PSN: You know I was debating with this idea for such a long time, that I relented in the end. I had to. I just had to write a story like this.

But this does not follow the typical convention of Tsuna is accused of murder or Tsuna is abandoned by his guardians because he killed somebody. (Just saying.)

Have a nice read and review*! :D

Set in TYL verse and this fic can be regarded as a Semi-Au fic, considering that not everything will be true to canon.

Beta'ed by: The awesome PhantomHitman1412

DISCLAIMER: Don't force me to get Xanxus to eliminate you. I do not own KHR. Akira Amano does.

"There are three sides to every story. Mine, yours and the truth." Joseph Massino.

Prologue:

It was the smell of blood that set him off initially. The distinguished metallic aftertaste of the crimson blood was still there, in the very air he was breathing, and it was disturbing him severely. There was something else coated in the air, something he couldn't put his finger on. His lips curled with repugnance as he considered the room that he was in.

Why was he unable to take away the smell of decay that was heavily layered in the air? It felt like something was deteriorating in the very room that he was in. He felt asphyxiated and smothered by the smell that was filling the room, rapidly. Where was it coming from? He could scarcely see anything. The room was indistinct and shadowy, obscured by the dim light that was flickering in the ceiling weakly.

He felt disorientated and was lightheaded. He didn't like the dark. He hated it in fact. It was confining him, and he felt overwhelmed by the smell of blood that just didn't seem to leave him. The smell was everywhere. His hair, his body and even his fingernails. The taste of the metallic substance lingered thickly on his lips.

I need light, he thought with panic, scrambling to his feet. The panic of being inside the shady confined room was beginning to settle. He could already sense his heart palpitating perpetually in an irregular motion inside his rib-cage.

Thump!

Thump!

He tried standing up, but he became conscious of the fact that his limbs had turned to jelly. He crouched down in the darkness, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. He tried composing himself, breathing in and out slowly.

He ached all over. His head was hurting and he could feel a dull throb pounding inside his skull. He decided to lie down in a foetal position, closing his eyes as he composed himself.

He tried remembering where he was, and why he had come to this dark room. He tried remembering where the smell of blood had come from. He tried remembering his own name; he tried remembering something about himself.

But in the end, nothing came. He was unable to remember a single thing.

Why? Why could he not remember anything? Why was he incapable of evoking any memories of himself? Surely he would remember his own name? He let out a suffering sigh, angry at himself for being so helpless.

Who am I? He thought with panic, his eyes darting around the dark room. The smell was stronger as he cocked his head to the right, and his nose upturned with distaste as the odour of the decaying substance—whatever it was—was heavily lining the air, prompting him to stand up with his sleeves covering his nose as he tried to find out where the smell was coming from.

Ugh, he thought, feeling lightheaded and nauseas from the strong smell that was consistently layering the air, making him unable to breathe properly. He gagged silently as he finally found the switch of the light. He pressed the button, and blinked back rapidly as his eyes attuned to the bright light that was threatening to blind him.

He sighed with relief, and twisted around to classify the area the smell was coming from, when his blood turned cold and his heart stopped. He stared and stared, unable to pry his eyes away from the body. His mouth gaped open as his eyes widened with shock.

"No, no…." he began to mutter, as though he could un-see what he had already witnessed, "no, no…."

He closed his eyes and knelt down in a crouch, crumbling to the ground as he tried suppressing the choking fear that was threatening to overlap him. He tried subduing the sob that was also threatening to creep from within him.

There, lying on the floor, in a helpless heap was a dead body of an old man. The blood was beginning to coagulate around him. He noticed that the blood was everywhere, splattered everywhere as though the perpetrator of this crime had been so mad and tried puncturing the victim everywhere. The victim, a man he could not identify, was staring powerlessly at the ceiling, as though in his last moments, he was praying.

The smell. The smell was coming from this dead man. He crept, with morbid curiosity, towards the dead old man, and was surprised to find that the body had turned cold. The skin had begun to grey and again he wondered who would impose such a heinous crime on such a man.

And why, he thought with fear, was he in the same room as the dead body? He looked around himself in terror and felt his breath shorten as he saw the murder weapon. An 8 inch knife that was decorated with blood from the victim.

