Elodie had long grown used to the smell of disinfectant.

The hospital corridors were bright, cold, and endless, just like her life.

She sat quietly on the chair outside the ward, sleeves rolled up, pale arm exposed. The nurse skillfully inserted the needle, and dark red blood slowly flowed into the bag. Elodie didn’t make a sound. She never did.

“Relax,” the nurse said casually. “You donate blood quite often, don’t you?”

Elodie smiled faintly but didn’t answer.

Of course she did.

Because she didn’t have a choice.

Inside the ward, her elder sister, Eliana, lay weakly on the hospital bed. Her face was pale, lips dry, but she still looked delicate and pitiful. Their parents stood anxiously at her bedside, eyes filled with worry.

“My poor daughter,” her mother murmured. “How could your health be so bad?”

Her father frowned deeply. “Doctor, will this transfusion be enough?”

“Yes,” the doctor replied. “Fortunately, her sister’s blood type is a perfect match.”

At those words, relief washed over their faces.

No one asked how Elodie was feeling.

No one wondered whether she was dizzy, weak, or in pain.

In their eyes, Elodie had always been healthy. Healthy people didn’t need care.

The blood bag slowly filled. Elodie’s vision blurred slightly, and she clenched her fingers tightly, forcing herself to stay awake.

She remembered the first time she donated blood.

Back then, she had still believed that family meant warmth.

But after the second time… the fifth… the tenth…

She finally understood.

She was nothing more than a living blood bank.

When the nurse removed the needle, Elodie stood up carefully, her legs weak. She steadied herself against the wall, breathing shallowly.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the corridor.

A tall man approached—her fiancé, Julian.

But his gaze passed right through Elodie, landing instead on the ward behind her.

“How’s Eliana?” he asked immediately.

“She’s stable now,” Elodie replied softly.

Julian finally looked at her, but only for a moment. “Good. You did well.”

Did well.

As if donating blood were a task, and she was merely fulfilling her duty.

“I’ll stay with her tonight,” Julian continued. “You should go home and rest.”

Elodie nodded obediently.

She watched as he turned away, pushing open the ward door, his expression instantly softening as he looked at another woman—her sister.

The door closed.

Elodie stood alone in the corridor.

She didn’t cry.

She had learned long ago that tears were useless.

At home, the lights were off.

No one had bothered to come back with her.

Elodie went to her room and slowly sat on the bed. Her phone buzzed softly in her hand.

She opened it.

A notification popped up.

[Island Purchase Successful]

The screen glowed faintly in the dark room.

Elodie stared at it for a long time.

That island was far away, isolated from everything. No family. No blood donations. No obligations.

She had saved money quietly for years, enduring everything in silence, just for this moment.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would leave.

She lay down, exhaustion washing over her like a tide. Her heartbeat felt slower than usual, her body heavy.

Still, she smiled.

Just one more night.

---

The next morning, Elodie packed lightly.

She didn’t plan to tell anyone.

As she stepped out of the house, the sky was overcast, clouds hanging low as if pressing down on the city.

Her phone rang.

It was her mother.

“Elodie, come to the hospital,” her mother said impatiently. “Your sister doesn’t feel well again.”

Elodie closed her eyes.

“I donated blood yesterday,” she said quietly. “The doctor said it was enough.”

“So what?” her mother snapped. “You’re young. Don’t be so selfish.”

Selfish.

That word stabbed deeper than any needle.

“I’ll come,” Elodie said.

She hung up and stood by the roadside, waiting for a car.

She never noticed the vehicle approaching too fast.

She never saw her sister behind the wheel, panic written all over her face.

By the time Elodie turned her head, it was already too late.

Bright headlights.

A sharp sound.

Then—nothing.

---

When Elodie woke up, the world was silent.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t speak.

She couldn’t even open her eyes properly.

She was trapped in darkness.

Her body lay in a hospital bed, connected to machines, completely still.

She had fallen into a coma.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

Her parents came at first, standing stiffly by her bed.

“When will she wake up?” her father asked the doctor.

“It’s hard to say.”

Her mother frowned. “What about Eliana’s condition?”

The doctor hesitated. “Without her sister’s blood—”

Her mother’s face darkened.

They stopped coming as often.

Julian came once.

He stood at the foot of the bed, silent for a long time.

“If you wake up,” he said coldly, “don’t be so willful anymore.”

Then he left.

Only one person kept coming.

Her big brother, Adrian.

He sat beside her every night, holding her cold hand, his eyes red.

