Okay! So this here is called The Mercenary! This is one of a total of three other stories that I am finally uploading and posting for you lot to read. I'll tell you now that this isn't your average OHSHC fic. I'll warn you now that there is a chapter that is very DARK. So if you can't handle it, then there will be a warning before the darkness happens and you can skip over it. Luckily, it's not till about half way through the story. I'll say this ONCE as I do in all my other works. I DO NOT own OHSHC. If I did, Kyofu would exist for reals. I only own Kyofu and anything pertaining to him including those non-cannon in the story. With that said, I'll go on to say that I'll be posting three chapters at a time. Feel free to flame or comment happy thoughts as you please.

Chapter 1: Saving A Random Kid By Kicking Ass

You know- side step and kick- you'd think a school full of rich people would be something interesting. After all, rich people are apparently filled with all sorts of personalities. But- duck- it's really not all that different from a common kid's school. I mean, come on. You've got your nerds- trip, kick in the face- who are all well taught and mannered as they should be. Kids like those- dodge again, kick to the stomach downward elbow to the back of the head- are normally the sons and daughters of renown business owners. Businesses like computer stuff or medical stuff. Then there's the kids who- knife hand to the throat kick to the balls kick to the ribs- care about what they look like more than school, yet still care about school because they don't wanna actually look and be dumb all in one. Those are normally kids of renown fashion designers men and women alike. Then there's the children of the rich who don't give a fuck about what others think or say- upper cut to the chin- they're normally those with lower class rich parents. Or, like me, they're the child of a Yakuza boss and would sooner rip someone a new one before caring about what they say or think. Like me, they're normally in the lower classes, with teachers who don't really try, because no one cares about a Yakuza boss' son or daughter. Sure they're scary as their mother or father half the time, but then again they also don't care. They don't care because they know from day one that the only thing they need to worry about is how strong they are. And, if their lucky and strong enough, their parent or parents will actually hand over their throne to the kid. Me? I'm a little different from your average Yakuza boss' kid. Why? Well hold on for a few minutes and I'll tell ya.

I sigh as I reach down, pulling the needle that's been in my vest out, and putting it between my lips and teeth. That's not what I'm reaching down for, obviously. My hand grabs a hold of the collar of the young man whose chin I just smashed closed and uses it to pick his frame up with ease. I glare at the boy, blood dribbling from his mouth most likely due to broken and cracked teeth or maybe a bitten tongue. "I suggest," I tell him with a bland stare, "That you never fuck with me again. Got it? I told you this last time we met and the time before that. Get it through your skull: you're not gonna get your dad's throne by taking me down. Tell your buddies that too. I'm tired of having to cut class just to make sure you don't cause any bullshit trouble". I get no answer, as per usual, and scoff. Idiot. He passed out in the middle of me talking. Rude. I drop him without remorse and turn, stuffing my hands into my pockets before simply walking away. Classes are over, I missed the last one of the day due to this ass and his little friends, so I'm free to go as I please. I pass boys and girls this way and that, ignoring any and all odd glances I'm given. Those looks are normal. It comes with the territory of being who I am.

