Happily skipping through the gym, a basketball in his right hand, Mikaël hummed some random tune, delight oozing out of him.

"Daikicchi!" he chirped, catching the blue's attention.

"Yes, Mika-sempai?"

Mikaël chuckled, amused by the boy's diligence. The Daiki from his time had long since gone to the dark side, forsaking every semblance of respect or politeness he could muster toward his seniors. 

"Let's play!" He challenged, tossing the ball to the tan male with a grin.

"Ah, 'course sempai!" The teen replied enthusiastically.

From the sideline, Nijimura sighed. Rubbing his forehead in a seemingly fed up manner, he turned to face his current "aid" or "apprentice."

"Excuse me, Akashi-san."

The boy calmly nodded a polite smile on his face, one he probably wore since the day he was born, as he hummed in acknowledgment at his vice-captain.

Mutely looking at Vice-captain Nijimura, Seijuro's gaze flickered to Lamarre. The boy, a year his senior, was getting reprimanded by their vice-captain, as usual. On the sideline, Aomine wore a sheepish smile, a blend of bashfulness, sympathy and mild disappointment, most likely from not playing with the second-year.

Humming lowly to himself, Seijuro lightly tilted his head to the side in contemplation. As an Akashi, he prided himself in his deduction skills or skills in general. But his foreign Sempai remained a blurry picture to the teen.

For instance, Seijuro didn't understand why he was so interested in them. In him, he wasn't boasting, he could understand. He was the heir to the Akashi conglomerate, a renowned family throughout Japan whose aura breached the country's border. It wouldn't be surprising if the boy knew of them.

No, what Seijuro didn't understand was the insistence the teen displayed toward them. Them, the new first-years recruits for the first string. Perhaps, was it a mere curiosity for his juniors. Maybe, the teen was naturally tactical and friendly with everyone?

These suppositions, Seijuro scratched them upon his first practice by the first-stringers. Lamarre wasn't nearly as friendly with the other second-years ( except with Nijimura perhaps) as he was with them. To begin with, they weren't on first names basis.

Sure, most of the team called Lamarre by his name, Mikaël, or nickname, Mika. But the boy responded to them by their surnames, perhaps their name, depending on their relationship. Then, this suffix "-cchi" which he added to some people's name, namely, Nijimura-sempai's, his, and the other new first-years: Aomine, Murasakibara, Midorima, and Momoi.

Seijuro wasn't sure what this suffix meant, but from the brief explanation he got out of their vice-captain, it had something to do with respect and his sentiment toward one.

Again. Seijuro didn't understand why the boy was so fond of them for no logical reason. They had never met before. There was no basis for their relationship. It wasn't as if he could gain something from them.

Perhaps from him, but from Murasakibara who left crumbs everywhere? He doubted it. Seijuro blinked his half-lidded red eyes, letting his features smooth to his usual composed expression he welcomed his pokerfaced vice-captain back with a close eyes smile.

From the corner of his eyes, Seijuro saw the green-haired teen laughing with Aomine at Midorima. His eyes unnoticeably narrowed as he listened to the raven player. Momoi had joined them to scold Aomine, but a word from her green head sempai made her blush.

"Will, that we all Akashi-san?"

"Yes, thank you very much, Nijumura-sempai."

The second-year nodded in acknowledgment, a ghost of a satisfied smile flashing through his face at the younger's polite behavior. Though it was gone as soon as it came, the raven's head snapped to his teammate again, and he refrained a sigh.

"Then, go back to training, Akashi-san."

Seijuro obediently nodded before watching the raven march to the green to diffuse the situation with his fellow first-years.

As Mikaël got reprimanded for the nth time, the grin never leaving his face and not letting remorse paint his face whatsoever, Seijuro's eyes narrowed.

He closed his eyes, mentally shaking his head before steadily inhaling and exhaling to clear his mind. It probably was a trick of his imagination.

"A problem, Aka-chin?"

Seijuro shook his head.

He hadn't seen anything.

"None at all, Murasakibara-kun. Shall we go back to training?" He inquired, his eyes trailing on the almost finished pack of chips before he led the way to one of the occupied courts, Murasakibara in tow.

::

Mikaël felt accomplished, his wish to play with the Generation of Miracles, although they weren't complete yet, was almost fulfilled. A grin unconsciously crept up his face at the thought.

"You seem happy Mika-kun, did something good happen?" One of his make up artist asked as they applied some foundation.

