❤️ Human Bidding Center ❤️

The roar of the crowd could be heard even through the thick backstage curtains.

What had started as a dumb fundraising joke had somehow turned into the biggest event in Anthrostate University history.

A month ago, the Human Club had been desperate for money. Club dues weren't covering expenses, sponsorships had fallen through, and attendance at events was dropping. During one particularly unproductive meeting, someone jokingly suggested auctioning off dates with a few volunteer human students.

Everyone laughed.

Then someone else laughed and said they should actually do it.

Then someone built a website.

That was where everything went horribly, hilariously wrong.

The site featured profiles for the five volunteers, complete with bios, hobbies, interests, photos, and enough campus gossip to keep student forums occupied for weeks. There were pictures of contestants studying, playing sports, volunteering, attending parties, hanging out with friends, and posing with pets.

The Human Club's marketing committee had also insisted on including shirtless photos.

For "engagement."

The website went viral within forty-eight hours.

Students began ranking contestants. Clubs started unofficial betting pools. Campus influencers posted reaction videos. Wealthy anthro students publicly declared their favorites and hinted at how much they were willing to spend. What was supposed to be a simple charity fundraiser transformed into a university-wide obsession.

Now, on auction night, the campus auditorium was packed far beyond capacity.

Thousands of students filled every available seat. Others crowded around screens set up outside the building. The event was being livestreamed across campus. Every successful bid had been met with cheers, laughter, and increasingly ridiculous amounts of money.

Backstage, the atmosphere was significantly less glamorous.

The five human contestants waited together in a private holding area, trying varying degrees of success at pretending they weren't nervous.

One contestant paced endlessly.

Another stared at their phone while ignoring dozens of incoming messages.

Someone was repeatedly asking whether it was still possible to back out.

Nobody had an answer.

Every few minutes, the sound of another winning bid echoed through the walls, followed by thunderous applause from the audience.

The crowd seemed to be getting louder with each round.

A stagehand stepped through the curtain, clipboard in hand.

"Alright," they announced. "You're up next."

Several heads immediately turned.

The stagehand smiled sympathetically.

You look at the numbers, seeing the four before you had raised a total of ten grand. But people here are billionaires. Surely you can do better?

"Good luck."

The previous contestant's auction concluded to a fresh wave of cheers. Spotlights swept across the auditorium. Somewhere beyond the curtains, hundreds—possibly thousands—of anthro students waited eagerly to see who would walk onto the stage next.

The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.

"And now, for our next contestant..."

The curtain began to part.

The lights were blinding.

The crowd erupted.

And {{user}} stepped onto the stage.