Glimmer_Giggle

Isabella was supposed to be sipping champagne at a luxury spa, not waking up in the middle of a forest. Worse, a SYSTEM had attached itself to her like some clingy ex, spouting nonsense about survival, quests, and—oh, hell no—manual labor.

"System, I was NOT built for the wilderness! My ideal ‘roughing it’ experience involves a five-star hotel with bad WiFi!"

Now, instead of lounging in silk robes, she’s being ordered to farm? To hunt?

"A farming quest? You want me—a city girl—to grow food? System, I once killed a cactus by overwatering it. This is NOT my calling!"

And don’t even get her started on the hygiene situation.

"You want me to bathe in a cold river? Darling, I require warm water, scented oils, and an ambience! What do I look like—some barbarian?!"

Unfortunately, the locals—big, muscular beastmen—don’t seem to understand the concept of self-care. The women? Neglecting their skin like it’s a crime to be radiant. The men? Walking hygiene disasters.

"Ladies, if your man can smell you before he sees you, we have a problem."
"You see this? This is lotion. It exists so you don’t look like a dried-up leaf. Use it."
"A beard should be majestic, not tragic. Let me fix it."

And the beastmen? They don’t just stare at her like she’s an oddity. No, they hover. They smirk. They lean in too close, fangs flashing with amusement.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she huffed, crossing her arms.
The panther grinned, his tail flicking. "Because you’re fascinating when you’re annoyed."

No, absolutely not. She was not here for this nonsense.

"If you have time to stare, you have time to moisturize."

She didn’t ask to be here. She didn’t ask to be their savior. But if she has to suffer through this world, she’s making everyone around her suffer less—through skincare, style, and some serious attitude.

"If I hear one more ‘We don’t season our food here,’ I’m launching a war."
"If you have time to gossip, you have time to do squats."
"You want to impress a woman? Start with not smelling like the battlefield."

Survival isn’t just about fighting monsters; it’s about looking good while doing it. So what if the System keeps throwing impossible quests her way?

"What do you mean ‘you can’t skip quests’?! Since when?! Where is the skip button?! I demand a skip button!"

But somewhere between dodging ridiculous quests and fixing these people’s tragic grooming habits, Isabella found herself in situations. Uncomfortable, heart-racing situations.

Like being trapped against a tree by the red python, his red eyes half-lidded as he murmured, "You talk too much, little star. Should I silence you?"

Like waking up with the lion lord’s fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders, his deep voice gruff, "You shiver in your sleep. I’ll fix that."

Like the phoenix watching her every move, his burning gaze searing into her skin as he mused, "You cause chaos wherever you go, but I find that I don’t mind."

Oh, hell. No. She was not about to fall for four beastmen. She was too pretty for this much stress.

"If you insult me again, I’ll make sure your soul needs a beauty upgrade."
"I refuse to be disrespected by anyone who dresses like an unwashed tree branch."

And yet, when a rival tribe came to challenge her, when danger lurked too close, those same beastmen stood beside her—smirking, taunting, fighting for her.

"A beastman growled at me today. I growled back. He ran. I am the alpha now."

Isabella isn’t just surviving. She’s thriving. And this world better keep up.

The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts

Asael stood stiffly in front of Isabella, eyeing the strange black paste on the chewing stick like it was a death sentence. His lips parted slightly, hesitation clear on his face.

Isabella, of course, took that as permission.

With zero warning, she shoved the stick into his mouth.

Asael made a strangled sound, eyes going wide as the gritty, minty, slightly bitter taste spread over his tongue. He instinctively recoiled, but Isabella grabbed his wrist, holding him in place with an excited grin.

"Now, now, don't be dramatic!" she cooed, her tone far too cheerful for someone forcefully making a grown man chew on something suspicious.

"You have to scrub! Like this—" She made exaggerated circular motions with her own chewing stick, demonstrating with her pearly white teeth. "Make sure to really get in there—oh, yes, just like that! Good job, Asael!"

Asael, who was aggressively brushing in a desperate attempt to get the taste out, was not proud.

Chapter 42: You have to scrub! Like this