Disclaimer: I don't own Okami. This story is rated "I" for copious amounts of Issun, btw.

Chapter Three

-SIX MONTHS EARLIER-

The phrase "concrete jungle" fit Tokyo like a glove. Wherever Issun turned, concrete, steel, and stone filled his vision, glittering with neon lights and stretching all the way up to the sky far above.

A completely different world from his home village. Towering pines instead of skyscrapers, wide green fields, a few small houses, a blue sky so vast it felt like you could reach out and touch it . . .

He took a deep breath, trying to force his thoughts away from what he had left behind. Deep down, he would always miss it. Nowhere else was like the quiet beauty of that little village far to the north. That awesome natural beauty was what had first drawn him to painting. It was amazing to think someone like himself could actually capture the essence of the landscape using just paper and ink.

Then the old man had stepped in, and painting quickly became worse than a chore for Issun. His hands curled into fists until he forced himself to take another deep breath and relax. I'll show that old dinosaur. I will be the greatest artist he's ever seen, and I'll do it without his help!

But first, the growling in his stomach reminded him there were other things to take care of.

He strolled down a not-too-busy street, keeping an eye out for his next target. That was one of the nice things about Tokyo: there were so many people crowded together that they were practically begging to have their pockets picked. It was like Christmas came everyday here.

A little ways down the street, he noticed a sleek, shiny black car pull up next to the sidewalk. Three men wearing expensive-looking black suits got out and stood back a little as one of them held the door open for a fourth man, this one wearing a pair of sunglasses. Then the door was slammed shut and the car drove off.

Issun would have paid them little mind – it was near rush hour, and the streets were starting to fill with black-suited businessmen and students all around the city. But he noticed tattoos peeking out past the sleeves of the first three men who had gotten out of the car, and that was not normal, at least for businessmen.

And the fourth man . . . He had no visible tattoos, but he was carrying a long, narrow object wrapped in cloth, holding it in both hands as if it were fragile. He was clearly the leader of the group, from the way the others seemed to defer to him.

Issun wasn't stupid. These men were wearing very expensive clothes and had tattoos. They moved with a sort of confident swagger that showed they were used to being the center of attention. His gut told him they were bad news.

. . . Not to mention probably filthy rich.

With only a little hesitation, he made his decision. They obviously had money. They had most likely gotten that money through illicit means. They were almost certainly dangerous. And they seemed entirely too self-sure to be bothered if they even noticed some scrawny teenager following them down the street.

Issun was feeling ready for a challenge.

He would at least follow them and see where it led. Admittedly he was more than a little curious about whatever that bundle was that sunglasses guy was carrying. He wouldn't try to pick their pockets unless a good opportunity showed itself. But, dear gods, he really wanted to try.

They moved quickly, and Issun nearly lost them once or twice as he was trying to be discreet about following them. One of the tattoo guys strode a little ahead of the group while the other two flanked their boss to either side. Fortunately, sunglasses guy was tall enough that he stood out above most of the crowd, so Issun had little trouble keeping track of him.

Only a few minutes after they had started walking, the four suited men slipped into a wide alley so suddenly that Issun almost walked right past it. He stopped himself just in time, and peered around the corner to see his targets entering a door in one of the buildings that lined the alley.

A banner above the door identified the place as a bar. Great, he thought, approaching the entrance. For a fleeting second he wondered what the heck he was getting into . . . But for some reason, he had a really strong feeling that this was something he should do. And anyways, he was feeling particularly impulsive at the moment. Well, here goes nothin'.

Trying to look as tall and casual as possible, he entered the bar. It took a little while for his eyes to adjust to the dim room, with its dark wooden floors and tables and booths. It was a traditional-style bar, so many of the customers sat on cushions on the floor, and the booths were partially surrounded by floor-to-ceiling partitions.

For a moment Issun stood frozen in the doorway as his mind quickly tried to work out what to do next. It would be weird for someone who looked as young as him to just take a table by himself! Then a sign toward the back of the room caught his eye like a beacon, and he made a beeline for the men's restroom, pulling the sliding door closed with a small sigh of relief.

Okay Issun, calm down, he told himself sternly, alone in the single-person restroom. He was just going to try to spy on these guys a little bit, if it turned out to be a lost cause he could walk out and leave as easily as he had come in. No big deal.

