“How are you feeling now, Dan?”
“I’m better now. Thank you, senior Thomasin.”
There were still faint red marks on his neck from being grabbed, but the prince was fine.
Thomasin pushed her glasses up, nodded, and let out a tired sigh.
“…What on earth did you do, Dan?”
“I honestly still don’t get what I did.”
“Did you go provoke her? I mean, I understand—beating someone like Rafinya must’ve been satisfying, but still…”
“Senior… you know about that?”
“They’re talking about it all over the waterfront district, Dan.”
Dan scratched the back of his head.
Thomasin stood a little stiffly, shifting to the side to keep her distance from the tall man beside her—175 centimeters, wolf-cut hair—who was sniffing the air around her.
Sniff sniff “No dangerous scent at all. Definitely bottom of the food chain.” Sniff sniff
Thomasin: “…”
“Senior Thomasin… this is my friend.”
“Your… friend, Dan? steps back”
Dan made a hand gesture to cut it off, and Roma stopped.
“Name…”
Dan and Roma looked at each other.
Dan tilted his head—Tell her.
Roma’s reply, a two-beat shake of the head—
I haven’t thought of one yet.
What the—then why didn’t you think of one!
Please name me yourself, Your Highness.
“Uh…”
“?”
Dan’s mind did something only an autistic Fury could pull off—
“This is Totti,” he said.
Roma’s human form.
Totti
Why did it feel like he’d just gotten his name this very moment?
“Totti’s from Zentinel, like me, senior.”
Thomasin Mayfield gave a small nod, her body language making it clear she wasn’t keen on standing too close to Totti.
“In that case… if you’re feeling better, Dan, I’ll be heading off.”
She gave a polite nod.
“Wait, senior Thomasin.”
“?”
“I was planning to bring this up next week… but since we ran into each other today, I’ll say it now. I have something important to discuss—about your research.”
“?”
“Would you have time?”
“…Alright.”
Eden Gardens; bridge over the Saint Maximin River.
“Totti.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Yes, Dan…”
Totti pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Thomasin.
“This is…?” Thomasin asked.
“It’s about what you told me before, that the Department of Evolutionary Studies doesn’t get as much funding as other departments. As it happens… I know someone in Zentinel who’s interested in supporting your research.”
Thomasin flipped the card over.
Randy Moss
Chief Executive Officer, Goodison Park Holding Inc.
“Goodison Park Holding? Never heard of it.”
“I know the CEO personally. I think he could help secure funding for your department, if you reach out.”
“How would I even manage that, Dan?”
The corner of Thomasin’s mouth curved slightly as she gave a dry laugh.
“I’m just a TA who lives paycheck to paycheck… the project I’m working on can’t generate any real profit for someone like that. Spending money on knowledge with no practical use doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“It is useful.”
Thomasin froze at Dan’s change in tone—serious, steady, unwavering.
“It’s absolutely useful. Senior, there are people out there willing to pay for the answers you’re seeking. They can’t find those answers themselves—but you can. That’s why they’ll support you.”
“….”
Thomasin stared at him.
Dan took both her hands in his and held them tightly.
“You have to go, senior. Please. You never know unless you try, and if you don’t, the chance is gone before it even starts.”
Maybe it was his choice of words, or the way he said them—but Thomasin could feel how genuine his plea was. It was like he himself wanted to support her research.
“I… don’t know.”
She adjusted her glasses.
“Our current funding comes from Mathema’s government. If I reached out, I’m not sure it wouldn’t cause conflict or political complications… it could be trouble for them too.”
“If Mathema’s government has no objection, then your department would accept the funding, right?”
“If there’s no problem, I’d gladly accept.”
“I understand.”
At that moment, Thomasin noticed Totti scribbling something on yellow paper.
“You need to contact him, senior. The address is on the card. Thank you.”
Dan bowed.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Alright, see you later… Dan.”
“Totti, let’s go.”
“Yes, Dan.”
Thomasin looked down at the card in her hand.
“Randy Moss… a relative of Dan’s?”
United Nations Conference Hall, Allianz Port.
Nora attended as an observer on the fourth day of negotiations.
Today was far less tense than previous days—the delegates had settled on their divisions of benefits, and the discussions were dull enough to make one yawn. Nora could tell Freya was nodding off here and there… somehow, even without a face, she knew when Freya was asleep.
“Mr. President, by the way…”
As Everton was signing documents beside the President for the press, he asked,
“I’ve heard Mathema invests heavily in the Academy’s education programs. Is that true?”
“Do you doubt it, Prince Everton?”
“I’m curious if it’s true that your education budget is the nation’s top priority.”
(Nora caught that—her ears perked.)
“Listen, Prince,” said President Fofana Steelers.
“Education is the most important key to a nation’s prosperity. It’s the ticket to raising people’s quality of life. I know this better than anyone… as a former schoolteacher, I can say without hesitation that education is what made Mathema what it is today. Knowledge is intangible, but its power is immeasurable.”
Everton listened in silence, simply nodding.
So, no matter what happened in the world—
As long as Fofana Steelers was President, the education budget would never be cut.
That was the one point everyone knew was non-negotiable.
“Then what’s your concern?”
“In practice, not all knowledge has the same value. You must prioritize within that budget, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Mr. President,”
The blue-skinned demon leaned in, and the President did the same.
“Would it be possible… for Diablo to also contribute to Mathema’s education funding?”
“…What?”
Fofana looked up, momentarily stunned.
No doubt his mind was already racing—Diablo must want something, likely access to Mathema’s innovations.
“We would fund your researchers so Mathema could develop the best innovations for Diablo. What do you think?”
“We won’t hand you weapons.”
“We only want a share of the knowledge—and we wouldn’t ask for it for free. Think carefully, or we might start recruiting your graduates ourselves.”
“Humans won’t trust you.”
“Maybe not now,” Everton said,
“But what about in five years… ten… twenty?”
What gave Everton such confidence?
The answer was Nora.
“Consider it. We could start with knowledge of low value.”
Nora saw Everton hand a thin sheet of paper to President Fofana.
“I’d like to fast-track this request. The sooner you can approve it, the more generous our return will be.”
“And the request is?”
“Someone I know wants to support a small department in your Ministry of Education.”
“Which department?”
“I can’t recall the exact name… something to do with evolution?”
!
Nora knew instantly who that ‘someone’ was.
“The Evolutionary Department?”
Fofana thought for a moment.
“Oh, right. It’s fairly new.”
And its knowledge value—minimal.
“The paleontology division… it gets occasional mention, but investing in it is hardly worth it. What would you gain? That knowledge is practically useless.”
“But he’s willing to pay.”
Fofana looked at the paper—runes translated into Mathema’s language.
Application to be a personal patron.
Budget: Unlimited.
Signed,
FURY of DIABLO.
Fofana’s eyes widened.
Prince Fury?
To her, Fury was a difficult, complex figure—why would someone like that do this?
“Unlimited budget? What could he possibly want for that?”
“As it’s a personal patronage, the paperwork would be minimal… He requested it be kept quiet, no headlines. Could you arrange it for my brother?”
“This is… his request?”
Nora: (Mr.Fury…)
“We’ll handle the transfer through a fund. All you need to do is let my brother fulfill his dream.”
Mathema wouldn’t lose anything—
If anything, they might just be throwing Diablo’s money away.
“…I’ll take it back for discussion.”
“Take your time.”
“What fund will you use?”
“Oh… we happened to find a greedy businessman running a candy factory in Zentinel. He’ll be our middleman, so humans won’t be alarmed.”
“What’s his name?”
“…Randy,” Everton said with a sly smile.
Randy Moss, Mr. President.