OpalescentGold: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
Salsa: a passionate Puerto Rican ballroom dance with six steps over eight counts of music.
It was like an itch building beneath her skin, untouchable and intolerable.
By no means was Masami a stranger to the feeling. She'd been aware of it on some level since she was a child, waning and waxing with the call of the winds and the freedom in the roads. Even as a young child, she'd known she couldn't assuage the itch, at first because she was weak and then because of her ever stable brother.
It hadn't been comfortable, had never been comfortable, staying in such a small, (mostly) peaceful town like Namimori, but Rika hadn't taught her daughter self-control for nothing. Masami had gritted her teeth and stomped down on her longing and went about her affairs.
This recent bout of restlessness was worse than the others that had come before it though. It was cutting into her concentration, her patience, and her daily life, and that...was dangerous, both to her and the people around her. Masami was nearly just as lethal as her brother, most people simply never realized it.
She needed that restraint, or people would get hurt, plain and simple.
Masami was nothing if not mindful of herself, and this couldn't be allowed to continue. Meditation wasn't helping. If anything, meditation made things worse. Every time she came out of a meditative trance, she was more restless and fidgety than before.
Something had to give.
It all came to a head one day, but for the life of her, Masami could never quite decide what had finally pushed her over the edge.
Perhaps it was the incident during morning patrols after exactly two hours of sleep, the dynamite and arguments during lunch, and then the three piles of paperwork on her desk that awaited her after school, along with the mess that almost blew up the baseball grounds.
Perhaps it was Reborn announcing yet another 'traditional' Vongola event that would be sure to wreck havoc on her school, town, and peace in three days; perhaps it was just the walls closing around her until it was much too difficult to breathe.
Masami bid goodbye to Tetsuya and sent off a text message to Kyoya as she left the school. Expression blankly polite, she smiled back at the civilians who greeted her and walked to the edge of Namimori and then beyond, into the wild forests that surrounded the town.
Calmly, she found a well-worn trail and placed her bag on a nearby bench. Her every move was perfectly controlled and graceful, and then she turned to the inviting dirt road in front of her and closed her eyes briefly. She flexed her fingers and listened to her heartbeat and felt the troubled heat pounding in her veins.
The mask of reserve shattered into a million pieces, and she ran.
It was exhilarating. It was a bone-deep relief. It was wonderful.
Masami ran and ran and ran. The trees blurred past her, and the wind caught at her hair. The ground welcomed her every step, and, and she laughed freely as she let loose for the first time in months.
This was why she adored dancing, but if dancing was the closest thing she could get to freedom indoors, then running was the closest thing she could get to freedom outdoors, without outright departing.
And so, she let that desire to explore and move and be untameable by anyone and anything flow through her body and propel her forward.
Masami ran four entire rounds on the trail before calming down enough to slide to the ground and lean against a trunk and think.
What was she doing? She knew better.
It took pathetic little effort to identify exactly why and how she had let herself devolve to this state of uncontrollable panic and anxiety. This was why Otou-san had always stressed delegating, which she absolutely had not done.
Since her entry to Namimori Middle, she'd taken up nearly the entirety of her brother's paperwork load, she'd been training his men and taking care of three teenage boys, and that wasn't even counting the antics that Reborn pulled left and right.
And in doing so, though to be honest, none of it was anything she could hand off easily, she'd been spreading herself much too thin, stressing herself to the point where everything became a trigger, and alone time, free time, became a myth.
But, oh, it was galling, because Masami wanted to believe she could handle it. Stopping now was admitting defeat, admitting she couldn't juggle all of them at once, admitting she was inadequate, and she hated, hated, hated that thought, but then—
She wasn't like Kyoya. She had known that for a long, long time. Kyoya had always been her anchor, had always been what was keeping her in Namimori before Tsunayoshi had even entered the equation, but he, he would stay and she would leave, and that had been inevitable from the get-go.
The sun had long since set, leaving the moon to rise and the stars to shine. The temperature was steadily dropping, though it was warm enough that she was fine in her school uniform. Masami rose to her feet and paced. This couldn't go on. She would have a mental breakdown.
If this didn't count as one already.
She thought and thought. She made plans. She discarded plans. She returned home as the sun peeked over the horizon. She took a shower, changed into clean clothes, and made breakfast. When Kyoya came down, neither of them said anything about last night.
Instead, Masami said, "You're not graduating, Onii-san?"
"No." He snorted. "The sheep need their shepherd."
She smiled, more centered than she had been for a while now. "I see. Next year then?"
Kyoya hummed noncommittally. "Maybe."
And that was that.
On the first day of her second year of middle school, Masami observed Naito Longchamp from a window for precisely five minutes before making the executive decision to never, ever deal with that boy personally. It would only aggravate her.
And if Tsunayoshi somehow worked up the nerve to claim she was in his fledgling famiglia, then she would simply have to teach him the error of his ways.
She had no desire to get involved in that problem. So she didn't. It was oddly freeing, and the small smile that tilted her lips lacked the stress it had boasted for months.
The first term passed in a blur of maddening discipline and self-denial.
In fact, the only positive thing during those weeks Masami had to look forward to was Okaa-san's return during the summer holiday.
It was a unanimous agreement between Masami and Kyoya to spar more than normal before their mother arrived. In addition, she reviewed the basics of her childhood lessons in the spare time she carved out for herself while he tidied up the house. If nothing else, Hibari Rika was a true carnivore who could scare even her children.
The rest of her time was spent on trying to change her own self-destructive patterns.
A week into the new school year, Masami informed Kyoya that she was giving a good amount of their paperwork back to him. He wasn't happy, of course, but observed the dark circles under her eyes, not yet covered by make-up, and agreed reluctantly.
She would still be doing the organization and filing; he would just have to actually look over and sign the papers. Somehow, she ended up awake at ten o'clock at night doing paperwork anyway. It was better than the daily four hours of sleep she'd been getting before, so she shrugged and accepted it.
Eventually, Masami drew up a training program for the prefects and assigned three of the more responsible ones the task of implanting it. She had planned to just stop by every week or so while training was in session to see how it was going, but she found herself there three out of five school days.
Tetsuya was giving her exasperated looks. Masami ignored him kindly.
The boys were the most frustrating.
Tsunayoshi continued to improve steadily, fussing the whole way. Hayato continued to be irrational about his own health, although frequent guilt trips were waylaying his usual self-destructive instincts a bit. Takeshi continued to be oblivious to the truth of the 'mafia game', although his instincts in combat only continued to improve.
They never really noticed her dilemma directly. Masami was naturally reticent and distant, after all, and it was easy to twist that perception to her advantage. No one noticed if she was a bit more aloof than normal, especially now that Tsunayoshi was distracted by all of the shenanigans going on around him.
Evidence of her continued poise or not, she couldn't deny that the coil in her chest only wound tighter and tighter every time Tsunayoshi or Hayato or Takeshi came to her with this catastrophe or another and expected her to fix everything.
She also couldn't deny that she always did. It was vexing; she knew the problem, knew she should stop, and yet—she couldn't quite bring herself to burn her bridges.
