Max
The operational wing of Folkvangr was significantly quieter than the rest of the manor, humming with the hushed, frantic energy of clerks and managers organizing the logistics of Orario's strongest Familia.
Max strode deeper into the castle, navigating the halls until he reached a dedicated space of administrative doors. Completely bypassing the front reception area without so much as a glance, he made a beeline straight for the heavy oak door belonging to the Chief Resource Overseer.
He knocked once, wearing a wildly smug grin. He was fully prepared to drop a small fortune onto the Light Elf's desk and watch him attempt to mathematically process a Level 1 achieving this in forty-eight hours.
No answer.
Unwilling to play another power game with Hedin, Max pushed the handle and peeked inside. Empty. The desk was immaculately organized, but Hedin was nowhere to be found.
"Damn it," Max muttered, his shoulders slumping as he let the door click shut. "Probably off lecturing some poor souls."
Disappointed that he couldn't personally rub his success in Hedin's face, Max turned around to leave the administrative block. It was then that he finally noticed the large, ornate booth he had walked past earlier. Framed by polished white marble, a silver plaque above the teller's window read: Familia Contributions.
Sitting behind the glass was an elf clerk. And the elf was staring at him.
It wasn't a look of professional curiosity; it was undisguised, bitter envy. The clerk had clearly heard the rumors of him skipping the ranks, taking a suite on the executive floor, and receiving a duel with the Warlord. As Max caught his eye, the elf immediately looked away, aggressively shuffling a stack of blank parchments, trying his absolute best to pretend Max didn't exist.
Max approached the marble counter, letting the silence stretch. The clerk refused to look up, stubbornly scratching a quill against a scrap piece of paper.
Max untied the heavy leather pouch from his belt and hoisted it up, dropping it squarely in front of the clerk.
THUD.
The dull, heavy clink of high-denomination gold coins resonated through the quiet room.
The clerk finally looked up, his jaw tight, his expression haughty and dismissive. "If you are looking for the merchant shop, you are in the wrong place. This desk is for official Familia—"
Max tapped his index finger against the marble counter. Once.
His eyes narrowed into sharp, unamused slits, and a fraction of his Devil aura slipped its leash. Just a flicker—a heavy, suffocating drop in air pressure that tasted of ozone and absolute violence.
"I'm here to make a contribution," Max said, his voice deadly serious.
The clerk froze. The haughty dismissal evaporated from his face, replaced instantly by a pale, wide-eyed realization that the boy standing across the counter wasn't just a pampered favorite. He was stronger than him. The elf swallowed hard, all his prior options for denying or delaying the transaction vanishing into thin air.
"O-Of course," the clerk stammered, hastily abandoning his scrap paper and pulling out the massive, gold-embossed master contribution ledger.
He flipped it open, hands trembling slightly as he navigated the pages to log a new entry.
Max watched the pages turn. His eyes caught the names perfectly. The first few pages were reserved for the titans of the Familia: Ottar, Allen, Hedin, Hogni, the Gullivers.
The clerk turned one more page, and stopped.
Max's eyes narrowed.
It was a fresh page, crisp and white, but the name at the very top was unmistakable: Maximus Stilbon.
That wasn't what caught his attention, though. Directly beneath his name, written in glaring, aggressive red ink, was a staggering negative balance.
Outstanding Debt: -150,000,000 Valis
Max stopped breathing for a second.
A hundred and fifty million. Hedin hadn't just billed him for the Grimoire and the executive suite; the bastard had calculated the exact price of his autonomy. It was a golden leash wrapped in red ink, a literal paywall placed directly between Max and his freedom.
The clerk noticed Max staring at the red numbers. The elf gulped audibly, looking up in sheer terror, a defensive explanation already forming on his tongue. He looked terrified that the "Madman" was about to reach through the glass and strangle him over the debt.
"M-Mister, Lord Hedin must hav—"
Max simply raised a hand, shaking his head to cut the elf off. He wasn't going to yell. He wasn't going to throw a tantrum. He respected the sheer, ruthless pragmatism of it. Hedin was treating him exactly the way he had promised: as an investment that needed to pay out.
You think this will scare me, Elf? Max thought, his logic merging seamlessly with his Pride. You think slapping a price tag on me puts me on a leash? Watch how fast I clear this mountain.
