CHAPTER 457: CHAPTER 457: FOCUS ON HIM

For one long, ridiculous heartbeat, everyone just stared.

The phoenix man—half-submerged, dripping gold water and confusion—stared at Isabella. Isabella, still on her butt with her hair sticking to her face, stared back. Glimora, perched like a trembling marshmallow on her shoulder, blinked her big sparkly eyes and squeaked nervously.

And then there were the little creatures—the glowing, winged, glitter-bug-looking things that lived around the pond. They’d all stopped midair, tiny wings buzzing like a broken orchestra. Even they were watching, probably wondering if they should be preparing popcorn or running for their lives.

The only one unfazed was Bubu.

The system just hovered there in midair, its eyes flickering lazily like: This is above my pay grade.

Finally, Isabella broke the silence—her voice a half-whisper, half-scream as she spoke through her mind.

"Bubu, is this like some type of trauma response? Because he’s looking at me like I was one of the people who assassinated his clan."

There was a long pause. Then the system’s voice, calm as ever:

"You are correct."

Her eyes widened. "Wait—what?!" she blurted out loud before clapping a hand over her mouth. The sound echoed through the cavern.

The man flinched. His gaze darted to her, panicked, feral, like a cornered animal. His chest rose and fell too fast. Water dripped from his hair down his temple. His golden irises burned faintly beneath the dim blue glow of the cave.

He looked lost. Not just in the ’where am I’ sense, but in the ’my soul has been through the blender’ kind of way. His gaze darted between his trembling hands and the pond around him as if he couldn’t believe where he was.

"Okay," Isabella said, trying to sound soothing and failing miserably. "So—um—you’re fine. You’re alive. You’re wet, but alive."

He blinked at her, still silent, eyes wild.

Then she noticed something—his wings. Or rather, the lack of them. The faint shimmer of feathers had vanished from his back entirely.

"Oh," she whispered, realization dawning. "The man... he’s in shock. Like—like he just realized his wings are gone."

He turned, looking at the water again, his reflection twisting, broken. His fingers flexed where his wings should’ve been, but nothing came.

Panic flashed across his face. "Where... where am I?" His voice was low and rough, like he hadn’t spoken in years.

"Okay," Isabella said slowly, "you’re, uh, at a mountain pond. You’re safe. I think. Probably."

He blinked at her again, lost.

She sighed. "You’re like those characters in movies who wake up and suddenly forget everything. Classic."

The words had barely left her mouth when his eyes flew wide, pupils shrinking into molten pinpoints. His entire body tensed, muscles tightening as if invisible chains had seized him. A sharp breath tore from his chest, followed by a guttural groan that echoed off the cavern walls. He clutched his head with both hands, fingers digging into his damp hair, golden strands sticking to his temples.

Isabella froze, watching in alarm as his shoulders trembled. The sound he made wasn’t just pain—it was confusion, grief, rage—all tangled into one broken noise.

Glimora squeaked and hid behind Isabella’s arm, while even the small cave creatures backed away, their light dimming as if afraid to witness the storm inside him.

"Oh, no," she said, her tone going flat. "Don’t tell me..." She side-eyed the system. "Bubu, please tell me he didn’t really lose his memory."

Before Bubu could reply, the man’s head snapped up. His voice thundered across the cavern. "What did you do to me?! You—You’re a witch!"

Isabella froze mid-blink. "A witch?"

He pointed at her accusingly. "Yes! You bewitched me! You—"

Isabella blinked. "A... witch." That was new. She’d been called many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally homicidal—but witch? Never.

For the first time, it actually hit her—did witches exist here? She tilted her head and muttered under her breath, "Hey, Bubu, do witches exist in this world?"

"Focus on him," the system said flatly.

"Why?" she hissed. "He’s not my priority. I have, like, a thousand other problems—emotional trauma, pregnancy cravings, existential dread—and you want me to focus on him?"

The cube floated in silence, unimpressed.

She glared. "Oh, so now you’re quiet? Fine! I’ll focus on him—but if he starts levitating or breathing fire, I’m throwing you into the pond first!"

"Focus."

"Why? He’s not my priority."

"Because your priority currently wants to attack you."

"Okay, fine, you make a point."

She turned back to the phoenix man, her face the definition of fake patience. "Alright, look at me," she said. "Do I look like a witch?"

"Yes," he said immediately.

Her jaw dropped. "What do you mean, yes?" She gasped thinking he was calling her ugly. (Because apparently her definition of a witch was green, ugly with a big nose and broom stick)

He tilted his head, completely serious. "Witches are usually pretty. You are pretty. Therefore, you must be a witch."

The entire cave went quiet.

Even Glimora blinked. One of the tiny glowing cave creatures dropped a pebble out of sheer secondhand embarrassment.

Isabella’s mouth opened, then closed. For a long moment, she just stared at him, utterly scandalized.

"You—" she started, flustered. "You can’t just call someone pretty while accusing them of witchcraft! Pick a side!"

He frowned, confused. "I am picking a side. You’re pretty and a witch."

Her offense crumbled instantly into a grin. "Okay, fine," she said with mock modesty, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulder. "I’ll take the compliment. But for the record, I’m not a witch. I’m just naturally enchanting."

Bubu facepalmed—if a cube could facepalm.

"I promise you," Isabella said, puffing her chest slightly, "I saved your life. You should be grateful to me."

The man blinked slowly, studying her. His gaze swept over her—her loose hair, her muddied dress, the faint shimmer of light catching on her skin from the pond’s reflection.

And then—he laughed.

A real, startled laugh that rang through the cavern like the echo of a long-forgotten song.

It was deep, smooth, and so unexpected that Isabella blinked in confusion.

Glimora’s mouth dropped open.

The little glowing cave creatures stopped mid-flight again, as if wondering what was funny.

Even Bubu tilted its head, eyes flickering.

And Isabella—who had been glaring daggers just seconds ago—was now staring in disbelief at the dripping, beautiful, half-dead man laughing in her face.

"...Did he just laugh?" she whispered, turning to Bubu.

"Affirmative."

"Why?"

"Unclear. Possibly delirium."

"Excuse me," Isabella said loudly, pointing at him. "You don’t get to laugh. I’m the one who’s been dragged through hell for weeks!"

He just kept laughing—quiet at first, then full-on, head thrown back. Water dripped from his hair, tracing down his neck in glowing streaks.

She blinked, cheeks heating slightly. "Oh my god, he laughs like an ancient poem."

Glimora made a sound that was definitely judgmental.

"Okay, fine," Isabella muttered under her breath. "Maybe just a little godlike. But still—annoying."

And just like that—between her exasperated face, Glimora’s tiny squeaks, Bubu’s unimpressed hovering, and the phoenix man’s baffling laughter—the mountain cave turned into something straight out of a fever dream.

One drenched, wingless immortal.

One snarky, pregnant human.

One emotionally exhausted system.

And one tiny glowing creature judging them all.

The absurdity of it all hung in the glowing air—like even the mountain didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.