I cracked my shoulders like a debt-ridden villain about to start grinding.

Before I could start plotting how to make money in this world, I glanced at the door.

’...How do I even call her again?’

I cleared my throat. "N-Nyaa-thang..."

I physically cringed. No. No. That sounded like I was summoning an ancient demon with a speech impediment.

"A-Ag-Ang-Ga-Thang."

Worse. So much worse.

I buried my face in the pillow.

’Why is pronunciation my mortal enemy.’

"Aga-tha," I tried again, slow and careful.

Knock. Knock.

I froze.

The door remained closed, but a familiar gentle voice came from the other side.

"Miss Blanca, are you calling for me?"

My eyes lit up.

"Nyang!"

Translation: YES. COME IN.

Agatha opened the door gracefully and walked in, hands folded neatly.

This time I was ready, so my soul stayed in my body.

She approached the bed. "Do you need something, Miss Blanca?"

I nodded enthusiastically, tail wagging.

Before I could even attempt to speak again, she calmly produced a board and pen and handed them to me.

I stared at her.

Then at the board.

Then back at her.

My eyes watered.

She understands me.

She’s an angel.

A stealth angel, but still an angel with wings.

I scribbled quickly: I want hot milk.

Agatha glanced at it and smiled. "Alright, Miss Blanca."

She turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

I focused back on my OmniSync, my earlier shock over my tragically empty account slowly transforming into cold, ruthless determination.

Fine.

If Soren wouldn’t give me money, I’d squeeze money out of the empire instead.

Floating tabs popped open one after another around me like overexcited fireflies—Imperial Commerce Board, Energy Stone Exchange, Carver Guild Forums, Side Hustles for Desperate Beastmen (Unofficial)—

After sifting through a horrifying number of scams, pyramid schemes, and "get rich quick by polishing stones with love" nonsense, I finally found it.

Imperial Stone Archives.

My eyes gleamed.

This was it.

I immediately registered.

The empire, in its infinite wisdom and mild guilt, had policies designed to "support disadvantaged beastmen." As long as you met the criteria, you could receive ten low-grade energy stones for free.

’Free.’

My new favorite word other than ’rich’ and ’pretty’.

To prevent Hysteria outbreaks and fraudulent claims, the review process was said to be systematic, flawless, extremely strict, and—most importantly—fast.

I leaned back confidently.

’They don’t stand a chance.’

Agatha stepped inside, holding a bowl that was emitting gentle steam and the comforting scent of warmth.

"Here you go, Miss," she said softly.

"Nyang!"

Translation: Thank you!

I hopped down from the bed and onto the desk, patting the surface twice like a tiny emperor signaling service.

Agatha placed the bowl in front of me with elegance.

"Would you like the lights on, Miss?" she asked.

I nodded.

She adjusted the lighting to a warm ambient glow.

I wrapped my paws around the bowl, took a careful sip of hot milk, and sighed in satisfaction.

’Ah... this is the life.’

Then—

DING!

My OmniSync flashed.

I nearly spilled the milk.

The application result appeared.

Status Review Complete.

The empire’s auditing system checked my account and determined that my funds were zero.

The empire’s auditing system had accessed my account.

Balance detected: 00.00 IC

I physically recoiled.

"Oof," I whispered internally. "They didn’t have to say it like that."

My OmniSync continued.

Applicant classified as: Level Two Poor.

...Excuse me?

Level. Two. Poor.

Not "financially challenged."

Not "temporarily struggling."

Just—poor.

I winced so hard my ears flattened.

But then—

Benefits Granted:

– 10 low-grade energy stones

– Free carving assistance from three Novice Carvers

My eyes widened.

Wait.

’Three?’

For free??

I straightened up immediately, milk forgotten.

This was an opportunity.

Three novice carvers meant three pairs of hands. Three sets of perception. Three assistants who could do all the boring prep work while I handled the real artistry.

Sure, they were novices—but that just meant they’d listen.

I stared at the confirmation screen, tail slowly swaying.

’Level Two Poor, huh...’

I smirked.

If the empire thought this was helping a struggling beast...

They had no idea what kind of monster they’d just funded.

After laughing at my own absolutely villainous thoughts and finishing every last drop of milk—because wasting free resources was a crime—I pointed dramatically toward the balcony.

Agatha didn’t even blink. She immediately walked over and slid the glass door open with a smoothness that made me slightly nervous again.

Note to self: never play hide-and-seek with a dove beastman.

