The first step of my plan was to make my favourite, albeit, given who my master was, slightly unsuited-for-children dessert, Tiramisù al Limoncino.

I begged the use of her kitchen from my Lady, then set about bribing Bianchi into helping me.

"You do realize that I have poison cooking as a skill, right?" Bianchi asked, hands on her hips.

I blinked innocently, "This one is well aware, but surely thou art the master of thy self? Turmeric has always spoken highly of thee, as often as he hath deplored this one's talents at the hearth, and so this one thought it would be no great undertaking to ask of thee—but if so, then this one at least beseeches thee to guide one—surely that at least is acceptable."

"You know, I think that Turmeric complains about your poisonous cooking a lot more than that." Bianchi said drily.

"Should this one be faulted for being unaccustomed to modern kitchen appliances?" I shot back sourly, "There is no intuitive clarity to electric stoves, unlike proper fire of wood or coal."

"I'd have thought you'd appreciate the precision." Bianchi raised an eyebrow, "But it looks like I'll have to supervise if I don't want you to blow us sky-high. Still, I want to know, why are you making tiramisu anyway?"

"Tiramisu al Limoncino." I emphasised, "This one is planning on rewarding Kensuke with one slice in his bento since apparently, his fondest desire is underage drinking. The rest, this one intends to bring to the obaa-san at Kawahira Realtor as a show of gratitude for her aid."

"Kawahira?" Bianchi bent down to rifle through the kitchen cupboards, "The Uncle Kawahira who I-pin delivers ramen to in ten years?"

"This one believes so."

Of all the things I had overlooked, this took the cake. Lambo was a Bovino, and had, as part of his arsenal, the Ten-Year-Bazooka, which, despite my sudden onset of idiocy, would convey information from the future and be a source of intelligence that even the best Mists would find difficult to guard against.

"Out of curiosity." I said casually, chilling the whipping cream with a lick of Rain Flames, carefully keeping the hum of Discordance out of the dish, "What has I-pin said about Uncle Kawahira?"

"Oh?" Bianchi shrugged, "Nothing much, although she occasionally brings Wakayama ramen for you along with the miso for him. You work together on occasion, apparently."

Which either meant I will either fail and fall or succeed and still have to collaborate with him. Well, that was hardly a good sign, but it at least gave me the assurance that I would survive, and that Bel would too, since I would never break bread with Checkerface otherwise.

"And one more thing." She said, setting the electronic mixer down to face me, "Stop trying to keep your allies out of everything, B. Future you left a message through Lambo—the last Seal learnt, and find a fast car. I have no idea what the first part means, but the second is definitely about you getting into more trouble than planned for. I'm sure that you'll be able to get yourself out of it just fine, but I'm going to start prepping the home base in case it follows you back."

Seeing my expression, she sighed. "Sometimes I forget you're Hayato's age, and other times I remember that you have a habit of thinking our age gap goes the other way."

"Quoth Turmeric?" I asked.

Bianchi snorted, "Of course. He's a worrywart, but good at what he does, and he did teach me, B. I'm going to keep an eye on you whether you like it or not, which you probably guessed already and definitely know better than to argue about—four eyes principle and unlike Mukuro and co, I'm familiar with CEDEF SOP. Also, M.M.'s filled me in. Seeing that it's Mukuro's family we're dealing with, I think that we should call Daemon for a consult."

"This one considered it too." We started assembling the layers of the tiramisu, "But on further consideration, it appears that the intent of this fiend is to target Mukuro, and so it would hardly be beyond belief for him to have made arrangements in anticipation of the possibility that Mukuro would be unwilling despite this one's abilities in persuasion, which would, in conjunction with the similarities betwixt ancestor and descendant, potentially target shared weaknesses in Daemon as well. Though this one is confident in Salt's skill, it cannot be denied that Salt is more confident than wise at times, and may indeed, in his sanguinity, overlook that which would otherwise pose little threat to him."

"Wow." Bianchi began laying down the second layer of ladyfingers, "You really are nervous if your sentences are this long."

"Of course this one worries." Frost crackled up my spatula, "The enemy is an unknown, the stakes are personal, and no aid is forthcoming. How could this one not?"

Bianchi shrugged. "Then might as well bite the bullet and get it over with. You know how the anxiety stops once the adrenaline starts—hands off before the lemon curd freezes!"

I stepped away obediently to let her put the finishing touches on the tiramisu then cover it with plastic wrap.

"Right." Bianchi dusted off her hands, "I'll stick this in the fridge while you go clean up. Meet around eleven?"

I agreed and took my leave.

It was extraordinary, what a change of clothes could change. For a century now, the Vongola went to war in suits and black ties, and though I was not Family I followed the custom, creating my armour out of Mist Flames and checking my reflection in the mirror. It was acceptable at a glance, but felt wrong to me.

Mukuro condensed into existence with a sigh, having chosen far more flamboyant attire. "It's the hair." He informed me drily, "You apparently no problem manipulating poor impressionable peers like me as a boy, but the moment you start dealing with actual stakes and high-brow insults, you default to your previous life. It's disturbing, and dare I say it, misogynist?"

