The rain had thinned to a mist now, gentle and lazy, settling like fog against the cracked sidewalk. The umbrella between them was still up, casting a faint shadow over both their shoulders. Takemichi had tucked his hands into his sleeves again, face relaxed from the warm, easy kind of conversation that made him forget just how damp his sneakers were.
That was when Izana tilted his head slightly and said, "You look and talk like a rich kid."
Takemichi blinked. "Huh?"
Izana stared at him, deadpan. "You try to act all humble and friendly, but your clothes? They're designer-level. Even that poncho. No logos, but it's clearly high-end. Minimalist stitching. Custom trim. Your shoes haven't even creased. Rich kid."
Takemichi stared, eyes wide like he'd just been told his fly was down in front of royalty. "I—what?! I mean—I guess? I don't—"
Izana raised a hand lazily, stopping him. "Relax. It's not a crime."
Takemichi sputtered, tugging at the edge of the poncho like it would suddenly make it look less expensive. "I didn't pick these out! My papa packed most of my stuff. He said if I was going to live on my own, I should at least look like I survived a wardrobe audit."
Izana gave a short hum. "So, what do your parents do?"
Takemichi hesitated for half a beat. Then sighed, because it wasn't really a secret, and Izana didn't feel like the type who'd be easily surprised, anyway.
"My dad's the CEO of a multinational conglomerate," he said. "Mostly clean industries now—tech, energy, logistics. It's called Vongola International in Japan, but it's tied to our family back in Italy."
"And your papa?" Izana asked, his tone unreadable. "What does he do?"
"He's… technically my dad's advisor," Takemichi said. "Also his bodyguard. And trainer. And probably still the top-ranking asset in every government's do-not-engage list."
Izana raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "So... your dad's the boss, and your papa's the one who keeps him from getting killed."
"Exactly."
There was a pause. Then Izana, completely deadpan, said, "So does your papa mooch off your dad?"
The air went still.
Takemichi choked on his own breath, nearly falling down. "You can't say that out loud!"
Izana blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift in panic.
"I mean it!" Takemichi said, eyes wide, voice a frantic whisper. "If he ever heard that—I'm serious, Izana—Papa's pride is like a live grenade with the pin half-out."
Izana's expression morphed slowly into something halfway between skeptical and amused.
"Papa doesn't mooch off Dad," Takemichi said fiercely now, clutching the railing like a lifeline. "He's his own force. Everyone in the Vongola respects him. They fear him. My papa's the strongest hitman alive—he only ever tied himself to Dad because he wanted to, not because he needed anything."
Izana watched him go into full panic-defense-mode, eyebrows slowly rising.
"I mean, sure, he wears tailored suits and expensive shoes and drinks espresso that costs more than my phone, but that's just because he has taste, okay?!"
Izana let out a low whistle, looking almost impressed. "You get real defensive real fast."
"Because I like living," Takemichi muttered. "And I'd rather not have to explain to Papa why someone said he's a freeloader. Especially when he's probably got surveillance on me right now."
He glanced upward like Reborn might drop from a rooftop sniper perch at any moment.
Izana chuckled under his breath. "Alright. I won't say it again."
"Good," Takemichi grumbled, cheeks still pink with flustered loyalty. "Because the last guy who called him 'just a househusband' woke up tied to a chandelier with a note that said 'checkmate.' No one even knows what it meant."
"…That's kind of amazing."
"It was terrifying."
Izana was actually smiling now, just faintly—but more genuine than before. "I take it back. Maybe you don't look entirely wimpy."
Takemichi gave him a deeply unimpressed look. "Thanks."
"You're welcome."
There was a brief silence, until Izana frowned.
"Wait. I read the name Vongola before," he said under his breath.
Takemichi blinked, thrown off by the shift in tone. "Yeah?"
Izana's eyes narrowed at him, almost calculating. "As in the Vongola?"
Takemichi's shoulders stiffened.
"Y'know," Izana went on, "old Italian bloodline. Ran with the old families. Always had rumors about them going legit, but never quite letting go of the roots."
His voice was casual, but his eyes were anything but.
Takemichi didn't move. "...That's not something a civilian should know."
Izana's lips curved just slightly, something sly in the expression. "I'm not exactly a civilian."
Takemichi raised a brow. "So what are you, then?"
