...So yeah. I know I have other WIP, but what the hell, this one is already thought out by the game!

This is a P5R retelling with a whole lotta angst, new twists... and of course, who else at the end of the barrel but your one and only Amamiya Ren?

This one has lots of warnings, so here goes: implied/ref sexual assaults, child abuses, Depressions and suicidal ideations, and everything else. You have been warned, and you'll be warned again when these topic comes up in full in later, still unwritten, chapters.

Forward you go!

Chapter 1

April 9th, 2016

He feels like everything doesn't belong here.

Tokyo is much different from where his house is, in the middle of nowhere, where everyone knows about everyone. Here, each face is different, foreign; everyone minds themselves and themselves alone. They do not care about anything around them. Not the child crying in the nearby alley, wailing for a mother that has already abandoned him. Not the lost soul drunken on despair sitting by the sidewalk, a few coins tossed his way from here and there, pointless gesture of kindness that isn't kind. And certainly, they do not care about him.

Why would they? He hasn't made the national news – he hadn't killed a person (yet), after all. His face has simply been plastered on every poster in all the streets in his hometown, calling for attention of his doings; that he had punched an innocent man, with another woman – a woman who the drunken man cares for – as eye witness. There is blood from the both of them, but his is rancid and foul and decayed, that of a beast that should be wiped off the face of the earth in an instant, while the other's is divine, something to be celebrated, to be cared for, to be continued.

The train jerks, and he looks up at the light that blips along the line that marks his destination. When the train operator calls for the name Yongen-Jaya, he looks down at his phone, at the simple note he has made for himself. From the station, exit the northern gate. He keeps his eyes on the address for a while, the spelling horribly wrong and childish, as if the note itself is made in a hurry with little care. He scoffs, mostly to himself, as he puts the phone back into his pocket and starts walking.

Here, in this part of Tokyo, it resembles his hometown to almost a fault – street signs that are poorly-kept, delivery man walking about placing packages and parcels around, a doctor walking by him and into the unknown beyond his scope. For a moment, the images overlap – all he sees is the dark alley, the man pulling at the woman's wrist. He walks in to stop him, and immediately, flashes of silver—

He shakes his head. He needs to focus.

He keeps walking, placing his attention into one step at a time, along the half-emptied road and to where the address is. He keeps mostly to himself, his bag – one that is barren, with enough money to last him a mere week, if he decides that one meal a day is enough to keep him going – tightly hugged into his frame. He looks down at his phone again when he sees that he's walked his way all the way to the other end of the alley, and immediately he looks at the nearest plate, to see that he's right where he needs to be; Sakura Sojirou's house.

But, from the looks of it, no one is there except for the parcel deliveryman, who is mumbling to himself, something about the man attending the café called Leblanc at this moment. He stays his feet for a while longer, his lips set, before he catches where the café would be – in the back alley. When the man starts to voice his plan out loud, he retreats back onto his path and spins around, heading towards the other end, where he hopefully would meet his guardian.

(Yeah, right, guardian. More like a warden, or an executioner.)

It takes him a while, but he finally finds it – the café is situated in between two oddly plain-looking stall, the extension of red and white awning paled and weathered, lines of reddish-colored rust hugging along its steel frame. Coffee and Curry, Leblanc is written on it, and instead of going right on in, he decides to peer through the glass, just to get a feeling of what he would have to inevitably walk into.

There is a news about some chaos in the background, he could tell that much from all the colorful banners that runs along the bottom. There are an elderly couple sitting inside a booth, while a man with an apron – one he assumes to be Sakura Sojirou, his father's associate's friend – sits upon a stool, one leg crossed over his knee, a newspaper propped upon his lap. He breathes, the urge to run away and bury himself into the ground suddenly taking over, but he knows he can't run from this. For the future, he has to stay here for a year, keep his head low, and just go through it.

(A future that is already set in stone. A future where he forever will have to give up his heart and soul to become no more than a fucking dog in someone else's command. Because who else would want him, a man with a criminal record, in their employment? Where would he find a future with that kind of thing on his history?)

