Disclaimer:

"KHR is not my property nor my idea, it all belongs to Akira Amane - so go ahead and salute her!"

"Talking"

'Thoughts'

'Freaking Inner'

Emphasizing the word

EXTREMELY EMPHASIZING THE WORD

(Flashes of memories)

(Just Humurous Addings, Don't Mind Me)

ANSWER TO LAST CHAPTER'S QUESTION:

Choco: I'll forever be devoted to the number 28. It's the number of my mother's birthday ahaha.

Eri: Well, recently, I like the number 21 because of Kobayakawa Sena from Eyeshield 21 3 He my kawaii bae 3

CHAPTER 7

He was merely a child;

Barely five years old,

And already holding a weapon,

That could kill hundreds of people.

He was from a famiglia,

That trained their children,

To kill for the famiglia.

It was sad and heart-wrenching for me,

To realize that he hadn't had a proper childhood;

Whilst my mother tried her very best,

To give me one.

It's evident to the both of them that she's improving. Before, she could barely change the color of the walls and of the floor; now, however, she can change their colors in the blink of an eye. Before, she struggled with conjuring up a solid material that could flourish the room; now, however, she can create almost anything as long as she'd seen it before and familiarized herself with the sight of it to get the gist of every single little detail about it.

The room she's standing in is no longer blank and devoid of life, with the occasional furniture decorating it since Inner had commanded her for its creation. Over the course of days, weeks, Tsuna's managed to transform this room into her greatest masterpiece as of yet.

It's really nothing to boast about, but Tsuna is nonetheless proud of it. She'd spent days during the morning to research about Inner's specific requests, stared at the screen of her computer for hours on end just to memorize every single little detail about it, went to numerous stores with her Kyoko and Hana to understand the feeling of the fabric of the cloths and the exact shade of the color the walls and floors should be.

She's transformed the entire room into a bedroom. But not just any bedroom, it's Inner's bedroom. And it's not like any bedroom she's ever seen before. It doesn't have that modern or simple look to it like most bedrooms do; no, it's elaborate and artistic, full of little details that nobody could ever miss, and yet filled to the brim with a homely atmosphere that makes Tsuna feel relax as she stands in the very center of it.

The walls are a dark mahogany brown, with a stone fireplace in the very middle of the floor in front of her. The walls aren't painted over, but are the wood itself, polished to the brim until it's shinning and carved deep with intricate roses that spiral about. There are glass figurines placed daintily on top of the fireplace, from horses, to little ladies and gentlemen dancing about a velvet case with a pearl ring inside of it. There're even candelabra made out of pure glass that sits on both end of the fireplace, and Tsuna doesn't even want to remember how long she'd had to looking at glass stores to inspect and memorize every single nook and cranny of it.

The floors are covered with a dark red fur carpet that are soft underneath her feet and makes her toes wiggle underneath its lush comfortability. There are big vases on either side of the fireplace, decorated with stripes of red and dark blue, spirals of grey and silver, and specks of yellow and purple. A few feet away from the fireplace are a pair of fat and comfortable looking chairs, both of which the color of cream with red flowers and green vines decorating its surface. In the middle of it is a low-rising table made of dark wood, with a black vase full of dahlias that are every shade of pink. There's a large window with dark red curtains that reaches from the ceiling to the very floor off to the side, with a pair of pale pink single couches in front of it, with yet another table, this one much higher, in between them with a board of chess on top of it.

There're bookcases on either side of the big window, filled to the brim with books with titles that Tsuna doesn't really understand but knows are Italian. She's spent three days creating these books, with only Inner's help to name the books. There's a king-sized canopy bed against the middle of the wall behind her, with a cream veil hanging off its roof and sides, as well as cream colors sheets and pillows, with the wood being a dark mahogany brown. When Tsuna sits on it, she's sucked in by its extremely soft mattress and she sighs in pleasure.

There are a pair of side tables on either side of the bed, both of which created with a dark colored wood. One of which has several books stacked up on it, with a small white vase on top of it, a single rose its only inhabitant; whilst the other has a velvet box on top of it, filled with jewelry that makes Tsuna's mouth water as she assumes the pricing of each one.

There are several paintings of the room, all of which done by popular artists that have already died centuries ago.

There is one problem however.

There is no door.

It's not the problem that she coudn't―for Kami's sake, if she can conjure up paintings made by Picasso and Van Gogh, then she sure as hell can make doors for crying out loud. Problem is, Inner doesn't like it when she conjures up doors, and immediately demands for its destruction or non-existence.

When she asks her inner about it, about why she can't conjure up a door for this room, Inner merely tells her with a smile on her face.

"So that when intruders come into your mind, they'll have no means of escaping unless you allow them so."

Tsuna understands right then and there what her Inner means, and doesn't ask about it again.

And then, as she lies there on her bed, the very epitome of peace and content, she closes her eyes for a few seconds.

When she opens them again, Inner is right beside her on the bed, lying down on her back as well, and looking at her with light brown eyes that look much brighter compared to the pair of lifeless and dull brown orbs that had blankly stared at her when they'd first met. They stare at one another for a few seconds, before Inner's lips curl up into a warm smile that makes Tsuna's chest ache with the feeling of something―like she's supposed to remember something, but it's a memory that she can't reach for the life of her, no matter how much she tries to reach for it, only to tug on a thing string of imagination.

Tsuna returns a smile of her own. It's tentative, but it has the same kind of warmth that's in Inner's smile.

