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 1049 B.N.
September 7th...
Several days had turned into weeks. Time flowed strangely in this childish body: slow during moments of stillness, yet relentless when it came to training.
I had just finished another session of the Template System's daily mission. The forest surrounding the mansion had become my silent refuge, far from the curious eyes of the other children. The air smelled of fresh resin, disturbed earth, and the faint trace of ozone left behind by my failed attempts with the Flames. My breathing was heavy, and sweat glued my simple clothes to my skin. Every repetition—the controlled release of the Sky Flames combined with physical exercise—demanded more than this small body seemed capable of giving.
Progress: 4%
My progress in the second main mission, Flame Adaptation, had been stuck at four percent for days. Today, after the final set of exercises, I felt a slight change. The System immediately responded within my mind with that cold, impersonal voice that still felt unsettling.
"Congratulations, User. You have reached five percent progress in your second Main Mission. Last Will Mode has been unlocked: Temporarily removes the physical limiters of the body. Increases strength, speed, and perception to superhuman levels. Can trigger a fierce personality change. Warning: This mode destroys clothing due to muscle expansion.."
A wave of aura surged through me, compressed and burning, as if something ancient had awakened. My clothes tore with a sharp sound as the energy burst forth. A second wave followed, this one mental, flooding me with overwhelming confidence, a strength that was not merely physical. For an instant, I felt complete. The Giotto of old, the one who had led the Vongola in another life, seemed to shine beneath this young skin.
A pure, brilliant Flame erupted from my forehead. A cry of victory escaped my throat, shaking the leaves of the nearby trees. The forest itself seemed to respond, vibrating with the energy pouring from me.
This...
This is power.
Real power.
But it did not last.
The feeling of triumph evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. The "fuel" ran out abruptly. The Flame on my forehead flickered and went out. My exhausted body collapsed in on itself.
Is that all?
I thought, still caught in a state of contemplative shock.
Then came the pain.
An intense, unbearable agony spread through every muscle, every bone, and every nerve. It was as if my body was trying to contain something far too large for it. A strangled groan escaped my lips as I dropped to my knees. My consciousness began to fade, the edges of my vision darkening. I fought to stay awake, to understand what had happened, but the pain offered no mercy.
Why does it hurt so much?
Is this the price of forcing this adaptation?
When Giotto opened his eyes, the ceiling of his room was the first thing that existed.
The second was G.
He was leaning over him with an expression Giotto knew by heart, burned into his memory through decades of shared lives: furrowed brows, a tense jaw, eyes rapidly scanning his face for signs of real injury.
It was the same look as always.
The same G as always.
In a different body.
In a different world.
With the same indestructible instinct to appear precisely when it should not have been possible.
Some things, Giotto thought with something between affection and resignation, do not change through reincarnations.
There were more faces around him.
Sana.
Reijiro.
Haru.
Daiki.
All wearing different variations of the same concern.
Except for Daiki. His displeasure at the attention Sana was giving me was the only immature trait the System had been unable to remove from the boy.
Aside from that, these were all new faces. In his previous life, very few people had allowed themselves to show him that kind of expression.
Now there were more people to remember.
He exhaled slowly.
"I'm fine. I pushed past my physical and mental limits. Nothing permanent."
"Luci...?" Sana's voice carried the tone of someone who had been holding back something more for quite a while. The way she addressed him, using a shortened form of Luciano's name, reflected the difference in how each subordinate related to him. "Are you sure?"
"Boss, we were worried," Reijiro added with his usual composure, the kind that made every sentence sound more serious than it actually was.
Daiki looked at both of them with genuine bewilderment and a hint of jealousy.
"Wait. That's it?" He paused. "Because the surprising part wasn't that you passed out. The surprising part was G. We were in class, everything completely normal, and then he suddenly froze in the middle of a sentence, stood up, and ran down the hallway shouting, 'Primo needs me, he's in trouble!'" He turned toward Giotto with wide eyes. "Is that normal?"
Giotto brought a hand to his face.
How does he do that?
G's sixth sense regarding him had always surpassed even Vongola Hyper Intuition, as though there were some bond that no reincarnation had ever managed to sever completely.
