He lifted his right arm out of reflex as he noticed the foreign object that aimed for him. In his mouth were his toothbrush and the mixture of paste and water. Ryota, upon hearing the sound of glass shattering, had hurried to the living to take a look.

His left hand quickly pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth, a second before his right wrist got caught in a rusty chain that sent him tumbling forward on the floor. He grimaced, both from the harsh and unexpected fall, and the taste of the diluted toothpaste going down his throat.

Shura's guard slightly dropped as he alarmedly glanced at his Future Boss before he voicelessly snarled, stalking closer to the green head without a care for his safety. How could he allow Mikaël to get into harm's reach while he was present?

Ryota's left hand easily let go of the plastic toothbrush as he instinctively rolled his body to the left, narrowly dodging another chain charging his way. He released a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding before raising his head to take a better look at his aggressors.

Three draped figures proudly stood in the middle of the shattered glass that lay on the parquet. There were no uttered words, no grand movements, but their momentum was comparable to the one Ryota felt when he saw Aleksey— no, perhaps was it even greater?

Unlike the Pakhan who silently stalked its prey like an awk, piercing golden hues never leaving its target, the concealed figures exuded a prominent smell of despair. Aleksey was Death, the Men were Despair. Both were emotions Ryota was all too familiar with, but to meet the impersonation of such feelings wasn't something he expected.

He did a backward roll, cursing at the t-shirt that wasn't tucked in his joggings before standing up in one fluid motion. His eyes barely spared the chain that embedded itself where he previously laid a glance as a chill went down his spine. Despite all his talks about not fearing death, Ryota did fear the notion of the afterworld. Now more than ever as he had found himself a place to call his own.

His eyes minutely darted to check on Shura and Zhihao's condition before he focused back on the intruders. "So," he panted. "Who are you?" he questioned, a sly smirk automatically taking over his lips.

Ryota wasn't aware, but his 'calm' reaction, as well as his steady speech despite the Vindice's presence, was something the Past him would have never achieved. It was the result of his work, adaptation, challenges that toughened him up since he meddled with the underworld. It was the incarnation of his growth as an individual.

The Vindicare didn't answer, one of them merely tilting their head aside. Some people who belonged to the Mafia still were unaware of them, or was the question a display of reckless boldness?

Zhihao chuckled, his Martial Brother's question more or less diffusing some of his tension as he adopted a better stance. "Mikaël, meet the Vindicare, or Vindice, Mafia's Warden."

Ryota gave a curt nod, his eyes momentarily clouding with some surprise. "Ah? Did we breach any law now-ssu?" he wondered a nervous laugh slipping past his lips.

Zhihao worked his way closer to the teen, deflecting and dodging what came at him as best as he could, it was better to be close to his teammates that for them to separate. "Mhm, not that I remember."

"Is that so?" Ryota muttered, feeling more and more perplex by the situation as he yet again dived to the side to dodge another attack. The living room wasn't narrow, but the multitude of furniture made the room feel cozier and smaller than it truly was. Using his beloved sofa as a makeshift barrier, Ryota had no time to cry its death as yet another chain embedded itself in the leather.

How much would restoring his living room cost?

Barehanded, Ryota began to feel how the lack of weapon put him at another whole level of disadvantage against the Vindice. He bit his lower lip, regretting the Mist Ring left on the counter of the bathroom as he gathered some Mist Flames to mislead the Vindice as best as possible.

The first illusions were a bit rough on the edge as if to reflect his rushed thinking, but slowly they turned smoother, more genuine and soon reality and illusion weren't discernible anymore.

Ryota was a genius when it came to copying, that was an innate talent. What's more, the people who gave him pointers on his illusions where Mukuro, Future Mukuro, and Future Fran— Illusionists famed for being able to fool even the Vindice. It came as no surprise that Ryota was so skilled when his Future Self was also part of those selected few.

The nickname Wizard which he gained on the court didn't follow him in the underworld for simple aesthetic measures.

But it remained, Ryota was not his Future Self. He wasn't the Boss of a prominent Bratva, nor did he have mountains of fighting experience or was awarded the title Magicien just yet. His illusions were part of the best already, but they were far from his Future Self's level, trained eyes would easily spot them after careful observation.

Ryota kept some tells to his illusions and soon the Vindice found them. As a left-handed person, Ryota mainly relied on his dominant hand when constructing illusions, it was quicker and the lines were smoother and more realistic. But as an amateur, he couldn't conceal the gathered Mist around his left wrist and fingers.

Of course, he was much stronger than when he first fought against Mammon for Tsunayoshi. Evidently, his skills had improved by leaps and bounds since he first found them out in Teiko.

Then again, the gap between the current Ryota and the Vindice was too big.

It went quickly— it was too fast, too precisely calculated.

"小心," Zhihao called as he gripped the green's shirt to pull him back. Narrowly Ryota dodged the chain that came from his blind spot.

Shura who stood a few feet away released a breath before it suddenly caught in his throat. His blue eyes focused on the rusty chain as if flew in a slow-motion, a blend of despair and adrenaline overwhelmed him, the whole supplemented by a dash of uncontrolled anger.

Shura was a trained hitman, his mentor was part of the elite, his spatial awareness was to notch. He knew he wouldn't make it and that with all the best will Zhihao put it he wouldn't change a thing. The pendular effect was too strong— Mikaël's awareness too weak.

Truthfully, it lasted less than a second.

"他媽的!"

Ryota didn't even have the time to wonder what 'tā mā de' meant, he already felt like cursing himself when he felt the tremendous pain of the chain piercing his left wrist. He easily got dragged out of Zhihao's loose grip as the warden pulled on its chain and brought him closer.