"You did good," Inner says in a soft voice, eyes glossing over as she looks around the room. Tsuna recognizes the look on her face. It's a reminiscent one, as if her inner is remembering a memory―but that's impossible, right? After all, Inner is just a part of her, so whatever memory she has is obviously Tsuna's.

...Right?

"But you need to work on your lighting and shadowing," Inner points at, her index finger directed at a vase where it's shadow is facing towards the window instead of away from it. "But other than that, it's good. If I were a mediocre brain-invader, I'd never notice this being an illusion," Inner snorts in amusement.

Tsuna can't help but laugh lightly.

"We'll work on changing your appearance here in your mind," Inner then says after a long pause. "It'll be a little harder, but I'm sure you'll be able to do it. After all, you're Tsunayuki, and you have the blood of the Vongola coursing through your veins. I'm sure you'll be able to master it in no time," Inner giggles, before sitting up.

Tsuna attempts to sit up as well, but she blinks when Inner just pushes her back down on the bad.

"Rest now, Yuki. You did good today, so you deserve a good night's sleep tonight," Inner says with pride and love laced in the tone of her voice.

Tsuna wants to question her inner about this, because there's still time for her to practice conjuring up objects and changing the visualization of her brain―unfortunately, her eyelids are already drooping down, and before Tsuna can even fight against the sleep that's overtaking her brain and senses, she's already dreaming away her weariness of being awake for twenty hours a day for the past week―just to create this room for her Inner.

Inner merely hums a gentle lullaby as she combs her fingers through the strands of her outer, looking down at Tsuna's serenely content face, and she can't help but smile sadly at her own private thoughts.

'He would have loved her very much.'

What shouldn't have really been a problem in the first place, subsequently became one because of Tsuna's miscalculation over how the others would react to this. In her defense, she'd just gotten so used to her small group of friends that she didn't really think of hiding anything from them, nor did she even think of the repercussions of any of her past actions when one of her friends (her most protective one, and the craziest one out of the bunch, Tsuna was completely sure of) was absent for a few days and hadn't been able to see the slow transition of a stronger camaraderie.

"J-Juudaime-?" Gokudera looked, suffice to say, stunned.

Tsuna blinked and looked up from the bento boxes her fangirls had so earnestly gifted her with, her chopsticks poised for the sliced tamagoyaki. "Hm? What is it, Gokudera-kun?" She curiously asked, just as she batted away Kyoko's chopsticks away from her prized meal, narrowing her eyes at the orange-haired girl who pouted at her selfishness.

Nu-uh. This were her food choice. They could have the rest of all the food for all she cared, because Yumiya's tamagoyaki were absolutely her favorites.

"You," Gokudera started off shakily, glancing between her and Takeshi, who smiled brightly at the silver haired teen who promptly responded with a pompous glare. "Since when did you and that idiot become friends?"

Tsuna gave Gokudera a confused expression as she devoured two pieces of her beloved. "What do you mean, Gokudera-kun? You know that Takeshi-kun's been our," and Tsuna emphasizes it loudly with a sharp look towards Gokudera, who, surprisingly, did not flinch. "Friend even before you left for your trip to Akihabara," and Tsuna pauses at this one, looking a little bit thoughtful. "Oh, and how was your trip by the way?" She asked pleasantly, hoping to change the topic, because Takeshi was starting to look a little bit uncomfortable from where he sat, that and Kyoko and Hana were sending her devious looks.

"It was great, Juudaime," Gokudera answered. "Akihabara's a really nice place, plenty of resources," he commented, and Tsuna could see his eyes were sparkling.

Ah. Plenty of dynamite reserves, then. That's nice.

"Did you get what you were looking for?" Tsuna asked.

"Yeah. And I also got what you wanted, but I left it in the classroom," Gokudera said, the happiness deflating out of him at his forgetfulness.

Tsuna just patted him on the back, and gave him a small smile. "It's fine, Gokudera-kun, I can always get it when school's over," she said. "No need to fret over it. Here, have a tamagoyaki," she said, placing a tamagoyaki in his bento.

Kyoko looked betrayed. "Why does he get a tamagoyaki, Tsuna-kun?" She demanded.

"Because he did a favor for me," Tsuna deadpanned.

"What did he get you anyways?" Hana asked.

"Chocolate," Tsuna replied, and she watched as both Kyoko, Hana and Takeshi shared looks―looks that didn't seem nice at all.

"And he bought you chocolate, why?" Hana carefully asked, quirking a dark eyebrow at her.

Tsuna resisted the urge to bristle at the suspicious looks all three of them were sending her and Gokudera. She raised her chin and pursed her lips. "The limited edition SNK chocolate were on sale there. I just asked Gokudera to buy some for me."

"SNK?" Kyoko and Hana inquired, appearing bemused.

"SNK?" Takeshi, on the other hand, looked astonished. "You watch that too, Tsuna?" He asked excitedly.

Tsuna turned to him―finally, a fellow SNK-fan―and nodded eagerly at him. "Yeah. It's awesome. I got hooked on the manga when it was first released. How 'bout you, Takeshi-kun?" She asked, eyes sparkling.

"Souza-senpai introduced it to me last January," Takeshi said, and winced, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. Tsuna's features betrayed none of what she was feeling, which was complete ire for Takeshi's clubmate. "Sorry," he apologized.

Tsuna just waved off his apology. "Don't worry. That's all in the past now. Anyways, what part are you on now?" She asked, and both she and Takeshi promptly dived into a conversation of their favorite and least favorite character, as well as some spoilers that Takeshi pleaded off of Tsuna.

