By the time he arrived, the sun was starting to dip behind the buildings, painting the sky in lazy streaks of orange and violet. Streetlamps flickered to life one by one. The park wasn't crowded—just a few families wrapping up picnics and kids wobbling on scooters.
He spotted them easily.
Izana was seated on the backrest of a bench, one leg swinging lazily, arms crossed as if this were just another evening. His white hair caught the streetlight in sharp contrast to the shadows gathering around him.
Beside him stood another boy—taller, wiry, his posture less relaxed and more ready. The friend of Izana who had his flames awakened with him, Takemichi guessed. Kakucho, he remembered it was his name. His eyes tracked Takemichi from the moment he stepped off the paved path. Not suspicious, exactly. Just… observant.
Takemichi raised a hand in greeting, slowing his pace as he neared them.
"Hey," he said, out of breath but smiling. "Sorry I'm late. Groceries took a bit."
Izana waved off the apology with a flick of his fingers. "You're on time… You live close, then?"
"Few blocks that way," Takemichi said, jerking his chin back over his shoulder. "You're lucky I didn't bring my unofficial bodyguard with me or he would've tailed us here. Kusakabe's scary efficient."
That earned the barest twitch of a smirk from Kakucho.
Izana gestured to the bench beside him. "Sit. This is Kakucho, by the way. He's the other one."
Takemichi gave a polite nod. "Nice to meet you."
Kakucho nodded back, but said nothing.
It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Just quiet. Weighted.
"So," Izana said, gaze sharp and focused, "we're all freaks now. Might as well get to know each other before we start throwing fire around."
Takemichi chuckled nervously. "Sure. Sounds… safe."
Izana tilted his head, almost smiling. "That's why we're doing it here. Public. Calm. If you go nuclear, someone'll catch it on camera."
That was probably a joke. Maybe.
Takemichi sat down anyway with the city sounds humming around them. Somewhere behind them, wind chimes jingled from a vendor's cart, and the park's quiet settled into something like expectation.
Takemichi leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking between the two boys, his fingers flexing against the wooden bench. Though Izana was the first to speak after a long stretch of silence.
"So," he said, voice light but not casual, "how do you know Shinichiro?"
Takemichi stilled for a beat.
Kakucho didn't move, but his attention sharpened—like he was used to reading between lines and waiting for lies.
Takemichi met Izana's gaze directly, choosing his words with care. "It was… kind of in an accident, actually."
Izana raised a brow.
"I was nearby when he was attacked," Takemichi explained, his voice calm, honest. "I saw two teens trying to steal a bike outside his shop. One of them had a wrench. By the time I got close, he'd already hit him. I called the ambulance and stayed with him until the paramedics came."
He left it there.
Simple. True. The bones of the truth, stripped of names.
Kakucho's eyes narrowed slightly. "You were just passing by?"
Takemichi gave a small nod. "Right place, right time. Or maybe wrong place, wrong time. Depends on how you look at it."
Izana leaned back, balancing on the bench's edge. "So you didn't know who he was?"
"Not then," Takemichi admitted. "He was just someone who needed help."
Izana's gaze flicked toward the ground for a moment, thoughtful. Then he looked back. "And after?"
Takemichi shrugged slightly, his voice softening. "We… talked. I visited him at the hospital. I brought sweets later and I guess I kept showing up. And he didn't tell me to stop."
There was something gentle in the way he said it—earnest, unpolished. Honest.
Izana tilted his head, watching him. He was trying to read something deeper, Takemichi could tell. Trying to figure out if this was another game. Another angle.
But there wasn't one.
"And now?" Kakucho asked, arms crossed, tone even. "You still go see him?"
"Sometimes," Takemichi said. "But not as often. He has people. Friends. I just kind of… check in when I can."
He didn't mention Mikey. Didn't bring up Draken. Or Baji, or Emma, or the growing knot of people around Shinichiro that somehow kept pulling Takemichi in.
Something in him said now wasn't the time.
Izana watched him a moment longer, before he looked away.
"Huh," he said softly. "So you really are just like that."
Takemichi blinked. "Like what?"
"Ridiculously decent," Izana said, his tone unreadable. "You help strangers. You bring pastries. You don't ask for anything back."
Takemichi rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. "I mean… everyone deserves help. Right?"
Izana didn't answer, but his lips quirked—just barely.
Kakucho said nothing, but his stance loosened slightly, like maybe, just maybe, he was willing to believe it too.
"Alright," Izana said after a beat. "Your turn."
Takemichi blinked. "My turn?"
"Yeah," Izana said, draping his arms along the top of the bench like he owned it. "Ask something. If we're gonna do this—train, talk, whatever—you should know who we are too."
Takemichi considered it for a second, then glanced at Kakucho, then back to Izana.
"Okay," he said slowly. "How long have you known you had flames?"
That made both boys pause.
Kakucho looked away. Izana tapped his fingers once on the backrest.
"About a year," he said finally. "Maybe a bit more. It started..."
Takemichi waited, patient.
"With the stress," Izana added. "And pressure. Things that break people."
There was a sharpness in his voice now—not quite anger, but something honed. Familiar.
Takemichi knew that tone.
Pain wrapped in steel.
He didn't push. Instead, he nodded once. "Makes sense. They show up when your will hits the edge."
Izana's eyes slid to him, curious. "And you?"
Takemichi didn't hesitate. "Since I was five."
Izana blinked, clearly expecting something else. Beside him, Kakucho tilted his head, interest sharpening.
Takemichi chuckled softly. "It's not common. But it happens when you're… legacy."
Kakucho raised a brow. "Legacy?"
