I don't own Katekyō Hitman Reborn!.

For any references to (braided) hairstyles, I refer to either Cute Girls Hairstyles or Missy Sue on youtube. Just look the name up to find the looks because I'd be lost on how to name (or describe!) these creations otherwise.


Target VII: Survival of the Fittest


Her alarm went off with shrill ringing. Fiona fell out of bed in a heap of blankets and a similar pile of curses. The wooden flooring smelled of lemon-fragranced coating and a thin layer dust.

She cracked her eyes open tentatively.

Why must the sun rise anew every goddamn day?


A Day in the Life of a Mafioso.

Late Morning


It's easy to divide the different stages she went through over the course of a regular day. Regular being highly emphasized here. Because it always started out normal enough...

"Down, down, down, down, down!" The chant was in perfect unison although it was difficult to say whom they actually rooted for.

Ryohei's face was pulled up in a frown, a canine peeking through his strained, pursed lips. Fiona ground her teeth in equal strain that she feared they'd crack under the pressure. Come on...! she pleaded. Budge! The cheering grew to a deafening peak—

With a roar erupting from his lips Ryohei slammed her hand hard into the desk that she yelped in pain. "Fuuuuck," she whined as she went down.

"A measly 4.1 seconds," the impromptu referee (aka the class rep) declared with a glance at his stopwatch and the audience howled like wolves. "Try harder next time." He offered her a friendly, glass-rimmed smile before turning to the masses like a great roman spokesman. "Anyone else wanna challenge the champion?!"

Aaaaand silence.

"Pumped to the EXTREME!" the winner whooped with raised bandaged arms.

Sasagawa "The Beast" Ryohei—no one could hope to best him at arm wrestling.

Fiona paused to regard her misused hand. I know. I know it hurts, don't cry anymore. Then she blew over the red hand print across her own digits like the beaten puppy she felt like. It still throbbed in a silent whine.

Ryohei jabbed a finger directly at her face as sudden as his every movement was and oh-so-gently pulled her back into the real world. "That's how you do it, Benny! Now you have to join the Boxing Club!" If she'd not researched it herself she would've never believed that guy to be the brother of the so cute and naïve Kyoko. Hell, even armed with that knowledge the resemblance was difficult to spot.

By now she'd taken to circling and massaging her wrist in an attempt to ease the pain. "I don't remember betting with you. No."

"But you have a strong grip!" Is this sarcasm? Is he actually capable of sarcasm? Hand, what do you think?

Throb, throb, throb.

Thought so.

"It's more a thing of knowing where the dent in the desk is." She motioned towards the heavy inward bulge caused by too many fierce finishing moves on those that had sat here before and which he'd crushed in a relatable fashion. A collective circle of red hands grinned sheepishly. Why had she taken up the challenge again? Right—some wicked idea to speed into the infirmary to avoid the embarrassment of Japanese class. Not knowing Kanji sucks.

Throb, throb, throb.

Didn't quite work out.

Ryohei stared in astonishment at his own doing. Then he gaped at her. "WHAT?! You tricked me?!"

"Just evening the odds," she retorted promptly.

His eyes gleamed with determination. He slammed his elbow back into the wood, on the same side as the dent. "Rematch!"

She gingerly withdrew her mangled limb. "No way."

They sat in the last row by Ryohei's desk. She mused that their homeroom teacher situated him there time after time most likely because his loud organ taken upfront manhandled each and every one of the teaching personnel otherwise. Just a friendly guess of course.

Still. Fiona liked his straightforwardness. It's a trait she treasured, really, if she could only find a way to dam the over-eagerness that came along with it. Seriously, the pain he could deal out! It's like being sliced up by Hibari's tonfa all over again. What a lovely Valentine's Day present that had been after all the effort she'd been through. She peeked at the reddening knuckles. The small scar had faded to a less visible shade but when she ran her thumb over it she could still feel the roughened texture beneath.

Fiona sighed and forced a halt to her thoughts. Focus and prioritize: She wanted coffee, a massage and the quickest way back to bed. A solid list.