As I make my way towards the gates of my school's grounds, my right hand fiddles with the keys in the pocket. And upon exiting the grounds of my school, I make a left and walk for about five minutes. There, parked nicely along the curb, is a black Kawasaki motorcycle, well cared for and well loved. My pride and joy, my baby. I named 'er Shinigami. After pulling out the keys and starting her up, I settle down in the seat before kicking up the stand and taking off without a care. About twenty minutes later, I find myself coming to the grounds of my home. A place that's simple but not cheep. While I have no maids or servants, I do have men who follow me and therefore live on my land. My land is about forty or so acres. I said it was simple, not small. This place has six buildings. One, the main one is my home. The other four, which are further back and flanking my house, are houses for my underlings. The last is a place for fighting, be it by martial arts, way of a bladed weapon, or simply usage. It is a dojang, a dojo, or whatever else you want to call it. A place for training. I sigh as I look at my home. The building itself is not a mansion, but it is not small in the slightest. It is of moderate size with simple white walls on the outside and red shutters with a black door. The grass we stand on is smooth and green, but is not lush. I walk into the house and find myself in the living room area. The furniture is of a nice leather with two couches sitting across from one another with a coffee table in the middle. It's not much to look at, and there's nothing but a simple flat screen TV along the far wall, but it's nice. I'm silent as I walk through the door across from me on the living room's wall. The dinning room's floor is that of dark wood just like the living room, with a matching table and chair set and a black stained glass table top. The walls are a dark green color, but the room despite all this darkness is well lit. Attached to the far wall from me is another swinging door; this leads to the kitchen. Said room is that of white tiles and a light blue wall set up. The counter tops are of a light tan marble, with steel eating utensils and crystaline glass wear. The fridge is large and white, just like the oven and microwave. I head out of this room and back the way I came, taking to the stairs that are to the immediate right to the front door. I go up these stairs to show a single hallway with five doors on alternating sides of the walls of the hallway that is perpendicular to the staircase and the small walkway that leads off of it as well as the hallway that seems to lead to another hallway that lies parallel to the one we're at now. I look down the hallway that runs off the stairs, there's also a third hallway perpendicular to this one. The hallway's floor itself is that of a carpet and is a dark orange-tan color, the walls an off white. The doors of each room are an off white as well. To the right of the stairs, are three doors, with two staggered and across from one another and the third at the end of the hallway. This is how the other hallways are set up, save for the last one, which has a single master bedroom, my room. I make my rounds, something I've learned to do as a Yakuza boss. Always check your home for intruders, even if it doesn't seem like there have been any. A skilled enough enemy can easily assassinate you if you're off guard. I am rarely off guard. Once I'm sure that there's no one here but me, myself and I, I head back down stairs and into the living room.

Along the wall with no door or tv or windows, so the wall that's attached to the stairs, is a set of pictures. There's only four, but they're some of the few things I find the most valuable. The left-middle one is that of a couple in about their thirties. The with his arms wrapped around his wife, is my father. Claude was his name, and he taught me everything I know in terms of fighting- which is a damn good amount. While he was shorter than I am now, he was a tall man of six foot four inches, with black choppy hair and green eyes like no other. When calm, they were like molten emeralds. However, when fighting or giving orders to his men, they were eyes of a tiger- hard and ruthless. The woman he has his arms around is tiny, being only about five foot and one inch, five foot two at the very most. She was a very happy woman, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes the color of ice. Despite her size and the fact that she could pass for a living doll, she was very strong, and just as ruthless as her husband when need be. Those eyes of her saw through just about anything and everything. Traps, strategies, lies, you name it she could see through them. Her name was Lucy. Claude was the ruler of the land that I now control, a rather good portion of the surrounding area in terms of underground happenings. Six years ago, not long after I had turned eleven, they went out to fight against an enemy Yakuza clan; I was forced to stay behind due to the fact that I was still rather weak compared to the strength needed to fight. That and I was the heir to the clan. On that night, my father and mother were killed during the fight. And though my clan won, it was a harsh blow. My mother was shot in the stomach and liver; her death was slow and painful. My father's dead was short, being shot through the eye and therefore in the head. However I'm sure he took down many men with him, as he also had many lacerations all over his body, along with about five broken ribs. That night, I was reluctantly made boss of my Yakuza clan. The men that follow me and love me like their own family, are now mine to order around.

The picture on the middle-right is another picture of another couple. However, it is not of Claude and Lucy. No, these two are different people. The man in the picture I'm told was also shorter than I am now, but he did stand at a nice six foot six. His hair is long and red like blood- mine is a darker red, something of a blood-maroon color- and loosely braided while laying over his shoulder. The braid itself hangs down to the middle of his torso. His eyes are a cloudy white, and there's a rather thick scar over both of them showing that he had been blinded by what was probably a knife. However, despite their milky color, if you look closely you can see that before he became blind, his eyes were a dark brown. His frame is hard and muscular, muscles large but not bulging. There's a large grin on his face as he looks at the camera as though he wasn't blind in the first place. I'm told his name was Chitsuri. The woman that he holds in his arms bridal style is one of beauty, just like Lucy was. Her hair is long like Chitsuri's, and her smile rivals his own. She obviously is a fighter as well, seeing as a long scar crosses from her right temple to her left jaw. And you can see scars along her hands and arms from many fights. Her hair is black and free flowing, bangs framing her pale face. Her eyes are silver like my own, and surrounded by thick lashes. Her name was Hikari, I'm told. Her arms support her in Chitsuri's arms by wrapping themselves around his neck. She too smiles at the camera. These two are my blood related parents. I was adopted by Claude and Lucy when I was about two. Hikari died not long after giving birth to me. The picture on the far right of the four frames is of her in a hospital gown and holding me for the first time. She's pale as paper, and there are bags under tired eyes. However, there's a bright smile on her lips as I, with a tuft of red hair on my head and fast asleep, lay in her arms. That's the only picture I have of her other than her with Chitsuri. He died of literally a broken heart, having lost Hikari. I don't think he hated me, though. I wouldn't know for sure though; he died just before my adoption. The picture to the far left is one of me when I was ten, and my parents. I was a happy punk then. Still one hell of an ass when I wanted to be, but I was happy. There I sit, on my father's shoulders, arms up like I was ready to fight. Dad was in a fighting stance himself, a playful grin on his face but the look of a battle hard man in his eyes. Mom was next to us, standing in her own fighting stance, a grin and fight ready eyes on her as well.

