You know what? I give up the italics. You guys have it covered. Also I added time/place markers. YEY!

Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn! does not belong to me

Chapter 2

12 January 2015
Miura Residence, Japan. 4:56 PM

Haru Miura wanted to believe that it was really over. She wanted to have faith in Tsuna's words when he said that the mafia wouldn't be interfering with their lives for a very long time but she knew it was impossible. Tsuna was to inherit the most powerful mafia in all of Italy. To be merely associated with him promised an uncertain future for all of them.

For a year, they were able to live their lives in peace. For a year, they were able to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would go the same to as how it was before. For a year, they were convinced that somehow, life would be kinder. Their days continued as high school students. Haru retained her place in one of the most prestigious schools in Japan while the others went by their usual routines in Namimori High. Sometimes, she was tempted to think that all of it would last, but even she knew better than that.

What they had was an illusion of order, a play of the mind. They were being fooled—perhaps out of necessity. Maybe fate knew that another one of its sick games would ruin them. So was this mercy? Or plain pity?

Haru no longer knew. Haru no longer cared.

Just like the others—she relearned to fit in the society of others, step by step. She was a fast learner. All of them were. At a first glance, it'd be hard to tell that these were the same kids who risked their lives for the sake of a future mafia boss just twelve months before. Haru didn't know if the people around them were easy to convince or they were just really good in pretending. Maybe it was both. Maybe, they had already mastered the art of deception without being entirely aware of it.

She adjusted but didn't recover.

She still had problems sleeping. Every other night, she still finds herself awake in the dead hours of the eve, hearing voices which she's not sure if real. She does her best to drive them away but she never really can. They were too loud and too real for her to ignore. When the sun rises, it'll be gone. Magically, it would go away and Haru Miura could somewhat say she was momentarily content. Her days with Kyoko in the bakeshop were the most pleasant. Her weekends babysitting Lambo and I-pin were the gayest. If it continued, maybe there was hope. That maybe, things would somehow fall back to place.

But it was all wishful thinking.

Near December, Haru started seeing less of everybody until it came to the point that she no longer saw anyone at all. At first she didn't pay much attention to it as it had become everyone's habit to disappear and appear whenever they wished. But to have everybody gone? Even she thought it was peculiar. Ever having a reasonable head on her shoulders which made her a worthy student of Midori High, Haru attributed their absences to Christmas vacation and personal business. It was easier to think of the circumstances that way. She didn't want to consider the possibilities. They were just taking a break—that was all she wanted to know.

But a certain part of her knew—all of it was no more but a beautiful lie.

The clock struck five.

Haru who was still fresh from the shower clothed herself quickly to answer the knocks from the door of her home. Her father had arrived earlier than usual. The identity of the visitor sparked the curiosity of the young Miura. A part of her wished it was someone with short orange hair with a box of cake at hand and two infants beside her, but a much bigger part of her knew it was unlikely. What she saw upon opening that door was very far from that conceived image.

Not only was the sight unexpected, but it brought a fearsome remembrance to the brunette.

They were strangers, dressed in black suits with ties. They did not look friendly. They did not look nice. Haru knew nothing of their purpose which only made her shudder more. She didn't know how long it had been since she last encountered such a scene, but she was sure that the last time had been affiliated with the matters of the mafia.

"Good afternoon, mademoiselle. Is Mr. Miura, home?"

The question had been spoken in English with a French entitlement—two languages which Haru had complete mastery of as a daughter of a respectable man in an academe. She eyed the man suspiciously but not wanting to offend, she told him the truth.

"Yes, monsieur. Mr. Miura is present. May I inquire the nature of your visit?" she asked in the same tongue.

"I shall speak of it only to Mr. Miura. Will the mademoiselle be kind enough to permit me to see him?"

The law of common courtesy didn't permit her to refuse; not when the man asked so agreeably. But a much practiced law of this era did permit her to question this man further, the law of safety and precaution before letting a complete outsider into one's home. She was just about to reply when she heard footsteps from behind her. It was her father.

"Haru who are you talking to—"

"Miura-san, it had been a while."

So this man knows Japanese as well? Haru thought to herself. Why did he speak to her in English, then? The expression that passed over her father was one of outmost concern. He paled at the sight of the intruder, but nothing escaped his lips that foretold his discomfort.

"Monsieur Cervali, what brings you in Japan?" Her father asked in faultless French.

"I am to have a word with you, my friend, if you'd be so kind as to welcome me in your home." M. Cervali answered.

