Greetings, readers:
Thank you for reading this fan-made work...
"I hope you enjoy today's chapter." I, Wissumi Wizaki, wish you a happy reading
...
Year 1048 B.N. — August 29th
Spring had arrived in the City of Lomo with the particular generosity of seasons that know nothing of moderation: flowers lining the roads, air scented with damp earth and fresh sap, and golden sunlight falling over wooden rooftops and stone buildings with a kindness that, for a moment, made it easy to forget how fragile it all truly was.
Within that atmosphere of apparent peace, a silent revolution was beginning to take shape—an order under the Vongola.
Giotto had spent weeks observing.
It was what he did whenever he wasn't focused on his own growth. During his solitary walks, he observed. The markets, where prices changed according to the merchant's mood rather than any real logic. The nearby villages without effective law, where the strongest imposed their will until someone even stronger appeared. The foreign merchants who arrived with valuable goods from distant systems and left after extracting wealth without offering anything of equal value in return.
True power, he had concluded with the cold clarity of someone who had spent two lifetimes learning the same lesson through different paths, did not reside in violence.
It resided in controlling the flow.
The decisive conversation took place on a rainy afternoon in the mansion's main hall, with the fireplace lit and the sound of rain making the interior feel more secluded—and more honest—than usual. He was speaking with Ugetsu about stability, about how a civilization that had yet to find its center could be guided in one direction or another by someone who understood exactly where to apply pressure.
—If we don't control the gold, someone else will—Giotto said, his eyes fixed on the fire.—And whoever does won't share our principles.
From his corner, G casually flipped a coin into the air with the kind of nonchalance that was never quite as careless as it appeared.
—Then why don't we start it ourselves?—said Ugetsu. His expression remained as calm as ever, but his eyes carried the sharp edge of a mind that had already reached several conclusions while everyone else was still forming the question.
Sana looked up from the figures she had been reviewing. She had spent months organizing the local markets since they had arrived in the city, and during that time she had developed an understanding of economic flow that Giotto recognized as genuinely exceptional.
—The infrastructure already exists in its infancy—she said with the precision of someone who never spoke without having something concrete to contribute.—What we're missing is the institution that gives it form and legitimacy.
—People already respect us—G added from the other side of the room, his deep voice still oddly mismatched with the body of a seven-year-old.—Not out of fear... at least, not only because of that. They need a structured framework that confirms what they already sense: that this is here to stay. Boss, do you remember my first job in Japan?
Giotto listened to all of them. Then he looked into the fire for another moment, allowing the pieces to settle into place.
—We'll begin with the fundamentals—he said.—Security, currency, and credit. Without those, everything else is just a building on sand.
And so the Vongola Bank of Currency and Order was born.
Not inside a magnificent building, nor during a grand ceremony.
It was born in a room warmed by a fireplace, with rain falling outside, surrounded by a boy with impossible reflexes idly tossing a coin, a swordsman with a razor-sharp mind, an administrator who carried numbers in her head the way others carried the names of their children, and a Storm Guardian who never needed to raise his voice for everyone to listen.
Together with them—and with the five administrators who had grown so much over the past months that Giotto sometimes looked at them and no longer saw the children he had once found—the most influential organization in the Land of Lomo began constructing its first true pillar.
Repelling bandits was never enough, Giotto thought as the meeting continued. It had never been enough.
What creates something that endures is not the strength that defends it.
It is the structure that gives people a reason to stay.
...
Year 1048 B.N. — September 6th
Giotto proposed the name without the slightest hesitation, like someone announcing something that had already been true long before it was spoken.
The Vongola Bank of Currency and Order.
—Our legal front for the future, G... and thanks for the idea.—he said as he sketched the building's first blueprint on the ground with a sharpened branch.—We want to become indispensable. We want no one in this city to be able to imagine how anything would function without us.
G looked at him from where he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and wearing the expression of someone who processed far more than he ever revealed. He nodded once, slowly.