Slowly he turned back around to face the door and began to ease it open, just a crack, barely enough for him to see through with one eye. He scanned what he could see of the main room, a few groups of suited men lounging at various booths, no women in sight. Suddenly a sharp peal of laughter drew his attention to a table only a few yards away from the restroom. For some reason, the lighting at that table seemed even dimmer than elsewhere in the bar. With a jolt he realized that the sunglasses guy was seated there, along with one of the tattoo guys and another young man Issun didn't recognize.

"Heh heh," sunglasses guy chuckled dryly, though he seemed anything but amused. "I had thought your master was a man of his word, but it seems he grows too lazy these days for his own dirty work." The sound of his voice was low and dark and almost expressionless, giving Issun a really creepy vibe.

The younger man bristled slightly at the comment. "Lord Yami has not broken his word. He will come himself to make the transaction . . . if it is what you say it is. My master does not waste his time on fools who try to deceive him."

The older man's eyes were completely hidden behind his black lenses, yet Issun sensed something dangerous in that invisible gaze. The tattoo guy appeared to tense next to him. "I would watch who you call a fool, boy," the dark voice said softly. The words hung in the air for a moment while the young man absorbed the implications of his own speech.

Finally, he bowed his head a fraction. "No disrespect intended, sir," he said, a slight waver in his voice. "But I understand that you are called the Snake for a reason."

The other man's expression did not change for a few deliberate moments longer, before he finally broke out into another humorless chuckle. "Very well, then," he conceded in a voice about as friendly as an exorcised demon. "Prudence is not unwise, when used properly."

He reached down and picked up the mysterious bundle, and carefully began to undo the wrappings. Issun watched with wide eyes as first a hilt, then a shining katana blade was unveiled. When he saw the whole sword, his breath hitched. It was the most beautiful piece of craftsmanship he had ever seen. The blade seemed to gather in the ambient light from around the table, giving it a soft glow while the rest of the booth darkened. A brush-shaped tassel hung from the end of the hilt, almost like a paintbrush.

I've got to have that sword.

Issun blinked, startled. Where had that thought come from? There was no way he would be able to get the katana. What in the gods' names was he going to do with a weapon like that anyway?

But that sword . . . The more he stared at it, the less it seemed like a weapon to him. It was a work of art. A tool of light . . . held by a master of darkness.

Geez, melodramatic much? But it was true. That sword – a piece of art like that did not belong in the hands of someone called the Snake. The light reflected in the katana's blade seemed to become brighter as he watched, almost as if it were calling out to him to rescue it from its current masters.

Issun felt his excitement building.

". . . never thought I'd see the real Denkomaru," the young man was saying in a reverent tone. "Not that I doubted you, sir!" he backtracked as the other man frowned. "It's . . . a beautiful blade, sir. My master will be pleased."

"I do not need an insignificant imp like you to tell me that," the Snake rasped. His tone had not changed, but Issun could hear the anger in his voice. "The price has already been decided. Since your master did not see fit to attend this little rendezvous, let him come to me at a time and place of my choosing if he still wishes to make the purchase. I will send word when it is convenient."

With that, the Snake and his henchman rose from the table and walked out of the bar, not looking back. The young man huffed, clearly upset at having been dismissed without any say, but he soon left the table as well.

Issun felt a spike of adrenaline and he prepared to rush out the door, anxious not to lose sight of Denkomaru. He slid open the restroom door and stepped out quickly – and the next thing he knew, two sets of hands were gripping his upper arms painfully, halting him in his tracks. He glanced to both sides and discovered that the Snake's other two tattooed henchmen were not waiting somewhere outside the bar as he had thought, but had apparently been standing to either side of the restroom door.

Confusion hit him first. "Hey! What gives– Ow!" He cut off as the hands tightened their grip, more than enough to bruise.

Frantically he glanced around the bar, and found that everyone appeared to be studiously ignoring his plight, like nothing unusual was happening. One of the servers caught his eye, and the man actually smiled – a thin, unpleasant smile that promised no help would come.

"Let's go, boy," one of the henchmen growled, and Issun was jerked forward at a swift pace. He barely struggled – it was hard enough trying to keep his feet moving forward to keep up with his arms. They exited the bar and the next thing Issun knew he was standing at the end of the alley, face to face with the Snake.

Well . . . they weren't exactly face to face, to be fair. The crime boss towered several feet over Issun's head. The boy swallowed heavily as he craned his neck back to look up at his captor.

