Namimori was a small, quiet town two and a half hours away from Tokyo by bullet train. Averaging between 175,000 and 225,000 permanent residents, it sat between a low mountain range and the North Pacific coast, giving it sunny, humid weather throughout the year. Snow fall during the winter hadn't hit over 2 feet in the past decade, and the proximity to the ocean promised slightly milder winters compared to rest of Northern Japan. It wasn't known for any specific trade or world heritage site, but it was praised as an "ideal place to raise a family."

Namimori was exactly the kind of place a mafia heir would be hidden away, safe from prying eyes or potential dangers and even safer from the heir's own curiosity. It was not by mistake or chance that Tsunayoshi remained ignorant to who he was, and Iemitsu's caution, almost paranoia, made sense after the Beccio famiglia's precious heir got himself blown up attempting to discover his family ties. That was a very unpleasant incident.

I could easily picture a young Iemitsu alighting on this town and using it as a place to safeguard his wife and child. He'd walled off the area from interference and purposely cultivated a sense of unchanging normality over the course of 5 years. I knew from the legers cataloging his missions that he'd overseen the Nest project in person, holing up in Namimori during the early years of Tsunayoshi's life. There were one or two arms of the Japanese yakuza located in the small city back then, but each had been silenced, heads crushed on their own turf. Iemitsu had not stopped there, and a veritable war had taken place over the right to command the North. The opposing side had lost, badly.

Kabuto-kai reigned supreme at the time of Tsunayoshi's birth and even now the remnants of the super power still held on despite the gutting received from Iemitsu and co. Colonello had drilled into my head the hierarchy of the Eastern mafias, and Kabuto-kai had been memorable for its never-ending concentric subordinate groups. The Hachimanza at the time had been particularly ambitious, and within the then limited reports from Vongola espionage, there were over a hundred citations of his work, hundreds more of his pet projects. The Hachimanza was the creator of the modern iteration of the Black Books, and through Kabuto-kai he dyed Northern Japan red in a conquest for land, wealth, and power. Formidable on his own, he had apparently excelled at capturing the hearts of talented underlings and should have become the Oyadama of Japan.

What a disgrace it must have been then, to be exorcised by a lion of mixed blood all for the sake of a little chick barely strong enough to raise its head. Iemitsu was many things, but fool he was not. He knew if he played the part of the cuckoo, he would have to clean the sky of any hawks. At the end of those 5 years, he played his plan out to its zennith and disappeared, firmly enshrouding the little chick in total anonymity, casting a shadow so far and opaque even the talented young Tehen was blind to its true form. Iemitsu's shield was impenetrable, and so long as he never came back, his precious child remained untouched.

How much blood had been shed for this boy? How many sacrifices on the part of his father, on the part of his mother? Iemitsu took up the role of a dead man to keep them safe, and despite his adamant claims that Nana remained untouched by any knowledge of bloodshed, there's no way it's true. The never-ending stream of letters, reports really, from Nana over the years were as much for Iemitsu's benefit as Tsunayoshi's. In that house was a quiet lioness.

Tsuna, if Iemitsu's pet name is to be believed, do you know how precious you are? Do you know how loved you are? Do you know your safe haven is only kept safe by iron hands constantly shielding it from sight? Do you know the disappearance of Namimori is one of CEDEF's most well executed missions, that it is one of the longest running games of endurance on foreign land? Do you know what you have? What you were given?

Poor child, precious child, spoiled child. With a such a cleverly hidden barrier and a welcoming sense of slow, lazy peace your home reminds me a lot of Cosorini, Cosorini that became the seeding ground of a Vongola lynchpin.

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The apartment unit had already been purchased for me in a complex equidistant from Tsunayoshi's house and the middle school. After staring at the worn structure for a full minute, Reborn dumped me at the door with a "ciaossu," and a warning not to wander until he got back. Apparently I'd have enough to do inside, what with unpacking the boxes of clothes, furniture and equipment he'd seen fit to order. There might've been less if I'd been allowed any say in the damn baby's shopping spree, but as you can probably guess, any input from me was immediately vetoed.

My escapade through the streets of Tokyo did not inspire confidence, as Reborn put it, though how exactly a trigger-happy baby in a fedora was supposed to make me feel confident I have no clue. Reborn did not acknowledge any double standards in his evaluation of me (insert rolling of the eyes). At least the packages were put in their correct rooms as per the moving men, and if they really did have instructions tagging them, the work of unpacking should in theory be halved. In theory. Once again, when Reborn has ideas, he doesn't tend to care what anyone else says. At all. Brat.

Unlocking the door and stepping into the cool of the AC, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to whatever set up Reborn had for me.

I promptly screamed.

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~One minute later~

At my feet lay the "corpse" of an inflatable Reborn doll the bastard had strung up from my ceiling and armed to spring into my face as I walked in. How the hell did he manage to do it?! We were together on the whole journey here! The stupid ass bee-bee gun I'm allowed to carry worked, of course, but now I have who knows how many rock-solid pellets lying all over the floor.

Oh, and you know what else? He lied.

There are no notes, the boxes are NOT in their rooms, they are EVERYWHERE, even in the damn tearoom! There are tatami mats in there, damn bastard! There was a fucking massively heavy box in that room, and I'm going to skin him if it turns out the damn safe (of all things!) he dumped in there leaves marks! IT'S THE ONLY ROOM I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO! IT'S QUINTESSENTALLY JAPANESE! BASIL HYPED MY UP FOR THAT SHIT AND I'LL KILL HIM IF IT'S DAMAGED!

Damn baby, damn stupid, demon, asshole, child. I hate him. HATE. The whole inner kitchen room is covered in post-it's with scrawled, puffy Japanese kanji all over them. It's kanji. It's not even hirigana. I can't read kanji. I can't read the obnoxious banner he has hanging over the sliding door to my room, but you can bet your ass I can guess what it says. The Sailor Moon and Osomatsu characters sticking their tongues out at me speak for themselves.

Fucking. Asshole.

Allow me to share some of the details of my new (trashed) apartment. My unit is the fifteenth and last on the top floor of a gray, cement, five story building, conveniently located nearest the stairwell to the bicycle lot. I don't have a bike yet, and if the mess in here is anything to go by, I'm not sure I want one. Trusting Reborn (which I advise you to never do. If you do, fuck you for ignoring me and good luck with the bastard) I will get a bag of parts and instructions in proto-Mandarin to try and decipher how to put it together. It has happened. Remember, he is not the only demon child around, he has "friends." But according to my current mood, Reborn is the member of the happy hell babies that is going to die by bleach if I ever see him again. I'll rig a bucket and dump that on him, see how it feels. Where the fuck is he going to stay anyway? I'll find out.

Moving on.

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This apartment throws long, and aside from the fancy little tearoom to the right of the gray-tiled genken, it's a pretty normal Japanese apartment. On the left wall opposite the tearoom is a recessed wooden cupboard for shoes and that narrower part of the entryway opens into a larger hall that should be a mixed dining room/kitchen space at the center of the unit. I would be more certain if it wasn't being eaten by boxes.

The end of the lopsided hall-room-place has a pair of sturdy shoji doors that are part of the wall dividing a small office space from the kitchen side of the unit. Long kitchen, jut of wall, empty space for a desk or safe or whatever monstrosity Reborn gave me, then a wall with sliding doors for my room. All this on the right. On the left, opposite this weird alcove, is a plain frosted door leading to the bathroom. Everything, and I mean everything, is covered in posters of mocking cartoons, kanji, and boxes. The only way I know what I'm looking at is because of the layout I memorized on the train while stuck with Reborn.

Again, I have no idea how he managed to do this. Even as murderous as I feel, I can't help a tiny, smidgen of respect. Just a smidgen.

But I digress.

There was no way was I listening the green psychopath for a good two and a half hours on our train ride, I don't care how illiterate and stupid I seem. Ain't happening. I paused ripping down the banner from the tall ceiling, foot mashing whatever was inside the box I chose as a step stool. My momentary lapse of focus led to a painful crash to floor and after curling into a ball of pain, I stared at all the papers stuck on the walls. A very annoying, very likely truth was beginning to form in my head, and all at once I kicked my legs out and yelled,

"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! ALL THIS BECAUSE I HATE THE GREEN MENACE?! ARE YOU FOR REAL?!"

Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, this was absolutely because I rebelled and refused to use the language learning set Verde came up with. Oh yes, that was why he did this. Baby hitmen have issues with insubordination and rebellion of any kind; the Menace is exactly the same.

An evil, slightly manic grin came over my face as my fingers dug into the fake wood flooring and scrabbled into fists.

"I refuse your challenge, you bastardo bambino. I refuse to give in."

Rising from the floor and my toddler-esque tantrum (I'm not above labeling things for what they are) I grabbed my backpack and retreated to the empty tearoom to recuperate. Flopping onto the floor and opening a packet of classic pocky, I stared out the long window across the door, moving to open the two-pane glass and let a breeze ruffle the gauzy white curtains installed above. Dark wood, green tatami, and a gentle breeze soothed the irritation and mild but growing fear roiling inside. Leaning my head into the wall with a light thump, I closed my eyes and tried to center myself, to disperse the growing feeling of being overwhelmed.

Yes, I was angry, and yes, I was annoyed, but underneath that fiery but shallow set of feelings was an entirely different vortex of emotions and problems. Munching quietly on the pocky and trying, and failing, to hold onto my anger, the quiet silence of the room opened up the pandora's box simmering underneath my ire.

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This job is nothing like any of my previous charges, and I knew that, and I was prepared for that, but I was not prepared for what it would feel like. I thought knowing what I was getting into, and being given some respect or leeway, just being treated as myself would make things easier, but it isn't. I'm used to being a tool, mindless, soulless, a yes man. I don't think that's what Reborn wants from me, and being in this unit is making that very clear, even if in the end that conclusion is confusing.

The pranks, as annoying as they are, are personal, not generalized hazing. That's scary, but in a way, touching. Evidentially Reborn has tried to figure me out, and this grand display of "I'm in charge you fool" has done its job of reminding me of everything I've tried to ignore. I'd put Reborn's expectations, Nono's expectations out of my mind until now, but under the obnoxious notes, I'm reading the memo loud and clear: "you're on our payroll, make sure you deliver."

The question is, deliver what?

Prior to this moment, the job didn't feel real, and not feeling real was partly me denying that I was being sent on another job. My jobs don't go well, that's a fact, and I never expected to be sent to do anything that required nuance or finesse. I hate Ricardo, I want him dead and burning in hell, but hating the enemy never (so far) blinded me to the truth, and that is that he is a shrewd, astute man. I really did think I'd attain some sort of freedom with all my screw ups and it was a mistake to think that idea would stay under wraps. It was another mistake to the Rosemary was a confidante.

I will not make the same mistake twice.

This job, this situation was not in the cards, and I didn't really think that I'd be allowed to get this close to the heir. My track record is probably screaming the lack of wisdom in that choice, yet here I am. I thought Nono would change his mind, I especially thought Reborn would get rid of me after that call went through, but nothing happened and I am still here, sitting in the nicest apartment I've ever had. Nono said he'd provide everything, and I think I finally believe it.

This time, I'm not in a tiny coffin-apartment sharing provisions with the lowest members of the mafia. I've been given my own space. That alone is hard to comprehend.

How can I put this more clearly? I'm a henchman, I'm not even a henchman, I'm a drop out that never got certified and has been dumped all over the place like a ticking time bomb. I have lived in bad places and done bad things. I have had pretty much zero expectations for success, and I have been forced to do the jobs people hope will fail. Then I didn't live up to those expectations, which meant I made enemies, lots of them. There are at least two mafia famiglias that hate me, and I have possibly alienated a third all in the span of three years. I'm a bad choice politically, I'm a bad choice experientially, and I have done nothing to improve my image. So the fact that I'm still here is disconcerting.

