Hibari was in a terrible mood. Eyebrows creased, lips more pursed and his eyes colder than usual, he glared at the crowding Herbivores in front of him.

His match from yesterday against the Varia's Cloud Guardian had gone as expected. A complete victory for him. Followed by his duel with Xanxus, nothing could have been more perfect.

At last, he would bite those arrogant people to death. How gratifying, satisfying, exciting.

His steel-grey eyes glinted.

The memory slightly eased his complexion before he grunted, his frown deepening. He didn't know who was the dumb Herbivore who thought of putting an old Herbivore in the Varia's Herbivorous Can, but he would be sure to bite them to death.

Scratch that, he would bite every single one of them to death.

Half-heartedly listening to the masked Herbivore, Kyoya closed his eyes, trying to contain his nerves. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted an annoyingly familiar hairstyle.

He growled. Was the pineapple-haired Herbivore there too? Oh, his day couldn't have gone worse. He refrained a sigh, his hands itching to grab his tonfas and end this ridiculous game.

His goal was to bite others to death, not to listen to some Herbivores talking.

"Your wrist."

Kyoya's eyes fluttered open to stare into the holes of a mask. He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Your wrist," the hidden figure reiterated in a whisper, a bracelet in hand.

Hibari growled but extended his wrist nonetheless, slightly curious on the plan this supposed Poison Master had in store for them.

::

Mikaël's ragged breathing echoed in the room. A hand to his chest, he kept a tight grip on his shirt, twisting the fabric, again and again until it turned entirely wrinkled.

His other hand tightly grasped onto the edge of the bed, as if holding for his life, nails digging into the headboard. His head spun, his heart constricted at an irregular pace, sending his mind further into a turmoil.

He could feel himself losing part of himself, similar to a deflating balloon before suddenly refilling like an overflowing sink. The fullness he felt suffocated him, bringing him to the edge of asphyxia before it all turned empty, providing his body with an irrational need of something. Anything.

He was high, limitless euphoria invaded him until dull sadness overtook his body.

Was he on drugs?

His glazed golden eyes kept opening and shutting themselves, following the rhythm of his spasming body.

Ah, it hurts— he weakly exhaled. It hurts so much.

He whimpered, feeling tears gliding along his cheeks. His body rolled in the sheets, and he caught sight of his blurry reflection in the mirror.

But it was such an addictive feeling.

Despite his clouded mind, he could clearly discern the dark bags underneath his dull golden irises. His hair was a mess, and his clothing disheveled.

He loved it, he yearned for it.

He didn't know how long he had been lying in this room. He had long since lost his awareness. It felt like ages, but some part told him it had only been an hour at most. The last thing he clearly remembered was the man taking a sample of his blood and then, and then—.

Now that he thought of it, if it wasn't blood, then what did he take?

His head spun, he could feel sleepiness slowly overwhelming him. Ah, it seemed the tiredness of his body was enough to ignore the pain he felt all over.

He had never felt so alive.

Still gripping his shirt and the edge of the bed, his eyes slowly closed. His grip slightly relaxed, his breathing eased up.

His mind drifted, and he fell into a deep slumber. Only the distant ticking of the clock wall remained, seemingly lulling him further to sleep.

Hours passed, the sun had set and rose once, and by the time it brightly shone in the sky, Ryota's breathing had turned regular, leaving no trace of his previously erratic self. Only the depraved state of his clothing and body served as a silent reminder of the situation he was in.

There was a distinct sound of the door being unlocked before it slowly swung open. A mop of vivid pink popped out, leaving a pair of light blue eyes to roam the silent room.

The boy tilted his head to the left, leaving his bangs to sway to the side before he stepped into the room, gently closing the door. He tiptoed to the snoring green head, his hand carefully brushing the shiny locks of green out of the teen's sweaty face.

Shura pursed his lips, he felt strangely aggravated by the state of the boy in front of him. It didn't sit well with him, but he was so weak, why care? He brought a hand to his chest, tilting his head to the side as he stared at the green in silent questioning.

It was as if hurting the boy equaled to hurt him. He didn't understand. He would have to ask his foster father, Devdas later on.

He silently exhaled, unconsciously opening his mouth to call out to the boy, before hesitantly closing it. A small deprecative smile rose to his lips. Dumb people did not speak.

His hand once again reached for the sleeping boy, he grabbed his wrist, taking his pulse. It seemed normal. Not too slow or fast, and the pace was regular enough. He heaved a relieved sigh he didn't know he was holding.

His hand grabbed the wet towel he had brought before he put it on the teen's forehead. He stood up, dusting his pants before pausing. His hand reached for his sweater's pockets.

He pursed his lips, eyes swimming with uncertainty as he pulled two folded papers from them. Though he didn't know the brown-haired boy who gave one to him, he wasn't blind.

With little effort, he remembered the description Devdas gave him of the Ranking Prince. Chestnut brown colored hair, a long scarf, seemingly vacant eyes at times, a petite stature, the boy obviously was Fuuta De La Stella.

