This wasn't supposed to happen. Tsuna wasn't supposed to die…not like this. He wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to continue living; to continue to lead them. As their boss. As the tenth. As the Vongola Decimo. As the kind-hearted leader they looked up to, who they depended on with their lives. The one who they respected and admired. But he was gone. Along with his being went with his smiles, laughter, warm gazes, and his competence of understanding the misunderstood. He never faltered shamelessly and would stubbornly stand back up on his two feet no matter what dire consequences were being inflicted upon the youth. Or how clumsy his feet were. He never wanted to give up hope despite how he was before he was titled to be the head of the powerful mafia.
He was someone special and was dead.
Gokudera Hayato clenched his fists, disregarding the numbing pain that transformed the healthy fleshy color into a pale white. Not that he would have cared. No, he didn't care at all, even if his strength had threatened to cut off his blood circulation. His world had fallen and crashed into a sickening blast when the gun was pulled. Right before his eyes, his precious Juudaime staggered backwards with an unbalanced stance, thus causing the young boss to plummet to the ground and staining it with gushing red liquid.
He wasn't able to protect his Juudaime in time. He let the bullet fly pass him and dig itself into the once beating heart of the boss. He just stood there, doing nothing as the Juudaime gurgled in his own blood, suffocating. He let him die. And he called himself the right-hand man…What an idiot had he been all these years. What would a true right-hand man do when your boss was about to be killed? A true right-hand man would have jumped in the target's way and risk his own life. Nothing mattered as long as your boss was safe. Yes…nothing mattered….nothing matters…
Yamamoto Takeshi absent-mindedly wished for the rain to stop beating down upon the sorrowful group, but then decided against the request seeing how it fitted perfectly for the mood. Tears, whether shed or unshed, not only stained the cheeks of fellow friends and allies but also the earth. Rain was like tears that the sky would allow to cascade. Rain. Sky. Yamamoto inwardly chuckled, but it was merely a dry and sad one that differed from his original laughter. He wondered, since Tsuna was not alive at the moment he must be already in the heavens weeping alongside everybody else.
"Tsuna, do you see us from up there?" Yamamoto thought. He wondered, was he really crying right now with them? Tsuna must be. He is up in the heavens crying. That must be why the skies are weeping. Was that why at every death of a beloved the skies would weep? Because they would no longer be with their loved ones' sides? That they hoped they could have a chance to properly say a goodbye? That it pained them to look down to see the depression that burned within them? That depression, that burning, intense feeling, was like a fire. A dark, dreading fire that flickered within the hearts of others; and as the skies brought forth rain it was the rain that was to put out that flame. But Yamamoto, even as the Rain Guardian, knew that this rain was not able to wash away every fire.
"It was my fault…" Gokudera muttered, staring at the black coffin. "If I…I should have died instead of him. Now he's gone."
"Not just you. The blame belongs to all of us," Yamamoto said.
"I was right there. If only I just reacted in time, then Juudaime would have never suffered like this."
"No, but he would have suffered anyway. He would be brooding about your death."
"Better me than him," Gokudera spat bitterly.
Yamamoto didn't reply; he continued to watch the fragile form of the lifeless Tsuna.
Dokuro Chrome hiccupped violently; her visible eye reddened from her uncontrollable bewailing from the past few nights. Again, she attempted to stifle it, but a bawl escaped form her feeble lips. Weak, pathetic, useless…She was weak, pathetic, and useless. The boss…the boss died and she was not there to do anything! Strangely, Mukuro did not say anything to her, no matter how many times she called out his name. There was an eerie silence that divided the two individuals, as if something muffled the illusionist's voice. She did not hear a single word from him ever since her eyes landed on the boss's body.
"Hurry, Chrome. You must hurry!" was what Mukuro had whispered into her ear before the horrifying sight had encountered her vision. So that was why Mukuro had ushered her to do so…but she was too late. The boss was dead, and Chrome wondered if this was also a dreadful event for Mukuro, but she couldn't visualize it. The man was still yet a mystery to her, thus she inquired to herself what had dragged him to silence. Was he agonizing? Did he feel at loss? But…that was quite impossible…
Sasagawa Kyoko bit down her trembling lip as she watched both Chrome and Haru crying. Would she cry as well? It would be completely normal if she would have unleashed the water behind her pupils that was ready to explode to thick streams, but somehow a bridge was built for a better purpose. She reached the shoulders of each girl and brought them close to her chest. For a little while, she could feel the warmth emanating, melting the shivering girls. It was raining and the droplets were like ice, but they all felt a certain warmth that they could name. It wasn't a physical heat, but a fluttering sensation that surged in their hearts: hope.
