The days passed softly.
Tsuna didn't mark them in any official way—no calendar, no journal entries, no ceremony. But the rhythm of them settled in his bones. He woke early, did the prep work for the shop—cutting scallions, slicing char siu, refilling broth pots. He swept, wiped tables, learned how to read Kawahira's subtle gestures for when to stay quiet or step in.
There weren't many customers, but there were always some. People who somehow stumbled upon the ramen shop in out-of-the-way alleys or quiet corners of Namimori that shouldn't have had a business standing there. They paid in cash, spoke softly, and rarely asked for names.
Kawahira never seemed surprised when they arrived.
Tsuna stopped asking questions about it.
In the quiet hours before the customers arrived, Tsuna trained.
He didn't have a gym, or equipment. But he had a floor, a body, and time.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Squats. Stretching to shake off the aches in this younger, malnourished body. He started with ten reps, then twenty, slowly building back the foundation he'd once taken for granted.
And his Flames—
They were harder.
At first, when he tried to call them, all he got was a spark. Weak and watery, like a candle trying to remember it was once a bonfire.
But each day it grew.
He meditated. Focused. Let the breath fill him and the memories—his memories—settle. He visualized the Sky Flame, not as a weapon but as a heartbeat. His heartbeat.
By the third morning, a steady wisp of orange curled from his fingertips, warm and rich, and undeniably his.
That same evening, Kawahira handed him a small, folded square of fabric as they cleaned up the shop.
It was a thin patch, no bigger than two fingers, soft to the touch and faintly warm.
"For your scent," Kawahira said, not looking up as he dried a bowl. "Press it onto your skin anywhere clean and dry—neck, chest, wrist. It'll suppress your scent as long as it stays on."
Tsuna blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," Kawahira echoed. "Though it's water-sensitive. Remove it before showers. Don't wear it to sleep every night—it's not healthy to be scentless constantly."
Tsuna tilted his head, curious. "Why?"
Kawahira glanced over, pausing his motion.
"Scent isn't just for others. It's for you, too. Your body uses it to self-soothe. Mentally, physically, hormonally. You've been suppressing for too long. It's made you brittle."
Tsuna opened his mouth to respond, but Kawahira had already turned and walked to the back.
A moment later, he returned with a book—plain-bound, slightly worn—and set it on the table in front of him.
Understanding Omega Physiology and Self-Bonding Practices.
Tsuna stared at it, then chuckled softly.
"I think… I saw something like this in the room before I packed."
"You didn't read it," Kawahira said.
It wasn't a question.
Tsuna nodded slowly.
"I don't have all his memories," he admitted. "And I think the ones I do have… he didn't want to look at too closely. He thought it didn't matter. That his body didn't work right, so why bother?"
Kawahira's gaze flickered, just slightly.
"Then start over," he said. "You're not broken. You're just behind."
He didn't say anything else—just handed him a cup of barley tea and left him alone at the table with the book.
Tsuna opened it slowly. The first chapter was simple: "The Role of Nesting in Omega Self-Regulation."
He didn't quite know what it meant yet.
But the faint, unfamiliar scent in his room—the one he was beginning to associate with home—no longer felt like something to erase.
.
The scent patch adhered easily to the inside of Tsuna's wrist that first morning—warm, thin, and faintly pulsing as he filled it with a small stream of Sky Flames.
It absorbed the energy quickly, then dulled, going inert again. It was strange, how something so small could block out a scent that others seemed to find so important. But the moment it activated, he felt it: a hollowing out, like slipping on a blank mask. Neutral.
Unnoticed.
He liked it.
With his scent sealed and his body already humming from flame practice earlier, he stepped outside and took to the streets for a jog.
The first few days, it was Namimori.
The streets were familiar. Quiet neighborhoods, open spaces, winding hills. He ran through them without thinking too hard, just letting the rhythm of breath and footfalls guide him.
It wasn't about speed. It was about feeling the strength in his limbs again, remembering how to exist in a body that wanted to move, not tremble.
But on the fourth morning, when he opened the shop door, he stopped cold.
Tokyo.
The energy hit him instantly—denser air, louder streets, the low buzz of too many lives moving too fast. He looked around with wide eyes, recognizing landmarks from class trips and TV.