I sigh, a frown marring my face as I pick up the fourth picture. I run fingers over the glass that keeps it safe, "Dad...Mom...I'll make you proud. I swear it. I know I've been skipping class a lot and falling behind, but I'll make it up to you; I'll do good in school and I'll become stronger than ever before. You'll see...I swear it". My voice dies off with those words, and I put the picture back before heading for the kitchen and making myself something eat. As I do eat dinner, I start on the homework that I need to hand in tomorrow. I don't have last class' work, but I'm sure that the teacher will allow me to make it up for partial points. After all, I'm basically the only Class D student that actually tries. After dinner and washing the stuff I used to cook, I put my things back into my school bag and set off for a shower. Once in my room, which has a dark gray thick carpet and green walls, I head for my bathroom. The tiles are black, the walls red, and the counter tops a brown color. I shed my clothes and looking at myself in the mirror. My frame is nothing but muscle, every where I look. However I am not without scars despite this nice physic. One of the more noticeable scars I have is from a sword and an enemy Yazkuza boss. It's an old scar, being five years old as compared to my seventeen year old self. Like my blood mother's, my eyes are silver like starlight. My hair as mentioned before is a blood-maroon red color, and is just long enough to settle at the middle of my neck. It's choppy in that it has multiple layers, and it has a slightly wild look with some stray hairs spiking up here and there. My bangs are long enough so that I can side swipe most of them to my right, and that those not side swept come to my chin. Those that are, lightly cover my eyes. My jaw is strong, my nose regal, and my cheek bones high. Around my neck is a tattoo that's designed to look like a tight chain collar. I do have another tattoo, but that's on my back. To finalize my undressed state, I pull the needle that has been hanging from my mouth all this time, and set it on the sink's counter. I have a thing for holding a needle between my lips, an old habit you could say. Knowing I'll want to simply head straight to bed after my shower, I brush my teeth, opening my mouth nice and wide to get each one. The tooth brush passes over my fangs- yes, I have legit fangs. Not any of that fake vampire nonsense. It's always been a tradition for the boss of my Yakuza family, me in other words, to get their incisors reconstructed to be made longer, stronger and sharper once they've become boss. Why? Well...I don't know. Nor do I really care. My fangs in particular seem extra long, seeing as I've got a big mouth to go with my big person. Their tips stop at my bottom gums when my mouth is closed. Once my teeth are nice and clean, I head off to take a shower. That doesn't take long, and soon enough I find myself pulling on a pair of pajama pants and laying on my bed. An arm covers my eyes as I attempt to sleep. I meant it when I said that I'd become better...But how the hell am I supposed to do that when I'm constantly fighting off thugs?

The next day finds me walking out of my school without a care. As opposed to other students, I don't bother to dress in that nonsense garb that they call a uniform. Why should I? I keep my clothing formal enough I think. My attire is that of a black and red pin stripe long sleeved button up, the sleeves stopping at the middle of my forearms. It's open up until the middle of my chest, when the buttons actually hold the cloth closed; therefore my chest is shown. Over this is a matching red vest, its folded back collar covered over by the pinstripe shirt's own and holding close to my body like the shirt, its buttons all being closed and starting at my diaphragm. My pants are that of simple black slacks, and my shoes are black steel toed boots designed to look like dress shoes but with a boot top that keeps my ankles from rolling. Over all, coupled with my looks physically, you could say that I'm pretty good looking for a lowly Yakuza boss.

