Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyō Hitman Reborn!

A/N: This is the product of me getting struck by sudden inspiration on a late Saturday night. And when something like that happens, I get a sudden urge to write.

Chapter One

Starting Point

At precisely half past six, on a warm evening, in a beautiful town setting, I messed around with the wrong people and paid for it.

Ah, introductions, introductions.

Sorry, almost forgot. You guys are probably wondering who's narrating the story.

I guess I'll start by telling you that I (the narrator) may not be your most sensible person on the planet. If there's one thing you'd need a heads-up about, it would be that. During the course of my aging, I've done many things that were considered unusual among the world population. Examples of such include responding to certain situations in a way the common man wouldn't respond, and saying things the common man wouldn't normally say. Due to this, I've been frequently called the epitome of weirdness, or more plainly, an oddball.

For people who actually found these tendencies of mine hilarious, I was known as a classic class clown.

Hurray for alliterations.

In any case, my name is Miyamura Yue. I'm your average junior high school student with a not so hot average on my report card.

And right now I am currently being pursued by a gang of violent strangers whose present goal is to beat the living daylights out of me.

How in the world did I get myself into this situation, you ask.

It's very simple.

Let's rewind a bit.

— — — — —

A Few Minutes Ago:

"That will be 3900 yen."

I grimly watched the numbers add up on the register. The red digits were flashing with an intensity akin to neon lights. Discounts or not, total sums made a painful image, especially when you were close to being broke.

I reached into my pocket to grab my wallet, but instead of touching solid mass, I was greeted by an unfriendly emptiness. My fingers instantly halted in mid-search.

It's not here?

I gave myself a round of thorough pats, beginning from the bottom of my jeans up to my polo shirt. The inspection spurred more disappointment, and my sheer absence of money became clear. As I ogled the greedy looking screen in front of the cashier blinking 3900 yen, I suddenly realized that I must have crammed the thing in my other pair of pants, not this one.

The cashier grew suspicious at my extensive silence.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

Yeah—there is.

"I think I left my wallet at home," I said.

He frowned at my assertion, tilting to glance at the long line of shoppers behind me impatiently.

"Well, that is very unfortunate."

This no doubt qualified as one of the worst 'shopping at the supermarket' experiences I've ever had in the few short years of my uninteresting life. Trust me, filling your shopping cart, waiting in line for half an hour, and then discovering you don't have the necessary cash on you when it's finally your turn on the check-out desk was not a very likable feeling. It was almost as bad as the time I accidentally got into a heated argument with a college student over the last box of ramen in the "instant foods" section.

I walked away from the line, practically feeling everyone's stares drilling holes into my back. Once out of the supermarket, I hit myself for being careless.

So much for stocking up on cheap food. And today was the final sales day for the month.

I sauntered down the block resignedly. Halfway into my stride, I caught sight of a short-looking boy backing away anxiously from a tall figure. They planted themselves smack in the middle of the sidewalk, effectively blocking the path. At first, I thought the two were related, and that they were just having one of those friendly sibling quarrels, but I started to doubt this when my ears picked up on their dialogue exchange.

"Hie! I-I'm sorry!" the smaller boy croaked.

Whatever he was apologizing for, the dude greater in height did not seemed satisfied.

"You think 'sorry' is going to cut it? This shirt was new. You're gonna have to pay for it."

Shirt?

I shortened the distance between myself and them, and immediately noticed the wet stain spreading near the bigger guy's waist.

A dropped water bottle rolled at his feet.

Ah, I get it.

So this must be one of those 'innocent kid bumping into thug and dirtying thug's clothing, therefore causing thug to get mad and pick a fight' situations.

I nodded in agreement with myself. Yep. Yep. Definitely.

Mr. Bully gave a fierce glare and grabbed onto the front of the spiky haired boy's collar. He growled and raised a clenched fist. His victim squeaked.

Whatever happened to world peace?

The flag of justice glimmered in my head. Needless to say, conscience would not let me walk away without doing anything. I was seized by an indescribable urge to advance from spectator to participant.

Morality chose the strangest moments to cajole you into taking action.

I quickly went up to them and clapped my hands for acknowledgement.

Putting on a casual expression, I said, "Don't be so upset. He didn't mean to. I'm sure there is a better way to settle this like talking it over."

The bully stared at me with a scowl.

I maintained my smile, despite my involuntary flinch. "Anyway, there's no need to get so angry over something like this. Right? I mean, at least it wasn't coffee. It's just water, it'll dry."

I was about to continue showing off my very professional compromising skills but stopped upon feeling a dangerous sensation. Perspiration ran down my neck as five more delinquents stepped into the scene.

Why do gang members always have to travel in packs?

Suddenly, all that attention shifted from the boy with chestnut hair to me. It was amazing how quickly bullying victims could change. It did not even require that much provocation.

They got into instant sentai formation, the lead delinquent in front and his five friends behind him. One of them started cracking his knuckles to create a threatening atmosphere. The other four held. . .weapons?

Okay, it was one thing if they were unarmed, but it was completely different if they had pocket knifes, flails, and a GUN!

Not our average delinquents, are you?

I totally wasn't expecting this.

"You have a lot of guts, kid. Are you trying to pick a fight?"

I swallowed.

Gee, no, you are the ones wanting a fight. I'm just the good innocent civilian with the desire to try to help out a guy who's being picked on.

"Haha. Maybe she knows him?" one subordinate suggested. He flipped his knife nonchalantly.

As they inched forward, I inched backward.

I know what you're thinking.

You're thinking that since I so thoughtlessly went up to a gang of thugs without the slightest concern for emotions like fear, it means that at any point now, I'm going to unleash some kind of supernatural power or show off some very remarkable fighting techniques.

I must admit that would be awesome, but sadly, I am not equipped with such fortune.

It wasn't long before I did the most common thing a defenseless protagonist would do in a shounen manga.

I broke off into a magnificent run.

— — — — —

Annnnnd that's how I ended up here.

"Come back here! We're not finished with ya yet!"

"Yeah! You think you can just back out of this?"

Their flying threats merely served as more encouragement for escape. I gasped, racing along the pavement.

Running never felt so strenuous.

Where can I find one of those convenient walls where you can plaster yourself against and pretend to be camouflaged?

A/N: First chapter makes for a strange start, but it will improve. ;)