3. A Fresh Clean

Since she was already here, she might as well make the best of it. She could worry about losing weight later—right now, the priority was figuring out how to survive longer in this world. After finishing her meal, Clar leaned back, one leg crossed over the other in a relaxed pose—though with this body’s size, she could only manage a bold, wide-legged sprawl instead. The afternoon had slipped by without her noticing.

The stench inside the cave finally became unbearable. Between the musty air and her own unwashed body, she could no longer ignore it. In the tribe, most beastfolk relieved themselves outside, digging shallow pits and covering them afterward. Only the original “vicious Clar,” too lazy to care, had used a corner of the cave instead.

Holding her breath against the odor, Clar used a large wooden slab to scoop up the waste and carry it far from the cave, burying it beneath sand and soil. As she worked, passing beastfolk muttered among themselves.

“That vicious female’s up to something again. You can smell her from a mile away.”

Clar didn’t argue. The original owner’s reputation was already ruined beyond repair. Even her own beast-relative—the tribe’s chief—had long since stopped intervening on her behalf. After filling in the pit completely, she twisted together thick grass roots to fashion a crude broom. It was ugly, but functional.

Though she had grown up with her grandparents and learned plenty in theory, in practice she was far from skilled. Still, she did what she could. With the makeshift broom, she swept the cave floor and scrubbed at the stone walls until it looked somewhat cleaner.

Exhausted, she collapsed onto the stone bed—only to wrinkle her nose again. Now that the pit’s stench was gone, she could smell the animal pelts lining the bed. She had no idea how the original Clar, or even her beastmates, had endured living here.

Glancing at the darkening sky, she wondered why Alex and Lucas hadn’t returned yet. When they did, she would have to show them she had changed. Then, once their bond was dissolved, she would find herself a handsome beast mate and stay far away from the novel’s heroine and her dangerously powerful suitors. In her imagination, life would be sweet—surrounded by good-looking beastmen, carefree and content.

What she didn’t realize was that such a future might be far more chaotic than peaceful.

As dusk deepened, Clar gathered the animal pelts from her bed and headed toward the tribe’s only river, located not far from her cave. The sound of flowing water grew louder as she approached. Soon a clear river came into view, fish visible beneath the surface, darting freely. For a moment, nostalgia washed over her—memories of her childhood in an unpolluted countryside, catching snails and fish with friends.

The cool breeze of the evening caressed her skin, and for a brief instant, Clar allowed herself to forget the chaos and pain that had brought her here. This place, though primitive, felt almost peaceful. The river was clear, the air fresh, and the faint sounds of the wilderness surrounding her gave her a sense of calm that she hadn’t felt since her arrival in this new world.

“Clar?”

A deep, gentle voice called from behind.

Clar stiffened slightly, turning to see a tall male approaching.

Golden hair fell loosely behind him. His sharp features and high nose bridge looked almost mixed-blood handsome, especially under the moonlight. Broad shoulders, defined muscles—he looked powerful enough to send her flying with a single punch.

This had to be Kawa, the tribe’s formidable fifth-rank beastman—and the heroine’s childhood companion. In the original story, he doted endlessly on the heroine. To Clar, that devotion bordered on obsession.

“It’s you again. What are you doing here? Following me?” His tone suggested he already believed it.

Clar sighed inwardly. She couldn’t undo the tribe’s assumptions overnight, and dealing with them one by one was exhausting. But for now, it seemed like the best option was to keep up the charade of being somewhat obedient, rather than causing more attention by being rebellious.

“Kawa, it’s not what you think. I just came to wash,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, hoping to avoid more unnecessary conflict.

He paused, surprised by her unexpectedly gentle tone. Since when had Clar spoken softly? But as long as she didn’t cling to him, he wasn’t interested in conversation. The last thing he wanted was more drama with the tribe’s female who had already caused so much trouble.

But still, he couldn’t help himself. There was something different in her voice. He turned back to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, you’re not exactly a stranger here. Just don’t make any more trouble, alright?”

Clar nodded, though she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped her lips. She moved away from him, deliberately stepping further downstream before setting the pelts aside and stepping into the cool water. She glanced around—no one else was in sight, giving her a moment of peace to wash away the grime of the day.

“Better stay away from the male leads,” she muttered to herself. “Safer that way.”

Without soapberries or any proper cleaning supplies, she used another clean pelt to scrub her skin. When she lowered her head to look at her reflection, she nearly dropped the pelt in shock. The female staring back at her had tangled, nest-like hair, darkened skin caked with grime, several large pimples dotting her face, a broad nose, and an exaggeratedly round face. It was nothing like the girl she had been before transmigrating.

She hadn’t been a great beauty in her past life, but with makeup, she’d been considered fairly attractive. Now, she felt completely different.

“Well… I did say I wanted a different life,” she muttered, taking in the face staring back at her.

She took a breath. Every overweight person was said to have hidden potential. And judging from the tribe chief’s handsome features, there had to be good genes somewhere. Looking closer, her eyes were actually quite pretty—soft and bright, with a doe-like charm. Her lips were small, almost cherry-shaped.

As night deepened, she began scrubbing in earnest. Soon, a thick layer of black grime floated on the river’s surface. After cleaning her body, she dunked her hair, rubbing it repeatedly before smoothing it out.

When she finally climbed back onto shore, she looked like an entirely different person. The dark coating had vanished, revealing pale skin beneath. The original Clar’s neglect had formed a near-natural barrier of dirt over her body.

Clar then carried the bedding pelts to the riverside rocks and began beating them vigorously. With each strike, blackened water spread into the once-clear current. The river, moments ago pristine, turned murky under her determined hands.

The rhythmic thudding of the pelts against the rocks felt almost cathartic, like she was washing away the remnants of the original Clar’s neglect, the stain of her past life. When she was finished, the river had been tainted with the marks of her effort, but it felt right. She was, at least in some small way, making this place her own.

Clar stood by the riverbank, staring at the fading sun and the rippling water, feeling more at peace than she had in a long time. She had accomplished something today. And tomorrow, she would continue.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still something lurking just out of sight—something that would soon catch up with her, no matter how hard she tried to outrun it.