"So what are we going to be doing, little guy?" Yamamoto asked Reborn. Reborn frowned. The Ninth had asked him to personally oversee Yamamoto's Gauntlet run. Reborn had a feeling it was to keep him busy instead of hovering over Tsuna, but the little hitman hadn't argued. Yamamoto was probably going to be the hardest one to get used to the bloodshed that was so commonplace in mafia dealings.

It's better to start him off slow, Reborn thought to himself. They weren't allowed to let the boys handle warnings right off the bat, since that required a killing intent to be effective. The only other choice Reborn had been given was either a punishment or an execution.

"I'll let you decide," Reborn said finally. "We can either beat a guy up or kill a guy." He assumed that Yamamoto would choose the beating to avoid having a death on his conscience, but even so, making him decide for himself would strengthen the swordsman's resolution to do what needed to be done.

"What are the reasons?" Yamamoto was looking out the window at the passing terrain, although Reborn could tell he wasn't actually watching what passed.

"The guy we have to punish is a request from an allied Family," Reborn answered. "He's a guy that doesn't want to leave the Boss' daughter alone and didn't take her or the Family's warning. The execution is tied to the Gola Mosca lab. It's the sales broker for the Wilde Family. He was the guy that was trying to collect offers for when they completed Gola Mosca suits."

"Gola Mosca," Yamamoto said, still lost in thought. "That's that thing they were going to put Tsuna in, wasn't it?"

"Ah," Reborn affirmed.

"I'll do the execution," Yamamoto said after a few silent moments. Reborn twitched in surprise at his charge's choice. The swordsman turned to him, a look of queasiness glazed with determination in his eyes. "He's rigging the game so that he can gamble on a player's injury. Since we can't turn him into the committee, killing him is the only way to keep it from happening again, right?"

Reborn nodded and gave the driver directions. The rest of the car ride was done in silence.

"You're joking," Gokudera told Bianchi. She shook her head no. She was completely serious.

He looked over at the man huddled weeping in the corner of the room. His guards had already been knocked out by Bianchi's poison buffet. Tears were streaming down his face as he begged for forgiveness. Gokudera could barely see him through his watery eyes. For a knock-out gas, the sensations from prolonged contact was painful. He felt like ants were crawling in and out of his pores and across his face. The more he sweat, the worse it got.

"It's a warning, Hayato. This man wanted to put a lot of the Family in jail. If we don't punish him now, we'll have to execute him later after he talks." She tossed him one of her favorite fillet knives. "So, to keep that from happening, you have to cut his tongue out."

"B-but--" he said, his breathe short and ragged from more than the stifling gas-mask.

"Would you do it if he was going to send Tsuna to prison?" She asked, leaning on the door frame in boredom. Gokudera's eyes hardened. He'd do it in a heartbeat for the Tenth and she knew it. He gritted his teeth as he stepped forward, ignoring the burning sensation on his face. If he'd do it to protect the Tenth, he should be capable of doing it for the Family as a whole...his Family now.

"I'll do it," was all he said as he grabbed the man's head. The man struggled, knowing what was going to happen. What was going to be done to him. Finally, Gokudera knocked him out. It was bad enough he was going to hurt this guy. The fool didn't need to be awake for it, too.

Holding the man's mouth open, Gokudera pulled out his tongue and cut.

Ryohei answered the knock at his door. He figured it was either Yamamoto or Gokudera, considering today had been their first day of training. He wasn't disappointed. Both boys stood outside. Gokudera had blood on his sleeves and his face was covered in a painful-looking red rash. Yamamoto had a red streak across his shirt and was clutching Shigure Kintoki absently. Both looked like they were completely wrung dry.

"Mind if we borrow your wet-bar, lawn-head? They didn't put one in our rooms," Gokudera nearly begged with a pitiful look. Ryohei nodded, waving the two inside. He had them both sit while he choose a strong whiskey for the two. He couldn't blame them for wanting to drown their sorrows. He'd done it himself when he'd returned less than an hour ago. That had been the only reason he could force himself to eat.

Out of the three, Ryohei had probably done the worst. Not only did he cause pain and suffering, but he'd helped commit mass murder. Xanxus had taken him to another of the Wilde's Italian facilities. He'd been told to gather up as many of the men inside and pile their unconscious bodies in the lab. He'd done so, mercilessly knocking man after man out and dragging their bodies into the biggest room of the building. Then Xanxus had decimated all the men in an instant, turning the pile into ash with a single 'Farewell Strike' from his X-Guns.

