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Enon Nakada

"One for sorrow, two for mirth...Eight for Heaven, and nine for Hell."

0 · 1,220 views · located in Japan

a character in “Katekyo Hitman REBORN!: Undying Will”, as played by ¢σℓ∂


Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings.



      Enon Nakada




      > In possession of the Ossa Impressione Hell Ring


      Enon embodies the misfits mumbling within his mind, strands of his blond hair forced back, unveiling the bloodied irises trapped within the sunken black of sleepless eyes. Forgoing the cover of layered clothing is an elongated figure made out of sharp twigs; extension bringing the brambles to press against skin, and trace the spine that is threatens to break free. Skeletal would be a hyperbole, and to describe the hollow bones of the avian, svelte rolls off the tongue seamlessly. Of average height and few adipocytes, without his common attire of sweaters and coats his exterior would depict an image of vulnerability. It’s a condition that follows an equation of intermittent rhythm with a body that is skinny, deprived and withering during the waxing moon, and in contrast, rosy and healthy when Luna is waning. Perhaps it is better to follow the maps of hemorrhages to understand what catalyzes the sporadic neglect, for there is no rhythm or reason for his fluctuating physiological health. A constant, however, is his poor eyesight, which is only temporary cured with the aid of contact lenses or bulky glasses.



A plague of violent thoughts: snap the fingers, sully the skin – his fingernails dig into his arms and gouge tiny pools of red. A melody of loud, reverberating solitude: isolate himself in a method of protection, for those that call themselves humans could be hiding their fangs beneath those lifeless masks. Gentle flesh, stretched over corroded bones: he is stagnant in the moonlight, crystallizing sugar, folding a hundred paper cranes made from mochi and saccharine adzuki beans. Enon’s a person of chemical reactions, in equal parts the elevated state of invulnerability, and the scathing doubt that births the haunting paranoia. He cannot trust, yet he can cut himself open for the world in clumsy syllables, speaking in circles and biting his tongue – take back words as the confusion continues on. He is afraid, paralyzed and in eternal ecstatic motion, seeing what others cannot and listening to the hymns of deceitful truths. The boy is severed from society, on the brink, refusing traditions and unable to care for those precious interpersonal relationships. Friendship? What a strange concept; one he runs from, inhaling cigarette smoke whilst watching the demons rise from Gehenna. And like so, he's caged outside of his body, yet inside his mind.

Bodies of Water: When he was small, and the atmosphere around him would cause beads of sweat to poke out from his skin, he would be submerged in a bath of cold water – where he could lie among pieces of ice, and lifelessly stare at the ceiling. Floating had always managed to sooth the red hysteria of his mind, and he assumes that’s why he’s constantly waking up in rivers and chlorine pools, and he never has the energy to complain about hypothermia or soaked clothes.

Leoš Janáček: Enon doesn’t possess an extensive knowledge of music, however, after listening to a record of Janáček’s opera Katya Kabanova he found himself harmonized with the various layers of Janáček’s’s compositions. This led to later research and a personal appreciation and respect for the man, to the extent of obsession, leading to his musical taste not extending far beyond the modernist movement.

Cigarettes: One of the many things that have labeled him a delinquent is his unapologetic habit of smoking, and despite him not smoking frequently the mere fact seems to be enough to be one thing people associate him with. When the weight in his head feels too heavy, cigarettes are something to alleviate the pain, and this is the only reason why he carries a pack of Black Devil in his pocket at all times.

Traditional Sweets: The exterior of delicate wagashi elicits the more saccharine memories of childhood – his parents are akin to dolls in depth, but if they can express themselves in anyway, then it’s in the confectioneries they make. His parents spend the majority of the time in the family bakery, and he’s never grown tired from eating red bean paste or mochi.

Crowds: When there are fewer people around him it’s easier to distinguish between what may be real and what may be fabricated by his mind, but in crowds it’s nearly impossible, and he’s had too many experiences of distorted humanoids grabbing at his shoulders or watching him when in busy streets or school ceremonies. Enon therefore avoids crowded areas the best he can, which has also led to him skipping school more often.

Medical Institutions & Medicine: The anti-psychotics caused him to feel sluggish, as if he was wading through thick water and staring into a haze. They made his fingers twitch and his lungs to clench brought him minor seizures and withdrawals. He dislikes medicine in any form and the doctors that prescribe it, and will steer clear from hospitals, even if his life depends on it.

