Makariy had but, one love. One family, Larissa.

Oh, sweet, sweet Larissa. Once a renown Poison Master. A feared Cloud Guardian. A Puppeteer with an exceptional network.

Orphaned, sweet Larissa would raise poor, poor Makariy. Protect him. Teach him. Guard him. He was, after all, her baby brother.

So why, why sweet Larissa? Why would you go, never to return?

Larissa, Aleksey's Cloud Guardian, died while visiting one of her contacts. An art dealer by the name of Kozato Makoto. She died, on the same night as her contact and his family, leaving only one child behind. Another orphan.

This news, Makariy learned of it two days later, when his Boss, Aleksey, appointed him as Cloud Guardian in his sister's place. He was the most skilled, the one who knew her researches, network, and skills best.

The best person to carry her legacy.

So Makariy, despite sharing close to no feelings of loyalty for his Boss, only fear, began his life as Guardian, using his skills to develop deadlier poisons, more incredible cures.

But most of all, he would use this newly acquired information network to search for the Flood of Blood's perpetrator, and then, in the most painful and satisfying way, he would kill them.

Such great prospects.

Truly, it made him sigh in delight.

So of course, when every clue tended to point in Sawada Iemitsu's direction. The Vongola's CEDEF's Boss, he didn't hesitate to plant numerous rats into the Italian mafia.

Who cared about diplomatics? He wanted information and would get them. Whether they be in the Vongola, CEDEF or Varia, if Iemitsu was his target, these groups would hold the key.

That was ten years ago. He was twenty.

::

A peaceful smile etched on his face, Ryota appeared perfectly fine and happy, devoid of any fear. His golden eyes were crinkled, highlighting the dark bags underneath them.

He gently rubbed his earlobe, feeling the hidden gem underneath his fingertips, and observed the small caped figure in front of him. Closing his eyes once, he saw the whole Sun battle replay in his mind. Blinking twice, he witnessed the Lightning battle once again.

Strangely enough, unlike the previous times where he would be scared shitless by such images, these thoughts only made him laugh. As if it was a film, it had nothing to do with him or reality.

So why bother?

Anyway, what he saw and assimilated was his. He didn't steal, just borrowed, then copied.

He breathed, his eyes glinted an indigos hue as he slowly twirled his fingers, gathering some of this haze Mukuro dubbed as 'Mist Flames.' Ah, speaking of him, it was a shame he wouldn't see the excentric male again.

He shrugged it off. Who knows? Perhaps in the next life, their paths would cross once again. Then again, was there another life waiting for him at the end of the road?

Mikaël stretched his neck, his eyes narrowed. He could hear the world around him fade away, leaving only himself and the Varia's representative.

He had watched his horoscope today. It was a good day to die.

Though if he had one regret, it was not asking Seicchi for his answer.

In the background, he heard Natalia's smooth voice. A spike erupted from underneath him. 

His mind barely registered it, his body already knew the pattern. He dodged.

His golden eyes flickered upward to look at the small figure chich hovered in the air. A somewhat excited grin crept up his face as a shiver ran down his spine. He could feel the adrenaline build-up.

Ah, how would it feel, to have those spikes pierce his flesh?

::

Mammon, or maybe was it more accurate to say Viper, calmly evaded the attack thrown at them. Their masked eyes followed their green-haired prey, their hand minutely twitching every time the younger counterattacked.

How irritating, they grunted, to have their attack thrown right back at them. They moved to the right, avoiding another vine before 'creating' ropes. With a flick of their sleeve, they shot down to restrain the teen.

Unperturbed, Viper watched as the boy broke out of his restraints using an oh so familiar kick. Their hidden eyes narrowed in a strange blend of distaste and appreciation. That was Lussuria's killer move, they noted. Though the power isn't there yet, he has the technique down.

The Mist Arcobaleno gave a small sigh, watching the teen struggle, yet give in to their attack. They couldn't help but unnoticeably shake their head. A shame for him to die, the mused, he had some potential.

With these thoughts, Viper sent a myriad of nails to stab the green's body. It wouldn't matter how Mikaël tried to dodge. No matter where he went, his body would be riddled with holes the next second. Mammon's lips twitched, but they refrained the satisfied smirk from painting their lips.

