SMASH or PASS

I sat on my bed after the first day of the academy.

I laid out today’s harvest on the table.

Seven notes. One formal dinner invitation with a wax seal. One hair ribbon, lavender-scented. One drawing of my face by someone in Row 5 who had more artistic talent than social skills. Two embossed business cards (Thalia’s dormitory invitation, Celeste Morne’s academic study group). One box of chocolates I was never going to eat. (Can’t rule out the possibility that it’s from the Alchemy Department).

There were nine verbal approaches.

And...

[Today’s Passive SP: +8]

8 points.

Just by sitting in a chair. Without touching anyone. Just by being present in a room with 200 women.

I looked at the spoils of war on the table as data.

The academy had two hundred women. The system had cataloged every single one during the first lecture. Each was tiered, priced, and filed. I hadn’t asked for the data. The system provided it automatically. And the data told a story.

Approximately 150 women were Common tier. Contact bonuses: +1 to +3 SP per extended physical interaction. If I slept with a Common-tier woman, the session generated approximately 5-8 SP from the breeding contact bonus. The same return as a guild breeding contract at the cowkin farm. The same economics. Different packaging.

Fifty women were Uncommon or above. Contact bonuses: +5 to +15 SP. Higher tier, higher returns. A single evening with an Uncommon-tier woman generated more SP than two days of Common-tier farming.

The farm pays 70 SP for a three-day contract job, which involves a two-hour horse-drawn cart ride each way.

Today. Doing nothing. 8 SP.

The cowkin farm had fences, branded numbers, and Della squeezing milk from a screaming cowgirl while explaining production margins. The academy had lecture halls and lavender ribbons and women who scheduled their own appointments.

SP comes from either direction.

But the academy was better because the women came to ME. They paid for the wine. They provided the room. They did the scheduling.

My job is simply to exist.

The farm took three days of travel and contract labor to generate 70 SP. Today, sitting in a chair, I’d earned 8 SP. Eight points for being present. If I multiplied that by active engagement instead of passive proximity...

◇◇◇

"Pixia."

"Hmm?" She was on the windowsill. Dim. She’d been quiet since the woman in white.

"If I slept with every woman at the academy, how much SP would that generate?"

Silence.

"...Are you asking me to calculate the sexual economics of your education?"

"Yes."

She stared at me. Her tiny face worked through several expressions in sequence: confusion, calculation, resignation.

"Roughly 800 to 1,200 SP. Depending on tier distribution and encounter duration." She said, swinging her legs. "You’re going to do it, aren’t you?"

"The math works."

"The math always works. But just because it works doesn’t mean it’s okay to do it."

"Give me one reason."

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Ethically..." She stopped. Shook her head. "You don’t care about ethics. The social impact..." She stopped again. "The impact will work to your advantage. In the long run..." She trailed off.

"You can’t think of one."

"I just can’t think of one you’d listen to." Her light dimmed further. "Fine. Go be a whore. I’ll be on the windowsill."

Fenra was on the bed. She’d heard the conversation. Her ear twitched. She didn’t react beyond that. Whatever I did at the academy was, apparently, less offensive than what I’d done at Helena’s estate. At least the academy encounters wouldn’t carry a single woman’s perfume home. They’d carry dozens. Maybe that was different. Maybe dozens were abstract where one was personal.

Or she just hated Helena.

I picked up Thalia’s card. Room 14. Combat tutoring. Evenings.

Day two start tomorrow.

◇◇◇

Day 2.

Thalia opened the door of Room 14 wearing practice clothes. Tight. Functional. Her arms were bare and muscled. The room behind her had been cleared, furniture pushed against the walls.

She had very long, soft black hair. Her shoulders were broad, her arms were bare, and the lines of her muscles were visible through her sleeveless shirt. Her eyes were dark brown, and instead of shaking hands, she greeted with a single movement of raising her chin.

Feral. That was closest classification in my mental dictionary for a perverted senior who kept staring at my dick.

The furniture in the room was pushed against the walls, creating an open space in the center.

"You came."

"You invited me."

"I invited you for combat tutoring." She stepped aside. "The first ten minutes are real tutoring. After that... Well, we’ll see."

The first ten minutes were real tutoring. She demonstrated a wrist lock that transitioned into a takedown. Showed it slowly. Then at actual speed. Her hands were on my wrists, and they rotated my forearms, correcting my stance.

"Your center of gravity is too far back. It’s too low. Also, your weight distribution is wrong. You’re leaning back. When you lean backward in a grapple, you’ve already lost the fight." She adjusted my hips with her hands.

The shirt struggled against the weight of her breasts, large and round, the fabric pulled tight across their deep curve. Her legs, visible below her shorts,

She was too close. More than necessary.

"Better. When I come in with the lock, your response is to drop your elbow. Like this."

She demonstrated. I copied. She corrected. We drilled the technique six times in succession.

"You’re a quick learner," Thalia said, walking around me. Her movements were like those of someone observing their prey. "Your body control doesn’t match your mana output. Did someone teach you practical martial arts?"

"My wolfkin."

"A wolfkin taught you hand-to-hand?" She circled me, evaluating. The black shorts she wore were so short the bottom curve of her heavy backside was visible when she turned. "Wolfkin fighting is based on claws and fangs. But their footwork is adaptable. Their weight transfer is the same as canine fighters. Forward center of gravity. Always ready to pounce."

"Is that even usable?"

"It would be more accurate to say it’s interesting." She stopped behind me. Her hand rested on my shoulder. "I’d like to study it further."

"Study it?"

"Study YOU. How wolfkin training interacts with human technique." Her hands moved from my shoulders to my arms. "This is still tutoring."

She smiled. Her hands slowly moved from my arms to my dick.

"This is still just... instruction."

The system generated +2 SP from the extended contact.

That’s normal since she was an Uncommon tier.

The ten-minute technical practice session ended exactly in ten minutes.

After that, studying became "exploring," and exploring became...