It was extraordinary.
It was endearing.
And at this particular moment, it was profoundly inconvenient.
"What exactly happened, Primo?" G asked, as direct as ever. "Why did you pass out?"
Giotto lowered his hand and looked at him with the expression of someone who had decided that a partial truth was more effective than complete evasion.
"I accessed the Dying Will Mode. This body still can't withstand even activating the technique. It's only a matter of time and training."
G processed that for exactly two seconds.
"Primo, that's incredible!" The concern vanished, replaced by something much closer to unrestrained pride. "It's only a matter of mastering your control." He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Now I understand why you were standing in the middle of the forest in your underwear."
Heat reached Giotto's cheeks before he could do anything to stop it.
Haru turned toward Daiki with an accusing expression.
"Hey. Didn't you deduce that someone had robbed Boss? According to your powers of observation."
Daiki opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Giotto's face reached a shade of red that had no official name, thanks to the effects of embarrassment.
"Please," he said in a voice that was trying to sound authoritative but failed to do so. "Go do something useful for the family. Out. Now."
The four of them rushed out of the room with the chaotic energy of a gust of wind, leaving behind the echo of laughter that none of them would admit had escaped.
The door closed.
Silence settled over the room, leaving only G and Giotto behind.
Giotto looked at his right-hand man for a long moment with quiet appreciation, unhurriedly, like someone examining something familiar that he still had not completely learned to recognize again.
The silence settled differently this time.
More honestly.
"How have you been feeling in this world?"
G took his time before answering. For him, that was equivalent to a long response.
"Frustrated. Having the mind of someone who's already lived through all of this while trapped in a body that's only just beginning... it's not a feeling I'd recommend. Training abilities that should be instinctive as if they belonged to someone else." He paused. "Being weak again is the worst part."
"I understand." Giotto smiled faintly. "But patience is part of the job now. This time, we'll do it better. Ethical mafiosi. Order where power cannot reach. That's our goal."
G nodded with the economy of movement that meant genuine agreement.
"Will the System be able to bring the other Guardians here?"
"If we fulfill its requirements, yes. The Guardians, the Vongola Rings, everything connected to the Tri-ni-sette." He paused. "That's our identity, G. The clam passes on its legacy from generation to generation. And we'll do the same here, as a new beginning for our family."
G stared ahead.
"Seeing the others again will be... strange." He paused deliberately. "Especially that crybaby Lampo."
Giotto let out a genuine laugh, one of the few that required no audience.
"Of course it will, G."
...
The Land of Lomo had no official name.
Its own people were not united enough to give it one, or perhaps no one had ever possessed enough authority for a name of their own making to endure. The neighboring countries called it that because of its highlands along the nation's borders: rolling hills, dense forests that discouraged careless exploration, and roads that disappeared beneath the vegetation with such regularity that the land itself seemed to prefer not to be crossed. In Giotto's memories, it resembled Japan's Kofun Period almost exactly, where power was measured by who was strongest and by the ability to maintain that strength, not by written laws that no one truly respected.
In short, it was exactly the kind of place where something new could be built without anyone with real power bothering to interfere until it was already too late.
The aftereffects of Dying Will Mode faded with the characteristic slowness of limits crossed without permission. It had taken days for his muscles to stop aching from channeling an amount of energy his body was still not designed to withstand.
But they eventually recovered.
And when they did, the time to move arrived with them.
Takeshi had supervised the construction of the new mansion alongside people who seemed to possess an instinctive understanding of building. The work had been carried out with a precision Giotto had not expected from someone of his age—another benefit of the System, though by now he had already learned to recalibrate his expectations regarding what these five could accomplish when entrusted with real responsibility. The blueprints had been followed faithfully. The structure was complete.
The family could move in.
He watched the final preparations from the carriage window with that peculiar mixture of satisfaction and caution that accompanies any plan beginning to succeed: the relief of seeing something unfold as intended, immediately followed by the awareness that there was now far more to lose.
An advantage, Giotto thought from the carriage carrying them toward the capital.
For now.
Beside him, G watched the road ahead with the expression of someone instinctively calculating distances from the position of bodyguard and right-hand man to the Vongola Boss.
In this new world, the Vongola Boss bore the nickname "Giotto," while his true name was Lesuya Sawada.
Luciano Gravina...
Two names for a single existence, and far too long for a world where having a name itself was a privilege. The soul of an Italian mafioso who had rebuilt codes of honor in a world without them. The legendary founder of a family that had defined what it meant to protect through loyalty. And now this: a child riding in a wooden carriage, traveling toward a capital with no official name, accompanied by five administrators and the Vongola Storm Guardian, who had followed him across lifetimes without anyone ever asking him to.
The organization's internal radar had been steadily solidifying ever since its influence began taking root within the village. It was a sensation difficult to describe accurately. It was neither sight nor hearing, but something closer to the pressure in the air before the weather changes. A perception of what existed around him, of the intentions moving along the edges, of the places where power had yet to reach and was waiting for someone to claim it.
The more we build, he thought, the farther this radar will reach.
And the more difficult it will become to maintain the balance between what I once was and what I now need to become.
Luciano knew how to build empires through equal parts fear and loyalty.
Giotto knew how to build families through honor and determination.
The question neither of them had answered yet was how much of each could be allowed to shape their decisions in this world without one eventually crushing the other at the worst possible moment.
"You're thinking too much," G said without turning around.
"I'm planning our future step by step, my friend."
"Same thing, my friend."
Giotto did not answer.
Outside, the trees gradually opened up, and between the trunks appeared the first signs of a more concentrated human settlement: rooftops, rising smoke, and the distant sounds of organized activity.
The capital of the Land of Lomo.
Called Tree Village because of the enormous trees surrounding it.
Small. Chaotic. Still without a name worth remembering, yet every merchant in the country—both local and foreign—preferred doing business there, giving it an advantage over the other growing villages throughout the land.
Tree Village was the capital for one simple reason: it possessed more resources and offered its inhabitants a comfortable life.
...
Upon arriving at their new home, the mansion stood apart from the main village, surrounded by a dense forest where bears, packs of wolves, troops of monkeys, and large felines roamed beneath the shadows of the towering trees. To me, those threats seemed insignificant; mere details that could be managed by establishing rules for my subordinates, avoiding unnecessary conflicts with territorial animals. The air smelled of damp earth, resin, and decaying leaves, a wild scent that contrasted with the solid stone-and-wood structure Takeshi had built alongside his father, Eichi, faithfully following my blueprints.
That night, the old throne hall smelled of warm stone and hard work.
The Sky Flames had left their mark upon the walls: small scorch marks lining the edges of the ancient stonework, the visible traces of countless hours of relentless practice. Giotto leaned his back against the nearest pillar and slowly clenched his fist, allowing the flame to die out between his fingers the way a candle goes out after fulfilling its purpose.
G dropped onto the floor a few meters away, his jacket tossed beside him while sweat cooled upon his neck. Neither of them spoke for a while.
There was no need.
It was the silence shared by two people who carried enough history together that they no longer needed words to fill it.
G was the one who finally broke it, without lifting his gaze from the floor.
"Your Luciano side... can be frightening sometimes."
It wasn't criticism.
It was an observation, spoken with the straightforward honesty G reserved for moments when no one else was watching.
Giotto didn't answer immediately. He examined the scorched glove on his right hand, the leather stiffened from that afternoon's training. When he finally looked up, his eyes carried that particular intensity that always followed exhausting practice, when physical fatigue stripped away every layer until only what he truly thought remained.
"I know." He paused. "But if I had been like this before, the Mist Guardian wouldn't have betrayed us. And the Cloud Guardian would have learned much sooner to bow his head when it was appropriate."
G frowned slightly.
Not to disagree.
To evaluate.
"Your Lesuya side was an exceptional leader. It shouldn't be underestimated. He protected us from the moment we left Italy, and he did it well." He paused. "But now that Luciano has become part of you... I think things will be different."
"Better."
A longer pause followed.
"Maybe that's why this life came with two souls instead of one."
Giotto nodded slowly.