It takes a moment for his presence to be noticed, but when it is, he immediately feels the chill of hostility running through his veins like the winter's cold, and he bites the inside of his mouth to stop himself. He can't do anything here. He can't say anything, either. His father is a good man. He is a good man who is loving and caring, who wouldn't do anything remotely illegal, who is always so kind and—

"Oh," The man's voice cuts off his thoughts, and he shifts his weight onto a different foot, his lips pursed into a tense line at the way the voice seems to rake itself along his eardrums and paw at his skin. The man then stands up, his face unkind, uncaring, cold. Bitter, even. "They did say that was today."

He winces.

The couple excuse themselves, making a small talk about something of car crashing and rampaging in the roads. He doesn't pay much mind to it, and waits until the old couple leave. He lets the man's complaint towards the couple slide through him, and only focuses when he addresses him fully. "So… you're the guy, Amamiya Ren?"

"Yes, sir," Ren answers, trying his best to keep his voice levelled. His father is kind and caring and—

He is brought back out of his mental mantra when the man scoffs just a little. "I'm Sakura Sojirou. You'll be in my custody over the next year at the very least."

At the very least, he notes. But decides not to say anything.

If he notices Ren's pause, the man doesn't show it, simply continuing talking about him as if commenting on the weather. "I was wondering what kind of unruly kid would show up, but you're the one, huh? You sure don't look like the type to get yourself charged with assault and, what was it now?"

"…Harassment and vandalism, sir," Ren says, silently thanking all the lessons he's been taught to keep his voice straight and his emotions hidden. He isn't allowed to have emotions. He isn't allowed to show anything except obedience; one that he failed, quite spectacularly so.

"Hmph," The man hums, crossing his arms, looking him up and down as if to gauge him, to charge him with something more, to send him back into the streets and maybe right into the place his father wants him most. In the end, however, the man only says, "Have you been told? A customer of mine and your parents know each other and—"

I know. If I don't, that would have meant that I'm not trained well enough.

"—well, that doesn't really matter. Follow me."

He does, trailing behind the man and up into the second floor, where he's immediately greeted by dust-covered woods and soot-stained walls. Ren doesn't recoil, however – this is a gift, compared to all the things he has seen, the things he has to content with. This is a gift, a small blessing in his short, miserable life. He spots a small cardboard box in the middle – his, with the clothes that are necessary, and nothing else – and he bows at the man slightly. Sakura – his guardian – just cocks an eyebrow at him.

"This will be your room," The man says, looking around the room once before pointing at the furthermost corner, where his soon-to-be bed sits. "I'll at least give you sheets for your bed—" At this, the man frowns, and Ren catches too late that his own mouth is set and his eyes are narrowed, as if he's having a problem with this arrangement. "—…You look like you wanna say something."

"No, sir," He responds quickly, his voice curt and crude. He quickly bows his head again, the feeling of a distinct sting on his cheek, one that is a phantom, one that is not real. "…I'm sorry, sir. It's just… this is a good place. Are you sure you should be giving me this as my own room?"

Whatever the man expects him to say, it mustn't have been that, because there seems to be a small pause in the movements of his eyes, and he is looking Ren up and down again. Ren immediately clamps his mouth shut tighter, enough for the pain of his clenching jaw to make itself known. His father is caring and kind, and this should be sub-standard. He shouldn't have said anything—

"…Well, you're an odd one, alright," The man says, scratching the back of his head. "Then I'll leave you to clean it up. I'll lock up each night, so you'll be alone. Don't do anything stupid. I'll throw you out if you cause any trouble, got it?"

"Yes, sir," He murmurs, his eyes looking away from that sharp, accusatory gaze. His skin aches painfully, the scar on his left shoulder burning with vengeance. He ignores it.

"Good," Sakura hums. "Anyways, I caught the gist of your situation. You misunderstood that the drunken man, who was just trying to flirt his girlfriend, to be harassing her. So, you got in, punched him, and he stabbed you back. You retaliated by vandalizing his car and harassing the woman for that, so you've got your sorry ass sued for it, right?"

No, that is not what had happened. No one believed him. No one believes him. That is all a lie, and that man and his father work together and— "…Sir."

"You do realize you're getting off easy with just this, right?" The man scowls at him, deep and cruel and resentful. Ren doesn't openly react to it. He could not. "You are lucky Shujin even accepts someone with a record like you at all. Your parents seem to have just thrown their piece of wet garbage right at my door, huh, and rid themselves of a pain in the ass in one fell swoop. How very nice."

His fists hurt. His chest hurts. He wants all of this to stop. "…Sir."