Silence: He’ll fill the space around him with the rustles of leaves, unyielding rainfall, ticking clocks, or recorded orchestras. Without authentic sound, there will be whispers and howling, and he’s developed a rancor for hearing those disembodied voices. Whether what they speak is true or not, he’d rather not hear it, and will build walls using headphones and thunderstorms.

Mirrors: Every mirror in his household is covered in a sheet, lest he shatter the glass and litter the floor in reflective slivers. To look at his grotesque image and its distortion…he’s incapable of gazing through the looking glass, he keeps his eyes away from those insidious surfaces. Mirrors will reveal your true self, right? He won’t look at them, he’ll conceal them, or destroy them.

Absolute Solitude: Nothing’s real, it’s an illusion to shove rose petals beneath his eyes – curling fingers, bloodied palms – those humanoid figures wandering the Earth are empty vessels staring into him, who is just as fake as the apparent reality. How terrible it would be, if this was the truth…he doesn’t want to believe in this, that the dissonance is more than a poorly constructed rhythm, that his disconnect means something more…

Other People: These figures are impossible to read; they could be monsters wearing human flesh, or they could be cannibals waiting to devour his heart, or they could be nothing at all, just a collection of dolls walking through purgatory. What are they? What are humans? “Am I human? ….I’m not a human.”

Intimidation: Whether it’s because of his odd speech patterns, his infamy for being a delinquent lunatic, or because of his unsettling aura, most people seem to be, if not unsettled by him, then intimidated by him. As described by others, being in the same room as Enon is like sharing a space with a venomous animal; he may be quiet and stick to himself, but if you make the wrong move, you might just get bitten.

Escaping & Hiding: Enon has no trouble leaving school during the middle of the day without a single teacher noticing his escape, and because he’s taken to learning Namamori’s more secretive hideaways, it’s difficult for a lot of people to find him. It makes him more of a master of skipping classes and avoiding the world, but it could be considered a skill nonetheless.

Confectionery Creation: He began learning how to make traditional Japanese sweets as a child in his parent’s bakery, and if anything he’s talented at forming tiny, delicate wagashi with translucent tints and careful parts so they can resemble flowers, fishbowls and berries. The taste of these treats matches their appearance as well, due to the time he’s spent on them, concentrating on each sweet to the point where it seems he’s in his own world.

Asexual // Homoromantic

Neurodivergent: The state of his mental health is defined by a number of existing disorders (schizoaffective disorder, parasomnia) and the negative affects they have when combined with the desert flame and its abilities to create illusions to various degrees (catalyzing depersonalization disorder and dermatillomania). The amalgamation of disorder and the desert flame began with an acute response that allowed his schizoaffective disorder to develop rapidly, to the point where it would interact with the flames to create illusions, however the alien energy within him (an unnamed force that had planted the desert flame within his body for malicious purposes) became overpowered by the disorder despite the growth of the flame. Due to the vivid hallucinations and illusions he experiences, along with the secondary symptoms akin to bipolar disorder, Enon has trouble perceiving the world as real which in turn fueled his paranoia of other people being ‘fake’ and thus nurtured a depersonalization disorder, and the dermatillomania (he picks at the skin of his arms and back, leaving various scars) which began as a coping mechanism for facing a contradictory and confusing world. As a result people are likely to experience Enon’s visual and audio hallucinations as they turn into illusions if his mental state is poor, which is the reasoning behind his parents isolation from the rest of the town and their ‘empty’ personalities – ultimately responding to the fear by forcing their eyes to become ‘blind’. But the most visible of his neurodivergence is the bipolar symptoms of his schizoaffective disorder, or when he enters a manic state and becomes more aggressive than usual.


Illusion Creation: Enon already has a natural aptitude for creating illusions – ranging from audio, visual, even physical ‘authentic’ illusions. This is a direct result of harboring an active desert flame since pre-adolescence which is stimulated by his schizoaffective disorder. In the right state of mind, Enon can create various illusions and in large numbers, even to the extent of being able to overcome reality with his unreality – or in other words, he can cover an environment with an illusion, making it appear different than it truly is.

The other side of the coin is that Enon has terrible control over the illusions he creates, for they are often products from his schizoaffective disorder, and usually manifest due to his own mental tumult, and moreover they manifest to torment him. His disorders prevents him from creating illusions out of his own intention, so instead of him controlling the illusions, he’s more of a vessel that allows the disorders to interact with the desert flame and furthermore create illusions depending on how active certain symptoms are at the moment.

