CHAPTER 212: CHAPTER 213: WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU ALL NOT WASHED UP YET?

"Good!" Isabella tossed her shiny hair, placed a hand on her hip, and pointed to the side where fresh buckets stood in a row. "Buckets are for clean water. If it looks like pee or smells like feet, toss it. Don’t bathe in it, don’t feed your man with it, and don’t ever tell me you thought it was tea."

Gasps. Giggles. One of the women actually raised her hand. "What... is tea?"

Isabella blinked. "Oh honey, don’t even get me started. We’ll get to that once you stop mistaking soap for stew."

Satisfied, she turned back toward the women, tilting her head thoughtfully.

"In a few weeks," she said slowly, letting her voice carry like she was announcing a miracle, "I’ll introduce something called a bathroom... and a toilet."

It was dead silent for half a second.

Then—

Screams.

Not of horror—of joy.

The women clapped, gasped, some even bounced where they stood. One woman hugged another. Another literally fell backward onto the dirt, shouting something Isabella didn’t understand but probably translated to holy sht she’s a goddess.*

Isabella waved both hands in the air like a pop star after announcing her world tour.

"Not yet!" she laughed. "Not yet! For now, this setup will have to do."

They nodded excitedly, eyes glowing.

A small hush fell as one of the older women stepped forward. Her hair was silver-threaded, her cheeks weathered with lines, but her smile was soft and grateful. She came closer and touched Isabella’s arm lightly, reverently.

"When you came," the woman said, her voice steady, "with your words of... washing, and teeth... and putting clothes between us and river, we all thought—’She is sick in the head.’"

Several women laughed, and Isabella pressed a hand to her chest, dramatically scandalized. "Wow. Not the insult and the honesty!"

"But now..." the woman continued with a deeper smile, "now we see. You are not crazy. Just strange. But... kind. And your strange... makes us feel pretty. Clean. Like we are new."

Isabella’s smirk softened into something gentler. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

She reached up, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. "Well," she said, flipping her ponytail. "I am a little iconic. It’s not your fault you’ve never met a me before."

That got another round of laughter. One of the younger girls started mimicking Isabella’s walk, shaking her hips and flipping her hair, making the others howl.

Isabella leaned closer to the older woman, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "It’s okay. Really. You’re doing amazing. I’m proud of you guys."

Then she stood tall, clapped twice, and gave a little whistle.

"All right, let’s finish up!" she called out. "Make sure to keep your soap sealed, your toothpaste dry, and your buckets in the shade—no leaving it out for the birds to crap in!"

The women scrambled, some picking up baskets, others helping roll up vines or carry buckets. A few still whispered to each other excitedly, giggling over the words bathroom and toilet like they were secret spells.

Isabella watched them for a moment, arms crossed, chin lifted. A soft breeze stirred the edge of her drsst, and she took in the sight of the little setup they’d built together—privacy hides fluttering, water buckets in place, soap gourds nestled inside wooden buckets, lined up carefully along a stone ledge.

She turned back toward the group and raised her voice one last time.

"If you have any problems—soap breaks, bucket cracks, toothpaste vanishes into your kid’s mouth—go to your mates. I’ve already taught them how to make replacements. It’s not that hard."

One of the women snorted. "If they make it wrong, we throw it at them?"

Isabella smirked. "Gently. Maybe just the bucket."

They all laughed again.

With that, the women began trickling off in twos and threes, still chatting and admiring their soap gourds like precious gems.

Isabella stood there a moment longer, hands on her hips, hair wild from the heat, a bit of charcoal still smeared across her cheek.

She looked like chaos.

She felt like a queen.

And as the afternoon sun blazed overhead, casting a warm glow over her mini hygiene revolution, Isabella knew one thing for sure—

If she could get a tribe of half-naked women to smile over toothpaste and soap?

She could do anything.

Isabella stepped out into the clearing with the sun warming her back and her freshly washed hair falling over her shoulders. The air smelled... fresh. Clean. Like wildflowers and burnt herbs and something very close to triumph.

Around her, the women stood proudly, each glowing with confidence, their mates surrounding them in obvious awe.

"Oh, you smell like sweet ash bark," one man whispered as he nuzzled his nose into his mate’s neck, eyes fluttering shut like he’d reached paradise.

Another woman was being spun around, her giggles echoing as her mate sniffed at her hair and declared he was "drunk on her scent."

Isabella grinned. Finally, some progress.

But then—she saw him.

One man crouched low, tongue out, attempting to lick the scent off his woman’s arm.

Her smile vanished.

Her nose twitched.

Her eye did not stop twitching.

"Why the fuck are you all not washed up yet?" Isabella shouted.

The crowd froze like a flock of birds sensing a predator. The man with his tongue out dropped it back in and stood straight so fast his spine audibly cracked.

From the distance, she spotted Luca approaching, casual and shirtless, as always. But even his presence couldn’t soften the rage brewing in her chest.

One brave—or perhaps stupid—man stepped forward, offering a charming smile and a confident puff of his chest.

"We thank you for what you have done for our mates," he said, placing a hand on his heart. "Truly. But, we men... we do not do things like this. Washing is not... manly. It’s for women."

There was even a proud nod after. Like he expected a round of applause.

Isabella didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Her mouth twitched as though biting back every curse she had ever learned.

She tilted her head slowly, eyes narrowed like a predator ready to strike. "What did you just say?" she whispered.

The man blinked, confused but still stupid enough to try again. "I said—"

SMACK!