The novel's plot ends there.
Cheryl, who was speechless after seeing the ending, couldn't help but sigh. Various emotions raced through her mind, especially after learning that Edgar had died in this manner while attempting to seek justice for his wife.
"Doesn't that show how much he adores his wife?" Cheryl grumbled to herself.
"But ... Is the one he loves with all his heart me ... or Claudia?" Cheryl had never dared to ask a question in front of Edgar; now she could only ask it in her head.
Her questions, on the other hand, will never be answered here, in the empty space of only herself.
Cheryl yawned as she noticed her eyelids becoming heavier. The woman lay down, tears in the corners of her eyes, clutching the novel she had just finished against her chest.
Cheryl didn't think about anything else before falling into a deep sleep.
-
Cheryl awoke to the sound of messages ringing from her cellphone, not knowing how long she had been sleeping. It began as a faint sound that gradually became clearer, as if it were right next to her head.
Cheryl's eyes were still closed, but her brow furrowed, irritated by the noise.
The clanging sound persisted. Cheryl groped her lying body roughly. It was as if her brain had been hit by something when her hand touched the flat rectangular object that kept ringing and vibrating, and she immediately came to her senses.
Although Cheryl had some difficulty opening her eyes due to the lingering drowsiness, as soon as her gaze caught the object in her hand, the sleepy eyes widened.
"This is... This is... This is..." Cheryl's lips were trembling. "...This is my phone!!!"
Unknowingly, she tossed a cellphone on the other side of the bed as she rolled over and walked away.
"Where can I find this...?"
Cheryl trembled in disbelief as she entered the familiar room, with turquoise walls and Doraemon-patterned window curtains.
"Does this... look like my bedroom?"
She inadvertently looked into the full-length mirror. The mirror reflected a young woman standing in a daze with wake-up dishevelled hair and a cartoon short-sleeved nightgown.
Cheryl took a step closer to the mirror. She brushed her dishevelled hair away from her face. The woman's stupid expression in the mirror seemed to tell her that her guess was correct.
"This... Is this me before transmigration? I... I've returned??"
The mirror confirmation was insufficient. Cheryl continued to run towards the window. The view of the building and the bustling streets below greeted them from behind Cheryl's clear glass window as soon as the Doraemon-patterned curtains opened.
Cheryl didn't mind how hot the morning sun was on her face as she watched the hustle and bustle of the streets. The woman smiled broadly, relieved to have returned to her world.
"I... I have truly returned!"
Cheryl gave a stupid smile before a long ringing interrupted her thoughts.
"Who has the time to call me at this hour?" Cheryl walked to her bed, where she had left her cellphone.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the caller's name on the screen. She recalled this person as an editor in charge of her novels on a platform.
"Hello there, Miss Miller. Why are you calling me so early in the morning?"
["Morning??? Check the time, then call or text me! "] Someone on the other end of the line appeared to be angry enough to disconnect immediately after she finished speaking.
Cheryl, who doesn't think she has any flaws, can only shrug at her editor's moodiness.
She did, however, take the editor's advice and looked at the clock on the wall. Her round eyes widened as she noticed the hour hand was already showing the number 11.
"Isn't it already noon? It's no surprise she was irritated when I said "morning.""
Cheryl laughed. She exited the room while texting the editor.
Her return to her original world does not shock her as much as her transmigration did. Cheryl sauntered into the kitchen, looking for food, after being slightly surprised and admiring the polluted air for a while.
Cheryl's small kitchen didn't have a lot of food or supplies, but there was plenty of bread and milk for breakfast.
She reflected as she chewed her bread: "I'd been moving for so long, but when I returned, I awoke the next day, as if transmigration didn't exist at all. What's the reason, I ask? Is it because of time, the world, the century, or..."
Ding.
Messages from the editor are delivered to the mailbox.
[I would appreciate it if you could send chapter updates as soon as possible. Otherwise, you may be removed from the list of contestants for this month.]
Cheryl sighed and grumbled. "Why is she so ferocious? Doesn't she realize I'd like to sleep in a little longer?"
Despite the nagging, Cheryl subconsciously agreed. She entered her study, sat on a chair, and turned on the computer, carrying a box of milk and a piece of bread.
As soon as she opened the author's website, she was inundated with reader comments chastising her for the late chapter update.
Only one message. There are two messages. Three messages, up to hundreds of messages at a time, all looking forward to the new chapter's continuation. They were all enraged; some even chastised her for requesting a chapter.
Cheryl's back was dripping with cold sweat.
"What is the source of their rage? Please bear with me..." said Cheryl. She replied to one of the random comments in this manner.
She then navigated away from the author's page and opened the draft file. Actually, she had written it and saved it in this draft a few chapters before the end. It's just that she was stalling instead of sending it for various reasons, including extreme laziness.
Cheryl selects the chapter to be sent, scrolls briefly, and checks for punctuation errors. Her movement came to a halt just as she was about to copy a chapter to update.
