Nadeshiko F: I have come across a revolutionary realization:

In every story I've read containing Knuckles, he has always been a priest. So, just to shake things up a bit, in this story, he won't be one—at least not yet. I've already planned his journey to priesthood, but we're not there yet, and I'm getting ahead of myself yet again. So, for now, he will be a boxer, and somewhat of a doctor (understandable as he does heal people with his flames). One more thing: I've found out that one generation is twenty-five years, so ten generations would be about 250 years, give or take; thus, it seems that the Primo family didn't live in the 1600's after all (not that I believed it in the first place; the Mafia started in the 1800's, right around the time my theory revolves around).

Disclaimer—Obviously I don't own KHR, or I'd already have season 9 being planned.

"G, slow down!"

The cry came from a half conscious Lampo as he was mercilessly dragged down the hall by an irritated redhead, who only ignored the greenhead's pleas, and increased his pace.

"G—I'm begging you—I'm choking—help!"

Only when Lampo began to turn an unruly shade of blue did the Storm Guardian release him—watching in faint annoyance as the greenhead fell to the ground, gasping for breath. Grunting, G turned and walked away, leaving the greenhead on the floor, who watched in shock, before scrambling to his feet and stumbling to catch up to the redhead.

To his relief, G slowed down, until the two walked side-by-side in a matching pace. Looking up through the corner of his eyes, Lampo saw the scowl on G's face and the determination gleaming in his ruby red eyes; which only served to confuse the teen even more.

"So..." he began hesitantly, "why are we hunting for Knuckles again?"

G stayed quiet, as if thinking, then with a shrug, growled,

"Because I want him to teach me how to catch a butterfly."

Lampo blinked. He didn't even know Knuckles spent his time chasing after the two-winged insects.

"Oh... that's nice."

Abruptly halting to a stop, G, stared skeptically at the greenhead who had also stopped in his stride to face the redhead.

Lampo gulped, "What?"

G inhaled deeply, before focusing angry ruby red eyes at the teen.

"Lampo," he snarled, "Do you really think I'd be chasing after that boxing-idiot just to ask how to catch butterflies?"

Lampo bit his lip.

"...Yes?"

And thus, Lampo found himself passing out from the force that came slamming down on his head—courtesy of G's fist, as always—watching dazedly as the redhead unceremoniously threw him over his shoulder, as giggling maids passed by, ever so gleeful at Lampo's misery.

In hindsight, Lampo shouldn't have expected G to chase butterflies.

The redhead was always more of a dragonfly kind of guy, anyways.

Losing his memories was both a blessing and a nuisance for Tsuna; on one hand, he felt relaxed, his mind literally empty of thoughts. On the other hand, it was as if his mind was an endless blank canvas, previously painted with a myriad of colors that had been his memories, now white and eagerly waiting to be filled with new ones. It was as annoying as it was calming.

The only problem was, Tsuna's memories so far, had been far from pleasant. Thanks to the nice man's medicine, the pain within his body had diminished to an echoing ache, occasional flares of intense pain wracking his small body; but it was never too much for him to handle—it was as if he was used to such things.

Tsuna winced at the sudden thought; he didn't want to recover his memories if they held nothing but pain for him. It was enough that his new memories so far were miserable.

'Still...' Grunting with effort, Tsuna tried grasping within his mind for his memories—only to feel that annoying void take over and push him out. Faintly, though, he could recall that the nice mad told him that might never be able to recover his memories due to the severity of his wounds; interestingly enough, Tsuna seemed fine with it.

The chance to begin a new life and start anew; it was all too tempting for him.

'The only thing is,' Tsuna mused, 'where I'll begin my new life—and more importantly, who'll I'll be spending it with.'

Knuckles knew he shouldn't have had walked away from Giotto like that; he could feel their puzzled stares as they watched him stalk off, but he just couldn't help it. Discomfort squirmed in his stomach, and the boxer mused on how he would handle the situation.

It was something he had noticed as he had been treating the little boy—Tsuna—and it had Knuckles freezing in shock and unable to answer his boss's inquiries. It wasn't that Tsuna had managed to stay alive when any other six-year old boy would have died from the extent of his injuries, no, it was the resemblance.

Knuckles was well aware that he might have been over reacting just a tiny bit—it wouldn't have been the first time either, but the information was just too much to handle.

Which was why Knuckles found himself pacing back and forth in the garden, trampling over the grass and some of Elena's beloved flowers (no doubt getting himself an earful once she found out) in his thought-provoking pace.