Ryota hissed in pain, his mind blurred with agony he didn't know how to react. It hurt, It hurt so damn much— he was no genius to guess his left wrist and hand per extension were wasted.

His right hand reached for one of Shura's dagger that got embedded on the floor during the fight and in one swift movement, with a strength he didn't know he possessed, the blade fell just above his wrist.

The specially made knife easily engulfed itself in Storm Flames as Ryota's irises swirled with a mix of gold and red, the scarlet color soon overtaking his original one. Like butter, the blade cut through his flesh and bone, leaving behind his hand and him to writhe on the floor.

Blood flowed from his severed member as he haphazardly retreated. His blurry sight managed to catch sight of a multitude of short white sticks that rooted themselves in the parquet before him. He didn't think much his eyelids were heavy, adrenaline began to leave him— exhaustion overtook him, he fainted.

If Shura had the ability to scream, he would have done so long ago. How? How could he allow His Lord? His hand plunged in his pants' pocket where a multitude of lollipop sticks was stored. In a swift motion, he pulled them all out and imbued them in Lightning Flames before precisely throwing them at the green head's feet.

He crouched down, sent Lightning Flames out and like that a barrier of lollipop stick was erected, separating them from the Vindice for a few seconds. After all, plastic combined with Lightning Flames wasn't the sturdiest of barriers, but it was enough for Shura to rush forward and retrieve Mikaël's body.

Zhihao gnashed his teeth, berating himself for his previous actions. He fell into the Vindice's trap like an amateur. He pulled out a few more customarily ordered acupuncture needles, imbued them in Sky Flames and threw them next to each lollipop stick to solidify their makeshift barrier.

Zhihao had never been so happy to see his Master than he was today when Vindice retreated upon seeing him.

::

Beep, Beep, Beep.

He woke up to a white ceiling and the smell of disinfectant, the sound of the cardiogram's regular beeping pacing his breathing. His blurry sight got clearer and soon he could make out the lines of the curtains around him.

Single, double room?

He absentmindedly wondered, attentively looking for a sound before concluding that he probably was in a single room. He rolled to rest on his side, hissing from the many bruises on his body before his right hand pulled the curtain aside.

V.I.P. room?

The furniture was a bit too high class for a normal room and now that he looked at it, if not for the medical equipment and curtain he would have probably missed the fact that he was at the hospital.

Out of reflex, he brought his left hand to rub his pierced earlobe in thoughts before pausing. His muddled mind turned cleared as he saw the tightly wrapped bandages around his amputated limb.

Right. He did amputate himself!

The notion felt a bit surreal and Ryota had troubles acknowledging that from that day onward he would live with one less hand— ah, did it mean that he wouldn't be able to play as he did before?

He hummed to himself.

A shame, he wanted to play with Seijurocchi and the others one last time, keep their promise.

A deprecative smile rose to his lips, his golden eyes slightly watered as he choked a sob down.

Oh my God, how did he get himself in this mess?

He dryly chuckled to himself, using his right sleeve to wipe off the tear that threatened to fall down his cheek.

There was a light knocking sound on his door, making Ryota raise his head and sit up from his lying position. He gritted his teeth, the action uncomfortable before settling down a looking at the door, waiting for it open.

"Co—" he coughed from his raspy voice. Damn, he felt parched. "Come in," he managed to squeeze out.

It was useless, the visitor hadn't waited for him to finish his sentence, throwing the door open as soon as they heard his voice.

"Oof!" he rasped from the sudden impact. "Why so violent-ssu?" he whispered his eyes falling to look at the head of green that was buried in his bosom. "Ah, did you miss me—"

He cut himself, the faint sobs of his brother coming to his ears as his hospital gown turned a bit damp. There was a strained smile on his face as he gently began to stroke the younger's head in a soothing manner, gently humming.

He wondered how long he had been out for his brother to react in such a fashion, but then again, a day or a week, Fran's reaction wouldn't have changed much.

"My, Francchi is such a big baby, still crying in his brother's arms at his age," he teased in a whisper, his voice coming out hoarser than indented.

Fran's muffled voice against Mikaël's gown came out as unintelligible as he nodded in his head. He sniffled, rubbing his face against Mikaël's stomach before lifting his tear-stained face. "Are you going to die, Big Bro?"

Ryota paused his stroking motion before carefully resuming it, shaking his head from side to side in denial as he answered the younger boy. "Of course not, Big Bro will never leave Francchi," he comforted.

The two brothers remained in one another's arms for a few more minutes in peaceful silence. It wasn't an awkward feeling, and it put both French boys' minds at ease.

After what felt like a long time, Fran extricated himself from his brother's arms. He sniffled some more, wiping the snot and tears out of his face with a tissue before sitting down on Mikaël's hospital bed.

His head was faced down as his hands silently gripped Mikaël's left forearm before gently massaging it. The nimble movement of Fran's fingers betrayed the number of times he had repeated the action and Ryota felt himself drown in a pool of sweetness.

Did Francchi come to massage his arm every day? Probably.

"Franc—" he coughed, interrupting his speech. Damn his dry throat.

Fran lifted his head before widening his eyes, hurriedly he fetched a water glass for his brother.

Ryota smiled in thanks, relishing in the liquid going down his parched throat before setting the empty glass aside, he cleared his throat. "How many days was I out, Francchi?"

"Two days, Big Bro."

小心/Xiǎoxīn/: Be careful

他媽的/Tā mā de/: Fuck

Thanks for reading, until next time^^