"Representative Battle?"

He gave a calm nod, gently humming in approval as he lowered his head to sip on some tea.

"That is right. I would like you to be one of my representatives."

::

A few days had passed since Ryota came back to Japan, and if there was one thing he was sure of, it was the fact that his house had turned much calmer since Chikusa and Ken's departure.

Waking up to the sound of his alarm clock, the green head silently stretched himself, not forgetting to turn it off, lest he becomes deaf from the shrilling cries of electronic.

Roughly he carded his hand through his messy bed hair, gently combing them into something more presentable as a small yawn escaped his lips. Done, his hand casually slid down to his nape, carefully rubbing his orned earlobe before he pushed the blanket off of his lap.

His long legs easily reached the flooring. The cool feeling against the sole of his feet sent a shiver down his spine, further awakening his numb mind.

A light knock at his door extirped him from his momentary daze before it slid open. Ryota didn't bother to look up, already knowing who the intruder was. Ever since coming back to Namimori, Shura had settled down in his house, in Ken and Chikusa's old room.

Ryota didn't know why, but the pink-haired hitman had made it his duty to take care of every one of his needs. It was a bit troubling at first, almost embarrassing to have someone follow you everywhere you went, waiting for a tell to know what you wanted. Even Ryota who was used to rapt attention from his fans couldn't adapt instantly, it was then that he understood what Nijimura meant by "sacred existence" in the future.

"Good morning Shura," he greeted, his voice slightly hoarse and raspy from the night. His golden eyes swept over the room, minutely stoping on the mirror as he took his face in before resting on the mute teen.

Shura beamed, no trace of sleepiness on his face. His hands moved with practiced ease in greeting as he gave the green a firm nod of his head. Once again Ryota had to wonder where he found all his energy every morning, the hitman was so hyped it was disconcerting.

From his peripheral vision, Ryota watched as the pink-haired teen pulled out his school uniform before carefully settling in next to him on his bed. "Thanks," he breathed, not feeling an ounce of embarrassment as the foreign teen took out a pair of underwear from one of his drawers.

Shura beamed him another smile once done before walking out of the room, some regret tinging his cerulean eyes. It was obvious he wasn't done but resigned himself to get out nonetheless.

Ryota smiled in silent thanks, not stopping the pink head like he probably wanted. It was one thing to have his clothes prepared by someone else, but to allow others to dress him was going overbroad. He heaved a sigh as he grabbed his prepared clothes to walk to the bathroom— he was sure Shura had prepared everything ranging from breakfast to the toothpaste on his toothbrush if necessary.

He didn't know if that was the life of a Mafia Boss, to have underlings attend to his every need, but he seriously doubted it. After all, he had trouble imagining his progenitor receive help from others to get dressed every morning.

Dressed, ready to set out for school, he heard the sound of trickling water from afar, probably his Brother was taking a shower now that the house would be emptied. He gave a nod to Shura in farewell, hurriedly turning his sight from the pitiful act the pink was putting before walking out of the condo with Chrome in tow.

::

"Haah, what a drag," Junichiro sighed as he stretched in his seat, it was two hours into their day and he was already dead tired from his chemistry class. "What Newton Law, I don't care about that stuff," he grumbled, remembering the papers the teacher handed back.

Ryota chuckled, mutely agreeing to his friend's statement. If not for the fact that physics played an important role in becoming a pilot, he too would be at lost when attending class.

"Argh, and I can't see Shura-chan anymore too," he complained. "Why did you have to come back so early Mika!"

"Mou, so mean, Juncchi," Ryota retorted with an exaggerated pout. "I'm gone for a week and you already replaced me with your lover-ssu," he whined, faking a few tears at the corner of his eyes. "Wasn't the saying friends begore gals a thing?"

Jun paused before grinning. "Of course it is, but Shura-chan's a guy. It doesn't apply to him," he cheekily replied.

Ryota fake gasped, bringing a hand to his chest as he dramatically slumped on his desk. "You wound me, Juncchi. I thought we had something going on!"

Jun chortled as he swung his pointer finger from one side to another in denial. "Nuhu, that was before Shura-chan maybe. Now it is too late, you had your chance, Mika."

"Oh, damnation!"

Jun laughed, the sound of the bell to announce the end of recess soon overlapping their voices. "Argh!" the raven cried, mentally pulling his hair at the thought of their upcoming math class. "I hate Nezu's classes the most," he grumbled.

Ryota gave a small laugh, a blend of amusement and agreement toward his friend's statement. "You hate every class Juncchi," he corrected.

Jun pouted, rolling his eyes as he turned to face the board, Nezu's old figure entering the room. "No need to put it like this," he muttered.

Ryota merely grinned before his expression dimmed upon hearing their teacher's voice. Haah, he too hated math class, too many memories he'd rather not remember came back to him at the thought of them. The times where he crammed them to no end to barely pass, the times he almost missed training camps because of failed exams, the times he missed his exams and had to take remedial classes— urgh, how painful.

Math went, followed by some history class and soon lunchtime took over. Nothing major happened, apart from Junichiro's whining and complaining regarding his and Shura's supposed "couple watch," it went by as quickly as it came.

Afternoon classes weren't much better, sports class obviously wasn't Junichiro's favorite— though he had been suspiciously keen on them these days, and Ryota who usually quite like them didn't feel like tiring himself over some football.