He did not voice what crossed his mind: that he had never imagined—not even in the worst nightmares of his previous life in modern Japan—that he would end up founding a bank.
Some ironies of fate simply aren't worth putting into words.
...
The lesson came without drama, which was how the lessons that truly mattered always arrived.
A caravan of allied merchants was attacked on the road between the city and the northern pass. It was not an improvised band of thieves; the assault was coordinated, swift, and carried out by people who already knew the caravan's route. No one died, but the cargo vanished, and the merchants returned empty-handed, wearing the expression Giotto immediately recognized—the look of people who had just realized they needed something that did not yet exist.
A bank protects what is inside, he thought as he listened to the report. No one protects the road.
That changed that very week.
The Vongola Escort Company was born without elaborate ceremonies, exactly the way Giotto preferred important things to be born: already functioning before they had an official name.
Command naturally fell to G, with very little discussion. Not because he was the obvious choice, but because he was the right one, and Giotto had spent two lifetimes learning the difference. G's loyalty ran so deep it never needed to be declared. His lethality was so efficient it never needed to be displayed. More importantly, he possessed that rare ability to organize men—something born not from rank, but from character.
The mobile escort squads took shape under his command with the speed of someone who already knew exactly what he wanted and only needed the necessary pieces.
—It isn't enough to protect what belongs to us,—G said during the first operational meeting, speaking with the straightforward tone of someone who valued clarity over eloquence.—We must protect what belongs to others as well. Then they'll become ours of their own free will.
No one in the room questioned that logic.
Because it was correct.
G accepted the title of First Commander with the same expression he wore whenever Giotto entrusted him with something: no visible surprise, only the immediate readiness of someone already calculating how to make it work before the sentence had even ended.
He organized the organization's most capable members into mobile squads with an efficiency that required no explanation because the results justified themselves. Assigned routes, rotating guard schedules, and designated contact points between escorts and merchant caravans. G was not the type of commander who inspired people with speeches. He was the type who made everything function so precisely that people gradually found themselves trusting him without ever realizing when that decision had been made.
At the inauguration ceremony—which was intentionally modest because G had no tolerance for unnecessarily long ceremonies—he simply said what needed to be said.
—It isn't enough to protect what belongs to us. We must protect what belongs to others as well. Then they'll become ours of their own free will.
No one applauded.
Everyone nodded.
That carried far more meaning.
He organized the organization's strongest members into mobile squads with assigned routes, rotation schedules, and relay points calculated by Haru with the remarkable precision that many mistook for intuition but was, in reality, the result of systematic observation refined into habit. The messenger crows she had spent months training now flew regularly between escort squads and merchant caravans, turning communication into something that functioned before problems had the chance to become irreversible.
Sana divided her time between the bank and the pharmaceutical workshop she had established in an adjoining room. Her medicinal tonics and Windflower bandages, developed with the same meticulous care she devoted to the accounting ledgers, allowed even severely wounded escorts to return to duty within hours instead of days. No one said it aloud, but everyone understood that this alone changed the calculations behind any attack.
Reijiro operated on the margins, exactly where he was most effective. He belonged to no visible squad. His responsibility was ensuring that no one infiltrated the ones that were.
Ugetsu assumed a role unlike anyone else's, doing so with the effortless grace of someone who understood precisely the value of what he could offer.
In his previous life, he had come from a family of high nobility—one of those bloodlines that spent generations accumulating not only wealth, but also the kind of knowledge wealth could purchase when guided by wisdom: diplomacy, etiquette, and the ability to understand what powerful people wanted to hear before they even spoke. Within the Vongola world, he had been both a musician and a warrior, but beneath both identities there had always been a strategist who observed more than he intervened and spoke less than he calculated.
Within the Escort Company, he found his natural place—not on the roads themselves, but in the negotiations that came before the contracts were ever signed. Whenever a merchant arrived distrustful, carrying the rigid caution of someone who had been deceived too many times to offer the benefit of the doubt, it was Ugetsu who welcomed them. Not with promises or displays of force, but with the quiet composure that inspired trust without demanding it: the unique calm of someone who never needed to persuade because he knew that, eventually, the facts would speak for themselves.
