OpalescentGold: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

Indlamu: a traditional Zulu war dance performed by two dancers in warrior's pelts who shadow each other's moves perfectly.

See, the thing was, Takeshi thought Masami was great.

He really did.

After all, Masami had always let them off pretty easy when she caught them doing things that probably (definitely) weren't okay and might not be legal, kept Tsuna confident and stable and Gokudera grounded in reality, and was really good at the Mafia game, even though she didn't want to be in it, wasn't on their team, not exactly.

So, Hibari Masami was sort of awesome. And that was why Takeshi, hands tucked behind his head, easy smile on his lips, was carefully, carefully keeping himself between Masami and the others, even as they conversed around him, talking about the enemy player Masami had encountered and beaten without any of them realizing.

(Except maybe the kid, because the kid always seemed to know everything.)

Tsuna was still fussing over Masami, even though it was pretty clear that she was just fine, and Gokudera was grousing and grumbling about how it wasn't all that impressive—it actually was, in Takeshi's opinion, but that wasn't important at the moment—and Takeshi was fairly certain that neither of them was aware of the peril.

Because Masami was calm and relaxed, movements graceful and fluid, fans nowhere in sight, and certainly the most dangerous in all the time Takeshi had known her.

This wasn't like before, when she had been anxious because Hibari hadn't returned, not even like the frigid, winter fury that had colored her every move, every word, every breath when she'd realized Hibari was in the enemy's hands.

No, the fight with Kakimoto Chikusa had purged all of that from Masami. Leaving behind only a diamond-bright mind, crystal-clear resolve, and dagger-sharp killing intent. And something, something eerily like the impassive mercilessness of an incoming tsunami.

Takeshi didn't think Masami would hurt Tsuna or Gokudera, but he didn't want to take that chance either. In a fight, he didn't doubt that she would wipe the floor with all of them—bar the kid and Bianchi—without breaking a sweat, but he might be able to slow her down a bit.

She knew, too, he thought as she turned to smile serenely at him. She knew exactly what he was doing and was probably even somewhat amused by it in the coldest way possible.

Takeshi inhaled deeply through his nose and kept his smile wide and worry-free. He was worried, yeah, but he was also brimming with restless excitement, like he was stepping up to bat against someone willing to throw the mean fastballs, utilize each and every last dirty, cunning trick, and the world's eye was on him, anticipation in the air.

He supposed he had always loved challenges. The edge of true risk to this one only sent an extra jolt of adrenaline through his veins.

"We're here."

There was, Masami thought, something watching them. Not someone, something. She could feel its eyes on her back, a near-rabid, crazed presence with an overabundance of aggression. Tsunayoshi and Hayato, the silly boys, hadn't noticed yet, still looking around the broken-down zoo with wariness.

Takeshi...Takeshi was too busy concentrating on her to notice the additional threat. It was a flaw, one she made a note to inform him of later. A razor-sharp focus was certainly not a bad thing, but tunnel vision was a dangerous thing in the battlefield, and he needed to learn better.

(He wasn't wrong, of course. Oh no, he wasn't wrong. Through the gentle snowstorm frosting over her mind, Masami was well aware that this was not a state of mind she should be in often. It posed too much danger to herself and others.

Maybe she would follow in her mother's footsteps after all.)

Reborn was unconcerned, but then, what could trouble an Arcobaleno? Bianchi was similarly relaxed, but for the poison cooking smoking in her hands, and Masami took her cues from that. Her fans remained out of sight, and it would be for the best that she didn't fight the small prey anyway.

At least not until they found Kyoya and Rokudo Mukuro.

Tsunayoshi touched a finger to the chewed-through bars of the cage they'd discovered, frowning. "It's been chewed clean through. What...?"

There was a shift in the breeze, a sudden concentration of death and blood. Ah. So that was what it was waiting for. Masami was blinking, turning, before Hayato's yelped "Juudaime, be careful! There's something there! Behind us! It's coming!" was out of his mouth.

A large black dog came racing out of the shrubbery, tongue out and growling madly. There was something...off about it, but she was too far away to identify what. It was heading for Takeshi at high speeds, and Masami considered interfering for a long second. Then, she stepped back.

She couldn't coddle them forever.

Takeshi braced his feet and let his bundle of food and tea slip to the ground. Grabbing his bat with both hands, he swung hard, the bat instantly transforming into a sharp metal blade. The dog was sliced clean in half, purple blood splashing onto his face.

Tsunayoshi made a horrified noise.

The corpse dropped to the ground at Takeshi's feet, and his brown eyes were wide and a tad shocked when they met Masami's. "This thing..." he said, slowly, softly, "...it's already dead."

"A reanimated corpse," she commented, the hair on her nape prickling as her senses picked up further threats. Such a phenomenon was unusual, even for her life. With a twist of her wrist, her tessen slipped into her hand, and Masami snapped it open, holding it in front of her face to hide the tight press of her lips.

"How is that possible?" Tsunayoshi asked, covering his mouth with his hand as if trying to keep himself from vomiting.

"I don't know, but there are more coming!" Takeshi warned, already moving into a combat-ready position. Not half a second later, two more dogs raced out, one clearly aiming for Hayato and the other already leaping at Masami.

She smiled politely at it and flicked her fan in a quick, graceful curve. She was already turning away when the two pieces hit the ground, the blood decorating the grass like dew. Another gentle flick got rid of the lingering blood on the edge of her tessen.

Hayato didn't bother for grace. He threw two sticks of dynamite at his attacker before it was anywhere near him and blew it to kingdom come.

"We're being targeted," Tsunayoshi breathed, sounding equal parts terrified and resolute. "We have to get out of range. Come on, this way!" He ran, heading deeper into Kokuyo Land, and they followed him. The vanguard of the group, Masami frowned. The vibrations coming from her feet were wrong.

She didn't have enough time to think about it before a taunting voice called out from behind them, "I've got you now!" Not only was it the most cliched thing, the requisite dark figure leapt out, silhouetted against the sun, and attempted to slam into her.

Masami was, quite frankly, disgusted. She dodged neatly to the right, and Takeshi, who had been right behind her, jumped backwards with a "Woah!"

When he proceeded to fall into the hole created by the impact, she could only sigh. Would it hurt them to be a tad more efficient? She would like to find her brother before sunset if possible.

In hindsight, she was probably lucky that Takeshi managed to dispatch his opponent with only a few nicks and bites for his troubles and Bianchi graciously agreed to take on M.M. Masami definitely didn't have the patience to deal with that girl.

Birds and the Twins, though, that was just going too far. She actually liked Kyoko, Hana, and Haru.

"Quit fucking around!" Hayato snapped, darting forward to yank him forward by the front of his shirt, other hand already fisted. "They have nothing to do with this! If you don't call your hitmen off, I'm going to tear you apart!"

Obviously, no one had properly taught that boy how to threaten someone. As expected, Birds only grinned sickeningly, absolutely unimpressed and unintimidated and most importantly, in control. "Oops. You better not touch me. Look, your friends...they're going to get it."

On the projected images, the serial killers had moved closer, fingers outstretched menacingly.

Hayato flinched back. "What!?"

...Reborn was too calm. He was ruthless, yes, but he had attempted to keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Besides, these deaths, this position, wasn't one that would benefit Tsunayoshi in a way that would outweigh the potential backslide.

He tilted his chin up at the weight of her gaze and met her eyes inscrutably. She tilted her head to the side a fraction, and he smirked and nodded.

It was enough. She wanted to get going.

