InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Lingering Ghosts ❯ Family ( Chapter 4 )

Sorry for the long wait, everyone (you'll hear that a lot from me, by the way)! I had a tough time with this chapter for some reason, so if any of it seems forced at all, that'd be why. More of my babble at the end of the chapter.

 

.-.-.-.

 

 

Chapter 4 - Family

 

.-.

 

“Nii-san,” a singsong voice trilled as a pair of skinny arms draped themselves over Hiroshi's shoulders.

 

The boy gave a tired smile. “What is it, Chiyo?”

 

“Nothing,” the twelve-year-old replied, resting her chin on top of her brother's head. “I just wanted to see what you were doing.” She peered over at the crumpled papers that were scattered about Hiroshi's folded legs. “What's this? Are you drawing again?”

 

“Er, yes…” Hiroshi's face grew pink. “Takara-san said that she enjoyed my drawings, so I thought she might like it if I drew something especially for her.”

 

“How thoughtful of you, nii-san!” said Chiyo with a grin, ruffling his hair as one would do to a small child. “Just make sure Chichi-ue doesn't catch you. He wouldn't think it manly enough for a Furugawa son.” Glowering slightly, Hiroshi attempted to pat down his now-tousled hair. “But it really is nice of you to try to please Takara-chan like that, even though you don't actually have to woo her, since the marriage was already-”

 

Hiroshi's blush darkened considerably, and he spoke through clenched teeth, “Could we not talk about this, please?” His arranged marriage to his younger sister's best friend was definitely not his favorite topic of conversation.

 

“Fine, fine.” It only took her a second to think of something else to discuss. She hugged Hiroshi's neck suddenly, her violet eyes wide with excitement. “Hey, hey, you know who's going to be arriving here any day now, right?”

 

Hiroshi attempted to concentrate on his latest drawing effort. “No, but I suppose you're going to tell me.”

 

“You remember Yasuo, don't you?”

 

“Oh, Houshi-dono? He's coming here?”

 

“Yep! He wrote to Chichi-ue a few weeks ago, saying that he would be passing through here soon and that he would appreciate it if we could provide a place for him to sleep for a while.”

 

Hiroshi gave her a sidelong glance. “You must have gotten quite attached to him while he was here.”

 

Chiyo grinned mischievously. “He was fun to pick on. He's always so serious, except maybe when a pretty girl walks by.”

 

.-.

 

Yasuo arrived later that afternoon. He'd not grown any taller, Chiyo noted smugly, declaring that they would soon be the same height. In the fading light of day they walked lazily throughout the castle grounds while the young monk told Chiyo what he'd been doing the past few months - which was mainly looking for ways to defeat Naraku.

 

“So have you been by yourself this whole time?” she asked, skipping several paces ahead of him.

 

“Oh, no,” he replied with a bright smile. “I was with Mushin-sama most of the time.”

 

“Mushin-sama?”

 

“He was a good friend to my father; they trained in the same temple. He took care of me after my father died, and he also helps me whenever the Kazaana gives me trouble.” Yasuo laughed, a rare and merry sound. “He's probably a good model of what a monk shouldn't be - a drunkard and a womanizer. But he's a good man, the best father anyone could hope for.”

 

Chiyo turned to face him, walking backwards and grinning. “Better than your real father?”

 

His smile slowly faded and was replaced with a pensive look; he stopped walking and spoke softly, “I guess I can't say for sure. I hardly knew my father, not really.” He stared down at the grass, his eyebrows knitting together. “Chichi-ue spent all of his time hunting Naraku. It was all he would ever talk about. The more Naraku got the better of him, the more determined he became. The more determined he became, the less I saw of him.”

 

Clasping her hands behind her back, Chiyo leaned forward and asked, “But what kind of father was he?”

 

Yasuo glanced up at her, raising an eyebrow. “He wasn't.” When she frowned uncomprehendingly, he continued, “I knew him as a monk who hunted youkai, and one youkai in particular. He taught me everything he knew for the day when I would have to face Naraku. He never taught me… how to write, how to use chopsticks, any of the things that a parent is supposed to teach their child. That's why… I suppose I never really understood the concept of `family.'”

 

Chiyo straightened, rocking her feet back and forth. Finally she spoke: “Well, all that means is that you had two fathers, right? Your real father, and Mushin-sama. It's a strange family, but it's still a family.”

