For not the first time, Tsuna wonders how the hell he got into all of this.

Staring into the full length mirror that stands before him, he reflects that at least he's not being shot at. No one actively wants him dead, or at least isn't making their intent about it blatantly known. It's kind of a false peace, really, one that comes with its own anxieties and troubles, but Tsuna has learned to take whatever measure of quiet he can get. No one is demanding that he sneak into a heavily fortified building against an enemy that could take him out with an army. There aren't any ghosts, or aliens, or battle royales.

Just an entire room full of Italy's most prolific mafia families that are chomping at the bit to take advantage of him. He's still deciding if that's better or worse.

That's a room full of trouble, but at least it's a room full of trouble a couple of floors down and currently far away from him. Right now, all that he has to worry about is making sure the tie around his throat is tucked in right, and his sharp black suit doesn't have a single bit of hair on it. The first part he has on lock down. Reborn never would have let him leave Japan if he couldn't do every single kind of tie known to man, and a few he's pretty sure his mentor made up just on a lark. The second? Also on lock down, although that has less to do with Tsuna's sense of tidiness and more-

"Gokudera," he says, slow and maybe a little awkward as his arms start to fall asleep from where he's holding them out to the side. "I, uh... I think we're fine?"

They have to be after this long. While cleaning up the Vongola don's attire would be a job more fit for a maid, it's been Hayato who's gone through at least two different stick rolls for the lint roller. The reason why is obvious, of course. Instead of a cigarette clenched hard inbetween his teeth, his friend has gone through an entire box of lemon-flavored hard candies in lieu of that. It's hardly enough. How could it be, for someone who started smoking when he was younger than thirteen? It'd been fine, when they'd been in school, but...

Graduation was last month. They're not in school anymore.

His stress at being called out, no matter how gently, still has him jerk back with a frazzled flush across his face. "Ah- sorry, Tenth- Tsuna." Hayato's lips twist, both from want of a cigarette and from the conflict warring in him. It's a little frustrating, Tsuna won't lie. For months, now, he's been working on having his name be called instead of a title, but... "I'm just stressed," he admits quietly, candy clicking against his teeth as he rolls it on his tongue. It's an admission from Hayato, but it's true for Tsuna, too. They're all stressed. Tossing the lint roller to the side carelessly, Hayato peels away from Tsuna's side at long last. His fingers, elegant and quick, go up to his face where they begin to tap anxiously against his chin and mouth. "Shit time to have tried to quit smoking."

He technically quit smoking some six months ago, Tsuna is pretty sure, but he doesn't bring it up. Cravings apparently never leave once they've become habit. Instead, he takes his chance to lower his arms at long last. "It's alright," he reassures him, smiling in a way that he's had a lot of practice doing in the last four years. "Just remember that we have a plan, alright?" With that, he turns his attention back to the mirror, and his reflection.

Right. A plan. They have a plan, and it's a pretty good one, he likes to think. Maybe he just wants to think it. Whichever it is, it relies on the face that looks back at him in the full length mirror where he can see most of his room. Part of it is thanks to the size of the thing, created with a master artisan's touch so that the surface shines clearly and all the detail put into its frame sings of wealth. The other part of it is that, even with four years having passed and a high school diploma under his belt, Tsuna is still a small as he was when he was thirteen. It's kind of funny to him, honestly, even if he can't quite crack a laugh right now. No matter how much he used to long for being taller, or more broad-shouldered, he is his mother's child to the very end. He's still small, wide eyed, his brown hair warm and messy no matter how much he's tried to tame it tonight. It's little wonder that so many people over the years have underestimated him. Tsuna is pretty sure that his young twelve year old self would have never have believed that a person like him could be any sort of threat, physical or otherwise.

He's pretty sure for a fact that at least half of the people in the ballroom will believe that too based on appearances alone.

Sawada Nana shows in his pinchable cheeks and long lashes, but he has to admit that, staring at himself, Iemitsu is there too. Black suit, black tie, black shoes: they are the traditional outfit of a mafioso. Behind him, there is a backdrop of wealth and glamor with meticulously clean wooden floors. No stains show from all the blood that's been spilled against them. Spread across those floors are rugs so rich that there's no way that violence hadn't been wrought in their name. Don Vongola Decimo ("Normal," he'd pleaded Reborn, "Normal so they don't get any big ideas about me, no Neo Primo nonsense.") has dressing quarters that some people would slit throats to step into, and those people are who he's going to be shaking hands with soon. Thinking about it has anxiety bubble in his gut. Before he can calm himself, however, Tsuna's eye catches the sight of Hayato in the mirror, pacing irritably across the rugs where his sharp steps aren't so noticeable.

Inhale. Exhale. He'll be fine, he reminds himself. Hayato is with him.

Everyone is. While Hayato keeps a sharp eye on him here, Takeshi is the one waiting immediately outside his door with an easy smile and an easier grip on his swords- his ever reliable first line of defense. Last he checked, he knows Ryohei is just down the hall where one of the old guard, Nie Jr., coaxes him on what to expect just like he apparently has been for the last year. Having graduated a year ahead, their upperclassman has been paving the road ahead for the rest of them. Everyone had been wondering where Hibari had been up until an hour ago, when Takeshi had stuck his head out a window and found the irritable man waiting along the roof. When it all comes down to it, Tsuna is sure that his Cloud Guardian will be there, although he had to convince the others of the same. That leaves Lambo, who he'd rather not involve at all in this whole mess... But with no other choice, he's kept him close to Nie Jr.'s partner Ganauche while the rest of them prepare.

That only leaves...

"That freak isn't going to agree to this," Hayato says suddenly, sharply, and Tsuna pulls himself out of his thoughts and away from the mirror. His Storm is leaning against the arm of one luxurious armchair, rooting around in his pockets for another piece of candy. One of these days, he's going to almost be as bad as Lambo about it. Tsuna thinks he'd prefer cavities to lung cancer.

Exchanging dry commentary and easing the concerns of other people is the best way to deal with his own issues, honestly, so Tsuna is more than glad to speak up. "You'll have to be a little more specific," he points out, stepping a little closer. "Do you mean Mukuro or Chikusa?"

"It's the same thing," Hayato snaps in return before grimacing apologetically. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that to you, Tenth."

"Don't worry about it." There are more important things to worry about than Hayato letting himself slip up in private. For example- "I'm sure it's going to turn out alright." At least, he's pretty sure that it will turn out okay. Hayato might be right in some things. After all, doesn't Tsuna know best how stubborn Mukuro Rokudo can be, sometimes over the pettiest things and more often over that which is most important to him? Yet there's a couple of things Tsuna thinks that they'll always disagree on when it comes to that gang of Italian delinquents.

The first is that Tsuna is sometimes more willing to give credit to Mukuro where his right-hand man isn't. It's not about the well-established facts, such as how dangerous the other man is, or how skilled he is with illusions. It's in the more subtle things that Tsuna sees more than Hayato is ever willing to. Perhaps that has something to do with Hayato's own bitterness and distrust, or maybe Mukuro has managed to actually spin a good lie for himself once in his life that leaves everyone else, even those who stay by his side, uncertain of his loyalties. Tsuna hasn't been fooled for years, however. He never will be now. It's impossible when all he can remember is how the illusionist ignored his own pride in favor of being used as bait so that the people most important to him could be safe and free.

Hyper Intuition is useful that way, but Tsuna is pretty sure even without it, he'd understand Mukuro more than is really appreciated on the illusionist's end.

On the second front, Tsuna is a lot more willing to forgive other people for not getting it. After all, when it comes to Kakimoto Chikusa, he's not even sure he understands that particular man himself. Quiet, dull eyed, obedient to his leader - Chikusa has all the trappings of a doll with no will or personality for himself. Yet that had never seemed quite right to Tsuna for reasons he couldn't articulate. Once, maybe the year prior he thinks, he'd brought up these thoughts to Reborn, and his mentor had looked at him with some simple but true words: "Could a doll fire up his will like that?"

So there's more to Chikusa than other people might think. At least, Tsuna is hoping there's enough to him that even if Mukuro decides to be stubborn, he might make a decision independent of him. While not necessary to the plan, it would sure as hell make things a lot easier. Even Hayato has to know that, although he doesn't admit as much as he shoves some more candy into his mouth. There's nothing for it now. Both of them are as ready and dressed up as they'll ever be. Now all that is left for them to do... is wait.

There's no denying the temptation to pace frantically throughout the room, matching Hayato's own frenetic energy. Tsuna's heart is pounding in his throat, and he feels the pressure of so many eyes on him. A part of him wants to go to the windows and peer outside, but it's too risky right now. You never know what kind of person might have their guns trained on such valuable parts of the Iron Fortress. So instead he stays well out of sight from them, and instead takes in a deep shaky breath as he goes to find a place to sit. At least he has plenty of options.

As the minutes pass, slowly, more of his guardians make their way inside to join him. Even Lambo is a little serious, keeping his head ducked down as he curls up against Tsuna's side and all his attention focused on the handheld game that's his distraction. Meanwhile, Ryohei and Hayato get into a quiet discussion in another corner of the room. Tsuna tries to ignore it, politely, but it's a hard task. Over the years, whether due to Reborn's training or Hyper Intuition, his hearing has grown sharp. The information Ryohei passes onto Hayato by reading from his own notes on the various families that have apparently arrived might as well be told to Tsuna himself.

