(xiii)
Atsuko isn't omniscient.
Oh, she wishes she were, certainly. But blurry knowledge of the future doesn't make her some kind of prophet, nor does it suddenly give her the ability to be present at every life-altering event of Tsuna's.
Months had passed. Takeshi had become a constant presence in their lives, having even purchased his own Namimori-themed cheerleading outfit, painting those dreadful Monday morning practices with his contagious laughter and uplifting attitude.
His smile was starting to become more genuine. That was good. It was always good, after all, to have a little bit more of an assurance that you aren't going to be ruthlessly murdered in your sleep by your baby brother's pet assassin anytime soon, you know.
And there was Nagi, Nagi who liked murder mystery novels, Nagi who thought that horror movies had the same comedic value as one of John Mulaney's shows.
She grew more and more confident by the day, Atsuko thought. Her introduction to Atsuko's sunshine boy had gone swimmingly.
There were changes afoot, Atsuko knew, and she had thought that to be enough. More than enough.
But when it all came down to it, the truth of the matter is that she isn't a character of Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Morishiba Atsuko is her own person, with a family business to help run, boxing practices to attend (with more of an obligation than say, KHR's demented version of the Golden Trio, at least). She studied her ass off to maintain her class rankings.
She spent every second she could with Sasagawa Ryohei, but let's face it. Ryohei wasn't a main character. Ryohei wasn't there for every single important event.
Atsuko never met Lambo, or Fuuta and I-Pin. She didn't know that Bianchi was in town and if it had been mentioned, then she hadn't heard.
She hadn't been aware of the fact that Dino must have visited.
All of these events, all of these markers that she had tried to be so meticulous about, had flown on by her.
And now, here she was, sitting in a cold, bleak and white hospital room. She doesn't feel very attached to her body, at the moment. She sees what is in front of her and it is almost as if the chair under her isn't there, as if she is observing a scene she was never meant to be a part of.
Ryohei looks so delicate, unconscious. His brilliant, warm silver eyes are closed, his often upturned lips settled into a grim line.
It was wrong. All wrong. Even when Ryohei slept, he had always been so warm. So full of energy, as if he could jump right up with a moment's notice.
But now, here, in this lifeless room, lying on that bed so still, so quiet, with those damned white sheets and—
He looked like her.
Kyoko wasn't crying across from her. Her fingers shook as she played idly with the sheets of Ryohei's not-deathbed, her teeth scraping against her perfectly plump lips until they bled.
"Kyoko," Atsuko felt the name escape her body's mouth. Slowly, as if she were possessed, Kyoko lifted her head up to listen to her Atsu-nee. There was an arm over her shoulder, Miura Haru. The girl was trying to reassure her, but the words were too loud and too high-pitched to Atsuko's ears.
It should be noted that Atsuko despises Miura.
Well, no, actually. Despises is too strong of a word for what Atsuko feels for Miura, which isn't very much. Somewhat actively dislikes is better, she supposes.
While Atsuko had initially been wary of the girl due to her barely-existent memories of her, she had quickly determined that the girl was useless. A damsel in distress. Loud and cheerful and oblivious, fixated upon Tsuna.
Fuck, she was so goddamn annoying.
They had found out about Ryohei's state early in the morning. "Your meds," Atsuko pointed out. She hadn't had time to take them yet. That was bad, Kyoko's unmedicated anxiety attacks were bad.
Kyoko nodded, dazed. Mechanically, she rifled through her bag, but the bottle kept slipping through her fingers. Hana, who had just returned from getting everyone water, immediately, though not unkindly, snatched the bag from Kyoko's quivering hands and obtained the desired bottle. With practiced ease, the girl obtained the correct dosage and held it out for Kyoko to take. Kyoko nodded gratefully and reached for a cup of water, only for Hana to take it first and raise it to Kyoko's lips.
"Thank you," Atsuko said quietly, her eyes once again fixated on making sure that Ryohei's chest was still rising. Her heart skipped a beat every time it fell.
