1. That beautiful cover art? That's from sefirin. Many thanks. Lots of love. Wish you all the best in life
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"100% again, Sawada. Good job," though Nezu—the chemistry teacher—praises her, his tone is almost bored. "See, class, your student council president can excel academically and athletically. It's not impossible." Sakura accepts her paper and then tucks it out of sight.
She can feel the weight of envious eyes on her, and she does not care for it.
Nezu, her least liked teacher (and the most incompetent), seems to be snidely picking on Yamamoto Takeshi next, considering his pointed glare over at the sheepish boy.
It's a pointless task. Popular and friendly to a fault, Takeshi would have the entire school on his side if Nezu was to pick on him openly. Even someone like Nezu wouldn't bring such trouble on himself.
Takeshi is the bigger person as he takes in stride, while laughing, his own near-failing paper.
She wonders idly how he is still on the baseball team with marks such as his.
Well, it is not as if they could kick him off. He is the next ace, after all.
Sakura sighs as she gazes out the window, her chin resting on her palm.
She has already studied ahead of the material and has flipped through her textbook a few times. Middle school is a chore of the never-ending kind, with long hours spent sitting down, interacting with peers whose only care is to gossip at all hours of the day. If it was possible to die of boredom, this civilian life of hers would do her in years ago.
A prickling sensation crawls up her arms.
She wonders who has the time to stalk her this time. Considering it's been like this for the last day or so, she ignores it.
..
..
"I'm home!" Sakura calls as she enters her childhood home and tucks away her shoes. There was a time when she used to kick them off but... that was another life.
"Oh, Sa-chan, welcome back! You're home early!" Sawada Nana calls from the kitchen.
Sakura hums in agreement, entering the kitchen and setting her bag on a chair. Today, she did not feel like staying back to complete her share of Student Council paperwork. It made more sense for her to return home. She could always wake earlier tomorrow morning to catch up on planning the Sports Festival.
Sometimes, she wonders what it would be like to have a team instead of only her on the board.
But that would be like wondering what would life be like without Hibari Kyoya scaring her school into obedience. Useless daydreams, but nice in theory. It would mean less work on her end.
But it's fine. She's used to being a one-woman show.
"There was an interesting flyer in the mail today," Nana continues, content with even the slightest things, "Will raise your child to be the new leader of the next generation." Sakura spots said flyer on the dining table and picks it up to inspect it.
"Social skill doesn't matter. All it says in return is food and a place to sleep! Doesn't that sound amazing? I've never seen a promotion like this before. He must be from one of those professional business schools for young men!" Sakura is silent as she scrutinises the hard-paper flyer.
She got to give credit to this Reborn though. It's professionally done, which is at odds with the blatant suspiciousness of the whole affair.
"Kaa-san, this sounds like a scam," Sakura says, tracing the elegant writing font and the shiny print of everything.
She appreciates that at least this Reborn did not just write his details on any random piece of paper.
It's a wonder that her mother does not get scammed more often, really.
"..Wait, I have social skills!" she retorts belatedly.
Her mother gives her a knowing look to which Sakura huffs at. They have had this argument many times and Sakura does not want to rehash it now.
Just then, the doorbell rings. Nana lights up even more. "That must be him! I called him earlier."
Sakura sighs, truly exasperated at her carefree mother, but making her way to the front door despite that. "Okay, let me handle this." She pulls it open.
There's no one there.
"Ciaossu!" a high-pitched voice calls out, and her eyes fall to the immaculately dressed child holding a briefcase. "I'm Reborn."
Sakura blinks twice in astonishment. "..Hi, I'm Sakura. Did you put the flyer in our mailbox?"
"Yes."
Well, at least she didn't have to deal with a pushy salesperson. In some ways, a child's prank made things easier.
Unless he ran away from home or something. She might need to call the police... or Kyoya—No, the police. She could not imagine Kyoya interacting with children. He gives even adults nightmares after all.
"Can I come in?" the black-haired, black-eyed, fedora-wearing child asks.
"Oh, where's my manners? Yes, please, this way." She moves aside, allowing him space to enter and remove his shoes, before leading him to the kitchen.
