Yamamoto stood in the structure, looking around like it was some foreign place. The sunlight was shining in through the windows, revealing millions of particles floating in the air. He ran his finger over a long unused counter and collected some of the settled dust.

"Is anyone in there?" Yamamoto turned around at the sound of the voice. A person at the door.

"Tanaka-san," Yamamoto smiled warmly, "I haven't seen you in a long time." She was an old lady who used to frequent Takesushi. When he was a teenager, she would joke with him that he was growing as much as she was shrinking.

"The door was open," she noted. "Are you going to reopen soon?"

"I'm afraid not. Only my dad was good at it," he laughed.

She frowned. "Ahh, that's too bad. The sushi here was the best." After a little more conversation, she went on her way along the quiet residential road.

Yamamoto sighed. He didn't know what to do with this place. It was true that he had no idea about running the business. At most, he could prepare the rice and fish, but when it came to figuring out the financial side, he was totally lost.

But luckily, or perhaps unluckily, that wasn't the trade he was in. Years ago, even he himself thought he'd be a professional baseball player by now, batting with the best of them, but the reality was that this wasn't his current occupation either.

Yamamoto lifted his bag off the dusty table. He closed the restaurant door behind him. He didn't know when he'd visit next, but he didn't want to sell it either. So it sat and collected dust, devoid of the warmth it used to have on busy Friday nights when regular customers like Tanaka-san filled the chairs.

Maybe one day.

---

"Why come to me? You're style isn't bombing," Gokudera told him while the slow-burning cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down.

Yamamoto leaned on the counter behind him. It was well-stocked with a party assortment of explosive power, everything from grenades to Gokudera's "special recipe" Molotov cocktails. "Actually...I was hoping you had something a little less lethal. Smoke bombs maybe."

Gokudera rummaged through some drawers, trying to remember where they were. "Yeah, I got some. Why do you need them?"

"It's getting a little hard to escape unscathed these days," he replied.

"Here's three. You better pay me back later," Gokudera glared accusingly. "Giving me a stupid, hyperactive cat doesn't count as a fair trade either."

"Oh? But you took him."

Gokudera rolled his eyes. "You told me it was a stray. I didn't think it was payment." He took another whiff of his cigarette.

"Maybe Uri hates you because you smoke," Yamamoto suggested.

"Shamal smokes, and that damn cat loves him," Gokudera shot back bitterly. The cat literally bit the hand that fed him...on multiple occasions.

"Oh, I see," Yamamoto chuckled, which received another admonishing leer. "Anyway, I'll pay you back after my next job."

Gokudera seemed to think about something for a second. "You know my boss' adviser, right?"

"Reborn? Any professional hitman knows his name," Yamamoto replied.

"Yeah, well, I heard he's looking into you."

"Oh? I'm flattered."

"You should be. Seems like he thinks you'd be a good addition to the family."

"The mafia? I've never thought about it."

Gokudera shrugged. "I was raised around it." He put his cigarette into the ashtray near his workstation, only to light another one before placing it in his mouth. "I'm moving back to Italy next month."

"Short notice."

"I've been waiting to go back for awhile," Gokudera responded. "You can come too, if you're interested in working for the Vongola."

Yamamoto raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but a smirk stayed on his face. "You're inviting me?"

"No you idiot!" Gokudera swerved around in his chair to face him. "This is an invitation from Reborn! If it were up to me I'd put that stupid cat in front of your door and leave!" On cue, Uri came out and clawed at its master's shins, leaving Gokudera yelping, cursing, and kicking, all simultaneously. Yamamoto laughed. He enjoyed this place because it was always full of energy, even if it was all of the angry sort.

---

His apartment wasn't much. In fact, it was grievously small. He had a bedroom, a bathroom, and one long room that doubled as a kitchen and living room. He didn't really have a need for more space anyway, but the living room was usually conspicuously disorganized. Stepping over junk, he tossed down his jacket and bag and made his way to the couch.

He flipped casually through the mail. Most of them were bills like usual, but he knew the one at the bottom was special.

The truth was that he was his own neighbor. He rented out the apartment next door too, but that was where the mail with more...questionable content went to. Giving out that address was just a safety precaution, and the hope was that people out to get him would hit that place first. The walls here were fairly thin, so he could stay a step ahead of his would-be attackers as long as their aim was the fake residence. At least...that was the theory he held. He also thought it'd be less conspicuous to any spies if it seemed like he actually lived in the complex. Other people in his line of work often held spare places in different complexes or areas. Aside from that, the next-door space was completely empty. And today, his empty apartment had gotten a job.

He ripped through the seal and opened the envelope printed with security tinting on the inside. Obviously there was some sensitive information in this one. He unfolded its contents and read.

Another yakuza job. They always paid well because it meant his client didn't want to be traced back to the kill. Otherwise, they'd just do it themselves. He guessed they were trying to avoid a war with a rival group.

