The Territory Dispute
Standing in the hallway were three men.
They wore traditional dark kimonos, perfectly tailored. Their posture was stiff, formal, and reeking of arrogance. The man in the front was older, with greying hair and a face that looked like it had been carved out of granite.
He was an elder retainer of the Kamo Clan.
"Gojo-dono," the man bowed slightly. It was a bow of protocol, not respect. "We apologize for the intrusion."
Gojo leaned against the doorframe. He blocked the view into the apartment completely with his height. He crossed his arms.
"You're interrupting my nap," Gojo said. His voice was light, but there was no humor in it. "Make it quick."
The retainer's eyes flickered with annoyance. He tried to look past Gojo, into the apartment.
"We heard rumors," the retainer said smoothly. "That the vessel of the secondary Six Eyes... the anomaly... had fallen ill. The Kamo Clan, as the guardians of Kyoto's spiritual integrity, wished to extend our... assistance."
"She has a name," Gojo said. "Arima Miyuki. And she doesn't need your assistance. She has me."
"With all due respect, Gojo-dono," the retainer took a half-step forward. "This is highly irregular. A civilian possessing such a trait is a danger to herself and the balance. The Kamo Clan has facilities. We have experience with... bloodline anomalies. We believe she would be safer in our custody."
"Custody," Gojo repeated the word, tasting it like rotten meat. "You mean a cage."
"We mean protection."
"She is protected," Gojo said.
"Is she?" The retainer sneered slightly. "She is living in a civilian hovel. She is unprotected from curses. And... rumor has it she is unwed. For a woman of her potential to be cohabitating with a man, even one of your status... it is improper. It suggests that she is merely a..."
He paused, searching for a polite word for whore.
"...a concubine."
The air in the hallway changed.
The temperature dropped ten degrees. The lights in the corridor flickered and buzzed.
Gojo Satoru didn't move. He didn't raise a finger. He simply let the Infinity expand.
The pressure hit the three men like a physical wall. They gasped, stumbling back. The retainer clutching his chest, his eyes bulging. It felt like the gravity had increased tenfold. It felt like standing at the bottom of the ocean.
"Listen closely," Gojo whispered.
He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him but leaving it unlocked. He towered over the men.
"She is not a concubine. She is not an anomaly. She is not a problem for you to solve."
He took another step. The men retreated, terror dawning on their faces.
"She is mine," Gojo said.
The possessiveness in his voice was terrifying. It wasn't the possessiveness of an owner over an object. It was the possessiveness of a dragon over its hoard. It was the warning of a god who had found something human to love and would burn the world to keep it.
"If I see a Kamo scout near this building again," Gojo continued, his voice calm and deadly, "I won't call Principal Gakuganji. I won't file a report."
He leaned down, his face inches from the retainer's sweating forehead.
"I will turn the Kamo estate into a parking lot. Do you understand?"
The retainer nodded frantically, unable to speak. The pressure was crushing his lungs.
"Good," Gojo smiled. It was a smile full of teeth. "Now run along. And tell your masters that Kyoto is under new management."
He snapped his fingers. The pressure vanished instantly.
The men didn't wait. They turned and fled down the hallway, their dignity forgotten in the face of the apex predator.
Gojo watched them go. He waited until they turned the corner. He waited until he couldn't hear their heartbeats anymore.
He let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. The anger was still humming under his skin, begging for violence.
He turned back to the door. He took a second to compose himself. He put the "Monster" back in the box and pulled out the "Human."
He opened the door.
The Aftermath
Miyuki was standing in the middle of the living room. She hadn't stayed on the futon.
She was clutching the remote control like a weapon. Her face was pale.
She had heard everything.
She is mine.
The words hung in the air between them, heavier than the humidity.
Gojo closed the door and locked it. He engaged the deadbolt. He added a layer of cursed energy to the seal.
He turned to face her. He looked tired again.
"They're gone," Gojo said simply.
"You threatened to destroy a Great Clan," Miyuki said, her voice shaking.
"I wasn't threatening," Gojo walked past her into the kitchenette. He needed water. His throat felt dry. "I was stating a fact."
