OpalescentGold: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.


Quickstep: a ballroom dance style that is energetic, form-intensive, and elegant with extremely quick stepping, danced to 4/4 music.


"Masami, what is this?" Kyoya eyed his plate disdainfully, with an added helping of confusion.

She only smiled serenely. "Paella. A Spanish dish."

His glare was spectacularly ineffective. "And why are we eating a Spanish dish!?"

Masami shrugged. "It's delicious." She had gained a very healthy appreciation for Spanish food during her time in Spain. "Consider this meal an exercise in broadening your cultural borders if you must."

Kyoya scowled darkly and ate his paella aggressively. There were, she noted a tad smugly, no actual complaints about the taste of the food. Really, it wasn't as if Masami didn't know what Kyoya liked and didn't like. There was no need for all of this doubt, not that it really mattered. He was distracted, and that, in the end, was what she had been aiming for.

The churros con chocolate were only a bonus.


Hayato stomped down the hallway with a scowl.

Two weeks had passed since the maiko witch had returned and things hadn't gotten better. If anything, things had only gotten worse as the casualties mounted up, most of them prefects and a heck of a lot them missing a bunch of their teeth. Unsurprisingly, Hibari, the homicidal psychopath, had only gotten more and more irritated as the days went on.

Hadn't Masami been reading up on anger management? Why hadn't she done anything about her crazy brother yet? Actually, now that he thought about it, the witch had been even more carefree with her damned fan than usual recently. Maybe they were both losing it?

Well, whatever. The point was, was that just about everyone in town was fucking on edge. Juudaime seemed terribly stressed nowadays, despite Hayato's best attempts to reassure him of his safety with his Right-Hand Man around, and even Yamamoto was carrying his metal bat around with him like the baseball idiot he was.

Today, just like on every other blasted Saturday, they were all at the Hibari Mansion. Hayato was still halfway convinced it was a secret mafia base. He just had to figure out where they were hiding the secret entrances.

Unlike normal, though, Masami had disappeared somewhere after inviting them inside. Juudaime was still doing his job as a spectacular Boss to get stronger by fighting against Hibari, but Reborn had dismissed Hayato instead of letting him throw dynamite at the baseball idiot, which was disappointing. It was usually a great stress reliever.

"I have another training program in mind for Yamamoto," Reborn had said, dark eyes glinting mischievously. "Why don't you go find Masami? She might need some help."

So here Hayato was, trying to navigate his way through this absurdly complicated house in search of a witch who could have made her way to the moon by now. Really, if it had been anyone but the Greatest Hitman in the World and Juudaime's mentor asking...

"Oi!" he called out because he was sick of wandering randomly down this hallway and that. Who knew what was lurking in this place? "Maiko witch! Get out here!"

No response. Tch, of course not. She just had to make things complicated for him. Hayato's scowl deepened. Stupid witch. Like hell he was going to let her win.

"OI—"

"Gokudera-san."

The voice was soft, exasperated, and came directly behind him.

Hayato would never, in a million years, confess to yelping, jumping a metre into the air, and whirling around, almost tripping over his own feet.

Masami, one hand on the shoji panel—where the hell did that come from; he swore it wasn't there a second ago—and silky pale pink yukata brushing the floor, arched an eyebrow at him that spoke plainly of being unimpressed.

He glowered. "You took your sweet time."

"So it seems." Turning away, she glided back into the room. "I assume Reborn-san sent you?"

"Yeah." Sighing, Hayato followed after her, well aware by now that losing his temper at Masami would only get him hit with a fan or outright ignored. "What the hell have you been doing anyway?" he asked before he was all the way in.

Silently, she gestured to the room with a wave of her arm.

It wasn't very impressive, he thought uncharitably at first. Then, his brain caught up and started picking elements apart and then, yeah, it became impressive.

The fusuma panels that acted as the walls were painted with falling cherry blossoms and white chrysanthemums and were pinned with random stuff. A single mahogany table in the middle dominated the room, encircled with seven heavy-looking chairs while two floor lamps flooded everything with warm light.

Which was great and all, if it weren't for the fact that, in Japan, cherry blossoms brought to mind samurai and kamikaze pilots, white chrysanthemums were popular for funerals, the mahogany table held an open laptop, files, books—the top one The Art of fucking War—and a gigantic map, and the stuff pinned to the walls were very recent newspaper clippings.

"Maiko witch," Hayato said slowly, "is this a goddamn intelligence room!?"

Masami treated him to a coy, sweet smile that offered no reassurance at all and walked over to the table.

He frowned. "Witch—"

"Eighteen students," she murmured, cutting him off. There was no hint of anger on her face, but the underlying steel in her voice sent a shiver down his spine. "All from Namimori Middle. Beaten, normally with broken bones. Teeth extracted, though the number varies."

Hayato blinked and walked a little closer. "Same M.O. for each one then?"

"Hai. And also..." Masami spread the files out across the table and over the map before beginning to switch them around purposefully. When she seemed to be satisfied, she took a step back and frowned slightly. "The number of teeth extracted is very...precise."

His curiosity won out over his distaste. Hayato moved to stand next to the witch and glanced over the files. They were the medical and school records of the victims, although he had no idea how she had gotten her hands on them. Wasn't this shit supposed to be confidential or something?

Then again, both Hibari and Masami held inordinate amounts of power in Namimori. Yet another sign in favor of the U.M.A slash Secret Mafia Family theory.

Nonetheless, with everything in the order that it was, it only took him seconds to notice what she had. "Fuuuck," Hayato hissed, wishing he could light up a cigarette. "Descending or ascending?"

"Descending. Kamisaka-san was the first, and he lost every last one of his teeth. Odaka-san was attacked yesterday, and he lost fourteen of his teeth."

"What are they trying to do?" he demanded, spinning around to peer at the newspaper clippings. "What factor are they using to determine who gets attacked next?"

"Unknown. However, eighty percent of the victims have been prefects." Masami seated herself in the seat closest to the laptop and began to type something in the search engine she had running. For such a traditional person, she was a pretty fast typer. "Do you believe it is mafia related?"

Hayato grimaced at the memories that evoked. "Yeah. The Mafia are into twisted stuff like this." Finding nothing of importance in the newspapers, he settled down and began to skim the medical reports instead. He didn't want to admit it, but... "Juudaime's probably the target."

A pause, but when he looked up, the maiko witch's face was perfectly neutral. It was irritating. "Perhaps he should stay here more often then."

He bristled. "You saying you think I can't protect him!?"

"No." Her typing never faltered. "All the same, do you not agree that Sawada-san would be safer here?"

Just because Hayato could admit to himself that Hibari and Masami were far more powerful than he was, especially after that little display when the witch first came back, didn't mean he would ever say it out loud. Instead, he scoffed. "Aren't you scared your house is going to get wrecked?"

