No, I haven't forgotten about this story. My poor darling muse was just almost killed by the torture my 11-and-14 year-old cousins inflicted on her (and me). I've learned to appreciate HSM- it ends. There are things that aren't as nice… my eardrums may never recover.

It kind of went on until exam time came around... and now it's once more the time where I have to work on being a good fencer.

But enough of my holiday tales, it's time to delve into a different kind of story with… the disclaimer. Even though there's quasi no legal benefit to doing this, here goes nothing:

In accordance with what constitutes "fair use" as set down in 17 U.S.C. §107 I claim no rights in or to the characters and concepts created by Konomi Takeshi. No commercial advantage is derived from aforementioned works by this fanfiction author. This holds equally true for all the sequences ("chapters") of writing before and after the following.

Now that the legal mumbo jumbo is out of the way for the rest of this story, let's continue with the chapter!


Chapter 06: Breaking through

Following his memorable thirteenth birthday and the equally memorable Christmas morning that came afterwards- breakfast with his senpai was something Ryoma quite honestly did not care to repeat anytime soon. From the sleepy (himself) to the morning people (Tezuka and Kaidoh) and everything in between, it had been a colossal mix of mayhem and destruction. Two bathrooms simply weren't enough to accommodate all of them, even with their spaced-out waking times. Then there was the matter that, even though his Mom could make a mean toast in almost no time, almost no time lost against the time in which the toast was being consumed- no time.

When, finally, the last of his teammates had closed the door behind himself- and Ryoma's Mom had quit her muttering about "Why don't they just apologize about having been born, the global hunger problem and the ice age?" Ryoma felt ready to fall into a coma. His Dad seemed to thrive under these conditions, though (seriously- who was the teenager here?) and had quickly gathered the veritable mountain of dishes and dumped them in the sink before singing out about about Christmas presents and the need to open them.

Nanako, who had slept in and only awoken a few minutes ago, nodded sleepily into her tea and didn't even react to the teasing Nanjiroh bestowed upon her. Ryoma put in a few words of his own, mostly to do with where she had gone and how the crowds around the Shinjuku Christmas tree had been. Nanako blushed just a little, but while she was ignoring the older Echizen she answered Ryoma's question easily and in detail. Soon enough, Ryoma lost interest in teasing her and wandered off to clear the last vestiges of his teammates' stay from his room.

The presents had been set under the tree when he came back down, carrying a bag full of trash. His Mom had prepared the turkey and had even found a real, live (almost) mistletoe to hang over their shoji door to the entrance hallway. His Dad was doing the monkey act on the chair he had pulled up to hang the mistletoe, standing one-legged on the backrest and swaying back and forth in time with the Christmas song spewing blaringly loud from the portable radio he was balancing on his nose.

"You're really trying your luck, Dad," Ryoma said, falling back into English as was the family's practice when Nanako wasn't around or immediately concerned.

"Gwuagh!" was the only answer he got as his Dad lost his balance and fell down- only to land safely in the finishing position of an Olympic gymnast. "Hep! What did you say, seishounen?"

"Forget it," Ryoma said, turning to leave.

"Hey now, nothing of this, young man," Nanjiroh admonished in his still heavily accented English. "The Hungry Huns have left, so what's eating you, now?" He grinned at his own joke.

"Get it? Hungry Huns? Eating?" he repeated in Japanese when Ryoma didn't react.

"Che, you're not even half as funny as you think you are, Oyaji. And it's just that… have you decided yet where we're going to spend New Year's? I was thinking of maybe mailing Kevin and the guys from school…"

"I thought you should finally get to know a real Shogatsu, Ryoma," his Dad answered. "Believe me, it's amazing."

"Right," Ryoma said, though he really had no idea what it was his Dad wanted him to get to know.

"It's the New Year's holiday season. We're going to party until the third day of the year!"

"So?"

"Get some nice ladies… like that granddaughter of the old hag maybe? She's cute, right?"

"She's useless. She's got some nice training equipment but doesn't do anything with it. What a waste. I'm going to ask Mom if we can't go home."

"Your Mom's going to be busy for the next three days. There's a lot to finalize at the office before the change of years."

"Doesn't mean she won't be OK with us going back anyway."

"Hey, what is it, Ryoma? Didn't you just have the best birthday of your life, with all your friends coming by?"

"What do they know about me?"