"Satoru..."
"They wanted to take you," Gojo slammed the glass down on the counter. It didn't break, but the sound cracked like a gunshot. He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white. "They called you a concubine. They wanted to put you in a 'facility'. Do you know what they do in those facilities? They breed you. They study you. They dissect you."
He turned around. His eyes were wild.
"I won't let them. I don't care about the politics. I don't care about the balance. Nobody touches you."
Miyuki looked at him. She saw the rage, but she also saw the terror underneath it. The terror of the boy in the park, who had been lonely for twenty years.
She walked over to him.
Gojo tensed as she approached, as if expecting her to yell at him, to call him a monster, to tell him he was too much.
Miyuki stopped in front of him. She reached out and took his hands—the hands that could crush a clan, the hands that had burned an egg for her breakfast.
She placed them on her waist.
"I know," she whispered.
She stepped closer, closing the gap that the Kamo clan had interrupted. She pressed her forehead against his chest, right over his heart. It was beating fast, a frantic rhythm against her ear.
"I heard you," she said. "You said I was yours."
Gojo looked down at the top of her head. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair again. He held her tight, desperate to reassure himself that she was still there, still warm, still his.
"I meant it," he rasped.
"I know," Miyuki repeated. She tightened her arms around his back.
"I'm not going to the facility, Satoru. And I'm not going back to being alone."
She looked up at him. Her green eyes were clear.
"We can't stay in this apartment forever," she said. "The world won't let us."
"Then we change the world," Gojo said, his voice returning to its usual arrogant confidence, though his eyes remained soft. "But not today."
He scooped her up in his arms, lifting her off the floor effortlessly. Miyuki gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist instinctively.
"Satoru!"
"You're supposed to be on bed rest," Gojo scolded, carrying her back to the futon. "No more wrestling. No more visitors."
He laid her down gently, then crawled in beside her, pulling the blanket over them both. He cocooned them in the darkness, shutting out the Kamo clan, the library, and the cold reality of Kyoto.
"Today," Gojo whispered, kissing her temple, "we just exist. Here. In the Infinity."
Miyuki closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat slow down, matching the rhythm of the rain starting to fall outside again.
"Okay," she whispered. "Just today."
But as she drifted off to sleep in the arms of the strongest sorcerer, she knew that "just today" would never be enough. The war had come to her doorstep, and she had chosen her side.
She was the Tiger on the bench. And he was the boy who refused to let her go.
The Fever Dream
Sleep did not bring peace. It brought heat.
In the dark expanse of her subconscious, the static of her defective Six Eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a suffocating, intoxicating warmth. She was dreaming, but it felt hyper-real. Every nerve ending in her body was electrified, buzzing with a phantom touch.
In the dream, the tiny apartment had dissolved into a void of pure cursed energy—a deep, endless blue. And Gojo Satoru was there. Not the playful teacher, not the arrogant god, but the raw, unhinged man who had torn his shirt open on a phone call.
His large hands were everywhere, pinning her to a surface she couldn't see. His mouth was a brand against hers, kissing her with a desperate, bruising passion that stole the air from her lungs. It was a kiss of absolute consumption. She could taste the salt on his skin, feel the sharp slide of his tongue against hers, demanding entry, demanding everything. He was heavy, his massive frame pressing her down, making her feel deliciously small, utterly trapped, and perfectly safe all at once.
"Mine," the dream-Satoru growled against her lips, his hips rolling against hers in a slow, agonizing rhythm that sent a jolt of liquid fire straight to her core. "Tell me you're mine."
She tried to speak, tried to scream his name just like he had ordered her to over the phone, but the pleasure was too sharp. Her hips bucked instinctively against him, chasing the friction, chasing the phantom weight of the Strongest Sorcerer burying himself inside her—
Miyuki gasped, her eyes snapping open.
She jolted awake, her chest heaving violently as if she had just sprinted a mile. The air in the thirty-square-meter apartment felt impossibly thin. Her skin was flushed, damp with sweat, and a heavy, throbbing ache pulsed between her thighs, a cruel reminder of the vivid fantasy her brain had just conjured.
