A/N: Part two of two. I definitely took my chances with this ending, and it's up in the air what the response will be. But I had fun with it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin and am making no profit from this story.
The Spring of Summer
Part Two: Sakura Memory
The okami left the lanterns burning at the Sumiya Inn for the Shinsengumi when they went out together to prowl Kyoto's back streets. Saitou had not seen Tokio during the day, but he knew by the sakura smell in his room that she had been the one to deliver his meals. She had fed him well, for he was energized and ready for what he considered his life.
The song of sword meeting sword and the dance of death that all great samurai performed with an unmatched fever for the battle. While that was the poetic view that some men, mainly Okita, preferred, Saitou did not share in the feeling of art surrounding the war. Saitou saw what he did as what it was.
Blood. Killing. The vicious way of taking life was something that the Shinsengumi was trained to do without a second thought, and the Third Division's captain did this better than most. Tonight the sky was dark and the moon was full; the evening was pregnant with impending death.
This was the Kyoto that Saitou knew, the Kyoto he was most comfortable with. Between the choice of a joyful night of calm and a night where the spirit of a man could be given to silence with a single arm movement, Saitou took the latter. There were evils in this world; he would dispose of them as he was ordered. And this night—
"I guarantee the Battousai shall be found near the Tawaraya Inn within the hour," said Okita as he and Saitou walked in the front of their men. "Most likely there is a unit or two of the Ishin-Shishi in the city as well. The imperialist forced know we are ready for them, and they will attempt to make themselves ready for us. Of course, it is only Battousai that we must worry about."
Saitou gave a curt nod. "I will judge him when I see him. I believe that justice will prevail tonight."
"Careful not to let down your guard, Saitou-kun. But even if you don't, his skill is great." Okita's usual smile dropped from his face. "I do not want to doubt you, Saitou-kun, but I…"
"There is nothing to doubt." Saitou's golden eyes flashed as he looked up at the moon. "I will take care of him."
Clouds breezed over the sky like cloth in the wind, and as the First and Third Divisions neared the Tawaraya Inn, the air changed. Before there had been an aura of death. Now there was an aura of destruction the likes of which only Okita had known.
"It is him," muttered Okita. He took a deep breath, fighting irritation in his lungs that might give him an attack. He turned to Saitou with a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Be prepared, Saitou."
They ordered their men to halt across the street from the Tawaraya, and only the two captains proceeded forward. Okita had said that while the Ishin-Shishi had a large force on their side, the Battousai always insisted on working alone. There was only a little chance of an ambush because though the Shinsengumi were expected, Okita Souji was known for indirect approaches; however, Okita was apparently so concerned with this imperialist samurai that he had decided to go against his grain. This meant at least one side had to be directly offensive. It never worked when both groups tried to surprise each other.
The Tawaraya was still lit, and despite the late hour, several guests were just entering for the night, but Matsudaira Hiroshi was not among them. The daimyo of Edo was known for his preference of conducting business late, and it was safe to assume that he had not returned to the inn.
It made sense that Battousai would be waiting nearby. The two captains agreed to split up and search the nearby area. Okita went right and Saitou left, both drawing their katana in readiness.
A very thin mist roiled near his ankles, and Saitou peered through it, seeking out any misplaced movement. If there was a single shadow that didn't belong in the alley he currently stood in, he would find it.
He could feel a new, deadly presence making itself known half a minute before it actually did so. Okita's strangled cry of "Saitou!" fueled Saitou's feet to a marvelous speed and within seconds he was beside the shorter man.
Okita panted, sweat beading on his forehead as he pointed. "There," he rasped.
In the corner of the alley, just where a strip of lamplight bordered shadow, stood a man shrouded in darkness. Even Saitou might have missed him entirely if not for the sliver of moonlight that sliced a silver beam across eyes that seemed cut from amber. Rock-hard and gleaming, these eyes glared at Saitou and Okita. A foot above the ground, the point of a katana hung out of the blackness, and it glistened with blood.
"Your daimyo lies two alleys away." The voice was not deep but that didn't mean it was not layered with the promise of carnage. Indeed, there was a seriousness in the tenor voice that stirred something within both Shinsengumi captains. "He died with pleads in his mouth. Even if I had not killed him, I believe he would have died of shock."