However, there are only a few chapters left before the end. Although the overall plot remains unchanged, Cheryl believes her plot is less interesting than the plots of the novels she reads in white space. A story from the world of a novel, to be more specific.
It came back to her, what she had seen in the novel world.
"That Edgar over there is nothing like the one I wrote here..." she grumbled.
Suddenly, she realized that her story was completely incorrect. Her fingers were itching to rewrite the story from start to finish.
"But what if I change it ... Is that okay?"
Cheryl remained hesitant.
Cheryl didn't make any changes after hesitating for a while. She sent the chapter updates exactly as they were written in the first draft.
Cheryl felt empty after sending the chapter to the end and changing her book's status to finished. The story she had experienced while transmigrating was still fresh in her mind, making her uneasy.
Cheryl was so engrossed in the story that she didn't realize she had written a new one based on her transmigration memories.
The plot is exactly what she went through, from meeting Edgar at the welcoming parade to feeling pain in her lower abdomen while in prison. She meticulously recorded everything, without leaving anything out.
Cheryl typed like she was in a trance, finishing almost the entire story. Before she knew it, it was early morning.
Cheryl stretched her tense muscles. Her slender fingers creaked as if they were worn-out machines.
Cheryl was more surprised by the results she achieved while in a "trance" than by the exhaustion that befell her.
"What?! I wrote more than 40 thousand words in a single day? Have I evolved into a god?!"
Who would believe that Cheryl, who usually writes less than 10 thousand words in a day, has now written 40 thousand words in just one day and night?
But her body couldn't take it any longer.
Cheryl was so exhausted that she fell asleep on the floor, albeit on a two-meter-long fur rug.
-
The next morning, Cheryl awoke. "Beth, I'm awake, prepare warm water for me..." she yelled, oblivious to her surroundings. She issued directives.
There was silence, no response.
Cheryl is irritated because she believes the maids are underperforming at the moment. She stood up, removed the blanket (which hadn't been there since the beginning), and repeated the command, "Beth, prepare some warm water for—"
It was only then that she realized where she was.
Her emotions, which were about to explode, also plummeted to the point of freezing.
She rose from the fur carpet with a long sigh. She took a quick look at her computer screen, which was still turned on. She apparently forgot to turn off the computer before going to bed last night.
Cheryl was unconcerned. She dragged her sluggish feet towards the bathroom with slow steps. She took a loaf of bread and a box of milk from the refrigerator after washing her face.
Her bread is soft but slightly cold. She usually enjoyed this bread. But she seemed to be having difficulty swallowing this bread.
"It's still better to eat at the Baldwin Mansion... Or Eugene's little palace instead of this bread."
Cheryl choked, either because she was eating while talking or because of something else.
"Ouch, it must be because I'm not grateful for food," she complained half-heartedly.
"Anyway, what's the deal with me? Does the world described in that novel really exist? I must have only fantasized about it, right?"
Cheryl was lost in thought once more, wondering if she had truly moved on or if she was still dreaming about the story.
"Whatever it is, forget it. Simply take advantage of it. For example, I have a great idea for a new epic story, right? Okay, let's get up and get back to work; don't mix fiction and reality!" Cheryl slapped her cheeks hard in an attempt to stay awake.
Cheryl returned to her studies and continued typing the story's script with a new spirit that had previously been difficult to build.
The inbox reminded Cheryl that there would be a live show on the platform tonight, announcing that the contest winner would be surprised this time.
Cheryl didn't seem to notice the announcement; she just continued writing for a few more chapters.
-
Cheryl, who is starving, decides to go out looking for food during the day. Even though she was extremely lazy, she did all of this because she didn't want to eat bread and milk any longer.
She got into the elevator and headed downstairs after straightening herself up a little.
Her months spent in a similar medieval era did not turn her into a hick when she returned. She still remembered where her regular grocery store was. She also recalls what a traffic light is not.
She clearly saw the green light for a pedestrian crossing, but as she stepped down onto the street, a car sped up and hit her.
The sound of brakes screeching in the middle of the day, followed by the screams of bystanders.
Cheryl, who was hit by a hard object, could only bounce before realizing what had happened.
The woman's body rolled across the asphalt. Fortunately, the car that hit Cheryl was able to hit the brakes and dodge in time. So, while Cheryl was still hit, the impact was not fatal.
"Uh..." Cheryl's body was a little achy. The heat from the asphalt caused her to wake up and get up quickly. However, the pain in her knee made her wince, and it was difficult for her to stand.
A man got out of the car and rushed towards Cheryl, his face concerned. The young man was driving the black car that struck Cheryl.
"Did you get hurt anywhere, Miss?" The man was concerned and inquired. He also reached out his hand to help Cheryl, who was attempting to stand.
Cheryl had been taken aback by the young man's familiar voice from the moment he spoke. The woman froze when she saw the young man's face.
Her eyes widened in shock.