His eyelids snapped open automatically at 3:45 A.M.—almost robotically—as though an internal clock was implanted in his brain since birth. So, he knew it was the aforementioned time without glancing at the clock displaying an indenture that told of a painful day of punishment for blaring too cacophonously for its master's taste, rendering it useless of its only purpose in the short life it lived. He lazily tangled his fingers through the messy mop of raven locks spread out on the pillow beckoning him to wrap his consciousness in shadows; he muffled the yawn that rippled from his mouth with the back of his other hand and sat up slowly, mentally cringing at the pops and cracks of his bones and muscles—he could swear biting too many herbivores to death the previous day was slowly extracting his youth. But Hibari Kyouya, Namimori's feared Head Prefect of the Disciplinary Committee of practically every facility one could conjure in a town—hospitals and police headquarters were no exceptions; heck, he was the discipline and order of every nook and cranny stuffed into Namimori.

A ruffle of yellow under his covers caught his attention, and, tilting his head to stare at the fluff of feathers, a small smile graced his usually stony and admittedly handsome features (though, one would have a death wish if he or she would ever approach him to woo him for the latter reason). "Little one," he called softly, "are you hungry?"

Black beads lustered at the sight of Hibari cheerfully under the sliver of moonlight filtering through the apertures left by the drawn closed curtains. It hopped about on the covers, flapping its wings as it did so, and chirped in that high-pitched tone a mantra of "hungry".

He chuckled lowly while slipping out of the confines of his bed, tucking his bare feet in slippers as equally dark as his nightshirt and shorts that reached just above his knees. He sauntered over to a drawer at the far corner of the grand room and pried open the top drawer to reveal several varieties of seeds. He hummed thoughtfully as he prodded around with his finger to inspect the condition of the seeds. "Come pick what you want."

The bird flew over to the drawer and perched itself on an opened bag of sunflower seeds; nestling itself more down so the seeds cuddled around it, the bird began to peck at and consume the seeds of the bag in front of the one it was in.

Muffling another yawn, Hibari ordered before sliding the shoji door leading into the hallway open, "Don't spill anything." But Hibari knew when he returned to his room he will find a layer of seeds scattered upon the floor and his companion tucked under the covers of his still-unmade bed and taking its first of its many naps throughout the day. As usual.

The footsteps he took towards the bright light emitting from another section of his home was accompanied by the subtle sounds of chatter, the bubbling of overheated oil and water, and the constant clatter of metal and ceramic. He hid the second, rare smile of the day—Trust Tetsu and the others to be up and about preparing breakfast.

As he suspected, not less than twenty men—all clad in white chemise homme with black dress pants and sporting neatly combed pompadours he was certain took hours to create—were either setting up the long table rivaling the dining tables found in the Louvre Museum in Paris, cutting multiple assortments of vegetables, chopping the meat Hibari identified as beef by the mere scent of its blood (for the skylark really was that much of a meat-fanatic), washing or placing back into place the dishes, or frying whatever meal was to be served in the near future. Yet, right when he stepped a foot into the kitchen, all of them halted their individual task to bow down to the waist in his direction, chorusing simultaneously, "Beauteous morrow, Kyou-san."

Today, it seemed, was another of those extremely rare days he deemed it passable to reply with more than just a short hum or grunt. "Beauteous morrow, indeed." He turned his body to the one he identified immediately as Kusakabe Tetsuya by the straw of grass that was perpetually located hanging from said person's mouth, ignoring the overly gleeful glittery of his subordinates' eyes. "What's the occasion?"

Kusakabe smiled fondly and informed with slight hesitation, "Today is the commencement of the Lantern Festival."

A random DC member nudged Kusakabe on the ribs with his elbow, his eyes straining to transmit through some sort of telepathy an important section of information Kusakabe was restraining. After futilely attempting telepathic communication—a concept Hibari has only known to have been mastered by a certain tropical fruit—he leaned up (for the young man was a head shorter than Kusakabe) to whisper, "Tetsu-senpai, just tell Kyou-san before he like, you know, bites you to death."

This, of course, like nothing ever does, did not manage to escape from Hibari's keen hearing-range; the dangerous sharpening of his azure silver gaze was the telltale sign of that fact. "And what, pray tell, is it you wish to inform?" Of course, the threat of a spikes-released tonfa being shoved down a throat was already preexistent should the comma—err…question not be answered.

The random member squeaked and hid behind the towering form of another member standing a foot away.

Kusakabe coughed onto his hand awkwardly. "I was going to wait until after breakfast was served to tell you of this, Kyou-san, but I guess it can't be helped." He straightened his position, hands at his sides like a soldier would stand before his general, the rest of the members mimicking his movements, he announced, "From the random selection of a citizen for the one to lead the procession of Namimori no Bon Odori, the one bestowed for this honourable task is no one other than our own precious Bocchan and Head Prefect of the Disciplinary Committee—" Here, he kneels gracefully upon one knee with his right hand over his heart and bows his head respectfully, followed by the same actions of his fellow men.

"—Hibari Kyouya-sama," they chorused.

The roseate colouring to his cheeks, Hibari analyzed, was inevitable—this kind of attention always managed to shatter his mask of indifference. He crossed his arms over his chest and peered anywhere but at the many men kneeled before him as though he was a king and they the knights. Geez…and, while sauntering over to the far end of the table to take his respective place in this household to drink the steaming cup of Green Tea prepared for him alone that was situated there, his subordinates rose to make way for him, grins as bright as the grin that Nami Middle School's baseball idol was famous for and laughing and chuckling to themselves as they draped their arms leisurely over their shoulders.

"We'll support you the entire way, Kyou-san!"

Several nods followed that statement. "All the way," someone added.

"Entirely."

A fist rose into the air. "Throughout all three days!"

"Ah-ah," another commented, "you make it sound like it'll last a month…"

They broke out laughing vigorously and returned to their previous duties in the kitchen and dining room.

The hue upon his cheeks only seemed to darken, and, yet again, he found himself thanking the low lighting at the back of the room. Curling slender fingers around the warm cup and placing a hand under the base to support it, Hibari took a sip of his tea. Yes, he told himself, today is definitely a Sunday.

If one was to peer closer at his features, one would have found the third rare smile of the day upon his lips.

…

After eating breakfast with the DC members, what followed in his schedule was his lengthy bath that mainly consisted of relaxing in the onsen the size of a lagune—because, in actuality, it was one—in his backyard, which was with no exaggeration several mountains wide. Before he wandered the one-mile trip to this treat, he would make sure the coast is clear ('cause Hibari Kyouya is simply that selfish) and that he has his bathing utensils and all of his articles of clothing are draped neatly over one of his arms. Once he was sure he has what he needed, he perused his surrounding one last time and set off on his little, secret trip to the onsen.

His gait was slower than his colloquial strides, for he enjoys the crunch of snow under every step he takes, the cool air that pleasingly burns his lungs, and the wind that nips at his skin ever so slowly and ruffles his obsidian locks. What he loves best, though, are the puffs of ghosts his breath invokes and the thrill of being alone at half past four in a mostly unexplored forest that creaks when particularly strong breezes whisper over the branches bereft foliage of trees reaching out for the starry night—it was like walking through the gates of a frozen Hell.

The forest begun to dissipate as he neared his destination, and the air begun to take on a warm yet dry humidity, mist engulfing his form the further he went until he metamorphosed into one of those clouds of water. He searches for boulder he can set his clothing on instead of peeping Toms and unceremoniously dumps his possessions when he finds one with a particularly flat surface. Eager to dip in the hot pool, he slips out of his night- and under-garments in one go with wont ease. In his naked glory, he pivots on his heels and sprints to the edge of an abrupt drop over fifteen feet high from the water's surface below. He claps his hands over his head to form an "A" as he vaults when he reaches the rough edge of the relatively tiny cliff and bends halfway towards his waist to slowly straighten his position the closer he was to the surface.

