On Dead Ancestors and Predestined Fate

A Katekyo Hitman Reborn! fan fiction by Hitokiri-san

A/N: The Primo Family Arc is awesome in many ways. It is blatantly a filler, has a ridiculously plotless storyline (time travelling off to train in the middle of being chased after by rabid Millefiore hitmen, what?), but still manages to let us know something new and solid about the Primo Family. And oh, how I love the Primo Family.

I must be forgiven for finding Daemon Spade hilarious. He is just…comical, with his ridiculous bangs and strange habit of "Un~"-ing at people. And his hilarity increases tenfold when he is conversing with Mukuro. But I consider him a special one among the Primo Guardians, and especially like his poignant interaction with Giotto and - in connection - Tsuna. A oneshot about him, Tsuna and Giotto, not surprisingly, follows.

So here goes. This fic seems set on bouncing between humour and angst sporadically. Beware of Primo, his rampaging Guardians, and Daemon's utter ridiculousness.

All in all, Tsuna had conceded after spending a few years as Vongola's boss-in-training, the Tenth generation was pretty special even within the Vongola. Even Reborn had once grudgingly accepted that his student and his Guardians were actually special, in a sense – a compliment that made Tsuna drop his pen in shock. Reborn's compliments, of course, always had a catch; the hitman continued with a vicious little smirk that this specialness was what made it fitting for Dame Tsuna to succeed as the next boss.

Tsuna had, of course, yelped indignantly, claiming that he was totally going to take up a desk job after university and was not going to involve himself in shady mafia business any more, thank you very much. At this point Reborn had spontaneously fallen asleep, and Gokudera had gone on a starry-eyed hysteria at the notion that the Tenth was somewhat predestined to be the Tenth. Tsuna had felt something break permanently in his head, and refused to dwell on it to quell further brain damage.

One of reasons the tenth generation was special – discounting the fact that the majority of their generation were of Japanese origin - was that they'd acquired the ability to communicate with the spirits of the first generation Famiglia after the Ritual of Inheritance. It would appear that the spirits of the rings didn't really need to be summoned by the Sky Arcobaleno; they could actually manifest themselves in the real world as they pleased, using the respective ring-bearer's life force as leverage.

Granted, the communication wasn't always two-way – Tsuna and the others often find themselves subject to random and whimsical visits from the first generation members at odd places and even odder hours. Usually the first generation members tended to manifest in front of their own successors, giving advice, voicing out encouragements or – in Lampo's case – whine about the ludicrousness of snot-covered crybabies being appointed as the tenth Thunder Guardian.

As the boss of the tenth generation, however, Tsuna found himself host to almost all of them. Giotto had been openly doting on his successor since Tsuna had been fourteen, and had become even closer to the young boy as time passed. It struck Tsuna as strange that he could grow close to a memory, a consciousness – because really, that was all Giotto was in essence, though he'd always liked to think otherwise. He never thought much of it, however. Stranger things had happened in his life.

As he watched Giotto sip his tea serenely at the bedside table one sleepy afternoon, Tsuna had a fleeting urge to ask the golden-haired man if he'd been going easy on him in the Inheritance Trial – he sure didn't have to do anything to pass that trial – but decided against it. He didn't want to accidentally accuse Primo of favoritism, not really. Not because he thought Primo would make a frozen statute of him, but because he respected the man too much to accuse him of something like that.

His next most frequent guest had unsurprisingly been G.. As Primo's right hand, G. seemed to have extended his loyalty to Tsuna by default, and often came to offer his help whenever Tsuna was distressed over homework or other daily life happenings, which may or may not have been the fault of Reborn and his dysfunctional, eccentric Family. G., Tsuna knew, was genuinely fond of him, both for his likeness and difference to Giotto.

"You remind me a lot of Boss when he was at your age, Decimo," G. had told him, lips quirking in wry amusement as he recalled memories a few hundred years in the past, "only that you are a lot less trouble than he was. Giotto was one crazy kid."

Tsuna had rubbed his head sheepishly, because he couldn't quite imagine his charismatic predecessor as a crazy kid. He tried not to think about what sort of trouble Giotto used to get himself – and G. - into. He imagined it would be something legendary, like singlehandedly storming the headquarters of a criminal syndicate and leaving his best friend to track him down across town. It sounded like something his ancestor would do.