"Caught a rat hiding in the restroom," said one of the henchmen.

"Takamori needs to scour his facilities better. Vermin are crawling everywhere these days, it seems." The Snake sounded detached, even bored. Still, the grip on Issun's arms was not lessened, and he felt the need to try and defuse the situation before it got any more out of hand.

"Um, excuse me, mister, I don't know what's goin' on here, but your pals are kinda cutting off my circulation and if you could just let me go I'd really appreciate it and, uh, the folks are waitin' for me at home so I should really get started back now–"

"Foolish boy, don't try to play games with me," the Snake hissed. The sudden flash of anger caught Issun off guard. "You have been following us for several blocks now and attempted to spy on my business transactions. I do not tolerate such impertinence from anyone. You are fortunate that I do not believe you are working for another syndicate, or you would already be dead. But my rivals surely are more intelligent than to send an untrained boy as clumsy as you to spy on me."

"Hey! I am not clumsy, you sleazy pompous bastard – oh, shit." Issun would have slapped a hand over his mouth if he could. All he could manage was to throw on his best apologetic face and stammer out, "Uh, I didn't mean that! Really!"

Like his reptilian namesake, the crime boss revealed absolutely nothing in his cold expression. But Issun imagined that behind those expensive black lenses, a pair of slitted eyes gleamed with suppressed fury.

Without another word to the boy, the Snake brushed past him and headed back toward the alley's entrance, pausing only to snap his fingers at his followers. "Bring him," he ordered. "If he talks, he dies."

Once again Issun was being dragged at an uncomfortable pace by the two stronger men. They crowded him just enough to somewhat conceal their grip on his arms, trying their best to appear like nothing was out of the ordinary. They really needn't have bothered, Issun thought as they turned onto the busier street: people were so focused on heading home or running errands that no one spared their odd little group even a casual glance. City people, he thought bitterly. He considered calling for help, but he had a feeling these guys could shut him up faster than he could get someone's attention – or at least by that point, it might be too late.

He just wasn't strong enough to free himself by force, so he tried to focus on memorizing their route. He had been to this area before, so it wasn't too difficult, and his anxious mind began to wander. If he got out of this somehow, he wondered if he would ever show his face in Tokyo again – probably not, he thought with some regret. The pickings had been so easy. Oh well, maybe he would hit Kyōto next . . .

They rounded a corner, and Issun saw a group of high school girls walking toward them, laughing and chatting to each other and generally not paying attention to anything else. Something clicked in Issun's mind, and all thoughts of Kyōto and other distractions vanished. As if in slow motion, a sequence of events began to play out in his head and without giving himself time to think about it, he acted on impulse.

At exactly the right moment, when the girls were just a couple meters or so away, Issun hooked his leg around one of the tattoo guys' shins and yanked as hard as he could, sending the large man toppling forward. The man instinctively tried to catch himself using his hold on Issun's left arm, which of course only dragged the teen forward as well, and the other henchman's grip loosened in surprise.

Meanwhile, the falling man barreled head-first into the group of girls, who were by then too close to avoid the collision. To Issun's absolute delight, the man actually face-planted into a girl's chest, letting go of Issun as he flailed with both hands to catch his balance.

The girl stumbled back, shrieked, and slapped the man hard in the face as he finally dropped to the sidewalk and caught himself on his hands and knees.

Within seconds, the tattoo guys were being swarmed by a horde of angry teenage girls shouting at the creeps for "harassment." Although he couldn't help grinning in amusement, Issun wasn't about to miss his chance to make a break for it.

Just before he started to run, he saw the Snake turning around to see what all the commotion was about. Again, impulse took over. Issun dashed straight toward the crime boss, and in the instant of the man's utter confusion while he took in the chaotic scene, Issun grabbed the cloth bundle right out of the man's arms and kept running.

He ran faster than he ever had in his life, and he didn't look back.

For six long and arduous months, he ran.

-PRESENT DAY-

Issun, conscious of their stares, took a long gulp of tea. It had cooled to room temperature a while ago.

"That's quite a story you've got there, son," the monk said at last. Like Ammy and Issun, he sat on a cushion in the floor of an otherwise empty room near the back of the temple.