Ryohei's booming laughter caught her attention back to reality. "Didn't think you had it in you! But you're with Sawada so you must be strong, right?"

She leaned into her backrest as the crowd dispersed into their own little groups around them and a steady buzz of conversations filled the air. A satisfied grin slid across her lips. "I guess so."

"Jeez, she's the head of Student Council. That speaks for itself," a different voice altogether answered from behind her shoulder.

Fiona craned her neck to greet her classmate casually resting one arm on her shoulder as soon as he approached. "Yo, Arata." She sensed another presence stalking him. Her face lit up. "And Mousie!"

An angry squawk hovered over. "Oi! Stop calling me that!"

"Aw, but you're just so cu—oof!" Oh, for the love of... Searching fingers reached overhead to get a firm hold on that messy, black nest of curls Arata called hair. "Don't fall asleep on me again, you rascal."

With a light squeeze to her shoulder, the black mop further nuzzled into her neck, comfortably placing more of his weight atop her own and engulfing her in a clingy embrace of manly odor. "But your hair is so soft," he mumbled. He was losing it again. Great.

She sent Ryohei a warning glare when his lips started to part in a full-fledged grin. "You could at least try to—" More weight stopped her mid-sentence; strands of black tickling her chin. She huffed in exasperation. Of all the people it must be the giant to be narcotic. "Ryohei," she warned some more. Which translated as: If he messes up my beautifully done Winding Lace Braid Ponytail, I'm gonna kick all your asses into oblivion again.

"Alright, alright," he laughed out as he reached over and shouldered the knocked-out Arata with ease. A quick glance to her pocket mirror affirmed that nothing was amiss. Every knot was in its place. You don't mess with this artwork easily and leave unscathed. As she combed through the lower strands with her fingers she noticed someone in the back of it whom she'd nearly forgotten.

Ah, the sly grin was back in an instant. "Cute little Mousies should not hide behind such large men as Arata. Don't just stand there like a lost puppy."

She could almost feel the tremble traveling down said boy's body. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance; chubby cheeks puffed up and brows pulled down in an agitated frown. "If you weren't a girl I'd have hit you so hard already." He held his head high and mighty as he strutted past them—Ryohei just about managed to plonk a snoozing Arata down in a stray chair—but the boiling kettle was palpable beneath the deceptively cool layer of skin.

Fiona propped her head on her palm. "Aren't you the chevalier."

Mouse crossed his arms defiantly. There we go. "No use hitting a monster. Too much fur to get through."

"Now you're just talking about Arata's fuzz. I'm as smooth as a baby's bottom all over my body and my hair's a sight to behold."

She had to give him credit: for a middle schooler he kept his cool pretty well. Tsuna would have started stuttering from now on. "An ogress is smooth all over as well, I heard."

"That's missing the chevalier point by a large margin, you know?"

"Only getting across my point, Miss Student Council." He bobbed his head in a mock-bow. "Never meant the chevalier one." That cheeky little bastard. She loved him.

The pair was an odd one: On one hand we have Kurosawa Arata, a six-foot tall bundle of lean limbs with a black-haired nest of curls atop his head; full, pouty lips generally pulled up in one mischievous grin or the other, and eyes similarly aglow with glee; he was the sort of guy to stand out in a crowd like a celebrity. He was a looker, all right. Playing as a regular on the baseball team alongside Yamamoto (who praised him for his dangerous curve balls) only added the cherry on top his popular looks, it would seem.

If his whimsical nature didn't get the best of him and he ended up (over-)sleeping (training), looking at the clouds or rushing off to do something else entirely out of boredom or childish curiosity. Instead that the girls went all crazy over him, he, against all logical sense of sex-appeal, managed to invoke motherly instincts first, love-related one last. His narcoleptic tendencies didn't help the issue. The female side of the classroom cushioned his desk with cute, frilled pillows for him to fall on as to not hurt his head before his fuzzy hair ended up as one braid experiment or the other.

What a shame.

Hayashi Isamu on the other hand... He made her smile against all odds. Your smaller-than-average Japanese, and though his well-combed hair was shiny and fluffy like chicklet feathers it helped only bring out his overall chubbiness instead of concealing it. His eyes were beads in his face and his presence practically invisible when you passed him on the streets but boy could he lash out when annoyed. His detention count due to constant arguing with the teachers was appropiate—most of the time he does it in the name of the big child sleeping in the chair over yonder, head embedded into cute, frilled pillows; his best friend. A true mother dragon lingering in its lair. Again the motherly instincts. Arata does his job well.

Suffice to say that Fiona loved her sharp-witted wars. There's just something about dancing around the limit of pure hatred and an unwilling liking that never gets boring. Pressing all the right spots with teasing and provoking without ever crossing the border towards the bad was a thrilling game which she enjoyed to do with a number of people the most. This one little Japanese is among the top.

And Isamu's (nicknamed Mouse) number one rule to behold? He was not cute. Ever.

"Just because I'm Student Council doesn't make me an ogress," she retorted with a pout.

Mouse tapped his forehead. "You're head to head with the Disciplinary Committee. Either you're a monstrous ogre or have some screws loose."

Fiona shrug her shoulders. "Sounds like jealousy to me."

"Jealous?" He snorted. "Nah, I treasure what femininity I have." Femininity?! In what part wasn't she feminine? Hell, where is he more feminine than she, is the question, that cheeky menace! These brats are so ungrateful for the daily sight they are offered—she tried her very best to look presentable every day. Try being born a woman before you judge, bastard!

Just as she was about to open her mouth to retort, Ryohei patted her on the shoulder on his way back to his seat. "Don't worry, Benny. I'm on your side. You don't have any screws loose." Hmm? The boxer faced the boy with a determined expression. She perked up with interest. What could he have to offer? "You should see her footwork—I've never seen any ogre run so fast!" He slammed a curled hand into his open palm. "She's got to be the Queen of Ogres!"

For once even Fiona was at a loss of words.

Stage 1: Go through a normal day of class.


Midday


"Your work?"

Not for the first time she wondered why that guy was not already a part of the Mafia. A hitman specifically. He fit the role so extraordinarily she simply had the urge to recruit him over, let him become one of Vongola's best. Also to make sure to have her name mentioned in the process because a little awe among her peers doesn't hurt. Concentrating back on the present, though.

The beaten, bent, and mishandled desk rattled as she turned it between her hands to inspect it. She hadn't even noticed the wood splinters. "Nah." Not entirely true. "Was just about to make a report to the principal." Not entirely true either. She flicked a flake of dangling wood off. "Maybe do a formal request for sturdier furniture while I'm at it."

She did say it started out normal enough.

Hibari regarded her coolly from behind his desk. "If you knew how to properly regulate troublemakers it would not be needed." He nodded in the general direction of the vandalized school furniture. "Who's the culprit? My men will deal with him." Steel lit up to a brighter shade at the prospect of orderly punishment and Fiona resisted the urge to take a step back.

The famed cooperation was—for once—not as she esteemed it to be. Not when she was so close on the verge of breaking his precious rules. Any misstep and she'd be out of the game and she really did not wish to think about Reborn's reaction to that. It's not like the cranky comment about her going to join the Karate Club instead of the Boxing Club because of her so amazing footwork had ticked Ryohei off enough to prove his club's supremacy and almost hit her square in the face...

("If it's my footwork you praise I should just head to the Karate Club or somethi—"

"Don't say it!"

Too late.

"We can still train your fists, don't worry!"

Clank—Crash"Oh shit!"Whack!"Why me?"—Quack!

Ryohei's fist trembled against the upturned desk. His laughter emboldened another round of whooping from the male side of the class and she could hear the class rep taking up his beloved referee job again.