"Yeah." Takemichi shrugged. "When your parents are already part of the underworld. You're born into it. Everyone knows you're gonna awaken eventually, so they train you from early on. Especially if you're Vongola."
That word landed heavily.
Kakucho gave a thoughtful hum. "Izana said you were the Vongola boss's son."
Takemichi nodded, his tone a little dry. "That'd be me."
Kakucho's eyes raked over him, skeptical but curious. "You don't look like someone in the Mafia."
Takemichi huffed a laugh. "I get that a lot, but I take after my dad—Tsunayoshi. Soft voice, too polite, kind of awkward. Not really the scary type. Unless you're on his bad side."
Izana looked at him a little longer, like he was seeing something new now—something quieter under the surface.
"And you're not the heir, right?" Kakucho asked.
Takemichi smiled faintly. "That's my brother. He's got more from Papa Reborn. He's sharp and confident. The kind of guy who can walk into a room and make people shut up just by breathing."
Kakucho blinked. "So you're the 'nice one'?"
"I'm the quiet one," Takemichi corrected, not offended. "Doesn't mean I'm not dangerous."
There was no threat in the way he said it—just a simple, grounded truth. And somehow, that made it even more compelling.
Izana leaned back slightly, lips twitching into something like a smirk. "Alright, 'quiet one.' You're more interesting than I thought."
Takemichi tilted his head, amused. "Is that a compliment?"
Izana didn't answer, but Kakucho chuckled under his breath. "Maybe."
For a moment, the air between them felt just a little lighter. A little more familiar. Not quite friends yet—but something close to the first steps of it.
Takemichi's phone buzzed again, still in his hand. Another message from Mikey.
The Great Mikey - u dead again?
He smiled faintly, thumb tapping out a quick reply.
Takemichi - not yet. Meeting with your brother. Talk you later.
"So," Izana said, standing slowly. "Want to go somewhere a little more private for the flame stuff?"
"Not now," Takemichi said and so they didn't leave the park.
Instead, they found a quieter corner—partially shielded by trees, the low hum of city life just far enough away to let them speak without being overheard. The air smelled like damp grass and concrete as Takemichi sat cross-legged on a bench. Izana stood nearby, leaning against a metal rail, while Kakucho crouched beside the grass, idly drawing circles in the wet dirt with a stick.
"So," Takemichi asked, glancing at them, "what exactly did the pamphlet say?"
Izana gave him a dry look. "You mean the 'welcome to the supernatural criminal underworld' pamphlet from hell?"
"That one," Takemichi said, amused. "My dad made Vindice give them out, but… I've never actually seen one."
Kakucho huffed a laugh. "It's not impressive."
Izana tilted his head slightly, as if trying to recall. "It was short. Bare bones. Had a brief explanation of the Mafia structure—international organizations, the big names in Japan. Vongola was listed first."
"Of course it was," Takemichi muttered, hiding his face in his hands. "That sounds like something Papa would push for."
Izana smirked, but continued after. "Then it had a list of Flame attributes. Basic descriptions—what each of their names is, how it usually manifests, while also telling their properties."
Takemichi nodded, already familiar. "Sky—Harmony. Cloud—Propagation. Mist—Construction. Rain—Tranquility. Sun—Activation. Storm—Disintegration. Lightning—Solidification."
Izana blinked. "Right. That's the list. You recite it like it's a prayer."
"It kind of is," Takemichi said, shrugging. "Papa made me chant them with definitions until I could explain them in five languages when I was four."
Kakucho made a noise that might've been sympathetic or horrified—maybe both.
"Did it let you know how to identify your flame type?" Takemichi asked.
"Sort of," Izana said, kicking a small rock. "Basically, it let us know by color and feeling. Mostly told us not to panic, though. That 'awakening can happen through intense emotional trauma or extreme need.' Very reassuring."
Takemichi winced. "Oof. Yeah. It's in the name. Dying Will Flames."
Izana didn't respond to that—just stared out at the trees for a beat before saying quietly, "It took me a while to figure mine out because it was hard to manifest it and when it did, the color was mixed. But, yeah, I've got Mist and Cloud."
"That's a rare combo," Takemichi nodded.
"It fits," Kakucho muttered beside him. "Cloud suits his detachment, I think? Mist… well. He hides things."
Izana smirked faintly, but didn't argue.
Takemichi looked at Kakucho. "And yours?"
"Rain," he said simply, lighting a finger up. "I knew it right away. The only blue flame."
"That makes sense," Takemichi murmured. "You feel like someone who grounds people."
Izana gave him a sideways look. "And you?"
Takemichi smiled a little, embarrassed. "I've got Sky and Sun."
Izana raised an eyebrow. "Sky? As in, the rarest one?"
"Yeah. It runs in my family."
"What's it do?"
"Harmony," Takemichi said quietly. "It resonates with others. Connects. Calms. Unifies."
There was a small silence, before Kakucho hummed. "That explains a lot about you."
Takemichi tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"You've got that kind of… presence," Kakucho said, searching for the words. "It's easy to listen to you. Like you're safe. Familiar."
Takemichi blinked, caught off guard by the honesty.
Izana was watching him too now, expression unreadable but not unkind.
"Well," Izana said eventually, "I guess Sky suits you. Even if you looked like a soaked rabbit in that poncho when we met."
Takemichi groaned. "I did not—!"
Kakucho chuckled under his breath, and Izana just gave him a smug smirk.
And Takemichi, for all his nerves, smiled.
.
.
Guess who is alive!
And got herself into university once again!
yay
Less me-time for me.
.
Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS