The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts Chapter 441: I am not adopting another walking red flag

"ARGH!"

Her scream bounced off the trees, scattering birds into the air.

"Are you done?" Bubu asked, tone flat as a calm sea.

"No!" Isabella shouted imdiately. "I am not done! You—you actually froze ! You control freak!"

"You refused to cooperate."

"That doesn’t an you get to turn into a statue! What am I, your personal puppet?!"

"Correction: you are my host."

"Oh, don’t even start with your technicalities right now," she snapped, struggling uselessly. "Unfreeze , Bubu. I swear, if you don’t unfreeze right now, I will—I will—"

"You will what?"

"I will delete you!" she declared dramatically.

Bubu blinked once. "You cannot delete . I am bound to your soul."

Isabella opened her mouth, then shut it. "Fine," she said finally, her voice lowering into a dangerous calm. "Then I’ll jump off the mountain. Let’s see how well your soul-bound contract works when I’m dead."

"That would not be productive."

"Neither is this conversation!"

"You’re very emotional today."

"I’m always emotional, Bubu! I’m human!"

"No," Bubu said mildly, "you are a transmigrated soul inhabiting a vessel that is slowly adapting to divine energy. You are technically half human at this point."

Isabella’s eye twitched. "Bubu."

"Yes?"

"Stop talking."

"Affirmative."

A long silence stretched between them. The air around her shimred faintly; her body was still locked in place, her arms rigid, her fan glimring faintly from her space ring. Even Glimora’s tail was stuck mid-flick.

"You’re a tyrant," Isabella muttered finally.

"I am efficient."

"You’re a tyrant disguised as a screensaver."

"I will take that as a complint."

"Oh my god, you’re impossible!"

"Host," Bubu said, voice softening slightly, "you cannot leave the man here. He is part of this mountain’s chain of events. Helping him may unlock sothing valuable."

"See, you always say that!" Isabella shot back, glaring at the floating blue screen hovering inches from her face. "And you know what happens every ti I listen to you? I nearly die, cry, or break a bone!"

"You are still alive, are you not?"

"That’s not the point!"

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is I’m not doing it!"

Bubu sighed again — a long, digital sound that almost resembled patience giving up. "You complain more than an unpatched update."

"And you talk more than a scam ad!"

"Host—"

"No, don’t ’host’ !" Isabella’s voice cracked in outrage. "I’ve been walking, climbing, fighting, almost getting eaten by demonic baby goats, and what do I get? More tasks! You don’t even give therapy breaks! I’m pregnant, Bubu! Pregnant!"

"I am aware."

"Oh really? Because you sure don’t act like it!"

"I accounted for your condition when calculating your survival rate."

"You calculated—?!" Isabella gawked at the screen. "You calculated my survival rate?!"

"Yes."

"Like I’m so lab rat?!"

"More like a particularly stubborn guinea pig."

"Ohhh, I’m gonna throw you off this mountain," she hissed. "I will pick up your stupid glowing screen and toss it into the abyss!"

"You cannot touch ."

"Don’t test , I’ll find a way."

"I will take that as determination."

Isabella made an inhuman sound sowhere between a growl and a sob. "You are infuriating."

"And you are inefficient," Bubu replied.

"Excuse ?!"

"Ten minutes of complaining has not changed the situation."

"Oh my god—"

"You could have completed the task by now."

"I hope your software crashes," she muttered darkly.

"It cannot."

"Then may your updates lag for eternity."

"That is cruel."

"So is freezing a pregnant woman!"

Bubu went silent for a beat. Then, slowly, its tone shifted—calr, almost soothing. "Host," it said gently, "I understand that you are tired."

"No, you don’t."

"I do."

"No, you don’t!" Isabella huffed. "You’re a piece of code! You don’t understand exhaustion! You don’t have muscles that ache or a bladder that kicks you every five minutes or morning sickness that lasts all day!" (It hasn’t started yet, she’s being dramatic)

"That is true," Bubu said. "However, I can simulate empathy based on context."

"Oh, you can simulate it?" she said, sarcastic enough to curdle milk. "That’s so comforting, Bubu. Thank you for your fake empathy."

"You are welco."

"I wasn’t thanking you!"

"I know."

"Ughhh!" Isabella groaned so loudly that even Glimora flinched slightly in her frozen state. "You are going to drive insane. You really are."

"Host."

"What?!"

"Would you like to play motivational background music?"

"I will actually commit murder."

"Highly inadvisable."

"Shut up!"

Her hair had started sticking to her face; her breaths ca out sharp and shallow. She looked utterly done with existence. Finally, she exhaled through gritted teeth. "Fine. Fine! Unfreeze first. We’ll... talk."

Bubu seed to consider it. "Do you promise not to run away?"

"I’m not making promises I might break."

"Then I will unfreeze you partially."

"What does that an—"

Her mouth shut mid-sentence as her arms and legs suddenly thawed. The rest of her body felt heavy, but movable. She stumbled forward, catching herself. "Oh great. Partial freedom. You’ve turned into a half-functioning puppet."

"Better than no function," Bubu replied.

"I hate you," she hissed.

"I know."

"You’re not supposed to know!"

"Yet I do."

"Oh my god!" She stomped the ground like a child, hands balled into fists. "You are the most annoying being in all the realms!"

"Correct."

"I wasn’t asking for confirmation!"

"Still correct."

Her chest rose and fell. Her glare could’ve burned through stone. "You’re lucky you don’t have a physical form, or I’d throw you down this mountain myself."

"That would not be efficient," Bubu said, deadpan.

Isabella groaned again. "You know what? Fine! Let’s say hypothetically I wanted to help him. How am I supposed to drag a full-grown man, possibly six feet tall and built like a cursed statue, all the way to a pond? I can barely lift my fan right now!"

"Figure it out," Bubu replied simply.

"FIGURE IT OUT?!" she shrieked. "That’s your advice?!"

"You are resourceful."

"I’m pregnant, not Hercules!"

"Sa difference."

"It’s not the sa—" She froze mid-sentence. Her glare softened into disbelief. "Did you just sass ?"

"Unintentionally."

"Unintentionally my foot! You’re getting too comfortable!"

"I am programd for adaptability."

"Oh, I’ll adapt you to a wall!"

She turned away in fury, pacing—or trying to pace—because her legs were still a little stiff. Glimora’s tiny body had finally unfrozen, and the creature squeaked weakly, blinking up at Isabella like, are we okay now?

"No, baby, we are not okay," Isabella muttered, petting her gently. "Your demon godmother is holding us hostage."

"I heard that," Bubu said.

"Good! You were ant to!"

The system floated closer, its voice dropping into sothing almost motherly. "Host," it said softly, "you are still angry. But anger wastes energy. Use that energy to complete the task."

"Oh, don’t you dare use therapist tone on ."

"Host."

"No!"

"Host."

"Still no!"

"Host."

"WHAT?!"

"Pick him up."

"NO!"

"Pick. Him. Up."

"Make !"

A soft hum filled the air. Isabella felt her hands moving on their own again.

"Oh my god—BUBU!" she scread as her arms stretched forward against her will.

"Yes, Host?"

"Stop making touch dead n!"

"He is not dead."

"He looks dead!"

"He is not."

"Oh, that clears it up!" she snapped sarcastically as her knees bent, lowering her toward the phoenix male’s body. The faint golden glow from his back illuminated his features—sharp jawline, long dark lashes, a faint glint of red beneath his closed eyelids.

He looked breathtaking, actually—if she ignored the blood and the faint sll of ash.

Bubu humd. "See? Not unpleasant to look at."

"Don’t even start," Isabella hissed through gritted teeth. "I am not adopting another walking red flag."

"You are only carrying him."

"Yeah, that’s how it starts!"

Her hands twitched again, and she caught herself before falling. Finally, with a groan that could’ve shattered glass, she threw her head back and yelled at the heavens.

"FINE! I’ll carry him! HAPPY NOW?!"