Max gestured toward the leather pouch on the counter. "Just make the entry."
With a deep frown of concentration, the clerk quickly counted the heavy gold and processed the funds. He dipped his quill in blue ink and scratched out a new line beneath the glaring red number.
The outstanding balance updated.
-140,000,000 Valis
"Consider the price tag dented," Max murmured to himself.
Taking the stamped acknowledgment slip from the clerk, Max turned and left the office, walking out toward the massive iron gates of Folkvangr. The number, though objectively astronomical, didn't bother him as much as it probably should have. Paying off Hedin's manufactured price tag with raw liquid Valis felt like exactly the kind of move the Light Elf expected him to make. Surrendering all his capital to satisfy someone else's ledger wasn't a victory. It was just obedience with extra steps.
He needed infrastructure. He needed his businesses running. When the debt cleared, it would clear on his terms.
With that resolve setting his agenda, Max stepped through the gates and turned west into the city.
The differences from the rigid, quiet stone of Folkvangr to the bustling market district washed over him in a wave of sensory overload. The smell of roasted meats, sharp spices, and sweaty adventurers filled the air. He moved through it at a measured pace, this time with a sharp, mercantile purpose. The supply run was practical: dried rations, meats, monster baits, maps, and enough non-perishable food to keep both him and Kairu fed for a sustained stretch.
He worked through the list efficiently, vendor to vendor, negotiating where it was worth it and paying asking price where it wasn't, the goods disappearing steadily into the expanded space of his storage pouch.
But even while he was shopping, the other part of his mind was running a separate calculation entirely. What caught his attention beyond the goods were the gaps between them: a spice stall with a line ten deep and a product that didn't justify the wait, which meant the merchant had something else going for him—location, probably, or a Guild contract locking in a captive buyer. A weapons display generating enormous foot traffic with an owner whose expression said he was moving volume at margins that barely covered his forge costs.
The city's commercial logic was readable once you stopped looking at what was being sold and started looking at who was actually making the money. Max filed it away and kept moving.
Supplies stashed, he crossed West Main Street and turned into the quieter lanes of the Northwest District. The raucous noise of the market faded, replaced by the crunch of his boots on increasingly dilapidated cobblestones. He had one more stop. He had flagged the location on his mental map of Orario, wanting to see the city's infamous abandoned church in person purely out of curiosity.
He navigated the winding streets until he finally found it. The abandoned church sat quietly behind rusted iron fencing, its crumbling stonework choked by overgrown weeds. He pushed past the shrieking gate, moved around the side of the decaying building to find the access point, and slipped down the stairs into the basement.
Producing a pale light from his palm, a quick sweep with his Magic Sense confirmed the space was completely empty. No squatters, no traps.
Max had only come to look, but as the light illuminated the underground room, his mindset immediately shifted from sightseer to strategist. The basement was massive—considerably larger than the modest church above suggested. The stonework was immaculate, the floor completely dry without a trace of water damage, and the ceiling was supported by incredibly solid bones. Whoever had originally built this place had poured serious resources into it.
It was an incredibly strategic find. Isolated, entirely ignored by the city, and large enough to serve as a primary warehouse, an off-the-books workshop, or a safehouse completely detached from Folkvangr's watchful eyes.
He didn't need to bother with deeds, clerks, or municipal paperwork. He was simply going to take it.
Deciding to claim it by squatter's rights right then and there, Max walked to the center of the room. He crouched and pressed his palm flat against the floor, etching a teleportation anchor deep into the cold stone. The crimson sigil flared once before settling quietly into the rock, inert and waiting.
Mine now, Max thought.
He stood, taking one last appreciative look at his new, perfectly hidden 2nd supervillain lair, before climbing back out into the fading daylight.
The quiet isolation of the abandoned church didn't last long. A few streets over, the air grew thick with the smell of coal smoke, and the rhythmic, skull-rattling clang of heavy hammers announced the forge district long before he saw the first anvil.
Max tracked down a muscular supply worker near the raw materials stockroom of a massive, roaring forge and stated his needs plainly—high-grade steel and pure iron ingots, unworked, bulk quantity.
The worker's entire demeanor shifted the moment Max specified unworked ingots. He looked Max over once—noting the Freya crest on his collar, but also the glaring absence of a commission order in his hands—and his expression closed off with the practiced efficiency of someone who had already categorized the conversation and moved on from it mentally.