"I know guys," Izana said vaguely, tilting his head. "I have contacts. You hear things. Especially when you grow up in certain corners of this city."
Takemichi didn't answer. He just stared at him. Slowly, carefully.
Izana shrugged. "Also, you said your dad's a CEO. Your papa's a hitman. That's already waving a flag."
"He's not a hitman anymore," Takemichi corrected instantly, maybe too fast. "And my dad is trying to keep everything clean. Has been for years. It's not—" He hesitated, then exhaled. "—it's not what people think anymore."
Izana made a low hum in the back of his throat. "But it was."
Takemichi pressed his lips into a thin line, then gave a half-shrug. "It was a famiglia. An organization that was born in blood, yeah. But Dad changed it. Restructured everything. We focus on security, tech, trade, and internal education. Real businesses. Not crime. Not anymore."
"But that history's still there," Izana said quietly. "You carry that name, you carry that shadow."
Takemichi looked away, jaw tight. "I know."
For a second, neither of them said anything. The rain whispered faintly around them, soft mist curling off the sidewalk. The umbrella hung between them like a thin curtain of civility.
Then Izana asked, "So which one are you like?"
Takemichi blinked. "What?"
"Are you like your dad? Trying to fix it?" Izana leaned slightly closer, not threatening—just curious, eyes unreadable. "Or are you like your papa? The one who pulled the trigger?"
Takemichi didn't flinch.
"I'm just trying to live," he said, honestly. "To learn who I am. To be good. To be strong. To be something my family can be proud of without becoming their weapon."
Izana didn't respond right away. He just watched him, that quiet, unreadable intensity returning. And after a beat, he said, "...That's a better answer than I expected."
Takemichi gave a small, tired smile. "Thanks. I think."
"Don't mention it." Izana turned back toward the street. "Ever."
Takemichi snorted under his breath. "You know, you're… kind of young to have contacts in the underworld."
Izana didn't answer with words.
Instead, he raised one hand, casually, and with a flick of his fingers, a faint wisp of violet-and-indigo flames curled around his knuckles—Cloud and Mist, swirling together in lazy spirals like they were born in the same breath.
Takemichi's eyes widened, a sharp inhale catching in his throat.
"You have Dying Will Flames?"
Izana let the flicker fade, the light vanishing like smoke. He shoved his hand back into his hoodie pocket. "Me and another guy. We're the only ones in our gang who awakened them. Kind of a fluke, I guess."
Takemichi blinked. "That's… rare."
"I figured." Izana's voice was dry, unimpressed. "Some weird creeps in weird black suits showed up one night from black portals. Said we were lucky it didn't kill us, handed us these pamphlets like it was a damn orientation. 'Welcome to the flame-havers club,' or whatever."
Takemichi nearly choked on a laugh.
"Glossy, too," Izana grumbled, clearly still offended. "Like they had a damn print budget."
Takemichi couldn't help it—he laughed out loud this time, nearly bending over. "Oh my god—those pamphlets were my dad's idea. He made a deal with Vindice after a… let's call it a 'bad month.'"
Izana stared at him. "You're kidding."
"Nope," Takemichi said, grinning. "He said if they were going to intimidate people into keeping the secret, they might as well include diagrams."
Izana looked momentarily betrayed. "Your family is terrifying."
"We get that a lot."
Takemichi's grin softened after a beat, though his voice lowering slightly. "Still… I'm sorry. That must've been rough. You don't usually awaken flames unless something pushes you past the limit. They're called Dying Will Flames for a reason."
Izana shrugged, eyes distant. "I've been past the limit for a long time."
Takemichi didn't press. His Hyper Intuition was already thrumming faintly at the base of his skull—warning him that this wasn't a wound to dig at casually.
Instead, he said gently, "Well… if you ever want advice, or just someone to talk to about it—I can help. I mean, I'm not a Mist or Cloud user, but I've been training with Flames since I was little. Papa made sure of that."
Izana tilted his head, eyeing him sideways. "You'd seriously show me how to use this stuff?"
"Sure," Takemichi said with a shrug. "Flames are scary when you're alone with them. Might as well have someone to walk through the worst parts."
Izana studied him for a moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
"…Alright," he said finally, nodding once. "I'll hold you to that."
Takemichi smiled.
"So what are you doing here?"
Takemichi blinked, turning toward him. "Huh?"