Outside the windows, floors and floors and floors up off the ground, he listens as there's the scuffle of shoes and watches a brief spurt of purple flame. It only takes a second before there's the sound of quiet and immediate violence to finish it. Hibari must have spotted someone to take his boredom out on. Considering that the only people who'd have to worry about this kind of height are assassins, Tsuna doesn't bother to go check on him. It's fine. Sure enough, only a minute later, and there's the sound of Hibari's shoes leaping carelessly back up to his perch. "At least he's getting exercise," Tsuna mutters to himself. At his side and just old enough to really understand what's going on, Lambo snickers a little bit to himself. Ten years old, but he's still a little bit of a shit. It's amazing to think that, in just five more, the boy at his side will be that relaxed and lazy teenager Tsuna remembers seeing quite a few times in his middle school years.

Time really is strange. Since he first finished getting dressed, it's felt as though hours have passed in his waiting. Tsuna knows it can't possibly have been that long when Takeshi finally pokes his head in through the door. For all the tension thrumming high in the room and the danger that every single one of them is more than aware of, he's still grinning as casually and brightly as he's done for years now. Then again, unlike some of them, Takeshi has never felt more alive than when there's a challenge or a dare to win. It's taken a little while for Tsuna to realize that, although he's not sure why. Despite having been a perfectly normal teenage baseball player to Tsuna's understanding, his friend always did take far too easily to the "mafia game".

"They're here!" he announces cheerfully, stepping in and opening the door wide for two familiar figures. With them inside, Takeshi shortly follows.

For not the first time in his life, Tsuna marvels at how beautiful Chrome is. No, the first time would have been when he was fourteen, flustered with a kiss fresh on his cheek and hormones running wild. All these years later, and he's a little better on the hormones front, he thinks, although that hasn't stopped him from having a crush on far too many of his guardians. Regardless, she's still beautiful to him. Her eye sparkles with that brilliant will which is all her own, and her hair falls loose and smooth around her shoulders. Unlike the rest of them, dressed in funeral black, Chrome's own suit from the jacket to her slacks are pure white. There's a reason, Tsuna thinks, that mafia men wear black, and it's probably so that blood or gun powder doesn't show as visibly. To wear white in this sort of work... It's a declaration of power and skill. A quiet declaration, sure, but one all its own. Faintly, he wonders who gave her the advice to wear it. It could be any one of the old guardians of the Vongola, who have reason to, or even someone like Mammon, who seems appreciative of Chrome's potential. Mukuro is always a possibility here... and just as much an option is Chrome herself. It really doesn't matter. It's a good look, and one that will serve their purposes well. Tsuna finishes his look over her by glancing down at her shoes, and he makes a small distressed groan.

"Mukuro heels," he whines, lamenting, and Chrome's lips curl up in a little smile that belies how much she wants to laugh.

"Mukuro heels," she confirms, tapping one against the ground. Really, they're not a bad thing. Mukuro doesn't even wear particularly high heels with most of his boots. They're pretty sensible. It's just that they're certainly recognizable, and Tsuna can only imagine how high up her leg that they go hidden underneath her pants. If nothing else, they're definitely different from the dress shoes everyone else is wearing. Shaking his head, Tsuna turns his attention up to his Mist Guardian's companion.

In contrast to Tsuna, who stopped growing fairly early on, it almost seems as though Kakimoto Chikusa has never stopped. He looks even taller than he was when they first met, and just as lanky despite repeated attempts over the years to get the Kokuyo group to eat decent food. The dullness to his eye hasn't changed, at least, and Tsuna tries to smile appreciatively up into that blank expression. "Thanks for coming," he says. "I, uh, really appreciate it."

No response. At least, nothing for a good long moment, until Chrome looks up to him and Chikusa permits a long low sigh to drag out from his lips. "Whatever," he mutters. "Getting dressed up like this... is so troublesome."

Words like that are ones Tsuna has heard a couple of times from him over the years, the comparitively few times they've met. Usually, it's a sign of far too much effort. One wouldn't think that just putting on a suit and tie is a lot of effort... but Tsuna thinks he understands what's really the issue beneath it all. These sharp suits, all grim professionalism, are a symbol of something. Agreeing to take part in that kind of symbol, of something that he must hate so much...

Well. Tsuna means what he said when he gave his appreciation. The feelings that Mukuro's group have towards the mafia are ones that Tsuna can't say aren't well earned.

At his side, Hayato finally joins him again with his gaze glancing over Chikusa critically. More than any of them, while he might not give credit towards how helpful Mukuro's lot are, he understands exactly how dangerous the assassin before them can be. "Did Dokuro brief you on anything?" he asks sharply, ignoring the fact that Chrome is right there. She and Tsuna exchange a single tired glance with one another while Chikusa returns Hayato's untrusting look with a cool one of his own.

"I think," he murmurs softly, "that I know more about what to do around mafia than you do."

For the love of- "Okay!" Tsuna says loudly, quickly looping his arms around one of Hayato's so that a fight doesn't start up. "So we all know what to do! That's great!" Maybe it wasn't a great idea, in contrast, to get all of these clashing personalities together in one room... But if Tsuna ever cut out the people he knows that clashed, he wouldn't know anybody. That's a truth he's resigned himself to long ago. "Yamamoto, uh, can you go make sure that Hibari-san knows that we'll be heading inside to the party soon?"

Takeshi continues to look way too happy about the mess of people that are here. "Sure, no problem!" he laughs, striding over to the windows. As he undoes the latches and begins to step outside, Tsuna turns his attention away. Takeshi has Hibari handled, probably, or at least he's become very good at getting him to go along with things lately. Any sounds of combat, Tsuna is determined to ignore.

"Chikusa," he says instead, "you can sit down... if you want...?"

Chikusa doesn't look away from the silent staring contest that is going on between him and Hayato. For all that he's still wearing a mask of utter apathy, the air between the two is thick with their distaste for one another. Helplessly, he looks over to Chrome. Help me he mouths, and Chrome sighs as well. Indulgently, she takes his arm in her hands, and begins to lead him away. "Chikusa," is all she says, and his attention laconically drifts back towards her. Still holding onto Hayato's arm, Tsuna watches as the pair go to find a corner of the room where Chikusa can slump with Chrome daintily taking place besides him.

Candy clinks against Hayato's teeth again as he scowls over in Chikusa's direction. "I can't believe we're getting help from him," he says lowly.

Whatever Tsuna could say in response to that, whatever reassurances he could give, he doesn't get a chance to. Instead, Ryohei suddenly surges from besides him, grinning widely and ruffling Hayato's hair viciously. "They're extremely helpful guys when the chips are down!" he announces over Hayato's squawking. Being swatted away does nothing to stop the grin on his face.

"Do you even have any idea of what we're about to walk into?" Hayato snaps, bristling as bad as Uri does any day of the week. Honestly, it's kind of a ridiculous question to ask. Ever since he graduated, Ryohei has been in Italy being tutored under the ninth generation of guardians on just what to expect- his duty as one of the oldest in Tsuna's group. Hibari is possibly, probably, the oldest by technicality, but it was never any question of who would be the one to be tutored. Ryohei, after all, wouldn't take on the entire mafia world all on his own and then establish his own dominion in an entirely different country.

Hibari is a powerful ally when it comes to a fight, and a lot more clever about politics than might be guessed at by how he breaks people's jaws with his tonfa. Yet a Cloud is a Cloud, and Hibari is Hibari.

Surely Hayato must know this. Tsuna used to listen to him in their final year of high school fussing over things, not content with just sitting back to finish his own education. That doesn't stop him from glowering at Ryohei, or snapping that glare right over to Chikusa. "We're about to step into a room with some of the most notable Families in Italy-"

"Including us," Tsuna tries to offer, only to get drowned out in his right hand man's fervor.

"-while we're still fresh out of high school, trying to impress that the Vongola aren't in a weak spot at all even with the Ninth having stepped down, and that yoyo-freak over in the corner is WEARING A BEANIE WITH A THREE PIECE SUIT!" By the end, he's yelling across the room.

With as little effort as possible, Chikusa moves his hand into view and raises a single middle finger. Hayato bites straight through the candy in his mouth.

Maybe letting Hayato tackle Chikusa in a war to get the hat off of his head would be a good thing. Tsuna contemplates the idea in exhaustion, even while his arms tighten around Hayato's. It could help him use up some of that anxious energy. Before he can decide on if this is actually a good idea or only wishful thinking, the doors to the room open up once again. "Knock knock," Ganauche the Third says, grinning with some level of charm through his fuzz. Maybe as one of the ninth generation guardians, he can get away with a little dishevelment. Kind of like how Xanxus can get away with a scowl and a bottle of booze in one hand at all times. "Is everyone ready?"

As if right on cue, a window opens again, and Takeshi hops through looking only a little ruffled, but in a good way, where his collar doesn't rest quite right and his tie is a little loose and Tsuna remembers that he is terribly and horribly bisexual. "We're all set!" he announces, stepping further inside to make room for Hibari's own entrance. This time, Tsuna allows Hayato to slip out of his grasp with a muttered curse. It's fine. He heads straight for Takeshi like Tsuna knew he would, swearing under his breath and tidying up Takeshi's appearance. No matter the language that comes out of his mouth again, however, Takeshi only laughs again. "You really smell like lemons, Gokudera! You should pick something sweeter."