When manifesting before Tsuna, G. had the whimsical habit of adopting the form of Gokudera, much to the chagrin of the bomb expert. Tsuna had the feeling that G. was consciously baiting Gokudera - reminding the silver-haired teen of his numerous weaknesses, of how far he still had to go before he could make a competent right hand. It was perhaps G.'s way of urging Gokudera to do better.

In any case, G. had now become one of Gokudera's least favourite people. The silver-haired teen absolutely hated it when G. appeared ("are you implying I can't assist the Tenth properly with his homework?"), and would proceed to purge the spirit from the general vicinity Tsuna was in, with little to no effect. The effort, however, always amused G. to no end, and seeing his right hand wave a cross fervently at the redhead usually made Tsuna want to jump off some building.

He'd seen Ugetsu and Knuckle a few times, and was always soothed by the poise and calmness those two radiated. Tsuna thought that Knuckle was something of a walking paradox: once, the priest had deemed to talk to him about the ways of God, seeing that he seemed to be "troubled by mortal life" (he wasn't troubled by mortal life, per se; he was mostly troubled by Reborn's constant butchering of his mortal life). He had never, in his eighteen years of life, seen a Father preach with such utter extremeness. ("FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER TO THE EXTREME, DECIMO, AS GOD FORGAVE YOU! MAKE EXTREME PEACE WITH YOUR ENEMY WHEN YOU HAVE THE CHANCE!" the priest had screamed, bible thrust out in a dramatic gesture, and he could only nod, dumbfounded).

Tsuna didn't really know if God forgave him for anything, but he thought he was doing okay on the forgiving others part. Having too many people try to kill or maim you permanently tended to make you lose the ability to hold grudges against anyone anymore. Even if it was Reborn.

Ugetsu, on the other hand, was kind and amicable to a fault, accepting of everyone and everything around him. Tsuna was sure that they'd make good friends if Ugetsu was of this time, this era. Even Gokudera – who was almost always irritated with Yamamoto, and Yamamoto had to be one of the nicest people walking this planet – couldn't find any bones to pick about Ugetsu on the occasions he appeared.

Of course, there were also the other Primo Guardians, but Tsuna seldom saw them after the Inheritance Ritual. To be honest, it wasn't something that he minded terribly – he had no idea, for example, what he could do or say around someone as cold and aloof as Alaude. Possibly the man might attempt to bite him to death in his own way, like Hibari did on a frequent basis. Or perhaps whack him with those handcuffs. He'd always wondered how Alaude managed to wield a handcuff as his weapon, but after seeing Hibari sic his Vongola box on one of their enemies, Tsuna had lost any interest in finding out.

On second thought, perhaps it was better that he didn't get to meet the more volatile of Primo's Guardians for his own welfare. He had enough people trying to kill him without adding dead people to the mix.

But of course, he shouldn't have wished that. Fate had always had a shitty way of messing with him when he was least expecting it, and the next moment he'd either find himself knee deep in mortal danger, or mortal embarrassment. Usually both, if Reborn, his father or the Vongola in general were involved.

Which was exactly why he found Daemon Spade sitting cross-legged on his school desk in the middle of his final exam, studying him disdainfully from his higher perch on the desk.

"…should be ruled by power, and power alone," Daemon was saying, and Tsuna was too busy denying the illusionist's mere existence to pay much attention. With any luck, the man would disappear on his own accord if he ignored him long enough. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped it would, however.

"Daemon-san, move," Tsuna finally hissed halfway through Question 14, realizing that the diagram he was supposed to be solving was obscured in blinding white light, "your glowing aura is blocking my view."

Daemon's expression shifted from disdainful to offended, his shorter bangs bobbing a little as the illusionist straightened, but refused to shift from his perch. Tsuna realized that the man probably had no idea that in this form, he was glowing and half transparent. The brunette rubbed his eyes furiously. In this proximity Daemon was really starting to hurt his eyes.

"Still as insolent and stubborn as ever, Decimo. I'd thought that a few years would have taught you that I have always been right. Apparently I thought too highly of you."

For the life of him Tsuna couldn't quite remember what Daemon thought he was right on, and didn't particularly care at the moment. Tsuna sighed and pulled his exam paper out from under the ethereal form – ah, there was his diagram - left hand rising up absently to shield his eyes against the glare.

