Finding C Major

2

. .


"You know, brat, I didn't teach you how to use knives so you could throw them at walls."

Six months passed since the European music recital and Hayato had long since returned to his routine of studying, lessons, and piano practice. During that time, his father sent out agents and informants to find any information about 'Tsuna Sawada'. After the first month of no positive results, Hayato stopped holding out too much hope in the success of the venture. His father continued the search though, seeming to think the effort spent attempting to find her would be worth it.

Learning there might be some truth to the rumors of the Young Lion's daughter seemed to fuel his father's efforts in trying to locate her. Initially, there had been a frantic sort of energy to the man, lighting his eyes and making him seem decades younger. Hayato suspected it was because of the prospect to forge a connection with the Vongola. As the months dragged on, his father's eyes dulled into an apathetic gray and a frown slipped back onto his face. From what he could tell, based on his father's silence concerning the whole matter, none of the agents managed to bring back even a tiny scrap of information.

If Tsuna was somehow connected to the Vongola like his father thought, then it was understandable how easily she vanished following the recital. If the Vongola didn't want the girl to be found, it would be nearly impossible to find her again. Simple as that.

This didn't stop his father from trying to find her.

Hayato, on the other hand, could care less about the whole matter. While he understood the benefits of having connections to the Vongola, Hayato wasn't looking to purposely make a friendship based on ulterior motives and false promises of warmth. If he happened to run into her again, he'd try to be friendly. But the odds of meeting her again were miniscule.

Right now, though, he had more pressing things to worry about at the moment than a nonexistent friendship—like getting Shamal to leave him alone.

"Are you volunteering to help me with my aim? I needed a new target since I blew up the last one during training."

Hayato punctuated his statement by picking up a knife from the nearby cart and hurling it at the wall across the room. It sailed through the air and impacted the wall with a muted thud, barely missing the center of Hayato's crudely pained target. Five other knives peppered the target at varying distances from the center.

The knives were close to where he had been aiming, so Hayato counted it as a success.

"No," Shamal slouched further into the wingback chair he claimed for himself, "but I don't think the maids will be too pleased to have to repair the wall after your little training session…again."

Much to Shamal's quiet irritation, his student's impromptu knife throwing sessions had become something of a routine lately. Hayato would go to one of the spare sitting rooms scattered throughout the castle, paint a target on the wall, and throw knives. Eventually, Shamal would track down his troublesome student and wait to see if he would explain himself. So far, Hayato stayed quiet as to why he thought the wall would make a nice pincushion. As the incidents became more frequent—even cutting into the allotted dynamite training time—it became clear that whatever bothered his student wasn't going away any time soon.

Honestly, Shamal had better things to do than make sure his student didn't accidentally kill himself. Like convincing that pretty brunette working in the kitchens to visit a recently-opened restaurant in the next town over with him.

Shamal crossed his arms and shot Hayato an unamused look. "Alright, I've let you throw knives for long enough. Something's bothering you and I've got better things to do than play babysitter."

Hayato picked up a knife from the cart and threw it. "What makes you think I have something on my mind?"

Shamal raised a dark eyebrow. "Brat, you've been my student for five years. If I didn't understand what makes you tick by now I'd have to be deaf, blind, or stupid—neither of which I am. You only start mutilating walls with those knives of yours when you're irritated or angry. So, I'm going to ask now you before you end up hurting yourself; what's got you so worked up?"

A pale hand reached down to pick up another knife, then stopped. Green eyes narrowed. After a long moment, Hayato grabbed the knife and took aim at the target. The knife landed with a loud thud.

Shamal let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. That stubborn brat. Shamal could usually care less if his student had issues to deal with. Learning to deal with problems on your own was an essential part of becoming a competent human being. Not to mention, it would be practice for situations in the future, when the only person Hayato could rely on for help would be himself. However, the frequent bouts of target practice were starting to become detrimental to his student's growth.

Shamal leaned into his wingback chair, crossed his legs, and assumed a casual pose. This routine needed to end and, as much as he liked the brat, despite the headaches and frustration, Shamal knew he had to switch his tactics. In a deceptively nonchalant voice, he carelessly threw out his next words. Hayato wouldn't be too happy with him, but if it got results, he didn't care.