There's a jab in those cheerful words, yet Hayato's only response is to scowl a little at him and lightly smack his arm. "Fuck you," he says, absolutely no venom in his words. In the background, Hibari's lips curl up slightly in disgust that could be directed at either the embarrassing display of PDA that's going on or the fact that everyone is grouped up tightly near the door still. Tsuna doesn't have long enough to get a feel for it before, wordlessly, his Cloud Guardian strides right past Takeshi and Hayato to the exit. Ganauche steps aside to let him, glancing back to Tsuna with a quirked brow. Ganauche might not be one of Tsuna's guardians, after all, but he is still Vongola, and the young don can tell what message he's trying to send with that single look. Is it really fine to let Hibari run off on his own like that?

Tsuna hopes his smile gives the right answer. Really, though, holding Hibari back takes a whole lot of effort. There's no point in getting into a fight with him over this. Anyway... If any one of those Families in there have done even the slightest bit of research on the newest generation of Vongola, then they should come to their own interesting conclusions on what it means for the Vongola's strongest guardian to step out into the party first.

Starting a fight or threatening to rule with power isn't what Tsuna wants to do... but he doesn't mind if his opponents end up thinking that by the night's finish regardless. It will even probably play into the impression he wants to start the night out with.

Yet thinking about it and doing it are two different things. So, taking a deep breath, Tsuna calms himself. They'll get through this. He made his decision ages ago, when he first realized what it meant to be the Vongola heir in this kind of world, so he won't let anything else but that happen. With that thought firmly lodged inside his skull, he turns to the rest of his guardians. Words aren't needed for them to understand. From her corner, Chrome silently rises up to her feet and vanishes with about as much fanfare. Fidgeting, Lambo turns off his game and hops up onto his feet to immediately latch himself to Takeshi's side while the Rain Guardian steps forward. Ryohei cracks his knuckles, like he's preparing for any one of his fights, and his eyes burn in a somber expression most people wouldn't expect from his exuberant nature. And Hayato? Just like Tsuna, he takes a deep breath of his own and straightens his shoulders, casting away the anxiety that's been plaguing him for hours, days, weeks now.

They're all anxious. All nervous. But they can't let anyone else see that. Not outside of this room, and not until the night is done.

"Just act natural," he reminds everyone, although it hardly needs to be said. They've all given lies worse than the ones he's hoping they'll give tonight.

Hayato picks up where he's left off. "Don't act too fidgety or make too much of a fool of yourself. We're still-" Yelping under the sudden weight of Ryohei's arm, he's dragged helplessly by the Sun Guardian's excitement.

"Huddle!" he announces far too loudly, grinning once again. There's no point in fighting against it, so Tsuna doesn't bother to try when he's grabbed and dragged in too. Neither does Takeshi, although for entirely different reasons if the grin on his face is any indication. Suddenly, they're all in middle school again, danger and death looming over their heads which is held at bay only by the small circle they form. Never one to be left behind, Lambo shoves his way inbetween Tsuna and Takeshi, the latter who ruffles his thick curls fondly.

All the cool control Hayato had demonstrated for maybe a few seconds dissolves in the blink of an eye. "You're not even in high school anymore-" he starts to yell.

Ryohei, as he's done from day one, ignores him. "Hey, Dokuro!" he calls to the corner where Chikusa is sitting all on his own. "The 20 yards rule still applies! So you're still a part of this!"

The empty space in the room doesn't reply. Neither does Chikusa, watching them all with a dull eyed stare that manages to be plenty judging with not a single word said.

Hayato's hand grudgingly settles around Tsuna's shoulders, and the scowl he wears is offset by the flustered blush that has spread across his cheeks. "This is so stupid," he grumbles in a complaint that goes unheard by Ryohei. "All these years, and you're still as much of a ridiculous jock as ever, turfhead."

"Hey, it's fun, right?" Takeshi's laughter doesn't seem to abate Hayato's blush much. "Relax, relax."

Hayato doesn't relax, due to some part of him that is fundamentally incapable of it, but his fingers knead into the back of Tsuna's suit and the young don smiles. Everything that's been bubbling inside of him suddenly seems to have cooled down. This is the Varia again, the Millefiore, every challenge they've ever faced from the few years that have been their school lives. In some ways this particular scenario is different, but in a lot of ways it's not. Together, they all take in a deep breath and in unison-

"Vongola! FIGHT!"

Once they're all untangled from each other, Tsuna turns to the door where Ganauche is holding onto his stomach with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. "So, uh," he says, still snickering as he wipes a mirthful tear from his eye, "are you really ready then?"

Besides Tsuna, Hayato is smoothing out his hair from the constant Ryohei-ing that it's had to deal with in the past minute. "Yeah," Tsuna answers. "We're ready." Flanked by his right and left hands, Ryohei bringing up the back with Lambo, they all begin to filter out.

"Yoyo freak!" Hayato calls over his shoulder, look sharp as he addresses Chikusa. "Don't take too long!" No answer. Not even the sound of movement. If Chikusa reacts in any way, Tsuna isn't sure. He's already out the door.

The halls are far from quiet as their small group traverses them. Their footsteps clutter together in its emptiness, and there's the distant sound of chatter coming down from beneath their feet past the floors. Still, even surrounded by people and aware of the party they will arrive at, Tsuna once more feels dwarfed in the massive space. It's how he felt when he first was welcomed to the Iron Fortress in squeaky sneakers and worn jeans. Just because he's wearing a suit worth more than some people's paychecks hasn't changed anything. Faintly, with nothing to do but think to himself, Tsuna wonders if he ever will. After all, there are a lot of things he's felt differently about since this first all began some five years ago. Once upon a time, he never would have though that he could handle himself in a fight. He never thought he could inspire anyone. Hell, he never thought he could have friends.

All of those things have been proven untrue now. Maybe in another five years, his lack of comfort in halls that still don't feel like home will be another thing to add to the list.

Assuming they make it to those five years, anyway. All the dangers they'll face can't be forgotten, especially when they come to a set of stairs leading to the other floors and a pair of Vongola guards are there keeping things in check. Ganauche nods to them, coolly, and Tsuna wonders if he should do the same. Would that be too commanding when he's not even sure he's ever met them? Too presumptuous? Ugh- his head is too full of the task before him to deal with matters at home. Once he's made sure that the metaphorical walls of the Vongola are sturdy from attack, then he can focus on getting everything set up on the home front. So Tsuna keeps his eyes up ahead, focusing, and still can't stop himself from smiling when he hears Takeshi give a cheery greeting-and-farewell to the guard closest to him. Friends like that are why he can let himself focus in the first place, huh?

There's more guards the further he goes, at every landing and, eventually, every some meters down the hallway. The noise of the party is louder, now, and Tsuna's Hyper Intuition buzzes wildly in the back of his skull. People talking, whispering, shoes scuffling against the ground, glasses clinking and the rustle of weapons and rings and boxes they think are completely hidden, but...

Another deep breath. He thinks of the flame inside of him, flickering in his chest and burning underneath his knuckles. The weight of his mittens in his pants pockets are reassuring ones, as is the solid ring hidden underneath his shirt and the other one in his pockets. Most of all, there's the one resting on his finger as a sign to the world. Sky. Harmony. He can do this.

Ganauche stops before a set of enormous doors, inlaid with fine engravings that were carved probably decades, if not centuries, ago. With his hand resting against the wood, he glances down to the small group of newly young adults with proper seriousness. "No going back now."

It's a nice sentiment, giving that little heads up of a warning, but it doesn't need to be said. Tsuna is pretty sure that there's been no going back ever since Vongola Nono's sons all become illegible to the throne that rules over the Vongola Family's empire. Maybe even further back, ever since he was first born. Still, he's never been one to turn away even the smallest kindnesses. Brow crinkled together, he smiles up at Ganauche and nods. "Thanks." With that said, he looks straight ahead of himself and schools his expression back into the one he knows he wears best: a nervous little smile over wide brown eyes that don't look like they could harm a fly. Tsuna is well aware of what the rest of the underworld is going to see him as. How could he not, when Xanxus has never made his opinion private since day one? He's the Japanese outsider, the inexperienced child, the foolish civilian who's never grown up in the cutthroat world of the mafia and has no idea how dangerous it can really be.

That's okay. Tsuna has had worse things thrown at him.

His gratitude is all Ganauche needs to open the doors wide, assisted by one other bodyguard with a grim look in his eyes. Everyone else is preparing for the very worst. Tsuna would reassure them, like he's reassured his own friends and Guardians, if only there was some more time.

If only, in the here and now, he doesn't get a front row seat to eyes after eyes after eyes draw towards his person, and silence slowly spreads out to overtake the whole room.

This isn't the first time some of them have seen him. The most important people in this room will no doubt still remember that trap of an inheritance ceremony, and the slightly more genuine one that came some time afterwards. What sort of first impressions must those have been? Tsuna genuinely has no idea. All the clean up from that mess and the meet-and-greets from its follow up are things foreign to him. Nono had handled all of that, in those days when he had still been healthy enough to manage. Yet he can surmise that it was probably nothing good.

That's only a small portion of the people in here, however- those Families with real power and worth to their names. Many more in this room are only seeing him for the first time, and the weight of those stares feels so very familiar. As he steps further into the room, his Guardians staying close, he's faintly aware of Ganauche closing the doors behind him once again. Retreat is no longer an option. That's fine. Tsuna decided to stop running a long time ago.