"In Japan," Izana clarified, glancing sideways at him. "You've got family overseas. Power. Money. Name recognition. What the hell are you doing in a quiet part of Tokyo, bumming around a mechanic's shop and wearing a poncho that probably costs more than my rent?"
Takemichi opened his mouth, then shut it again. He stared out at the rain for a moment, then gave a soft laugh.
"That's actually a good question."
Izana raised a brow, but didn't interrupt when Takemichi exhaled slowly.
"I'm here because… I wanted to grow up," he said, simply.
Izana tilted his head. "You couldn't do that back home?"
"Not the way I needed to," Takemichi said. "Back there, everything's wrapped in the shadow of my family. The bodyguards. The protocols. The expectations. Everyone either wanted something from me or was trying to protect me from something. My dad didn't mean to smother me. My papa definitely did, but with love, in his own twisted way."
Izana snorted softly.
"But I needed something real. Something mine," Takemichi continued, voice quieter now. "I wanted to live somewhere normal. Go to school. Get a part-time job, maybe. Mess up and fix things on my own. Make friends who didn't know my name, didn't care about what I could be or what I'd inherit."
Izana studied him for a long beat. "So this is, what… your rebellion?"
Takemichi smiled a little. "More like my reset."
"Japan is where my dad was born," he said, looking down at his hands. "Where he met my papa. Where he started becoming the person he is now. I think… I think I wanted to follow that path a little. Just to see if I could find something worth staying for, like he did."
"You're not the heir, then?" Izana asked, his tone unreadable.
Takemichi shook his head. "Nope. That's my older brother, Ieyasu. Three years older, but acts like it's three decades instead. He's sharp. Strong. Everything Papa wanted in a successor. I'm… not that."
"And you're okay with that?"
Takemichi smiled, honest and a little sad. "It used to bother me. But now? Yeah. I think I'm okay with not being the one. I don't need to be the next Vongola boss. I just want to be me. Whatever that turns out to be."
Izana was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, "You're kind of weird."
Takemichi laughed. "You said that before."
Izana didn't smile, not quite. But the sharpness in his posture eased slightly, like he'd taken a step closer without actually moving.
"You're not what I expected from someone tied to a name like Vongola," he said. "Not flashy. Not arrogant. Not even that paranoid."
Takemichi shrugged. "I was raised to be a person first. My parents made sure of that."
Izana hummed under his breath. "They did a decent job, then."
Takemichi looked over at him, surprised. But Izana was already turning away, pretending he hadn't said anything at all.
The rain had almost stopped when Takemichi's phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. He blinked, tugging it out and tilting it under the light drizzle, thumb swiping the screen to read the new message.
Mikey: u alive? tell me u didnt die makin dinner lol
Takemichi huffed a quiet laugh, thumbs already halfway through a reply when—
"Izana!"
The voice cut through the air like a wire pulled too tight.
Takemichi startled, glancing up just as Shinichiro stepped out from the back of the shop, umbrella forgotten in one hand, eyes locked onto the figure standing beside him.
Izana didn't turn. Not right away.
But Takemichi saw it—how his shoulders tensed, like piano wire drawn taut. Then, slowly, he turned his head, expression unreadable under his still damp hood.
"Shin," Izana said, voice flat. "Didn't know you were around."
Shinichiro's gaze flicked between them, landing squarely on Takemichi. "You two know each other?"
Takemichi blinked. "Uh—I mean, not really, I just—"
Before he could finish, Izana reached over with surprising speed and snatched Takemichi's phone out of his hand.
"Hey—!"
"Don't give him my number," Izana said, voice low and firm, his eyes locked on Shinichiro's like a silent dare. "You don't owe him anything."
Takemichi stood there frozen as Izana typed something one-handed, then shoved the phone back into his hands with quiet finality.
Takemichi glanced down at the new contact: Izana.
His heart jumped a little. Not fear. Just confusion.
Izana turned, tugging his hood up and grabbing the umbrella Takemichi gave him a little tighter.
"It was nice meeting you, Takemichi," he said, voice quieter now. And without another glance at Shinichiro, he walked off into the rain, not looking back.
Takemichi stood there, phone still warm in his hand, blinking after him.
"...What just happened?" he muttered.
Beside him, Shinichiro ran a hand down his face, sighing long and low. "That… was complicated."
Takemichi glanced at the name still glowing on his phone screen.
"Yeah," he said softly. "I kinda got that."
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Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS