I kept telling myself that maybe one day I'd come back and try this again, rewrite it because it was fun writing when I was in middle school and still one of my early stories, so it helped me out getting into writing and enjoying what I do on here a lot. The early chapters were so cringy, but I felt so happy rereading it and couldn't stop laughing because we all started somewhere.

If the stats are confusing, it's because this story is now a rewrite of its previous version under the same name, I've finally come back to rewrite this and run with the old ideas it had while changing some things up.

If you're old and WHAT THE FUCK SHE'S BACK, I hope you enjoy! If you're new and wondering what the hell this is, I hope you enjoy too!

Ketsui's back. Thank you for waiting!

I do not own KHR.

Cries of the Heart, Echoes of the Night

Chapter One:

a proud stray cat laughed

Location

Narita International Airport

Sora Blue Café, Top Floor, First Class Room

"How did I feel?"

The fancy little spoon in her grip wavered. A mound of soft white sugar balanced precariously a centimeter from the rim of her cup—in high danger of being dumped flat onto the table instead of the coffee in front of her. Her companion in the chair across from her with his own cup noticed this, but chose not to comment with a lazy sort of tug on his lips.

The woman made a face. She tipped her head to the side in thought, brows screwing up over her eyes.

She was finally letting her hair grow out again. Her mission this time around had been longer than usual—her choice, despite fervent, muttered protests. The wispy black strands were pulled back into a slightly curled ponytail meaning she slept through the entire plane ride with it in a bun. He also figured she must have been passed out for quite some time for once based on the slight wrinkle to the thin white sweater she wore, loose around her shoulders with thin black straps peeking over the bare skin. Her ratty, oversized bomber jacket hung over the back of her chair while his blazer hung over his.

A sleek, beaten black carry on sized suitcase sat at her side with a duffel bag stacked on top. An equally scratched up black violin case rested against the side of the chair, not at all reflecting the pristine condition the instrument inside was in. A thin, solid gold clasp that had been a gift she couldn't refuse from that man holding it together. They'd pick up her check-in downstairs by the car—"Souvenirs," she said. "I wasn't allowed to come back without souvenirs. I guess you get first pick, you monster. Lambo and I-Pin come next."

The spoon still teetered in her grip. Granulated specks shifted uncertainly.

The shining ring on her left ring finger stood out against the light tan of her skin. Pitch black face of obsidian glass hugged and fitted by pure silver, elegantly carved at the edges with a specific design. Two simpler rings adorned her index.

He made a one-sided bet in his mind the sugar would end up in her lap. If he was wrong, he'd treat her to something good. If she spilled, she'd be in for a surprise.

He was never wrong.

"You'd remember this way better than I would," she said. With a bothered frown she added, "Why didn't we go to the café downstairs? I feel like a bum here."

"You are a bum," he reminded calmly. She scowled across from him. Everyone around them was decked to the nines, elaborate, designer brands as they relaxed before boarding their expensive flights. He'd picked her up half asleep and stumbling with her things as she squinted at exit signs straight out of economy. She'd almost turned tail and run back through the terminal when she saw him.

"Well, it was the middle of the year," she said, making a face, brows knitted in thought. "And it was like some sick chain reaction—"

"Let me rephrase," he held up a finger. She followed it absently as he lightly tapped the rim of his cup and slowly traced the edge. He smirked as her eyes still followed it. "How did you feel about it?"

"All kinds of shit," she said. Her eyes left his cup and she rubbed the back of her neck, working out a kink. "I sat next to this guy who kept nodding off on my shoulder and I was this close to shoving him out of his seat—"

"You could have easily used the family funds for a nicer flight," he said. "You know he wouldn't have minded."

"But then that'd tip everyone off," she said. Her spoon tipped. A bit of sugar was just on the edge of spilling now. "And then that would have made this a lot harder. I tried to be sneaky and I still couldn't even get past you."

He smirked, "You truly thought you could?"

"Oh, believe me," she sighed, aggravated, but he knew better than that. He always did. She leaned too far over the table toward him. Her eyes had flittered all around him in excitement, making sure he was healthy and well. Too easy, too easy. "I try."

He did not dislike this part of her.

"You didn't answer my question," he reminded smoothly.

He noticed a waitress hesitating from the corner of his eye, sweets they hadn't ordered on her tray. It took him only a second to deduce she wanted to inquire about himself—and true, on another day he'd humor the advances of potential flings because doing so with this particular woman in front of him was always an amusing experience, but he wanted her full focus today.

It'd been awhile, after all. They had some catching up to do.

He held one slender finger up, not taking his eyes off the woman now frowning at her coffee uncertainly in front of him. The waitress flushed, nodding and backing off. His companion made another constipated face, a soft ahiii dragged out under her breath.

"Why bring it up all of a sudden though?" she looked at him curiously. Her eyes glinted, a bit teasing. "Feeling sentimental?"

"Answer the question or I might have to punish you."

She wavered, watching him uncertainly and with a hint of suspicion. She was gauging how true he intended on being with his threat. Especially at their age, with their history now, but she seemed to know better than to ever think he'd be satisfied enough to be understood by anyone ever.

The thought made his lips curl up a bit in amusement. Coming first to get her was the right choice after all. He'd almost forgotten how much fun this was.

A few people cast curious eyes their way, noticing first her ratty and beaten appearance. Women gave her disapproving looks, casting their eyes his way on a second glance and lingering appreciatively at his sharp features, clean appearance and expensive clothes before looking at her again in confusion. Men with smart enough eyes lingered when they noticed the pleasant curves and the features a woman of her caliber possessed—a woman like her had earned and grown into. She didn't appear beautiful at first or second glance, but there was a little glow in her eyes that promised something—a little puzzle hard to resist.

He gave those particular men a simple look and they scurried off, tails between their legs.

"Alright," she said finally, a bit petulant. "But don't get mad at me if you don't like my answer."

"I never did ask you what your impression was when it all started," he said. "I'm just curious is all. No need to be afraid. We're just… reminiscing."

She made a face.

He smirked.

