It Turned Out She Wasn't a Favored Concubine - Episode 108

As the sunlight gradually brightened, I slowly opened my eyes. The photo album I had been looking at last night was still in my arms. I must have fallen asleep just like that. I rubbed my eyes and tidied my messy hair.

After washing my face, I felt extremely hungry. Come to think of it, I hadn’t eaten anything since arriving in this world. The moment I realized it, the hunger became so intense it hurt.

I quickly scanned the kitchen. There was no familiar food, but a small container of powder caught my eye.

Reading the label, I saw it was a meal substitute to be mixed with water. Is this kind of thing common now? I doubted the taste, but in my hungry state, that didn’t matter much. It was enough to stave off the hunger. As I drank a second glass, I chuckled. No matter the situation, people get hungry. Whether happy or sad, we stuff something into our mouths. I was no different.

“No more stalling.”

I pulled my hat down low to hide my reddened eyes and headed to the second location. It hadn’t changed much from the past. Maybe it was intentionally preserved that way.

It was the second location mentioned on the last page of the diary. A columbarium surrounded by a green park, quiet and serene. I walked carefully, mindful of the sound of my shoes on the marble floor.

And then I found it. A white urn located slightly below the center of the inner room. Inside the transparent glass were the urn and the photos I had seen in the album.

I stood there for a long time. Even as others came to pay their respects and left, I remained still. Maybe because I had cried so much the night before, no tears came. I simply stared at the urn and the photos.

In the photos, my parents were smiling. I hadn’t felt it when I saw them in the album, but now they looked genuinely happy.

Perhaps it was because of the diary I had read on the way here. In the quiet taxi, I had read Arne’s real diary from the first page.

It detailed how she lived after entering my body, and how my family treated her.

Though written from her perspective, the more I read, the more I felt it was enough. At least in that diary, my parents weren’t forever trapped in sorrow over their missing daughter.

I stood there until the staff announced closing time.

This was the end. I said my silent goodbye and slowly left the building. The sun was setting, but I didn’t mind and headed to the third location. I had hesitated, but decided to at least see them from afar.

The third location was surprisingly filled with playgrounds. Compared to my memories, it was much larger and had more equipment. Even the same type of swing from the past was still there.

I sat on the swing and watched people come and go. Some glanced at me sitting alone, but thankfully no one approached. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I’d see them, but I waited without thinking.

Children’s laughter came from one side. I turned my head without much thought and almost called out a name. My younger brother, now old enough to be a father, was walking with a boy and a girl, holding their hands.

Son and daughter… no, probably grandchildren. My brother noticed my gaze and looked at me with a puzzled expression.

I hesitated, then turned my head away. The children called out to their grandfather. Their cheerful footsteps faded. I turned back. My brother, now with graying hair, was patting their heads as they walked down the alley.

That reckless kid is playing with his grandkids…

“Haha.”

Unbelievable, but his face showed a gentle smile. I watched until their shadows completely disappeared, then stood up.

The next day was a continuation of visits. I toured my elementary, middle, high school, and university, but only the high school and university remained.

Lost in nostalgia, I visited places from my past. I wondered how my friends were doing, but the diary had little information about them.

I couldn’t find the workplace I had attended before crossing over. The building was gone, replaced by a large housing complex. I had no way of knowing what happened to my former colleagues.

Instead, I followed traces of her life. The marks she left while living in my body in this world. Just as I had suffered a fever after crossing over, she too had endured a sudden illness. Waking up in a strange world was enough to confuse her deeply.

Her emotions from that time were vividly described in the diary. Though written later, the memories were clear.

I deeply empathized with her descriptions. I had experienced the same thing.

That’s what a diary is—filled with personal experiences and emotions. What I had received in the other world as Arne’s diary was actually a guidebook for me.

Why had I accepted it as her diary without question, even though it lacked any personal thoughts or feelings?

Looking back, it was laughable. Still, that guidebook helped me adapt to the other world. I received help from people who knew I was a soul from another world.

But she was different. She didn’t receive a disguised guidebook, nor did anyone know she was a soul from another world. That made her feel even more alienated. She needed years of therapy…

I was shocked at first, but quickly understood.

Waking up in a strange world, surrounded by unfamiliar people, in someone else’s body—just staying conscious was a miracle.

I was grateful to Louis. He protected me in that overwhelming moment.

But Arne had no one who understood her situation. She suffered, and her family suffered watching her.

She had grown up with emotional wounds in the other world and acted out here too. She misbehaved, and her parents had to endure it all.

Her struggles were recorded in the diary. Her mother cried every night, and her father, who had quit smoking, started again.

But she overcame it. She clearly wrote that it was thanks to her family. They all faced the incomprehensible situation together, but her mother, father, and even brother never gave up on her.

She received the love she had never known in the other world and was transformed. She decided to live in this unfamiliar world with the family who didn’t give up on her.

After crying together, she worked hard to live here. Therapy, school, certifications, a job… Though briefly mentioned, I could imagine how much effort she put in.

She achieved in five years what I had in twenty-five. It was hard to believe she was the same person who once caused chaos at banquets and tormented maids.

I visited the buildings where she had received therapy, studied, and worked. The therapy center and school were gone, but her workplace remained.

She was a hairdresser. The salon she worked at still existed—and not just existed, but was thriving.

I hesitated, then stepped inside. Thankfully, the interior had changed a lot. Much was automated and high-tech, but the delicate task of styling hair was still the hairdresser’s job.

I carefully looked around. Everyone was busy and didn’t pay attention to me, which was a relief. On the walls were displays of various hairstyles, some showing staff faces and awards.

I was casually looking when I was startled. A familiar face appeared. The same face I had seen all day yesterday in the photos. My—no, her—older self, active as a hairdresser.

I looked at the career details below the face and was surprised. She had more awards listed than any other staff member.

Even her volunteer work was the most extensive. She had volunteered for over ten years, helping the elderly and children, and had received commendations, even appearing in newspaper articles.

Only about ten people were shown on the display. Likely those who had made significant contributions to the salon.

I took my time reading the articles below her face. These were traces of her admirable life, not mentioned in the diary. I could feel how hard she had worked.

A different path, a different life. These were not my traces, but hers.

I could begin to understand why she declared she would never switch bodies again.

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