Mokona announced that Sakura’s feather was inside the sobbing wooden box that insisted that it was a magical tomato crate fairy who wanted to be their friend.

Kurogane prodded (i.e. kicked) the crate with his foot.

The crate sobbed even harder.

Sakura went on her knees, put a hand on the lid, and said as kindly as she could, “Hello? Are you alright?”

The sobbing gradually grew louder in volume. “I’m so sorry; I’m not really a magical tomato crate fairy! I’m just poor, weak little Italy! Please don’t hurt me! I’m so scared!”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Sakura reassured him. “There’s nobody scary here. Fai-san and Kurogane-san and Syaoran-kun and Moko-chan are all very nice.”

“Except for Kurogane!” Mokona sang out. “He has a very scary face!”

Italy screamed quite loudly then as the crate looked like it was going through convulsions.

“Mokona, you’re not helping. We must be nice to him. After all, you said Sakura’s feather is inside this crate,” Fai chastised gently while Syaoran placed a foot on the crate to brace himself before gripping the lid tightly.

“Italy-san, I’m opening this crate!” he announced. Italy didn’t even have a chance to protest. Syaoran ripped off the lid in moments. Out popped a fully grown man with the teary-ist eyes they had ever seen. The water works were fully operational.

“Don’t shoot me! It’s no fun to shoot a virgin!” he wailed. “Pasta! I want pasta before I die! Pasta!”

Rolling his eyes, Kurogane yanked that curly strand of hair to shut him up. Surprisingly, it worked. He let out a horrified squeak and covered his face with his hands. Kurogane spotted something glistening white poking out of Italy’s pocket and reached for it.

“Hey, Grandfather Rome gave me that! You can’t take that!” Italy squeaked out, peeking through his fingers. Kurogane yanked the strand of hair again. Hey, if it worked once…

It did. Italy immediately shut up and closed his fingers. Just as the travelers left, their objective for this world completed, Germany arrived in the scene to see a man curled up in a ball inside a wooden crate.

“Are you a descendant of Rome?” he asked uncertainly, poking Italy’s head with a stick. Italy looked up, revealing an adorably flushed, embarrassed face before launching himself into Germany’s arms, crying.

Germany really wasn’t expecting that.

He just stared at the man wailing incomprehensibly into his shirt about being repeatedly raped by a big scary guy who stole the treasure that Grandfather Rome had given him so long ago.

“What?”

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Hm...50 chapters...how the hell did that happen?