"Well," she leaned back. The spoon tipped upwards dangerously and he noticed now with a bit of amusement that the sugar was in danger of spilling onto her leggings instead of the table as he thought. "I dunno. I wasn't happy for sure. Jeez, this feels so long ago..."

He tapped the table in warning, "Try a little harder to remember."

She scowled at him, "I had nightmares for months before you came, you know that?"

"You're low-balling."

It'd been about for a consecutive, one year, but she wouldn't admit to that even if his eyes said he knew it anyway.

"I did, all those awful premonitions..." she dragged one hand up her face and shoved the messy bangs from her eyes up over her head as though to slick them back.

She looked upwards, slowly replaying the memory before her eyes. It expanded and then enveloped her whole with color, the start of it all. From beginning to end. The beginning especially seemed a lifetime ago and startlingly clear all at once—it blurred though, a succession of rapid clicks all sliding into place.

All centering around those years, their middle school, that town, that place—

Namimori.

And them.

The woman grimaced, looking a bit sick.

"Well, when I opened the door..."

Ten Years Ago

Location

Namimori, Japan

There was a sort of routine she had when it came to visiting the Sawada household.

It was a routine she'd grown pretty damn fond of over the years, even if she didn't say it. She did like to show it though, when she could. Nana-san always seemed to pick up on it with that dangerously warm smile of hers, hopelessly pleased and a little more pep in her step as she laid dishes down or brought cut fruits to Tsuna's room.

Typically, as it had for the past ten years they'd been friends, it went like this: she would knock on the door and three options would occur.

One, Nana opened the door to her, smiling and beaming and welcoming her inside, two, Tsuna would fumble for the knob, easily letting her in, happy to see her or a little sheepish or some other mix of Tsuna-usualness—on rare occasions, there was a fourth option in which it would be Tsuna's so-called "father" who would be floored to open the door for her, but she could usually avoid this option by wisely noting the grimy equipment and shoes that meant he had returned from his business, and he hadn't been back for years so she didn't worry as much—or third—

She would just open the door herself, bearing a new gift in hand—today was a bag of peaches—and announce her visit with a soft hello that set off a belated reaction of option one or two.

She visited Tsuna's house often—too often, too often, you'll be punished, you've dug your own grave—and knew it like the back of her hand, all the way down to where Nana preferred to keep the big serving plates and where Tsuna was hiding his low test scores this week—he moved it around since Nana had a nose for sniffing it out. It was presumptuous of her to call it a second home, but she only called it that in her head and heart and those words were never spoken on her lips, so no one would ever yell at her.

If it wasn't her visiting his place, it was Tsuna working his spare key into her apartment lock and dragging her out of bed and pleading with her to get to school—"They'll expel you this time for sure! Come on, you have to go! Hiee! We'll be late!"—or checking her fridge for suitable nutrients and making sure she was keeping up with her prescriptions and—"You went to your check-up today right?" or "Please help me with homework!" (They were both useless when it came to math but she could drag the two of them through English and Classical Japanese at least.)

She liked coming to Tsuna's house so she usually went when she felt like it. Or when she felt particularly lonely. Or when you feel like it can't stop. Won't stop. Can't get those thoughts outta my head, I feel sick—

Today in particular though was because she'd skipped two days of school—this time it was because she was sick—and had rolled over around four in the ungodly morning when another sleepless night struck to find several hours ago she'd received a text from Sasegawa Kyoko.

Texts from Kyoko were not...uncommon. They had exchanged numbers at one point throughout their school years for an assignment. Every now and then she received deals and coupons for cakes and bakeries or little hellos from the kind, sweet girl who Tsuna was currently and utterly infatuated with.

The attached photo of Tsuna screaming something while completely naked save for his fish patterned boxers—they were tuna fish—with a bald student in kendo gear—Mochida-senpai?— sobbing on the floor of a gym was, however, very uncommon. Uncommon enough that she'd stared at her phone, squinting to make sure she wasn't hallucinating before her flip phone promptly crashed onto her nose and reminded her, yes, yes, you're awake. Do you feel that pain?

Kyoko had simply said, normal as can be and exactly in the tone of happy, easy voice she imagined in: "Sawada-kun is amazing!"

She had carefully peeled her phone off her face and carefully started rapidly inquiring about what, why, what? To which Kyoko had happily responded to all of her questions with ease.

"Sawada-kun was very brave, but I was just so surprised when he confessed..."

"Then Mochida-san said..."

"He defeated him in one go. It made my heart pound! He really is amazing. What a great friend you have, Usagidoshi-chan."

"Let's hang out sometime! I know a great bakery!"

She knew that part. Not the bakery. But I know that too, the vanilla there can't be beat. Tsuna was a great friend.

But Sawada Tsunayoshi was non-confrontational. Beyond non-confrontational. He avoided fights only under the slim, slender, rare occasion that pushed him a little further out and let the gold of his heart shine through. Sawada Tsunayoshi also would rather die an old man than ever muster up the guts to express his feelings to Kyoko—she actually had a long-term plan to see them happily married one day, it was still in the early stages but they'd get there and she would happily attend the wedding with a plate of food in her hands and a well-meaning tear in her eye.

Tsuna also wasn't into exhibitionism last time she checked.

She decided then, after dropping her phone on her face for a third time, that she really shouldn't miss school anymore. Not if two days off meant crazy shit like this.

She couldn't shake the nausea curling heavy in her stomach.

So, early the next morning, armed with peaches and questions, she rang the Sawada household's bell and waited three seconds.

Option three it was.

She opened the door.

"Nana-san," she said quietly. Always quiet.—"Don't talk. Keep silent. It's easier that way."—It took her some time to warm up to a louder voice, usually after a few minutes of nodding in silence or listening to Tsuna or Nana. "Tsuna. I'm here—"

"Ciaossu."

It took her a moment, two, then three. She had to wonder if that was the sound of something shattering in the back of her subconscious.

Her fingers slowly slipped from the doorknob. Her grip on the bag of peaches went a little slack. It took her another minute, unable to understand the entire waterfall of emotions that came crashing down on her at the simple voice. A little voice, notable and clear with a tell-tale, childish squeak to it despite its low tone.

You know this voice.