Her small smile was knowing. "I think you'll find that my home is sturdier than you expect." Then, before he could retort, "Would you read Kamisaka-san's personal information to me, please?"

He stared. "What."

Masami sighed and glanced up at last, typing ceasing. "His year, height, weight, home address, after-school activities, and other relevant information."

Hayato narrowed his eyes. "You're trying to find a correlation between the victims."

"Hai. Now, if you would..."

He grumbled beneath his breath but picked up the file anyway.


By the time they got to Odaka, Hayato's voice was starting to go thin, and Masami's fingers were stumbling more often. "Done," he noted with relish, throwing the file back on the table and heaving a long sigh.

She was more conservative with her relief but exercised her wrists in slow circles and massaged lightly at her neck. "It's three," Masami muttered, rising out of her seat. "I suspect Sawada-san and Yamamoto-san are finished."

He glared half-heartedly. "Hey, I want the results, too!"

"Later," came the implacable answer, followed by the swish of silk as she slid open the shoji panel and quirked an eyebrow back at him over her shoulder.

Hayato rolled his eyes expressively but walked after her, strangely looking forward to the fine tea and language lessons despite knowing the baseball idiot would drive him crazy with his pronunciation again.

And, of course, he was right. On both accounts.


"Eeeh? We're staying for the rest of the afternoon?" Tsuna blinked, baffled at this sudden turn in the usual routine. Normally, after they'd had tea, snacks and learned some more Italian, they'd bid Masami goodbye and go back home.

"Problem, Dame-Tsuna?" Reborn smiled innocently up at him, dark eyes glinting malevolently. "Masami and Gokudera suggested it. I've already called Mamma."

"Hieee! No, no problem!" Tsuna denied frantically, possessing no desire whatsoever to see what damage those two could cause together. But...together? "Wait...Masami-san and Gokudera-kun hate each other!"

"Now, now, hate is a very powerful term." Reborn sipped at his coffee. "You should be happy they're getting along, you know. It's a mafia boss' job to make sure their subordinates are cooperating."

"Masami-san's not my subordinate!" Tsuna hissed, glancing around rapidly to make sure the prefect in question hadn't heard the derogatory remark. Thankfully, she still seemed to be preoccupied with her Italian grammar book. "And I'm not going to be a mafia boss!"

Reborn casually punched him in the stomach.

"Ooof!"

"Ouch, that looks like it hurt."

"Juudaime, are you okay!?"

"I-I'm fine," Tsuna gasped out, bent over with his hands clasped over his abdomen. Even though he couldn't see her from his position, he had the embarrassing feeling Masami was raising an eyebrow at him. Before anyone could say anything more, though, a beautiful piano melody sang through the air. It seemed familiar, but as Tsuna straightened up out of curiosity, he couldn't place it.

By his side, Gokudera stiffened slightly. Tsuna noticed, furrowing his brow in confusion, but as Masami snapped open her phone to take the call, the chance for an explanation passed.

"Greetings." A pause as she listened to whoever was on the line, and then a faint, faint frown that bode nothing well. "I see. Collect the necessary information, please. I presume Onii-san is there? ...yes, thank you. Goodbye."

"Another attack?" Gokudera asked before Masami had even fully ended the call.

"Three," she said crisply, knocking her tea back like it was a shot. Which, in Tsuna's experience, meant very, very bad things had happened.

Yamamoto propped his chin up on his fist. "Sounds like it's getting pretty bad."

"See, Dame-Tsuna?" Reborn's face was unreadable. "Aren't you happy you get to stay here?"

Tsuna couldn't help but shudder.

Masami noticed—of course, she did—and smiled, again, very, very faintly, rising to her feet. "I expect Onii-san to be busy until late at night, so you all are welcome to stay until then. Please feel free to relax and move about at your leisure. That said, I'd be very grateful if you don't make a mess."

"And where are you going?" asked Gokudera, very suspiciously.

She hummed, pausing momentarily at the shoji screen. "I'm going to take a walk outside," Masami said, artfully guileless. "If you need me, just yell."


"Hey, Masami." Takeshi took a seat on the engawa, grinning his appreciation at the zen garden that spread out before him. It was beautiful, but then, he'd expected less from the Hibaris. It was, he suspected, something of a point of honor, like how his dad refused to prepare his sushi with the more modern methods.

Masami smiled, clearly more at ease after her 'walk outside'. He was glad; this contented mood was why he had decided to wait a good half an hour before searching her out. Her legs dangled over the colorful wildflowers. "Greetings, Yamamoto-san."

He leaned back, holding himself up with hands pressed flat against the smooth wood. "Fall's coming, huh?" Takeshi watched the leaves, blazing red and golden yellow and sienna orange, drift in the wind, one perfect maple leaf coming to rest gently on the surface of the pond.

It floated easily, spinning this way and that. A curious koi came up to nudge it gently.

"Hai." Reaching up, Masami plucked a leaf out of the air and twirled it by the stem. It was a gorgeous deep crimson. Inexplicably, Takeshi was reminded of Gokudera. Must be because of the temper. "I assume you have a question for me, Yamamoto-san?"

He smiled sheepishly, pretty much caught red-handed...no pun intended. "Yeah, I guess so." Swinging his legs like a child, too, Takeshi considered how to put his thoughts into words. This had been coming for a while, he knew. The recent attacks had just been the final catalyst.

"The guys that are attacking our classmates..." he started slowly, "they're strong, aren't they?"

"Strong," she repeated, as if testing the word out to see if it fit. "Yes, they're strong, and quite intelligent, for that matter."

Oh, Takeshi thought, so that was what Masami and Gokudera were doing earlier. From what it sounded like, they hadn't gotten anywhere. Shame.

"Do you think they're stronger than you?"

"It's possible." There was no hint of concern or irritation in her voice. "Of course it's possible. While Onii-san is a very good dancer, as am I, we're small in the scope of the universe. Tiny, in fact."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too," he confessed without hesitation. He didn't think she was the type to get offended.

"Are you worried?"

There was no sense of judgment, but Takeshi smiled and shook his head anyway. "Nah, not worried. Just..."

That fight between Hibari and Masami last week had haunted him. He couldn't exactly explain it, even to himself, but watching that fight had been...exhilarating. Breathtaking in a way Takeshi normally only associated with a hard, hard baseball game, when he was at bat and they were two points away from winning and his teammate was at third base.

Maybe it was the speed and grace of their movements, maybe it was the danger, maybe it was the simple...perfection of their dance. Takeshi didn't know, but he had been finding his thoughts whirling around the fight like it was a black hole, going over every second, every step and shift, all with a hushed sort of reverence.