Hope. That's what Kyoko always admired about Tsuna. He was trampled on countless of times, yet refused to give up. It wasn't arrogant stubbornness that motivated Tsuna, but it was a stubbornness that urged him to protect his friends and family. He was somewhat like a weed to her, but never in any resentful way. His determination never wilted and his roots were strong beneath the dirt, hiding away any other undiscovered amazement. What a change, Kyoko mused, that the Tsuna she remembered in their first year of middle school appeared average and pegged to be "Dame-Tsuna" because of his lack of athleticism, intelligence, and importance. Oh how she have overlooked Tsuna! Tsuna…he had evolved throughout the years. He bloomed. And his hopes had strengthened Kyoko in many ways. So that is why she must not loose and continue to hope. For him.
Miura Haru sniffled and tightened her grip on the sleeves of the two who were willing to shoulder her sorrows. Comfort was what she needed, but it truly wasn't enough to heal her aching heart after finding out the death of Tsuna. But she knew that in time, she would get better. She had to. She couldn't burden everyone with her childish blubbering; she would have to grow stronger. That's what Tsuna would want. However, it was difficult not spluttering out whimpers.
Haru nearly jumped in shock when she heard whimpers louder than the pitter-patter of the rain, but relaxed when she saw that it was Lambo who was making the noise. Eleven-year-old Lambo stood alone, soaked to the bone with his face slightly flushed—from crying. Then I-Pin was walking to his side and touched his hand. He flinched, but reluctantly reacted, and soon the two had their fingers interlocked. It was as if they were trading warmth themselves like how the women were doing.
"T-Tol—er—ate…" Lambo whispered. His hold that latched with I-Pin's constricted, and the girl returned the same amount of pressure in a reassuring manner.
"Lambo," I-Pin murmured.
Haru tore away from the group hug, holding the wrists of the two and led them towards the children. She spread her arms upon Lambo and I-Pin, embracing them. Chrome and Kyoko naturally did the same. Soon, the huddle broke into a wild bewail.
Sasagawa Ryohei openly howled, his arm pressed against his eyes. Dino and Bianchi gazed at the coffin. Fuuta buried his face in his palms. Fellow mafia leaders who were well acquainted or shared a typical friendship with Tsuna had attended the funeral, all feeling an emptiness that couldn't be properly filled ever again. Everybody was mourning, all but one in particular.
Hibari Kyoya turned his head away in disgust. So many slobbering herbivores crowding and sobbing like idiots. How repulsive. Especially the crowding. Hibari was known for his distaste for crowds, so he was situated on a high branch of a tree. The leaves managed to keep him mostly dry, though he was often sprinkled with water whenever the wind would rustle the vegetation. It was a good spot, and he was participating the funeral in respect. The pathetic herbivores—Guardians—who have failed to protect the other herbivore—Tsuna—somewhat irritated Hibari in a way after learning about the brunette's death. Were they actually that weak? Not being able to stop a single bullet?
Hibari grounded his teeth in minor frustration, not able to comprehend what vulnerable point that Tsuna had performed in front of the enemy to be able to be shot by a simple gun. After all these years, the herbivore shouldn't have been that idiotic to be killed in such way. The intense training the infant had placed upon the young man, nearly bringing the poor soul to chaotic death. Well, he is dead already. But to die in such pitiful way?
Speaking of which, who was the one who had pulled the trigger again? Remembering the letter the dark man had received during his mission, which had informed him of the traumatic event, he dug into the bosom of his suit and pulled out the already-opened envelope. Rereading the letter, Hibari tucked it back, not heeding to scan the rest of the words.
Byakuran killed Tsuna.
Ah, he remembered now. During his mission when he was reading the message, he vowed on one thing: he was sure that it would be his hands that would kill that white-haired freak Byakuran. Not that Hibari had a liking towards the Vongola, but there was a queer feeling telling him that it was his duty to "discipline" the daring bastard. Byakuran is the daring bastard, thus in need of disciplining. And Hibari was sure to give it to him.