"Later, Daemon-san," he implored with the practiced patience of one used to dealing with dynamite-happy delinquents, grenade-totting brats and a wide assortment of unmentionable oddballs, and resolutely proceeded to ignore the troublesome ex-Guardian.

That proved to be a mistake – a cane materialized out of thin air, coming down on where his head would have been had he not have the presence of mind to throw himself to the side. Spending most of his teenage years dodging the Leon-club had done wonders to his reflexes. His head snapped up, indignant.

"Daemon-san! What do you –"

"What do you think you are doing, Sawada?"

Tsuna froze, half-crouched on the floor, and looked up at the teacher with too-innocent eyes.

"…Sorry, sensei. I dropped my eraser," he explained mildly, and produced an eraser out of the pocket of his pants with a subtlety that would have made Reborn half-proud. Sensei glared past the invisible spirit at him, and Tsuna quickly clambered back into his seat as though nothing had happened.

The mere mention of the name "Sawada", however, caused both his Guardians to turn simultaneously in his direction. Gokudera paused in the refinement of his G script – he'd polished off his own paper a good half-hour ago, all the time agonized at how retarded the whole thing was – and whipped around with his usual air of an obsessed protector. Yamamoto didn't seem to be particularly enthused with doing his paper anyway and merely glanced over, one hand absently scratching the side of his face.

Both blinked in shock at the sight of the spirit settled upon Tsuna's desk. Shit. At least Daemon could've had the courtesy of making himself invisible to all but Tsuna. He would of course be most grateful if the ex-Mist Guardian could just make himself scarce in the real world, but he'd learned to relinquish all hope of anything positive ever happening to him in this lifetime.

Tsuna tried his damndest to stall any forthcoming reactions by putting a silencing finger against his lips, head shaking almost pleadingly at Gokudera in a way that said no blowing up the classroom, please, Gokudera-kun, we're in the middle of an exam. Gokudera scowled, a twitch forming under his eye as he resigned to eyeballing Daemon like a hawk on the hunt. Tsuna knew, however, if Daemon ever tried to do anything untoward, bombs would fly and the world as he knew it would end. And since Daemon was just an incorporeal form, he'd most likely be the primary victim of the explosion, perhaps bringing down a few of his classmates nearby with him.

Yamamoto beamed at Daemon in a…distinctly Yamamoto way, which, if vocalized, would mean something like, "so Daemon followed Tsuna to school! I know he's fond of Tsuna like all the other Primo Guardians are, ahahaha."

Tsuna was glad he didn't have to hear those words; his mind was already halfway unraveled as it was. Sometimes he really regretted the fact that none of his seven Guardians ever managed to live up to society's minimal standard of mental stability.

Daemon ignored the twin gazes directed at him and narrowed cerulean eyes at the boss-in-training before him, cane thankfully tapping against his raised knee instead of the poor boy's head.

"You will pay attention when I talk to you about Vongola's future, Decimo…stop scribbling on the paper!" the illusionist snapped irritably as Tsuna made a last valiant effort at attempting Question 15, using his cane to swipe Tsuna's pen into midair. The brunette tried not to let his sight follow the writing tool as it flew halfway across the classroom and landed with a soft thud.

Tsuna resigned himself to failing the exam spectacularly – not that he wasn't already failing it in the first place – and sighed a long-suffering sigh at Daemon as he produced another pen just on principle. Reborn would murder him for giving up in the middle of doing something, even if it was as stupid as an algebra exam. With his tutor it had always been a choice between do it with your dying will or die, Dame Tsuna.

In the meantime, the teacher told off both Gokudera and Yamamoto for making funny expressions at Sawada in the middle of an exam, to which Gokudera replied with a vulgar gesture and Yamamoto with a shrug.

"Since when have you been talking to me about Vongola's future, Daemon-san? I think I missed it," Tsuna muttered at the spirit, trying hard not to move his lips too conspicuously. Daemon raised a slender brow in annoyance, and dragged his words with deliberate slowness as though he was talking to an imbecile.

"Since my appearance, child. Really, you aren't a bright one, are you? And Primo seems to think that you have the making of a great Vongola boss. How foolish of him."

Tsuna readily concede to being not-bright, but he thought that the insult was somewhat unwarranted. It wasn't his fault that Daemon had to jump in on him in the middle of something serious and start talking introspective shit about what he thought Vongola's leadership philosophy should be like. And how was he supposed to remember what Daemon had told him some three years ago?

