Disclaimer: The world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn and its characters are not mine.

Warning: Violence

The Bell Doesn't Toll Thrice

Part III

Morning and afternoon bled into one ashen haze. By the time the rain and the clouds had departed, sunset was no more and dusk was at its death bed.

In the darkening lobby beneath the magnificent octagonal skylight, Lambo sat on one of the chairs beside the simple-styled sideboard, fiddling with his cell phone. When footstep echoed against the chequered floor tiles, he looked up and saw Tsuna hastening across the lobby. As soon as Tsuna noticed him, however, the decimo stopped on his track.

"Where are you going, Vongola?" Lambo asked in a lacklustre tone as he stared at the loosened tie and the light overcoat Tsuna wore.

The placid expression on Tsuna's face remained unchanged. "I'm just going out for awhile."

Getting up, Lambo put his phone away and approached Tsuna, stuffing his hands into the pockets as was his habit. "I'm coming with you."

"No, Lambo." Tsuna refused the offer without a second thought. "You will be safer if you remain in the base."

Kind words though they were, they stabbed into Lambo's chest like a knife. "Even if you won't take me with you, I can still follow you. I'm quite good at tailing people, you know." He pulled out his phone. "Or I can just call Gokudera right now and tell him to come here. Either way, you aren't going anywhere by yourself."

Exasperation towards the stubborn Thunder Guardian passed across Tsuna's face. "Fine, you can come along if you like, but you will be bored."

"Don't worry. I have my phone with me." Lambo waved his phone around.

Several minutes later, they were in a taxi bound for Shinjuku. Pale lamps sprang to life along the street like a parade of ghosts in a summer festival; above, the deepening sky was an unexpectedly clear lapis lazuli blue. As Lambo watched the rise and fall of the urban skyline, he wondered if the stars would surface from behind these glass-and-concrete mountains tonight.

"Hey Vongola. What would you do if I say I want to be your bodyguard for the rest of my life?"

Sending a sidelong glance at Lambo, Tsuna took his time to answer. "I would be happier if you wouldn't do that. You are not my subordinate; you are a member of my family. To me, you are my little brother."

A sharp gleam flashed across Lambo's emerald eyes, but Tsuna did not see it. Turning to the man who was as cruel as he was criminally kind, Lambo looked directly into those warm golden pupils, hating and adoring the gentleness within. "I will do anything for you," he blurted out.

Tsuna blinked several times before a small smile crept onto his lips. "Thanks, but you don't need to do anything for me. You should live your life freely." There was a pause. "I wish you would call me Tsuna like you did when you were younger though. Why did you start calling me Vongola?"

Diverting his gaze elsewhere, Lambo toyed with the contour of his phone. "I don't remember," he lied. He knew he ought to send Reborn a message, but he made no attempt to do so; he wanted to monopolize the decimo for a while longer.

All too soon, the taxi glided past the streets of Shinjuku as the wheel of the glamorous, sordid nightlife began in full swing. Some time later, Tsuna and Lambo arrived on the street some distance away from Chrome's apartment building.

Walking the remaining distance by Tsuna's side, Lambo scrutinized anything and anyone that might pose a threat to the boss while keeping his hand on the holster. A silver Civic was parked some metres away from their destination, and as far as Lambo could tell, there were two men sitting inside, waiting for what he had no idea.

Stiffened with tension, Lambo spoke to Tsuna as casually as he could manage. "Those men seem to be watching Chrome's building."

"I've noticed." The decimo's voice betrayed not a hint of nervousness; Lambo could not help berating himself for losing his calm. "They might be after Chrome. We'll warn her about it when we get there."

When they arrived at the entrance of the building, Lambo stopped. "I'm going to grab a bite at the fast food joint around the corner," he said, despite every fibre in his heart telling him not to leave Tsuna alone. He knew who Tsuna was really here to see, but he kept up the pretence. He did not want to appear like a spoiled child, especially not in front of the decimo. "Tell Chrome I say hi."

After contemplating the young man for a heartbeat, Tsuna nodded. "Okay. Be careful and don't do anything rash." And then, he entered the building with Lambo's dark, unreadable eyes chasing after his back.

The doorbell was rung, and Tsuna counted to six before the door was open. The fluorescent light on the hallway illuminated a smiling face he had not seen for more than half a year. His mind cluttered with too many strands of thought, Tsuna studied that patronizing half-smile he wished he could hate. With a slight flourish, Rokudo Mukuro ushered him into the living room, where two glasses and a decanter filled with ruby red wine awaited on the coffee table.

"I brought this back from Italy. Hopefully it will be to your liking." Courteous though was Mukuro's tone, it was laced with a note of condescension.

When the illusionist brushed past Tsuna, a whiff of leather blending with musk lingered in the air, prompting Tsuna to take a deep breath. The next moment, however, Tsuna woke from the reverie and reminded himself to stay sober lest he be swept away by this man. "I'm not here for the wine."

"Then again," Mukuro sank casually onto the armchair and filled the glasses, "a business deal is usually cemented over a glass of wine - or a cup of sake."

Eyes narrowed, Tsuna sat down on the sofa, took out the pistol, and put it on the table. "I'm here to return this. Whatever it is you want me to do, I won't do it."

Mukuro let out a peal of chuckle, clearly amused. "I'm not trying to make you do anything, Sawada Tsunayoshi. Whether or not you use this," he tilted his chin at the gun, "is entirely up to you."

Tsuna watched Mukuro sip the wine, which was of the same hue as Mukuro's right eye. Looking away, he turned his gaze towards the black-and-white photographs hanging on the wall. The pictures displayed scenes from a bygone era, remnant to be remembered, and for some, to be forgotten.

"What more do you want from me? We've been playing this game for years. Does it even serve a purpose anymore other than for your own amusement?"

For a moment, Mukuro remained silent, his eyes contemplating the wine in the glinting glass as if it was the only thing in the world worth pondering about. And Tsuna, unable to stand the stifling stillness, grabbed the other glass and took a large gulp. The taste reminded him of leather, smoky mocha, and black currant, an affair of sophistication and brutality that suited this man well.

"I'm tired," Tsuna blurted out without context, yet Mukuro seemed to understand what he meant.

"You can free yourself from everything as long as you are willing to give yourself to me." Mukuro curled his lips upward without sincerity. "You need not play this hateful Mafia game anymore. I shall take care of everything for you."

Putting down the glass with a clink, Tsuna repossessed the composure he had lost. "No, I'd never agree to this."

The ironic smile on Mukuro's finely structured face was thin as a razor blade. "You are afraid that once I take over your body, I would use you to orchestrate the Mafia's ultimate demise."

Amber eyes cast an indescribable glance at the gun, then at the man. "That's part of it," Tsuna said, carefully weighing his words. "The other part is that I don't want to throw my problems onto someone else's shoulder."

Silence returned. At length, Mukuro cradled his chin and said quietly, "You chose not to take the easy way out, I see. You have exceeded my expectation - as always."

Despite himself, Tsuna chuckled dryly, his expression softened to the slightest degree that no one but Mukuro would discern. "This is a test? Does that mean I've passed?"

Those unsettling yet mesmerizing eyes of Mukuro's gleamed amid assortment of glittering glass. "With flying colours. Use me in whatever way you desire, and I shall do the same in turn."

Letting out a breath, Tsuna looked directly into those mismatched pupils, pigeon blood and deep azure sky impressed onto ivory. His gaze lingered on the silver ear cuff, then at the long black strand trailing down the shoulder. He had an urge to reach out and see how realistic an illusion Mukuro had woven, but he restrained himself. Rokudo Mukuro was not a man one could catch; Tsuna himself would be the one caught in his web instead.

Clasping his hands together on his lap, Tsuna relaxed on the sofa and asked, "How are you doing in the Vindice Prison?"

"The same monotonous days with an occasional spark of excitement," Mukuro replied airily.

Tsuna shared a smile with his former nemesis, and in a way, this man was still his nemesis. The only difference was that they were playing a more subtle game. "I'm glad I've entertained you."

Mukuro would have undoubtedly made a witty remark had not for the buzz from one of their mobile phones. While Tsuna rummaged through the pocket of his coat, Mukuro picked up the phone he had left on the side table and got up. "Excuse me." With that he went into the kitchen to take the call.

Following Mukuro's movement with his eyes, Tsuna wondered if the call came from Hibari. At the thought, he felt something inside him twist like a cord. Grabbing the long stem of the glass, he gulped down what remained of the wine and strolled into the kitchen.