She swallowed hard, trying to orient herself in the dim light of the bedroom. The rain was still drumming against the balcony window.
She turned her head.
Satoru wasn't sleeping. Of course, he wasn't. With his Reverse Cursed Technique constantly refreshing his brain, sleep was an optional luxury for him. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on one massive hand. His blindfold was nowhere to be seen, and his crystalline blue eyes were glowing faintly in the dark, fixed entirely on her.
He had been watching her. The entire time.
Miyuki's breath hitched. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, hyper-aware of how fast her heart was hammering. Could he hear it? Of course, he could. The Six Eyes missed absolutely nothing.
Gojo's lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. The air around him practically hummed with amusement and something much darker.
"Did you have a nightmare, Green Eyes?" he asked. His voice was a low, gravelly purr that sent a fresh shiver down her spine. It sounded exactly like it had in the dream.
Miyuki gripped the edge of the blanket tighter. "No."
Gojo shifted closer, the tatami mat creaking slightly under his weight. He didn't drop his gaze. "You were panting," he observed, his tone entirely too casual for the predatory look in his eyes. "Your heart rate spiked. Your cursed energy was fluctuating like crazy. And you were making these... adorable little sounds."
Miyuki's face burned hot enough to rival the sun.
He tilted his head, feigning innocent curiosity. "If it wasn't a nightmare, what could you have possibly seen to wake up like that, I wonder?" he teased, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Did you dream about burning another egg?"
Miyuki stared at him. She looked at his messy white hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the broad shoulders that took up half her futon. She thought about the Kamo clan at her door. She thought about the fact that this man, this untouchable god, had offered to burn the world down just to keep her in his arms.
The walls she had built around her heart over the last month shattered completely. There was no point in hiding anymore. The tiger was done retreating.
"I saw you," Miyuki said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but in the quiet of the apartment, it landed like a bomb.
Gojo's teasing smile vanished instantly.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended over the room. The playful atmosphere evaporated, replaced by a tension so thick it felt like physical pressure. The hum of the Six Eyes between them seemed to amplify, a magnetic resonance pulling them together.
They just looked at each other. The only sound in the room was the erratic rhythm of their breathing and the rain outside. Gojo's pupils dilated, the infinite blue of his eyes darkening into something feral, something starving. He stared at her as if she had just handed him the keys to the universe.
He had waited. He had played the domestic game. He had been patient. But those three words snapped the last thread of his legendary restraint.
Gojo frowned, a dark, primal expression taking over his features.
"Fuck this," he growled.
He didn't give her a second to process the shift. In a blur of motion too fast for normal eyes to track, Gojo lunged.
He crashed his lips onto hers.
It wasn't a sweet first kiss. It was an explosion. It was the collision of two people who had been dying of thirst in the desert and had finally found the oasis. Gojo's massive hands swept down, gripping her waist and hauling her up against his chest with dizzying strength. Miyuki gasped into his mouth, and he took immediate advantage, slipping his tongue past her lips to taste her deeply.
He kissed her like he wanted to devour her soul. His tongue swept through her mouth, mapping every inch, tangling with hers in a wet, filthy, desperate rhythm. He tasted like sweets and pure, unfiltered power. Miyuki's hands flew up, burying themselves in his thick white hair, pulling him closer as if trying to fuse their bodies together.
Gojo let out a dark, guttural groan against her mouth. His powerful arms wrapped around her, turning them both until he was hovering over her, pressing her deep into the futon. He didn't break the kiss. He just deepened it, tilting his head to get a better angle, biting down gently on her lower lip and sucking the sensitive flesh until she whimpered.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured breathlessly against her lips, his voice ragged. "You taste like mine."
He kissed his way down her jawline, his stubble grazing her skin, leaving a trail of wet heat down her neck. He found her pulse point—the same one he had threatened to bite over the phone—and sucked hard, leaving a dark bruise that would mark her as his for days. Miyuki arched her back, a soft, helpless moan escaping her throat.
"Satoru..."
"Fuck, I've been waiting so long," he rasped, his hands moving with frantic, impatient energy.
