TAGS: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, POV Third Person Limited

Light Angst

Humor, Introspection, Minor Character Study, Arcobaleno Curse

Reborn Is A Troll

WARNING: Not Beta Read


Inspired by this writing prompt: "You have a secret power, you can see colors around people that tell what they feel about you. Gold for love, red for hate, blue for sadness, etc. You make eye contact with a stranger while walking, and for the first time you see the color black."


As soon as Reborn's old enough to realize adults mostly only play along with whatever children say, he realizes they don't actually see the colors like he does. They just play along with him whenever he brings it up, waiting for him to realize on his own this particular bit of his imagination is only that, his imagination, waiting for him to separate it from reality on his own, to "grow out of it" like they like to say.

It's not only the adults either, but other children around him too, everyone else around him but him who don't appear to be able to see the colors around people. The colors that come from people, all of them and in all the possible shades imaginable. From the dullest to the brightest shade of them and from the smallest to the biggest size of them, they swallow the people and the space around them whole, as well as the colors from other people around them.

Reborn doesn't ask "What do you mean you can't see them?" even when it's as natural a part of the world for him as the sky being blue and water being wet, doesn't say "I'm not inventing it, it's real." trying to convince them he does know the difference between his imagination and reality, at the very least when it comes to this. Reborn stops talking about the colors altogether. It puzzles the people around him and so he starts talking about them again, but then slowly and surely, in a subtler and more natural manner, stops talking about them again, letting them assume he "got over that phase of his wild imagination", something else they like to say.

Reborn looks into books and papers and the news, the smartest and most important looking ones the better. He doesn't know half the words he comes across, but he understands the words "colors" and "people" and "people who can see the colors of other people", and he trusts it's enough he won't miss anything important. He asks people too, adults, teachers, the ones with glasses, the ones who look smart and like they'd know about the obvious and important things of the world everyone should know. He's careful not to make them remember his "color phase", asking "What do colors mean?", asking "What do colors mean for people?" when they give him nothing, asking "What's the most important thing I should know about colors and people?" when he's still not satisfied with the answer they give him.

He figures, well, if he sees the colors, then it won't be surprising if other people can too, right? Maybe Reborn just has yet to meet one of them. He figures too that if it is a thing, and not just a Reborn's thing, it's something people would talk about and write about, something they'd research and teach to children like him so they'd know what they're seeing and what everyone else is talking about.

Reborn finds nothing. As far as he can tell he's the only one able to see the colors coming from other people, from everyone he's ever met, and if there's other people like him, then they're keeping it a secret from everyone else.

Reborn, of course, knows better than not to keep it a secret too himself. He grins wide, then bursts out laughing.

Oh, this is going to get him places.

[Whatever that means. He's not quite sure, but it's something he's often being told about his manners, his intelligence, about how good-looking he is, and they always sound proud and hopeful and confident when they say it, so he knows it's something good he should be looking forwards to.]


It gets him places.

Reborn can't know for sure what the colors mean or if they even mean anything at all because he only has himself to go by, but he's pretty sure they do mean something, and is pretty confident he's right about what they mean because he's always been able to put two and two together. He's always been able to put coincidences together and turn them into patterns, has always loved doing that more than anything else in the world, and is rarely wrong with the conclusions he draws from it.

It seems the colors he sees around people are much less about them, and much more about him.

It seems to show him how they feel about him at any given moment.

No, not quite. It shows him the overall impression they have of him, how they feel about him generally speaking, every person keeping to only a couple of colors, if not just the one, with a couple of shades of those same colors depending on the situation. It's only when Reborn acts out of the ordinary with them, only when he does something particularly meaningful and impactful he can see their feelings for him change to a new color he had yet to see. Sometimes that new color lingers for a couple of days or months too, and sometimes it never goes back to the color they used to be.

And oh, does it get him places.

It smoothly gets him through school without a hitch, makes him more than well-liked, and always keeps him surrounded by more people than he can think of what to make of. It makes him be favored and dotted on, opportunities offered to him on a silver platter even when he doesn't ask for them. It makes him a social chameleon both at school and with his peers and everywhere else too, with everyone else he ever comes across too, guaranteeing him a smooth and reliable path to life right to success.