One of the questions he's had in his head the whole day and night leading up to this moment has always been that of who would approach him first. Who would take that first step, to size up the newest generation of the Vongola? Yet he probably never needed to wonder in the first place. "Hey, Tsuna!" calls a familiar face in Japanese, and he finds his face warming up into a smile as he turns to look at the older man approaching him. "You're looking pretty slick, aren't you?"

That's a lot, coming from Dino as he steps forward with a few of his own Cavallone members not too far off. When they'd first met, Tsuna had privately thought that his self-appointed 'big brother' was definitely the cool type, and that's an impression that hasn't really been washed away no matter how many times he's seen the blond hurt himself when unsupervised. In the glitz and glamor and darkness that is a mafia party, Dino shines. Is it the golden hair, the expensive designer suit, the grin? Tsuna doesn't care. He only laughs a little as he steps forward to meet his big brother halfway, feeling Hayato relax besides him.

This isn't unusual. Thus, they can take those first steps into natural appearances with someone they really all do feel natural around. Dino won't know he's being used as a springboard, but Tsuna thanks him in his head anyway. Out loud, he says, "Dino! It's really good to see you." He won't be able to get away with speaking in Japanese here for long, he knows, so he takes what solace he can in speaking it to Dino himself. "How are you liking the party?"

"As fancy as always," Dino chuckles. "You really did well for yourself." Considering that this is half done by the ninth generation just as much as the tenth, well, Tsuna will take the nice compliment for what it is. Maybe in the future, he can spare some time to actually thinking about putting together parties at all, maybe.

There's no time for the conversation to continue on much longer. With the ice having been broken by one of the Vongola's longest and strongest allies, others begin to step forward to wiggle in through the hole. Case in point... "Now, Don Cavallone," someone says in smooth Italian, "don't hog the host all to yourself!" The man stepping forward out of the crowd, with a woman who's supermodel pretty hanging onto his arm, is one Tsuna thinks he can recognize. Oh, they've never met before. Rather, he's seen his image from some of the last tests Reborn mercilessly ran him through only a couple of months prior. Dark hair covering one side of his face, a hungry and conniving glint in his one visible eye that can't quite by hidden by his generous smile: Valentini, of the Cremisi Family. "Now, why don't you introduce us?"

All the fond warmth that had been in Dino's voice eases back, although Tsuna isn't sure how obvious it is to people who aren't on close terms with him. After all, he's still smiling, and his voice is still friendly... It's just different. "Of course. Where are my manners? Tsuna, this is Stefano Valentini. He's the right hand man of the Cremisi Family, and a notable artist in his spare time when he's not doing work for his don."

"Oh, you flatter me." Valentini certainly seems to be drinking it up, however, pleased and indeed flattered.

Most of that is information Tsuna already knew coming in here. What pictures never showed, however, is the quiet gleam of ambition that seems to be permanently lodged in Valentini's eye. A right-hand man... But for how long, he wonders? Tsuna has seen enough ambitious people in his life, even outside of the mafia, to recognize when ambition goes from benign to ravenous.

All these thoughts and more, he keeps lodged away firmly in his head. Instead, he holds out his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, the Italian leaving his mouth stilted and awkward.

"You already are familiar with Tsuna, of course," Dino says, voice lilting just a little in the direction of dryness. "However, allow me to introduce his guardians as well. Hayato Gokudera is his Storm, Takeshi Yamamoto is his Rain, Ryohei Sasagawa is his Sun, and young Lambo is growing to be his Lightning Guardian." The introductions means that even when Tsuna has finished his own handshake, Takeshi and Ryohei still have theirs to go through. Hayato passes, cool and formal, and so does Lambo, although for entirely different reasons.

"You're weird," Lambo announces bluntly, without preamble or tact.

Besides him, Takeshi barely manages to bite back his laugh. Before him, Valentini's mouth twitches. Most people's do, when they don't have the kind of easygoing nature that allows a child's judgments to roll right off their backs. "I'm sorry about him," Tsuna says, words a little clumsy. "He is ten. He is here on a..." Letting the word hang, he looks up to Hayato for a moment. There are a few words Tsuna could use to explain why they have a literal child as a part of their group, the most choice on being, in his opinion, bullshit...

"It's a formality," Hayato says smoothly, his thumb swiping swiftly across one of his many rings. Unlike the way Tsuna is saying them, his Italian comes out naturally, matching just about everyone else that's attending this little (enormous) get together. Subtly, Valentini's eyebrows rise up. It's been a long time since the "Smoking Bomb" had made a name for himself in Italy; people have likely forgotten Hayato's heritage in the face of his name. "Lambo will become a proper member when he's become of age." The subtext there is that they're all stuck with Ganauche until then. There's a couple of ways people can interpret that...

Valentini's considering "I see" hints that he's probably inclined to entertaining the worst, or at least that's how the fake politeness sounds to Tsuna's ears. It's nothing compared to the kind of culture he's seen back home. Before the conversation can go much further, Hayato speaks up.

"You said you're an artist, didn't you?"

"Oh, right." Dino goes along with it just as much as Tsuna could hope for him to, a recollection lighting up in his eyes. "Hayato here is a musician. I mean, they're different fields, but..."

"How interesting!" Intuition says that's probably the most honest word that has come out of Valentini's mouth this entire time. "They are indeed two different things. However, all art shares the same goal, and thus certain similarities are intertwined between each area. One could say that the visual arts are symphonies for the eyes..."

"I'm sure." Hayato doesn't exactly sound convinced to Tsuna's well trained ears, but, then, he's kind of cheating there. His right hand man turns to him then, bowing his head slightly in his direction. "You can go on ahead, Tenth. I think I'll stay here a little while longer, if that's alright with you."

One of the first steps. It's no surprise that Hayato would be the one to take it. "It's okay," he says, smiling a little. With his hand reaching over to start guiding Lambo away from the conversation, Tsuna only glances back once to look at Hayato. It's really just to see the friendly way Takeshi pats their friend's back, laughing and wishing him fun with his conversation, but he knows how other people will see it or come to see it as the night passes on. Out of all of them, Hayato is the only native Italian speaker, after all. Well, he's the only native Italian speaker out of their group not counting the literal actual child. Many might think him nervous for leaving him behind like this.

That's fine.

Ideally, Tsuna would prefer just making it to the refreshments table and getting something to occupy Lambo, or maybe even occupy himself. Grand parties where there's more talking than anything else honestly bore him; in that aspect he must still be a teenager. Yet no matter where they go, with every step, it feels as though he's accosted by yet another mafioso. Realistically, he knew that this is what was going to happen. Everyone wants to influence the newest Vongola don, for better or for worse. Everyone wants to get a good look at him for themselves. As time passes, he begins to lose Guardian by Guardian. Ryohei goes first, enthusiastically striking up conversation with someone who seems friendly enough that he apparently boxed once in the year that he's been in Italy. Next goes Takeshi, his good looks and amiable personality making him a target for all sorts of things- mostly various beautiful women who are at least picking their targets wisely. Tsuna would laugh, if he could, knowing that Takeshi is taken in a couple of different ways and no one else really stands a chance. With Takeshi goes Lambo, presented as a little translator. After all, native speaker, and all that.

Tsuna finds himself adrift in the sea of faces that is the party, with every individual a shark as much as they are the water.

The most frustrating thing isn't the constant flow of conversation that he has to entertain, or the flickers of judgment that he sees in people's eyes when his Italian is faltering. Rather, it's still being so damn short. Even when he finally has a drink in his hand and is at the complete opposite end of the room from where he first entered, he has a difficulty seeing past everyone who feels so much taller than he is. Despite this difficulty, he spots the rest of his guardians soon enough.

Hayato, still near the front, his silver hair recognizable from everyone else, south. Ryohei's booming exuberance could be seen from space, off to the side, west. Whenever Ryohei isn't speaking, Takeshi's laughter rises up where he's no doubt entertaining or being entertained, by the refreshments, east. That leaves Hibari circling the perimeter, already given a wide birth- what has he been doing in the time that Tsuna took his eyes off of him?

And then there's himself, positioned near the small band playing in the corner whose music fills up his hearing. They're all scattered throughout the entirety of the room.

Good.

"It's a pretty big party," says a voice in Japanese, quiet and yet completely undermining the music in the corner. Tsuna hasn't even turned to face the speaker before he's beaming again. Sometimes he forgets that he has to look up nowadays when he and Enma are together. Unlike him, his friend has really filled out. He's not as tall as some of the others, like Kaoru holding guard on the redhead's left, or Rauji who dominates the entire back of the group, but he's sturdy in his own way. A couple of scars prick at the skin of his face. In any other mafioso, they'd stand out as a sign of toughness. On Enma, they instead seem to fade into the background like so much of him does, and there's only that small smile on his lips. Instead of the sharp merciless black that Tsuna has been forced to wear, Enma wears softer and warmer browns. All of it must have been handmade by someone else in his family. That's the only explanation for the detailed waistcoat he can see under Enma's jacket, when he knows that Shimon still isn't quite powerful or rich enough to buy the really expensive stuff some of the other Families can flaunt.

...But they're getting there.

Still, even though he knows that, Tsuna can't help but ask, "No one's given you trouble, right?" Not like last time, long before Shimon made a name for themselves either as the no-name Family that successfully caught everyone by surprise, or now, when they've been steadily building themselves up.

"No, we're fine. Adelheid, um-" He glances to his right, where the Shimon's co-boss is sending a stare cold enough to give people hypothermia out into the crowd. "She's been handling that. People have been keeping their distance." What Enma doesn't say is that probably some of the reason that people are keeping their distance is because of two things. The first is that Shimon has now since completed the debt that they put themselves under with the Vongola's ninth generation, in order to finalize the public process that would make sure no one thought the Vongola might be weak for letting another Family hurt them and get away with it. No one has, can, or will understand how complex that whole thing was. It's a secret held firmly between the Vongola and the Shimon, like so many other things between the two Families.

The second thing is also supposed to be private, honestly. However, gossip and rumor are the lifeblood of so many things, and the mafia with its underworld is no exception. Tsuna knows, thanks to his dear big brother Dino chatting away with Reborn, that another small but more notable mafia Family tried to take advantage of Shimon through threats and intimidation in a private meeting. According to the grapevine, Adelheid had broken the don's arm and fought her way out of the mess with only her fans in the face of dozens of guns. It could be exaggeration, or it could be truth. When it comes to Suzuki Adelheid, who dared to go against Hibari on a regular basis all up until he'd left for his own graduation, it could go either way.

Before he can say anything else on that, or express his relief, Enma refocuses his gaze on Tsuna. "You're doing fine, too, right?" Both of them know that Tsuna can't say what he's really feeling, or his true thoughts. Not here, not with so many greedy ears and traitorous mouths. There are other ways they can get the message across, however.

Tsuna does it with a small laugh, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm doing well. Everyone's been very kind to me so far despite my new position." At least, they've been kind enough to his face, when they think he's paying attention. When they think he isn't, well, that's a different story entirely. More than a few times as he's made his way through the crowd, he's heard the gossip exchanged in quiet rushed whispers and, sometimes more daringly, in perfectly normal conversational tones. It's kind of amazing, honestly. Tsuna doesn't know why he was so worried in the first place. Everyone here has plenty of influence, sure. They could gun down buildings full of people, or have powerful fighters on their payroll, or ruin a reputation with just a couple of words...

And yet all he can think in response to that is so what? As he stands here, talking with one of his only true friends in a room filled with dozens of false smiles, Tsuna reflects on the realization that this is simply middle school all over again. Middle school, which became high school, which has become the mafia world as he takes center stage as Vongola Decimo. Yet in the end, it's still the same game. They're all still the same kinds of people that he can recall from his teenage years, just now armed with deadly weapons and financial control. Same shit as always.

To really hammer it in, he meets Enma's gaze squarely and says quietly with a laugh at the edge of his voice, "It's a lot easier than dealing with a spade."

Enma makes a small faint snort in the back of his nose, and the corners of his lips are tugged upwards a little bit. They both know what Tsuna means. "Yeah," he agrees. "It's a lot easier than that." There's a lot more the two of them could talk about with each other, especially with how difficult it has to have been for Enma to get this close. People have been clamoring for Tsuna's attention ever since Valentini first broke the ice. A small time don must have had to wait for who knows how long. It's as they're in the middle of talking, however, that Tsuna senses a disturbance ripple throughout the crowd. It's not a huge thing. In fact, it's rather subtle, with conversations stuttering for a quick second and gazes flickering elsewhere. Tsuna knows what it must mean.

Chikusa has just been noticed.

Tsuna and Chikusa may be strangers on the more intimate things, with the other man always inclined to let Mukuro or Ken do the talking for him, but Tsuna knows him well enough. He knows that he's an assassin over a fighter, and he knows that he's an introvert over a talker. While Tsuna wasn't looking, no doubt he entered with little fanfare, probably squeezing into the smallest gap in the door that he could manage without opening it fully. He's probably been in the room for at least a few minutes. Maybe longer. Yet he's tall, and the only one wearing a beanie to a suit-and-dress event. Someone was going to notice him at some point. Someone was going to recognize the distinct tattoo on his left cheek, and realize that he fits the bill of someone who's been wanted by the Vindice at some point in his life, and still is by various mafia Families now.

And if someone knows that, then they'll know what his presence likely signifies. Who his presence signifies.

Thank goodness for parties, where gossip spreads like wildfire. Tsuna's smile tilts apologetic as he looks up at Enma. "I should go back to being a host," he tells him, which is only partially true. He'll miss the Japanese shared on their tongues. "Make sure you all have fun, okay?" That's the most he can hope for. With his temporary farewell said, Tsuna turns and starts to make his way through the party again. Most people have already dismissed him, he thinks, but he still puts a good dose of subtlety into his actions as he tries to get a good look of where Chikusa has positioned himself. While it takes a couple of conversations, it's not too hard. Really, it even works out the best. This way, he gets to overhear the quiet discussions on what it means for Chikusa to be here. No one outright says Mukuro's name, as if it's a curse that might come true if it alights on their tongues, yet there's no doubt about who they refer to in their hushed whispers. Really, they should know better. Since his youth, Mukuro has employed a lot more finesse in who he's gone after.

It's not for Tsuna's benefit, of course. Mukuro still mocks the idea of being a Vongola Guardian whenever it's brought up, a sneer on his lips. It's part of the reason Chrome is his Mist instead, although the other part is because she actually listens to Tsuna and has put more work into being with them all. No, their goals simply align, although their methods are incredibly different. Both of them want to change the underworld, the mafia especially. Having seen the effects and devastation from a war with a powerful mafia Family at its head in his adolescence, Tsuna would prefer to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. In contrast, Mukuro still thinks there's no other way but his, although he culls the herd with purpose instead of whoever catches his eye first.

Family after Family that he passes by, Tsuna keeps sensing how each of them thinks their big dark boogeyman might come after them next. It's a sign that not only do they not know him at all, but they don't know their own actions either.

They only become targets when they cross lines that should never be crossed even by criminals.

If they can't even recognize where their own steps might take them, even Tsuna has to admit to himself, a little ruthlessly, that it's their own fault. This is a monster of their own making, bloodshed begetting bloodshed. If his own actions end up helping them, well, it will be by coincidence and good fortune.

Observant as he's shown to be in his own way, Chikusa must surely have noticed the gossip about him and the stares levied his way. Yet as far as Tsuna can tell when he finally spots him through the crowd, the assassin doesn't seem to care at all. Instead, he's taken up practically permanent residence over by the bar that's been set up. His back is pressed against it, and, while it's hard to tell just how many exactly are present, what seems like dozens of glasses have already started to accumulate by his person. A wine glass in hand, Chikusa is already chugging it down. Faintly, Tsuna can recall being told of how expensive all the wines for this event would be, and all the lessons on how one is supposed to savor the rich taste. Tsuna is also fairly certain of how much Chikusa must know this.

Well. Ken hates baths, and Mukuro hisses at the thought of living in a building with actual running water and electricity. It can't really be surprising that Chikusa also doesn't exactly care about the "finer things" in life either. As long as he's happy, Tsuna supposes, and as long as his presence draws the attention of all the other party goers. Their imaginations and paranoia will do most of the work for them.

"Aren't you being a dutiful little host!" someone says nearby, drawing Tsuna out from his thoughts and back into focus. Japanese again, but he knows this particular person isn't doing it for his benefit. Rather, it's more a bragging point, he's pretty sure. See, look at me, I'm fluent in multiple languages and am thus better than you. Or something like that. "But, you know, all work and no play makes a boss a dull boy."

Turning to look at Lussuria, Tsuna's mouth quirks in a slightly different smile than what he's given to other people. "And, uh, I'm pretty sure that all play would just make me like Xanxus, and I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that." Especially since he knows that most of the people in this room, if they wanted a real Vongola boss instead of one they can potentially strongarm, would choose Xanxus over him every day of the week. Certainly that's how a lot of the old guard of the Vongola felt, besides Nono. "Uh, no offense."

Lussuria's wave is dismissive and casual. "I'm not Squalo," she titters. "Besides, I think you're just a little too short to pull off what Xanxus does in his day to day." Too short, too chubby cheeked, and too wide eyed. Tsuna is sure both of them could go one for ages if they wanted to, and if they weren't in the middle of this kind of party. "Still, I'm sure you could have fun in your own way."

"You don't have to worry about that. I mean, it's a party, right?" It's also not the kind of fun he thinks anyone from the Varia would regularly indulge in... but he thinks, he hopes, that it's not the kind they would disapprove of either. Taking a second from the conversation, he looks around. Everyone in the nearby vicinity has shifted to being faintly nervous. Still, they're not as nervous as they could be. "I didn't think Xanxus would come... But are you the only one who has?"

Eyebrows quirking up in a way that betrays an eyeroll behind her sunglasses, Lussuria smiles a little. "They got into a bit of an argument five minutes before I told them when I'd be leaving." With the Varia, even a 'bit' of an argument means excessive property damage. Tsuna makes a small noise in the back of his throat to show his sympathy. "So it's just little old me tonight~."

That's probably for the better. Even if tension hasn't apparently been brewing over at the Varia headquarters, which is honestly always, Tsuna can only imagine how much more tiring this whole night would become. And it's already pretty damn tiring. "Well, I hope you have fun anyway," is what he says in the end. "Does Ryohei know you're here?" The words barely finish leaving his mouth before there's an excited shout, and the boxer in question starts to shove his way through the crowd with one hand waving through the air. That sure answers that. "I'll leave you to it," Tsuna says, stepping back and into the rest of the party. He still has some rounds to make.