Issun suppressed a groan. Now came the part where the old do-gooder would lecture him about "responsibility" and "doing the right thing," not to mention the incredibly stupid choices he had made in following the Snake. Worse, the monk would probably try to help him, even try to send him back to his old home – Issun paled at the thought. Too late he wondered why he'd agreed to tell the stupid story in the first place.

What had he been thinking? He had never even met this guy before, and suddenly he found himself spilling the beans on a personal story he'd tried so hard to keep a secret for nearly seven months? In front of not one, but two people? What the hell, Issun? he chided himself angrily. The monk barely even had to prompt Issun to tell his story: once he got started, it was like falling down a steep mountainside – he found it impossible to stop.

And maybe, just maybe, that had not been entirely the strange monk's fault . . . An uncomfortable emotion curled through his stomach, which he forcefully pushed away. No. Something was definitely up with that guy. That had to be it.

So Issun sat back and waited for the inevitable. He didn't wait long.

"Denkomaru . . ." Komuso muttered. "I've heard that name. A beautiful blade. It was famous among the faithful, once . . ." His tone was solemn. He regarded Issun with a steady gaze. "You still have it, then?"

Issun said nothing. That sword had to be a priceless treasure, but he'd be damned if he was going to give it up so easily! The teen felt a deep attachment to it that he didn't fully understand – perhaps the effect of having his life turned upside down as a result of claiming it. It was irrational, but what part of his life wasn't at this point? Still, he understood why the monk would think he ought to turn it over, and his thoughts turned to how he was going to wriggle his way out of this mess.

But to his complete shock, Komuso made no such demand.

"Good," he nodded, obviously taking Issun's silence as assent. "Truly, a tool like that does not belong with souls of ill intention. Keep it safe, lad. A good sword in the right hands is more than a cutting edge – it becomes a piece of the soul that wields it."

Issun stared, his mouth drifting open. Did this old guy – this preachy, follow-the-right-path, goody-two-shoes monk – just tell him to keep the sword? That he stole? From a crime boss?

Life could not get any stranger for the teen than at that moment.

Seeing that Issun would not be giving a coherent response anytime soon, the monk slowly pulled himself to his feet. A smile tugged at his mouth. "Well my friends, it is getting late, and we all have much to think about I believe. Issun, you are welcome to stay the night if you wish. Ammy can show you to a room."

Komuso walked to the door, but paused when he reached it. "Issun . . . thank you for sharing your story. Following one's true path is not always an easy thing to do. If you are true to yourself, you will come through the challenges you face. But I sense there is a turmoil in your spirit that lies deeper than your fear of those who may pursue you. I suggest you consider exactly what it is you are really hiding from: them, or yourself."

With those typically vague, cryptic, and unhelpful words, the monk disappeared through the door. His footsteps had receded into silence long before Issun recovered.

"That's it," he said out loud. "That's really it." Alone in the room he had been given, Issun's astonished voice echoed a little off the walls.

He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't. He had told the guy there might be dangerous criminals following him, and the monk hardly blinked an eye. Didn't try to confiscate the sword or find out where his real home had been to send him back. Didn't even suggest he tell the police! What was wrong with the man? Issun wondered if he should be feeling a little angry, or give the guy a prize for not trying to run his life.

One thing was sure – eccentricities aside, he was probably the most awesome old guy Issun had ever met. Calm, easygoing, and not demanding. Someone who actually treated Issun with respect even when he hadn't done anything explicit to earn it. Issun didn't think he'd ever been shown that kind of respect before from an adult. They usually took one look at him and wrote him off as a punk or an annoyance – that, and he kind of tended to reinforce the reputation every time he opened his mouth.

The teen blew a troubled sigh. Why did it matter so much to him? It didn't change anything. His . . . grandfather wasn't going to change. If that dinosaur were capable of giving him such a basic level of respect, he surely would have done so by now.

It wasn't exactly true that his grandfather didn't care, Issun knew. But that was exactly the problem: he only cared about Issun's achievements. And those were never good enough. No matter how well his grandson did, the old man never seemed to be satisfied. If he cared at all what Issun felt about always being pushed too far, he had a lousy way of showing it. As in, he didn't show it at all.

And Issun had decided long ago that he didn't need his grandfather's approval, or help. He knew he had talent as an artist, and he figured he was capable enough by then to make it on his own. Someday, Issun would prove himself to the world, and the old man would have to recognize his talent. But Issun would be far beyond caring at that point, he told himself. It didn't matter.

