LE PETIT PRINCE FUUTA
a.k.a., A Crime Against the Classic French Tale, and
Hiiiiiiiiek, The Tenth Vongola Boss Would Rather Be in a Giant Space War
Original book by Antoine de Saint-Exupery. Characters and Katekyo! Hitman Reborn by Akira Amano.
Prologue: The End of Sawada Tsunayoshi
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This was it, thought Sawada Tsunayoshi. He was surely, definitely, most certainly going to die.
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It began at breakfast time, before he went to school.
It was the usual morning at the Sawada household, with everyone—I-Pin, Lambo, Reborn, Bianchi, Maman, and Tsuna—coming together to eat before they began their daily activities.
On this particular Tuesday morning, however, Lambo had pounced on the omelet with his two greedy paws before anyone could even have sighted the day's menu (the idiot cow had broken his record by about 0.2 seconds), at least until he had begun screaming "PAHAHA, LAMBO GOT IT FIRST!" and had run around the table, omelet held above his head like a prize. Like clockwork, bullets, dumplings, and some poisoned leftovers from last night's dinner began flying around in a lethal, free-for-all food fight.
Maman, who had heard the noise created by the little scuffle, poked her head out from the kitchen and chirped, "Now, now, kids, there's plenty of omelet for everyone, so play nice!" Tsuna, on the other hand, had survived this kind of situation long enough to be conditioned into responding with a helpless, anguished stare at the commotion. The last time he tried to interfere he had gotten a chock-full of Bianchi's poisoned onigiri, and he was confined to his bed for an entire week.
(From the safety of their homes, the good families of Namimori had all sought refuge under their bedcovers, cowering in fear, as the sound of plates breaking, bullets, and screaming—oh my God, was that a kid?—ripped loud and sharp through the crisp, early morning air.)
But all this, of course, was perfectly normal.
What Tsuna did not expect, however, was Lambo aiming the 10-year bazooka at his bullet-ridden hair, firing, and NOT turning into Lambo from 10 years later. Instead, Tsuna felt something big and ticklish hit him on his forehead, and another something yank him forward by the collar of his nighties, dragging him through a colorful tube-like space.
Tsuna looked back to see no form of ground whatsoever beneath him. I'mgonnapukeI'mgonnapukeI'mgonnapuke, he thought, and his body agreed fervently; bile was rising up his throat. The little trip felt like riding an airplane, only that said plane would have been shot with a couple of dying-will bullets and, consequently, would be zooming at a time-warping hyper-speed. Still, dying will or no, Tsuna hated planes. By this time both his ears were popping painfully and the hair whipping against his face were stinging his eyes, but his throat refused to scream even during the obviously abnormal and frightening development.
Probably because he was leaving a trail of bile instead. Oh crap.
Disgusting as that was, Tsuna had no time to even despair over his embarrassing mess as he was finally thrown back into reality, and the flying-sensations-along-a-colorful-and-currently-pukey-tube-thingy stopped. He opened his eyes, breathed, and promptly choked on a mouthful of something hot, coarse, and grainy.
...Sand?
Tsuna wiped the dirt off his lips. What have those guys gotten me into this time?, he groaned. Tsuna pushed himself off with shaky arms, and looked up.
He saw a couple of men in robes, and some camels, from the corner of his eye.
But dead center on his line of sight were AK-47s, all twenty or so of them, glinting madly under the high sun, and every single one aimed straight at his face.
Yep, this was it, thought Sawada Tsunayoshi. He was surely, definitely, most certainly going to die.