That is why the changes didn't feel real until I saw this building and realized I really am going to live here, and I really am going to have to watch out for this kid. They really think I can do this. This is not a one-off mission, it's not go in, kill, steal, spy, whatever and get out, and if you don't, make sure any potential evidence is untraceable, no. This is a chess game, it's CEDEFs plan of endurance. It's the first time anyone has asked me to take a job where I'm important enough to warrant this kind of treatment, and I'm scared. I don't know how to play that kind of game, and I'm starting to get my hopes up: I don't want to fail.

That's worrisome.

I know the history of this place, kind of, but I don't know the rules to this game. I don't know how these people play mafia, and I'm not sure what Reborn wants, not really. The fact that I'm not allowed a real gun, that I'm to keep a bee-bee or paint gun instead is already very strange, and it completely throws all my expectations off balance. I was serious when I asked for the Springfield, because even if I don't want to kill anyone, people sure as heck want to kill me. So if I'm not allowed a real weapon, does that mean I'm not supposed to take lethal force against opponents? Is that really okay? How am I to handle legitimate threats, to myself or to Tsuna?

I can't tell what people want from me and I can only surmise that what they want is not what I thought, and it's not what I've been trained for, what I am used to.

Reborn hasn't been clear on what his goals are for me, and I don't know what I want from myself either. Everything I was aiming for Ricardo figured out, so now there's this yawning emptiness stretched out in front of me. I've been ignoring it since that call, but noI can't now, not with all these other worries grinding away at my mind. I'm aware that I'm vulnerable, naked right now. I don't have any personal ambitions or goals, I'm a little lost, and I want Nono and Reborn's approval, because it's hard not to want people of skill and power to acknowledge you, to bring you up on the ladder. If I'm elevated, I'll be strong enough to handle…people. That's dangerous, very dangerous. The last time I wanted that I-

Never mind.

I'm being treated like I have worth, as I am.

What does that mean? Is it my flame? Reborn has shown no interest in that, and there's no way he's unaware. I do have a strong lightning flame, but I haven't used it, it's rusty, and it's truly never been my forte. I can't control it well, I didn't receive instruction for it at the Academy, and I only have marginal use of that thing because of Colonello.

Is it my ability to strategize? I've made plans and I suppose I've proved that I can read my surroundings, but I don't know if I could be called an endurance fighter. Mostly I've just tried to stay alive. I've never decided what I should to do to threats, only followed orders or rejected them. Reborn seems like he's prepping me to be more independent, and is that a good thing? I can handle flipping off the boss, I don't know if I can handle forging a path on my own.

Maybe that's Reborn's point.

I want this job to work., at the very least because if I fail, I die. There was a time I didn't want to live, where I considered if it was worth it to struggle against the world, but that time is over, a moment of weakness overcome by a surge of – something. I'm going to live, and anyone who wants me dead can suck it.

I want to live, and I want this space. I like it.

Is that enough?

I opened my eyes and stared at my hands, feeling something heavy and sad settle in my chest.

"Is it enough? Is it okay, to want this?" I whispered.

The wind fluttered the curtains again and I looked up, watching as the sun settled a little further in the sky, afternoon rays strong and unabashed. A wisp of a memory tugged at the back of my mind,

Birdy, you fly wherever you want to, you do what you like. Otherwise, I'll roast you alive!

I smiled.

"Alright."

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Eventually I made my way back into the rest of the apartment, considerably less spooked now that some of my consternation had been settled. What can I say? Sometimes you need a good think.

The small mountain of boxes still sat in the kitchen up against the right wall here and haphazardly piled there where I'd tossed a few rescuing the tearoom. No regrets. The opposite side was taken up by the kitchen, a patch of counter space leading into a shallow sink, more counter space, two diagonally set gas burners above some sort of oven/grill all ending in a section of that same flat white countertop. I'd never be able to hide a single mess in this cooking space, and I had to question the functionality, the sense of making a kitchen completely white. Wasn't that the worst color for stains? While the color, or lack thereof, was concerning, there was plenty of cabinet space above and below the counter, leaving only a narrow gap near the ceiling. There was a noticeable lack of dishwasher or oven.