Butterfly Knife: A treasure discovered during the first year of middle school - it was always good leeway to convince beast-like children to leave him alone, lest they walk away with holes in their stomachs. He's practiced with the knife since then, learning to think of it as an extra limb, so turning the metal comes naturally to him. Now, the metal feels like its a home when held in his hand, even if it has never needed to hurt someone.

N/A // TBA

Having been in a few fight before, he's becoming accustomed to needing to expect people to attack, and what to do when they show their teeth. He's no martial artist, yet there lurks the instinct of killers, beasts and hunters beneath his skin. What he lacks in professional skill he makes up for in deranged brutality, entering states of calm mania and unstoppable fury when retaliating from assaults. Smother them, rip and tear and puncture - there's no balance or wisdom here, just unadulterated violence.

Aggressive: Tapping into his aggressive can be a strength in itself, usually in amplifying his illusions (however this can have drawbacks, including making the illusions unstable, impalpable, and inconsistent) but the main strength of his aggression is that it allows him to act without thinking or being trapped within fear. Without it, it’s more likely he’ll stay on the sidelines, and avoid acting in general.

Illogical: For various reasons Enon can be considered illogical, and while it can be mainly attributed to his disorders, it’s also the fault of his person perception of the world and the people in it. He is often overcome by mania, paranoia, aggression, or fear, and as a result he can be hard to reach, and hard to stop. Additionally it makes him a person that spends little thought into his actions, making him susceptible to those that are strategists and adept in manipulation.



Shohei Nakada & Miho Nakada [Father and Mother]

Enon says he’s losing time,
when he stares into ripples of the other-world.
The dawn crawls through his eyelids,
and he wakes, floating in the lake,
the morning view reflected across his silent bed.

A glass child: an infant with shallow breaths, a sickly child with fingers that began to pale, his lips turning into a translucent opal. His mother and father are strung marionettes, their limbs pulled by unseen gods, and they encase him in a sanctuary of ivory – a large property with high walls, a tiny palace to keep his coughs silent. Hiding from genetic destiny is all for naught, because his fingers will burn, and they do, they see Morpheus asleep on his bed of sand soon enough – the nightmares behind his bloodied eyes melting from the walls, becoming solid, tangible things of misplaced terror.

He awakes in cities, at the bottom of chlorine pools, the souls of his feet scraped by the concrete. Ten with a cigarette, to fill his lungs with smoke to let his brain breathe. Inhale, exhale, the shadows extend from the surface and whisper in equal parts truths and lies. There’s a devil beneath his skin, a spirt from the dead attempting to overcome his heart, but the fungus in his cranium eats away at them with illness, and the devil decays within a coffin of insanity and anti-psychotics.

Enon learns to spit them out. He continues to sleepwalk, his mind the ouroboros, and cannibalizing manic and depressive thoughts, vacillating between extremes whilst twisting, ballroom dancing with the intangible hymns surrounding him. Life is an illusion – his fingers touch piano wires, and the reverberating sound becomes visions, monsters spawned from his consciousness. Disconnect, he can’t touch the people around him, he can’t trust the people that call themselves his parents, because he can place no faith in flesh and bone. He scratches at his skin, leaving scars and traces of his pandemonium – he wants to breathe and reach outwards and touch the world around him, but his fingers phase through, and all he can hear is the raucous voices of the desert.

His teeth are barred, larynx vibrating, growling. They let him stray from the sanctuary when his presence transforms from quiet to overwhelming, and he, without pills in his stomach, and with madness trapped in his every cortex, Enon paves himself a reputation of being a delinquent. He tastes alcohol on his tongue, listens to his disjointed laughter, receives poor marks, responds to aggression with venom and caustic acid – had twisted their wrists and cornered them on rooftops. So is his life, there can be no rest in a world without reality, and he drifts, pulsates, and corrodes within it – letting himself become one with lunacy.


So begins...

Enon Nakada's Story

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"Listen here, young Ieharu."

At the mentioning of his name, Ieharu's ears perked up, but he didn't turn to look at the source. He was too busy playing his video game, torso hunched to the side, shoulders scrunched in concentration, the clicks and clacks of his controller nearly as deafening as the sound of gunfire emanating from the massive flat screen before him. This wasn't the first time he had to multitask while an adult was talking.