Indeed that the other Guardians would be eager to assist in the assassination if they ever were to find out, which they won't. But if they did, surely they would do it in order to avenge the herbivore's death. Would Hibari go out to kill Byakuran so that he may take his revenge? Hibari would have scoffed at the idea. Him. Take revenge for the herbivore? Ridiculous. He just wanted to quench his thirst to bring forth the punishment the bastard deserved.
But…why did he want him to suffer so much? He never had felt this way before. The immense anger that disturbed him ever since he discovered the truth. It was a foreign feeling. Of course Hibari had experienced deep anger, but it was only activated when it was circulating only himself. He never thought twice when it came to friends, family, anything. Only he mattered; everybody else was mindless herbivores. So why? Why was he so intent in disciplining Byakuran ever since he killed Tsuna?
As the aggravated man sought for an answer, any answer that would satisfy his rising irritation and hopefully distract him from mingling thoughts, the rain continued to beat down sharply. If they remained in the icy shower for a while, they would surely catch an unwanted illness.
But that didn't matter.
Nothing matters.
"Shit," Gokudera grumbled. "Shit."
For the past two weeks from when the funeral had ended, the skies still have not cleared. In the blue atmosphere's place hovered a dreary gray shadow, lingering where the sun should be shining. For that many days, there was without a trace of pure white rays warming the coldness. Days were chilly and unpleasant, and people began complaining for the arrival of the sun to break through the hateful winter clouds.
Apparently, the weather had also increased the awkward tension in the mansion of Vongola. The members were not able to see each other directly in the eye for they were afraid of confessing the dark loneliness that prickled their nerves. Who would have thought that without Tsuna, life in the abode was just…lifeless? It was as if he was the main source of light that supported each and every one of them.
Sasagawa on his third day of the second week nearly went mad when the tensions were becoming worse. The usually energetic man was not apprised of the non-extremeness that lingered in the air. It wasn't healthy, but it was understandable. He too was naturally adapted to the tension, but this had to stop. They couldn't sit around and continue to mope! They needed to do something!
But what?
If Sawada Tsunayoshi was here, he would know what to do. Sawada would stand before them. Sawada would lead them. Sawada would do whatever it takes to take away the depression. Sawada…Sawada…
He was not Sawada.
He was not their loving leader. He was not Sawada. He did not posses the same smiles. He was not Sawada. He could not resist talking back to Gokudera. He was not Sawada. He was underestimated for his quirky behavior.
He was not Sawada.
But he did share a few relations with him. They both had a desire to protect those who they love. They wanted to smile despite the tough circumstances. Sometimes even Sawada would blow a fuse whenever Gokudera does something impulsively stupid—like getting himself into an incredibly unnecessary argument with everyone. And he too was frequently overlooked due to his fragile exterior. But Sasagawa knew that beneath that meek appearance laid a radiant of extreme. He wouldn't be hesitant to admit to declare that Sawada was an extraordinary person with extreme power and strength. Not that Sawada could give a punch that would send a man flying to the hospital, but his determination was admirable to the extent.
And it was obvious that everybody loved Tsuna.
But perhaps it was going a bit too far.
Sasagawa walked in the hallways, feeling uneasy by the oddly empty and quiet corridor. Usually the hallways were filled with loud and busy maids and servants, but the bustling folks seem to have vanished into thin air.
Shaking his head to release the weariness, Sasagawa sighed and continued walking. Suddenly he stopped, his tracks halted when he saw through the window a figure standing alone in the rain close to the outskirts of the gardens. There was an uncanny resemblance of that octopus-head and that figure, and when he narrowed his eyes to concentrate on what that idiot was doing, he gasped.
Gokudera was solemnly staring upwards at the sky, and pulled out a sleek black object from the bosom of his suit. A gun.
"Damn. Extreme damnation," Sasagawa cursed. He raised his fists to bring forth a blow upon the thick windows, a few shards slicing his fingers and cheeks. He leapt out and rushed to the bomb-wielder, who was slowly elevating the weapon to his head. "Stop!" he yelled. "Stop!"
Sasagawa snatched the gun, throwing it far, and was received a punch on his lower jaw. Gokudera bit down his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood to dribble down his chin. "What the hell do you think you're doing!"
"I should be the one asking you that," he snapped back.
