Just as Leah, already dressed in her battle-ready outfit, once again felt as if fate had its hands around her throat and raised a hand to pull off the tie, Calista suddenly knelt between her knees.
She firmly slapped Leah's hand away, yet spoke in a soft, coaxing voice.
"Please, Leah. Just wear it tonight. You're tall with long legs—you'll look amazing in this."
Leah pulled her hand back in a daze. How could a girl who spoke so sweetly hit so hard?
The back of her hand was already turning red.
Calista's voice sounded very similar to the Margaret Leah remembered—soft, alluring, everything she said sounding almost like a spoiled plea.
With Margaret's beauty, it was no surprise that an orphan from a humble background had managed to charm both a promising young officer and a wealthy real estate tycoon.
But Margaret had been selfish, calculating, and cold-hearted.
Calista, on the other hand, had grown up in privilege. Raised in wealth and comfort, she had been shaped into a sweet, seemingly innocent girl.
Calista—"pure and innocent" on the outside—rubbed her hands together and smiled mysteriously, quietly pleased with herself.
If I hadn't ended up transmigrating into The Walking Dead, would I have come looking for you?
Leah stared at her reflection in the mirror. The sight made her fingertips tremble.
The sharp peak lapels accentuated her strong jawline, while the clean-cut tailoring of the expensive suit emphasized her tall, powerful figure.
For a moment, Margaret's voice seemed to travel across twenty years of time.
"Leah, why can't you be like a normal girl?"
Leah thought back to her childhood. Back then, she had never been able to meet Margaret's expectations.
She had inherited her father's build and features, and her personality had never been particularly feminine.
Margaret had always wanted to shape her into someone like herself—refined, beautiful, popular.
Because of that, she had been very strict with her tomboyish daughter.
Unfortunately, young Leah had been incredibly stubborn. She hated dressing up, and every act of resistance only made Margaret like her less.
Calista, on the other hand, would have been Margaret's ideal daughter.
Her beauty surpassed even Margaret's, her personality sweet and delicate (an act, of course), her upbringing privileged. She was exactly the kind of girl people adored.
Leah examined her own feelings and had to admit that Margaret had been right about some things.
At the very least, if she were a man, she would probably like a girl like Calista.
With a complicated expression, Leah reached out and touched the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror.
This wasn't so bad.
She hadn't grown into the daughter Margaret wanted, but she was no longer the tomboy her mother despised.
She had become something else—like a panther forged through fire.
And beside that panther circled a lively, charming little fox, its fluffy tail wrapping tightly around her.
Two completely different women, yet sisters bound by blood.
...
Outside the dressing room, the mercenaries' laughter echoed faintly while Calista pinned her favorite diamond brooch onto Leah's chest.
"Leah, do you know why I like diamonds?" Calista suddenly asked.
"Because they spend forty years under pressure underground," she said softly.
She leaned her forehead lightly against Leah's shoulder.
"That's how they become the hardest things in the world."
When she had watched the show before, Calista had always liked Leah, the Reaper warrior.
Leah looked cold on the outside but was warm-hearted inside. She was kind, resilient, and brave.
When the audience thought she would leave with Daryl after killing The Pope, she instead chose to stay and fight for her people.
She became a leader, not a woman defined by romance. That moment elevated the entire episode.
If she hadn't been deceived by Daryl earlier, and later betrayed by Maggie during the negotiations, she might have achieved even more.
Hearing those words, Leah suddenly felt her eyes sting.
So this was what it felt like to have a sister.
Her fingers moved slightly as she reached out and gently touched Calista's hair.
"Cali…"
("Cali" here is simply an affectionate nickname for Calista, not a reveal of the protagonist's real name.)
When the music of the party began outside, Calista smoothed her hair. Her fishtail gown brushed against Leah's polished combat boots.
Linking arms with Leah, she lifted her chin proudly.
"Come on, Leah. Let them see. Every girl should attend a dance at least once."
Under the crystal chandelier, the sisters' entrance drew a collective gasp.
Every man in the room stared.
Their battle-hardened teammate—who usually went barefaced—now appeared as a tall, striking woman. Her pale blonde hair was tied into a low ponytail, a diamond brooch pinned at her chest.
Beside her, Calista wore a silk slip dress. The emerald green made her skin look luminous. A necklace set with large diamonds rested between her full curves, while her pale blonde curls moved softly along her collarbone with each breath.
Both had pearl hair clips holding back loose strands.
Leah looked cool and powerful.
Calista looked soft and alluring.
A tall mercenary chatting with Turner glanced over and froze with a wine glass in hand, staring blankly at Leah.
"Holy shit! Leah! You look incredible dressed like that!"
Turner grabbed his sleeve.
"Damn, Mike! Your eyes are about to fall out! Leah's always been pretty, hasn't she?"
Calista pouted slightly.
What do you mean "always"?
She had spent two full hours doing that makeup, and this clueless man couldn't even give her a compliment.
Turner glanced briefly at Calista before turning back to talk with Leah and Mike, though his wine glass trembled slightly in his hand.
Seeing her teammate—someone she treated like a brother—staring at her like he'd seen a ghost, Leah felt a rare trace of embarrassment and punched him hard in the chest.
"Mike, act normal!"
Calista recognized him.
In the original storyline, he had been an unnamed Reaper who fought several opponents at once. Even after being stabbed by Maggie and shot twice by Daryl during the chaos, he had still been talking like nothing was wrong before eventually blowing himself up.
So his name was Mike.
Calista raised an eyebrow. Watching Leah surrounded by teammates praising her, she smiled and walked toward the dessert table.
But as she turned around, she nearly jumped when she saw the man standing behind her.
"Jesus! Carver! Can you at least make a sound when you're standing there?"
She frowned at him and walked past toward the table, her hair brushing sharply against his arm.
Carver suddenly choked on his wine and started coughing violently. Behind him, Bossie's face turned slightly red.
Near the table, Mr. and Mrs. Howard were dancing slowly to the music, while Dr. Evans chatted with several mercenaries.
As a retired military doctor with a prosthetic left leg, Evans got along easily with the mercenaries thanks to their shared military background.
When Mrs. Howard noticed Calista approaching, she gently tapped her husband and leaned closer to whisper.
"Calista… did your period start today?"
Calista nodded, lifting a dessert plate with a small sigh.
"Yeah. Unfortunately that means I'll have to skip the wine tonight and stick to snacks."
Mrs. Howard waved her hand quickly.
"That's not what I meant. I was asking because the manor is running low on tampons."
She added a little awkwardly,
"Since Mr. Norton paused wine production this year to research new grape varieties, most of the workers have gone home. Usually it's just Peter and me taking care of the estate. I'm already in my fifties, so I haven't kept any stocked…"
Peter was Mr. Howard.
Calista immediately understood.
"Oh! I see. I'll have someone deliver more tomorrow."
She smacked her forehead.
How had she forgotten something that important?
All those movies and novels always talked about fighting over food and weapons. Nobody ever mentioned stockpiling menstrual products.
While the two women were talking, a young mercenary approached from the right. He had freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose.
He first clinked glasses with Mrs. Howard, then turned nervously toward Calista.
"H-hi, Miss Norton. The music's nice tonight. Would you… like to dance?"
Calista raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
He straightened his back and extended his hand. If not for the way it trembled like he had Parkinson's, the gesture would have looked quite gentlemanly.
"C-could I have this dance?"