"Quality raw materials are reserved for commissioned clients of the Hephaestus Familia," the worker said flatly, turning back to his inventory ledger. "If you're looking to place a commission, I can direct you to the intake desk."
He didn't wait for a response. He simply went back to work, as though Max had already left.
Max stood there for a second. The Devil in him wanted to unleash his aura, crush the clipboard in the man's hands, and watch the arrogant clerk sweat. The weeb in him, however, knew that getting blacklisted by the city's top blacksmith guild on Day Two was a spectacularly terrible strategy. He needed their goodwill eventually.
He swallowed the retort, but instead of walking away, he decided to pivot.
"What about a magic sword, then?" Max asked casually, leaning against the counter. "Are those available for sale?"
The worker's quill paused. He slowly turned back around, one thick eyebrow raised high in incredulity. He gave Max another, more assessing look. The kid was from Freya Familia, sure, but he clearly lacked the presence or the entourage of a high-ranking executive. To the seasoned blacksmith, he looked like just another cocky grunt.
"You want to buy a magic sword?" the worker asked, a distinctly mocking edge creeping into his gruff voice. "Do you even know how much one of those costs, rookie?"
Max tilted his head, tapping his chin in a thoughtful, almost breezy tone. "A million Valis?"
The worker let out a derisive snort, clearly expecting the rookie to balk at the number or start haggling for a discount. He wasn't dealing with a captain or a first-class adventurer who had a million Valis just lying around in pocket change.
Contrary to his expectations, Max didn't argue. He didn't even flinch. He simply reached into the smaller pouch at his waist, pulled out a tightly packed, incredibly heavy stack of high-denomination Valis coins, and placed them onto the wooden counter.
Clink.
The heavy, unmistakable sound of solid gold settling on the desk echoed between them.
The worker's mocking grin vanished instantly. He stared at the pile of coins, then slowly looked back up at Max's entirely unbothered eyes. In Orario, words were cheap, but cold, hard cash screamed. The sheer, effortless display of wealth instantly dissolved the man's dismissive attitude, replacing it with a sudden, rigid professional respect.
Without another word, the worker scooped up the payment and disappeared into the back of the blazing store.
A few minutes later, he returned. In one hand, he carried a carefully wrapped, slender blade. With his other arm, he hauled several heavy wooden crates filled to the brim with the exact unworked raw materials Max had asked for initially. He set them all heavily on the counter.
"Name's Todo," the muscular worker grunted, extending a soot-stained hand. "You can take these ingots as complimentary with your purchase."
Max raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised by the abrupt, hundred-and-eighty-degree shift in customer service. He shook the man's hand.
"It's high-quality steel and iron," Todo continued, patting the heavy crates. "I'm sure you'll find a good use for it."
Max nodded his appreciation, but his eyes dropped to the wrapped blade on the counter.
Todo noticed the look and tapped the cloth-bound weapon with a heavy finger, a glint of genuine craftsman's pride returning to his eyes. "And this... is one of the rare elements. My own creation. It's a volatile build, so be sure to share your feedback on how it handles down there. I'm always looking for ways to improve my work."
"I'll put it through its paces," Max promised with an appreciative nod. He quickly stashed the wrapped magic sword and the heavy crates of complimentary ingots into his storage pouch, enjoying the immense convenience of the inventory.
He walked out into the cooling afternoon air with a smirk playing on his lips. The Hephaestus Familia, Max noted to himself, definitely responds to money.
The late afternoon sun was painting the skies of Orario a bruised, golden yellow by the time Max returned to his suite in Folkvangr.
The administrative marathon of the day was officially over. He pulled the heavy crates of iron and steel from his pouch, dropping them onto the marble floor with a dull, resonant thud.
Finally, Max thought, rolling his shoulders to work out the stiffness of playing the polite, rule-abiding adventurer all day. Time for the real work.
He turned toward the center of the room to check on his familiar, and completely froze.
Kairu was... busy. Very busy.
On the ornate desk, parked directly in front of one of the massive, open magical theory books, sat a small blue puddle. The slime was holding himself unnaturally still, his gelatinous surface rippling with intense concentration as he seemingly tried to read the text.
But then Max looked toward the bed.