Kyoko and Hana exchanged looks of bemusement, not really knowing what SNK was, but the former just smiled and commented that it's great that they're all getting along, whilst the latter just curtly nodded and returned to eating.

Meanwhile, Gokudera was practically boiling from where he sat, irritated at the closeness between that idiot and his Juudaime.

It's a Saturday morning today, with the sun shinning bright outside amidst a sky that's a clear shade of bright blue, with birds chirping amongst the tranquility of the neighborhood, and with Reborn and Tsuna sitting in the latter's room, the former donning on his regular attire whilst the latter was dressed in a brightly-colored sun dress with her long brown hair brushing against her back.

"I don't get this problem," Tsuna announced, pointing at the third question of her math homework with the butt end of the pencil she'd originally been nibbling on. Math had never been her strong suite―Home Economics and Japanese were the subjects she excelled in, what with her mother personally tutoring her for these two subjects.

"Just answer it," Reborn replied smoothly.

Tsuna shot him a withering glare. "If I do answer it, then it'll still be wrong," she sighed.

"You'll never know until you try," was merely Reborn's encouraging response.

"Well I don't wanna try!" Tsuna exclaimed. "Because if I do try, then there's a hundred percent chance I'll get it wrong! And if I get the answer wrong, then you'll set off the bombs in my room!" She accused him, pointedly looking at the bright yellow hard cap that he wore as well as the explosions that were around the cushion she was currently seated on.

Tsuna doesn't even bother questioning his teaching methods anymore; having already grown used to them and having already accepted his overall weirdness and psychoticness a very long time ago.

"Mafiossos are wiling to take several risks that could endanger themselves, for the sole sake of the accomplishment of their mission or for the success of their own famiglia," was Reborn's witty reply as he positioned his hands onto the handle that, when pushed down, would set off the explosives. "Now, you either answer the question then I'll blow up your room, or you don't answer the question then I'll still blow up room for not following my orders," Reborn said, ever present smirk adorning his childish features.

Tsuna just game him a deadpanned stare, clearly looking unimpressed with the only available options given to her; sighing loudly once again, she looked down at her pitiful attempt to solve the problem, and decided that she'd rather try to get the correct answer then not try at all. She'd already asked for help from Inner, but her all her inner self had said when she'd taken one look at the problem was,

'What the hell is society teaching you kids these days? You're not old enough to encounter this problem yet!'

Tsuna didn't understand Inner words, nor did she even understand her inner self's way thinking; but she had to agree. The problem didn't look as if it'd be suited for a middle-schooler such as herself, because they hadn't yet studied about trigonometrics, but Tsuna has remembered during one of their lessons in class that they have talked about it, but only about its meaning and what were its root words.

"Ugh...seven point eighty nine?" Tsuna questioned, before she remembered that she to round off the hundredth digit. "Oh, wait. Make that seven point nine..." she listed off.

Reborn's dark eyes glinted evilly. "Positive or negative?"

"Positive," Tsuna answered almost immediately.

There was a tense stare-off between both tutor and pupil for a few seconds; before the former's smirk widened and he pushed down on the lever.

"Wrong answer, Baka-Tsuna."

BOOM!

An explosion could be heard from somewhere upstairs, which made the house quake and groan from the sudden attack that had been dealt upon it. The woman near the sink had already positioned her arm over the tray of dishes to prevent any of the ceramic-made materials from shattering on the ground. She waited for a brief moment for the house to stop quaking; once it did, she pulled her arm away from the dishes, wiped the water from it on her apron, and curiously looked up at the ceiling with narrowed eyes.

And then, she looked back at the work that needed to be done ASAP.

"I hope they don't destroy anything in there," Nana muttered underneath her breath. "Iemitsu-kun might cry at the amount of bills we're having to pay because of the amount of damages we're getting weekly."

Tsuna coughed loudly, fanning away the grey smoke that lingered all around her. Her nose scrunched up at its foul and completely unhealthy smell, and she cringed when she looked down at her dress, which was already covered in soot and dust.

'Shit,' Tsuna thought, mentally wailing at her dress. 'Okaa-san will murder me.'

"Ugh," Tsuna scowled, coughing a bit more. "What's the correct answer?" She asked, rubbing her cheek, and disdainfully looking down at the spot of dark grey at the back of her hand. Great. Not only did her dress get dirty, but even her. And she'd just used the new peach-scented lotion that her mother had bought a few days ago! Great. Now she'll have to take another bath again. Ugh.

"There's no correct answer, Baka-Tsuna," Reborn retorted, smiling at her with amusement clear on his features; even Leon was snickering at her misfortune. "It's indefinite. It's completely impossible to find a triangle if the value of the product of the beta and the sine of alpha is bigger than the value of side A," Reborn elaborated, and Tsuna looked down at her homework, seeing that she'd managed to craft an entirely new formula when all she had to do was find whatever Reborn had just said.

'Geometry sucks,' she thought with a sulk, her shoulders slumping down out of weariness.

"Now, onto the next one!" Reborn commanded, placing his hands onto another lever that would activate the other set of explosives that were positioned on her desk of all motherfucking places.

'Oh hell no,' Tsuna thought, as she began flipping through her notes to get the gist of what number four's formula should be and how it should be used. 'Like hell I'll let Reborn win this round. Especially when he's threatening my precious information corner,' she thought, her eyes blazing with determination.

Reborn watched with narrowed eyes as Tsuna's light brown orbs took on a slight orange hue, and he decided to edit his notes once again. It'd seemed that, despite the Ninth's seal on the girl, she's still able to access her flames, albeit at an unconscious manner. Her flame supply must be quite large and the purity of her flames must be very concentrated if she's even able to access them at such an age.