[It makes him more than well-disliked too, well-hated, even. After all it's the easiest thing to do to get on people's bad side when you can see in real time just what makes them tick, what makes them absolutely despise you and wish harm on you, the things that hurt them at their deepest and most fragile core.

And Reborn's so good at it too, better even than at being the exact person the people around him want him to be, loves to watch them burst into bright and deep red color, or purple or green, because he's good with people, but he isn't good with people.

Can't be bothered to be when he can have this instead.]

It makes him even better than he'd already have been anyway when he picks up a gun, when he learns how warm blood looks on him and what it feels like against his skin, what it tastes like and looks like dripping from another person's body until all life disappears from their eyes. It tells him who to trust, letting him live longer to get ever better and stronger in that side of the world, warns him of the people who plan to backstab him or use him before getting rid of him, like they could ever hope to lie to him.

It gets him through college just as smoothly too, with guns hidden under his clothes and ever more blood staining his hands all the while, because he likes it and he's good at it and he's greedy, and he would love to see anyone try telling him he can't have all the world has to offer even if it's damn well the exact thing he wants.

[It would have gotten him a normal job and a wealthy life too, but he already has a job and plans to become the strongest and greatest at it, the guns in his hands already an extension of his body, and there's nothing else he can think of wanting more than that.]

"How can you always tell these type of things?" he hears more times than he could ever hope to keep count of, and he only smirks mysteriously while cackling in his mind.

"I just happen to be very attentive of the world and the people around me," is what ends up being his go-to response.

[It's the truth too, because as mush as seeing people's colors does have a lot to do with it, it's mostly all due to him and his own skills first and foremost. After all it would be completely useless to see colors that tell you how people feel about you, if you didn't also have a good grasp on feelings and how to recognize them and the way they work.

Reborn has that, is so very good at seeing right through people despite the sturdiest defenses they might have, and it's all hard-earned and trained skills. He's good at body language too, at noticing the subconscious minute expressions on people's faces, the involuntary shift of their eyes, the changes in the inflection of their voices, at picking up habits and remembering when and why people act outside their usual routine.

He is extremely attentive of the world and the people around him, loves nothing more but to watch and pick his surroundings apart until he knows them better than they do, so he knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd be just as good with people even without the colors.]


When Reborn first catches wind of people calling him a mind-reader, he earnestly laughs himself to tears, absolutely delighted.

He isn't, of course. He doesn't even have access to their mind at all but their feelings, and even then it's only the feelings pertaining to him, but of course he'll never let them learn any of that as long as he can help it.

Of course Reborn takes full advantage of it, getting people to spill things out to him he couldn't have possibly figured out on his own, because he already knew all of that anyway, right? He more easily gets them to play their cards, has them playing in the palm of his hands more easily than before, all the while taking delight in the newfound wariness-green and guarded-turquoise that color them, and at first it takes everything in him to not laugh at their faces for it.

Mind-reader, they whisper under their breaths in his back and to each other, and Reborn knows better than confirm or deny it, while making sure at the same to let on it could be very much the truth.

[Reborn is a very good liar, so he knows both owning to it or denying it would be nothing but a rookie mistake. When it comes to lies, you don't ever want to be, in fact, lying, because the truth always finds a way to let itself known sooner than later.

No, you want it to be half-truths or not-really-lies, things left unsaid, information being shared only as much as it needs to be and in the way it'll profit you the most. Lying is all about letting other people decide on the truth for you, is all about creating yourself opportunities that weren't there before, and so you don't want to ever commit one way or another lest you prematurely close those doors on your face before you can make use of them.

"Mind-reader," they start calling him, and Reborn only smirks silently, boring his eyes into them.]


[Reborn can't see his own color. He stands in front of mirrors, and periodically keeps standing in front of mirrors even if he's already made it clear he can't see his own color.

It's underwhelming, disappointing. It's like that trope in stories where the protagonist can't use his own power on themself because of whatever narrative purpose reserved for later in the story, except this isn't a story, and so Reborn likely won't ever be able to see his own color no matter how long he waits for it to happen.