"Well, it's just me, so I guess won't need them anyway," I muttered, moving to look at the rather small fridge and freezer unit, gauging the size and fiddling with the impressive microwave balanced on top. It was a somewhat surprising gesture, not having to set up these appliances myself, and my eyes narrowed.

"There's something fishy about this."

Circling it from side to side, it was squashed between the counter and the wall, I tried to suss out any pranks. The fridge looked innocently back at me. I sighed, giving up. There was no way I'd be able to hoard leftovers and takeout in this fridge, not even a two weeks supply of ingredients because of how small it was. Seriously, it came just to mid-chest height, and I'm only 5'3! Groaning, I threw my head back in despair. Grocery shopping and cooking. On top of everything else he was going to have me do (of which I still really had no clue), I was going to have to go grocery shopping and cook, every week.

"…I'll pickle and can everything, survive on snacks. There's no way I'm grocery shopping once a week. I'll die."

I thought the worst of the boxes had been in the kitchen, but no, Reborn had hidden a present in the office space right before my bedroom. I had ignored it my earlier tantrum. There were no lights in this alcove and I had the sudden premonition that the boxes, stacked all the way up to and touching the ceiling, were about to fall. One box stood alone at the foot decorated with a bright note, and bending down, I ripped it off.

"…Damn you Reborn."

In a speech bubble of a cartoon drawing of said hitman, written in cutesy katakana bubble letters were the words: "For the illiterate plebeian. P.S. This is a tetris wall. Pull the wrong box, and they all fall down. Good luck!" I stared at the wall of boxes unblinking.

"Nope."

Ripping open the "present," I glared. Inside was a sleek pair of headphones, a green device similar to an iPod (named rather obnoxiously as a "V-player" after the creator) and a case full of little flash drives. I didn't need the tag to know it was the language learning device that I'd used while I lived in China, the same one Reborn had handed me on the train which I had promptly refused. Unpleasant memories of that time filtered into my head before I plunked the machine on the counter and shoved it away, foul look on my face. Was it useful? Absolutely. Did it work? 100%. Was I willing to listen to Verde's voice for 200+ hours? Hell no. That was the reason I'd rejected the damn thing in the first place! Walking to the bathroom, I muttered,

"I still refuse to accept this. I acknowledge you, damn freak, but I refuse to use that thing. Not until I have to. I don't have to, so I won't. No way."

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The bathroom, much like the rest of the house was pristine white. A toilet stood alone in a small closet off to the left, the main room containing a regular sink with shelves flanking the mirror, top open washer sandwiched next it and the wall. Clean, simple, workable, and free of boxes. I almost cried in relief.

The bathing area was not so satisfying. Essentially a large rectangle, the first half was blue tiling that crept from the floor halfway up the wall, a low step coming out to create a shelf under the two shower heads that looped close to the ground. A drain ran along the side of the tub, and I ignored totally the pyramid atop the bath cover in favor of examining the mirror installed on the right-hand wall. I'd never really been one to look at myself closely as I bathed, and I wasn't sure how the heck it could be useful because, ya know, steam? After checking it wasn't secretly bugged or two-way glass (that would be heinous to put in a girl's bathroom, but hey, 'twas the mafia) I let it go and checked the long window of distorted glass blocks. Everything seemed nice and private, so I left without a backward glance at the Reborn figurine hanging from my ceiling.

I refused to acknowledge the cretin. Once was enough.

Sliding open the doors to my room, I breathed a sigh of relief. Sunlight poured in through the balcony doors, white gauzy curtains similar to the tearoom's hanging down to the floor and brushing against the stairs of the lofted bed space. The large open area underneath had been left clear, two smooth, round, thick supports propping up the top space in the same pale, orangey wood as the floor. An AC unit hung over the entrance and I could see the painted heater on the wall opposite the loft, several lumpy packages and my tiny looking suitcase keeping it company. A bare bar sat across the railing outside, weeds growing up through the brick of the balcony.

It felt still, empty, lonely.

For a moment more I stood in the center, unmoving. It was empty, it was lonely, but it was mine. Something leapt in my chest at that thought, and like an automaton come to life, I pulled the balcony door open, slid out the screen and locked it in place, before turning back to the zoo of boxes in the rest of the house. It was time to work!