“You idiot,” he whispered hoarsely. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He remembered every time she had looked pale.

Every time she had smiled and said she was fine.

It was only now—when she could no longer respond—that he realized how much she had endured.

“I’m sorry,” he said again and again. “Big brother failed you.”

But Elodie couldn’t hear him.

Because her soul was already drifting away.

Far, far away—

Toward another world.

Elodie opened her eyes slowly. Light filtered through a wooden ceiling, soft and golden, unlike the harsh fluorescent glare she remembered. The air smelled fresh, earthy, even faintly of flowers. Her chest felt lighter, as if some weight had lifted from her body.

For a moment, she thought she was dreaming. But the warmth beneath her back and the stiffness in her limbs told her otherwise. She tried to move—but her arms and legs felt small, delicate, unfamiliar.

Her hands hovered in front of her face, trembling slightly. Pale, slender, soft… they didn’t belong to the weak, sickly girl she had been.

“Where… am I?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The door burst open before she could think further. A tall man in simple clothes rushed in, his boots scuffing the wooden floor. His eyes widened in relief as he knelt beside her.

“You… you’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

Elodie stared at him. His features were kind, yet foreign, yet something deep in her chest stirred at the sound of his voice.

“I… who—” she started.

He smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I’m your father. Duke Valenheim. You’ve been very ill, but you’re safe now.”

The words hit her like a cold wave. Duke? Father? Ill? Safe?

Memories—vivid, disorienting—flooded her mind. Her body, this world, the other world she had left behind… She tried to piece them together. She was not in the hospital. Not in the modern world.

Her heart raced. Her soul had somehow… moved. Reincarnated.

“I… I’m… alive?” she whispered.

“Yes,” the duke replied gently. “And you must rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Elodie nodded slowly, trying to adjust to the strangeness of this world. Then her attention drifted beyond the walls of the small room. Through the open window, she saw rolling fields bathed in sunlight. The scent of earth, grass, and growing crops filled her senses, clearer and purer than anything she remembered.

“Father… why do you… stay here?” she asked cautiously, unable to hide her curiosity.

He chuckled softly, standing and brushing soil from his hands. “The soil feeds people. What’s the point of ruling if the land cannot sustain them? Farming is life, child. It’s honest, and it brings peace.”

Elodie’s lips parted slightly. A duke… farming? she thought. In her previous life, dukes only cared about wealth, politics, or appearances. Not about turning soil, planting seeds, or feeling the life beneath their fingers.

“You’ll see,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you the fields.”

---

Morning came quickly. Elodie stepped out into the open air for the first time in this world. The ground beneath her boots was soft, fertile, and alive. She blinked at the vast fields stretching beyond the manor. Rows of vegetables, grains, and flowering plants swayed gently in the breeze.

Her father was already there, sleeves rolled up, hands in the soil. Kneeling beside a patch of young seedlings, he examined the roots, murmuring to himself about irrigation and crop rotation.

Elodie hesitated. Should she speak? Should she leave? But curiosity pushed her forward.

“Father… may I help?” she asked, her voice timid.

He looked up, surprise flashing in his eyes. Then, as if she had asked the simplest question in the world, he smiled.

“Of course. Come here, child. Watch the roots. Feel the soil. A plant will grow only if you care for it, not just water it.”

Elodie knelt beside him. Mud clung to her fingers as she touched the soil, the sensation strange yet comforting. She bent over, planting a seed carefully, mimicking the motions she remembered from her fleeting childhood memories in the other world—the world she had loved, lost, and died in.

For the first time in a long time, she felt… peace.

---

Days turned into weeks.

Elodie’s hands, once soft and unused to labor, grew stronger. She learned to read the soil, to sense the weather, to nurture plants with precision and care. The servants began to notice her skill. At first, they whispered behind her back, mocking the young lady who dirtied her hands.

“The duke’s daughter? In the mud?”

But when the harvest came, overflowing with vegetables, grains, and flowers, their laughter turned to awe.

Duke Valenheim stood at the edge of the fields, his eyes wide as he inspected the baskets.

“Elodie… how did you know this?” he asked, disbelief and pride mingling in his voice.

Elodie smiled faintly, warmth spreading in her chest. “I… just remembered,” she said.

It was true. Something deep within her, the knowledge and patience from the life she had lost, guided her hands. Farming became her anchor, a reminder that she could rebuild, care, and create life.