"Behave yourself for a year and lift the damn probation off you, so you can get back to where you came from," The man says calmly, but the hostility is too clear to be ignored. "Do that, and keep yourself out of trouble. One wrong move, and I'll be the one to throw you into juvie myself."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Is your vocabulary capped at just yes, no, okay, and sir?" The man snorts, irate, and Ren unwittingly jumps under his skin at that. If the man notices, he doesn't say it, instead he sighs. "Damn brat—"

Damn brat, I'll sue! I'll end your life for what you did to me!

His throat closes off. He couldn't breathe—

"We'll go to Shujin tomorrow," He says, and Ren forces himself to calm down, breathing in an out in a way he's been taught. He could feel his heart rate going down as the man says, with irritation and something he couldn't quite place. "We'll introduce ourselves there properly. What a waste on my Sunday—"

"You don't have to go, sir," He mumbles out quickly. "I—I can probably make it there myself. I'll introduce myself to them early in the morning on Monday—"

"You are my responsibility, brat," The man snaps back, sharp voice cutting through his skin and making him cringe. He wants to curl up into himself. "I need to make sure you will stay out of trouble. I'm doing this for a friend, and I'd rather not tarnish my reputation by having you screwing yourself over again. We leave tomorrow at nine. Feel free to use your time however you like."

And with that, the man is gone, leaving him alone with the dusts and the silence.

Cleaning the room is easier than all the other things he's been forced to do before.

The bed is nice and warm, the smells of woods and coffee a distinct combination, one that he likes more than he thought he would. He feels like he has been cleaning for a while, but time has no real meaning to him here. As long as the alarm is set, he would wake up, no matter how little sleep he gets. He breathes, the scent of caffeine filling his lungs, before he sets himself down and starts cleaning all the gaps between the woods to a mirror sheens, just like how his father taught him to—

Not a speck of dust, brat, or you'll be punished. I want all of this cleaned by tomorrow morning. If you do not meet the deadline, well… as a father, it's my job to correct your laziness, right?

"Oh, what is this?" The voice says from the stair, and he immediately whips around, his heart beating painfully in his throat. The man arches up his eyebrow, questioning his reaction, but he immediately sits on his knees, his hands pressed against his thighs. "…What's with that reaction?"

"Um, s-sorry, sir," He stammers out, unsure, before he looks at the floor, at the accursed specks of dust that continues to exist despite his at least half-an-hour effort to rid himself of it. "Just… I've… I've never been good with surprises."

"…Oh," Is all the man says as he stays where he is, just a few steps away from the staircase. When Ren looks up, he sees something in those eyes – curiosity, perhaps. He isn't sure, though, since he's too fear-stricken to think too much on it. "Then, sorry about—"

"Don't apologize, sir," He quickly mutters out. "It's… it's not your fault."

A frown then settles on Sakura's face. And immediately, he thinks he might've done something wrong, something horribly wrong that—

"You really are a strange kid," The man says, at last, as he looks around. "This place looks better than my own house, and that's saying something. You really have a knack for cleaning, you know."

"…Thank you, sir," He accepts the compliment, fingers twitching as a certain kind of tick, an itch to keep everything in their best conditions, clean and spotless. He has to get rid of all of these before he becomes sick, before he recalls the sticks on his bare skin and—

"Why don't you go to bed for tonight?" Sakura gestured towards his bed, already made and ready to be used. Ren turns, following the man's eyes, but doesn't say anything. Upon his silence, Sakura frowns. "It's already ten, and there isn't much you have to do, right?"

"…I still have to finish cleaning a little, sir," He mumbles out, trying to keep himself inconspicuous. "I'll go to bed in a few minutes, I promise, sir."

"Alright, suit yourself," The man hums, leaving him to his thoughts and his dreams.

(And much like in the waking world, his dream is full of chains and shackles, of laughters of cruel delight, of high expectations that have to be met, of games he has been forced to play.

How long will it take before he is free? But…

His heart knows he never will.)

April 11th, 2016

Everyone hates him.

Since yesterday, he's been given nothing but contempt and cold shoulders, their eyes scornful. They take him in only for their reputation and money, and that was that, as it always has been. Human relations exist as a type of resource to be used, to be exploited, and he just happens to be the perfect type of trash that would give them the maximum profit with the least amount of required responsibility. He is the master of his own actions, everything will be pinned as his faults, all of his steps must be careful and measured.

It's not like he has a future anywhere anyway. The only difference he will make is whether he will be a dog under a command or something lower, something that is discardable. Something that is less than a mutt on the sidewalk. But Ren knows that his life is never his — it belongs to his father. And what his father commands of him, he must abide by. His father wants him to have a clean record, something he couldn't do anymore, so now his father wants him to keep his head down and just exist for as long as he's needed.

He walks downstairs to be greeted by Sakura and a plate of curry, warm and with a scent that makes his stomach growls. He presses his lips into a thin line, his brain forcing his feet to move himself forward. But he is stopped when Sakura says, his voice strangely soft, softer than yesterday. Softer when he mentioned Ren's stained records, softer when he told Ren to keep his head low. "You're actually going to school, huh?"

"Yes, sir," He mumbles, his stomach painfully twisting into itself. He doesn't have enough money to pay for a meal here, and he'll have to start finding some kind of work soon. Very soon, or he'll inevitably starve to death with just a few notes in his wallets. "I'll be—"

"Eat first," Sakura states, waving at the plate of curry. Ren suddenly feels something akin to hope — hope that he quickly stifles under his heel. He isn't allowed to have hope. He isn't allowed to feel. "Come on. You don't have all morning."

"But… I can't pay you, sir," He mumbles, even if the growl of his hollow stomach starts to reach beyond just his ears alone. He sees Sakura frowns, so Ren quickly adds. "Um, I'll be going, then. The school should sell something cheap—"

"It's my treat," Sakura cuts him off, his eyes hard. Cold. Ren couldn't help but flinch. "I can't have you collapse on your first day of school, kid."

"…Thank you, sir."

He sits down, propping his bag carefully on the floor, hands clasped together as he grants the meal a brief, insignificant prayer that the gods would just ignore, no doubt. He takes a while to stare into the plate, filled to the brim and easily more filling than any meal he's ever had in his life. He looks up, and when Sakura rolls his eyes and nods at the plate again, starts eating.

And immediately after, he starts crying.

Sakura is looking at him as if he's sprouted out another head from his shoulder, but he couldn't stop, try as he might. The meal is made with love — a love for his craft and a love for his shop, no doubt — and even if that love isn't directed at him, the meal made with that kind of compassion is being given to him. And he knows that he doesn't deserve this.

Ren wipes the tears away hurriedly as he mumbles out a barely audible apology, his hand stuffing down the meal with haste. He couldn't afford to show emotions here. He isn't allowed to, and Ren's pretty sure he'll be reported back to his father about this if he doesn't reign in his heart soon, so he forces everything down and bolts out of the door as soon as the plate is clean down to the last grain.

He ignores the rain cloud forming above and makes his way to the subway station. He's already running late just from that little show of his, and he'd rather not bring about the wrath of those who hold his future (pfft, as if one still remains) hostage. And from here, on the stations, he could see those who wear the same uniform as his in the train, chatting among themselves, excited for the new semester with their friends, one that would hopefully be filled with laughter and smiles.

Ren instinctively pulls his bag closer to his frame, his mouth pressed into a terse line as he recalls what his friends had said to him when the words about his wrongdoings (it's not him, none of it was his fault, but no one believes him, not when his father does not) spread out like wildfire. He had already deleted most of the messages, but the words spoken to his face and in the shadows remain etched within his heart – one that will probably be repeated here.

If he knows his father well, those words will be repeated, whether he wants them to or not. As a lesson for his disobedience, his records will be spread, one way or another, and he'll have to live in hell on earth for another year—

No, not hell on earth. Live in a valuable lesson designed to teach him how to behave.

The train reaches Aoyama-Itchome sooner than he thinks, but when he steps through the tunnel, all he could see is the rain cloud hanging above his head, the rumbling of thunder distant yet unmistakable. As soon as he thinks about running through it, the downpours stop him, soaking him wet from head to toe. With a grunt, he runs into the nearest shelter, shielding himself away from the torrents as he feels his phone buzzes almost incessantly inside his pockets.

When he pulls it out, all he could see is the strange app he's deleted only a few days ago glaring right back at him, its red eye soul-searching. He sighs – it looks like his phone is bugged. As if he doesn't have enough financial problem as it is. But since it doesn't bug him all that much, he decides to leave it be. Whatever the hell it is, if it isn't breaking his phone, then he sure as hell won't be fixing it.