My hands rest in my pants pockets as per usual as I head off to go home like I usually do. The only thing that made me leave late was that fight. Today I don't plan o-, "L-Listen, I just wanted you guys to leave the girl alone," a voice speaks up from not too far away and around the corner of the building. "There's no need for violence".

"Fuck you!" A grumbling voice sounds in return. "That girl's dad owes my dad money. He's not paying on time so why not punish him by ruining his daughter's life? A little rape never hurt anyone".

The hell? My brows furrow, and a hand falls to the needle in my mouth, adjusting it. I hear something about the gruff voice being utterly wrong- to which the person is right- and then a scuffle. The sound of skin meeting skin. Someone got punched. I was going to leave the fight alone when the scuffling continued passed just the punch. I scoff. Tch. God damn it why do I have to play hero? I turn and make my way towards the scuffling. I hear more skin on skin contact, and then thuds. The person's getting kicked. What I come to isn't really surprising. Three men, the leader with black hair and two bald headed twin followers, are ganging up on a rather feminine looking short boy. I haven't seen him in any of my classes. A freshman maybe? These three men are three of the six I had beaten up the other day. On the back of the leader is a sword, it has yet to be unsheathed. Just how the hell did he get that passed the guards?

"Oi," I call out, bringing the attention to me, "You guys couldn't take me down, so you decide to try and take down this guy for standing up for someone else? God, you put our kind to shame. Bastards".

The one with a full head of hair glares, a single swollen eye sticking out nicely against his pale skin. "The fuck?! Yasei, get the fuck out of here before we beat you up too! We were just taking it easy yesterday; but today I have my sword. You stand no chance now! Take one more step and you're going down".

I raise a brow, silver eyes growing dark. I don't take being threatened very lightly. I pick up my right foot, and step a single step forward with it. "Oops," I scoff to the black haired boy.

"That's it! Boys! Let's get 'im!" And let the fun begin.

I sigh as I move around the sword, too tall to duck under it. I jump over a foot that tries to sweep my legs out from under me. As I land, a foot finds a home in one of the bald one's faces, earning him a broken nose. The other baldy's throat is given a hooking kick via a balanced pivot on the ball of my panted foot and the swing of the foot that just broke a nose. Baldy number two gasps and I put my foot down before lunging with a downward kick dropping my heel onto his clavicle and breaking it. He screams, gripping his now useless arm in pain. For good measure, my foot plants itself on his chest and pushes, causing him to fall and try to catch himself with his now bad arm. It fails, and now he's in more pain. The baldy whose nose is broken comes at me, fists raging and legs kicking at an admittingly decent speed. However, I know his distance, and where I can and can't hit. I move around these strikes. When he rushes me, I simply put out my foot for him to run into. He does just that. I push him away before dropping a heel on his clavicle too. There's a scream of rage, and I turn only to have to dodge the katana that dares try to cut me. I scoff, playing with the needle that hangs from my lips with my tongue. I won't be able to do this one without my hands...As the blade comes at me due to a horizontal slash from my right, I have no choice but to use those leg muscles of mine, and force my frame into the air higher than I normally jump. The push off sends me over the blade and gives me plenty of time to force my feet onto said sword. This causes the dumb fuck to lean down and out of his fighting stance. My left hand slides from my pocket, and is placed on the back of his head. As we fall, his face ends up in the ground and my feet are still on the blade that by now he's released. He tries to get up, swinging his hands in my direction as I kick the sword away once off of it. From there, my other hand catches one of his flailing ones, allowing me to pin it to his back while my foot replaces my left hand which slides back into my pocket. "That was rather rude," I sneer, lip pulling up to show fangs. I press on his head and pull on his hand in a certain direction that I assure you is not at all good for him, "Say you're sorry". I grind his face into the dirt as I give the command.

"I'm sorry!" The black haired boy repeats, his voice muffled by the ground.

"Not to me you dip shit," I sigh out while shaking my head, "The person you attacked; the boy. And mean it".

"Like he-Alright! Alright! I'm sorry Fujioka. So sorry! Please forgive me!"

