Love Hina Fan Fiction ❯ K2: A View to a Truth ❯ Chapter 9

The technician god was still nervous, sweating generously. He had been returned to his post after a while, though warned by the Seraph that if Miyabi was not found soon, he'd be facing the full brunt of her Punishment. His fingers grabbed the edge of the table hard, and his eyes darted towards the Yggdrasil monitor. He took a few deep breathes.

 

He stayed almost motionless for a few moments, looking around without much thought. He wiped his tired and wet eyes and blinked multiple times. For some reason, his eyes began to hurt now.

 

A beep got him out of his stupor. He looked towards his monitor, and spotted an incoming mana transmission, encrypted. He knew who it was. Without any pause, he typed into his keyboard, and began to do the necessary connections. He rerouted the transmission on multiple lines, and zigzagged it across many ports as a precaution. Satisfied, he opened the line, and grabbed an earpiece connected to the line he had made.

 

“Hello…?” he asked.

 

“It's me…” a female voice replied.

 

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In another room, far away and isolated, Laharl nodded as the Seraph smiled at him.

 

“Seems your ploy worked my friend,” the Seraph said.

 

“Good,” Laharl looked towards the other people in the room.

 

There was Nitasha and that goddess who for all things that had passed, was still looking at him with a glare. As always, Laharl chose to ignore her. There were many gods and goddesses who detest him because of his demon lineage. It goes with the territory. But at least the other technician gods in the room were very professional, and didn't show any animosity in his presence.

 

“We're starting the trace,” one of them stated. Laharl let them do their work. They knew what they were doing.

 

They had been following their target ever since he was let go, and tapped on his Yggdrasil port with a hard line. He didn't seem to notice it as he was much more concerned for his welfare. That allowed the technicians in this room to follow his precautions closely. They were able to trace in which line he was connecting to, and could now listen in.

 

Here comes the hard part; maintaining connection without letting the two parties know they were being eavesdropped.

 

“It's me…”

 

“Miyabi… thank gods. Miyabi… they're after me! The Seraph…”

 

“Did you tell them where I am?”

 

“No… but…”

 

“Good. Don't tell `em where I am, sweety.”

 

Laharl studied the tones of voices used. The god definitely is head over heels with the goddess. While he never really had any real problems with beings falling in love, he was a bit teed of by the god's stupidity. Her tone already indicated that she was only using him and probably wouldn't even give a damn to what happens to him in the end.

 

“Of course not… but its getting dangerous! They are after you and me!”

 

“Don't worry about it. Once everything's done and gone, everything will be alright.”

 

“Do those two actually believe that?” Seraph asked to no one in particular. Laharl replied.

 

“Probably not the god,” he muttered. “Miyabi though… maybe she's lying, trying to fool him. She still seems to think quite clearly.”

 

“You're not just saying that are you?”

 

“Of course not… would I ever abandon you?”

 

There was a moment of pause. For one wild moment, Laharl wondered if the god finally realized how foolish he was being, but was not expecting much. His half baked speculation was proven (as expected) wrong when the god just seemed to reply positively.

 

“No… of course not. I'm being silly.”

 

“You are.”

 

“So… love… what can I do for you?”

 

“I'm going to need another mana charged item. I am getting closer to him… one more world… and he's mine.”

 

Laharl's eyes widened for a moment. Him? K2? The goddess was looking for him? If she is, how does she know where he went? Even he didn't know where he sent Keitaro, using the Fate Alter by accident. The gods couldn't even calculate the rifts and fluctuations of data fast enough to get a sure answer. So how was she tracking him? Or was she just being delusional?

 

“How do you know…?”

 

“I burned a mark on his soul.”

 

A Soul Burn? Laharl looked towards his phone, accessing the photos and notes that KU had sent him days ago as the result of her scanning of the soul-less body of K2. Of all the injuries that Keitaro had received, there was one particular injury, a burn mark, shaped like a palm of a feminine hand that he and KU found rather odd.

 

There were no other burn marks or evidence that showed the injury was actually done during battle. If it was fire, why didn't it burn his clothes? Magic? If so, what kind? Ki? What for? Laharl had a lot of theories, each one getting more and more ridiculous. Without any real evidence, he didn't know what to make of it. Until now.

 

“Soul Burn…” Laharl whispered.