—Rain never announces that it is about to fall,—he told Giotto one afternoon when asked how he managed to secure agreements that no one else could.—It simply falls, and the world adapts.
Giotto considered those words for a long moment.
Year 1048 B.N. — September 6th
The name was proposed by Giotto without hesitation, like someone announcing something that had already been true before it was spoken.
Vongola Bank of Currency and Order.
"Our legal face for the future, G, and thank you for the idea," he said as he drew the first blueprint of the building on the ground with a sharpened branch. "We want to become essential. We want no one in this city to be able to imagine how anything would function without us."
G looked at him from where he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and wearing that expression of someone who processed far more than he ever showed. He nodded once, slowly.
He did not say what crossed his mind: that he had never imagined, not even in the worst nightmares of his previous life in contemporary Japan, that he would end up founding a bank. Some ironies of fate were not worth putting into words.
The lesson came without drama, which was how the lessons that truly mattered always arrived.
A caravan of allied merchants was attacked on the road between the city and the northern pass. It was not an improvised band of thieves; it was coordinated, swift, and carried out with prior knowledge of the route. No one died, but the cargo disappeared, and the men returned empty-handed, wearing the expression Giotto immediately recognized as that of someone who had realized they needed something that did not yet exist.
The bank protects what is inside, he thought as he listened to the report. No one protects the road.
That changed that very week.
The Vongola Escort Company was born without elaborate ceremonies, which was exactly how Giotto preferred important things to be born: functioning before they had an official name.
Command fell to G without much deliberation. Not because he was the most obvious choice, but because he was the right one, and Giotto had learned across two lives to distinguish between those two things. G was loyal with a depth that never needed to be declared, lethal with an efficiency that never needed to be displayed, and possessed that rare ability to organize men that came not from rank, but from character.
The mobile squads took shape under his command with the speed characteristic of someone who already knew exactly what he wanted and only needed the materials.
"It isn't enough to protect what belongs to us," G said during the first operational meeting, speaking with the straightforward tone of someone interested not in eloquence but in clarity. "Let's protect what belongs to others as well. Then they'll belong to us of their own free will."
No one in the room argued with that logic.
Because it was correct.
G accepted the appointment as First Commander with the same expression he wore whenever Giotto entrusted him with something: no visible surprise, only the immediate readiness of someone already calculating how to make it work before the sentence had even ended.
He organized the most capable members into mobile squads with an efficiency that required no explanation because the results justified it on their own. Assigned routes, rotating guard schedules, contact points between escorts and caravans. G was not the kind of commander who inspired with speeches; he was the kind who made everything work with such precision that people began trusting him without ever realizing exactly when they had made that decision.
At the inauguration ceremony—which was austere because G had no tolerance for unnecessarily long ceremonies—he said only what needed to be said:
"It isn't enough to protect what belongs to us. Let's protect what belongs to others as well. Then they'll belong to us of their own free will."
No one applauded.
Everyone nodded, which was far more meaningful.
He organized the most capable members into mobile squads with assigned routes, rotating schedules, and relay points that Haru had calculated with the kind of precision some mistook for intuition, when in reality it was systematic observation turned into habit. The messenger crows she had trained for months now flew regularly between escorts and caravans, turning communication into something that worked before problems became irreversible.
Sana divided her time between the bank and the medicine workshop she had established in an adjoining room. Her healing tonics and Windflower bandages, developed with the same meticulous care she devoted to the accounting ledgers, allowed a gravely injured escort to return to duty within hours instead of days. No one said it aloud, but everyone knew it changed the calculations behind every attack.
Reijiro operated along the margins, which was where he was most effective. He belonged to no visible squad. His role was to ensure that no one infiltrated the ones that did.
