The Spoilt Beauty An Chapter 77: What are you making?

Chapter 77: Chapter 77: What are you making?

Luca returned after so ti, carrying the cleaned and prepared at in his hands. His posture was stiff, like a child presenting his howork to a terrifying teacher.

The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows over his nervous expression.

Isabella stood there, arms crossed, lips pursed.

Shelia and Ophelia sat nearby, watching intently.

Even Glimora—perched on Isabella’s shoulder—had her tiny paws folded, tail wrapped neatly around herself as if she, too, was judging Luca’s efforts.

The air was so tense, you could hear a leaf drop.

Luca swallowed. Then, slowly, he extended the at forward.

Isabella didn’t move imdiately. She stared at the at like she was considering its entire existence.

Everyone else held their breath.

The fire popped.

The tension grew unbearable.

Then, finally, Isabella reached out, pinched a piece between her fingers, inspected it closely, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod.

"...Good job."

At that exact mont—

Luca, Shelia, and Ophelia exhaled in relief at the sa ti.

Even Glimora sighed, fluffing up her fur as if she had been holding her breath too.

Isabella blinked, looking up at them, amused.

Her lips curled into a smirk. "I’m not that scary, you know."

Shelia imdiately muttered under her breath, "You are."

Ophelia gasped and nudged her urgently. "She’ll hear you!" she whispered.

Thankfully, Isabella didn’t hear them. Or, if she did, she chose to ignore it.

Instead, she turned, walked into the hut, and ca back out holding sothing behind her back.

Glimora, still perched on her shoulder, tilted her head in curiosity.

With a bright grin, Isabella threw her arms forward. "Surprise!"

A large, thick tuber of yam appeared in her hands.

"..."

Luca deadpanned. "We already saw it behind you."

Isabella’s smile froze.

A tense silence followed.

Then, suddenly—

Her knees buckled.

The yam dragged her down.

With a heavy thud, she collapsed dramatically onto the ground, the yam landing beside her like a judgntal weight.

Everyone blinked.

Isabella just lay there. Motionless. Processing.

What the hell?

How had she even carried this thing before?

It must have been that damn mountain! That ridiculous place had sucked the life out of her. She felt like she was getting weaker by the second.

Unacceptable.

She snapped her gaze up, glaring daggers at Luca.

Luca imdiately stiffened. "Uh—" He awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Do you—?"

"Help , Luca," Isabella demanded.

Luca rushed forward imdiately.

With one smooth motion, he lifted both her and the yam like it was nothing.

Isabella scowled. "Show-off."

Luca pretended not to hear that.

anwhile, Ophelia had been staring at the yam in pure confusion.

"...What is that?" she finally asked.

Isabella dusted off her hands, looking pleased with herself. "This," she said grandly, "is yam."

Shelia’s expression changed imdiately.

"Oh," she said. "I know that. It’s poisonous."

Isabella blinked.

Shelia continued, "If you eat it, it itches your tongue and burns your skin. It’s basically death."

Ophelia gasped, stepping back. "It’s poisonous?!"

Isabella’s eye twitched.

She crossed her arms, huffing. "It’s not poisonous, you uncultured buffoons. It just needs to be cooked properly."

The two girls exchanged uncertain glances.

Luca just stared at the yam, like it was personally responsible for his confusion.

Isabella rolled her eyes. Dramatically.

"Ophelia," she said, pointing toward the pile of logs. "Pass

one to sit on."

Ophelia, still cautious, hurriedly grabbed a log and placed it down.

Isabella sat down regally, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

She cracked her knuckles.

Now, it was ti to cook.

But then Isabella stood again with her hands on her hips, staring at the clay pots like they were ticking bombs.

If these things exploded, she was going to haunt Kian’s bloodline for generations.

She inhaled sharply, muttered, "Alright, let’s do this," and carefully placed the largest pot on the fire. The flas licked the base, crackling as if mocking her nervousness.

Glimora, still perched on Isabella’s shoulder, tilted her tiny head and let out a questioning chirp.