And it hadn't taken long at all for a want to build up behind the awe.

"...say. if I wanted to be stronger, what do you think I should do?" Takeshi tilted his head back and grinned at the sky, clear and pristine blue, shielded with a veil of yellow that signified the sun's readiness to toss in the towel for the day.

"Hmm." To his slight relief, Masami didn't seem impatient at the long pause or surprised by his inquiry at all, but then, that was just like her. Instead, the quirk of her mouth was thoughtful, and she traced elegant fingers over the leaf's veins. "I presume Reborn-san or Gokudera-san has already informed you of your tendency to favor your arms?"

"Yeah. I've been working on it." It wasn't easy, not when his arms were so essential for playing baseball, but this was a game, too, and he intended to win it. Besides. Tsuna was definitely worth it.

She was silent for another long, peaceful heartbeat. "I would advise you to find a suitable weapon."

He was almost surprised. "A weapon, huh?"

"You're very familiar with the bat, but in terms of endurance and lethality, it's a bit lacking." As if to demonstrate, Masami whipped out her fan from somewhere on her person and began to fan herself, dark strands of hair flying in the gentle breeze. "Would you like to know some options?"

"Nah, it's okay. I already have something in mind." Takeshi wondered what his father would say when he asked about the family sword style. Before he'd met Tsuna, he had never shown any interest in it, after all.


"Well?" Hayato demanded, hands on his hips.

Masami glanced up from her laptop and stared at him unblinkingly. She didn't say a word.

He scowled and plopped himself in the seat across from her, crossing his arms. Figures he would find her in the library on a Sunday afternoon, right as the creeping rays of the sunset were sweeping over the bookshelves. "Do we have anything?" Hayato demanded impatiently. "Don't tell me you forgot to look at the results."

Even as he said it, he was well-aware that the possibility was so low as to be near zero. Witch she might be but Masami was nothing but meticulous.

She sighed near soundlessly. "Eighty-one percent were prefects. Sixty-six percent were male. Fifty-seven percent were in the outermost parts of town. Less than one percent were attacked within a thirty meter radius of school. Eighty-five percent third-years, nine percent second-years, and six percent first-years."

His frown only darkened. "None of that is a clear correlation, maiko witch."

"No." Masami tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "There have been twenty-one injured, which means there will be eleven more victims. I assume that Sawada-san will be targeted as either number one or after they have gone through the whole set."

Hayato gritted his teeth, fingers curling into fists. Like hell he was going to let anyone lay on a finger on his Boss! "Damn it, find something!" he snapped. "Something, anything!" Shoving away from the table, he wrenched himself out of the seat and began to pace, too restless on adrenaline and worry to sit still.

Silence from the witch, broken soon by the sound of typing. He glanced back at her warily, having suffered through enough fan-related injuries to know that quiet on Masami's part was just as dangerous as shouting and threats and gunfire from other, saner, people, but strangely enough, all she really was doing was working on her laptop.

Even if, well, her pointed focus on the screen, lack of communication, and mild frown were rather icy in nature.

Gokudera Hayato didn't do guilt. He just didn't.

Huffing out a long breath, he ran a hand through his hair and threw himself back in the chair. "What can we do?" he asked, and if his voice was softer than before, it was just because yelling in a library wasn't on the list of unspoken rules he would gleefully break into a thousand pieces.

Masami flicked him a cool glance over the top of the laptop. "That would depend on your definition of 'do', Gokudera-san." Her voice was even and polite and colder than the Arctic.

He suppressed a wince. Yeah, okay, maybe he deserved that, but— "Shut up. You know what I mean."

She blinked at him for a long moment before those gray eyes began to scan her laptop screen, quick and intelligent. "Thirty-three percent trained in martial arts after school. Twenty-three percent were in the Kendo Club. Nine percent were in the Boxing Club. Four percent practiced parkour."

Masami tilted her head, gaze back on him, so intense it was almost enough to make him flinch backward. "If you'd like to 'do' something, then please grow stronger, Gokudera-san, preferably both mentally and physically. The storm, so to speak, will hit at any moment now."

And she smiled, sweet and lovely.

He shivered despite himself.


"Masami-san?" Tsuna was skipping class for the first time in a long time. He couldn't bring himself to care about the scolding Reborn was inevitably going to heap upon him, not when he was resting on a comfortable couch, cuddled up with a warm blanket, and holding a cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

Masami momentarily shifted her attention from the paperwork on her desk to him. "Sawada-san." It was the second time she'd directly acknowledged him since waving him inside her office and quietly telling Kusakabe to provide Tsuna with what he needed.

Tsuna didn't know how Kusakabe knew exactly what he wanted but found himself really enjoying his hot chocolate. To be honest, he'd expected Masami to tell him to go to class instead of loitering around her office, but she hadn't done anything but give him a swift once-over when he'd first knocked on her door.

Then again, even with all of these incidents, he'd noticed that she was much more relaxed after her short vacation than before. He wondered how long she had needed that, how long she had forced herself to stay. And speaking of the attacks...

"They're after me, aren't they?"

The scritch-scratch of her pen ceased, leaving the silence to ring in her office. Masami was motionless for three painful heartbeats before she placed the pen down carefully and steepled her fingers together, bringing them up beneath her chin. Her scrutiny was disconcerting, even with all these years between them.

"...yes," she said at last, and this, this was why Tsuna had come to Masami. He knew Reborn would smirk knowingly and drawl out some puzzle he couldn't solve, Gokudera would stutter and reassure him that it was fine, nothing was wrong, no one was going to touch Tsuna, and Yamamoto would laugh and smile and say something airy and useless.

Not Masami. Like Hibari, only less scary but still plenty scary enough, she rarely offered him anything other than the truth when she decided that he deserved it. Sure, sometimes, she might coat it with politeness and honey and subtle twists he couldn't follow, but the important stuff, the truly important stuff—Masami didn't mess around with those.

"Do we know who they are?" Tsuna whispered, feeling like he was tainting the very air he breathed. He felt very cold all of a sudden and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself.

"I'm afraid not." Try as he might, he could find nothing but calm neutrality in her tone, in her eyes.

He was definitely shivering now and took a sip of hot chocolate to combat the chills in his bones. He thought...Namimori wasn't, had never been, safe, not before, when bullies could find him no matter where he ran, including inside his house, not with the yakuza and gleaming tonfa, and not after, when gun-totting hitman children came and explosions and dynamite were daily events, but this wasn't—

This wasn't the same. This was something outside, where Reborn was a blank slate, where Hibari was incensed and Masami was working on paperwork instead of dancing with the enemy, and Tsuna was frightened. Helplessly terrified, because he knew, he just knew, that people were expecting him to fix this, and he didn't know if he could.