My eyes fall to the person that had been beaten up. He's been standing there almost dumbfounded for the passed three minutes or so. Is it so hard to believe that someone would come help him? While he's still stuck in his stupor, I take this chance to take the boy in. He's extremely tiny for a freshman in high school for one; I'm over a foot taller than he. His eyes are large and brown, reminding me of a woman's eyes- the same goes for his face. His hair is short and matches his eyes in being brown. Unlike some people, he doesn't divert from the uniform we men are supposed to wear at Ouran. Seeing as by the time I got here, he was already a bit roughed up, his cheek is a bit swollen, and his clothing on the bit dirty side but other than that he seems fine. By the time I'm done looking the boy over, I hear him speak. "Ummm...It's alright. Just...Never threaten a girl like that again," why does he so unsure as to what to say? Brown eyes look to me and he offers a small smile, "I think you can let him go".

I blink before shrugging and getting of the kid whose name I've never bothered to learn despite him being a Yakuza boss's son. He's worthless if he's not strong by now. I step off of him, and make my way to the boy apparently called Fujioka. "You okay kid?" I question as I look down at him, "Nothing broken or anything?"

"No. I'm fine thank you," he answers, "Are you ok- Look out!"

My eyes widen as I'm told to look out. And what do I see? Of course the black haired kid is still stubborn enough to get up and charge at me with the sword. It's far too close for me to get away without a scratch. As the kid yells at me to die, my body moves before my mind can think, and I move to the side, taking Fujioka with me. This keeps both of us from getting run through, but I still end up with a nice cut on my side. I already know it's not deep enough to need stitches, but it is deep enough to need care lest I get blood everywhere. The hand that didn't push Fujioka to the side, reaches forward and catches the boy, pulling him back. "That hurt you asshole," I snarl. Before taking his head in both my hands and promptly head butting him not once, but twice. The impact of our skulls knocks him out on the second hit, and I drop him. I grunt as I look to my right side as it begins to make my clothing darker.

"Are you alright?!" Fujioka questions, "Let me call an ambulance!" He pulls out his phone, and begins to dial only for my hand to force it closed.

"No ambulance," I tell him, hand to my side. Like I said, it's not a major wound, but it is a bother, "You know of a place that isn't the nurse's office that I can bandage myself up?"

He blinks those large eyes at me, "Ummm...We have a first aid kit in my club's room. I was headed there before all this started".

I nod, "Take me there; I'll borrow the kit and fix myself up and then I'll be out of your hair".

He looks at me oddly, "Are you sure you don't want an actual doctor?"

I nod lightly, "This scratch doesn't call for professional medical help. Just take me to this club room of yours and once I'm done I'll be out of here".

"Alright. But...Can I make one request?" He questions, making me nod, "I'm Fujioka Haruhi, a freshman of Class 1-A. May I have your name?"

I tilt my head as my hand continues to rest on the cut, "I guess you can. The name's Yusei no Kyofu- feel free to call me Kyofu and nothing else; I don't like honorifics". Just like I'll be calling him Haruhi from now on. The boy nods before turning and motioning for me to follow. Off we go to the top floor and to the end of the north hallway. As we near a pair of large wooden brown doors, I can't help but think that there's something wrong. Why does this area seem so...Familiar when I've never been this way before? Upon opening the doors, I watch as something weird happens.

"Haru-chan!~" A little- like...Four foot- boy coos out as he flies towards Haruhi, a beaming smile on his boyish face. His small form collides with Haruhi's, legs wrapping around his torso without a care.

"O-oh...Hey Hanni-senpai," Senpai? You gotta be shitting me. That kid's her Senpai? Is he mine? "Hey Mori-senpai," my eyes trial to the tall- still shorter than myself- black haired male, a stoic look on said male's face.

"Haruhi!" Two voices call out next, and my head whips in the direction f two redheaded twins. Their arms wrapping around Haruhi as they hug him from each side. "Where have you been?"

"Well I-" he tries.

"Haaaaarrrruuuhiiii!" One more voice comes along, and next thing I know, the boy is wrapped in the arms of a man I know very well. Well, I don't know him personally, but I know him due to being in the same grade as him and constantly hearing about he and his friends. Poor Haruhi has been stolen from the other three's hold and is now in Suou Tamaki's arms, his frame spinning him around in a death hug.

