He stared at the stick, trying to form different scenarios in his head on how to use it, but none came.
Just as Travis had instructed, he put it in his mouth, trying to move it around his teeth—only to jab his gum. Blood pooled instantly, and he growled, roaring at the stick as if it were alive. He forgot it was a non-living thing entirely. Confused, he blinked. Wasn't this what he was supposed to use for fresh breath? Or was he doing it wrong?
It was as if his head refused to cooperate with him. After a few more frustrating minutes of battling with his own thoughts, he finally dropped the toothpick.
The plan now was simple: if Travis asked, he'd lie that he had brushed—whatever that even meant. Remembering his plan and the fact that he was supposed to be going to the imperial ground, he walked back shamefully, too embarrassed to meet Travis's eyes.
Back at the clan square, the squad was preparing themselves. To protect the king, they had to appear proud and strong in case of any danger. Travis was also among them, reluctantly preparing—not because he wanted to, but because he was forced to as a babysitter.
Outside, Travis was trying to spread out some of the clothes he had washed—at least the cubs' last outfit, which had been a complete nightmare.
"Damn, where do these two keep going? Every one of their outfits keeps getting worse and worse," he grumbled. He had painfully done all the laundry by hand down at the river, folding and spreading them out for sunlight to dry. But while doing that, Derek stopped by.
"Travis, we're on our way to the imperial ground. Can you stop what you're doing?" Derek announced.
Travis looked at the clothes in his hands and then back at Derek. Wait—was he supposed to just drop these and go? And what about food? Weren't they going to eat?
"Let me just complete this first, and you all must have breakfast… or was it lunch?" he muttered, scratching his head. He couldn't even tell what time of day it was anymore—there wasn't a single clock here, so everything felt confusing.
Derek, watching the line Travis was folding the clothes on, gave him a puzzled look that screamed, What's that even for?
"Okay, I'll help you do it," Derek suddenly volunteered. He wanted Travis to finish quickly so they could move out. A disaster was coming to the tribe soon, and Derek was afraid of the outcome.
"I just don't want you to stress yourself. This is too much," Derek said sincerely, making Travis gape.
So now folding and spreading clothes had turned into "too much"? Really? And could Derek even do it? When Travis looked around, he noticed the shocked expressions of the others—it was probably the first time Derek had ever offered to do laundry.
"How hard can it be?" Derek muttered as he watched Travis disappear from the crowd.
His guards stood at a corner, whispering and talking in hush tones, wondering what had come over their alpha. Work like this was for females—especially omegas—since they were the ones versed in such chores. Help could only be guaranteed if commanded, but Derek had willingly offered.
They all sat, waiting for Travis. They had heard the announcement that food was coming, so beastmen and females all gathered with their cubs, especially those staying near the palace huts.
Minutes passed, and Derek was still holding the calabash of wet clothes, giving them a long, scrutinizing stare.
"So… where do I begin? What do I do with you?" he asked the calabash as if it could reply.
No one answered, of course. He looked like he was losing his mind.
A hand patted his back, and he turned—it was his friend, a visitor from another clan.
"Derek, dear, I heard you've become a laundry man, so I had to come watch. Wow, this is better than I imagined! When did the mighty king turn into this?" the man teased. He was heavily tattooed from stomach to feet, with spotted fur, ears, and tail that made him appear strikingly beautiful—he was a leopard, after all.
"Mind your business, Richard, and leave me alone," Derek muttered, traumatized by the confusing mess of clothes in his hands.
Who even sent him to volunteer for this? It was so complicated—and where was the head of the cloth supposed to be?
Richard couldn't stop laughing. "Do you even know how to do this, or was this just to impress someone?" he teased, knowing Derek too well. This wasn't normal. Weren't they supposed to be on their way already?
"I said let me be. I'll figure out a way. Derek always does," Derek replied stubbornly.
Giving up, Richard raised his hands in mock surrender and walked off to join the others, still glancing back with amusement.
"Okay, breathe. It's just cloth… Oh my, I think I got it," Derek said to himself.
He lifted one of the clothes and tried to find the head part—but ended up tearing a large hole through it. Seeing the result, he smiled proudly and shoved it onto the rope. He did the same with the rest, making holes at the necks and hanging them until he was done.
"Okay, done! Travis is going to be so proud of me," he said cheerfully, jumping like a child before rushing off to join his friend.
Richard, watching from afar, smirked. "A good mate now!" he teased loudly.
Derek's face flushed red, his ears drooping as his hair fluttered with the wind. "That's not it! I just wanted to surprise him…" he mumbled defensively.
Then, the scent of something delicious filled the air. A fog-like aroma spread, and one by one, the beastmen began to growl and sniff hungrily. Derek was the worst—his feet itched to rush straight to where Travis was. Just when he was about to lose patience, Tilda and Henry came running from the hut corner, giggling and holding something strange.
They ran to the men whose mouths were already watering, dropping the items on a bamboo mat. Henry proudly held a beautifully carved plate—made by Travis himself because he was tired of eating off leaves every single day.
"This is like a craft from the gods—a masterpiece!" Richard cried, staring at the plates in awe.
Others gathered around, circling the cubs, who were now confused. They wanted to eat, but all the hungry eyes staring at their food made them uneasy.
"I think they want to steal our meat," Henry whispered to Tilda, who immediately hid her food behind her back, trying to shield her plate.
Some beastmen stopped, but others couldn't resist—until a loud click echoed from afar, halting them.
By now, Derek had already stolen the same plate of food from Tilda and was stuffing it into his mouth. The poor girl thought she was hiding it from strangers, not realizing her own father was the culprit.
Travis struck a gong, restoring order to the gathering. Everyone backed away, staring at him as if he were some sort of divine being. Then someone spoke—a female, or so Travis thought at first. On a closer look, she was hideous… definitely a female.
"Did you descend from heaven? Only heaven's touch could make such a fine piece!" she praised.
One by one, others joined in:
"Make one for me!"
"One for us, your highness!" another chimed.
Travis blinked, utterly confused. All this praise—for making plates? Were they really this easily impressed? In the modern world, this was nothing! He had just carved some broken calabash parts together, yet here they were calling him heaven's gift.
But nothing shocked him more than seeing Derek playing hide and seek with Tilda's meal.
What the fuck?!
He thought he had seen it all—until his eyes landed on the laundry. From a distance, it looked like rags.
"What's going on?!" he exclaimed.
Did Derek replace his laundry with rags? He knew they were loincloths for the cubs, but they hadn't looked that bad before! Dropping the plates at the center of the mat, he ran over to see what had gone wrong—and to his horror, every single cloth was torn, huge holes gaping at the center.
"The hell! What caused all this?" he cried. The way Derek had hung them made it worse—bent in impossible angles, like bats hanging upside down. It gave Travis instant eye trauma.
Serves me right, he thought bitterly. This is what I get for trusting a beastman.
He turned to speak again—but his food was gone. Derek, Richard, the entire tribe, and even the cubs had begun devouring everything like wild savages.
Travis sighed, stepping back in defeat. "At least," he muttered, "let no one eat my flesh next, thinking it's delicious meat…"