clamping scales that burned like hot iron. Strength E let her punch through a scale; she ripped out a neural spike and jammed it into the dragon's pressure point. It roared, bucking wildly.
The crowd was on its feet. Crystal orbs recorded every angle.
Cassia shouted, "Use fire, you idiot!"
Too late. Arya wrapped her legs around the dragon's neck, telekinesis forming an invisible choke collar. The beast thrashed, tail whipping—Blink Step #2, she vanished and reappeared behind it. One hand grabbed the base of its wing; strength surged. She tore the wing joint with a sickening crack.
The dragon collapsed, whimpering.
[COMBAT COMPLETE]
[ARYA → LEVEL 17]
[TRAIT UNLOCKED: DRAGON TAMER – 20% CHANCE TO BEFRIEND BEASTS]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: NO MOANING ALEXANDER'S NAME]
[REWARD: +1 LEVEL → LEVEL 18 | CHARM +5]
[WARDROBE RESTORATION: V6 – ARMORED BIKINI (SELF-REPAIRING, FIREPROOF)]
The pasties and thong melted into a sleek suit of dragon-scale armor—still scandalous, but now functional. The class erupted in cheers. Professor Nyxara looked impressed.
Cassia's prank had given Arya a public victory—and a new enemy.
08:30 – Aftermath
As medics dragged the dragon away, Alexander appeared at the pit's edge, eyes blazing. He didn't speak—just nodded once, pride and promise. The no-moan challenge was survived. Barely.
Liora's ice was cracking. Cassia's fire was out. And Arya?
She was just getting started.
[PRIVATE MESSAGE FROM ALEXANDER: "MY ROOM. CURFEW. BRING THE SWEAT AND THE SCARS."]
She smiled, slow and sharp.
Let the games begin.