Mukuro's back was turned to him. Wordlessly Tsuna reached out and took a lock of Mukuro's hair between his fingers. He ran his fingers downward until he reached the end, and then held it there. Literal or otherwise, there was only ever a single thread connecting him to this man. Mukuro did not react; he continued to utter vague responses into the phone.

Looking down, Tsuna contemplated those disconcertingly soft strands entangled with his fingers and the Vongola ring glittering despite the dimness in the kitchen. At length, he brought the tip of Mukuro's hair to his lips, a replay of the previous night in a role reversal. Still, Mukuro did not move. Even after he hung up the phone, he spoke not a word to the man standing a step behind him, answered not a single question communicated in this hollow silence.

Looking like any other bored teenager on the street, Lambo leant against the red hydrant and slurped his strawberry milkshake. With disinterested eyes he watched the people and the traffic passing him by. The car that had been parked uphill before, however, was nowhere to be seen.

As he chewed thoughtfully on the straw, he recalled what those men had told him when he threatened them at gunpoint. The Yoiyami-kai wanted to exact revenge on Hibari Kyouya by kidnapping his woman, a certain pretty girl with an eerie eye patch over her right eye. While Lambo had chased them away for the time being, those men were likely to return soon.

Looking up, Lambo mused about the multitude of lit windows, unseeing eyes of this hundred-eyed demon of a building. Nevertheless, in the depth of his mind, there was only the silhouette of a certain someone who was currently behind one of those windows.

If I point a gun at your face, would you take me seriously at last?

"If I were an assassin, you would be dead by now." A voice came unexpectedly from his right, startling him.

Turning sharply towards the sound, Lambo found the Storm Guardian glowering at him, his face twisted in irritation. "And you call yourself a bodyguard? I ought to put you through training all over again."

"But you aren't the enemy," Lambo argued, even though he could tell it was a weak excuse. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'll be more careful from now on."

After finishing his milkshake, he left the plastic cup on the ground beside the hydrant. Gokudera sent him a sidelong glance, but he did not reprimand him for littering. Surrounded by the noise on the street, Lambo watched Gokudera light a cigarette and take a long drag. It suddenly occurred to him that Gokudera rarely smoked in Tsuna's presence.

Raising his arms over his head, Lambo stretched before slouching once again. "Gokudera, don't you hate waiting out here like this, knowing Vongola is seeing that man?"

Gokudera tightened his lips to a thin line. "The Tenth has his reason for meeting with that man. It is my duty as the Tenth's right-hand man to stand guard for his sake."

"But you hate it too, don't you?" Lambo pursued this line of thought with a ferocity that surprised even himself.

Not a word came out of Gokudera's mouth as he flicked away the ashes from his cigarette. His leopard-like eyes, however, were scanning the area with the efficiency of a trained soldier. Lambo also fell silent, for he too had noticed shadows of men moving stealthily in the background. His instinct informed him that these men were too disciplined to be mere yakuza underlings.

"It seems the hunting season has officially begun," Gokudera remarked quietly before placing the cigarette between his lips, his demeanour so unassuming that Lambo could not help but envy. "Call the boss. We have to go."

Tsuna's phone vibrated at the same time sub-machine-guns played their staccato passages. The ambiguous air of intimacy thoroughly shattered, Tsuna pulled out his phone and hastened to the door.

"Vongola?" Lambo's voice came through from the earpiece. "Gokudera's with me. We are ambushed." A burst of gunshot pierced into Tsuna's ear. "Get out while you can." And then, the call was cut off.

Gritting his teeth, Tsuna shoved the phone into his pocket and raced through the hallway to the elevators. Once he reached there, he stabbed the elevator button. Behind him, he could hear brisk footstep coming his way. When he turned around, he saw Mukuro standing there, holding out the pistol he had left behind.

"It's a present after all," Mukuro remarked in his sardonic, quiet voice. "Besides, you might need it."

The elevator had arrived. Knowing it was neither the time nor the place to argue, Tsuna grabbed the gun, put it away, and entered the elevator with Mukuro trailing after him. As soon as the door slid shut, the illusion melted away to reveal the dainty figure of the female Mist Guardian.

"Mukuro-sama told me what's happening," Chrome said while tightening her grip on the trident. "Tell me what I should do, Boss."