He seems like a harmless child.
"Whose this, Sa-chan? He's so cute!" Nana squeals, hands clasped together, but Sakura's attention was taken by the child who, for some reason, hops onto her dining table.
It would have been rude if he were any bigger, but mostly it allows them to face him without craning their heads down.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck raise, Sakura stiffening with them.
Her fingers twitch to non-existent shuriken, which was once a staple of every day.
The child has done nothing dangerous, not a twitch nor a threat—But he smirks, and all at once, Sakura knows she's been duped.
Like flipping a switch, that non-threat on her porch became the most dangerous thing in the room—Heck, the entire neighbourhood.
Fucking hell.
Sakura's been too careless.
This civilian life has made her soft, leading to her grave error in judgement.
It only takes one mistake to die after all.
She knew that intimately well.
Her mind flashes to the nearest knives, which would be the kitchen ones, only five metres away from her but still five metres too many.
"Ciaossu! I am Reborn," he repeats, but where on her doorstep it was cute, now there's an ominous undertone, "Sawada Sakura's home tutor. I have arrived to evaluate her." Reborn's black eyes show no trace of a joke, and she dares not take her eyes off him to glance at the no doubt surprised features of her mother's—Her mother!
Sakura's heart thumps loudly in her chest, the heavy beats pulsing in her head.
Her airhead mother, still sweetly smiling, and far too trusting.
Sakura sweats, every noise too loud, her body too hot.
"Kaa-san." She forces her eyes to drift to her mom's, even as she always kept Reborn in her line of sight. "Weren't we out of milk? You should go grocery shopping. I'll stay here to vet Reborn's qualifications." She grabs her wallet from her bag and hands it over, not wanting her mother to stay even a second longer to search for her own.
Luckily—she'll never again bemoan her bad luck (for she'll die soon)—Nana takes the bait.
"Would you, Sa-chan? I don't know what I would do without you. I'll be right back, okay?" Nana looks worried, but Sakura just reassures her to take her time.
That this might take a while.
The tension stretches agonizingly as the front door clicks shut and then as the soft footsteps of Nana fade further and further to nothing.
After that, the threat in her house wastes no time.
"My true line of work is assassination. I am the World's Greatest Hitman, here to train you into becoming an astounding mafia boss." His eyes betray nothing. His body has no tells.
At the word hitman, Sakura clenches her fist. Of course, he wasn't a civilian, not after that stunt to let him into her house.
Against any trained adversary, she is wholly unprepared.
She was raised a civilian, after all.
"You will lead the Vongola. It is the mafia's biggest and strongest family, with a long history dating back 400 years ago."
Sakura's brows furrow, trying desperately to recall any information about the mafia, only to come up sorely lacking and then frustrated at her lack of knowledge. "Mafia... in Italy?"
Her tone is wary, and her face flushes slightly in her mortifying ignorance. Though truly, it wasn't her fault. She's never left her home country of Japan, not even for a brief holiday. Her family of two has a good life in Namimori. How would she come to know of the international underground scene? Better yet, why would she choose to focus on the Italian Mob? She's met foreigners, but no one specifically Italian—Until now. Until Reborn.
She carefully watches as he clicks open that suitcase of his. First, he takes out a multitude of weaponry in the form of guns that she had no name to and then papers, papers, and papers of official documents.
"Yes, the base of operations for Vongola and the mafia is in Italy."
He takes one of the fancier, heavier guns to dismantle it in a second and then reassembles it the next. She knows he's doing it as a show for her—Of power and skill.
It's a threat and promise all in one.
They both know he could do it much faster.
He watches her and she him.
Finally, she asks the question they were both waiting for.
"Why me?"
Her voice is level, and it does not betray her fear, nor her disbelief, nor any other emotion. He reaches specifically for a stack of papers and hands it to her.
She recognises a genealogy when she sees one.
"You are a descendant of the first leader of the Vongola, Giotto, otherwise known as Vongola Primo or Ieyasu when he migrated to Japan."
Sakura can't help herself, really she can't—her disbelief lacks a self-preservation instinct—she scoffs. "Me?"
It's ridiculous.
It's the craziest thing she has heard in years.
The outrageous nature of this entire confrontation sinks into her.
"After abdicating from Vongola, Primo settled down in Japan, and you are his only heir," Reborn continues, not even deigning to acknowledge her break in her neutrality, which she did not care to put back in place.
Sakura barks a laugh, short and bitter.
"I'm nobody special." Her smile is rueful, but she concedes, playing along, if only to see where this goes. "Whose side is it from?" she asks, even as she traces down the names leading to one Sawada Iemitsu.
Reborn stays silent as his gaze bore into her.
But he's no longer her sole focus. In light of this piece of information, she is relatively confident he will not kill her and her mom straight—or maybe it's all the suppressed bitterness coming out of the woodwork that makes her bold. She hums, thinking that it's pretty convenient that her father was dead and she couldn't question him.
"If I'm the heir, why wasn't I trained earlier then?" There were a lot of things wrong with this conversation, a lot, but that is Sakura's biggest question.
Because it did not make sense.
Nobody just wastes the younger, more impressionable years, not by choice, where it would have been the ideal time to condition your heir however you wish.
Reborn hands her other documents and she peers at it as he speaks, "Primo's cousin took over Vongola and his line continued until Vongola Nono, who previously had three sons."
Sakura could only raise an eyebrow as Reborn tells the gruesome ends of each of Nono's sons. The papers littering her dining table back up his story, with detailed and clinical descriptions. It's not a pretty picture, and it showcases the true scope of the immorality of the mafia. Sakura is highly aware that any of these deaths could have been and could still be hers.
The Vongola needs an heir, and they are knocking on her door.
She peers at the letter from Nono himself—the one whose sons just died. It was addressed to Reborn, asking for a personal favour, with undertones of desperation and a running correspondence. To Sakura's eyes, it's clear that these two have a friendly history with great trust between them. Sakura imagines that Nono, at least, must trust Reborn's abilities a great deal if he intrusted the last remaining heir to his criminal empire over to the hitman's hands.
Interestingly, a single spot at the top of the letter burns with an orange flame. It isn't hot, and it doesn't burn her. She can't smother it out, it doesn't need oxygen. Sakura doesn't know what kind of fancy trick it is, nor does she know what it is supposed to mean.
She has an uncanny eye for details, but nothing she's seen in all this paperwork contradicts each other or sticks out in any way. Admittedly, the only thing she could really verify are the autopsy reports. Everything else is new information.
Once upon a time, Sakura was once the student of Tsunade, the Slug Princess. Back then, it meant a lot of things. One of them was that she was introduced, head first, to the Konohan political scene at the ripe age of thirteen. Being a student of the Godaime Hokage was very different from being a student of the Copy Ninja. Even running errands (to the liquor store) wasn't as simple as it seems. There were expectations for her. Everything was a reflection of her shishou; Sakura's work ethic, her temper, her attitude. She didn't let it get her down. The loudest (rudest) naysayers were the old coots. And apparently, nobody liked the Council members. Privately, Sakura thought they were only important because they were all old and were the surviving members of the Nidaime's personal (supposedly super elite) Escort Unit. Considering part of the reason Tsunade was the uncontested shoo-in for Hokageship was due to her being a student of the Sandaime, Sakura kept her opinions to herself.
The point was that Sakura had to learn fast about what it meant to be Known, for she was automatically the easiest in anyone could have to the current Hokage. Ino was very helpful then, proving once more what genuine friendship was by easily discerning and eliminating those who were only nice because they wanted favours.
So through all that, Sakura knew more than she cared to about leading people on, being nice for the sake of maintaining relations, and the cutthroat world of politicians in their never-ending goal to gain a leg up on their competitors.
It didn't end at interpersonal relations either. She was good at the written work too. Tsunade thanked her lucky stars when she gained a paper ninja as an apprentice. For once since she left the Academy, aside from the Chuunin exams, Sakura could show off her prowess in what she was slowly considering as an useless skill. After all, her book smarts didn't contribute to Team Seven.
Under Tsunade's guidance, she had to absorb a mass amount of information, medical or otherwise, often without its practical components. Add to that, Sakura gained insight not readily available to the public. She might not know their faces, but she could recognise the handwriting and signature of pretty much every single important player in the field. Hell, the only reason she knew Kakashi-sensei re-entered Anbu (though back then, she thought he just joined) was because she recognised his handwriting in an anonymous Anbu report.
Eventually, she became so good at what she did that, in most cases, nobody double-checked her work.
—But that was another life.
This new life, her current life, could not differentiate the handwriting of Vongola Nono from another mafia boss or either of them from a masterful forger.
This letter could be entirely fake. Vongola might not even be a real mafia family. She certainly wouldn't know. It could all be an elaborate ruse—and if so, what was the true goal—or it could be the truth.
If Sakura is honest with herself, she knows which one she wants it to be.
She lives a peaceful life. She's smart, talented, and she has a bright future.
Everyone thinks so.
But she would be lying if she said it's enough. This civilian life she's been faking splendidly for thirteen years.
—But she cannot do it anymore.
She refuses to.
If that means jumping onto whatever ship this prodigy child is sailing, so be it.
She'll take those odds.
"Okay, I'm not saying I am completely convinced but.. I don't need to be at right this moment. If you are training me, then I won't complain." Brown eyes stare down black as she continues, "What would you be training me in, however?"
Reborn-sensei—her new home tutor—gets a glint in his eye.
It promises pain, chaos and plentiful troublesome situations.
Instead of sending shivers down Sakura's spine, instead of doing the smart thing and running for the hills, anticipation rises from the base of her spine to flood her whole body.
Finally.
He smirks, evil intentions clear. "I will train you until I find you to be the perfect Vongola Decimo."
The tips of her fingers tingle. She would love the challenge.
Sakura can't resist smiling back, all teeth, knowing that there is no going back now.
How she relishes in it.
The end of this boring life of hers.
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Author notes:
1. In case you've forgotten before the Varia act, Tsuna honestly thought his dead-beat dad was dead & 'became a star'. I only call him dead-beat because Tsuna thought so since he only ever came home 3 times or smt & when he was he drinks & is embarrassing? It's honestly not a good impression I don't blame Tsuna.
2. Reborn's suitcase is Leon & that's why he can pull the abyss out of it. It's not green because Leon is in camouflage mode, as in pretending to be a normal briefcase not blending into the environment.
3. Master of Disguise Reborn pulls of innocent child (The world is shooketh-it's too tame, a little boring)
4. Honestly, cut Nana some slack. She's a great mom. I know she thanked Kyoko for having a Dame-son as a boyfriend. But I saw it as one of those meet the parents kind of things. 'Oh, you're so pretty! What are you doing dating my son?' Like to tease. It just doesn't come off as joking as I'm sure Nana was genuinely relieved that her son had friends & a social life. This is the son who she knows is lazy & had no motivation. Excuse her for being so relieved that he wouldn't die alone, saying he has never been alive. I think she saw this as a positive experience. He's finally passionate for something! Not just skating by in life! I would be relieved too.
5. Nezu drops the -san bc he doesn't respect any student.
6. Went back, editted it (still rough but less so). Now theres a new Anbu system (somehow). Reports are done. They can't not do them, someone needs to know who killed who, in case it becomes relevant in the future. Anbu operatives, targets & locations are all written in code names. Every few years or so they change the more famous location code names. The Hokage & the Anbu Head have a list of targets are & their corresponding code names. Sakura in fact reads a lot of very detailed murder reports. The first few ones were the worst but she's a stubborn one. Obv, Anbu are supposed to write in a neutral handwriting, & everyone starts that way for the first half or so, its the last third where they usually go fuck it & just power through. Nobody likes writing reports.
7. Crossposted on AO3 under Ayz283. Next update in 10 days so we'll see how that goes. Read & review. I don't respond to questions in reviews in a timely manner. Also, if you guys have a different summary, I would love to hear it.