Okita growled a bit even as his shoulders heaved with the effort of breathing steadily. "A descendent of the Shogun pleads to no one!"
The assassin said nothing, but the flame-like gaze turned to Saitou, telling him that he knew what was true. All businessmen who had never experienced war for themselves would beg for their lives, and Saitou would not deny this even if he did not make a comment.
"I cannot let you live," Okita told the shadowed figure lowly, "to kill another important person."
"I see. Well then." The man emerged from the darkness in one fearless step. The color of his hair matched the blood on his blade, and the cross-shaped scar on his cheek was prominent against his pale flesh. "It can't be helped."
Just as the Battousai spread his feet for a dueling stance, Okita charged. He went for the redhead's heart with the edge of his sword, but the other man blocked it with his own, never moving his legs an inch. The First Division captain's face contorted in pain, and he cried out when the Battousai flung out his arm, throwing Okita back.
Okita coughed harshly until blood from his throat spattered the dirt at his feet. When each breath turned to a moan, Saitou stepped forward.
"He can't fight you," he told the short samurai.
"I can see that." His eyes narrowed. "So you'll be my opponent?"
Saitou's answer was to set his fingers against his katana in preparation for his Gatotsu. The Battousai nodded, and then returned his own sword to its sheath.
Saitou raised an eyebrow and gave the slightest hint of a smirk as his warrior's blood raced and improved his mood. "Sheathing your sword so quickly?"
The Battousai didn't smile in return. He was not cheeky like some of the men Saitou had encountered. Instead he faced him with an honest acceptance. When he hovered his hand over the hilt of his sword, he seemed to say, What will come will come. "You'll soon see."
Saitou tilted his head in acknowledgement. "All right. You should be ready to die."
"So should you."
Pretense gone, they attacked together. The three thrusts of Saitou's Gatotsu might have been enough to hit him in the desired points, but the Battousai's drawing speed blocked all three stabs with the arc of his swipe.
Saitou grunted and jabbed, but with the momentum lost from his failed Gatotsu, he had left himself wide open to an upward slice from the Battousai. He swiveled around with just enough time to avoid a shaft of steel through his torso. Instead, the thrust caught his right bicep, and he felt the blood gush down to the hilt of his katana, making his hand slide along the wood.
"He's too fast," thought Saitou, his brain on fire as well as his right arm. Lifting his katana sent a lightning bolt from his wrist up to his head, and he growled like the wolf he was named for as he attempted a downward drop on the amber-eyed Ishin-Shishi samurai.
The Battousai merely sidestepped it, and the tip of Saitou's sword dropped to the ground as he doubled over, nearly spent. Battousai lifted his own katana with ease and held out the end toward Saitou's nose.
"I don't need to kill you here," he told him. "That wound on your arm will put you down for a while. And your partner's in no shape to fight." Sheathing his sword, he turned away from Saitou and Okita and started walking. "This war will be over soon enough, and you shall see the end of me."
Frustrated, Saitou straightened but he could not properly hold his sword. Shame washed over him like a bitter sea and made him cold. "Why!" he yelled. "I can't let you disgrace me like this!"
The Battousai froze. "You were disgraced long ago. We all were." He began away again in measured, even strides. "By the blood we've spilled."
The samurai's words seemed to echo after him, ringing through Saitou's ears as the fog thickened. All traces of the Ishin-Shishi's "hope" was gone within an instant. Okita and Saitou stood together, defeated by the joint effort of an illness and an enemy.
Saitou was helped in the Shinsengumi's return to the Sumiya Inn. It was degrading that another man had to hold his katana for him, but the truth was that the extra weight of the sword and sheath on his left hip unbalanced his steps. He was already dizzy from the pain and the blood loss in his arm.
Upon entering, the old okami expressed concern for him, but Saitou ignored her. She was only trying to earn a couple extra yen anyway. By the time he managed to get up to his room, Tokio was found already there. Extra lanterns had been lit for better lighting, and on the small table in the room there was a pail of boiled water and clean linen.
The vice-captain that had seen Saitou upstairs tried to enter the room, but Tokio went swiftly to the door and held out her hands. "I'll take the katana. You must go while I help him. He needs quiet and rest." This prosaic explanation either convinced or befuddled the vice-captain, but whichever it was, the man left without another word. Saitou had managed to sit on the floor near the table, and Tokio knelt beside him. She set the katana upon the lacquered wood with both hands, as carefully as if she had been carrying an infant.
