Emma kicked off her boots the second she walked inside, tossed her lightcore onto the counter, and went straight to wash up. Dinner wasn't going to make itself. Tomato soup, fried beast cutlet, and a jar of her own homemade pickles. Simple on paper, but when she set it all on the table, the aroma alone was enough to make her drool. Out here, meals like this were a luxury. Most therians couldn't cook well, so they choked down nutrient fluids day after day—thick, sludgy stuff distilled from beast meat. Emma hated them. The taste was so nasty it lingered for hours. Hunting trips forced her to carry a few, but she always swallowed them with a grimace. Another version, created specifically for females, was made from fruit and vegetables. It tasted more like juice, but was way out of her price range. Vicious beasts guarded mutated crops, and just making one vial drained a mountain of produce.One vial required nearly 800,000 star coins. Emma did the math in her head every time she saw one. I could break my back all week and maybe clear 100,000 star coins. A whole month's grind, and I still wouldn't afford even one. So, fruit nutrient fluids were impossible, meat nutrient fluids were disgusting, which left only one option—her own cooking. Luckily, she'd been doing it since childhood and actually enjoyed it. She ate until she was full, let her smart robot scrub the dishes, then slipped into her training room to reinforce her new Rank 4 strength. A long shower later, she sprawled across her bed with a satisfied sigh and flicked open her lightcore. Nine matches sat there in her list, but not a single ping—not even a "hi." Emma tapped her fingers on the mattress, debating whether to set aside her pride and send the first message, until her screen finally lit up. Damian—lucky number one.His message read, 'Hello, Ms. Tibarn. I'm Damian Voss. Sorry for the late message. Something came up earlier, and I couldn't reach out until now. Please forgive me!' Emma blinked at the apology. At least he sounds polite. Maybe he is swamped. She typed back without a second thought, 'No worries. Take care of what you need to first. I'm not in a rush.' See? Totally reasonable. No way I'm starting this whole "mate" thing by acting clingy. Across the galaxy, Damian stared at her reply with a frown. What kind of female doesn't ask questions? Aren't they supposed to be demanding, nosy even? He shook his head and typed again. 'Glad you're not mad, Ms. Tibarn. You're sweeter than I deserve. Wish I could teleport straight to you.' To drive the point home, he tacked on a cute, almost crying fox sticker. Another message followed almost instantly. 'The truth is, something serious came up. I'll need a little time before I can come to you. You're not upset, right?' A sly grin curved his lips. Perfect. She'll have to bite on this. The second she asks, I'll hit her with the broke sob story and nudge her to cough up some star coins. Who knows how much she's sitting on? Hopefully enough for me to squeeze her dry. He sprawled across his star-coin couch, smug confidence radiating as he waited for her to take the bait. The ping came quicker than he expected. 'It's okay, Damian. If it's important, handle it first. Do you want to tell me what's wrong? Is it serious?' Damian's grin widened. Got her! Hook, line, and sinker. Damian: 'Ms. Tibarn, I... A friend stole all my star coins. I'm completely broke.' To hammer it in, he dropped a sad-face sticker with big cartoon tears streaming down. Damian: 'I want to see you so badly, but I don't even have the fare. I'm stuck on Central Planet, and a starrail ticket to F-268 costs 500,000 star coins.' Emma knew exactly how much that was. When she first arrived on F-268, she had taken the starrail herself—a space-time teleportation ride that was blisteringly fast. Her brows knit together, reading each line with growing doubt. Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Did this male just ask me for money? Already? We haven't even met yet, and he's pulling the broke-boy routine. This is like swapping numbers after a blind date, and the male immediately asks if you can cover his rent. Yeah, no. Not happening. She snorted, flipping onto her side. Good thing the Beastmate System gives me three months to decide. If this is what I've been matched with, I'll hit that dissolve button so fast his head'll spin.