 

He stared at her thoughtfully, then gave a small smile. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

 

.-.

 

They were given an hour to themselves, to wash up and rest before a servant came to lead them to the dining hall. Dinner was a quiet affair, with Miroku, Sango, Takara, and Kumiko eating at a table that could have easily seated ten people. The large hall was sparsely decorated, with a lone tapestry adorning one wall and a few candles around the table providing the only light in the room. When the last servant exited, an uneasy silence settled over the group until Takara, smiling slightly, let out a genial sigh.

 

“I know it must seem quite dreary here. It would have been far livelier two years ago.” She turned to look at her daughter. “Wouldn't you agree, Kumiko?” But the girl made no response and continued to stare firmly at her rice, her long bangs obscuring her eyes from view. Takara sighed again and returned her gaze to Miroku. “But I hope you will make yourselves at home for however long you decide to stay.”

 

Miroku inclined his head respectfully. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

 

Her smile widened. “Not at all. I must at least try to make up for all the years that our family has neglected you.”

 

He returned her good-natured smile. “I hardly think it's something you should blame yourself for. After all, I never even considered looking for you.”

 

Sango watched the two converse in quiet admiration. She had always been amazed at how easily words seemed to flow from Miroku's lips; she could probably count on one hand the number of times she had heard him stutter. Even now, in the midst of what could easily be a very awkward situation, he was calm and composed, his words smooth as a breeze.

 

No wonder he makes such a great con man.

 

Sango was pulled from these thoughts by Takara's next statement. “And here you've brought quite a surprise - I had not expected to be meeting two new family members.” She spoke to the younger woman, “Tell me, how long have you and Miroku been married?”

 

“Oh, uh, almost a month now.” Family members… that's right. If this is Houshi-sama's family, of course they would be mine as well now. Meeting and gaining the approval of in-laws was not an issue that Sango had ever thought she would have to deal with, even on their journey to the Furugawa castle. After staying with Kagome and the others for so long, “family” had taken on a new meaning for her. She had seen half-brothers draw swords against each other; she had seen a woman defy and be killed by the very thing that had borne her; she had watched her brother, the person whose blood ran closest to hers, become a murderer. Sango knew now that “family” was not always synonymous with flesh and blood.

 

Gazing thoughtfully at Miroku, she wondered how he felt on the matter. He would not be here now if he did not feel some urge to aid these people. That was simply part of his nature - he would not turn away from a call for help. But whether or not he was also here out of a genuine desire to assist his family, Sango could not guess.

 

As aunt and nephew returned to exchanging idle pleasantries, Sango turned her gaze on the young girl seated before her. Kumiko had not spoken a single word throughout the meal and had kept her eyes fixated on the table. But as Sango continued to observe her, she saw the girl glance up very slowly until her eyes settled on the little cat sitting quietly beside Sango. Kirara, seeming to sense the gaze upon her, perked her ears and looked up at the girl, who then immediately returned her eyes to the table.

Apparently, Sango had not been the only one observing this; Takara smiled at her daughter before speaking to Sango again. “That is a rather interesting companion,” she remarked, gesturing to Kirara. “Those red eyes… a youkai, isn't it?” At Sango's nod, Takara cocked her head thoughtfully. “Rather strange company for a taijiya to keep, wouldn't you say?”

 

Sango scratched Kirara lightly behind the ears. “Maybe. But I know Kirara would never harm a human, and there are many other youkai who are the same. She's not the only youkai we've traveled with.” This last statement was already out of her mouth before she considered the fact that it might not have been the best thing to say.

 

Sure enough, Takara's eyebrows lifted in mild bemusement. She looked to Miroku for confirmation; for his part, the monk looked unperturbed. “Well, yes, aside from Kirara we also traveled with a young kitsune orphan. There's also Inuyasha, though I can't really call him a youkai, as he's also half human.”

 

Even Kumiko looked up in surprise at this. Takara seemed to carefully measure her tone when she spoke next. “So then, one of your companions is a hanyou. Are there no other humans in your travel party?”

 

“Yes, a young miko.” It seemed Miroku did not think it necessary to mention that this young miko also happened to be from the future.

 

“My,” said Takara, her brows still raised even as she smiled faintly in amusement, “your journey must have been an interesting one.”

