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AliNovel > Redo of a Romanceless Author鈥檚 Life Devoid of Love; Another Chance at Youth > Chapter 419.

Chapter 419.

    Chapter 419.


    <strong>Chapter 419. Heading to a Bustling City: The Serene-Eyed Girl with Soul-Damage. (2/4)</strong>


    <span style="font-weight:400">That was rather unexpected. If her mother was persistent, she could have forced her father to sell his farm after they divorced and seized half of his wealth. Farnd was quite pricey, it would have definitely been worth a good amount.


    <span style="font-weight:400">In terms of an estimate, if your average farm was about four hundred acres and the price was about $3000 per acre. The sale of thend alone could be valued at around $1,200,000 and up. That estimate is also excluding any equipment they have on the farm. I assume they own thend since she said her father inherited the farm from his parents.


    <span style="font-weight:400">To not be tempted by a sum like that… it’s quite surprising. Either she was ignorant and automatically thought farmers were poor, or she really wasn’t in it for the money, not a gold digger, and she really loved Dawn’s father but absolutely couldn’t handle life on the farm. If it was thetter, perhaps guilt was what drove her to divorce. She didn’t want to stay on the farm but she also didn’t want to be dead weight and tie Dawn’s father down. If Dawn was bad in practice when it came to farming, maybe she got that from her mother.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What of your mother now? Where is she? Have you seen her since they divorced?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I… haven’t seen her.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Have you never seen your mother before?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“No... she left a few months after I was born, so I don’t have any memories of being together with her. I’ve never seen her in person before.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What about pictures of her? Surely you’ve at least seen a picture of her, right?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I have at least seen a picture of her. But I don’t know what she’d look like now. I doubt I’d even recognize her if I saw her now. It’s been eighteen years after all. She could look like apletely different person by now. I could walk past her and not even know it. The same goes for her. She could walk past me and she wouldn’t even recognize me. We’d be…plete strangers.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“You don’t have any idea where she is or what she’s doing?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Well… I don’t know what she’s doing… but I think… my mom’s probably... living in this city. This is the city they met and where she moved back to.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Oh? And you’ve never thought toe to this city to look for her?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It’s not that I haven’t tried. I have… but… I’m scared. Every time I trying to the city, I stop before I get in range. My foot never stays down on the gas pedal and raises on its own the closer I get. I’d always stop and pull over at some point. The only thing I could do was stare far into the distance down the road that led to the city. My dad knows I want to go to the city and he’s always supportive and encourages me to go if I want to, but he doesn’t want to visit the city.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Why not?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It probably brings back memories of my mom I guess.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What about you? What are you so afraid of?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What am I... afraid of?”


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I’m... afraid of running into my mom. To face her… I guess. What am I supposed to do if I bump into her? What sort of expression should I have? Can I even make that sort of expression in front of her? What should I say to her? What would we talk about? Does she hate me? Does she regret having me? Was I a mistake? All sorts of things go through my head and I can’t take a single step closer to the city. My body just freezes up and I start imagining all sorts of different things in my head.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Hmm… a psychological trauma? Was that the root cause of her daydreaming? Or if I entertained the idea that damage to the soul exists, could it be these sorts of fears that caused it?


    <span style="font-weight:400">“When did you first start daydreaming about things?”


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


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I… don’t remember.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“When did you start having ideas about going to the city?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“After I started reading manga and seeing images of the city.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Then is it safe to assume you started daydreaming after that?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Hmm… I guess so.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“So, when did you start reading manga?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh… when I was twelve.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Alright, and when did you start thinking about seeing your mother.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I guess it was after I read a manga about a family living happily on a farm together. I actually hadn’t even thought about stuff like my mom at all before that. It was only when I read that manga that I asked my dad about mom for the first time.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Then did your daydreams start after you read that specific manga?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Mmm… I think it might have.”


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Why did yuh wanna know that though?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“No reason in particr. I was just a little curious. That’s all.”


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn fell into silence as we walked along the sidewalk. Her eyes darted about from left to right taking in all the views. She even took out her phone and started taking pictures of the tall buildings. Even the fast-food restaurants and small stores selling clothes were no exception to her morbid curiosity.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Are you hungry?”