"Eto, Reborn?" Tsuna said, a hint of anxiety in her voice, which had mostly attracted Reborn's attention. The girl wasn't usually anxious, so what was the problem? "Did you send another hitman after me?" She asked, staring at what was outside of her bedroom window.

Reborn turned his head to take in the sight of a young child dressed in the traditional garbs of the Bovino famiglia, with a shiny revolver in his hand and aimed towards both he and Tsuna. Reborn didn't even blink at the odd sight, suppressing a deep sigh as he turned back to the matter at hand. The bovino brat who claimed to be his rival was just an annoyance, after all. No need to acknowledge something harmless.

"DIE, REBORN!" The brat cried out from his perch on the tree as he pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened.

Tsuna, whose body had already gone tense and ready to spring into the corner near the window for safety, blinked, as did the brat.

"Huh?" The both echoed at the same time.

"Oi, are you listening, Baka-Tsuna?" Reborn inquired, raising an eyebrow, and pulling a gun out from his back, cocking it to further his threat. Leon, who'd been sitting his usual spot on his fedora, merely stuck his tongue out at Tsuna, as if to say, sorry, can't help you here, he's using a real weapon, in a mocking voice.

"Sorry, sorry," Tsuna apologized, before she pointed at the brat who was still stubbornly clicking his unloaded gun. "But there's a suspicious person in the yard," she said, frowning, before continuing on, "I think that―"

SNAP!

"GUPYAA!"

Tsuna winced when she heard the branch break, and had managed to barely catch the sight of the cow-like dressed child fall to the ground with an unexpected kind of shriek. 'Ohhh, that's gotta hurt,' she thought, her frown deepening. "Excuse me, Reborn, but I really think that I should go check on that kid," Tsuna said.

Reborn narrowed his gaze on her. "No need to do that, Baka-Tsuna. He's harmless," he said.

Tsuna didn't believe Reborn one bit. The child was carrying a gun, and unloaded or not, it was still a gun! How could a child with a gun be harmless? And besides, Tsuna wanted to check on the kid too, because that had been quite a fall and the kid must have broken a bone or two from it. "It's not only that. I'm just gonna go check and see if he's alright. That was quite a fall. He must have broken his arm or something," she said as she got up and dusted off the smoke debris clinging to her dress, before making her way out of her bedroom to go and check on the kid.

Reborn just watches her, silently yet calculatingly.

Right before Tsuna had gotten out of the house, the first thing she did was to pocket a dinner fork in her dress―because hey, tiny kid or not, he was still dangerous. She knew enough about appearances being deceiving. Case in point, Reborn―before she ran towards her backyard where the kid would most likely be.

Her gaze immediately zoned in on the strange kid who, of all hairstyles, had an afro, with horns sticking out. She stood their for a moment, silently wondering if this was the latest fashion trend for kids because c'mon, even if it was kinda cute, wasn't it already cute to the point of ridiculousness? Inwardly, Tsuna hoped that this wasn't the case as she cautiously walked towards the kid who was bawling up a river.

"Hey," she said, crouching down lowly. "Are you okay there?" She asked him.

The little cow child sniffled a few more times; before he looked up, and Tsuna was suddenly gazing into a pair of glossy, green eyes that were just absolutely breathtaking. The little guy blinked a few times, snot disgustingly dripping from his nose, and Tsuna had to refrain from cringing when she saw his snot land onto her lawn.

And then, most disturbingly, the snotty little cow child launched himself into her chest, wrapping as much of his tiny arms around her that he could, with a loud cry of, "Onee-chan!"

...

'...Cow child said what now?' Was all Inner could contribute.

Lambo meets the pretty lady when he's three years old.

At that age, Lambo has nobody to call Mama or Papa, but he does have a lot of uncles and aunts who are willing to take care of him for a few days before he's whisked off back to that big house where his most favorite uncle—uncle Sobreviños—lives in and where there are a lot of maids and butlers who are there to take care of him. He also has a lot of cousins to play around with, as well as nieces and nephews who aren't all that older than him.

And yet, at that age, Lambo is still a lonely child.

He doesn't understand where his loneliness comes from. After all, he has a big family who loves him and are very kind to him. But he knows that he always feels lonely when he sees his cousins run back to their parents, screaming in their loudest voices, 'Mama! Papa! Sei tornato!' and wrap their arms around their parents' legs.

And that always makes him wonder, where are his Mama and Papa? Where are his Mama and Papa that he can always ran back to and welcome them home? Where are his Mama and Papa who will lift him up in their arms and carry him around on their shoulders or close to their chests? Where are his Mama and Papa who'll pay their attention to him first before all the other kids?

Lambo knows that he doesn't have a Mama and Papa. Uncle Sobreviños told him that his Mama had died in an accident that involved the purple bazooka that always stayed in that glass case of his favorite uncle's office, and that his Papa had left them all after his Mama's death.

Lambo knows that he'll never have anybody who'll love him first, but that's okay with him, because as long as he's loved, that's alright with him. Even if it makes his heart squeeze out of envy and pain, that's alright with him.

On the day he meets the pretty lady, he's standing in the middle of a dark room that he's never seen before in his favorite uncle's mansion. It's dark in here, with only a light bulb from above dimly illuminating the room as best as it can, and he feels uncomfortable being the center of attention. His aunts and uncles are all here, standing far away from him and creating a wide circle around him. He squirms from where he stands, and he resists the urge to run into aunt Miraloste's arms. Uncle Sobreviños had told him to stay in the middle, so he'd stay in the middle no matter what.