"This way, monsieur."

She understood everything that was exchanged between the alien and her father. She had expected the others to come in as well but they stood firmly outside. Eight well-suited men stood expressionless on the entrance of the Miura residence acting like well-trained guards. She felt uncomfortable looking at them so she closed the door and headed to where the interview between her father and the strange man was taking place. She pressed herself against the wall of their dining room as to conceal herself.

Eavesdropping was a retired habit. It was the only way that allowed her to know the current state of affairs when they were still living in the future. She would make an exemption though. There was something going on and she deserved an explanation.

"You have a beautiful daughter, Miura-san, an intelligent one too. She answered me in flawless English. Tell me, how many languages does she speak?"

"I made it a point for her to learn French and English as a child. I believe she's taking some classes in German at her school. Then there's Japanese, of course."

"She will prove to be a very worthy woman once of age," M. Cervali said in slight jest. "We should take caution, Miura-san. *Maaari na ba ito?"

"She hasn't learned Filipino, Ginoo, rest assured, we can speak freely."

Haru no longer understood what passed between the two. They were using an unfamiliar tongue to her. In vain, she tried to decipher their words, but nothing came out from her efforts. Whatever was the nature of their conversation, they were resolute in keeping it for themselves. Haru took it as sign to leave. She wouldn't understand their conversation even if she heard all. Surrendering to good conscience, she retired to her room. She would have to contact Kyoko soon.

"I would have loved to inquire after your health and occupation in the present, but my limited time in speaking with you wouldn't allow me to pay such courtesies. I came here to bring you to Byakuran, Ginoong Miura, and I hope you would save me from the difficulty of having to persuade you."

Miura-san sighed. He knew that a friendly visit was impossible to expect from this man.

"I couldn't say it was a surprise. To have one of the most influential men in Paris under my roof, I knew it had to be something." The heavy man replied with a slight shrug. "So what does Byakuran need of his former tutor?"

"Former tutor, Ishmael? Isn't that much of an understatement for the retired advisor of the Millefiore family? No matter how long it's been, they regard you as nothing less, you know. Byakuran trusts you more than you care to think."

"He had always been troublesome." Ishmael said while thinking of the young boy of his forgotten past in Paris. "I left the service of his family a long time ago. Tell me, what possibly good reason could he have that would impel me to come with you?"

"Death, Ishmael—impending death." Ishmael froze. He looked at his company with terrible concern across his features. "Not of the boy, my friend."

"Don't scare me like that, Henry."

"I didn't mean to, Ishmael. But you must admit, speaking with you is one thing but getting your attention is a whole lot different."

"Be frank, Henry. What does he want with me?"

"He wants you to render a service to an ally of the famiglia."

"And Byakuran really thought I could help someone I never encountered?"

"Byakuran is one of the few people who have been fortunate enough to have seen you in your prime." Henry sighed. Partially glancing at his wristwatch, he realized that it would take more time than he assumed to drag his friend to another country. "I agree with Byakuran on this one. We need to move fast. I do not want to see that famiglia be robbed off of such a worthy man. I'm sure you've heard of them, the Vongola."

Ishmael raised a brow. He was sure he had heard of it before, but when and where, he didn't know. "It brings me to a distant memory. Their boss is the one who's failing?"

"It is a sad story, my friend." Henry shifted. His expression changed from the remembrance of the events. Having to personally witness the bloody massacre had completely removed any sign of pleasantness in his face. "It was horrible. The security systems were hacked. Most of The Ninth's guardians were deeply wounded. It was a blood bath, Ishmael. And the worst part of it, they might actually lose their boss."

"It would be tragic, indeed," Ishmael said noticing from the gestures of Henry Cervali, a broken wrist. "But what can I do if I come with you? I am no doctor, Henry. I don't have the faintest clue of the human anatomy."

"Byakuran isn't someone who will put a plumber to do a carpenter's job. He wants you to fix the bugs. Strengthen the system, and make sure it will not happen again in the account of the Vongola."

Ishmael considered the cause of his company. It had truly been a while since his last communication with anyone in the world of mafia. His past was not as clean as he liked it to be. It had been the shadow of his former self. Ishmael wished nothing more, but to rid him and his family of any future hindrances it might cause should he attempt to relive history.

"I am not going back to that tragic past of ours, Henry. One death had been enough to make me realize that all of it had been wrong—a mistake which haunts me to this day. I have my daughter to take care of. I don't plan on risking her safety."