Hana rolled her eyes. "Don't thank me for this," she said and Atsuko understood that kind of loyalty.
Ryohei really ought to marry her, it would be a terrible waste if he didn't.
Ryohei, Ryohei. Her previous, beautiful sunshine Ryohei. His hand was too cold against Atsuko's skin. He was supposed to be so warm that it almost burned, that it made her cold, dead flesh almost feel as though it were alive.
She should have warned him. Told him that he would get ambushed by such powerful opponents. Or maybe she should have been on that run, instead of electing to sleep in because of her stuffy nose.
Maybe, maybe she could have convinced him to run. Maybe she could have kept him safe.
She had known that the Kokuyo arc had been coming, after all. Wasn't that supposed to have been enough? Wasn't that all that those people in the stories, those who had been in her shoes, had needed to save the people that they loved? To change the story to fit their whims?
It wasn't for her.
The doctor had said that Ryohei would be fine. No brain damage or anything, just a bad hit to the head and a few broken bones. He should be awake in a few hours time.
Atsuko would believe it when she saw it.
Part of her wanted to hate Mukuro. To tear him to pieces for what he had ordered to be done to the other half of her soul.
Another part, however, understood that such hate would be pointless. Mukuro is a sad, broken and lonely being—and more importantly, a useful one. Hating him was counterproductive.
And besides, he would probably soon grow to care for Nagi.
How can anyone hate a man that can find it within himself to care for Nagi, of all the exquisite creatures?
Atsuko looked at Ryohei's pale, tanned face once more and felt something stab her, deep within her soul. She could have prevented this, if she wasn't so useless. If she could have brought herself to learn how to fight.
This is it. She's done, oh fuck, she's so done with herself and her unnatural fears.
Atsuko rises up, reluctantly letting go of her everything's calloused hand. "I need some air," she says. Kyoko nods, still dazedly staring at her brother's still expression. Miura looked at her in surprise, but says nothing as Hana informs her that she'll keep an eye on things for now.
Atsuko squashes down the swell of affection she feels for the girl. There isn't any time for that.
Glancing once more at Ryohei's prone body, Atsuko steels herself and leaves the room.
It's time to finally do something.
Kokuyo Land isn't too far away, as it turns out. A bus ride and a short walk away.
Tsuna had mentioned during his visit to the white room that a family member of his had gone missing. Fuuta, she presumed.
This was a dangerous situation, she mused. She had brought a particularly sharp steak knife with her, but she didn't really know how to use it all that well.
Everyone in this universe had Flames, Atsuko remembers. You don't need to be aware of your Flame type to activate yours, but she does recall that a certain level of willfulness needed to be demonstrated in order to make use of them.
She could rely on those, she supposes. Awareness of their existence ought to make it easier to activate them, but the only examples she recalls of this come from the Vongola Tenth Generation, of whom are all noted to be ridiculously powerful Flame users, so she probably shouldn't use them as a comparison point.
Besides, she doesn't have any kind of a Flame conduit, so even if she could activate them then they'd probably be completely useless unless she was lucky enough to be a Mist, which she knew that she wasn't creative enough to actually be.
Nagi, she knew from their many conversations, was sly in a way that she wasn't. Nagi was all underhanded comments and subtlety, twisting other people's words so innocently that Atsuko wasn't even sure that the girl even knew she was doing it.
Atsuko wasn't like that. Atsuko couldn't even create the illusion of life, much less something solid that she could fight with.
If Atsuko had to take a guess, then she's probably a Rain—it made enough sense, she thought. She's pretty good at relaxing atmospheres, right?
Maybe. Who knows.
Atsuko trekked through the wooded area that stood between her and Kokuyo Land. It's a good thing, in retrospect, that Ryohei had always made her go running with him, even if it was just on her bike. Her stamina wasn't too bad.
It didn't make her feel any less relieved when she finally reached the abandoned amusement park, however.