The French teen hummed, not daring to nod while they were applying the cosmetics.

"I'm positively happy with our new recruits!"

The woman chuckled. "How great, it's good for you to have fun outside of modeling. Club activities are important."

Voicing his agreement, Mikaël closed his golden eyes, letting his body in his makeup artist's and hairstylist's deft hands.

His thoughts drifted to the GOM once more, he simpered, humming contently as his hairstylist began to massage his scalp. Only Tetsuyacchi left, then they would all be there.

The sound of a door opening, followed by light footstep echoed in the room before stopping next to the teen.

Cracking one of his golden eye open, Mikaël greeted his manager with a closed-eyes-smile. "Heya, Claudecchi!"

The blond smiled at his charge's enthusiasm. "Good evening Mika," he answered evenly, casually switching to French too. "How was school?"

The green beamed, "Awesome, I got to play with Daikicchi for a bit, though Shuzocchi interrupted us—"

Listening to the boy's antics, Claude refrained a chuckle. Easily taking some mental notes of what the teen told him, as to recount them to his grandmother later, the adult nodded his head in understanding.

The makeup artist and hairstylist remained unperturbed by their exchange, already used to them switching to French whenever they spoke to one another.

"That's good then if you had fun," the half-Italian answered once the teen had finished. Casually pushing his dark blue-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose Claude cleared his throat.

"Well, now onto today's schedule," he resumed, going into his manager persona and making the teen turn more serious. "First we'll go with a solo shot, this to go with an interview which will take place on a later date. Then we'll change your clothes—"

The stylists ushered Mikaël to stand up, guiding him to the photo set.

"—for a second co-shot. You'll starre with a new model, so try to be an example, got it?"

"Yes, yes," the teen dismissively answered.

Claude shook his head. "Anyway, act natural, no need for unwarranted fan-service or whatever you call it unless the photograph or director ask for it, right that?"

"Righty!" He chirped back.

Claude heaved a sigh.

"Ah, yes, who's the newbie?" Mikaël added with a tilt of his head as he sent his manager a quizzical look, the skip in his step unfading.

"That would be—"

"Good evening-ssu!"

Claude paused, his blue eyes flickered to the voice's owner before a faint smile painted his lips. "Well, he would be 'the newbie' as you call him."

::

Sitting cross-legged on his bed Mikaël's golden eyes seemed unusually dull as he stared off into space. Uncaring of his surrounding, which, basically was his bedroom, the boy carelessly fiddled with his green locks.

He didn't know how to feel. His mind was in perpetual conflict. It seemed neverending as his mind kept on drifting to one thing to another.

His eyes which were unknowingly scanning his room fell on the midnight blue box his mother had left for him, and his world stilled. His heart missed a beat, and he forgot to breathe altogether.

He raised his hand and slowly reached for the box which, as usual, sat on his bedside table. It was magic, the magnetism between the crate and himself as he neared it.

His heartbeat went up, loudly drumming against his ribcage until only the sound of it remained in his ears. The midnight blue box had a strange shine, horribly attractive, scarily beautiful.

Letting his fingers ghost over the box, Mikaël could almost feel a thin translucent, invisible veil against his fingertips. He blinked his eyes and touched the crate before bringing it closer.

Light indigo blended with his golden pupils.

Gently unlocking it, he lifted the lid. Unsurprisingly a pack of letter greeted him. Carefully, he took them out and, like a statue, once done, he stared at the bottom of the box.

The design wasn't intricate or anything, much like the rest of the box it was a midnight blue sheen, perhaps a bit darker, with a multitude of stars adorning it.

He stared.

And he felt like the stars were staring back.

Eyes half-lidded, he gently tilted his head to the side, not quite understanding his own behavior. The reflection of the light made his golden eyes seem a dark bluish color, he blinked, and they turned a reddish-orange, he squinted, and they went back to their usual golden.

It's strange, how he never noticed the slightly lighter part of the sheen in the corner.

He reached for it.

Ah, a double bottom.

The drumming of his heart against his ribcage accentuated.

He felt the urge to pull out whatever was underneath it.

Like magic, the indigo in his eyes only grew as he got closer.

::

"Tell me, Chen," a man, probably in his late thirties, called out from his spot on a comfortable looking red quilted fauteuil. His head rested against his hand as he overlooked a chessboard.

"What are your thoughts on the Flood of Blood?"

