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Yan Dooku felt his padawan waking up in the next room. Teenagers were always sleepyheads, apparently because sleep helped them with their growth spurts, but Master Yoda hadn’t known that fact about humans and Yan had grown taller than most humans anyway. On the other hand, it wasn’t the Jedi way to pass on one’s master’s mistakes, at least, not deliberately. Komari would get her beauty sleep.
Besides, she seemed to have been up late last night, doing Force knows what. She never left the Temple, which was good, but it was still concerning. Then again, she wasn’t Rael or Qui-Gon.
“Padawan? Are you up?” The question was redundant but there was a difference between being awake and being up and ready for the day.
“Not dressed, Master.”
“Right. Breakfast will be ready when you are.”
“I would think so. It’s just ration bars and tea anyway. Never mind—don’t try to cook, Master. Especially not Master Yoda’s recipes.”
“There was never any danger of that, Padawan.” Yan frowned to cover his chuckle, even though nobody was watching. Komari was right that breakfast was generally ration bars formulated for humans, but Yan put effort into the tea. Today it was still fairly cold, at least, by Coruscant standards, which was hardly cold at all, but it was still nice to have a sense of passing seasons. He would choose a special blend of Lady Grey tea infused with plum blossoms, for early spring.
What was this? Inside the teapot was a small red flimsi box. Yan carefully lifted it out of the teapot and opened it. Aha. Inside was a single morsel of chocolate, with a tiny, attached card. “Happy Love Day, Master.” Oh. Of course. Today was Love Day, which meant that tomorrow was Return Love Day.
Komari must have made the rounds last night distributing chocolate to everyone on her list of people she especially loved, appreciated, or felt an obligation towards, except for Master Yoda, who probably got a candied frog instead of chocolate. That thought made Yan chuckle. “Duty chocolate” was a known phenomenon, but “duty frog” was unique.
When Komari came out of her room and took a seat at the breakfast table, she grinned. Her Master had found his chocolate. A padawan of limited means could only give modest gifts, but it was the expression of appreciation that mattered.
“You should check the handle on our front door.” Komari knew that her master’s Makashi students past and present had pooled their resources.
Yan Dooku raised an eyebrow. He would not interrupt his tea for that, since the bag would still be there, hanging from the door handle, five minutes from now. Unless Rael came by to hide it as a prank, but he was offworld doing Force knew what, and Qui-Gon was busy with a new padawan acquired on Bandomeer under chaotic circumstances—typical Qui-Gon.
He finished his tea and got up to check. Sure enough there was a small pile of offerings on the floor right outside his door and multiple bags hanging from the door handle. It never ceased to amaze Yan how popular he was, especially with female Jedi, who made up the majority of chocolate donors on Love Day. As Jedi the “love” would generally not be romantic in nature, but more of a friendly admiration or even appreciation of physical beauty and/ or intellectual prowess, respect and gratitude for assistance or instruction given over the past year.
“Ooh, good haul this year, Master.” Komari popped the last bite into her mouth, washed it down with the last of her tea, and grabbed her holobooks for class. She wouldn’t stay for his splutter or his frown at her flippant remark.
Once she was gone, Yan began going through the chocolate received. The vast majority were duty chocolate, from his students and former students, but a few were personal. Here was one from Sifo-Dyas, of course, and—huh. Interesting. There was a card but no chocolate from Jocasta.
“Come to the Archives and solve my riddle if you want your Love Day surprise from me.”
Yan smirked at that. Oh yes, he would, with pleasure.
“Master? You have a delivery of something in a bag hanging from our door handle.” Obi-Wan called to the master’s bedroom of his new home. Master Qui-Gon wasn’t still asleep, just coming out of his morning meditation, but it was Obi-Wan’s job to make tea and prepare breakfast. Master Tahl was teaching him how to cook decent food, since most of his lineage was rubbish at cooking.
“Oh yes, it’s Love Day.” Master Qui-Gon emerged from the master’s bedroom and smiled at Obi-Wan. “Which means that tomorrow I need to return the favor to all of the people who sent me chocolate. Most of it is probably duty chocolate.”
Obi-Wan glanced at the card in the biggest bag, noting the collection of signatures. These were girls, mostly, from Master Qui-Gon’s classes. Bant and Siri had signed this card.