"A lot more now than they did before. Admit it, Ryoma, you're not the most open and easy person to get to know," his Mom entered the discussion, stirrer still in hand. "And I really can't leave the country when there's so much work to do still. I have to do some last-minute accounting for our department."

"Che." Ryoma slumped down on the living room couch, sulking.

"Don't worry, we're going to see all our friends in the States next summer."

"Don't care."

"Aw, seishounen… if you continue making that face, Santa will take all of your presents away."

"Don't care."

"Then you won't mind if I just take them instead… let's see… this one looks like a new game for your system! I think I'm going to like it."

"Give it here, Dad!"

"Don't wanna!"

"Give it!"

"Come get it!"

"Cut it out, you two! There's no need to ruin our flatware!"

"Yes, Mom!" "Yes, dear!"

Typical. His Dad just had to get him into trouble, and now they wouldn't be allowed to open any presents until after lunch, which would be simply bread and assorted cold things. Ryoma sulked a little, again, but Nanako had tried her best to smuggle some Japanese food into lunch, so soon he had to descend to his Dad's level again as the two engaged into a vicious chopstick fight over the last octopus sausage, glaring at each other all the while Nanako was giggling beside Ryoma.

"I'd have really never believed that living with your family could be this… exciting," she said. Ryoma knew she had moved in because his new house was closer to her college, and she would save on rent and food cost, too, but he had grown used to having one more addition to the family, even if it was an addition that so far hadn't dared to enter their banter in earnest.

"You think so? I'd love to be rid of this old man," he pointed at his Dad.

"Ryoma!" Nanako gasped. "You can't say things like that!"

"Just did, didn't I?"

"Yes, seishounen. You have to spread the family love on Christmas."

"If I see you doing it, I'm going to join in."

"Boys!"

"Yes Mom!" "Yes, my love!"

Their behavior was like watching a Swiss watch tick, Ryoma thought- inevitably, his family would descend into friendly squabbles that would seem like fights to outsiders. It was the way they kept their life interesting, even though in a harmony-obsessed society like the one he was living in now it would seem very strange and rather weird. He did not know it any other way, but Nanako still learned not to be afraid of their disputes descending into physical violence, just as Ryoma had had to get used to spending all his classes with the exception of sports in a single classroom.

It was a weird feeling of disorientation he experienced whenever he came into contact with people born and raised in the country. What passed as normal, friendly behavior for him seemed to communicate insolence, aggressiveness and disrespect. The abilities that had made him an exceptional student at his American primary school had made him into a very much disliked student here. Not only did he have a lot of reading to catch up to (honestly, who would read Japanese classics while at school in the US?), his kanji knowledge wasn't what it should be either. He could read and write on the usual level, but the instinctive knowledge the other kids in his class had when it came to learning new kanji couldn't be imitated.

Ryoma shook his head, frowning as his parents kissed (and Nanako hid her face with a weird eep-ing sound). He wondered if he would always be on the outside looking in. He knew he could not follow all the rules, not when nobody told them to him. Just as he had earned his first black marks in school by standing up to a teacher, he felt he was earning them in interpersonal relationships as well. Even in the US his blunt manner when criticizing someone had been met with a scoff and a shake of the head, but here? He could not have imagined being invisible until he had put one of the girls in his class under scrutiny for commenting that her skirt was too short and her face too painted for him to like her. His classmates had taken her side, even though she had thrown herself at Ryoma with everything (and more) than she had, giving him the cold shoulder and ignoring him to an extent that had him wonder if he had turned into glass.

Nobody could tell him not to be himself, though. Swooping in, he quickly snatched up the coveted last piece of food on the platter, leaning back and munching in satisfaction.

"Oi!"

"Mada mada dane."

Christmas should, after all, be a day of celebration, especially for the kids. And with presents to look forward to this small triumph seemed so much larger.

テニプリ

The King of Monkey Mountain had done it again. Ryoma didn't know how, but every single sports center he went to in search of some ball machines was chock-full of Hyoutei students. Not that he thought the ridiculous diva had inflated his tennis club to beyond bearable, oh no! So what were all these Atobe-in-trainings doing clogging up his desired training opportunities?