"I wonder…if Lavina were still here…if she'd be happy that you'd rather throw knives at a wall than learn to protect yourself."

Hayato stiffened. "Don't."

Shamal continued, "you've been skipping bomb training for the past week to go play with your little kitchen toys. You aren't even seriously practicing with them either. You're just tossing them around, not even trying to hit the bullseye." He paused and carefully watched Hayato's reaction.

"It's like you don't even care whether you live or die anymore."

Silver hair whipped his cheeks as Hayato spun around, face contorted in fury. His green narrowed into enraged slits and a small snarl curled at his lips. "I've been training with bombs and knives for five years. If anyone wants to hurt me, I'll be able to protect myself. Don't question if I care whether I live or die because I. Won't. Die." He picked up another knife, whirled around, and lobbed it at the target. The screech of metal scraping against metal cut through the tense silence as the blade hit another knife lodged in the wall. It bounced off and landed with a thump on the carpet.

Apathetic brown eyes watched Hayato glare at the knife on the floor. Shamal tutted. "You shouldn't throw weapons when you're angry."

Hayato pointedly strode toward the wall and began yanking knives out. Each one landed in a clatter on the carpet and soon he stood in front of a hole-riddled wall with a pile of knives at his feet. He reached down, grabbed two knives in each hand, and stalked back to the cart.

The silence stretched into minutes as Shamal watched his student collect the knives, check to make sure the metal wasn't chipped or broken, and set them on the cart. During the process, the tension in Hayato's shoulders gradually loosened and his posture became a bit less rigid. Shamal waited until the final knives were set down before speaking up.

"So then," Shamal drawled, "what's the point of this little temper tantrum? Did you break a knife? Did the maids forget your coffee? Are you having piano frustrations?"

A pause stretched. Then, as if struck by inspiration, Shamal abruptly straightened in the wingback chair and leaned forward. Eyes completely focused on Hayato, Shamal's next words were slow and uncomfortably blunt. "Don't tell me…are you frustrated because you're having girl troubles?"

Hayato's brain shorted out.

That. No.

An embarrassed flush rose on his pale cheeks when his brain rebooted and finally processed what Shamal suggested. "I'm not having girl troubles," Hayato sputtered. "Where would you even get that idea, you stupid doctor?!"

Shamal scratched at his stubble and gave a thoughtful hum. "I heard you were talking to a girl about six months ago and didn't manage to scare her off. She must have caught your attention if you kept talking to her." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "So, is she pretty?"

"She's just some weird girl who randomly decide to talk to me!"

Shamal leaned into the chair and gave Hayato a knowing smile. "It's okay if you're shy about it. I only goaded you on earlier because I thought this was about Lavina again—"

Hayato clenched his fists and growled, "Shamal."

"—But, if that's not the reason, then it makes sense. Although, you seemed a little young to have those thoughts—"

"Shamal!"

"—it's perfectly natural and I completely support—"

"I'm not having girl troubles," Hayato exploded.

Silence descended on the sitting room.

Fingernails dug into his palms as Hayato tried to regain his composure. Jade eyes glared at the blank-faced doctor. "I'm not throwing knives because I have girl troubles," Hayato spat, "or because I'm upset about Miss Lavina."

Shamal leaned back, his fingers tapping on the armrest. "Well, then. Spit it out. What's got you so worked up?"

"No."

"Brat, look. Throwing knives isn't going to solve anything. This has been going on for a week, so obviously nothing's changed. Normally, I wouldn't care. I could just wash my hands of this whole situation and have a nice conversation with one of the new maids. However, instead, I generously decided to help you sort this problem out before you maimed yourself with knives or bombs. I don't want my troublesome student to die such a disappointing death—and I wouldn't heal you; you know I don't treat men. So now, I want you to explain what has you so worked up."

Silence. "Well?"

Hayato sharply exhaled and forced himself to calm down. As reluctant as Hayato was to admit it, Shamal was right. He was getting reckless. He knew his accuracy with the knives would be much better if he actually focused on what he was doing and not the thoughts buzzing in his mind. Although Shamal neglected to say anything remotely helpful during training, the doctor was smarter than he looked and could be serious if the occasion called for it. Maybe.