Ugetsu took on a different role from the others, and he did so with the natural ease of someone who understood exactly the value of what he could offer.
He had come from a family of high nobility in his previous life, one of those lineages that had spent generations accumulating not only wealth, but the kind of knowledge wealth could buy when applied with intelligence: diplomacy, protocol, and the ability to read what powerful people wanted to hear before they spoke. In the Vongola world, he had been both musician and warrior, but beneath both identities there had always been a strategist who observed more than he intervened and spoke less than he calculated.
Within the Escort Company, he found his natural place—not on the roads, but in the negotiations that came before the contracts. Whenever a merchant arrived distrustful, carrying the rigid posture of someone who had been deceived too many times to grant the benefit of the doubt, it was Ugetsu who welcomed them. Not with promises or displays of strength, but with the kind of calm that inspired trust without asking for it: the quiet confidence of someone who never needed to convince because he knew the facts would eventually speak for themselves.
"Rain never announces that it's going to fall," he told Giotto one afternoon when Giotto asked how he managed to close contracts that no one else could. "It simply falls, and the world adapts."
Giotto considered that for a moment.
"Typical of you to make it sound simple."
"It is simple. The difficult part is having enough patience not to interfere."
The Hall of Will was a circular chamber inside the bank, with ten seats built to precise measurements: five for the current consiglieri, and five left empty for the Guardians who had yet to arrive. Giotto presided from the center behind a dark wooden table where maps shared space with accounting ledgers and decrees still awaiting completion.
From there came the decisions that regulated local commerce: fair tariffs for farmers who had spent years accepting whatever price the strongest buyer decided their harvest was worth, interest-free loans for widows with children, emergency funds for orphans whom the mansion could no longer shelter directly.
"Our age is only a number," Giotto said one afternoon as he sipped tea while reviewing that week's route report. "What defines us is the will to build something that will outlast us."
No one answered.
There was nothing to add.
Before long, the bank and the Escort Company became inseparable in the city's perception. No one transported valuable goods without Vongola protection. No one entrusted their wealth without a contract signed by Giotto. Not because anyone forced them to, but because they had seen what happened to those who tried without them.
Essential, Giotto had said from the beginning.
It was proving to be exactly the right word.
...
Year 1048 B.N. — December 18th
The Gravino was already circulating in three cities.
The great village of Low Hill had been the first to adopt it, with the commercial pragmatism typical of inland trade hubs that embrace any system capable of reducing friction in commerce. Sky Valley took a little longer, because communities nestled among the mountains develop distrust as a survival habit, but once it accepted it, it did so completely. Haru and Takeshi supervised the branches with the efficiency of those who had made logistics their second language.
Giotto observed everything from the desk that was still far too large for him and decided, inwardly, that it did not matter.
—The hard part wasn't founding it —he said to G one night, standing on the bank's terrace with the city stretching below them in countless small lights—. The hard part will be keeping it clean.
A tiny flame burned at the tip of G's index finger, his usual way of showing that he was thinking seriously.
—You'll do it —he said—. Because you weren't born into this world. You were brought here to change it.
Giotto did not answer. He simply nodded slowly, with the quiet weight of someone accepting something he had always known but still needed to hear spoken by another voice.
The morning of December eighteenth arrived with the soft light of early spring streaming through the tall windows of the main building, reflecting across the mosaic floors in golden bands that shifted slowly with the movement of the sun.
In the central office, Giotto was signing documents.
The image carried a kind of absurdity that, under different circumstances, would have been comical: a seven-year-old boy whose legs could not reach the floor, whose elbows barely touched the edge of the carved oak desk, holding a quill three times the size of his hand with the absolute concentration of someone who had no time to notice how ridiculous the situation looked.
One day I'll grow up, he repeated inwardly, like a mantra he did not need to fully believe for it to work.