He resisted the destructive urge to comment that Vongola's future, or lack thereof, was not really Daemon's business; the illusionist was very much deceased and deceased men really have no future to speak of. Instead, he did what he should really have done first off, and settled for explaining his situation and hoping against all hope that Daemon would be understanding enough to let him off the hook for another half hour.

"Daemon-san, I'm in school and taking an exam right now. Um, education is really important for a Vongola boss, you know, and it would look really bad for the Vongola if I can't pass this," never mind that he used to fail almost every subject he'd taken before. Tsuna murmured the explanation at his exam paper, and saw Daemon's expression change to something like slight surprise.

"You are in training, Decimo?" he looked genuinely thrown off, and started scanning the room for signs that supported Tsuna's claim. Tsuna thought he was unexplainably oblivious for someone who had staged a coup d'etat against the most famed mafia boss in existence. He was sure that schooling should be somewhat similar four hundred years ago; Daemon should be able to recognize a class when he saw it.

Tsuna's thought drifted, though, to the last time when they'd met a few years back, when Daemon had been trying to bait him into burning his friends to a crisp via the X Burner. Their interaction seemed almost…civilized, now that Daemon wasn't trying his best to corrupt his mind using evil doppelgangers of him and his friends. Perhaps Knuckles was right about the making peace with your enemies part.

Tsuna nodded a little overenthusiastically, overjoyed that Daemon was considering his situation, even if exam and training weren't the exact same thing.

"Yes! I'll be…training for another half hour though. Would you mind haunt…I mean, talking to Giotto-san…" no, wait, the man hate Primo's guts even from beyond the grave, "…Secondo about Vongola's future for a while?"

Daemon suddenly looked suspicious, if the wrinkles appearing at the corner of his eyes were any indication. "You are just trying to find an excuse to dispose of me are you not, Decimo?"

"Uhhh…" yes and no, and Tsuna didn't think further explanation was going to help him any. Instead, he tried to look as sincere as he could when he pleaded, "half an hour?"

Apparently someone high above was sympathetic to Tsuna's plight today, because Daemon's face softened into an amused smirk as he considered Tsuna's plea.

"You are a sly one aren't you, Decimo? I didn't think you have it in you before. All right, I'll leave you for now, but know that I will speak to you later."

Tsuna thought he was having an unjustifiably lucky day, until Daemon decided to materialize in front of the whole class, meander over to the classroom window, and jump right out.

Needless to say, the whole class was traumatized, the teacher started accusing Tsuna of trying to prank the class in the middle of an exam of all times; Gokudera, offended at the baseless accusation at the Tenth, threw a mini bomb in the teacher's general direction. Things exploded, Yamamoto laughed, and at this point Hibari came in and bit students and teacher alike to death indiscriminately.

Daemon had a vicious sense of humour on par with Mukuro. Tsuna really should have known that from the start. If anything, the matching zigzag hairline and pineapple-esque tuft he shared with Mukuro should have tipped him off.

"I am going to make Vongola the most loving, compassionate and friendly Family the mafia ever had," Tsuna declared, right off the bat, with a poisonous glint in his eyes that belied the idealistic words, "in fact, I'll make a charity group out of Vongola when I become boss."

Gokudera, who had been adjusting the band aid on his boss' chin, winced visibly at the words. He was sandwiched between Tsuna, who was sitting at the low table in his room, and Daemon, who had chosen to settle on the windowsill. He had no wish for the sadistic illusionist to go too near the Tenth. Yamamoto was sprawled out on Tsuna's bed, arms behind his head and long legs spilling onto the floor.

"Aha ha ha, good thinking, Tsuna," Yamamoto praised, and Gokudera shot him a piercing look at the sheer stupidity.

"Shut the hell up, baseball freak!" the Storm Guardian growled, face abruptly taking on a worried expression as he looked at Tsuna. The brunette had long since given up on marveling at the bipolar change in facial expressions Gokudera could manage.

"Tenth, with due respect, you don't mean that," he said meekly, making a small keening sound resembling a deer when Tsuna gave a dark smile, eyes eerily bright. The future boss' gaze never left Daemon, who looked upon the drama with barely concealed glee.

"Now now, Decimo, there's no need to be so incensed. I did give you an extra half hour like you requested, did I not?"