"Shut up, I don't want to explain to a shit-head like you," the octopus-head snarled.
This sparked Sasagawa's anger. Furious, he accelerated Gokudera on his back from two feet of where he was originally was standing. Gokudera caressed his bruised cheek while glaring at the man, and then slowly got back up on his feet. But while doing so, Sasagawa spat, "Do you think Sawada would appreciate seeing you in the after life?"
Gokudera's glare hardened. "Don't talk about Juudaime like you know him."
"Bastard," he grumbled. "I do know him! He's my friend to the extreme! And I know that he wouldn't want you to die. Not like this."
The Italian-Japanese man glowered, but his eyes lowered to the ground. "You don't know that," he muttered.
"I know that Sawada wouldn't want you to die," Sasagawa said with confidence.
"Fuck. Shut the fuck up, bastard! I don't need you to talk for him!" Gokudera continued to bite down on his cut lip until small red beads of blood stained and mixed with the rain on his suit, making a pale pinkish tint. "You don't know how hard this is for me."
Sasagawa was about to retort another comment about how Tsuna's death was inflicting everybody, but withdrew the venomous bark. He paused, realizing that Gokudera was taking the tragedy the hardest. After all, he—the right-hand man—was not able to save Tsuna from a single bullet. But not only that, Tsuna was the first person the man had opened his heart to. How difficult was life without your most precious person—the one who accepted who you are and risked his life for yours.
But still…About to commit suicide? "Don't be reckless. Would you like it if Sawada killed himself if you were dead?" Sasagawa watched as the younger man's fists trembled. He wondered if Gokudera was debating on whether leading the mindless battle physically again or bolt pass him just to grab the gun. Whatever he was anticipating, Sasagawa prepared himself.
Unexpectedly, Gokudera replied with a muttered, "He wouldn't do that."
"What makes you so sure?"
"…He's the Vongola Decimo. He wouldn't abandon his family because he has to lead them. Without him…"
"Without him, people would want to go committing suicide?" Sasagawa suggested.
"It would have been better if…"
"If you died instead of him?"
"Damn, shut the hell up, lawn-tard," Gokudera groaned irritably. "Couldn't you let me die in peace?"
Sasagawa eyed the gun that slowly sank in the mud behind him. "…What part of 'peace' would you gain that way?" He ran his cold fingers through his wet hair, remembering the rain that they were standing underneath. "You're an idiot to the extreme."
"…Jackass."
"Rethink about what you said previously. Sawada wouldn't kill himself because he couldn't abandon his family…If you died; wouldn't that mean you were abandoning your family as well?"
Gokudera's answer held no hesitance; it was a firm reply. "It doesn't matter; we have no leader."
"Are you that hopeless?"
"What hope do we have now?"
The falling water plummeted upon the duo, but the shower lightened during the few minutes of silence. The bruises became visible as the blood on the Italian-Japanese man's lip was washed away, though the stain on his suit waned into a faint pink. The boxing-experienced fighter drifted his eyes back to the gun, observing how the rain had created a glimmering shine on its metal shell.
What are they to do now? Who is to take over the role of their leader? Sasagawa knew very well that Gokudera would not accept anyone else besides Tsuna, but that didn't mean they should sit around moping. True, Tsuna was the best leader they could ever have, and it would be entirely different without him. Even Sasagawa wanted refuse any other person who dare replace him. But what could they do now? What other purpose do they have left?
"Revenge."
Gokudera lifted his head in surprise.
"What else can we do now?" Sasagawa buried his face into his wrinkled palms. "True…we have lost hope, but perhaps we shall regain it by avenging his death?" His voice was strained and uncertain. Had the strong man now been deterred? Convinced that all is lost?
"Revenge," Gokudera repeated the word. "Against the Millefiore."
Chrome staggered to her bedside, and collapsed onto her knees. She felt exhausted, yet had not received any exercise or training. It was due to lack of slumber. The young woman attempted to reach to Mukuro, but failed every time. Determined that if she continued this practice, then perhaps the man would reply back, but so far after spending hours meditating there was no reply.
Days, weeks, and she never heard a word from him. What had become of Mukuro? Was he still conscious or was he not? What was his whereabouts? Certainly he couldn't be encased in the abyss of a prison like before, not after the trouble the boss had to go through freeing the Italian. She knew that Mukuro wouldn't desire being a burden by performing a pathetic act as being tossed back into chains, and she was aware that he despised exile.