Daiki burst into laughter from his corner before he could stop himself. That alone was enough for Takeshi and Reijiro to exchange a knowing glance, and for something resembling a smile to appear on everyone else's faces. Everyone except G, who watched Giotto with the seriousness of someone who believed that nothing his leader did could ever be considered amusing, regardless of the physical circumstances.
Giotto looked up from the document. A single glance, without raising his voice.
—We'll see who's laughing when I send someone to clean the east latrine for a week.
The silence that followed was immediate and remarkably productive.
Ugetsu occupied a place in the room that was neither exactly a guard post nor merely a decorative presence. He stood beside the side window, his arms resting loosely at his sides, his gaze fixed somewhere between the room's interior and the street outside, carrying that familiar air of someone who observed everything without seeming to observe anything in particular.
His role within the bank was the hardest to define in terms of title, yet the easiest to recognize in terms of effect. In his previous life, he had come from a noble family, one of those bloodlines where etiquette was learned before the alphabet, and reading a room was as natural as breathing. He could tell when a merchant was lying out of fear and when he lied out of calculation. He knew when a contract concealed a trap within its wording and when it was simply poorly written. Most importantly, he knew how to speak with people who considered themselves important in a way that made them feel respected without requiring Giotto to concede anything.
In terms of his previous life, he was the musician who was also a diplomat. The calm that stopped problems before they ever required G's Storm.
That morning, it had been Ugetsu who received the messenger before he even reached the front entrance. He examined the seal on the parchment without the slightest change in expression. Then he entered the office without any visible urgency and placed the message before Giotto as naturally as if he were setting down a cup of tea.
—The feudal lord of the region —he said quietly—. He requests an audience. This afternoon.
Giotto finished signing the document before him before looking up.
—His tone?
—Formal. Cautious. —A brief pause.— He's not sure whether he's coming to negotiate... or to evaluate.
—Your assessment?
Ugetsu considered the question with the briefness of someone who already knew the answer but still verified it before speaking.
—He's coming because he can no longer afford not to. That's different from coming because he wants something specific. —Another pause.— What he specifically wants will depend on what he sees here.
From where he stood, G let out a quiet snort that could have been approval.
Giotto looked at the parchment for a moment. Then he carefully laid it on the desk, the way one sets aside something that is not yet urgent but soon will be.
The Vongola name had grown into a synonym for order across three cities. The voluntary donations exchanged for protection had woven a network of influence that the feudal lord had been watching for months with the particular discomfort of someone witnessing something grow within his territory without being able to stop it.
And now he was coming to look into the eyes of the child who had built it.
—Let him come —Giotto said, returning to his paperwork.
The three carriages arrived with more noise than necessary, which was exactly the intention.
Twelve guards. Two advisors. The feudal lord of the region himself, dressed in ceremonial robes and carrying that manner of walking acquired by those who have spent enough years convinced that hallways were built specifically for their footsteps. Their footsteps echoed across the bank's mosaic floor with a cadence carefully designed to impress.
Ugetsu watched them enter from his position beside the side window without moving. He assessed them in the time it took them to cross the threshold: the feudal lord, a middle-aged man with the posture of someone who had inherited authority rather than earned it, keeping his chin raised as compensation. The first advisor, with a long face and a voice one could predict would be nasal before he even opened his mouth. The second, shorter, carrying that particular energy of a man who knew his power depended on the man standing beside him and had built his entire identity around that fact.
The lord doesn't want to be here, Ugetsu concluded, with the quiet certainty of someone who had spent enough hours in noble halls reading what bodies revealed when words lied. The advisors do. That changes the terms.
He said nothing. He waited.
...
The double doors of the main office opened, and the entourage entered.
They stopped.
The room had that effect on those who visited it for the first time: handwoven linen rugs from the south, tapestries embroidered with ancient symbols arranged in patterns that seemed random until one stared at them long enough to suspect they were not. A Yayoi-era oil lamp cast amber light over the carved wooden map of the country that covered the far wall. A combination of periods and origins that should not have worked, yet somehow produced a harmony more unsettling than any display of wealth, because it suggested that whoever had arranged it understood something about time and space that others did not.