"Thou art indeed learned in the ways of the internet." I told him, flicking my hair back and checking the length, "It is appreciated that one such as thee stands among the Vongola."

He made a face at that and dissolved.

Onwards.

It was child's play to slip a slice of chilled confectionary into Kensuke's bento with a note: This one apologizes that this one could not acquire for thee actual alcohol, but please accept a taste of adulthood for thy efforts.

Then, I presented the fruits of my labor to Obaa-san and made enough small talk to confirm that Kawahira was going to be in the shop in the afternoon while Ken and Chikusa acquired transportation.

We shared the last slices of tiramisu on the way to our destination, and then the game was on. Ken and Mukuro were staying in the car, both to avoid Mukuro coming into direct contact with Wamawaru and so that Ken could provide a quick getaway. Mukuro would be on communications, seeing as he had stabbed all of us with his trident before, and could watch through my eyes. M.M. and Chikusa would shadow me and act as backup if necessary, given that they had mid-range weaponry, and I would of course meet with Wamawaru alone.

Wamawaru-dono was not a particularly imposing man, but his hair was the same purple as Mukuro's and tied up in an identical bushy ponytail. Seated beside him, head down, was Bel. The lack of concern other patrons and the staff were showing towards this scene was a sign of prowess in illusion.

"Good day." I greeted politely.

He looked up. "Ah, Basil-kun, I presume? I see that you have come alone."

"This one is he." I answered, "And thou art Wamawaru-dono? Could this one take a seat?"

"Yes, and please do—order something as well, Basil-kun, I believe we have a long conversation ahead of us."

I thanked him and complied. "And thee, Prince mine? What dost thou desire?"

"Ushishishi, strawberry milk, of course!"

I scanned the menu—there was no strawberry milk, or plain milk on the menu, though there was chocolate. For all that Bel was possessed of royal entitlement, he was excellent at distinguishing between boundaries that I would not cross and certain modes of action that I was merely uncomfortable initiating—he would, for instance, drape himself over me without a care and occasionally poke me with his knives, but would always abstain from unannounced surprises. More relevant to this case, he was considerate enough of my sensibilities to not trouble waitstaff without good reason.

I smiled at the boy, "Truly, this one asks? This one understands that strawberry milk can be an acquired taste for some. Would chocolate milk be more agreeable? Or perhaps some form of hot drink? Although this day is overly hot and humid both for such to be enjoyable, and this one would presume instead to suggest one of the ice cream floats."

The boy giggled to buy time, but Wamawaru-dono held up a hand, "No need, Nagi. It seems that Basil-kun's reputation is not exaggerated. What gave her away then, if I may ask?"

"How can this page not recognize the Prince?" I deflected, "But Nagi-dono's efforts were quite impressive. Bel remains unharmed despite their investigations, this one hopes."

Wamawaru-dono chuckled, "I assure you, Basil-kun, that he has not yet suffered anything permanent, since you have been reasonably cooperative until now."

I met his eyes, refusing to be threatened, "This one would wish to believe thee, but this one has been given great cause to suspect thee of duplicity of late." Then I turned to Nagi, "Has Nagi-dono decided on an order?"

Despite Bel's concealing curtain of hair, Nagi's nervousness was obvious—some combination of shock at being addressed and anxiety at being forced to choose something. I could sympathize—revealing minor preferences was distressing in mixed company. "Would Nagi-dono prefer a soda, an iced tea, an ice cream float, or a chocolate milk?"

Nagi looked to Wamawaru-dono for guidance, before finally deciding, with a whisper, "An ice cream float please, Basil-san."

"Very well, Nagi-dono." I flipped to the appropriate page, "A melon cream soda for thee? Other options included chocolate and strawberry."

Ordering drinks had the effect of testing whether the genjutsu surrounding us blocked this table from sight entirely, or whether it simply kept certain things beneath notice. This would tell me whether M.M. and Chikusa could see me and gauge the situation appropriately. Mukuro, of course, was a steady presence in my mind and enough to keep me from worrying.

Wamawaru-sono recognized my exclusion of him as the slight that it was, and gestured to Nagi to drop the illusion of Bel. Mukuro raked psychic claws through my awareness, she—!

I turned a touch of Rain Flames inwards, well aware of the resemblance.

"Nagi-dono looks remarkably like Mukuro." I commented mildly, even as I felt my hidden eye burn red. Mukuro had turned his undivided attention towards us.

"My niece does." Wamawaru-dono agreed slimily, as if talking about a show poodle, "She is the original, after all. You see, Basil-kun, I understand quite well that you have reservations regarding my intentions, but as you have observed, I simply wish to reunite my family."

—of powerful Mist users, of course. "Forgive this one's confusion," I said mildly, "But Mukuro is born of Italy's Estraneo, whilst Nagi-dono appears to hail from Japan." Once again, I turned my attention to the third member of our little gathering, who seemed far too used to being overlooked as a conveniently useful accessory, "Could this one be given a more comprehensive explanation of Nagi-dono's relationship to him?"

