Title: Relicuum
Rating: M
Summary: Time and space is not something you should mess with. Yet, he is determined to bring a bright future to his family. No matter what it takes.
Or, Tsuna is sent to the past after his supposed death, instead of being put in his coffin. With three months to train the younger tenth generation, Tsuna will make sure they are prepared to defeat Byakuran.
Disclaimer: I do not own KHR! This is merely a fanfiction.
Notes: Welcome! This is a 'what if' alternative universe. A different approach to the Future Arc in the manga/anime. What if Tsuna was sent to the past to train his younger-self instead of pretending to be dead? I thought about it, since I love the time-travel AU concept. This one was short enough so I have most of the plot in my head and at least 4 chapters ready. I hope you guys enjoy it. Also, for starters, there will be some R27 hints, but nothing really important.
Prologue - Punto di Partenza
It had been planned from the start.
The handgun against his forehead; the cold metal against his skin and the faint scent of gunpowder. It had been obvious that his death was eminent—he had seen it coming.
It was an intricate plan, elaborated for almost a year. A year of hiding the information from those who he considered family. It had been difficult, but he had chosen the path for a bright future.
Even if the bright future required him dying.
"That's absurd. You plan on dying while we have to deal with your problems?!" It had been Kyoya's response to his idea.
The man, after a few years of polishing his horrendous bloodlust, had become one of his few advisors. A Hibari would always be good at fighting, but Kyoya was both good at destroying and strategizing.
"I— That's impossible! How would I mess with time and space?! I can't just—" Irie Shoichi had argued. The redhead bending a bit with one of those random stomachache.
It had been a light at the end of the tunnel, having Irie Shoichi as an ally. The man was constantly wrapped up with Millefiore business—he was the eyes and ears for the Vongola, always watching and keeping tabs with the Don of the recent mafia family. And, as a bonus, came the fact that the man was a genius, always building and creating new things. It had been just his luck to get the redhead attention.
At the end, everything had been placed and connected without any problems. Shoichi had been working nonstop with the project, while Kyoya surveilled Millefiore's actions and steps. It was a three-man plan, and no one else knew about his impossible sacrifice.
No one knew that the current Vongola Decimo was trusting his younger self to bring brightness to the future.
Thinking back at his companions' reactions, it made total sense. Sawada Tsunayoshi almost wanted to laugh, except, he had a handgun pointed towards his brain and he could feel nothing but fear. Who would have thought that the Don of the most influential mafia family would have such absurd plan.
"I'm sorry, Tsu-chan," the man in front of him whispered in a twisted singsong. Byakuran had his purplish eyes shining with the evil desire of world dominance—or better, the evil desire of controlling the tri-ni-sette. "I thought we could work this out with a mild chat."
"Too bad for you," Decimo obliged to his sudden urge to smirk. The whitehead stared confused, finger squeezing lightly the trigger as if threatening. The brunet's intuition kept telling that it would happen. Not now, because the Don in front of him wanted to know about the Vongola Rings. But soon. "I won't agree with your terms. Kill me if you like, I'll never back down on my choice." Determination flared within his eyes, turning the irises into a sunset-orange color. "Even if I fall, another will come to take up my mantle. Vongola will never perish."
Byakuran stared into those orange-colored eyes, as if trying to decipher a riddle. And, to be fair, there was a riddle in the air. A strange and exquisite determination about the future. The Millefiore Don knew, somehow, that something was wrong. Yet, there was no answer to the strangeness. Sawada Tsunayoshi was just that kind of man. Cryptic and wise, with a tint of bravery and dying will to protect what was his.
The whitehead chuckled, ignoring the questioning. Nothing would ever slip from his knowledge. Or so he thought.
"Any last words?" It was such a cliché question. But, at the moment, it felt appropriate. Vongola Decimo was a man who he would always respect, despite them being enemies.
The brunet grinned, eyes turning into a warm, caramel brown. Suddenly, the fear of dying was absent. Everyone would be hesitant about dying. However, he had faith in his younger self—the only one who could ever succeed and overpass him. And, even if his younger self was hesitant about fighting, he would always have Reborn to put him back on track.