"Looking for the successor of our buchou," was the most common explanation. "A bit of self-training" followed closely behind. He scoffed at their efforts and joined the queue when even the last, dingy ball machine was booked an hour in advance. The excellent Christmas dinner his Mom had made needed to be somehow digested, after all, and since there was no way to play outside after the heavy snowfall of the last few days there was no other choice (the indoor courts were mostly members only, or booked to the brim). He also needed to check his reach, after all he knew that he had changed in a way he could no longer ignore.

Ryoma first noticed that he had gotten taller when he kept bumping his head on the open doors of the overhead cupboards in their kitchen. He was used to just pulling out a glass (his Mom had made him promise not to drink from the carton on pain of death!), walking underneath the cupboard to the fridge and filling it time after time with whatever juice Nanako or his Mom stocked at the moment. When the third day of consecutive head-banging had annoyed him to no end he stole Nanako's tape measure and decided to see for himself if he had really grown. After quite a bit of juggling involving a pencil, a book, three stabbed toes, two stabbed fingers, some graphite smears on the bathroom door and a tear in Nanako's tape measure (Ryoma swore that was Karupin's fault. The cat had wound around his ankles so much that he had been distracted and had managed to rip the measuring equipment with the sharp pencil tip) he had finally managed to make a line at approximately the height of his head sans hair. Quickly reading off the numbers, he stored the tape measure back in Nanako's sewing basket (he hadn't known that there were girls who still had something like that. None of the girls he had known in the US had ever been into sewing or cooking as much as those here in Japan seemed to be. It was much more important being a good cook here, which of course appealed to Ryoma's animalistic (i.e. hungry after practice or a match) side).

His Mom kept his medical files in her study. Due to his (admittedly brief) career as a (semi-)professional athlete he had been excused from the usually compulsory health exam at school, his US Open sports medicine certificate being enough to satisfy the records. Checking what he had just measured against his records, he found out that he had, in fact, grown a little less than an inch in the months since the tournament. The noticeable growth, while welcome, had also led to other problems like stabbing his toe on every single piece of furniture in sight (they were moving. They really were!) and managing to break not one, but three glasses because he miscalculated when placing down a carton of juice. To be on top of his game, he would need to check whether this sudden growth spurt had any effects on the way he could handle his racket. He would not have his dad laughing at him for swinging around wildly!

Finally, the hopeless Hyoutei student in front of him vacated the training area with an air of abject defeat that had Ryoma grinning in satisfaction. It would not do to have a worthy rival replaced by such a failure. Grabbing his racket out of its sleeve, he quickly fed the required coins into the ball machine so it would send more than one round of top-speed balls at him. These Hyoutei guys were all mada mada if they hadn't found out about that trick yet.

Taking a deep breath (and firmly telling himself that he was not nervous at all!), he decided to start off with his dominant hand. The tennis balls that came speeding at him were just a blur, but his hand-eye coordination was up to the task, and the racket connected with a solid thwack-twang. Not so difficult, right? He started moving up and down the line, easily returning the shots to one single spot right underneath the machine's spout.

"Did you see that? This kid's great!" the buchou-candidate that had been training before Ryoma shouted. Ryoma flinched and ignored the murmurs behind him as he upped the ante and switched hands. His right hand was not quite as coordinated as his left, and he missed his racket's sweet spot quite a few times, changing the ball's direction with pure strength only so it would still fly towards the target area. The twinge of his shoulder muscles informed him that his tactic was not quite healthy, so after a lull (there would have to be more balls fed into the machine) he concentrated on keeping his form intact, even though that meant the balls went all over the place.

"He's hitting the right half every time!" the Hyoutei kids enthused. "We should try recruiting him for our club. He's probably going to start Junior High this spring!"

"Che!" With all the strength he could muster, Ryoma smashed the next shot into the wall so that it cracked the plaster a little and stayed stuck.

"I'm done here," he stated, racket over his shoulder. "Try not to get hit by the rest of the shots left in the machine!"

"Oi! You! Chibi!" Ryoma's eye twitched. He had grown!

"Not a chibi," he muttered defiantly, wiping the frame of his racket with a soft cloth (he did not change them as often as the pros did, using it through training and more than one game).

"Yeah, sure. Say, you got your school picked out already? We could help you gain a scholarship for Hyoutei!"

"Already done that."

"Now, now, don't be so shy! You don't need to fear us!"

"I don't."

"Aw, aren't you ashamed? Being so unfriendly to us soon-to-be third years?"

"No. I'm already enrolled in Junior High."

"Shame! Just think about it, ne? We have a very good escalator system up to university!"

"Mada mada dane. Tell the Monkey King I said hi!"

"Monkey King? Who's that?" Their prey had vanished, though, leaving nothing but an empty can of grape Ponta behind.

テニプリ

The winter holidays had passed much too soon for morning hater Ryoma, and without realizing it the time for him to be woken by the harsh beeping of his alarm clock had come again. It was still biting cold outside, the temperatures well under the average for the season. Most ponds and lakes had frozen over, and the last remnants of the massive snowfall shortly after Christmas still hadn't sublimated. Seigaku's roof, Ryoma's favorite retreat, was still buried under an inch or so of cold, white snow, frosty flowers bloomed on the entrance doors every morning and not even the track team would practice outside.

The tennis team's training had been much reduced, even more than before the break. Right now, all third-years were in the last throes of studying as madly as they could manage for entrance exams while the rest of the school tried to avoid them where possible so as not to get caught up in their nervous vibe- if they even came to school at all.

The regulars gathered in the training hall, as every school morning. The third-years had officially quit active participation in club activities and even school altogether since attendance for them was no longer mandatory, but they couldn't be kept away from their tennis club. Fuji seemed to be especially satisfied to escape cramming formulae into his head by going to every single tennis club training that had been announced. He had even taken to tricking everybody into thinking that there was training when there was none by means of strategically spread rumors.

"Seishun Gakuen regular team," Tezuka announced, standing proudly in front of the laid-back troupe that was his team. "We have a special treat today for all of you. It has been decided that today's training will be led by none other than one of the greatest tennis players in the history of Japan- Echizen Nanjiroh. Please do your best to work with him."

Ryoma almost gave in to his urge to start whimpering and crawl into a corner to remain unseen as his dad jumped out from behind a basket full of tennis balls, both hands raised in a victory pose.

"Yo! Seishounen-tachi! 'sup?"

The regulars, who had straightened up in anticipation collapsed in mortification.

"He's the same playing tennis as he's at home?" Momo whispered. Ryoma nodded.

"It's different if you manage to get him to be serious but… good luck with that, Momo-senpai," he mocked.

"Oi! You! My son! Breaking rank already with your whispering! You'll serve as my demonstration partner for this exhibitionist convention!"

"Exhibition training, Nan-ji-roh!" Ryuzaki-sensei, who had been quietly standing behind Tezuka until then announced, stepping forward with her hand dangerously close to the ear of the former tennis star.

"What, now you're even against innocent jokes and fun, you old hag?" Ryoma's dad whined. Ryoma hid his face behind his cap as he bent to retrieve his racket from his bag. The regulars looked on dumbfounded.

"Hora, hora! We don't have time to lose! There's only one hour and you'll be joined by the rest of your club. Let me see your level first… whoever gets a point from me will get to sit out the thirty laps I'm assigning as warm-up. Not you, Ryoma- you're running no matter what."

"Che, playing favorites, Oyaji?"

"Taking care nobody will accuse me of it! Now, come on, who goes first? Nobody?" It seemed as though even Tezuka had become more of a stone-faced person than he had ever been. Ryoma sighed.

"Why don't we show them how it's done, Dad? Three points match?"

"You're on, seishounen! Do your worst!"

Ryoma was angry enough to fire off his best shots right in the beginning, taking two points from his father and making him whine to extend the match to best-three-out-of-five.

"You said we just had to take one point from you," Ryoma pointed out, knowing that if their match went on it could go either way.

"Stupid kid, always playing Rinko's son when you should be playing mine…" his dad murmured. "Who's next?" he then shouted out loud, startling the regulars into quickly lining up behind their captain.

"Oh, the kid captain? Should be interesting enough! I'll give you a handicap and play with one eye closed."

"Let's have a good match, Echizen-senshu," Tezuka replied. Ryoma hit his face with his palm. Tezuka's politeness would set his dad even more on fire than he already was.

"Ha! You think you can win with that weak version of my Echizen Zone? Here, I'll show you how it's done!"

"Oi, Echizen… they've been playing for that single point for ten minutes now," Momo said. Ryoma nodded.

"And since it's my Dad he'll be keeping the ball in play for another ten, trying to exhaust our buchou or make him play out his weakness."

"He's a devious player, your dad. But I won't lose that easily to him, no I won't."

"I'll just confuse him so much he won't know where to place the shot anymore!" Eiji shouted, blurring into two shadows of himself where he stood.