This time, Nagi-dono could not hide her reaction. The girl's eyes darted to Wamawaru as she retreated into her seat, knuckles white from how tightly she was fisting her hands into her clothes. Her comportment was born from etiquette lessons, which indicated a particular sort of family background. Her demeanor, on the other hand, could only be traced to—find out whether her parents are alive, Mukuro ordered, and if they are, get me their address. I would dearly like to pay them a visit.

Be not overly hasty, I thought back. We know yet little of Nagi-dono.

It's obvious what she is. Mukuro spat, she's my replacement, and here only because life before Wamawaru was worse. Get Belphegor, kill Wamawaru, then give me my vengeance for my sister.

His sudden attachment was suspicious, but that didn't mean he didn't have a point.

I could hear the waitress approaching from my back. I inclined my head at Nagi-dono, "This one's apologies for pressing. Please, try thy drink."

The waitress placed the soda float before Nagi-dono, who gratefully took the out offered to her.

I accepted my barley tea and sipped slowly, waiting for Wamawaru to speak.

Luckily for me, he, like most Mists, loved the sound of his own voice, and so never missed a chance to monologue, "As I have told you, Basil-kun, Nagi is the original, the daughter of my sister—I am sure you have noticed her and Mukuro's resemblance to Daemon Spade—but unfortunately, she was born female. In the interests of maximizing the host body's connection to its ancestor, the Estraneo cloned Nagi with a few…tweaks, let's say, to her genome. That was all I expected them to do, however…"

The man shook his head regretfully, "They were far less principled than I had anticipated, and so, when the walls started closing in on them, they turned their gaze to Mukuro, intending to shape his potential into a weapon."

Right, he was definitely glossing over his connection with the Estraneo, and all but lying when it came to implying that he didn't want to use Mukuro as a weapon.

In which case, Basil, I 've changed my mind. I claim Wamawaru 's death.

Such was his right, should my Prince not contest him.

"Then how come Nagi-dono is under thy care?" I inquired.

"I needed someone to help me, of course." Wamawaru said with a slimy smile, "And quite frankly, my sister was not a fit guardian. Children are not vases, to be put on display when called for and put away when not."

"This one understands." I set my cup down. I refused to allow Nagi-dono to fall back into her role as furniture, "And thee, Nagi-dono? Art thou satisfied with thy circumstances?"

She started, having been savoring her soda with the wonder of a girl who had never been allowed such sweets before. This time, finally, she answered, "…yes, Basil-san…my skills…I am valued here."

You will not leave Nagi with Wamawaru, Basilicum. Mukuro hissed, fingers digging into my shoulders, I will forgive you your manipulations of me and mine as youthful ignorance-driven presumption, but if you let Nagi be treated as a tool also, I swear on my six deaths and future lives that I will destroy all that you hold dear.

I could not refuse.

But Bel!

I gathered myself, recalculating. I could get them both out unharmed—if I acted quickly.

"This one can imagine that thou hast enjoyed an improvement." I probed, "But surely this is not the limit of thy desires."

Nagi-dono did not answer with the negative, which was as good as confirmation, what with Wamawaru's presence. He was perhaps growing suspicious.

I addressed the man once more, feeling the comforting weight of my hair shape my posture, "This one is satisfied with what this one has learned, and will see to thy desires posthaste. However, mark this—"

I lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with Rain-wreathed fingers, letting Discordant power crackle from my flesh to his, "Should Prince Belphegor come to any harm, by thy hand or any other, then, by heavens above and devils below, thou shalt pray for the mercies of hell."

He expected the threat, was even curling his lips into the beginning of a smile, but it had been itself a misdirection. I wrapped the silencing Flames about myself and Nagi as a wave of sound forced the man to his knees, then, hand on her elbow, pulled her away at a run.

She did not resist.

I let Mukuro direct me as Chikusa laid down covering senbon, feet moving according to the other Mist's will as we fled through a few back alleys and then jumped into the open doors of our getaway car, M.M. and Chikusa hot on our heels.

"Drive!" Mukuro snapped.

"Duh!" Ken shot back, already stepping on the gas, "Seatbelts, and hold on tight! Don't put your trumpet away harpy, the asshole's not gonna give up yet!"

"It's a clarinet, you mangy mutt, and of course I'm still on guard for Wamawaru! Pay attention to where you're going before we get stuck in traffic!"

"Nagi-dono." I interrupted their bickering, "Does Wamawaru-dono possess a transport?"

"Yes," She answered, eyes widening, "He's coming—from our eight o'clock."

Mukuro spun in his seat. "Is he tracking you?"

"No—I don't think so." She corrected herself, "He's tracking Basil-san, I think."

So as to have me lead him to Mukuro. However, we were heading to Namimori, where the Young Master resided. Such was beyond countenancing.

Just as well, then, that I had already chosen the location of our confrontation.