Isabella still refused to believe this was real.

She refused to believe her life had crumbled so far that she was now eating half-cooked meat, squatting in a jungle, looking like something that crawled out of a horror movie.

Her brain simply rejected it.

This was a bad dream. A painfully realistic bad dream.

And she was going to wake up.

Real soon.

…Right?

Her eyes flicked to the system timer.

13 hours left.

She had been wandering aimlessly for 11 hours.

At this rate? She wasn't finding a lion tribe. She was finding death.

Isabella let out a weak laugh, one that sounded dangerously close to insanity. She looked like a lunatic at this point.

Actually—no. A lunatic at least had some direction.

She was worse.

A lunatic with no purpose.

The once-perfect Isabella? The adored, breathtaking celebrity that people worshipped?

Now a madwoman lost in the jungle.

She was dirty. She was tired. She was sobbing into her own hands.

"I was born to be admired," she whispered to herself, voice cracking. "Not to fight for my life in a jungle. Yet… here we are."

Tears rolled down her face.

If anyone saw her, they might laugh and say it wasn't that bad.

But to her? This was hell.

Imagine growing up with a diamond spoon in your mouth.

Imagine never lifting a single finger for anything.

Imagine being loved, pampered, spoiled—only to wake up in a godforsaken jungle, forced to fight for your life.

She wasn't built for this.

She wasn't trained for this.

She wasn't even mentally prepared for this!

What the hell was she supposed to do?!

She shoved her fingers into her tangled, dirty hair, breathing hard.

This was a prank.

This had to be a prank.

And when she found any sign of intelligent life, she was demanding answers.

Actually—she was demanding a refund for this whole experience.

She had had enough.

With a miserable sigh, she dragged herself to her feet.

She needed to move.

Because if she stayed here, she was going to die.

And dying in a jungle, wearing a dead animal, crying about lost luxury, was NOT how she envisioned her end.

The forest was eerily silent.

Nothing moved.

No birds. No insects. No wind.

Nothing.

Just… creepy, suffocating stillness.

Isabella hated it.

It felt like the trees were waiting for her to go insane.

But then—

A sound.

Faint.

Rhythmic.

Like drums.

And… laughter?

Her head snapped up.

People?!

Her heart raced.

A party? A gathering?

Oh my god. If there's a party, maybe there are humans.

Or at least… something that can help me.

Or at the very least… get me a damn coffee.

Hope flared in her chest.

She straightened her back, fixed her terrible excuse of an outfit, and started walking toward the sound.

Every step felt like a prayer.

Please, let this be real.

As Isabella drew closer, she finally saw them.

A large group of Beastmen.

They were gathered around a massive fire, laughing, drinking, celebrating.

"Ding: Congrulations on finding the Lion Tribe. (+30 points)" The system's voice rang out but, Isabella ignored it as she focused on what was around her.

The rhythmic drumming vibrated through the air, wild chants mixing with deep, rumbling laughter.

And in the middle of it all?

Women.

Isabella stopped in her tracks.

It was already quite dark, but the fires on the wooden torch stakes brightened everything, so she didn't have to squint.

Isabella's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. Most of the males were clustered around a particular set of women—women who were… undeniably pretty, but unpolished.

Their features were soft and appealing, their eyes bright, their figures delicate yet alluring.

But their hair was unkempt, their clothes loosely thrown together, and their overall presence lacked the refinement she was used to seeing in beautiful women.

With a little care, they'd be breathtaking, she mused, tilting her head. So why did the men already look at them like they were untouchable goddesses?

Her mind flicked back to the system's words. "Four-striped Beastman…" She had no idea what that meant, but something felt off.

Maybe that was the point!!! If she could find a four-striped Beastman, they would finally admit that this was a prank.

Because there was no way in hell those ears were real.

The men here were stunning—towering figures of strength and beauty—yet they gazed at these women as if they were the rarest treasures in existence. It was almost… reverent.

Still, she set the thought aside. There had to be a bigger picture she wasn't seeing yet. And right now, she had more pressing concerns—like figuring out what kind of elaborate joke the universe was playing on her.

As she surveyed the group, her eyes caught the sight of the men's arms. Some had marks on them, tattoos or brands—two lines, one line, some had nothing.

It wasn't hard to figure out they were some kind of rank, like the system had said.