Here's another behemoth of a chapter. I could've split this into three chapters, but I couldn't find a place to split it without leaving a cliffhanger, and I know some of you hate cliffhangers. =)
The lone figure on the street stumbled a few steps before finally resting an arm against the wall. The sweat-drenched t-shirt was plastered against the boy's torso, exposing the sharp ridges of his ribs and muscles. His legs trembled from fatigue, but he felt nothing but elation.
After the incident with Jackie, Ichigo had been certain that he would be kicked out by Ginjo, but to his surprise, the man had instead offered to train him himself. The other Xcution members had looked at Ginjo like he was mad, but he seemed unfazed, and if anything, expressed more interest in what happened to Ichigo than Ichigo would've liked.
This time, he had felt a stirring of energy in his limbs as he fended off Ginjo's insistent attacks. The man did not hold back, forcing Ichigo into corners again and again, and each time Ichigo managed to get himself out of the tight spots. Whether it was instincts or the reawakening of his powers, he couldn't tell, but he thought he felt his speed increase, his senses more acute.
He had been wary at first, hesitant to fight back with all his might because of that dreaded voice in his head. But as the sparring continued and nothing unexpected happened, Ichigo began to push himself further, testing the limits of his body. By the time Ginjo put down the practice sword and announced the end of today's training, his inner hollow was nothing but a whispered echo in his mind. He felt refreshed despite the exhaustion that threatened to turn his bones into jelly—it had been a long time since he felt so alive.
And now he half-walked, half-stumbled to Urahara's shop. He knew the blonde would not be happy to see him in this state, but he couldn't possibly go home like this. Yuzu and Karin would freak out, and he'd have a lot of explaining to do if his dad happened to be home.
Only through sheer power of will did Urahara manage to swallow his sharp words at the sight of the boy sitting on the steps outside his store. Ichigo had not bothered to knock, seeing how Urahara always managed to sense his presence anyway. So he simply sat outside and waited for the door to open.
"I need to shower," Ichigo said, reaching out to lace his fingers around the hand that was extended to him.
Urahara yanked the boy to his feet and quickly did a visual inspection for injuries. There was nothing new that was immediately visible, but Ichigo limped slightly, favoring his right side as he walked slowly towards the bathroom.
Ichigo left the door open as he showered. The roaring sounds of the shower being turned to its max filtered through the door into Urahara's bedroom. The blonde sat on the edge of his bed, brows furrowed in frustration. Ichigo was being reckless; he could sense a growing restlessness in Ichigo's spirit, unstable even though it was not any stronger than it was before. There was a storm brewing within the boy, and if he could feel it, surely the boy knew it. The fact that he refused to speak of it grated on Urahara's nerves.
Did Ichigo not know that he was only trying to protect him? Was he so dense, or had his desperation blinded him?
Urahara was no stranger to extreme and unorthodox methods of training. He had, after all, forced Ichigo to discover his shinigami powers within seventy two hours, and had invented the three-day bankai training method. But he didn't know these people, and their methods and the potential, unpredictable outcome unnerved him.
The faucet was turned off; the abrupt silence that followed seemed especially absolute, and Urahara could hear Ichigo toweling off, sliding the shower curtain to the side, and then the boy appeared at the door, his bare skin flushed from the hot shower. Urahara found himself transfixed on the sculpted body; his eyes following the thin rivulets of water trickling down from underneath Ichigo's hair along his neck, his chest, along the curves of his torso, thighs, and then down to those strong, firm calves.
Ichigo obviously knew what kind of effect he had on the older man, and his lips curled up into a half-smile.
Urahara laughed when he realized that he was caught. He reached out, gesturing for the boy to come to him, and Ichigo obeyed. The bruises stood out starkly against the otherwise flawless skin, and Urahara's throat constricted at the thought of the pain that Ichigo must've endured in the process. Wordlessly, he held the boy close and nuzzled the flat stomach, relishing the warmth from the still-damp skin.
"Sleep for a bit before you go," he said, guiding Ichigo to lie down on his bed. "I'll go get you a cup of hot tea."
Eyes already heavy, Ichigo nodded and pulled the covers around his naked body. Urahara's bed was warm, and it held his scent; Ichigo felt an odd sense of comfort from it and a contented sigh left his lips. A few minutes later Urahara was back, and he sat up reluctantly to accept the soothing drink.