"What do I do?" he asked, voice soft and shaky.

She didn't reprimand him. "You know what to do."

"I do?" Tsuna didn't think he did. He wanted to hide under this blanket and drink his hot chocolate and maybe never leave. It was warm here, safe, and he hadn't realized how much he'd needed some sort of stability in the chaos of his life, some sort of safe zone. He was fourteen; how, why was this his life?

Masami hummed and picked up her pen again. "You do. Hold your head high, keep your back straight, speak politely, be confident, trust in your instincts, and be composed at all times. The dance will come naturally when the music sounds."

For a good ten seconds, he wasn't sure if this wasn't what she had been preparing him for all along, no matter how ludicrous it sounded.


"How," Masami inquired, placing her cup on the table, "does the Mafia view women?"

Bianchi smiled, wry, and leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs. She wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans, casual and beautiful as always. Masami wondered if she saved the elaborate dresses and make-up for when she truly wanted to distract and beguile.

"It varies. In most cases, not as well as you might think. Generally, a mafiosa is merely a physical reflection of her husband. A trophy wife for some, a means to a productive alliance for others, or just a way to demonstrate power through beauty and youth."

"The mafioso with the youngest, prettiest wife holds the most power?" That sounded like a waste. Of what, Masami couldn't say, but a waste nonetheless. Of a life, perhaps.

Bianchi shrugged. "It's just another measure of strength and virility. Posturing. Some of the more intelligent trophy wives run their husband's households and order the servants around, but men rule the Mafia and that's not likely to change. However."

Masami sipped her tea and waited.

Bianchi's smile was blade sharp and as sweetly poisonous as the food she could create with nothing more than intent and will. "There has been a rise in female leadership in the past few decades. I dare say your boy is going to be dealing with some female Bosses during his reign."

She didn't bother reminding Bianchi that Tsunayoshi wasn't hers...at least, not solely hers. "And you?"

Long, perfectly manicured fingers tapped idly on the table, familiar green eyes set upon her with a perceptiveness that could have been frightening. "Me," Bianchi mused, almost mockingly. "I was born an heiress, did you know? Raised to be the perfect young lady, the perfect wife."

Masami blinked slowly and didn't say that she had never once considered getting married, to giving someone else that much power over her.

Bianchi waved a hand dismissively. "That particular plan of my parents didn't work, of course, not when it became clear what I could do." She smiled, and her tea began to bubble and turn purple. "Nice girls can't poison their husbands at the breakfast table, but hitmen can."

Masami spared a second to mourn her tea, which was now an obnoxious green, before casually dumping it out on the ground and sparring no concern for the grooves it began to make on the pavement. It had been a good idea to eat outside of the cafe, after all. "So," she said, "there are two paths for mafiosa. To stay at home or to go out and kill."

Bianchi tilted her head, considering. "Yes. That's about the gist of it."

Masami nodded and rose to her feet, curtsying without thinking much of it. "Thank you for your assistance, Bianchi-san. Please excuse me." She left off all the other meaningless courtesies she would have given were it anyone else; there was a special understanding here between the two of them.

But as she turned away for home, Bianchi said, "Masami."

Masami paused and glanced back. Bianchi's eyes burned, her red lips twisted into a smirk that was all power and confidence and danger. "Don't forget: the men own the organization but the organization owns the women. Don't let them own you."

She only smiled fearlessly. "They won't," and it was a practically a promise.


"What is it today?" Kyoya sounded sulky, and he hadn't even tasted anything yet.

She swallowed back a yawn without much facial movement and frowned slightly at the hours of sleep she'd been getting recently. At night, the doubts and guilt came for her like a pack of hyenas pouncing upon weakness, whispers of you should have stayed and if you'd trained them properly, truly trained them, this wouldn't have happened. "I'm not done yet, Onii-san."

He scoffed but didn't say anything more, instead flipping through the reports of the most recent victims: two karate-practicing third-years, one male and one female.

Masami sprinkled the last vestiges of the Parmesan cheese over the mixture of butter, flour, milk, spices, and more cheese, before dumping the pasta inside the sauce and stirring. "Why does everyone think I have all the answers?" she asked out of the blue.

Kyoya snorted without missing a beat. "They're herbivores."

"Sawada-san's an omnivore according to you."

"He's also a small animal being pursued by carnivores." He closed the files and pushed them away in disgust. "The baseball herbivore has potential, but the other one is too hot-headed. He'll get himself killed if he's not careful."

She hummed noncommittally and poured the pasta into two bowls, bringing them over to the chabudai. "Nine more to go."

"Find them," Kyoya said, and it was almost an order, might have been one if not for the exhaustion that kept them both up at night.

Masami sighed for the nth time that week. Being a carnivore and fending for your territory was all good and well until you realized the fate of a town rested on your shoulders. This is your fault, that insidious, foul-scented hyena growled. "Please eat your pasta, Onii-san."


The attacks came very quickly after that short lull, the eye of the storm passing with devastating speed. Five victims near the school, closer than ever before, a particular Captain of the Boxing Club among them.

Sasagawa Ryohei was in the hospital with seven of his teeth missing, Tsunayoshi was distraught, Kyoko was upset, Hayato was handling dynamite, Takeshi was smiling an assassin's smile, and Kyoya was ready to hunt down the interlopers and bite them to death.

(The almost-friendship that flickered between Ryohei and Kyoya was one Masami had never questioned or intruded on. That didn't mean she wasn't aware of its existence.)

"They're Kokuyo Middle," he said curtly, stalking out in brisk, dangerous steps. "He saw two. Blond, scar over his nose, and black hair, white beanie. Stay here and guard, little sister."

She didn't argue, aware that someone had to watch over things while he was away. In the same vein, she also couldn't deny the unease bubbling up beneath the pragmatism, the venomous concern that drove her to match his steps for longer than necessary.

This was, in many ways, no different than going off to deal with some unruly yakuza or troublesome delinquents. True, it was most likely Mafia, but Hayato was mafia, and he wasn't a sincere challenge to either of the Hibari siblings. Yet...still, she was on edge, agitated behind her usual poise.

Masami wanted to say something, offer to leave Tetsuya in charge, go with him herself, or even just to push a few of the remaining prefects to go with him. Really, sending along even Hayato or Takeshi would have been a relief at this rate. But they were who they were, and that meant they didn't interfere in each other's business.

And, for all that she had the prior claim on Tsunayoshi, this was very much Kyoya's business.

For the first time in years, Masami regretted their rules, a slow burn against her heart. Quelling her anxiety, she smiled and bowed, stopping at the gate. "Good hunting, Onii-san."

Kyoya grunted in response and was off, gakuran jacket flapping out behind him.

She stared after him for a rather inappropriate amount of time before turning on her heel and walking back into the hospital.


Takeshi was smiling. His fingers flexed, looking for a baseball bat or a katana. It was almost surprising, really, how quickly he had grown accustomed to the sword after only a few days of basic katas. His dad said that he wasn't ready for more, and although Takeshi thought different, he knew that his dad had made up his mind and would keep to it.

They were pretty alike when it came to stubbornness.

Tsuna was inside, talking to Senpai. Gokudera leaned against the wall next to Takeshi, smoking a cigarette despite the sign that proclaimed smoking was prohibited inside the hospital, the line of his shoulders tense and mouth set in a ferocious scowl. It was rather obvious that he was blaming himself for this, and Takeshi knew why.

It had been too close this time. They, whoever 'they' were, had come too close. Before it was just prefects, and yeah, that was creepy and scary, but this was Senpai, who they knew, who had helped them with the Pole-Knocking and who Tsuna had boxed with, and he had been attacked and got hurt and had his teeth pulled out.

As a message. For Tsuna.

Takeshi was smiling because that was what he knew how to do, and he thought that Tsuna didn't need any more pressure and Gokudera didn't need any more variables to handle. In the dark spaces of his mind, past the cheerfulness and the calm, he thought about Senpai's attackers and what they were planning to do to Tsuna.

He didn't know where the little guy was. These guys were much too close to Tsuna, now, and if they weren't able to protect him. Well. They needed to be able to protect Tsuna. Takeshi needed to be able to protect Tsuna.

The steps, when they came, were nearly silent but heeled boots tended to be conspicuous, and Takeshi wasn't surprised when Masami appeared in the doorway and walked up to them.

He was surprised, however, when he realized that Masami's posture was almost as stiff as Gokudera's, although she was much more subtle about it. Her fan hid most of her face but there were lines in the corner of her eyes, and her movements were too sharp, not as fluid as normal.

"What do you want, maiko witch?" Gokudera asked, voice as brutally sharp as the edge of a blade. Takeshi didn't miss the fact that he was dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with his shoe though. Was it a sorta trained reflex or did he actually care for what she wanted? Takeshi had never been able to decide between the two.

Maybe it was a little bit of both. It was hard to tell with Gokudera. Masami was even better at hiding everything, much like Takeshi himself, so it was more than a little odd that she was so transparent at the moment. At least he knew that Gokudera tended to lash out when he was angry, even when he was just angry at himself.

Masami's eyes flickered to the door. It was slightly open, the small crack revealing nothing. She stopped two meters in front of them and stayed silent for just a second too long. "Sawada-san?"

"He's in there with Senpai." Takeshi kept his tone nice and easy. Now, he suspected, was not the time to challenge Masami, even though he didn't know why yet. "What's up?"

Masami didn't say anything.

"Look, if you don't have anything important to tell us, just fuck off." Gokudera picked up his cigarette and threw it into the nearby trash can, creating a beautiful parabolic curve. His words weren't nearly as pretty. "Juudaime doesn't need to put up with your abuse right now."

Takeshi resisted the urge to wince. Frustration and protectiveness all but radiated from his classmate but, well, that was kind of harsh. He knew that Masami could be harsh, too, but Tsuna never complained, sometimes even seemed to take courage from her strength. Takeshi had never claimed he understood their relationship, but he respected it.

Sure enough, Masami's eyes narrowed minutely, and she went statue-still, but she didn't retaliate in words or actions. Her voice, when it came, was soft and chilly. "We know the identity of the attackers."

Gokudera snapped to attention. At his side, his fingers clenched into fists. When he opened his mouth, Takeshi knew that Gokudera's words were going to be lined with razors, so he cut in first with a smile. "That's good, right? Now we know who we're playing the game against."

"Indeed." Her gaze was too direct, too frigid, too unblinking. "Kokuyo Middle, at least two."

"Well then, why aren't we going after them!?" Gokudera spit out, green eyes incensed.

"Onii-san already has."

Oh, Takeshi thought. That was the problem, wasn't it? Normally, Masami could weather everything Gokudera threw at her with nothing more than a polite smile and diplomatic words and the occasional smack of her fan. Today, her fan had yet to leave its position against her jaw, and there was something brittle in her silence.

He didn't understand the relationship between Masami and Hibari either, but he knew familial love when he saw it, no matter how strange and unconventional it was. Hibari was strong, but he was her brother, so it was more than possible that Masami was just worried for her brother, and that was why she was off-balance.

Not that Gokudera seemed to care about that. He crossed his arms, leaning forward aggressively. If anything, he only looked angrier, and that wasn't good.

It made Takeshi uneasy. Takeshi knew all about the importance of teamwork, and now was the worst possible time for them to start fighting amongst each other, not that he could really blame either of them. Gokudera's number one priority was Tsuna, and Masami was probably worried about her brother and her prefects and her town.

It was weird, because Gokudera had Bianchi, and shouldn't he know about being concerned for a sibling? Apparently not because he accused, "What, you just left it all to him!? What if he fails? Juudaime's safety is on the line here, and you're just going to lounge around!?"

"Hey, hey, I'm sure Masami's doing the best she can," Takeshi said, holding onto his smile with more effort than usual. "Besides, someone has to watch over Namimori, right? Everything'll be fine."

As could only be expected, Gokudera whirled on him. "Shut up, baseball idiot! This isn't some stupid game, there's no happy ending guaranteed! We shouldn't be standing around doing nothing! What if that bastard doesn't win, huh? What then!? I'll tell you what, Juudaime's going to become the target, and the Mafia isn't known for mercy!"

If Masami wasn't still standing upright and not unconscious on the floor, Takeshi wouldn't have known she was still breathing; she was utterly motionless. There was something very dangerous in her lack of response, both verbally and physically, and he was reminded of a viper poised to strike.

He wondered if Gokudera recognized that he had essentially told her that it was likely that Hibari would die if he didn't win. He wondered if Gokudera even cared at this point.

It was probably best for everyone that Tsuna walked out right with a frown on his face and his brow furrowed but perfectly safe and sound. It took him about five seconds to notice the tension thrumming in the air and freeze, dark brown eyes assessing the situation; Takeshi had the feeling that Masami had taught him how to do that.

Tsuna's frown deepened, his previously thoughtful expression turning to abject concern. He shifted his weight, coming to a stop an equal distance away from all of them after shutting the door.

Takeshi tried to look at things from Tsuna's point of view. Gokudera's body language was blatantly hostile, Masami was a thousand kilometers away and way too on-guard to the observant eye, and Takeshi was pulling on years of experience to keep himself neutral and relaxed.

Yeah, Tsuna was probably right to be perturbed.

"Guys?" he prompted hesitantly. "What's wrong?"

Masami spun on her heel and glided out of the hallway.


"Kyo-san's not back yet," Tetsuya said to Masami four hours later, voice carefully modulated and bland.

She paused, the pencil in her hand snapping neatly into two. There were stacks of paperwork on her desk. The laptop pushed to the very edge of the desk displayed a map of Kokuyo Land on one half of the screen and the details of the victims on the other. Masami set the pencil parts down with uncalled for gentleness. "Yes," she said softly. "I know."

Tetsuya hesitated. "Will you be going after him?"

She stared, unseeing, at the form in front of her. "He wouldn't want me to."

"...Kyo-san isn't invincible." The words themselves were almost a form of betrayal, an expression of lack of faith, if not for the fact that it was Tetsuya who said them.

"Yes," she said. "I know."


In retrospect, she shouldn't have let him out of her sight.

Of course, at the time, Masami was juggling the remains of the prefects—the ones too weak to make it onto the countdown list—the authorities, the worried citizens who wanted her reassurance, the school administration, and the condition of the victims. She was keeping a sharp eye on Tsunayoshi, Hayato, and Takeshi, surely the next few targets. She was running herself ragged trying to maintain some semblance of order in Namimori.

It was Tetsuya. Steady, dependable Tetsuya. He didn't fight, although he was quite capable of it. Tetsuya overlooked the fight, cleaned up the aftermath, and was Kyoya's right hand. She hadn't been thinking.

She hadn't been thinking.

In retrospect, she should never have let him out of her sight.


Tsuna said, "Don't," and Reborn blinked at him.

"We need to check his teeth, Dame-Tsuna." Reborn didn't let go of Kusakabe's jaw.

"No, we don't." Tsuna was proud when his voice didn't even waver. He wasn't friends with Kusakabe, not really, but he really did respect the other student, both for dealing with the Hibari siblings on a daily basis and for the rare kindness that Kusakabe had shown him. Kusakabe didn't deserve this indignity on top of everything else. "It's going to be six, right, Gokudera-kun?"

Gokudera teleported across the room as if by magic to appear by Tsuna's side. "Right." He was chewing on a cigarette but it wasn't lit. Tsuna still hadn't gotten a satisfying explanation for what had been going on between Gokudera, Yamamoto, and Masami earlier either.

"I guess this means Hibari ran into trouble." Yamamoto's smile was absent as he walked up to them, hands in his pockets. "Hey, you," he said to one of the lingering prefects panicking silently in the corner, "does Masami know about this?"

The prefect jerked his head up, eyes wide as saucers. "H-Hai!" His distraught face conveyed very clearly that whatever her reaction had been, it had terrified the life out of him. Tsuna was quite familiar with that look, as he had seen it often, sometimes in his own mirror.

"Here, take a look at this." Reborn handed Tsuna a paper, Gokudera and Yamamoto crowding around him to look at it over his shoulders.

"Namimori Middle's fighting strength ranking?" Tsuna read aloud.

Gokudera, however, hissed sharply while Tsuna was still processing the information. "This is it! This is what they're basing their attacks on! Look, Juudaime, the order of victims matches the ranking list exactly! Damn it, if we'd had this list earlier...!"

"Gokudera's next," Yamamoto noted with a curious lilt to his voice. Tsuna froze up. Oh God, oh God, oh God. "And then it's me, Tsuna, Masami, and Hibari." For one long second, the world ground to a stop. Tsuna's eyes were widening with the first strains of complete and utter panic when Reborn neatly cut him off.

"Dame-Tsuna." Reborn's gaze was unyielding, hard. "This is Fuuta's ranking list. We've taught you about the Omertà already, so you should know that there's no way an ordinary person would have access to this list. What are you going to do?"

Tsuna stared at the list and suppressed the urge to scream. This had been what he was afraid of! He didn't know what to do; why was he in charge of these decisions!? He had never even wanted to enter the Mafia, much less become the Vongola Decimo or whatever! This was why he hadn't wanted his friends to get involved either!

"Tch, this is nothing! Don't you worry, Juudaime, we'll get these freaks!" Gokudera grinned reassuringly, absently throwing a stick of dynamite from one hand to the next. "They're not going to lay a single finger on you!"

"Yeah, what he said!" Yamamoto laughed, propping an elbow on Tsuna's shoulder. "This inter-school mafia role-play will be great!"

Tsuna sweatdropped at his friends' eternal optimism. Even if they truly thought everything would go fine—Gokudera was rash, and Yamamoto was naive, so could he trust their judgment of the matter?—he wasn't at all sure what he was supposed to do. Reborn expected him to be a leader but Tsuna didn't know how to do that, not really.

"Hold your head high, keep your back straight, speak politely, be confident, trust in your instincts, and be composed at all times. The dance will come naturally when the music sounds."

Masami's voice echoed in his ears, and before he even knew what he was doing, Tsuna was taking a deep breath and adjusting his posture, forcing his panicked thoughts to settle somewhat. As soon as he calmed down, he realized what the problem was. "Wait..." he said slowly, fixing his eyes back on the list, "if Hibari-san is out of commission, and Gokudera-kun and Yamamoto are here...then the only one left on the list is Masami-san!" The thought made the blood in his veins run cold.

For so long, Tsuna had been under the impression that Masami was mostly invulnerable, and Hibari was on another plane of existence entirely, but if these guys had managed to get Hibari, and Hibari was stronger than Masami...his oldest friend was still only human, too.

Gokudera scowled and spun around, stalking straight up to the previous prefect and grabbing him by his collar. "Where is she!?" he demanded, shaking the poor guy back and forth. "Tell me!"

The prefect squeaked. And told them.


When they burst through the doors, Tsuna was near frantic with panic and Masami was sitting calmly at her desk, legs crossed, hands in lap, barely batting an eyelid at their loud, dramatic entrance. "Greetings." She didn't rise out of her seat to bow.

"Masami-san! Are you alright!?" Tsuna gasped out before his mouth caught up to his brain, and his eyes notified him that Masami looked like she had just been in a meeting with Important People, not so much as a strand of black hair out of place.

"I'm fine," she said, flawlessly mild.

"Shut up, maiko witch," Gokudera mumbled, hands braced on his knees as he tried to get his breath back. "Be grateful that Juudaime was so worried about you! We had to run all the way here from the damn hospital!"

"I appreciate the effort."

"Well, I'm glad that we were able to catch you before they did!" Yamamoto straightened up with a laugh, the least winded out of all of them. "You're the second person on the list, by the way."

One eyebrow was gradually arched. "List?"

Tsuna held the paper out. Masami took it, scanned the names, and glanced at Gokudera. "May I borrow your lighter?"