"Even if you don't release me, I can give them my orders," said Birds smugly. "The lives of your friends lie within my grasp. None of you are in any position to protest—"

Masami's gunsen impacted with his skull with a loud crack. There was a beat of silence. Birds slid slowly from Hayato's loosened grasp to the ground in a heap. His birds flew off with startled chirps, one calling out, "Birds is done in! Done in! Birds is done in!"

"Hieeeeeee!" Tsunayoshi squealed quietly. "But Masami-san, Kyoko-chan and Haru-chan?!"

She merely flicked an indecipherable look at him. "Watch."

Deep beyond the glacier chill, Masami felt a stirring of mild unease. What if she was wrong? What if Reborn was wrong? What if this would kill her three most "normal" friends, the three least involved in the blade-brightness of the Mafia and the Yakuza and even the biting of litterers on the street?

Masami had to give it to Reborn; he either had a communication device somewhere or his timing was truly excellent. Even as the mutilated hands of the Bloody Twins hovered distressingly over her friends' necks, they were defeated by the aged-up versions of those two children Tsunayoshi was always lugging around and Shamal, of all people.

Reborn smiled.

Masami chose to stay back with Reborn and Bianchi as Tsunayoshi, Hayato, and Takeshi dealt with the fake Rokudo Mukuro and tried not to be overly conspicuous with how truly awful she was feeling.

Bianchi sent her a sympathetic glance as Tsunayoshi dived out of the way of the interesting winds the fake Mukuro's weapon had whipped up. "Bad poison, is it? Sometimes, the antidote is just as bad as the poison."

Masami hummed noncommittally and hid the bottom of her face behind her tessen. Sometimes, having an awful immune system was a major inconvenience. She had no doubt that someone with better health would have recovered to a greater degree by now.

It went against the grain to admit to weakness but lying so obviously was hardly acceptable either. So she said nothing and carried on watching as the three boys dodged this way and that and shouted at each other and generally were a mess, tactics wise, although they were doing well at not dying.

Someone, she thought, would have to teach them team maneuvers. She was already thinking up some when her mind hit the breaks and pointed out that it wasn't her responsibility.

Her mother had spent an entire trip trying to pound that into her skull, did she not learn? But if Masami didn't teach them, who would? To say Kyoya was interested in being a part of a team was a complete and utter lie. Tetsuya, perhaps, but he wasn't suited for this world of mafia criminals and boys who could light themselves on fire.

Masami glanced at Reborn, who watched calmly as Tsunayoshi threw himself against the fake Mukuro, Hayato and Takeshi right behind him, pistol at the ready. Did she trust this Arcobaleno enough to leave these boys to him? This small hitman who was still the most dangerous creature in this park, who wanted her to join a criminal organization, who would force Tsunayoshi to become a Mafia Boss?

Bang!

Maybe so, she thought, so the fake Mukuro was defeated by a near-naked boy, a truly excessive amount of dynamite, and a bat-turned-sword. Maybe so, because she had already trusted him with the lives of three innocents and it was far too late to do anything else.

Was he clever enough to have arranged this slow progression of necessity-based trust? Or was he simply clever enough to manipulate events to his favour so as to get the results he wanted?

Masami made a note to evaluate his tactics later and use them herself in the future.

The maiko witch was being weird.

Hayato ran down yet another set of stairs and threw a wary look at Masami, who was keeping pace beside him. It didn't make sense that after she had so clearly been willing to drag down heaven and raise up hell to get her brother back, she'd barely intervened in the fights up till now, letting everyone else take the blows while she watched.

He would have thought that she was being a weak coward, except it was so obviously a lie, and Hayato was too smart to consider such fallacies.

Masami was, however much he might hate to admit it, strong. Hell, she had shown off her strength, hadn't she? Taunted them with how much more capable she was, how much more suited she was to being Juudaime's right-hand. She had never so much as flinched away from anything else before, no matter how outlandish it must have seemed to a civilian.

So what the hell was she doing now?

"I can't believe I was stuck with you while that baseball idiot is with Juudaime," Hayato grouched, because he meant it, and this, at least, was something he was familiar with. If it hadn't been Reborn who had asked, he would never have gone along with this arrangement. "What if Juudaime needs my help and I'm not there? If he gets hurt, I'm taking it out of your hide!"

Masami hummed lowly and said nothing. It was so blatantly unlike her to not take a shot at Hayato whenever she could that he was only more unnerved.

"Where the fuck are we going anyway?" he snapped in an attempt to hide it. "Do you have any idea where that monster of a brother of yours is in the first place or are we just going in circles, looking for a needle in the haystack?"

She sighed and finally said, "We're siblings, Gokudera-san. Not twins with psychic abilities."

Hayato frowned and rounded another corner. This place was like a maze. Masami's voice was soft and low, even, but there was something...

He turned to look at her, but before he could figure out what was going on, she was moving forward, suddenly intent and focused.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Hayato replied, still irritated, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew what she was talking about.

"Let's sing together...Namimori Middle School!"

Hayato groaned and ran after Masami, who was already down the hall. "Of course. He would be the only guy in the school to actually like that stupid song."

When Masami found her brother, he was sitting on the dirty ground, skin a patchwork of bruises and cuts, blood smeared over the left side of his face. His posture indicated several broken ribs, and his clothes were dirty, stained with dust and grime.

She couldn't remember the last time she was this angry.

"Fuck," Hayato muttered behind her, but he had long since ceased to matter in her world.

"Onii-san," Masami breathed quietly, stepping over the wall she broke down to fall onto her knees beside Kyoya. Nothing was fatal, nothing that she could see, and that was a relief, but. But.

He frowned at her, the small yellow bird perched on his finger taking off with a chirp. "You were meant to guard Namimori," he said in clear reprimand, and she wasn't expecting the anger that lit up his eyes. Anger directed at her, for leaving behind the town when he was missing, for—

Masami pressed her lips together and tightened her grip on her tessen until it hurt. Now wasn't the time to argue with Kyoya. Now wasn't the time to forcibly remind him that Namimori was Kyoya's, not hers, that Kyoya was hers, and their difference in priorities had never seemed more infuriating.

"Here," she said instead and jabbed a syringe into his arm without warning. Kyoya's scowl darkened even as Hayato loudly demanded to know what she had done. She ignored them both. "Can you walk?" she asked because it was her job to be the pragmatic one here, to put aside irrationality and get things done.

Kyoya scoffed and pushed himself to his feet. Masami didn't offer a hand because that would have been an insult. Instead, she rose to her feet, closing her eyes momentarily against the wave of nausea that swept over her.

She weathered it like the rock that remained throughout all the ocean's tantrums and breathed.

Breathe.

"You're ill," Kyoya said, shoulders tense now. Behind them, Hayato made a soft sound, and Masami couldn't deal with all of this. Her brother needed medical attention, but first, Tsunayoshi and Mukuro were out of her sight, and that was unacceptable in this situation.

She spun on her feet. "Let's go."

No one tried to argue with her, which was probably for the best.

When Masami entered the cinema room, the scene that greeted her was so exceptionally strange, she was forced to pause for a moment.

Bianchi was backed up to the wall, face pale and hand over the stab wound on her stomach. Reborn stood in a corner with a slight frown on his lips. Tsunayoshi was huddled behind Takeshi, who was busy hacking at a pile of viciously hissing snakes gathered around them with his sword.

There was a boy standing in the middle of the room. A boy with spiky blue hair and a trident and a smug smile.

A threat.

"Masami," Kyoya growled behind her, impatient and annoyed.

She ignored him to throw her tessen at Rokudo Mukuro, as she had judged the boy to be. Having aimed directly at his head with no remorse and without having held back, Masami watched him easily deflect the fan with his trident with calm eyes. If she wasn't so angry, she might have been interested in the strength he flaunted with every move.

But she was and so she merely thought that going for the threat from the very beginning was evidently the right move, after all.

Hayato shoved past her. "What the fuck are you doing, you baseball idiot? Get out of the way! Juudaime, please take cover!" Takeshi threw himself over Tsunayoshi seconds before Hayato promptly bombed the attacking snakes to death.

"You're late," Takeshi said, laughing. He dripped blood on the floor from the cuts to his arms, to his chest. They hadn't had an easy time of it here.

"Shut up!"

"Kufufufu...and who might you be?" Mukuro smiled at Masami as if they were friends, although the bloodlust in his heterochromatic eyes said differently. A shiver ghosted down her spine. There was something terribly mad about him. "You wouldn't happen to be that one's little sister, would you? He was so very protective of you..."

Kyoya hissed like one of the dead vipers and moved to push past Masami. She threw up her arm before he could. Masami was no doctor, but even she could tell he wasn't in a combat-ready state. Not that she could stop him from fighting, not unless she killed him herself, but hell would freeze over before she let him go off by himself.

Look at the last time she had.

"That I am," and she smiled back at him because this was a game she knew how to play. "Greetings."

And she didn't bow nor did she introduce herself because even her manners had their limits. Stepping forward daintily, Masami smoothly gathered up her thrown tessen and slipped her gunsen into her other hand, all without looking away from Mukuro, who did nothing but smile. Kyoya shadowed her every step, his fury a palpable heat.

She ignored him. She was doing a lot of that tonight, more than she had ever done in her entire life. God, her head hurt.

"How angry you are," Mukuro told her as if she didn't know. "Are you here for revenge? Revenge is the most beautiful motivator."

"Yes," Masami murmured, "you're right."

When she lunged forward, it was with the knowledge that Kyoya was guarding her flank. They were at odds, the Hibari siblings, but arguments couldn't destroy muscle memory nor years of fighting together. They moved like well-rehearsed dance partners, who knew the song and knew the dance, knew every step without even thinking.

The rest of the world faded away. The floor was clear. There were three dancers in this scene and each knew their role. Outsiders could get out and stay out.

When they came, Mukuro was ready for them.

He was fast, and he was strong, and still, he was not enough. They pushed him back steadily, for if he countered an attack from above, there was inevitably an attack from below. If he shifted attention to Kyoya, Masami was drawing blood. If he fended off Masami, Kyoya was ready to bash in his skull.

They had no mercy, the two of them. He deserved none.

Baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile, Mukuro leapt back for half a second. Indigo fire surrounded his right eye as the kanji for five appeared inside it—Mist, she thought, Mist.

"Be careful," Tsunayoshi was shouting, his voice so faint through the noise in her head that she could barely hear him. "Be careful, he can make illusions come to life!"

How charming.

Masami didn't care. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

This time, Kyoya lunged first. Masami followed, because that was what she did, and then they were dancing again. She ducked under the deadly swipe of Mukuro's trident and tried to rip open his stomach, nicking his side when he swayed back. He was stronger for some reason—a cut stung on her cheek, easily ignored—but no illusions appeared.

Mist Flames. What did she remember about Mist? Construction, illusions, sneaky, sneaky. But no snakes showed up to annoy them; no hell appeared to welcome them. What did she know of fighting Mist? Deception and misdirection; was she dreaming, was this real?

Masami could care, she supposed, but she didn't. She did her best to slit his throat.

You're compromised, her mother told her, but she didn't listen. White noise buzzed like agitated bees in her skull, nausea tugging at her stomach. Her balance was off, her balance was off—

"This is a waste of time," Mukuro sighed, jumping back again. "I suppose I should end this quickly." His red eye spun to show the kanji for one, and even as Tsunayoshi yelled something indistinct, pink petals were falling from the sky. Sakura trees reached up toward the roof beams, beautiful despite their treachery.

Everyone froze. Masami's breath caught in her lungs, an awful weakness gripping her muscles. If he had lied to her...

Masami watched Kyoya's knees tremble, just slightly, and somehow managed to hate Mukuro even more. She hadn't thought it possible but here she was.

"Kufufufu." Mukuro had seen it as well. His smirk was arrogant, the look of an enemy who had already won. He held his arm straight out so the middle tip of his trident rested gently against Kyoya's throat. Masami froze like a mannequin. "Come, kneel before me. I do so love symmetry in my acquisitions."

Quite possibly, for the first time in her life, Masami genuinely saw red. That might just have been her vision blurring at the edges though.

But before she could move, could intervene, Kyoya was slipped under the reach of the trident to brutally slam his tonfa into Mukuro's solar plexus. And Masami breathed out even as she threw herself after him, dealing a second blow to Mukuro's collarbone, only just barely missing his throat as he swerved backwards.

What a shame.

But Kyoya was the one who scored a bloody X across his chest, forcing him to cough out blood, and they had always been a family that believed in blood for blood. She could give this victory to her brother.

She didn't know how it happened.

One moment, she was kneeling over Kyoya's prone form, checking his vitals—he was alive, of course he was, of course, but he had pushed himself too far as she had known he would—and the sound of a bullet was fading from her ears. Her own panting breath disturbed the silence; her limbs were shaking.

Blood trickled down her cheek, dripped off her fan, Rokudo Mukuro was done for—

She had no regrets.

Tsunayoshi was spinning to stare at her, face twisted in anguish and horror, and what was wrong? She.

She—

Masami fell asleep.

The world shattered around her, and she knew this place, she did. She had dreamt it a long time ago, after a day spent meditating with Kyoya and a night spent in the garden. She had dreamt it, but it was different now. It wasn't hers. It was someone else's, and they controlled everything.

Gravity pressed against her. She tried to stand, but it compressed her limbs until she was kneeling and then lying. The floor was meant to be cold against her cheek—her cut cheek? but no, that wasn't important—but it wasn't. Everything was coloured indigo, and she knew. She knew that—

Masami blinked, and it felt like waking up. She didn't know when she fell asleep, but she must have. An eye spun lazily before her; red like blood, red like fire. Characters raced through that eye: one, two, three, four, five, six.

It was almost comforting to drift here, weight pressing down on her back. She was grounded and safe. Warm and at last, she no longer felt sick to her bones. There was something vibrating inside her skull, though, and it seemed frantic.

It felt like she was forgetting something.

She needed to wake up.

She needed to wake up.

Masami fell asleep.

Her world was red and black and a laugh that wormed its way down her ear canal to dig into the soft tissues of her brain. The inside of her eyelids were indigo, and something was wrong, even though everything was right.

Masami was asleep.

She needed to wake up.

She was asleep.

Wake up!

She was—

Masami screamed.

And the world fell apart in purple and indigo and terror.

Masami woke up in the hospital with a blank spot in her memory and indigo spots in her vision. Reborn gazed at her evenly from the bedside table, and Tsunayoshi slept on a hospital chair, head lolling forward uncomfortably. He was going to get a crick in his neck, she thought nonsensically.

"You're the last one to wake up," Reborn said. "Shamal was afraid you had damaged yourself permanently, fighting against Mukuro like that."

She wasn't going to like this, Masami thought. After a cup of water, she said anyway, "Tell me."

She was right. She didn't like it.

Masami was home within two hours. She reassured Tsunayoshi absently, promising him that she was merely tired and wanted rest in the comfort of her own house. There was something intense and knowing in those dark brown eyes, but he took her words at face value and left to reassure Nana.

