How Does Ikigai The Japanese Secret To A Long And Happy Life End?

Sage Joyner is reborn and given a second chance at life. In her previous life, she spent eight years of her life madly in love with Ian Holcomb. But all she got in return was a divorce certificate and a terrible death in a mental institution. Now that she's been reborn, the first thing she wants to do is divorce Ian! At first, Ian is as cold and disdainful as always. "Don't even dream of threatening me with a divorce. I don't have time for your tantrums!" After the divorce, Sage's career sets off, and countless outstanding men surround her. That's when Ian loses his cool. He pins Sage to the wall and says, "I was wrong, babe. Let's remarry …" Sage looks icy. "Thanks, but no thanks. I no longer have love on the brain."

The doctor told me I had 72 hours left, unless I got access to the newest experimental treatment. However, there was only one slot available, and my husband Bowen Liddell gave it to my sister Yvonne Lawson instead. "Her kidney failure is more critical," he said. I nodded and swallowed the white pills that would only speed up my death. In the time I had left, I got a lot done. The lawyer's hand trembled as he passed me the documents. "Are you sure you want to transfer the two billion dollars in shares?" I replied, "Yes. Give them to Yvonne." My daughter, Candice Liddell, was giggling in Yvonne's arms. "Mommy Yvonne bought me a new dress!" I said, "It looks beautiful. Make sure you always listen to Mommy Yvonne, okay?" The art gallery I built from the ground up now had Yvonne's name on the sign. "You're too kind, Kathy," she said, crying. I told her, "You'll run it even better than I ever did." I even signed all my parents' trust fund away. That was when Bowen finally gave me his first genuine smile in years. "Kathleen, you've changed. You're not so aggressive anymore... You're beautiful like this." Indeed. This dying version of me finally became the 'perfect Kathleen Sullivan' in their eyes—obedient, generous, and no longer argumentative. The 72-hour countdown had already begun, and I couldn't help but wonder what they would remember when my heart stopped for good. The good wife who 'finally learned to let go', or the woman who completed her revenge by dying?

Elijah Morris has been fooling around for four out of the five years we've been married. And from the very first month, he openly betrays me. Meanwhile, I spend my time warding people off with expensive contracts, one after another. Eventually, all that's left between us is constant fighting. One day, his younger stepsister, Abigail Wright, returns. And just like that, he finally settles down. That's when the system tells me that I can finally go home. For the next five days, I no longer ask about his schedule. I don't care if he is with Abigail, nor do I care if she is pregnant with his child. I even move out of the master bedroom myself, listening to them going at it all night. The fifth day after Abigail's return is our wedding anniversary. Elijah bursts into the room, tears up our marriage certificate in front of me, and smashes my most treasured vase into pieces. He grips my throat tightly and growls, "Why did you put mango in Abby's cake? She's allergic, and she almost died! How could you be so cruel?" For the first time, I don't argue with him. Instead, I go along with his accusations. "So what?" I then pick up a shard from the broken vase on the floor under his disbelieving gaze. Then, I draw it across my artery. Just like that, I end my life in this world.

After I fail in my mission, I am about to be erased by the system and will disappear from this world completely. In the final 24 hours before I am erased, I agree to donate a kidney to my younger brother, Zachary Durham. My wife, Judith Sanford, hugs me excitedly and says she will not divorce me anymore. When Zachary plagiarizes my design, I take the blame and admit that I am the one who copied it. My parents nod in satisfaction, saying I have finally become sensible. Finally, I become the good husband and son they always wanted. But when they see my lifeless body sometime later, they all lose their minds.

After my grandpa receives a critical notice regarding his illness, he takes my boyfriend, Layne Harper, by the hand and pleads with him. "Layne, please marry Aleah while I'm still alive this month. I want to see her live happily ever after." Everyone sheds tears in the hospital room, thinking that Layne will heed Grandpa's words right away by getting down on one knee and proposing to me. After all, I have been waiting for him for the past ten years. With tears brimming in my eyes, I wait for Layne's response eagerly. But he covers the speaker of his phone out of worry that he might awaken his childhood friend, Ruby Martin, whom he has spent the last five hours coaxing to sleep. Finally, Layne replies gently, "Don't worry, Grandpa. I will give Aleah the happiness she deserves. Even if we don't get married in the end, I'll stick with my promise." My relatives stop cheering Layne on immediately. Then, they turn to look at me sympathetically. But I just smile and go with the flow. "I'll still be happy even if I don't marry Layne, Grandpa." After all, in two hours, I will accept another man's marriage proposal.

When my wife, Rosalie Wood, had her first meal after she regained consciousness, the attending doctor, Ethan Joeman, took my seat. He cut the steak while he pointed at her rosy face and looked at me with open defiance. “Do you know how medical miracles happen? It is not because of your constant presence. It is because of my in‑depth treatment.” My fingers that held the knife and fork turned pale. Ethan grew even more brazen. His feet rubbed against my wife's calves under the table. “A person in a vegetative state can still feel things. Every night after you left, I did awakening therapy for her. She said her body could not move, yet the sense of being conquered made her feel as though her soul left her body. She woke up because she wanted to feel it again. Last night, she said she wanted to thank her savior and asked me to check her firmness after recovery. She did not disappoint me.” I looked at Rosalie, who stared at the doctor with admiration, and my chest tightened. To pay for her treatment, I sold my house and car. I slept on a folding bed in this hospital for three years. I bathed her and turned her over every day. It turned out that my three years of round‑the‑clock care meant nothing compared to a few acts of harassment committed while she was vulnerable. I took a drug from my bag and smiled as I poured Ethan a glass of wine. I thought, ‘You went through a lot, yet her awakening was only a brief moment of clarity before death. She has super‑drug‑resistant syphilis. Congratulations. You caught it too.’