Chrome now had her own will without Mukuro taking over her body every now and then because of the individuality established; however, they were still connected through their thoughts. Whenever the female was cornered by danger, Mukuro would alert her. Whenever she found herself in a meddlesome situation, Mukuro would direct her. That man was always with her even when she had no clue where he was standing at the moment. If she could hear his deep voice whispering in her mind, she was reassured and calm. But now without him, hysteria was rising within her.
Weariness grasped onto her. Her eyelid was heavy, and she rapidly blinked in order to stall a few seconds of consciousness. Despite the countless times she had tried, Mukuro didn't reply. She struggled to hear his voice and fought against the urge to faint into blissful sleep. Where was he? Chrome was incredibly worried, and would drown herself in denial—that Mukuro was safe, just merely too busy to bother thinking about her. But all this time…was she just wasting time?
"I give up," she groaned to the nothingness. "It's useless."
She accepted her conscious to slip, and she fell into slumber that her body had waited impatiently for. Her back was shifted comfortably against the bedside laden by the soft blanket that lay limply on the bed, dangling out like how a dog would loll its tongue happily. Her thick eyelashes brushed against her skin and visualized a black void as soon as her eye had closed.
The black void then became a flurry of white and green. It was drawn out like a hurricane tumbling through a mountain full of trees and bushes, sucking in the clouds and mists. A burst of red flare leaped and joined in the chaotic fray; the vibrant color added distorted the wan white and green into a dull grayish hue that spewed out bright blue pearls. The process reoccurred, and Chrome watched the strange cycle again many times. The picture was centered on the peculiar object that swirled in front of her, yet she was not affected by the actions at all. It was a vision that awakened her senses naturally. The dream held no purpose or was clear, but when were dreams ever sensible? Therefore, Chrome observed idly, only having it memorized for its quaint art.
Suddenly, there was an abrupt halt of the movements of the hurricane. The picture vanished and dispersed into a hazy, purple fog, and there stood a silhouette in amidst. Chrome felt her skin prickle from the chilly temperature, but was not fazed with bewilderment. However, a gasp echoed the emptiness, the origin of the soft sound escaped from her mouth when the silhouette became clearer. Her eye widened and her body trembled.
"No," she stammered. "N-no!"
Mukuro dragged his body closer to where she stood. His face was lathered in blood as his hair was drenched in it. His clothes were tattered, and his skin was close to shreds. Limping, grunting, moaning, and panting from pain that shocked his entire body with each small step. Mukuro's lips were curved downwards into a disdained frown, and would open whenever he coughed blood, staining himself even more. His red and blue eyes were withdrawn; the light of what indicated life was dimming. From what Chrome had remembered, he was paler than before.
"Ch-Chrome," he muttered.
She held her breath.
"…a-away…away. S-stay away…f-from—from…"
The woman shut her eye tightly, shutting away tears. The male before her…Mukuro appeared as a boy she had encountered when they first met. He was shorter; he didn't have a ponytail; he was younger; he's apparel was that of a certain school uniform. One thing that was an exception was that he was bloodied by his wounds.
The trident in his feeble grip fell beside him as his balance toppled over. The boy violently shook, and a gush of bloody vomit painted the grounds and his mouth. Chrome choked on her own shock and staggered backwards away from the horrifying image. She became afraid—afraid of what monster pulverized Mukuro.
But wasn't this just a dream?
No…a nightmare.
"M-Mukuro-sama?" Chrome whimpered.
"…him and…y-you m-must..."
"M-Mukuro-s-sama!" A large tear slid down her cheek, and followed by another. She swiped away the foolish waterworks and forced her legs to move towards the helpless youth.
"An angel…p-protect the a-ange—"
As Chrome was about to bend down by his side, his form broke down into black pieces of rats and flies. In his lying place stood a devilish smirk that sent shivers down her spine; above the smirk were two sinister eyes of an owl. Two red and blue owl eyes glinting ominously.
Confused, frightened, and hysterical, Chrome screamed.
"Chrome-chan! Chrome-chan! Are you okay?"
Everything looked blurry, and gravity felt heavier than ever. She heard a groan, and then realized that it was her groaning. She brought her palm to her only eye and tiredly massaged the muscle. Then she pulled back when she felt her forehead damped with sweat; she could feel her cheeks burning.