God, this place is creepy. It looked ancient, unkempt as it was. The buildings were falling apart at their seams and dear fuck, someone needed to burn that clown-themed house of mirrors over there down. Immediately.
Taking a deep breath, Atsuko trekked on.
It was odd, being alone here, until she wasn't. Until she could feel hot breath against her neck, clawed digits against her bone-thin arms.
Atsuko turned around and screamed.
The thing, things, were utterly hideous. Their skin was rotting, their eyeballs almost completely black. She couldn't see their pupils. Saliva dripped from one's mouth like a rabid dog and their fingers twitched relentlessly, waiting to be wrapped around her thin, thin neck.
She was surrounded. Surrounded by the fucking Bloody Twins.
Oh fuck, she was going to die.
The thought shot through her mind, permeating her senses. Instincts finally kicked in and she drew her terribly unbalanced steak knife. In her old life, one of her siblings used to be very interested in weapons. He had once told her that every weapon had its own position, its own form to balance with.
She doesn't remember anything about wielding a large knife. Fuck, fuck.
She's going to die, her flesh will be ripped apart by those disgusting claws, no, no, this isn't how it's supposed to end—
How did boxers keep balance, again? Okay, yeah, she knows that—non-dominant foot in front, other foot behind to give more momentum with strikes, bend her knees just enough to balance her weight…
They were starting to approach her. Atsuko gripped her knife tighter, tried to relax her muscles. She wasn't fast enough to escape hardened killers, but she could hope that Mukuro or someone would intervene, right?
She just, she just needed to buy some time. That's all.
Atsuko raised the knife, it was getting closer and closer and—
"This is hardly the place for herbivores like yourself, Morishiba."
Oh, thank fuck. Hibari made quick work of the Bloody Twins, though Atsuko highly doubted that they were really down for long.
And when they got up?
When they got up, they would go do their superior's bidding. They would go and they would hurt people, try to tear into—
No.
"You shouldn't leave them alive, Hibari," Atsuko noted, her grip on the knife finally relaxing. Right, Hibari had gone to Kokuyo Land after Ryohei's incident… she remembers now.
Hibari raises an eyebrow, his cool gaze betraying a glimmer of surprise. "You think I should kill them?"
Atsuko doesn't understand why he's even asking her that. This is Hibari after all, she doesn't remember him having any kind of boundaries in canon. "Put them out of their misery, more like. Do you really think they're still human, now? They can't even form words anymore. They're just a threat, at this point."
Atsuko remembers now, what the Bloody Twins did in canon. They had been close, so close, to killing Kyoko. Tearing her precious, beautiful little sister to shreds on some madman's whim.
They were too dangerous to be kept alive. Atsuko couldn't count on everything happening exactly the way it did in canon.
Hibari's eyes narrowed, so lovely and cold. "If that is the case, do it yourself, herbivore," he says derisively.
Hibari was chillingly beautiful when he fights. Unlike Ryohei, of whom is needlessly showy in his fighting style, no movement is wasted. It was brutally efficient, yet elegant in a way that anyone who paid attention to martial arts could appreciate.
The perfect killer.
He is fifteen years old now, she recalls. Soon to be sixteen. A high school freshman. Whatever it is that he will become… he is not that now.
Atsuko nods. She steps over to their prone bodies and looks down. It's disgusting, so utterly disgusting. They look like rotten corpses, far past their burial date. They aren't human.
They are threats.
Crouching down, unafraid—Hibari is here, after all—Atsuko inhales their rotting stench. Yes, she is doing them a favor, ending this.
Carefully, delicately, Atsuko takes the sharper edge of her blade and runs a line through the throat of the first of the twins. Something inside her squirms, but it is overpowered by the sheer, obsessive need to protect Kyoko.
She can still see it, her slightly glazed eyes, her trembling fingers.
The twin convulsed, choking on its own blood. Its claws kept twitching and Atsuko revels in the fact that it would never graze Kyoko's flawless skin.
The other twitched, but didn't awaken yet. She would have to be quick about this next one.
