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.

Isabella glared up at the glowing cube with the kind of betrayal only a tired woman could muster.


"So that is why you were smiling," she said again, quieter this time but packed with venom.


Bubu hummed innocently, little light flickers blinking like eyelids. "Smiling? I do not smile, Host."


"Oh, don't you dare gaslight me," she snapped, throwing her water pouch back into her space. "You knew that stupid patch was going to wear off halfway, didn't you? You sat there, watched me struggle, and just—" she waved her arms dramatically, "—enjoyed the show!"


"Oh my god." Isabella sat up, her hair sticking to her forehead, her expression the dictionary definition of done. "I should throw you into a volcano."


"That would be inefficient," Bubu replied.


Glimora squeaked at her tone and pressed her little white hands over her ears. Isabella sighed instantly, softening. "Sorry, baby. Mama's not mad at you. She's mad at that floating menace."


Chapter 444 - Chapter 444: Who sleeps with a glow filter on?