It was a perfect dive—the only sign he plunged into the water were the ripples of where he momentarily disturbed the water's surface. He stayed a few feet under the surface for as long as he could hold his breath, swimming to the opposite edge of the lagune where he knew a cascade poured its delicious liquids.

He resurfaced with a needy gasp of air, tilting his head back so his bangs would not hinder his sight. Nevertheless, the water that fell upon his head from above returned them to their original style, and he huffed. Annoyed at the water, he pushed himself a foot away from the cascade and looked up, glaring at the downwards flow of the water that even from this distance continued to splatter him sprinkles of water. That's when he heard it.

It was a squeak of a effeminate voice, one he would have thought to belong to a woman had he not recognized it as one that was owned by no one other than the brunet herbivore named Sawada Tsunayoshi. Talk about ruining a perfectly normal morning…

"R-Reborn," he heard Sawada complain to the Hibari identified better as "the Baby" from not too far away from him (the heavy mist of the hot spring was blocking his vision), "t-there's something in there; I'm not going in!"

The second voice—a high pitched one that could only belong to an infant—clicked its tongue exasperatedly. "Dame-Tsuna, sharks don't live in hot springs. Now, go in on your own, or I will force you; Yamamoto and Gokudera are waiting for you."

A third voice laughed. "Don't worry, Tsuna. I'll bring my bat and bashoomph it."

Hibari most certainly does not want to know what in the world "bashoomph" is supposed to mean or signify.

"Shut up, Baseball-Idiot," a fourth voice interjected, "or I'll use my dynamite to make you go kaboom." The voice suddenly turned cheery. "Don't worry, Tenth. I'll protect you!"

Sawada laughed uneasily, and Hibari could hear him take small, hesitant steps towards his location—probably backing away from the other herbivores.

Hibari, just realizing something crucial, peered down at himself, and, through the crystalline water, he could see the problem formulating: he was in the water directly below the Sawada herbivore and his herbivorous, loud flock along with that questionably carnivorous baby (Hibari has never engaged in a serious fight with him)…wearing absolutely nada.

Crap. He stealthily went around the cascade to hide in the recess behind it, hoping he won't be spotted even if the herbivores eventually decide to climb into the water. He sighed, his eyebrows knitting together to express his aggravation. It can't get worse than this…no, considering how accident-prone that herbivore is, it will get worse.

Just as he suspected, apparently, Sawada had taken one-too-many steps behind, the rock that was unable to support his weight crumbled, and, since Sawada clearly has no sense of balance from what Hibari had witnessed before, he fell backwards as he let out another of those squeaks.

"Ah, Tsuna, careful!"

"Tenth!"

…and Sawada's pets simply had to attach to him while he flailed his arms and dropped ten-plus feet into steaming water.

Lovely.

Tsuna was the first to resurface, eyes wide in shock as he gasped and coughed. Naturally and almost instinctively, he swiveled his head from side to side in search for his friends. He sighed in relief shortly after when Yamamoto and Gokudera finally resurfaced, the first laughing and the latter frowning. He awkwardly swam closer to his friends. "Ah, I'm sorry you two. Are you guys alright?"

Yamamoto scratched the back of his head, laughing still. "Well, we were going to jump in either way, so adding more of the extra kashriploo only adds more fun to this."

There he goes again with his weird ways of explaining things…Tsuna grimly thought.

"Don't worry, Tenth; I'll protect you!"

Déjà vu or what…

Tsuna awkwardly laughed again. "Right…" He turned around slowly to wonder over to the cascade. His eyes widened, and Hibari cursed under his breath. He hollered loud enough for all of Namimori to hear, "Ahh! Hi-Hibari-san!"