"Shh." Isabella cut her off, narrowing her eyes at the pot. "If you even think it into existence, it’ll happen."

Luca, Shelia, and Ophelia all stood nearby, watching her like a rare, dangerous beast in action.

"What are you making?" Luca finally asked.

"at pepper soup," Isabella said, already moving to her pile of ingredients. "And yam."

"What’s that?" Shelia frowned, staring at the tuber like it was a cursed object.

Ophelia poked it hesitantly. "Is it alive?"

Isabella blinked. Then, very slowly, she turned to look at them. "Are you guys seriously—" She inhaled sharply, placing a hand on her forehead. "Forget it. Let’s just start before I lose brain cells."

She grabbed the yam and a sharp knife.

Shelia paled. "W-Wait! It’s poisonous, you know!"

Ophelia took another step back. "It’s really poisonous?!, I thought you were just ssing around!"

Isabella sighed dramatically. " Ia already said It’s NOT poisonous. You just have to cook it properly."

She started peeling the rough skin away.

Luca squinted. "So... you eat that?"

"I don’t just eat it," Isabella said, flipping her hair dramatically. "I create sothing delicious from it. Cooking is not just throwing things into fire and hoping for the best—this is art."

Glimora flicked her tail, letting out a small huff.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. "Oh? Got sothing to say?"

Glimora simply blinked, looking entirely too smug.

Isabella scoffed, slicing the yam with a little too much force. "I’m only doing this because soone has to. Don’t get any ideas."

(She just needs to get her stats up, and oh Bubu was laughing sowhere)

Luca picked up a piece of yam. "And this... won’t kill us?"

"No." Isabella grabbed the pieces from him and tossed them into a separate pot of water.

Next was the at.

Luca handed it to her, but the mont Isabella saw it, she grimaced.

"...You’re sure you cleaned this?"

Luca nodded.

Shelia chid in. "We usually just throw it into the fire and—"

Isabella whipped around so fast, her hair nearly slapped Shelia in the face.

"If I hear one more ’We don’t season our food here,’ I’m launching a war."

Ophelia looked genuinely alard. "A war?"

Luca frowned. "Over food?"

Isabella turned back to the at. "You’ll understand when you taste it."

She reached into her basket for spices which was next to her, and pulled out spices.

Shelia squinted. "What is that?"

"Seasoning." Isabella sprinkled so into the pot like a divine sorceress casting a spell.

"What’s it do?"

"...It makes it taste good."

Luca, Shelia, and Ophelia exchanged glances. The concept was clearly foreign to them.

Isabella ignored them, focusing on the broth. The rich aroma slowly filled the air.

After a while, she gave the clay pot a side glance.

Still no cracks.

It was perfect.

She wasn’t about to say that out loud, though. She had too much pride to start complinting Kian and his powers.

But in her head, she begrudgingly thought: Fine, thanks, Kian. But I still hate your stupid handso face.

She was secretly mad for him not still coming to see her.

The cooking process continued, chaos unfolding every step of the way.

Luca burned himself at least twice.

Ophelia nearly knocked over the water pot.

Shelia almost dropped the entire yam bowl into the dirt.

And through it all, Isabella’s patience hung by a thread.

"You guys are like children," she muttered, snatching the wooden spoon from Ophelia before she could stir the soup wrong.

"I don’t know what I’m doing," Ophelia admitted.

"I noticed," Isabella deadpanned.

After what felt like ages, the food was finally done.

Isabella ladled the soup into small clay bowls, placing them on a wooden tray. The yam was perfectly soft, paired beautifully with the rich, steaming broth.

She stepped back, hands on her hips, admiring her work.

Then—

Footsteps.

Isabella’s entire mood soured instantly.

They all turned at the sa ti.

And there he was.

Kian.

Looking annoyingly perfect.

And, of course, Zara was with him—clinging to his arm like a leech, using her so-called illness as an excuse.

Isabella’s eye twitched.

Luca, realizing who it was, imdiately bowed.

And Isabella?

She just rolled her eyes.

Now she was really mad.