'Perhaps, they will believe me,' Knuckles's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, not at all noticing the cries of a whimpering Lampo or the calls of an irritated G, nonplussed by the boxer's lack of response.

'Then again—' Knuckles screeched to a halt as he found himself face to face with ruby red glare from G. He blinked, before his eyes trailed down to Lampo who was cowering at the redhead's feet sending Knuckles a pitiful look.

Silence ensued

Growing increasingly tense at the lack of conversation, Knuckles found himself confused by his trembling. G seemed to notice too for he raised an eyebrow, and asked, "Hey, are you okay—?"

"IthinkTsunaisGiotto'sson!" Knuckles suddenly blurted out loud, and the boxer gasped in shock, clapping his hands to his mouth, eyes wide with shock.

G and Lampo slowly exchanged glances.

"You think who is whose son?" Lampo's voice was laced with skepticism. Biting his lower lip, Knuckles hesitantly repeated himself.

"I said, I think Tsuna is Giotto's son." Knuckles waited for the impending bursts of laughter he had learned to expect from G and Lampo, but only found them staring at him in confusion.

"Who's Tsuna?" G's question had Knuckles internally berating himself for not clarifying the little boy's identity, and the boxer quickly explained, "Tsuna is the little boy that Lampo saved."

"So that's his name," Lampo murmured, electric green eyes focusing as he hardwired the name into his brain.

"...And you think that he's Giotto's son?" G's statement, though stated indifferently, clearly expressed the disbelief that the redhead held. Knuckles nodded, palms growing sweaty, as he watched the two exchange glances.

Then a snicker.

And before he could blink, both men were holding their stomachs, peals of laughter echoing through out the garden. Knuckles's cheeks reddened, and he coughed repeatedly.

Before long, the two guardians' laughter died down, and both sighed, wiping away imaginary tears of delight from the corner of their eyes.

Knuckles scowled at them, "Finished?" Lampo grinned and nodded, eyes glowing with mirth.

"Come on, Knuckles do you really think that out of all people, Giotto would be the one to have a child? I mean he flinches whenever a girl even looks his way."

"Yeah," Lampo echoed, "If it was G or Daemon you were talking about, then I wouldn't be surprised at all; but Giotto? I mean, I'd be less surprised if Asari had a kid, and he's just as bad as—"

"Hold on a minute," G turned to face Lampo, eyes narrowed, "what do you mean you wouldn't be surprised if I had a kid? What do you think I do in my spare time? Frolic around brothels?"

Lampo blinked, "I'm not saying you do, just that I wouldn't be surprised if you did."

"What are you trying to imply, brat—"

"Guys, guys come on!" Knuckles intervened, hands stretched out, "I wouldn't be saying this if I wasn't serious about it."

G and Lampo paused, before the former of the two conceded, "Alright, let's see the kid first before we make any more theories. If you're right, Knuckles, then we could have a serious problem on our hands."

Knuckles looked relieved, and without another word, he led them to the room. The three stepped into a sunlit room, where Tsuna lay sleeping in bed. Knuckles nodded to a nurse stationed there, who stepped out of the room.

With a sigh, the boxer took a seat in a nearby chair, fingers massaging his temples. Now calm, Knuckles was able to register the growing amount of exhausting piling on him, but he ignored it, choosing to watch his companions scrutinize his patient instead.

Everything was quiet, before a begrudging sigh escaped G, "Fine. I admit, the kid does resemble Giotto." he said shortly. Lampo made a noise of agreement, eyes staring intently at Tsuna's bandaged body, guilt evident in them.

"You see?" Knuckles said quietly, "I don't know how to approach this with Giotto. Or whether I should at all."

G shook his head, "Don't. At least not yet. Let's make certain first whether—Tsuna was it?—is related to Giotto. There's no way this could be a coincidence, but it doesn't mean that this kid is Giotto's son. For all we know, he could a cousin or something."

"So should we contact Alaude?" Lampo offered thoughtfully, "He'd be able to get all the information we need easily."

G grunted, eyes misty with thought, "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll go find him right now."

Knuckles and Lampo watched the redhead close the door behind him softly as he made his exit, before everything settled into a grim silence.

"Are we really gonna do this?" Lampo asked suddenly, "Go behind Giotto's back I mean. We could just ask him."