Fiona locked gazes with her enemy-turned-victim Arata, who had to squeeze in tight beside her to fit under the makeshift shield of a desk. "Why did I wake to this?" he asked bewildered before he swiftly blocked another attack with the grace of a gladiator. She cowered beneath his tall frame, somewhat caught between the growing bubonic desk and his chest.

Had to defend my womanly honor somehow, she thought to herself. After all those blows to her ego. Large men hold first place in potential threat eliminator. "I didn't aim the table at you." But she did dodge out of its way. No matter.

"Ha! You're good, Kurosawa!" Ryohei yelled as his fist outstretched once more with the speed of light. His feet danced across the tiles. "You should join the Boxing Club, too!"

Arata rubbed his droopy eyes. "And I slept so well..." The class picked up their cheers again, going 'down, down, down, down!'. "I can hear Isa-chan's voice. Why did you not involve him?"

Meanwhile: "See how extreme boxing is, Benny?!"

Fiona had to yell when the desk above her vibrated like a chime under another hit. "More defense, less questions!" She grabbed a tighter hold of her quivering braid. How to dam that over-eagerness? It's unpredictable!

"I'm trying my best here!" Arata snapped. The desk rang again and a deep dent the shape of a fist stopped inches from Arata's eyes. The sight was almost comical. If their lives weren't at stake here. He panted hard as he ducked away for another split-second. "Any plans?" The skipping feet hovered into a fighting stance.

Suddenly the speakers crackled into existence and a calm and collected voice boomed over them: "Student Benivieni Fiona's presence is requested in the Reception Room. I repeat: Benivieni Fiona to the Reception Room, please."

It took her one heartbeat to come up with a plan.

When the next strikes connected, she pressed all her weight into the desk—the boxer's double hits protruding and embracing both sides of her head in frightening precise perfection as he brushed her ears—and yanked the desk legs from Arata's grasp with one harsh tug—

—only to circle around him swiftly, table firmly strapped to her back like a turtle's shell, and dash for the door with the best and fastest footwork she could manage.)

Well, maybe it had ticked him off just a little.

Fiona shrug her shoulders. "It's not like I know every student. Some guy, black hair, Japanese." Ryohei better buy her a month's ration of coffee beans for this one. "'Bit difficult to see his face when all I see is table." She offered a look of bewilderment and crooked a finger at the wood. Hibari clicked his tongue almost inaudibly and she saw disappointment flicker through his hard eyes. A fighting opportunity missed. Too bad. Not.

Good to know she'd earned the barest begrudging respect he could muster up, though, for else she'd have bolted out of the room the moment he spotted his beloved school's bastartized furniture in her hand. It's a start. Still: better to sleep with the school rules right under her pillow instead of risking it with him. All about bending and walking the thin, thin line. Hibari was, after all, the Number One in her maddening game. Would be a shame to ruin their glorious relationship.

When the silence stretched on long enough to be considered safe, she rolled her stiff shoulders to ease some tension. With the confidence and convenience of someone raised in the bloody Mafia she strutted over to the couch and made herself comfortable as if she didn't belong anywhere else. "So, what do you need me for?"

His eyes lit up another shade at her carefree demeanor. A little more and she'd see his blue streaks much more clearly. That usually meant battle-time but until then she was completely safe so long as she played by the rules. Hibari Kyoya's a tough nut, one which asked for her full attention if she wanted to crack it. Step by step she'd make herself a bubble and haven but for now this would suffice.

The head prefect eventually fell back into his chair and placed his feet atop the desk, accepting for the moment. "He asked for you," he simply said.

Fiona blinked as she placed the table down. "Who?"

Hibari yawned—the amount of boys yawning around her was perturbing—and pointed to her left. She inched towards the end of the couch and curiously leaned over the edge.

Oh my.

She prodded the bloody pulp of a body strewn across the pale carpet, head weakly propped up against the armrest, breathing a wheeze with every intake a visible strain. Judging by the uniform it was a male student. From their school. "Should I know him?"

"Friendship Committee," came the curt answer.

