The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 157: This is the worst glow-up quest ever

3. Make a Simple Perfume (0/1)

Because smelling like sweat is NOT the move. (350 points)

→ Extract oils from flowers or herbs to create a natural scent. Bonus if the tribe approves.

→ Reward: +5 Survival Points, +5 Beauty Points

4. Invent a Skincare Routine (0/1)

The Stone Age sun is NOT forgiving. (1000 points)

→ Find natural moisturizers—animal fat, honey, or plant extracts.

→ Choose wrong? Breakouts galore.

→ Reward: +3 Survival Points, +7 Beauty Points

5. Introduce a Beauty Trend (0/1)

Make the barbarians fabulous. (623 points)

→ Convince the tribe to try hairstyling, body painting, or jewelry.

→ Rejection? Try again until they get with the times.

→ Reward: +10 Beauty Points, +3 Charisma Points

6. Make a Primitive Mirror (0/1)

You NEED to see yourself. (44 points)

→ Find polished stones or still water to check your reflection.

→ Fail? You’ll never know how bad you look.

→ Reward: +3 Survival Points, +3 Beauty Points

"Okay, I’ll start with soap first," Isabella said, clapping her hands together with determination. "Thank God I got those magical soap—"

"I said animal fat, Isabella," Bubu cut in, voice sharp and immediate like a knife to her optimism.

Isabella froze. Her hands dropped slowly. She turned to the air like she could glare a hole into the invisible system.

"Oh no you didn’t," she whispered, realization dawning fast. "It’s the same thing, right? The point is to make soap! Magical, sparkly, lavender-scented—what’s the difference?!"

"Yeah, no," Bubu replied flatly. "Animal fat is animal fat."

She blinked. "I feel personally attacked."

Bubu cheerfully continued, "You’ll need to render the fat down. Boil it. Stir it with ashes. Maybe strain out the chunks—"

"Chunks?" Isabella choked, visibly horrified. Her entire soul looked like it tried to leap out of her body. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"What’s the point of this?!" she demanded. "And don’t you dare say it’s to build character."

"Okay," Bubu said without skipping a beat, "it’ll make your heart stronger and more resilient."

"I have a strong and resilient heart!" she argued, pacing now as Opehlia glanced over from their crafting area with mild concern.

"And yet here you are," Bubu chirped sweetly, "crying because I told you to use animal fat to make soap."

Isabella dramatically dragged her hands down her face. "I hate it here."

"You’ll hate it less once your hair stops smelling like smoked firewood and cave must."

"I washed it yesterday!" she snapped.

"With what, hope?" Bubu shot back.

She made a strangled noise, fists clenched at her sides. "Fine. Where’s the nearest source of fat? And it better not be that greasy wild pig that growled at me last two weeks."

"That pig? Oh no. That one’s smarter than you. Good luck catching it."

"Bubu!!"

Gosh. She was so tired of this system. The pop-ups. The tasks. The attitude. And now—now it wanted her to hunt that disgusting, fat, grunting pig from the woods?

Tch.

She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples like she could massage away the urge to scream.

"Do you want me to help you with anything?" came Cyrus’s calm, velvety voice from behind her.

Isabella turned around slowly, devastation painted all over her face like she’d just been asked to drink boiled mud.

"Yes," she said with zero hesitation, "let’s go hunt a pig."

Cyrus blinked. "A pig?"

She didn’t explain. She just pivoted and started walking with the confidence of someone headed to war. Her steps were heavy with purpose—and despair.

As if sensing the bubbling irritation in her chest, Bubu’s screen began to flicker open again.

Without even breaking stride, Isabella spoke through clenched teeth in her mind, "Bubu, shut up. I am not hunting a pig myself."

The screen, which had just begun to glow with a smug brightness, flickered once... then dimmed into complete silence.

A tiny, victorious smirk tugged at Isabella’s lips. "Stupid system," she muttered under her breath.

Yes, it was annoying. Yes, it made her want to scream. But... it had grown on her. Like a fungus. Or a sarcastic little parasite she somehow couldn’t live without.

It didn’t take long for Isabella and Cyrus to reach the clearing. This particular pig always loitered around the same muddy patch, like it owned the place. A creature of routine and bad attitude.

Isabella spotted it immediately—half-submerged in slop, eyes half-lidded in judgment, tusks caked with dirt, and an expression that said, "You again?"

She squinted at it.

The pig looked at her.

Then, with all the dramatic flair of an overpaid actor, it snorted, turned its back on her—deliberately—and proceeded to squat its hairy butt deeper into the mud like she wasn’t worth a single grunt.

Isabella’s jaw dropped. "Hey! You rude bacon slab, I’m talking to you!"

The pig let out a dismissive fart.

Cyrus raised a brow.

Isabella took a threatening step forward. "You’ve got a lot of attitude for someone that’s about to become soap!"

The pig rolled over with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sigh and scratched its belly with its hind leg. Mocking her. MOCKING.

"Oh my god," Isabella muttered, turning to Cyrus. "Why does it feel like I’ve just been rejected by a pig?"

Cyrus, who had remained quiet the entire time, glanced down at her. "Do you want me to kill it now?"

She placed a hand dramatically over her heart. "I mean... I was going to do it. For growth. For grit. For personal development or whatever."

The pig let out another lazy snort.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "But now I’m emotionally compromised. I think it’s best if you handle it."

Cyrus didn’t speak. He just nodded once, then moved.

One second he was beside her, the next—schlick—the pig was down.

No drama. No mess. Just one clean motion, like slicing through butter.

Isabella blinked. "Whoa."

Cyrus carefully wiped the blade on the grass, his gaze steady but calm. "Is something wrong?"

She stared at the now-still pig, then up at him. "You didn’t even blink."

Cyrus wiped his blade with practiced care, his voice steady and innocent. "You told me to kill it"

Isabella paused, looking at him for a moment. The way he said it—so calm, so unaffected—actually made her heart skip a beat. It was kind of cute, but she quickly shook it off, not wanting to entertain that thought.

"Fair," she said, sighing as she glanced down at the muddy mess. "Ugh. Now we have to carry it. This is the worst glow-up quest ever."

Cyrus gave her a small, quiet smile. "At least it won’t talk back anymore."

Isabella smirked, feeling a little more at ease. "Unlike a certain system I know."

In the distance, Bubu’s screen made a boop sound in warning, but Isabella ignored it and rolled up her sleeves.

"Let’s make some soap. With attitude."