She could feel the weight of Hibari's gaze on her, heavy and exhilarating. If this were a different situation, then perhaps she would be shivering.
"Perhaps you aren't so herbivorous, after all," she hears Hibari muse. He sounded so...unaffected. And… something else. Something that Atsuko couldn't quite put her finger on. Regardless of his age, Atsuko supposes, Hibari's still pretty fucked up.
They made quite the pair, really.
Atsuko snorts. "No, I still think you're terrifying," she says, brutally honest. He's watching her kill people right now, there isn't much of a point in trying to keep up some kind of facade. "You could snap me right in half. Like one, two, three and there, I'm dead."
"That would be pointless," he says. She raises her knife again. "It would be counterproductive of me to kill a student of Namimori Middle."
Unless you prove to be a threat, goes unsaid.
"Right," Atsuko agrees, her lips quirking up despite her situation. Fucking Hibari. Her knife grazes the leathery skin of the not-corpse's neck. "I'm still an herbivore."
"In some ways," Hibari notes. "If I had been any later, then you would be dead. You cannot fight yourself, you merely take care of the leftovers." He sounds… fascinated, somehow. Atsuko doesn't know how she feels about that.
Atsuko stands up. The first twin finally went still, the next would soon follow. She returns to Hibari's side, humming thoughtfully. "Does that make me a scavenger, then?"
"I suppose it does," he answers and begins striding forward, towards the main building of the park. He doesn't wait for her, but she doesn't expect him to. She follows him, trying to keep pace, but only managing to stay just a few steps behind him at all times.
Taking her pick of the remains of the battles of carnivores…
Sure, why not?
Her knife is still painted red when they arrive.
Idly, Atsuko wonders what Ryohei would think about her now. About the monster she became without his guiding light. She doesn't regret it, taking out these threats to Kyoko's safety.
She hadn't even noticed them in canon. How could she have defended herself?
Atsuko feels a bit dirty, having slit their throats. Hibari's uniform shirt was still a perfect, pearly white—she is glad that he would never touch her. She doesn't want to dirty it, after all.
It's hard to clean out bloodstains.
The main room of the building is spacious, Atsuko notes. There's a couch at the center, green and ratty but comfortable-looking. There is a person sitting on it, causing a hitch in Atsuko's breath.
Rokudo Mukuro is unfairly beautiful, in a different way than pretty much every member of the Vongola Tenth Generation that she's met is. He's all angles and long limbs, haunting gaze and shiny, silky looking hair that unfortunately looks far less ridiculous in person than it ever did in the anime.
Mukuro is the kind of beautiful that could kill you and unlike Hibari, he has the smile that just about sings aloud the fact that he would enjoy every second of it too.
"Oya, oya," he drawls. Atsuko stiffens—all of her carefully thought out (if slightly unrealistic, as to be expected for any plan involving this asshole) plans disappearing from her mind. Shit, shit, she isn't ready for this! "While I knew that you would come here eventually, Hibari Kyoya, I can't say I expected you to bring a friend."
Atsuko gripped her knife tightly, futilely. What good would a knife be against someone who uses illusions?
"You're the one behind the recent trouble, then," Hibari states, clicking open his tonfas. Atsuko can practically feel the tension in the air.
"You're not wrong," Mukuro admits, standing up. "This town is an interesting place, wouldn't you agree? There are so many powerful players here, so many dangerous killers. There's even one right next to you, right?"
Atsuko freezes. "I—"
"We aren't here to chit-chat," Hibari cuts in. "Your idiocy has gone on for long enough. Either desist immediately or be bitten to death."
"So impatient," Mukuro laughs. "Won't you let me finish? I think you'd like to hear the end of my little spiel."
How did this fight go again? Atsuko knows that Hibari's going to lose, big time. But how? When? And what would she do once she was the only one left?
"I've tired of hearing your voice already," Hibari informs him dryly. "Unless your 'spiel' ends with your surrender, then I couldn't care less."