He didn't bother unbuttoning the oversized t-shirt she was wearing. He simply grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head in one swift motion, tossing it blindly across the room. She was wearing nothing underneath.
When her bare breasts were exposed to the cool air of the apartment, Gojo froze.
He hovered over her, his Six Eyes drinking in the sight of her flushed skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the hard peaks of her nipples reacting to the chill. The feral hunger in his expression softened for a fraction of a second, replaced by pure awe. He looked at her like she was the most precious, sacred thing he had ever laid eyes on.
A slow, devastatingly beautiful smile spread across his face.
He lowered his head, his white hair tickling her collarbones. Instead of biting or kissing, he gently rubbed his nose against the sensitive peak of her nipple, nuzzling her with a surprising, sweet tenderness that made Miyuki's heart ache.
"You smell so fucking sweet, Miyuki," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her wet skin. "Like warm sugar and cream... You're perfect. So beautiful."
The mix of sweet praise and his raw, dominant presence was intoxicating. Gojo slid one large hand under the small of her back, lifting her torso slightly off the futon to angle her exactly how he wanted. His other hand slid up to the back of her head, his long fingers tangling in her hair, holding her in place.
Then, he opened his mouth and took her nipple inside.
Miyuki cried out, her back arching off the floor. Gojo wasn't gentle. He suckled her hard, drawing the sensitive peak deep into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the areola. He nursed on her with a rhythmic, desperate pull, sucking at her breast as if he were drinking milk from her, as if she were the only sustenance that could keep him alive.
"Satoru! Ah—"
"That's it," he whispered wetly around her flesh, moving his hand to squeeze and knead her other breast, rolling the tight bud between his thumb and forefinger. "Sing for me, Green Eyes. Be loud. I want to hear how much you like it."
He sucked harder, the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth filling the quiet apartment. He was worshipping her, entirely consumed by the taste and feel of her. Miyuki writhed beneath him, her hands clutching his broad, muscular shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin. The contrast between his immense power and the utter devotion he was showing her body was making her dizzy.
But Gojo was far from done. He released her breast with a wet pop, leaving it slick with his saliva, and began to kiss his way down her torso. He kissed her ribs, the soft curve of her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her sleep shorts and pulled them down, tossing them away. She was completely naked, laid bare beneath the terrifying gaze of the Six Eyes.
Gojo settled himself between her thighs. He gently pushed her knees apart, his large hands gripping her thighs, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh. He looked down at her core, slick and glistening with her own arousal.
"Look how wet you are for me," Gojo whispered, a dark flush of arousal high on his own cheekbones. He looked back up at her face, his blue eyes burning. "I can see your pulse racing. I can see the blood rushing straight down here. You've been wanting this just as much as I have, haven't you?"
Before she could form a coherent answer, Gojo lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue against her clitoris was like being struck by lightning. Miyuki let out a high, fractured scream, her hips bucking off the futon. Gojo's strong hands clamped down on her thighs, holding her firmly in place against his mouth.
He was a master of cursed energy, a genius who understood the human body on an atomic level. And right now, he was using all of that terrifying intellect to dismantle her. He knew exactly where the nerve endings were most concentrated. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply.
His tongue lashed against her, broad and flat, before narrowing to a sharp point that flicked relentlessly over her most sensitive bundle of nerves. He lapped at her wetness greedily, drinking her in like a starving man.
"Satoru—oh god, Satoru, please—" she babbled, her hands tangling blindly in the bedsheets.
"You taste like heaven," he mumbled against her slick folds, his voice muffled. "I'm going to eat every part of you."
He meant it. Gojo shifted his grip, sliding his hands under her ass to lift her higher, giving him unrestricted access to her completely. He didn't just stop at her clitoris; his tongue mapped every inch of her slit, licking deep inside her, before tracing lower.
Miyuki gasped in shock as she felt the hot, wet slide of his tongue against her anus.
He was absolutely shameless. He worshipped her most intimate places with a dirty, feral devotion that shattered every boundary between them. He rimmed her thoroughly, his tongue pressing inside, exploring her tight heat while his fingers found her clitoris, rubbing it in a vicious, perfectly timed rhythm.