Fiona blinked again, unsure whether to laugh or not. But eventually the smirk couldn't completely drain from her face. "We have a Friendship Committee?" she asked, bemusement clear in her voice. Hibari shrug his shoulders as if he'd been just as surprised.

Instead of trying to gain any more information from the head prefect, she chose to prod the boy slightly harder. He moaned in pain. Still alive and consultable; worked with worse states before. Things worked well between them and the school's infirmary bustled like a beehive as well.

The beaten-up boy cracked open a slowly swelling eye. "I—is that you, Fiona-san?"

"Yup." She rolled off the couch and squatted next to him. Her hand absent-mindedly brushed the strands of his blood-sticky hair from his face. He twitched at the slightest touch from her fingertips but she saw him visibly relax upon recognition of safety instead of danger.

"Did you come to help us...?" Us. Meaning more than one. Meaning a few bodies were missing. She glanced in Hibari's direction, saw his eyes brighten a little more at the whispered question. You — help us would indicate that she did know these students and did come here with a purpose. Well, walking the line she goes.

The student coughed dramatically. She wondered whether he would get beaten up post hoc if the blood stained the carpet and needed to be replaced. On that regard: poor Cleaning Committee. They'd actually have to clean the room under Hibari's eagle watch. "We... we thought..." he coughed again, eyes darting between her and the dangerous aura emitting from the oaken desk.

Fiona brushed a thumb over his cheek in soothing circles. "Take it slow. It's okay."

He gulped and she could've sworn she saw manly tears well up in his eyes when they locked with hers. He nodded with renewed strength and pushed himself a little higher into a more comfortable position. A strong spirit. She offered him a smile at that. Go on. Tell me you didn't do something completely stupid.

"We thought... we could try to befriend H-Hibari-san. To do... what nobody dared before. Why do you... but nobody else...?" He coughed again. "He's always so... stoic... and everyone needs friends... to have a sunny day. That's our motto!" He managed something that sounded much like a dying man's last laugh. "We were inspired by your actions across school... and wanted to try it in a more friendly way. We founded the club just recently!"

The smile stayed in place—

Oh god. It's the literal definition of a Friendship Committee!

—She's a professional after all. "How many of you wanted to befriend him?"

Another cough. A speckle of blood and saliva ended up on her knee which she casually wiped off with one end of her sleeve. "We came as a group of four... the more the merrier, we thought..."

Problem assessed: He did something completely stupid.

And since he thought that the authority of the slim number of Student Council members could compromise the authority of the whole lot of Disciplinary Committee, he called out to her for a truce out of all things, and a way to get out after the plan so obviously failed. Little did he know things didn't work that way. Definitely not that easily, at least.

She offered him a gentle smile, stroked his hair into a more presentable mess. "We'll go looking for your friends right away, okay? And then I'll teach you how not to approach the head prefect, aye? Ever again." And while she was at that, she'd screw with their minds and ruin their wannabe-psychological approaches to situations that they should stay out of even after they got their college degree in psychology.

Not that he'd ever catch a glimpse of her thoughts.

The boy blanched. "Y-Yes. We just thought..."

"Shh." She placed a finger on his lips. Her mind was already on different matters altogether. "You need a lot of rest now. I'll deal with this." Without waiting for an answer she jumped up in a start and stalked over to the windows, past a silently observing Hibari. He'd gotten somewhat used to the bravado she placed into her actions. Like a true predator he lingered before he struck a blow—a much needed trait when in regards to her. Her footwork was that amazing after all.

"You didn't dispose of them out of the window, did you? Window-dumping is always such a mess." Fiona opened one of the windows and leaned over but could not spot another body nor three. With swift fingers she shut it back close, ignoring the startled huff of the semi-corpse in the room.

Hibari raised a brow in inquiry. She shrug her shoulders and pocketed her hands in her skirt. "Ever shoved a pudding off the table?" He regarded her with a long stare. "I take it they're well and alive then."