She didn't really. Not personally at least. Well, even personal was a bit of a complicated statement. Did hearing a voice in your dreams made reality make it personal?

The nausea from this morning started to climb, grubby fingers ascending from her stomach and up.

Her eyes dropped down.

Wide, rounded eyes blinked up at her first from the small, green lizard on the brim of his hat—a chameleon? Then it was followed by the bright strip of orange, silk fabric that rounded his sleek black fedora. Small cuffs folded neatly over small hands tucked into the small pockets of a black suit that looked frighteningly expensive on such a small body. Even his small, shiny shoes.

Small. Yeah. Physically small, but the presence he had was anything but.

Everything about his appearance seemed sleek in some way, suave and dark, matching but not matching the wide, bright black eyes that calmly held her in place, the smallest tilt of his lips turned upwards on chubby cheeks.

Two identical sideburns curled neatly on either side of his face. A strange and weirdly charming little thing.

Option three—even with its back-up plan for Tsuna's father or a surprise guest showing up— had never once factored for a baby to be the one to answer the door.

Let alone the now crystal clear visage of the same baby she'd been seeing in her nightmares for the past year.

The nausea climbed higher, settling below her throat, heavy on her chest.

The toddler in a suit calmly looked her up and down. From her scuffed up shoes to her leggings and then to her bright orange shirt hidden under an oversized bomber jacket clinging to her skinny frame and finally landing on the loose tufts of ink black hair that barely fell to her shoulders. Her bangs were messy over her eyes, side strands clinging to the curve of her cheeks and only presentable because Nana fixed the hazardous cut she made herself each time she tried to trim. He took particular care with noting the little two strands on the top of her head that stuck stubbornly out, crossing over each other like a small x.

"Two ahoges!" Nana would say, clapping her hands together. "That means they cross each other out!"

This was Nana's nice way of saying she wasn't supposed to be considered stupid because having one ahoge meant you were an idiot, but two crossing each other out? She must be plenty intelligent.

She didn't tell Nana this, but she still felt pretty damn stupid half the time. She was sure two of them just meant double the idiot.

For a moment, she wondered if she was imagining the strangely dark and unreadable look that crossed through the baby's big black eyes and then it was gone. He stared at her with the very picture of nonchalance, breezy—maybe a bit curious. In a lazy sort of way. Amused?

No, her mind supplied. That's impossible. He's a toddler.

"Ciaossu," he said again, with a bit of a squeak. His hands came out of his pockets and his fingers twitched and then went still. The baby smirked. "You must be Ketsui."

Ah.

Ah.

Ah.

No, her mind tried again. Babies shouldn't talk that coherently.

"K-K-Ketsui!"

Tsuna.

Her entire body lurched a bit at the familiar shriek of her name. Her eyes snapped up to the top of the stairs from where she stood in the genkan and a soft "Oh, Ket-chan!" came from the kitchen. Thundering footsteps and then bright, soft brown hair jutting up like a star appeared at the top of the stairs. Tsuna panted, flustered as he hurried to her. "Ketsui! You're here! R-Reborn! Don't do anything or say anything weird to—hiee!"

Tsuna's appearance eased on her nerves a bit. Her eyes automatically swept him up and down—healthy, well, very much alive—that's good. Small steps.

His socked foot tripped over the other. Normally she would've moved to catch his fall, but she was frozen in her spot, staring and frozen in space while the baby hadn't stopped looking at her once and—

Tsuna smacked into the floor with a strangled shout, eyes spinning.

"K-Ketsui!" Tsuna garbled. "Don't… listen… to anything…"

The baby, Reborn—Reborn. Reborn. That's a name that sticks, why does it stick? I feel sick—kept watching her. And Ketsui—

The nausea finally reached the peak of the mountain.

Ketsui calmly grabbed the bag of peaches and turned it upside down. Soft, rounded pink and white fuzzy fruits tumbled onto the floor and rolled at their feet. One stopped at Reborn's polished loafers. The chameleon on his hat pounced on it, rolling over with a happy flick of his curled tail.

Ketsui grabbed the now empty bag, turned on her heel, shouldered the front door back open despite Tsuna startled cries of her name. She made it toward Nana's beautiful hydrangea bushes not yet in bloom—Sorry Nana-san—and brought the bag to her lips.

Ketsui threw up.

Oh god, it's finally happening.

The end of the world.

Or, well, her world, at least. Maybe it was presumptuous to say the whole world.

Contrary to current events, Ketsui didn't just randomly throw up whenever she saw toddlers as a usual thing.

There was a good reason for this, honestly.

Mostly it was because Ketsui had dreamed about this baby over the course of the past year. She might've dreamed about him a few times before when she was younger, scattered throughout the years, but they had been appearing in rapid succession this past year specifically until just a few weeks ago, they winked out of existence entirely.

Ketsui had wondered if that was the end of it until there he was, standing in Tsuna's doorway in the flesh.

Also, she didn't just dream about the baby and these dreams didn't happen every night. They also weren't very clear. They were like fever induced nightmares—hence the nausea, some vaguer than others and some coming at her with crystal clarity.

Usually it was the small, child-body. But the body always seemed wrong to her for some reason in the pitch black void of her dreams. She didn't know why, but it did. His eyes. A gun. The silhouette of someone she didn't know. Fire. Lots of fire. There was always plenty of fire, burning a strange, gold-orange hue—it was never wild, just controlled, almost peaceful.

Sometimes she saw smoke. Smoke coupled with thundering explosions. A blurred face she couldn't see no matter how hard she tried wiping the mirror. The faces were always blurred until they appeared in the flesh. Then there would be rain, a soft, steady thrum of it and the cold press of metal on her skin. Occasionally there were flashes of sunlight, the smell of sweat. Some dreams were dappled with untouchable clouds and other times they were fogged, cold mist heavy enough to sift through her fingers, teasing at her hands, tugging, coaxing. The loud dreams of screeching lightning were the worst—she woke up to headaches after those.

Tsuna was always the clearest thing in her dreams. Every time he appeared it was bright, calm and full of light. She gravitated toward these dreams with a sense of content and relief, even if they broke out into violent surges of color.