Yet he didn't regret it. After the annihilation of the facility's crew, they'd found another prison. This one had seemed to be holding area before the victims were sent to be broken. Seeing the look on those people's faces when they realized they were going to be rescued had made the bloodshed and pain worth it. His two friends didn't look like the bloodshed had been worth it, though. As he handed them both their drinks, he saw looks of pain and lament in their faces.

"Extreme job?" He prompted. They both nodded wordlessly. After a bit of silence and a bit of alcohol, they finally started talking.

"I had to cut out someone's tongue," Gokudera said, shamefully looking down into his glass. "If I hadn't, a lot of the Family would have been in trouble."

"I had to cut off a guy's head," Yamamoto countered, his eyes wide at the memory. "I was able to do it so quickly that it made me realize Shigure Souen Ryuu really is a sword of murder like pops said."

Gokudera's heart clenched at Yamamoto's words. Cutting a man down and merely cutting out a tongue were on two different levels. How had the baseball jock been able to do it? Having to cut out a tongue had been bad enough. It had taken nearly an hour to clear the vomit out of his mask afterward. Not that the blood itself had bothered him, but the act had. The ease with which the sharp knife had cut through the wet, limp flesh had been sickening. Could he go to the next level where Yamamoto had dared to brave first? Was Gokudera actually capable of killing someone? Was the Family worth it?

"Was it worth it?" Gokudera asked, thumbing the rim of his glass. He still couldn't look up, but the hesitation in his voice told them how hard it had been for him to ask. Yamamoto's eyes grew cold and serious at the question.

"Ah," he replied, "No one's going to be buying any Gola Mosca suits for a long while, I'd say."

They continued to talk through the night, expunging their memories of the deeds they'd done. As alcohol began to flow faster, they eventually cried into their cups, releasing their pain and heartache. They didn't regret what they'd done, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. At some point, Cress brought in food for them all with admonishments to eat whether they wanted to or not. No one argued, knowing they'd need their strength for the next day.

After eating, Gokudera pulled out his creme puffs that Bianchi had given him. He was exhausted in every way possible and partially inebriated, but he remembered his other task. He continued to stare at the box. Memories of his sister's cookies began surfacing in his mind and he hesitated for several minutes. Finally, Yamamoto asked him what it was.

"P-poison cooking," he nearly whimpered in reply. "I'm supposed to eat one after every meal."

"Part of your assignment?" Ryohei asked. When Gokudera nodded, Ryohei cheered, "Go all the way, man!"

"Don't worry, we'll be here with you, Gokudera," Yamamoto encouraged at Gokudera's continued hesitation. "You don't have to do it alone anymore. You know your team is here with you, right?" Gokudera looked at him, stunned for a moment by the insinuation. Yamamoto considered Gokudera to be Family.

"Of course I know that, baseball-freak!" He replied, flustered by the warm feeling Yamamoto's words had caused. Without another moment of hesitation, he popped one of Bianchi's creme puffs into his mouth. For a moment, Gokudera thought he'd be alright. Then he clutched his stomach as he fell forward off of Ryohei's couch. It was worse than his sister's cookies. Worse than all of the cookies he'd ever eaten combined. His body began to tremble outside his control and sweat began pouring from his face as his temperature rose drastically.

Yamamoto and Ryohei both immediately jumped to his aid, asking if he was okay. He wanted to say, "What do you think, dumb-ass," but only a low moan of pain came out. He could feel one of their hands rubbing soothingly across his back, trying to ease his shaking. As he was carried to his bed and tucked in with a cold rag on his head, he could hear Yamamoto mumbling words of encouragement. And finally, as he passed out, he realized that the two were helping him like they would a brother.

His Family was worth it, he secretly decided as darkness took him.

The were worth any pain he had to go through.

"Are you okay?"

Yamamoto paused in the doorway and looked at his boss in surprise. Benji seemed like a type of older wise man who used few words. For him to waste any on Yamamoto told the boy how pathetic he probably looked. Only the Ninth's orders, sent via Basil, had forced Yamamoto to actually show up for his first day of work.

It was hard to believe how much had happened in the single week they'd been in Italy. If this kind of hectic life was what Tsuna had been living, it was no wonder he hadn't called home more than once during his lonely stay. The swordsman had only gotten a single day to taste the Gauntlet before being sent to Mafia Row to pick up the job he'd gotten, but that was enough.