The hot liquid heated him from within, and he sighed again, feeling his aching muscles relax further. As Urahara took the cup back, Ichigo leaned forward and pressed his lips against the blonde's.
"Not today, Ichigo." Urahara chuckled into the boy's mouth, but he couldn't help groaning when Ichigo slid his tongue between his lips. The warmth from the tea lingered on the boy's tongue and it felt shockingly hot against his own. The kiss dragged on for a few more seconds before Urahara pulled away. "You should rest, you know. Take a break. You're going to break apart if we do this now."
Ichigo's eyes flashed in a mixture of emotions that Urahara could not identify, then the boy was on him again, his tongue insistently prodding and prying his lips apart.
Amused and surprised by the boy's sudden aggressiveness, the blonde kissed back despite his concern for Ichigo's health.
And then there was a sharp pain, and Urahara flinched away from the kiss. His hand flew instinctively to his mouth, but even before it reached there he could already taste the metallic tang on his tongue. He brushed his injured tongue gingerly against the insides of his lips, carefully assessing the damage. The cut was deep, and he was bleeding a fair amount.
There were no apologetic words, no comforting hugs from Ichigo, only hoarse, ragged breathing. Urahara eyed the boy warily. Something was not right; Ichigo's reiatsu fluctuated, wild and erratic around him. His eyes were dark behind half-closed lids, and his unfocused gaze made Urahara's blood run cold.
"Ichigo?" Urahara whispered, reaching out slowly for the boy's face.
"Do you not want me?" Ichigo's voice was low.
"Of course I do, Ichigo," Urahara replied. A sense of dread seized his chest as he finally recognized the anomaly in the boy's spiritual energy. "But you are not Ichigo, are you?"
Ichigo raised his head. The blonde felt his heart sink as the boy's eyes opened fully to reveal golden-yellow irises against black scleras. The thin, pale lips stretched wide into a chilling grin.
"I see my king has good taste." The harsh, high-pitched voice of the hollow held no hint of Ichigo's warmth. He looked at Urahara, his gaze cold, calculated, and held more than a little curiosity. Keeping his eye contact, he slid out of the bed and circled the blonde, his pace unhurried, smooth. It reminded Urahara of the way a predator would size up its prey right before an attack.
Urahara stared back calmly. Inside, he was furious; furious at himself for not being able to stop this from happening, and furious at those people who dragged Ichigo into this. His eyes flicked to a corner of his room, where his walking stick leaned against the wall.
Too far.
The hollow noticed the eye movement, and he laughed—a sharp, maniacal cackle unfit of Ichigo's lips. But there he was, standing a few feet away from Urahara in all of Ichigo's naked glory. And he seemed to have just noticed the fact, too. Looking down, he ran his long, thin fingers along his body—Ichigo's body—caressing the smooth skin and lingering on the patches of yellow, blue, and purple.
"Tsk tsk, the king doesn't take care of his body," he said, his nose wrinkling in distaste. Then, looking up, he grinned. "But you like it anyway, yes?"
Urahara kept his face blank. He had a bad feeling where this conversation was heading.
"See, he gets all these bruises, tsk," the hollow complained, twisting his body around to inspect all the other injuries. "And not to mention the ones inside." His eyes narrowed as his smile widened. "I think my king is quite a sadist. See, he loves it when you take him. He begs for it, I feel his lust for it."
The blonde's fists tightened, and he stood up and paced slowly away from the bed.
"I think he gets off from the pain," the hollow went on. His hands slid down to his torso and came to rest at his crotch. "I feel it when you fuck him, you know. And boy, do you know how to fuck." The pale fingers circled the still-soft flesh, then he held it up and wrapped his fingers around it. Cooing softly as though he was petting a puppy, he stroked the length, slowly coaxing it to erection.
"Stop," Urahara said, even though he knew it was useless. It was sickening to watch Ichigo's body being defiled like that. Those were Ichigo's hands, but they felt dirty, foreign.
The hollow looked up and grinned. "But why? I think you like it." To make his point, he walked towards the blonde, his fists still busy sliding up and down Ichigo's flesh.
Urahara looked away, sick to his stomach. The sight was obscene, and he couldn't bring himself to watch. If he couldn't do anything to stop this, at least he could save some of Ichigo's dignity by not committing such an image into his memory.