Knuckles rested his head on clasped hands. "I don't know," he admitted, "If we did ask Giotto, he could lie then we'd still get nowhere." Tired, dark eyes settled on the little brown-haired boy lying in bed, his tiny hands grasping the bedsheets tightly.

"Besides, we have to think of how this will affect Tsuna too; not just Giotto."

Knuckles didn't say anything more and just rubbed his face, shoulders sagged, looking exhausted and careworn.

Lampo felt a twinge of guilt for helping cause some of the boxer's burden and in an attempt to help alleviate it, he offered good-naturedly, "You know, G said that you spend time catching butterflies; if you like, you can teach me how to do that."

Daemon grimaced as the familiar, tangy scent of blood pervaded his senses. In front of him, bodies lay strewn around the forest floor, unmoving, and stained with a brilliant red. Beneath his boots, leaves and twigs crunched as he knelt by one body belonging to a man with a scar across his left eye, and a mouth open revealing chipped, yellow teeth.

Carefully, Daemon lifted the man's stiff arm, pushing the sleeve upward to the elbow, and gingerly twisting the man's wrist, to find a tattoo.

A tattoo of snake curled around a rifle.

Daemon cocked an eyebrow in surprise. 'Well, this isn't this interesting?' Indigo eyes trailed upwards to see more bodies, and a frown slowly came upon his face.

"I better check everyone in case," He murmured to himself, absentmindedly releasing mist flames that snaked around the forest creating a perimeter; at least then, civilians wouldn't see him or the bodies. His eyes fell to the scarred, dead man at his feet; blood trickled down his chin, and the scent of death slowly became more noticeable as time passed.

'Because if my suspicions are right, then we could have a serious problem on our hands.' He thought grimly.

"Alaude!"

The head of the CEDEF, turned his head slightly to see G walk up to him, hands deep in his pockets, eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw set; an obvious sign of his dilemma. Curiosity got the better of the Cloud Guardian and he stopped, and with a blank face, waited for his redheaded companion to speak.

G paused at first, shifting from one foot to another, before meeting Alaude's gaze with hard, ruby red eyes; now this was getting interesting.

"I need to ask you a favor." The redhead mumbled quietly, and if his lack of volume hadn't surprised Alaude, then it was the request that did.

It was a well-known fact, that each of the Guardians were proud; extremely so, but G was a different case. He was the boss's right-hand man, a title he flaunted frequently, but a title he deserved none the less—and a condition that came with G's pride was that he never asked for help. Never. Even if the man had broken both legs, he would never rely on someone else to walk; he'd do it out of sheer will.

Which is why it had been such a shock to hear the proud G reduce himself to asking someone for a favor—and to Alaude of all people. If Alaude had been anyone else, namely one of the other idiotic Guardians, his jaw would have fallen, and he'd be fretting over the redhead's state of health.

But he wasn't. He was Alaude, head of Interpol as well as of the CEDEF, and a fellow Guardian. He would not be reduced to a simpering idiot, as anyone else would have.

So, he kept his face blank, but allowed himself to raise an eyebrow, and in a toneless voice, asked, "...what is it? And why me?"

"Because you're the best in these kinds of situations."

If it was possible, Alaude's eyebrow rose even higher, "Oh? You're admitting my supremacy; something I believed would never happen."

G's cheeks reddened, and a spark of fury glinted in his eyes, but he calmly gritted out, "Yes. Because what I have to ask for is important."

"Then state it. I have better things to do." That was the truth, but Alaude was relishing every second of this—not that he'd ever admit it. Alaude, as antisocial and aloof as he was, was just as proud as the rest of the Guardians.

"I need you to find information on Giotto."

Alaude narrowed his eyes, "What kind?"

"I need you to see whether—whether he had a lover... and if she became pregnant, and ended up giving birth... to his son."

Incredulity replaced the blank look on Alaude's face, "...You think that that idiot has a child?"

G grimaced at the insult, but nodded shortly, "Yes."

"...Is this some kid of joke?"

"No. Look, I didn't believe it at first either, but then Knuckles brought me to see the kid that Lampo accidentally attacked, and as much as I hate to admit it, the boy does hold some resemblance to Giotto."

"That doesn't mean that he's his child. It could be a coincidence."

"If it was, how do you explain the fact that he was on Vongola territory? And that he was being chased by some men? If the kid really is Giotto's son, then it would make sense why he was being chased—the amount of leverage they would have by kidnapping the Boss of the Vongola Family's son would be incredible." The unconvinced look on Alaude's face made G pause before he said quietly, "And you know I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't think it was important."