 

Miroku laughed congenially. “Ah, very much so.” He set down his bowl of rice and continued, “Actually, I'm glad that this was brought up. You see, I left word for two of our companions - the miko and the hanyou - telling them where Sango and I had gone. So there is a chance that they will be arriving here soon. Should they come here, I hope it would not be too much of an inconvenience for you to give them lodging.”

 

He looked and sounded humble enough as he spoke, but Sango had known him long enough to hear the true meaning behind this diplomatic statement: If you can't accept my friends, then I'm afraid you can't accept me.

 

Takara apparently could also discern what had not been said. She stared at him appraisingly for a moment before giving a slow nod. “Of course. Any friends of yours are welcome here.”

 

“Haha-ue!” Kumiko hissed softly. Miroku and Sango both turned to her in surprise; Takara simply cocked an eyebrow and waited patiently for her to continue. The girl glared at her mother for several seconds, nostrils flared and lips pursed, but when it became apparent that Takara was not going to speak first, Kumiko blew out a long breath and looked away.

 

Takara echoed her daughter's sigh. “You may leave if you've finished eating, Kumiko.”

 

The girl did not need to be told twice - she stood quickly and exited the room in a matter of seconds.

 

“I hope you'll forgive my daughter,” said Takara softly. “Ever since she found out about you, she's been against you coming here.” Her lips twisted upwards, a gesture so filled with mourning that Sango was unsure if it could even be called a smile. “She thinks I am being too hasty in making arrangements for the possibility that her brother will die. I don't think she recognizes that this is also for her own well being.”

 

She stared down at her hands, folded in her lap. “All nobles understand the role that a daughter can play in forming and strengthening alliances. But my husband and I do not wish to see such a fate befall Kumiko.” Solemnity clung to Takara's voice, and it seemed almost as though she was simply thinking aloud. “If her father dies, and if Kenji follows him, there will be nothing to stop one of the neighboring warlords from claiming Kumiko and the lands attached to her.”

 

Takara blinked suddenly, as though remembering her audience. She lifted her head to look Miroku in the eye. “My husband does not trust the other lords. He knows that their only goals are power and conquest. He knows, because a mere generation ago, this clan was not so different. I myself was used as a pawn in the Furugawa quest for power, sent here by a lesser clan in a bid for appeasement. I was fortunate in that the man I was promised to had a good heart. I doubt my daughter will be so lucky.”

 

Lowering his gaze, Miroku let out a sigh. “And so you hope that by presenting another male heir, you will dissuade any conquering warlords from turning their eyes to your lands.” He returned his eyes to Takara. “I have been a houshi all my life. My skills involve exorcism and spreading the word of Buddha. Even if you were to put me at the head of this clan, I doubt I would make a sufficient leader.”

 

Takara gave him a small smile. “Surely you are familiar with the term `figurehead.'”

 

Miroku raised his eyebrows. “Ah, I see.”

 

“She may not look it, but Kumiko has long been taught the ways of managing our lands. She knows how to deal with food distribution, village upkeep, things of that nature.”

 

“What of your military?” asked Sango.

 

“Right,” said Miroku, “I have always heard the Furugawa clan referred to as a highly militaristic one.”

 

Takara's eyebrows furrowed sadly. “A reputation that we are trying to pull away from. We have enough soldiers to provide our territory with sufficient defense from attack, but we are no longer pursuing new conquests. Our people have grown weary of wars. Especially since Takeo and Yuki…”

 

Miroku nodded and spoke softly, “Your older sons.”

 

She let out a long sigh. “A clan from the west had entered the outskirts of our territory and were attacking our villages there. When we sent out armies to fight them, Takeo and Yuki insisted on going as well. They did not have to fight - no one asked them to, and Hiroshi and I did not want them to. But they refused to sit by while our people were dying - their sense of honor was far too strong for that. They were like their father in that regard… and like your mother as well, Miroku.” She closed her eyes and smiled. “Honor has always been important to the members of this family; but for Chiyo, it manifested itself in a way we would have never predicted.”

 

“What way was that?”

 

Takara turned her smile towards him. “You, of course.” When Miroku gave a small start, she continued, “Naturally, when Chiyo learned that someone dear to her was bound by a curse that had left his father's spirit trapped in an abyss, she could not stand to sit by idly.”