'Chen' hummed, smiling politely he extended his hand to his teacup. His cheongsam's long blue sleeve fluttered lightly before he took a sip of his beverage.

"If I was honest with you, Aleksey. I would say, despite losing a valuable member in Larisa, we gained some rather intriguing information," elegantly taking hold of one of his pieces, he made his move before sending the blond an amused smile. "Wouldn't you agree, Lyosha?"

The man's golden eyes sharpened for a second, not minding the nickname, he lingered on Larisa's name for a moment before nodding in agreement a low unbothered hum escaping his thin lips.

"It is true, Larisa's death was a tremendous loss on our side," he mused, calmly lifting his bishop to take one of the Chinese man's pawn.

"Right," the raven agreed. "But compared to the information, her death was nothing," the Asian added lightly in a rational manner, not minding his ex-comrade's death. Dark blue eyes traveled the study they were in before settling on the bookshelf. "Makariy easily took up her position."

"From that point of view," the Asian's eyes flickered back to the European. "Honestly Chen exchanging with you is like a breath of fresh air," the older murmured, his face impassive, though a ghost of a smile adorned his face. 

The light sound of a fan opening echoed against the ebony wall before the Asian began to cooly fan himself, cleverly hiding his grin behind the flower-patterned accessory.

"I am glad I could be of use, Lyosha."

Peaceful silence settled between the two men as their game of chess went on. Only the sound of the ivory pieces hitting the board disrupted the quietness of the study.

Three clear knocks echoed before a soft voice, muffled by the grand door, was heard.

"Come in, Nonna."

Both men didn't bother raising their eyes as the clicking sound of the door opening reached their ears. Heels cleanly tapping against the floor followed until only the carved pieces moving across the board remained.

"Мой господин," the brown-haired lady began. "You have received an urgent letter from Sir Timoteo."

Pausing his maneuver, the blond gently put his piece down. "Check," he whispered before leaning into his seat and waiting for the other to execute his move.

The Asian gazed at the game with boredom, much like his European counterpart. Face hidden behind his fan he didn't bother to acknowledge the girl. The light tump of a black queen taking out a rook filled the room.

"Checkmate," he replied, his dark blue eyes looking up at the amused Russian on the quilted chair before him.

With a clear clack, he closed his fan.

"A great game, Lyosha," he praised.

The girl unnoticeably twitched at the appellation.

"You too, Chen."

Not letting the man's given name get to her, the brown-haired girl stayed posted next to her Boss and colleague, her head lightly dipped in a show of respect and submission.

A crystalline chuckle slipped past the Chinese man's lips before he stood up. "Then, I'll be taking my leave, Мой господин," he said, amusement lacing his voice at the appellation as he bowed lightly.

His cheongsam fluttered lightly, and like the wind, he was gone, and from the room, he was forgotten. As if saddened by his departure the room seemed to dim, the sun had set.

"What is it?"

Deftly moving across the room to retrieve a glass, the girl began to pour her Boss some Vodka. "It seems to be about their heir," she introduced as the translucent liquid flowed into the glass.

Aleksey hummed, extending his hand to receive the alcoholic drink.

"It appears the first son, Enrico Fermi, was killed in a gunfight."

"Really..."

The girl nodded, her honey-brown eyes not showing an ounce of regret for the deceased heir, she continued.

"As such, Sir Timoteo has asked for cooperation in the elimination of the man who killed Sir Enrico," feeling her Boss wouldn't say anything, the brunette cleared her throat gently. Her delicate fingers pulled a few strands of short brown behind her ear, revealing a beautiful piece of jewelry. The shine of the gem only highlighted the intricate carvings of the silver lining, молния, бриз.

"It seems the culprits have fled Italy and are traveling to the North of Europe."

The blond stood up, leaving his empty glass on the table with the finished game of chess. As he marched toward the door, his long curly, almost silvery-white locks, swayed behind his figure, leaving his assistant in awe.

He paused in front of the door before sending the girl a look.

"Tell Devdas to take care of it."

The girl bowed, on her left hand, on her middle finger, a green gemstone shone under the light. 

Мой господин/Moy gospodin/: My Lord 

молния/molniya/: lightning

бриз/briz/: breeze

Some of you speculated on the person Mikaël didn't want to shot with to be Kise in previous chapters. You weren't entirely wrong, it was his sister.

Note: The Flood of Blood is a Canon event of the KHR storyline.

Thanks for reading, until next time^^