He looks up from the screen when he sees someone running into the same shelter as his. Someone who is as soaked as he is, someone who pulls down the while hoodie as soon as she is under the shadow. Ren spares her only a small glance before looking back down. Woman can't just be trusted, men even more so. They will all come back to bite you in the ass if—

"Good morning," He hears her say, and he looks up as she smiles. Her hair is smooth, silk-like, blonde colored. Her eyes are a color of soft blue, one that reminds him of the morning sky.

Ren narrows his eyes. She seems to have noticed his uniform. A small talk, then? Is that what she's after? "…Good morning."

"Are you new?" She asks, leaning back against the glass pane of the shop behind her, her voice and her words friendly enough. When Ren doesn't respond right away, she hums, looking out to the raining streets and the running office workers that are all trying to make their ways to their workplace on time. "I have never seen you around."

"Yes," He replies, his voice curt and sharp even to his own ears. He twirls the phone around in his hand as he keeps his eyes on her, trying to see when she'll lash out and bite.

If she notices how curt he is or how tense his body is, she doesn't mention it as she hums softly against the humid air and looks up at the sky. After a moment, she springs up to her feet fully, turning towards him and offering him a hand. "Takamaki Ann. Second year."

Don't touch me, I don't want anyone to touch me, his inner voice screams, rage-filled and unsuppressed. He bites back the urge to shy away – he cannot stand out, at least he will have to wait until the rumors have already settled in that he's a degenerate being transferred here just because. Then, he could do all the distancing that he wants. So, he takes her hand, shakes it curtly, the feelings of her skin on his burning and scalding him like boiling water. "Amamiya Ren. Second year."

"Ah! The transfer student, then," She smiles brightly, and Ren feels the sudden urge to run away right the fuck now—

Their mostly one-sided conversation is put to a stop when a car parks not too far away from them, and Ren could see clearly how Takamaki's face sours at this. But she wipes it away as quickly as it comes up before giving him a quick smile as she runs over.

Ren sees a man, well built, sitting on the driver's seat. And upon laying his eye on him, his gut shifts, and his mind is screaming at him that he is the same as—

"You want a lift?" The man asks as Takamaki opens the car door, propping herself into the seat with a downcast look.

"…No, sir, thank you," He murmurs out. "I'd rather not wet your car with my shirt."

"Suit yourself," The man says.

Ren catches Takamaki looking at him strangely, and for a moment, he thinks he might've seen something like a silent plea in the way her eyes reflect off the now visible sun's light. But when he blinks again, that look is gone, replaced by some kind of disgust and deep-seated sorrow that has etched itself deep into her feature as she closes the window, allowing the man to take her away.

"Damnit!" Someone says from not too far away from him, and he blinks, adjusting his eyesight towards the newcomer. He wears something roughly like Shujin's uniform, only with the least amount of required dress code possible, his hair bleached to a pale blond. Ren catches a limb in his right leg, but says not a word as the boy continues to hiss. "Screw that pervy teacher!"

Ren doesn't say anything, even if he knows from a glance that the man is more than just pervy. He could feel it in his bones that Takamaki might not be in an immediate danger, but she soon will.

No. You're here to keep your fucking head down and not draw attention to yourself. You can't do things like you did back then again.

Or you're so fucking dead.

Ren bites his lips and reigns in his thoughts. She might need help, but it's not his business. He has to keep saying that it's not his business, because he's not here to be a good person. He's here to be an obedient little cub that will follow into his father's footsteps until—

"What do you want?" The voice snaps him out, and Ren jolts under his skin, only to see the other boy – vulgar by nature, perhaps – glaring right back at him, his teeth bared threateningly. "You planin' on ratting me out to Kamoshida—"

"No, of course not!" He quickly says. He doesn't need this kind of attention, not now, not ever. "I don't – I don't even know who Kamoshida is."

"…Huh?" The hostility seems to have melted away at an incredible speed. After a moment of stunned silence, the boy adds. "…In that car just now. It was Kamoshida," Then, a little quieter, the boy mutters mostly to himself. "He does whatever the hell he wants. Who does he think he is – the king of a castle? Don't you agree?"