"Then I'm afraid you will see a villain in me," Henry Cervali said as he slipped a thin brown envelope across the old Miura. "I was commanded to bring you to Byakuran. What I failed to inform you is that your daughter is also being beckoned."

"What in the deuce do they want from my daughter?" Ishmael asked in obvious anger.

"Calm down, Ishmael. It appears that just as how little Ms. Miura knows about you, you know much less about her," Henry stated as he eyed his company with a cold stare. "It seems that Ms. Miura is in intimate terms with the Vongola's next generation."

"I refuse to believe that."

"Regardless, what I tell you is a fact. My initial thoughts were to approach Ms. Miura directly, but when Byakuran gave me this assignment, I saw the connection. I thought it'd be better to inform you first."

"Inform me of what? My daughter is friends with dangerous people from the mafia? As if I'd believe that."

"That letter was penned by Iemitsu Sawada, the head of CEDEF and the father of the Vongola's Decimo. It could fool anyone into thinking that your daughter won a free trip to Venice, but then, they didn't know that they were dealing with one of the three geniuses who developed the impenetrable firewall of the Millefiore famiglia."

"So they were going to deceive me?"

"It was for the safety of Ms. Miura, Ishmael. The Elven famiglia is composed of brutes. You, of all people, should know that." The name of the clan was pronounced with such noticeable stern that Ishmael could not help himself from remembering the grave sins the family had committed. "Their plan failed with the sudden appearance of the Vongola's Tenth and his guardians, but it would be foolish to think they would simply give up. If they discover the nature of your daughter's relationship with the Vongola, I fear the worst for Ms. Miura."

A cloud passed over the countenance of the Japanese. It had been such a long time since Ishmael last heard of that family spoken of. Regardless of how much he wanted to let go and forget, he never really could. Sometimes, the wounds were just too painful to ignore. Sometimes, the scars were too deep to disregard. He did not want to put Haru's life in jeopardy. But today, at this hour from this Frenchman, he found out that it had always been within the reach of death. Haru—his precious jewel, his reason for living, his hope—had been dragged to the world her father thought he escaped. This was not the life he pictured for his only child. This was not the life he promised on the deathbed of his wife.

"Henry?"

"Hmmm?"

"We never really got away, did we?"

"We weren't fortunate enough, my friend."

12 January 2015
Vongola HQ, Italy. 9:40 AM

Ryohei Sasagawa sat quietly between his sister and the lightning guardian. His silence wasn't because he didn't have anything to say, but rather he didn't know what to say. He knew that their thoughts were drifting to a certain brunette in Japan. They were strictly advised not to contact anyone in the outside world. The security systems were corrupted beyond repair—communication through cell phones and computers was too risky. For the safety of everyone residing under the roof of Vongola Manor, all gadgets were confiscated.

Personally, Ryohei hoped that they would be reunited with Haru soon. Kyoko had not been coping well alone, a proof of it were the dark bags under her half-closed eyes. Lambo was no different, if not worse. He was constantly weeping about the absence of his 'Haru-nee'. Had it not been for the promises of a wearied Gokudera to deliver 'Haru-nee' safe and sound, the infant would've stopped at nothing to go back to Japan.

Ryohei wished that those promises weren't just false assurances to calm a child in tantrum.

He really wished that Haru would be sent to them soon because he didn't know how much more the others could take without her. Haru Miura's influence over the whole gang was becoming more and more relevant these past few days. He was concerned for his sister's being, bothered by Lambo's crying, and vexed by Hayato's promises. He pitied Chrome because the girl really needed someone to confide in. He was worried of Yamamoto because he knew the rain guardian was exhausted—having to double his cheerfulness to make up for Haru's.

When Hibari and Mukuro took the dining table as their stage for another one of their paltry quarrels, Ryohei didn't even mind how they stepped on the waffles and broke the china plates. The reason for their fight? Mukuro had been chewing too loudly, and it irritated the leader of Namimori's disciplinary committee. The tenth who was sitting on the head of the table was about to come in between them when the sudden appearance of Colonello beckoned the Decimo to the former arcobaleno's bidding. Slowly, everyone moved away from the breakfast table. Ryohei didn't even care to stop the fight. The silence had been deafening.

He looked back at the soiled pancakes under the two men's feet—had Haru been the one in charge instead of a regular staff, the pancakes would've had frosting with berries forming a smiley face.

Well, he wasn't that hungry anyway.