 

Sango was desperately curious to know what her husband was thinking then; but he had schooled his features, as he so often did, and she could not begin to guess what was going through his mind. His only reaction was a comprehending nod.

 

Takara observed him for a moment, no doubt attempting the same as Sango. She then scooted away from the table and stood, bowing to the pair. “I must now attend to my husband, and I'm sure you are both weary from your journey and would like to retire for the night. As I said before, you are welcome to stay here for however long you desire. We will speak more tomorrow, yes?”

 

Miroku smiled and bowed. “Of course.”

 

.-.

 

The room that they had been given was on the north end of the main house, with a shouji that led outside to a covered walkway overlooking a small, simple garden comprised of some shrubs, rocks, and flowers. Sango had opened the shouji slightly and stood on the threshold, Kirara at her feet.

 

“Are you sure?” said Sango to the youkai. “You know how cold it is out there.” But Kirara stepped outside, brushing against Sango's legs as though in assurance as she walked past.

 

“Well, don't stay out too long, all right?”

 

Kirara mewled in affirmation before disappearing into the shadows.

 

Sango slid the shouji closed and turned to regard her husband, seated on the futon in front of the fire pit, his back to her. He was so still and quiet that at first she thought he was meditating; but when she walked around to look at his face, she saw his eyes were open and staring into the fire. She sat down beside him.

 

“So, um, what are you thinking?” she asked.

 

Miroku sat back, resting his hands behind him and leaning on them. A wry, tired smile came to his face. “I think I'm exhausted.”

 

She laughed softly. “I can't say I blame you.” She regarded him thoughtfully, trying to come up with something she could do to ease his no doubt troubled mind; she noticed that, although his pose was relaxed, his face was wrought with tension.

 

Chewing her lip nervously, Sango moved to sit behind him and slowly brought her hands to his shoulders, where she began to knead the tightly wound muscles there. Miroku sat in silence for a moment before saying in a pleasantly surprised voice, “Thank you.”

 

Sango continued to massage his shoulders, arms, and back, enjoying her ability to bring some bit of comfort to him; and though the thought made her blush, she also enjoyed being able to so thoroughly feel her way throughout his firm, wiry frame.

 

At one point, Miroku dropped his head onto her shoulder and sighed. “You're quite skilled at this, Sango.”

 

Proudly noting his relaxed tone, she responded, “I picked up a few things from the doctor in my village - he often treated warriors with stiff joints and muscles this way.”

 

Miroku reached back and took hold of her hand that was rubbing his triceps, bringing her palm to his lips. He then turned so that he was facing her and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. “I feel much better now,” he said softly, running his thumb along her jawbone. “Thank you, Sango.”

 

There was so much she could have said, so much she wanted to tell him: how he had done far more for her than she could ever do for him; how she couldn't imagine being with anyone else; how lost she would be had fate not led her to him; how much she—

 

Pulling her into a strong embrace, Miroku brushed his lips tenderly against her brow and murmured, “There's nothing you need to say aloud that I haven't already known for a long time.”

 

How does he do that?

 

Sango wrapped her arms around his neck with a sigh, burying her face in his chest, losing herself in the tranquility of the moment and the comfort of his embrace - at least, until a thought struck her. Her voice muffled against his chest, she muttered, “I'm surprised you haven't groped me yet.”

 

“I was hoping you'd be impressed with my restraint.”

 

.-.

 

Shadows hung heavily in the room where Takara sat beside her husband's sweat-drenched futon. The light of one lonely candle flickered feebly in its fruitless war against the darkness of the sickroom where Furugawa Hiroshi now made his permanent residence. Takara's aides had insisted that she not stay in that room for long stretches of time, but still she waited there every night, without fail, until her husband fell asleep.

 

“Takara…” She could barely discern her own name amidst the heavy groan.

 

“Rest now,” she murmured, dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth.

 

“Tell me,” said Hiroshi, “what is he like?”

 

“Not so carefree as his mother,” she replied lightly, “yet not so solemn as his father.”

 

“What—” He took a deep, rattling breath. “What did you tell him?”

 

“I told him why he was summoned here.”

 

“Nothing… about Chiyo?”

 

Takara took his hand, massaging it gently. “Little things, here and there. I assume that if he wants to know more about her, he will ask when he is ready.”