"We'll find Gokudera-kun and Lambo first." Tsuna took a deep breath and put on his battle gloves. "Then we'll make a run for it. We can't involve civilians in our conflict."

At last the elevator arrived on the ground floor. The door silently parted, and the first thing to enter Tsuna's line of sight was the muzzle of a gun. Methods of disarming the enemy raced furiously across his mind before his gaze glided upward to the gunman's face. Tension turned into surprise when he realized the gunman was Lambo, yet there was a certain grimness to the familiar face before him that Tsuna felt as if he was staring at the face of a stranger.

"Tenth! Are you all right?" Gokudera, who was also holding a gun, came rushing over, and the unsettling moment was lost.

Blinking those emerald eyes of his, Lambo lowered his gun and let out a breath. "Hey Vongola."

Tsuna recollected himself and masked his bemusement with the quiet composure he had mastered over the years as a Mafia boss. "Are you two all right?" When Gokudera and Lambo nodded, Tsuna relaxed ever so slightly. "What is the current situation?"

"The enemies came from the front. We shot several men. I then set up explosives around the entrance to prevent the enemies from barging in. The trap is more crudely done than I would like, but it should buy us some time."

The decimo narrowed his eyes as he listened to Gokudera's report. However strong his desire to question Lambo about his expertise in firearms may be, he knew he must set aside his puzzlement for now.

"That means they will go around the back of the building." Tsuna rubbed his chin pensively. "Chrome, are there other ways to get out other than the front and the back?"

"There is an underground parking lot," Chrome replied softly. "My car is parked there."

"All right, let's go."

The trip down to the underground parking lot took mere seconds. The elevator sounded a chime and opened up. Pressing close against the elevator walls, Gokudera and Lambo held up their guns. As soon as Gokudera gave the signal, they whirled around in unison and trained their guns at the open space.

Silence stretched. Guns levelled, Gokudera and Lambo stepped into the dully lit parking lot; Tsuna and Chrome followed closely behind. When no enemy came out to greet them, Chrome gestured for them to follow her. Slipping behind cars and pillars, they quickly but soundlessly made their way across the underground maze.

Seconds later, Gokudera whipped his gun around and opened fire. As if on cues, bullets came flying towards the Vongola family. Dodging behind a grey Mercedes, Gokudera and Lambo retaliated in kind.

"Storm Guardian, Lambo, cover me."

Having little time to think, Gokudera and Lambo did as told while Chrome rushed into the open and stabbed the ground with her trident. Pillars of flame shot out from the ground, and the gunmen were caught by surprise. Screams and howls interspersed with cold, harsh bangs. Taking the opportunity, Tsuna sprang out from his hiding place and aimed a punch at the nearest gunman.

Amidst a hailstorm of bullets and burst of flame, the Vongola boss and his guardians took down one man after another as they raced across the battlefield. Wielding their guns with the precision of a hunter, Gokudera and Lambo hailed bullet after bullet at the gunmen. At the other end, Chrome danced gracefully around the enemies like a butterfly in play, using her illusion to her fullest advantage. And Tsuna, his gloves aflame, disarmed and immobilized every man within his reach.

As Tsuna took down a man who was wielding a knife, he heard gunshots behind him. Wheeling his head around, he saw Lambo with his back turned to him, efficiently eliminating the threat. Although that disturbingly cold look on Lambo's face remained fresh in his mind, he called out, "Thanks, Lambo."

"What would you do without me?" Lambo jested, but he did not turn to look at him.

As soon as he had dispatched another gunman, Lambo grabbed Tsuna by his arm and broke into a run, shooting at the swamp of enemies coming their way. There was an explosion off to the side, then a beautiful yet deadly inferno resembling a monstrous crimson lotus blossomed in this unlikely garden; Gokudera and Chrome had conjured their own brand of magic. Nevertheless, Tsuna had little time to think as he and Lambo hid behind a blue Jaguar to shield themselves from the shower of bullets sailing towards their direction.

When Tsuna turned to Lambo, he immediately knew something was wrong. His face contorted in pain and his breathing laborious, Lambo clutched his midriff tightly while still holding his gun. Alarmed, Tsuna rushed to his side and pulled apart Lambo's jacket. What he saw made him draw a sharp intake of breath. There was a blot of crimson on Lambo's shirt, spreading ever outward and staining everything dark.