What if the culprit was still in the room and was planning to kill him next? His knees wobbled in fear as he stayed frozen, rigid in his position. He would be slaughtered just as the poor unfortunate man had been slaughtered. He didn't want to die. He wanted to know who he was and why he was in a room with a strange man who had been killed.

"I need to get out of here," he whispered to himself, feeling guilty immediately. He should report the dead body to somebody who would take the body away.

But that thought was immediately diminished when he caught sight of himself. His suit—why was he wearing suit?—was stained heavily in blood and his hands were also sullied with blood. His eyes widened with dread as he put two and two together. He couldn't have.

He didn't….he didn't even know the dead man. Why was he stained with his blood? He choked back the sob that was threatening to erupt and laid down on the ground in contemplation.

There was no way on earth that he killed the man, was there? He stared again at the dead body and tried creating a plausible excuse for himself.

Maybe I was also a victim and the culprit wanted to kill me.

Maybe I trashed about in self-defence and got smeared with the victim's blood.

Maybe I…

He didn't want to think about it. There was no possibility that he would have the gut's the kill somebody. He didn't know how—maybe gut instincts—but he couldn't even lift a knife to threaten somebody. This thought quelled most of his fears and he sighed.

Surely there was a plausible excuse for everything? He would rectify the situation and explain himself. Surely they would believe him. Maybe there were people who knew him and were willing to listen to his story.

"Tenth! Damn it! The Tenth has been missing."

His ears perked up as he heard voices from outside. He could not identify the voice but was glad that he finally had human company—other than an old dead man.

"Haha, calm down Gokudera. Tsuna will be here somewhere, this mansion is just big."

Tsuna? Was that his name? The name didn't ring a bell. Maybe they were looking for somebody else that was named Tsuna and was missing?

There was a sharp pause.

"Stupid idiot! Do you have any idea that the Ninth is also missing? They both disappeared and they can't be found."

The man named Gokudera barked.

Ninth? Tenth? None of them seemed significant to him. He wondered who they were and if anybody else realized that he was also missing and out of action (albeit, covered in blood).

"Hmph, you are all annoying. The omnivore will be here somewhere."

Another unfamiliar voice answered. He tried listening to the conversation that was taking place. Were these people that he knew? Maybe he knew them before his memory relapse. They sounded pretty keen in finding this "Tenth" "Ninth" and "Tsuna".

Could it be that he was Tsuna and the Tenth? Though the name and title seemed irrelevant to him, he hoped that they were searching for him. Then he would be able to explain what had happened and he would show them the dead body and….

And what? He thought, surveying his surroundings.

Wouldn't they stare at him, covered in blood with a dead body close to him? Wouldn't they accuse him and suspect him like he had suspected himself earlier? What if they didn't believe him and decided to pin him with the murder?

The search didn't sound as exciting as it had before, he thought, staring sullenly at the locked door.

He could still hear the voices outside, drawing near him.

"Damn Hibari! He was out for half of the night and Enrico was the only one who noticed."

He had to get out of here before he was pinned for the murder of a man he had never met. He just couldn't stay in here and wait until he was condemned for a murder he hadn't committed.

He crawled towards the window that was inside this cellar—he had established already that this was a cellar—and stood on the stool that was conveniently inside the room. He wobbled a little and strengthened his stance, pulling the lever in the window lock. He exhaled a loud sigh as the fresh air entered the room.

Why hadn't he thought of this earlier before he suffered through the smell? He thought with amusement.

His sense of relief was short-lived however when he realized that he was too large to fit through the open space of the window. He looked at his grown body and cringed. He would have to break the glass before he could fully fit inside the narrow window.

He looked around, searching for an object that would break the glass. There was nothing there except for the knife that had been used to stab the unfortunate deteriorating man. He stared at the object, debating whether or not he should use it.

If he used it, surely his fingerprints would be on the object and the case would totally backfire against him.

But they would probably suspect him already, so he had no choice but to use it anyway. This was the key to his escape; he shouldn't even be having doubts about anything.

With much regret, he stumbled towards the knife and returned to the stool that was continuously wobbling. He took a deep breath, and with a flurry of swift movements, he banged the knife against the window, until shards of glass flew all over the place, showering him. He closed his eyes in apprehension and inspected the damage that he had just created, sighing with relief as he noticed that the space provided was more commodious for a man of his size.

He heard the stampeding of feets as the people outside identified the noise. He saw, before he could escape, the crashing of shoes on the door, breaking the doorway. He watched with trepidation as the doorway flung open with a loud bang, shaking the room. He watched as two men he had never seen entered the room, their eyes flitting back and forth as they surveyed their surroundings. He watched as their faces registered shock as they glimpsed the dead body. Their eyes locked with him as they stared with what could only be described as astonishment.

They paled as they identified both escapee and the dead body.

It was the silverette who spoke first; he had his fist at his side, "Tenth! You…." He couldn't choke out the words.

The dark-haired man standing next to him put a comforting hand on his shoulders, one that he did not shrug, "Maa, don't worry Gokudera, I'm sure Tsuna has a good explanation, right?" His eyes looked hopeful, as though he wished that Tsuna would deny it.

Tsuna—if that was his name—stared at the two men who entered the room. He recognized none, even though they claimed that they knew him. He knew how he looked like to them. A crazed man escaping from a murder scene. Hell, he even had the murder weapon still clutched in his hands, decorated with the blood of the victim. He didn't blame them for anything. Even he would doubt himself.

"I," he began, gazing guiltily at the two men who were prompting him to speak. What could he say to these two strangers who claimed they knew him? They would never understand. "I have to go. Sorry. Bye."

And with that departing speech, he jumped out of the window, rolling into the wet grass. He turned around to stare at the window and wasn't surprised to hear the commotion from inside. He took a deep breath, trying his best to drown out the desperate voices that were calling for him.

"Tenth! Tenth! Come back please, we'll believe you!" Gokudera shouted desperately, "Please Tenth. We don't blame you for anything!"

Tsuna sobbed with guilt. It wasn't as though he killed the man, but the kind considerate words that the strangers were saying to him—strangers who were willing to listen to him—had become the straw that broke the camel's back. He couldn't stop once he started. He wasn't Tsuna anymore. How could he be when he had got himself entangled in a confusing storm? Tsuna was somebody else they once knew, somebody he didn't even remember anymore. He was a nobody now. A nothing.

He stood up, dusting himself. He gazed forlornly at the desperate face of Gokudera and sobbed, "I'm sorry."

They were too good for him. He didn't deserve them. He didn't like the look of adoration that was coming from Gokudera. He didn't like the way they were desperately clutching to a straw of hope, waiting for him to deny everything. Willing to believe in him.

He could not take that. He had already chosen his path. He could not stay inside. He had a mission. A mission to discover who he was and what had happened to him. These kind strangers would hinder the process.

There must be a reason for everything. I want to discover my identity and the connection with the dead man.

Surely there was a reason why he was there at that convenient time. Even if he had not killed him, he would have had a motive for being there.

He decided to walk away. He jogged a few paces, but didn't get far when he felt cold metallic chains enveloping him tightly. He felt himself trip on the ground, scraping his knees in the process. The chains were constricting him and he struggled, trashing about as he tried to identify the culprit. Was it the killer? He thought in a panic, as the chains still continued to spread over him, squeezing him tightly.

He tried to move his head to the side, but before he could even attempt anything, he felt a sharp hand chop at the base of his neck and his eyes widened, before registering the shock and pain. He felt his eyes drooping, succumbing to the pain.

Before him stood three guards, layered in heavy cloaks and covered in bandages. They stared emotionlessly at him, pulling him forward.

"Sawada Tsunayoshi, you have breached the mafia law by unlawfully assassinating the body of Nono Timeteo. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Behind them, a fedora-hatted man stared at the scene unfolding before him. He watched as his ex- student's body was carried away by the Vindice guards and lowered his fedora-hat.

"I'm sorry Tsuna," he muttered, "this was for the best."

PSN: Aaand cut! *uses clapboard*

Poor Tsuna lost his memory! Now he thinks Gokudera, Yamamoto and Hibari are strangers! D:

Hmm, what did you think of this? XD I'm pretty excited about this concept. I had to do a lot of research for this (Including how long a body decays.) :D I know that this was short and a bit boring, but I wanted to establish a ground for this story (Perhaps the next chapter will be longer.) Also, I'm sure you have noticed: Enrico is used in this fic and is alive.

*Every review will be regarded as a petition to release Tsunayoshi Sawada, the subject of this story, from Vendicare. The subject will be eternally grateful to every person who tries their hardest to prove that he is indeed innocent and framed.