"You getting hard yet?" the hollow asked, licking his lips. He drew up in front of Urahara. "I think you're getting hard. Can I check?"
Urahara brought up a hand to block him. His eyes once again flicked to his walking stick—his sword.
"But you wouldn't cut him, would you?" The hollow pouted, blinking his eyes in mock innocence. "If you cut him, he might not let you shove it up his ass anymore. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
"There are many ways I can incapacitate you without cutting him," Urahara said quietly. There might be, he was still thinking of one, though. He continued to pace backwards slowly, trying his best to walk towards his weapon without being caught.
"Liar, liar..." The hollow leaned in close enough to breath against Urahara's neck. "Pants on fire," he whispered.
Urahara felt the hollow circle to his back, and he turned to follow.
The hollow laughed. "What is he gonna do? You must be thinking," he said slyly.
Urahara's eyes narrowed. What, indeed.
"You know, I've always wondered if the king ever thought of taking you. You see, it's not fair that you're getting all the fun." The grin widened and a sharp tongue slid out between the lips. The hollow dragged his tongue lewdly along his lips. "Shall I help him? Give him a taste of that smooth, tight ass of yours? Or is it already loose from decades of use?" He threw his head back and laughed, amused by his own joke.
Urahara took another few steps closer to that precious corner. Just...one...more...step.
"Tsk tsk tsk, so sneaky." The voice came from behind his ear. Shocked, Urahara whipped his head around and ducked just in time to avoid a blow to the face. He jumped away from the hollow and groaned inwardly. Now the hollow was between him and his sword. And the hollow knew it.
Pale fingers traced the outline of the walking stick almost lovingly, and then they wrapped around the hilt and brought it up in front of the pair of black, golden-yellow eyes. "Sneaky," the hollow said again, eyeing Urahara with a smirk. He examined the hilt closely, and then with an experimental twist, the walking stick popped open and he drew out the sword hidden inside.
"Beautiful," the hollow praised. Smiling, he brought the blade up to his mouth and stuck out his tongue. Without flinching, he ran the blade along the tongue, letting the edge slice shallowly into the flesh. Blood—Ichigo's blood—spilled and dribbled down Benihime's blade.
Urahara could hear his own joints pop as he curled his fists. The hollow was toying with him, taunting him by torturing Ichigo's body in front of him, knowing that it would get to him. To his dismay, it was working.
"So, will you let Ichigo fuck you?" the hollow asked. His smile was a horrifying sight; the lips were smeared with blood and stretched thin into an unnaturally wide grin.
Urahara sucked in a deep breath. "But you are not Ichigo," he said. He could probably use kido, one of the lower spells, perhaps, to minimize the damage to Ichigo's body. But then again, if it was too mild, it would not be enough to subdue the hollow.
The hollow chuckled as though he could read Urahara's mind. "Tsk tsk, so selfish," he said. He slid the sword fully out of its sheath and ran his fingers down the blade. Blood bloomed from the tips of Ichigo's fingers and dripped down along Benihime.
Urahara gritted his teeth. His fists tightened as he made a decision. "Bakudo no. 4, Hainawa." A thick yellow rope of light shot towards the hollow and curled around his body. The hollow yelled a curse, and then he fell to the floor with his arms tightly bound to his sides, growling and shrieking as he went. Benihime clattered to the floor.
The blonde cringed; hearing those sounds from Ichigo's lips gripped his heart like a vice. In five quick strides, he reached the fallen form and reached out to deliver a blow to the head, his intention being to knock the hollow out cold. He would think of how to get Ichigo's consciousness back afterwards.
But just as he reached out his hand, the hollow let out a screeching laugh and lunged at him. The ropes disintegrated soundlessly and both of them crashed onto the floor, with the hollow on top of the Urahara. The blonde bucked, trying to shrug off his opponent. He felt a tug on his hair, then he was yanked up and thrown down roughly on the floor. He scrambled to get up, and then there was the sound of something snapping, and he froze.
The hollow held his hands up; one finger—Ichigo's finger—was bent at a crooked angle, obviously broken.
"Are you going to be a good boy now?" The yellow irises flashed, and the pale face was split into a cruel grin. He held up another finger and began to bend it back.