---

One evening, as she walked alone through the fields, Elodie stared at the horizon. Sunlight glinted off the crops, painting the world gold and green. She breathed deeply, savoring the smell of earth, the gentle rustle of leaves.

For the first time in her existence—both the world she had left behind and the one she now lived—Elodie felt something extraordinary: hope.

Hope that she could grow stronger.

Hope that she could protect the ones she loved in this world.

Hope that maybe, someday, she could find happiness without being a tool for others.

And somewhere deep inside, she realized: this world, this life, could be hers.

The mornings on the Valenheim estate had a rhythm of their own. Birds sang from the treetops, roosters crowed, and the faint scent of wet soil filled the air. Elodie woke early, just as the sun spilled golden light across the fields. She had come to love these hours of silence, where her thoughts could wander freely and her hands could work the soil without interruption.

Her father, Duke Valenheim, was already in the fields, crouched among the seedlings. Even after weeks of working side by side, Elodie still marveled at his dedication. The soil clung to his sleeves, his hands bore tiny scratches, but his eyes shone with contentment.

“Morning, Father,” she called softly, bending down to tend to a row of young carrots.

He glanced up and smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Good morning, Elodie. The weather will be harsh this week; we need to water carefully. You’ve improved remarkably—you’ve saved this patch from drying out yesterday.”

Elodie felt a warm flush rise to her cheeks. “I just follow your instructions.”

“Follow my instructions?” he said with a teasing tone. “No, child. You have a mind of your own. That’s why the crops thrive under your care.”

The praise made her heart ache pleasantly. In her old life, no one had ever noticed her, let alone celebrated her efforts. Here, her thoughts mattered, her hands mattered, her existence mattered.

---

A few days later, the castle gates opened to a delegation from the crown. Among them was Prince Kael, the heir to the neighboring kingdom. Tall, composed, with an air of authority, he had come to discuss trade agreements and agricultural innovations. Elodie’s father had invited him to see the estate and its methods firsthand.

Elodie stood silently by the edge of the fields, observing him as he examined the soil and inspected the irrigation system. She noticed how his eyes lingered not on the gold embroidery of her father’s robes, but on the simple wooden tools, the crops, the clever layout of the fields.

“He is… different,” she whispered to herself.

Duke Valenheim nodded beside her. “Kael is clever. He appreciates labor, skill, and effort. Unlike many nobles who care only for appearances, he respects those who work.”

Elodie’s fingers brushed the soil as she thought of the life she had lost—the endless hospital corridors, the cold eyes of her family, the demands for blood donations. Here, she was appreciated. Here, she could grow.

Prince Kael approached her, observing her hands as they worked the soil. His gaze softened when he saw her focus.

“You handle the crops well,” he said quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “I’ve never seen a young lady with such… dedication.”

Elodie blinked, surprised. Compliments from strangers were unusual, but something in his tone felt genuine. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

---

As weeks turned into months, Elodie’s life grew richer with experience. She learned not only about crops and land management, but also about strategy, trade, and estate governance. She found satisfaction in planning irrigation systems, choosing crop rotations, and harvesting yields that doubled the past year’s production.

Her father watched her silently, proud beyond words. “You are meant for more than this estate, Elodie. But even if you never leave these fields, you will leave a mark that lasts generations.”

Elodie’s thoughts drifted to her future. She remembered the small screen of her phone back in the modern world—the one that glowed with the message: [Island Purchase Successful]. Somewhere in this body, in this new life, she would have the opportunity to own her own land, far from politics, far from betrayal, far from people who would use her. A place she could truly call home.

“Father…” she said one evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in orange and violet. “I want to learn more. Not just farming, but everything—trade, governance… everything it takes to protect people and land.”

He nodded, eyes glistening. “You will, Elodie. I’ll teach you everything I know. And when you are ready, you will decide how to shape your own path.”

---

One night, while walking along the edge of the estate, Elodie paused to look at the stars. They twinkled above her, infinite and unchanging. A soft breeze carried the scent of soil and growing crops. She closed her eyes, imagining the life she had once lost, the daughters she would someday have, and the peace she wanted to build.

Somewhere, far in the future, she knew she would protect them—her children, her land, her family—no matter the cost. The seed of determination had been planted, and she would nurture it just as carefully as she nurtured the fields around her.

And deep down, she knew one day she would purchase her island, raise her daughter there, and perhaps face the betrayals and dangers that awaited—but on her own terms, with her hands in the soil and her heart strong.

The wind carried a promise, soft but certain: this life would be hers to shape.