Warnings: OOC Tsuna. Slight Shounen-Ai. Swearing, Timoteo-bashing, Iemitsu-bashing. Half-Dame Tsuna, stereotypical Italians, mentions of culture-shock. Violence when Mukuro and Hibari show up. Character whump. Probably Tsuna.

Chapter One:

The Vongola Opera House

No.

No, no, no, no.

"You know, you're speaking out loud."

This can't be possible.. It can't.

"Do you have a filter for your mind to your mouth, Dame-Tsuna?"

I'm not even here. It's not possible. It's just a dream.. That's right, it's a dream. I'm at home, in bed, sleeping, and soon I'll wake up. This is just a dream, a dream- no, a nightmare. The scary lawyer isn't with me. I'm not here. No, no..

"Dame-Tsuna.. Do you want me to smack you awake?"

Slowly, the brunette who had previously buried his face in his arms over the cafe table, slowly moved his head upwards. No, it was not a nightmare, as he wished it was. There was no waking up from this awful reality.. His amber eyes took in the image before him, and he shuddered.

A cafe setting, typical sweet French decor with roses lining every table, every window, every painting in the room, stood out first. That wasn't the problem. It was the choking odor of flowers and paint combined into a sickeningly sweet lead scent that overpowered all of the brunette's senses. Tsuna covered his nose as he looked down at the table, eyes trained on the cappuccino and half-eaten donut in front of him, purposefully avoiding looking at the man in front of him.

"Running from reality won't make things better," the lawyer's suave voice came in an annoyed drawl. Tsuna gulped as a hand reached forward, and a thumb pulled his chin up until he was looking into the pitch black eyes of the man sitting in front of him. Dark hair slicked back with gel hidden by an orange-banded fedora, handsomely sculpted angular features with fair skin, and a lean yet muscled build covered up by a million-yen suit formed the image of Japan's number one Wills & Probate Lawyer, Reborn De La Sole- literally, Reborn of the Sun. The man's expensive and high-class aura drew eyes from all corners of the cafe, both women and men dreamily looking over to catch a glimpse of the Italian. It seemed everyone wanted to swap places with Tsunayoshi Sawada, who sat in front of his lawyer, looking absolutely miserable.

Yes- this man, Reborn- was Tsuna's lawyer. More specifically, he was Timoteo Sawada's lawyer, coming to speak to Tsuna on behalf of his dead grandfather regarding his will.

"I really thought you grew out of your Dame-Tsuna stage, but I guess not. You're still running away like a coward," Reborn sighed, retracting his hand from the brunette's face. Tsuna ignored the man's taunting, refusing to speak up, and put his head down once again. He heard Reborn tut, but didn't bother looking up.

God- how was this possible?

Sawada Tsunayoshi had never been particularly close to his grandfather, Timoteo Sawada, who had lived in Italy all his life. His mother, who was a hard working single mother, and his father, who worked in Italy for some big Sicilian company and seldom ever came home, never mentioned his grandfather on his dad's side. The only time they had ever said anything of a grandfather was when Nana Sawada had found a brown box sitting on the front door of their tiny little house and opened it up, gleefully bringing her son down to show him a care package from Italy. It was from his father, apparently- though he really doubted it, considering Iemitsu Sawada was not the most thoughtful man, seeing as when he did come home every two years, he spent all his time getting drunk and sleeping on the couch.

Inside the care package had been an assortment of unsent letters, stamped and all, a couple of bags of Italian chocolates, and an envelope stuffed to the brim full of photographs. Tsuna had sat at the table with his mother, who had opened up the letters and begun to read them. He ignored the letters and photos for the chocolates, popping a few in his mouth at a time, while wary not to get any of the sweets on the bandages he had wrapped around the cuts and bruises he got from Mochida-senpai's last visit to him when he was walking home from school. Nana had occasionally squealed while looking over the pictures and letters, and when she was done, pushed everything over towards him.