Tsuna laughing and smiling. Tsuna screaming in comical terror. Tsuna, fists raised—

She dreamed about Tsuna a lot. Before they met and even now. She was supposed to, she guessed.

Because all these dreams signaled something very crucial and very important. They sat on top of each other, a careful, careful stack of events linked together that would one day come crashing down like a ball balanced at the tip of slope and once it was pushed—it would never stop rolling.

"It's the inciting event," Niko explained to her before. "We all have a dream about it before it happens. It's the dream that tells you when it's all supposed to begin."

Ketsui Yoru Usagidoshi had a secret. A secret she had never told a single soul—she got close once, telling Tsuna, very, very close, but all she ever told him was that she had bad dreams most of the time and sometimes they weren't so bad too—because she was supposed to keep silent for the rest of her life.

A secret she had been told herself when she was only four, listening to her father play the violin and practicing on her tiny, child-made version with clumsy fingers, and her mother had opened the door to two women with hot pink hair and masks.

Ketsui had a dream about these women about a month before they came. She was four, so it made no sense until they were there in the flesh.

They appeared at her door sometime in the fall, one month before before she would meet Niko and almost a year before her meeting with Tsuna.

Her father had been utterly confused but her mother seemed to have a vague sense of understanding, eyes wary and hand inching to the drawer where they kept the knives as four-year-old Ketsui cupped her hands over her mouth, coughing as she stared wide eyed at the bubble gum haired ladies.

After a few choice words, somehow the five of them all took a seat at their dining table, her parents sandwiching her in-between them while the two bubble gum haired women sat across.

The one on the left watched Ketsui cough into her small hands for all but a minute before calmly saying, clipped and clinical without any menace or warmth, void of all emotion: "Your daughter has been chosen as the next—BLANK—for the currently undecided Tenth Generation Vongola Boss. This is not a random drawing. It is fate decided upon birth. She is the next inheritor. She will most likely live to be twenty-five."

The one on the right added, "Perhaps longer, depending on the destiny of her Sky."

The one on the left seemed to agree, "Perhaps thirty."

Ketsui remembered both her parents' reactions to this particular bit of news. Her father was incredulous at first, dumbfounded, then angry, very angry, shouting on her behalf. "What are you talking about?"

"You're crazy."

"Get out of our home!"

Her mother had taken the news more calmly, face white as a ghost and eyes staring at the table in disbelief, mumbling the name Vongola as though she couldn't quite believe it.

"If you would like," the left one had said. "We can remove her from your custody to begin proper training."

Ketsui's small fingers muffled her coughs. She stared at them from across the table.

The bubble gum haired women told her a lot more after that. Said a lot more. Dutifully and dully explained things, reminded them of their offer to take her away. Then left.

Ketsui's best memory of that entire event was that she now hated the color pink and she would till she died—which would apparently be in twenty-five or thirty years.

If she was lucky.

And, because Ketsui was only four, and even if there was a strange, strange part deep inside of her, at the core of her being, that took all this information in a suspended void of silence because it felt right, it felt like she knew this—

She bawled her eyes out, breaking into searing, disgusting coughs while her mother stroked her back and her father promised her he'd do whatever he could. This wasn't real. He didn't understand. None of this made sense. They were crazy. How could her mother have let such crazy people into their house?

"It isn't crazy," her mother had said, looking at her father. He looked back at her, resentful. "This is absolutely real."

Niko Notte Vargas came next, exactly a month after the disastrous visit by bubble gum haired women in masks, a sturdy, big, and gentle faced man of forty-seven in a suit.

Her memories with Niko are bittersweet, but maybe a bit more sweet than bitter.

Ketsui had been the one to open the door because something in the core of her being had told her to, like a magnetic pull. She'd met Niko's quiet black eyes with her own, her mother hurrying to the door and her father shouting at her to back away while she cupped her hands over her mouth and coughed.

"I think," four-year-old Ketsui had said between coughs. "I know you."

Niko had responded, Italian accent heavy through his Japanese, "I know you as well, little one."

Because she'd dreamed about Niko once in perfect, utter clarity and Niko had dreamed of her too.

You're the same as me.

Niko had apologized to them that he hadn't been the first to arrive and back then Ketsui didn't understand him but he spoke to her mother in Italian and said, "Sorry those pink bitches got here first."

He then added, quietly, "What they said is the truth."

Her mother had almost understandingly conceded to Niko's presence at their household—a bit lost in a daze, seemingly thinking to herself—he stayed in a hotel very close by and came by almost every day—while her father vehemently protested it, unable to understand, angry and protective and well-meaning, always scooping her up once she and Niko were done and teaching her the violin or playing it for her.

"Don't worry," her father liked to say. "I'll protect you. Don't listen to what they say. You just keep playing."

Niko Vargas always had a light, neat stubble along his chin. Pitch black hair lightened gray at the top from age. His hands were calloused but they were warm. He had a scar along his neck and around his right wrist. Sun-kissed skin and an Italian accent that always bled through his Japanese and his favorite pasta was a simple but very spicy marinara, his preference for noodles depended on his mood.

He told her that he knew several languages, but had learned Japanese first. Something in his gut told him to learn it when he was a teenager in school in Italy even though it was hardly offered and a good friend of his encouraged it. Niko said it made sense to him why he felt that way once he started to dream about her.

"Easier for me to learn Japanese than you Italian, eh?"

When Niko met with her, he often took her away. Her father despised this while her mother would have quiet, absent conversations with Niko. He took her walking around town or sitting down at parks, usually in a suit until he started to ease up and came in more casual clothes. Always different outfits with strange floral patterns and the same, coffee colored bomber jacket as he explained and taught her everything she needed to know.

"I'm the ninth inheritor to the—BLANK—guardian position for the Vongola Famiglia," he said. "I am your predecessor. We may not be related by blood, but we are connected through this, you and I. And through time. My boss, my Sky, and my fated one is the current Vongola Head, Timoteo, the Ninth Generation Vongola Boss."

Some of these words flew entirely over her head, but she asked specifically about the last phrase.