He didn't know what type of connection the green had with the Petit Prince, the Vongola, or the бриз, but it seemed a bit messy for someone so unaware. For someone who ignored their existence until barely a week ago.

Shura shook his head, it didn't concern him. He took the second paper from his sweater, setting it on the desk for the teen to see before tossing Fuuta's note in the trash. His eyes shifted to the clock before he dusted his pants off the imaginary dust.

Thinking about things which didn't concern him was a bit of a pain. He pulled a lollipop from his pocket before tucking it in his mouth. From what Lord Makariy had told him, the teen would wake up in half an hour.

He licked the strawberry flavored sweet, nodding to himself as he made his way out. It didn't have anything to do with him. He shouldn't concern himself with the state of a stranger.

::

Low buzzing slowly turned into high pitched shrilling as Ryota became aware of his surrounding. Eyebrows knitted into a tight frown, he slowly fluttered his eyes open.

He felt a piercing headache, and his hand instinctively reached for his head of green in a weak attempt to soothe it. The repetitive ringing of his phone only served to enhance the pain he felt. He gritted his teeth, trying to find where he was—

Wait, his phone was ringing?

Ryota blinked, his dull and hazy pools of yellow gradually turning into bright gold. He let go of his head a grabbed his phone. As if on sync, the ringing stopped.

His screen blinked twice, showing him a few notifications. Missed messages, calls, updates on social media, and others. The most recent was a missed call from Fuuta.

Well, to be more precise— he unlocked his phone, swiftly accessing his call log. All of his recent calls, starting from two hours ago, were from the small mafia man.

The pain had yet to subside, but Ryota ignored it and pressed the call button. The faint sound of his ringtone echoed, waiting for the other side to pick up.

His golden eyes roamed the room he was in as one of his hand rubbed his temples in a circular motion. He could faintly remember how he got there, or what he did. His gaze settled on the desk beside the bed, and he noticed the book on Russia's political history remained.

"Mika?"

Mikaël's eyes flickered to his phone as he brought it to his ear, the voice of his manager drifting into the room.

"Claude," he called out, voice a bit raspy. He grasped his throat, clearing it with a frown. There was a small pause on the other side of the line before the half-Italian answered.

"Where are you, Mika?" The older man asked, voice steady and demeanor exceptionally calm.

Ryota looked around, he walked up to the window, the blind now pulled up, to take a look at the street below. He felt his phone vibrate, indicating an incoming call, but he ignored it. Mikaël tilted his head.

"I think," he tiredly hummed. "I may be in the Tokyo Palace Hotel," he said, oddly calm as he exited the bedroom to enter the rest of the suite.

Claude didn't answer immediately, only sighing. "Take a shower, I'll be there in half an hour, a full hour at most"

Ryota hummed in acknowledgment, the sound of his manager hanging up came to his ears. The green stared at his phone's black screen, it lit up, showing another incoming call from his small friend.

His eyes glinted, seemingly smiling, and he put it on the table, nor hanging up nor answering. He stretched, his body felt sore and— he sniffed his arm and scrunched his nose. And he needed to have a shower. Urgently.

::

Claude's eyes rested on the road, not sparring his charge a glance. "I won't ask questions," he began, breaking the silence as they got farther away from Tokyo.

Mikaël nodded slightly relieved and appreciative of his legal guardian's concern, eyes focused on the changing landscape outside. Minutes passed in a religious silence before Ryota broke it, his hand reaching for his left earlobe which was now devoid of any earring, it felt a bit empty.

"I think I met some of my—" he paused, eyes narrowing and glinting with a light he didn't quite understand. Perhaps wasn't it anticipation, excitation, or maybe was it closer to disgust and disdain.

"—That man's friends," he said, at last, settling on a less personal way of calling his progenitor. Ryota was far from dumb, his social skills had always been higher than his academics, and combined with his past experience it wasn't hard to deduce a thing or two from the Russians' conversations.

Claude's blue eyes left the road for the first time since they departed from the hotel to settle on his charge. His gaze showed a hint of conflict, which he quickly hid behind a sympathetic facade.

"Oh."

Ryota hummed. "I'm glad my mother left him," he murmured before pausing. "Or maybe, I'm glad he left her," he added with a yawn, unsure of how their separation went. And truth be told, he did not care. Not when he knew his progenitor was supposedly part of the Bratva, the Russian Mafia.

"Is that so."

Mikaël emitted a sound of agreement, confirming his earlier words. His golden eyes drifted back to the passing buildings. Claude quietly watched his charge from the corner of his eyes before releasing a silent sigh.

The blond didn't know all the details, after all, his jurisdiction wasn't so high, but from what he got and what his charge told him, he could more or less guess what happened.

Ah, why was his job so hard the day he began to deal with Mika?

No, why did he even agree to take him to Japan?

::

"I have to go back to work, I left right before a meeting. Call me if there's anything else okay? I'll be there as fast as possible," the blond paused, frowning. "Are you sure you don't want to rest in Tokyo this weekend?"