He understood what G had left unsaid: in the previous Vongola Family, the coldest and darkest decisions had fallen upon Demon Spade and Alaudi. They had been exactly that—necessary shadows the Primo never had to bear personally.
Now those shadows were part of him.
Not delegated.
Integrated.
Where there is light, there must also be shadow, he thought.
The difference is who controls it.
"Shadows are necessary," he said aloud. "The Mafia has always known that, although it understood it the wrong way. Only a stronger power can restrain another power that brings harm." He made a vague gesture. "So to speak."
"Spies," G said, in the tone of someone finishing a sentence he already knew.
"Spies. Surveillance. Organized intelligence." Giotto stood up and walked toward the stone table he had turned into a makeshift desk. Spread across it were hand-drawn maps sketched with charcoal ink, diagrams of escape tunnels, forest perimeter defense layouts, sketches of symbols that had yet to be named, and the detailed blueprints of the underground base he had been planning for weeks. "The one who knew how to build this kind of structure was Alaudi. But he isn't here yet, and we don't know when he'll arrive."
"And in the meantime?"
Giotto looked up from the maps with something that wasn't quite a smile, but came close.
"This body carries two lifetimes, G. I believe I can build something comparable until he appears."
G nodded without ceremony.
"Then focus on the planning. I'll handle whatever I can in the field."
Giotto returned to the maps. His fingers traced the drawn lines with the familiarity of someone who had already traveled those paths hundreds of times in his mind.
"I've been thinking about the structure," he said. "We have time, but not an infinite amount of it, and accumulating power without a solid foundation is like fighting blindfolded. An organization built on improvisation carries that flaw into the next generation. I don't want our children to inherit our structural mistakes. We already saw what happened from the Ninth to the Tenth."
"Understood. How are you dividing it?"
"Three groups." Giotto unfolded a separate sheet where he had already written down the names. "The Fiamme Rosse. The Occhi Neri. And the Corvi."
G looked at the paper with a neutral expression, which for him meant genuine interest.
"The orphans who completed Mr. Eichi's mission will join the Fiamme Rosse. Red Flames. Determination and direct action. They're the ones who act when action is necessary."
"And the Occhi Neri?"
"Pure surveillance. Observers, infiltrators, shadows. Their job is to gather information, never to intervene directly. In the long run, they'll become my eyes throughout the entire country. No one should even know they exist."
G nodded, already imagining the scope of such a network.
"And the Corvi?"
"The Ravens are something different." Giotto carefully folded the paper. "Those who can read and write—or who can learn. They'll accumulate knowledge, develop codes, and safeguard information. They aren't fighters. They're the organization's memory. And they'll train with messenger birds for long-distance communication."
The silence that followed carried even more weight than the last. G studied the maps with the expression of someone calculating variables in real time.
"I want every intelligence agent to learn how to read and write," Giotto continued. "To know how to observe. Listen. Remember footsteps, gestures, patterns of behavior."
G glanced sideways at him.
"Are you training assassins or gifted students?"
"Agents prepared like those of the twenty-first century," Giotto replied in a low voice, as though sharing something the room itself wasn't meant to hear. "When they strike, the enemy won't even realize they've been struck."
G considered that for a moment.
Then he nodded with that distinctive energy Giotto knew so well, his head moving quickly as he was already organizing the logistics.
"Then we start tomorrow. Haru can contribute what he learned from life on the streets, which is no small thing. Sana is ready for more responsibility—I can tell." He paused. "And Daiki... that kid studies you more than he lets on."
"I know." Giotto couldn't help but smile faintly. "Last night I caught him imitating the way I place my feet when I walk. He's not stupid. His head is just a little... spacious."
G let out a short, genuine laugh. Then he picked up the bowl of milk he had left on the table and took a sip with the ease of someone who had spent an entire lifetime sharing long nights with the same person.
Giotto picked up his own bowl as well.
"And how will you keep them united once they truly begin looking up to you?" G asked, more seriously. "Will it be the same as before, or something new?"
Giotto turned toward him.
There was nothing childlike in his eyes.
"With loyalty. With fear, if it ever becomes necessary." He paused. "But above all, with love. The kind of love that only a true Vongola Family can give."
The flame crackled between his fingers for a brief moment, almost as if answering him.
G looked at him for a second. Then he shook his head with something that might have been affection if G had been the sort of person who admitted to feeling such a thing.
"Because I'll shake the world to protect them," I replied firmly.
...
The days passed with the quiet density of things that grow without anyone noticing.
More orphans arrived. Some came alone, wearing worn-out clothes and carrying the gaze of those who had spent far too long wondering whether the next day would be worth enduring. Others arrived in pairs, clinging to one another with the instinctive solidarity of those who had survived together and still didn't know how to survive apart. A few were brought by Captain Bravar, who had integrated himself into the organization with the professional discretion of someone capable of recognizing a functional structure when he saw one, regardless of the age of the person leading it.
By mid-January of the year 1048 B.N., the group had reached a size that could no longer be ignored.
They came for different reasons. The youngest sought food and a roof that didn't depend on the unpredictable generosity of strangers. The older ones came for something much harder to name: the particular emptiness of those who had grown up in a world that had never reserved a place for them, and who had long since stopped expecting that to change on its own.
Every single one of them, without exception, ended up looking at the seven-year-old boy with the same expression Giotto had learned to recognize: a mixture of bewilderment and something much closer to involuntary awe. Because when he spoke, he didn't sound his age. Every word carried weight and direction. Every action possessed a determination that neither asked for permission nor tolerated hesitation.
Two lives, Giotto thought as he watched them from the sidelines. Sometimes it's a burden. Sometimes it's exactly what I need.
Training began almost immediately, with G's characteristic efficiency organizing rotations before anyone even asked him to.
The mornings started with runs through the dense forest surrounding the mansion. Low branches struck without discrimination, the uneven ground punished bare feet, and every breath became white clouds that the cold dispersed before they could fully form. Reijiro supervised combat training with improvised weapons: sticks, ropes, and the use of one's own body as a weapon. Sana taught reading and writing every morning with inexhaustible patience, sitting on the ground with the youngest children gathered around her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The afternoons were devoted to tactics. Building emergency shelters. Setting up warning traps. Reading hand-drawn maps.
The nights were reserved for what Giotto considered the most important training of all: loyalty, intelligence, and code.
The true meaning of family.
And Daiki handled physical discipline with a smile that left no room for negotiation.
"One more lap, you brats!" he shouted from the top of a hill, his arms crossed and barely containing his satisfaction. "The last three finishers are cleaning the kitchen tonight!"
"Daiki."
Sana's voice came from the stone balcony, clear and calm without needing to be raised.
"They're not useless. They're family. Watch your tone."
Daiki muttered something under his breath that no one bothered repeating aloud.
Below, among those running, a boy of about ten years old panted from exhaustion while staring toward the balcony with an expression that had nothing to do with fatigue.
"How can someone like that... exist in a place like this?" he murmured, almost to himself, his eyes fixed on Sana.
The slender girl running beside him never broke her pace.
"Wipe the drool off your face, idiot."
"She was chosen by the Boss."
G appeared behind them without anyone noticing his approach, an improvised honey lollipop resting at the corner of his mouth and an expression that left no room for further discussion.
"Keep running."
The two obeyed.
Giotto observed everything from the sidelines with his hands clasped behind his back.
It was a habit from both of his lives: that point of distance from which everything could be seen without intervening, where details became information, and information became decisions. Luciano had perfected it in alleyways. Giotto had used it in grand halls.
Here, he applied it to something entirely different:
People who were still learning they could trust the place they occupied.
They're not recruits, he thought.
They're the beginning of something that doesn't yet have a complete name.
What caught his attention most wasn't their physical progress, which advanced predictably through constant training.
It was the other transformation.
The hardest one to measure.
And the most important.
How those who had arrived with their heads lowered slowly began lifting them.
How those who had arrived in silence gradually found the strength of their own voices.
How distrust, which had initially been the dominant language of this group, slowly gave way to something much closer to belonging.
This is what Giotto knew how to do, admitted the part of him that was Luciano, with something that wasn't quite humility, but came close.