Tch. Fine.

"Father assigned me my first mission."

A pause. "Okay? I don't see how this is a bad thing. Sure, you're inexperienced—

"I'm meeting an informant," Hayato interrupted, "and Alessio is coming with."

"…Ah."

Hayato's frustration and agitation began a week ago when he was called to his father's office. He had just finished dynamite practice with Shamal; the evidence showed in his singed sleeves, tousled hair, and sweaty face. Exhaustion dragged on his bones, and Hayato wanted nothing more at that moment than a nice shower and a change of clothes. However, the messenger said it was urgent, so Shamal shoved Hayato out the door with the customary "goodbye, brat" and left Hayato to trudge to his father's office alone.

As far as he knew, nothing had changed drastically enough to warrant the sudden meeting.

For as long as Hayato could remember, being the Boss' son, a parade of private tutors flowed in and out of the castle, providing him with a top-notch education in subjects ranging from chemistry to battle strategy. He soaked up the offered knowledge like a sponge, leading to titles like 'genius' and 'prodigy' being thrown around in hushed whispers when nobody thought he was listening. Hayato didn't miss his tutors' subtle compliments during lessons, so his academic progress was adequate enough. Shamal generally made offhand comments about 'poor technique' and 'being more confident' during combat practice, which, sadly, was Shamal's way of saying Hayato's skills were decent enough. So, there shouldn't be any complaints on that front. Likewise, he hadn't made any drastic, noteworthy leaps in improvement either.

He had been doing fine—excellent, even. So, what had changed?

No matter, he'd find out soon enough. The large door of his father's office loomed over his small form. Taking a breath, Hayato raised a heavy fist to knock on the sturdy wood. A muffled voice called, "enter," and Hayato did just that.

His father sat behind an enormous desk, draped in shadows with a pen in hand. The lone window, a tiny thing situated high on the wall behind his father, let only a meagre amount of light in. Hayato suspected the size and the placement served to dissuade any would-be assassins. A tiny desk lamp didn't help drive away the darkness lurking between bookshelves and cabinets, but it did illuminate the sharp angles of his father's face, making his visage appear more austere and imposing.

"Ah, Hayato. Please, sit down." His father waved a dismissive hand at the cushioned chair sitting opposite of the desk. Hayato glanced at the man and took a seat. A vase of wilted chrysanthemums sat on his father's desk. Gross. "Has Shamal told you why I called you here?"

Hayato hid his confusion behind a scowl. "No, he didn't tell me anything. Why? Was it important?"

"Ah, it doesn't matter now," the older man dismissed.

Well, that certainly helped answer Hayato's questions. Not.

"What do you think of your progression under Shamal's tutelage?"

Hayato became apprehensive. His father already received reports from Shamal, reports dissecting Hayato's ability and catching mistakes Hayato wasn't skilled enough to spot yet. His father, the Boss, already had more than enough information to grasp the situation and make a well-informed decision. So, why would Hayato's opinion matter?

What was this meeting for?

Silver eyebrows furrowed as Hayato strung a response together. "My accuracy with dynamite and knives at varying distances has improved greatly and Shamal has told me that my reaction time is decent. In addition to my offensive training, I've been practicing with situational and environmental awareness as well. At my current training level, I believe my skill level is more than adequate." The absent words flowed off his tongue, repeated from textbooks, lectures, and compliments about how skilled he was for someone his age and why everything he was learning was so important. As if Hayato wasn't smart enough to realize it himself.

His father nodded, almost as if receiving confirmation from Hayato's words.

"You've been training under Shamal for almost five years now. From his assessment, he deems you competent enough to handle yourself when faced with a threat. After some thought, I've decided that you're ready for your first mission as a member of this Family."

Hayato felt a sort of numb shock spread though his body. There had been some sort peripheral awareness of the eventuality of this moment—why else would he receive offensive training if not to be useful to the Famiglia—but he never expected to be assigned his first mission so soon. Or, rather, he shoved the thought to the back of his mind and ignored the ticking clock counting down to what he knew was unavoidable. He lived in a Mafia Famiglia. He couldn't live in the content routine of his life so far forever.

