Hands above his head as he casually stretched his back, Ryota moaned in content. "Damn-ssu, we made it out alive," he drawled, a delighted smile painting his lips. He could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins from the previous round.

It was almost suffocating, the tension, the never-ending rain of attacks coming from both sides, and the— and then— that rain of bullets, he shivered. A result of both his fear and excitation, fear for his life as he felt death was incoming, and morbid excitation when he thought of taking the others' lif— watch.

He paused, his smile stiffened before he airily chuckled. Aha? Did he just think that taking a life was fun?

Fun?

Amusing?

Entertaining?

Endearing?

Oh my, his lips unnaturally twitched up and down as he carelessly brought a hand to cover the maniacal smirk that threatened to overtake his lips. Was he growing insane now? Did his thinking start to morph?

Human's ability to adapt was honestly scary.

"Kufufu—" Ryota's half-lidded eyes snapped out of their daze to focus on the laughing teen. "Of course we did, who do you think we are?" the illusionist paused, his grin stretched. "No, rather, who do you think I am, Ota-kun?

Ryota's cryptical smile had long since been replaced by an absentminded expression as he listened to the other's rambling.

"I say— Kufufu, wait, are you ignoring me, Ota-kun?"

Ryota blinked, his golden eyes going back to their usual focus as he sent Mukuro his typical plastic smile. "Mhm? What did you say Six-cchi?"

The Mist disapprovingly clicked his tongue a few times before sighing. "Now, now, Ota-kun, that's no way to treat your dear friend," he instructed.

Ryota merely smiled, trying to adjust his mind to his new psyche— rather, his new unsettling mindset regarding the value of life.

Shura whose line of sight was kept on his Future Boss, casually tilted his head to the side, his blue eyes crinkled jovially as an enchanted grin erupted on his face.

Ahh, he wanted to blush. No, he wanted to scream, tremble from uncontrollable glee.

Was that the feeling his father once described to him? The boundless bliss he received every time Lord Aleksey stepped down his pedestal to walk the battlefield—

Every time he dirtied his spotless hands, dying them in red and making them deadlier and more beautiful—

Was this the shadow of the Lord and Savior that he longed for?

He licked his upper lip, not missing the troubled look Mikaël gained when he realized his change.

Truly, coming to Japan for his break was a great decision.

::

"Ara, ara, although I am most pleased to see you all on the floor, it is a shame we couldn't finish our business," the Asian taunted, a flirtatious smirk adorning his lips.

Fon chuckled, dusting himself off as he jumped onto his disciple's shoulder in used practice. "Now, now, Little Chen, don't rub it in their face," he sermoned. "It's not their fault they were weaker."

Mammon clicked their tongue in distaste, the sight of the broken watches left a bitter taste in their mouth as they turned away from their fellow Arcobaleno and representatives.

The outcome of the second round was pretty bad for team Mammon, with three members down out of five, Mammon had to admit Fon was talented. Their eyes swept over Lussuria, Leviathan and Belphegor's figure in hidden dismay before they spun around to look at the young Vongola Cloud.

A low growl emanated from the teenager's lips, one that typically sent chills down Tsunayoshi and the other Namimori students' spines. It was a snarl akin to a beast, one ready to jump on its prey, decimate its enemy and shred them to pieces.

Sadly, Hibari's audience wasn't his usual one. In the mess that was the Varia's hotel room were only professional assassins and the likes. None of them felt scared upon hearing the teen, only mild amusement— Zhihao who held the hem of the boy's collar found it almost endearing.

How cute, a cub trying to scare full-grown beasts.

"Let— Me— Go," the raven difficultly articulated, his head stiffly turning to glare at the Chinese hitman. Noticing the mischievous smirk dancing on the older's lips, Kyoya growled louder in a warning. "Let me go or I'll bite you to death, annoying Carnivore," he threatened.

Zhihao chuckled, loving the way the boy's lips would twitch in annoyance as he barely restrained himself from attacking him.

"Now, now," Fon cut from his disciple's shoulder. "Let him go, Little Chen. Hibari is old enough to take care of himself," he sermoned, voice laced with mirth.

This decision, Fon barely had the time to regret it before Hibari destroyed his Battle Watch to 'go for another round' with the Varia who barely restrained their Boss from destroying his Boss Watch.

::

"Objectively speaking, I would say the day was quite productive," Zhihao calmly enunciated from his seat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other with his metallic fan resting atop his lap, he elegantly sipped on his freshly brewed tea.

Shura spared the older male a glance as the carefully poured Mikaël a cup of the hot beverage before making himself a cup.

The light sound of ceramic hitting the wooden low table echoed. "If we take into account the number of people eliminated and the fact that Team Yuni got eradicated— although not by us, then we did pretty well," he admitted, gently humming to himself as he remembered the previous rank board his Watch's holographic display exposed.

Ryota nodded, his golden eyes absentmindedly stared at the greenish drink as he recalled the adrenaline and euphoric feelings the battle brought in him. Something so similar to when he played basketball, yet different— more feral, dangerous.

Something he wished he never felt, even if it meant living in a grey world, devoid of colors and feelings—

But then again, would he even accept such a thing?

Would he be able to endure the monotony of life?

Ryota's mind was bitter. He knew more than anyone else how his mind worked, and until he realized his thoughts could approve of killing, he would have never accepted such a fate.

He silently exhaled, taking a sip of the tea brew as he focused his whole attention back on the Chinese hitman.

"—It is a shame we lost Hibari, although a bit rough on the edge he had so much potential to exploit," he sighed in dismay, his voice laced with amusement as his blue eyes glinted with interest.