"Come join me for some tea," Benji ordered, bringing yet another surprised look from Yamamoto. When he continued to hesitate in the doorway, the man walked over and gave him a little shove to get him moving. Yamamoto didn't know what to think when the man closed the shop and led him into a back room where tea was already waiting on a low kotatsu. It was surprising the man even had a kotatsu!

Yamamoto tried not to look around the room in curiosity. It was modeled after in a traditional Japanese style. From the mats on the floor to Shoji screens covering the walls, the design was undoubtedly themed Japanese. The suit of armor ceremonially centered on one wall of the room only seemed to reinforce that feeling.

Sitting where Benji pointed, Yamamoto tried to keep his nervousness from showing. He failed miserably. He had no clue how to deal with a boss, having only ever worked for his father. Even more, his nerves were completely fried from everything that had happened in the past week. They'd had a few days of bliss when they arrived, followed by panic, heartache, and bloodshed. Within a few hours, Yamamoto's world had gotten completely turned upside down. He still hadn't regained his balance and now he had to deal with a total stranger who also happened to be his new part-time employer.

"You seemed much more at peace when you last came in here," Benji prompted. Yamamoto clenched his hands in his lap, unsure of how to respond. Was his lack of balance that obvious? Unbalance was death to a swordsman, Yamamoto knew. He had done his best to stand firm for everyone else, but even he was beginning to waver.

"A...A lot has happened," Yamamoto replied finally.

"I see," Benji responded. "You're a little sparrow that has left it's nest only to find the nest can never be returned to."

"Um...No," Yamamoto asserted, "I'm not homesick." The man chucked softly and motioned for Yamamoto to drink his tea. An eyebrow flew up at the soothing taste he found when he sipped it. It wasn't chamomile, but it was just as calming.

"I'm not speaking of homes, young sparrow. It's a metaphor for when a person makes a life-altering choice. There is no turning back on those types of things," Benji corrected with a reassuring smile. "You had a more innocent aura when you first came in here. Now, I sense great unease and pain in you. May I ask what has happened?"

"I once thought I could be a swordsman without ever having to use the blade of my sword," Yamamoto answered in shame. "But now my sword is red." He didn't know where the feeling came from, but it made him bow his head. For some reason, he felt incredibly ignorant and naive. His vision blurred at those feelings of ignorance and shame. For some reason, he felt the inexplicable urge to cry. Yet another symptom of how unbalanced he was.

"What's wrong with that?" Benji asked. Yamamoto's head snapped up in surprise and the man continued. "I've known great swordsmen who never even used a blade to fight. The way of the sword is more than simply cutting down one's enemies." Benji gazed into Yamamoto's eyes with a hint of sadness. "A sword is a reflection of the swordsman. If your sword is red, you need only to wash it clean."

"How?" Yamamoto nearly begged.

"Care, effort, and practice," Benji replied solemnly. "Care for your sword as if it were your own soul. While following your chosen path, put effort into not denying the enemies' pain nor your own. And finally, practice, to honor that path you walk and reaffirm your own choices. Do that and your blade can shine no matter how red it might get at times."

"Sensei..." Yamamoto replied in awe. The words seemed to light some place inside him. It felt like there was a hint of truth in the man's words.

"Don't call me Sensei," Benji laughed. "I don't know what all you've been through in the past week, but I hope the advice helps. It was what my Master, a true man of the blade, once told me."

"Thank you," Yamamoto said. He suddenly realized his face was wet with tears and wiped them away with his sleeve. It took another two cups of tea, silently drunk together, before Yamamoto finally regained his normal composure. Benji smiled, sensing the calm that Yamamoto found.

"Well, lets get to work, my young sparrow. I've still got to teach you the ropes."

With a smile, Yamamoto followed his new employer back into the main store. Something told him that his new job would be better for him than he'd ever expected.

Gokudera hesitantly took his place behind the bar with Pink. Something was wrong with the woman, though. She hadn't seemed surprised when Gokudera had told her that Orange had taken a trip home, but she hadn't looked at him directly since then. It was more than that though. Whenever Gokudera got within a few feet of her, she seemed like she really wanted to say something, but would lock her jaw and turn away. There were also moments that he caught her staring at him out of the corner of her eye and would start shaking.