"Argh, you…you gave me an extra half hour after screwing up my exam, my social life and my school life! I was doing okay in high school before this!" Tsuna screeched at the Primo Mist Guardian, furious. School life had been less of an embarrassing affair since he'd stopped gallivanting around in his boxers, and he'd had a much better relationship with his classmates now that he was marginally less dame than he'd been in middle school.

"I don't even want to talk to you!"

"I want to talk to you, Decimo," Daemon said, all traces of twisted amusement disappearing from his expression as he regarded Tsuna solemnly, "and this time, you will listen."

Tsuna sighed, his fury ebbing away as it gave way to tired exasperation. "If it's about how to be a Vongola boss, I think the discussion's closed. I can never be the kind of boss you want me to be, Daemon-san. I've made that clear in the Inheritance Ritual."

Daemon's face contorted in fury.

"I thought a few years would have opened your eyes more to what the mafia world is truly about," he spat, "it isn't the child's playground you envisioned! If you want to survive, if you want Vongola to survive –" his gaze flickered, intense with unknown emotions.

"-then you must be the most ruthless and cold out of all of them. As a true Vongola boss you must relinquish all emotions and rely on raw power alone."

" You speak of being cold and uncaring so much, Daemon-san…" Tsuna mused, one hand absently tracing the wooden patterns on his table, and the illusionist jerked when the boy looked up, sharp eyes and smooth features reminding him of someone else he was familiar with, "but you love Vongola more than anything in this world. You love Vongola enough to betray your boss and your comrades for it. You care about its future enough to come to talk to me, no matter how much you dislike me."

Daemon narrowed his eyes, ready to argue in a moment's notice, but Tsuna gave him a small smile that reeked of compassion and understanding. The déjà vu was so strong it knocked back any words he had to utter.

"But Daemon-san," the brunette carried on, steady conviction communicating from his entire posture, "I'm not you. I… cannot care for an organization more than I care for my friends. Vongola's continued existence is important, but…but my friends' welfare always comes first. If being the next Vongola boss means my friends' lives will be in constant danger…then I don't really want the title."

It was a while before it registered with Daemon and the illusionist spluttered, incredulous.

"You've rejected the Vongola?"

"…Not yet," Tsuna smiled, and Daemon caught the subtext anyway. But I will. He glanced to the side, and saw that neither Gokudera nor Yamamoto was reacting to this declaration. He didn't know that they were used to Tsuna renouncing his Vongola inheritance three times a day. "Aren't you glad that I won't be the next boss in line?"

"Vongola doesn't have another heir in this generation, you brat! The bloodline cannot end with you!" the blue-haired illusionist pushed off from his perch on the window sill and approached Tsuna, menace in his steps. Gokudera immediately sprung up, barricading the man before he could reach his boss.

"Giotto-san said…that it is alright," it wasn't self-defense, just a simple statement, a kind of comfort found in the fact that he hadn't saddened the person who had established Vongola in the first place with his decision.

"Giotto is a foolish and stubborn man who wouldn't listen to the truth. If he had heeded my advice earlier, we wouldn't need to be enemies. What he thinks is inconsequential."

Tsuna gave him a pondering look behind Gokudera's shoulders – since when had the kid become so insightful? – and Daemon felt like he was being read like a book. It was like all the times when Primo had looked at him - through him - a little before his betrayal, asking him if he could join him for dinner or a walk, just the two of them.

There had always been something poignant and accepting about that golden gaze, and that something, he realized, was present in Tsuna's gaze as well.

It occurred to him with a sharp pang that this child, this fledging of a Vongola boss, might actually have inherited Primo's Hyper Intuition to the full, when all the other bosses had only possessed a mere shadow of that power.

"You'd hoped against hope that he would listen before you were forced to make that move. You are hoping that I would listen where he didn't," the boy told him now, voice laced with quiet empathy, and Daemon had the overwhelming urge to tell him off for sympathizing with every living thing with a remotely dark background that came across his path. Even when it wasn't desired or needed. This boy was simply impossible like Giotto had been, and he'd been a fool for even trying.

"But Daemon-san…I am not Primo."

He bristled, unsure of what Tsuna was insinuating. He knew of course that Sawada Tsunayoshi was not Giotto. He'd never regretted what he'd done to Giotto for the betterment of Vongola as a whole, and he'd come to speak to Tsuna only on Vongola's behalf. What did this boy think he understood?