Tsuna still remembered his mother smiling widely while gleefully exclaiming, "Look, Tsu-kun! Pictures of your cousins and uncles and aunts in Italy! They sent us some letters, too! How thoughtful!"

The letters had been rather awkward. He had, if he remembered correctly, four uncles, two aunts, and five cousins- maybe six, if Enrico's wife had given birth already. The ones that did write were obviously forced to, their words awkwardly spaced, their questions of, 'how's school?' and, 'what hobbies do you have?', so tense and forced that Tsuna could practically taste the hesitation along with the chocolate aftertaste on his tongue. Nana had forced him to write back after he finished looking over all of the pictures of angry looking Italian men eating pasta and fighting and getting drunk and other savory things. He had awkwardly answered each question while dying inside.

How's school?

Oh, it's good. I'm just failing every single class I'm in, getting beat up every day by guys two times my size, being humiliated in class by all my teachers and every adult that works in the school, and nearly breaking every bone in my body during Flag-Football in P.E. The usual.

Thankfully, Tsuna had received no more care packages or letters after that.

However, he instead opened the door up in the first morning of the next month not to find another box of Italian keepsakes, but an Italian man wearing a fedora and a suit, with curly sideburns and deep, dark black eyes. "Ciaossu," he had said, a deep smirk playing out on his lips, as he bowed his head. Tsuna had promptly slammed the door shut and went up back to his room.

The man had broken down the door, introduced himself as Reborn De La Sole- a lawyer from Sicily- and settled down in Tsuna's bed, making him sleep on the couch downstairs. He explained that he was a 'gift' from Timoteo Sawada in Italy, sent to make Tsuna's life better by helping him improve himself.

'Helping Tsuna to improve himself' meant putting a gun to the brunette's head while making him run four miles in under thirty minutes at the school track, giving him boxing lessons for five hours nonstop, making him recite the history of Japan's Meiji Era while dangling him off of the community bridge over the Namimori River by a fishing pole, and seducing all of the women and men at Namimori High into beating down on Tsuna harder until he was forced to finally fight his bullies back. Needless to say, the one year Reborn had spent with Tsuna had been absolute hell. Though after he had left, everyone had stopped calling him Dame-Tsuna, seeing as he grew out of that stage, he still resented Timoteo for sending the spawn of Satan to live with him, and could not gather up any love for his Italian family in his heart.

The whole situation at hand was not helping.

Tsuna was twenty three now, and a month ago, when he had received a call from Reborn whom he had not heard from since he was sixteen, he had not been surprised that bad news accompanied the greatest lawyer in the world. His ex-tutor had informed him that Timoteo Sawada had died, and his funeral would be in a week, in Sicily. Of course, his mother had called him and forced him to take time off of work and contact his landlord, insisting they go. So they did- and for four days, Tsuna put up with sobbing relatives, scathing looks from relatives, relatives in general, and Reborn. Tsuna and his mother stayed in the mansion Timoteo owned- apparently his family was stinking rich and never bothered to help out his financially struggling mother- furthering his disdain for his Italian family. It was an awkward and tense funeral, and seeing his father whom he had not spoken to since he was fourteen didn't help, either. When he got back home, he was relieved to be back in Japan, and to be done with Italy in general.

That was until he had received another phone call from Reborn, telling him they would be meeting up at 'Tres Bien Cafe,' some high class French restaurant. He had gone in wary, and for good reasons. Then, the Probate & Wills lawyer had read off Timoteo's will to him, talking rapidly in Italian, purposefully to confuse Tsuna, who was barely fluent. When he had worked up the nerve to ask what Reborn was even talking about, the lawyer sharply glared.

"Timoteo Sawada left the Vongola Opera House to you, Dame-Tsuna," he said, bringing back the brunette's high school nickname. "It's an opera house passed down from the very first ancestor of the Sawada line, nicknamed Vongola Primo, or Ieyasu Giotto Sawada, and over the many years, has accumulated a reputation of having the finest actors and singers, with the highest class audiences and shows, even owning their own playwrights. Music critics have nothing but showers of praise for the Vongola Operahouse. It was worth billions during its prime time," Reborn explained.