And I learned far too late that fear can only build so much.
The weight of those two perspectives coexisted within his chest with the familiarity of something that no longer fought for space but had instead learned how to share it. The responsibility behind every decision felt clearer this way: Luciano's cold clarity to see things as they were, and Giotto's determination to build what they ought to become.
Outside, Daiki shouted something.
Someone fell.
Someone else helped him back to his feet without being asked.
Giotto noticed it.
He filed away that small gesture alongside all the other small gestures that were, in truth, the only indicators that truly mattered.
They're doing well, he thought.
And he continued watching.
...
Several months passed.
The mansion had ceased to be merely a refuge and had become something else entirely: an operational base with its own rhythms, its own invisible hierarchies, and its own codes—codes the recruits learned without anyone ever writing them down, because that was precisely the point.
The orphans trained with a consistency that would have surprised any outside observer. The most capable among them began to stand out with the quiet naturalness of those discovering, for the first time in their lives, something they were truly good at—and deciding to become even better. Giotto had organized them into cells based on age, ability, and temperament, because he had learned across two different lives that mixing the wrong kinds of people created frictions no amount of training could resolve. The cells operated with relative independence, reported upward, and supported one another laterally.
It was still primitive.
But it worked.
From the elevated terrace, Giotto watched the afternoon training with his hands clasped behind his back. The sun slanted across the courtyard, stretching the shadows of the recruits as they ran through their formations. Below, G corrected someone's stance. Daiki was timing an exercise with an expression suggesting the results displeased him. Sana moved among the younger children with that quiet presence of hers that brought order without ever ordering anyone.
"The loyalty of children is worth more than the submission of adults," Giotto said quietly, almost to himself.
Takeshi, who was leaning against the railing beside him, turned toward him.
"Boss... you're building something that will last." He paused. "My father says so. Captain Bravar too. And Chief Razol, although you know he wouldn't put it in exactly those words."
Giotto responded with a slight nod and the faintest smile at the corner of his lips. His eyes never left the courtyard.
There's still a long way to go before I reach where I want to be, he thought.
Then the System spoke.
Not with sound, but with that inner presence Giotto had already come to recognize the way one recognizes the change in air pressure before rain: something that warns without announcing itself.
Significant progress has been detected in one of your missions.
The words formed within his consciousness with their usual clarity, clean and devoid of emotion.
Main Mission: "Rebirth of the Will"
Objective: Establish the foundations of the underworld. Recruit agents, secure a secret base, establish the founding rules. Create the structure of the underworld alongside the Vongola Family during a period equivalent to the Kofun Era in this new world.
Progress: 10%
Reward Unlocked: Rain Seed.
Rain Seed: Allows the summoning of the Rain Guardian of the First Generation Vongola: Asari Ugetsu.
Activation Requirement: The longest rainfall of the year.
Giotto did not move. From the outside, it probably looked as though he was simply continuing to watch the training.
Inside, however, something settled with the particular stillness only rain could bring—that calm that was not the absence of thought, but thought flowing effortlessly.
Asari.
He remembered him well. Not only as a Guardian, but as a presence: the way he balanced every place he occupied, how his calmness was not passivity but a different kind of strength—the water that yields, surrounds, and endures where fire would have consumed everything. Of all the Guardians, Asari was perhaps the one who least needed to be sought out. Yet he was also the one whose absence was felt the most.
He slowly opened his hand. There was nothing visible in his palm, yet he could feel the weight of the seed the way one feels the weight of a promise: without tangible form, yet undeniably present.
"Takeshi," he said.
"Yes, Boss?"
"A calm will come to the Family soon."
Takeshi looked at him, expecting more. Giotto added nothing. He gently closed his hand and turned his gaze back toward the courtyard, where the recruits continued running beneath the fading light.
Ten percent, he thought. Ninety remaining.
What he felt was not impatience. It was something closer to the perspective of someone who had built things before and knew that foundations were always the slowest part, the least visible, and the most important.
Below, G shouted something. The recruits adjusted their formation.
The afternoon went on.
To be continued...
Until the next chapter!