"You are bleeding badly," Tokio commented lightly as she took a folded cloth from her obi, dipped it in the hot water, and rung it out. She repeated this process three times before turning to Saitou. Without so much as a glance toward his face, she placed the wet cloth over his injured bicep and pressed down. Saitou tensed, and she placed her empty hand on his forearm. "You must relax. You'll only bleed more."
He did as she instructed but with difficulty. Images of the Battousai and his look of acceptance kept drifting through Saitou's mind. He had been cut deeply, both in flesh and in honor. But he found he could not completely focus on his disgrace because Tokio's hands kept fluttering over his skin, cleaning away blood and distracting him.
"Saitou-san," murmured Tokio, "this will not heal by itself. The cut is too wide."
He watched as she stood and turned to the wall while she reached into her obi again, pulling out a small needle and some black thread. He had no idea why she might have had such things on her person until Saitou looked at the now-bloodstained handkerchief she had left on the table. There was needlework begun along one of the edges. She had apparently been working on personalizing her handkerchief before he had come in bleeding everywhere. Taka, it read. So that was her name.
He frowned. Taka Tokio rang no bells. And still, the way she angled her head as she decided where to start stitching him up was something he had seen before. He could feel that.
The needle pierced his skin, and he felt nothing. All at once, Saitou was consumed by the matter of why this girl was familiar to him. There was power in the answer. Confused by his thoughts, he asked her grimly, "Do you often stitch the wounds of injured samurai?"
"No. But where I come from, children are taught basic medical practices." She pushed in the thread and pulled it out with her usual steady grace. Saitou suddenly couldn't stop watching how calmness gave way to concentration as she worked. "Many doctors here in Kyoto and in Edo are from there."
"Yes." She fell silent as she finished, and her stitches were both straight and small. Saitou could tell without any expertise that he would have only a thin, long scar once the wound eventually healed. He sat still while she took the strips of white linen and bandaged his arm. After tying it all together at the crook of his elbow, she finally looked up and met his eyes, seeking approval. She was surprised to see his eyes already on her. "Saitou-sama?"
His expression hadn't changed when gold met indigo. "San," he corrected her quietly. He felt her small, pale hand start to lightly tremble from its place on his arm.
She lowered her head. "San," she murmured obediently. She moved away from him and put her hands next to each other on the floor, preparing to bow. Before she could bend, Saitou lifted his left hand (the hand that wasn't connected to a hurt arm) and raised her face to him again with his fingers at her temple.
"Why do you always look away from me?" He asked the question not with irritation but with simple puzzlement. Tokio formed no reply until Saitou furthered, "Am I so fearsome to you?"
"No." She answered so swiftly that Saitou almost missed hearing it. Her purple-blue eyes once again gazed into his with the truest purity this Wolf of Mibu had found in a very long time. She continued, speaking so softly, "Many people could not survive without you. And you are, after all, mortal."
Saitou blinked once, then drew his hand away from her face. Moving to his feet, he turned away from her. Both hands clenched at his sides.
"Forgive me," Tokio said. "I hope I did not insult you."
Saitou slowly shook his head. A smirk settled onto his lips and he exhaled. "It simply has been a while since I have been reminded of my mortality. Even this—" He held out his left arm. "—did not make me think of it."
Tokio stared at her hands in her lap and said nothing.
"Curiously," added Saitou, his eyebrows lowering as he turned his head toward her, "you've made me almost talkative. Is that part of your basic medical practice?"
He looked at her when she made a foreign sound and saw that she had put her closed hand to her mouth. She had chuckled, Saitou realized. And now she was even smiling, something he hadn't anticipated.
"Do you think so badly of Aizu?" she asked at last.
He faced her fully, a little stunned by this new information. "Aizu?"
Nodding, she stood up. "Aizu is known for its sakura trees and its medical training. The Takani family is the one family that still operates in Aizu alone."
Saitou was fascinated, but the interest was in her rather than the words she spoke. He had never thought she might speak so much to him. Then again, he'd never suspected he might ever say more than a handful of words to her.