Snapping his eyes upward to Lambo's face, he saw to his surprise a crooked smile on Lambo's lips. "I'm a terrible bodyguard, aren't I? I should've paid more attention to Reborn's lesson. At least I did my job."

Tsuna's inside froze at the sight; he could not breathe, could not think. Nevertheless, he forced himself to remain focus and stifled his panic. "Lambo, hang in there. I'll get you out of here." Yet Lambo only managed a weak smile before whispering something to him.

Eyes widened, Tsuna stared at the boy, whom he had taken care of like a little brother for the past ten years, and whose life was slowly but steadily slipping away with every passing second. The wry, bitter smile remained on the boy's face, but Lambo was no longer looking at him. What he saw during that moment of inevitability only he himself would ever know.

Desperately Tsuna searched for a way out when his gaze fell upon Lambo's Beretta. Gritting his teeth, he took out the gun Mukuro gave him; those shooting lessons Reborn had drilled into him flitted across his mind. With ceremony the decimo took a deep breath and turned off the safety switch. Crouching behind the hood of the Jaguar, he levelled the gun, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

In long, brisk strides Kusakabe passed through the hospital corridors and into the operation ward. Men and woman who formed part of the Vongola inner circle congregated before the operating room in various degree of distress. Chrome and Gokudera were covered in dust, their bodies riddled with wounds. Tsuna was standing before the door; so still was his figure it was as though he was no longer alive. Reborn, standing away from the group, cast a brief glance at Kusakabe in greeting.

Everyone looked up when the surgeon walked out with a grave look on his weather-beaten face. When the surgeon met the decimo's deadened eyes, he shook his head. Like a puppet that had lost its strings, Tsuna knelt on the floor. In an instant Gokudera was there to support him, his face contorted in anguish. Chrome, looking as if she was unable to believe what had happened, stared at the opposite wall in a daze. In silent respect Kusakabe hung back and allowed the family to grieve.

No one seemed inclined to move until Reborn pushed himself off the wall and approached Tsuna. Crouching in front of his former student, Reborn took in those blank, hollow eyes. Wordlessly he raised his hand and slapped Tsuna on the cheek, a sound so crisp it resonated in the corridor like the sound of a gunshot.

"Reborn-san!" Gokudera exclaimed; Chrome looked up in startlement; Kusakabe winced.

Reborn, his face betrayed not a hint of his emotion even at the face of his youngest pupil's death, uttered quietly yet unyieldingly, "Tsuna, get a grip of yourself. You are the boss. If you fall, everything else falls with you." There was a pause. "Lambo is dead. Face it."

His amber eyes snapped awake, Tsuna glared at his advisor with such venom as he had never shown before. In the next moment, he bit his lower lip and looked away. Brushing the Storm Guardian's helping hand aside, he got up and whirled around. Gone was the warm-hearted Sawada Tsunayoshi; the boss of the most influential Mafia family in the underground world had taken his place.

"Gokudera-kun, Chrome, have your wounds treated first. Then I need you to inform the main family and the other guardians about what happened. Tell the other guardians to return immediately. Also, make arrangement for a funeral to be held at Namimori." Then the decimo turned to Kusakabe, who was momentarily spellbound by the force of his gaze. "Kusakabe-san, can we depend on the Foundation?"

"Yes, Sawada-san," Kusakabe spoke to the decimo in a formality reserved only for Hibari. "Hibari already gave his consent."

"Good, I shall leave it to you then. If you have discovered the Uccello Rapace's whereabouts in Japan, let me know." Without looking once at his former tutor, he pushed the double doors open and strolled into the operating room.

As Gokudera was about to follow him, Reborn coolly called him back. "Let him be. Your boss has issued the command. Now go." Nevertheless, those bottomless eyes lingered on the swinging door as if his heart was telling him to act otherwise.

The faint scent of disinfectant permeated the examination room, a smell that invoked memories both pleasant and unpleasant in Chrome's mind. Forsaken by her parents at the brink of death, she met the most important person in her life inside a dream of her own making. And now, the child who had once tried to teach her Italian had gone beyond the threshold she had once lingered.

Unconsciously she clutched her bandaged left arm, a remnant of the ferocious battle. She knew she ought to lend her support to the boss at this critical time, yet she found herself unable to move. If she were to see the decimo's face right now, she would have little choice but to accept that it was not a dream, that the boy who had proclaimed himself her escort on the street of Shinjuku was dead.