"That's no use against Dad, I'm sorry, Eiji-senpai. He used to play me with both his eyes closed."

"Nya, both eyes closed? How did he do that?"

"Echizen-senshu is a superior player with an almost unmatched tennis sense. His aural and tactile senses will compensate for the loss of his eyesight."

"Inui-senpai is right. It's hard work making that old man play seriously. Look at how he's playing buchou," Ryoma said lowly. Secretly, he felt proud of his father for keeping their captain in check like he did, but seeing the regulars stare in open awe was starting to annoy him. Just then, Nanjiroh decided he'd had enough of the false-sincere style he'd been portraying all this time. Ryoma watched in horror as he started pulling out his between-the-legs or over-your-shoulder shots, returning Tezuka's shots with enough force to slowly break the Tezuka Zone.

"Oyaji!" he hissed in anger, watching Kaidou's face transform from rapt admiration to open puzzlement, while Eiji was bouncing up and down in excitement over the display of "acrobatics".

"He's making Tezuka-buchou run around? That can't be good, no, absolutely not!" Momo muttered. "Oi, Kaidou! You show the old man how it's done!"

"What? What are you trying to say, peach-butt?" Kaidou hissed dangerously, forgoing watching Ryoma's dad play with his usual antics in favor of a nice warm-up fight against his arch-rival.

"You're the resident stamina freak, aren't you? We can't have you losing in such a match, not really, right?"

"Fsshhh! I'll teach you how to lose!"

Inui was busily taking notes, Oishi watching in horror as Ryoma's father took the first point against their captain with almost nonchalant ease.

"Oi, kid-captain! Try not being so stiff, maybe then you'll have better luck? I can show you a very good way to relax a little!" Nanjiroh waggled his eyebrows.

"OYAJI!"

"Stop being so uptight, seishounen- hep!" He played on. "Nobody loves an uncute kid like you!"

"Che. Stupid old man. Get me when he's done, Momo-senpai?"

"Don't worry, I'll tell him," Fuji smiled at Ryoma. "They're rather busy at the moment."

"Make him go serious, Fuji-senpai," Ryoma said, walking towards the vending machines. No need to continue watching his dad slaughter his teammates.

"He's so easy to see through," he heard Fuji mutter and scowled. Stupid Fuji should try living with the tennis maniac called his father. Once he had been challenged to a match in sub-zero temperatures and dunked in freezing water because his father had forgotten that there was a pond on the ground of his sister-in-law's house in Baltimore. The resultant cold had not kept his dad from dragging him out again the next day, saying that hitting balls while sneezing would be a good exercise in control. Stupid old man.

テニプリ

Ryoma kept to himself for most of the day afterward. He did not really want to go home to the needling he knew his father would give him over the skill level of his teammates and how serious the third-years must be to come playing now even though there was no incentive to, and how desolate the state of the team would be after they left, and how Ryoma would have to go and play all five games in a tournament alone in order to prevent a catastrophic loss.

It wasn't like he didn't know that his fellow first-years still had troubles distinguishing between holding their rackets open (as wanted for a lob or high volley) or closed (for a sharp return close to the net). The simple (in theory) thirty-degree angle turned into one huge question mark for them, especially when combined with the usual lectures on open and closed stances. Apart from that, their stamina was still lacking and they were rather content with leaving the showing off to their seniors. Their loud mouthes made up for their lack of skill, anyway- at least Ryoma thought they were convinced of that.

The un-anointed prince of the sport of tennis snorted. Maybe, if Horio kept up training his word-work he would be able to send a tennis ball back over the net with the hot air spouting from him. It wasn't like the inane screaming illness would stop running rampant anytime soon.

Ryoma wished he knew a cure for it, but whenever he tried talking to his teammates about tennis all he got were more and more requests to help with English now that the final exams of the year were approaching. Horio in particular had turned into one spectacular example of the "begging machine".

"Just leave me alone and start studying!" he finally shot sharply at the stuttering pig-tailed girl who insisted on following him around together with her loud-mouthed friend. The girls started sputtering, Ryuzaki's niece coloring an alarming shade of red.

"What? If you can't do simple introductions and talking about your favorite subjects at school there's no use in asking me to help you- that's so basic everyone except the most boneheaded will get it! All you need to do is memorize a few phrases!"