If there is one remarkable feature in the dangerous boy's face, it had to be his eyes. He could hold direct eye-contact and make it seem like you want to dump yourself out of the windows like no other. "My men carried the rest away. This one is their leader. I thought I could have a little fun with him, but..." His look said something along the lines of 'a pity excuse of a leader'. "He broke quickly." He shrug his shoulders indifferently.

Ah, the beauty of a man seeing other human lives as nothing more than toys. True hitman spirit. "No wonder Reborn's interested," she said with a toothy grin as she crossed the distance between her and the beaten boy once more. The look he gave her was incredulous. That's how things work here, boy. No romanticism. "Up we go!" she exclaimed shortly before she slung one of his arms around her shoulder and heaved him up.

She was almost halfway to the door when he interrupted her haste. "Did you think I called you over only to clean up, herbivore?" Fiona stopped and turned around to meet the boy and his casually spinning tonfa.

"I hoped I could slip out before you noticed," she answered bluntly. Finally his eyes had reached the stage of intent gleaming so brash that his presence drowned the whole room. The boy on her shoulder whimpered in fear.

One day she'd have him stand still long enough so she could check whether the bright, icy blue streaks were simply imagination or just the right angle of light hitting them to make them dance as they were prone to do. The polite smile—smug smirk—was in place when he spoke again. "The students are growing restless and rebellious. You don't have a word in this?"

"I have nothing to do with it. Nor the foundation of this club." She readjusted the boy's weight so she could move a little more freely. Her fingers reached down low behind her back while her eyes held his firmly locked in place. Where is it? "I don't encourage suicide."

Spin, spin, spinning tonfa. "But he still called your name in help." Because she was the only force standing against the black tidal wave that was Elvis Enterprise. And the students weren't rebellious. They were as calm as ever, probably more so since the end of their school year neared with tests awaiting them. He was simply out to get her for all the things she'd done. As always.

It could've been perceived as borderline dangerous barter. He was sort of bloodthirsty-playful like that. She could've talked it out under normal circumstances, with other people, other personalities. This was not one of them.

Because Hibari did not talk things out.

Her searching hand found its target and clutched it tightly, feet taking another step backwards for the right angle. Fiona flashed him a brilliant smile. "Keep the table, thank me later."

The mangled table sailed across the room the moment the last syllable left her mouth.

Her back crashed into the door and tanked it open with the momentum of the movement just in time to see the wood explode in a shower of splinters before crashing—all bits and pieces—into the window. In a slippery moment of reality her foot slid over the corridor's smooth tiles declaring freedom. She threw the student off her shoulder that he slammed into the wall before she caught herself and dashed into the general direction of escape.

"You better name your child after me!" she yelled over her shoulder but by then steel was out to get her and was all she could see in the vast flurry of corridors to follow her chase.

Stage 2: Attempt to dabble in politics.


Early Afternoon


Fiona drew the collar of her uniform a little higher and slid around corners, sticking close to the walls. She'd outrun him long enough for school to end and the masses of students heading home gave her a natural hideout to escape the head prefect's clutches. Tonfas. Whatever. Another day to live, another tale to tell. All that was left was to get home in one piece. Get cozy on her couch, watch some movie or two and check up on her information network. Expand it for the section of 'flying school tables are not effective'.

As she exited into the school yard and the crowds began to thin out, she also briefly considered getting herself a black wig to perfect her ability to disappear within the mass and completely from sight when she felt a presence approaching her from her flank. She spun around—no tonfa, she belatedly registered—and hit palm-first.

"Good reflexes, Benny!" Ryohei boomed with laughter as he blocked her hand with his ulna, mere inches from his face.

Fiona shook her hand as she lowered it. "Don't scare me like that. I thought you were someone else."

"I wanted to test you!" He grinned broadly. "We didn't get to finish our discussion earlier." And why is that? It's not like they had an actual discussion going. More like an exchange of fists than of words. "You have to come watch Boxing training today! It's extremely superior to anything you've seen!"

"You do know that you owe me for what I just had to endure?"

