Whenever she heard that 'normal' siblings fought all the time, Kyoko could simply not relate. She could count on one hand the number of times she and her brother had fought. If what they did could even be considered fighting.

The most serious, darkest interaction between them would likely be the time when she was taken by older students to serve as a hostage so they could beat up her brother. And that would not be classified as a fight because it wasn't. Ryohei was injured, Kyoko cried because it felt like her fault, and made him promise to not fight.

And being the good brother he was, he agreed to her demands. Boxing was fine, because that was under rules and a sport which meant Ryohei was protected, but he didn't fight.

Kyoko tried to repay that by being a good sister and supporting Ryohei in his passions. She listened to him talk about it, and while understanding it sometimes was difficult because her interest was conditional in that it was something Ryohei liked, it was important to still support him. She joined him on his workouts sometimes, helped organize the club's paperwork – and Hana, bless her best friend, also helped – and made sure that his club activities would not be impeded by something within controllable range.

But lately she wondered if she really was a good sister, and if she really was being as supportive as she could. Or what that even meant.

Ryohei seemed convinced that she was a good sister, the best sister, and Kyoko would respect his thoughts, but truth be told she felt so inadequate.

"Thank you." Tsuna smiled down at the charm, and his eyes were so very tender, so much so that Kyoko wondered if he knew about all the flaws in the charm. The uneven stitching, the fish drawing that felt childish now that it was in his hand. They had to be visible, because they were so obvious, and yet.

He treated it like it was something incredibly precious despite all that.

And then he raised his eyes to look at her, directly, and Kyoko stopped breathing. Not voluntarily or consciously – she just forgot, in that moment, how to breathe.

"For the next fight, there's no way I'm going to lose."

Tsuna said it so simply, like it was a promise, and Kyoko believed him.

Inadequate, she was. Just like how she felt now. Tsuna and her brother, Gokudera and Yamamoto had come to school, after missing out for several days.

And yes, it was because of the hybrid sumo secret tournament they were having at night, but as Hana pointed out and Kyoko noticed, there was something rather odd about it. About what they were doing, about hybrid sumo tournaments at night at school, at the weird people that had been there, about everything.

Should I be pushing you, Kyoko wondered at Tsuna's floundering as the others joined them. Haru and Bianchi and the three children living at Tsuna's house had snuck into the school, all of them dressed to blend in, to try and support him and the others. The charm they made, needles poking at their fingers, felt so clumsy and frail, so insignificant against whatever weighed on him. Should I be pushing my brother and you for answers, or should I respect your decisions and support them?

Digging into something someone wanted to keep a secret wasn't polite. Friends could loosen boundaries, Kyoko knew that, be excused in not being polite as boundaries pressed against each other, and Kyoko knew Tsuna, trusted him because he had a good heart –

But Kyoko didn't know if Tsuna felt similarly, because Kyoko was hardly someone as brave as he was. She doubted he wanted to be her friend, when she wasn't anyone special.

Kyoko didn't ask, because she was afraid she would be rejected.

Chrome had not been Mukuro's for very long, but she had both the sense of having someone be inside her, as well as her experiences at being so easily talked over as Nagi to inform her of what kept Mukuro so distracted.

"I'm not getting a response at all," she said, replying to Chikusa's flat tone. It was the truth. "It's like he's turned his back."

The physical position of bodies didn't matter, not with their connection, but it was the best way to describe it. As if he was distracted on her end because he was busy talking to someone.

And though Chrome wanted to just scream for him, to beg him to look in her direction, she couldn't do that.

"If you can't keep in touch with Mukuro-san," snarled Ken, "then there's no point on you being here!"

Chrome didn't flinch because it was very true. That was the point of her existence, after all.

". . .I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it!"

Also true. She had to make herself useful. That was her purpose, the reason for her second life.

Chrome turned and began to leave. "I'm going now."

She never had someone ask about where she was going, but her life was different now.

"To Nami Middle?" asked Chikusa.

"Yes." The ring was hard and real in her hand, as it had been since she woke up after her failure forced Mukuro to intervene. "I've been summoned."

She didn't show it, but when she had to give up the ring to the pink-haired women, it was hard. The ring was important, not because of what it was but what it meant. A physical proof of her being useful for Mukuro, a vessel for his use.

It was a reality, of sorts, and she needed to fight to get it back.