Kyoya certainly noticed if the dances he forced her into when the herbivores weren't around were any clue. It wasn't like the siblings to be warm and fuzzy with each other, and he wasn't, but Masami was grateful nevertheless because even if the dancing didn't completely help, it did take off the edge.
If, after one particularly exacting spar, she'd collapsed against the wall and buried her face in her palms, well, it was her brother, so it had been okay, okay for her to crack just a little. He hadn't said a word, only slid down next to her, so close their shoulders brushed, and stayed until she had pulled herself together again.
Still, by the time Reborn had graciously taken Tsunayoshi, Hayato, and Takeshi off of her hands to a trip to Mafia Land and Rika had arrived in Namimori, beneath her cool, placid facade, Masami was straining her control to the breaking point.
Rika made true on her promises. She led them to the training room as soon as she was back and proceeded to beat them into the ground. And again. All completely effortless, no matter if they attacked separately or together.
There was nothing like being defeated soundly to make you reevaluate your life.
"Well," she sighed after Kyoya and Masami were on their knees in the middle of the room, weapons long since disarmed, panting for breath, for the seventh time. "I see I have my work cut out for me."
Training under their mother was just as strenuous as Masami remembered it to be. Only, this time around, in addition to reintroducing them to the floor, she also taught them stealth, infiltration, pickpocketing, and surveillance.
If they ever ended up on the streets or wandered into an underground criminal syndicate by accident, they would do just fine for themselves. Perhaps that was the point.
Personally, Masami just thought that Tsunayoshi and the prefects of the Disciplinary Committee had absolutely no room to complain about her methods.
Masami picked up on most of the skills her mother taught them with an almost disturbing ease, but that wasn't what bothered her the most about Rika's visit.
It was that Rika had taken one look at her and seen straight through her bullshit.
"Onii-san is fine with this arrangement. Why?" Masami asked one late afternoon while they were both out in the garden. Kyoya was off doing patrols. Even their mother couldn't stop him, not that she'd tried.
Rika huffed, sitting primly on the engawa. "You aren't your brother."
"He's a Cloud, too," Masami murmured, staring up at the sky. It looked like a painting. "He handles his responsibilities fine. Why?"
"Masami, both of you may be Clouds, but that means little. Your nature is that of a free-floating feather, while Kyoya is more akin to an unmovable rock. People will inevitably weigh you down, but a dozen men can't crush a boulder with their weight. His sense of freedom is different from yours."
Masami clipped a twig and kept quiet.
Rika sighed. "I know you love your brother but accept that you two are not one and the same. He is his own person and you are yours. Do not put what Kyoya wants above what you need."
"I want to stay," she whispered.
Not in Namimori, but with Onii-san. With Tetsuya and Tsunayoshi. And maybe with Hayato and Takeshi, too.
But at the same time, she wanted nothing more than to leave.
"He'll be here when you come back," Okaa-san said pragmatically.
"If I leave, the others—"
"You are no one's dog; there is no need to go, wagging your tail, when someone calls." Rika's tone was scathing, having dragged the whole story out of her daughter on her first day back. "I taught you better than this, Masami. You are no one's therapist or babysitter, so stop acting like it."
Masami twitched, feeling as if she was four years old again and being reprimanded for greeting her brother improperly. "They need someone looking after them, or they'll self-destruct, Okaa-san."
"Maybe so, but unless you've signed a contract stating that you'll be their babysitter for the rest of their lives, you can't stop them. You may try, but you can't change someone unless they want to change, Masami. It's a waste of effort. I'll ask you now, do you consider these boys enemies?"
Tsunayoshi, an enemy? It was laughable. "No, Okaa-san."
Rika raised her eyebrows. "Are you planning to become one of the Vongola Heir's Guardians?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Are you planning to become one of those boys' wife?"
Maybe when the sky turned red and Tsunayoshi could fly. "No."
"Do any of them serve you directly?"
That sounded like a nightmare. "No."
"Then there's no reason to put any more effort into them than you already have," Rika said. "It's their life. There's no reason for you to ruin yours to fix theirs. Side projects stay just that: off to the side. You've been letting this—them—control your actions, and that's an inexcusable philosophy."
Masami didn't reply, but she didn't need to. The sting of chagrin was an unfamiliar one. She knew there was a reason their parents rarely came back home.
Rika covered a yawn and left to train Kyoya, leaving her to her thoughts. But before she did, she threw over her shoulder, "Besides. Do they really need you? Or are you purposefully clinging to the preconception that you're needed?"
Kyoya knew something had changed in Masami. Had been changing, if he was honest. He'd known that she'd needed something, some kind of push for that last step, but heart-to-heart talks had never been his forte, even if it was his baby sister, so it was just as well that their mother had returned home.
He didn't know what they had talked about, but he could see Masami finding her balance again. She'd been doing better these past few weeks before Rika had come back, compared to the previous year of stress and work, but it had been a stop-gap measure at best, not a pace meant for endurance.
Now...now, she was plotting.
Not that she brooded visibly, but that was Masami down to the core. She hid everything behind a calm smile and a polite demeanor, so it was nearly always up in the air as to what her true feelings were.
It was a good thing Kyoya knew Masami better than anyone else in the world, because she didn't try and discuss her schemes with him.
He gave her space easily enough. He didn't press.
But, two weeks after their mother's return, Kyoya had finally had enough.
"Have you made up your mind yet?" he inquired over breakfast.
Her responding glance was blank. "Regarding?"
Kyoya snorted. Who did she think she was fooling? "Yourself."
The clank of her teacup as it settled on the chabudai was loud. "No," she said softly, "but I will when Sawada-san returns."
He nodded and returned to his breakfast.
Tsunayoshi returned soon enough, two days before Rika's flight. He came tripping into Masami's office, babbling exasperatedly about mafia babies and an invasion, and she let him rant, noting down names and other pieces of useful information.
The Rain Arcobaleno was Colonello. He had a falcon partner, while the Cloud Arcobaleno rode around on a gigantic octopus and was called Skull. Colonello was a merciless Spartan trainer, and Skull was a bit dramatic but not really scary.
She looked at the boy she had known for such a long time, the boy she had nudged and pushed and trained until he had shaped up and became something more than that small, powerless victim huddled away in a corner of the playground.
She listened as he rambled about how Hayato and Takeshi had been so terribly enthusiastic about stopping the attack, and Tsunayoshi certainly didn't know how they'd done it, but with a lot of dynamite, some bullets, and a baseball bat, they'd succeeded.
She hadn't said anything about his bout of clumsiness, hadn't reprimanded him when he blubbered and waved his hands and spoke in run-on sentences. Her smile had never faded, and maybe that was particularly out-of-character for her, because Tsunayoshi abruptly stopped and stared hard.
"Masami-san?" he said softly, tentatively. "Are you alright? I—Did something happen?"
Her gaze dropped to her desk, bare for the first time in what seemed like an eternity although she knew it had only been a few months, and then out the window, where students mingled and laughed, and beyond them, where the open road stretched and called.