But he had never heard of this group who had decided to employ him. He found that odd. He had a pretty broad knowledge of yakuza groups, along with their alliances and rivalries, but this one had never been mentioned by any informants.

His target was a boss. That meant the pay was even better, but so was the protection he'd have to break through. He knew the name of the group the boss belonged to. It was relatively small, and it'd probably be wiped out by his clients once his job was completed. That was none of his concern though.

Thankfully, he didn't have to do any digging through informants like some of his less helpful clients made him do. Attached was an address of their current hideout. Stepping over empty boxes, he made his way to his bedroom. He reached into his closet and pushed some shirts out of the way to reach his target: Shigure Kintoki. At the bottom of the closet, his weapon of choice was concealed, kept nicely on a holder. It was well-used, but the blade was still sharp, and the blood it had spilled didn't tarnish its shine.

He started by swinging it around casually a bit, as if to test it, and then in one swift movement, his left hand reached up to grasp the hilt before pulling the sword parallel to his body. His legs were evenly balanced now, ready to move, to slice with his katana. The sword flew as his body glided through all the stances of the Shigure Souen style. He was careful not to scratch the walls, or his landlord would be very unhappy.

The technique his father taught him...it had a certain grace to it. The movements were beautiful and smooth, but it was ultimately a "sword of ruin." He could never forget that.

When night fell, he carefully wrapped up the katana and gathered some necessary things together. It was showtime.

---

The streets of Namimori were fairly busy at night. It was mostly young people, walking around and laughing. Yamamoto felt as though he was going against the stream of them, headed for home or a date while he was off to do his job. It was surprising that Namimori provided so much work for him, although his work sometimes did take him a few train rides away. Maybe people in this town all just held irreconcilable hatred deep down.

He neared his destination, a building near the water. He only had a basic idea about the way his target's yakuza group was structured. The Ubo group, as it was called, was heavily centered around birds for some reason he did not understand. Their tattoos all had various birds as the central part of the image, and the highest members of the group were given code names like "Crane" or "Owl." At the center of the group, was the leader, and his target, who most people on the street called "The Crow."

Okay, so maybe he knew more than a lot of people. Still, he wasn't sure what to expect. He checked himself over one more time. One of Gokudera's smoke bombs in his right pocket, and a concealed gun just in case. It was rare for him to be disarmed though; he was only used to letting go of Shigure Kintoki when performing Yarazu no Ame, but he really disliked using that stance. It seemed like a last-ditch attempt to win, plus it meant retrieving it afterwards. Of course, there was also Samidare, the fifth form, but even then his fingers were off the hilt for only a split second.

He took his time walking around the building, looking for any hints as to how the interior layout looked. He could hear people inside, but he was surprised no one was stationed around the perimeter. They were either overconfident or just very stupid. With most power-hungry people, it tended to be somewhere in between.

He made his way back around to the front of the building. As quietly as he could, he grasped the doorknob and twisted. Unbelievable; it was unlocked. He backed up and looked around just to make sure no one was playing a joke on him.

He took in a deep breath, feeling the night chill combined with the coolness from the nearby water fill his chest. When he exhaled, his sword was ready to strike, and he kicked the door open.

---

Yamamoto had a rule: only kill the target. But that hadn't stopped him from giving the henchmen a thorough thrashing with the blunt side of his katana. The room was surprisingly bloodless given that he was surrounded by a multitude of unconscious men. They definitely hadn't been expecting company, and most of them hadn't been very good at fighting either.

He wiped some sweat off his forehead, glancing at the watch on his wrist. Damn, it had taken him awhile to get through these guys. Chances are that his target had already escaped out some covert route. Still, he had to make sure. He gripped Shigure Kintoki with both hands and ran for the next room.

Something yellow whizzed past his head. He stopped abruptly. It wasn't a bullet, not fast enough. To his surprise though, it came back around. It was a bird. And it was singing. It was a tune that sounded familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

The creature had thrown off his guard, and he was almost unprepared for the attack that came next. Almost as fast as the bird had moved, another figured burst through the doorway. He blocked the first strike, hearing metal screech angrily against metal, but then another blow struck his right arm down, and his body moved unintentionally forward, where he was given a strike to the side of his head before a painful kick to the gut with a foot. With his head swimming, he couldn't be sure, but it had certainly felt like he had flown halfway across the room.

"Ugh..." he groaned out. Some poor crony he had beaten up earlier had gotten in between his meeting with the floor. He gripped his katana tighter and rolled to knees.

"Another herbivore." Yamamoto looked up. Still standing near the door was presumably the person who had just given him more bruises than the roomful of huge men. The yellow bird landed nonchalantly on the man's shoulder. "This won't take long." He sounded bored, and he had obviously halted his attack without much expectation.