"Our fated ones are the people we were born for," he said. Niko touched his chest, right over his heart. "Only people like us have them though. There was one for every Vongola boss. Eight others before me."

He looked thoughtful for a bit, "The Japanese have a saying, right? A red string that binds you to someone. It's like that. An invisible chain that links us together. No matter how far we might stray, it will always bring us right back to them."

Whenever Niko spoke of his boss, his face was always incredibly warm. He loved telling her stories of him, of his fellow guardians. There was never any hate in his eyes, or anger. There was true adoration and pride. Ketsui realized that Niko cared about this Timoteo a lot, and he was perfectly fine and even proud to be the—BLANK—for him. He welcomed it because Timoteo was an incredibly good and just man who was like a father to his entire famiglia.

"He does not know who I am," Niko explained to her carefully. "Who I really am. To him, I am simply another member of his family. One of his trusted guardians. He does not know my true purpose and he never will. Your boss will never know either. Ever. You must make sure of that."

None of the Vongola Bosses before had known either about their guardians. Ketsui was meant to keep it this way.

At all costs.

"Everything we do," Niko always said, over and over again, drilling it into her head and holding her small hands in his calloused ones, touching her hair, smiling, "is for them."

Everything we do is for them. Everything we do is for them. We only exist for them.

"It is our—"

(He only ever used that word once, like a slip of the tongue, and had never said it again.)

"I wonder who's yours though," Niko rubbed his chin, squinting in thought. "Enrico's a good kid… maybe him? But it would make more sense for Frederico… Haha, perhaps we can fly you to Italy and settle this inheritance dispute just like that! It would save Nono some time."

Niko explained to her that these names were of the current Vongola Nono's children next in line to inherit the title of boss for the family. Odds were whoever was the true successor would be the one she'd been dreaming about as of late. Her fated one.

None of these names struck her in any particular way. Then again, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to be looking for and only had Niko's vague descriptions of a sort of whoosh and blam if they were the ones. He said she was young and it wasn't time yet, so it made sense she might not have been dreaming too strongly of them.

He showed her pictures of the young men, but none of them had been the boy Ketsui had been seeing in her dreams. Always crying, that kid.

Out of his own curiosity, Niko asked her once if the name Xanxus made her feel any particular way. He showed her a picture of a proud young teen with dark hair and frightening eyes who threatened to swallow the world whole.

She did feel a bit strange looking at his photo, a small stir in the back of her mind, but no, he was not the crying boy with fluffy brown hair either.

"I have nightmares about this one," Niko laughed, clearly relieved at her response. "He haunts my dreams often."

It was all very out-of-the-box to wrap her head around at first. Ketsui knew of yakuza but she didn't know of mafia and once or twice Niko showed her old Italian mobster films and said it was sorta like that, more or less. More on the less side, however, since he usually complained about how unrealistic they were—he just wanted her to have some ideas. Normally, Ketsui figured, any person's reaction to news like this should be very different, more emotional, more incredulous.

But when Niko spoke, when these things were told to her, something inside her said this makes sense and she was left sitting there, feeling like it was an old story she'd heard a long time ago, over and over again.

Something inside her that made it easier to understand.

This life is not your own.

"It helps that we're born sick," Niko said. The two of them would often cough in unison and break out into fits together. "The Eighth thought we were probably born like this to make it easier."

"How?" Ketsui asked.

Niko would tap his head and his heart, "On the mind, little one. Easier on the mind."

She never understood what he meant by that until later.

Ketsui… didn't have much of a personality.

Not at first, anyway.

She was born quiet. Not a peep. Not a single cry. Softly into the night, silent and still, as though she were dead.

But fearful doctors had pressed warm fingers to the small baby's chest and listened to the bird-like flutter of a heartbeat.

Quiet but alive.

She was always a quiet kid. She didn't know why, she just didn't have a penchant for speaking out. She thought things. She tried to talk about the things she thought, but the words just never came out. Her mother had told her not to mind it, saying she'd grow into her own personality while her father figured she was just a shy kid, chatting amiably while he taught her the basics of violin and played for her.

Ketsui didn't know what she liked. She didn't know what color to pick as her favorite when other children asked. She didn't know what food was the best to her or what holiday was her favorite or anything.

Ketsui didn't know how to explain. She was young and small and she didn't understand this feeling in her chest, a sense of disconnect. She didn't know how to tell her parents about her dreams of all these different people and how these dreams made her more and more quiet because—

I think I was all these people once. Ketsui would sit beside them in silence, in that dark void of dreams. So how should I act? Do I like everything they liked? He loved clams. She liked grilled corn. He was...

She didn't know.

So she told Niko.

"Why, little one, you're Yoru!" Niko would clap his hands, grinning at her. "Bella Yoru! The best!"

"I don't know what I like."

"Then we'll find out!" Niko would hoist her up, scooping her into the air and laughing. "You have your whole life to figure it out! You don't have to like what your fated one likes, you know? Timoteo can't stand spicy food!"

He told her not to worry about being quiet. She may think he was chatty now, but with anyone else, he was quiet as a rock. He only spoke so freely with his family, he was a generally quiet man to begin with.

"Yoru, you'll grow into these things one day yourself."

Niko loved calling her by that name—Yoru. She told him it meant night and he grew hopelessly animated over that. His middle name Notte meant the same. He felt there was a reason to it, some predestined fate their parents could've had no idea about.

"These invisible ties that bind us together, Yoru, bella," he said. "They only get thicker."

If it was with someone like Niko, then Ketsui figured she didn't really mind.

When she was with Niko, she wanted to become someone. She wanted to be Yoru with a favorite food. Yoru with a color she loved. Yoru who—

Was her own person.

He often told her about their predecessors. What he knew, at least. Niko brought with him heavy, ink black journals written in different languages at first before all turning to Italian. Niko had spent a hefty amount of time translating them into Japanese for the past few years when he'd started dreaming of her. He said these were logs, little recountings of information on their purpose, the nature of who they were, left behind and created and added by each generation before them.

"The only one not in these is the first," Niko explained. "Only the segundo knew anything about them, but even then it is sparse."

