Reincarnated as a Mushroom?

Chapter Ninety-Four:

Aunties, Algorithms, and the Forbidden Archive of Cock

—

Spartari Security Checkpoint 018, Planetary Orbit, Mid-Morning

There are many things one expects of a galactic princess: grace, discipline, a spine forged of silver protocol and perfumed propriety.

Hailey Athena had, until recently, embodied all of those traits like a walking diplomatic nuke wrapped in thigh-high boots.

But for the past few weeks?

Hailey had been... off.

Her staff had noticed it first. The subtle stutters in her command cadence. The way she would glare at screens as if daring them to show her his face. Her short temper had returned with a vengeance, and her officers were now collectively terrified of breathing too loudly during briefings.

The cause?

A man.

Not just any man—an Arcon. From the outer rim. From a backwater dirt clod of a planet that probably had more goat carts than satellites. A man who had somehow wormed his image into her neural pathways like a psionic parasite and then refused to leave.

His name?

She didn't fucking know. Not for sure. Not yet.

Because even after illegally slicing into the Intergalactic Citizenship Database—a federal offense punishable by dismemberment and re-education—she'd come up dry.

Two weeks.

Zero results.

Not even a blurry mugshot.

Hailey thudded her head against her desk with the mechanical despair of a woman who had done everything right and still failed to stalk a man successfully.

"Maybe he lied," she muttered, voice muffled against faux-mahogany laminate. "Maybe he's not even a citizen. Maybe he's a hallucination with a really good dick outline."

But she didn't believe that. She'd trained in deception recognition under the Warden-Priests of Quantos Prime. Her instincts were psionically tuned to detect even quantum-level dishonesty.

He had definitely told the truth.

Just not all of it.

And then—like a gift from the universe wrapped in temptation and violation—the alert chimed.

She shot upright.

On her screen was an image.

His image.

Like lightning had licked the edges of her brain.

Her fingers danced over the projected interface.

"Hmm, hm hmm," she hummed like a horny librarian discovering smut in the archives. "Arcon male. Irvine Lambdason. Son of—hm hmm—planet of origin... Apollo Minor?"

She froze.

That name...

She knew it.

Not from maps. From gossip.

From a memory half-buried under war briefings and adolescent trauma.

"Wait," she whispered, eyes narrowing. "Didn't Gabrielle—my old Captain of the Guard—survive the fall of Apollo Minor with her ex? Before her psionic bloom?"

She frowned.

That was... a possibility. But she didn't want to follow up illegal cyberstalking with official queries. She still had some shame left.

"I'll just ask her casually," she muttered. "When I visit Ecumenopolis I after the semester."

And yet... that wasn't enough.

She needed more.

So she made a call.

Not to an agent. Not to a handler. Not to a loyal but expendable servant.

She called Aunty Kat.

—

Ecumenopolis IV, Office of Director Kathrine Sorella

Kathrine had just finished escorting Irvine and his chaotic circus of queens out of the main tower. She was now in her office, trying to physically scrub away the sexual crime scene they had left behind.

Specifically, the pool of her own slick that had dribbled across the desk.

"I'm supposed to be a fucking noble," she muttered, cheeks flushed as she wiped at the mahogany surface. "Oral is for husbands and political leverage. Not for being skull-fucked into a higher tax bracket."

And yet...

Her thighs clenched.

That man had used her like a fleshlight with a degree in economics—and she had loved it. No control. No protocol. Just meat and heat and humiliation.

She was about to start leaking again when her private line chimed.

Not the office comms.

Her personal encrypted projector.

She sighed. "If that's my husband asking for another conjugal pass, I swear—"

But it wasn't.

Her face lit up as soon as she saw the caller ID.

"My darling girl!"

She snapped her hair into place, adjusted her blouse, and activated the call with the radiance of a woman who had just cleaned up jizz with dignity intact.

"Hailey, my precious ice cube! You remembered I exist!"

Hailey's cold façade melted like a soldier on shore leave.

"I could never hate you, Aunt Kat. Even if you did abandon the royal family to fuck half the legislature."

Kathrine gasped dramatically.

"I only fucked a quarter of the legislature. And that's just because your father had the emotional charisma of a dishrag in a war crime."

They laughed.

But the call's energy shifted quickly.

Hailey cleared her throat, visibly flustered.

"I uh... did something illegal."

"I'm listening."

"I may have hacked the citizenship registry. I was looking for someone."

"Oh? An enemy? A fugitive?"

Hailey blushed.

"A marriage candidate."

Kathrine grinned like a devil in lace.

"My little girl has a crush? I thought for sure you were a muff-muncher. You hated every suitor your father threw at you. I was convinced you were going to elope with your drill instructor and start a mercenary BDSM commune."

"I'm not—! I've only ever kissed a girl because you taught me how!"

"Oh right!" Kathrine cooed. "I remember now. You were so nervous, all blush and baby deer eyes. I thought you were going to faint before tongue contact."

"Can we focus, please?"

"Fine, fine. Who's the lucky bastard?"

Hailey straightened up. "He's staying on your planet. I was hoping you could... vet him? Discreetly?"

Kathrine, already halfway through typing a level-5 override into her databank, purred like a criminal in heat.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'll do more than vet him. I'll eviscerate his soul. Give me a name."

Hailey double-checked her notes.

"Irvine Lambdason."

Kathrine froze.

Good gods she was lucky she hadn't sipped her water. Her name would've ended up on her own cleaning report.

"Aunty?"

Kathrine blinked back into focus.

"Ah, yes. That name. I—uh—recently met him."

Hailey's eyes darkened.

"Met how?"

Kathrine's brain began doing somersaults to avoid saying: He had my throat bruised from fucking me over my desk while calling me furniture.

"Oh, through work. He's here visiting an ex-fiancée. Noble house. Old ties. Nothing serious."

"Ex-fiancée how?" Hailey growled. "Like, she still wants him ex? Or they're done and never speaking again ex?"

"Oh, they were engaged as kids. Political betrothal. Never met until recently. No heat between them. I wouldn't worry."

Kathrine's lie was mostly true.

Mostly.

Hailey relaxed.

"Good. That's good. I want you to get close to him. Figure out what kind of man he is. When I see him at the Psionic College again, I want to speak to him like I understand him."

Kathrine gave a maternal smile.

"I'll handle it, darling. Expect a report daily."

"Thank you, Aunt Kat."

The call ended.

Hailey immediately pulled out a leather-bound journal titled: Men, Cock, and Other Forbidden Weapons. She began to draft Irvine's character dossier with surgical precision and an artist's glee.

Her mood lifted like a psion on a sugar high.

Her staff would be grateful.

—

Back in the Office

Kathrine stared at the ceiling with both hands covering her face.

"Fuck me sideways with a legal deposition."

She wasn't even Hailey's blood aunt. Just a family friend with a title and bad boundaries. And now? She'd accidentally throat-serviced her niece's fantasy husband.

She should've been horrified.

Instead, she reached down between her thighs and found herself soaked.

She moaned.

"Gods, he's big... bigger than the Drakoshi cadaver we dissected last year. Hailey's poor pussy would shatter. I should... I should help. For her safety."

She nodded, serious now.

"Test it first. Write a briefing. Keep her from dying during her first fuck. Totally noble intentions."

As she went to clean up again, Kathrine realized two things:

1. She had ten minutes until her next meeting.

2. Her panties were ruined.

With a soldier's resolve and a whore's smirk, she got back to scrubbing.

---

Author's Note: A Heartfelt Message from Me to You

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