A fire burned in his eyes as he remembered. "I saw you and Hibari outside during class. Your fighting spirit was so intense! I broke another table just to get out and fight with you guys!" She simply chose to blink. Blink and soak in the information. It's just another number on the bill. "Kurosawa held me back and I got scolded by the teacher but it was worth it," he ended his story with an extremely sheepish grin.

So, back to damming his over-eagerness again, apparently. It proved to get out of hand way too often.

They bid farewell close to the Boxing Club's training room, after he'd unsuccessfully tried to convince her of staying. She was headed home. Maybe her beloved neighbor Kumiko would cook something today, spare her the time to do so herself. Or she'd eat out. Get to know the places around here. Oh yes, eating out sounded really good about now; let herself be treated and not lift a finger.

She was just about to round a corner when she felt another presence sneak up on her. She spun around again, ready to send a kick in Ryohei's direction this time around for him to test—instead her foot met firm, firm muscle and ribs that gave way to her sudden attack instead of a hard as iron defense.

The victim stumbled back with a yelp. Fiona grimaced as he crashed into a nearby trash can and doubled over into the stinky blackness. Oh my. What did she do this time?

Whatever it was, Gokudera did it ten times worse.

"Are you alright?" she asked and cautiously approached the struggling butt. "I thought you were someone else—"

"Now!" came the hollow response from the trash can along with a wild flailing of arms.

She had but a split-second to react with surprise before the nearby bushes rustled and a bunch of guys jumped out with excitement written all over their faces and karate outfits hugging their bodies. "Do you have her?!"

"Yes, there she is!" Another replied.

That split-second later her arm got clasped firmly by a muscled fist. She followed the limb up, over the sharp shoulder, strong neck and finally stopped on the fierce face. Her mind worked just fast enough on the situation to have one name pop up in her head: Ryohei.

The fierce face morphed into a demure look as he slid his arms upward to her shoulders and shook her awake from her state. "Fiona-chan!"

Her mind thrashed through the network of possibilities. Ryohei. Unpredictable. Ryohei. Boxing. Ryohei. Karate. Oh, for the love of...

"Yes...?"

The answer came in unison from half a dozen mouths: "Become our pretty manager!"

Silence.

Ryohei, you owe me.

"No." Her deadpan expression apparently shell-shocked them thoroughly.

The trash can rumbled as the male finally won his struggle and escaped his prison. A banana peel lay casually entwined with his hair atop his head. Lovely. "You cannot say no, Fiona-chan!" He was by far the largest out of all. "We may have lost our chance at a flower-like manager once but you will have to join a club sooner or later! You can't be Student Council forever! Nobody can!"

To recap her situation: she was currently surrounded by seven trained karate middleschoolers that had never been on her list of potential dangers, had run for her life a mere minutes ago from a solitary predator and had challenged a beast in the beginning to defend her womanly honor. She was tired, hungry, still needed a coffee and at least that massage but also had to talk to the principal about two new desks possibly made of metal and make sure the infirmary is stocked up on more medicine after their newest four friendly arrivals.

Whether they noticed her eyes harden as a premonition of danger she would probably never know. "Which one of you is in my class?"

A chirpy voice raised his hand in response. "Me!" he declared solemnly. "I overheard your conversation with Sasagawa earlier. You two had a serious fight about it, too! I had to tell my fellow brothers!" He spun around with a grin. "She clearly favors the Karate Club over the brutes in Boxing."

And the moral of this story? Don't ever challenge Sasagawa "The Beast" Ryohei. It all comes 'round to bite you in the ass.

The smile she offered him was all but friendly. "You do realize you're threatening the head of Student Council?" I will hurt you so, so much, she inwardly added between the lines. Reborn had nothing on them. Surely he wouldn't mind.

King Banana shook his head defiantly. "We're only offering you a proposal!" He leaned in close and her nose cried out at the smell. Too many sticky juices combining into something horrible. Her stress pile was constantly rising. "You can fight, you're pretty and you're dedicated! And because you're still part of the Student Council other girls will definitely join, too! And when you leave, they'll have to stay. So please, join our club!" He bowed his head low.