Yes. The future was bright. He put his own name under the fire, sacrificing his own title and life, only to prove that he believed in the future.
"Good luck finding my ring," the brunet murmured.
Byakuran had a fraction of his eyes widened in shock. Until anger drove the Don into gripping the handgun tightly and squeeze the trigger with a furious strength. There was the sound of the gun preparing to expel the bullet, and up to that moment, Tsunayoshi was carefully closing his eyes, satisfied with the outcome.
There was no pain. Just the cold liquid dripping from his forehead, tainting his clothes and skin. Darkness surrounded him, nothing was clear. Only silence, no breathing. No people. Only him. No presence. Only him. What a peaceful death. Although he died in the presence of his enemy, he felt reassured.
The future was bright.
~x~
Not once had he imagined his death. However, he did expect some kind of closure. An answer to the question of 'where do people go when they perish'. Some kind of great force to explain that, according to his analysis, the Vongola Decimo was not fitted to heaven, due to his title and job. Or maybe, he expected to see his fellow Vongola Don. A chat with Primo about his utter failure in protecting his family, or telling them how he managed to sacrifice himself only to believe in a teenager version of himself.
Sawada Tsunayoshi expected some kind of answer. Instead, he received nothing.
For a few minutes—he did not know for sure, but it seemed like he had spent hours in the dark—he felt his head pounding and aching. The immense pain in his forehead, as if something—fingers, knuckles, a whole hand—was pulling an object out of his brain. The ghostly form of a hand touched his organ, while another ghostly form of hand took something away from him.
It was painful. Those fingers traveled inside his skull, touching and pulling everything, in such slow process. It seemed as if he was being invaded by the devil himself. And, as if to make everything worse, the pull of his flames were wild and insistent—they roared in anger and confusion, trying to wipe the pain away with its soothing.
Tsunayoshi felt his body heating with flames, while those ghostly hands patted his forehead and organ. It was an inferno. Until his senses came back, with his ears twitching lightly at the sound of people screaming in confusion.
It was only a murmur at the beginning, slowly rising up and waking the brunet into his senses again. Those screams were pure and genuine. People were scared.
He opened his eyes, finding himself in a alleyway. It was cold and wet, while his skin felt the touch of raindrops coming from the sky. It was cloudy and strangely dark. It was probably almost nighttime. Scanning the alleyway, he found two men staring at him, with fear in their eyes.
Tsunayoshi felt his flames backing down, slowly settling in his core, as if satisfied with the result. No more burning. He felt another drip, this time in his nose. It fell towards his lips, and he couldn't help but to lick it. It wasn't water. It was blood. Confused, the brunet pulled his hands up, finding them covered in his beloved leather gloves—the X on top of them was refreshing.
With the tip of his index finger, he touched his forehead, finding the liquid that was dripping down. It was, indeed, red. Although there was blood, the brunet could not feel any wound anywhere. It was almost as if it had healed and only the blood was left to tell the story.
"Stai bene?" (Are you ok?) One of the men asked, cautious and confused. Tsunayoshi took a few seconds before understanding that the man was asking if he was ok.
"Sto bene, grazie," (I'm fine, thank you) he answered, slowly rising up from the ground. Of course, he wasn't completely ok. He was confused, and slightly concerned about his plan. But, overall, his body was fine.
"Eri in fiamme!" (You were on fire!) The other man exclaimed. Tsunayoshi cursed his flames for being so active at the moment.
"Non è niente, non ti preoccupare," (It's nothing, don't worry) the brunet assured. There was no time to explain why his forehead and hand were on fire—and it was not like he could explain why; breaking the Omerta would surely bring Vindice towards him.
Without giving them a second thought, the brunet walked away from the alleyway—stance trained and carefully polished into a graceful step; chin lifted, not showing submission, yet not being arrogant; his handcrafted suit stretching in his lean, slightly built body; the sole of his leather, black shoes making no sound at all. A true mafia don. He'd learned from the best, after all.