"Now, you'll be working with Alessio." The look Hayato's father leveled him spoke of hard steel and an immovable will. "I hope this will not be a problem or interfere with the mission?"

The still shock in Hayato's mind lifted and gave birth to a storm of chaos.

Something—wild and angry and raging—in the back of his mind screamed that his father hadn't, couldn't possibly have said Alessio. Perhaps it was a slip of the tongue, a misspoken name. The much larger, logical portion assured him it most definitely was not a mistake. Alessio was accompanying him on his first mission. Hayato's blood simmered.

Why?

He took a deep breath. He still had to finish this meeting. The scent of stale tobacco smoke and artificial lemons tickled his nose. "No, it will not be a problem," he lied.

"Good. You'll meet Alessio next Thursday at the front courtyard; a car should arrive for both of you there. You have a week to prepare for your mission, so I expect you to use this time wisely, yes?"

Hayato felt small under the other man's firm gray eyes. The vase of dying flowers looked to be an inch away from falling off his father's desk. He wanted to push it over the edge.

"Yes, sir."

Why Alessio?

"…and that's a bad thing?" Shamal probed.

Hayato blinked and shoved the memory aside. "What?"

"I didn't think you would get so worked up over this."

Short fingernails dug into Hayato's palms.

"A courier mission is an easy way to get experience. All you have to do is show up, get the information, and return here without dying along the way. This mission doesn't directly place you in a combat situation, so, unless you're going to be ambushed, you don't have to worry about being maimed or injured."

Hayato remained silent.

"This isn't about the mission, is it?"

"Not entirely."

"Of course it's Alessio," Shamal muttered. "Brat, despite the…conflict—" Hayato snorted. Conflict was a nice way of labelling that particular mess of a relationship "—between you and Alessio, he is a loyal member of the Famiglia. Whatever problems there are between you two, he knows better than to allow you to get yourself killed. He can put personal feelings aside for the sake of a mission, so, Hayato, can you do him the respect of doing the same?"

Sunlight glinted off the knives on the cart. Shamal wouldn't let this go until Hayato agreed. Although he was skeptical of the doctor's words, he couldn't bring himself argue. The mission date was fast approaching and he wanted to believe Shamal was telling the truth. If Alessio could put the mission first, so could he. Hayato grimaced. "Fine."

Shamal stood up and rolled his shoulders. "Well, I'm glad that's over. You know, brat, you worry too much. Try to loosen up a little. I don't know what you do for fun around here—I've only ever seen you reading or practicing." He scratched his stubble and glanced at Hayato. "Your birthday is coming up soon, isn't it? A party is the perfect place to play nice with the other kids. Go make some friends." A lewd grin stretched across his face. "Maybe you could even find a nice girl to chat with."

"I'm only seven, you perverted doctor!"

Shamal merely shrugged. "You'll come around eventually." He sauntered to the door. "By the way," Shamal threw out over his shoulder, "you should stop stealing knives from the kitchens. I know you have a set of throwing knives that would work much better than those unbalanced kitchen tools. Plus, it's not polite to make the lovely ladies in the kitchens worry over something as petty as missing cutlery. A true gentleman wouldn't cause women distress."

Hayato impulsively grabbed a knife and flung it at the doctor. It cut through the air and landed about half a meter from where Shamal's head would have been. The doctor's lazy voice floated through the closed door.

"Goodbye, brat. Oh, and work on your aim."


The day of his first mission arrived far too quickly, in Hayato's opinion.

Standing in the courtyard, Hayato let loose a loud yawn. With the sun barely breaking the horizon, it felt far too early in the morning. He spent the previous night tossing and turning, trying to get some sleep before morning came. Hayato had learned, through painful training sessions with Shamal after one too many nights spend reading instead of sleeping, a tired Mafioso was a dead Mafioso. Along with having less energy, reaction times would be shot to hell and mental capabilities would be severely dampened. Hayato knew the importance of getting an adequate amount of sleep. Despite his efforts, though, his mind wouldn't shut up and settle down.