She wouldn't be able to misdirect him for much longer at this rate. He was growing in exactly the way she'd wanted him to, and she didn't like it.

Kyoya was healing, too, but she had been unconscious for a week, and he was mobile. He greeted her with a stony face and a pot of tea. They knelt in seiza at the chabudai and drank through two pots before speaking.

Masami stared out the window the entire time and thought of someone else taking her body away from her. Taking her mind and crushing it beneath their feet. Taking her agency and control and power away in the most forceful of fashions.

At the end of every day, she had always thought that even if she couldn't control anything else, she could control herself. She had prided herself on it, in fact, in being in perfect control of her being, every motion, nearly every emotion mastered. She wasn't like Kyoya; she didn't need to control a town, a school, other people.

Masami had only ever needed to control herself. It had been her last sanctuary, her last castle. And someone had taken that away from her.

Kyoya was the one who spoke first. His words were brutal and dispassionate. "Your efforts have paid off."

She didn't know what he was talking about, and she couldn't muster the energy to try and decipher his meaning. "Pardon?"

"The omnivore. He defeated the trespasser." Bare and hard, a plain fact. Tsunayoshi had defeated Mukuro when neither of them could. If it wasn't for the little boy she had once seen crying at the playground, they would have died...or become puppets for Mukuro to play around with.

Masami gazed into her tea and was numb, empty. She wished for anger. Anger was more productive than this; she knew anger far more than she knew this. "Yes."

"It cannot happen again." This wasn't a request, nor a command. This was a decree, and Masami did not care for the things that she knew Kyoya was referring to—defeat; infringement upon his territory; another predator successfully asserting their dominance—but she agreed nonetheless.

Never again. This was in her power, what little power she had left. "No."

Kyoya frowned at her. There was an alertness to him that hadn't been there moments ago, as if he had just cottoned on to the fact that there was something very, very wrong with his little sister. "Masami," he demanded, and she was done.

She was done.

Like a ghost, she rose to her feet and glided into her bedroom before shutting the door. Opening her window, Masami sat down on the ledge and let the breeze rustle her hair. She would need to take a shower before leaving.

Noises wafted to her, but inside her being, all was quiet.

All was quiet.

Scenes came to her like a snapshot, like a camera shutter clicking a dozen times but with nothing to account for in between. Kyoya was angry at her, but his fury was cold and glacial, and Masami was already cold enough. She didn't let his anger touch her in fear of freezing.

Didn't he understand? A part of her, small and childish, wanted to scream at him, rage at him. This wasn't about winning or losing. This was about arrogance and stupid, stupid mistakes; this was about them thinking they were invulnerable when they weren't. This was about something far deeper than losing a battle.

This was about something worse than death, and she had once thought that there couldn't possibly be anything of that sort.

Tsunayoshi was worried. He hovered, looking like an abandoned puppy, and asked what was wrong, asked Reborn if she would be okay as if he thought she wouldn't know, wouldn't hear, and Masami said something she couldn't remember.

It didn't placate Tsunayoshi, and she felt vaguely that she should say something more, but the words wouldn't leave her mouth so she let Shamal and Reborn take care of it.

Reborn regarded her with blank eyes and said nothing. Nothing to her, but he asked for a phone call to her mother, and she gave that to him without hesitation. She didn't know what they discussed, and she didn't care.

Hayato smoked and seemed only more disconcerted when she looked right past him. She didn't know why; wasn't this what he had always wanted? Takeshi watched her with eyes that saw too much and gave her meaningless platitudes when the set of his lips said something else entirely.

Masami let her feet dangle in the pond and stared at the koi until the world around her faded away some more.

Rika arrived in two days. She took one look at her daughter and took her away.

Satoshi arrived in Berlin a day later. It had been years since Masami had seen her parents together, although she knew they traveled together when they could, but she couldn't muster up the energy to be surprised or happy about it.

Her lackluster greeting earned her a mild frown. Regardless of her listlessness, it was comforting to have her parents looking after her. It reminded her of gentler days, simpler days, when there were no bullets that could possess her and no lies to contend with.

Satoshi and Rika spoke over her head. They murmured terms like "forced Flame Activation" and "mental damage" and "Mist battle" but Masami could understand none of it and so she let herself drift off not long later. Nothing seemed terribly interesting or worthy of attention.

The day after, Rika dragged her out of bed to meet with an old man in a shady part of the city. He charged a few hundred euros before touching his hand to Masami's. His hand glowed bright yellow, and she would have jerked away but for Rika's hand on her back.

A layer of warmth brushed over Masami, like a cotton blanket being gently settled over her, and the doctor—for that was what he was, wasn't it?—drew back with a disinterested look. "Give her time," he said with a grunt and a dismissive wave of his hand. "She'll recover. The young ones bounce back quickly."

With that, they were shown the door, and Masami personally thought the whole thing was a waste of their time. Of course she would recover. She could have told her mother that herself. If she didn't, that would mean that Mukuro had succeeded in winning her, even from whatever hell hole they had dumped him in, and she couldn't allow that.

She couldn't.

"Quickly," the doctor had said, but recovery was slow and difficult and stretched out like the flow of cold molasses. Even with both Satoshi and Rika with her for the first two weeks, nothing was easy.

Rika dragged her out of bed every morning, sometimes physically, refusing to let her lay there and stare at the ceiling, waiting for indigo flames or a red eye to appear. They had to force her to eat more than two spoonfuls at every meal, everything bland as cardboard to her uncaring taste buds. Satoshi pushed her into training, into yoga, into something resembling a routine.

Masami didn't dance.

On day twelve, Satoshi sat her down and guided her through meditation, through feeling for the flames that danced in her soul. She felt nothing, but that was normal, or so he told her. He talked of Cloud and Mist and control, and she understood nothing of it.

At last, he said, "He took what was most important to you."

Yes.

At last, he said, "You are still you."

Was she? Was he certain?

And if she couldn't be herself, then what could she be?

It was midnight when Tsuna whispered into the darkness, knowing instinctively that his tutor was awake, "It's my fault, isn't it."

The thought, the truth, had plagued him ever since he saw Masami fall. That had been awful enough, but then she had stood back up, a twisted, unfamiliar, familiar smirk on her face, and he had felt ready to throw up.

It hadn't mattered that Mukuro had possessed her for less than two minutes. What mattered was the look on Masami's face when she left, so very unlike the Hibari Masami Tsuna knew. Masami was grace and sharpness and purpose—not lifeless, lost impassiveness, a blankness that had terrified Tsuna.

Reborn's voice was neutral, his hammock shifting with a soft crinkle of cloth. "It's a Boss' duty to protect his Family." Not confirmation nor denial. Just a statement.

Tsuna closed his eyes. He hadn't wanted to say anything to Gokudera and Yamamoto, who had both been hovering ever closer since Mukuro, because he knew they would disagree and try to persuade him otherwise. Right now, Tsuna didn't need that. He needed—

Ironically, more than anything else, he needed Masami's pragmatic honesty right now, her gently brutal advice, but she was gone. She was gone, and it was all Tsuna's fault, and he knew it.

He was the one who had brought the Mafia to Namimori. It was his birthright that had attracted danger. He was the one who Mukuro had been targeting. He was the one who had cowered while Hibari and Masami fought and—

He had watched as she had fallen and had done nothing. And then, she had left, and.

"Reborn…" Tsuna stared up at the ceiling but saw only the fall and then the numbness when she had awoken. "What happened to Masami-san really? What did Mukuro do to her?"