"Satoru!" she screamed, her body convulsing wildly. "I can't—it's too much—"
"Give it to me," he demanded, his voice a dark, vibrating command against her skin. "Come for me, Miyuki. Shatter for me."
She didn't have a choice. Her body bowed like a strung bow, her toes curling as a blinding, world-ending orgasm ripped through her. She sobbed his name, her inner walls clamping down violently. Gojo stayed right where he was, his tongue catching every drop of her release, drinking down her climax until she was limp and panting on the futon.
He dragged his head up, his beautiful face flushed, his lips swollen and shining with her slick. He looked like a demon who had just finished a feast.
He crawled up her body, his massive frame caging her in once more. He finally kicked off his sweatpants, freeing his own heavy, aching erection. It pressed hot and hard against her thigh, a terrifying reminder of exactly what she was dealing with.
Miyuki looked up at him, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. "Are you going to look at me like that all night?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"I'm never going to stop looking at you," Gojo promised.
He positioned himself between her legs, resting his weight on his forearms so he could look down at her face. He reached down, wrapping his large hand around his thick shaft, guiding the blunt, weeping head against her entrance.
Even fully prepared, his sheer size was daunting. Gojo saw the brief flash of hesitation in her eyes and stopped. He leaned down, pressing soft, reverent kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her nose.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
Miyuki met his glowing blue eyes.
"I've got you," he whispered, sweet and achingly tender. "I'm not going to break you. Just breathe, my sweet girl. I've got you."
With agonizing slowness, he pushed his hips forward.
Miyuki gasped loudly as he began to stretch her. He was impossibly thick, filling her so completely that she felt a phantom pressure building in her lower stomach. Gojo gritted his teeth, a vein popping on his neck as he fought his own feral instincts to bury himself to the hilt immediately. He took his time, letting her body adjust, his cursed energy naturally flowing from his skin into hers, soothing the stretch, acting as the ultimate, protective battery even while he claimed her.
"Satoru," she whimpered, her nails digging into his back. "More. Please."
That was all the permission he needed. With a low, animalistic grunt, Gojo thrust his hips forward, burying himself to the root in one smooth, powerful glide.
The impact knocked the breath out of both of them.
Miyuki felt completely full, stretched around him so tightly she could feel the frantic pulse of his heartbeat vibrating within him. Gojo threw his head back, an unholy groan tearing from his throat as her tight, slick walls squeezed him like a vice.
"Fuck," he swore reverently. "Fuck, Miyuki. You feel... You feel so goddamn good."
He stayed perfectly still for a long moment, simply letting them both adjust to the profound intimacy of the connection. For the first time in his life, the Infinity was truly gone. There was no space, no barrier, no atomic distance between him and the rest of the world. There was only Miyuki, wrapping around him, holding the Strongest Sorcerer inside her.
Slowly, Gojo began to move.
At first, it was agonizingly sweet. He pulled back almost entirely before sinking deep inside her again, his hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. He leaned down to kiss her, a deep, passionate exchange of breath and saliva. He made love to her with a tenderness that contradicted his immense power. He whispered praises against her skin, calling her beautiful, calling her his perfect girl, worshipping her with every agonizingly slow thrust.
But as the friction built, as the heat in the tiny apartment skyrocketed, the "sweetness" began to fracture.
Gojo Satoru was not a gentle man by nature. He was a creature of overwhelming power, a man who had lived his entire life starving for a touch he couldn't have. And now that he had it, he wanted to consume it completely.
His thrusts began to speed up, losing their careful rhythm and becoming hard, driving, and relentless. The soft kisses turned into sharp bites along her collarbone. His hands gripped her hips tightly, bruising her pale skin as he anchored her to the futon, pulling her up to meet his brutal downstrokes.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
The sound of their bodies colliding echoed loudly in the apartment, drowning out the rain. Miyuki was lost in a haze of pure, blinding pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back to take him even deeper.
