"Whoah, so this is what big brother looked like at seventeen-year-old," Fran stated as he walked around Mikaël's taller figure. His hands were stuffed in his Varia coat, while he kept his head tilted, a perfect deadpan etched on his face.

If plastic smiles, pretty words, and cheeriness were Mikaël's key points, then Fran's were his eternal poker face, bluntness, and dullness.

Ryota kept a sham smile on his face, though a bit stiff as he hadn't expected his little brother to be part of this business, he tried to keep his composure.

Fran hummed to himself. He brought a hand to his chin, as if deep in thoughts, though Ryota guessed he'd picked up this mannerism from one of his colleagues and was trying to copy them.

"Well," the teen drawled, his green eyes quickly looking at Mikaël up and down. "If you omit the wrinkles, white hair, and the annoyed look big brother usually has, I suppose nobody will notice a thing," he listlessly said, shaking his head from side to side as if defeated.

Ryota's eyebrow twitched. He wasn't clear on his future self's situation, but whether what he said was true or not didn't matter. The boy knew the older him wouldn't appreciate the compliments.

Fran stared at the golden-eyed teen for a few seconds, awaiting something. What? Ryota didn't know.

The teen with a frog hat pursed his lips, discontent, he frowned for a moment before his face went back to its default expression. "Ah, it truly isn't big brother," the Mist admitted, his tone betraying his reluctance. "Big brother would have scolded me long ago. How stupid, bottling it all up," he added, his green eyes looking at Mikaël with some pity.

Ryota's smile twitched. He didn't remember Fran being so blunt, almost rude. He sighed, unconsciously rubbing his temples in a circular motion as he tried to ease his nerves and forget the younger's words.

Fran observed, his dull eyes sharply overlooking the green's move before he spun on himself to walk away. "Too much bottling up is bad," he admonished. "You'll frown and then get wrinkles," he taught as he led the way out of the grand living room.

Behind him, Ryota sent the teen a dubious look, his lips twisted in a sneer. Whose fault is it that he's frowning?

The Varia Mist gave a long tired sigh as if utterly defeated and resigned to fate. "You should take example on me. I don't have a single wrinkle," he shamelessly boasted.

Ryota almost tripped on his feet in astonishment.

::

"Ara? Is that supposed to be his Lordship Mikaël?" A girl with a short bob of red asked as she leaned into the teen's face.

Currently sitting in a private jet heading toward an unknown destination, Ryota warily took in his surroundings, or more precisely, the people around him.

The girl tilted her head, blinking her, round violet eyes. "Oh my!" She suddenly exclaimed, bringing a hand to her mouth to express, what Ryota supposed was, shock. "Do you not remember me?" She asked voice tinged with undetectable sadness. "I'm Emma," she introduced, slipping to French. "M.M."

Ryota blinked his golden eyes, his sham smile receding as his lips turned into an O shape. "M.M." He repeated, testing the way the name rolled off his tongue. He didn't know why, but it was strangely addictive.

"Maybe, are you Mukurocchi's people?" He cautiously inquired, his golden eyes carefully going over each one of the occupants' figures.

The girl beamed. "Exactment!" She exclaimed, grabbing the teen's hands in her own as she leaned closer to his face. "I knew you wouldn't forget me," she added, her violet eyes crinkled as she smiled at the teen.

Ryota mechanically returned the smile. He didn't remember M.M. being casual? In his memory, she was more pompous. People changed he supposed. His golden hues flickered behind the girl to settled on the two other males.

One was reclining in his seat, eyes closed behind his rectangular pair of glasses, a beanie on his head. The second one with spiky blond hair kept in place with pink hairclips, had a permanent scowl on his face as he tried to get some shut-eye. A scar was etched on it, going from one cheek to the other.

M.M., feeling the shift of attention in the teen, turned her head to look behind her. Seeing the two males, she called her 'comrades,' she scowled.

"Then, those two are Ken and Chikusa?" Ryota stated in a questioning tone, his golden eyes momentarily flickering to M.M.'s figure before he gazed back at the two resting adults.

The girl nodded, a small pout on her face. "Aww, how come you remembered them but not me?" She whined, pinching the teen's cheeks and pulling on them.

Mikaël's eyes widened a fraction, obviously not expecting the familiar gesture. He didn't think both of them would grow so close, with the years.

The girl let go, allowing Ryota to rub his sore face, leaving only light red marks as a reminder of the woman's previous action. "I-I didn't mean it like that," he stuttered, surprising even himself. Since when did he stumble on his words? The last time he did was in his former life.

The redhead looked at him suspiciously before huffing, flipping her hair behind. "You better. I'm not as forgettable as them!"

A snicker.

M.M. swiftly turned her face to look into the sound's direction. "Hah? You have something to say, Fran?

The teen shook his head, a perfect deadpan on his face as he yawned. "Nothing," he mumbled, entirely disregarding the girl's presence. "Except, please do not infect my brother now. I don't want him screaming in my ears all day. I'm too young to be deaf," he earnestly stated.

M.M.'s brow twitched. She grabbed a neighboring pillow, throwing it right into the boy's face. "You're lucky we need you, Fran. I would've thrown you out of that plane right this instant otherwise!"

Fran gasped. "But I would die, M.M."

"That's the point!" She screeched, waking up the two sleeping males.

"Ah."

::

"So, uhm, what am I supposed to do?" Ryota asked, arms tightly wrapped around his body to keep himself warm as they walked through the snowy mountain. The freezing wind hit their faces as they went deeper into the mountain.

