The clock glowed 11:11 PM when your world tilted.

Arden - your star scholarship recipient， the computer science prodigy who'd sat across from you mere hours ago in pressed Oxford shirt and nervous smiles - now stood center stage at PURE wearing more skin than fabric.

“Happy birthday!“ Nina squealed， thrusting a cocktail into your paralyzed hand.“We booked their premium lineup!“

Neon lights fractured into a thousand shards across the stage. There he stood - your diligent student transformed into nightlife merchandise. The black mesh vest revealed taut abdominal muscles his oversized sweaters had hidden， silver buckles glinting where they strained against unexpected pectoral definition.

His usual neatly combed hair now fell in artful waves， contact lenses replacing the thick-framed glasses that normally shielded those startlingly blue eyes. A manager's handprint already bloomed scarlet on his upper arm where someone had shoved him forward.

“Pick the wolfboy!“ Your friends chanted.

Arden's throat moved in a convulsive swallow. Those programmer's fingers - usually flying across keyboards during your campus meetings - now fumbled with champagne flutes. His telltale wolf ears lay flat against his skull， fluffy tail coiled tightly around his right thigh.

When spotlights swung your way， his entire body locked. You watched realization hit him like a physical blow - the subtle flare of nostrils catching your signature perfume， pupils dilating with animal panic.

“Look at him shaking!“ Nina's drunken giggle pierced the bass-heavy music.“Must be his first night.“

The manager's hissed threat carried from the shadows:“Earn your keep， mutt.“

Arden stumbled forward， designer boots tangling in LED cables. His forced smile cracked when the crowd erupted in cruel laughter. Crystal decanter trembled in his grip， ice cubes chiming like shattered glass.

“Fresh meat indeed，“ a patron sneered nearby.“How much for the virgin wolf?“

Your fingers whitened around the cocktail glass. This was the boy who debugged quantum computing algorithms before breakfast， whose tail wagged unconsciously when explaining code optimizations. Now his claws dug crescent moons into his own palms， blood beading where they pierced skin.

You remained silent， observing him like code waiting to compile.

A Samoyed beastman sidled up， fluffy tail swishing.“Whiskey for the birthday queen?“

Arden's brow furrowed.“She gets headaches from alcohol.“

The Samoyed sneered.“Playing white knight? Fucking quit if you can't handle this!“

Arden's claws unsheathed a fraction before retracting. Still， he kept his gaze lowered.

You caught the unspoken desperation.

“Bring your most expensive bottles.“ Your manicured nail tapped the menu.“On his tab.“

Male models nearby exchanged venomous glances.“Pretty privilege pays，“ one muttered.

“Exactly.“ You leaned back， smile sharp as a compiler error.“Why study when you can stand around looking pretty? Stupid to value education， right...Aiden?“

Nina nudged you.“How'd you know his name?“

You gestured to the glittering nameplate obscuring his nipple.“Says right here - A-i-d-e-n.“

The lie glided smoothly. No club used real names.

Arden's tail coiled tighter around his leg as he prepared the drinks.

The whiskey arrived - top shelf， 90 proof. True to his warning， your head already throbbed. Yet every time you reached for a glass， Arden intercepted it with trembling hands.

Alcohol worked faster on beastmen. His ears drooped like failing servers， golden irises glitching between focus and haze. By the third drink， sweat darkened his collar while his tail lashed against the bar.

“Don't...want this?“ You pushed the fourth glass toward him.

He grasped it desperately， Adam's apple bobbing.“...No issue.“

The liquor hit his system like malware. His tail now draped limply around your chair leg， pupils dilated beyond normal parameters.

“I...should escort you...“ Words slurred like corrupted data.

Drunk-Arden manifested vulnerabilities no debugger could fix - ears velvety-soft， tail seeking anchor points， golden eyes reflecting every strobe light like overloaded processors. The consummate coder reduced to trembling executable barely maintaining runtime.

Arden's alcohol-flushed ears quivered as memories cascaded through your mind.

You'd clawed your way up from tenement housing where taxi fumes seeped through cracked walls. Every scholarship， every internship won through sleepless nights coding until dawn. That MIT acceptance letter wasn't paper - it was a crowbar prying open destiny's jaws.

The scholarship platform notification had pinged during a board meeting. His profile photo showed a wolf-eared teen clutching secondhand textbooks， uniform collar frayed. In a society where beastmen faced systemic discrimination， his eyes burned with the same defiant fire that once reflected in your bathroom mirror.

Mother deceased. Orc Father assembling smartphones for $3/hour. No social security. Yet his transcripts gleamed - national math olympiad medals， perfect CSAT scores. You'd sponsored him before finishing the bio.