And she knew that her mother was right. He would be just fine without her.
"Come back tomorrow, Sawada-san," Masami requested. "With your friends, please. I'll tell you then."
Tetsuya lived and breathed loyalty. He had made up his mind a long time ago to follow Hibari Kyoya, and when Hibari Masami had come as part of the package, he had given her his loyalty as well.
There were a lot of things Tetsuya knew about the Hibari siblings that few others knew.
He knew that Kyoya had a soft spot for animals, for he frequently gathered up injured birds and squirrels and nursed them back to health. He knew that Masami was nowhere near as unruffled as she made herself appear, because when she was upset, it was his job to make her hot chocolate.
He knew, but his loyalty had never wavered.
Tetsuya was older than Kyoya, older than Masami, and that meant while he depended on their strength, he also took care of them in ways that he doubted they would allow anyone else.
He kept Kyoya from doing something he might regret later on, ran interference between the Skylark and the rest of Namimori Middle. He pushed Masami to eat and drink when she was caught up with paperwork, reprimanded the boys when she needed a break.
So, when Masami appeared in his doorway at the break of dawn, face serious, tone intent, but more relaxed than he'd seen for far too long, Tetsuya didn't hesitate to agree. That year before she had arrived in Namimori Middle had been tedious, but not overly so.
They would be fine.
Masami spent the earlier part of the afternoon taking a nap with Kyoya in the gardens. Summer was running its course, but the breeze was nice and it was cool enough in the shade. He folded up his jacket for a pillow, and she slept on his stomach, and it was almost like they were children again.
It had always been them, just them.
Yes, in their childhoods, their parents had been there, but even then, it had been Kyoya and Masami alone at home more often than not. Then, Satoshi and Rika had left, and it had truly been just them against the world.
Kyoya had never once told Masami he loved her, and vice versa. But he protected her when he could, and she looked after him when she could, and neither of them put much stock in words anyways. A hundred small actions were clear as day and much more believable.
"This won't be the first time," she murmured into the quiet.
He didn't open his eyes. "Hn."
"I don't know when I'll be back."
"No, you don't."
"I'm leaving you with the herbivores."
"Masami."
She laughed and smiled. "Take care of yourself, Onii-san."
"Keep your fangs sharp while you're gone," he replied softly.
Tsuna honestly wasn't sure what was going on as he fidgeted nervously on the couch in Masami's office. Gokudera was sitting to his right, playing around with a cigarette but not lighting it, while Yamamoto was to his left, smiling easily.
Masami slipped inside the room without a word and closed the door behind her. She took a seat across from them and simply waited, calm and patient as always. She was smiling, though, gentle and warm, and there was a mesmerizing clarity to her eyes.
Tsuna relaxed, even though he wasn't sure why. If he closed his eyes, he could nearly see the elementary school's rooftop spreading around them, and the most powerful girl he knew, so graceful and confident, was telling him about the history of France.
Intuitively, he knew that she had decided, even though he didn't know what her decision was, even though he hadn't known that there was a decision at all.
He had acknowledged to himself that he would probably never know her as well as he would like, but that didn't mean he hadn't noticed the way his friend had been just a little off lately. He hadn't been able to pin it down exactly, but maybe, maybe even she had gotten a bit lost this time.
Tsuna didn't know. It was Masami, after all. Just like Reborn was inexplicable and terrible and unpredictable, Masami kept things close to her chest and was lovely like silk until you went too far and touched the steel.
"Masami-san?" he questioned lowly, at ease now but still curious.
"Don't keep Juudaime waiting!" Gokudera snapped, but it was less hostile than normal. "What do you want, maiko witch?"
She tilted her head to the side, kanzashi swaying. "Sawada-san, you still have my number, yes?"
Tsuna blinked, rapidly getting out his phone with clumsy fingers. "Hai! Uh, why?"
"Share it with Gokudera-san and Yamamoto-san, please."
"Ahhh... okay."
"What's up, Masami?" Yamamoto questioned, typing the number into his own phone. "This is kinda a surprise."
She closed her eyes briefly. "I'm going to be taking leave for an unspecified amount of time."
Tsuna yelped, almost dropping his phone in his surprise. "What!?"
"You heard me." Masami's gaze was sympathetic, knowing but unyielding.
"Bu-But—" Tsuna shook his head sharply, trying to get his thoughts in order, but it was impossible, because this was Masami. She was the one person he had never expected to just leave, not when she had always, always been there. "I don't—"
The words wouldn't come. What was he even trying to do? Convince her to stay? Since when had Tsuna ever changed Masami's mind? She did as she pleased, and he couldn't bear the thought that she would lose that freedom, because he knew, like he knew Gokudera was loyal and Yamamoto loved baseball, that it was important to her.
"So what?" Gokudera's voice came out cutting and almost cold, and Tsuna...Tsuna hadn't seen that look on his friend's face since the day Gokudera had tried to kill him. "You're just going to ditch? Can't take the heat? Well, fine, we don't want you any—"
"Gokudera-kun," Tsuna said, aghast, seconds before Yamamoto cut in, "Hey, hey, let's all calm down, alright?"
Gokudera fell silent, but he flicked open his lighter and lit his cigarette. Tsuna glanced anxiously between Gokudera and Masami, but the latter hadn't even batted an eyelash.
"Masami." Yamamoto looked at her, easy but firm. "Why are you leaving?"
"I can't stay," Masami replied evenly, and it was hard to tell whether she was affected by Gokudera's words or not.
Tsuna frowned, confused and upset and wanting more than anything to make this—everything—right again. "Why not?" Because if someone was making her do this, then he would make them pay. He was still weaker than she was. Less experienced, less mature, less capable, but Tsuna would make whoever it was pay.
Masami inspected him for a long heartbeat. "Because that's what I need," she said at last.
It was a short answer. It should have been an insufficient answer, but those words resonated with something inside Tsuna, and looking at that familiar, beloved face, he knew she hadn't lied.
So, Tsuna blew out a breath and said, "Okay."
"Juudaime?" Gokudera questioned incredulously.
At the exact same time, Yamamoto asked, "Tsuna?"
"It's okay," Tsuna said, and he glanced around at his friends, making sure they knew he wasn't lying either. "You'll come back if we call, right?"
Because she always had. Whether it had been yakuza or hitmen or corpses, even when she was tired and had better things to do, Masami had never turned Tsuna away. It was one of the few certainties in his life, and he didn't want to lose that.
And he wouldn't.
Masami smiled, and it was just like before, before Reborn and the Mafia and even Gokudera and Yamamoto. Just Sawada Tsunayoshi and Hibari Masami sitting on that rooftop. "Of course."
There was a beat and then Yamamoto laughed and Gokudera huffed but put out his cigarette, and Tsuna was content.
It was surprisingly easy to leave the only place she had ever considered home, even if it was a constricting home.
Masami packed her bags the night before, slept fitfully, woke up at dawn, and walked out, sparing a minute or two to inform Kyoko and Hana she was going on vacation. (They were planning on leaving for the beach themselves.)
Rika led her to the train station, and thirty minutes later, they were on a plane and thousands of meters in the air.
Looking down through the window—of course they were in first class, Rika had standards—she watched the world, so small, so beautiful, fly past her, and she couldn't bring herself to regret a thing with the earth stretching out beneath her and possibilities at her fingertips.
Osaka was as stunning as she had always expected. Rika was here for a job, naturally, but she took the time to settle her daughter in a hotel and give her instructions before absconding for reconnaissance. Then, it was just Masami and wherever her feet wanted to take her.
And she adored that.
Masami fell asleep with that euphoria in mind and woke up with bright eyes. It was uncomfortable living in a hotel, and she found their bathroom positively disgraceful, but it was worth it to be able to step out of the front doors and explore at well.
Namimori was a town and Osaka was a city, and there had never been such a time that Masami was ever more aware of the difference. Skyscrapers were everywhere, reaching greedily for the faraway sky. People streamed here and there in crowds that never failed to sweep her away, and she made no move to dig her feet in.
That first day, she did nothing but follow the wind and the sun, wandering the streets freely. That was how Masami discovered the joys of okonomiyaki, and to the stall owner's delight, ordered several more. Takoyaki was interesting, too, just not as delicious as okonomiyaki.
Briefly, she lamented that Kyoya wasn't here with her, but then a flashing sign alerted her to the presence of a nearby shopping district, and she got distracted.
They had such gorgeous kimonos.
When Masami finally stumbled back to the hotel, smiling widely, it was late, and she couldn't help but whirl around and take a picture of the lights, from her left and right, from above her and above her, golden and magenta and sapphire.
She would make sure to get a picture of the skyline before she left, she vowed to herself and then collapsed in bed after rushing through her nighttime routine.
Masami ignored the eyebrow Rika raised at her in amusement. At least their room didn't smell of blood yet. Just before she went to sleep, she sent the picture to Kyoya and Tsunayoshi.
She was asleep before they could respond.
"So many herbivores. Bite them all to death."
"I'm on vacation, Onii-san."
"That looks beautiful. I'm happy you're having fun, Masami-san."
"Thank you, Sawada-san. How are you doing?"
Masami spent her second to ninth day doing all of the cliche tourist gigs. She visited Osaka Castle, paid her respects at the Sumiyoshi Grand Shrine, and watched a performance at the National Bunraku Theater. She shopped in the Minami and admired the organisms in the Osaka Aquarium.
She even indulged herself and bought postcards for everyone.
On the tenth day, Rika swept into the room with a vengeance and slammed three books in front of Masami. She only blinked at her mother, taking a peek at the clock. It was five minutes to eight o'clock at night.
Arching an eyebrow, Masami questioned, "Okaa-san?"
"We're going to Spain in four days," Rika informed her with a serene smile. "I expect you to be ready." And then she was gone, leaving Masami with a book on culture, a book on basic language, and a book on proper etiquette.
Masami stared at the stack for a good five minutes before snapping out of her trance with a sigh. Well, Tetsuya and Kyoya might be covering for her for the last few weeks of school before summer break, but Rika had been explicit: she was to keep up with her schoolwork. And really, this was merely an extension of that condition.
Besides.
She liked to learn about different cultures. And it would be embarrassing if she couldn't speak of word of their language when she reached Spain.
Smiling wryly, Masami reached out and cracked open the first book.
Spanish, as it turned out, was somewhat similar to Italian, which she'd already been exposed to. Among their group, Masami had been far from the most talented with languages—that had been Hayato, the-genius-who-wouldn't-do-anything-with-his-talents—but she hadn't been the least talented, either; that had been Yamamoto.
By the time she managed to make it through all three books, she had a headache and the sun was sinking down the horizon.
Masami sighed, rubbing at her temple with her fingers. Well, she figured, at least she could finally take the picture of the skyline at night like she wanted.
"Why did you send me such a useless card?"
"You're very welcome, Onii-san. That's tradition and history on there."
"Thank you very much for the beautiful postcard, Masa-san."
"You've very welcome, Kusakabe-san. I trust that everything is fine back at home?"
"Thanks for the postcard, Masami-san! Ah, what should I do with it?"
"You're very welcome, Sawada-san. If you'd like, you're welcome to use it for target practice."
"Didn't I tell you to stop bothering me, maiko witch!?"
"You're very welcome, Gokudera-san. I'll endeavor to send more appropriate gifts next time."
"Haha, thanks for the gift! My dad wanted to send back sushi, but I told him that it would spoil before reaching you."
"You're very welcome, Yamamoto-san. That's quite alright, no harm done. I appreciate the thought."
On the final night of Osaka, Rika came back with a cold smile and watchful eyes and blood-soaked clothes. Masami was prepared to turn her head away, to pretend she hadn't seen a thing, but her mother inquired, "Do you know how to remove blood from clothes?"
Masami paused. She knew how to remove blood stains but Rika's dress was positively dripping blood all over the floor. At least it wasn't carpet. She shook her head. "No, Okaa-san."
Rika nodded and stripped off her dress without hesitation. Throwing the dress into the sink, she glided off to take a shower. While Rika washed off the blood, Masami eyed the red droplets on the floor and wondered if she should take care of it now.
Probably not, she decided. Okaa-san would want to make a lesson out of this.
Masami was correct. Stepping fluidly out of the shower in a black yukata, Rika gestured for Masami to come closer and then began to instruct her on the proper removal of questionable fluids from porous and nonporous surfaces.
There was, Masami thought that night before slipping off into a dreamless sleep, nothing like an assassin teaching you how to hide evidence of murder.
"The herbivores continue to crowd and be useless. Also, the paperwork is intolerable."
"My condolences, Onii-san. Perhaps you can dance with some of the yakuza? They're a bit unruly nowadays."
"More languages, huh? Sounds tough. Gokudera still shouts at me for speaking Italian wrong, hahaha."
"Have you made progress? I will admit, the many accents of Spanish are difficult."
Immediately after they had resettled themselves in a hotel—just as uncomfortable and just as worthwhile as the last one—Rika turned around and scanned her daughter critically. "Your attire needs to change. It's more than conspicuous."
Masami considered the casual silver yukata she wore, the kanzashi that dangled from her hair, and how very Japanese her entire outfit was. This area didn't lack in tourists, but... "Hai. Would you do me the favor of acquiring more suitable clothes, Okaa-san?"
Rika nodded sharply and left. Half an hour later, she handed Masami a white blouse and a long blue skirt. Moving behind her, she deftly plucked out the kanzashi and simply let her black waist-length hair fall down her back freely.
The girl in the bathroom mirror was strangely unfamiliar.
Masami suppressed the automatic flinch, feeling strangely guilty. It wasn't as if she was betraying Japanese culture, blending in was important, so there was no reason for her to feel this way. And yet...
"You'll adjust," Rika assured her, meeting her eyes in the glass. "The formal greeting here is 'hola, ¿cómo está?'. Don't bow when outside of Japan, curtsy; I've taught you how. I will give you one week to become at ease with this culture. And then you shall join me on my mission."
Masami froze. "If I may inquire why, Okaa-san?"
"You have many career choices ahead of you," Rika murmured levelly, drifting away. "However, knowing how to properly assassinate someone never hurts. You have the talent for it, in any case."
Masami wondered what it said about her and her mother that a compliment like that made her smile faintly. But then, that was the Hibari family for you.
Madrid was lovely.
Albeit, it would have been lovelier if Masami could understand more than one in ten words, but cultural immersion was also a lovely thing. The people here were all used to tourists and friendly enough not to laugh at her fumbling attempts at Spanish. Some of them even kindly corrected her pronunciation, which she accepted graciously.
More startling was the cultural disparity, because people here were so very loud and open and intimate with each other, and reading about it could never match up to the reality.
"Your herbivores are too much trouble. Why do you put up with them?"
"Apologies, Onii-san. I did warn you."
In the Mercado de San Miguel, there was food she had never tried, food she had never known existed, and she didn't hesitate to buy a small sample when something caught her eye. Churros were a new love that she refused to give up, and flans were simply a pleasure.
"Masami-san, someone tried to murder me today! I think it was a hit, that's what it's called, right!?"
"Seeing as you're texting me, I'll assume you're still alive. Congratulations."
Art, she learned, was major in Madrid. The Museo Reina Sofia was captivating, although, to be quite honest, Masami had never been much of an artist, far more interested in music. The Retiro Park was an invigorating experience, tranquil and exquisite enough to lull her into a half-nap.
She took pictures when she could, reveled in the energy and zeal that surrounded the city, noting that Ryohei would probably enjoy this place.
"Maiko witch, stop sending me fucking random pictures from who-knows-where! I don't care!"
"Thank you for your advice, I'll keep that in mind."
But what Masami loved the most were the dances.
The dances and the gowns and the music. Salsa was the best, she thought dreamily, more than happy to watch the performers dance the night away in one of the lesser-populated areas she'd found. There was just such a spirit in Latin dancing that classical dances lacked.
One of the local dancers caught her watching and laughed, warm and bright. Grabbing Masami by the hands, she drew her smoothly into the circle of music and taught her the steps, moving with a sensuality and passion she couldn't hope to match.
"Bueno, bueno," the woman praised and spun her wildly.
Masami laughed, happy.
"So, hey, Gokudera got turned into a kid yesterday! It was pretty cool. We even played a game of catch!"
"That does sound very interesting, yes."
In many ways, Masami wasn't moral in the manner that most people were. That was to say, if a psychiatrist were to spend some time with her, they would most likely diagnose her as somewhat psychopathic. She was fully aware of this.
Partially, it was because of how she was raised. The Hibari family had no tolerance for weakness, and mercy, while useful, was ultimately for the herbivores. Bloodlust was accepted, if not encouraged, and rules and laws were more of a pesky obstacle than anything to be taken seriously.
There was also the fact that, innately, Masami was an eminently practical person regarding most matters. She had kept Kyoya from killing for so long simply because it would have brought trouble from the police, not out of any sense of righteous ethics.
In that same line of thought, if there were no consequences and the best possible solution was murder, then that was fine with her.
However, psychopathic or not, she was still an innocent to death. Which was, now that she thought about it, the real reason her mother had forced her to come along. There was a time and a place for freaking out, and on the battlefield wasn't it.
The mission went well, or as well as an assassination could go. Rika disguised herself as an entertainer in the more elegant parts of the city, having pulled several strings to get there, while Masami was recruited as a waitress, whose only real job was to pretend to be busy and discreetly observe the scene.
Ten minutes in, the target arrived.
Masami had always known that her mother was a talented assassin, but it had been a distant knowledge, similar to how she knew penguins lived in the South Pole. For the first time, she was blatantly slapped in the face with the understanding that Rika was a well-versed professional killer.
It was an...experience.
There weren't any flaws in her mask at all, or at least, none that her daughter could detect. Wearing a wig which endowed with her curly brown hair and flaunting amber eyes, in a black dress that fit her like a glove, Rika smiled with rose-tinted lips and batted thick lashes accentuated with dark eyeshadow.
She was warm, sophisticated, and charming. Her smile was radiant and her bearing immaculate. Spanish flowed freely from her lips, the accent localized and perfect, while she steadily intoxicated the man with offerings of hard alcohol.
When Rika led him outside, Masami followed.
The moon hung beautiful and wise in the night sky, paid court by shimmering, faraway stars. The faint moonlight glinted off of the knife that appeared in Rika's hand for the shortest second before it swiped across her target's throat and the blood spray went everywhere.
What was once clean air became tainted by copper.
"My client is a pretentious man," Rika told Masami lightly in Japanese, letting the man topple over with a grunt. "He wants to make a scene."
"I see." Dimly, she was aware that her voice came out softer than it should have.
"For the money, this job is on the easy side of the spectrum," Rika continued, flicking the blood off of her knife. It disappeared rapidly up her sleeve, and she turned around to smile at her daughter. "It was relatively straightforward, was it not?"
Masami watched the life fade from the man's eyes and pressed her lips together. "Hai."
"Come along now. The authorities will be here by dawn."
When they returned to the hotel, Rika casually donning a stylish coat to conceal the red on her dress, Masami strolled to their room without a hitch in her stride, her smile polite and bland.
She stepped into the bathroom and huddled under the shower spray for an hour, lingering long after the water had turned cold, shivering the entire time. Rika was back to her immaculate self when Masami stepped out, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands.
"You'll adapt," Rika said.
Masami was sure she would. Perhaps what frightened her the most was that she could feel nothing but apathy for the man her mother had killed.
...he had simply been so weak.
"The herbivores never cease crowding on Tanabata."
"It is a festival, Onii-san."
"Masami-san, Reborn is being as ridiculous as ever!"
"I presume your training is going well then."
Of course, in the end, her mother would be right. By the time the third corpse landed at her feet, Masami would be entirely unaffected.
"Your Italian is still atrocious. Spanish isn't helping."
"Thank you for your concern, Gokudera-san."
"Hey, so how's Spain? It is fun?"
"Yes. Spain has been amusing."
"You're already learning Italian, right?" Rika shrugged on a silk jacket and tossed a scarf over her neck. Colorful earrings were hanging from her ears, and she deftly slipped her feet into black high heels.
Masami watched her, sitting on the side of her bed. "Hai," she said, emotionless. After the violence of the previous night, everything seemed a bit muted, a little less innocuous than before. If her mother noticed, she didn't mention it.
Instead, Rika said, "We're going to Italy in two days. Be ready," and swept out the door.
Wandering around Madrid calmed Masami down a bit. She allowed the bustle and life of the city to soothe her conflicted emotions and wash the imprint of crimson away. She lost herself in the music and the dancing and let her feet carry her where they may.
Forty-eight hours passed in a blur and then she was on a plane once more, the night sky a cool indigo beyond her window, peaceful and bloodless and boring.
Venice was a place of beauty and history, intricate gondolas and waterfront palazzos.
After being settled in a hotel and left by Rika, Masami didn't hesitate to envelop herself in the city's romantic atmosphere and fascinating culture. It was a wonderful distraction, at the very least, and her lack of fluency or otherwise, she was going to enjoy her time here.
The architecture caught her attention first. St. Mark's Basilica appeared more of a work of art than anything functional, and she wasn't in the least bit interested in religion, but she snapped some photos nonetheless. Gallerie dell'Accademia was an actual house of art, and she happily spends hours there observing the displays.
Italian food was...interesting. Masami had known of pizza before of course, but there was just something different about the authentic dish. She wasn't certain she liked it, but she didn't regret trying it. Pasta was more suited to her tastes, and the seafood here was magnificent.
When Masami fell asleep that night, her rest was plagued by nothing more than flares of dancing purple.
As the sun rose, she drank coffee in St. Mark's Square and closed her eyes to better listen to the enthusiastic chatter going on around her. A trip to Doge's Palace or Palazzo Ducale took up the rest of her morning, and she spent her afternoon admiring the Murano, buying a few glass trinkets here and there.
Rather than going back to the hotel as night fell, Masami explored the Grand Canal and sighed at the Rialto Bridge.
When she finally returned to her room, Rika was waiting. "Now that you've gotten that out of your system," she said primly, seated cross-legged on her bed, "it's time for you to gain control of your Flames."
"Meditation?"
"Meditation."
"The Summer Festival, if at all possible, was worse."
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Onii-san."
"Why are you in Venice? Are you at least learning good Italian?"
"Vacation. I would hardly be a good judge, Gokudera-san."
Tsuna had been getting used to Namimori without Masami around. It hadn't been easy at all, but there was Reborn, Gokudera, and Yamamoto to distract himself with, and to his surprise, Tsuna realized that it wasn't quite as monstrously difficult as he had imagined.
He sometimes wondered, in the back of his mind, how long this had been in coming and what clues he had missed.
Because even when word spread in school that Masami was gone—the rumors were ridiculous—Gokudera and Yamamoto were there to keep the bullies off Tsuna. Yamamoto was more subtle about it, usually with a laugh and an off-hand comment, but Gokudera just let loose with the dynamite.
It gave Tsuna headaches to even think about it.
At lunch, well, Masami had been pretty busy with her prefect duties for a while now. He almost couldn't remember the last time she'd sat with them on a day that wasn't close to a particularly important test. And the silence and space were more than taken up by Gokudera and Yamamoto.
On the other hand, there was Hibari. Hibari, who, Tsuna was terrified to note, was five hundred percent more pissed off than before now that his sister wasn't there to keep the peace or provide whatever it was that was needed to calm the beast.
What that meant for Tsuna mostly? Knocking on the Hibari Mansion door, getting greeted with a death glare, and being beat up even worse than usual. Recently, Hibari had even started dragged Yamamoto and Gokudera into their spars.
The outcome remained the same, of course—it was The Hibari Kyoya—but that did mean fewer bruises for Tsuna.
It also resulted in them being thrown out after the spars were over, not tea and conversation, but he would take what he could get.
Out of everything, Tsuna thought that he missed the cool confidence and unbiased advice that Masami had given him the most. Before Reborn, before anyone else, she had been the one who had looked at him and decided that he could, would, be someone better than just Dame-Tsuna, and her presence had always reminded him of that.
Not that he needed anyone to tell him to keep his back straight and his head held high nowadays, not when it had become habit sometime when he wasn't looking, but the memo had been appreciated.
Occasionally, when Tsuna was feeling particularly introspective, he would miss Masami's lack of favoritism. Reborn was probably the least prejudiced after she was, but even he came in after she had whipped Tsuna into shape. Yamamoto saw Tsuna as the guy who had saved his life, and Gokudera...was Gokudera.
Masami, though, Masami looked at him, all of him, the Tsuna before and after she had glided into his life. She didn't put him on a pedestal or let him give anything but his best, and when she talked to him, she was talking to Sawada-san, not the Vongola Decimo, or the Hero-In-Dying-Will.
In that way, Masami had always been neutral, and Tsuna was unspeakably grateful to her for it.
There was also something to be said for having someone around who, while maddeningly impossible and implacable, valued normalcy and was mostly sane.
But Masami seemed happy, judging by the text messages and the small gifts that showed up in his mailbox every few weeks or so. And Tsuna was happy for his friend, because she deserved everything the world had to offer.
There was that, and the mayhem raging in Namimori. Hibari might oversee their training, but he didn't keep a close eye on them, not like Masami did. Consequently, Hibari didn't catch most of the antics Reborn pulled out of his hat before Reborn magically made the smoking craters and wrecked property disappear.
God only knew what Masami would have done to them if she was forced to deal with all of them.
"Hey, Tsuna!" Yamamoto leaned his elbow on his shoulder, cheerful smile dull today. "Did you see the news yet?"
"News...?" That didn't bode well. In fact, when did that ever bode well?
"Yeah." Yamamoto placed a newspaper on the table in front of him. "It's pretty brutal."
"Namimori Student Viciously Attacked! Missing Every Last One Of His Teeth!"
Tsuna's stomach dropped. Then, his heart stuttered when he caught sight of the picture. "Oh, no," he whispered, eyes wide. "It's one of the prefects."
Ring~ Ring~ Ring~
"Greetings, Onii-san."
"Masami. I need you back in Namimori."
"...understood. I'll be back by tomorrow."
When Masami stepped foot on Namimori soil once more, she was beset by a sudden surge of discomfort. Of being weighed down once more in a way she'd never been in Spain or Italy or even Osaka, of being chained and leashed and restricted, and she hated it.
As always, she focused on the fact that her brother was here, that he needed something or another, and allowed that to crush her urge to run and run and never come back.
At least the kanzashi and yukata were familiar and comforting.
Plastering a courteous smile on her lips, Masami strolled down the street. Here and there, someone called out a greeting and a welcome back, and it was full circle now, wasn't it? Her time away from this cage hadn't been nearly long enough, but she swallowed that down and nodded politely in response.
It was a relief when she walked back onto Hibari land. Hotels were convenient, but they were uncomfortable, and there was a perpetual touch of sterility to their rooms that made her wary.
Rika had also very helpfully shown her the many, many ways someone could get assassinated in a hotel, so there was that, too.
Masami slipped soundlessly into her house and breathed a sigh of relief, the last line of tension falling from her shoulders. She covered a yawn, already mentally calculating how long it would take her to get used to the different time zone.
Previously, it hadn't really mattered since the nighttime activities had been just as entertaining as the daytime activities, but things were obviously different back here.
Sparing a glance at the clock, she concluded that it would take Kyoya a few more hours to make it back from Namimori Middle, so Masami took the liberty of taking a nice, hot shower and collapsing in her futon after asserting that everything in the house was as it should be.
After all of the travel, after the blood, after the jetlag, it was much too easy to fall asleep.
"Masami."
She woke as the sun was setting, the warm glow of it traveling along the tatami mats. Blinking sleep out of her eyes, she registered the figure standing above her.