"Nope." This time the curt answer erected more commotion.

"Our master even bowed to you!"

"How can you refuse his humble request?!"

"You're truly an ogress!"

Whatever leftover mirth was still in her already unfriendly smile completely dissipated like a drop of water on desert ground. Stalemate, Alessio called it. The stage of utter destruction.

Fiona cracked her knuckles. Who are you calling an ogress? "I think it's best to stem the flow of rumors before they get out of hand, don't you agree? For example by plucking the root and completely crushing it." Nobody could say anything about breaking rules—she acted purely out of self-defense.

Maybe he sensed the danger. Like an Admiral the Banana yelled a simple but deafening order: "Catch her!"

"Yeah!"

Fiona crouched down low. "I don't think so."

"You're here again." The smooth voice cut like a knife through butter. Silver glinted in the setting sun, as hard metal pressed tightly across the neck of the leading instigator. The previously so pumped-up Karate Club members froze mid-step.

The large one gulped and eyed the tonfa warily. "H-Hibari-san."

His eyes looked just as dangerous as his weapons as he spoke. "I warned you last time not to crowd in front of me." A bloodthirsty gleam passed over his gaze. Battle-ready and unyielding. "Now I will bite you to death for not listening."

The fight was over quicker than she could look. One-sided, fast, effective.

Flawless.

As she stood amidst the piles of beaten bodies she could not help but whistle. He would definitely be an enrichment to the Vongola. The sound caught his attention and he walked over the bodies towards her position, tonfas dripping with blood. Fiona raised her hands. "They ganged up on me. Self-defense, I swear."

He didn't attack nor did he speak as he slid his tonfas in swift turns over the sleeve of her uniform. Red streaks soaked the fabric. He inspected the weapons in his hands, checking for more stains to wipe off but they were clean now, ready to draw new injuries. His actions spoke so many layered messages at once; supremacy aligned with a choking intimacy of calmness, strength displayed in the rawest of manners. She'd sailed out right into the maw of a shark.

She pocketed her hands into her skirt and met his gaze head-on, giving him a crooked smile. Her heart pumped with the challenge, disregarding the offense of taking her revenge away for a better stand against a greater foe. "So that's how you regulate your troublemakers, eh?"

Hibari gave her a dismissive look, not even bothering to answer. For a moment all was good and well, a temporary haven constructed in which she could linger without sinking. Her smile broadened as she was about to test the new limits, see how large a room she could make for herself, when...

"I CAN FEEL AN EXTREME FIGHTING SPIRIT AGAIN! I WILL FIGHT YOU FOR REAL NOW! WHERE ARE YOUUUUU?!"

Oh well. 'Twas but a moment.

Fiona looked over her shoulder as a half-naked boxer stomped out of the Club's building. Then looked back to the boy in front of her. Steadied herself. "Your troublemaker, not mine."

And ran off.

Stage 3: Walk into the sunset like a badass.


Evening


Tsuna stood rooted to the spot in the doorway. "Um, Fiona-san... What are you doing here again?"

Fiona looked up from her meal and gulped down a mouthful, simultaneously accepting another hand-out from Bianchi before she answered. "Eating out."

"Oh." A pause. One. Two. Two point five. "You're just freeloading!" he exclaimed incredulous.

"It's called survival of the fittest." She stuffed more rice into her mouth and fished some flesh off her plate to throw it in after.

Reborn smiled smugly across the table. "Vongola Style."

Stage 4: Don't starve.

And then repeat.


A/N: Or as my personal notes say: "Fight in class; fight with Hibari; fight with whatever leftovers; eat." I'm also starting to think Fiona might have very low blood pressure.

Hope you enjoyed this installment and its little references—the Friendship Committee; the Karate Club's vain attempt No. 2! Also Ryohei, because he's plain awesome. As always: drop a review if you like. I certainly like reading them.