Sitting right in the middle of the silk duvet was another Kairu.
This one had his entire mass scrunched up tight, radiating a heavy, focused aura as if he was forcibly maintaining the psychic tether to the remote puddle on the desk.
Scattered all across the bedsheets and the nearby nightstand were the hollowed-out bands of metal Max had requested earlier. But they weren't just the plain grey rings he expected. The surfaces of the new rings were meticulously etched with precise, hair-thin geometric patterns: parallel lines, concentric circles, intersecting triangles, dots, and seven-pointed stars.
Kairu didn't make some rings as Max requested. He actively copied the structural matrices of Max's magic circles onto the metal.
"You did it, buddy!" Max called out in genuine, unrestrained joy.
The sudden shout shattered the quiet concentration in the room. The Kairu positioned on the desk instantly lost its fragile structural cohesion, melting back into an ordinary, inanimate blue puddle with a sad, wet splat.
Max blinked, realizing his mistake, but immediately deduced the mechanics. Ah. So the one on the bed is the original maintaining the spell, and the one on the desk is the drone.
Freed from the immense cognitive strain of maintaining the clone, the original Kairu rebounded instantly. He launched himself off the mattress, landing at Max's feet and bouncing in bright, enthusiastic confirmation.
Ki!
"That is incredible. You actually held a clone while crafting," Max laughed, reaching down to give the slime an affectionate pat.
Ki, ki! Kairu jiggled proudly, practically glowing with accomplishment.
"Well, wait till you see what I brought us," Max said, gesturing to the heavy crates sitting on the marble. "Good quality steel and iron. Courtesy of a blacksmith named Todo. It should be a good variety from those grey monster-shells."
He walked over to the desk, wiping away the remnants of the dissolved slime clone with a spare cloth, and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and an ink pen.
"With your Mystery ability and your precise control over these shapes, we can start prototyping some real gear," Max explained, sliding into the chair as Kairu hopped up onto the desk to watch. "I have some long-term ideas for those magic rings... but the first design is going to be my weapon of choice for tonight."
He quickly sketched out a pair of heavy, steel-plated gauntlets—essentially high-grade knuckle dusters. They were designed to cover the knuckles, wrists, and forearms while leaving the fingers and palms completely free to allow for unobstructed spellcasting.
Kairu stared at the ink sketch, seemingly absorbing the geometry into his mind. He then slithered off the desk and over to the crates of iron and steel. The slime expanded, engulfing several heavy ingots at once. His core flashed brilliantly as the Mystery and Devourer abilities went to work, rapidly breaking down the dense metals and reshaping them. Within seconds, Kairu spat out the finished product: a pair of flawlessly forged, sleek metallic gauntlets that hummed with a faint blue trace of slime-magic running along the reinforced knuckles.
Max grabbed the newly forged gauntlets and strapped them over his hands. He flexed his fingers, the cold, custom-fitted metal settling perfectly against his skin like a second exoskeleton.
"This is exactly what I needed," Max grinned, bumping the steel fists together with a satisfying, heavy CLANG.
While he got lost assessing the weight and precision of his new weapons, Kairu turned back to the magical theory book. The slime extended a thin pseudopod, repeatedly tapping the open page on the desk to get his master's attention.
Max noticed the intense interest. "Are you... trying to learn the language?"
Kairu nodded vigorously. KI! KI! KI!
Max stared at the slime, the cogs turning in his head. If Kairu could learn to read and write... the communication barrier vanishes. We wouldn't have to rely on vague pulses of emotion or playing charades to understand complex ideas. We could actually converse. If his vocal chords evolve enough, we might even figure out a way for him to speak eventually.
"The idea is solid," Max declared, a determined grin spreading across his face. He walked over to the desk, pulled out the beginner's primers and alphabet charts he had used to learn the written language himself, and spread them across the table. "Alright, class is in session. Let's start with the basics."
He began pointing to the alphabetical shapes, sounding them out clearly. Kairu watched with rapt attention, immediately attempting to contort his own gelatinous mass into the exact shapes of the letters Max pointed to.
They were halfway through the letters of the alphabet when a tentative knock broke their learning session.
Max paused. Who would come to me right now?
He walked over and pulled the doors open. Standing in the hallway, looking profoundly awkward and shuffling his boots, was a hooded figure Max instantly recognized.
