All of it happened so fast, Mitsukuni didn't even have the time to breathe before he found himself laying on the ground, breath cut short from the impact, and hands drawn on the dirty floor by a sturdy grip.

His eyes shut, from the unexpected pain in his back, he quickly regained his composure. He hadn't expected the surprise attack, hadn't felt his opponent closing onto him, or even seen the other party's face. He had to admit he was careless, a bit overconfident maybe, and although he tried to tell himself he knew when he was doing by planning ahead, he never really understood who— or what, he was going against.

The grip around his wrist was tight, and the strength in it was nothing to scoff at. Mitsukuni knew that with his stature as a teen, he wouldn't be able to get out of it by overpowering it. He stopped struggling for a second, trying to have the man let his guard down, and in one swift motion, brought his legs upward for a kick— both to distract, and get out of his predicament, and to hurt the other person.

He felt the grip on his wrist loosen, his hands freed, he propped his palm against the ground and with the velocity of his kick— which the other party flawlessly dodged, he executed a flip, allowing himself to stand up again. This time, he adopted a guarded stance, one he hadn't taken in years already.

After all, Mitsukuni rarely fought with people out of judo competition. Even more so, people, he needed to tread carefully with. He opened his honey-brown eyes, narrowing them to the point no trace of roundness could be found, as a sharp glint coursed through them.

His eyes sharply looked up, and then—

And then—

And then he saw them, those sharp and cold looking icy-blue eyes. Although it was nothing like the pitchless black of his memory, he swore he would never mistake them for anybody else's. His guard minutely faltered. He wondered if his nostalgia was getting to him, and he bit his lower lip.

On the other side, Shimamori wasn't better off. The moment his pair of cold eyes met the soft honey-brown ones of his dream, he felt his breathing hitch. His head throbbed, and at once, the veil that covered those blurred images was lifted. He didn't understand what got to him, and for a second, he let his guard down.

Mitsukuni didn't need another opportunity to strike. Dismissing the strange thought that coursed through his mind, he bolted forward. The raven's stance was slack, he grabbed his arm, and effortlessly effectuated a shoulder throw. He didn't let his chance go, and hurriedly bound the male to the ground with whatever was in his reach— his jacket and some laying threads.

Of course, with such things going on, the raven head would snap out of his daze. Shimamori didn't struggle when he found himself laying on the ground with the teen towering his figure. He slightly narrowed his eyes, as if to see through a blurry image and the face of a boy with blonder hair overlapped with the strawberry blond.

In the depth of his mind, he could finally hear his voice calling out "Takashi!" while squeezing a pink rabbit. He had never felt so at peace.

No matter what.

He couldn't let that person go.

Not again—

He blinked. Why "again"?

His mind was once again sent in a daze as incoherent thoughts flooded his brain. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the short strawberry blond teen scurry away. He didn't have the thought to call out to him, the boy was already gone, leaving behind a lingering sense of loss and nostalgia.

::

"Summer festival?" Mitsukuni asked with a tilt of his head. He silently hummed to himself, before sliding his gaze back to his childhood friend. "I didn't think you'd want to go, Shu-chan!" he beamed, not quite answering the question.

More than a week passed since Mitsukuni's encounter with the nostalgia-inducing stranger. Ever since he began to tread more carefully with his investigation and laid low for the rest of the vacation. He had met up with Karma for a bit after he came back from Okinawa, the redhead filled him in, but hearing his words and thinking of his recent discoveries, Mitsukuni knew that there was more than meet the eyes in his friend's story.

Nevertheless, he didn't ask and nodded as if satisfied by the answer. He had been careless to the point of recklessness these days, his encounter with the man reminded him of his identity and the poor execution of his plans. Even now, as he thought back on Karma, he couldn't help but notice the slight guard his friend put up.

He had been overconfident, underestimating his childhood friend's analytical skills as well as his instincts, and hadn't acted carefully enough around him. He knew Karma suspected something to be amiss.

Although he hadn't gone back to 3-E's prefabricated, he doubted the raven head remained. His only hope would be that he hit the male strong enough that he forgot his face.

Anyway, back to the matter at hand. at the moment, Mitsukuni stood in his doorway, with Gakushu in front of him. He hadn't invited him in, as the teen told him not to, and both were conversing. They hadn't met throughout the break, one needed to organize Student Council matters, and when he finally thought he was free, a file about a transfer student was sent to his door.

It was only now, two days before the end of the break, that the two met.

Gakushu shook his head. "Well, I thought you'd be interested," he countered, a light blush dusting his cheek. He cleared his throat, fake coughing in his fist. "And, we didn't catch each other the whole break, so I thought it would be a good opportunity."

Mitsukuni beamed. Gakushu, out of the three of them, was the most caring without a doubt. He hummed, nodding his head in approval at the strawberry blond's words. "That's true," he voiced, hands gently rubbing against his wrist. His long-sleeved shirt moved with the motion, revealing his slender wrist.

Gakushu frowned. He took a step, grabbing the boy's hand and raising it before he pulled the sleeve of the baggy shirt back. "How did you get those?" he asked, almost demanded as his eyes zeroed on the purplish marks. His face was grave, and Mitsukuni could see the worry that flicked through his purple eyes.

He hummed, somewhat embarrassed. He couldn't tell him he got them from getting caught in an ambush, could he? "I— uhm, I got into a fight?" he managed to utter.

"Why does it sound like you don't know the answer?" Gakushu raised with a skeptical eyebrow, his lips were stretched into a thin line that threatened to tug down at any moment.

"Hehehe, does it?"

Gakushu's eyebrows twitched, he rubbed his sinuses in a circular motion, letting go of the shorter boy's wrist. "You need to be more careful, Mitsukuni. You could get seriously hurt, one day," he admonished.