But here was another bag, bright red, containing a small box and some cards. Before Obi-Wan could examine any of the contents, Master Qui-Gon snatched the bag. That one was private, apparently. Obi-Wan could guess who had brought it, and not merely out of a sense of duty. Here was another, plainer box from an assortment of Master Qui-Gon’s friends, headed by Master Windu, and a pebble from Master Yoda, who was mystified by the concept of chocolate and most food designed for the human palate in general. It didn’t matter, really, since it was the spirit of the thing that counted.
“Eat, Obi-Wan. The healers said you still need to catch up from Bandomeer.” Master Qui-Gon kept a firm grip on that one special bag in one hand as he indicated Obi-Wan’s seat at the table with his other. After he oversaw the feeding of Obi-Wan, he would feed and/ or water the rest of his pathetic lifeforms.
Obi-Wan dug into the rolex he had just made. This was originally Master Tahl’s recipe, of course, a crepe made from nuna egg and stuffed with chopped vegetables and bits of sausage. It was designed to help Obi-Wan grow and recover from the weeks he had spent malnourished on Bandomeer.
“Oh, Obi-Wan, this one’s for you. And this one.” Master Qui-Gon found the other card inside the special red bag, a smaller box, and a loose chocolate in just the wrapper, albeit with a post-it note attached.
“For my bestie. Love, Bant.” Obi-Wan smiled at the note on the loose chocolate. He would need to reciprocate.
The other package for him was from Master Tahl, of course, as Bant’s master. Which meant that the extra special, extra secret chocolate his master received was from Master Tahl as well, confirming the rumors that she was Master Qui-Gon’s lover. Maybe someday Obi-Wan would get chocolates that weren’t just for friendship or gratitude or a sense of duty, too, someday.
Master Yaddle pressed the doorbell on Master Yoda’s door, which had been reconfigured to be low enough, at Master Yoda’s insistence, even though he wouldn’t be pressing his own doorbell. Then again, there were other small-statured Jedi.
“Come I have with a Love Day treat.”
“Candied frog we can share.” Master Yoda smiled. It was too bad that so few Jedi appreciated the marvelous confection that was candied frog. Then again, that left more for Master Yaddle and himself.
Yan Dooku swept into the Archives with a swish of his dark robes, tuning into his lovers’ bond with Jo. Sifo was probably here as well, poring over some old book of prophesies or esoteric teachings of another Force tradition. There might be time for a quick make-out session with Sifo later, as another person to thank for personalized chocolate. Yan was mostly here now to see Jo, after all.
Here she was, lovely Jo, sitting behind the counter, rapping young Padawan Vos’ knuckles with a ruler. That boy was always getting into trouble. Master Tholme would be busy for a long time to come.
“I got your card, Jo.” Yan only smiled outright at a few people, and Jocasta Nu was one of them.
“You’re ready for your riddle.” She had that mischievous gleam in her eye that most other Jedi would miss entirely, but not Yan. He already had a rough idea of what sort of riddle it would be.
She began by quoting an old Ryl song, rendering the lyrics in Basic, but Yan recognized the song. He smirked as he began to realize that the riddle would be very academic and highly naughty.
“On the steps of the palace, there once lived an exceedingly beautiful girl, who was pursued by suitors of all species and genders, all ages and social levels, but it was a little shoemaker who captured her attention. He knelt at her feet to measure her for shoes, thinking to offer to share his bed, and when he looked up, she kissed him and told him she already had the perfect shoe—for him. He blushed and gave her bouquets of vinca flowers to tie at the four corners of her big square bed, in case she fell into the river running through the middle of it, a grand river big enough for all the farthiers of the king to drink, where she and he might sleep together forever.”
Yan stared. How dare Jocasta tell such an indecent story right here! “The answer to that is in one of the rare volumes vaults.” It was hard to think clearly beyond that.
“Yes, of course. But which vault?” Jocasta licked her lips. This was where the fun began. Yan was fun to scandalize, because it was hilarious watching him react as if he were a blushing virgin when she knew for a fact that he did some truly salacious things himself, with both Sifo and herself, generally with both present. Yan was nowhere near the prude he pretended to be.
“The ancient love poems of the lost city of Kyo.”
“How astute. Vault Besh. Come on.” She stood up and winked at him, urging him to follow.
