A/N: REWRITTEN, AGAIN. SIGHHHH. But this time, I SWEAR I'll update regularly! Hopefully once every week or so, but depending on my schedule, maybe once every two or so weeks? I hope you'll give this read a chance, and review to tell me what you think! (Pssst. Review make me update faster! Hehe.) And I know this chapter's short, but it'll pick up fast and get longer, promise!

Disclaimer: I do not own PoT. Just the plot of the fanfiction. And the fanfiction itself. Ohoho.

"Where is Echizen Ryoma?"

The boy seemed to visibly wither before the mere presence of the following eight figures, eyes widening and lips parting open in a sheer loss for words. In front of him, Tezuka's brows furrowed further, lines set deeply in his forehead, eyes coming closed as a hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nose. Dear god, he could feel another migraine coming on – ahh, yes, there it was.

Tucking a clipboard under an arm, he uncapped his bottle of medication with a single flick of his wrist, and duly swallowed a small capsule of headache-relieving medicine. He tucked the bottle safely back within his clothes, adjusted his glasses, then turned to face the small boy again.

"I will not ask again – where is Echizen Ryoma?"

Behind him, he could hear the telltale snickering of one Kirihara Akaya, and the quiet chidings of Yukimura. Tezuka sent a sharp glance their way, and Akaya immediately quelled, much to his vicious inner satisfaction. He resumed his deathly stare down the figure of the much smaller boy in front of him – Ryoma's so-appointed 'handler,' assigned to him by the Council itself due to his, ah, tendencies to wander and do things without permission.

As was visible now, when he was missing from a very important meeting of Archangels – for god's sakes, there were only nine of them to begin with, how hard was it supposed to get to gather them all up? It was hard enough, getting each of them to obey the call, even without Ryoma's penchant for disappearing whenever he was needed. They were archangels, the strongest of Heaven's Warriors – Tezuka mused that perhaps it was this very reason that they found it so appealing to ignore orders and simply assume whatever it is that they'd been doing.

It was only when Tezuka, the leader of the Archangels, sent out personal calls, that they bothered to assemble at all, the unruly lot of them.

"H-He, um- well, sir, I was quite certain that he was behind me the entire time, b-but by the time we got here, he was, um-"

"Lost?" was supplied by another voice, haughty down to the last trill, amusement laced in the single word.

Keigo.

Tezuka closed his eyes again, momentarily, hoping that the incessant pounding in his head would ease up – nope. No, no mercy at all.

"Ahhhn. Kunimitsu, do try to find the bratling soon; Ore-sama hasn't much time to dawdle around," Atobe murmured with an air of regal importance, staring down at his nails in disinterest. Of course, it went unsaid, though passed through everyone's minds, that really, the only thing Atobe ever did was hang around Tezuka, all sultry smiles and suggestive eyes.

In fact, Tezuka hardly remembered a time when Atobe wasn't there, demanding that Tezuka pay him attention and kicking up a fuss when he didn't.

"Doesn't it look like I'm trying-"

"Nyaaaa, did Ochibi go missing again?" the shrill cry of Eiji floated above everyone's heads, and when Tezuka sent a glance his way, he could see that the acrobat was dangling at a strange, unheard-of angle from his chair.

"Maybe some demon he was taunting finally caught up to him and ate him," Kirihara suggested, a devilish grin on his lips.

"Nya?! Ochibi was eaten?! Kunimitsu, did you hear that? Ochibi was eaten by a demon!"

"It wouldn't be unheard of; that boy always had an unhealthy penchant for playing with things far too dangerous to be under control," the cool voice of Yuushi joined the others'.

"There's a seventy-three point four percent chance that Ryoma has been eaten by a demon at this point," and Tezuka wanted to strangle Inui.

"No no, my dear professor; it's a seventy-three point seven, including that singular incident, several months ago-"

Inui adjusted his glasses. Renji's lips curved into a small smile. "Ah, you're right, professor. It is seventy-three point seven."

How the hell those two came to conclusions with decimal points in their percentages, Tezuka would never know; that, and their insistence upon calling one another professor-

"NYA! Tezuka, did you hear that?! Inui and Renji both say-"

"Kyahaha, that brat had it coming!"

"Akaya, it's unkind to speak of the deceased that way."

"Death is such an ugly color on Ore-sama."

"Keigo, death cannot be a color – now, black can be, representative of death, as well."

"Yuushi, anything can be a color on Ore-sama."

Tezuka uncapped the aspirin bottle to swallow another pill.

And just outside the Central building, a figure made his way to the gates' entrance, bare feet dancing over the ground in light, elegant steps, pale skin gleaming in the morning sun. Golden bracelets jingled from every limb, almost as though creating a beat for which his feet stepped to; and finally, he arrived, pausing momentarily when the two guards stationed at the gates stopped him.

He quirked a brow upwards.

"Identification, please. Only official Central members are allowed access," the guard dutifully repeated his assigned lines.

Ryoma laughed, then. "Does it look like I carry identification?" he asked, almost a daring tone insinuated into his words.

The guards frowned. "Hey, kid – go back to playing in the field, alright? This is official Central Headquarters; brats like you shouldn't even come near here-"

"Hey, mister, I can see snot coming out of your nose."

"Why you little-"

"Echizen Ryoma-sama!" a cry from behind the gates had all three of them swiveling their heads, to stare at the girl stumbling forward, pigtailed braids flying behind her. "Where were you? You are late, Echizen-sama! Everyone is waiting!"

Several moments passed in stark silence. And then, in a burst of energy, the guards were apologizing profusely, eyes wide and cheeks reddened. "We're so sorry, Echizen-sama; we did not- we didn't know – we were unaware of your-"

But Ryoma raised a hand and waved his hand airily, another laugh dropping from his lips. "Save it, misters. Just wipe your nose. Mada mada dane."

And with a last, snarky grin, he traipsed inside, brushing past the two hulking guards.

They stared after him, mouths dropped open and eyes bulging wide. "So that's the famous Echizen Ryoma, huh?" one of them finally muttered, shaking his head.

Echizen Ryoma, the hailed prodigious son of an equally legendary family – the Echizens had long since carved their names, permanently, into the history of the heavens. From council members to legendary soldiers to simply outstanding members of society, they were a prestigious family, even amongst Heaven's elite. Echizen Ryoma was their youngest son this century, and it was often said that he would soon inherit a council position from his father; of course, there were as many rumors as clouds up in the heavens, but still.

With a track record like his – impressive battle feats, even at such a young age, and an Archangel status previously unheard of at the age of ninety two – it didn't seem exactly implausible, either.

And then: "Who'd have known he'd be such a brat?"

"We need a volunteer," Tezuka announced, once more tucking a clipboard under his arm to address the room with his eyes. Eight pairs of eyes blinked back, and he relished in the momentary silence, only to inwardly grimace as the room was filled with laughter.

Some outright guffawing (Akaya and Eiji), some quiet chuckles (Seiichi, Yuushi, Inui and Renji), some delirious laughter (Keigo), and a derisive snort (Ryoma).

Tezuka cleared his throat.

The laughter quelled slowly, as each came upon the realization that Tezuka was, indeed, serious.

"A guardian angel? Kunimitsu – don't tell me you brought all of us here for that." Atobe brandished his words with a swirling gesture of the hand, a chalice of red wine held loosely in his other. When the hell had he even conjured up alcohol, anyway?

"Leave it to the weak shits to take care of that," Kirihara snorted, leaning so far back in his seat that Tezuka marveled at whatever force was keeping him in said chair.

"Don't call them that-"

"It's true, though, no?" Yukimura smiled sweetly.

Indeed, Guardian Angels were considered perhaps the lowest ranks as far as ability measured – and even then, for an Archangel to take on the duties of a Guardian Angel was perhaps the most laughable thing of all. In human standards, it would be akin to a nation's President taking on the role of a common police officer, really. Given the Archangels' despicably large pride, and their inclination to treat everything short of a Holy War as a joke, Tezuka had never really thought there would be much of a chance of someone actually volunteering themselves.

But the order had come from the Central Council themselves, so Tezuka had simply dutifully reiterated it back to the ranks as instructed.

With a sigh, he began to draft a letter in his mind, trying to come up for an explanation, or lack thereof, on exactly why it was an improper duty to assign an Archangel-

A pale hand rose lazily in the air. Feline golden eyes blinked, strangely round and impossibly wide with curiosity, an unnerving smirk painted across teasing lips.

Tezuka sighed again. "Yes, Ryoma?"

"Who's it for?"

Silence.

Eight pairs of eyes snapped open to train themselves on the small boy, incredulity spinning in the air. And then, finally, the stark silence was broken by a chortling laugh, courtesy of one delirious Kirihara Akaya. Soon after, giggles and chuckles and snorts followed, even Inui allowing himself an amused smirk of disbelief.

Echizen Ryoma, darling boy of the Archangels, the archetypical arrogant bastard – stooping so low to bother with guardian duties?

As if.

Tezuka, however, was not so foolish as to let his guard down. Without missing a beat, he adjusted his glasses on his nose, and replied with a smooth: "Fuji Shusuke. Eighteen years old. Quite a famous celebrity in Japan – for his, ah, supposed psychic abilities."

The curve on Ryoma's lips widened.

"Hehhh."

A moment passed.

The pale hand rose once more. "I volunteeeer," he drawled, a smirk on his lips.

And that was that, despite the way Kirihara's eyes were trying to crawl out of his sockets, despite the way Atobe's wine now dribbled onto the floor from his slackened hand, despite the way Yukimura's smile widened knowingly, despite the way Inui and Renji turned to one another in shock and disappointment, despite the way Yuushi's brow rose in that irritating way, despite the way drool slid down Eiji's mouth.

That was that.