It… dissatisfies him a little, if he's being honest with himself. But though he's curious about what he feels about himself and the way he sees himself, he doesn't actually care to know that much. He's sure he can accurately guess what color he'd be anyway because Reborn doesn't know anyone better than himself, and it's because he's always made a point to know himself better than anyone else he's so good at figuring out other people too to begin with.

But Reborn wouldn't be surprised either if his color turns out to be one he couldn't have begun to guess. He holds himself to nothing but the highest standards he bends over backwards to reach them first and foremost before imposing them to other people too, but at the end of the day he's only human too.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, it always nags him not being able to learn his own color.]


Seeing people's colors doesn't save him.

That Checker Face guy is of course plenty suspicious, Reborn doesn't even need his colors to tell him that, but among the disinterested and neutral white and grey, there's also invested-brown and deceptive-yellow. Reborn doesn't need the colors to tell him that either, Checker Face making the most obvious show of baiting him into whatever this is going to be, showing off that clear pacifier of his, but if he truly has the authority to proclaim him one of the strongest, then Reborn supposes he can play along for a bit.

It's the Sky though who really lets him know this Chosen Seven business is all kind of suspicious and wrong, Luce Giglio Nero. She's ablaze with a bright and deep pink, a bonfire that takes up the whole room and probably even further, so thick and swallowing all of them in its embrace, Reborn can barely decipher the sight in front of him through it.

Reborn can barely believe what he sees too, has to doubt it for a moment, because pink is—

[Pink is love, as well as red, though red tends to be more the romantic and, or sexual kind of love, but not always. Reborn figured out those colors long ago, and what of it? He's steadily come across them multiple times too across his life, and what of it?

He loves to pick apart love too, but it's the least interesting thing about people, pink and red being the most boring colors he comes across.

People can do so much more than love each other, and he's always been much more interested in seeing all of that unfold.]

Reborn takes his seat at the table, not letting on anything. It's not that it is unusual for people to feel more than neutral and indifference white and grey about him when he first meets them, because he doesn't always necessarily take notice of them at the same time they took notice of him, but this is entirely too much pink. Too bright, too strong, too much.

There's not only pink though, and it isn't unusual either, people having always been complex beings. This mix of colors though.

Loving-pink and protective-orange, with regretful-blue and hurt-yellow.

Or is that guilt-yellow?

How so very interesting either way, especially when Reborn can't remember for the life of him ever having had any type of meaningful interaction with the Donna before.

He says nothing.

He accepts his cup of espresso after first denying her, though still doesn't touch the cookies, and says nothing.

[Because he's good with people, but he isn't good with people, and when he looks at his tiny hands from his newly toddler body, a heavy and suffocating pacifier around his neck, he can only smirk, because he knows he has only himself to blame for this.

He doesn't look at Luce.]


Viper corners him in the kitchen one early morning like Reborn knew they were bound to do. "Some nerve you have to call yourself a mind-reader," they say in lieu of greeting.

Reborn takes his time to sip his coffee, leaning against the counter. "Did I ever call myself that?"

"So you deny it?" Viper dares, crossing their arms on their chest, flying in front of him, surrounded by superior-gold and irritated-red.

"Can I help you, Viper?"

"I am, in fact, a psychic," they say. "And the Strongest Mist in this world to boot. Should I show you how it's actually done?"

"Don't threaten me," Reborn says casually, still cordial and pleasant, but unmistakably threatening. "I'm quite fond of my privacy."

Viper scoffs. "Like you could stop me?"

"Are you feeling threatened by me, Viper?" Reborn teases then, smirking. "Or is this perhaps jealousy?"

"You tell me, mind-reader."

"I thought I just did though?" Viper silently snarls, red flaring over the gold. Reborn chuckles before taking his leave, bringing his cup of coffee with him. "Think whatever you will, Viper dear. I have nothing to prove to you."


After the Curse, Reborn's able to see people's colors just as well as before. He quickly finds it only adds insult to injury.

The civilian side of the world is fooled by his new appearance, which was only to be expected, but how dares the mafia forget who he is too because of it? And it would be one thing if the Curse had a hand in it, but they still remember and recognize him as the World's Greatest Hitman, still remembers the things he did to earn that title, and he's furious at the superior-gold and condescending-brown and domineering-orange he starts seeing everywhere all the same.