But even as he thought this, neither one said anything more. Tokio realized that the conversation had ended, and she bowed slightly. She began cleaning the table of his room, gathering the bloodied bandages and rinsing her hands in the leftover water. Saitou suddenly found he didn't like seeing her pick up after him and reached forward. "I shall—"
"Please—" she began, but Saitou took her wrist and pulled her upward until she was gaze for gaze with him once more. Their proximity had gotten significantly close, and Tokio took a slow, deep breath. "Saitou-san…" She braced a hand on his arm.
Years later, Saitou would still not know what had driven him to kiss her. He did not know if it was in response to her gentleness or the way she looked at him with her unique eyes or if he had simply been needing contact. The point was that he did kiss her, and Tokio responded slowly but surely. The hand on his arm slid up to his back, and it was all the invite he needed to take her by the waist and pull her against him.
Taking the chopsticks out of her hair, he felt the black silk with its gold brush over his fingers. She dropped her head back and he sealed his lips to her neck as he set his hand on her cheek. She had some spark in her, for Tokio grabbed that hand and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm.
Electricity went through them both, and when Saitou felt her shudder against him, he took her hands and led her toward his futon. Saitou Hajime was not prone to unplanned actions, but he would not regret this one.
This morning when Saitou woke, Tokio was still beside him. It was just before dawn and all but one of the lanterns had gone out during the night. In the dark, he watched Tokio breathe slowly, peaceful in sleep. Her delicate hands gripped the comforter at her chin and he peered beyond her into the dark of the room.
His mind returned to the Battousai. It was the first person that Saitou had encountered in the Ishin-Shishi that had not been bested by Saitou at some point in a fight. He had a goal now: to defeat the Battousai.
Glancing down, Saitou saw Tokio's bright eyes, and she smiled at him. "I want to show you something." Rolling over, she stood from the futon and pulled on the yukata he had worn the previous night; her kimono would take much longer to don. Saitou got up as well and donned his Shinsengumi uniform, involuntarily amused by how big the yukata was on her.
She picked up something from the table and held it up in what available lantern light they had. Several, bright strands of vibrant red hair gleamed from her hand. "You touched him," she explained. She seemed somehow knowing of his mind, for she said, "That means he's mortal too."
She passed the small hairs to him, but instead of inspecting them, Saitou stared at her for several moments. "You are a very surprising woman, Taka Tokio."
Tokio gave him a puzzled look. "Taka…? Oh!" Suddenly understanding, she repeated the modest action from the previous night and laughed behind her hand. "Saitou-san…my name is Takagi. Takagi Tokio of Aizu."
And with those four words, Saitou's memory pinpointed an ordinary spring day from four years ago. It was a day that he did not consider especially important to him, and yet one part of him had never forgotten it. It was the day that he had met Tokio.
Aizu in early May was a sight that many had crossed Japan in order to see. But that was before the war, and the only people in Aizu this May were either locals or participants in the fight between the Shogunate and the Empire.
Saitou had never been to Aizu in his life, and perhaps he never would have gone there if the Shinsengumi did not bring him. While some soldiers in the Shinsengumi did use some time to notice the sakura trees that now flourished, Saitou himself was not one of them. The comforting tints of pinks and whites did nothing to sooth him, as it was said that they could, and instead he felt ever the more restless because of them. As the bright petals fell always to the earth, so did Saitou long for the sensation of letting his sword fall upon his enemies.
He was new to the rank of captain, having been appointed less than a month ago, and so Kondou Isami had advised that he go to Aizu with Second Division Cqptain Nagakura Shinpachi and get his footing. Nagakura had so far done well to instruct Saitou in strategy skill and the focus required for fighting properly in battle, but he had failed when it came to teaching Saitou Hajime how and when to relax. (Yet Nagakura did not think of this as a failure because he was very convinced that no one could teach the stern samurai such a thing.)
It was in the middle of May when Saitou was ordered to take a break from training due to a sprain found in his right shoulder. At first Saitou made a protest and insisted that spring, with its moderate temperatures and lengthening days, was the best time to train. He was denied, and Nagakura put him in a local house rather than a ryokan. "You need privacy," he had told him. "Reflect as you heal. There is no better time to examine yourself than while you are injured."
The influential Aizu clans that the Shinsengumi protected were always more than happy to assist the samurai in any way that they could, and this was doubly true in the case of Takagi Kojurou. As one of the most powerful men in Aizu, if not the one with the highest authority, Takagi was in deep debt of the Shinsengumi. Two men had already been seriously wounded to prevent harm coming to him, and another had died. Saitou was welcomed into his house with open arms and deep bows.