At that time, Lambo doesn't know that he and the rest of the Bovino children had been trained to be obedient and submissive to their elders' orders.

Lambo and the rest of his family stay silent once they see his favorite uncle come to the middle of the room, with the purple bazooka held in both of his hands. Lambo hears his favorite uncle's deep voice announce something, and he hears his aunts and uncles clap in return. He doesn't understand whatever his favorite uncle is saying, because the words are too advance for him and his favorite uncle is talking much too fast for him to comprehend it.

But he does hear a name that's been mentioned a few times throughout uncle Sobreviños speech.

Marietta Bovino. The name doesn't sound familiar to him, but he can admit that it's a very pretty name. He only wonders if the lady who owns this name is pretty as well.

And then, his favorite uncle stops talking and the entire room goes silent. Lambo immediately tenses up when uncle Sobreviños suddenly walks over to him and kneels down on one leg in front of him, an incredibly serious and grave expression upon his face. Lambo hasn't seen uncle Sobreviños with such a scary look, but he swallows down his fear, and he can feel his fear swirling about in his gut, making butterflies flutter about.

"Lambo," his uncle says, and Lambo fidgets underneath the intense gazes that the rest of his family has on him. "You're already three years old. Still a young child in your mother's eyes." Lambo perks up at the mention of his mother. "But by the Bovino's standards, you're already an adult," he says.

Lambo blinks, his dark green eyes gleaming with surprise and excitement. "I'm a big kid?" He says quietly, his entire body practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

His uncle manages a tiny smile, before he shakes his head from side to side, much to Lambo's displeasure. "Not yet," he says. "But you will be, after you pass your first trial," he says, and Lambo perks up once again, eyes shinning with elation.

"Really?" He asks as he bounces in place, but he immediately placates his excitement and stands stiffly once he sees his uncle's eyes narrow. It's a warning. To not overstep one's boundaries when it's the 'serious time.' He and all the other Bovino kids know this—it'd been drilled into their heads the minute they'd been able to stand on their legs and begin training. "Sorry," he mumbles out, looking down at the floor in shame.

Lambo feels a hand patting his oversized curls, and he gradually relaxes as the hand continues to stay there, just patting his hair.

"It's alright, Lambo, Just remember next time," his uncle says with kindness in his voice, but Lambo can't help but feel uneasy about it. "Do you know this object?" His uncle asks, looking down at the bazooka in his hands.

Lambo doesn't say bazooka at first. "It's a weapon," he says, knowing that an uncommon answer would please his uncle. He can tell that most children his age would call the thing a bazooka, and it may be a bazooka, but it's a weapon first and foremost.

His uncle smiles, just as he'd expected. "Yes. It is. But this is no ordinary weapon, Lambo. This is the 10-year bazooka, the only weapon capable of sending its desired target to the future, and in turn switching places with the target's ten years later self to the present, but only for five minutes. Many of our famiglia members sacrificed their entire lives just to complete this weapon, Lambo," he says, and Lambo looks at the purple bazooka with awe and admiration sparkling in his eyes. "And you'll be its target," his uncle says all of a sudden, and Lambo snaps his gaze upwards so that he could stare in astonishment and shock at his uncle.

"E-EH?!" Lambo exclaims as he takes a step back, suddenly fearful of his favorite uncle. Even though his uncle had said that the bazooka would only switch the target's position with its future self for five minutes; the bazooka was still a weapon, and who knows what kind of possible harm it could inflict upon him. Lambo wasn't an idiot, despite all his eccentricity, and he knewhow to use his self-preservation instincts thank you very much.

"Don't worry, Lambo," his uncle tries to soothe him, but the hand gripping his curls in a tight grip says otherwise. Lambo tries to step away from his uncle, but he's only dragged forward as his uncle pulls him closer to him via his hair; Lambo struggles, of course, and he's already wailing at the top of his lungs for his uncle to let him go and that he doesn't want to do this trial anymore, but his uncle only ignores him and continues to smile down at him.

Lambo doesn't see his favorite uncle anymore. He sees a stranger that's scarily smiling down at him, hidden intentions clear in the same green depths of his eyes that are so alike to his that are now wide with fear.

"Everything will be fine," his uncle says, before everything goes dark for him.

It takes him a second to realize that he's been enveloped within the bazooka. It takes him another to start wailing and crying for help.

And then, finally, he hears the sound of the bazooka being loaded, and he starts crying even louder, pounding desperately at the metal walls surrounding him; but, before he realizes it, he hears the sound of a trigger being pressed, the sound of a bullet being released, and then—

Then, he's surrounded from all corners by clouds of pink smoke that reminds him of cotton candy, but the smell of gunpowder lingering in his nose makes him think about anything other than the sweet taste and smell of candy.

In fact, it only makes him cry even harder, because it makes him remember about the times his favorite uncle would randomly hand him candy whenever they'd see each other. It makes the betrayal of uncle Sobreviños sting even more, because he hadn't expected that famiglia would do this to him, especially his most favorite one.

"Lambo-kun?"

The sound of someone unfamiliar calling out to him immediately breaks his train of thought, and he ceases his cries, instead keeping his fear of the unknown bottled up tightly within him, making his entire body tremble from the trauma that had been struck upon him by his uncle as well as from trepidation of what's to come.