"…I don't know," Ren mumbles out. He doesn't want to cross the boy, but much less so someone that is a faculty. A teacher. His wardens. "I don't know him at all."

"Wait, for real?" The boy says, blinking incredulously. "But you're from Shujin— oh. So you're the transfer student—"

Everyone knows everything. He's so fucked.

"…Yes," Is all he gets out, his lips suddenly dry, his mind suddenly blank.

But, despite his expectation, the boy just rolls his eyes and looks pointedly up at the sky, the rain now half-receding back into the dark clouds. "This rain ain't too bad. We better hurry up or we'll be late. You know the way, transfer?"

"…I will manage somehow," He mumbles out.

"We're heading to the same place anyways, ain't we?" The boy hums. When Ren just gives him a look, the other sighs. "Come on, man, or we'll really get both our asses chewed out."

Ren could only clamp his mouth shut and follows the boy along, to the place that would soon turn his fate upside down.

Everything's going to hell.

The boy – whose name Ren still doesn't know – is cornered like a rat (like Ren used to be) with blade on his throat and the so-called king beating the life out of him, one punch at a time.

And he could only watch, helpless, his limbs so numb and so cold, his lips dry like a desert, and his eyes unable to tear themselves away from the sight. That stranger is going to die, telling them Ren isn't his friend (he certainly isn't, and he certainly won't be – won't have the chance to be) just as a chance to save him. Just like when he saved that woman (and doomed himself), this boy is going to throw his future and his life away for someone he doesn't know.

No one deserve this. Not a single person deserves this except for him and him alone.

"Stop!" He cries out against the stagnant air of the underground cell, the armored guards rounding up on him with their swords and spears pointing at him. But his plea falls on deaf ear, and he's pinned to the wall, forced to watch helplessly the execution that would soon be carried out.

Are you going to stay as an obedient little dog forever, boy?

A voice calls to him, ringing inside the staffs of his ribs and stringing his conscious across his fingers. Ren gasps, the pounding in his head abysmal and mind-shattering. He catches a glimpse of a pale blue butterfly as it flutters across his vision, past his fogged glasses and perches on his shoulder. Another voice rings, but the words are muffled, silence.

You've been such a good mutt for so long, following their every order, carving out a piece of you to satisfy their greed, burning away a part of you just to be a lapdog that they've always wanted you to be. But is that what you truly want, boy? Do you want to live the rest of your days as this pathetic existence that could not even be pass as living at all?

What he wants never matters. He isn't the master of his own life, he's just a property under his father's rule, ready to be used, ready to be discarded—

Such would be the case, if you do not fight. If you want freedom, then you know what you have to sacrifice, do you not?

"I do."

Against the rampaging thoughts that refuse to stop, against the crooning voice of something that doesn't belong to this world, he answers the question against his own will. His lips move before his thoughts, his heart yearns for freedom before his mind even could conceive the concept. And despite his fear, despite knowing full well the consequence of his choice, he tips his head upward, his mouth forming words of a prayer for his deepest, darkest desires to finally be answered.

"I want to be free."

Even if you have to be chained to hell itself, even if you have to face the darkness of your own soul, even if you have to defy the ones you've always seen as your creators, the masters over your life, would you truly, my dear boy? Would you do all of that, to finally make a choice of your own?

No. I don't want to defy them. I don't want to— "Yes!"

Very well!

I am Thou, Thou art I – thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice, thou who wish to spin the thread of thine own fate with thine hands, thou who would go against the absolute that controls thee and free thyself and those who would stand with thee from the chains of captivity! Call mine name, and release thy rage!

All he could hear is the voice as he thrashes and claws at the armored fists, ripping off his own nails and carving out his names on their steel-plated armor with his own blood. The pain is absolute, but while his mind wants to refuse this, his heart does not – because it knows, that at the end of this all would be his salvation.

Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou be chained to hell itself!

He reaches up to his eyes, feeling something forming on his face. The mask he wears, the mask of a dog, the mask of an obedient cur—

He rips it off, feeling the flame of purgatory coursing through him.

And for the first time since his arrival (the first time since the moment he was born), he grins.

"Come to me – Arsene!"

Update schedules will be as I finished each chapter, unlike my other WIP which is usually published after some buffers are up. So, don't expect constant update, but I'll try my best.

Chao! See you soon!