Unconcerned, they turned around, already bored and deeming their job finished. Oh, if only they knew.

In that short moment, under the careful eyes of the audience, Mikaël's hidden earring glowed. The previously dull gem concealed behind a veil of Mist Flames revealed itself.

The foreign energy burst to life, as if escaping from confinement it rushed out, leaving Ryota's frozen body in a slight daze, unable to process what happened.

The Mist Flames agglomerated, creating a dome over the green-haired teen and leaving a strange insignia underneath him.

The glow lasted only a second, abruptly disappearing upon contacting Viper's nails. Every one of the spikes vanished into dust of indigo and a shockwave emanated from the dome, obliterating every illusion on the field and leaving a confused Ryota behind.

Mammon frantically wiped their head to look at what had happened, instinctively using Fantasma as a shield. When they opened their eyes, the teen was scratchless, and all illusions on the field had disappeared.

The Varia representative gritted their teeth, what a waste of time and money. They raised their hand, gathering Flames to cast an illusion. "If it's going to be like that, let's see how you survive to—" 

"That's enough," came Natalia's cutting voice. "The Varia is the winner of this round," she declared, abruptly putting an end to this 'deathmatch.' Her face was sharp, devoid of its usual softness as she coldly gazed at the green-haired teen.

"As for Candidate Mikaël Lamarre, we will have you follow us for questioning," she stated, walking closer to the boy who was numbly staring at the ground, a hand to his left earlobe.

"Right now," she stressed.

"Wait, what's going on? Where are you taking—"

"Naha, sorry kiddo," Devdas interrupted in fluent English, blocking the brown-haired kid's way. "This concerns the Bratva's affair. We can't let outsiders interfere," he smiled, his golden eyes glinting. "You understand that, don't you?"

Tsunayoshi bit his lower lip, understanding and deducing most of the Russian hitman's words. "Even so, I can't let you take Senpai away without knowing if he's gonna be safe!" He firmly rebutted in Japanese, shaking his head to show his disapproval.

Devdas' smile fell, he pursed his lips. His eyes unnoticeably flickered to the side, meeting Reborn's own and he clicked his tongue. How sad, the kid had a chaperone.

"We'll give him back to you by the end of the Ring Battle," he evasively told slipping back to Russian, turning around to end the talk.

"Wait, I didn't say we agreed—"

"That's enough, Dame-Tsuna," Reborn said, cutting off his pupil. He tilted his fedora. "You aren't strong enough as is to fight them, don't even think about it," he admonished.

Tsunayoshi bit his lower lip, tightening his fists. "Even so—"

"Don't worry, Tenth. I'll win, and we'll get that shitty Senpai back," the silver head reassured, trying to act strong for his Boss.

"Right, Mika-senpai isn't weak you know, Tsuna," Takeshi added with a strained laugh as he tried to lift his friend's mood.

Reborn's obsidian eyes flickered to the green head as he dumbly followed the Russian Lightning Guardian out. So that was the powerful backer lurking in the darkness, бриз.

::

Leaning into an ivory white couch, the teen carefully read over the files the club managers had compiled. A multitude of information on their upcoming opponent was neatly listed. First, a quick overview of the team. Second, more in-depth information on each player. Third, their preferred playstyle. Fourth, their known and guessed trumps.

Magenta brows creased as he took in every info and already laid out a strategy. Though the quality wasn't on par with Momoi's notes, it was enough for the Emperor to elaborate a winning stratagem.

Akashi closed the file and gently put it aside. His hand grabbed a pen a sheet of paper before he deftly wrote down his newly elaborated training regiment and stratagem.

In the background, the light ticking of the clock followed his movement, gently guiding the rhythm of his writing. Time passed, and a quarter of an hour later, the ex-Teiko captain put his fountain pen down.

He grabbed his right slightly sore wrist, gently rubbing it before taking the now tainted paper to read it over.

His heterochromatic eyes methodically went over each line, a red pen in hand he corrected any faults, arranged it to have optimal results. At last, after another twenty minutes, he stared at the finished draft.