Reborn didn't answer for a long heartbeat. "I can only speculate," he said, "but most likely, when Mukuro possessed her, he had to fight her for control of her mind and body. He won and wounded her mentally in the process."

That...that sounded horrible. Oh God. Oh God. A shiver went down Tsuna's spine. He fisted his hands in his sheets, almost wishing for the warmth of his gloves, thinking frantically of everything "mental wounds" could encompass. "Bu-But she'll recover, right? She won't stay like that forever?"

"The mind is a tricky thing. A mental injury isn't the same as a physical one. What happens next depends on Masami herself." The facts were laid down cold and clear in Reborn's childish voice and all the more devastating for it.

Tsuna bit his lip harshly and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his knees. In the hushed gloom, his eyes watered, the full impact of the situation striking him at last. To think that because of his mistakes and his weakness, Masami could be hurt for the rest of her life…

His trembling hands gripping his head, Tsuna trembled, feeling cold all over. What sort of friend was he? What sort of person was he? This was why he didn't want to join the Mafia, this was why the Vongola was a bad idea, why he could never, ever be a Mafia Boss—

Putting himself in danger was one thing. Putting his friends in danger? His first friend, the first one to truly believe in him, train him, invest time and effort and faith in him, and this was what he had done to repay her?

He didn't deserve Masami's friendship. Didn't deserve, didn't want this title that would fill his life and the lives of his friends with terror and peril, no, Tsuna had never wanted this—

"You're not giving Masami enough credit, Dame-Tsuna," Reborn interrupted before Tsuna's panic could snowball too badly.

Tsuna didn't reply, speechless from horror, breathless from resentment. He hated that his stupid, absentee father had given him his blood, hated that the Vongola had barged into his life as soon as it was convenient for them, hated that he had been so weak—

A sharp pain sliced through his arm. "Ow!" Glancing down, he saw a thin line of blood bead on his upper arm, a shuriken dropping to the ground with a low thud.

"Good, you're paying attention now." Reborn's voice was brisk and teacher-like despite having just thrown a weapon at his student. "Now use that brain of yours for once. Recovery from a physical injury takes time and care. Healthy people recover faster from a gunshot wound than ill people do. Mental injuries are the same. A strong mind will heal in time. They may not be the same as they were before, but no one ever is."

"Now, let me ask you." A hard pause. "How strong do you think Masami is?"

It took a moment for the words to sink into Tsuna's mind. When the answer touched his tongue, it came without hesitation, without doubt, and it wasn't even born from denial. "Masami-san's one of the strongest people I know," he stated firmly, and it wasn't precisely an absolution of his guilt but a piece of hope he could cling to.

He could believe in Masami. He did, of course he did.

But the problem remained. He never wanted this to happen again, and in an instant, Tsuna was struck by Masami's words from years back: "Willingly or not, there will be times in life when you must fight."

He hadn't understood at all back then, but now, he thought he might.

"Hey, Reborn."

"Yes, Dame-Tsuna?"

And Tsuna—because he could still feel the weight of a life (lives) pressing on his shoulders, because he was frightened of failing when failure had such harsh consequences, because he never wanted to be helpless again, because he could see the logic in becoming stronger even if he didn't ever want to be a Don—Tsuna said, "Let's train tomorrow."

Colour leached back into the world slowly. It started with the small shops that Masami came across in her wanderings, because culture remained a deep love. Inside those stores, she encountered charming trinkets and handmade tapestries and cashiers who spoke a different language.

Curiosity whispered in her ears and knowledge tugged at her hands.

Different foods burst into vivid, brilliant flavour on her tongue, and she couldn't ignore that, no matter how much she tried. The street vendors called out to her in an unfamiliar tongue, and the most tantalising smells curled around her like an old friend.

Masami smiled at the man who offered her chocolate mousse and it was nearly sincere.

Then came the libraries and museums, where she could curl up in a corner and nobody would bother her. Rika and Satoshi tried, but they touched her with hesitation in their fingers, and she didn't like it. They had never been so tentative before, and it made her feel fragile.

She didn't want to feel fragile. If she had to be someone else, had to be someone new and cracked, then she didn't want to be someone breakable.

Masami had never been breakable. Was she to start now?

She started to linger around the monuments and historical sights next. She read the plates. Touched the metal and stone. There was beauty here, beauty that humans had constructed, and she reminded herself of that, reminded herself that not everything was red and black and indigo.

It was when she was learning to delight in flowers and the sky again that she began to feel the presence inside her during meditations with Satoshi. It wasn't heat, wasn't burning, but she could sense it, almost coax it to her hand like a recalcitrant tiger being trained to obedience.

Three days later, purple flame danced in the palm of her hand with a ring of indigo on the border, and Masami almost broke down a wall trying to get away from herself.

Satoshi explained. He had married into the Hibari family, which was renowned for the Storm and the Cloud. His bloodline carried the Mist, and she was his daughter, Kyoya was his son; they had both shown indications of Cloud mixed with Mist. It wasn't anything to be afraid of.

This was who she was.

Masami didn't care. Masami wasn't listening. Masami thought, 'I am nothing like what he was.'

Kyoya had broken down and called a week after his sister left Namimori.

Rika had been unimpressed. But Reborn, the Greatest Hitman, had explained the entire unacceptable up situation to her on the phone, and so, she had supposed she would be lenient and grant her son this one free pass.

Hibaris never took well to being defeated. Failing in their self-proclaimed mission was another line not to be crossed. And letting someone under their protection get hurt?

She had known Kyoya must have been smarting beneath all three blows.

Besides.

No chastisement of hers could match up to his own self-castigation. Of all the people who had laid the role on his shoulders, Kyoya himself took the responsibility of being Masami's big brother the most seriously.

"How is she?" came the low question today. Kyoya tended to call every five days, which was already a huge concession on the part of her reclusive son, but why he always had to call irritatingly early in the morning was beyond her

Rika considered Masami, who was mechanically tearing into bread with butter in the kitchen, and suppressed a sigh. They had been making progress. They had. She had told Satoshi not to go too far with the Flames.

Why didn't her husband ever listen to her?

"Coping."

"That's not good enough," Kyoya said darkly.

She could hear the scowl in his voice and was unamused. Her son still had so much to learn about people, about the world. "Sometimes," Rika said, "it's all we can do."

Kyoya was silent. And then, "Rabid herbivores have invaded Namimori."

Rika didn't like the sound of that. So very many intruders had been disrupting the peace of her children's home, and they had been suffering for it. "Oh?"

"They call themselves the Varia."

"If you lose, you and all your little friends are going to die," the man named Xanxus said with a cruel smile and an aristocratic tilt to his head, feathers swaying in the wind. "Vongola Law."

'No,' Tsuna thought, and it felt like a pledge. 'Not again.'

"We won't lose," he said, and there was orange in his eyes, steel in his voice, fire in his fists, and something like consideration made the Varia straighten up.

When Masami spent days doing nothing but sitting on a sofa in the local library no matter what they tried, Rika and Satoshi admitted defeat. For all that they were familiar with this world, it was not theirs. They didn't know enough about Flames, about the damage that a Mist could inflict on a mind.

And so, they brought her to China. To her granduncle.

"Masami." Ancient eyes watched her closely with a sereneness that prickled at her vaguely. It seemed terribly unfair that he could be so calm and centered while she drowned in her own chaos.

Despite wanting to lash out, Masami didn't show it. The face she greeted Fon with was blank in an entirely different way. "Fon-san," she said and bowed.

When he told her to follow him to his compound in the Chinese mountains, she did so without complaint. Distantly, she was mindful of the weight of her parents' gazes on her back, but she didn't look back.