Thankfully, Takagi understood that Saitou was not there for fun, and he left the samurai to his own business. Saitou kept up with Shinsengumi business by word of mouth from other members posted at the Takagi house, but he stayed mostly in solitude. Meals were delivered to his room, and every day a doctor of the Takani family visited him to check on his shoulder.
One day during his unwanted break from duty, Takagi Kojurou invited Saitou to roam the garden at his will. Tired of the familiar sight of his room, Saitou accepted the offer and went out behind the house. What Takagi had called a garden was really several expansive gardens connected by stone paths that curved between foliage and wooden bridges that arched over little streams. Interestingly-trimmed bushes and unique flowers overflowed into marble fountains and religious statues, but the center attraction of the Takagi gardens were the dozens of sakura trees that dripped blossoms over everything else.
His sandaled feet made small patter noises against the stone pathways and birds that had alighted upon the beautiful trees' branches now flew away at his approach. Though he may not usually have noticed it, Saitou's extensive meditation as of late forced him to realize how fully alive this place was. Wildlife dwelled in a place maintained by humans; it was a collaboration of two species that would never understand each other. He couldn't help but appreciate the thought behind such an unnecessary expense such as the upkeep of these gardens.
Saitou had walked through nearly all of the gardens and acknowledged its many small shrines, and as the sun was setting he considered returning to his room to await his evening meal before he began his nighttime meditation. But as he was turning, the sun caught something that reflected brightly the light cast upon it, and he halted mid-pivot.
The sun had burst against the smooth side of a gleaming pearl. However, it was not the pearl that ultimately dragged Saitou's attention away from his previous thoughts. Connected to the pearl was a decorative stick that hung out of a knot of jet black hair that appeared in the sun to be oddly streaked with gold. Saitou told himself it was a trick of the light and instead put his eyes on the girl who wore the ornament in her hair.
She was a slim, tall figure in a kimono of gentle lavender. The pattern was simple enough, with only a few traces of lilacs springing up from the hem, but it did its job of forcing a person's focus on the body the kimono adorned. While not curvaceous, the girl he sat was delicately formed, and she currently stood in a pair of lacquered zori (1) beneath one of the mighty sakura trees. One arm, pale and slender, reached out as long fingers carefully held a swaying rope of green that was lined with cherry blossoms.
Having felt his eyes on her, the girl turned her face upward in a surprised movement. The sun that glared behind her blinded Saitou with its light, and he was prevented him from seeing her face before she hung her head and kneeled on the stones at their feet. She gave Saitou a low and graceful bow, saying nothing.
Still uncomfortable being shown so much servitude, Saitou's voice was gruff as he said, "You've no reason to bow to me here." Once she had risen again, he continued. "Do you live here?"
"Yes." Her voice was no louder than the spring breeze that wound through the branches above them, and he took a step toward her to better his hearing, but still Saitou could not see her face.
"Are you of the house?"
"I am the eldest daughter of Takagi Kojurou," she explained. "I am inspecting the garden for my mother."
Saitou did not much care to have a conversation, but it was only right that he show manners to the children of his host. Nodding, he said, "I found it to have a very refreshing view. It is the best garden I've seen."
Saitou didn't really know if that last bit of praise was true. If nothing else, it was the first garden he had ever paid attention to. The girl seemed pleased by his words as she bowed again, this time at the waist. "Thank you, Saitou-sama."
Not surprised that this Takagi daughter knew his name, Saitou felt not at all compelled to know her name as well, and instead he turned away and began to walk down the path again. "Give your father my gratitude," he told her expressionlessly. "Aizu is a place worth protecting."
He did not look back at the girl, and Saitou did not see her again throughout the remainder of his stay at the Takagi house. It was not long before she left his mind completely, and he surrendered his entire consciousness to the responsibility of being a leader in the Shinsengumi.
It was a day that had required no particular remembrance from Saitou, and yet he hadn't forgotten it as most would. And remembering it, he was now extremely confused as he stared at the woman before him.
"Tokio," he asked her, "for what purpose would the eldest daughter in the Takagi family be working as a servant in a Kyoto ryokan?"