"No! Stop!" Urahara yelled, eyes widening in horror. He sat still on the floor and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
The hollow stopped and smiled. "Get up."
The blonde hesitated, knowing where this would lead.
There was another sickening snap.. "He only has ten of these, you know," the hollow said, raising his eyebrows. "Eight more chances, then I'll have to find something else to break."
Urahara stood up, his blood boiling with rage at the way Ichigo's body was being abused.
"Now, walk nicely to that night stand." The hollow's voice took on a feigned sweetness even as his words became more cruel. "Hold on to the edge tightly, will you? I don't want you to fall over and break your neck, you know. It's not as fun if you're not screaming."
Wordlessly, the blonde did as he was told. He felt the hollow walk up behind him, and then he stumbled as his legs were suddenly kicked apart. Cold hands went to his hips—Ichigo's hands—and with a swift tug, his pants slid down his thighs. He shivered as the hands stroked his skin slowly; the touch was almost gentle, which made it even worse, because it reminded him of Ichigo.
There was a rough nudge against his entrance, and then the hollow was fully sheathed inside. There was no loving preparation that he always gave Ichigo, only a searing pain that tore him from inside out. His knuckles went white as he bit his lip to muffle the scream that had gathered in the back of his throat. It was painful, but he was no stranger to pain. He could handle pain; what made this unbearable at a whole different level was the knowledge that this was Ichigo's body.
He closed his eyes forced himself not to think, not to feel the burn inside as the hollow delivered one violent thrust after another, to ignore the hot liquid that slid down his thighs as he bled. He forced himself to tune out the ragged moans and the warm breaths against the back of his neck.
Was the boy in there somewhere and watching helplessly as his body was used in such a brutal act? For the sake of Ichigo's sanity, Urahara hoped not.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. There was a stinging spread of warmth inside, a chuckle, and then he was left gasping for air. He felt a pair of lips brush against his ear, and the hollow whispered, "Don't worry, he won't remember a thing."
Urahara turned, just in time to see the hollow break another one of Ichigo's fingers. The lips curled up one more time in a chilling grin, and then the dark eyes rolled up in his head and Ichigo slumped onto the floor.
Ichigo rolled over to his side and wrapped the covers tighter around himself. It was so comfortable in Urahara's bed that he didn't want to get up. But he must; it must be dinner time already, and Yuzu would be wondering where he was.
Urahara noticed the boy stirring and approached the bed cautiously. The hollow had said that Ichigo wouldn't remember, but Urahara knew better than to believe the evil creature. He winced, limping slightly as he slowly sat down on the bed next to the boy.
"Ichigo," he called softly.
Ichigo mumbled and curled up tighter under the covers. Urahara reached out and brushed his fingers through the boy's hair; Ichigo leaned into his touch. It did seem like he really was unaware of what had happened. Good, it shall remain that way. Forever.
Urahara had healed Ichigo's fingers while he was unconscious. The way the hollow had so easily broken them without the slightest remorse stayed in his mind, and he found his own hand shaking in anger as the bones began to set. Before draping the covers over the boy, he had taken a towel and cleaned him, removing all traces of fluids. His face remained stoic even as the towel came away stained with his own blood. All he wished for was that the boy didn't remember the incident.
And it looked like he didn't, and that lessened Urahara's pain. He would have to consult his old friend Yoruichi to find a way to handle the hollow within the boy, or perhaps Shinji and the Vizards.
The feeling of Urahara's fingers in his hair was calming, and Ichigo felt even more reluctant to get up. But when Urahara called his name again, he finally did.
"What time is it?" Ichigo yawned.
Urahara glanced at the clock. "Seven thirty," he replied.
"Ah, shit," Ichigo grumbled, kicking off the covers hurriedly. "Yuzu's gonna kill me." As he climbed out of the bed, he gave a surprised "eh?" when he realized that he was fully clothed. He didn't remember putting on his clothes after showering.
"I didn't want you to catch a cold," Urahara said with a smile. "Did you sleep well?"
Ichigo adjusted his t-shirt and shrugged on his jacket. "Yeah," he said. Then he scowled at the blonde. "Did you put a sleeping pill or something in the tea? I swear I passed out after drinking it."
Urahara laughed, secretly sighing in relief. "No, you were just really tired," he said. He paused, searching for the right words. "Ichigo, how about taking a break?" he asked carefully.