Fran, who walked next to him, tilted his head to the side. His green eyes absentmindedly swept through the white landscape before they settled on his cousin's younger self.

"Well, I wanted you to work in my stead," he admitted with a yawn. "But well, now that you're like that I suppose I'll have to do it alone," he confessed, shaking his head in defeat as he stared straight ahead, a poker face on his face.

Ryota carefully nodded, voluntarily ignoring the part where the younger blatantly admitted to using him. "And, in other words?"

Fran looked at the teen beside him in what the green supposed was disbelief. The Illusionist kept it up for a few seconds, only the sound of snow under their feet echoing in the vast mountain.

"Right," he said, at last. "You're not from my generation," he reminded, hitting the palm of his hand with his fist as if coming to understand the meaning of life. "Flames weren't as common in your time," he stated, sending the green what seemed to be a pitiful look through his dull eyes.

Ryota refrained himself from retorting, once again, instead stiffly nodding. "Right," he agreed.

"Well, we're going to impersonate the Millefiore's men and get Master back," he plainly stated. "Simple as that."

"I suppose," Ryota whispered, a pensive look on his face. He wasn't clear on Mukuro's situation. After all, he had only met the male once, approximatively a few months ago from his point of view, and from what Chikusa told him at the time, Mukuro was in prison.

Though, looking at where they were, he had to wonder what kind of prison was there, and why the man would get locked up here. It was a fringe location, without doubt, one which wasn't easy to access, and most probably, one people didn't usually know.

Thinking of it that way sent a chill down the green head's spine, making him shiver. He didn't know if it was the freezing weather or the building tension in his guts, but he felt extremely jumpy at the moment.

He brushed his thoughts on the prison off, focusing his attention on the task at hand. Impersonate the Millefiore, take Mukuro out of jail, get the hell out of here. It seemed— feasible? He wasn't so sure, but he could only rely on Mukuro's men and his brother at the moment.

Though he had followed Shura's spartan training when it came to fighting, at the end of the day, he was no pro. The experience others owned, he didn't have it, and this, no matter how many skills he managed to copy and assimilate as his.

Compared to all these monsters he'd met since arriving there, he was an amateur, a novice, a poor excuse of a mafia man. His only real fight was against Mammon, and even then he almost got killed if not for Natalia's timely intervention.

He was stronger than before, no doubt about it. Be it the quality of his Mist Flame, his agility, registry, or any skills in general, he had long, since surpassed the him who lived a peaceful life. The him who carefreely, in a way, led his life, was abandoned at some point, buried in the deepest part of his being.

Firstly upon his death in the plane crash, his soul shattered, leaving a shadow of who he once was. Secondly, when Reborn requested his presence. Thinking about it, accepting the baby's request, probably equaled to forsaking his life for the one future him had. And then, his last straw, it inevitably broke when he came to this time.

It was fated, for him to lead such a chaotic life after rebirth. First, he tasted the sweet feeling of leaving. Then he faced the tragedy named Death. And when he thought he, at last, held the delicious fruit called life in his palms, it turned out to be bitter. Oh so disturbing.

The people who he knew, but who didn't know him, the control completely slipping out of his fingers. A dreadful feeling, indeed.

"We're here," Chikusa's voice pulled him out of his musings. He took in his surroundings, noticing the thick forest of coniferous trees around them, each veiled with white. "Fran."

The younger of the group nodded, letting a yawn slip past his lips. "Yes, yes," he unhurriedly answered in his usual lazy way. "I'm on it."

Ryota looked at his younger brother's older self in mild curiosity. His golden eyes solely focused on his movements as the boy waved his hand. The 666 ring coated itself in indigo, letting a haze of similar color waft to the other people. Once it disappeared, standing in front of Mikaël wasn't the Kokuyo Land gang, but four unknown people in white uniforms.

He didn't comment on it, taking in his clothes as his eyes smoothly dissolved back to their natural golden color. So this is the power of a Mist, he mused, eyes slightly narrowed.

He flickered his gaze to his hand, concentrating and letting a thin veil of indigo form around it. He twirled it, entirely focused on this meaningless task. Slowly, the flow which appeared quite rough at first turned smoother, almost gliding along his fingers like clear water.

His thoughts went back to Francis' move, seconds before, and his frown tightened. To change the appearance of something voluntarily. He had created already while practicing sports usually without being aware of it, or during his fight with Mammon when he became conscious of his skill.

But never had he changed something's appearance.

He closed his eyes, thinking of what he could be, which wasn't him. Of what he wanted to be. Free, he wished to be free. Like before, to be able to fly from one place to another, in the boundless sky above. Like a bird.

He fluttered his golden eyes open, and what greeted him was not the sight of his glove covered hand, but the vision of a limb concealed by a multitude of green and yellow feathers. A wing, he blinked, the surprise quickly overcoming the shock he felt, and his hand was back.

"Oh, well I guess you are big brother, after all," came Fran's voice from beside him. The teen— well adult from a physical point of view, leaned onto the older's shoulder, eyeing the previously transformed limb in thoughts.

"Thanks?"

Fran blinked his now brown eyes before apathetically shaking his head. "Well, if you couldn't do this much, I would doubt your identity," he pointed out as he walked away, following the others' footsteps.

Ryota wryly smiled, in a sense immune to the younger's words and amused by them. He quickly jogged up to them, dismissing the matter of his hand for some later times.

Preferably once they had secured Mukuro's position.

Exactement: Exactly

Thanks for reading, until next time^^