At his words, the amusement that he been on Tokio's face prior to Saitou's recollection of their meeting now left. "For safety, Saitou-san."
"Safety?" His eyes narrowed. "Kyoto is the most unsafe place in Japan right now."
Tokio slowly shook her head, her face grave. "Not for any members of the Aizu Clan. For us, home is a dangerous place. Though my brothers are still there, Father insisted that his daughter be taken out of Aizu. My sisters were sent to Edo. It was not possible to find a place for me there, so I volunteered to work in Kyoto."
At the disbelief in his tone, Tokio only nodded. "My sisters are significantly younger than my brothers and I. They are still children, but I can work. I've even been trying to spy on the Imperialists, but so far only Shogunate advocates have been staying here."
Saitou watched her carefully as he asked his next question. "And the selling of your body?"
Rather than the shame or even anger he might have expected from her, Tokio only smiled. There was a secret on her lips, and she went to the puddle of silk that was her kimono. Reaching into the folds of her obi, she held up a small, pointed needle as long as the length from Tokio's wrist to her elbow. Meeting his eyes, she replied, "It would never have gone far."
Taking the needle from her, Saitou gave the point a sniff and a breathy chuckle escaped before he realized his own amusement. "Poison. We use this in the Shinsengumi." He shook his head. "This won't kill, but it will put someone down for a couple of days."
"I was even prepared to use it on you. But…" Twin spots of pink bloomed on her cheeks now. "I didn't have to last night."
A strange thing happened. For the majority of Saitou's young life – ever since he had taken up learning to use a sword – he had seen the world around him through the eyes of a warrior. Everything was harsh and rough. Everything was cold and cruel. But in the moment that Tokio flushed at the thought of him, in front of him, he regarded what was around him with the eyes, even the spirit, of a simple man. The world grew softer around the edges and in the center of it all was her. She was only this woman who, despite her family wealth and despite her education, was truly no different from any other woman.
But Saitou had never met anyone like her before. And he suddenly felt something inside his chest pull because he had begun to think about being separated from her.
"What will you do now?" he heard himself asking.
Tokio exhaled in a way that was half a sigh. "I must stay here still, until something important happens in Kyoto or in Aizu. I may be called back there."
"Wait for me."
She had been staring at the floor, and now her eyes flew up to his. "What?"
"Wait for me," Saitou repeated. He spoke as calmly as if he had mentioned the sun was rising. "If this war does not kill me, that means I have a destiny. My way of Aku Soku Zan may keep me alive. If it does, I would like to know that someone will remember me."
"Saitou-san…" Tokio's hands tightened together beneath the overlong sleeves of his yukata.
Saitou felt the corners of his lips turn up. "My name is Hajime." He stepped toward her. Close, he could see now that she was breathing a little faster. "I'm not asking you to do something as hasty as love me."
"But I—" She colored at the swiftness of her response. "I cannot expect you to think of me during the war. Hajime," she added, saying his name like an afterthought as she tried it on her tongue.
"I won't need to," he assured her. "All of these battles will soon be over anyway. Win or lose…"
"Yes." She said the word simply, and once she had it seemed that relief flooded her and took the tension from her body. She visibly slackened in front of him. "Yes. I shall wait."
Saitou, with his own pulse unusually less than steady as well, turned away from her to place his sheathed katana against his left hip. When he turned back, he found Tokio with a smile on her face, although it was a shy one.
"Then we've no needs for goodbyes." But he did pause as he passed her on his way to the door. "Tokio…" His expression hardened again. "I cannot make you any promises."
She said nothing at first, but at least now she did not hesitation to look him in the eyes. "You are nothing like what I expected when we met," Tokio told him plainly.
"Good. I believe in changing with the times." At last he proceeded on, and when the door was open and his back was to her, Saitou's voice came again, very softly, "Thank you."
He felt her wonder. "For what?"
Since she couldn't see him, Saitou allowed a genuine smile to cross his face for the first time since…he could not remember. Nostalgia and the feeling of experience something new filled him simultaneously, and he breathed deeply just before Saitou left Tokio there, in a place that held for him only memories of them together.
"For bringing the spring to the summer."
So ends this tale. Thank you to all who read. I hope you enjoyed. I had fun writing this, and if you had any fun reading it, please let me know in a review or an e-mail.