Reborn indulges himself in a killing spree, carving on the bodies he leaves in his wake who he still is, and spelling out for them in the trail of blood following after him to not ever make the mistake of forgetting it ever again.

He teaches them—reminds them to be submissive-blue and wariness-green and terrified-red once more, but it does nothing to soothe his fury.

[How could it? He's still prisoner of a toddler body, with a pacifier around his neck sucking the literal life out of him in the most painful way.]


"A mind-reader, are you now?" Viper asks with scathing bitterness in their voice.

Reborn just wants to drink his coffee in peace, and certainly didn't invite them to sit across from him at the table, nor were they welcomed to. Hurt-yellow and angry-red just don't go along with the taste of espresso.

Reborn could tell them to fuck off because he's not in the mood for this. He could also ask them why they didn't see any of this coming, so-called psychic and Strongest Mist in the world they are, because he's in the mood to lash out on other people just as much as Viper seems to be too. Or he could simply let Viper takes it out on him if it'll get them to leave him alone faster, because they've all already fallen apart anyway, and it'd just be meaningless to bother shattering even more whatever pieces of them are left.

"I am," he eventually settles on simply saying.

Viper bursts into a blinding and bloody red, setting ablaze the whole shop and further still, and Reborn finds he feels nothing much at all at the sight of it.


[Reborn still can't see his own color no matter how long he stands in front of mirrors. It infuriates him, makes him want to tear himself open and spill his essence on the floor, then pick it apart until he makes sense of himself with absolute certainty.

What color is he?

Reborn loves nothing more than watching the world and the people in it, and pick all of it apart until he knows them better than they ever could themselves, but he would give up all of it in a heartbeat for the chance to pick himself apart.]


Sawada Tsunayoshi is everything Reborn's background-check on him told him he'd be, expect he's black.

Reborn's never seen black before.

The boy isn't black right away, starts with the usual neutral-white and mildly intrigued-purple, but faster than Reborn can blink, faster than he can finish saying "I'm Reborn, the home tutor.", the boy turns deep black. And Reborn knows about the suspicions and doubts of deep grey, however much it's veering into black—Colonnello and Skull come to mind—, but actual black?

"Are you for real?" the boy says, wary, but raising a mocking eyebrow, and Reborn knocks him out for it.

He's as black as ever when he wakes up, especially after Reborn throws him over his head slamming him against the floor to teach him some manner again. He's so deeply black Reborn can barely see him, and he barely keeps himself together, keeping on a professional mask.

He points his gun at him, and says, "My real job is to make you a mafia boss. I was assigned by a certain man to train you to become an astounding mafia boss."

The boy doesn't react the way he should. He keeps his calm, keeps himself together, ignoring the gun pointed at him entirely, deeply suspicious eyes boring into Reborn. "Bullshit."

Reborn smirks wider than he should and meant to, but he can't help it. "Bullshit?"

"You haven't been straight with me even once ever since you showed up," the boy says, crossing his arms on his chest. "What aren't you telling me, and who are you really?"

Reborn bursts out laughing before he can have a chance to put up a useless fight to hold himself back, and he laughs loudly and without restraint, and laughs.

Turns out black is the color of utter distrust and disbelief, of people seeing right through his bullshit and calling it out exactly as it is.

How delightful.

Seems like whatever time is left of his miserable life, it won't be boring at the very least.


A/N: I just thought it'd be funny if, from all the people in the world, Tsuna was the one able to smell Reborn's lying ass and bullshit from all across town without even trying lol. I've always thought it'd be funny too if Viper was absolutely infuriated with Reborn calling himself a mind-reader, you know, as an actual psychic and a Mist themself. And it's not funny here, but like. It's meant to be and that's why I have it as a headcanon to begin with lol, oops.

Also you can find Tsuna's version of the same prompt on my profile, called "Color Me (Loved, Please)" (though unrelated to this one in every way)!

I hope you enjoyed the story. Any and all reviews are appreciated.

Thank you for reading!

- Hope