 

Silence reigned as she stroked his hand, his gnarled, spindly fingers that had once been smooth and graceful - the hands of an artist. Those hands had shyly crafted many things of tender beauty and affection for her and others long ago.

 

“I'm sorry, Takara.” His weak voice was choked with blood and regret. “I'm sorry… I brought you into this… family, this… accursed—”

 

Takara shushed him softly. “Do not blame yourself for things you had no control over.”

 

She continued stroking his hand.

 

Those hands had not had the will to create anything in a long time.

 

.-.

 

Miroku entered the room for breakfast the next morning to find Takara eating by herself. The older woman looked up and smiled at him.

 

“Will Sango-san not be joining us this morning?” she asked.

 

“Soon,” he replied as he took a seat across from Takara. “She's exercising a bit right now.”

 

In the silence that followed, he noticed Takara staring thoughtfully at his right hand. She remarked mildly, “That hand is quite pale.”

 

“Ah, yes…” Miroku smiled wryly at his palm.

 

“I see. Then you were the one to break your family's curse, not your father.”

 

“You knew of the curse?”

 

“I knew what Chiyo told me. A youkai named… Naraku, yes?”

 

Miroku nodded. “That is why I traveled with such an eclectic group of companions - we each had a reason to fight Naraku, so naturally we joined forces. I doubt it would have been possible for any of us to defeat him on our own.”

 

Takara frowned pensively. “I wonder why your father and grandfather never took such a course of action.”

 

“Well, my father was never known for being sociable, and from what I've been told, his father was the same way.”

 

Smiling slightly, Takara replied, “I don't doubt it. I never saw Yasuo-dono speaking openly to anyone besides Chiyo.”

 

Regarding her over his bowl of rice, Miroku inquired, “Did you see my father often?”

 

“From time to time, yes. He had been coming here every few months since I was twelve years old. He was here for my wedding to Hiroshi and even performed a ritual blessing our union.” Her smile widened, and a faint chuckle escaped her. “Though my first memory of him is not one I would associate with the, ah, holier side of him.”

 

Miroku had a sneaking suspicion as to what that memory involved. “Oh?”

 

“Let's just say he did not seem to have much willpower around pretty serving girls.”

 

Miroku laughed nervously. “Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.” Let it never be said that the Kazaana was the only curse I inherited from him.

 

The meal continued in silence until Miroku set down his chopsticks and said, “Takara-sama, I was wondering if you might tell me a bit about this illness that has stricken your family.”

 

Takara seemed somewhat taken aback by this new topic, but she too set down her utensils and responded, “None of the physicians we have summoned can tell us what it is or how it was contracted. All we know is that it weakens the lungs and eats away at the muscles. When it has spread far enough, it starts attacking the heart.” She closed her eyes, lowering her head wearily. “Considering the damage Hiroshi's body has taken, it is likely the coming winter will be too much for him to handle.”

 

Miroku frowned thoughtfully; he did not want to make her discuss the issue further, but something was nagging at the back of his mind. “Forgive me for asking - I know this must be difficult to talk about - but you must have spent a great deal of time with your husband even after he fell ill. Yet it was your son who contracted it next, not you. Were the doctors able to explain this?”

 

She shook her head. “That is yet another aspect of this illness that cannot be explained. Though I frequently visit Hiroshi and Kenji in their sickrooms, I have shown no sign of the disease. It is also thus with Kumiko, despite all the time she has spent with her brother. Some of the doctors have hypothesized that it is a sickness that only targets males, though they cannot say for certain.”

 

“I see,” said Miroku slowly, bringing his knuckle to his lips as he mulled over this new information.

 

“Now, if you will excuse me,” Takara said as she stood from the table and bowed, “I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. Please give my regards to Sango-san.”

 

He inclined his head respectfully and watched her leave, still lost in his thoughts. This situation was turning out to be even more complicated than he'd predicted.

 

.-.

 

There was something of a ruckus that evening due to a so-called “youkai invader” that had entered the village in an apparent “foul mood.”

 

“Three guesses as to who this invader is,” Sango muttered with a wry smile as she and Miroku hurried to the gate surrounding the castle. He grinned in response. They soon heard a familiar voice shouting outside the walls:

 

“Inuyasha, put your sword away or so help me I'm forcing that rosary right back on!”

 

“They're the ones picking a fight!”

