In the year 20XX, after multiple explosive, bloody arguments ending in scorched tables and shattered, overly-expensive antique vases the prices of which would make art collectors on a budget screech with horror, twenty one year old Tsunayoshi Sawada (now di Vongola) took up the title of Vongola Decimo.
The inheritance ceremony was attended by the Vongola's and the Decimo's closest companions and allies. In other words, half of the mafia was there and then some. Extra chairs had to be dragged in from the multiple dining and sitting rooms within the excessive mansion.
(Mukuro ended up half standing on a love-seat with an elbow shoved into Byakuran's ribs and Xanxus stepped on Spanner's feet. Fon kneeled casually on a coffee table next to Hanna. All six were given a wide berth after the ceremony.)
Inevitably, of course, the ceremony itself included several more explosive arguments and broken vases, mean drunks, people getting thrown out left and right, and ended on a high note with a semi-casual battle royale.
It all began during the feast with a base-level insult and, suddenly, Tsuna found himself ducking an errant pasta dish thrown at Enma's head.
Meanwhile, Kyoko's sun flames flared and dissipated three inches from his right knee. He could hear the distinguishable sound of Reborn's gun being reloaded as he used a piece of the priceless mahogany dinner table as a shield.
Tsuna felt his mouth curl up in the corners. The whizzing noise of a plate full of eclairs nearly flying into him knocked the would-be smile off of his face. The future had never looked brighter.
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A year and a half after the inheritance ceremony that technically lasted ten days if one included the after-party (which, if asked, most of those in attendance would be unable to recall a majority of) Tsuna covertly rubbed his face in exasperation. His head was starting to pound and his hyper intuition was rearing its head at the first sign of trouble.
"I'm sorry Hayato, can you run that by me again?"
Gokudera Hayato beamed and his cheeks flushed a bright, pleased red to match the silk color of his shirt.
"You've gotten yourself a hell of a reputation there, boss. Neo-Vongola Primo? That's huge! Now you'll be able to one-up the Bisci Familia for sure," Gokudera clapped his hands together, pleased as punch.
Tsuna gave up all pretense of subtlety and cradled his head in his hands.
According to half of the mafia, he was technically called Neo-Vongola Primo. According to Tsuna, Reborn was a dick for spreading that stupid nickname around.
Luckily, Tsuna's self-preservation skills were still in mostly functioning order and he found it in him not to throw one of the many expensive glass paperweights on his desk at his former tutor turned adviser when he smugly appeared in his office later that day.
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In the dying light of his own flames, Tsuna avoided looking at his own shadow. He could hear the firetruck's sirens in the distance, coming closer and warning him to flee the scene. He thought he'd have gotten used to the mafia's violent nature after two years as a mafia boss. He was wrong.
The air around him was acrid, smelling of burnt flesh and Tsuna could almost taste the iron tang of blood if he stuck his dry tongue out of his mouth. Despite the corpses surrounding him, Tsuna's hyper intuition was blaring more strongly now than ever. His head was pounding in time with his heartbeat. His hyper intuition was still making itself known, though Tsuna assumed it was the remnants of his adrenaline from the battle.
Smoke visibly wavered around him and, reluctantly, Tsuna let Mukuro cover him in it fully, if only to escape the inquiring questions any police would throw his way if they found him on the scene.
He lifted his hand and dialed his right hand man.
"It's done. They won't be bothering any of our allies again," Tsuna assured him, hushed voice carrying in the silence.
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"Relax Dame-Tsuna, it's just a little cold." Reborn croaked. He somehow managed to make it sound both threatening, smug, and malicious.
Tsuna shivered. His head hurt. Hell, it had been hurting ever since he heard Reborn sneeze for the first time about half a month ago. His illness seemed to have progressed very slowly, but now it was coming in full force. Shamal and several Vongola certified doctors assured him it was nothing more than a common cold, and that it was to be expected from someone who traveled around the world as frequently as Reborn had.
Shamal had practically run out of the room crowing smugly when he'd first diagnosed Reborn. Apparently, he had had a few very longstanding arguments with the hitman about Reborn's stupidity in playing hooky with several of his more minor vaccinations.
Despite the reassurance coming from all sides, Tsuna was worried. His hyper intuition had been acting up whenever he got near Reborn's room. Something was wrong. He'd seeen this before and something was wrong.
Tsuna concentrated, but the memory was hazy and just out of his grasp. He ran his fingers through his fluffy hair and sighed.
I'm probably just being paranoid.