In the empty shipping warehouse, huge pinboards line the walls with names from a hundred up to four, only the top three left off for a big reveal later. Hitmen mill around, finding their names, finding people higher that they can challenge and win against to move up the rankings.

It's complicated because most hits are meant to be quiet, or some are really specifically meant to be loud or messy, and that does have consequences on the rankings. But that's what the challenges now are for, because the ability to kill does win out over any more subtle tactics. Kill someone higher, you take their spot. That simple.

Some bright pink and black masked Cervello, to keep it neutral, are watching the fights going on in other empty warehouses, and they also had a large hand in judging the initial list. The actual impartial committee is made of independent guilds and famous freelancers from all over the world, either still active or retired.

Reborn comes late, after most of the fights have already finished. He planned to get here early and stare intimidating at the weaklings so they know their place, but got side-tracked because everyone realised Verde can use flames to harden his skin and muscles to lock his body in place.

They promptly forced the scientist to arm wrestle Fon.

Verde held out for a long time until it just became a battle of stamina so of course Fon won. Fon then proceeded to win every other match, even with Colonnello literally using his entire body weight.

And then Skull set his hand on fire, and while Fon was still fully willing to take that challenge head on and would probably win, Reborn didn't want to have to heal that. It was announced as a tie and Fon looked very grumpy until Skull did that cute-wombat-peering-up-at-you-waiting-for-pats schtick and Fon melted.

So Reborn gets to the warehouse late, parting the crowd around him like a shark passing through a school of fish. He's never participated before, just rejected the request to monitor his hits outright, because he wanted his first time to be winning first place, but he has spectated.

Nothing much has changed since last year. Right in the middle, someone has set up rows of folding chairs. A lot of the Dons or scouts interested in this event are already sitting, probably more currently watching the fights happening, all of them waiting to hear the announcement later of who's going to be the World's Greatest.

It's Reborn, of course.

Reborn takes his seat at the very front, closest to the stairs heading up to the stage. No need to make the entrance complicated when he already knows he's getting the title. Trying to edge around people in seats is so annoying.

A like-minded woman takes a seat only a few places down from Reborn, flipping a long pin-straight blond ponytail over her shoulder. Val is a hitwoman by family trade, following the footsteps of her mother and grandmother and so on, for apparently fifteen generations. Reborn remembers a moment where it became iffy about if she was classified as a hitwoman or an assassin because of her family status.

In Mafia terms, a hitwoman is freelance, neutral. She can lean towards a famiglia but can't work exclusively for them. An assassin belongs to a famiglia, such as the Varia assassins in Vongola, or a Triad assassin like Fon. Val proved her freelance status after she got a hit to kill a cousin and completed it beautifully.

They've worked on a few jobs before, have met in bars and during large scale galas. She's good at what she does. Really good. But they both know Reborn is better so there's no need to get competitive this late in the game.

She smiles and Reborn nods back. He used to think, in the lonely moments, that maybe she would make a nice Rain Guardian.

Lal will never know about that.

After the challenges stop and the bodies are taken away, everyone heads to the seats and waits patiently as the committee starts listing off the top 100, including any changes made from the fights before - because about a dozen people have died and maybe half a dozen more have conceded defeat.

The third gets called up, a Japanese man known for poisons who shyly accepts the third place prize of a year's worth of free 'cleaning' services.

The second best is a woman that is an expert at lockpicking, usually killing her victims when they're sleeping. She bounces up to the stage, blowing kisses out at the crowd and waving happily. She gets a money prize and stares at the cheque in her hands proudly.

Reborn uncrosses his legs and smoothes down his suit. No one's taking pictures but he wants to look his best. He regrets, a little bit, not bringing the others. He wanted to play it cool and be like 'oh it's no big deal, just brought home a title, yeah I guess we can frame it or whatever' but actually he's so excited for this and they can definitely feel it through the bond judging by Viper's increasingly curious poking.

The committee member at the stand finishes applauding as second place heads off the stage and turns back to the crowd. "And now, what you've all been waiting for - can I have a round of applause for the first place, the World's Greatest Hitman; Valerie!"

Val stands up, a wide grin splitting her face as everyone goes wild, cheering and applauding. The crowd surges, chatting about how Val has her whole family behind her, and she's been getting jobs straight from old blood famiglias for a while now, and wasn't that last hit for the Russian Bratva incredible?

Reborn blinks.

Val walks past to get to the stage and it feels like Reborn takes a step back mentally, everything a bit muffled and his body numb.

Not even in the top hundred. Well, maybe Reborn's just not good enough. Maybe he doesn't get this, doesn't deserve it. He could quit while he's young enough to find another career, probably find a famiglia to settle down at as a Sky.

If it's a powerhouse, they might even give him a private island to keep him on. Wouldn't that be nice? He'd give them an heir; he has great genetics, not allergic to a single thing. People would pay a lot for him.

But people pay a lot for him now.

Because he's the greatest.

And every fucking person in this room knows that, giving him confused glances, Val looking down at him from the stage, people's murmuring now faintly audible under the slowing applause.

Reborn stands up and the committee member at the stand stutters in his speech, fumbling over the reason Val was picked first, and Reborn just now realises that the entire committee was watching him from the start, ever since he stepped foot into this building.

"What position am I?" Reborn asks darkly and his voice carries, stretching over the crowd and sinking in.

The committee member keeps talking despite the cold sweat that builds on his forehead and the crowd ripples, shifting away from the Sun who quickly starts looking like a blackhole.

Reborn's next exhale spills shimmering particles of sunshine that waft through the air, almost stunningly bright as his killing intent drains the light from the room.

The main committee member has become silent, microphone trembling in his grip. The rest of the room is still, watching.

Reborn breathes in their fear and it does nothing to satisfy him. "Do not. Make me repeat myself."

Another person on the committee steps forward, a Cervello. "You…don't have a rank."

Reborn doesn't know what expression he makes but chairs scrape across the concrete as people rush to stand, the edges of the crowd stretching and pouring out through the exits. The people on the stage have their weapons drawn, the so-called World's Greatest with a rifle in her hand and a determined expression, ready to defend her position.

The committee member has dropped his microphone but Reborn still hears him past the chaos of the stampede. "A hitman is a hired killer, a freelancer! You're a Sky, Reborn. No Sky is freelance, you were disqualified."

Reborn's next inhale burns all the way down. "I wonder if your successor will say the same, when I present to them your heart, ripped out of your cold fucking corpse."