Gokudera frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. The antagonistic air from before seemed to be gone, though, because he only hesitated for a second more before digging in his pockets and tossing her the silver lighter he used for his cigarettes.

Masami smiled very politely and promptly lit the paper on fire.

"Hieeee," Tsuna whimpered.

Masami casually kept her eyes on the steadily burning paper and remained motionless until the flames were creeping up towards the corner she was holding the scrap from. Before Tsuna could start to panic over her accidentally—or not so accidentally—burning herself, Masami straightened her arm and tilted her head.

Reborn appeared out of nowhere in a firefighter's costume and doused the paper with a fire extinguisher.

"Hieeeeee!" Tsuna yelped.

Masami laced her fingers together and rested her chin on the bridge created. She was looking at Reborn. "Rokudo Mukuro."

Gokudera stiffened, his eyes going wide. "Fuuuuuuuuck."

"Gokudera?" Yamamoto glanced between Gokudera, Masami, and Reborn curiously,

Reborn tilted the brim of his fedora down, shadows obscuring his eyes. "How do you know that name?"

"You're not answering my question, Reborn-san." Her smile never reached her eyes, cold, cutting steel gray. Tsuna shivered, the icy feeling that trickled down his spine not unlike the oppressive doom that had enveloped him when Hibari had stormed in weeks before, furious and murderous.

But...if Masami thought this was important...then it must be. "Reborn? What is Masami-san talking about?"

"...Two weeks ago, there was a jailbreak at a high security prison reserved only for the most terrible of mafia criminals who have committed the most heinous of crimes. The escaped criminals killed several of the wardens and other criminals. After that, the mafia's information network tracked down the ringleaders behind the jailbreak."

"No one said he was coming to Japan!" Gokudera began to pace, strung out and agitated.

Reborn nodded. "The mastermind was Rokudo, but he had two subordinates. Following that, three students returned from abroad transferred into Kokuyo Middle. Not long after, a gang of hooligans was formed. That was ten days ago. And guess who the gang leader happens to be?"

"This Rokudo guy, huh." Yamamoto rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. "He's the final boss of this particular game, right? We get him and everything goes back to normal."

Normal. Tsuna hadn't realized until now just how halcyon 'normal' had been, playing video games with Reborn and Lambo, having to deal with Bianchi teaching Haru and Kyoko poison cooking, crying over homework with Yamamoto and being tutored by Gokudera, being bitten to death by Hibari, and talking with Masami.

"Normal," Tsuna whispered. "I want normal again."

Gokudera set his jaw and smiled at Tsuna. "Then that's what we'll get for you, Juudaime! You can definitely count on your Right-Hand Man!"

"I won't be taking part in this fight, and you'll only have one Dying Will Bullet," Reborn informed him cheerfully. "So you'll have to try your best."

"Hahaha, we can do that!" Yamamoto put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

Masami didn't say a word but rose to her feet, regal as a queen. "Gather your weapons, a first-aid kit, and some food and water. We'll meet at Sawada-san's house in one hour." With that, she swept out the door, parting them like Moses and the Red Sea.


But, of course, it couldn't be nearly that easy.


Masami was...composed, controlled. There was no fire threatening to break free from her control, no reckless, destructive fury raging within her. She was not going to go charging after Onii-san like a thoughtless fool and ruin whatever chance she still had at containing this madness.

No. She knew tactics; she knew battle strategy. This was a trap. A spider's web that had closed in around Kyoya, a taunt, a lure. Now was not the time to be blinded by emotion. There was ice water in her bloodstream, not lava. Her mind was diamond-sharp, not clouded.

These intruders were not going to win, not even if she had to track them all down by herself and slit their throats.

(Perhaps, her mother had known her better than she had known herself. Perhaps, this was truly inevitable, as Reborn seemed to think.)

Masami stepped off the school grounds and smiled politely at the thin, lanky student in a white beanie and green Kokuyo Middle uniform. The description happened to be rather familiar. "Greetings," she said, bowing shallowly, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Namimori Middle School, class 2-A, seat number 10, Hibari Masami," he drawled, nudging up his glasses. "Number two, which is out of order, but Yamamoto Takeshi isn't available at the moment. Let's get this over quickly. I don't like to sweat."

"...noted." She snapped open her tessen and pressed the silk to her lips. "And you are...?"

"Kokuyo Middle, second year, Kakimoto Chikusa. I came here to break you." Blunt, blunt words. She was neither impressed nor frightened.

"So it appears. Would you mind if we moved this elsewhere." It wasn't a question. She had convinced the Principal that school should be canceled for the day, but while most of the students had had the sense to stay at home, there were still herbivores out and about.

If they started fighting here and now, they would attract attention. At the moment, Masami couldn't care less if her pristine reputation was blown to high hell, but Namimori didn't need any more destruction and despair after these past weeks. The civilians were not to be injured or traumatized.

And when she got finished this particular dance, there would be blood staining the ground. The question was simply whose.

"I don't care," he said, impassive. "This is not meant to be a show."

Masami didn't bother with a reply but angled her body to the right and began to lead the way to an abandoned field hidden behind the bulk of the school. Chikusa followed without a word, hands in his pockets. Curious, frightened eyes turned to watch them, but she smiled, reassuring, angelic, and no one made a move to intervene.

Neither of them turned their backs on the other until they arrived at the circular clearing, where they faced one another with five meters of distance between them.

"Would you like to lead this dance?" Masami invited, weight on the balls of her feet, form relaxed and ready, smile affable, and fan at her side.

Chikusa blinked but was otherwise unperturbed. "Fine."

The world slowed down a bit.

His right hand withdrew from his pocket, his arm swung out, and her eyes tracked the movement instinctively. He was holding something—a weapon, most likely—and she was jumping, flipping forward in mid-air. A second later, a barrage of needles hit the patch of dirt she had been standing on, and a yo-yo was swinging back towards her, string glinting in the sunlight.

Interesting.

The world sped up a bit.

Masami knocked the yo-yo away with her fan, careful to remain out of the trajectory of the needle releases. She was on the downward curve of her fall, and there was another yo-yo arching through the air, heading towards her collarbone. She flicked her wrist and let her gunsen slip into her hand, deflecting the projectile easily.

Landing lightly on both feet, a cloud of dirt slamming up around her, Masami pushed off without halting her momentum, sprinting forward. Chikusa's right hand pulled straight back, his left hand swinging around, and she knew that those yo-yos were heading towards her unprotected back.

She smiled.

Planting her right foot firmly on the ground, Masami went low and pivoted, the yo-yos flying above her even as needles flew out, one catching her along the side of her neck. Warm blood trickled down her skin, but she paid the wound no mind.