Yamamoto rose to his feet, shaking out the pain in his arm. "Haha," he laughed, although he wasn't sure why, and it only seemed to agitate his opponent more. The grip he had on his tonfas tightened, and the bird took flight again

"Let's go," Yamamoto said calmly, and his face hardened. He couldn't use the blunt side of his sword for this one, he was sure. Gripping the hilt tightly, he rushed in.

Quick analysis, Yamamoto thought to himself as he was forcefully repelled again. His opponent essentially used three weapons: a pair of tonfas and whichever shoe he felt like getting dirty. At least he wasn't wearing baseball cleats, Yamamoto thought to himself. His opponent also thought on his feet; he saw openings and attacked them before Yamamoto could defend. He was also hesitant to use the forms of the Shigure Souen style for this reason. He was fairly sure he'd only be able to use them once each, twice at most, so he had to choose the moments to unleash them cautiously.

Sure, his father had told him it was an invincible style, but the truth was that Yamamoto believed the wielder ultimately held the deciding factor. While he only considered himself good at baseball, his father excelled at the sword, something that had also aided in his sushi preparation.

His opponent clearly wasn't taking him seriously. He never moved from the door and didn't follow through with more chains of attacks once Yamamoto was knocked back.

Yamamoto moved to his feet again, but his opponent shot him a look that said, "Stop wasting my time." Given the situation, Yamamoto was more than happy to comply.

He rushed again, and his opponent brought his tonfas up to his chest, ready to strike. Like a batter trying to reach the base, he purposefully lost his footing and slid on the floor, knocking the other's feet out from under him in the process. They both recovered quickly, but Yamamoto hit the next blow first. Using the blunt end of the blade, he whacked it hard against the back of the other man's knee joint before rolling out of the way of a tonfa strike.

His opponent's knees hit the ground. He looked vaguely surprised, then angry. "I don't need your mercy," he spat. He crouched low, before pushing off on the ground and moving in for a fast hit. Yamamoto met force with force as he stopped one tonfa using the base of his blade. In an incredible show of strength, he pushed the metal rod away, deflecting its incoming partner in the process. His opponent's body turned, and in that moment he had the opportunity to strike, to kill with a slash through a slender, pale neck. Instead, he repeated the same move he had performed against the man's knee, this time choosing to hit the bend of his right elbow. The tonfa gripped in the corresponding hand cluttered to the floor, but a fist came up to hit him square in the face. Temporarily blinded, Yamamoto darted out of range, breaking the rally.

When his face stopped burning, he saw his opponent holding his right arm, but he had picked up the other half of his weapon again.

"What's your name?" Yamamoto asked. It was out of the blue, cutting into the tension that had built up.

With the expression he was receiving, he wasn't sure he was going to get a reply, but after being sized up again, he got his response. "'Skylark.'"

Yamamoto grinned. "So you are one of them. I thought you were just a bodyguard or something." The enormous gap in skill between the other men and this "Skylark" had also been a factor in this faulty reasoning.

"I'm not weak."

"You know, skylarks are nice birds," Yamamoto commented, ignoring the other's train of thought entirely. "I think I like swallows better though."

"I don't care." His tonfas were raised like bared teeth. "Skylark" charged, impatient with all the useless talk, but right before his fists could make contact, his forearms changed directions and the tonfas rotated out from underneath them. They struck Yamamoto, who was caught off guard by the trick. From there, the attacks didn't stop. He was hit with a flurry of spinning strikes along with a few high kicks to the side of the head dispersed in between. Yamamoto attempted to block, but the speed at which the attacks changed course was astounding. And he wasn't being blown back anymore; the goal was now to keep him in striking distance now. His opponent had apparently gotten serious.

Yamamoto spun the sword in his hand, changing the way he held the hilt. "Shibuki Ame," he called, spinning in a circle. The other was repelled by the move but managed to jump back gracefully.

"Skylark" didn't waste time moving in again. Yamamoto mentally cursed as he barely had time to bring his sword up to block the next hit. They were going to have to fight to the death at this rate, and he had a feeling who would be the victor. He laughed nervously at the thought even as he received a tonfa blow to the shoulder.

He had to get out. Using his left forearm, he blocked a painful hit before reaching around and grabbing onto his attacker's wrist. The other arm swooped in, but Yamamoto pushed forward and trapped that one between a wall and his body.

"Sorry," he said with an apologetic smile, an odd gesture to give in this situation for anyone other than him. Yamamoto turned his wrist up and slammed the katana hilt straight into his opponent's temple. The other man lost his balance but broke his fall using his hands, and Yamamoto took this opportunity to back up quickly over to where he had entered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handy gift from Gokudera. "See you around." He pulled the pin, tossed it towards the yakuza member, and was out the door before the smoke even started spewing. Yamamoto didn't look back.