"I'm not giving up my balls."
The old man facepalmed. "You just hear what you want to hear, is that right?"
Michael shrugged. "It seemed too tense. Plus, you're the one who's joking."
"I'm not joking," the old man affirmed. "In order to achieve a permanent solution, you'd need to give up soup. I know it might be difficult, but it's not impossible."
"You're really not kidding?" Michael's brows twitched. "You do realize how ridiculous this sounds? Soup? Why the fuck is soup a prerequisite to me gaining full control over my body?"
"You'd be surprised," the old man chuckled. "Soup's more than just soup in your case. It's tied to the corruption inside you."
Michael stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "So you're telling me some cursed chicken broth is messing with my life?"
"Not just chicken. All kinds. The ingredients react with the residue left from your last awakening. It's subtle, but it builds up."
