And so, here we go again. It's nice to see that the readers' reactions, be it from the original story or the translation, were the same. That being said, enjoy this new chapter.
[秋] : Fall.
Tsunayoshi gulped and looked down, his eyes falling on the pieces of the broken mirror. Seven years of bad luck just got added to his already fifteen years of misery.
« Who dares disturb my sleep? »
The sentence came back in his head and the teenager suddenly raised his head to realize with shock that the other boys were now frozen. He lifted a shivering hand and softly touched the blade that was at mere inches from his cheek and let out a shuddering sigh.
"W-w-what's happening?" he panicked while his head hit once again the altar.
It was then that he noticed the dark mist that was slowly seeping and escaping from the pieces of the broken mirror, and he almost choked on his spit when he realized that those thin threads of dark smoke were flocking together and slowly making a solid being.
"Boy," a deep and suave voice suddenly said. It gave the teenager's shivers. "Who are you?"
Tsunayoshi swallowed, hard, and looked silently at the man who had just materialized in front of his very eyes from tiny pieces of an old mirror.
"Tsuna," he simply answered while he did his best to avoid the man's eyes. "A-a-and you?"
The man didn't answer, preferring looking at the other teenagers with eyes as dark as a bottomless pit.
"And them?" he asked with an emotionless voice that still caused shivers on Tsuna's back.
"My classmates," the boy quickly explained before he quickly glanced at his bullies. They were still frozen. "What happened to them?"
The man ignored his question once again and slowly raised a hand to put it on the knife boy's hand. The stranger's fingers merely grazed the weapon and immediately withdrew while a disgusted scowl made its way on the man's aristocratic features.
"Useless," the man muttered as he shook his head with boredom.
He walked towards another boy and stretched his hand to graze the bully's hair. However, like the first time, he ended withdrawing his hand and making a disgusted scowl.
"All useless," the man harshly breathed once he had done the same thing to the other frozen teenagers.
He straightened his back and casted his dark eyes on the brown haired boy that had silently observed him all the while. His brown eyes widened in a mixture of fear and ravenous fascination while the adult turned to look at him.
"Tsuna," the man suddenly declared with a cold voice while he stretched his hand toward the boy.
The latter squeaked and immediately raised his arms to protect himself against the stranger. The man merely raised an amused brow and slowly withdrew his hand just as his eyes noticed the smudges of ink on the boy's hands. A hungry glint appeared on the man's dark eyes and he calmly crouched in front of the teenager with a carnivorous half smile.
"Tsuna," he repeated. But this time, his voice was gentler and even a bit soft-spoken. "You're a writer, right?"
The brow haired teen blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then, he began to laugh and had to stop immediately as his ribs still hurt. He put a hand on his torso, still painful after those bullies' kicks, and wiped the laughing tears (as well as the nervous tears) that had ran on his face, not noticing the interested looks that the man was sending him.
"Oi," the man insisted without moving from his spot.
Tsuna jumped in fright and looked up, finally really looking at the man's face. The latter looked young, no more than twenty years old, and seemed to be made from darkness. His hair blended with the creeping shadows of the approaching night and were covered by a strange hat, black as well with an orange ribbon. It was in fact the only touch of color in that man.
"Who are you," Tsuna whispered as he kept his eyes on the stranger's pale face.
The man scowled in aggravation and the teenager noticed that, even when the man had moved his lips to scowl, his face hadn't changed nor moved at all. It was almost as if a statue had come down its pedestal and was talking to him.
"You can call me Reborn," the man sighed before he gave him a small smirk. "Now, answer me."
The brown haired boy jumped, once again, and began to play nervously with his sleeves. They were long enough to cover his hands.
The man called Reborn watched him without saying anything and merely noticed that the teenager was a bundle of nerves. And then, the boy spoke.
"I'm not a writer," he announced with a sorry smile and a nervous laugh. "I can't even write a simple sentence without mistakes!"
That last revelation surprised Reborn and the adult suddenly stood up to look at the still curled teen. The boy almost looked as if he wanted to merge with the altar.
Brown hair, that could probably turn to blond under the sunlight, big and clear brown eyes, a face with feminine features and a button nose. However, the boy's looks didn't matter for the man in black, the only thing that did was the hands covered in blotches of ink as well as the faint smudges of blue ink in his hair, caused by raking his fingers through his tresses while he worked on a text.
It was a writer and it was all that mattered at the moment.
Next chapter is tomorrow. But until then, I'll answer the anons' reviews:
Guest: Thanks, this story is like a roller-coaster made of fluff and sometimes angst. Without forgetting the smut but that's for later.
Guest: You were right.
Guest: Ann O'Neem was the one who wrote the original, I'm merely translating it. As for now, the original story has gone over the fifty chapters and is still going on. Kitsune Reborn? Alas, he isn't the kitsune in this story.
Guest: Yes, t'was him.
And now, a little question for the readers: what is Reborn?