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AliNovel > Redo of a Romanceless Author鈥檚 Life Devoid of Love; Another Chance at Youth > Chapter 343.

Chapter 343.

    Chapter 343.


    <strong>Chapter 343. At a Motel with a Prostitute in the Room Next Door: A Chat with the Prostitute in the Morning. (3/8)</strong>


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Do you believe in souls?” Since I didn’t know how to respond, I changed the topic to somethingpletely random.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Souls? Where’s thising from all of a sudden?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Nowhere, really. It’s just some small talk.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“That so? But... souls? Do I believe in them? Dunno if I do.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“If souls existed, would you sell yours for a second chance at life?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Haha, even if souls really existed, I definitely wouldn’t have one anyway. As for a second chance at life for me, that’s even more impossible than souls existing.” Sheughed in a condescending manner directed toward herself.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Would you like to verify whether you have a soul or not?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Verify I have one? And how would one verify that?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“By trying to sell it of course.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Sell it? Who would I sell it to? Don’t you need a devil for that?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Have you ever tried selling your souls to anyone before?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“No.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Then how would you know whether it was possible or not to sell it to someone who isn’t a devil?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“That’s a pretty good point actually. If I’ve never tried to sell it to anyone before, how would I know whether it’s impossible or not?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Precisely.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’s in the market of buying souls in exchange for a second chance at life, would you?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“As if someone like that would really exist.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah, there’s no way anyone would ever make a deal like that.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“But putting that aside, how about we test it out? Whether or not you have a soul and whether or not you can sell your soul to someone.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“How?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Just try selling it to me?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“To you? How will you be able to tell whether I have a soul or not, and to begin with, how would I even sell it to you?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Don’t devils use contracts? We can write up a contract and see if it works for humans.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Humans… am I even considered human?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“You look just as human to me as anyone else.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Hmm… don’t you think I look more like trailer trash than a human?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“No, you’re human.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I see. So I look like a human to you.” She closed her eyes and rxed on the bed.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“So, want to try selling your soul?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Sure. Doubt I have one though.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Alright, let me write up a contract. You have any paper I can write on?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">I’d used up the piece of paper I kept with me at all times on Yuna yesterday.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Paper, you think I have paper lying around here?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Any receipts then?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Nope.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Don’t you buy food or groceries?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Never.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Huh? What do you do for food then?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Whenever clients show up, they bring food with them for me or they order food to be delivered here.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Seriously… all you eat is delivery or stuff your… clients bring you?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah. I’m a prostitute after all. I’m selling my body for a reason. I’m pretty much useless when ites to anything else. I’ve never cooked for myself once in my entire life.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I see.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Well, I guess I could ask the front desk for some paper.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Don’t bother, just use this.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">She stretched her leg out off the bed and stuck it into a pile of some clothes on the ground. When she bent her foot back up perpendicr to the bed she waved what she held between her toes back and forth.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“You… want me to write out a contract on that?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah. It’s fitting for a prostitute like me. Panties are like a contract for a prostitute. Once we receive our payment, the panties drop.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I think that’s a pretty big stretch.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Whatever, just write out the contract on the inside of it.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh… if you say so.” I grabbed the panties she’d held up to me between her toes.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“You’re… really going to do it?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“But it’s dirty and worn.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Remember what I said before?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Soap and water?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah. Anything can be cleaned up with enough soap and water. It’s just a matter of how much time and effort you’re willing to put into washing it.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“How long would it take to wash your hands after touching this?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Not long. A minute.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Are you sure about that? It might be dirtier than you think it is.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It isn’t that dirty.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“...” Her leg slowly descended back down to the bed as she fell into silence.


    <span style="font-weight:400">The pen in my hand began to move across the fabric. It was pretty difficult to write on it, and I had to go over the letters multiple times for the letters toe out properly.


    <span style="font-weight:400">I didn’t know if this would actually work though. Every contract before was done on paper made out of wood. Would a contract on a piece of fabric work as well? Why hadn’t I ever considered something like this before? The possibilities were endless if it worked out.


    <span style="font-weight:400">If it did… it would be entirely possible to print out a contract on a shirt, then if you got someone to sign their autograph on it where you wanted them to, you could have them sell their soul to you without them even realizing it. In a way, it was actually an ingenious idea I’d never even thought of before meeting this prostitute.


    <span style="font-weight:400">If this really worked, my random encounter with this prostitute may have just resulted in a monumental discovery. My heart beat out of control at the prospect of such a convenient acquisition method for souls. Anyone famous could easily fall victim to this.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Wait… could this be part of the reason why people who became famous often changed? Perhaps they sold their soul to a devil without even knowing and they became puppets controlled by them. I personally didn’t know how to do anything with people’s souls once I acquired them, but surely there was something that could be done with them.


    <span style="font-weight:400">I really needed to get around to investigating this at some point. But I didn’t like the idea of controlling people using their souls. I was only collecting them because I instinctively felt they were something beneficial to me in the long run.


    <span style="font-weight:400">My hand finally stopped moving after I drew out a dotted line for her to sign.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Here’s the contract. You want to read it?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“All that’s included on my end is the sale of my soul and nothing else, right?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Yeah.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Alright, I’ll sign.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">I handed over the pen and panties to her. I gulped anxiously as she held her panties up against the wall and signed them. Would this really work?


    <span style="font-weight:400">When she pulled her hand away from her panties, I tasted something sweet in my mouth.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Holy shit… it worked.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It seems you have a soul after all.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Huh? What do you mean? I don’t feel anything different. Nothing even happened. You’re just making stuff up, aren’t you?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I’m not, I swear. Anyway, if you ever want your soul back, all you have to do is burn it. Uh… as for washing them until the ink disappears… I don’t know if that works.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">That was definitely a drawback I hadn’t considered with regards to fabric. Was it the material itself that kept the contract binding, the ink on the fabric, or the words themselves?


    <span style="font-weight:400">Could a contract be written out in dirt or sand? That could eliminate the possibility of it being tied to the ink. But how would it work for the material? There was too much I didn’t know.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Why couldn’t there be some course for devils to learn this shit? It seems like it might be prettyplicated. Devil Contracts 101 for Dummies. Why does such a convenient book not exist?


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Haaaah. Well, whatever. Not like I seriously expected anything toe from finding out whether I had a soul or selling it. You can have my soul, I don’t have any need for it if it really exists as you im.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I see.” She’d given up on life, her future, her well-being, her very existence, everything. Nothing mattered to her. She was apathetic. I understood that feeling quite well.
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