"Echizen! You shouldn't be picking on your classmates! They came asking you for help- politely!"

"No, they didn't," Ryoma muttered, "they came to annoy me until I would give in and just play tape recorder for them, repeating things until they finally get him. Shouting at me and hanging onto my body does not count among politeness in my opinion, sensei."

"Nevertheless you should not put them down the way you continue doing, Echizen. Your classmates ask for your help, so you should give it to them to show your spirit of community with them!"

"Well, how about them trying to better themselves for the better of the community first?" Ryoma shot back belligerently, already put out at the thought of having accepted Katsuo, Kachiro and Horio's begging for tutoring after what promised to be one more useless practice session in the afternoon.

"Echizen!" The students that had gathered around the dying-in-shame pigtailed girl, her friend and the arguing parties gasped. His English teacher, who was already foaming over Ryoma's mastery of the language he was supposed to be the master at was looking livid now- livid enough to make Ryoma's life a lot more difficult.

"If you're deliberately looking for trouble, nobody will help you, you know, Echizen?" He said, a calculating glint in his eyes. Ryoma's mouth was set in a grim line, he already knew the lecture that would be forthcoming. "It seems as though even though your classmates have chosen you as their leader you're unteachable in this regard, Echizen. Follow me to the headmaster's office, please."

Ryoma nodded. Just like the petty vindictiveness of the small-spirited to put down those that called them out on their character. Leader? He wasn't even the class spokesperson!

"Please, sensei," a small voice suddenly spoke up. The Ryuzaki girl was standing in front of Ryoma, her hands clasped into fists at her side and a determined if frightened look on her face. "Ryoma-sam... san didn't do anything wrong, sensei. It was Tomo-chan and me who were pest... pestering him. We... we're at fault, sensei, so please don't punish Ryoma-san for something w...we did!"

Astonished, Ryoma could hardly do more than blink. He had thought coach Ryuzaki's niece was little more than a cardboard character of shyness and devotion, and here she was standing up for him? After a quick elbow to the side, her marginally-better-at-tennis friend nodded.

"It's as Sakuno-chan says. We went a little too far in asking for help, sensei."

The English teacher frowned, obviously not pleased at the turn of events. "Alright, I will let it slide this time, Ryuzaki, Osakada. Echizen, I suggest you really think over your attitude, or your classmates will not be there to help you when you need them."

Ryoma gave a bored "Yes, sensei", even though his foul mood had only worsened he grit his teeth and held in the host of expletives that wanted to burst from his lips.

"If it hadn't been for these two idiots there wouldn't have been any trouble to help me out of!" he finally raged into an empty classroom after he had pulled the door closed behind him. He trembled with frustration and anger, the ineffectual training of the past weeks and the panicked atmosphere permeating the school right before the exams taking their toll on even his normally even temper. He himself was trying to do his best in studying- but the frantic, hopeless air his yearmates exhibited was too foreign to him. They had had several written tests over the course of the year- hadn't the others learned the material then?

Plopping down onto the floor after hammering his right hand into the wall with all his strength Ryoma buried his head in his knees. It was far too exhausting trying to deal with people on top of the tennis, he decided. With the team threatening to break to pieces he honestly felt there was nothing binding him to Seigaku anymore- he could really stand living without the yammering of his teachers, Horio, his so-called "fan club" and the constant attention.

Maybe there was such a thing as homeschooling in Japan. He would have to ask his mom.

テニプリ

…tbc …

Spring tournament season is approaching fast. I really have to train myself up a little more since I decided to go back on the fencing team. I found that I still love running sooo much- a lot of the time I used to spend writing has been spent on the trails around the park in my neighborhood so far. I'm woefully out of shape- after an hour of running, everything hurts. It's still wonderful to see Nature prepare for its awakening, though. It's been raining the past few days, and a lot of birds now come out to search for seeds and worms. It's so much fun to run past them! I've had a phase when I was virtually addicted to running when I was still in high school, and I feel like it's coming back again. I can study while running (especially my languages), so I've been making a lot of MP3s from my textbooks. My voice sounds so weird when I hear it recorded!

Anyways, since I don't think my training schedule's going to get any less busy and I still have a few exams to write I can't really tell when the next update's going to be. I'm so sorry! ATP are, as usual, in my profile and I hope you enjoyed this chapter and might leave me a comment? The nice green writing is beckoning! Green means Go!