He said the Eighth, a fearsome, wild man with a beautiful smile from Paraguay had left especially helpful tips for them.

"I will teach you all I can," Niko said. "But if anything ever happens to me and you have questions, you look to this. Don't ever let anyone see it. Especially your future boss, alright?"

Sometimes he took her running, which usually consisted of Niko walking and urging her little legs to job beside him—as far as the two of them could run before they both broke into coughing fits, Niko hacking blood onto the ground and scaring the shit out of anyone within a few feet—but usually those outings ended with him carrying her on his shoulder, asking about things in her neighborhood and about herself. Every now and then he taught her small things—how to make a proper fist, how to start a fire with little to nothing, making her kick things, helping her stretch and become a little more flexible, he encouraged her to do sports when she went to school.

"Stay fit," he said. "It will help you later. Drives the sickness back."

Ketsui would watch in silence as he heaved, red faced and straining to do the splits in his suit pants and quickly gesturing for her to do the same.

Ketsui would guide him after these outings to her favorite ramen place. The small crepe stand in front of the shopping plaza. A bakery. They never had dinner at her house at her father's protests, but Ketsui asked him to teach her how to make a bento and she brought overly spicy rice balls to Niko from time to time. Niko would break out into his native tongue at particularly delicious dishes, ranting and raving about how he wished he could take the ramen back to Italy for Nono. He loved the spicy tonkotsu with extra chili the best.

Her neighbors gave strange looks at the large, soldier-like man toting around the small little girl, some even whispered of him being her real father and spending time with his illegitimate daughter.

Ketsui asked if he had a family back in Italy.

"Si," he said. "I have a Famiglia, little one. They are my family."

Niko had a lover once but they parted ten years ago and she was very happy now, with children too. He said it was easier this way. It always was, and while he mused Ketsui was too small to understand such musings of the heart, he said all she needed to know was that he was never alone.

He had his family—and that was all that mattered.

"You and I, little one," Niko said, letting her ride on his shoulders as she reached for a branch heavy with cherry blossoms for him to see and put in a vase in his room. "We are family too. None of us are related by blood, and we might never know why we are picked, why it is our shared fate, but that doesn't matter. The Eighth, the Seventh, even the Primo, all the way back to you and me—we are family."

Bound by invisible ties together, inheritors of someone's will—a shared fate.

She was always warm when Niko said these things to her.

Ketsui never felt the lingering, quiet cold that crept into her heart sometimes when she was with him. She told Niko about it once, over steaming bowls of udon and he'd looked at her for a long time, watching her small fingers use her child-chopsticks. She didn't know the word for this feeling.

"Solitudine," Niko said once, quiet and soft. "I pray when you find your famiglia, little one, you will never feel it again."

Ketsui told him about the dreams she had sometimes, of people in perfect clarity. They always had the same eyes, even if different colors—quiet, somber eyes that flickered and shifted and they would come and sit beside her in that void of darkness. She'd get flashes of places she had never seen before, of people and things and places and she felt like she was being shown something she'd already seen before.

When Ketsui described one man in particular, Niko stared at her with wide, curious eyes, telling her she'd described the Eighth in perfect, albeit sloppy detail.

She saw Niko in those dreams too.

"I didn't dream of the past ones," Niko said. "Only the Eighth. Perhaps it's a deeper memory in you?"

Niko told her the dreams worked a bit like premonitions. She would always have them and sometimes they'd repeat and they'd change, but when they really started, heavy, wild onslaughts of things she probably wouldn't understand—then it was the starting signal. The moment the clock would start ticking.

He told her to trust the dreams. They were meant to help, not hurt.

"Don't worry about what those witches said," Niko said with a grin. "I'm on my way to fifty!"

Niko flew back to Italy several times, always bringing a suitcase full of souvenirs for his famiglia and bringing an equally large one back for her with goods from Italy. "I will make you the best spicy marinara you've ever had, little one!" He told her how his guardians thought he was seeing some beautiful Japanese woman and he told them they weren't far off the mark. "You will grow to be a marvellous woman, bella! Beautiful as the night."

He taught her bits of Italian here and there, little curses and phrases that flew from his mouth. Ketsui would repeat after him, small lips moving and hands copying his rapid gestures.

"Porca miseria!" Niko's hands flew into the air. Ketsui mimicked him.

"Accidenti!" Niko stubbed his toe against a bench.

"A fanabla!"

Ketsui found out she wasn't a fan of broccoli or cauliflower but she liked any other vegetables. She loved roasted yams. Niko took a special fondness for them as well. She wanted to learn more about the things she liked or didn't like.

"She's spending time with him like he's her father!" her own father snapped.

"This is what will be best for her—" her mother started meekly.

"You left this business behind!"

"I didn't ask for this!"

"You don't actually believe what they're saying—"

"Next time we will see Japanese beach," Niko said, sitting beside her on the park bench. His long legs spread out and Ketsui's dangled in the air beside him, roasted yams in their hands as they waited for the storm to subside in her household. "Then I will take you to the best beach in Italy."

"Okay," Ketsui said.

They spent almost an entire year together.

And then she met Tsunayoshi Sawada.

Tsuna.

"It's that one."

Niko had stopped, about to bring a steaming hot takoyaki to his lips. His jacket was fraying a bit at the cuffs, but he always told Ketsui it was his favorite jacket in hot and cold weather, it never failed. He'd just flown back to Japan after the start of the new year.

Ketsui had brought him to this park herself. Niko was staring at her, bewildered until she lifted a tiny finger and pointed.

"H-H-Hieee!" Tsuna wailed, stuck at the top of the slide, clinging to the handle bars for dear life. "I can't do it! Mama! Papa! I can't! Ru! Help me!"

Niko blinked, once, twice, and looked at her again.

Ketsui nodded wordlessly.

"But," Niko started, pale and disbelieving as he looked back at Tsuna's bawling face and snot dribbling down. "Not… Enrico?"

Ketsui shook her head.

"Not even Federico?"

Ketsui shook her head.

"Dio santo," Niko said. He dropped the takoyaki back into the tray. "You're absolutely sure, little Yoru?"

Ketsui nodded.