Oh, wow. He's sassy. There weren't very many sassy-Hibari depictions out there—someone ought to fix that.
"Ah, while I'm sure you would love that, you aren't so lucky. In fact, I would venture to say that you aren't lucky at all, considering the fact that you've made contact with Trident Shamal, a hitman of whom kills his targets by infecting them with deadly diseases."
Oh. Oh fuck.
Mukuro smiles, almost innocently. Atsuko forgets how to breathe for a moment.
"Like the one that you've contracted from him now—sakura-kura disease."
Hibari's hand reaches for his neck and Atsuko can see the red welt against his alabaster skin. Shit.
"Now, normally this would be completely harmless—after all, it isn't like sakura blossoms are in season or anything, so you wouldn't be in danger of say...losing your balance in the middle of a fight for your life," Mukuro continues on conversationally. He flicks his hand in an almost-careless motion.
The room turned pink with scattering petals. The scent of sakura blossoms consumed her senses, the touch of the petals against her skin sent shudders down her spine. Intellectually, Atsuko knew that they weren't real. It's impossible to get this many on a short notice in this season. But they felt so real, so flawless that they could even trick Hibari's body into having a reaction.
This is the power of Mist Flames.
Hibari swayed. "It's no matter," he gritted out. "I don't need my full balance to take care of you, pineapple."
"Oh? We'll see about that."
The fight was brutal.
Hibari's entire fighting style relied solely on his balance. While he was still strong, he was no match for Mukuro's far more efficient, faster blows. It only took about ten minutes for Mukuro to take him down.
He'd been playing for five of them.
"Such a silly skylark," Mukuro says, warm words contrasting heavily with the acid underneath. "I've buried so many people just like him—idiots who thought themselves invincible, only to find themselves laying at my feet in just a few minutes time. Don't you think it's sad?"
He was talking to her. Shit.
"I, um, think that it's a pretty dirty trick," Atsuko says, internally stabbing herself with her knife. "If an opponent's too powerful for you to take on directly, then isn't it better to just not do it at all? It's not like defeating Hibari actually benefits you."
"Oh, on the contrary, he isn't too powerful at all," Mukuro says, his smile far sharper than her knife ever could be. "However, if I gave him an honorable fight then he would still be intact—still prideful, still arrogant. It's so much more satisfying to usurp a fool at his lowest."
"Oh, wonderful," Atsuko said, glaring at him. "So you're just an asshole on a power trip. Got it."
"Please, as if you have any grounds to lecture me on, girl," Mukuro said. He strode forward until there were mere inches between them. "After all, aren't you the one who slit my men's throats in their slumber? How are you any better than I am?"
Intentions. That was it, right? Her moral high ground. She wanted to protect Kyoko, had to protect Kyoko. "They were hardly men," Atsuko scoffed. "They were just monsters built on human skeletons."
"Their names were Jiji and Djidji," Mukuro informed her. "Certainly, they weren't very intelligent, but I think it's quite sad that their stint of freedom from prison had to end so abruptly."
"I think it's sad that they were ever born, but that doesn't change anything." She refused to feel guilty. She did it because she had to do it.
He was close. Too close.
"Your hand is trembling over that knife of yours," Mukuro noted, amused. "Do you intend to paint it red with my blood as well? While I'm so close, just within the reach of your blade?"
Atsuko took a breath, feeling her lungs shake with the effort it took to breath again, to take in this awful sakura-infused air. "No, not really," she said.
Bracing herself, Atsuko met Mukuro's heterochromatic eyes. "I just don't want to die again, that's all."
Metal clattered to the floor.
"What?"
A/N
Whelp… I just wanted to introduce main character #3 already, but Atsuko wanted murder so that happened, I guess?
The beginning scene is what would have happened if Kyoko found out about Ryohei's incident before school started, thus arriving at the hospital before he woke up and not having to pretend that she believed his bullshit story.
Hopefully this chapter wasn't too off-putting for people. Please tell me what you thought!