Ryota didn't voice it, but he admitted Hibari Kyoya was skilled. No, more than skilled Hibari was a genius, one of a kind. The type of person Ryota would never manage to become. There was simply some animalistic instincts the green head lacked to truly understand Kyoya— golden eyes swept to rest on Shura's docile figure, they carefully narrowed. Instincts only people like Shura possessed.

The light hum of the older man brought Ryota back to his senses. "Either way, the two of you should take the remaining time to rest, following the previous days' pattern, the next battle shouldn't happen until tomorrow," Zhihao counted, his eyes flickering upward to look at the wall clock as he easily ignored the massive accessory around his wrist. "I say, you have five hours to relax."

Ryota's eyes switched from Zhihao's face to his wristwatch, it was a quarter to eight in the afternoon. Ryota took another circular look at his living room as if to search for some inconsistencies— for things that differed from the usual. As if to check that nobody had infiltrated his house while they were away.

It was— logically speaking, a stupid thing to do. After all, he had been seating without a move for more than an hour now, and Shura and Zhihao who sat with him were much more inclined to find out any foreign presence in the condo if there was ever one.

Nonetheless, it unspeakably put his mind at ease, the moment he acknowledged that nobody but them was here, his shoulders relaxed, the tension left his body. He felt much better, much more comfortable.

Now ready, body and mind, he stood up, taking the empty cup back to the kitchen he didn't forget to ask his guests what they wanted for dinner. He was on cooking duty tonight.

Without any surprises, the Sun's answer came in the form of a nonchalant hum while Shura diligently followed him back to the kitchen in his trademark silence— not that he could speak in the first place.

Ryota set the two empty cups in the sink and turned to the fridge. From behind, he heard the sound of tap water filling the two cups, most probably Shura's doing as the boy brought back the rest of the tea set.

His eyes skimmed over his half-empty fridge, he absentmindedly considered calling for pizza delivery before scratching the thought off at the thought of the man sitting on his living room's sofa. There was some leftover food from earlier this week, but he didn't feel like eating leftovers, what's more, leftovers day went from Saturday to Sunday and today was neither.

He caught a glimpse of some fresh vegetables, remembered that he had some pasta lying around in his cupboard and after much consideration decided to opt for a light vegetarian meal. They had eaten meat at lunch and the day before, a bit of vegetable wouldn't hurt— it wasn't that he was too lazy to cook the beef or anything.

He took out the greens, and as if Shura had read his mind, a chopping board and sharp knife were already waiting for him. There were two sets, Shura was probably there to give him a hand and who was he to refuse?

With a strangely well built tacit understanding, they proceeded to cut the vegetables and prepare the pasta before mixing the whole— an easy and healthy dish for the night. Add to it some salt and pepper and their meal was done.

While eating, Ryota didn't forget to ignore the pointed looks his Martial Brother gave him as he silently ate his dinner.

The evening was calm, relaxing even as they basked in the remaining hours that were gifted to them before the start of the next day. A new day meant a new round, a new round meant always being on guard— at the moment, they could let their guard down.

The clock that hung on the living room's wall gently ticked away, its pace rhythmical and calculated as seconds silently and unnoticeably passed. It was roughly ten thirty, they had a bit less than an hour and a half before they went back to 'Battle Royal' mode.

The nights in Namimori were calm, not a sound came out from the streets. After putting the dishes away, rinsing them and storing them away in the washing machine for the next morning, Ryota went to the bathroom for a quick shower and to prepare to sleep.

He customarily went first— his internal clock being hard to counter when he didn't follow it. Shura usually went a few minutes after him while Zhihao customarily went at around one or two in the morning. Jet lag and insomnia were terrible foes for sure, but work was even more frightening.

It was around a quarter past eleven that it happened. At the time, Shura silently laid on the couch, phone in hand he calmly typed away, most probably to report to his foster father— though Ryota liked to think Junichiro was on the other side of the screen.

Zhihao habitually read the newspapers on the opposing fauteuil he claimed as his own and Ryota was drying his hair as he began to brush his teeth, a simple tee-shirt and jogging thrown over to serve as pajamas.

It was calm, perhaps was it too calm.

The window crashed, shattered pieces of glass laid on the floor, a strange gleam to them under the artificial lighting of the living room as a dense black mist began to materialize in front of the two Bratva men.

Instinct was stronger than habits, in less than a second, they had jumped back from the spot the unknown enemy appeared from, easily pulling out their favored weapon.

No words were uttered, there wasn't any need to— like a snake jumping on its prey, a rusty chain shot Zhihao's way. The assault didn't stop, not missing a beat as the Chinese man began to deflect the hit, a multitude of similar-looking cables followed.

They spared nothing, easily shredding and destroying the furniture while blocking their targets' escape route, they threateningly aimed to take if necessary the two males' lives.

Both Shura and Zhihao felt confusion overwhelm them. Of course, they knew the Vindice and their line of work. As part of one of the most important Mafia group, it was impossible not to know of them.

The Vindice was an independent organization whose purpose was to make sure nobody disregarded the Omerta. They were famous for keeping some of the most ruthless men in their prison hidden somewhere in the mountain and it was rumored that nobody could escape from it.

Getting caught by the Vindice or crossing the Vindice in any way was synonymous with death as a Mafia man or person. No one provoked the Vindice because no one wanted to face the wrath of the prison wardens.

As the dust settled down, the two trained hitmen displayed a rarely seen look of exhaustion. The confrontation lasted less than a minute, but they already felt a bit drained from the surprise attack.

The one who broke the silence was a bandaged man, in the uninvited trio that proudly stood in the living room, he was at the center. His voice was low, hoarse and seemed to almost crack as he spoke. As if his throat was extremely dry and his voice almost extinct.

Long speeches were unnecessary to understand the purpose of the group.

"Hand over the Boss Watch."

They had come over to take down the Representatives.

Any guess on the outcome of the fight with the Vindice?

Thank you for reading, until next time^^