"Huh?" Kaya’s mind scrambled, trying to make sense of it.
The man didn’t wait for a reply. He kept talking, as if he was enchanted by her presence.
"When you were sleeping, you were beautiful... but now? Now you look even more stunning."
Before Kaya could respond, another man stepped forward.
"Hey, are you hungry? Want so berries?"
"No, no, try these," said a third, holding out small fruits. "Or so santra."
"Or maybe so angoor," added another cheerfully.
Kaya wiped sweat from her forehead, her confusion growing. Here she was, ready for a fight, heart racing—and yet, these people’s faces were unreadable.
Not angry. Not hostile.
Just... strangely cheerful.
And that made her question everything.
What the hell was going on?
Kaya took a slow, steadying breath—and then, without warning, smack.
Her hand shot out, pushing the man’s hands away with sharp force. Her eyes locked onto theirs, blazing with a cold fury barely held back.
"Where the hell is this place?" Her voice was low, icy, trembling on the edge of breaking, anger simring just beneath the surface.
The n froze, caught off guard. Confusion and shock flickered across their faces. None had ever seen a woman react so fiercely—so without hesitation or reason.
The man she’d struck stared down at his reddened hand, his lips parting uncertainly. "Is sothing wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with genuine bewildernt.
Though he hid it well, he was one of the tribe’s most handso n—his smooth words and charming smile usually won over the won without effort. But Kaya... her expression was sothing else entirely. Disgust. Like she was recoiling from the very sight of him.
Her glare cut sharper, colder. The words fell again—harsh, chilling, a challenge: "Where the hell is this place?"
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"What’s going on here?"
Kaya froze. That voice—she couldn’t mistake it. Just last night, she had heard that pleasant yet irritating tone ringing in her ears. Slowly, she lifted her gaze. And there he was. Pushing through the crowd, with that sa annoyingly charming smile—the so-called cutie from last night.
"You?" she hissed.
The man’s face lit up. "Oh! You’re awake! How are yo—"
Crack.
Before he could finish his sentence, Kaya’s fist t his jaw. The crowd gasped as his body hit the ground with a thud. Her jacket, which had been in his hand, now lay sprawled beside him.
The scene was surreal. The frail-looking girl had just taken down the well-built man in a single strike.
Eyes widened.
Kaya stared at him, her eyes narrowing with fire. Then, without a second thought, she marched forward, dropped down, and planted herself right on his chest like she owned the damn place.
She reached out to grab his collar—
Except... seriously? No collar?
She blinked. "Ugh, of course."
Her eyes darted around for the next best thing. Without hesitation, she snatched a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up just enough to make her point.
’Who the hell are you, and why did you bring here? What did you do to ?’.
A storm of questions bubbled up inside her—so many things to demand, scream, slap answers out of him for.
But instead, her gaze fell on the jacket in his hand.
Her jacket.
With a scoff and a raised brow, she tightened her grip on his hair and leaned in, voice low and loaded with attitude.
"More importantly—what the hell are you doing with my jacket, thief?"
"Hic... ugh... ughhh..."
Suddenly, cutie burst into tears.
His eyes turned completely red, and big, fat tears rolled down his cheeks like a broken faucet.
Kaya froze. She was dumbfounded—utterly taken aback.
She’d never seen a man cry like this. Well... she had. But never soone this drop-dead gorgeous. And never so easily.
Co on, she had just lightly hit him. Compared to how hard she used to hit her comrades, this was practically a tap. A love tap, really.
But then again, her comrades were... different. They were beaten regularly—by life, by her—and had long gotten used to it. It wasn’t that they didn’t cry; it was just that they couldn’t. Not when she was around. Because if they did, well... she’d hit them again.
Ahem. Anyway—moving on.
Kaya cleared her throat, pulling her composure back together as she narrowed her eyes at the sobbing man under her.
"Y–You... What are you doing with my coat?" she asked, voice trying to sound stern, though it wavered with just a flicker of guilt.
"Hic... ugh... I... I just wanted... to clean your cloth..."
Kaya blinked.
She slowly turned her head to glance at the coat now lying on the ground. It was cleaner. Considerably cleaner than it had been yesterday.
She stared at it. Then back at him.
’Damn it... Did I hit him too hard?’
Kaya did feel a little bad for him. He had only washed her clothes, after all. His teary, pathetic face tugged at sothing in her chest—was it guilt? Sympathy? No, probably indigestion.
But just as quickly, her expression snapped back into a scowl.
"Wait a second—" she grabbed his ear sharply, tugging it with zero rcy, "Who told you to wash it? And where is the thing inside it?"
Before he could respond, soone nearby perked up.
"Oh! You an that black thing? And the bird... and the snake?" the man asked, his eyes gleaming with recognition.
Kaya’s eyes narrowed as she looked at him and slowly nodded.
Then the man on the ground beneath her—cutie—looked up with a flushed face and whispered in a soft, almost pitiful voice, "Um... could you please get off now?"
Kaya blinked.
Then looked around.
Oh.
Right. She was still sitting on top of him.
A very naked man.
In public.
Okay, maybe not completely naked, but honestly, halfway or all the way—it was the sa thing in her books. Naked is naked.
She glanced around. Every single male nearby was staring. And blushing. Their faces were redder than desert apples in sumr.
Kaya scrambled to her feet in a hurry, dusting herself off like that would erase the mont from existence. She cleared her throat and glared down at him again, as if he were the one at fault for being indecent and tearful and beautiful all at once.
"Now talk," she snapped, crossing her arms. "Where. Is. My. Stuff?"
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