Her remaining eye drifted across all those gathered. The one named Hibari Kyoya that Mukuro had noted along with the boss stood a distance away, an undercurrent of irritation running under his face. The loud three, who looked to be in good shape despite the injuries they had taken during their battles. A young boy with curled hair puffed up who was also just as loud.

And the boss, who was trying to reign in the loud little boy. He looked nervous, anxious, not a threat at all. Chrome would not have feared him, not as Chrome and not as Nagi – that was how little of a threat he appeared.

But Mukuro had said that he could be a man with surprising strength, and Chrome still wasn't sure what that meant, but if Mukuro said so, then she had to accept it as truth.

The loud one with white hair told her and Hibari Kyoya that the rule extended to ten meters. Chrome didn't understand until the loud ones and the boss and a boy who watched from the sidelines did the circle cheer again.

She looked down, and estimated the distance to be less than ten meters. She didn't know what to feel about that, so she only nodded and hurried to the gymnasium.

This was it, this was the last day.

And Saturn was late.

In her defense, she would have made it on time, but an hour before the usual time, she had been on patrol and a disturbance had made her drop everything and hurry to Titan Castle through the mirror to monitor their orbit.

She and Makaria, and Uranus and Neptune searched the area of the reported breach, and found nothing. Either it was a false alarm – because only one layer had been breached – or whoever had set off their alarms had retreated.

Tense and worried at finding nothing else, Saturn eventually had no reason to not see the last of the battles, and so she returned, and by then the Sky Battle had already started.

With the exception of the Mist Battle, every night had been, well, a complete mess, and the Sky Battle was no exception.

By the time Sailor Saturn arrived, the battle was already underway, and there were two people flying in the skies with flames streaking behind them.

. . .

Back that up a second.

"What," she managed to say, staring at the sky where Tsuna, in his usual school uniform with fire on his brow and hands was flying around with the scarred man who had been sitting and obnoxiously laughing the past few nights, with said scarred man somehow flying by the two revolvers he wielded, which also had fire shooting from them.

Somehow, she hadn't imagined the Sky Battle taking place in the actual sky, but maybe she should have.

"Is this an illusion?" Saturn asked, just to be sure, although it was so ridiculous that it felt, contrarily, real. Kawahira liked to have illusions that were subtle and realistic, and this was too outlandish for his style.

The parts of the school that were just demolished – as if explosions had taken them out – and the different combatants scattered across its grounds only added to the ridiculousness.

He just shook his head.

"This is ridiculous," she said, grip tightening on the Silence Glaive.

"No, Princess Saturn," said Kawahira quietly. "This is what mortals can be capable of. Are capable of."

Except it wasn't Kawahira, but Acheron speaking. Not the man who volunteered to be guardian, who became her family over the years, but the priest of Earth who saw the death of the Silver Millennium and survived for two thousand years after it.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly, because the previous night had ended with a discussion on a lost history and his worries of the future.

"A bird has no business telling a fish how to swim," he murmured, taking the long way to answer a question as he was wont to do. "My siblings and I lost the right to tell other Terrans how to live when we changed, and lost our own mortalities and escaped what fundamentally all living things fear by instinct – that natural process of age, that inevitable weight of time's manifesting on our flesh. We became outsiders when we changed, regardless of how we were born."

When they became quite similar to those who had lived on the Silver Kingdom, and therefore different from those who were of Terra.

Sailor Saturn, like all sailor soldiers, would not age or pass the prime of her physical body. Tomoe Hotaru was, despite all technicalities regarding her age, very young. And would always be young, at least on the outside.

The testimonial of someone who had achieved that sort of immortality, was made a kindred soul in the sense, weighed significantly on her in that moment.

"We lost the right to tell them how to live their life," said Acheron, despite the face he wore. His eyes were on the battle, but Saturn wondered if he saw something else – something, someone from his past. "At least, as anything other than advice from someone who lived longer than they did. We were afraid that if we started to do so, start giving them orders or making ourselves kings over people, we would end up making ourselves gods over mortals. Lose ourselves further, and damn this planet to lose its way. Rob them of their own potential, blind them to their own strengths and power. We could protect them from outer influences, we could teach them the importance of love, we could beseech them to love each other and their differences rather than hate and use it as a reason to kill, but in the end – it had to be their choice. It had to be them who decided their own fates, without being enslaved by those fundamentally different from them."