"Huh?" The teen looked at him, confused at first, then he straightened up with a frown as he understood what the older man meant. "Come on, we're not talking about this again."
"I'm not asking you to stop, just...rest for a few days, let your body heal," Urahara tried a different angle. Just a few more days, then you won't be sad anymore. If it works, his mind added helpfully, reminding him why he mustn't tell the boy about it yet.
"I can't," Ichigo said flatly. "I'm really close, I can feel it."
Karin looked at the clock and grunted in impatience. Her brother was late. Again. It was getting ridiculous.
She didn't know what had gotten into her brother. For more than a week now, Ichigo had come home late, even past dinner time sometimes. And that was annoying, because Yuzu insisted that they wait for him.
What could he be up to? She frowned and tapped her finger on the table, feeling restless. She had tried asking, but her brother had skillfully changed the subject, so she gave up in the end. It was beyond frustrating.
He seemed very tired, too. When he did come back, he walked as though he didn't have enough energy to drag himself up the stairs. Karin grunted again. This was driving her up the wall.
Could Urahara Kisuke possibly know what might be going on? The guy was a fucking prophet, always showing up at the right time, luring away the more persistent spirits. They were harmless, but they kept bugging Karin, hanging around her like they expected her to help them. But there was really nothing she could do. She wasn't like Ichi-nii.
And he was always there for them when the dangerous kind came near them. He asked her not to tell her brother, saying that it would make him worried. She understood; she wasn't blind to what happened to her brother. And so she kept quiet.
Maybe he would know what's plaguing her brother. Even if he didn't, it was time to restock her repellent and stuff anyway, so it won't be a wasted trip.
Having made up her mind, Karin shouted a hasty goodbye to Yuzu, then before her twin could protest, she slipped out of the house and made her way to Urahara Shoten.
"I thought you would understand, Kisuke," Ichigo said, beginning to lose his patience. "Of all people, you should understand how I feel."
Urahara's frustration was also bordering on anger now. They've argued about this from his bedroom to the living room, and still Ichigo refused to listen to him. "It's not worth risking your life for it."
The teen rubbed his face and sighed loudly. "I don't understand why you're so fucking worried, Kisuke!"
There was a stretch of silence, and then Urahara exhaled slowly.
"Because I care, Ichigo," he said finally.
Ichigo looked up, startled. Never once had they talked about how they felt about each other. He supposed they did care for one another, but they'd never said it out loud. His eyes softened.
"Kisuke, I know you think I'm stubborn and immature," he said, touching the blonde's hand. "But this really means a lot to me. It means I can protect my family again."
Urahara couldn't hold it back anymore. "Ichigo, just wait for a few more days, I already have—"
"Ichi-nii, we're not that fragile, we can take care of ourselves," a sharp voice cut in.
The two men turned around in surprise to find Karin standing at the door with her hands on her hips. The frown on her face was proof enough that she was related to Ichigo.
"We're not as helpless as you think, Ichi-nii. I have the proper tools to protect ourselves, and Urahara-san looks after us all the time," she admonished.
Ichigo looked stricken, stung by his sister's words. Hearing her say that, dismissing his one aching wish so casually, hurt more than she could ever imagine. It hurt so much he could almost feel it physically in his chest. For a moment he couldn't breathe, and when he finally could again, he cracked.
"All I want is the power to protect you and Yuzu!" he said, his voice rising as his pain turned into anger. "Does it mean nothing to you? You'd rather rely on an outsider than your own brother?"
Shocked by Ichigo's sudden outburst, Karin shrank back. Urahara stepped in front of her.
"Ichigo, get ahold of yourself," Urahara said calmly. He felt it again, the undercurrent of madness in the boy's reiatsu. He cursed inwardly. He was toying with them; Urahara had no doubt that the hollow was behind this, preying on the boy's desperation, fanning his need to become stronger. The more unstable Ichigo became, the easier it would be for it to take control. Urahara understood now: the incident in the afternoon was only a warning, a "preview" of what he could do.
The tension in the living room grew. They stared at each other; Ichigo breathed heavily, his eyes fierce and full of hurt, while Urahara simply stood still. As silence wore on and Ichigo didn't move, Urahara thought the worst was over.