Even though his brain traveled fast with different types of questions and concerns, the brunet kept his exterior appearance fierce and serene. At the moment, he had to gather information on whether or not he was in Sicily, Italy. From the earlier encounter with those two civilians—it was evident that those men were simple clients of a bar, considering the stench of alcohol and their slurred words; and also the fact that they panicked at the sight of his flames—it was obvious that he was in Italy. Now, he just needed to locate himself in the country.
It would be preferable to be in Sicily, where the Vongola Estate was located—deeply covered by the wild forestation in one of the hidden places of the region. Easier for travelling by foot, without having to utilize a taxi or something. Not that he had any problems with money, much the contrary. However, at the moment, Millefiore would be watching his every move—or rather, at the moment, Millefiore was watching Vongola's every move.
The main street was not as crowded as he expected. A few civilians wandered through the pavement, some with grocery bags in their hands, others with nothing but their phones while they blabbed nonstop. It made sense, considering it was almost nighttime. Most Italians were still at work, and would be for a little while. Scanning the street he found no signs of Mafiosi anywhere—no suspicious-looking people, no one with irrational, expensive suit and no signs of weapons anywhere. It was rather quiet and strange.
Last time he'd checked, Millefiore was strictly surveilling the streets of Palermo—where the main office for Vongola Inc. was settled, along with the Vongola Estate. It was rather apparent, actually. Although Mafiosi were known for the stealth and secretive appearance, Byakuran's subordinates were easy to spot. Their uniform was standardized and recognizable—instead of the usual expensive suits, they wore white clothing that covered most of their body; it was also easy to identify someone important aside from someone low, since most important people had no need for the masks.
Thus, once he saw the streets empty, with no Millefiore around, he thought that, perhaps, something was wrong. And, to back him up, his flames danced in his core, his intuition flaring and whispering that he was correct. No use in denying his intuition. The brunet controlled his expression, keeping his grimace from reaching his face. It was strange and rather concerning, however, he was a mafia don, and he would act as such.
Upon analyzing the situation, he decided to continue investigating. The main objective was to know if he was still in Sicily, somewhere near Palermo, or if he was in a distant place, like the north of Italy. Vongola had different branches around Italy—and the world, too—so it would not be too much of a problem to settle down. Surely, he preferred his mansion, where he would find a more reliable help—from either his guardians, or trusted advisors and allies.
Of course, there was also the option of being near Messina or Rome. Messina was where the head of CEDEF established his main office and branch—Basil argued that it was strategic to have their office next to Palermo and the main Italy, declaring neutral, but also supportive role towards Vongola. Rome was where another main branch of Vongola was found, the Varia, the autonomous assassination team of Vongola. It would be advantageous to be near those cities, considering he would also find trustworthy people—Basil and, surprisingly, Xanxus.
Wandering through the street, Tsunayoshi tried to wipe away the blood from his forehead—which wasn't that difficult, due to the pouring rain and the handkerchief he had in his jacket's pocket. Eyes always observing, although his hands kept working on his dress-shirt and jacket—his white dress-shirt was stained with his own blood, thus he decided to cover it by buttoning his jacket. It was a quick movement, no one noticed—or rather, no one seemed to care.
His current plan was walking through the streets until he found something that characterized the city he was in. Tsunayoshi immediately ruled out the chance of him being in a small town, considering the high buildings and the large amount of famous stores. He decided that he was in a big city, then.
After a few minutes of randomly wandering, the brunet found something that caught his eyes. Far away, a structure could be seen. A cathedral. Not any cathedral, however. It was lightly famous, and Tsunayoshi could see a few tourists taking pictures at the place. Considering the arcs at the architecture and the lone tower, he sighed in relief. It was the Monreale Cathedral. It confirmed it, then. He was in Palermo, by some strange miracle.