Black, blue and red blended together, the combination seemed strangely aggressive to the eye, and the boy frowned. He rubbed the crease between his brows as his other hand reached for a blank piece of paper.

Fountain pen in hand, he deftly recorded the finished version of the training regiment before taking another sheet and writing down their upcoming tactics, reenacting the same pattern.

Minutes passed, accompanied by the steady ticking of the clock wall. Akashi set his fountain pen aside, carefully cracking his neck before stretching his arms above his head.

He read his papers once, checking if there was any spelling mistake before nodding to himself. As expected from him, it was flawless. Absolutely perfect.

"Ah, have you finished Sei-chan?" Mibuchi, his vice-captain asked from where he was sitting, a cup of tea in hand.

Seijuro gave a perfunctory nod as he stood up.

"Great, I'm sure you've come up with some delightful play to end the Interhigh!" The shooting guard genuinely praised with a simper as he finished his beverage.

Akashi merely sparred the man dubbed as Yaksha a glance before asserting his claim. "Of course."

Reo gave a wry smile at the blunt answer before he went back to his pleasant personality. What did he expect, it was Sei-chan he was talking to?

The teen handed the taller male the sheets as he reached for his school bag. It was the same as in Teiko, except he wasn't a middle schooler anymore, and wasn't attending Teiko but Rakuzan.

He opened the front pocket in which usually were his phone and wallet. His hand went in, grabbing the electronic device, and as he was about to pull it out, he paused.

A cold and smooth surface had grazed his fingertips, making him momentarily halt and frown. He didn't remember his wallet being so smooth. After all, it was made of leather, and because he had kept it for some time, the cover felt a bit rough to the touch.

He took his phone, putting in in his pant pocket before reaching in his bag once more, a small frown on his face as he unnoticeably pursed his lips.

Again, he felt a small object hit his fingertips. The smooth surface gently grazed them, he pulled it out. A button?

He raised one of his magenta eyebrows in contemplation. He didn't remember putting a spare in his bag, and the color— The color didn't match his current uniform, nor did the design for all it mattered.

He hummed to himself, perplexed. For instance, it didn't look anything like the Rakuzan's custom made uniform's button. Though the quality obviously was on par with Rakuzan's, it didn't belong to his school's.

For once, his face, which always displayed calculative thoughts and precision seemed at lost.

Throw it away.

What is the use of a button that doesn't match?

Throw it, throw it.

It must have fallen by accident.

If you don't remember, isn't it unimportant?

His rationality was begging him. But he felt strangely appreciative as he stared at the shiny surface. Oddly at ease and confused, yet it wasn't disagreeable. He had no control, but he didn't dislike it.

The feeling made him frown some more.

He could feel it, it was at the tip of his tongue.

But if he forgot, wasn't it because it obstructed his path to victory?

Wasn't it because it held him back? One way or another?

"Sei-chan?"

Akashi blinked, remembering he wasn't alone, he was pulled out of his musing. He had spaced out, he frowned.

Mibuchi, perhaps sensing the shift in his captain's mood didn't add anything. Curious, he let his eyes slid to where the smaller had been looking and was greeted by the sight of a well-kept button.

He tilted his head, squinting. Where had he seen this design already? He thought, going over the multitude of fashion magazines he had read in his life.

—Ah, speaking of fashion. He'd have to contact Mika-chan, it had been some time since they last met. The boy was always helpful when it came to new trends and the likes, he supposed it came with the job.

"Ah!" His sudden exclamation made Akashi wipe his head his way. A stern look on his face, most probably he was silently reprimanding him. "My, sorry Sei-chan, I didn't mean to shout," Mibuchi apologized with a weak laugh. The small curve of his lips never fading.

He cleared his throat, changing the subject. "Isn't that one of your old Teiko uniform's button?" He asked. "Maybe you forgot to take your spares out when you graduated?" He said as he opened the door to let the younger out.

Akashi's heterochromatic eyes barely widened at the mention of his former middle school before going back to their usual size. Teiko. The realization made his head throb, and he forced his eyes shut.

His grip on the small object tightened until the pain faded, just a quickly as it came it went away. He exhaled, face calm, devoid of any turmoil, he put the button back in his bags front pocket.