Cool night air flowed in, carrying the faint scent of flowers and stone. I hopped onto the railing, my tail dangling lazily as I gazed out at the scenery, fully intending to stare dramatically into the distance until sleep kidnapped me.

Just as my eyes started to droop, something caught my attention.

Soren’s room was still brightly lit.

My ears twitched.

Curiosity, my lifelong curse, immediately kicked me awake.

I slowly padded along the balcony, hugging the glass wall like a professional spy who absolutely did not know what she was doing. I tiptoed—yes, tiptoed, even though I had paws—and peeked inside his room through the glass.

Boxes.

So. Many. Boxes.

They were scattered all over the floor, some stacked neatly, others clearly abandoned mid-organization. A few were open, revealing dark, metallic surfaces that reflected the light faintly.

’What in the world...?’

I squinted harder.

’Did he... move houses overnight? Is this a secret dragon hoarding ritual? Did he order furniture at 3 a.m.?’

I leaned closer.

That’s when a chill crawled straight up my spine.

The kind of chill that screamed, you have been caught.

Slowly—very slowly—I lifted my head.

And met his eyes.

Soren was staring straight at me.

I froze.

He smiled.

Not a scary smile. Not an angry one.

The knowing kind.

The "caught red-pawed" kind.

He stood up calmly, walked over, and opened the balcony door like he’d been expecting this exact moment.

"You can’t sleep either, huh?" he said casually.

’...So much for stealth.’

I abandoned all dignity, trotted inside, and leapt straight onto his bed like I belonged there. I pointed dramatically at the boxes and protested:

"Nyang nyaa nya nyang!"

Translation: I was about to sleep until you caught me peeking like a pervert.

He raised an eyebrow. "That’s not what it sounded like."

I ignored him and hopped off the bed, trotting over to the nearest box. I peered inside.

My pupils expanded.

Scales.

Black, obsidian-like dragon scales—some large, some smaller, all faintly glowing with residual power. They were immaculate, heavy with energy, and unmistakably his.

Soren followed my gaze. "I wanted to improve your leopard paw tools," he said, as if he were talking about sharpening pencils. "Since you’re here, you can choose one. Pick a dragon scale that’s more suitable."

I stared at him in horror. ’Since how many times did this man’s Hysteria erupt for him to rip this much??’

Each scale was a priceless resource. Any one of these could drive a master carver insane with envy. Entire guilds would fight wars over a single intact dragon scale—

—and here he was, letting me pick one like accessories at a shop.

I slowly reached into a box and touched a scale.

Cold. Dense. Alive with energy.

Some were clearly from older episodes—worn, slightly dulled. Others were newer, sharper, practically humming.

My tail swayed slowly.

"...Nyang," I muttered.

Translation: This is insane.

Soren watched me quietly, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. There was a softness in his gaze—like he was amused, but also relieved.

"Pick carefully," he said. "I don’t want you hurting yourself."

I paused.

Then I turned back to the boxes, eyes shining brighter than the scales themselves.

I busied myself selecting the most suitable dragon scales like a jeweler choosing diamonds—except these diamonds could probably level a mountain.

Some were thicker and heavier. Others were thinner and sharper at the edges. I tapped each one thoughtfully, occasionally holding them up to the light like a tiny expert inspector.

After I finally settled on a small stack, I looked at Soren and gave him a dignified nod.

"Nyang!"

Translation: These will do. Try not to mess it up.

He didn’t comment on my obvious authority. Instead, he picked me up with one arm and gathered the chosen scales in his other hand.

Then he walked to his bookshelf and pulled out a random-looking book.

Click.

The entire shelf shifted and opened inward.

I blinked.

A. Hidden. Elevator.

We stepped inside. The doors closed seamlessly, and Soren pressed the down button.

Down.

How much down could there be on a floating island?

The elevator descended smoothly, without a single sound. When the doors opened—

My jaw dropped.

A massive underground facility stretched before us.

Humanoid mechs. Beast-form mechs. Sleek combat frames. Heavy artillery builds. Agile scout types. All arranged in glass casings like museum exhibits.

’...Damn,’ I thought. ’So that’s why his mansion is so huge.’

Not because of luxury.

Because he had a secret mech hangar underneath it.

I wriggled out of his hold and jumped down, paws tapping against polished metal flooring as I ran from one display to another.

Some mechs had massive wings. Some had blade arms. Others were bulkier, built like walking fortresses.

The craftsmanship was insane.

Every joint aligned perfectly. Every panel seamless. Even the balance of weight distribution was elegant. These weren’t just war machines.

They were art.