Mikaël shook his head, sending his manager one of his perfect model smiles. "Don't worry Claudecchi, I've got it all under control!"

Claude looked at his charge skeptically, those words did anything but reassure him, he hesitated a few seconds before shaking his head. "You can count on me okay—"

"Mika-nii?"

Claude paused, his eyes flickered to the boy who was staring at his charge with wide eyes. The man's blue eyes flashed and he pursed his lips. He turned the motor of his car on. "We'll talk about that later," he bade as he closed the window.

Stirring his drink, a milk tea, Ryota's mind drifted back to the restless boy in front of him. The way he squirmed, hesitant, bit his lower lip, unsure. The package was unbearably cute and immediately lifted his mood.

Chrome and the rest of the Kokuyo Land Gang, upon seeing him had at first expressed some rather peculiar forms of worry, before excusing themselves at the sigh of the boy. Most probably were they trying to give them some intimacy.

How considerate of them.

"A-ano, who was that?" The boy hesitantly asked as he fiddled with his fingers.

Ryota raised an eyebrow, he hadn't expected the boy to ask about Claude first. Well, he didn't think Claude would enter their conversation at all.

"My manager," he answered, taking a sip of the hot beverage. "He drove me back to Namimori from Tokyo," he elaborated.

"O-oh," silence settled between them, and Mikaël couldn't help but notice the frown which ghosted over the teen's figure. Was is so troubling for him to have a manager?

"I'm a model, he takes care of my schedule and acts as my legal guardian while in Japan," he provided, not concerned about the information he gave to the boy.

Fuuta seemed to snap out of his inner-reflexion and hurriedly nodded. He took a sip of the milk glass in front of him. "Mika-nii, are you alright?"

Ryota hummed, his hand reached for his chest, and he lightly patted it. "To be honest, I've never felt better. It's as if a huge weight was lifted from my shoulder. I feel lighter, more clear-minded," he trailed off. "Almost stronger," he added in a whisper.

And it was true, his body had never been in better shape before. He didn't know what the masked man had done to him, but it seemed the pain only made him stronger.

Well, it didn't mean that he liked those people in any way. The brown-haired girl, the Indian and Chinese men, he felt deep resentment toward them. But strangely enough, toward the one who inflicted him this condition and the boy who assisted him, he only had a vague feeling of regret, loss. He shrugged it off.

Fuuta slowly nodded, ingesting the information. He couldn't deny that the reason he went out was the feeling in his gut which told him Mikaël was near. And Fuuta wasn't dumb enough to think it was his intuition suddenly sharpening.

He was no Vongola, hyper-intuition wasn't a trait he possessed.

He bit his lower lip, turning them redder and making his strangely pale complexion seem sicker than it already was. The only plausible reason, as to why he suddenly took notice of Mikaël's arrival when he couldn't before, was the strengthening of his Flames.

He didn't know what these people had done, but without a doubt, they had managed to refine the Flames in his body. Turning them purer, stronger, to the point where camouflage was needed to hide his pool.

With how things were, it wouldn't be surprising for every Flame bearers who had the tiniest grasp over them, to have noticed his presence or felt some shift upon his arrival in town.

"Right, Fuutacchi—" Fuuta blinked, bringing his eyes to meet Mikaël's golden ones. "—how did the battle of the Rings turn out in the end?" He asked, strangely aware of the fact that the boy had followed it.

Fuuta's lips stretched into a smile, showing off his dimples and he beamed. "Tsuna-nii and the others won!" He said. "Now everything's back to normal," he added, the joy in his voice evident.

Ryota simpered, his hand reached for the boy's brown locks, and he gently ruffled them. "That's great, did Chrome help them?" His golden eyes carefully studied Fuuta's body as he half-heartedly listened to the answer, the boy seemed weaker than the last time he saw him.

Fuuta paused before nodding, his expression portrayed guilt, but he couldn't help the happiness he felt at the prospect that Mikaël wasn't part of Tsuna's Famiglia.

Ryota hummed. "I'm sure she'll make a great Guardian," he said, dismissing any regret he may have felt upon being demoted from the position of Tsunayoshi's Mist Guardian. It didn't fit him anyway. The group didn't suit him.

Anyway, even if it did, he didn't have time for it. Silently conversing with Fuuta, his mind drifted to the paper he'd found lying on the desk upon waking up in the hotel room.

«Prove yourself.»

He mentally frowned. To who?

бриз/briz/: breeze, land breeze, land wind

Important: Regarding future updates, I'm entering medical university this week, as such I should get pretty busy. Therefore updates will be much slower and unregular until my break (which is in December). Until then, if I'm active on Wattpad it means I'm procrastinating— That's no good for me, so yeah.

Also, don't misunderstand, I AM NOT DROPPING THIS STORY OR ANYTHING. 

Only much slower and unregular updates.

Thank you for reading, until next time^^