"Kyofu-san!" The boy reaches out to me, helplessly. What? He expects me to save him or something? Haven't I done enough saving for one day? I'm not some super hero or something. I watch as the boy is spun around three more times, his eyes becoming swirls in dizziness.

Ugh. Fine. I walk forward and pick up not only Haruhi, but Tamaki by the collar of his jacket. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna make him throw up if you keep on spinning him around, Tamaki".

"Oi!" One of the twins demands, an angry look on his face.

"Put our Lord down!" 'Lord'? The other twin finishes up.

I blink before looking from Haruhi, to Tamaki. Then to Haruhi, and then back to Tamaki. I put Tamaki down first, then Haruhi, "Better?"

Haruhi offers me a light smile, craning her neck in order to meet my gaze, "Yes, thank you Kyofu-san".

"What did I tell you about honorifics?" I raise a brow, "Just call me Kyofu".

"Wait just a darn second!" I hear a voice speak up, and find it to be the blond I had separated from the brunette, "Just who do you think you are, telling Haruhi to not use honorifics. What are you to her?!"...Her? Maybe it was just a fluke.

My eyes trail from the Host Club President to Haruhi, and then down to the cut on my side that's by now crusted over with dry blood. However, it's Haruhi who speaks up for me, "Tamaki-senpai, be nice! Kyofu-san," damn it, "Saved me from some thugs not too long ago".

Tamaki's eyes widen, "Saved you from what?!" He rushes forward and places his hands on his shoulders, looking the small boy over. The swelling in his cheek is still there and his clothing is still dirty. However other than that, he's fine. "Thugs?! What were such horrid people doing even near my precious Haruhi?!"

"Senpai, it's nothing. They were threatening to rape a girl because her father owed money to a certain yakuza family," Haruhi answers, brushing Tamaki off gently but sternly.

"Yakuza?" One red head intones to the other, "That's not good at all. His eyes trail to me, "This guy looks fishy though".

"If he saved Haruhi, who's to say it wasn't staged to get in with some richer families?" The other glares at me with a dark look just like his brother.

The little blonde boy, now on the shoulders of the black haired man, looks down at me, I meet those innocent and big brown eyes of his. We share a staring contest for a second, myself being curious and I'm pretty sure this kid is studying me. "I dunno Takashi," the blond speaks up, "He doesn't look like someone who's evil and would manipulate Haru-chan to get to us. What do you think?" Who the hell is Takeshi?

"I think you're right," the black haired one speaks up, letting his dark gaze settle upon me. So that's Takeshi.

My own eyes settle back onto the wound on my side, "So yea...While you guys are debating whether or not I'm some bad guy...Haruhi said you guys have a first aid kit or whatever? Can I borrow it?"

"Are you hurt?" My eyes trail to another black haired man. I can tell just by the air he carries about him that he's definitely a business owner's son. He's proper and even though I can't see his eyes behind the glare on his glasses right now, I know for sure that the gaze that's on me is calculating.

I nod, and point to my side that's wet with blood, "Yup. So...That kit?"

The man nods, "Of course". He turns and walks away, leaving me with the nonsense of the others for few moments before coming back with a simple white kit with a red plus on the lid and front. He sets it on a near by table and opens it up for me, showing me that it's rather well organized and seems to have just about everything needed for first aid. "Here you are, Kyofu-san". I sigh. Damn honorifics.

"Thanks," I nod out blandly before walking to the table and pulling out a chair from it. Not caring about where I change, we're all guys here, I unbutton my vest and lay it across the back of the chair. It's not until I'm part way done with taking off my shirt that someone starts to yell at me.

Who? The President of the club of course. "What do you think you're doing?!" I look up to see him pushing Haruhi's face into his chest by way of hugging her head. "Show some decency!"

"Yea! We do have changing rooms you know!" Twin number one grumbles out.

Twin number two points to his right, "That way. You'll find them pretty easily. Go on, shoo!" He waves a hand at me like I'm some annoying animal.

I hear a gasp and some panting, "Guys, it's fine! He needs to get his cut clean; leave him alone". He looks to me before walking forward and offering a smile, "Do you need help?"

I blink. Down at him before shrugging, "If you want to help, sure". I've bandaged up worse than this on my own. That said, I finish unbuttoning my shirt and hang it over the chair as well after taking it off, not caring for the fact that the blood had made the shirt stick to the wound. And so, it's reopened and blood begins to flow again.