Yan Dooku in fact enjoyed biometric access to most of these restricted vaults, thanks to Jocasta herself, but it was more romantic to let her usher him into the vault, in keeping with Love Day. The Archives were good for trysts.
He scanned the shelves for a particular collection of tragic romantic puppet plays, the ones in which the courtesan and her impoverished lover who couldn’t buy out her contract, would choose the riverbed as their marital bower, to spend eternity in the afterlife. That was a drastic approach that Yan wouldn’t have to take with Jo or Sifo, as Jedi who were special friends used to doing certain moving meditations together. It was Jo herself who had found that ancient volume on the various corruptions of tantrism, which of course she had to try.
“But that is only part of the answer.” Jo was positively vibrating.
Yan found the little piece of flimsi she had probably put in the old-fashioned flimsi-bound volume as a bookmark. “Kinuginu. Of course.” He scanned the shelves until he found the courtly poetry of a thousand years ago, also from the lost city of Kyo. There had been an entire genre, known as “Kinuginu,” which was roughly translated into Modern Basic as “the morning after.” The couple in the old Ryl song might not have had a morning-after, but Yan and Jo would.
“Ah, here we are.” Yan found exactly the poem and read aloud.
“Crushed sweet pea under my pillow
Still vibrant in color when I open the curtains
A breakfast table set for two.”
Yan smirked. “Of course it had to be sweet pea, in terms of the language of flowers. Blissful pleasure, of course, but domestic, quotidian. Like ours.”
“Are you ready for your shoe fitting, my exceedingly comely lover?” Jo smiled as Yan produced the small box of chocolate with a sweet pea painted on the box. Of course it had been hidden in the bookshelf.
“A Jedi is always ready to unsheathe his lightsaber when needed. You already know my shoe size.”
“Impressive. Most impressive.” Her hands were already on his belt. He would not need to remove his boots for this “shoe-fitting.” He understood her meaning, of course, and his hands were already busy trying to lift the sheer volume of her skirts out of the way.
Qui-Gon waited until Obi-Wan was in class before he followed his lovers’ bond to locate Tahl. It was perfectly legitimate to ask her what kind of chocolate she wanted in return, after all. Even if it turned out that she wanted to coat him in chocolate, it still counted.
Aha, there she was, sitting in an artificial cave in one of the gardens, clearly waiting for him. She smiled at the sight of her somewhat illicit lover. It was fine, really, since they were close friends who also expressed their deep friendship in this special way. Love came in many flavors, not just romantic.
“Did you get my message? Of course you did, that’s why you’re here.” Tahl smirked.
“You asked for white chocolate in return, but you couldn’t wait until tomorrow.” Qui-Gon was used to this by now, after all these years.
“Yes. I want a friendly spar with you—with and without lightsabers—and then some quality time in the private shower attached to the sparring room I have reserved.”
“We’re going to make a mess, aren’t we?” Qui-Gon could imagine what she had in mind.
“Of course. You make excellent messes that are interesting to clean up. Sometimes cleaning you up is an interesting joint moving meditation.” She licked her lips. Her meaning was clear. It wasn’t actually white chocolate she wanted, but something else white and creamy that he was expected to provide.
Qui-Gon let out his low rumbly chuckle. If Master Dooku only knew.
“The shoe still fits.” Jocasta lay sprawled out on the reading couch in the vault, happily spent. Yan was surprisingly good at using the Force frivolously. “Now we call in Sifo so you can thank him for his chocolate as well.” Jocasta let her fingers brush over Yan’s cheek. “But only when you’re ready.”
Yan murmured in response. So many civilians thought that the Jedi were cold, celibate, and loveless, when nothing could be further from the truth. Celibacy did not mean coldness or lovelessness necessarily, either. Love was something to be shared freely among friends, with the galaxy at large, and in more concentrated doses with one’s closest friends. It wasn’t the same thing as attachment at all. People had it all wrong, especially the Sith of old. What a miserable bunch they must have been.
He could feel Qui-Gon also basking in warm love that included a hefty workout. Probably involving Tahl Uvain. Let Qui-Gon keep his delusion that his girlfriend was a secret.
Obi-Wan decided to head straight to the Archives when he finished his classes for the day. Maybe Master Nu would be able to help him figure out how to reciprocate towards Bant and Master Tahl.