The guards would never say it. Neither would the advisors. But all of them—including the feudal lord—felt, for a brief second, something they could not quite name: the discomfort of stepping into someone else's territory and realizing, too late, that it was exactly that.
At the center of it all, behind the carved oak desk, a seven-year-old boy continued writing without looking up.
The first advisor cleared his throat.
—May I see the owner of this establishment?
No answer.
—Where is your master, child? —the second tried, with the sort of intonation that carried contempt for its target by default.— Call your father. Or the man who truly runs this... place.
Giotto finished the sentence he was writing. He carefully set down the quill. Then he looked up.
—You're looking at him.
The second advisor let out a laugh that was meant to sound condescending but came across as nervous.
—We didn't come here to play with children. We wish to speak with the one who runs this place. Your father, perhaps, or—
—An organization that has generated this level of wealth in less than a year —the first interrupted, in a tone that tried to sound reasonable but instead betrayed someone recalibrating on the spot— cannot be run by a child's voice. Let us be direct.
G, standing behind Giotto's chair, folded his arms. He said nothing. But the way he folded them conveyed exactly what he would have said.
The second advisor took a step forward, recovering his momentum.
—You have considerable sources of income. Money, escorts, protection, food trade between villages. The time has come for you to share that wealth with the lord of the land to which you belong.
Giotto cleaned his ear with his little finger.
The room waited.
—No.
A single word, spoken with the same energy one would use to decline a second helping of something they had never wanted in the first place.
The silence that followed had a temperature.
Ugetsu did not move from the window.
This, he thought, is where everything is decided. Not in what follows, but in how Giotto holds this moment.
He watched him with the particular attention of someone evaluating not the outcome, but the mechanics.
The feudal lord, who had remained silent since entering, began to sweat discreetly beneath his ceremonial robes. He had come to impose his authority. He had left the task of imposing it to his advisors. And now he stood in a room where a seven-year-old boy had just said no with the same calmness one used to say that the sky was blue, and no one in his entourage knew exactly what to do with that.
A puppet, Giotto thought, without allowing anything to show on his face. His advisors are the real power. Which means that if I replace the advisors, I replace the lord.
He gave a signal.
A tiny gesture across his neck.
Daiki and Reijiro, who had spent the last several minutes silently moving into positions the entourage had failed to notice because they had been too busy looking ahead, acted simultaneously.
The daimyō's two guards fell without a sound.
The advisors did not process what had happened until it had already happened.
That was the difference between those who had trained to act... and those who had trained to speak.
One of them tried to open his mouth.
—Don't bother —Giotto said, raising a hand.— There's no one outside coming to help you. This is my house.
He stepped down from the chair. His feet touched the floor with a softness that contrasted with the weight of what he had just done. G held back something that was not quite a laugh, but close enough. Giotto made a mental note to get back at him later.
He walked toward his guests with the calmness of someone who had all the time in the world.
—And here you are —he said, stopping in front of the group.— Walking through the doors of my business to ask for my money.
He yawned, covering his mouth with his sleeve.
—I don't like repeating myself. I'm the boss.
The second advisor found his voice before the first.
—Insolent! What you've done in the presence of the feudal lord is a crime! You're playing with fire!
Giotto looked at him.
Without haste. Without irritation.
—Very well —Giotto said, with the calm of someone who had decided the conversation was over.— I'll speak. But not with circus clowns.
He stroked his chin with a gesture that, in another context, might have seemed thoughtful. Then he raised his right hand and slid a finger across his neck.
Two flashes.
The advisors' heads rolled across the woven carpet before either of them had time to realize that something had gone wrong.
The silence that followed had a different texture from all the ones before it.
Giotto stared at it for a moment. Then he looked down at the carpet with an expression that was not quite remorse.
—Remind me not to kill people on the carpet again —he muttered.— Weaving is ridiculously expensive in this era. And cleaning blood is a nightmare for whoever is responsible for housekeeping.
