I've decided to update this fast because what are consistent schedules? Anyway, here's the introduction for the second arc. Next chapter will be soon enough updated. Like, it's a matter of hours.
Il Maestro
Second Arc
I
He thrummed his fingers on the leather armchair and noticed that it was fraying. Because the man was making him wait, he dug his nails on the leather and pulled, bit by bit, the stuffing from the armchair, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the closed door.
His nails hit the metal of the armchair and his teeth gritted as he kept scratching and destroying the last pieces of leather.
A rustle of clothes and the smell of an unwashed man made him stop his senseless destruction and he looked up at the person standing at the open door.
"Erm," the latter cleared his throat and rubbed at his stubble. "Reborn, right?"
He nodded, stubbornly keeping his silence as he silently went over the man's pathetic look, wondering if he really was as talented as the rumours and his superiors reported.
"I normally never work with men," the man muttered as if he had heard Reborn's doubts, "But I'll make an exception. It's not like you are one, after all…"
The man looked at the kid, or rather at the baby sitting on the ratty chair of his waiting room. He was so tiny that his legs didn't even reach the end of the chair and he seemed smothered inside the cracked leather. However, he decided to forget about that chain of thoughts, he knew that the baby was more than what the eye caught. After all, he was one of the strongest.
"I will need a name," the man added, his eyes never leaving the infantile body. "The treatment isn't without risks and I need to know the name of the person I'll write the letter announcing your death."
The baby didn't blink, his dark eyes looking insistently at him. The man gulped nervously and avoided his eyes, looking at an abstract painting hanging on his beige walls.
"Nobody," the kid told him with a high-pitched voice.
"Well, Reborn," the man sighed heavily as he stretched and creaked his numb fingers. "Follow me, I'll look after you."
The baby nodded silently and gracefully jumped of his seat. Once his priceless little black Italian shoes hit the floor of the waiting room, the kid's dark eyes flashed with a terrible glint and the man following him had to smother his survival instinct screaming at him to run.
"Shamal," the baby chirped without even looking at the man. "Don't fuck it up."
The man nodded without a word and followed the baby into his surgical room.
Today, he was going to treat one of The Arcobaleno.
The doctor's brown eyes went over the tiny hitman's body who was so famous for being a merciless killing machine on the field and Shamal wondered for the hundredth time the reason behind the baby's appointment.
The reason behind Reborn's ardent wish to lose his memories.
They entered his office and the doctor closed the door behind him, checking by instinct if electronic spy devices or hitmen had been added to the setting of his office. Once he was satisfied, he sat on his white leather couch and observed silently his new patient.
Reborn looked back at him, his soulless eyes never blinking and making the man nervous. The latter coughed, cleared his throat and ended up talking with a nonchalant voice, explaining without any care all the side effects of the Arcobaleno's wanted treatment.
"Headaches, spasms, seizures and epilepsy are to be considered," he muttered while looking down at his joined hands. "And in the worst case, death."
Shamal looked up and met the baby's inexpressive eyes. The kid didn't blink and waited for him to keep talking.
"Are you really sure?" the man insisted as he nervously licked his dry and cracked lips.
He was thirsty but refused to show any weakness to the baby.
"I didn't get this body by being unsure," the latter told him, his lips carefully articulating every syllable.
He seemed to be particularly attentive to his looks. Shamal had already noticed that Reborn's clothes were pricey and didn't have any crease nor speck of dust. The doctor supposed that when the baby had been an adult, he'd belonged to the high society. Maybe he'd even been born in one of those aristocratic families.
"The most important thing is," Reborn's high voice added, and thus making the doctor stop daydreaming about the baby's origins. "that I lose my memories. Not all of them. Just a period of my life."
Shamal wanted to ask him why. He wanted to know more about this cursed baby, about his past that the latter wanted to forget so much. He wanted so much to ask him about it, to be the last guardian of Reborn's memories but he didn't. Because he was Trident Shamal and he never asked questions.
"Okay," he assented with a heavy voice full of responsibility. "Think of the memories you want to forget, and they will disappear."
The doctor fetched a white pill from the pocket of his medical coat and delicately opened it. An insect came out of it and Shamal observed the mosquito fly to Reborn's side. When his weapon bit the baby, the doctor watched attentively his patient's tense face and couldn't help himself from feeling curiosity.
What had happened to the baby to make him wish so much to forget? So much that he'd even risk his own health just so he'd forget?
The next chapter will be longer and you will all finally understand the angst tag. Oh yes, you will.