He hissed out a breath as he realized his weapons were now heading for him and twisted his wrists to roll up the yo-yos, the disks smacking into his palms. Completing the three hundred and eighty degree turn, she rose to her feet and slashed up with her fans at the same time, not holding back.

Chikusa was fast enough to avoid the tessen but the gunsen caught him along the chest, a beautiful sideways cut that went from his hip to his shoulder, blood flashing through the air. It wasn't a particularly deep cut, but it wasn't shallow either, and she didn't hesitate to slam her closed tessen into his throat while he cried out.

These people had lost all rights to her mercy when they first attacked a Namimori student, much less her brother.

He staggered back a step and leaped back before she could attack again. A flick of his wrists sent the yo-yos singing through the air once more, but it was a simple matter to predict their trajectory and avoid and deflect. The needles were a bit more bothersome, however, and one brushed against her knee while another sliced into her abdomen.

It didn't slow her down in the least.

And, more to the point, while Masami had quickly caught onto the steps of his dance, Chikusa had not nearly had enough time to learn hers.

It took her less than three more minutes to pick out the gaps in his defenses, and she wasn't merciful in exploiting them. When Chikusa sprang back once more, he was bleeding from shallow and deep cuts in various places, vivid bruises already blooming on his skin, visible where his uniform had been torn to shreds.

Gasping, he stared at her as she straightened up and went predatory still, in much better condition. His blue eyes were wilder than before and grudgingly respectful. "You're strong; you have to know. Who are the members of your Family, and who's your Boss?"

So, she thought clinically, they were after Tsunayoshi after all. It was strike three, should she have needed it. "I acknowledge no one as my superior. And I hold no loyalty to the Mafia. But I'll tell you if you answer a question of mine."

Chikusa looked at her, assessing. "...troublesome. All right."

"Hibari Kyoya. How was he defeated?" Masami's voice was very, very soft.

Understanding flickered across his face. "Sakura."

She smiled, and it was a smile not a single member of Namimori Middle had ever seen, with the exception of Kyoya, dark and knowing and very not-nice. His eyes went wide. "Sawada Tsunayoshi," Masami said, every syllable precisely pronounced, and moved, her original and secondary objective complete.

Her tessen smashed into the back of Chikusa's head before he could even realize she had been holding a fraction of her speed back for the entire dance, and he collapsed at her feet, unconscious. Masami watched it happen without flinching and inhaled deeply when there was no more movement to be seen, putting her fans away once more.

Almost absently, she reached down and picked up one of the needles lying on the ground. Holding it in front of the sun's glare, Masami pursed her lips, a hint annoyed.

Of all people, why did it have to be him?


"Shamal-san? I need a favor."


Tsuna arrived at the scheduled meeting place with Gokudera and Yamamoto by his side, a hooded Bianchi tagging along, and a much too cheerful Reborn leading the way. The road seemed to stretch out before him, the lingering sense of dread that he hadn't managed to extinguish twisting his gut into knots.

What deity did he offend, what sin did he commit? Not only was he going to die, he was going to bring everyone down with him!

He hated this situation, hated that people were being attacked, being hurt, being hospitalized because he was supposed to be the so-called Vongola Decimo—and this was his life that this Vongola Nono was arranging for him; didn't he get a choice in the matter?—but he knew that he couldn't be a selfish coward any longer.

Not with Onii-san in the hospital. Not with Fuuta as a hostage. Not with Hibari-san missing and Masami upset. Not with Gokudera and Yamamoto on that list.

Tsuna grasped his resolve in a bloodless grip and tried not to shake uncontrollably. Even after everything, he was still scared to death, scared of death, but he thought that that was okay, even understandable, no matter what Reborn might insist. Masami might have pushed him to face his fears, but she had never insisted his feelings were invalid.

"Fear is sensible," she had said when he'd asked, almost philosophical in one of her rare open, thoughtful moods. Fear keeps us aware. Fear wakes us up before death can shut us down. There is no shame in being afraid so long as that fear does not control you. Sometimes, it's best to run. Sometimes, it's time to fight."

Of course, Masami expected him to fight 95% of the time before Reborn came into his life and at least 75% of the time after, but her words were comforting all the same.

And speaking of Masami, she was waiting for them up ahead. Thankfully, the tension in the hospital and the hint of violence in her office Tsuna had sensed had disappeared. It was more than likely that she had regained the vicious choke hold she held over her emotions and her outward image instead of actually calming down, but he was relieved regardless.

At least until a soft voice in the back of his mind urged him to pay attention, and he came close enough to zero onto the small cut on her neck.

"Masami-san!" Tsuna sprinted the last few meters, blanching as worst-case scenarios started to race through his mind. He'd known she was on the list, he'd known these people were dangerous! Reborn had been with Tsuna, Gokudera and Yamamoto had been together; how could he have forgotten Hibari wasn't here to watch Masami?

As it was, even as those thoughts passed through his head, he caught the unimpressed look she aimed at him and skid to a halt in front of her, hands wringing uselessly, wanting to reassure himself but knowing better than to touch her casually. "Masami-san! Are you alright!? What happened!?"

"Whoa!" Yamamoto, who had been right behind him with Gokudera, glanced over Masami quickly, obviously having caught on to the same thing. "Hey, you okay? It doesn't look like you're injured really bad..."

Gokudera was more brusque as usual. "Maiko witch, what the fuck?"

Reborn didn't even have the decency to look surprised. Bianchi's covered face gave no clues either.

Masami let out a small sigh that spoke clearly of how unnecessary their fussing was. Tsuna couldn't quite bring himself to care about her disapproval at the moment. "I'm perfectly fine," she assured. "The dance went very well—nearly no missed steps."

Tsuna blinked and then smiled faintly, the familiar metaphor soothing him more than anything else. Meanwhile, Gokudera's eye twitched, but Yamamoto laughed. "Sounds good," he said, letting his bundle of sushi and tea dangle at his side. "You can tell us the details on our walk. Ready to go?"

"Yes." Masami smiled, slow and sweet and undeniably sanguinary. "Let's be off."


OpalescentGold: And...we've finally reached the breaking point. Masami is decidedly not happy, Tsuna is determined but scared, Gokudera is ready to FIGHT SOMEONE, and Yamamoto is already ready to FIGHT SOMEONE.

All the thanks to my wonderful beta! Please leave a comment!


Chabudai: tables with short legs.

Engawa: the veranda outside the room, often wooden

Fusuma: sliding panels that act as doors and walls.

Gunsen: a lightweight but strong folding fan.

Shoji: a sliding panel that is made of translucent paper in a wooden frame.

Tessen: heavy folding fan with outer spokes made of heavy plates of iron.

Yukata: inexpensive, informal summer robe for summer, similar to a kimono.