When Byakuran invited him to the meeting—the one that would be seizing his life—they both had decided to meet in a neutral place. Not near the Vongola HQ, nor was it near the Millefiore base. It was all planned out to maintain both parties secure, and make sure that it was a secret and unperturbed. Tsunayoshi couldn't quite remember where he had meet his enemy—his memory was slightly foggy and shrouded with concern—yet, he was sure he had not met Byakuran in Palermo.
Narrowing his eyes, the brunet decided to ignore that fact for now. Adjusting his blackened mantle on his shoulders—one he got as a gift from Reborn's partner, Leon—he prepared himself for the next part of his plan. For now he had to find the Vongola Estate and make sure no one was injured. It was to be expected that, after his last words towards his enemy, that Millefiore would invade Vongola in search of his precious Vongola Ring.
Too bad for them, there was no ring left to find. Tsunayoshi had destroyed all of them after listening to his intuition—it had been radical, yet, his flames danced and whirled approving his choice, and he would never argue with his intuition. Byakuran would never find the rings, not even the dust that was left behind. So, it was to be expected that the Vongola Estate was invaded by Millefiore.
Tsunayoshi took a deep breath, glancing at his hands. The X-gloves in his hands were shining with the dim lighting of a light pole—it had been almost ten years of having them, of fighting with them; he could almost see every blood he'd spilled in his lifetime. At his right hand a few rings were located. As a substitute for his Vongola Ring, there was a blackened ring, with a single orange gem, sculped into a X. Talbot had been the one to scowl at him, and explain how much of a fool he was for destroying the rings. In return, he got a newly made ring, one that could match his old one.
It was his only weapon now—not even his box weapon he had in him. The ring was too weak to open his precious box now. And he was not expecting his survival, so he only kept his rings with him, leaving a few A-class box weapons behind.
Next to his Sky ring, there was a Rain ring, given to him by Dino, a Mist ring, given by Chrome when she felt the need to give him a worthy gift and a Sun ring, one he got from Ryohei back then—the man arguing that he needed to learn how to control his other flames, especially the Sun, since he needed healing.
It had been a surprise to find that Tsunayoshi could wield all the flames existent—with the downside of only being able to control properly his Sky, Rain, Mist and Sun. It was all to a certain point, of course. He was no proficient. However, living in constant fear of being hunted gave him and his companions the determination to learn more about other flames. Each one of them helping each other control other flames. It had been a tiresome year for all of them, but at the end, they felt as if they had accomplished something meaningful.
Sparing a last glance towards his gloves and rings, the brunet decided to call a taxi. It was easy enough to find one, since he was next to a tourist spot. After a minute of searching, he found one that was willing to take him anywhere. Carefully, he sat at the backseat of the car, next to the left-door, behind the driver's seat. Hide yourself from the public, leave no traces behind, be wary, be prepared. Was one of the lessons he learned by himself after the whole hunt against Vongola.
"Where to, sir?" The driver asked in a low tone, trying to identify his passenger, to no avail, of course. The brunet was carefully hiding himself around his mantle.
"This place, please," the brunet showed the man a piece of paper with the address. The driver read the information and soon the car started to move. Afterwards, the brunet put the paper on his jacket's pocket.
While the car drove towards the Vongola Estate, the brunet tried to decipher what had happened back in his meeting with Millefiore. It was all going as he planned—meeting the whitehead, cryptic bastard; pretending to plead for mercy; inducing the enemy into assassinating him; and bringing his younger self to the future. It had been revised for months, Irie Shoichi was sure in his project, along with Hibari Kyoya reassuring that no one knew about his plan.
Unless, Byakuran had never killed him. Unless that man only wanted to play and put Tsunayoshi to a sleeping state. It would explain why he was found dumped in an alleyway, in the cold and dark—and it would also explain the blood on his forehead. He was probably hit in the head so he passed out completely. And, due to his weak Sun flames, he was able to heal the cut in his head.
Although it made sense, his flames were slowly curling themselves around the base of his neck. The warmth warned him about how wrong he was. The whisper at his left ear, denying his theory. It was all he needed to discard the possibility of not being murdered. Narrowing his eyes, the brunet tried to understand what had really happened. Had he been murdered, then?
