Hello, my beloved website! I present to you—with pride and joy and unnecessary dramatics—my baby, Casalinga!

This newest project is the rewrite of my deleted story, "I Am Your Okaa-san!", which, pretty much, resembles this to a T, only with like, better grammar and lesser loopholes. I actually don't have much to say for the author's note, but I am placing the disclaimer here, to avoid legal trouble.

I do not own anything, except my original characters.

Other than that, I will warn the readers that I update the chapters as I write them. And shamefully, I do not write often. I also frequently get writer's block, which sucks. But, pfft, we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Without further ado, then, enjoy!

Edit: October 22, 2014. I am revising Casalinga from the very first chapter. This action is performed due to several factors, such as my (increasingly annoying) writer's block, which, my friends have commented, is getting out of hand. I have been advised to get in touch with my baby (and by extension, Katekyo Hitman Reborn) by editing it. This may take a while, but I am not abandoning my fanfic. In fact, the next chapter (the eighth one, I believe) is already eleven pages long.

"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."

— Albert Camus

Casalinga

By Freydris

Prologue

"Buh-bye, Shiko-chan! Take care—oh and, good luck at school!"

Quite accidentally (because who does it on purpose, honestly?), I stumbled on my own two feet, taken aback by my mother's call.

Agh, who was I kidding? "Taken aback" was an understatement. The more appropriate turn of phrase, I believe, was "surprised beyond imagination because what the ever-loving frack!?". It deserved a follow-up statement, in the form of "the sky must be falling!".

However, I was not known to look a gift horse in the mouth. I knew that a moment—a chance for a semblance of normalcy—like this one was incredibly rare, because mother did not care for me (she did not, even when she said that she did, because I have her eyes, and hers were not happy and loving), so I hurriedly turned around to give her a half-hearted wave, forcing a cheerful smile to my lips.

I faltered upon seeing that the gate had already been shut, and there was no mother waving me off. Only a big house (a house, and that was all it was, because it wasn't a home) stood before me. In the ensuing silence, I almost felt embarrassed, because really, really?

I had fallen for that cheap and rotten trick?

I was such an idiot.

Scratching my forearm uncomfortably, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat and turned around again, stubbornly ignoring the hurt pang in my chest. It raged and kicked and scratched against my ribcage, valiantly fighting to be freed in the form of anger, but if I do say so myself—I did a pretty good job keeping it down.

If I had been anybody else, I would have been able to push away the emotions and move on like it was nothing. But knowing me, that was nigh impossible.

Once upon a time, in a world far far away, I had been a person christened as Gabrielle Jarred. I had a caring family.

A family that insisted to drop me off at school, never mind the fact that I was well beyond the age of being "dropped off" at school. I had a strict, overprotective father whose answer to everything was always a "no". I had a mother who always sent me packed lunch, and played the piano for me whenever I felt miserable. I had a little brother whom I loved very dearly, despite his mischievous nature.

Once upon a time, in a world far far away, I had been loved.

According to Google search, the country of Japan was five-thousand and nineteen miles away from Canada. The two countries belonged to two different continents. They were far apart—one was located in the Western hemisphere, and the other was located in the Eastern hemisphere. The cultures of the two were also painfully diverse, when compared.

I had done my research, but the Jarred family did not exist in Canada.

Well, not my Jarred family, anyway.

To put it frankly—after my supposed death in the Other World (fondly labeled by yours truly, with the capital letters and all), I was reincarnated into an Other Other World (also labeled by myself). Anime shows I was intimately familiar with, like "Naruto", "Katekyo Hitman Reborn", and "Kuroko no Basuke", did not exist in the Other Other World. The "Harry Potter" series was not real.

(I know, blasphemy, right?)

Earth and the eight other planets still existed and all (Viva la Pluto!), I'm sure extra-terrestrial beings still existed somewhere out there, and the continents were very much intact, but the trivial-but-not things like anime series, books, world leaders, and celebrities were all different.

I wasn't complaining, really, but honestly, of all spirits or souls or whatever they were called, I had to be the one reborn with my former memories intact?

(I was, however, secretly thankful. I clung to my old memories; the memories of my former parents and my former sibling, because I needed them—needed them desperately.)

A sudden blare from a BMW (or maybe the name for the vehicle was different in the Other Other World) had me scuttling off to the side of the street, surprised that I had been too caught up in my own thoughts, and even slightly angry at myself for my carelessness. What if the driver had simply decided to run me over? Then that would be another life wasted.

The car passed by, but not before the driver was able to glare and bark out a harsh reprimand. I stammered out a loud apology and bowed, not at all bothered by his actions. I deserved that admonition.

Mutually deciding that each of us had already wasted enough time, the driver and I gave each other a sharp, acknowledging nod and parted ways without another word. Much to my chagrin, I hesitated and looked back the way I came, watching the car continue along the street, and surprisingly, stop right in front of my house.

The gate opened noisily, and I scampered behind a convenient telephone post, shielding myself from view just in time. Curiosity won over my wish to avoid invading Mother's privacy, so I shoved my hand into my skirt's pocket and began rummaging over the paper bills hastily crumpled inside.

Fishing out my trusty phone, I flipped it open and held it in front of me, accordingly angling the dark screen so that the reflection of the scene stared back at me.

My mother, finely dressed in a pretty Sunday dress, shuffled out of the gate carefully, holding her favorite blue purse close to her cleavage. She looked around warily, before she fully stepped out, her glittering black stilettos stealing most of my attention. Against the dull gray of the asphalt concrete, it made her stand out remarkably.

After locking the house behind her, she turned around and greeted the driver—who had stepped out and opened the car's door for her—with an enthusiastic tongue tango, arms rising to encircle his neck. He caught her by the waist and returned her greeting.

As if electrified, I dropped my phone and pressed myself deeper against the thin post, which, I now realized, was the only pillar between my traitorous parent and me. The act would have been silly, but then, if I thought about it, it turned out that I was pathetic enough to seek physical comfort from a telephone post.

With an urgency that came out from nowhere, I shoved my phone back into my pocket and began walking again, a hand tightening around the strap of my bag.

When I felt myself trembling from anger—for me and my present father—two blocks after witnessing the encounter, I was ashamed. Acting like a part of the audience instead of that woman's own daughter was harder than I had imagined.

That day marked the beginning of the first semester for all of the schools in the district, so the streets were naturally full of the eager youth, bringing with them excited chatter and laughter. "A new preschool had opened in the area." An amused matron informed me, upon seeing my confused look as I crossed the street. That certainly explained the flood of bawling little boys and girls, and their nervous parents and guardians, to my later amusement.

I was physically twelve going on thirteen, and the middle school I had chosen to attend was conveniently found in the local area, thus I had no problem on walking everyday. My mother had insisted on an all-girls boarding school a couple of towns away, but I had shot that idea down quickly. I tended to lean towards the favor of cheap but competent facilities, and even just the thought of an expensive boarding school was enough to send me running for the hills.

Now, I knew the reason why she suggested the boarding school.

I shook the dark thought of my head and wrinkled my nose distastefully, grimacing at the anger that rose with the thought. I did not want her to further ruin my first day in school. Goodness knows she messed up enough of my life.

Second life, but whatever.

On the way, I was able to identify who went to my school and who went to the two other schools in the area. The boys all wore the same, dark gakuran, so I didn't bother to tell who was going to which school, but instead focused on the girls, who wore different sailor-style uniforms.

The girls in pink skirts went to the St. Marie's International Middle School for Girls, which was a private Catholic school for girls only. The ones wearing golden skirts went to Keiko Gakuen, a school running mainly on scholarships for sports. I was wearing an orange skirt, which meant that I studied in Satoru Middle School, the local co-ed school.

Since I was mentally older than all of my age-mates (how wrong is this sentence?), I did not feel the need to be friendly and instead kept my head down, reciting all the prime numbers from one to fifty to keep all the other thoughts away. It was bothersome, and oddly enough, lonely. A preposterous idea, it was. Me? An adult, grown-up woman? Feeling lonely?

Scoff.

Soon, the crowd started to thin out as the girls wearing pink skirts turned left, minding to stay on the sides of the street as every once in a while, an expensive car would pass by, headed towards their destination as well. The Keiko Gakuen students turned right, and the number of boys was reduced significantly. It wasn't long before I realized I was walking with my upperclassmen and my future classmates.

Deciding to extend the memorization of the prime numbers to the range of fifty and above for the sole purpose of memorizing the prime numbers within the range of fifty and above, I concentrated solely on on my polished shoes, furrowing my eyebrows.

Because of my focus, I was unable to sense the person careening towards me until it was too late. His alarmed grunt being the only warning, I looked up and we crashed into each other with a loud slam of two bodies colliding. I violently stumbled to the side, almost lurching down to my knees because of the impact, but managed to hold onto the arm of a nearby girl.

With a worried huff, she helped steady me, and after realizing that I was still holding her, I jumped away, mumbling my apologies underneath my breath. I turned to my offender, only to find him glaring at me—as if it was my fault we had collided. Without meaning to, that displaced anger from awhile ago returned with a vengeance as I watched him rub his shoulder, staggering to rise.

I returned his glare tenfold (because that was very rude!), but before I could begin a fight (not that I would), he continued running, hollering an unfamiliar name. Another boy walking in front turned around, and the two greeted each other jovially.

Affronted, I collected my wits and straightened my uniform, mentally shaking my head at his lack of manners. If only I was a bit older, I would've taught him a lesson or two about respect.

Kids these days.

"Hey!" Another voice angrily shouted, and my eyebrow twitched indignantly as another person—this time the girl who had helped steady me—ran past me, a finger pointed to the boy accusingly. "Hey you!" She shouted again, her long, beautiful, red hair fluttering against the wind that picked up.

The other students paused, sensing the unfolding drama.

Left with no choice, I paused as well, quite begrudgingly against my consent. I discreetly searched for a way through the scene without catching anyone's attention, but when my search resulted with nothing, I sighed and condemned myself to witnessing something that only happened in anime shows.

The red-head was glaring at the boy viciously, her eyes alight with something hostile. For a moment I was afraid she would demand they wrestle where they stood. "That was very rude of you, you know!" She yelled, voice firm and strong, and if I were to be honest, a little shrill. "Bumping into her like that-" Wait, me? "-and not even apologizing! What did your mother teach you?!" She demanded hotly, scrunching up her nose. My mouth fell open, and a couple of the upperclassmen looked at me strangely.

The boy gave her a dull look, not minding the berating expression his friend was sending him. "I don't have parents." He replied blandly, appearing as if he was observing drying paint.

Yep. He looked that bored.

The red-head faltered. "Oh. Um. Well, me too, so I guess we can kind of relate..." She mumbled, trailing off guiltily, but the long silence that followed made her bounce back pretty quickly. "But that doesn't mean you have to be mean to people!" She exclaimed hotly, bristling.

I closed my hanging jaw and stepped forward, taking her hand before the boy could say anything else. "No, no, it's fine!" I squeaked, hating how my voice broke, "Just-" I moved to drag her away, but she was valiantly resisting, "Just c-come on! The bell's going to ring soon, and we'll all be late!"

That seemed to get the crowd moving, and soon I, with the tag-along red-head, had blended in as much as possible, which to say, was not much at all. Whispers followed us as I stormed through the sea of children, my face an alarming shade of red.

As soon as we reached the gates, I tugged her into a corner, shaded by bushes taller than myself. I released my tight grip on her hand and set my own on my hips. "What were you doing?!" I demanded angrily, nostrils flaring.

The girl rubbed her wrist with a poorly hidden wince and gave me a confused look. It made me feel like I had just kicked a wet puppy and left it out under the rain to die. "I was defending your honor." She replied honestly, scratching the back of her head. "Wasn't I-wasn't I supposed to? I mean, if someone did that to me, I would be so mad-"

I cut her off. "Uh, yeah. But. Ah, you didn't have to. I was just-I wasn't expecting you to do that." I stammered, dumbfounded. Was she for real?

I could not not be in an anime.

She was a red head, for one thing.

I looked down and fiddled with my fingers uncertainly, overcome by a sudden shyness unfit for a woman of my age. "T-Thank you." I whispered, risking a glance at her.

Her face was a flattering shade of pink, and she looked so pleased that the happiness was frighteningly contagious. "You're totally welcome! I'm Ito Nori." She introduced with flourish, holding out a slightly dirty hand, "You?"

I looked at this girl, this child, and felt my heart swell out in acceptance. Never mind the dirt—I was totally going to be friends with her. I reached out my own hand and grasped hers tightly, giving it a customary shake. "I am Tanaka Nadeshiko. It's nice to meet you."

I sliced through the years of middle school like knife to butter. With little effort, I kept my grades up, ranked third in class, and at the same time tried my best to help my red-head friend in struggling with her menial grades.

Throughout the years, Nori and I became the best of friends. It was an unexpected—but definitely a welcome—development. I didn't have much to complain about, however, because it was nice to have friends again; it wasn't as lonely anymore. There would even be days when I would drag out that duffel bag from below my bed—containing two days' worth of clothes and undergarments—and bunk over at her apartment, no matter how lousy and messy the place was. The tension in my house was reaching the point of Dangerous Beyond Belief.

My biological father, who was a businessman, was not stupid at all, and sooner rather than later, he found out about my mother's sordid affairs—not that she was trying to keep them secret. The formerly civil couple were now often shouting at each other at the top of their lungs, and sadly, throwing porcelain antiques at each other (what a waste of expensive china). Mother had taken to drinking until an ungodly hour, and father had filed for a divorce. I wanted to believe that at some point, those two were really in love with each other—because they seemed like sensible people, really—but it was hard to see it nowadays.

In this world, I liked my father more than I liked my mother. He was not affectionate, yes, and I rarely got to see him in my life, indeed, but he was in the level of "okay".

Of course, I told Nori about my family problems. She had responded with an unladylike snort and shook her pretty head, strands of red sticking to her pale mouth. "If that's what it's like to have parents, then I'm glad I'm an orphan." She stated dubiously, letting her head fall against her unfinished algebra homework. The opened pages were littered with problems, but she had lost interest in searching for the answers a long time ago.

There were so many times I had just wanted to cave in to temptation and tell her that no, that wasn't what having a family was like, because I had done this before, and I knew how it felt, because I've lived another life, but I wisely kept my mouth sealed tightly. Nori, for all her strangeness, would think I was a madwoman.

Instead, I sighed and told her to distribute the x. She let out a defeated groan and replied with "which one?".

I was celebrating my fifteenth birthday when it happened.

I was on my way to Nori's apartment, carrying six cans of Kilmis—which was a carbonated milk drink—to celebrate with her. In my pocket was the check my father had given to me as a present, and I was hoping my best friend would come with me to the mall for some light shopping. It was already dark, sometime past seven o'clock, but I was still walking through the streets.

Nori's dingy apartment was in the poor side of town, so I was careful to watch out for muggers and rapists. I was a paranoid teenager, but there was never a thing such as "being too careful". I knew what it was like. My other life helped a lot.

Once I arrived in the compound, I greeted the snoring security guard with a sneer and worked my way up the fragile staircase, skipping over the steps which I knew were broken. On my way though, a frown had made its way to my lips. Some of the steps were missing, tiny scraps of metal left hanging behind, which meant someone unfamiliar with their brittle states had used them not too long ago. And to make matters worse, the lights were off in Nori's apartment.

She never turned those lights off, electricity bill be damned. Nori absolutely detested the dark.

Keeping my steps light, I slowed down and bit my lips nervously. What if someone had robbed her? Or touched her inappropriately? Or worse, killed her?

I shuffled closer and listened, straining to hear the low tones from the otherwise quiet building.

"Can you-can you please turn the lights on? Please? I can't-I can't stand the dark." Came Nori's faint voice. My heart clenched with anxiety.

"Tch. What a weak thing you are." An unfamiliar—but undoubtedly masculine—voice drawled back in reply, sounding frustratingly bored. "And you're supposed to be my little sister?"

"What-what are you talking about? I'm an o-orphan! I'm not related to anyone! And for God's sake, switch the lights on!"

"Shut your f-cking mouth."

"Look here, you asshat, you can't just march into someone's apartment, tie this someone into her own bed, and start spouting off nonsense-"

I kicked the door open and switched on the lights.

True to her word, Nori was tied to the bed, and a red haired man vaguely resembling her was sitting across the bed, smoking a cigarette.

I shrieked and threw one can of Kilmis at him.

It was like asking him to Kill Me.

Haha, get it? The joke just now?

No? Oh well.

Nori was the missing daughter of Asari Katsumi, the seventh generation boss of the Asari yakuza.

She was forced out of her apartment by her older brother, the red-haired man I had assaulted with the soda can that night, and was forced to move into the Asari residence. All contact to her was cut off, and she was pulled out from the third year of middle school. Much to my disbelief, nobody questioned it, but I guess that was how it was when it came to yakuza.

However, I knew exactly what yakuza was, and how it was Dangerous Beyond Belief. I had seen gore movies of nothing but death when it concerned yakuza, so I knew better than to ask and pry. Being reincarnated had its perks; my self-preservation skills hit the roof.

So I kept my thoughts to myself, and wished every night that I could talk to Nori again.

Two months later, I found a red-head in my room. Mother and father had officially separated three weeks ago, and I was living with my father's employee temporarily.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered, creeping towards the bed, where she lay slumped, looking like the poster girl for misery. Someone had cut her beautiful hair.

She glanced at me, but said nothing.

I felt agitated immediately. "Hayate-san, the man who owns this house, has been very kind to me, Nori." I began coldly, staring her down. "If you're just going to bring trouble here, then-" I swallowed, and forced out out the biting words from my throat, "You better leave this instant. We don't want trouble here."

Her gaze sharpened, and she frowned at me, looking very betrayed. "I don't want trouble too!" She replied heatedly, and I stood stock still, unsure of what to say. "I don't want to be in the yakuza!" She continued angrily, gripping the meticulously arranged bedsheets below her, twisting it until it didn't look like my bed anymore.

"Be quiet." I scolded instead, because nothing came up in my brain. "You'll wake up Hayate-san."

"Is that what you're concerned about?!" She whisper-shouted, exasperated. I was pleased that she listened to me, anyway. "Nadeshiko, I don't want to go back there-" "You escaped?" "-because I don't want to be lonely!"

Something about those words struck me, and in spite of myself, I froze and listened to her ramble.

"My mother hates me, my brother hates me, my mother's apprentice hates me, heck, the whole yakuza hates me!" She hissed, eyes gaining a wet shine. She looked down at the bed and pressed her face into it. "They call me weak and bully me—frankly, they don't want me there. Nadeshiko, I don't want to-I don't want to go back. I wanna go home. Please help me." Her words were muffled by the mattress, but after years of being with her, I was able to decipher them.

Something heavy had settled in my throat, and I couldn't swallow. "I can't." I whispered into the darkness, upset. "You know I can't. Against them, I'm basically-" It hurt to admit it, but I had to, "-an ant to their boots, Nori. They're yakuza. What you're asking..." I forced myself to swallow, and it hurt. "It's impossible."

Her silence meant that she knew.

Uncomfortable with the quiet, I lowered myself to the floor and sat down, merely staring at her still form. I hated seeing her like that. Nori was vibrant, and cheerful, and full of life. She didn't deserve to look so down-trodden.

"Come with me, then."

I snapped out of my thoughts and frowned at her. "I beg your pardon?"

She hoisted herself off the bed, and gave me this determined look that was so positively Nori. She could have said that she would move mountains at that moment, and I would have believed her. Because Nori was like that.

"Come with me to the yakuza, Nadeshiko. And together, we'll take it by the storm."

Against my better judgment, I joined the Asari yakuza when I was fifteen, following the gut instinct that told me to go with Nori. I left my father a note, feeling every inch of the ungrateful daughter I was, and stopped studying, so that I could devote myself to my best friend.

Things became complicated after that.

But Nori made things a little better. She gave me a naginata for a late birthday present.

I turned seventeen in the year 19XX. Nori and I held a small party—just the two of us—and we spent the night looking at the stars, wondering where Orion's belt was. We fell asleep surrounded by Kilmis cans and left-over pie, outside in the yard, and woke up the next day with drawings on our faces.

The following months changed a couple of things. Several things happened at once.

Nori married Nakamura Satoru, Katsumi-sama's apprentice. Their engagement lasted two weeks, and unexpectedly, out of nowhere, they were married. It was like someone suddenly opened a party popper and screamed "Surprise!" for an event that did not exist. I was confused beyond belief. Because while the whole world knew that Nori was head over heels for Satoru (her missions to peek at him in the bathhouse were infamous), I, on the other hand, knew that my best friend preferred long courtships over quick romances. Had I missed some essential development to their friendship paradigm? Oh well. I didn't ask too much about it. The two were disgustingly cute. Satoru was a tsundere by heart, and Nori just loved teasing him.

Nori's older brother and the heir to the eighth generation of Asari, Hajime, was killed in a police raid. It was a great loss for the yakuza—even Nori, who didn't like him as much (because the two were tsundere siblings; Katsumi-sama insisted it came from their father's side), was upset.

That boy who bumped into me such a long long time ago, during my first day of middle school, Toshio Masahiko, was easily recruited by the police force at age seventeen, and was the one who led the raid. My former classmate killed my best friend's brother.

Small world.

Katsumi-sama stepped down, revealing a weakness we didn't even know she had, and Nori became the eighth generation Asari boss.

A year passed. Leaves fell and sprouted again. Snow fell and melted over time.

I turned eighteen. This time, the celebration included the whole yakuza. I had grown close to all of them, and I could name all of the faces I considered family, even the grunts who were actually quite decent company. We had a three-layered cake, and some pretty strong drinks, and a translated English film to watch. I fell asleep between three drunken men, and woke up with the biggest hangover ever.

Nori eventually gave birth to a beautiful baby boy with her blue eyes and Satoru's dark hair. She had carried the little bundle as if it were the holy grail, and called the child Hajime, after her older brother. Satoru didn't get a say in it.

Against most of the yakuza's wishes, my red-haired best friend approached Masahiko and started a tentative alliance. She wanted to take down everything bad and evil in the city. The yakuza was made to protect, she had said. After cutting our illegal ties and purging the yakuza, the Asari became momentarily weak, but with Nori as the boss, we grew stronger.

My best friend was changing things for the better, and I couldn't be more proud.

I turned nineteen. I was nearing twenty, and often found myself thinking along the lines of what if. What if I hadn't agreed with Nori? What if I had refused her offer, and continued studying like I had wanted to? I would've been making a decent living for myself or something.

I pushed those thoughts away, and never again thought about them.

I was in the Asari compound when it happened. It was a cold November, and the radio was playing a translated Celine Dione song. I was unfamiliar with it, but I found myself humming along with the English lyrics I knew by heart. I was thinking of my past life, like I often did when I was alone. I wondered how my little brother must've grown up. He must have had three children—or perhaps more, and of course he'd name one after me. He had always loved the name Pippa. Pippa Gabrielle Jarred. The name was not so bad.

While I was reading a book, I shuddered out of nowhere, and for the next few hours, I felt very uneasy. The compound was unnaturally silent that day, and only a few of us remained at home.

Satoru returned at exactly eight o'clock and told us that Nori was dead. She had been killed in a fight with another yakuza, but Asari won in the end. Masahiko arrested the enemy from what was left of the bloodshed.

The Asari compound was silent that night.

Like the dutiful best friend I was, I stayed until her funeral. And then I packed my things up, left Satoru a note, and left without looking back, bringing everything with me.

I returned to my father.

The house seemed gloomier without the flowers and the plants decorating the front, but I pushed my pride away, and rang the door bell twice.

My father opened the gate, his hair grayer than the last time I had seen him (of course, I kept constant surveillance on him) , and we looked at each other in silence, his gaze laden with surprise while mine was heavy with regret. I couldn't keep the gaze very long, and eventually looked down. He seemed shorter, more withdrawn, and tired, that I felt guilt eating away my heart.

"Did you do what you had to do?" He asked first, and I answered with a small affirmative. His face was oddly blank. "Why did you come back?" There was no accusation, no anger, just plain curiosity. I didn't know whether to be relieved or mad. Did he not care at all?

To answer him, I shrugged and forced the words out of my mouth. "My best friend is dead."

It left a bitter aftertaste in my palate.

He opened the gate a little wider, and invited me in with a sharp nod.

I exchanged letters with Katsumi-sama often. I apologized at having to leave suddenly, realizing how selfish I had been, but her replies conveyed that she understood. She had, after all, lost all of her children, she joked, but that didn't reassure me at all. In fact, I felt even lower than dirt, and was ashamed to show my face to anyone from the Asari. I politely declined all invitations to parties and reunions, and instead helped my father in his restaurant.

After some time, I asked him to change my name, and with a little help from Katsumi-sama, Tanaka Nana came to existence. I wanted to leave everything behind, and begin fresh and anew.

It was Wednesday, and it was pouring outside. The skies opened up and seemed to weep for me, but I felt it had missed its cue. Nori's funeral had been seven weeks ago, and I couldn't find it in myself to cry anymore. What's done was done. I had to move on.

The weather had been horrible all week, and most of the people in the restaurant had come in for the roof to avoid the rain. Wet clothes left droplets all over the floor and the carpet, and I had pushed my father into the kitchen before he could start yelling at the people inside and make a scene. At least, some decided to order a couple of drinks.

I was wiping a table when the bells chimed, signaling the entrance of a customer. I spared the door a disinterested glance, but quickly looked away, red creeping into my face as I noted that the man who entered was quite handsome. He was wearing a suit, and his blond hair and dark skin informed me that he worked overseas. His face, however, told me he was Japanese. He didn't seem particularly wet, and I had to wonder why.

I glanced outside. No, the rain hadn't lessened at all. Strange.

I left the table and made my way back to the counter, sending another waitress—a part-time worker named Hana—to mind him. Handsome or not, I wanted nothing to do with him. Even the way he walked screamed trouble.

I was, however, forced to approach his table when it became obvious that he was upsetting Hana, which was a big no-no for me. Fixing a disapproving look in my face, I marched up to them and asked as politely as I could.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, meeting my co-worker's eyes reassuringly.

Hana deflated, relieved at my interference, and wasted no time in telling me. "This man wants a beer, Nana-senpai!" She stage-whispered, her eyes flicking over to him worriedly. I could already see hints of her itching to flee—she had taken a step back to allow me to take over the situation.

Mentally rolling my eyes at her submission—because honestly, at times like this, women needed to step up and summon that age-old confidence that would leave men open-mouthed with arousal and not at all knowing they just catered to all of our whims—I discreetly motioned for her to make her great escape. She gave me a small, grateful smile and just about sprinted towards the kitchen.

Honestly, sometimes I worried for these people.

Shaking my head, I turned to the particularly bothersome customer, giving him a once-over. He was even more handsome up close. Nevertheless, I narrowed my eyes at him, and mustered up every drop of strictness in myself. "I'm sorry sir, but we don't serve beer here." I informed him crisply, forcing a smile into my face. "Please order something else."

He snorted and looked up from the menu, lips pursed. He looked like he just had a bad day, and a part of me felt sorry for worsening it even more. Still, he was being rude in a respectable establishment like my father's place, and unless he decided to be polite, then I would be rude to him as well. "Well, that's too ba-" He started a bit haughtily, but he did a double-take as soon as he saw me. He blinked repeatedly and observed me from head to toe, not at all bothering to hide it.

I was immediately wary, years of involvement in the yakuza telling me to stab him in the face, because that was just stupidly suspicious. I tried my best to push away the instinctive reaction to attack him. Did he recognize me as Nadeshiko?

I glanced to my left. A fork was conveniently left nearby. I could stab him and make a run for it should the need arise.

Reassured that I could defend myself, I returned my attention to him and waited patiently.

He cleared his throat and avoided looking at my face, fixing his collar as if it were choking him. "A-Ah, uhm, what would you s-suggest then, miss?" He asked, all of a sudden polite.

I squashed down the urge to hit him—because what he was doing was even more suspicious—as I took the menu from his loosened fingers and examined the contents, though I already knew the servings by heart. "Well, since you're going for a drink, then you might as well take something warm. Our coffee is good, but I personally love the hot milk. It's your choice, however." I delivered smoothly, not missing a beat.

The fork glimmered enticingly.

"I'll take it, then."

I pulled out my notebook, "The coffee, or the milk?"

"The milk."

I nodded sharply, "Anything else?"

"Your hand in marriage, perhaps?" He suggested jokingly. I gave him a funny look and strolled back to the counter, ripping the page with his order and sliding it against the cool surface of the table. "Hot milk for one. Make it quick." I told the other person across the counter. She picked the paper up wordlessly and started with the making.

I turned my attention back to Hana, who was gaping at me while wiping an empty glass. Uncomfortably, I twitched and sent her an annoyed look. "Yes?" I asked pointedly.

"That stranger just proposed to you!"

She was eavesdropping. I gave the whole restaurant a look, and everybody seemed quiet and guilty.

Everyone had been eavesdropping.

I gave them the stink-eye and waved a hand in dismissal, purposely lowering my voice. "He was joking. Geez, Hana-san, you're so sheltered." I mumbled, hating how she acted so familiar with me.

She turned red and started stammering, and ended up excusing herself to go to the bathroom. I was only too happy to let her walk away, because somehow I found her personality a bit too close and friendly for me.

A mug of hot milk slid across the counter, and I caught it without another word. Nodding to the woman across me, I straightened up and stalked towards the blond man. Forcing another polite smile into my face, I gently placed his mug of hot milk in front of him. "That would be three-hundred and fifty-five yen, sir." I murmured.

"O-Oh. Here." He handed the payment and curled two fingers around the mug's handle, a dazed look fixed on me.

"Careful." I warned off-handedly. "It's hot." And then I walked away and returned to serving the other customers.

Next Wednesday, the weather was calmer and more peaceful. There was a steady amount of customers, and business was doing well. It was nearing four of the afternoon, so we were expecting more people to come in before we'd close at seven-thirty.

The bells chimed, and I turned around to acknowledge the customer. Upon seeing who it was, I faltered. It was the blond man from the last week. He caught my gaze, and gave me a small wave and a crooked smile.

Baffled, I reluctantly waved back, before busying myself with the stacks of table napkins still waiting to be folded.

About five minutes later, Hana approached me. She ducked her head and smothered a what-seemed-like knowing smile. "Table five needs a waitress, Nana-sempai. I'll take over for you." She offered generously. I nodded, finishing an elegant Japanese fold. "Alright. Thank you, Hana-san." Sharply turning, I quickly walked to table five, notebook at the ready.

I gave the customer a close-eyed smile. "Good afternoon, may I please take your-" Upon really looking to see whom I was serving, I took a double-take. It was the blond. "-o-order? Sir."

He smiled, and I felt ridiculously warm. Fidgeting, I waited for him to speak.

"I would like the warm milk, please." He started politely, not even glancing at our menu. He said his piece with confidence that it almost seemed like he had been frequenting this restaurant for years. It was outrageous. But I felt a smile forming on my lips without my consent.

"One warm milk, coming right up." I calmly repeated for his sake, jotting down the drink he wanted. "I'll be back in a few minutes with your order, sir." I was secretly pleased by his choice, but I didn't quite know why.

When I gently lowered the mug of steaming milk in front of him, he squinted and ducked, eying my nametag. Confused, I straightened up. "Sir?"

"So your name is Nana, huh." He mumbled, also straightening. He flashed me a cute smile. "Cute."

I flushed and bowed my head. "Tanaka Nana, sir." I told him, clearing my throat. "You are?"

He grinned and offered a hand, "Sawada Iemitsu."

While taking his bigger hand into my smaller one, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was missing something very important.

I wasn't Tanaka Nana any longer. I had become—officially—Sawada Nana. Iemitsu proposed to me five months ago after our one-year relationship and we married around three months ago. He told me he was a construction worker, but I quickly identified the lie.

It was, first and foremost, a horrible lie.

The clues were all so very obvious. The first and the second time we met, he was wearing a suit that was branded. His natural blond hair—don't ask me how I knew it was natural—pointed to a foreign bloodline (Italian, guessing by the language he spoke when he was often called on the phone). His speech was accented.

The marriage was also arranged too perfectly—a construction worker couldn't come up with that much money in two months, even if he saved beforehand. A huge house was bought in a small town called Namimori. A house that couldn't be afforded so quickly, along with the furniture and the equipment that were suspiciously extravagant.

My husband was something else, and he obviously believed that I was the oblivious wife.

But I was going to find out, whether he liked it or not. And when I will, the two of us will be having a very long talk.

I can't believe it.

I'm in an anime show.

I'm in Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

I looked at the sleeping face of my child—a small, fragile creature no older than two weeks—and found myself melting in the inside. Sawada Tsunayoshi was a beautiful baby boy, with a small tuft of hair on his head, the same shade as mine. He resembled me so similarly that I thought I was staring at the male-version of myself.

"Hello, sweetheart." I whispered, smiling when he twitched, as if he recognized the endearment. "You have quite the life ahead of you." I told him with a small laugh, "Your mother doesn't know what to do, actually."

The baby didn't reply and only continued to breathe rhythmically. Shaking my head (just because I found out I was in an anime show didn't mean I should expect genius infants), I stood up from the rocking chair and lowered the bundle in my arms onto the crib. The door creaked open, and I smiled at Iemitsu, who beamed back.

Walking over to him, I entered his open arms and snuggled into his chest. He was taller than myself, but it must be his Italian blood.

Speaking of Italian. I sighed deeply and looked up at him, pursing my lips. "Iemitsu..." I started softly, meeting his eyes. I manipulated my lips until I was smiling with the gentleness of a harmless kitten. "Is there something important you need to tell me?" I asked quietly, tilting my head to the side.

The blond tensed, completely going still. I patiently waited for him to talk.

"I-ah-Nana, I have plans on leaving for Italy in a few years. There's a promising job overseas and..." He began uncomfortably, breaking our eye contact.

This was it. I dipped my head graciously and motioned for him to continue. "What's the job, dear?"

Much to my surprise, he didn't gesture for me to sit down so he could explain his whole mafia business. Instead, he broke out into a forced smile. "It's an office work, actually. But the pay is good and.." He rambled on, not noticing how I froze and how my smile fell.

My chest felt heavy for a moment, and I found out I couldn't breathe. I had crossed a bridge without meaning to, and Iemitsu continued on lying to me. As he would continue to do for the next years.

I contemplated the situation in silence.

Nori, what would you have done, if you were in my shoes?

I liked to think that before Iemitsu and I became a thing, we were friends first. He used to go to the restaurant every Wednesday if only to complain about his job (which he conveniently never specifically mentioned), and I had the ears to listen and the mouth to comfort him. We had been friends first, and that's how I believed that maybe, just maybe, we reached a certain point where he could tell me his secrets, like I would to him.

I shouldn't have felt so hurt. I, after all, was also hiding some things from my own husband. My past in the yakuza never came to light, and I found myself entirely grateful for that.

So when the next couple of years came and went, I told myself never to feel left out and sorry for myself, even when Iemitsu grew more distant, even when he had to leave for Italy, claiming that he was off to be a star. It was punishment for the wrongs I did, and somehow, if only a little, I wanted to redeem myself.

Iemitsu and I were a silly pair, after all. For a seemingly light-hearted, wonderful couple, the both of us held secrets that we kept from each other. The only difference was that I knew what he thought he kept from me. It was the advantage of being reborn with my old memories.

It was like a tragic love story.

And now, my son was caught in the middle of it.

Sawada Tsunayoshi was now six years old. It had been two years since Iemitsu had left Japan, three months since he returned and brought his boss with him (I am still not going to drop this terribly reckless affair), and again my son and I were alone.

My wedding anniversary was on January 20.

Unlike my other celebrations, which I always spent with my friends and my family, I spent my anniversary day alone.

"Otou-san bad?" Tsuna asked curiously, and I looked up from a yellowing piece of paper littered with Katsumi-sama's graceful handwriting. It was the letter where she provided a phone number, should I ever have the need to contact her. I had my father dig it up from the box under my old bed.

It was six years since I had last spoken to anyone from the Asari.

"No, Tsu-kun." I told the little brunette, wiping away the dampness of my cheeks. "Otou-san wasn't bad. It's just that-" What should I say? "Otou-san is very busy right now, and Okaa-san lets the stress get to her often." At this, I laughed hysterically, "Okaa-san shouldn't cry, now, right?"

"Kaa-san no cry!" Tsuna agreed, bobbing his head up and down furiously, and I smiled faintly, folding the letter close and tucking it away so that I could lift Tsuna onto my lap. We were in the kitchen, and I had prepared some pasta for Iemitsu's return.

Only that, he wasn't going to return this year. He was sorry, though, and that made things a little better.

"Say 'aah', Tsu-kun." I said, offering him a fork of noodles. He opened his mouth wide with a loud "Aah".

Needless to say, I spent my wedding anniversary with my son and was contented with that. I made sure to take some pictures and send it to Iemitsu, if only to spite the golden-haired man. I was allowed a little bit of hate, once in a while.

When Tsuna was fast asleep in his room, I pulled out a phone from one of our drawers.

I had three phones in the house. One was the telephone. Iemitsu had bugged that. One was a personal phone of my own. Iemitsu had bugged that too. The last was another personal phone, but Iemitsu didn't know it existed.

Taking out the letter carefully, I dialed the number and waited for an answer.

Two rings and a familiar voice answered, "Who is this?"

Katsumi-sama may be old, but she still sounded graceful and beautiful. I found myself tearing up a little. Shakily, I covered my mouth and answered as quietly as possible. "It's nice to hear your voice again, Katsumi-sama." I whispered softly, closing my eyes.

"Nadeshiko." She sounded pleasantly surprised.

I felt my chest lighten up at the name that used to be mine. "Nana now, actually." I corrected, "But Nadeshiko is fine. I still quite...like that name."

"What is the purpose of your call?"

I smiled at her straight-forwardness, "The last letter I sent to you, it mentioned a Sawada Iemitsu proposing to me, didn't it?"

"I can faintly remember."

Hiding a snort, because Katsumi-sama had a wickedly sharp and exact memory, I replied, "No doubt you did some research on him."

"Yes. We did."

The use of "we". I grimaced as I imagined the look on the faces of my ex-comrades when they found out I was marrying someone from an internationally well-known mafia famiglia, "Yes. Well. He's-"

"We know that, too."

"My son is a potential heir." I bluntly told her.

There was a long pause.

"Well sh-t."

I didn't know why, but I laughed loudly.

Sawada Nana. You are me and I am you, now. I cannot think of us as separate beings. But this, this I will tell you. I will do better with Tsunayoshi. I will not let my knowledge go to waste.