Some rounds, but not many. The surprise hits him rather suddenly, when he pauses to survey the room and realizes that he's talked to just about everyone. A glance at the clock shows that hours have passed, all while he wasn't looking. Has it really been that long? He doesn't feel tired enough to match the time that shows, hanging high over the entrance he first came through apparently ages ago. Then again, that's probably all the adrenaline thrumming throughout his veins, eager to see this whole thing through to the end. Accepting a glass by a Vongola employee that's passing through with a platter, Tsuna barely drinks it and instead restrains himself to simple sips. He needs an excuse to not be engaged in conversation at the moment, and it's as good a one as any. Instead, he takes in the crowd again.

When he first entered... the atmosphere had been bloated with tension and anticipation that had plenty of time to grow before he and his own had stepped in. Things have long since changed. Now, people chatter and drink in a kind of carefree way that says they're mostly at ease. Oh, not completely, sure. The life that mafia gives may be full of indulgences and riches, for those who know how to play such a dangerous game right, but it is still full of threats regardless. Their lack of fear is more towards the one whose lair they are in to start with- people who think the lion's den has been long since abandoned, with only vulnerable cubs left within whose fangs and claws surely can't be a threat. That's what they think. Maybe he shouldn't believe such a thing so confidently. Over confidence is what has done in many a mafioso before, and Tsuna could name a couple of them right off his hand. Over confidence is what will do in many people here.

Yet the scene is so damn familiar... For a moment, he thinks if he closed his eyes and blocked out the superficial details, like rich perfume and the smell of wine, he could be back in Namimori Middle School. He'd be on the sports field, the chatter of mafia exchanged for that of children, all of them planning to either take advantage of "loser Tsuna" or ignore him outright. It really is his school life once again. He had recognized it hours ago, but it's still something he has to quietly marvel at.

If this is how it is, perhaps it won't be such a jarring change becoming a mafia boss after all. Not in this aspect, anyway.

Those who know better are those who know him, and Tsuna can spot them easiliy. Lussuria has nothing personal against him, no reason to disparage him, and she is perfectly at ease striking up conversation with Ryohei and a few others from where Tsuna can see her. Every now and then, he spots Dino glancing his way, careful and caring in equal measure. They've talked over the phone when Tsuna still lived in Japan, the older mafia boss able to foot the international call bills pretty easily. Surely he must have a good idea of what's going on. Enma and his family-mixed-Family also don't seem to be concerned. In many ways, his and Tsuna's journeys to becoming bosses in their own rights are mirror images, even for all the ways they're different.

That leaves...

She hasn't been avoiding him, not exactly. Tsuna can be certain of that much. Yet it hasn't escaped his notice that Donna Yuni of the Giglio Nero has been very deliberate in making sure that she and Tsuna stay in a perpetual circle of one another. Only now does she finally approach him as someone else leaves a conversation with him, and no one dares interrupt her when they realize she's coming near. The Shimon are newcomers to watch, the Cavallone are financially powerful... but Tsuna knows, like everyone in this room knows, that there is something much older and stronger in the seemingly tiny and insignificant Family of the Giglio Nero.

He simply smiles to her. "Hello, Donna," he says in Italian.

She smiles back, laughter sparkling in her brilliant blue eyes. "There's no need," she tells him in his home language, and giggles when his shoulders slump in relief. More Japanese. Most everyone else who approaches him has stuck to Italian, which isn't a bad thing, since he's in Italy, but he can't deny his own homesickness. It hasn't been that long, but he misses Japan already.

They can talk about that kind of thing later, in private. "So you left your bodyguards behind?" he asks, plenty aware of Gamma's glare piercing through the crowd.

"It's just a party," she says. "It'll be fine." There's no arguing with a seer, honestly. Despite this, he's sure Gamma must have fussed about it for ages before letting himself stay seated at the large table set to the side along the walls. Byakuran doesn't seem nearly so bothered, just relaxing as if he's the king of the castle and everyone here is only allowed by his own good will. There's reason for that, and everyone who's ever been in the future knows it. "So, do you plan on making a speech soon?"

"I think you'd know out of anyone," he says, laughing. A pause, and he dares to ask, "So will it turn out well, do you think?" All Yuni does is smile at him, and his shoulders slump again, this time in disappointment. Just something he'll have to see for himself. Still, if she's here at all, then it probably means that all will be well. At least, nothing will be too badly on fire. Holding onto that thought, he nods to her general self. "Anyway... It's been a while, huh? You look really nice."

It's not a shallow compliment, either, or one that isn't genuine. She does look nice. Since they first met so many years ago, both in another future and now in a time that's firmly in their past, she's grown a lot. Tsuna only ever met Aria once, and the one time he saw Luce was in a photograph. Yuni looks similar to both of them, standing before him now. Her eyes, her face, the mark that's in the very same position as that of her ancestors: the similarity to them is stunning. At the same time, she's very much her own person. That much shows in the way she's grown out her hair, no longer a short bob with one trailing ponytail attached. Instead, it's long, reaching to her waist, and it's as straight as anything. She's no one's double, no one's clone. Yuni is herself.

Tsuna knows that feeling.

Yuni glances down at her dress- long and white, with thin black lines in sets of three crossing it here and there to make diamond patterns, black swallowtailed birds sweeping down here and there, and with a cape sort of thing that blends perfectly into her dress that allows just enough space for her arms to peek out. Smoothing her hands across it, she nods. "Kikyo helped pick it out," she says, "but you probably don't have time to talk fashion with me, huh?"

It's true. While the party will go on a little later, there's no better time than now, really. Tsuna gives a grateful smile to her. "Thank you. I'll see you later, then?"

"Maybe." Her smile says otherwise, eyes still shining, and Tsuna finds himself grinning as well as he turns away. At his back, Yuni calls out one more thing. "Byakuran and Bluebell ask for more sweets next time!" Quietly and to himself, Tsuna laughs.

Gathering everyone is a simple task. Hayato, Takeshi, Ryohei, and Lambo don't need much of a reason to leave the conversations they're in. All they need is the sight of Tsuna, come up to their sides and his hand lighting gently at their elbows. Hibari, he doesn't bother to fetch. Rather, of his own accord, he goes ahead of them, and he's waiting at the steps that lead up to the small stage the band plays at. "Thank you, Hibari-san," he says in quiet Japanese. Much like him, maybe worse, he knows that the older man must not like being so far from his home, his territory, either. It's not much, but maybe eve something this mall will help him feel better.

It's hard to tell with Hibari. There's no smile, no acceptance of his thanks. Hibari merely glances over him coolly, his gaze sharp with interest and his arms crossed. "Let's see how they take to you," he murmurs in return.

Yeah. Let's see indeed. Feeling a little more certain than he did when he first stepped into the room, Tsuna goes up the small stairs leading onto the stage.

It's a beat inbetween songs, the musicians all still and catching their breath. When they see just who has stepped up to join them, they stop outright with uncertain stares. Tsuna smiles, lightly gesturing with his hand reassuringly. These guys aren't mafia, after all, although he wouldn't be surprised if they're a little more combat-trained than most normal musicians would be. Even if something had happened, Tsuna wouldn't come up to punish them or anything, and definitely not in the middle of the party. All he needs is a little bit of silence for a short while, and the center stage. His actions haven't gone unnoticed. From the corner of his eye, he can see those in the crowd starting to go quieter, although not completely silent. Up here, it's a little harder to overhear what they might be saying to one another, but Tsuna can probably guess.

Not that there's any need to. He rather thinks he's done for the night.

As he settles before the mic stand, Hayato stands as tall as he can on his right side, and his sharp teal gaze sweeps over the crowd. While he might be native, a lot of people who have known of him must think that he's just a merc who got lucky in being swept up off of the streets, and, anyway, he's just as young as the rest of this new generation, isn't he? Some cocky upstart who thinks his new station makes him anything more than he is. The thoughts not a non-zero amount of the crowd have towards Takeshi, who settles on Tsuna's left, are probably only a little kinder because of his amiable personality. Only a little. Even with all the friendliness in the world, they no doubt think that he's no more than some cheerful if rather handsome foreign airhead. Like the students back in school, who dismissed him as a happy-go-lucky jock. Tsuna can see the signs of such thoughts, some more clear on certain faces than others. He's seen those same kinds of tells a thousand time before.

There's one thing that's right, honestly. Takeshi and Hayato don't match the roles they now possess, in full and officially. It's just that they're better than them rather than vice versa. Soon, the crowd spread out before them will realize this as well.

One of the musicians hastens from her spot to adjust the mic so that it's much, much lower for Tsuna to speak comfortably into it. In the back of his head, he makes a note of her face and the band's name. That sort of thing should be properly thanked later, when he doesn't have something to do before him. As it is, Tsuna only has time for an appreciative nod before he leans into the mic.

"As the newest don of the Vongola Family," he says clearly into the mic, "I would personally like to thank each and every one of you for attending this party tonight." There's no hiccups, no stutter, no clumsiness in his Italian as he speaks. By no means does he speak it perfectly, with not even the trace of an accent, because Reborn is some sort of miracle worker but he's not God. Still, it's better than anything else that's come out of his mouth the entire night. Even while he smiles, perfectly at ease, he keeps mind of who seems the most surprised or most guilty in the crowd. The smart ones will be those who haven't said anything or, if they have, they're trying their best to keep a good poker face. Perhaps they think they can lie to him later.

Tsuna continues on. "This is the first night that I have organized as don, and I have to admit that the turnout is really impressive. You have welcomed me and my Guardians as well as one could expect." He pauses, letting them all chew on that for half a second, before he adds, "Well, you've welcomed almost all of my Guardians. One, you see, didn't accompany me when I first entered, and so I'm afraid that I didn't have the opportunity to introduce you all as well as I would have liked." Feeling more than seeing, he pays attention as more than a few people's attentions go to where Chikusa is still propped up against the bar. Unlike other people, he hasn't really stopped drinking at all. In fact, despite the fact that a whole host of eyes are upon him, he's in the process of pouring himself a glass of wine with the bartender looking a bit helpless not too far off.

Chikusa Kakimoto, the assassin, the less attention grabbing of Mukuro's lackies, one of those who always signals Mukuro's ability to act through him- perhaps even technically is him in some part.

A moment bloated with tension passes by before Tsuna speaks up again. "She's a little bit shy, you see."

At his side, in the minuscule amount of space between himself and Takeshi, reality warps. Any other time, he would be alarmed, but there's a sort of signature to different flames- to different illusions. That which is unraveling at his side is one that he's known for many years now, practically a comfort more than anything, and she's right on time. At any other situation, she wouldn't look like much with her petite frame and short stature. Yet at her appearance, it feels as though the entire room has suddenly had to suck in a breath to hold, and her pure white suit is a warning as much as anything.

She leans in to the mic herself, that small sly smile on her lips that reminds Tsuna of when they first met, and says, "I am Chrome." Perfect Italian. Over at the bar, Chikusa takes the entire wine bottle, tosses his head back, and chugs it.

Some of the more cautious people in attendance are suddenly paying a lot more attention to the group of young foreigners on stage, and nearly everyone else is suddenly very much uncomfortable as the implications begin to sink in. If there's one thing Tsuna has learned while under Reborn tutelage, however, it's that one can always twist the knife a little further. So when Chrome steps back again, nestling comfortably along Takeshi's side, Tsuna takes the mic once more. "This is Chrome Dokuro, my Mist Guardian. She's still a young lady, you know, and mafia men do have a reputation for being a rather rough crowd." He grins. "So she's instead stayed to the sidelines and had fun in her own way, just drinking, listening to gossip, you know- fun stuff. Even with that, however, she's felt your hospitality just as much as the rest of us have in welcoming us in our new positions. Rest assured that we'll remember and repay you for everything."

Tsuna has never thought himself to be a sadistic person. Really, he'd rather help than harm, he's come to found, if he has to get involved at all. Yet he can't deny that there's something incredibly satisfying in a quiet calm way about how quite a few people go very very still. Over in the small table that Shimon has claimed, he can see Enma lean forward, smiling in a way that shows he feels very much the same as Tsuna, and Dino is outright grinning from where he's become surrounded by numerous influencial individuals.

Over in Yuni's little corner of the party, Byakuran bursts out laughing.

Well, that's probably going to start a fight soon. "Since we're still adjusting to a schedule outside of high school, I hope you'll forgive me as your host if I turn in for the night. Ganauche will watch over things in my stead, so please! Feel free to stay for as long as you like, and enjoy the good food, good music, and good drink. The next time you see me, I imagine we'll have settled into Italy nicely."

And with that, he turns away from the mic and steps off of the stage.

Oh so surprisingly, people are suddenly a lot more respectful of him. It's rather subtle, since no one has been openly disparaging to his face, but it becomes just a little easier to make his way through the crowd with his Guardians at his side. (Well, most of them, plus Hibari who just turns and makes his way to the nearest window while the rest of the party is preoccupied with Tsuna.) In no time at all, he's managed to reach the doors he first came in through, and Ganauche once again holds them open for him. While he's not smiling any more than usual, the ninth generation Lightning Guardian is definitely a little more bright eyed in his amusement.

Tsuna stays as calm and collected as when he'd gone on stage, all the way through the halls, up the stairs, and manages just until the door to their dressing room closes... and then he twists on his heel to face Chrome, his hands going to grip hers. "We managed!" he says, voice barely managing to avoid a squeak. A pity all the pent up energy in him sort of ruins the effect.

Grinning right back, Chrome squeezes his hands. "We did it," she confirms, and indulgently allows him to press his face down against her shoulder in utter exhaustion.

"Oh my god, we did it." He hasn't been feeling overwhelming uncertainty for ages now, and yet the relief which washes over him almost has him thinking otherwise. In the wake of his relief, there's something else, and he starts to laugh. "Oh- you had to have seen it, because I wasn't able to, but the looks on their faces when Chikusa walked in-"

In the background, he can hear Hayato cursing in relief, and the heavy whumpf hints that he's collapses facefirst onto the couch. Takeshi is starting to laugh too, although whether with Tsuna or at Hayato or something else entirely is up in the air. Chrome is definitely giggling with him, however. "People started to look as if someone had walked across their collective graves," she says. "You should have heard the gossip."

"I did hear some of the gossip." Shoulders shaking with his laughter, he straightens up. "I bet they think I'm possessed. Or going to murder them all in their sleep."

"You should!" yells Hayato, although the effect is somewhat ruined by how muffled his voice is. Ryohei isn't helping matters, jogging around the room with too much energy and too wide of a grin as he punches the air. They're going to have to let him out soon, unless they want him to accidentally punch down an entire wall. The Iron Fortress is so nice, it'd be a shame to ruin something this historic.

Even if Hayato says that, they all know that Tsuna doesn't plan to at all. There's no need to answer it. Instead, him and Chrome stick close together, laughing over the trick that they've pulled on the whole party. "I heard some of them talking about me," she says thoughtfully, still smiling a bit. "I don't think anyone thinks I'm real. Too many people definitely didn't think I would show up."

"Mukuro must have done a good job of getting rid of all your records from before." Some of the smile finally starts to ebb away from Tsuna's face. On one hand, it's not really that hard to get rid of paperwork, especially if you're an illusionist. From the kinds of conversations he's had with Enma on how the Shimon Family was able to stick together without being trapped in foster homes, he knows that it's plenty possible. However, some of that is also on the shoulders of other people. Being reminded that her parents don't...

Chrome squeezes his hands again, probably able to see where his thoughts are leaning towards. Neglectful parents are something they've both talked with each other about plenty of times before. But this is cause for a little more celebration and not as much melancholy. "Isn't it helpful," she says, "that Mukuro is so melodramatic and notable that people pay attention to even the slightest hint he might be around?"

The grin starts to come back. "You don't think he'll mind that we're using his name, right?"

"It depends." Chrome ducks her head, giggling into her suit. "He might want a royalty fee, or he might be so satisfied with being a boogeyman that it'll be payment enough."

Even as the two of them laughing, Hayato's struggles draw Tsuna's attention, and he turns his head just in time to see him shoving Lambo off from where he'd tried to sit right on top of his back. "Get off, you pain in the ass cow-" Huffing, Hayato gets up to his feet again. Like with Ryohei, energy is thrumming through him, too. Unlike Ryohei, he's not shadow boxing to get it all out. Instead, smoothing out his hair again, he looks over to Tsuna. "Tenth- Tsuna," he corrects himself. "I'm going to go work with Ganauche some more, to see the rest of the night through." Hinging at the end of his words is an unspoken request. And Tsuna... supposes he can't really refuse it.

It's a good idea, to let Hayato work out all the energy inside of him, and Ganauche is sure to keep an eye out to make sure that everything turns out alright. So, his smile tempered, Tsuna gives a small nod. "Come back safe, okay?" he still asks, some of his confidence and certainty ebbing away. There's nothing in the plan about Hayato going off on his own, really separate from the rest of them. Suddenly, he can't help but begin to worry.

Maybe Hayato senses it, somehow, because as he moves away from the couch, he doesn't go straight to the door. Instead, he stops by Tsuna. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Hayato smiles. "I will," he promises, squeezing a little before he lets go. That's not nearly enough to assuage all of Tsuna's worries, but it's enough. It has to be enough. With that promise made, Hayato goes to the door and leaves.

There's not much to do, after that. The joke about them having some sort of curfew or sleep schedule was just that, a joke. As all five of them wait in the dressing room, whittling the time away, he wonders how on earth he's ever going to fall asleep. With so much adrenaline aching uncomfortably right underneath his skin, it's plenty understandable to Tsuna why Takeshi and Ryohei mess around so much in the time they have. Light sparring, horsing around, all the things that would mistake them as regular high schoolers to anyone who didn't know better.

That's never exactly been Tsuna's style. Instead, he sits on the couch with Lambo, listening to the young boy enthusiastically tell him in detail everythig he does in his handheld game and what that means. At least, that's how it is for a short while. The rest of them can manage to stay up this late. In fact, in the last few years, they've had to. Lambo is still a child, however, with a child's capacity to stay awake. More and more, he starts to slump against Tsuna's side, until he finally reaches over into his fledgling Lightning Guardian's hands to pluck the handheld out from limp fingers. Lambo doesn't even notice. There's just an incoherent murmur, and then a snore.

Tsuna has just barely finished putting the system into Lambo's bag when the door suddenly slams open. All four of them jerk up, weapons at the ready- Chrome's fingers curling around a trident that doesn't quite exist yet, Takeshi reaching for his swords, Tsuna and Ryohei's fists both rising up- but there's no need to worry. It's only Hayato, red faced and fuming. When he talks, it's straight at Chrome. "He took," he hisses, bristling, "half a dozen bottles of the best wine in the entire bar! He didn't come here with a bag, or a backpack, or anything. How the hell did he do that!?"