"Satoru—fuck, yes—" she sobbed, her voice breaking into a shameless, desperate whine. "Don't stop. Please, harder—"
Gojo's eyes were wild, the glowing blue irises dilated with primal lust. He was sweating, his muscles bunching and flexing under her hands with every powerful thrust. He looked down at her, seeing her completely undone beneath him, taking everything he gave her and begging for more. It triggered a possessive, territorial instinct deep within his chest.
He leaned down, his breath harsh against her ear, his voice dropping into a dark, commanding baritone.
"Look at you taking all of me like such a good girl," he praised, his voice a filthy rasp as he buried himself to the hilt, making her see stars. "Stretching so perfectly around my cock. You're made for me, Miyuki. So fucking good."
He ground his hips down, hitting a spot deep inside her that made her vision go white.
"You think those decaying old men from the Kamo clan could ever handle you?" Gojo mocked, his breath hot against her ear between punishing thrusts. "You think anyone else on earth could fuck you like this? Tell me whose you are."
"Yours," Miyuki sobbed, her fingernails digging red half-moons into the corded muscle of his shoulders. "I'm yours, Satoru!"
"Damn right," he snarled, a wicked, triumphant sound. He abandoned all restraint, gripping her hips tight enough to bruise as he hammered into her with relentless, feral speed.
He slipped a hand down between their slick, slapping bodies, his thumb finding her swollen clitoris and pressing down hard while he continued to ruthlessly fuck her.
Miyuki shattered. The climax hit her like a freight train, a tidal wave of pleasure so intense she couldn't even scream. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her inner walls convulsing violently around his thick shaft, milking him with brutal efficiency.
Gojo let out a ragged, desperate roar. The feeling of her body milking his climax was the tipping point. He felt the inevitable pressure building at the base of his spine, the overwhelming need to mark her, to fill her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.
He grabbed her face in both hands, forcing her to look into his glowing, manic eyes as he pounded into her for the final, devastating strokes.
"Maybe I'll just breed you right here and make you my wife," Gojo panted heavily, his grip bruising her hips as he slammed into her. The filthy possessiveness in his tone was suffocating. "That would shut everyone the fuck up, wouldn't it? What do you say, Miyuki? Let me ruin you for anyone else. Let me fill you up."
"Do it—God, Satoru, yes," she sobbed blindly, her hips bucking up to take every inch of him. She was completely lost to the delirium. "Fill me up. Please, I want it—"
With one final, bone-jarring thrust, Gojo buried himself as deep as physically possible. His entire massive frame went rigid, his head throwing back as a guttural shout tore from his throat.
He came inside her.
Hot, thick pulses of his seed painted her deep inside, a heavy, endless flood that made Miyuki gasp at the sheer volume and heat of it. He unloaded his climax into her with absolute, shameless desperation, his hips twitching and grinding against her to ensure he didn't spill a single drop outside of her.
He stayed buried deep, his chest heaving violently as he collapsed against her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breathing ragged and uneven. Miyuki lay beneath him, utterly destroyed, her hands weakly stroking his damp white hair. She could feel the heavy, warm pooling of his creampie deep within her stomach, a physical weight that anchored her to him completely.
For a long time, the only sound in the thirty-square-meter apartment was their synchronized, exhausted panting.
Slowly, Gojo lifted his head. He looked down at her. She was a mess. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed and marked with his bites, her thighs trembling around his waist.
He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.
He gently brushed a sweaty strand of hair out of her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. The wild, feral god had retreated, leaving behind a man who looked overwhelmingly, terrifyingly in love.
"I love you," Gojo whispered softly, the words feeling foreign but absolute on his tongue. He kissed her nose, his glowing blue eyes impossibly gentle. "I think I have since you tackled me in that park."
Miyuki smiled, a tired, lazy thing, as she felt his cursed energy wrapping around her like a warm, protective blanket, settling the static in her mind forever.
"I love you too," she whispered back.
Gojo Satoru closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. He didn't pull out. He had no intention of moving. The world outside could burn, the Kamo clan could rage, and the Jujutsu society could collapse.
Right now, in this tiny apartment, he had the only universe that mattered.