A Private Dance For The Professor
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Rejected by My Family, Claimed by the Galactic Commander
I woke up to the stench of rust and rotting flesh, no longer a master botanist who commanded life itself, but a D-class exile dumped on a wasteland planet. Memories that weren't mine flooded in. I was framed by my stepsister, betrayed by my fiancé, and banished by my own family to the Ashfall Peninsula to die. The original girl actually starved to death in despair. The moment I opened my eyes, a scavenger tried to smash my skull with a rusty pipe just to eat me. After I killed him to survive, I discovered a harsher truth: in this universe, plant seeds are classified as A-level strategic resources, completely monopolized by the Imperium. But the universe had a sick sense of humor. A mandatory background scan suddenly triggered a galactic broadcast: I, the exiled trash, was a perfect genetic match for the Imperium's top war hero, General Alexander Orr. The family that ruthlessly erased my existence instantly saw me as a golden ticket. My cheating ex-fiancé was dispatched to drag me back, furious that his "property" was matched with someone else. They all thought I was still that weak, naive girl they could manipulate. But as I held the pure, glowing Life Source Crystals I had secretly extracted from the scrap heap, a cold smile crept onto my face. "I didn't come here to die. I came here to build an empire." I turned my back on the galactic broadcast and stepped into the deadly wilderness.
Chapter 1
A sharp scraping of metal on metal sliced through the fog in Janae's mind.
A second earlier, she was still in deep darkness, feeling death slowly erase her consciousness; but now she woke up again, though not in her original body—the body of another Janae.
A blinding headache—another Janae's dying scream still rattling inside her skull.
Then memories—not hers, but another Janae's—flooded in.
The Bennett estate.
Marble floors.
A ceiling so high it could swallow the sky.
"From today, you are no longer a Bennett."
Another Janae's father—Preston—sat on the highest seat.
He didn't look at another Janae. Like she was a defective product he was finally discarding.
"Father—" another Janae began. "I can prove myself."
"It's too late." Camilla was there. Leaning against the sofa, smiling. The smile she always wore when she had already won. "Janae, you still don't understand, do you? Your ability rank determines your value. D-Class. Even having you as my sister is embarrassing now."
The memory shifted.
A colder one.
Donnell.
Another Janae's fiancé.
The man she had given everything to.
"The engagement is canceled." He didn't hesitate. "I can't marry a failure."
He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I need a mate who can awaken her beast-soul, Janae. Not someone who barely flickers."
He threw the betrothal token at her feet. It shattered against the marble. "Don't beg. It's pathetic."
The memory broke apart.
Janae opened her eyes.
The sky was wrong.
Not the high, clear sky of the Bennett estate.
A bruised, festering gray, choked with smog.
The air was thick with rust and oil and something rotting.
She was lying on a pile of debris.
Broken metal.
Corroded wiring.
The ground beneath her was soft, gray-black dust that smelled of sulfur.
She tried to sit up.
Pain lanced through her ribs.
Her hands were scraped raw.
Her clothes—what was she wearing?
Rags.
Someone else's clothes.
She looked inward.
The vast, forest-like dimension of her personal storage space—gone.
A dead, silent void.
She tried to summon the life-giving energy that had once made emperors kneel—a pathetic trickle.
Weak as a dying ember.
Cold panic seized her.
She was nothing.
Less than nothing.
A shadow fell over her.
She looked up.
A man stood there.
Skeletal.
Ragged.
His eyes gleamed with a hungry, knowing light.
In his hand, a rusted metal pipe.
He grinned.
Yellowed teeth.
Filthy fangs.
"Fresh meat," he rasped. "I know your type the moment I see you." He circled her slowly, pipe tapping against his palm. "Soft skin. Clean neck. No scar on your face."
He laughed. "A noble. Clan-born. Some little princess who got flushed down the Imperium's toilet."
She said nothing.
"Let me guess," he continued. "Daddy kicked you out? Or was it a fiancé who couldn't wait to trade you in for a better model?"
The words hit like a physical blow.
Janae's jaw tightened.
He leaned closer.
"I've seen that look before. The 'I used to matter' look. You know what happens to people like you here? Nothing. You just die slower than the rest."
"You're wrong," she said.
Her voice came out rough, unfamiliar.
"Am I?" He laughed. "This place doesn't care whose daughter you were. On the Ashfall Peninsula, there's only one law: you're either holding the pipe, or you're getting your skull caved in."
The Ashfall Peninsula.
The name triggered something.
A memory from another Janae.
The Imperium's dumping ground.
Where they sent the broken.
The disgraced.
The unwanted.
She was here because of them.
Because of Camilla.
Because of Donnell.
Because of every person who had decided she was worthless and thrown her away.
Jed crouched down, bringing his face close to hers. "You can scream if you want. No one's coming. The Imperium doesn't patrol here. Doesn't send rescue. They dump their garbage, and we clean up the scraps."
Something inside her snapped.
Not fear.
Not despair.
Anger.
She remembered Donnell's cold voice.
"I can't marry a failure."
She remembered Camilla's smile.
"Even having you as my sister is embarrassing now."
She remembered another Janae's father's face.
Like she was nothing.
Like she had always been nothing.
"You don't know anything about me," she whispered.
Jed chuckled. "I know enough. I know you're going to die here. I know you're going to cry. I know—"
She moved.
Not away.
Not to run.
Forward.
She saw a piece of sheet metal.
Sharp.
Jagged.
She grabbed it as she rolled, the edge biting into her palm.
Jed raised the pipe.
It whistled down toward her skull.
She threw herself sideways.
The pipe slammed into the ground where her head had been.
Gray dust exploded.
"Still fighting?" He lunged. Kicked her in the ribs.
Pain.
White-hot.
Her organs felt like they were rearranging themselves.
The copper taste of blood filled her mouth.
But she didn't fall.
She didn't cry.
She thought of Donnell.
She thought of Camilla.
She thought of every moment they had made her feel small.
Jed bent down.
Grabbed her by the hair.
Yanked her up.
"See?" he said. "In the end, you're all the same. Just meat for the grinder."
His face was inches from hers.
She could smell his rotten breath.
See the veins in his bloodshot eyes.
"No," she said.
Then she struck.
The metal shard drove deep into his throat.
He froze.
Blood—dark, hot, arterial—gushed over her hands.
His eyes widened.
He made a sound, a wet gurgle.
She pulled the shard out.
He collapsed, clutching his neck.
His mouth opened and closed.
Like a fish gasping for air.
"Not meat," she said, her voice steady. "Never meat."
She watched him die.
His eyes stayed open.
Staring up at the gray, festering sky.
Janae fell back against a pile of old tires.
She was gasping.
Her ribs screamed.
Her hands were slick with blood.
She looked at the corpse beside her.
She didn't feel triumph.
She didn't feel horror.
She felt something else.
Cold.
She was alive.
That was all that mattered.
She forced herself up.
Checked her injuries.
Bruised ribs.
Scraped hands.
Nothing broken.
She would survive.
A howl echoed in the distance.
Some unseen beast, maybe miles away.
But it reminded her: danger was everywhere.
She needed shelter.
Food.
Information.
She needed to find the Reclamation Center.
The only settlement on the Peninsula.
The only place where she could trade, barter, survive.
She looked at Jed's corpse.
A cold, practical thought formed.
Even the dead were resources here.
She started searching his body.
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