He had some previous arrangement to attend to, it wouldn't be good for him to be too tired before them after all. Sport class went by with the First-year's team coming out on top— they did have a few good players and two sports enthusiasts on board, that helped keep the moral when the opposing team felt mildly interested in the game.

Recess came over. "I'm dropping by the baseball field before going home, are you coming, Juncchi?" Ryota asked as he folded his tie before putting it away in his bag, too tired to put it back on when school was already over.

Junichiro hummed as he finished tying his shoelaces. "Don't you have club activities though? 'You skipping?" he questioned, swinging his back over his shoulder as his other hand went to rearrange his hair.

Ryota's fingers that were tying his wristwatch back momentarily paused before he shook his head in denial. "Nah," he vocalized. "I have guests this week from my father's side, can't keep them unattended for too long," he explained, looking up to meet Junichiro's reddish eyes.

Seeing Junichiro only hum but not agreeing, Ryota added. "Also, Shura should come and fetch me—"

"I'm coming! I wouldn't let my good friend Mika walk alone to the baseball field now, would I?"

There was an indescribable look on Ryota's face a short instant, a blend of mirth and disgust before he snorted. "Right," he drawled, a sly smirk on his face. "Either way, whether you're coming or not I—"

Beep! Attention please, one minute remaining until battle commencement—

Both teens jumped in fright at the unexpected alarm. "The hell is tha—"

50 seconds remaining—

Ryota curse under his breath, hurriedly walking out of the school building he bypassed the baseball field as he pulled his phone out to send the captain a text.

"Wait, Mika, the baseball field's the opposite way!"

40 seconds remaining—

"Sorry Juncchi, I'm in a hurry I sent the captain a text instead," he chuckled. "He'll understand," Ryota's eyes were focused on his phone as he began to dial another number, he didn't have the time to end his dial before his phone rung. "Heya Six-cchi—"

30 seconds remaining—

"Where are you right now-ssu?" he asked, voice slightly impatient as he caught sight of the pink-haired hitman by the school gate. Shura didn't bother with his usual pleasantries, grabbing the taller green head in a princess carry he sent the confused raven head a clam nod.

20 seconds remaining—

"What the—" Ryota interrupted himself, deciding to talk to the pink about the carry later he resumed his phone conversation. "I'll talk to you later, Juncchi, don't worry!" Jun dazedly looked on. "No, nothing— wait, so far!" he cried, only to be answered by his 'comrade's' laughter.

10 seconds remaining—

Ryota sighed, giving Shura the address. He didn't know when Shura learned of the geography of the town, but it didn't take more for the male to easily carry Mikaël away to their destination. Jumping from roof to roof, building to building, if not for the situation he was in, Ryota would have blushed by the boy's unexpected handsomeness— he sometimes forgot that before being his nanny Shura was first and foremost one of the elite members of бриз as well as the sole disciple of their best hitman.

5 seconds—

4 seconds—

3 seconds—

2 seconds—

1 second—

Attention, the battle has commenced. The time limit is ten minutes. With these words, the communication broke and another countdown began.

Ryota felt he was losing hair from stress upon hearing the announcement. Ah, was Francchi okay? Would he get hurt?

::

The man silently sipped on his tea, a flagrant contrast to the agitation outdoors, he relished in the calming scent that wafted to his nose a pleased smile dancing on his thin lips.

He felt particularly at peace, almost on a vacation if not for the big black unfashionable watch fastened to his slender right wrist. Truly, the contrast of the burly object against his skin was too aggressive to the eyes to the point that if it wasn't a request of his Master, never would he have agreed to wear it even for honey-potting.

He had his pride as a vase and an agent, as a flower and assassin. His appearance, as superfluous as it may sound was one of his primary weapons. He knew what suited him best and what didn't, and until the day where he would be too wrinkled to use his face to his advantage, he would strive to keep himself as ethereal and beautiful as possible— this was the fate of every good honey pot agent.

He rested the ceramic cup on the low table, appreciating the stillness of the room before hie deep blue eyes flickered to look down on the watch dial of the monstrosity that adorned his wrist.

They were approximatively two minutes and a half into the first round.

His almond-shaped eyes narrowed as he hummed to himself, unhurriedly pulling his fan out to cover the lower part of his face— something he often did when in thoughts before he neatly shut the metallic accessory.

Yeah, he wouldn't go. Not yet at least. He didn't know where all the mice were, felt a bit too lazy to chase after them as hi jet lag had yet to subside and most of all didn't want to bother with fighting just yet.

He remembered the people his Master took in his team, his hand reaching for the files that carelessly laid out in the open before gently flipping through them. Information on both friends and foes were recorded, all of them which were more than 99% reliable as they came from Makariy.

His long fingers casually glided from one page to another, sometimes hovering over a name or face as he recorded each one to his memory. Not so difficult for someone who was used to attending banquets with hundreds of guests whose names, hobbies, relationships, and professions he needed to remember.

He allowed himself to linger on a few names for a few more seconds, barely refraining his Flames from going off when his eyes fell on an obnoxiously familiar white head before he put all the files away.

He leaned forward, taking another sip of his lukewarm drink before stealing another glance at the watch dial. Eight minutes into the first round, he mused with some appreciation. In two minutes this ugly thing would shut up and it wouldn't have been because he broke it.

He inhaled the calming scent that wafted to his nose.

How lovely.

Now the Battle Royal begins!

Any take on how it is going to proceed? (which team, if he is going to be eliminated?)

Thank you for reading, until next time^^