Then why – gods, why did it still feel like it mattered so much what the old fool thought?

A soft knock sounded from his door. When he didn't reply, it cracked open just a bit and a head full of white hair poked around it.

"A-Ammy?" he mumbled, caught off guard. He had thought she'd already gone to bed.

She pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight that shone through a single window, but Issun's eyes were fully adjusted to it. He watched her come across the room and kneel lightly next to where he still sat on his sleeping mat. With the moonlight shining across her already pale skin and hair, she looked downright ghostly, and with those red markings on her face . . . for a fraction of a second he wondered if he were being visited by a spirit.

But Ammy was all too real, Issun knew as his brain registered the very close proximity of the girl. "H-hey there," he stammered nervously. Smooth, Issun, real smooth. "What's up?" Trying to sound casual.

Dark eyes rose to meet his, and he was a bit surprised to find that they didn't sparkle with the same exuberant energy that they held during the day. Instead, the night shadows made them appear deeper, darker, more mysterious. It was like staring into the midnight sky. It went on and on forever . . .

"You were lonely."

For a moment Issun thought he had imagined the words, even agreeing a little in his mind. He gave a start, pulled out of his musings when he realized they had actually been spoken out loud, in a soft yet clear voice that was most definitely not his own.

"You – you spoke!"

For the first time, Issun realized that he had never actually heard the girl speak before. But that couldn't be right – they were friends! How could that have happened if she never – okay, well, he figured he did enough talking for several people, so maybe that was why he hadn't really noticed.

But – she actually spoke!

Chimes of laughter broke the night's stillness. "Guess so, dork," she said, shooting him an easy grin. He tried to smile back, but it felt a little strained and he was afraid it came off as creepy.

"Haha, yeah, sorry, I guess that was a little obvious, huh. Haha. Sorry. It's just, well, I'm pretty sure I've never heard ya speak before, ya know? . . . Hey, why is that, anyways? Not much of a talker, or somethin'?" he wondered out loud.

"Hm, you could say that," she said, still with a smile. "Most people . . . it's like they don't really hear what I'm saying." Her eyes came back up to his, thoughtful.

"Heh, yeah, I can definitely understand that." He'd had more than his share of not being listened to. It didn't stop him from talking, of course, but it was frustrating. More than he cared to admit. "So you just don't bother talkin' to 'em."

Then another thought occurred to him, although he didn't say it out loud. But you're talking to me. He felt a more genuine smile spread across his face.

She didn't respond, so they sat in silence for a little while, until Issun was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable again. But suddenly he remembered what had started their little conversation to begin with, and he blinked in confusion.

"Hey – whaddaya mean, I'm 'lonely?'" he huffed. "I mean, maybe I'm feelin' a little more antisocial than usual after hangin' out with that blond freak all afternoon, but that's different. I ain't lonely."

She leveled a narrow gaze at him, until he looked down. "Just confused," he muttered, mostly to himself.

Ammy tilted her head. "Really? Why?" she asked, now sounding plainly curious.

"Why? I ran away from home, I'm on the run for stealin' a sword, my only family hates me, I don't even know what I'm doin' here right now, and you have to ask why? Seriously, is everyone in this town off their rocker or what? . . . Hey, they don't put anything weird in the water supply, do they? . . . What's so funny?" he demanded. Ammy was shaking with silent laughter.

She ignored his question, and Issun decided she was in fact just as crazy as the rest of the village in her own way.

"Geez, a guy can't even mope without gettin' laughed at." He shook his head, frustrated. "It's that stupid sword's fault, anyways. If it weren't for that, I'd still be doin' just fine on my own, goin' at my own pace, livin' the good life on the road. That creepy, slimy control-freak . . ." he trailed off, thinking angrily of how his life had turned upside down after Tokyo. Not that it had been exactly stellar before then, he amended to himself. Happiness was hard to come by when . . . when you truly were alone.

"Hey."

A quiet voice cut through his musings. He glanced up at Ammy. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry so much, kid." She sounded matter-of-fact, but her smile was more gentle this time.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked a little more glumly than he meant to. "Life kinda sucks right now, ya know."

"Why not?" she answered as if it were obvious. "If you think about it too hard, you'll just go crazy like the rest of us. Worrying won't change the fact that your life sucks."

"Well aren't you just a bundle of joy," he snorted.

"It's true," she rolled her eyes. "Besides, it doesn't seem like your style to worry so much. You made it this far on your own, didn't you? Komuso knows what he's talking about, by the way, even if nobody else does. Trust yourself. Find what you believe in. Follow where your path takes you, and deal with the consequences when they come."

He blinked, processing her words.

"Yeah . . . I mean, I do trust myself," he said slowly. "I think. No, really. I'm good at what I do, and I know I'm gonna be the best artist this country's ever seen before I'm finished. You'll all see. And nothin's gonna stop me, especially not some stupid snake guy who needs a throat lozenge. It's just . . . I dunno . . . It would be kinda nice if somebody else believed in me too, for once."

It sounded so bitter and lame, he knew, and part of him wished he weren't having this conversation with Ammy. But the words just seemed to keep pouring out of him tonight, and to his surprise, it actually felt good, in a way. He had never really talked about these things before with anyone else.

"Issun . . ." Ammy began, and he met her gaze. "I don't really know what made you leave your home, although I can sort of guess. But you should know . . . being a great artist is a big goal, but it's not the most important thing in life, even for you. What good is art . . . if you don't have anyone else to care about? It's one thing if you're just making art for yourself – but if you truly want the world to recognize you as the best, your art has to reach out to them, it has to speak to them, show them why it matters – and well, it can't do that if you have nothing to say." He dropped his eyes. "Find what's important to you, Issun – is it getting approval from everyone you meet? Is that really what you need most right now?"

He didn't answer, but her words played over and over in his mind. He was afraid that she was right: he would never really be the best as long as his only real purpose was to – to show up his grandfather, and anyone else that didn't acknowledge his skill. Is that – could that be why her artwork is so . . . alive? Because it has a purpose, and she believes in it? . . . Could it really be that simple?

"Or is what you need most . . . a friend?"

Before Issun really knew what was happening, she had leaned in close, and he felt her lips brush across his. By the time he could react, she was already drawing back, and he sensed somehow that she was about to leave.

His heartbeat sped up to a frantic drumroll.

"Wait."

What the hell am I doing? But he immediately told the panicked little voice in his head to shut up. All those things that Ammy and Komuso had been telling him – they were starting to make sense. It wasn't so different from his own philosophy, after all – he'd just needed a good reminder.

I think I get it now.

He caught her hand just as she was starting to rise, pulled her back across to him. She didn't protest, and that was all he needed. His head tilted, and his lips met hers as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life.

And wow – apparently he had.

She returned the kiss fully, to his elation. A light show was exploding through his head. The taste of her lips, the warm, soft curve of her mouth, the sensations she awoke were like a brightly painted spectrum of colors in his mind – so full of life and energy he could hardly contain it. Gods, he'd never felt more alive!

All too soon it was over, they broke apart as the need to replenish oxygen made itself known. And they were both wearing dazed grins, Issun realized – and in Ammy's case, it was not the familiar, wolfish grin he had come to see so often.

No, this expression was downright girly – he didn't know how else to describe it. She looked giddy.

He felt pretty giddy himself, if a little shell-shocked from what he had just done.

She climbed to her feet, and this time he didn't stop her, although just before she half-floated out the door – Ha! She really wasn't expecting that! – he called out one last time.

"Leap before you think, huh?"

She whirled around at that, and he winked at her. Then her smile grew, lighting up the dark room, and she nodded once before finally disappearing through the door, closing it behind her.

Issun leaned back, turning to look at the white half-moon still visible out the window.

He'd thought earlier that very evening that his life couldn't get any stranger. But the universe just loved proving him wrong.

And for the moment, he was okay with that.

XXXXX

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A/N: Sorry about the wait, guys. Even so, I wanted to edit this chapter a bit more and wasn't planning on posting it today - but I found out this evening that a fairly big typhoon is headed roughly in our direction, due to reach us late tomorrow or the next day, and there's a decent chance I'll lose electricity and/or internet when that happens, for who knows how long - and it's been so long since the last update, I just wanted to get it up by this weekend. So what's been going on since that last update? Eh, the usual - graduated college, worked 2.5 summer jobs, moved to Japan - kinda chaotic, really.

Anyway, I will reply to signed-in reviews this time when possible - just know that thanks to "Typhoon Is Coming!" I may not be able to for a few days... :)