"Chrome-chan, please unlock the door!"
That was woman's voice. But whose? Chrome breathed in slowly, and then breathed out slowly. Exhausted, her attempt on getting up on her feet was no different than an infant waddling on hew own soft flesh. Chrome nearly tripped, but managed to catch herself in time and to the door. When she unlocked the door and opened it, she was surprised to actually see her female companion standing in front of her doorway, her expression strained with fret.
"Chrome-chan, are you okay? I heard you scream and I ran here as fast as I could!" Kyoko babbled like a worried-mother. "Oh, you look terrible! Have you been sleeping regularly? You're not ill, are you?"
Chrome blinked. "K-Kyoko-san? W-what are you doing here?"
"What? O-oh, well I was going to ask you something, but I'm not sure if I should. Are you feeling well?" Kyoko asked again.
"I'm fine, just experienced a nightmare." And what a dreadful nightmare it was. "What did you need me for, Kyoko-san?"
"Ah, well if it's not too much trouble, would you mind accompanying me to Tsuna-kun's grave?"
Chrome blinked again. "Not at all."
Two women were dressed warmly to head outside. Since it wasn't raining today for once, Kyoko thought it might be the best chance to visit Tsuna, and also decided if her friends wanted to join as well. Unfortunately, Haru had caught a cold due to standing out in the freezing weather, Bianchi had plans, and I-Pin was too focused on her training that Kyoko didn't have the heart to disturb her. She knew that Chrome wasn't occupied with anything, so she might be able to come with her.
The grave was hidden somewhere within the forest of the Vongola territory; everybody agreed that Tsuna shouldn't be buried in case if his younger version would be blasted with the Ten-Year Bazooka and should be kept somewhere safe. However, most believed that it would be a rare possibility that the boss would be hit by the bazooka. Gokudera insisted that Tsuna might be hit and actually argued about it, thus the coffin was left alone.
The walk to the grave was quiet, anything but awkward. In fact, the two women were deeply thinking of their own troubles that lingered in their minds for a while. Chrome, of course, thought about the nightmare she dreamt and if it was delivered by Mukuro as a message. Kyoko wondered how much longer will it be for everybody to recover and, if possible, that Tsuna really would return to them with his ten-years-ago self. And if Tsuna really would be sent into the future, what then? What if they missed the opportunity of seeing him when the five minutes are up? But what if they do see him? And what would they say to him? Would they mention his death? Would they alert him of the dangers he would come to face?
"K-Kyoko-san," Chrome murmured.
"Yes?" Kyoko turned to Chrome with curiosity.
"You…look troubled."
"Eh?" Kyoko laughed to shake off the nervousness. "Well, yeah, I suppose that I am."
Chrome tilted her head. "What's troubling you?"
Sasagawa's sister lowered her eyes to the ground, watching her boots step over the muddy puddles. She thought about how tensed her brother was as the days passed. One day he came home and caused her to worry when she noticed his suit was soaked and a bruise on his jaw. He was agitated as well, and when she asked when what had occurred, he forced a smile and assured her that nothing was wrong. He told her that he ran into a gang and simply caught up onto a fight. But it was more than that. Kyoko saw the tremble of his fingers and the way his eyes would turn into a hard glower.
"I think," Kyoko said, smiling, "that ever since Tsuna died, everything is becoming out of hand. I can very well see that Tsuna was someone incredibly important in our lives."
"Everybody was happy when he was still here," Chrome mumbled.
"Yes. Everybody had nothing to be sad about because everybody was alive." And that they had nothing to loose at that time. Kyoko remembered faintly of how her brother would exclaim loudly and proudly while Gokudera would start an argument. Yamamoto would cheerfully try to calm down the battle going on between the other two while Tsuna would iredly sigh from the childish chaos going on in front of him. But it was still fun. It was fun. It was like a memory that happened years ago when it only stopped in a few weeks.
"It's not as noisy in the Vongola mansion anymore," Chrome stated.
"Yes," she sighed. "It's as if hope is lost for good."
"Haru-san, Kyoko-san, and I would still be happy because we won't give up on hope."
Kyoko stared at Chrome with bewilderment. "Chrome-san, that time before at the funeral, when we all hugged…did you feel that too?"
"I did."
"Tell me, what exactly did you feel?"