When we reached the front desk, however, there was no sign of the Chief Archivist. Instead, he found Quinlan suppressing intense guilty pleasure, apparently sparked by a holomag. “Can I see?”
“No!” Quinlan hugged the volume to his chest. “I’m already in trouble with Master Nu. Master Dooku came and swept her off her feet, though, so there’s peace for now. But I’m supposed to stay here. So I might as well enjoy my detention.”
It dawned on Obi-Wan that his slightly-older friend was probably looking at a sexy holomag. At thirteen years old Obi-Wan didn’t own any such holomags himself and hadn’t seriously examined one, but had seen them for sale at newsstands in the lower levels of Coruscant, not to mention on other worlds. “It’s all right if it’s a naughty holomag. It’s Love Day, after all.”
“You won’t judge?”
“No. I’m just curious. Because I need to figure out what women like, to help my master get a return gift for Master Tahl. It’ll be much easier to get a marshmallow or bit of white chocolate for Bant.”
“It’s not just women in this holomag.” Quinlan lowered the offending publication from his chest, letting his friend see the page. A muscular Togruta man stood in the tiniest swimming wear either Quinlan or Obi-Wan had ever seen, looking over his shoulder, licking his lips, inviting a Twi’lek man to come squeeze him from behind. The latter individual’s lekku were curled up in anticipation, something Obi-Wan had never seen in real life. The image next to that one showed a Zeltron woman losing the battle to keep her clothes from falling off. Obi-Wan stared at both images, vaguely aware of the inchoate stirrings of something within himself. Whatever that was, now was not the time.
“If there’s no practical information in there, I suppose I should just leave you to it.” Obi-Wan stood up. He would ponder those two images later, but for now he had chocolate to source.
“Women usually appreciate music, but your voice squeaks in a funny way when you sing lately. Then again, women also like humor.”
Obi-Wan gave his friend a light whack on the shoulder. Teasing him about his voice changing was a low blow, but Quinlan was right. On the other hand, this gave Obi-Wan an idea about what he could do on his master’s behalf to thank Master Tahl. He could serenade her, although Bant would be mortified at the sheer cheesiness. That was a big plus.
“Listen to the Living Force, yes, yes, Qui.” Tahl stood with her back pressed against the wall of the shower stall, hands roaming over Qui-Gon’s back, up his neck, through his hair, down to his bum. “Such fine saberwork.”
Qui-Gon smiled. After all these years, he knew exactly what sort of overtures worked on Tahl; after all, he was a diplomat. He had done his homework thoroughly on her, so that the negotiations were always short. In another life, if neither of them had been Jedi, they would have been married, more than likely. On the other hand, they might never have met at all. What they had now wasn’t that different from what married couples of Qui-Gon and Tahl’s age seemed to enjoy, the steady warmth of sexual friendship that was left after the burning fires of new love, of romantic passion, had died down.
“You still haven’t told me what you want in return, for tomorrow.” Qui-Gon let out his sad chuckle as he felt her shuddering, the intense joy washing over both of them, which they probably should be a bit more careful about shielding from their respective padawans, yes.
Obi-Wan knew the secret exits of the Temple, thanks to Quinlan, and this time he had a legitimate reason to slip out into the Coruscant afternoon. As long as he was home by evening to cook dinner, his master wouldn’t be too worried or upset. Besides, he was just going to a market that he had been to with Master Qui-Gon.
The old, mostly-unused stairs leading from the side exit of the Archives down to an old corridor with doors to the middle-level of Coruscant, from when the city and the Temple were less built up than now, were perfect. These stairs were old when Master Qui-Gon was a padawan, too.
Good, the coast was clear. Obi-Wan made a run for the rickety old door that someone someday might realize needed to have its security updated. With any luck, they hadn’t realized it yet. Obi-Wan intoned the magic phrase, since the door was voice-activated: “Iftah yah seem seem!”
With a slow rumble, the door opened just enough for a slim thirteen-year-old padawan to slip through. Obi-Wan blinked in the golden bright of the artificial sunset before he got his bearings. The market was down some more stairs, in the alley to the right, covered by corrugated tin.
He remembered that the entrance was hard to spot, a dark shadow between two buildings. Aha, there it is. Obi-Wan realized, too late, that people who lived, worked, and shopped this close to the Jedi Temple would probably recognize his padawan robes, especially since he didn’t have a cloak on, having rushed out here. Coruscant didn’t get all that cold, anyway. All the more reason to be quick, then.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he scanned the card tables loaded with used clothes, food items from poor worlds all over the Republic, sundry goods of questionable provenance, even items he couldn’t identify. Coruscant was full of immigrants, after all, and it was normal to want a taste of home. Obi-Wan didn’t remember anything about his birth planet, but Luminara did, as did Bant. He could understand the phenomenon intellectually.
Aha, here we go. There was a stall manned by an old lady who seemed to be asleep. Obi-Wan looked over the chocolate on display. Here was a lone wrapped piece of Mon Cala kelp chocolate, perfect for Bant. Obi-Wan had enough credits in his coin purse for that piece, with some credits left over. Wow, here was something impressive for Master Tahl—a small box of truffles.
As he was looking at it, the old lady opened her eyes. “You don’t look like you can afford that, sonny.”
“Maybe not.” Obi-Wan admitted. “I can afford this piece, for my sister, but I need something for my mother, for Return Love Day tomorrow. I’m shopping on behalf of my father and me.” The old lady had cloudy eyes, suggesting that she might not be able to see his padawan robes, which made it easier to fall back on the civilian cover stories about what various other Jedi meant to him, in family terms.
“Your father didn’t give you credits?”
“No. We don’t have a lot to spare.” This was true.
“What does your mother like? Does she like a particular brand, or does she like to make her own?”
This planted an idea in Obi-Wan’s mind. Master Tahl was a good cook, clever at making confectionery, too. Maybe she would want to make her own chocolate, and getting her ingredients would be good for that.
“She likes white chocolate, but she’s teaching me to cook and she likes baking and cooking. Maybe I can afford to get ingredients?”
The old lady rummaged through some items in battered cardboard boxes at her feet. “Here, this is what you need to make white chocolate yourself. It’s just a little over your budget, but you’re a sweet boy and you asked nicely so I’ll let you have it with the credits you have.”
“Thank you, thank you so much!”
At the entrance to the market Obi-Wan was startled by a woman staggering out of a doorway opening onto the market. She flashed a half-toothless grin at him and remarked, simply, “Cute boy. Here, Love Day. From me.”
Obi-Wan bowed his head, accepting the gift, intending to put it in his pocket to examine later, when it occurred to him that it might be rude not to consume the treat in front of its donor. He opened the battered flimsi wrapper and popped it in his mouth, mumbling his thanks, as he made his way back to the Temple.
It wasn’t until he had closed the old door behind him and started back the way he came that he allowed himself to bite down on what seemed to be some sort of chocolate. It had a strange grainy texture but otherwise was recognizable as chocolate.
By the time he had returned to the quarters he shared with his master, Obi-Wan had finished the treat, which left a strange, tinny aftertaste. Too late, it occurred to him that it might be laced with something. That woman seemed to be under the influence of some substance, after all.
As he sank into his bed, Obi-Wan saw a girl’s face blossom onto the ceiling, the angular features interesting, the slim nose that could be haughty looking, seeming dainty instead as she smiled at him, icy blue eyes sparkling with affection. She reached up to remove her metal headband, allowing short blonde curls to tumble onto her face. “Oh, Ben, I love you. Be my riduur, not just for Love Day, but for always. Help me write my song.”
Obi-Wan smiled back and reached up for her, puckering up as he felt the phantom kiss of this girl. She was definitely enthusiastic, given that she was arguably proposing marriage. Obi-Wan was thirteen, too young to think of anything like that, but his body was responding to the thought of her arms wrapped around him, her lips meeting his. The shadowy dream girl came even closer, closer, closer, until he felt her melting into himself, in a communion of mind, soul, and body, so intense that something broke through inside him, and was released.
Qui-Gon was smiling when he returned to the quarters he shared with his padawan. Ah, the boy was already home. Qui-Gon noted the small parcel on the kaff table—supplies for making white chocolate, and a little something for Bant. Good, this was exactly what Tahl wanted. She wanted liquid white chocolate so she could coat Qui-Gon and herself in it, for them to lick off of each other. It was messy but rewarding to feel her tongue on his body, to suck her nipples in return.
Hmm, what was this? Qui-Gon noticed a wrapper of some sweet, the crumpled flimsi casually tossed into the wastebasket. This was weird stuff, chocolate laced with venom from a rare serpent. The venom was known as an aphrodisiac with a side effect of hallucinations. Obi-Wan wouldn’t know that. Qui-Gon tuned into his bond with Obi-Wan and observed that the boy’s Force presence was cloudy, suggesting that he was drugged, but Obi-Wan was also leaking pleasure of a sexual nature. The boy was thirteen, probably exploring himself by this age. Or else he had had a wet dream. That was healthy and normal. Qui-Gon decided to focus instead on packaging up the gifts for Tahl and her padawan, for Return Love Day. Perhaps Obi-Wan could sing when they presented the gifts. Tahl would like that.
Yan Dooku sat up with a start. Jo was no longer in the restricted access vault, probably having gone back to work, but Sifo was here, a vague “Kinuginu” smile on his face. Oh yes. Yan remembered now. He had fallen asleep after he’d taken a mouthful of Sifo’s length. He still needed to source some white chocolate for Return Love Day, a lot of it, because he also needed to return the duty chocolates from students and former students, not just special chocolates for Jo, Sifo, and of course Komari.
Sifo stirred awake next to him. “Sweet pea. Daffodil. Mallow. Venice sumac. Happy Love Day. Many happy returns.”
“Yes, to you, too. We need to get going.” Yan stood up and swished his cape for emphasis. “We’ve got shopping to do. Or, in your case, household archeology.” Who knew how old the chocolates in Sifo's kitchen were.
Sifo smiled at that. “Archeology is fun. Jo would agree.”
“Do this more often, we should. Friendship, important is.” Master Yoda popped the last candied frog into his mouth.
“Enjoy your company I do. Thank you for having me.” Master Yaddle made for the door. All good things must come to an end. “Share my candied frogs I will, tomorrow, on Return Love Day.”
On the other side of the galaxy, a young Mandalorian girl woke up from her nap. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep over her homework, but that was such a vivid, enjoyable dream about a boy who was so adorable with those dimples, that grin, those mischievous eyes, that she had wanted to squeeze him tight and never let go. None of the boys at school elicited that reaction from her.
Then Satine remembered that she had going over her Ryl homework and was using her dictionary to piece together the meaning of a song she had heard and liked on the radio. One of those new tango tunes, yes. “Tell me the secret of your kisses, the reason for my weakness around you.” She smiled as the lyrics began to make sense. Someday, on Love Day, she would kiss the boy from her dream and he would return her love.
In the morning Padawan Komari Vosa suppressed an unseemly squeal when she saw the small package on her breakfast plate, next to her usual ration bar. Even though Love Day and Return Love Day happened every year, even though it was common for padawans and masters to exchange gifts like this, it was still a thrill to get something from Master Yan. He seemed scary and forbidding and not likely to approve of this sort of thing, but Komari knew him better than that.
“Aw, Master, I’m glad you return my love.” She didn’t wait for any sort of signal before opening the white flimsi bag that clearly contained a small card and a single white truffle, one of the good ones from Alderaan.
“I—never mind.” Yan Dooku was about to protest that he didn’t “love” Komari, since that wasn’t something he wanted her to tell all and sundry all over the galaxy, since non-Jedi tended to misunderstand these things, but thought better of it. Love came in many flavors, and it was definitely true that he was proud of her achievements and invested in her progress, had a literal bond in his head leading directly to her.
She read the short, hand-written message and grinned. “Proud of me, huh? Honored to be my master, huh? I’m glad of that.” She knew better than to jump up from her seat and throw herself around him without warning—his startle response could be rather violent—but she still gave him a good-natured poke along their training bond. The illustrations of flowers on the little card filled in the rest, in the language of flowers. Daffodils, to express his regard. Pineapple, to tell her that she was perfect. Water lily, for purity of heart. Venice sumac, for intellect. This was very high praise coming from Yan Dooku.
“Now it’s up to you to keep it up, for the next year. Finish your breakfast so you’re not late to class but don’t be a barbarian about how you do it.”
“Aw, Master. All right.” Komari giggled a bit as she finished her tea, got up, and gave her master a pat on the shoulder as she scooped up her holobooks and headed out to another day of study and growth.