"Onii-san. Greetings," Masami muttered huskily, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. "What time is it?"
"Eight," Kyoya said, crisp and clear. "Dinner's ready." With that, he turned and left her room, sliding the screen shut behind him.
She processed that for a moment, picking up her gunsen, which had been lying on the mat next to her futon, and spreading it idly. It didn't take long for her to get dressed, and when they sat down to eat, it was as if she had never left.
If one ignored the dangerous spark in Kyoya's eyes, of course.
It was after dinner, with all of the dishes washed and dried, when Masami said, "What happened?"
Without a word, he placed the newspaper down on the table. She picked it up and scanned the article, eyes narrowing when she recognized the prefect.
Kamisaka was particularly devoted when training. He loved to eat ramen and hated paperwork, and he was one of theirs.
"Is he still alive?"
"Barely."
Faintly, she frowned and wondered if she could have prevented this. Wondered if, had she been less selfish, had she stayed and devoted her time to training those poor herbivores, this could have been avoided.
It was an ugly thought. And she saw it reflected in her brother's eyes, entwined with the territorial rage of an apex predator and the self-castigation of a pack leader.
Tsuna first realized Masami was back in Namimori when the front doors were gently opened, not wrenched apart, and a familiar voice said, "Greetings."
Head snapping up, Tsuna promptly lit up like fireworks. "Masami-san! You're back!" Casting a careful eye over his classmate, he found her looking pretty much the same, although her smile was sweeter than before.
Whether that was a good sign or a bad sign, he didn't know.
At his right side, Gokudera jolted, a quicksilver scowl flitting over his face as green eyes sharpened into a glare. "Tch, why did she have to come back?" he complained under his breath but it was half-hearted.
At his left side, Yamamoto laughed, grinning openly. "Hey, welcome back! How have you been?"
Reborn merely peered up at the girl with black eyes. "Ciaossu, Masami."
Masami wore a loose black yukata, her hair held up by kanzashi that looked like streams of red flowers. She smiled, quietly pleased. "So I am. Thank you, I've been well." Turning, she invited them inside with a flicker of silk. "Onii-san's not back yet, I'm afraid," she said conversationally as she led the way to the sitting room.
Tsuna blinked, putting aside his joy at having his first friend back to try and puzzle out this oddity. On the weekends, especially this early in the morning, Hibari had always been at home, as far as he could remember.
"Where is he?" Yamamoto piped up, linking his hands behind his head.
She glanced back at them, smiling enigmatically. "Busy with another affair."
Tsuna thought about what would draw Masami back to Namimori when she'd been plainly happier outside, what would occupy Hibari of all people, and gulped.
"You've heard about the attacks then," Gokudera summarized, echoing Tsuna's thoughts.
"Sadly, yes." Masami's voice remained calm and even, but there was an edge there, frosty and lethal, that made Tsuna shiver. An angry Masami was a scary Masami, no matter how happy he was to have her back.
It was almost a relief when they entered the familiar room, the steaming tea exactly where it normally was, the books set along the table. Uncommonly, Tsuna wasn't a sweating, panting, hurting mess when he collapsed on the zabuton, but that was an excellent thing in his book.
"Alright," Gokudera grumbled, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "Let's see what you've done to your Italian now."
Yamamoto snickered.
Masami offered an innocent smile that didn't make Tsuna feel better at all.
Half an hour later, in the middle of groaning his way through yet another Mafia Boss Lesson, while Gokudera shouted at Yamamoto because apparently Masami's Italian was now leagues better than theirs and Gokudera found that personally offensive, Tsuna flinched, book falling to the ground, as something screamed a warning inside of his head.
"Juudaime!?" Gokudera called immediately, worried. "What's wrong!?"
"I...I don't..." Tsuna shook his head, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. His lungs didn't seem to want to cooperate. "I..."
"Ah." Masami flowed to her feet, snapping open her fan in one smooth movement. Her brief glance at Tsuna was speculative. "Onii-san's back."
It sounded like a death sentence.
Tsuna went five shades paler and swayed a little, alarms all but blaring in his skull. No one wanted to be around when The Hibari Kyoya was angry...and for some reason, Tsuna was fairly certain that he was furious right now. Tsuna needed to run, he should have run, it was too late to run—
The screen was shoved open. Hibari stood in the doorway, face blank, shoulders tense, and tonfa in hand. Killing intent infused the air, thick and noxious, and oh God, Tsuna really couldn't breathe now.
He was so going to die.
"What. The. Fuck." Gokudera rasped out, mouth thin and white, fingers curled around his dynamite.
From the corner of his eye, Tsuna noticed Reborn's mysterious absence and the sharpness in Yamamoto's eyes.
Meanwhile, Masami only smiled and bowed, perfectly composed. "Greetings, Onii-san."
Hibari glared. Tsuna tried not to sob. "Masami," the prefect purred slowly, and it was a brutal command.
"Hai, hai." Masami waited until Hibari had prowled away before smiling at Tsuna and the others. "Come along now. I don't think you'll want to miss this."
On the contrary, Tsuna was dead-certain he did want to miss this—whatever 'this' was—but arguing with Masami was useless, so he just nodded and resigned himself to his doom.
"Woah, easy there," Yamamoto said as he steadied Tsuna when he wavered on his feet. Tsuna muttered his thanks and tried to brace himself for whatever come next.
It still didn't stop him from squeaking pathetically when he realized they were heading to the training room.
"Backs to the wall, please," Masami suggested, very gently, when they arrived and the door was closed by Reborn, who had appeared behind them with an unholy gleam in his eyes. Hibari stood on the other side of the room, eyes narrowed in anticipation. "This may get a bit messy."
Tsuna practically sprinted to obey, although once he was huddled against the wall, Gokudera and Yamamoto beside him, he rapidly realized the disparity between his actions and his surroundings. If he wasn't fighting Hibari, and his friends weren't fighting Hibari, and his tutor wasn't fighting Hibari, then...
Masami serenely approached her brother and stopped ten meters away. There were two fans in her hands, and daintily, she bowed. "Shall we dance?"
"Holy shit," Gokudera muttered, fingers fidgeting like he wanted to light a cigarette.
"Wow," Yamamoto commented, grinning. "This is going to be awesome."
"Pay attention, Dame-Tsuna," Reborn commanded.
Tsuna whimpered and tried to become one with the wall at his back.
Hibari hummed in response and slid into a combat position. There was a heartbeat of complete and utter silence. Even the birds outside stopped chirping. Tsuna held his breath, throat dry and heart pounding. For once, Gokudera, Yamamoto, and Reborn didn't jump in with sassy remarks.
Then, Hibari lunged forward, with all of the flawlessly controlled power and poise of a large cat, and Masami was spinning away, beautiful and elegant, and they were sparring, fighting, dancing, and Tsuna—
Tsuna didn't realize he was holding his breath until his lungs were screaming for air. Slowly, he inhaled, eyes still fixated on the pair. By his side, his friends were quiet, and so was Reborn. It was terribly hard to look away.
In some part of his mind, hidden behind his daily anxieties and worries and doubts, Tsuna had always been aware that Hibari was holding back when he spared with Tsuna. Otherwise, Tsuna would be a smear on the ground, after all, and Masami, well, Masami was in another category altogether.
Watching the two strongest people he knew fight was...magnificent, in a mildly horrifying way.
Swaying to the left and pivoting on her foot, Masami blocked and deflected four of Hibari's strikes and then smoothly snapped open her black fan, lashing out. Hibari wove under the deadly weapon, was coming up underneath her guard, but Masami wasn't there anymore, her footwork intricate and lightning-fast.
The white fan was swinging through the air, aimed at the back of Hibari's head, but he swung around, whacking it away with a tonfa. Its partner was already a silver blur, but Masami flipped backward, yukata offering no restriction to her fluidity, and they were moving again.
The smash of a tonfa on the wooden ground caused Tsuna to flinch instinctively, but Masami merely pushed off, righted herself in mid-air, only to use the wall as a springboard and crash herself directly into Hibari, who grunted and interlocked his tonfa against the assault.
Under the combined pressure, the floorboards beneath splintered slightly. There was first just a hint of a fissure, and then an almighty CRACK as a crater appeared below Hibari's feet.
"Hieeee," Tsuna whispered, eyes wide as saucers.
Disturbingly enough, Hibari only grinned and dug his feet in, pushing Masami away. She landed neatly on her feet and ducked under the tonfa aimed at her head, a foot darting out to catch around Hibari's ankle. Only, he was already gone, swinging a tonfa at her shoulder from her right.
Masami deflected it with ridiculous ease. Tsuna, who ended each spar with aching muscles and colorful bruises, despaired.
By now, their weapons were merely arcs of color in the air, metal glinting here and there, sparks flying where they collided. It was odd, because, in Tsuna's experience, everything slowed down as a fight progressed, but then, that was probably just his bad stamina speaking.
Here, both Masami and Hibari only seemed to get faster as time went on. Attacking. Blocking. Ducking. Swirling and tossing and whirling and dancing. Neither of them were holding back here and now, and death was a laughing murmur in the silence, the raw artistry of the Hibari siblings almost but not quite taking away from the sheer danger.
The sharp edge of a fan a centimeter away from a vulnerable throat. A foot pulled back right before snapping a rib. The half-completed maneuver meant to break the spine. A tonfa aimed and almost smashed into an eyeball. The soft whisper of an edge a second too late to decapitate.
It was hard to comprehend everything that was happening, like watching a choreographed fight in fast forward. Just keeping up with what was going on took up most of his brain power, but, as Tsuna watched, he was reminded of a pair of predatory birds, darting around each other, over and under, left and right, perfectly synchronized.
Other times, he thought they were more like wolves in a fight to the death, snapping at each other, teeth and claws, mother nature at its finest, more feral, but all the more beautiful in its savagery, and shivered. Tsuna suspected he would be torn to shreds in milliseconds should he try to intervene.
Time became negligible, but once, and only once, Tsuna was able to tear his eyes away from the fight for a few seconds to sneak a glance at his companions.
Reborn was, as usual, unreadable, but his gaze was set firmly on the scene in front of them. There was an ear-piercing shriek of metal against metal a beat later, and Tsuna winced despite himself.
Gokudera was frowning, but he didn't seem to be angry. Instead, he tracked each movement of the two unerringly, head cocked to the side like a curious cat. There was a furrow in his brow, and Tsuna wondered what calculations were going through his friend's genius brain.
Yamamoto, though...
Yamamoto was grinning, bright and wide, eyes as sharp as blades and focused solely on the fight. There was a light to his face that Tsuna normally only saw during a particularly challenging baseball game, and he was clearly more exhilarated than afraid or anything sensible.
Tsuna exhaled slowly and cried tears inwardly. Why couldn't he have any normal friends!?
It could have been minutes, could have been hours, as Masami and Hibari fought on. It was hard to tell, especially since the training room was devoid of anything that could be destroyed, clock included. Tsuna was well aware that time never mattered much during a fight.
Finally, finally, Masami did something tricky with her fan and sent one of the tonfa sprawling on the floor, and Hibari stopped the remaining tonfa a centimeter from her throat. Tsuna gulped hard, eyes wide as saucers.
Masami's smile was soft and pleased. She was breathing hard but not outright gasping. Bizarrely, most of her kanzashi were still perfectly in place and her yukata was only slightly rumpled, a thin, thin sheen of sweat on her pale skin. "Yield."
Hibari grinned, keen and toothy. He drew back smoothly, physical condition mirroring his sister's. "Investigate," he ordered curtly but the raw murderous intent from before was gone. Straightening up, he grabbed his tonfa and strolled out of the room, efficient and easy.
Masami hummed and deftly made her fans disappear. She glided over to the door, where the normal supplies were located, and sipped at a water bottle, rubbing a towel over her face, her neck, and wiping her hands. There was no hint of any difficulty or awkwardness in her movements.
Tsuna, who could fight against the head prefect for about ten minutes and practically crawled away from each session, despaired some more.
"Well then." Turning, she smiled at them, completely and utterly peaceful. "Let's get going, shall we?"
OpalescentGold: Ahhh, I'm sorry this has taken so long! My beta disappeared somewhere - I hope they're okay - so now I'm missing a beta.
A/N: WOULD ANYONE BE WILLING TO BETA FOR ME? IT WOULD MAKE POSTING CHAPTERS SO MUCH EASIER.
OpalescentGold: Ahem. So what the previous chapters have been building up to has finally happened. Masa-chan snaps and leaves and is more than happy with what she finds outside of Namimori. Also. Mukuro.
I'll be replying to comments individually from now on. It gets a bit crowded down here otherwise, and I don't want to excite anyone with a faux word count.
^.^, thanks for everyone's support! Comments are always wonderful and welcome.
Chabudai: tables with short legs.
Churro: a sweet snack consisting of a strip of fried dough dusted with sugar or cinnamon, popular in Spain.
Flan: an egg custard dessert with a layer of soft melted caramel on top, popular in Spain.
Futon: thin bedding meant for sleeping
Gunsen: lightweight but strong folding fans.
Kanzashi: hair ornaments worn in traditional Japanese hairstyles, often by Maiko.
Kimono: a type of traditional Japanese formal wear composed of silk robes, sashes and various accessories.
Maiko: trainee Geisha who typically undergo training from their mid teens to early twenties.
Okonomiyaki: a Japanese savoury pancake containing a variety of ingredients
Palazzo: an impressive public building, translates to palace in Italian.
Tanabata: a Japanese festival originating from the Chinese Qixi Festival.
Tatami: mat floors traditionally made of rice straw.
Takoyaki: a ball-shaped Japanese dumpling made of batter and filled with diced octopus, tempura scraps, pickled ginger, and green onion.
Tessen: heavy folding fans with outer spokes made of heavy plates of iron.
Yukata: inexpensive, informal summer robe for summer, similar to a kimono.