A doctor entered the room, his white robe billowing behind him without a sound. The doctor, with an intelligent face framed by a pair of glasses, reminded her of an owl, yet that was not the reason she squinted at him attentively. There was something familiar about him that eluded her grasp. At the same time, it occurred to her that a patient like her would not be tended to by two different doctors.

The man sat down and examined her arm. "How are you feeling, Chrome?" His voice was deep and raspy, but his tone was suave like the most velvety of wine.

Even if the voice and the face had changed, she would always recognize that devilishly silky intonation. "Mukuro-sama." For a moment, that was all Chrome could say. Several heartbeats later, she replied, "I'm fine. The wounds are shallow."

Letting go of her arm, the man peered at her face. "But not the one in your heart." He voiced his observation; Chrome did not contradict him. Gently the man wiped away the blood streak on her face. "Do you know what it means to be an illusionist?"

Unable to comprehend the abruptness of the query, Chrome shook her head.

"Illusionists are realists. Their task is to cheat, lie, and conjure tricks to fool others. An illusionist must never, under any circumstances, fall for her own illusion. That is why an illusionist must keep a tight rein on her reality. Embrace your reality. Do not turn away from it, or else you will be lost."

At those words, Chrome felt heat rising to her eyes, followed by a veil of mist that clouded her vision. Gazing at the man who was smiling kindly at her, she finally let the tears that were collected in the hollow of her heart to fall.

In the corridor leading to the operating room, a man walked past Reborn, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The hitman spoke not a word nor made a move to stop him, yet the man halted all the same.

"You are not going in?" the man asked sardonically. "That's rather cold of you, Arcobaleno."

A twisted smile fluttered onto Reborn's lips. "I doubt either of them wanted to see me."

"And yet, you are not stopping me." It was not a question.

"I'm not the one he needs right now." There was no need to ask whom Reborn referred to.

The man did not throw a mocking remark at the hitman; there was no need to. He continued on his way, not once looking back at the hitman who could put a bullet to the back of his head in barely a heartbeat.

Meanwhile, Tsuna stood before the operating table, looking down at the face that would smile at him no more. Throughout the years, he had encountered death in its many guises, but none had struck as close as this. When he recalled Lambo's final words to him, he tightened his blood-stained fists, blood belonging to the boy who had gone ahead of him into the abyss of oblivion.

The door glided open with a rustle. Even without turning around, the chill trailing down his spine informed him all too clearly who the intruder was. Footfall came ever closer to where he stood, yet he did not move. Only when the footstep stopped right behind him did he slowly turn around to face the man.

The signature cynical half-smile was absent; Mukuro appeared not so much apathetic as pensive. Gazing deeply into those heterochromic eyes, Tsuna imagined seeing his own face reflected in their depths, his soul trapped in hellish crimson and mournful blue forevermore.

In silence Mukuro beheld the expansive bloodstain on the decimo's person, a mark left behind by the departed that would no longer be erased. For the briefest of moments, an indescribable feeling invaded his mind, yet it faded away as soon as it took shape. He cast a glance at the young man lying forever asleep on the table. In death the young man appeared peaceful as Mukuro himself had never felt. Whichever realm this young man will fall into next was a question not even he could answer.

At length, Tsuna wordlessly pressed his forehead against Mukuro's shoulder and closed his eyes. Mukuro did not hold him close, merely letting him lean on his shoulder, preserving the distance neither the illusionist nor the decimo would breach. "I'm not kind enough to wipe your tears for you."

"I know." Tsuna's voice was surprisingly steady, even though his body trembled as if cold. "I don't expect you to." He could feel the human warmth and the familiar fragrance radiating from Mukuro, yet even such comforting sensation was no more than an empty illusion.

After dwelling on the illusion for several heartbeats longer, Tsuna resolutely drew away, and, never once inclining his head to meet Mukuro's gaze, he returned to the reality of barbed wire and razor blade beyond the protective cocoon without a backward glance.

To be continued...

A/N: One night, while I was flipping through my notebook full of bits and pieces of ideas, I came across a line I made Lambo say to Tsuna, a line that would appear in the next part of this story. That was when I decided which direction this story should go.