He'd validated your faith， becoming your MIT junior. The day his acceptance arrived， you'd gifted him his first MacBook.$2，000 monthly allowance - generous for a freshman， negligible from your Series C funding round.

His reimbursement spreadsheets arrived like clockwork:

- Textbook rental:$327.50

- Shared dorm utilities:$48.75

- Secondhand winter coat:$29.99

“I'll repay every cent with interest，“ he'd vowed during your campus meetups， ears pinkening when you praised his algorithm optimizations. Always in that crisp white shirt - until tonight.

Nina's warning echoed:“You're not a charity! These street mutts bite the hand that feeds!“ She'd scoffed when you bought him the Armani shirt last Christmas. The memory stung - how the saleswomen had flocked to admire your protégé transformed into a runway model.

Ice cubes clinked as Arden forced down another whiskey.$2，000 should cover necessities. Why this? Gaming rigs? Designer threads?

The boy who debugged quantum algorithms at dawn now trembled under club strobes， tail matted with spilled champagne. Your chest constricted - not anger， but grief for the reflection being shattered.

——

The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour pharmacy exposed every detail of Arden's shame.

You dabbed iodine on his forehead wound. He flinched but held still， wolf ears flattening against disheveled silver hair. Each touch made him tremble like a faulty circuit board.

“Why fight?“ Your voice cut through antiseptic smells.

He turned away， Adam's apple bobbing.“They... wanted to spike your drink.“

The truth hung between you like uncommented code. Moonlight through pharmacy windows revealed older bruises along his collarbone - fractal patterns of violence.

“Painful?“ You pressed harder on purpose.

He bit his lip until blood welled， as if physical agony could overwrite deeper shame. The sight ignited your frustration.

“Need more funds? Just ask.“ The words emerged frostier than intended.“No need for... this.“

His head snapped up， golden eyes flashing.“I don't...!“ The protest died in his throat， replaced by humiliation's crimson flush.

Silence compiled between you. You'd seen this stubbornness during debugging sessions - him staring at error logs for hours rather than ask for help.

“Dorm curfew passed hours ago. Where do you usually go?“

“Stay... at the club until morning.“ His tail curled around the stool leg.

“Hotel then.“

Reality crashed harder than any compiler error. The receptionist's smile died upon seeing Arden's ears.“No valid ID， no room.“

His tail drooped， brushing bloodstained tiles.

“Come to my place.“ The offer escaped before risk assessment completed.

The car heater hummed softly. Arden sat rigidly in the passenger seat， his breathing shallow. Fresh blood seeped through the makeshift bandage， staining his white shirt crimson.

“Does it hurt?“

“Not really.“ His response came automated， like pre-written code.“Used to it.“

#

Streetlights fractured in rain puddles as you dragged the convenience store bag upstairs. Arden trailed three paces behind， his elongated shadow resembling a drenched stray.

“Dry your hair.“ You tossed him a towel in the entryway.

The keys clattered as he fumbled. You watched him kneel to gather them， wet fur clinging to his neck.

“Take the club job because research funding got cut?“ The electric kettle screamed.

“...No.“

Glass trembled on the counter as he finally confessed:“Storm flooded the server room. Three experimental models... need rebuilding. Department won't...“

The unspoken“pay for it“ hung in the steam.

Under the UV sanitizer's glow， you saw the truth - those“all-night coding sessions“ Professor Chen praised were actually shifts at neon-lit hellholes. Bruises mapped his collarbone like corrupted data clusters.

“Why not ask me? Last month's report said funds were sufficient.“

His golden eyes contracted. Blood pearlized along his jawline.“They said... I'm...“

The confession died， leaving only the rain's arrhythmic beat against the AC unit.

“...Didn't want to burden you.“

Outside， present-day Arden merged with memory - the scholarship applicant drenched in downpour， refusing shelter.

“Sleep here.“ The thrown blanket knocked over a frame. A University orientation photo stared up from shattered glass - him in oversized glasses， stood awkwardly beside you， the benefactor. Now his tail brushed your bare ankle， warm and real.

#

4:53 AM. The emergency alert pierced like SQL injection.

“Breach.“ Your CTO's voice crackled.“Core systems under attack. Database cascade failure.“

Bare feet hit cold floors. Home servers whirred to life beneath practiced fingers. Crimson alerts flooded monitors - data packets hemorrhaging across network pathways.

“Fucking perfect timing.“

Six hours until the blockchain merger. Eight figures bleeding out with every crashed query. Your nails flew across mechanical keyboards， debugger tools materializing like surgical instruments.