A/N: So, hello again. *closes a book dramatically* If you are wondering why am I in a library room in the middle of the night, sitting on a comfy and overly priced couch with a fireplace nearby burning wood, I'm here to tell you . . . this is a COLLABORATION CROSSOVER!

*confetti suddenly slowly falls down from the ceiling in a very festive mood*

Yes, this fan fiction you'll be reading is made from my idea in partnership with two girls (which I will call them by their preferred alias), Athena and T.G. Let's give them a round of applause . . . for they are not currently with me at the moment. But soon, my readers, they will appear on the chapters they will construct.

Now, *directs attention to a theatre that was behind the sliding book shelves* on with the story~!

*camera moves closer to the screen until was abruptly stopped by a hand and its attention now directed to a tall, dark-looking yet very handsome boy wearing a butler suit*

Psst, the characters shown in this story thankfully does not belong to my Mistress Katie, but they belong to their respective creators. Also, be warned their might be scenes not suitable for young audiences. Parental guidance is ad— *gets cut off by the sight of a glowering Violet911 and the camera continues to move forward, hearing some cuss words and the clang of a frying pan with a skull*

Chapter 1: Family Feuds

Five days before Grace Cahill died, the world had a meeting.

It was necessary for the coming dreadful events. Though . . . excluding the fights between the representatives of each country with their long-time rivals . . . the meeting was a complete success.

Maybe.

Arthur Kirkland's eye twitched. The twitch happened again. And again. And AGAIN! The British gentleman was about to crack like a mad man. He didn't know why he was so angry all of a sudden. In this situation, he should be glad. Happy. Jubilant.

Why? None of those bloody idiots were bothering him the entire time.

Strange the occurrence was to him but, ah, ignorance really was a bliss.

Yes, it should have made him exultant. However, there was this other issue that bugged him, even more than the people he knew at this very room, that probably prevented him from enjoying the rest of the meeting.

It was one family. Namely, the Cahills.

Ludwig slammed his palms on the table, as he does in every World Conference, so hard it made the whole room vibrate and Arthur's tea to spill all over Francis Bonnefoy, which made him yelp in pain and run out of the room in embarrassment and anger directed towards his laughing companions, Antonio Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt, and a very smug Brit.

After Francis' over reactive leave, the chaos that was concealed inside the soundproof walls was led to an absolute halt. The Italian Vargas brothers, Feliciano and Lovino, froze from trying to untangle their curls though no doubt they would've stopped anyway for they were in a verge of tears. Ivan Braginski was giving a stare attended with a disappointed smile and a dark aura at his pitiful seatmate, Wang Yao, for not agreeing to drink vodka with him. Im Yong Soo, a very annoying Korean, was in mid-poke war with Kiku Honda, a man who had no interest to play the game from the very start. Matthew Williams was carrying what seemed like a plush-doll polar bear and a paused irritated face that was directed to his twin brother, Alfred F. Jones, who was discussing with the Baltic Trio that Canadians needs to eat more burgers than, as Mr. Kirkland quotes, "boring and dull maple syrup-covered pancakes".

That was all Arthur could absorb before Ludwig gave a strangled cough, saying, "Arthur, if you would please continue."

"Oh, right," he mumbled, remembering that he was the first to speak, since they held the meeting in his country. Arthur straightened his tie as he rose from his seat. Noticing most of the bored looks shown from the representatives, he decided to make this meeting end as briefly as possible.

For safety purposes.

"My fellow countries," Arthur breathed, closing his eyes and tucking hands safely away behind his back. He felt a shiver run through his spine. When he opened his eyes, his mouth moved but no audible sound was heard.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, IGGY?" shouted Alfred, earning a glare from his former guardian. That American git even tilted his head to show his sign of confusion. The Brit didn't know why it had to be announced this way, but from the consequence of keeping all his anger inside . . .

No, he said firmly to himself, taking deep and slow breaths of air. Calm down, Arthur.

"Did anyone hear what I had said?" Arthur asked, looking expectantly at the others. No one gave a reply. He lowered his head and coughed uncomfortably from embarrassment.

Someone snickered. ("Stupid British jerk.")

The Brit's eyes furiously narrowed. "If you think this meeting is a laughing matter, fine! Get out of here this very second. But if your country suddenly gets swarmed by unusual people that are destroying national landmarks and getting the authorities knackered just chasing about their whereabouts and motives, don't come to me and say sorry. For in the name and trust of our United Nations, the official hunt for the 39 Clues is approaching."

There were gasps. Everyone was stunned (in their own way) from what they heard, and thus, their very vivid imaginations pictured and reviewed their pasts. The pasts that they were involved with those dreaded clues and even more so dreaded family that caused most of the war in the world. Even Ivan let out a sad sigh, muttering something like Romanon and death. But the message he gave impacted more on Arthur himself.

That family was originated from Ireland, before and still currently under Arthur's power. Thankfully, nobody blamed him (with the exception of Francis).

(And himself.)

"How do you know, you British bastard?" Lovino cried out, destroying the silence that invaded Arthur's eardrums. His hair curl free from his brother's, courtesy of Ludwig (but Arthur certainly doubts that Lovino even said thanks to the German veteran). After Arthur calmed down, he let a small smile slip. Just one measly smile when he saw the pathetic and naïve Feliciano hug Ludwig as a token of gratitude for helping them, before he answered Lovino's question.

"I have obtained top secret information from the Madrigal stronghold," Arthur stated, making some countries statue albino white (the colour much to Gilbert's glee) from the mention of the secretive group.

For the past five hundred years, the Madrigals was a mystery, even to the countries. They tried to send out government officials, who were entrusted with most of the information about the Cahills, to investigate this group and figure out possible Madrigals from possible suspects. However, some come back with disasters and foul-play and others empty handed.

Sometimes, they hardly ever come back at all.

"Wait a minute, aru," Yao demanded, his figure standing in confrontation. "You actually stole from the Madrigal base and managed NOT to get captured, aru?" The others nodded in agreement, wondering the same. The gentleman sighed in remorse, pinching the bridge of his nose.

This was the moment he was insecure about ever since the day he encountered that mysterious crowd.

Arthur Kirkland let out a weak smile after a minute or two. And everyone, mostly Alfred and Francis (who had just returned from the lavatory to change his pants, in a very irritated manner), was caught off guard by the gesture.

Not by his small beam and regretful green eyes, but by the black figures that was reflected on them.

The countries turned and were surrounded by black-dressed men.

Arthur bent his head forward, acknowledging the dark-covered company and avoiding dirty looks from the distinct nations at the same time. With a knowing glance at Kiku, who understood the situation from the very beginning, he greeted the shadowed agents with a half-hearted hello accompanied by a smile of a long face, a wave of hand, and a sweat drop of anxiety.

And just from the ruffles and whispers passed around, the British man knew the others were preparing to attack. (Feliciano Vargas was given full immunity to this statement for he just took out his white flag and gripped it tightly. And it was clearly shown Ludwig was exasperated by this as he took out his pistol.)

One of them, a man with grey hair sticking out of his black fedora hat, stepped forward towards the direction of Alfred before anyone could make a bold move. The tension rose as the countries anticipated the worst from the most feared group in Cahill history . . . until the man took off his hat, revealing a friendly face with shinning blue eyes.

"We need your help, our beloved nations," Fiske Cahill entreated, kneeling to Alfred on one knee, quickly followed by the other agents of the Madrigal branch. "If you don't help,"—the man in black gulped inwardly, as he took notice the studying stares coming from the powerful crowd—"this will affect not only humans, but nations alike. If the power of the 39 Clues falls into the wrong hands, the possibility of the annihilation of influential places, their leaders and people, are extremely high. They will . . . you will probably cease to exist."

The old man looked up and they noticed tears in his eyes. "So I beg to all of you, please, help us."

Silence.

Then, humorously, Francis' eyes rolled back and he fainted right on the spot.

Stress. It just gets to you, Arthur thought half-sympathetically, half-entertained.

A/N: Thanks for reading the first chapter to this experimental tale.