Timoteo couldn't have left him a hundred dollar bill and the recipe to the secret family-made shrimp scampi. "How much is it worth now?"

"Maybe six hundred thousand USD on a good day," Reborn had replied calmly, sipping at his piping cup of espresso. He picked up the will, a flicker of sadistic amusement flashing through his abyss-like eyes. "Timoteo's dying wish, as indicated in his will, was that, quote- 'my exceptionally talented and determined grandson, Sawada Tsunayoshi, take the Vongola Opera House and restore it to its former glory.' How touching."

Tsuna felt something in his brain pop. Perhaps a blood vessel. The brunette dug his fingers into his Styrofoam cup of cappuccino. "So the filthy rich grandfather I've never even met, who's never convinced his bastard of a son to go home and stay with his family, or bothered to help out my mother when she was working two jobs other than send a tutor who beat me near to death while using up all of our resources suddenly asks that I take his crappy old opera house and use all of my hard earned savings to restore it when I have no interest in music whatsoever?"

"Pretty much," Reborn had replied. "Dame-Tsuna, don't think you can reject the Opera House, either. It would be a very big insult to the Italian side of your family. Your mother would be very disappointed in you, and so would your father."

"I don't care about what Iemitsu thinks," Tsuna replied dryly. He was surprised he had the gall to talk back to Reborn, considering he still occasionally had nightmares about his ex-tutor, but through his anger, he had no filter whatsoever.

"Well, it's going to sit with you, unless you sell the property," Reborn said, his tone turning back to professional. "And if you can't find anyone willing to buy that dump, then you have to keep paying property taxes for the rest of your life. Or, you could restore the Opera House, and then sell it and get off your chest. You know.. Your choice."

Tsuna had let out a groan, before slamming his head into his arms.

And that was where the story caught up to the present.

"I don't care if I'm Dame-Tsuna for life," the brunette groaned into the table. He still was kind of Dame, actually. He worked at a low-income supermarket, had a one-room apartment that was smaller than the den of this very restaurant, still tripped over his shoelaces, had a habit of stuttering around strangers, and couldn't do advanced math at all. But he had also learned to protect himself, picked up hobbies in writing and boxing, and learned to cook. So he had labelled himself Half-Dame-Tsuna. That was better. "Can't you just ask someone else in the family to take it?"

"Can't," Reborn replied simply, not at all fazed by Tsuna's whining. "Timoteo specified directly that the Opera House would be left to you, despite how much some of the others may want it."

"Others want that dump?" Tsuna asked, peeking out a little.

"Xanxus, for some reason, believes it his birthright to own the Opera House. He wasn't very impressed that Timoteo left it to you. Enrico instead inherited the mansion but of course, is obsessed with Vongola treasures. Massimo has a love of Italian theater, and Federico is just greedy," Reborn said, a glint in his sharp dark eyes. "Shouldn't you be grateful that your dear grandfather was so thoughtful and generous before he died?"

Tsuna made a noise that sounded like a half-groan, half-whimper.

Reborn ignored his former student, opting instead to open up his briefcase. "Here are some pictures of the Vongola Opera House now," he said, taking out a manilla folder. When he opened it, a collection of carefully clipped photographs was revealed. Tsuna slowly got up and took the stack of pictures. Immediately, he winced.

The Opera House was definitely something back four hundred years ago. A picture of it before, in black and white, was pasted on the back of the present photo. It had been truly grand, a building that looked so high class that Tsuna couldn't imagine anyone in his family possibly owning it. True, his Italian family was rich as hell- but when the brunette thought of family, only his mother came to mind. Anyway- the Vongola Opera House was huge in the picture, possibly five stories tall, and was the entire first-class shebang. There was a large spiral staircase in the front of the house, leading up to the five floors with a bar in the basement, and the walls were possibly gold or red velvet, decorated with all of the nine owners of the house in large, grand portraits- from 'Primo Vongola' to Timoteo Sawada himself. The pictures of the inside of the house were just as impressive, if not more, with huge stages and vast curtains and balcony seats. A glass chandelier hung from every stage room on each floor. Everything was beautiful and highly detailed, from the ornaments on the walls, to the stained glass windows at the top of the rooms. There was even a separate corridor that lead to dressing rooms, as well as bedrooms for the actors, along with ones for directors.