He had him there. Alaude closed his eyes, before turning and walking away.

Frustration began to build up within G, "Alaude!" The Cloud Guardian didn't stop. "Can I count on you?"

The redhead watched, tense, as the blonde stopped and gave a short nod.

"I'll have your information within a week."

No more words were said, and the Cloud Guardian slipped into the shadows, and disappeared.

Giotto sighed, and he plopped down in his chair, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Things are getting nowhere..." he mumbled. Questions and theories ran through his head, and a headache slowly began to form. As if the tense negotiations with the Fedeltà Familigia wasn't enough, Giotto now had to deal with a six year old amnesiac, whose family was probably going insane looking for him; and he had no leads whatsoever.

He scowled at himself. He made Tsuna's situation sound like a bother—which it wasn't in the slightest. He had started the Vongola to help people, and Giotto intended to carry its purpose out until his death; which was a long way off... hopefully.

'Still...' he thought uncertainly, 'how can I find this boy's family—if he even has one that is, when I all I know is next to nothing.'

Dazed sunset orange eyes found themselves staring at a bottle of alchohol in the corner of the room.

'...A glass of wine sounds pretty good right now.'

Reborn swore angrily.

He was gone for one night—one fucking night—and he came back to a hysterical Nana, crying over the disappearance of her son; true to her word, Tsuna was nowhere to be found in the surrounding vicinity. Bianchi had informed him, however, of the injuries his idiotic student had come home with, and it was fairly easy to find the bullies that had caused them; interestingly enough, after interrogating them quite thoroughly, they all replied with the same answer: Dame-Tsuna hadn't come to school the next day or sought them out the day he had been bullied. Reborn didn't even want to imagine dealing with his student's guardians when they found out.

Reborn was going to kill him. He was going to utilize every method of torture that existed on his idiotic student, and ensure that he suffered while the hit man watched in sadistic glee.

'Oh, the things I could do...' Reborn thought with a smirk. He growled in irritation, ignoring the uneasy look Fuuta directed at him as he passed by. Stepping into Tsuna's room, beady black eyes scanned the room—and found nothing out of place, save for the bed's messy state. The bed was unmade, the sheets ruffled; it was obvious that his stupid student had been asleep.

To the corner of the room, beams of sunlight penetrated the window. Reborn hopped there silently, onyx eyes peering closely at the window sill. Dust painted a thorough coat on the window sill as well as on the sides; it hadn't been opened in a while.

'Which means,' he deduced, 'he didn't leave through the window; and there are no signs of forced entry so he wasn't taken.'

It was as if Tsuna had... disappeared into thin air. Reborn stalked over to the desk, roughly pulling out a drawer.

Damn. The ring was gone too. He was left with no choice.

Reborn grimaced. Discomfort wriggled in the pit of the stomach, but he refused to acknowledge it, and jumped onto Tsuna's desk. Leon crawled into his hand and transformed into a gun, and without wasting a minute, the Sun Arcobaleno aimed at the clock hung above him and pulled the trigger.

A shot rang out and the clock fell, landing in Reborn's hands smoothly. His hands worked swiftly, deftly removing the cracked plastic surface of the clock, and reaching into the center, between the clock's hands, to pull out a tiny, black device with lens.

A camera.

When the Varia had first appeared in Namimori, Reborn had installed the camera in case they decided to take the liberty of killing his student while Reborn was away. Fortunately, that hadn't been the case, but the assassin had seen no reason to take the camera down, as a precaution.

It seemed he had been right.

Reborn cleanly popped the device open, gingerly taking the chip inside and placing it into Leon, who now, took the form of a video camera. He waited, and the first images appeared, but with a click, the video sped up to last night's events. And what he saw, almost made him drop the camera.

'What the hell—?!'

Reborn shut the camera off, taking the chip out and holding it tightly in his hand. Leon crawled back onto his fedora, watching with curious eyes at his master's shaking grip on the chip. His knuckles cracked but he didn't care.

"Tsuna," he growled, "when I find you, I'm going to kick your fucking ass."

Nadeshiko F.—And that's all for know. Check out my other story, Living On, and I promise not to take so long next time. This chapter was just particularly hard to write, but don't worry, from here on out, updates won't take months to come.

I got close to thirty reviews in the first chapter. Let's try and beat that for this one hmm?