 

If that was the case, then it makes perfect sense on how Miyabi was tracking Keitaro! A Soul Burn is a sure fire way of accurately tracking and finding a target. It consists of wounding a soul of a being, superficially, and marking them. Once marked, the marker would be able to track him or her down, no matter how far apart they were.

 

“Okay Miyabi… give me a moment.”

 

There was a pause. Then, one of the technicians suddenly declared that there was another illegal mana transfer and he began to track that one as well. Laharl rubbed his palms together. If everything goes well, the capture of Miyabi can open doors in which would help them find Keitaro or give clues on where he could have gone. There must be no mistakes!

 

“How close are we?” the goddess asked towards one of the technician gods.

 

“Almost there.”

 

“There you go, Miyabi. Just a few blocks. It's a packet of plastic playing cards with sword designs.”

 

“I knew I could count on you, sweety. Now we can…”

 

Another pause. Unlike the first one (made by the god), there was an unnatural feel to it. Laharl's eyes narrowed, and looked towards the Yggdrasil screen uncomfortably. His gut told him something went wrong.

 

“Did you hear that?”

 

“Hear what?”

 

Laharl unconsciously snapped his fingers, and placed his hand over his mouth. “She knows,” he muttered.

 

The goddess and the Seraph looked at him, and towards the technicians, who suddenly were typing on their keyboards fast.

 

“I'm sorry!” one of them stated. “I… I got too careless! I dove in too fast with the transfer connection!”

 

“Correct it then,” the Seraph started, looking calm, but Laharl knew that deep inside, he was anxious. His forehead was shining a bit with a thin layer of sweat. He couldn't blame him. Miyabi was right at the palm of their hands… and if anything went wrong, she'd probably disappear and not contact the technician god again.

 

“Are you sure this is a safe line?”

 

“I took all precautions…”

 

“I'm going.”

 

“O… okay. Just…”

 

She didn't listen, and just cut the connection. Laharl groaned softly, and everyone around the room along with him. He looked towards the Seraph who looked utterly disappointed.

 

“Were we able to get a lock on?” Laharl asked towards him.

 

The Seraph looked towards the technicians, and they shook their heads.

 

“We were able to narrow the possible universes to thirty… but nothing specific,” one of them replied.

 

“We can call the Valkyiries…” the goddess declared, but was cut off by the Seraph.

 

“No, it will be too late. She knew the connection was being listened to, and is probably on her way to get the mana charged item to get out of there.”

 

“Is there any way to trace where she'll go towards next?” Laharl asked.

 

“No… it's not that easy,” one of the technicians replied. “Dimensional warping fluctuates data in an excess due to high outbursts of energy. The best thing we can do is narrow down the estimated courses… but even then, there are such a large number of possible universes where she might be that finding her would be like finding a needle in a haystack!”

 

“A needle in a needle stack,” the Seraph corrected. “A needle stands out in a haystack.”

 

Laharl looked at him in amazement. “You still find it in you to crack a joke?”

 

“My dear friend… I was not joking,” the Seraph stated. His face was serious. “I was stating how difficult it is going to be to find her now.”

 

Laharl nodded, and sat down in one of the empty chairs, and sighed deeply. What now? He couldn't think of anything else up. Everyone around him also seemed a bit somber. Silence emanated from the room. What else was there to say?

 

After a moment, a beep cut the silence of the room, and one of the technicians looked towards his Yggdrasil terminal, and began to type. Most of them could already guess what it was; high concentrations of mana suddenly exploding, and then spreading throughout the universes. They could pinpoint where Miyabi had been, but what use would that be now? She was gone, and they were no where near finding where she had moved than where K2's soul had gone.

 

“Sir… high amounts of mana being used for inter-dimensional warp,” the technician said. “Originating from Universe 1234223. It's spreading from Alpha to Centurion Universes. Total amount of a hundred thousand of them.”

 

“It's going to take a long time to narrow down a number that large,” the Seraph muttered. “And even if we will find, Miyabi may find a way to transfer to another world.”

 

“Why is she going from world to world?” Nitasha suddenly asked, earning a look from everyone. She blushed a bit at the attention she was getting, but didn't look anymore than being slightly flustered. “I mean… she is cut from the Yggdrasil, so we cannot exactly track her down. So, why is she risking revealing herself or give clues where she might have gone by going from one world to another?”