Lambo hears the stranger cough out loudly, and he immediately takes a step back when arms suddenly appear from within the depths of the smoke and try to wrap around his little body.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Lambo screams as he wraps his tiny arms around his equally tiny body as tightly as he could, his entire body trembling even more, as he glares into the abyss of pink smoke with teary green orbs. "STAY AWAY!" He cries again, before he drops down on his butt and curls into a shaking ball. He knows, that no matter how much he cries and tell the stranger to stay away from him, that he'll still be captured in the end.

For a long while, he doesn't hear anything from the stranger, nor does he feel anything come closer to him. Then, after a long while, when his sniffles have finally subsided until all that's left for him to do is to silently cry, he hears a longwinded sigh before he feels arms wrapping around his tiny form and pulling him into a lap with his head pressed against a chest that smells of vanilla.

He immediately stiffens up against the stranger's hold on him, and he struggles at first, before he feels a hand combing its way through the mess of black curls that sits atop his head. He tenses up, his struggling coming to an abrupt halt, and he's surprised when the stranger just keeps combing through his curls, not even coming across a single knot that every one of his aunts and uncles have come across when they're the ones combing through his hair.

The stranger doesn't breathe a single word to him; instead, they hum a small tune to him that's familiar to his ears. Lambo knows that it's a song that only his aunts have ever sung to him whenever he's spending the night in their houses, curled up with their children in the same bed, and underneath the warm comforts of thick blankets.

He wipes his teary eyes against the fabric of the shirt he's pressed against, before he looks up to get a clear look of the stranger whose hold he's in.

He doesn't see anybody familiar, nor does he see anybody that his aunts and uncles would ever describe as somebody dangerous or lethal. The stranger is a girl—a woman, his mind helpfully supplies—and beautiful she may be—which hints at the point that she might be dangerous, because everything beautiful could cause harm—Lambo knows that she's no danger, especially when she's smiling down at him with so, so much love that he's only ever seen on the faces of his aunts and uncles when they look down at their own children.

Lambo's never had anybody to look at him like that.

"Don't cry anymore, Lambo-kun," the pretty lady says, with her bright eyes squinting as her smile grows bigger. "I'll always be here to take care of you when you need me," she says, her voice coming out melodiously and beautifully.

Lambo has no words as he looks up with awe.

And then, the pretty lady leans down to give him a swift and chaste kiss on the forehead, murmuring a few words in a language he's never heard of, before a cloud of pink smoke eats up his entire vision, and he unexpectedly lands on the floor with his butt.

When the smoke clears up, he sees that he's back in the dark and scary room of his favorite uncle's—ex-favorite uncle, he decides then and there—house. He stiffens up at the realization that he's back in his own time, and he looks around to get a good look of everybody.

And he's surprised to see that everybody is pressed up against the wall, some with fear on their faces, whilst others are looking at him with great relief. His gaze swivels to each one of them before he turns around to get a good look of his uncle. and he's surprised to see that uncle Sobreviños is on the floor, his entire body trembling, and his clothes singed at the edges.

He doesn't know what to make up of this situation as he rubs his still teary eyes, but he does know one thing.

He wants to see the pretty lady again.

. . . . . . . . . .

Nothing is every really the same after that incident. It's as if his entire world has been turned upside down—with the way his aunts and uncles are now treating him with hostility, and ushering their own children to stay very far away from him. In fact, he doesn't know what to feel when uncle Sobreviños tells him that he'll be staying with him from now on, and that he'll be starting his training a week later.

Lambo knows that he should feel elated that he's now being treated as a big kid, but he doesn't feel like that. Especially when his famiglia are treating him like a stranger who has them at gunpoint.

So, feeling alone and scared, Lambo decides that there's only one place that he can go to.

To the pretty lady.

The day before his training starts, Lambo breaks into his uncle's office via the air vents. He takes a few incorrect turns at first, but he manages to get into his uncle's office without a single hitch. He's surprised to find that the casing that holds the 10-year bazooka is open, and all that he has to do is to push it open so that he could retrieve the useful weapon.

And, without any hesitation or second thoughts, Lambo shoves himself into the barrel of the bazooka and pulls the string that's attached to its trigger. The bazooka fires one of its leftover ammunition, and he's once again surrounded by pink smoke.

But, compared to last time, when his first arrival to the future had been mostly peaceful, Lambo hears the sound of people yelling and exclaiming their surprise, as well as familiar sounds of blades being unsheathed and firearms being loaded. And when the pink smoke clears up, Lambo's tense body is trembling greatly once he sees the dozens of mafiosi scattered about the spacious room.

He doesn't know what to do with all the unfamiliar pairs of eyes that have been narrowed into deadly glares and have been set upon his tiny and trembling frame. But he does do something when his wide, green eyes take in each and every men within the room, until his gaze lands on a tanned and terribly scarred man with eyes of a demon.

And Lambo promptly expresses his extreme terror via screaming for all he's worth at the top of his lungs.

Chaos promptly ensues afterwards.

. . . . . . . . . .

He doesn't go near the bazooka for two months—both having been traumatized by the amount of bullets intended for him, as well as not really having enough personal time for himself. The training his uncle had placed him under had been brutal, the physical ones always left him feeling boneless and tired by the end of the day, whilst the ones involving books and boring old men always left his head throbbing.

But that's not the main reason for why Lambo hasn't gone near the bazooka even once.

With his entire body trembling, Lambo drags himself into his uncle's office—which, once again, and much to his fortune, is people-free. Lambo has trouble pushing the glass case open, and even more so in lifting the bazooka off of its slightly raised pedestal. He shoves his entire body into the barrel of the bazooka, before he closes his eyes and pulls on the string.

The familiar sound of its bullet going off sounds like music to his ears, and Lambo waits patiently for whoever is on the other side to take one look at his battered body and react.

