Divine Milking System

I stood in the Vault staring at prices that made me want to commit arson.

Chocolate cake. Two hundred points for one slice. Five hundred for a whole cake.

The universe hated me specifically.

My current balance sat at 1,740 points which would be a lot for living like the hermit I was but not enough for three girlfriends.

Spending 500 on a cake is stupid.

But showing up to a date with Aurora empty-handed after she specifically requested chocolate? That was relationship suicide.

I bought the slice and watched the points vanish from my account.

The cashier, a bored third-year with Emerald trim, scanned my student ID and handed over a plastic container with a single piece of chocolate cake inside. The slice looked pathetic. Small. Like something you’d get at a sad office party where nobody actually liked the person retiring.

"Anything else?"

I scanned the shelves. Found pre-made sandwiches at 50 points each. Grabbed two. Turkey and swiss. Ham and cheddar. Bags of chips at 30 points. Got two of those too. Bottled water at 10 points each. Grabbed four.

Total damage: 380 points.

My new balance: 860 points.

I walked out of the Vault with a plastic bag containing the saddest date setup in academy history. Sandwiches. Chips. Water. And One slice of chocolate cake.

My phone buzzed.

NAOMI: Good luck tonight. Be safe.

BELLE: Don’t fuck it up.

I pocketed the phone and headed toward the east field. 6:15 PM. Forty-five minutes early.

I stepped onto the field, the cool evening air a welcome change. The grass was still damp from morning drills, the scent of crushed green and salt hanging in the air. Beyond the trees, the ocean was a flat sheet of steel under the setting sun. It was quiet. The kind of perfect quiet that made the timer in my head feel louder.

I walked the perimeter looking for the right spot. Not too close to the path where people would walk past. Not too far into the open where we’d feel exposed. Found a place near the oak tree at the northwest corner. Shade when the sun dropped lower. Good sight lines. Close enough to campus if something went wrong. Far enough that we’d have privacy.

I spread out my jacket on the grass. Arranged the food. Sandwiches on the left. Chips in the middle. Water bottles standing upright. Chocolate cake at the front like a centerpiece.

It looked terrible.

I sat back on my heels and stared at my attempt at romance.

This was what I had to work with. No money for restaurants off campus. No car to drive her somewhere nice. Just grass and sandwiches and water that cost 10 points per bottle.

But I could make her feel like the only person that mattered.

That was the play.

When you’re running multiple targets simultaneously the math gets complicated fast. Naomi needed reassurance and consistency. Belle needed respect and reciprocity. Aurora? Aurora needed to feel interesting. Desired. Like spending time with me was a choice she made because she wanted to rather than strategic calculation.

The system treated this as a numbers game. Points and tiers and devotion percentages.

I treated it as survival.

But survival didn’t mean treating people like resources.

My phone buzzed.

AURORA: 10 minutes. Don’t disappoint me.

I checked my reflection in the phone screen. Hair combed. Shirt clean. Face less round than six days ago.

Still overweight. Still soft around the middle. Still the lottery kid.

But I’d killed an alpha. Ranked 141. Built a squad that scared Blair Davenport.

That counted for something.

Movement at the field entrance caught my attention.

Aurora walked across the grass wearing a white summer dress with thin straps and a hem that ended mid-thigh. The fabric moved with her body. Clung in places. Flowed in others. Her orange hair caught the sunset and turned into actual fire. Gold and red and impossible brightness against the darkening sky.

My brain stopped working completely.

She wore white flats that showed her ankles and made her legs look like they went on forever. The dress had a v-neck that revealed just enough cleavage to make staring inevitable. Her lips were painted dark red. Her green eyes locked onto mine as she approached, studying me with that mischievous gaze that always made me feel like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"You’re early," she said, stopping a few feet away.

"Wanted to find a good spot."

"Did you?"

"Hope so."

She looked at the setup. The jacket spread on grass. The sad little picnic. The chocolate cake in its plastic prison.

Her mouth curved into a smile that transformed her entire face.

"This is really sweet actually."

"It’s sandwiches and chips."

"It’s effort. Most guys take girls to the dining hall and call it a date."

"I’m broke. This is literally all I could afford."

"Honesty. I like that."

She sat down on my jacket. Crossed her legs. The dress rode up her thighs, revealing more of that smooth skin that I’d been thinking about for days.

I sat across from her. Tried not to stare. Failed completely.

She noticed. Smiled wider, revealing perfect white teeth.

"You’re allowed to look. I wore this specifically so you would."

"Mission accomplished."

"Good. Now feed me. I’m starving."

I handed her a sandwich. Turkey and swiss. She unwrapped it carefully. Took a bite. Made a small sound of approval that sent electricity down my spine.

"Not bad. Better than expected for Vault food."

"I picked the freshest ones."

"How romantic."

"I do what I can."

She ate the sandwich while I watched. The way her throat moved when she swallowed. The way she licked mayo off her thumb. The little sigh of satisfaction after each bite. Everything about her felt designed to destroy concentration.

"So," she said between bites. "Ranked 141. Up from 250. That’s impressive."

"Lucky."

"Luck is finding a dollar on the ground. You killed an alpha with a spear."

"Instinct."

"Same thing."

"It’s not."

She leaned forward. Her dress gapped slightly at the neckline. I looked away fast, feeling my face grow hot.

"You’re nervous," she observed, her voice tinged with amusement.

"I’m aware."

"Why? We’ve talked before. Walked across campus together. Had a whole conversation about gate economics."

"This is different."

"Because I’m wearing a dress?"

"Because you’re... You."

Her expression softened. Just slightly. A moment of genuine emotion breaking through her usual playful mask.

"I’m just a girl who likes interesting boys. And you’re interesting."

"I’m a lottery kid with bad stats and worse prospects."

"You’re also the guy who bet his entire future on his squad. Who told Blair Davenport to go to hell. Who somehow has two girlfriends who actually like him."

"How do you know about that?"

"I pay attention. Also Belle told me."

"When?"

"This morning. She texted asking what I wanted with you. We had... A conversation."

I grabbed a chip. Ate it. Processed this information while trying to imagine what those two talking about me might entail.

"What kind of conversation?"

"The kind where she threatened to gut me if I hurt you. And I threatened to scramble her senses until she couldn’t tell up from down if she tried to stop me."