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Three hours passed and I was thoroughly done and ready to murder Reborn, again. The stupid baby had bought ridiculous numbers of room specific cleaning products, furniture with complex, Japanese only instructions that rivaled IKEA, multiple different kitchen gadgets, cookware and spices but no actual food!

"Unfucking believable, of course, OF COURSE HE DOES THIS! Why didn't you see this coming, huh Bella? Why didn't you think of that when you came in? Why didn't you actually OPEN THE REFRIGERATOR?! You see, THIS WAS THE PRANK!"

Resting on my newly put together table was a bowel of flowers I'd found on the center shelf inside the fridge with a note saying: "Check the freezer."

There had been nothing but an empty tray for ice and a pop-up paper clown with a sign that read: "Psyche! Learn to fend for yourself."

I yanked at my hair and kicked an empty box across the room, scattering package materials all over the floor. "WHERE THE HELL DO I FIND FOOD!?"

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In another part of Namimori, sitting atop a wall with a pair of binoculars, a small hitman smiled. Stroking Leon's back he said,

"Your idea was very good Leon. Let's see how she handles this new challenge."

His smile turned evil as the sound of angry huffing and the slam of a door registered through the bug. He would have to wait for her to discover the loose floor panel in the kitchen. In the meantime, he was satisfied that his apprentice had broken through the slump she'd been in since his last test. A faint buzz resonated from his suit pocket and flicking open the sleek phone, blue light briefly showed a promising caller. Crossing his legs, Reborn settled into a comfortable slouch.

"Good evening Nono. I have a something of interest to report."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It's about the girl. There are some changes that need to be made regarding the underlings."

"I see. I trust you've done your research."

"Marco sent the files to Ganache to look over. He should have a finalized report on your desk by this evening."

"Hm. How goes your preparations? Nothing amiss?"

"As expected. Iemitsu's work is solid; the boy is relatively…normal. Slightly worse than a blank slate, nothing unmanagable."

"Hm. And the girl? Is she shaping up to your expectations?"

"Yes, I think she'll do. For the present, she's accepted the situation and begun adjusting to command."

"You're confident, then."

"For now."

"Then I shall proceed with her candidacy through Iemitsu, but keep things quiet on your end. Don't overwhelm her, or give her a chance to run. You've seen Ricardo's report?"

"I have. I think in the future it would be best to keep those two away from each other. He makes her unstable, which makes more work for me."

Nono hummed.

"Perhaps a more…indirect approach is warranted, given the past results. You're sure?"

"Bella is not Mancini. She is not easy to control, but she is not malicious and plotting. In fact, she's a lot less clever then she'd like to think. Leave the girl to me. If she needs looking at, I'll handle it. The last thing we need is a guardian with a grudge against the boss."

The elderly man sighed.

"That's true. Well, in that case I'll notify Colonello, have him turn over the files. I expect you'll do better with her than the others, though Iemitsu and the rest should be praised."

Reborn hummed, eyes flashing as he watched several crows fly by.

"Sawada has an eye for talent, and a good sense for the future."

"Agreed. I suspect he'll be pleased. He always did like salvaging the misfits."

"Much like yourself, wouldn't you say?"

There was a low chuckle.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. Tell me Reborn, what have you found?"

Reborn smirked, pulling his fedora lower. The call continued for quite some time, and in the end, Reborn had fine-tuned his hold on the situation. Dusting his hands after sliding the phone away, he jumped from the ledge of the roof down to the garden wall, ducking when a pair of sepia eyes glanced straight towards him. For a moment Sawada Tsunayoshi stared at the spot where, not moments before, he could've sworn he'd seen a flash of yellow. When nothing appeared laziness took him over and his head fell once more onto his fist, flipping the page of Shonen Jump and idly chewing on a potato chip. Reborn smiled.

The future looked promising.

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A/N

So I rewrote this...sowwy. I was rushing the last chapter and it didn't flesh things out the way I wanted to. Please click ahead for the second edited half. Hearty and review?