He doesn't care if its the man with demon eyes who finds him first—he just wants to see the pretty lady again, with her arms wrapping around his tiny frame to bring him into her lap and have his cheek pressed against her chest, and her humming the Bovino lullaby.

Lambo's tired. Tired of his famiglia. Tired of his training. Tired of the needles piercing through his skin. Tired of the electricity that they keep on forcing onto his tiny body, of the pain that blooms from the electrical energy that surges through his veins until its blending with the blood that keeps his heart pumping, and of the raise the voltage and we'll try again next time that his fellow famiglia members murmur to one another.

Lambo's just tired. And he just wants to go see the pretty lady and rest in her arms. Because that's all he really needs. Rest. And he needs that where he feels safe and protected.

And then, as if God had felt pity for his misery, he hears the pretty lady's voice calling out to him, and Lambo cracks his eyelids open to get a glimpse of her.

Despite the way he sees her shocked and horrified expression transform into one of complete anger and concern, Lambo still considers her the most beautiful lady he's ever seen.

Even if her eyes are screaming with the promise of murder.

For who, Lambo knows not as the darkness encases his consciousness with its grabby hands.

. . . . . . . . . .

Lambo sees the pretty lady once again on January, just six months after the last time he'd seen her. The tests that the Bovino had started on him still continue; however, they don't hurt him as much as they had before, but they do leave a sting that still makes him writhe in pain underneath the leather straps they have bounding his wrists, waist, and ankles to the cold slab of metal they call a bed.

When he meets her again, he has a name to call her with. Onee-chan. She tells him it's Japanese for sorellona, which in English is apparently big sister.

After that, Lambo starts learning Nihongo from an elderly man who prefers to be referred to as Tanari-sensei, as he'd demanded from his uncle.

His visits to the future become more frequent. Starting from February, he starts to visit the future once a week in hopes of meeting her once again. Sometimes, he doesn't see her, instead meeting different men, each one having distinct features to them that sets them apart from any mafioso Lambo has ever seen before.

Most of the men are mean and cold, but others are kind and bright. And still, Lambo doesn't understand why Onee-chan keeps them close to her, because they're all weird.

But the times Lambo does meet her, he gets to learn even more about her.

She tells him that she'd been born in Namimori, Japan. An average-sized town that had been a good place for her and her adopted siblings to grow up in. She tells him about her family—about the mother whose cooking was unrivaled, about the father who'd tried to be a good one, about the demonic home tutor who she wouldn't hesitate to give her life to, about the unexpected brothers and sisters that had been welcomed into her family, about the famiglia that she'll always love no matter what even if she's already dead.

She talks about him too, of course. About how he's still a crybaby (Lambo obviously pouts at that one, and his loud protests are only met with breathy laughs that sounds more like chimes to him) even after all these years. But that's not the only thing she tells him about him. She tells him how proud she is of him, of the man he'd become and of the things, whether good or bad, he'd done, whether it'd be for the sake of others or for himself. She tells him that despite his tendencies to burst into fits of tears, he'd grown up into a very handsome and charming man, whose strength may as well be unrivaled within the faculties of the Bovino famiglia.

Lambo doesn't ask her from what famiglia she's from. It's obvious to him, from the suits she wears with not a single cow-print in sight on any of the fabrics she wears, that she's not a Bovino. He doesn't ask for her real name either, because she'd given him no reason to be suspicious of her.

Her identity to him doesn't matter to him; all that really matters is that she loves him and that he loves her as well.

. . . . . . . . . .

Lambo meets Reborn just a month after he's turned four, and he's decided right after their first meeting that he doesn't like the fedora-wearing mafioso one bit. Lambo doesn't like the way Reborn treats him—the hitman acts as if he isn't even there. It reminds him of the treatment that almost all of his famiglia members treat him with right after they'd gotten past the hostility stage.

With disregard.

It makes anger swell up within his chest—as well as pain and sadness and envy, but nobody needs to know about that, right?

And Lambo tells Onee-chan about this—that he hates Reborn, not the part about his famiglia treating him as if he doesn't exist. Lambo doesn't enjoy seeing her eyes darken, the kindness on her face shifting into something darker whenever he mentions his famiglia, so he stays silent, never once breathing a word about his famiglia, because they're not worth the anger that comes up on Onee-chan's face.

And all Onee-chan does in reply is to giggle and let slip that he doesn't hate Reborn. Dislike, maybe, but it's only because they're supposed to be rivals.

Lambo thinks that she's wrong—because he hates Reborn with every fiber of his being—but he does mull over the fact that being his rival sounds good. After all, they're both kids, and they're both great mafioso, so why not?

Lambo doesn't see the realization that spreads over Onee-chan's face, as if she'd just realized something.

(Later on, when he's older and snuggling up to a younger version of his Onee-chan, Lambo will realize that it's his Onee-chan's fault for why he goes about telling everyone he knows that he's Reborn's rival.)

. . . . . . . . . .

Lambo decides, once he's five years old, and armed with the knowledge that he will be somebody who's loved, that enough is enough, and he can do way better than being stuck in the Bovino famiglia as a lab experiment for them to prod and electrocute upon whenever they please. He's been planning for his grand escape for months, and he already knows where he wants to escape to.

So after planting several bombs—with their gasoline casings filled to the brim with paints of a variety of colors instead of the required oil for it to go BOOM and cause actual harm. Lambo's not stupid, of course. He's running away from home, not causing a war. Those are two different things, because while the former means that he'll be hunted down by the Bovino famiglia, kicking and screaming whilst he's being dragged back to their territory, it's way much better than the latter which'll end in him being hunted down by the Bovino famiglia so that they could execute him in their territory for betraying them. And Lambo's not really suicidal, thank you very much, even though he shoves himself into freaky bazookas on a weekly basis, but he doesn't really die from that anyways, nor does he really die from being electrocuted by a voltage number that's sure to fry the average human being—Lambo begins his grand escape.

But not before he breaks into his uncle's office, smashes the glass case holding the bazooka, and proceeds to steal said bazooka as well.

What doesn't go into his grand plan is his uncle suddenly appearing in the doorway of his office when Lambo turns around, purple bazooka in hand, with wide green eyes that match the deer-on-the-headlights expression on his face.

A very long and very awkward silence hovers over them, and Lambo adjusts his grip on the bazooka, tightening his hold on it, as he hardens his eyes, showing his uncle the resolve that he has, that he will not let go of his bazooka, no matter what.

And then, his uncle sighs loudly, breaking the suffocating silence, and unclips his guns from where they're attached to his waist through leather bands, and promptly drops them, their metal bodies barely making any sounds as they collide with the carpeted ground.

Lambo doesn't relax one bit. His uncle may have relieved himself of any firearms—a mafioso language that means that they admit defeat and don't want any trouble; however, in the Bovino language, it means that we're compadres and we shouldn't fight because we're famiglia—but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any bladed weapons upon his body.

"I'm leaving," Lambo says as seriously as he can—as seriously as his high-pitched voice can manage. "If you're gonna stop Lambo, Lambo will fight," he ends firmly, lips thinly pressed together.

Fight to escape, or fight to kill?

The unexplained meaning isn't lost to either of them.

"I won't stop you, Lambo," his uncle tells him, taking a step forward to him, and Lambo narrows his eyes at his uncle but doesn't take a step back. It's only when his uncle is a threatening distance away from him does Lambo bring out the grenade he'd stolen from within the depths of his hair, holding it out threateningly.

His uncle promptly stops from where he stands, both of his hands up in the air, and an amused smile on his face.

"You can keep the 10-year bazooka. It's your birthright, after all," his uncle says, and Lambo furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding the word 'birthright.' This is the first time he's heard of it. Sensing his confusion, and misunderstanding it, his uncle proceeds to explain, telling a story that Lambo's never heard of before. "Your mother invented the 10-year bazooka, so it's your to take," he says, and Lambo's eyes widens at that revelation, having not expected that. "She was the smartest Bovino to have ever been born in the century, and she brought back the honor of the Bovino famiglia with her inventions," his uncle says with a wistful voice. "She was amazing in her own right. Deadly and intelligent. A mafiosa and an inventor at the same time—she was the epitome of what a Bovino should be, and she was an inspiration to all of us. Yes, Marietta was a force to be reckoned with," he says with a reminiscent smile. "And as she was born a proud Bovino, she died a proud Bovino."

Marietta. Marietta Bovino. The lady his uncle had been mentioning at his speech during the day Lambo's world had turned upside down for good. She was his mama, and Lambo didn't even know. And right now, he was holding one of his mama's inventions.

Lambo didn't know what to feel, but maybe that was just what the shock was doing to him.

"Marietta loved you very much, Lambo," his uncle said as he walked on over to a desk drawer unit off to the side. He unlocked one of the unit's many drawers and brought out a polished wooden box with the Bovino famiglia insignia carved on top of it. "That she even created a weapon for you to use while she was still pregnant with you," he continued, and Lambo was too shocked to even threateningly raise his grenade when his uncle stalked towards him. "This was her last successful invention, Lambo. The Corno Tuono," he said, opening the box to reveal a pair of horns that were bandaged at the bottom.

Lambo stared at it with mixed feelings, but there was certainly one complete thought revolving about his head.

This is a weapon?

. . . . . . . . . .

The Bovino famiglia let him go. Just like that, they drop him in a town right out of their lands and just turn around and leave, without so much as a goodbye or a glance before they shut the car door in his face and drive off back to the mansion

But to be honest, Lambo had already scampered off long before they'd turned around, not even bothering to give them a proper goodbye or a glance before he's off like the wind and into a random alleyway, with his back pressed against the wall of the building behind him.

There, he organizes his plans to escape to Japan. Namimori, to be more exact. After all, Onee-chan had told him that that'd been the place she'd spent most of her life growing up in, and Lambo is completely sure that he wants to spend most of his life growing up in Namimori, Japan with his Onee-chan.

He stuffs the 10-year bazooka in his hair. He doesn't even bother to question the law of physics over how his hair could handle so much stuff―because hey, at least he doesn't have to carry a bag all the time. Lambo takes a moment to stare down at the polished wooden box sitting in his lap, his face reflecting back at him through its shiny surface. He feels as if he shouldn't even be touching it, much less its contents.

But he does. Lambo opens the box and pulls out the Corno Tuono that his mother had apparently made, and puts them on each side of his hair as his uncle had instructed him. Once he's done, he closes the box and looks back down at his reflection; most particularly, the horns adorning both sides of his head.

There, alone in the dark alleyway, Lambo wonders if his mama is watching him from up above.

He doesn't wonder if she's proud of him or even loves him.

Because she'd just completed the experiment that the Bovino famiglia had spent years on his body.

A glorified human lightning rod.

A laugh escapes his throat, all broken and ruined, but Lambo can't find any fault in it, because the Bovino had broken him down and ruined him so that they could rebuild him into something better—something worse—so why hate something that you are?

...At least we updated...? :D