His sky flames danced at the base of his neck, slowly rising towards his ears, whispering a quiet yes. Tsunayoshi could not understand it, however. If he had been murdered, then everything was supposed to go as he planned. Then he was supposed to be dead, and his body retrieved by Shoichi, who would guard his body carefully at the machine. And, once his younger-self appeared and saved the future, he would once again reappear. Then, did his younger-self already saved his future?
Another swift of his flames, a mumble at his ear, something denying what he thought. The brunet scowled at his own intuition. What was that supposed to mean? If he had been murdered, but his younger-self hadn't saved the future, then what had happened?
There was another movement in his flames, a quiet and ashamed one, as if apologizing for not being able to answer. Tsunayoshi controlled himself, keeping his frustration from seeping out of his mouth.
Just in time, the driver stopped at the address, with an apologetic glance towards his client—who was still hiding in the blackened mantle.
"That's as far as I can get," the driver mumbled as an apology.
"No problem," the brunet answered, quietly taking a bill of euro to give to the man. "Keep the change."
Tsunayoshi got out of the taxi, ignoring the widened eyes of the driver in seeing such amount of money—it as not as if the brunet needed this much in money anyway. The path towards the entrance of the estate was quite long, since Vongola was strict with its rules—no one is allowed to approach the entrance, only family's vehicles. The brunet found no problem in walking, though. It would keep his mind busy with thinking, and at the moment, he needed to think about his plan and the possible failure.
After half-hour of wandering, the brunet found the main gate of the estate—it was blackened, with the family crest at the top, with Vongola gorgeously written in cursive letters. It was familiar, and watching the mansion at the back gave him a sense of home. Approaching the gate, however, the brunet was suddenly stopped.
Curiously, the brunet watched as a few security-guards came closer, with their handguns ready for anything. Were they warned by Hayato to stay in alert? Did someone say that they should be careful with everyone? Even if that person was Vongola Decimo himself? It was strange, of course. Although, it made sense—depending on how long he stayed away after his meeting, his guardians would be moving in careful steps. They could not risk letting anyone enter—even if said person looked exactly like their boss.
The brunet nodded, accepting his own explanation. He glanced at the security, watching as they approached with a mild killing intent towards him. That was odd.
"State your business!" A woman exclaimed, eyes focused on the brunet's—as if searching for a weapon somewhere. Did they not know him? Were they newly recruits? Even so, they should know who Vongola Decimo was.
"Are you new here? Don't you recognize your boss?" Tsunayoshi queried, eyes icily sharpened towards the woman who had asked. Then, as if defying the other guards, the brunet glanced at the rest of the security. They were still wary, however, now, they were more confused and scared—due to the leaking killing intent.
"Our boss is Vongola Nono! Don't speak nonsense!" Another guard chirped in, hands slightly trembling, but still holding the handgun at the brunet's head.
Vongola Nono? He had been retired for more than eight years. The man he called grandfather—the man who was probably already dead, due to Millefiore. Now they were suddenly talking as if he was still the boss? What was happening?
Tsunayoshi stared confused, "Nono is retired. I'm the Vongola Decimo," he stated bluntly.
It was supposed to help those guards with their poor memory. Except, it caused the opposite. Instead of allowing him to enter at his own mansion, the guards murmured something about 'intruder' in the coms and prepared for attack. Taking a step back, all guards aimed their guns towards the brunet. Getting slightly annoyed, Tsunayoshi decided to deal with the guards.
In seconds, a round of bullets was showered towards the brunet. The sound was loud and it echoed throughout the whole forest that covered the estate. Tsunayoshi, however, was faster than anyone, grabbing the end of his mantle and covering himself with it—the blackened cloth suddenly hardened, due to his harmonizing flames. The guards watched as the tip of the mantle burned alive in orange, blazing flames.
They all watched as the brunet slowly took the mantle out of his face—the cloth flowing with the wind, flames dancing in a menacing manner. In shock, one of the guards stumbled backwards, hands almost dropping his handgun to the ground.