12 January 2015
Miura Residence, Japan. 5:40 PM

Unlike most girls their age, Haru and Kyoko never really indulged in the habit of texting. For them, there was really no need. They saw much and heard enough from each other to not rely on their cellular phones for news about their lives. So not only did the act of texting Kyoko was uncharacteristic, but it made the brunette feel really, really awkward.

Maybe this was one of the main reasons Haru had troubles in making friends with the same gender. She wasn't like the other girls in their class who would spend countless of hours on the phone. She had her priorities straight. As a daughter of a university professor, her studies would always hold a prime importance.

Three consecutive knocks drowned Haru's thoughts concerning her friend. She was still at loose ends on the identity of the person who spoke to her father so familiarly. Opening her door, she saw her dad closely followed by the Frenchman. Curiosity, henceforth, reigned in the mind of the young Miura. What was his purpose? And how was he able to make her father come up to her room? She didn't know.

Ishmael on seeing that there was enough space to accommodate him waited for no permission to be admitted. On a normal occasion, Haru would've protested and demanded for an explanation. The expression of her father though was enough for her to stay quiet.

M. Cervali had a better grip of his manners than his long-time friend. He stayed near the borders of the bedroom door just a few steps away from a mystified Haru.

"Forgive our intrusion, Ms. Miura." His mastery over French allowed her to discern that it was indeed his mother tongue. "This would only take a moment." Haru gave the man an incredulous look and against her better judgment, decided to ask the question which had pestered her since his entrance in the Miura residence.

"I hope you won't find my question inappropriate, but who are you?"

"I'm a good friend of your father, Ms. Miura."

"Why have I not seen you before then?"

"Perhaps this would not be the perfect moment to ask about that. Your father is calling you."

And true to that, Ishamael was really calling for his daughter's attention. Haru obeyed. Though not entirely satisfied, she wasn't left with much a choice. A good friend, huh?

"Haru, your cell phone, please." Ishmael demanded. He had already been successful in disabling the cable wires. Neither he nor Haru, owned a computer. At a time like this, the decision proved to be a good one. One less thing to be worried of.

Haru didn't need to be told twice. It had been a while since her dad used that tone on her. The last time, she'd seen her father like that was when she was still new to English. She didn't understand why she was in need of a third language when she was already capable of speaking in French and Japanese. Her father had explained it simply to her: A wise man should not be satisfied in knowing. He must continue to learn. Haru didn't try to reason with that. She didn't have a chance.

With slight hesitation, she handed him her mobile phone. And as quick as a bird's flight, Ishamael Miura threw it on the hard floor. Haru watched in shock as the tiny metal bits of her cell phone flew in midair. Her father stomped on the device ruthlessly. Haru was gaping—she cringed on seeing the ruined remains of her only way to contact Kyoko.

"Dad! Hahi! Why?!"

"You know Ishmael, a little explanation wouldn't hurt Ms. Miura."

"We don't have the time." At this, Ishmael turned to Haru and gave her one of the most imparting stares a father could've done. "I beg of you, save your questions for later."

Had it not been her father speaking, Haru wouldn't have allowed herself to be easily placated. She heard footsteps—pairs of them going to different directions. Before she could ask though, she was already given an answer.

"Are those your men, Henry?"

"I hope you don't mind. I didn't want to take any chances."

"I appreciate your concern." Ishmael scanned his daughter's room remembering how his wife had specifically drawn the room's design even before Haru's arrival. The walls had a soft pinkish hue painted with light streaks of white forming an abstract picture. The hint of his wife's artistry had surfaced through her work. A smile formed from his lips as he remembered how much time and effort his wife had dedicated in completing it. "Do you mind if you keep this room intact for me, Henry?"

"Is this a product of her work?"

"Sadly, yes."

Haru saw one of the suited men enter. But after a signal from M. Cervali, the person retreated. The next events were a blur to Haru. All she could remember was how they left the Miura residence in the care of mere strangers bringing nothing more but the clothes they wore. A helicopter took them from the grounds of Namimori to the airs. And through it all, neither her father nor the Frenchman had spoken of anything that would become of them. Haru took one final look at the Miura Residence.

"Where are we going, dad?"

"The place where we're needed, Haru. The where we're needed."

She contemplated on how long it would be before she could return to the place she had called home for the past fifteen years. Her father had a lot of explaining to do.

Replies to Reviews:

Iwha: Hello dear, it's really nice to have another person share your perspective in what's really going on with these kids. Mafia is mafia, we can't ever change that.
Writing Clockwork: Thank you, dear. It's truly a treat to write in this perspective.

*Will this do?