"You presume a lot when you know nothing," his lips split into an ominous smirk as he twirled his cane idly, making Gokudera's hand dive to his pocket immediately, "you are a foolish one, child. You will bring destruction and shame to Vongola whether or not you succeed as the next boss. Perhaps it would be better if I simply take you down now?"

Gokudera was out with his dynamites now, and the contours around Yamamoto's eyes had hardened; Tsuna had no doubt that Shigure Kintoki would be out in a flash should Daemon make any sudden move. He only tilted his head mildly at the man, unable to feel any malicious intent behind the threat. This was simply like Mukuro coming to his house and cheerfully reiterating his life goals of taking over Tsuna's body and kicking off World War III ("Mukuro-sama is feeling bored," explained an apologetic Chrome as she found herself inexplicably in her boss' home), or a half awake Hibari-san threatening to bite him to death for loitering around the school gates.

"…You won't kill the last of Giotto-san's bloodline," he said sagely, and gently tugged upon Gokudera's coat, a plea for his friend to relax and sit down, "just like you wouldn't have killed him, back then."

Daemon was struck mute as he regarded the young heir, agitation welling up on his countenance as he turned his back to the would-be boss. With his hyper intuition this child was a goddamn prophet, even when it concerned past events, and it was clear to the illusionist that he wouldn't win this argument.

"…It seems that I'm wasting my time here. I'll take my leave now, but know this – this is not over yet. You will take over as the Tenth, if only to continue the bloodline, and I will personally make sure that you do." He informed Tsuna, would-be stern, and fought down the urge to grimace when the boy simply looked horrified.

"Ahhhhh! Please don't appear in my school anymore!" the boy's voice was an undignified high pitched squeal, one especially unbecoming for a future Vongola boss, and it made Daemon twitch involuntarily. What happened to the child with disturbingly Giotto-like insight a while ago?

"If you are cooperative enough, Decimo, perhaps I won't," he told the whimpering brunette irritably, and promptly erupted into a ball of indigo flames.

"…that might be why the future me is so eager to destroy the Vongola rings," Daemon heard Tsuna muse aloud before he could fully disappear into his metaphysical realm inside the ring.

The remark didn't make any sense to him, at all.

"Thank you," were the first words Giotto said to him, out of the blue, "for guiding Decimo in his path."

He'd been cornered by the blond man upon his return to the timeless space that housed them, a streak of brilliant orange his only warning before Giotto stood before him, garbed in his customary pinstriped suit and pitch black mantle.

Daemon thought that powerful though he was, his ex-boss had an unacceptably benign perspective of the world. It was why they would never be able to work well together. He scowled at Giotto as though the man had uttered an insult.

"I am 'trying to lead Decimo astray' in your books, Primo, so I doubt you have anything to thank me for," he sniped nastily, to which Giotto responded with an unfazed smile.

"You act upon what you think is best for him and for Vongola. I will not fault you for that."

"Tch," the illusionist was unable to think of any coherent reply to such utter idiocy, "you should be glad, though. Decimo resembles you in every way possible. I would have said that he is your reincarnation if you weren't right in front of me."

"We are but fragments of memory, not souls. It is best to remember that all things are possible, Daemon," Giotto replied, leaving the rest of his words hanging in the air. Then the ex-boss gave him that look again, omniscient and seeing, and Daemon decided that enough was enough. He'd had his fair share of all-knowing looks today.

"You are not telling me that Sawada Tsunayoshi is your reincarnation," the illusionist's expression conveyed pain. If that was true, then karma had to be out to get him for his betrayal.

"I don't know," the blond confessed, looking amused at his expense, "but fate can be a curious thing at times, Daemon."

"I have no interest in fate, reincarnation and anything of the sort," the navy-haired man snapped, and gave Giotto a short, mocking bow. "I will leave you to ponder on the subject, Primo. I hope our paths never cross again."

Giotto tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed in affection as his once-subordinate vanished into thin air.

"You always say that."

The next time Daemon decided to spring a visit on Tsuna, the boy was frying eggs in the kitchen. Upon seeing the spirit Tsuna dangled the Sky Ring over the fire and mock-threatened to burn it if Daemon did not "back off from my life". In Daemon's stunned incredulity a 10-year-old Reborn came in through the ventilation shaft, took a look at the compromising situation, and bashed Tsuna's head in with the still-hot pan for his sheer insolence.

It was at times like this that Daemon thought his debts to Primo, if there were indeed any, were finally due.