"Hello, Hogni. How are you today?" Max greeted easily, flashing a welcoming smile.
Hogni pulled his collar up slightly, his posture shrinking as he reverted entirely to his timid persona. "W-well... M-Mistress t-told me to e-escort you to the dungeon?"
Max nodded, completely unfazed by the stutter. "Yes. We will be joining you shortly. Thank you for checking on us!"
Hogni gave a stiff, embarrassed nod and retreated quickly down the hall to wait near the stairwell.
Max closed the door and turned back to Kairu, who was currently contorted into the shape of a slightly lopsided letter 'M'.
"Alright buddy, school's out for now. We are going to the dungeon." Max moved toward his wardrobe, beginning to unbuckle his street clothes. "I want to try and improve my Dexterity tonight. While I do that, you can experiment with your clones—keep one here in the suite and let's see how it feels for you to operate remotely while we're deep underground."
Kairu bounced in acknowledgment, reverting to his normal shape. Ki!
Max strapped on his dark violet combat gear and slipped his newly made knuckle dusters into his pocket. With the main Kairu reformed into his sleek, blue chest-plate armor—and a small, distinct puddle of blue gel left resting carefully on the desk—Max headed down to the kitchens.
He ate a hearty, calorie-dense meal, fully aware that somewhere in the shadows of the mess hall, his escort was anxiously waiting to begin his shift. I can only imagine the dawning horror on the Dark Elf's face if he saw me just teleporting straight down to Floor 18, Max thought, highly amused by the idea.
Once his plate was clear, Max walked out into the cooling evening air and made his way toward Babel, eager to finally stress-test his new stats.
-◈ -
Honestly, there was nothing much worth noting that happened during the dive itself. The upper floors were a complete breeze, and the duo blitzed their way straight down to Floor 10 in just three hours. Since Max didn't want to waste time commuting back and forth every evening, he decided they would just hunker down there for a bit.
The plan was brutally simple and, in Max's eyes, beautifully efficient. He found a wide, defensible cavern, tossed a handful of crushed Monster Bait into the center, and simply waited.
The pungent, alchemical scent flooded the corridors, a dinner bell for every hungry creature within a five-hundred-foot radius. The Dungeon responded with Pavlovian predictability, vomiting hordes of Orcs, Imps, Bad Bats and Needle Rabbits from the walls, all charging blindly toward the source of the irresistible smell.
It was a staggering success. Instead of hunting scattered spawns and waiting for the Dungeon to naturally replenish, Max had created a centralized slaughterhouse.
"Now this," Max said, cracking his knuckles as the first wave poured in, "is what I call efficient grinding."
The entire trip was really just an excuse for two things. First, Max needed to test his new weapons to forcibly improve his physical coordination. Rather than relying on his magic or swordsmanship from a safe distance, he deliberately handicapped his reach, spending hours literally boxing Orcs and Killer Ants. The custom steel took the heavy impacts without a scratch, seamlessly channeling his magic into explosive, point-blank PoD punches that turned thick hides and shadowy forms into clouds of dissolving ash.
Second, while Max traded heavy blows in the center of the cavern, he had Kairu split off into lower floors. Kairu was easily a match for anything down to Rivira. Max let him hunt on his own, giving the familiar the perfect opportunity to farm raw materials for their upcoming merchandise without wasting time with Max's brawling.
Hogni simply hung back in the shadows, a silent, cowled sentinel watching Max beat up Orcs while Kairu cleared out the neighboring floors. The Dark Elf didn't interfere, didn't comment, didn't offer so much as a theatrical sigh.
Overall, it was a standard, brutally productive night. As the last of the bait's scent faded and the spawn rate dried up, Max called it.
"The morning spar really helped with our calibration," Max remarked to Kairu as they made their way back to the surface, giving his familiar an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "My strikes were much tighter tonight. I would definitely recommend keeping that in our routine."
Kairu, perched happily on his shoulder and practically bulging with a fresh haul of magic stones and drop items, gave a series of cheerful, resonant bounces in agreement.
-◈ -
The trudge back up to the surface was, frankly, an exercise in psychological torture.
Physically, his high endurance meant his legs weren't tired. But mentally? The repetitive grind of the dive, compounded by the sheer, agonizing tedium of taking the stairs like a common plebeian, was driving him up the wall.