There was the loud sound of a terrible crash, and Tsuna was on the ground, vest of his uniform blown away. The fire on his brow was alit – although he was still mostly clothed – and he looked severely battered, while the scarred man was on the roof, several stories higher, staring down arrogantly.

But there was no trace of fear in Tsuna's eyes, as he put his hands together, in front of his chest. Orange flames expanded from his hands, swallowing him until a bright fire was almost all she could see of her friend.

"What is that?" she whispered, because it was –

The fires began to flicker erratically, no rhythm to them.

"Pandora gave her people fire," he whispered, a dazed quality to his eyes.

Shouting something furiously, the man on the roof lunged off, not in a suicidal move but in an attack, and began pummeling Tsuna.

Saturn screamed when the bolts shot out from the two revolvers – not bullets, but beams of energy – struck Tsuna and a violent explosion swallowed everything.

When the smoke cleared, there were several craters in the ground, and Tsuna lay in them, unmoving. Not even a bit of that weird fire anywhere.

The man – Tsuna's murderer – was walking towards Tsuna's –

Saturn's throat closed and she began to move, but Kawahira reached out to hold her shoulder, and Saturn got it, she did, because she could put the pieces together. What he had said yesterday, about the truth of the Trojan War, the terrible things he implied those of the Silver Millennium had done towards those of Terra simply because they were akin to gods among men, she got it. Understood why he was here – to stop them from interfering with the lives of mortals. To keep them from interrupting whatever process this was, in them discovering their inner strengths.

Borrowing his metaphor, to not have birds tell fish how to swim.

She understood that, and yet, that was her friend, who did not deserve to be murdered while she could do something.

What came out of her mouth, though, was a cry of anguish instead of all that. "He's been killed!"

But even as she shook off his hand, a small flicker of fire burst into life at Tsuna's forehead.

"Pandora gave her people fire, and they lit up the dark around them," he said, still in that odd trance, as if possessed by something – his memories, maybe, or something deeper.

The small flicker of fire, as if met with a burst of fuel, roared and grew in size until it was massive – and fire caught on other parts of Tsuna as well, his wrists, his feet, until his body was surging upwards, defying gravity from their force.

Tsuna stood on his feet once more, and the outraged disbelief of his opponent was all-too-clear, even from here. He began attacking Tsuna viciously, and Tsuna –

"Don't underestimate them," Kawahira said, and maybe it was a warning, or a reminder. Saturn wanted to retort that this wasn't her underestimating them, this was concern, but maybe he was right, because –

Tsuna initially seemed to have no chance whatsoever, but after a particularly large attack, Tsuna was suddenly there, fiery crown and fists blazing, and he fought back, rising upwards in defiance.

They grappled as they flew without wings, as if gravity could not hold them in any arbitrary thing like limits, and they clashed until Saturn wasn't sure if she was staring at a battle between two human beings, or stars going supernova. It was spectacular, the sight they created.

"Even now at my age, I learn from their ingenuity, grow inspired by what they dare do," he murmured. "I would never have even dared to consider illusionary organs to replace missing ones. Using something like a pair of guns to fly in the air. A prosthetic hand with a sword. They are so much more than they appear, than we subconsciously limit them to."

The examples he gave, Saturn noticed, were from both sides – not just from Takeshi and Tsuna's friends and ally-slash-allies, but also from the side that opposed Takeshi and Tsuna.

"Are you playing Devil's Advocate to not favor Takeshi's side?"

The flames erupted, and a massive explosion shook the entire school. Smoke covered everything, and everyone held their breaths until it cleared.

Both of them were still standing, despite the mess they were, except –

"Is that ice?"

Except Tsuna's opponent, somehow more scarred than before, had his hands covered in ice, sharp and jagged.

The scarred man roared something, and began smashing the iced fists on his knees, trying to break the ice – or his knees, though that was unlikely. Blood covered the odd, unnatural ice on his hands, but he only stopped to run towards Tsuna, murder clear on his face.

And Tsuna, who, despite his own wounds, despite the fight that had just happened, was still calm as he took down the charging man before he could hurt him. Tsuna reached out and –

This time, there was no explosion to hide the burst of light, and the growth of that ice as it encased the scarred man.

Saturn stared at Tsuna, who now had the ring in his hand, and the man who was literally frozen all over, as if he were encased and preserved in ice.