"Ru!" Tsuna bawled. "Help me!"

"Madonna!" Niko said. He picked the takoyaki back up and shoved it into his mouth, chewing in disbelief. "The future of our famiglia is always a gamble."

Ketsui shrugged and finally headed over to help push Tsuna down the slide.

Ketsui, Yoru, she liked being Yoru with him, stole another half year from Niko.

And then, Ketsui dreamed and Niko dreamed the same. Of wild, uncontrollable fire this time—unkempt and angry and he told her the next morning it was time for him to return home, for good.

He gave her his personal number, telling her to call if she ever needed to talk to him or write. He left her with a heavy briefcase filled with papers and files she didn't really understand and then a locked box of all the ink black journals of their predecessors and then he wrapped her up in the biggest, warmest hug.

On the eve of Niko's departure— "I will be gone for long this time, little one. I will try to visit again, don't fret."—back to Italy, he sat with her in her small room and let her try something he had never done before.

Niko calmly and slowly withdrew a shiny black revolver from his pocket. There was something engraved in silver on the side, beautiful and etched and it was the first time Ketsui had ever seen a gun in person. He set it in her hands and let her feel the weight of the gun, of the weapon sitting in her palms.

"Don't forget the weight of that gun," Niko said. He took it back and placed it in his pocket, right by his heart.

"I will return," he said, smiling and happy. Ketsui cried, quiet, uncontrollable tears as he cupped her face in his hands. "I will teach you more, little one. Don't forget."

He kissed her fingertips and brought them to his chest. The battle hardened mafioso and lover of spicy marinara and tonkotsu and her first real, real friend, someone she never wanted to forget who—

"We will always be connected. We are family!"

A few years passed and one quiet, warm spring day, Ketsui had been in the middle of a scuffle with some no-good brats while Tsuna bawled his eyes out, screaming at the top of his lungs and tugging on the bullies' shirts— "Wah! Leave Ru alone! Wah!"—and then she'd felt it.

The softest of touches against her heart, a faint whisper in the back of her head and then the clear, perfect image of Niko smiling at her.

"The night calls, little Yoru," she could feel his fingers cupped her face. He knelt beside her, smiling, a faded image on black, threatening to disappear. "It will always call us back."

He ran his fingers through her hair, it felt like a stray breeze.

"It's your turn now."

Niko smiled.

"You will not fail."

His lips moved and then he was gone.

Ketsui broke out into tears, bawling as loud as Tsuna. When Tsuna realized she was crying he started to cry louder, beating little fists at the bullies' backs. The bullies relented, confused and horrified at the now snot-ridden, bawling kids before them—Nana came out with a vengeance and a few choice words for their parents—but Ketsui didn't stop crying, not until she cried so hard she tired herself out.

She woke up to Tsuna's small hands wrapped tightly around her own, head burrowed beneath her chin and his small body slumbering beside her. Ketsui laid there, staring at the black corners of his room.

That night she had no dreams.

The next night she dreamed of Niko, and he'd come and sit right beside her the same way all the others in her dreams would every now and then to keep her company in that black nothingness.

"At least we have each other, little one, you and me."

Niko Notte Vargas had gone, blazing and raging into that good night.

And now there was just Ketsui.

Now there was Ketsui, Tsuna, and a baby.

And a plate of freshly cut peaches courtesy of Nana.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Tsuna's hands hovered in the air, face worried and watching her carefully. "Was it the medicine? Do you want us to drive you home? Hiee! Maybe you need another day off—"

"No," Ketsui said, her tone a little quiet as usual. "I think missing another day is the last thing I need to do."

After throwing up the entirety of her melon pan from this morning, Nana and Tsuna had hurriedly ushered her into the house—Reborn calmly following—and Ketsui had slipped into the washroom, thoroughly rinsing out her mouth and splashing water on her face and staring at her reflection in the mirror.

She thought about Niko.

"You're fine," she had said to herself. "You're fine. You're fine."

Ketsui gave her cheeks a hearty slap and entered the battlefield waiting for her outside.

She calmed Nana down, promising she just ate something spoiled and then thoroughly calmed Tsuna down, not promising it was something spoiled but being honest about feeling a bit nauseous was all. Then the party had shifted and now here the three of them sat in Tsuna room, kneeling by his small coffee table.

She looked once at Reborn, calmly eating a peach slice and figured she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye for a bit without worrying she was going to throw up again.

Are you that terrified, you coward?

"I'm sorry, I wanted to visit sooner," Tsuna said, breaking the silence as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "But, you see, things were just…. W-Well, some really crazy things have been happening lately and I—"

"I asked about you the first day I came," Reborn said simply. "He was very greedy about his information."

"That's not true!" Tsuna cried, turning on the baby. Reborn gave him a look and Tsuna shrank back. "I just didn't want you to get her involved in anything weird! How the heck did you even know about her anyway? That's creepy!"

It is creepy. Ketsui conceded. Reborn smirked, "You don't think I'd take a job without knowing everything about my target, do you?"

"T-T-Target?"

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Ketsui said, giving Tsuna's hand a small pat. He looked at her with those wide, teary eyes and she gave his hand an extra pat for comfort. "I meant to come back yesterday."

"No! You were sick, so it makes sense—"

"I was going to wait for school tomorrow," Ketsui calmly took out her phone, opening it up and showing Tsuna the picture she had been sent. "But I wanted to ask you about why Sasegawa was sending me a photo of you like this."

"K-Kyoko-chan has a picture of me?" Tsuna cried, cheeks flushing and ears turning red. He looked a little happy and then his entire expression dropped into one of deathly embarrassment. "K-K-Kyoko-chan has a picture of me like that?"

It was always fascinating to her how fast Tsuna could switch emotions around.

"Mm," Ketsui said. "I didn't really get it." She turned to Reborn, "But I guess that's where you come in."

"Good guess," Reborn said. "But I thought it was obvious."

Ketsui bit a little harder onto her own peach, munching in silence as she stared dully at the toddler in a suit across from them.

"Ahhh! There's no easy way to explain it!" Tsuna cried, grabbing his hair and turning to Ketsui. "Ketsui! Don't ask anymore about it! I don't want you to get involved in all this weird stuff and don't listen to anything this weirdo has to say—"

Reborn's fancy little leather shoe smacked into Tsuna's forehead, knocking him over and onto the floor of his room with a screech. Ketsui grimaced, barely catching Tsuna's head in her lap and meeting Reborn's unreadable obsidian gaze while he stood on Tsuna's forehead.

"He was like that because I shot him with a Dying Will bullet," Reborn explained calmly. "They bring out a person's dying will and allow them to achieve some fairly amazing feats."

Ketsui felt she ought to already know the answer in her heart, but she asked anyway to make sure this really was reality and not another sleep-reducing nightmare.

"And why'd you do that?" Ketsui said.

Reborn smirked.

"I'm the hitman, Reborn," he said. "But from now on, I'm the home tutor Reborn and I'll be shaping up and training this useless beansprout to become the Tenth Generation boss of the Vongola Famiglia."

"Tenth," Ketsui said quietly.

A handful of dreams pushed heavy against her head. Images all in rapid succession with each other. She imagined a single finger pushing the mound and watching it all come tumbling down, unable to be stopped.

"You'll know when it's time, little one."

"I already said it before!" Tsuna cried, flailing his arms. "I'm not becoming a mafia boss! Ketsui, don't listen to anything this guy says! Reborn! Don't tell Ketsui anything weird—"

"Did something happen to the Ninth then?"

Tsuna gaped. Reborn calmly faced Ketsui, pushing the brim of his fedora up a little higher.

"If you want him to be the Tenth, I mean," Ketsui said. "Did something happen to the boss before him?"

"The Ninth is alive and well," Reborn said. "I was asked personally by him to come and train this," he stepped on Tsuna's forehead, "to be his successor. He's looking to retire and live a peaceful life now, you know."

"Tsuna's related by blood?" Ketsui said.

"Ketsui don't!" Tsuna cried. "He'll get you involved in all this weird stuff—he keeps saying things like mafia and hitmen and it's insane! This baby is crazy—hieee!"

Ketsui absently stopped Reborn's foot from smashing into Tsuna's forehead again. Reborn's lips curved upwards a bit at this and Tsuna suddenly seemed to realize he was laying in Ketsui's lap, face flushing a hot, bright red as he stumbled and floundered for words.

"He is," Reborn said. "He's a direct descendant. The Ninth's sons have all perished so he's next in line for the position."

Reborn reached into the inside of his suit jacket and Tsuna stuttered out, "Don't show her the pictures! Ketsui, look away!"

"Now that the formalities are out of the way," Reborn hopped off Tsuna's forehead, standing on top of the table and facing Ketsui, hands in his pockets. "Ketsui Usagidoshi, you're this No-good Tsuna's childhood friend."

In the back of her mind, amidst that void of black—she saw it. A small, slender black clock. Her fingers reached out, playing with the numbers as they lit up. A small button was pushed. A click.

The countdown started.

Ketsui thought about her dream.

"Stop!" Tsuna shouted. "Don't say—"

"You're a prime candidate," Reborn said. "Would you like to properly join Tsuna's famiglia?"

She couldn't hold it in anymore.

Ketsui's face turned pale. She slapped a hand over her mouth, lurching for the corner of Tsuna's room. Her fingers snagged his trash can under his desk and she noted with a bit of amusement his failed math quiz and promptly shoved her head into it.

Ketsui threw up.

"K-K-Ketsui!" Tsuna flailed about behind her, grabbing the loose ends of her short hair and patting her back. "Reborn! Look what you did! I know, Ketsui! I felt sick when I heard him say all this too."

"'m fine," Ketsui said. She hacked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and tasting bile and peaches. Ugh. "This is normal."

"No it's not!" Tsuna screeched.

Reborn pushed his fedora up a bit more, smirking.

"I look forward to working with you, Ketsui."

This was not part of the routine.

But it seemed it would be.

An unreadable set of numbers, glowing brightly in the darkness.

The countdown till the day she was fated to die because of the now unstoppable chain of events started with a happy little click.

"Well," the woman said, kicking her legs out a bit. "I threw up. Twice, I think. Does that sum it up?"

Her spoon shifted. Sugar dumped down onto her pants and she jerked in surprise, cursing under her breath.

The man across from her was silent for a moment, chin resting lazily in the palm of his hand as he watched her dust the sugar off of herself and he smirked.

"Let's get something good to eat, I want to continue this chat."

A proud stray cat laughed at me. He laughed at me as I struggled to live. Upon a narrow, small palette, without colors mixing, my intentions grow stronger.

I can't believe we did it but we really out here doing it again madlads, welcome back!

I'm actually so happy to finally be able to get a rewrite of this out and I'm excited to move forward with the old ideas, changing things, and putting new ideas into play as well! If you're an old reader of this story, I hope you'll enjoy our new trip and if you're new, thanks for joining in! I hope you have fun!

I took down the older chapters for the rewrites and just decided to repost them as we went along instead of deleting the story for any old people who still have this on alerts or anything, thank you for your patience!

Reborn ended so long ago but it's still so fresh in my memory sometimes, hahaha. I love going back and rewatching or reading it and I think I'll find a nice balance of manga and anime in here. It's definitely such a differently paced story and you really get away with a lot of ridiculousness here because of the ridiculousness of certain story parts itself until the plot moves, so it's kind of fun trying to transcribe that into words and fiddling with it to still make it something fresh and new.

I have the old chapters saved away somewhere and rereading them is literally such a mood, I cry and laugh at the same time and also wish I could reach back and shake my thirteen-year-old self. Give her a pat on the back too while I'm at it, you did your best kid. I'm still dumb even now so who am I to talk, LMAO.

All these old ideas have been coming back and I don't know if that fandom's still lively out here, but I'm really excited to be back and I hope you all have fun reading!

THERE'S ALSO A DISCORD! There's a main server for all my stories you can find at uejVefy (just remove the spaces) and I'll make a separate channel for this one :)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WAITING, I HOPE THE RETURN WAS WORTH THE WAIT. THANK YOU FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

Marshmellow-

-OUT!