Kawahira's shop hadn't changed at all.
The world around it had.
Still…
Well, it's Japan. I can get back.
He adjusted his breathing, found a wide pedestrian path, and ran anyway—dodging early commuters and vendors setting up their stalls. The rhythm changed, but it didn't shake him.
When he got back an hour later, sweaty and curious, he found Kawahira wiping down bowls.
"Where are we?" Tsuna asked, toweling his face.
"Tokyo," Kawahira said without looking up. "I like to travel."
Tsuna blinked, then laughed softly, more amused than surprised.
"So that's just… a thing?"
"Sometimes we're in Rome. Once we ended up on a glacier in Iceland. I don't recommend it before tea."
Tsuna snorted.
"Got it. I'll keep my passport close."
And that was that.
Later that evening, with the shop closed and his body pleasantly sore from exercise, Tsuna found himself curled up in bed, a warm blanket over his legs and Kawahira's book on omega biology open on his lap.
He'd expected to skim it.
He didn't expect to learn so much.
He read slowly, flipping pages, occasionally pausing to absorb what he was seeing. Diagrams. Chemical cycles. Personal testimonies.
Heats: generally occur twice a year, but can be triggered early under conditions of physical or emotional stability, or via alpha contact. Common signs include restlessness, increased body temperature, hyper-sensitivity, emotional volatility, and a strong desire for physical bonding. During peak hours of heat, omega fertility is maximized regardless of external gender expression or reproductive anatomy.
Tsuna blinked.
Reproductive anatomy regardless of gender.
His eyes flicked back to the page. He re-read it again. And again.
The original Tsuna didn't have one, he thought. He probably thought he couldn't. That he was broken.
And now…
If I'm stable enough—physically, hormonally—will I…?
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the slight burn of embarrassment creep in.
That's going to be… something.
The idea of losing control like that—of his body becoming so hormonally overwhelmed he'd need someone—was uncomfortable, even if only theoretical. He didn't know what it would be like. Would he feel desperate? Would he hurt?
Would he want someone?
"I really hope I'm not in public when it happens," he muttered under his breath, flipping the page to a section titled Self-Soothing Strategies and Solo Heat Management.
He read on. There was no fear, only quiet curiosity and mild dread.
Still, knowledge was power.
And this time, he wouldn't go through it blind.
.
The streets of Naples were quieter than Tsuna expected at that hour.
The sky above was pale gold, washing the stone walls of the buildings in morning light. The air was warmer than Namimori, heavy with the scent of the sea, espresso, and something faintly citrus—lemon trees, maybe.
Tsuna kept his pace steady, the rhythm of his shoes slapping against ancient stone grounding him.
He wasn't even surprised anymore.
When he'd stepped outside the ramen shop that morning, expecting Namimori's residential calm, he'd instead been greeted by tiled roofs and crumbling Italian charm.
Naples.
He only stretched, adjusted his scent patch, and began running. The streets were old but familiar. His legs were stronger now, breath deeper. He liked the way the world opened up when he moved.
By the time he returned, sweat on his brow and heart calm, the air around the ramen shop felt different.
Alive.
He opened the curtain and stepped inside—then stilled.
There, at the counter, stood a girl in a delicate white sundress with lilac embroidery, her dark hair curled in soft waves down her back. Her expression was bright and open, like light filtered through windchimes.
Yuni.
Younger than him, just as he remembered her. Maybe thirteen, not yet presented. But unmistakable. Sky. Her Flame—subtle, soft, and vast—was something he could feel in the air. Like a distant melody only another Sky could hear.
Gamma stood beside her, stiff-backed and wary, his hand never far from the fold of his coat. His eyes flicked from Kawahira to Tsuna and didn't relax at either.
Kawahira looked as unbothered as ever, calmly drying a bowl. He raised an eyebrow at Tsuna's entrance, but said nothing.
Yuni turned the moment she felt him—because of course she did.
She smiled like she'd been waiting for him.
"Tsunayoshi-san," she said, cheerful and warm, her voice like song. "Welcome back. I talked with uncle Kawahira. I'm on board."
Kawahira's brow twitched slightly.
"'Uncle'?"
Yuni only beamed. Kawahira sighed and didn't protest.
Tsuna stepped further in, closing the curtain behind him. He met Yuni's eyes—so young, yet filled with that deep knowing she always carried.
"Thank you," he said softly.
Yuni didn't speak of the plan. Not in front of Gamma. But her presence said enough.
Gamma's frown deepened as his eyes lingered on Tsuna, clearly trying to place him. But he said nothing—just hovered close to Yuni like a stormcloud with an earpiece.
"I'll reach out to Byakuran," Yuni continued, her tone light and deliberate. "He's making a name for himself as the heir of the Gesso Famiglia, so it shouldn't be hard. We haven't spoken before, but… I think he'll listen. It's a Sky thing."
She glanced toward Kawahira, who made a small sound of acknowledgment without looking up.
Tsuna nodded. "I think so too."
She smiled again, then her gaze drifted upward.
To his neck.
To the faint outline of the scent patch, now slightly visible where sweat had loosened the edge.
Her eyes softened. A shade of sadness entered them—quiet, understanding.
"You don't have to hide," she said gently.
Tsuna inhaled but didn't speak.
"I understand why you do," she added, her voice never rising, never pushing. "But… you don't have to. Not here. Not from me."
It hit him harder than he expected.
There was no judgment in her voice. No pity.
Just Sky to Sky. Two people who felt too much. Who carried too much.
He reached up, fingertips brushing the patch briefly.
Then he looked at her, and nodded—slowly.
"Thank you."
.
Tsuna sat at the edge of the counter, towel draped around his neck, posture loose but eyes sharp. Yuni perched on a stool nearby, her legs swinging slightly as she sipped at the barley tea Kawahira had poured for her, her aura light but attentive.
Tsuna didn't want to ask about him.
But curiosity nipped at him, restless and quiet.
So instead, he tilted his head and said, "Have you seen the Arcobaleno recently?"
Yuni hummed thoughtfully, tapping a finger against her cup.
"Not often," she said. "They check in on my birthdays and holidays. Little gifts. Letters sometimes."
She smiled faintly.
"Not that they need to. We're not bonded or anything. Just… connected by the pacifier."
She sipped again, then set the cup down gently, her eyes drifting upward as she recalled.
"Lal's still with CEDEF—some kind of tactical training role. Very sharp. Very serious."
"Colonello's still running Mafia Land. He sends me candy and training manuals like I'll ever use them."
"Fon's been quiet lately, but I know he's taken on a new student. A little girl named I-pin. Very promising."
"Verde's… well. Verde. Hard to track. Doesn't leave his lab unless something explodes or he needs a test subject."
Tsuna chuckled despite himself, some of the tension in his shoulders slipping away.
Yuni tilted her head, her expression turning a little mischievous.
"You were waiting for me to get to Viper, weren't you?"
Tsuna blinked, caught.
Yuni grinned knowingly.
"Viper's still technically working with the Varia. But I know they've been grumpy ever since harmonizing with Xanxus. Not because of the bond itself—just… the circumstances."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"He got sealed in ice a couple years after they harmonized, didn't you hear? Apparently, he ignored all the warnings about the Ring Trials and went in half-healed. Typical."
Tsuna's breath hitched slightly. Not enough for her to comment, but enough that he looked down at the counter and didn't respond.
"There are rumors," Yuni continued gently, "that he woke up not too long ago. Fought with Reborn's student. Barely lost."
Her eyes flicked toward him then—quiet, gentle.
"Only lost because he was still recovering. Not because he was weak."
The silence that followed was soft but heavy.
Tsuna wanted to ask. Did Ieyasu hurt him? Did he mean to? Was it a clean fight? Did he feel guilty after?
But the words never came.
Yuni, perhaps sensing that hesitation, offered something different.
"He's a good person," she said simply. "Your brother. Not as strong flame-wise—not like you."
Her voice was light, but sincere.
"But he tries. He listens. He believes in things."
Tsuna looked at her, heart twisting.
So did I.
So did the Tsuna who died.
He swallowed back the ache and nodded once, slow and measured.
"That's good to hear."
Yuni smiled again, then looked away, giving him the privacy of a moment he couldn't voice.