That is, until Ichigo blinked. The next time his eyes opened again, the scleras were black and the irises a gleaming yellow. He cocked his head to the side slowly, as though seeing his surroundings for the first time, and then he grinned.
Karin gave a little shriek of fright at the sight of her brother. Urahara pulled her behind him and kept himself between Ichigo and the girl.
"Well well, looks like the king is not needed after all," the hollow said, chuckling softly. He held up his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Tsk tsk, you took good care of him...and after what he just did to you, too." He leered at Urahara. "Does it still hurt?"
Urahara kept his face expressionless, but his body tensed. It didn't go unnoticed; the hollow threw his head back and cackled.
"You know, I feel kinda bad for him." The dark eyes took on a mocking look of pity as he paced slowly in front of the blonde. "He works so hard, pushes himself so badly, went through all that pain and trouble, and what does he get?" He stopped and peered at Karin, who clung to Urahara's clothes. "Nobody supports him," he said a sing-song voice, and then let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Can you blame him for running to the only person who believes in him?"
He began to pace again. "You know what finally broke him?" he asked, examining his fingers with mild curiosity, twisting and bending the ones that were freshly healed. "It's when his baby sister said that she doesn't need him anymore."
Karin ran forward before Urahara could grab ahold of her. "I didn't say that!" she shouted, her cheeks becoming pink in indignation and worry. She did her best to hold her tears, and so they teetered on the corner of her eyes, threatening to slide down at any moment.
"Oh, but you might as well," the hollow said, smiling at her. And then his eyes flicked up to Urahara's face. "And you, he thinks very highly of you. His mentor, his lover, he thought he could trust you, thought that you understood him when nobody else did. Yet, you betrayed him." His eyes then traveled down to the walking stick in Urahara's hand. "See? You're even carrying your weapon. You don't trust him at all!"
He let out another exaggerated sigh. "Yes, yes," he said, rubbing his chin as though deep in thought. "I pity him, my poor king." He paused. "How about this? I could at least do him a favor and get rid of all the ungrateful bastards in his life, how about that? Hmm?"
Despite posing his words as a question, he launched into action even before he finished speaking. In a blur of movement, Urahara's walking stick was in his grasp. There was a metallic glint, and then Karin screamed.
Another voice overlapped hers; a hoarse, furious yell, followed by a high-pitched, distorted shriek. The hollow's sword hand remained extended, but his other hand gripped it tightly, stopping it from moving further. One of his eyes was still black and yellow, but the other was quickly turning back to its original white and brown.
"You will not hurt my sister!" Ichigo growled. His fingers dug into the skin on his other hand, fighting for control of his body.
Karin stared, frozen from fear and shock, as his brother struggled. It was like a freak show, a tug-of-war between two hands belonging to the same body.
The hollow howled in Ichigo's head, unwilling to give up his hard-earned control. It had waited for so long, lying dormant in his once-powerful king, just waiting for the right time to strike.
"Ichigo, believe in yourself." Urahara's voice was soft, but it gave the push that Ichigo needed.
"You will not hurt my sister!" he screamed, squeezing his eyes shut. He heard a bitter laugh in his head as the hollow reluctantly relinquished its hold, and then just before the laughter subsided, it whispered, "But how about your lover?" There was another series of chuckles, and then the voice disappeared.
Ichigo's eyes snapped open and he stared at the sight before him in horror.
Urahara stood in front of Karin with a smile of relief on his face. Except, there was a deep wound in his chest—from the sword that Ichigo had not stopped in time after all. A crimson stain was quickly spreading, soaking his robe.
"Kisuke!" Several voices came at once, and then there was a flurry of activity; Tessai and Yoruichi rushed in from the door, Karin stumbled away, Ururu wailed, Jinta gasped, and through it all, Urahara remained standing with that same smile, looking at Ichigo with a proud glint in his eyes.
Ichigo's hands trembled, frozen in place, Benihime still in his grasp. "Kisuke," he croaked.
"It's okay," the blonde whispered. "I'm glad you're back."
Then, his knees finally buckled, and he collapsed into Yoruichi and Tessai's arms.
To be continued...
Author's Note:
So...dark, dark chapter. I hope I didn't scar anyone. For those of you who are wondering what is Urahara's answer to Tessai's question from the previous chapter, it should be clear now, yes?