 

“Will you please just show some restraint?”

 

Miroku called out to the befuddled guards who were now aiming their arrows at the squabbling pair below. “Excuse me, would you gentlemen be so kind as to allow my friends to enter?”

 

One of the few soldiers atop the gate who wasn't holding a bow turned around, and Miroku recognized him as the samurai general Kuromatsu Seiji. His expression was a mixture of ire and incredulity. “These are the companions you were expecting? A youkai and a… a…”

 

Saving the man the task of describing the oddly dressed young girl, Miroku gave him an apologetic smile and said, “I'm afraid so. But I can assure you they are both quite harmless. Especially the silver-haired one.”

 

“Oi, bouzu! Don't talk about me like I can't hear you!”

 

Just then, the gate slowly opened to reveal a grumpy hanyou and a weary teenage girl. Kagome lifted her head and gave her friends a tired smile. “Sorry about that, Miroku-sama.”

 

Miroku returned the smile. “Not at all. I'm just glad you made it here all right.”

 

Kagome made her way into the courtyard, holding out her hands and shaking her head helplessly. “Well, it might've been an easier trip if someone didn't have such a bad sense of direction.”

 

“I knew exactly where we were going!”

 

.-.

 

Kumiko let out a noise of disgust as she retreated from the doorway where she had watched the new arrivals. She marched further into the castle, torn between horror and amazement.

 

A hanyou! He really is friends with a half-breed! And what about that girl? That was the weirdest kimono I've ever seen!

 

As if by instinct, she ended up in a deserted hallway on the far end of the house, a hallway that only she and her mother usually frequented. And so she was surprised to find that someone else was already there, staring up silently at one particular door.

 

Kumiko froze as a pair of wide, red eyes turned to regard her.

 

“You!”

 

The little creature responded with a flick of her twin tails.

 

“You, uhh…” Kumiko straightened her back and clenched her fists at her sides. “You shouldn't be here. That's my brother's sickroom, and outsiders aren't allowed to go in. So go on, get out of here!”

 

It was only when the creature - Kirara, the girl had called her - mewled innocuously that Kumiko realized the absurdity of her statement.

 

I'm arguing with a kitten.

 

Head cocked, Kirara stood and approached Kumiko, and the girl flinched and began to back away; kitten or no, that creature was still a youkai.

 

Seeing Kumiko's reaction, Kirara paused her advance, but continued to regard the girl as if in curiosity. And though there was no other person present to witness her actions, Kumiko could feel her face burning with embarrassment.

 

First I argue with it, then I get scared of it.

 

Kirara gave another tiny, innocent meow.

 

Casting furtive glances around her, Kumiko lowered herself onto her knees and slowly, ever so slowly reached out a trembling hand. Kirara remained perfectly still but for the gentle swaying of her tails. When the tips of Kumiko's fingers lightly brushed against the cat's head, Kirara began to purr.

 

Kumiko released the breath she had been holding, then giggled softly as Kirara pressed her head further into the girl's hand. Carefully scratching the little black ears, Kumiko remarked, “Some fierce youkai you turned out to be.”

 

Kirara mewled cheerfully in reply.

 

Thoughtfully chewing her lip, Kumiko whispered, “Hey, I saw you looking at my brother's door a minute ago.” Kirara looked up at her suddenly, ears perked forward. “Do you want to meet him?” Kumiko smiled. “I think he'd like the company.”

 

Kirara meowed again and leapt into the girl's waiting arms.

 

.-.-.-.

 

.-.-.

 

Wow, thank you all for your comments! I know this fic hasn't gotten nearly as many reviews as some of my other stuff, but the reviews I do get for it are so thoughtful and insightful that it more than makes up for that. I'm so grateful to have such awesome readers. Thank you all so very much!

 

And now, a big thank you to TailFluffGirl for nominating this fic at the IY Fanfic Guild for Best Continuing Fiction, and to Moonlight Shadow and Numisma for nominating two of my other fics for Best One-Shot and Best Miroku/Sango. Of course, considering the competition, there was no way I was going to win in any of the categories, but I was honored to have my stories nominated.

 

And one last thank you, to Aino-kaachan, for offering to beta this story. Expect some major improvements on this and previous chapters soon.

 

Anyway, hope you're all enjoying the story! Thanks for reading!