To be forgotten, once again.

And maybe was it better this way.

::

Ryota stared at the door to his room. Well, temporary lodging was more accurate. A day had passed, almost two since the proctors had taken him out of the Mist battle and saved his life.

He wasn't particularly scared, he had long since accepted his ending was death. The battle of the Mist was only a silent reminder, a key-point to stop him from forgetting his status in this great game called life.

He was part of the masses, a mob. Efficiently dealt with a replaced.

He rolled in the soft sheets— which were way more comfortable than those in his apartment and sighed. Fortunately, he had told Claude to clear his schedule for the week previously when Reborn assured him it would at least last a week.

His eyes met with the mirror, and faced with his reflection, he couldn't help but smile. His bags had almost faded into nothingness, most probably the stress provided by the ring battle— or whatever it was called, disappeared the moment they pulled him out.

His previously disheveled self was now tidier. He narrowed his golden eyes, letting them gently glint under the artificial lighting. They were after all his only feature to follow him in the next life. His only form of comfort when at lost, losing sight of himself and who he was.

Yesterday was the Storm battle. He didn't know how Hayato had dealt with— Bel? Was it Bel? Yeah, the others called him Bel. He nodded to himself, remembering his encounters with the Varia.

He wasn't aware of the details. Only that it had gone with lots of explosions before one was declared the winner. It was the blond, or so had written the boy who guarded him. Mikaël wasn't color blind, and remembering his underclassman had silver hair, he quickly deduced the Bel kid won.

Tonight, as he lazily and relatively carefreely laid in bed, was the Cloud battle. The guy on his team, he learned was named Hibari Kyoya. And, as things turned out to be, he was the feared Demon Prefect Jun had once mentioned to him.

He hummed to himself, bored out of his mind. Omitting the few books in his room, which were given by the boy who guarded him, Shura, he had nothing to do. Not that he disliked reading. Only, half of the books were written in Cyrillic script, those he understood.

But the other half was Devanagari script or Sanskrit. Basically, it was Indian. What was he supposed to understand when faced with this unknown alphabet? Nothing. So he focused on the other books.

There was a dozen of them, which was in Russian, and after a quick overview, he could roughly classify them. Half was about martial arts, quarter dealt with firearms or the use of weapons in general, the remaining books went from philosophical thoughts to politics and geostrategy.

Ryota pursed his lips. How could someone his age— wait, correction, someone who was younger than him, be interested in those lavish topics? He supposed education played a huge role in one's hobbies, he wouldn't judge.

Currently laying on the bed, a book on Russia's history and how it came to be in hand, Mikaël silently turned the pages, half reading, half skimming through them—

The lock of to his provisional room was opened, and a figure covered by a large mantel entered. They wore a plague mask, much like the European doctors in the Middle Age in the fourteenth century.

Ryota couldn't see their eyes, but he knew the man— Or maybe was it a woman? It was hard to guess from the way they dressed, was observing him.

"You are?" The hidden figure asked. Definitely a man.

Mikaël rubbed his left earlobe, now devoid of any earring. The  Russian mafia men had taken it from him right after he was put in the room. "Mikaël Lamarre," he answered, strangely at ease.

The masked man cocked his head before taking a step closer. He grabbed the green's arm, expecting some resistance but was met with none. He heaved a relieved sigh. He didn't want to be tired before the battle tonight. "I'll draw some—" He cut himself, pausing, in search for his words.

Ryota blinked, his lips quirked up at the awkwardness the older male seemed to display. Surely, he wasn't used to extensively speaking to others.

"Blood?" The teen provided with a raised eyebrow, not noticing the translucent liquid in one of the syringes.

The man didn't answer, a minute, two minutes passed before he slowly nodded. "Close enough," they whispered, almost inaudibly.

The teen cocked his head. "What—"

There was no time for words, Ryota screamed.

Choosing Akashi as Ryota's past lover literally was the hardest decision while writing this story lmao. Though it doesn't mean that they'll have a relationship in this life, it actually plays a role in Ryota's personality (in future chapters).

Thank you for reading, until next time^^

Character pic:

-Makariy