Fon lived in a beautiful, isolated house with wide, gabled rooftops and red pillars. She didn't have to touch the walls to feel the age behind every brick. A family inheritance, she thought. Or perhaps he was simply that wealthy.

She imagined the Triads paid handsomely for their crimes.

Fon showed her to a room made up in soft greens and brown. Leaning against the wall was her luggage. "For however long you'd like to stay," he said gently, "this room is yours."

"Thank you."

Fon nodded in acknowledgement, his hands tucked in his sleeves. "Lichi is with a friend who's in need of her support, so it'll only be us here. When you're ready, find me in the courtyard and we'll get started," he said and left.

It was odd, Masami mused as she began to slowly unpack. Fon's words were soft, his actions deliberately unthreatening, but she didn't feel as if he was handling her with an invalid's pity and caution. Perhaps it was because he didn't act like he thought he could break her. Or, in this case, break her further.

The room was nice. It wasn't her bedroom, but it was nice.

Two hours later, Masami wandered out and drifted through the house. Most rooms were wide and open, colored in shades of white and cream, offset sharply with solid wood. Cherry? Or mahogany? Scrolls of Chinese calligraphy decorated the walls, sometimes accompanied by red paper cuttings of dragons and intricate flowers.

When she found Fon, he was sitting in a full lotus on a smooth rock. All around him, trees with leaves the shade of the sunset waved slowly in the evening breeze. It was a beautiful garden. Deep within her came a pang; when was the last time she had tended her own garden?

"Sit," Fon said with opening his eyes.

She did so, knowing all the while that she would not meditate, would not again be confronted by the indigo of her own Flame. The grass was slightly damp beneath her fingers, the soil giving. An ant tripped over a pebble and got up again to keep going.

But Fon didn't tell her to meditate. "Breathe," he said instead. "Listen."

To what? There was the hum of the wind, the rustle of the leaves. The sound of the ripples as the fallen leaves landed in the small pond; the musical chitter and chatter of birds in the trees. The scampering of the squirrels, the quiet swish-swash of the water…

When Masami opened her eyes again, the moon was high in the sky. A waning gibbous.

Her mind was clear. The haze of frantic, rancor fear was, if not gone, banished for a short while. There was something resembling calm in her heart.

She was...surprised.

Fon smiled at her, having not moved a centimeter the whole time. "Well done."

Hayato lit a cigarette on Namimori Middle's rooftop and sighed. His battle was coming up soon, and he wanted to jump out of his skin a little. They may have won the Sun Battle, but Juudaime had put his foot down when it came to Lambo fighting and so they had forfeited the Lightning Battle.

One to one. It was all up to him to win now, and Hayato clenched his fists.

He wouldn't let Juudaime down, he resolved. He'd rather die first.

I assure you, a corpse has never been of any use to a leader, any leader, let alone a Mafia Boss. The maiko witch's annoying voice echoed oddly in his ears, and Hayato grimaced, a twinge of shame running down his spine.

There was no one watching, but he dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his foot anyway. Damn her.

He had no idea what the hell had happened to her, but damn her for leaving. Leaving Juudaime behind without so much as a word of explanation and not a single way to contact her. What the hell was that bullshit about "coming back if they called"?

He should have known she'd be unreliable. He should have kept Juudaime far, far away from her.

Maybe then Juudaime wouldn't be snapping his head up to look whenever the door opened only to get the most heartbreakingly disappointed expression on his face when he saw someone other than the maiko witch.

Besides, Hibari had been losing his shit lately. He had been fucking unreasonable since the witch had left, "biting" people to death for breathing too loudly and scowling murderously at Juudaime—when he wasn't beating them all into lumps of meat on the sparring mat, that was.

He had made it clear that Saturday training sessions were to continue, with or without the witch. But the first time they had shown up, he had immediately demanded that Juudaime show him "his new fangs" and all but beat Juudaime black and blue.

When Hayato and that baseball idiot had tried to intervene, Hibari had scoffed at them, called them "weak herbivores" and beat them black and blue, too.

Every session had been like that since. Things were a bit better since Reborn had let Juudaime use his incredible new X-Gloves but even then, they were outmatched once Hibari got used to the effects of the Dying Will.

If they had improved any by sparring against Hibari, Hayato was pretty sure the payoff in bruises wasn't worth it.

Since the Varia had shown up, Hibari had been even more shitty. He prowled around town with his tonfas out like he was just waiting to kill someone. Hayato was just hoping for someone to send him to the mental asylum at this point.

"Fucking witch," Hayato muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "If you can't even be here when Juudaime needs you, then what good are you?"

Fon watched his grand-niece stumble through the steps of making breakfast and thought, not for the first time, that this would be easier if it was just a Flame Wound.

Having been an acquaintance of Viper for decades, he was well aware of what Mists could do to a mind. How they could twist it and wrap it, turn a person into a caricature of themselves and drive them entirely mad.

This wasn't what had happened to Masami, thankfully. Whatever had happened—Rika and Satoshi hadn't been too clear on the details—Masami had had enough Will to pit her own against Rokudo Mukuro's and struggle hard enough that Rokudo had decided to let her go rather than expend his energy to fight both an inward and outward battle.

Some of the current loss of mental acuity was most likely her mind throwing most of its energy towards patching up the holes that Rokudo had left behind. But the rest...

No, what had caused most of the damage, Fon recognized, was a loss in identity and a shift in mentality.

The possession had robbed Masami of her sense of security and confidence. Knowing his relatives, her parents had trained her early on, giving her the strength that would enable her to feel safe and protected no matter the situation. That her brother all but ruled their town probably only added to that. Regardless of the threat, Masami had lived all her life knowing that she could take care of herself, and if she couldn't, her brother would ride to her rescue.

For that to have been ripped from her in such a traumatizing fashion by a force she couldn't fight much less see must have been a shock and a painful one, stripping away her mental defenses in addition to her physical ones. The dissociation and apathy was just her way of protecting herself when she was feeling lost and vulnerable. That she was primarily a Cloud who valued personal independence...really didn't help.

So the first thing he had to do was give her her autonomy back, Fon decided. Her choices, her strength, what she needed to get back on her feet rather than constantly stumble about, wondering when the ground would be pulled out beneath her again.

And then he could focus on giving her some real defenses for the next time she met a Mist user. He knew that she would only truly recover when she could recover her faith in herself and her own strength, enough to meet any enemy, any Flame.

A week after she moved in, Fon casually led her to the middle of the forest that surrounded his home without a word of explanation. "Stay here for the next three days," he suggested—ordered—with a small smile. "Tell me how you feel when you get back."

And with that, he leapt away.

Masami stared at the spot he occupied for a good thirty seconds before the words managed to process in her mind. Even through the blur, part of her was irritated with how slow she was these days, how the outside world was suddenly so much faster than it had been before.

It felt like she was running trying to keep up, and she hated it.

She catalogued herself. Masami had on a loose kimono that wouldn't keep her warm when night fell and her gunsen. Nothing else. If she wanted to keep herself in comfort, then she would need to get moving. Glancing around revealed nothing but trees, trees, and more trees.

Masami picked a direction and started moving.

What was the point of this, she wondered as she stepped around bushes and avoid thorns. If Fon was anything like Reborn, he was probably observing her from afar with a pair of binoculars, but what did he hope to accomplish with this?

Masami could survive in the woods just fine; Satoshi had seen to that when she was young. For a moment, she thought of how he had brought her and Kyoya to the forests surrounding Namimori and taught them how to start a fire, how to hunt fish—but she shied away from the memory.

She didn't want to think about her brother. Now that she was no longer quite as numb as she had been, Kyoya's anger threatened to sting and burn and Masami already had wounds to worry about.

Late that night, having found a flowing river that served well as a water source, Masami stared into the small, contained fire she had made and let her thoughts drift. Here, in the darkness, with the sound of the rushing water wrapped around her, she could almost sleep without fear.

Day Two saw her catch a rabbit in a half-hearted snare she set the night before. The poor creature squirmed and wiggled in her grasp. Alive, it was alive, and she was going to kill it. All that talk of herbivores and carnivores, and this was the true reality.

Nothing but death and violence and who held the most power.

How she hated that philosophy now. It meant she couldn't blame Mukuro, not really. It was just the dance, just the fight, and this was just losing. He didn't mean anything by it, she was sure. She was only another rabbit he had trampled over in his quest to survive.

Masami made sure her kill was quick. Merciful, if that could be applied to this situation. She skinned the rabbit and roasted it over her fire, looking away before she could see the searing flesh.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, there was nothing to distract her from the noise inside her head. She closed her eyes and leaned back her head and tried to breathe. But there was no one but herself here,

That night, she dreamed. It was the same dream that had haunted her ever since the day she fell asleep.

She was running, she was dancing—and then she was immobile. Frozen in the air like a captured photograph, every muscle locked in place by some outside force. A marionette for someone to play for, a pawn in someone else's chess game.

And always, that same laugh echoed in her ears.

Kyoya rolled a half-ring around his fingers absently. The breeze on the school's roof was warm, the sun searingly hot and bright, and he was irritated by it. These days, he was irritated by everything.

The rabid herbivores who had invaded his town and were keen on causing damage to his school most of all.

He wanted them gone. His tolerance for mafia antics was at an all-time low, and he had already bitten the omnivore and his herbivore herd to death a dozen times this past month in retaliation. But to remove these interlopers from his territory...

According to the baby carnivore, they had to follow some foolish mafia rules. Kyoya had no intention of following any rules but his own, but the other option was the rabid herbivores wrecking havoc on his peace and his town, so he would follow along until he could bite them all to death.

Tension coiling back in his shoulders, Kyoya returned his attention to the half-ring he had been given by the baby carnivore.

"The Cloud Vongola Ring," he had said with some measure of the mischief that normally resulted in damages that gave his sister headaches. "If you want to compete, you need to accept this."

Kyoya hadn't nearly been as interested in the details of Flames and Vongola and Guardians as Masami had been, but she had given him the basics. If he chose to fight in the Cloud Battle and take the Cloud Ring, he was essentially pledging himself to the omnivore for life.

It was a repulsive thought. But then, so was allowing the rabid herbivores to remain in his territory. And...the small animal had been improving recently, if at a glacial speed. His conviction when facing the intruders had been almost respectable.

Kyoya wasn't interested in thinking of the omnivore as a younger sibling or student or whatever it was that drove Masami to look after him and his herd of herbivores like the mother hen she most certainly was not. All he cared about was whether or not Sawada Tsunayoshi was strong enough to present a challenge.

At the rate he was progressing, Kyoya could almost see the impressive carnivore he would grow into.

And his sister, he knew instinctively, would never follow the small animal. She had been his mentor for too long, her protectiveness too ingrained. She would want him to watch over her ducklings while she was away.

Kyoya slipped the ring on his finger and stood up. Singing sweetly, Hibird, who had been resting by his side, flew off to hunt.

(He refused to dwell on thoughts of his baby sister. She was strong; she was a carnivore. She would recover and come back to their territory, and then he would make certain that no mad scavenger would ever touch her again. He would entertain no what-ifs that suggested otherwise.)

On the third day, Masami sat on the shore of the river and found herself disinclined to move. There wasn't much point, was there?

So, she sat there. Her mind felt like a blank slate or maybe the black of a starless night. There was the white noise of the burbling river and the soft rustling noises of the forest, and for a long time, she thought of nothing at all.

Fish darted through the currents like silver streaks, like the flash of steel. Her hands seemed empty without her fans. And Masami closed her eyes.

She had been weak. Overconfident. She had said she was just a small fish in a big ocean to Takeshi, but had she believed it, truly believed it?

No. Not really. Saying something and believing in it were two different things, and she had never understood that so well.

And...making herself responsible for three boys, for a committee, for a school, for a town? Had she really thought herself so instrumental to those lives? They were doing just fine without her, weren't they?

She'd refused to talk to Kyoya over the phone, but her ears still worked, and she'd eavesdropped on the conversations. Mafia assassins and a disposed heir, flame rings and battles on the school's rooftop.

She wasn't...all that important to others. Here, now, what help did those relationships offer? There was only her, alone in a forest, alone with the grass growing around her and the birds flying high in the sky.

There was life around her, self-sufficient and flourishing, and if the fish beneath her feet could do it, then why not her?

She could survive. She could continue on. She wasn't. She refused to be prey.

When the moon was peeking up over the horizon, Masami dragged herself back to Fon's house. Physically, she was fine. There were scratches on her ankles and dirt stains on her kimono; her hair was greasy.

Emotionally, mentally...she was tired. Tired and melancholic and a bit sad but not empty, not numb. There was a sense of peace, of purpose creeping up at the edges of her mind now, and when she saw Fon waiting patiently for her at the doorway, she could smile and not feel like a fraud.

"Reborn...!" Tsuna gasped, aghast. "You're not telling me that our Guardian of Mist is Rokudo Mukuro?!"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Reborn responded evenly.

"But—" Tsuna shook his head, not even sure how he was meant to protest but knowing he needed to. "But—Masami-san—he just—"

"Yeah, are we just supposed to accept him as an ally after what he did?!" Gokudera demanded aggressively, chewing on an unlit cigarette.

Reborn held up a hand. "He was our best choice for the moment. Have you forgotten the stakes?

"No...but still..." Tsuna went silent, conflicted. At his side, Yamamoto gently hip-checked him reassuringly. They watched the battle of illusions commence, watched Mukuro win, and when he turned to them, everyone went tense and quiet.

Tsuna spoke first. "Thank you," he said and it was as sincere as he could make it, because Reborn was right, the stakes were too high. Mukuro looked surprised, but before he could respond, Tsuna continued, "Thank you but I won't forgive you for what you did."

"Kufufufu..." Mukuro smirked, as smugly confident as ever. "I would expect nothing less, Sawada Tsunayoshi." With that, he fell forward and transformed back into Dokuro Chrome. Tsuna really had no idea how that worked.

"Man," Yamamoto said with a nervous laugh, folding his hands behind his head, "let's hope Hibari never finds out about this."

Tsuna couldn't help but cringe at the thought.

She relearned how to dance slowly.

Masami did so in the forest, in the garden. Nature was harmonious and nonjudgmental; the trees stood guard over her and would remain long after she was ashes on the wind. Human malice didn't exist in sloe-eyed deer and the squirrels who chattered at her.

She danced with no music. There was only the beat of her heart, from which she had first learned to dance so long ago. Sometimes, there was the quiet trickle of the river, the rustles of the leaves, but often, there was just the sound of her footsteps to keep her company.

Fon let her wander the clearings as she desired. He was away on his own business sometimes but generally returned within a day or three. His company was a muted one; they didn't talk much but they ate dinner together and his was a presence she could feel reverberate through the walls.

At night, he sometimes invited her to sit with him. Each and every time, Masami would intend to enjoy the peace and quiet only. Yet, she found herself beginning to meditate, falling back on old habits despite herself.

Her flame still dwelled deep within her chest, she could feel it, but she shied away from calling it to her hands once more. Perhaps it was avoidance, perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was cowardice, but she was at last regaining a shred of her composure and she didn't want to lose it once more.

Fon watched on the sidelines and made no attempt to intrude but for short pieces of enigmatic wisdom casually dropped each night before bed.

"Nothing has no meaning until we give it meaning," he had said once.

And the next night, "You must learn to let go of the idea that you must always be who you have always been."

Most devastatingly, "Accepting only part of yourself is a great disservice."

"To who?" she had asked.

Fon had blinked at her as if it was obvious. "To yourself, of course."

Two weeks into her stay, Masami ventured out to the nearby city. It was vibrant. Bustling. So full of life and energy that she wandered the streets for hours, trying desperately to absorb that warmth. On nothing but a quick whim, she bought a postcard and sent it to Tsunayoshi.

He was probably worrying himself sick, she knew.

When she came back to Fon waiting in the garden, smelling of the street food she had eaten and with more energy in her veins than she'd had in weeks, Masami felt almost as if her feet were planted firmly on the ground again.

"Let's dance," she said on another whim, and Fon's smile was small and full of pride.

What she didn't know was that by the time the postcard would reach Namimori, Tsunayoshi would be missing. Kyoya would be prowling the streets, searching for three missing students, debating whether or not to call his mother and ask her to put him in contact with Masami.

Only...a day after that, Hibari Kyoya would be missing, too.

Healing hurt.

With the apathy wiped away, Masami was fully, clearly aware of just how far she had let herself fall.

When she woke in the morning, gasping, drowning in indigo nightmares wanting nothing more than to remain in bed for the rest of the day, she remembered how once she had woken up with aspirations in her fingers and a confidence in the world.

The steps of the dance came with a hesitance that infuriated her. She had once been quick-footed and elegant. She had been grace and certainty on the dancefloor, and now, she had to relearn the rhythm of everything all over again.

Sparring with Fon was always an exercise in frustration. He was calm and unperturbed no matter what she did, and inevitably, resentment would well up in Masami's chest, heavy and bitter. Her weakness made her tremble late at night with disappointment.

And that was the worst of all. Her emotions were erratic and punishing, her words tripping out of her mouth with jagged edges. Uncertainty tainted her every move; it was hard not to jump at indigo shadows.

If her past self could see her now, she would hate the person she had become, lacking in self-control and self-confidence with tattered dignity and no poise.

Masami gritted her teeth. She raised her chin. Grasping her stubbornness and the shreds of her pride in a bloody grip, she straightened her back. And she continued dancing.

Slowly, slowly, she rebuilt herself, step by step.

Masami was walking through the city late at night when she heard it. It had been a hot, humid day that had bordered on unbearable, and the evening breeze was comfortable. The side streets she liked to roam were empty, and so the low scream easily caught her ear.

She hesitated. And despised herself a little for it.

The weight of her fans were heavy in her sleeves. She never went anywhere without at least one these days. It was a comfort and a security blanket both, and she knew it. But she was growing stronger these days, body and mind—Fon had said so, and he didn't believe in empty compliments either—and a low cry made up her mind.

Masami took a deep breath and went looking for trouble. Maybe she had spent too long tagging along on patrols with Kyoya, and a quiet whisper of homesickness touched her at the thought. It had been a while since she had talked with her brother.

The scene she came across was vile, and Masami didn't pause to think. She was stepping forward and throwing her tessen at the man crouching over a weeping woman with her blouse half undone before considering the consequences, and it felt right, bright like a blade's sheen.

The bastard was knocked back, and his would-be victim scrambled to her feet, backing away to seek protection from Masami. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she wept, mascara running down her cheeks in streaks of black.

She supposed she should be feeling pity. She didn't. "Are you hurt?" was all that Masami asked.

"No, no, I—don't—what should I do?"

"Go find the police," Masami said and didn't move even as the woman darted off with another sobbed thanks. She was eyeing the man struggling to pick himself off of the dirty cement and wrapping her fingers more firmly around her gunsen.

He was bleeding from the nose, the red astonishingly vivid amongst the grime and the falling dusk. Masami felt a strange sort of fascination, an odd excitement sweeping through her lungs and quickening her breath. Her fingers tingled gently as she reached down to pick up her tessen.

So weak, she thought, and it was a familiar thought. She remembered standing to the side as her mother slit the throat of another weak, disgusting man, and for the first time in a long while, Masami didn't feel incomplete or broken or helpless.

She felt powerful, and it was the headiest feeling in the world.

The rapist swallowed hard, staring up at her with wide eyes, and began to scramble backwards on his hands and knees. What he saw on her face, she couldn't imagine. And—

It would be so easy, wouldn't it? So very, very easy. All she would have to do was step forward and one easy arc of her fan would be enough.

(There had been a time when she considered murder beneath her, a precious waste of potential. She wondered where that mindset had gone.)

It was the shadows on the walls of the street that caught her eye. Flickering and unnatural in the diffused light. Another enemy? But no, when she glanced around for a light source, she found only the purple Flames that danced around her fingertips.

Masami stared at the Cloud Flames and then at her would-be victim. He was pale and shaking, sweating and so clearly prey. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she. She—

— forced herself to turn and walk away.

"You're Flame Active now," Fon said gently, pouring her a cup of tea. "And a Cloud-Mist no less. Such combinations are known for their volatile emotions and eccentric morals."

"Is that what they call it?" Masami said with a hint of her normal sharpness. It all sounded like excuses to her.

"Whatever they may say, always be sure that you control your Flames and your Flames do not control you."

Control. Discipline.

Yes, Masami could do that. She could do that.

A bare week later, Masami was standing by the river when she collapsed to her knees, an explosion ripping through her mind.

!?

And she remembered—remembered a future that wasn't hers, was inundated with memories of an individual she hadn't yet become.

It felt like a terrifying dream, but she knew it was real.

For some given value of real.

'Oh, Tsunayoshi, what have you done now,' was her last thought before the memories swamped her.

Masami walked down the hallway, her boots silent on the floor. There was a streak of dried blood to her right; one of the newbies, no doubt. She made a note to notify house cleaning before the day's end. Intimidation was all good and well, but these were private levels and she enjoyed sanitary conditions when she could.

A few passing Storms, looking tired and vaguely smug, nodded respectfully to her as their paths crossed. Masami nodded back and kept going, tendrils of her upswept hair swaying in front of her eyes as she walked up the stairs.

Her short yukata rode up over her garter, exposing the small knives she had been given for her twenty-third birthday. It was an odd sensation when she was used to keeping her weapons fully concealed. But this was headquarters, and Masami could dress how she wanted here.

She reached the double doors and knocked perfunctorily before slipping in. "Boss," Masami greeted.

Xanxus looked up from his pile of paperwork. "What, trash?"

"We've got reports coming in about a teenaged Sawada Tsunayoshi."

OpalescentGold: Things don't go as planned, and healing is hard. It's terrifying to be confronted by the realization that you're powerless and helpless, especially for someone as in-control as Masami. Wounded people don't think straight. The Future Arc hits hard and fast.

Please review!

Chabudai: tables with short legs.

Gunsen: lightweight but strong folding fans.

Kimono: Japanese traditional robes worn so that the hem falls to the ankle, with attached collars and long, wide sleeves.

Seiza: formal way of sitting, kneeling with legs folded underneath.

Tessen: heavy folding fans with outer spokes made of heavy plates of iron.

Yukata: a casual summer kimono.