CHAPTER 150: CHAPTER -150.

Of course he wouldn’t say it. Not when it involved this. Not when it was that time of the month.

It was obvious now. The scent. That damned fragrance she couldn’t even smell but apparently had every beastman within range ready to drop dead—or drop something else.

It clicked. It finally clicked.

Kaya closed her eyes, massaged her temple with one hand, while the other hand still held her stomach.

Then, with calm that only barely masked her simmering wrath, she raised the hand holding the neem leaf and muttered, "I want you to bring me a bunch of this."

She didn’t even look at him.

Cutie nodded so fast his ears almost flapped, then vanished like a terrified rabbit in heat.

Kaya’s gaze swept back to the beastmen, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, a flicker of anger tightening her jaw.

She knew—of course she knew—that beastmen had an acute sense of smell, far sharper than any human’s. She had read about it, heard about it, seen it firsthand. So yes, maybe they smelled the blood. Maybe they couldn’t help it.

But still.

Still.

Did they have to react like that? Like she was some walking calamity?

Then, annoyingly, her mind betrayed her with logic.

Half of their instincts are still animal... she reminded herself. It’s not their fault.

She exhaled sharply, trying to shove her irritation back down.

It’s like when I smell fried chicken and forget all my dignity... Yeah. Maybe to them... blood is like that. But worse.

The thought made her cringe and curl inwards just a little.

With another tired sigh, she turned and walked back to her hut. Her body was still aching, her stomach pulsing in quiet pain, and frankly, she didn’t have the energy to school a bunch of flustered animal-men on basic decorum today.

---

A while later, she lay curled on her side, the pain a steady throb against her spine and abdomen. She’d closed her eyes, hoping for some rest, when she heard footsteps approaching.

Soft, cautious.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Who?" she called out, her voice rough but firm.

From the other side of the door came Cutie’s familiar voice, muffled and unsure, "Um... can I come in?"

Kaya exhaled through her nose, half in frustration, half in pain. She pushed herself up on her elbows, then forced her back to lift off the thin bedding. It felt like her spine had decided to age fifty years overnight.

Still, her voice was calm. "Yeah."

The door creaked open.

Cutie stepped in, holding a wooden tray like it was the most sacred offering in the world. His eyes didn’t meet hers as he knelt beside her. Kaya blinked down at the tray. There was a roughly stitched cloth pouch resting on it—round, soft-looking, and slightly puffed up.

"What... is this?" she asked, her brow arching.

Cutie lowered his head, his ears twitching slightly, and held the tray out.

Kaya hesitated, then reached out and placed a palm on the bag.

Warm.

No—hot.

Her fingers lingered on it, the heat soaking through her skin, chasing away the cold ache in her bones. Her eyes flicked to him, brows furrowing.

"It’s filled with hot sand," he murmured, almost embarrassed. "I, um... made it for you. For your pain."

Kaya’s expression softened before she could stop it.

Hot sand. Not perfect. Not elegant. But thoughtful.

And effective.

She nodded once, quietly, and whispered, "Thank you."

Cutie’s ears perked up slightly, but he didn’t reply. Just sat there, his eyes fixed on the tray like it was safer than meeting her gaze.

Kaya placed the warm pouch over her lower stomach, her body finally relaxing just a little as the warmth seeped in.

Maybe not everything in this world is terrible, she thought.

That day, no matter what Cutie said—or how many times he tried—Kaya didn’t eat.

He coaxed, pleaded, even brought her roasted roots with a sad little flower on top. She took a single bite, chewed like it was a punishment, and then lay back down.

That was it.

Seeing her like that, pale and half-curled under thin sheets, made something ache in Cutie’s chest. Quietly, he placed a small bowl of wild berries and chopped fruits beside her sleeping mat, hoping she’d wake up hungry. She didn’t.

And throughout the day, as the beastmen kept their distance—Cutie took eight baths.

Yes. Eight.

Every time he entered Kaya’s tent, helped with something, spoke to her, or even just lingered at the door, he walked out and headed straight to the river. Washed himself down like a man possessed. It was the only thing that calmed the chaos swirling in his head—the only way to cool down his flaring instincts. The fragrance she released during this time... it wasn’t just enchanting. It was unbearable.

And he wasn’t alone in that.

No one else dared go near Kaya’s tent.

The bravest of beastmen, those who would charge headfirst into monsters, couldn’t even handle her presence. They would leave the neem leaves several feet from the door and scurry off like scared pups.

Only Cutie went in and out—red-faced and soaked, but resolute.

When they brought the leaves, Kaya barely lifted her head. But she gave instructions.

Her voice was hoarse but steady as she muttered, "Grind the leaves into a paste. Not too watery. Thick. Spread it over the cloth—both sides. Dry it in sun. Then rinse. Then dry again."

And Cutie just... did it. No questions. No complaints.

By sundown, he had already prepared seven or eight strips of cotton—clean, dry, and sanitized, exactly the way she wanted.

He placed them gently on the shelf near her bed, glancing at her once. She didn’t stir.

Kaya barely moved that entire day.

It was like the exhaustion of everything—the travel, the pain, the constant alertness—had finally caught up with her. Her body simply gave in. She slept. And kept sleeping.

Not a dream. Not a whisper of thought.

Just endless, heavy rest.

Silence