Chrome smiled for the longest time. "Something warm: hope."
Kyoko nodded. "I wonder if Haru-chan felt that as well."
"I'm sure she did."
"I'm sure that you're right."
The coffin came into view. There were fresh flowers lying against the black object that encased the body of Tsuna. Kyoko wondered if Gokudera or Yamamoto had visited him before they did. Those two were close friends of his; they even had the same classes together in middle school and high school. She figured that Gokudera had threatened the principal with dynamite to place them in the same class, and she inwardly chuckled at the thought. It was very much like Gokudera.
Gokudera was always protective of Tsuna, almost in a worshipful way. Yamamoto was protective of Tsuna too. They reminded her of her brother who was alert of what danger would be heading towards her way. Her brother wants to keep her safe from harm and loves her so very much. Kyoko loves her brother too and would be incredibly sad if he was injured. Gokuedera and Yamamoto must feel the same way.
"I wonder if Gokudera-san or Yamamoto-kun was here," Kyoko said, "and placed the bouquet here."
"Maybe Dino, Bianchi-san, Fuuta…or Lambo-kun and I-Pin-chan was here?" Chrome suggested.
"Perhaps. I'm not sure if Hibari-san would bother coming here though."
"He is rather busy."
Kyoko nodded.
Two pair of eyes absent-mindedly stared at the box. Kyoko blinked out of her daze and her eyes wandered to the flowers. They were a bundle of tiny blue blossoms: forget-me-nots, if Kyoko remembered correctly. Her mother used to grow some in her garden and place a couple into a vase. She would sometimes tell her about the days when Kyoko's father would hand a blossom to her mother before he would venture overseas.
Forget-me-nots meant "remember me forever". How ironic, that somebody wanted Tsuna to remember that person, but he was dead. Possibly it would be pointless to give him a symbolic beauty when he couldn't even see them for himself. But his soul was probably watching. His soul could be in the heavens and witnessed the sender's flowers. That could be it.
Kyoko sighed aloud and glanced at Chrome. Had she been thinking who could have brought the flowers as well? Not that Kyoko would have expected her to. Chrome was a Guardian, thus be thinking of far more important things. To ponder and to perceive and to accept what goes around her. If it was Kyoko, she might crack under pressure and run away from the duty of a Guardian.
Chrome narrowed her single eye in concentration, divulging her apprehensiveness. Before Kyoko could inquiry her curiously, Chrome paled. "Impossible," she whispered. "An illusion?"
"Chrome-chan?" Kyoko furrowed her eyebrows.
She continued to whisper, her eye widening and her expression baffled. "No, not an illusion. A substitute…but how?"
"Chrome-chan, what's wrong?" Kyoko asked, trying to calm her frantic self. "Is there a problem with the coffin?"
"Kyoko-san, we must go back. There is something I must tell the others."
"Still not aware of the decoy we had placed as a substitute for the Vongola Decimo," Irie Shoichi said. "It appears that his family is too traumatized abut his 'death' to inspect the body any further."
"Out of respect," Byakuran decided.
"Yes. But I believe that one of the Guardians is sensing a difference in the decoy and the actual body. Should we do something?"
"Nah, let him continue to probe his own thoughts, and then accuse us of being liars."
Irie wanted to inform Byakuran that he was the one who was the liar, but decided against the retort. If he told him that, Byakuran would tease him, leaving Irie flustered without a comeback. Byakuran would win in anything.
Irie sighed. A few days before the young boss's death, he wondered how much longer till the activation of the Vongola Decimo's plan. He was a trusted ally, though that knowledge of his loyalty was oblivious to many with the exception of Tsunayoshi. Originally, Tsunayoshi planned on notifying his Cloud Guardian the collaboration, but decided against it for reasons unknown to Irie. Perhaps it was because the Vongola Decimo believed it would be a risky chance and would create a path of endangerment for his family, even if Hibari was a powerful and trustworthy warrior.
Unfortunately, it was apparent that Hibari should have been well-informed of the regulations. The entire plan was foiled; Byakuran's conspiracies had dominated, leaving the further future hopes futile. Now what was the bespectacled man supposed to do? Was it up to him to carry out the plans?
"Ah, don't be upset about being a liar, Sho-chan!" Byakuran chirped cheerfully.
Irie sighed again. "Should I clarify about the test subject's condition?"