Oh. Oh. Tsuna's mouth screws up, trying to throttle his own laughter, and Takeshi doesn't even bother as he bursts out guffawing over in the corner. "That's it!?" Ryohei exclaims, part annoyed at there being no threat, and part disappointed.

Hayato points at him accusingly. "Shut up! Those bottles of wine cost literal fortunes! Is that pineapple-haired freak actually here and just hiding things!?"

"No," Tsuna and Chrome answer in unison, the two people in the entire world who would know for certain. Mukuro Rokudo is definitely not in the building. Maybe he's somewhere on Vongola property, away from the fortress itself, but probably not.

Needless to say, that pokes a hole in Hayato's balloon of aggravation. Or maybe it just blows it up worse? His shoulders slump, but the vein in his head only seems to twitch harder. "Then how did he do it!?" he hisses, way more upset about this than some pilfered bottles of wine really warrant.

At least Chrome seems to give it some serious thought, her eyes drifting up to the ceiling. "Chikusa," she says slowly, "has always been really good with his hands. And theft."

That still doesn't exactly answer how he hid them exactly, especially on a matchstick frame like that in a suit that doesn't have anywhere near enough pockets. Kicking the door shut behind him, Hayato gestures in frustrated helplessness. Still, if this is the worst thing that he's upset about- "So everything ended on a quiet note?" Tsuna asks, gently re-positioning Lambo so that he's slumped against the arm of the couch.

Letting out a long frustrated breath, Hayato shoves his hands into his pockets and nods. "No one was really interested in starting any shit after we left. More than a few people left early, probably to call off any assassins they might have thought about hiring. Everyone sure dialed up their nice behavior, I will say that much."

In that case, it probably means that the windows are safe now, and Tsuna starts to drift over to them. "Chrome, you took down a list of names and what everyone said, right?" he asks, leaning against a window frame. Slowly, his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness that stretches outside among the garden and inbetween the trees.

"That's right." Behind him, he can hear her shift on the couch even as her attention must be shifting in turn to Hayato. "It's on my phone. I'll put the file on your computer, if that's okay..."

"Yeah, that's fine. Actually, if you can remember off the top of your head, I was wondering about..."

Together, the two of them begin to talk shop- to be more specific, the shop of information. Who said what, who was more obvious, that will all be shown tomorrow, or sometime this week at the latest. With the little stunt they've pulled tonight, Tsuna has hopefully made it more than obvious that he doesn't need blatant shows of power like Xanxus prefers. If he's going to change the mafia his way, not continuing on the Vongola's bloody legacy... then he's going to have to play smarter, more than anything.

Putting the rest of the underworld in a state of paranoia on who just might be listening, who of their own they can trust, is a good start.

Either way, the thinly veiled bribes will start pouring in immediately, they're all sure. Gestures of good will, thanks for such a "good" party, that sort of thing. Who sends what how soon will be key in judging the rest of the mafia, whether that's people that they need to keep a wary eye out for or people who they can easily take advantage of. For example, someone whose lips kept flapping during the party but have sent out a lavish gift will show that they might be not as sharp when it comes to underestimating people, but clearly there has to be something to them if they can afford to send out something that nice.

Either way, that's all something that will start tomorrow. For Tsuna, he's fine with letting his mind sink into rest right now. As he does so, his mind pleasantly spacing out, he's dimly aware of Takeshi settling besides him with their shoulders brushing. Without asking, Tsuna shifts his weight to lean against him, and Takeshi accepts it with a silent arm around his shoulders.

Down in the gardens below his window, a shape slips through the shadows.

Chikusa is still wearing his beanie, the shape just barely indistinguishable in the darkness, and that's the only reason Tsuna can recognize him as he stalks throughout the garden. And the only reason Tsuna can see him at all is probably thanks to the years of having to spot assassins as time passed, along with his intuition becoming sharper with every new day. It's a lot more honed than it was when he first came into it as a teenager. Quietly, he watches Chikusa pass through the garden, slick as oil and just as dark, before he finally makes his way to the wall that's waiting for him. Tsuna's eyesight is good, but not so good as to make out details from this far away. Still, he doesn't need details to make out a shorter figure vaulting from the other side of the wall, crouching atop it for a split second before leaping down onto the ground. It sinks down on all fours, nearly an animal, before rising up onto its feet again. His feet. If any words are exchanged between the two, hidden in the shadows of trees and a moonless sky, it stays between them. What's a lot more apparent is how, after a moment, the shorter figure between them reaches forward. Only the movements of his hands and claws gives away what he's doing; the Vongola gardening staff will no doubt find pieces of a fine black jacket shredded in the grass and bushes.

For a second, Tsuna thinks the two of them will bolt outright after that. He's proven wrong when they stay utterly still, only for one to stand up on his toes, and the other leans down- Tsuna respectfully averts his gaze at that point. Sure, he can't tell exactly what's happening, but... He has a good enough idea of it. When he finally looks over to the pair again, their dark shapes are heaving themselves up over the wall, and they disappear. Right to the end, they stick close together, bodies brushing.

Lightly, he reaches up to touch his fingers to where Takeshi's own are resting on his shoulder. "It's nice," he says decisively, "to have someone always near when you need them."

As usual, Takeshi's smile makes it a little hard to tell if he's seen the same thing that Tsuna just has. On one hand, he's been trained by the world's greatest hitman too, plus Superbi "nothing but the best or I cut off your balls" Squalo. On the other hand, Chikusa has always been a skilled assassin, which they've known ever since he struck out of nowhere and nearly killed a man right in front of their eyes with no warning, and he's had the years to grow too. It could really go either way. Takeshi smiles regardless, and his fingers squeeze Tsuna's shoulder. "Yep," he agrees simply, his eyes warm as he looks at Tsuna.

"What are you talking about?" From Tsuna's other side, Hayato steps close, and automatically lets their fingers twine together. Out of the corner of his eye, Tsuna can see Chrome squeezing under Takeshi's other arm and being greeted with that carefree laugh. Together, all four of them stay curled together there at the window.

"Just how nice it is to be with Family," Tsuna says simply. Something suddenly occurs to him, and he tries to look over his shoulder. It's a little difficult, with Takeshi's arm in the way and Hayato close like he is. "Where's big brother?" Ryohei is completely absent from the room; he must have stepped out while Tsuna was lost in his own thoughts.

Hayato rolls his eyes, a much more relaxed gesture than anything truly aggravated. It seems like he's come down from his bursts of anxiety and adrenaline. "He suddenly remembered that he wanted to call Kyoko. Apparently he promised to let her know how the whole party would go."

"Oh!" Tsuna jolts hard enough to almost dislodge Takeshi's arm from his shoulders. Hastily, he pulls his hand away from Hayato's and starts to dig through his own pockets. "I almost forgot, too..." Somehow, it seems incredibly fitting that he might have lost or misplaced one of the most important things in the world at some point tonight. Tsuna has never had much faith in his luck, after all. Yet, to his immense relief, his fingers soon stumble upon warm metal. Reverently, carefully, he pulls out the plain gold ring out from his pockets and glances down at it with a sigh of relief. "There you are..."

Chuckling, Takeshi leans further against him with his chin resting in Tsuna's nest of wild hair. "So how many people tried to flirt with you while you had that off?" he teases, grinning widely.

"I didn't pay attention," Tsuna answers honestly, tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he slips his ring onto its proper place. The Vongola ring, in all its bloody weight and battle-worn sturdiness, rests in his right hand. This one has a special place elsewhere, quiet and unassuming on his left. "I think it was only girls."

"Girls or women?" Hayato's voice is dry.

Chrome answers for him, voice quiet and faintly amused. "Girls. I think mostly everyone who was trying was testing the waters first with something more guaranteed to have the boss's interest." She tilts her head to the side, hair following the motion with a gentle swish. "If he wasn't so much himself, I think some of the older women would have tried." A flick of her gaze up at Takeshi. "...The women were mostly going after you, Yamamoto."

Even as Hayato jolts upright in offense, Takeshi laughs merrily. "Oh, were they?" he asks, as if he's totally oblivious and hasn't had to deal with the same thing for a lot of his school days. "Well, they'd be a little disappointed, I think, ha ha!"

Holding his hand out in front of him, Tsuna turns his hand this way and that, adoring the way light shines on gold. "How long," he muses, "do you think it will take for them to start trying men instead of only women?"

"For you?" Hayato snorts. "Never. Once everyone sees that you're engaged to Kyoko, the sister to your Sun Guardian, then that will be that. They'll think you're one hundred percent straight, no question about it."

Chrome taps her chin thoughtfully. "It's not even that you're engaged to her," she says thoughtfully. "It's more how you act around her that will cement things in their minds."

Well, she has a point there. Tsuna doesn't think he's inherited much from his father at all, besides the inability to grow proper facial hair, yet the way he adores shamelessly the ones he's in love with might be one of them. Then again, who knows. His mother is very much the same way. It could be yet another thing he's inherited from her.

"So are you going to call her tonight too?" Takeshi asks, chin shifting a little so that he can look down at Tsuna a little better. When Tsuna shakes his head, Takeshi's moves with it.

"No... Ryohei will fill up more than enough of her time tonight. I'll call her tomorrow, when times align a little better." With that decided and his ring in its proper place, he nudges his Guardians back so that they can step away from the window. "C'mon. Let's get Lambo tucked in, and see if we can get some sleep ourselves before tomorrow." After all...

They've taken their first step as the inheritors to the Vongola, but there's still a long path ahead of them. They need all the rest they can get.