"Admittedly I have my own biases," he said, because the side foretold to win was the side with his reincarnated friends, "but Hotaru-kun, do your friends need protection in this battle? Did they need protection, before?"

Takeshi, whose wielding of his sword had impressed even Venus. Gokudera, who kept himself safe when his opponent was clearly insane. Kyoko's brother, victorious and brightly smiling with his one good arm raised even when she had not healed him. The two that were one that made Saturn wary – who had won, so easily. Hibari, who was, well, Hibari.

And Tsuna, who had flown in the skies, fire blazing behind him in a tail like a comet. Locked in a dance that defied gravity, refusing to stay bound to the earth.

The answer, Sailor Saturn knew just as he did, was no. They did not, had not.

With a gurgle, the last man fell to the ground. Bianchi didn't step close, lest he had a resistance towards Poison Cooking – even her advanced version. Instead, she tossed a cupcake on his face, the frosting sticking to skin before gravity slowly but surely pulled it down. No matter – the proximity was enough to keep him out of the fight now.

Technically, she and Shamal weren't Vongola. They weren't bound by oaths of loyalty, freelancers as they were, and therefore there was no real obligation for them to be here.

Yes, there was Hayato, but still, if it came down to it, Bianchi did not have to be here.

She didn't have to, but she was, out of her own will. She would rather lose half her teeth than admit it was for Tsuna, but she could admit to herself that it was for the surprisingly peaceful life she had found in this town. It was a transient, fragile thing, a candle lit in the wake of an approaching storm, and Bianchi could not step away as if her feet were welded to the ground.

Shamal hadn't said anything, because that felt too much like exposing a weakness, but Bianchi could make a well-educated guess and say that his reasonings were fairly similar to hers.

If it was just Hayato they were worried about in this clusterfuck, they could have knocked him out easily and dragged him out of here. Hardly a challenge, given their specialties. Between her Poison Cooking and his mosquitos, Hayato wouldn't be able to stand a chance.

Their specialties, which, unfortunately, made for poor matchups against elite Varia members.

Another thing that Bianchi would rather maim herself than admit out loud, and her results so far seemed to prove otherwise. Seven men in the Varia uniform lay on the ground, straddling the border between life and death with poison melting in their mouths, and possibly melting the insides of their mouths. She had a lot of ground to cover, because Shamal was at the battle. Something about the Varia knowing he was here, and getting suspicious if he wasn't present at the final battle.

That, and despite his history and infamy as a hitman, Shamal was at heart a doctor. Better that he was there in case a life needed to be saved, not taken, and so Bianchi did not protest to being the main fighter left to protect Nana and Haru and Kyoko. There were seven less people she had to worry about, now.

But taking out seven wasn't impressive if the eighth killed her, and let the others kill those behind her.

The fight was going to get harder from now, Bianchi knew. The next wave would be far more cautious, now that the first wave was down and unresponsive. They probably only sent seven because it was only civilians they were taking out, and she got the drop on them because they didn't expect her. It wouldn't be surprising, if the next wave came in with knowledge of who she was and how to face her equipped.

Her heart pounded, and the tips of her fingers shook a little as she readied some cupcakes. But when she picked the poisoned pastries up, her grip was firm.

'People like to say that poison is a woman's weapon,' Monica used to say, back when Bianchi was still under her tutelage, 'and don't realize that poison is the weapon of a patient person. It's just that between men and women, women have more reasons to learn patience.'

Bianchi wouldn't exactly call herself patient, and her mother was the first to agree, if not outright point out that flaw of hers. But poisoner she was, and patience she garnered until she was making a name for herself with the craft.

How many assassins belonging to the Varia, Bianchi wondered morbidly, could she outlast in patience before death reached her first?

The blinds made it hard to see outside, but Bianchi knew where to look, saw the men watching. Not nearly as carefully as she was, because why would they be careful? They had the advantage.

She wished their cockiness at having the advantage was a trap on her part, their flaw that would lead to their demise, but unfortunately it really was the truth, that she was at a disadvantage. No time to dwell on that, then.

There was a narrow window to hit with the Varia, because their uniforms covered most of their bodies. Heads were really the only places available to actually put them down, preferred targets being eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Anywhere her poison could cause maximum damage.

Bianchi didn't imagine her death. Not because she was foolish enough to think she was invulnerable, untouchable, but because she needed to plan to take as many out as she could.

Nana was a civilian, on paper. Technically. And she was supposed to treat Nana like a civilian, who knew nothing.

But Nana sometimes just gave Bianchi a soft, understanding smile, didn't press on matters that even civilians might raise concerns at, and always gave Bianchi a quiet support that left Bianchi with a mixed sense of confusing unfamiliarity. It was clear she had noticed, that she knew more than the official statement and her civilian status, but she did not push, did not judge.

She merely accepted them as they were, and Bianchi thought she could understand why Sawada Iemitsu could not let go of his family, because here she was, making sure that Sawada Nana and the other civilians were not about to be murdered by the Varia.

The men in the alley moved, and Bianchi stiffened, tensing for an attack. Only, their movements had been jerky actions, uncoordinated and uncontrolled. Not what one might expect from those who operated under the name of the Varia. More like they had fallen after being struck by a blow.

When a different man stepped out, tall, dark, and familiar, Bianchi's mouth dropped open in shock and recognition.

Of all the things that Basil expected of this night's battles, the matter surrounding Xanxus's birthright – or lack thereof – was not it.

But the part of his mind that was trained to think as an agent of CEDEF was working even then, and it made sense, all of it. The reason for why Xanxus was not acceptable as the next head of the Vongola being more than just his wrathful nature.

Had he learned of this before he met Sawada Tsunayoshi, Basil might have sympathized with Xanxus. Probably not to the point of siding with him, but he would have understood his fury a little more – that rage at the importance of blood trumping his talents. It wasn't the same in Basil's case, it was arguably the opposite, because he had always known Matteo was not his biological father, but still. Xanxus could have, in Basil's mind, still been a worthy contender for the position of the Vongola's next boss despite his blood.

Only, Basil had met Sawada Tsunayoshi, and seen just how incredible the other boy was, despite his unassuming appearance. He saw those who were unrelated to this all leap in without needing a second to even think, just taking that blind leap in true faith – not for a god, not for some holy reason, but for Sawada Tsunayoshi, and for him only. How such different people, young and yet somehow unafraid despite odds, be ready to fight for his sake last night, drawn in by that same invisible strength.

It wasn't for his blood that these people followed him, but because he was who he was. Basil witnessed firsthand with his own eyes the strength he was capable of, the determination that shone throughout their training sessions, and in tonight's battles, and he could say that it wasn't just about blood anymore.

"If I can't have them, no one can!" Xanxus shouted, the roar of a wounded beast. "Kill them all!"

"As if I'd let you!" snapped Gokudera Hayato, and in agreement with him, wounded as they were, stood the guardians.

Belphegor cackled. "You're all going to die," he sing-songed.

"Are you blind or something? You're two against five! Who do you think has the disadvantage here?"

"Two against five?" Mammon repeated, derision somehow conveyed perfectly clearly despite the baby's voice that spoke the words. "You are facing an army tens of times greater than this."

Basil felt the blood drain from his face. Oh no.

"Fifty members of the Varia's inner squad will be joining us here very soon – our elite members, next in combat ability only to the main members. They were already on their way because after our boss's victory, they were to wipe out the people here and settle everything."

"Wait a minute," stepped up a Cervello, still strict and stiff in movement and voice, despite the element of surprise threading her words. "We cannot allow any outsiders to interfere in the middle of the battle-"

Belphegor's movements were as fast as lightning, and the Cervello dropped with a scream and a spray of blood. "You think we care?"

"Finally," said Trident Shamal, disgusted, "they show their hand."

"Since they've shown their true intentions, we're stepping in!" snapped Colonnello, hefting up his rifle. "Let us out of here!"

His words snapped Basil out of his surprise, and he pulled out his boomerang.

"Understood," said the other Cervello, leaping back from the body of her fallen partner. "In that case, the Varia side has been disqualified, and the infra-red boundary on the observation box will be deactivated."

Basil nearly jumped out when he saw the thumb descend, but Reborn reached out, arm not budging despite its small size. "Wait. It hasn't been deactivated."

The Varia had been one step ahead of them – they had sabotaged the cage, and made it so that to attempt breaking out would result in their deaths.

Useless inside the trap, Basil seethed.