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">As soon as I mentioned food her stomach rumbled.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I’ll take that as a yes.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“I-It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“How long were you stranded out there for?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh… since early this morning.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“And it’s already approaching the evening. If you’re concerned about taking up my time, you don’t need to worry about it. Just get something to eat if you’re hungry. If you’re so curious about some of the fast-food restaurants then try them. They take less than five minutes on average to prepare your food.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“F-Five minutes? So quick? I mean… I knew it was quick, but that fast? Seriously?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“That’s actually a conservative number, usually it’s much shorter than that.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Whenever I get somethin to eat from a restaurant in a town it takes like thirty minutes. How can food be made so fast?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It’s all precooked and prepared in advance frozen processed garbage they just reheat. It cuts down on preparation time immensely. Normal restaurants in the city still take thirty minutes or more to cook the food so it’s not that different.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Junk food is… pretty amazin.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“It might sound amazing to you, but it’s just junk food and it isn’t good for you.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What’s amazin is amazin,” Dawn refuted.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“If you say that to a local they’ll justugh at you.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Hey, what’s that one sell?” Dawn pointed across the street curiously.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Popeyes? They sell fried chicken. It’s actually pretty good. Want to try it?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn gave two big nods before she grabbed my hand and pulled me across the street like an excited child running to a line for a ride at Disnend. Her expression was still the serene one I’d grown ustomed to, but it was easy to feel the excitement in the air around her.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Thoughts of the mother she hadn’t seen in eighteen years had flown out the window. Lost to fried chicken. I wonder if Dawn’s mother would cry if she learned of this.


    <span style="font-weight:400">We lined up together behind three customers ahead of us. About five minutester we made it to the register.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Wee to Popeyes, how can I help you today?” The worker manning the register immediately greeted and directed her question to Dawn who’d enthusiastically stepped up to the register first.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Huh? Uh… that is…” Dawn froze up and stiffly turned to me like a lost puppy that had forgotten how to bark.


    <span style="font-weight:400">It seems she’d been so excited to order she’d forgotten to read the menu overhead while we were lined up.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh, sir, will you be ordering first?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“We’re together. We’ll have a four-piece spicy chickenbo please.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“What would you like for your side?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Side?” Dawn muttered quietly to herself like she couldn’tprehend. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her cheek as she shot a nervous discrete nce my way. From the look of it, her fate depended on the words that came out of my mouth. Don’t put so much pressure on me over a stupid side item!


    <span style="font-weight:400">“F-Fries.” Her seriousness made me stutter a bit. If the cashier said side dish or side item, I’m sure Dawn would have understood. She just wasn’t used to the shortened terminology in a fast-food restaurant.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Did you want a mix of white and dark meat or just dark?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Dark!” Dawn finally spoke up when it was a term she understood. As she was a little too excited her voice was a bit loud.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“R-Right, dark meat it is,” the cashier was a bit taken aback by Dawn’s overenthusiastic response that came out of left field.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn covered her mouth with her right hand when it registered how loud she blurted that out.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh, and your… drink?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn peeked at me for guidance again.


    <span style="font-weight:400">I shrugged since I didn’t know whether she had a drink she preferred. I wasn’t the one eating here.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Uh… what would you normally get to drink?” Dawn asked me with her mouth still covered by her right hand.


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


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Then, I’ll take a coke.” By now she’d somehow calmed down.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Alright. Is that everything you were getting today?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn nodded twice.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Are you eating in or is this to go?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">“In a bag to go please,” I responded.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Alright, and just to confirm your order, it will be a four-piece spicy chickenbo, only dark meat, fries for the side, and a medium coke. Is that correct?”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn nodded.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Your total will be $15.11. How were you paying today? Cash or by card?” She naturally looked over to me first expecting I was the one paying here since I said we were together.


    <span style="font-weight:400">I pointed to Dawn and her business smile twitched a bit.


    <span style="font-weight:400">Bitch, don’t give me that judgemental look to guilt-trip me into paying. I’m not even the one eating here. I’ve got to leave room for whatever Rosa’s cooking up for me.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“C-Cash.” Dawn stuck her hand into her pocket, pulled out a $20 bill, and held it out to the cashier.


    <span style="font-weight:400">The cashier epted the bill and returned her change.


    <span style="font-weight:400">“Your change is $4.89.”


    <span style="font-weight:400">Dawn epted the change and stuffed it inside her pocket.
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