 

Laharl looked at the goddess like she grew a new head. That was probably one of the smartest questions he ever heard from her. “From what I could deduce, she's looking for him… and by him, she prolly means the agent K2,” he replied.

 

“How does she know where he is?” she asked.

 

“Soul Burn,” Laharl replied. “Heard it earlier.”

 

“Ah… then why not cross reference the data of possible places where Miyabi might have gone to the data we have on the possible places where the agent K2's soul had gone?” Nitasha asked.

 

The Seraph and Laharl looked at each other. Both cracked a rather small smile, and looked back towards Nitasha. That wasn't a half bad procedure!

 

Nitasha looked towards the two smiling back at her. She fidgeted a bit nervously. “What?” she asked. “Not good?”

 

“Its brilliant,” the Seraph suddenly stated. He looked towards the technicians, and said, “You heard her. Collaborate with those technicians looking for the agent K2's soul. If there are similarities, we can check and cross reference the possible universes where they both are. Now.”

 

“Yes, Seraph,” the technicians stated, and began to type on their consoles.

 

Laharl looked away for a moment, took a deep breathe. He had worried when Miyabi had felt the connection being tampered and cutting it off but if he was correct, and due to Nitasha's sudden brilliance, there may be hope yet. They can find Miyabi and hopefully, K2, in one swift stroke.

 

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Motoko looked at Keitaro and he looked back at her. Such words. `I am not leaving you alone'.

 

Keitaro rarely said those words to anyone, but for Motoko, it fit him. Everything came back to her… his first arrival, the many ways he'd get in her wrath and suffer her divine punishment. The many months of seeing him working the dorm, him being perverted (which she reflected after doing the divine punishment, were more leaned towards accidents than malicious intents). It was a steady sequence that slowly warmed him to her.

 

Then came his subtle change the day he got injured. He never was the same after that.

 

Kitsune told them he was really depressed, and his outlook of life changed. He got a bit colder and tended to avoid the tenants, but when time came, he would revert to his old rather selfless self when needed. Like right now. And she didn't like it.

 

“I don't need your pity,” she cried softly and looked down again. “Just leave me alone.”

 

Keitaro didn't talk, didn't move. He looked towards the young vulnerable woman with a sort of sad expression. The rain poured harder and her clothes were now drenched. The white parts were now semi-transparent but his eyes were solely on her face.

 

After a few moments of silence, Motoko felt him move. She looked up, and saw him go beside her and lean on the wall. His arm holding the umbrella shielded her from the rain. She didn't feel any relief, but more anger and bitterness swelling inside her. She looked at him, and for a moment Keitaro thought she was going to give him quite a tongue lashing, only for her to pause, and stop altogether. Her tears poured out again.

 

“Why don't you leave?” she asked, barely audible. “I am nothing to you.”

 

“You're wrong.”

 

Motoko glared at him, her teeth clenching. “Wrong!?” she demanded. “I'm not feminine, I'm not attractive, and I'm nothing but a swordswoman and can't do anything else! I don't even fit in this… this `ludicrous' outfit as you say!”

 

“I spoke the truth. The Motoko I know and like is someone who holds her head up high,” Keitaro reasoned. “She is disciplined… maybe a bit temperamental and quite biased against the opposite sex… but that is the charm of Motoko Aoyama.”

 

She looked at him for a moment. He just gave her a small, slightly sad smile.

 

“She isn't someone who hides behind a fake smile… or tries to impress us by wearing such an outrageous outfit that wouldn't even suit her,” Keitaro continued. “She's a woman warrior. Nothing else.”

 

Motoko looked back down, her forehead on her knees. “Well I am not a warrior anymore. I am useless.”

 

“You can be…” Keitaro muttered, earning him a look from the distraught woman. “I met your sister again.”

 

“M… my s… sister?” Motoko asked, confused.

 

“Yeah. She said she'll give you a chance to earn your status back,” Keitaro walked and squatted in front of her (in a rather painful manner as his injured leg could only allow him to bend so far) so their eyes would meet. He gazed at her strongly. He wanted her to know he was with her on this. She is needed to get them both out of this mess.

 

“How?” she asked.

 

“Next week, starting tomorrow, she's expecting us at Kyoto,” Keitaro replied. “She wants us to best her in combat.”