Hopelessness threatened to swallow him, and when he saw three members of the Varia step into sight, he scourged his brain to find a way to get them out of here. Maybe he could serve as a meat shield of sorts, take the brunt of the explosion, and break the cage to let the others join in the fight? Surely he could manage if he were to enter Hyper Dying Will Mode –

"Reporting, sir!" said the Varia in the middle, as the other two swayed on their feet. "We're he only ones left. The others in the squad have been wiped out!"

Basil doubted his ears for a moment, because it sounded too good to be true. But was this an illusion, and if so, then for what purpose?

Mammon and Belphegor looked just as disbelieving as he felt, so maybe it wasn't an illusion, but reality. But how?

His question was answered shortly after, when the three were struck down, a massive sphere of metal crashing into them and blowing them away, as if they were struck by a storm in its fury.

"What the hell?" the Cavallone's boss said, voicing what everyone was thinking in that moment.

"Don't get the wrong idea, Vongola," said a deep voice. Basil only recognized the face of the man who wiped out the Varia's squad when he finally stepped into sight, from files he had read. The man said to be the strongest in all of northern Italy reeled back the massive weapon into his hand like he held yarn instead of steel chains. "I didn't come here to help you – just to say thanks."

Belphegor and Mammon surrendered, and with that, it was all over.

"You're all useless scumbags," he snarled. But then again, he was the boss of them, and he, too, was on the ground, unable to move, covered in his own blood.

Victory guaranteed, his opponent some kid who had never known blood or the fight, and he had lost.

If Xanxus was a third person looking at this, he knew very well what he would call a person in his position, bleeding out on the ground, defeated.

"Damn you all!" he roared, with every last bit that he had. "I curse you all to death!"

But who listened to the dying cries of the loser?

"Master Xanxus," said the bland voices of the Cervello. They were all the same, that fucked-up group of robotic trash who approached him after he was unfrozen. Cryptic and spewing words even as they supported his attempted – now failed – coup. All that bullshit about how the rings would find their rightful owners.

Xanxus did not trust them, but he made use of them. Just as they made use of him, clearly.

"Since you have been disqualified, you must forfeit the Vongola Rings."

"Cervello," he gritted out at the women who named themselves after the brain, who spoke like the oracles of old days long past.

The brain, some deep part of his memories brought up, felt no pain because the organ itself had no pain sensors. It wasn't relevant, or was it?

"It's . . ." he spoke through the blood in his mouth, "gone according to your wishes . . . You were right . . . Are you . . . happy now?"

Happy that the pathetic trash attempting to seize what blood refused to allow him had fallen to the rightful heir? That this victory would give that trash some kind of legitimacy, something other than just his blood?

The woman at his head, same as all the creepy bitches of the Cervello, didn't change expressions. "We do not have wishes, nor do we predict anything."

He wanted to call bullshit, but his breath was catching.

"Everything was already decided," she said calmly, "your role in this is over."

The role as some fucking stepping stone, so that the rightful heir could defeat the usurper and rise to his position?

But damn it, he was tired. His eyes slid shut, too heavy to remain up. The Cervello gently adjusted his head.

"Thank you for doing your part," she whispered, and that was it before he drifted out of consciousness, probably forever.

AN: It took forever to reach here but yay, Varia Arc is over! After the interlude we'll start Part One of the Future Arc.

Happy 2-year anniversary of Petrichor!

If you haven't seen it already, there's a Soulmate AU story, Anagnorisis. It's for people who are Takeshi/Hotaru and were a) frustrated at the very slow pace in Petrichor or b) are enjoying the crack Hotaru ships this series has to offer. And for the second anniversary there's Makaria's POV of Saturnine.

Honestly the Cervello are still what makes me go 'WTF' in KHR because WTF are they. In Petrichor they're artificial intelligence with limited future sight who are obsessed about the rings of the Trinisette but does that mean there's a fate of some kind? Parallel universes suggest not and they themselves say they don't predict anything, but still. Xanxus is implied to know a little about them, or at least that he was approached with the knowledge that they knew the outcome, but again, very cryptic.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Kyoko: I don't feel like I'm good enough to be Tsuna-kun's friend…

Tsuna: *literally had a crush on Kyoko for years* oh my god she gave me a charm wishing I would stay safe I'm keeping this 5-ever.

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Basil: He is truly . . . the perfect candidate to become Vongola Decimo . . .

Tsuna: no thank you?!

+ﾟ*｡:ﾟ+

Sweet Dreams~