As much as he tried not to think of it, his mind had kept drifting back to the mission.

Despite all his training, despite it only being a courier mission, Hayato couldn't help the small sliver of worry curling inside his stomach. What were the odds they would be ambushed? Hayato heard stories, whispers between maids, of easy missions gone wrong and bloody massacres. It only took a stronger opponent, a second of inattention— No. He trained for this. He was strong and capable. He had to be. If anybody thought he was weak, well, Hayato's dynamite would change their opinions pretty quickly. Although, he remembered watching men return to the castle missing fingers, limbs, lives— It felt like hours before he finally dozed off.

He would give anything for some damn caffeine.

Crunching gravel alerted Hayato to someone approaching from behind. He turned around and couldn't help the small sneer to curling at his lips.

His father, wearing a simple suit and loafers, took slow steps, reveling in the crisp air and quiet atmosphere the morning brought. Another man kept pace with him. It was this second man, with long limbs and smooth grace, who drew Hayato's complete attention. He kept a deceptively relaxed posture and, when combined with the dark pants, black hair, and alert golden eyes, reminded Hayato of a panther on the prowl.

Alessio.

Sharp, frigid eyes pinned Hayato and he returned the stare with a scowl of his own. His muscles tensed and he kept a stiff, straight back. This man would not find a fault in him. Hayato would not be weak, damn it.

Hayato's father stopped a short distance away and a small, rare smile twitched under his moustache. "Good morning, Hayato."

Hayato grunted. "Morning."

"For this assignment, you both will be meeting a man called Canary. Alessio, I've already told you the location and other particulars, so feel free to inform Hayato as well."

Alessio nodded. "I will."

"Hayato, for the duration of this assignment, you will defer to Alessio in all decisions. He has more knowledge and experience to ensure the mission will be successful. No matter your thoughts or opinions, if he orders you to do something, you will obey."

A sleek, gray car rumbled up the driveway, growing closer by the second. His father watched Hayato with steady gray eyes, expecting compliance. Even Alessio's attention focused on Hayato's response, despite knowing Hayato could only say one thing.

"Yes, sir," Hayato ground out.

"Excellent." Seeing his business finished, Hayato's father turned around and walked away.

Faced with an idling car and Alessio, Hayato realized he didn't want to go on the mission. He didn't want to meet some random man called Canary. He didn't want to think about the possibility of being ambushed, no matter what Shamal said about it being unlikely. As the sun rose higher in the sky, waking up the world with its comforting warmth, Hayato knew the afternoon would be perfect for curling up in a windowsill and reading a book. One of his chemistry tutors loaned him a book talking about the difference between ionic and covalent bonds and he was itching to finish it.

Hayato especially didn't want to be stuck in a car with Alessio. Memories washed over Hayato of cold eyes and colder words. Nearly eight years of knowing the man and Hayato had never once heard anything nice come out of his mouth. He didn't like Hayato and the feeling was mutual. Hayato would be happy to never see the man ever again, but no matter what he did, what he wished, he couldn't ignore Alessio forever...

Emerald eyes watched Alessio stalk to the car, not sparing him a single glance.

...because Alessio was Hayato's cousin...

"During this mission, you'd better keep up with me, or I will leave you behind."

...and his father's heir.


So…it's been a while since the last update. I'm sorry it took so long. Hopefully the next update won't take five months *cringes*. Anyways…

I'm absolutely shocked by the amount of interest in the story so far. Thank you so much to everyone who favorited, followed, reviewed, or even thought that the first chapter looked interesting enough to read. I'm happy you all like it so far.

I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but I'm interested in exploring cause-and-effect in this story. Some events happened prior to the first chapter and we're only seeing the effects now (ex. Hayato's different outlook on the Mafia and Tsuna's presence in Italy). How these events affect Hayato and Tsuna…we'll get to that eventually.

One thing that really bugged me: if Hayato's father was a Mafia boss, then who was the heir? Well, here's my answer.

Thoughts? Opinions? Feel free to constructively criticize me!

-Cyseria