"Dying Will Flames?!" The man stared wide-eyed, struggling to keep his magnum in hands—the ammo suddenly dropping to the ground.
The others guards stumbled backwards, too. All too impressed and confused to say or do anything. Tsunayoshi glanced at all of them, sunset-orange eyes glowing in menace and annoyance. Vongola Decimo was usually known for his patience—that was, until the war against Millefiore begun and he had started to despise jokes from time to time. Not that he couldn't tolerate—since Lambo was a prankster since his early years, he had to be a little patient around the boy—however, his guards wanting to pull a prank on him was impossible to accept.
His Sky Flames danced at his forehead, his dying will stronger and pure, shining and illuminating most of his face. It was then that one of the guards gaped, surprised and almost out of words.
"P-primo!" The woman spluttered, dropping her handgun to the ground, immediately bowing to the man in front of her.
"Primo?" Tsunayoshi scoffed. Surely, he resembled, with uncanny similarity, to the Vongola Primo—considering his great-great-grandfather was the founder of the family. However, after building his title as the Decimo, no one dared to compare him to the founder of Vongola. The brunet had turned into a man, his own person, not a copy of Primo.
"That's impossible!" The man exclaimed, once again aiming his gun towards the brunet, eyes narrowed and confused. Trembling, the man decided to squeeze the trigger. His stance was clumsy and incorrect, making him stumble at the strength of the gun recoiling—his bullet being aimed towards one of his companion instead. "Ah!"
The brunet quickly acted, reaching with his right hand towards the trajectory of the bullet. Bursting his hand with his flames, he kept the bullet from moving—slowly, but surely, melting the metal until it was only a liquid falling to the ground. The guards stared with widened eyes, while the man that pulled the trigger trembled in fear and mumbled some apologies.
"If you panic just at the sight of an enemy, then you sure aren't ready to be a Mafiosi," the brunet stated, coldly. "You could've killed your partner."
"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, Primo!" The man yelled, hysterically.
"Again? I'm not Primo—" he was cut in by the voice of someone familiar.
"What is happening here?!" Vongola Nono, with his grizzled hair and mustache, wearing a grey, tailored suit; hands holding his scepter as if he depended on it. By his side his right-hand man, Coyote Nougat, eyes narrowed and prepared to attack. Tsunayoshi felt nostalgic, watching his grandfather and hearing his voice.
Since the war had started, they kept their conversation short. Tsunayoshi had insisted, saying that Nono and his guardians should seek a safehouse, hidden from everything. Of course, Timoteo had no choice, because Decimo left no room for a conversation—it had been an order. Since then, they had been communicating through letters. Until they stopped coming, that is. The brunet had no idea if the man was alive, or if he was hiding from a Millefiore squad. It was impossible to know, since he also didn't want to reveal the man's hiding spot.
It had been a tight spot.
"Grandpa," the brunet murmured, staring wide-eyed. Emotions catching him in weakness—he felt his flames wavering in despair, only to fizzle out and leave his eyes to the normal, warm brownish eyes.
"P-primo?" Coyote was the first to mumble.
"Again with this? Stop joking around," the brunet huffed in annoyance, although his happiness in finding his grandfather was still present. "I thought you guys recognized my own merits; I thought I earned the Vongola Decimo title," he sighed, even if in his lips a small smile was present.
Timoteo stared with wide-eyes. "Who is really joking here? You come at my estate and declare that you are the Vongola Decimo?!" In his voice was a tint of surprise, disbelief and anger. The brunet's smile slipped out of his lips immediately.
"What do you mean? I am Sawada Tsunayoshi, the last heir—the one that earned the tile and has been working for almost nine years as a mafia don," the brunet glared at the Nono. "I'm no illusion."
"That's hard to believe," Coyote was the one to answer. "Sawada Tsunayoshi is currently in Japan, being trained by Reborn," Tsunayoshi narrowed his eyes in confusion. "And he is currently fourteen-years-old."
"What?"