Had he done something to offend her? Was she mad that the Tenth, a.k.a. 'Orange', had disappeared without warning back to his hometown? Did she just not like him and wanted to tell him that? What the hell was the woman's problem?! For several hours, Gokudera tried to ignore it. He didn't want to screw up and get kicked out of working here. When the Tenth returned, Gokudera wanted to be able to work here with him. That knowledge was the only thing that had allowed him to accept the Ninth's request to go to his new job instead of staying at the Tenth's bedside during the weekend.

Too bad Gokudera wasn't one to let sleeping dogs lie. The woman had a problem with Gokudera or some other issue. He couldn't just let it continue like this. He took his chance when she approached him with a beer-only drink order in hand.

"Did I do something wrong?" He hissed. She paused while he began grabbing beers out of the under-counter fridge for the order.

"Is Tsuna really okay?" She whispered in return. His surprise at her answer caused him to fumble with the beers in his hands and one went crashing to the ground. Trying to cover his reaction, he bent down and started picking up the glass, unintentionally dropping the other beers in his hand at the same time.

"W-Wh-What makes you think something's wrong with--" He paused, realizing she had called the Tenth by his name instead of his codename. She knew that Orange was the Tenth. He looked at her with a gaping mouth and tear-filled eyes. "You know...?"

"Shit," she replied, seeing his reaction. With a sharp yell, she called Gold and Green over to take over the bar. Within moments, Gokudera found himself forcibly escorted to a booth by not only Pink, but Red and Blue. Inside, Pink popped the cork on a bottle she'd brought and started pouring drinks.

"I'm sorry," Gokudera said. "I didn't know you knew who he was."

"Understandable," Blue replied coarsely. "Identities are supposed to be confidential around here. The only reason we know is because he told us when the big scary creep brought him in." She collapsed into a chair and Red wasn't far behind her. Gokudera found himself a seat and wrapped his hands around the full glass Pink silently handed him.

"Big scary creep?" Gokudera asked.

"Xanxus," Pink supplied with a small, sad smile. The other two girls jumped a bit at the name, but otherwise seemed to compose themselves pretty quickly.

"That bastard," Gokudera found himself saying. "If he hadn't have brought the Tenth here, none of this might have happened."

"So what did happen?" Pink asked hesitantly. "All the rumors have said was that he was kidnapped by the Wilde Family. In return, Vongola have set to completely wiping them out."

"I'm not sure I should say anything," Gokudera replied suspiciously. "The Tenth might trust you guys but--"

"Please tell us," Red said, jumping to her feet. "I swear I won't tell anyone. You can kill me if you think I'm lying! I just want to know how Tsuna is!" Tears began to fall down her face unheeded. Gokudera gritted his teeth and tried to ignore them. He had never been good with girls. Especially the weepy kinds. "He was always so kind to us," she continued despite his discomfort. "He even saved me from that bad man! Then when they let me out of the hospital, I heard he'd been kidnapped! At least tell us if he's okay!"

Gokudera jumped out of his seat to dodge when she tried to throw herself into his arms. Mafioso might be required to respect women, but that didn't mean he wanted to hold a weeping one. He sighed when Blue jumped over and held Red for him.

"Fine!" He growled. "Just stop crying. I'll tell you. If I find out that it went past this room, though, I will personally collect your head. Got it?" All three women nodded in acceptance. With a sigh, he shut the curtains on the booth to ensure no lip-readers could listen in to the conversation.

"Don't worry," Pink assured him. "More people come here to trade information under the cover of partying than you think. Every room has been fortified against listening devices."

"Fine," he repeated in resignation. He didn't turn away from the curtained window, trying to prepare himself in order to tell them about the Tenth's condition.

"So," Blue prompted. "Orange didn't take a trip home, obviously. The rumors were true and he was kidnapped."

"Ah," Gokudera replied softly with his back still turned to them. "He was kidnapped at the Vongola exit point for Mafia Row. The Wildes took him and tortured him. They had beaten him for several hours straight when we found him. They hadn't even known who he was. We got to him before they could kill him, but he's still in critical care." He finally looked at them with tears threatening to break free. "I can barely recognize him," he said softly. With those words, the tears that he'd been holding back finally began to fall.

They weren't alone. His tears were met with more as the three girls also began to cry at the news. It was no surprise when Gokudera spent the rest of the night drinking in their company instead of working.