G let out a laugh without even trying to suppress it.
—Next time we'll lay down a sacrifice carpet, Boss. One specifically for the occasion.
—Don't give me ideas —Giotto replied, raising an eyebrow.
He turned toward the feudal lord.
The man was on his knees. Pale with the particular pallor of someone who had realized, far too late and far too completely, where he was and who he was facing. His hands trembled against his thighs with the fine, uncontrollable vibration of genuine fear.
Giotto watched him for a moment without speaking, allowing the silence to do the hardest part of the work.
Then he sighed with the restrained exasperation of someone who had expected more from the afternoon.
—Lord of Lomo. —His voice was calm, almost kind.— From this moment onward, things will be done as I say. Until you make amends for this attempt at extortion, your role will be to serve me. With absolute loyalty and without reservation.
The feudal lord nodded. It was the movement of someone who no longer had the ability to weigh options, only to respond to whatever was placed before him.
It was the posture of someone who had stopped calculating possibilities and simply reacted to what stood before him, like a puppet that no longer remembered it had once possessed strings of its own.
And so, without ceremony or proclamation, Giotto became the true ruler of the Land of Lomo.
He summoned Haru and Reijiro with a gesture toward the side door.
Reijiro arrived first. By every objective measure, he was still a child, yet there was something about the way he occupied space that made the observation seem irrelevant. The easygoing smile he wore as a permanent feature now carried, from certain angles and under certain light, an edge that had not been there a year earlier. It was not cruelty. It was the awareness of what he was capable of, integrated so completely that it no longer needed to be displayed.
Haru followed close behind, wearing his usual relaxed smile.
He had that appearance of complete openness: bright eyes, a smile that invited people to lower their guard, an energy that instinctively made others want to confide their problems in him or simply trust him. It was genuine, which was precisely what made it so effective. Haru's warmth was not an act—it was his essence. It was real. What was equally real, beneath it and without any apparent contradiction, was a loyalty to the family that knew no limits whenever someone or something threatened it.
Giotto looked at him.
—Haru. You'll take care of the lord. Make him feel comfortable in your presence, keep him calm. —He paused for a second.— And help him understand, as gently as you can, that his continued cooperation is the only reason this afternoon ends reasonably well for him. Let him process it at his own pace, but make sure he processes it thoroughly.
Haru looked at the feudal lord, who remained on his knees with his hands trembling against his thighs. He studied him for a moment with that natural ability to read people that no one had ever taught him.
—Understood, Boss —he said, with a smile that, to the feudal lord in his current state, probably felt reassuring.
Giotto had already turned away.
—Reijiro, Haru will handle everything concerning the feudal lord internally. You'll handle the external side, and whenever Haru is unavailable, you'll take over, since you're in charge of the organization's spies.
After receiving Giotto's instructions, Haru crossed the threshold of the main hall, leaving the tension of duty behind. He had not gone very far down the corridor when he encountered Ugetsu. Instantly, the young man's face lit up with a radiant smile as he offered him a respectful bow, which the older man returned with a slow, gentle nod of his head.
The question lingered in Haru's eyes for a moment before he finally found the courage to speak.
—How have you been, Ugetsu? —Haru asked as he closed the distance between them. It had been several days since they had last seen each other.— It's good to see you. I didn't know you were here. Your stealth is incredible.
—Thank you, Haru, —Ugetsu replied. His voice carried such a subtle, measured cadence that it seemed to drift through the air, radiating an unshakable calm that Haru secretly could not help but admire.
The boy hesitated for a second, fidgeting with the hem of his clothing before gathering his courage.
—Lord Ugetsu... I know you're an exceptional swordsman, —he blurted out, his eyes shining with determination.— I was wondering if... well, do you think you could teach me the art of the sword someday?
Ugetsu narrowed his eyes slightly, fixing the young boy with a thoughtful yet gentle gaze. The silence lingered for several moments, a stillness in which he seemed to weigh not only the request, but Haru's very soul. At last, the rigidity of his posture softened.