Then- there were the pictures of the present Vongola Opera House.

Time had not been well with the House, Tsuna knew immediately, as a sigh escaped his lips. The walls were peeling, the ornate paint chipped all over, revealing white plaster and even some pipes in certain areas of the den. The floors were old and dirtied, red velvet rug peeling away in the corners of the room. The ceiling lights were dank and the marble busts in the lobby chipped, and the stage of the second floor had holes in it, patched up haphazardly with wooden planks and duct tape. The chandeliers were broken and no longer functioning, and the bar in the basement was completely trashed. The curtains were blackened and in all rooms of the Opera House, seats were missing and broken. The only thing that remained respectfully untouched were the portraits of the owners, covered up in plastic tarps to avoid damage.

Tsuna felt a migraine coming on.

"You're lucky you got it now," Reborn said, passing Tsuna stacks of paperwork, probably for licenses and safety measures. "There's water damage, of course, in the roof, and the gazebo is unstable and breaking. It's going to need serious construction- but at least no one has died in it, yet. Anyway, you're going to need a business, alcohol, and property license, and you need to convince the playwrights and mechanics to work off of money you've gotten from the bank.. Your credibility scores are okay, I suppose. You need a manager and several investors, and you're also going to need an audience to see whatever plays you can put on, if you can manage to get the stage up."

"How does that make me lucky I got it now?" Tsuna spluttered in exasperation, as Reborn continued to shove paperwork into his already-full hands. All of this was too much to take in at once, and it sounded like Timoteo had basically just shoved his unneeded trash into his grandson's hands. The old man was probably laughing it up in heaven right now. Or hell. Wherever you went for being a filthy rich asshole your whole life.

Reborn only smirked, as he pulled his fedora down a bit to cover his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Dame-Tsuna, you'll find out later. Your flight to Italy leaves at seven tomorrow. Meet me here at six," was all he said, before closing his briefcase and.. falling asleep?

Tsuna couldn't help but snort, despite how defeated he was feeling. It was like Reborn, perfectly like him, in fact- to fall asleep right in the middle of his job, or while he was speaking to someone. The brunette put down the paperwork he was given and stacked it, before reaching into his bag and grabbing a familiar bottle of pills. Without even needing water, he swallowed two tablets of Advil dry, and took a sip of his cappuccino to wash it down.

So, he was moving to Italy for the time being, with the notice being of less than half a day. He had less than a day to pack all of his things, move the rest of it to his mother's house, say goodbye to her, quit his job, inform his landlord, get a passport, and collect his last paychecks. Tsuna decided that Reborn knew about the will much longer than two weeks and had done this to prove some point, to test him in that sick way Reborn used to.

Wow, Tsuna bitterly thought, how nostalgic.

Ignoring the throbbing near his temples, the brunette gulped the rest of his cappuccino down, slapped down some yen for the drink, and put on his coat before shakily exiting Tres Bien. He ignored the cold air that whipped at his cheeks, making his way to his small apartment complex a few blocks away. He had no time to spare.

Back in the cafe, Reborn only smirked, his eyes still closed, and pulled his fedora down more.

His little Dame-Tsuna was just as Dame as before. Now, it was just a question over whether or not Timoteo's intuitions about Tsuna were right- if he did indeed have what it took to restore the Opera House to its former glory.

Opening one eye and watching Tsuna just in time for the brunette to trip over a crack in the sidewalk, he snorted.

Oh yes, Reborn thought, going back to his nap, most definitely. This will be a fun project.

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