Every single step up through the winding tunnels of the upper floors was a battle against his own laziness. I have fast travel, Max's inner weeb screamed at him as they cleared Floor 4. I literally unlocked the fast travel point! Why am I walking?!
Behind him, Hogni glided through the shadows, silent, dutiful, and completely unaware of the mental breakdown happening ten feet ahead of him.
At least a dozen times during the ascent through Babel, Max stopped. He was on the absolute verge of spinning around, grabbing the Dark Elf by his tattered cloak, and saying, "Hogni, grab my shoulder, we are taking the magical elevator." He could have ended the misery right then and there. It would have saved him few hours of walking.
But every time the words reached his tongue, he swallowed them.
Teleportation was his ultimate wildcard. Freya and Ouranos knew about it, but keeping it hidden from the rest of the Familia—and Orario at large—gave him a massive tactical advantage. If he revealed it to Hogni now, the secret would inevitably trickle back to Hedin. And Max refused to make the Light Elf's life any easier.
But more importantly, Max's mind had birthed a far more entertaining idea.
If I reveal it now, it's just a convenience, Max reasoned, forcing himself to take another flight of stairs. But if I master the Thought Projection first... oh man. I could teleport back to the suite, take a hot bath, and leave a hologram to do this stupid walk with him. Imagine the look on his face when we reach the surface and the 'Max' he's been escorting just vanishes into thin air.
The sheer, staggering comedic value of mind-breaking the Dark Elf with a hologram was too good to pass up. The dedication required to pull off that prank was the only thing that kept Max's feet moving all the way back to the manor.
It was well past midnight by the time they reached the executive floor of Folkvangr. Max bid Hogni a polite, perfectly composed goodnight, and pushed open the doors of his suite.
The doors clicked shut, instantly severing the ambient noise of the corridor, leaving only the sound of his own ragged breathing.
Max leaned his back against the wood, letting the "polite adventurer" facade melt away. A mild, thrumming ache had settled deep in the bones of his hands—the phantom echo of driving steel-plated knuckles into Orc skulls for hours on end. It was a good pain. A heavy, earned soreness that told him his dexterity was finally catching up to his raw strength. He felt incredibly wired; physically, he knew his body could keep punching things for another six hours, but mentally, he was tapped out.
He unstrapped the gauntlets, letting them clatter onto the marble floor, and immediately turned his eyes to the ornate wooden desk.
The clone was still there.
It sat in a wobbling, slightly lopsided puddle over the polished wood. Its edges flickered erratically as it fought a silent, desperate battle to maintain cohesion over such a vast physical distance, but it hadn't dissolved. This was a massive improvement.
Ki...
Kairu, the original, flowed from Max's shoulder to the desk. With a pulse of focused will, the exhausted clone was instantly reabsorbed into the main body. Kairu processed the remote data it had gathered, then smoothly pushed out a fresh, perfectly stable copy in its place. The clone's sole job for the night was simply to stay solid while the main Kairu settled next to it, pulling the alphabet primers back open to revise the letters he'd learned.
Max watched them for a moment, a fond smile touching his lips.
"You're a workaholic, you know that?" Max chuckled, rolling his stiff shoulders.
Leaving the hardworking slimes to their midnight studies, he dragged himself to the washroom, scrubbed the dungeon ash from his skin under scalding water, and collapsed into the silk sheets. Sleep took him before he even had time to pull the covers up, dreaming of holograms, magical rings, and a thoroughly bewildered elf.
--> Devil in a Dungeon <--
AN:
I would say this is relatively better than the previous versions and I'm happy with how it went.
As you might have observed, I have taken your votes into consideration and decided to strike a balance between story and the pacing. I would say Max learning he is way poorer than Bell when he first joined Hestia was a very fun thing to write as we also see the 'price tag' Hedin set.
In the next chapter, we will delve deep into the inner workings Max's thought projection and his ideas to sync it with Clone Kairu as it is gonna be a critical asset for him in future.
As always, don't forget to share your thoughts on the story in a review/comment.
If you'd like to read 8 chapters ahead(around 40k words), support my work, or commission a story idea, visit p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m/b3smash.
Please note that the chapters are early access only, they will be eventually released here as well.
Next update will be on Friday.
Ben, Out.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.