—Very well, little Haru. I will teach you, —he agreed with a faint smile.— Whenever you have free time, come find me at the mansion's dojo. We shall train there.
Haru's heart leaped with joy.
—Thank you very much, Lord Ugetsu! —he exclaimed, bowing once again, this time with enthusiasm overflowing in every word.— I won't let you down. I'll be there as soon as I've finished my duties.
...
In the dimness of his office, surrounded by the silence of someone who pulled the strings from the shadows, Giotto reviewed his next moves. The atmosphere, heavy and laden with secrets, was interrupted by a familiar flash. Before his eyes, a translucent interface unfolded with a faint hum that resonated directly within his mind.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MAIN MISSION PROGRESS]• Objective: Establish the foundations of the Underworld.• Current Progress: 14%
Giotto's eyes fixed on the notification. Fourteen percent. A number that would seem insignificant to anyone else, but to him, it represented a perfectly functioning machine beginning to turn.
Almost immediately, a golden glow began to materialize above his desk. The light condensed until it took the shape of a small object overflowing with immeasurable energy: the Seed of the Sun. As he took it between his fingers, Giotto felt the latent warmth radiating from its golden-yellow shell. It was not merely an item; it was the key to summoning his Sun Guardian. The system demanded patience, for the ritual would require waiting until the following year, but the strategic value of an entity of that caliber justified every single day of waiting.
Giotto carefully stored the seed away before turning his gaze back to the floating screen. The fourteen percent indicator continued to blink.
Just one point. Just one damn point remained before reaching fifteen percent and claiming the next seed. A faint smile, carrying the confidence born of experience, appeared on Giotto's face. It was not the optimism of a naïve guess, but the certainty of a calculated conclusion based on the pieces he had already placed upon the board. That next milestone was practically within his grasp.
Giotto knew that founding the bank and the escort company had been a crucial move toward his ambitions...
We'll meet again very soon, Knuckle.
...
Hi everyone! Wissumi Wizaki here.
First of all, I want to apologize for missing the last two chapters. To be completely honest, I had an overwhelming amount of information piled up in my head, and organizing all those ideas took much longer than expected. On top of that, dealing with ADHD can sometimes feel like an uphill battle when trying to stay focused, and this past week in particular was quite heavy emotionally due to a few personal reality checks. But we are back, and my mind is officially back in the game.
From now on, my goal is to pick up the pace and try to upload one chapter week to keep you all on the edge of your seats.
I also want to take a moment to share what's brewing in my mind and the active projects I have going on:
New Fanfiction (Hunter x Hunter): I'm currently developing a new story set in the HxH universe, and it's turning out to be absolutely incredible. The plot is being meticulously crafted to give you a real reading feast that you will thoroughly enjoy. I know you're going to love it!
Zoro en el Mundo de Hielo y Fuego (Zoro in the World of Ice and Fire): For those following this novel, I haven't forgotten about it. I have the entire structure and direction of the story perfectly clear in my head. However, for this specific project, I need to sharpen my writing speed and plan the narrative with absolute precision. As soon as I catch that much-needed dose of dopamine and focus that George R.R. Martin's world demands, I will bring it back with a vengeance.
What's coming next for our current story? Just so you can get ready: Giotto's era is scheduled to wrap up in a compact and epic way by chapter 20. After that, we will take a massive leap into the era of the Tenth Vongola.
This period will unfold right alongside the iconic Warring States Period (the era of Hashirama and Madara). Keep a close eye on this, because it's going to be a brutal transition. I know many of you might be wondering: how can a reincarnated soul who has a child still maintain and pass down their powers? Don't worry, I have the perfect mechanism already designed, and it's going to blow your minds.
The story is only getting better and better. Thank you so much for your patience, your support, and for staying tuned. Expect the next chapters next week!
— Wissumi Wizaki
To be continued...
Until the next chapter!