 

“B… best her in combat?” Motoko panicked. “Us? It can't be done! She's the best Shinmeiryuu practitioner there ever was, best of the long line of Aoyama's!” She shivered, quite painfully in Keitaro's view. “How can she expect us to best her? She already proved a point in the bathes! You're injured for kami's sake! And a weapon… where can I find a weapon that would replace mines?”

 

Keitaro gently slapped her, not too hard, but with just enough force to get her out of mumbling mode. She faced him, her eyes firing up a bit, but still more lost than anything else. He held her by the chin, and stared at her teary eyes.

 

“Are you a coward, Aoyama?” he asked coldly. “A dishonorable coward who'd tuck tail and run after facing a difficult obstacle?”

 

“N… no… but…”

 

“But what?” Keitaro stared at her hard. “You faced your sister, and you lost… not only a battle, but your sword, and your life as a warrior. Fine, shit happens, yes. But you will be doing yourself a big disfavor for giving up now! Do you want to live like this? A disgraced warrior who pretends to be someone she isn't because life dealt her a bad hand?”

 

“N…no…” she replied, looking away from his hard eyes. “But…”

 

Keitaro ignored her last word. “Do you want to continue living as a warrior? Live with a sword, and continue your martial studies?” he asked.

 

“Yes… but…”

 

“No buts Aoyama!” Keitaro poked her shoulder hard, still staring at her hard. “My teacher once told me… `You want something, you go and get it. Simple.'”

 

Motoko looked at him, her eyes clearing a bit. His logic was quite sound, though at the back of her head, she argued that he couldn't possibly understand her situation… how could he? He never trained to be a warrior to follow-up her sister, who was already the best that her family could produce! How in the world would he be able to understand?

 

But… even with such thoughts, his voice sounded very reassuring. Like she could believe him.

 

Keitaro stood up, and lowered his hand towards the young woman. His eyes were still on her, but it lost its coldness, replaced by warmth and support. “Come on, Motoko. Let's get you home. This weather doesn't suit you. Nor do they suit your clothes.”

 

The joke was largely ignored by Motoko as she grabbed on his hand and helped herself up. As she finally got on her feet, she just grabbed Keitaro on the side, and wrapped her arms around him. She held him rather tightly.

 

The man looked slightly confused, but didn't say anything. He automatically wrapped his arm around her waist. He could feel the wet fabric of her maid uniform wetting his shirt. He could also feel her shiver passing through his body. He gave her a slight smile, something he didn't know whether she noticed, and asked gently, “Let's go home, alright?”

 

She just nodded.

 

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The trip back home was unexciting, but the rain was still going strong and didn't show signs of weakening. Keitaro paid no mind to the other people who looked at him oddly. Yes… it was odd to see a grown man with a cast supporting a beautiful woman in a French maid outfit. Motoko held on to him tightly, and the only support Keitaro had at that time was his aluminum crutch. His other arm, which held the umbrella, was around her, covering them both, shielding them from the rain.

 

While at first glance, Keitaro seemed to be hampered by the woman, she didn't drag her feet, which he was rather thankful for. He just wished she just lifted herself up more… he had a broken leg, after all, and she wasn't exactly as light as feather pillows.

 

Thankfully, they never met any of the tenants when they arrived at the dorm, and Keitaro had sneaked in the woman without detection, cast and all. It was straight to the manager's room, where he told her to stay and get dressed and handed her a towel to wipe herself dry. Respecting her privacy and choosing to make himself useful, Keitaro left his room, and went towards the attic where his aunt had told him where the sword was located.

 

It was dusty, understandably because it was not a place that would be cleaned thoroughly or even daily. There were many scattered toys and items around. Some were packed neatly on boxes, held by some rope, while the others had exploded outwards, spilling their contents. Keitaro ignored those, and looked straight for the sword.

 

He found it moments later.

 

It was a rather odd sword. The hilt was black, with faint white traces cloth for design. The hilt guard was also black, along with its scabbard. Keitaro took hold of it for a moment, and there suddenly was a trace of interest in the air. He shook his head. Somehow, inside him, he felt the sensation of wanting to unsheathe the weapon. He pondered about it.

 

For a few minutes he contemplated in following his rather odd feelings before he shook his head again. This was no time for being silly. He took a few moments before he exiting the attic and proceed back to his room, where he spotted Motoko drying of her hair. He smiled as he spotted the shirt she wore.

 

“Its fine borrowing my clothes, Motoko,” he stated jokingly. “As long as you wash it before you return it.”

 

“I… I'm sorry…” Motoko muttered in a low tone, and her hands dove towards the buttons, to remove them, when Keitaro stopped her.

 

“It's a joke,” he muttered with a wry grin. This girl was really down if she was actually going to strip in front of him.

 

“Oh…” she said.

 

After a pregnant pause, Keitaro shook his head, and tried to remove the embarrassing air around them. “Now, now… we have better things to worry about,” he stated with a small smile. He scooted his way beside her, and sat down. He offered her the sword. “Here you go. Will this do, Motoko?”

 

The woman looked towards the sword she was being offered with a bit of surprise. She looked at him, and then back at the sword. She unsheathed it halfway, slowly, and then examined it.

 

For a moment, Keitaro's odd feelings returned in full force. His eyes went at once towards the blade… it was also black. It was definitely the oddest thing he ever seen. But judging by the thickness of the metal, it's probably still usable in combat. For another moment, he wanted to hold the blade… it's as if it's calling out to him. He shook it out of his system again.

 

“It's… it's a beautiful blade…” Motoko whispered. “I… I cannot accept this, Urashima…”

 

“What are you talking about?” Keitaro asked. “Of course you can.”

 

“But… it's majestic,” she reasoned as she sheathed the weapon. “It's probably an old family heirloom. I can't…”

 

“Yes you can,” he replied to her, a bit stronger this time. “I am giving it to you. I hope it will help you in your battle against your sister so you can get back your status at school.”

 

There was another moment of pause… before she burst out unexpectedly. Keitaro found himself suddenly thrown towards the floor as Motoko's whole weight found itself on top of him. She cried freely on his chest, as if her earlier tears weren't a true indication of her worries. The young man didn't know what else to do. He whispered a sigh, and patted the poor young woman in the head with his hand, his other arm wrapping itself on her waist.

 

“Why are you being nice to me?” she cried out, muffled by his shirt. “What did I do to deserve this? I was bad to you… I treated you horribly… I insulted you many times, and yet… when I'm in trouble, you didn't kick me out even if you could. You didn't even insult me, or humiliate me. You're even helping me! Why? Why are you being so nice?”

 

Why indeed? Motoko in this world and in his were not much different. She was a student of the Shinmeiryuu, last name Aoyama. She was biased against men, and would probably have not hesitated to skewer him in half if he put a toe over the line. But… was that really how he perceived the woman now?

 

For the past month or so, he had seen her with a different light. She showed that she cared for him a rather good deal, visiting him at times (not as much as Mutsumi, mind) in the hospital. She wasn't overly hostile at him (she was just protective of the `anemic' girl when she visited) but she never threatened him, nor looked out to see if he would step over her line to justify what Motoko in his world would consider as punishment (he still remembered how she and Naru played punching bag with Laharl for accidentally coming in the bathes).

 

Perception… that was the key, Keitaro thought. In his old world, the two were avoiding each other at all times. The Motoko of his world knew she could not push him around because he wasn't exactly a weak willed male who would bend for her ways nor did Keitaro give a reason to encourage her to confront him. They were two neutral parties laced with gasoline. A spark would cause a fire. That's how their relationship was.

 

But now, he was beginning to see Motoko in a differently. She was not some broad who acted like she had a pencil shoved up her behind and had fluctuating tempers. She had her own problems too. She worried about her future and the responsibilities of taking over a rather large school. Her bias stemmed from the feelings of abandonment of her sister and mentor who married a man. The same woman who just a day before, had cut her sword in half, effectively stripping her of her right to take over the school.

 

Keitaro could sympathize with that. He could relate even. In his whole life, he always put it in his head to people were meant to be alone. Anyone would abandon him. First was Mi-chan… then came his sensei. In his business… you really cannot totally depend on the people around you. It kept him alive. It was his armor.

 

It was easy to know… easy to memorize. Stay unattached. Stay unemotional. Like a robot. But being human, it was not so easy to act upon. Countless times, the old memories of his tragic past still resurface, and he would always find solace in Kitsune's embrace and body. Sex was his drug, and he wasn't afraid to use her like that. Its not that he didn't dislike the girl… she is a wonderful woman, but he didn't open up to her.

 

He just didn't want to get hurt.

 

“Keitaro…” Motoko whimpered as she slowly moved her body. Keitaro could feel her breasts on his chest, poking through the fabric. He looked up, emotionless. He knew what was going to happen. He waited for it.

 

Her face was still wet from the tears. Her lips were soft when they touched his. Her kiss was strong, imposing. Her tongue entered his mouth without invitation. Keitaro just let her be. He kissed her back, his tongue lashing in retaliation. She still cried… the poor girl. She cried.

 

Her hands moved swiftly towards her shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, exposing her chest to him. His excitement grew as he felt her naked flesh. He wanted to take out his shirt as well, but was spared the action when Motoko just ripped his in half, probably ruining the buttons. But he didn't care. Her body was all in his mind now.

 

She acted like she wanted to swallow him whole. He let her. She was really an inexperienced woman. For a moment, he wondered why he wasn't the one leading, but then he remembered that his leg was injured and useless here. She seemed to notice the same thing, because she was the one who moved for him.

 

She sat up for a moment, and removed the shirt she wore, fully exposing herself to him. She was beautiful in Keitaro's opinion. Her pale skin was smooth, unblemished. She didn't even pause to give him time to enjoy the view, but attacked his mouth once again. Keitaro enjoyed every bit of her action. She was learning quite fast.

 

Keitaro separated his kiss, and went for her neck. She moaned gratefully, though it was rather dry. Keitaro paid no mind. Her skin tasted wonderful. How long had he been going on without this? The damn world… the damn injury… the damn women here who act so differently… those were the reasons why he had to hold on this long, but not anymore. He would get his fill, and so would Motoko.

 

Or rather, that was his train of thought until she opened her eyes. Keitaro saw them; brown eyes that were missing depth. In his opinion, she looked like a marionette. His heart ached. He shook his head. He couldn't do this. Not like this. Not now anyway.

 

“Motoko… stop,” Keitaro muttered softly, yet strongly. “We can't do this.”

 

“What do you mean?” she mumbled as she paused for a moment, looking at him. “This is what you want right? I can feel it.”

 

“What you feel is an entirely independent being with a mind of its own,” Keitaro muttered, half joking, half serious.

 

“Then what's wrong?” Motoko asked, going once again for his mouth, but his hand stopped her. The two looked at each other for a moment.

 

Keitaro lowered his eyes, sending a silent yet strong message to Motoko who finally desisted. She looked at him, and her expression hurt. It hurt him a bit too.

 

“Very well…” she muttered, coldly. “It is not me you want. I understand.”

 

“Motoko…”

 

She stood up abruptly, and grabbed the shirt she had discarded earlier. Without any word, she went towards the exit, buttoning her upper clothing she burrowed from Keitaro's wardrobe. The young agent looked at the door where she had left and shook his head. He didn't know now if he should have just gone on with it.

 

His actions were noble… but it left a bitter aftertaste which he swallowed whole heartedly. He convinced himself what he did was necessary. The woman was already shattered, and if they continued what Motoko had started, she'd been worse off. No… he was right in stopping her. They didn't need any complications.

 

With that thought, Keitaro decided to hide the marriage document. Showing it to her could be disastrous. He needed her to be in tip top shape, physically and mentally. No distractions. He needed her to be as sharp as a sword if he was going to implement his plan. She is a tool to get to that damn woman.

 

The plan was rather simple. He'll visit that witch, Yuko, and convince her to grant him a wish. That wish would allow him to train together with Motoko. He studied and looked how the two women fought the day before in the bathes. He knew why Motoko had lost, and the advantages of that bitch she had for a sister. He was going to exploit what he knew to Motoko. That Tsuruko woman wouldn't know what would hit her.

 

Coldness washed over his body. He felt the calm condensing in him… like alcohol slowing his heartbeat, relaxing his muscles. He took a deep breathe. Yes… he had no time for his own petty feelings on this. What was important now was the battle coming up a week after tomorrow.

 

Still… he could not forget Motoko's face as she stood up abruptly, probably angrily as he stopped her. But like doing a job, he pushed it out of his head.

 

He had better things to worry about now.

 

To Be Continued…

 

Another chapter done.

 

Readers, I wanna thank you for reading. Drop in a review if you like.

 

Reviewers, questions are still a welcome. :P Thank you.

 

For Mr. Orangeman727 thanks for the compliment. Means a lot.

 

XD And no extras today, sorry.

 

UPDATE: For MediaMiner readers, I made some corrections. Hope you enjoy the improved chapter.