Mitsukuni hummed, obediently nodding his head. He knew Gakushu was worried about him, it sweetened his heart, and he felt warm all over. "Okay, Shu-chan, I'll be careful next time," he easily conceded. Noticing that the other sighed in relief, Mitsukuni's smile deepened. "But, please don't tell the others," he pleaded, referring to his family members. "I didn't want to worry them so..."

Gakushu's appeased mood flared again. "So you didn't receive basic first aid?" he rhetorically asked. His answer was a giggle. He ruffled his hair before pushing Mitsukuni inside and entering the house. He grabbed the shorter's wrist. "Let's get you treated," and with that, he led the way as if he owned the house.

Mitsukuni could only mutely follow as his friend led the way to his room.

::

In a large conference room, a multitude of government and military officials sat. Papers filed with pictures and statistics littered the table, leaving almost no empty spaces. Every man and woman who sat on a swivel chair held a grave expression or poker face, leaving none of their thoughts to transpire.

The master of the conference, a man probably in his late fifties to sixties, stood on the stage with a brown suit. Before him was a lectern with a microphone stuck to it, projecting his voice throughout the room. His nads held the edges of the lectern, and his eyes stared ahead, unwavering.

He wasn't the epitome of beauty, but he had enough charisma and experience to have every attending member listen to his every word with minute attention. Apart from his words and the light buzzing of the computer, nothing sounded.

Behind him, a multitude of led screens was lit. Each displayed a different picture, text, or diagram, but all of them focused on the same being. A yellow octopus who threatened to make Earth burst by the end of the school year. Otherwise known as Koro-sensei by class 3-E.

"There is no change regarding the 10 billion for a lone assassin," the master of the conference spoke up after they had reviewed the latest advancements on the alien's assassination. "However, due to the summer vacation report," his eyes flicked to look at Karasuma who sat on the left side of the U-shaped table. "We have taken group tactics into consideration."

The announcement made a wave of whisper go through the attendees. Although they more or less expected it, the government recognizing it and taking measures was no small matter. The speaker didn't take offense in their reaction, waiting a few seconds for them to calm down, he resumed.

"Therefore, in the case that a group assassination is successful, there will be additional pay," he firmly stated. It could be seen in his posture and the tone of his voice that the measure would take place immediately and that the higher-ups long approved of it.

"An effective award increase. A total of 30 billion yen!"

This announcement created another wave. 30 billion yen, approximately 300 million US dollars was no small matter. If the initial 10 billion was enough to send assassins after assassins at the octopus' door, the 30 billion yens would create a flood of hitmen flying to Japan to land a hit.

Then again, they reigned their awe (at the number) by reminding themselves Earth's future depended on this assassination.

While some couldn't help but marvel at the number, thinking it was almost extravagant, others began to muse over the assassins. The yellow sword of Damocles was practically invincible, if not for the fact that he played teacher, they would never know where to find him. They wondered, to be able to kill such a being, what type of hitman would that be?

What kind of fearful existence would they nurture with that money?

Some could only hope that the army would deal with the target before the assassins did.

The rest of the conference went on without a hitch, and soon, the number of officials and agents began to exit the room. Karasuma brought his files together and slipped them in his portfolio. He felt the meeting didn't do much. Apart from the 30 billion yen reward for group assassination, he didn't think it was any use.

Then again, some of the higher-ups needed some peace of mind. The meeting was most probably for them more than the agent. After all, he was sure that the majority of the information was given prior to the meeting to every core member of the operation.

Karasuma stored his portfolio in his rectangular leather suitcase before standing up. His eyes scanned the room, something he usually did whenever he was on the move. An old habit from his time in the army.

He paused, noticing the somewhat absentminded look on his usually stoic colleague's face. "Is there something wrong, Shimamori?" he asked, snapping the male out of his daze. He couldn't very well leave the male behind when they were going to the same place afterward.

Shimamori blinked, soon regaining his poker face, he stood up with his suitcase. "Apologizes, Sir, I didn't mean to make you wait," he apologized with a curt bow.

Karasuma stared at him before sighing. "Relax. I didn't mean to reprimand you, let's get going," he instructed as he led the way out of the conference room, Shimamori in tow.

The taller raven head nodded, relaxing his spine, he followed behind his superior. The two went down the halls in silence, not uttering a word about the meeting. They soon reached the underground parking lot and walked to one of the black varnished cars with tinted windows. It wasn't the most inconspicuous vehicle, but it was the official car lent to the officials.

The two boarded, putting their respective suitcases on the backseats to keep them at arm's reach, the buckled their belts. Karasuma was driving, as usual. The male adjusted the rearview mirrors, checked his surroundings, and pulled the car from its parking position.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that Shimamori broke the silence.

"Sir," there was a pause in his speech. He hadn't told Karasuma about his encounter with the strawberry blond teenager. Although he should have, he didn't want to. He didn't want the boy to face Karasuma or the government for snooping around.

Karasuma flicked his gaze to the other, humming as to urge him to go on.

Shimamori hesitated. He hadn't been doing nothing after his encounter with the boy. On the contrary, the first thing he did, was to look him up, find his identity. He knew the boy's name, Kannazuki Mitsukuni— Mitsukuni, the name sounded so sweet. He also knew that he part of the A-class, and head of the judo club— this made his heart drop as if suffering countless attacks.

Finally, he comforted his feelings. He couldn't let his emotion take over his duty, the mission was too important to leave the boy untouched if he wasn't part of the team.

"Do you know a Kannazuki Mitsukuni?"

Karasuma's eyes minutely widened before narrowing. The name was familiar, and after giving it some thoughts, his expression grew severe. "Is there something wrong with this student, Shimamori?"

I almost forgot to update :)