"Nope. I want to see him for myself."
"Um…about that." Irie uneasily pushed the glasses upwards. "There was an unforeseen reaction—the chemicals injected into the body had infused the biological genes. Strangely, it left the body with a…a troublesome condition. And also, an animalistic form as well."
Byakuran still haven't slowed down his pace. "How troublesome?"
"Well, for one, rather than scanning the mentality of the brain, searching for the hints of weakness of the Vongola family, it evolved the exterior appearance. Apparently, one of the scientists thought it wouldn't disturb the project by implanting bird—swan, likely—mutation upon the shoulder blades."
"What about those biological genes? How much did it affect the body?"
"Oh, um, the infusing left the body as a…a hermaphrodite."
Byakuran chuckled. "So what counterpart is he or she?"
Irie looked uncomfortable. "I wasn't informed of that."
"Well then, like how I planned before, I'll see the subject myself."
The tall twin doors were swung open and the two men walked in. The room was dimmed with little light; the only source that pushed away the darkness was the electricity from the computers and the generators. Also the glowing bluish liquid that was housed inside a cylindrical glass tube that held the height of ten feet as the width was approximately two yards. The scientists, who were clothed in white coats, glanced at the two, and then returned back to their work stations.
Inside the tube was a humanoid form that taken the appearance of a delicate child—probably in the teenage range. The alien was in the center of wires that twirled around its petite figure, a vague similarity of ribbons embellishing a gift, as a mask that was connected by a pipe covered the mouth and nose. Eyes were closed. Thin wrists bounded with bulky shackles. Arms and knees were tucked closely to the flat bare chest. A pair of grotesque limbs layered in pale fur-like substance that was attached to the upper back; the limbs shielding the lower half of the body. The feathery silk upon the child's head danced heavily in the liquid; the hair was lengthened to the mid-section of the back.
Byakuran smiled. "So it's a girl."
"It seems so," Irie sighed.
"I'm not sure if it's possible to allow the continuation of the research. But then again, I would like to know how the mutation and the biological infuse progressed to this," Byakuran mused. "Whose idea was it to implant the mutation?"
"Erm, one of the four men who became an experiment under Iris Hepburn," Irie read from the clipboard. "The Death Stalk Unit."
"Interesting. Too bad he became a crazy muscle monster only dedicated to that woman," he chuckled. "Anywho, the question that have been lingering in my mind for now—what is to do with her?"
Irie licked his dry lips nervously. What is to do with the test subject? Would Byakuran toss the girl away? Seemingly useless now, there is nothing else to work on. However, despite the figuration, would the brain still be capable to operate normally? Or, because of the swan mutation, the test subject had obtained animalistic characteristics that influenced greatly on the mentality?
If the brain waves were unstable, then that would conclude the abrupt halt of the continuation, thus leaving the Vongola family in, temporarily, safe hands. Nevertheless, Irie might be able to buy time to create collaboration with the Decimo's Guardians to defeat Byakuran, after he successfully persuades them of his loyalty, that is. Obviously, obtaining their cooperation and trust would be a challenge.
But if the brain waves were stable, hence the research goes on, what other task does Irie needed to accomplish? What would the Decimo request him to do? If the Millefiore boss manages to take over the other mafia family, everything would be over. Could Irie secretly form an alliance without the white-haired youth's notice? Would that even be possible to achieve?
"Sawada Tsunayoshi is still alive, but his—her family is not aware of this fact, of course. Probably this can be used against the Vongola?" Irie hesitatingly offered.
"But would they accept it? The Decimo is now in a frail form of a child, having a lower female counterpart, and has wings. Would they believe that this person is their boss?"
"Well, her conscious has or has not had original memories as their leader, and her appearance resembles her male part. And telling the Vongola of the project would likely cause them to believe of such."
"They also might think that we're trying to trick them by using a fake."
Irie merely shrugged.
Byakuran smiled again, his eyes focused on the fascinating version of Tsuna. "I haven't recovered from my astonishment of how the progression left Sawada Tsunayoshi as a hermaphrodite. Her chest is rather flat, though I suppose that indicates her childish innocence. Her face is more cherubic than I recalled," he mused.
Irie saw Byakuran's observations and was surprised. "Yes, I see," he said after a pause. "Though I find it queer that wings were added to the project."
"I think it makes her appear like an angel."