"I probably shouldn't be telling you this–in fact I shouldn't be, but I believe honorable men like myself should show some good charity toward the families of their targets."

Ieharu's eyes narrowed slightly, but his concentration on his game didn't falter for a second. Though he was only halfway paying attention, he did recognize the voice. Male. Upbeat. Sanguine, but with a hint of danger. It was Godot, though his twin brother Ieyoshi always called the man "their new nanny".

"You might not believe me–I get it, it's a little sudden–but I am an assassin sent by an anonymous payer of mine to knock off an heir of the Vongola family."

From where he stood in the room, Godot took a few steps closer. Ieharu didn't notice, nor did he respond. On the TV, a rival's body exploded in a plume of blood and body parts. Presumably the boy's doing, because he snickered softly.

"Namely, that would be you, Ieharu Sawada." Outside, thunder boomed, ravaging the skies. It was several moments before Ieharu reacted, but then it was as if he'd been physically slapped. The clicking and clacking from the controller ceased immediately as he slowly turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the man who had just threatened his life in no uncertain terms. He was standing pretty close, too. Eyes wide, Ieharu moved his lips as if to form words, but nothing came out.

"Indeed," Godot continued, shrugging as if it were none of his business, his attitude cavalier. "Your Daddy-o's quite an important guy, and there are certain people who are quite concerned as to who takes his nice leather-padded throne."

Ieharu dropped the controller. The sound of an explosion erupted from the TV soon after, the flat screen flashing wildly before going black. There were only two words on the screen now: Game Over.

It was then that Ieharu found his voice, high pitched and wracked with incredulity. "Wait... what?!"

"I don't think you'd be all too interested in the details, seeing as you're going to die anyway." Godot took another step closer. He was within arm's reach of the boy now. "But just think of this as my diagnosis for you."

While gaming, Ieharu had been seated on the edge of a particularly comfortable reclining chair. Having closed the distance between them, Godot leaned on the chair's back, causing it to shift and Ieharu to slide backwards. Slowly. They were practically face to face now.

"I've decided that it's going to happen tomorrow." He said, matter-of-factly. "I can't delay it any further, please understand that I really wish I could."

Ieharu simply stared in horror, the weight of Godot's words imprinting themselves onto his psyche. Could it be true? Is he serious? He sounded pretty serious. Looked dead serious, in fact. But his father would never put an assassin so close, right? ... but what if he didn't, or he made a mistake? What if it was all part of the plan? What if he was going to die?!

"I've grown to like you, young Ieharu, so this is about all I can do for you."


"You've got one day to live, or at least until the next time I see you. I'm giving you the opportunity to clear up whatever remaining regrets you might have. It really hurts my conscience to think about good men dying with regrets..."

As Godot spoke, Ieharu brought his hands to the sides of his face, a sound like that of a dying animal escaping his lips. One day?! It wasn't fair! He had a math test tomorrow that he'd already studied for. He had so many people to meet... so many friends to make... all of it for nothing. His hands traversed his head, moving from the sides of his face to his forehead. Tears came to his eyes at his next thought.

I'm still a virgin!

"Regardless, that doesn't stop me from doing what I'm paid to, I just like to get an extra minute of sleep later on. So, I suggest spending the night to give it some thought, just make sure you sleep good, alright?" Ieharu didn't respond, his hands still plastered to his forehead. "... Oh, and make sure you don't tell anybody like your brother or something. You don't want to get your family involved, else I'll be forced to... Well, I'm sure your a smart kid–in fact, I know you are." Again, Ieharu didn't even respond. Didn't move. Didn't dare to. Never in his life was he so intimidated by the presence of another.

After a momentary silence, Godot turned, releasing the chair and nearly causing Ieharu to fly off it as it snapped forward. "Guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow." Almost as an afterthought, he added: "Oh, and good luck on the quadratics test."


"Yoh, I'm not kidding. I'm serious." Ieharu threw his hands up, a gesture meant to implore. "Didn't you hear me?! He's going to murder us all!"

The boy was sitting atop his bed, covers wrapped around himself like a burrito. Only his face and hands were exposed. He looked like an Eskimo, wrapped in his layers. Standing across from him was literally his mirror image save for their hair color. It was his twin brother, the self-proclaimed "older brother" Ieyoshi, casually slipping on a T-shirt while laughing his head off. When it came to someone as eternally relaxed and laid back as Ieyoshi, "laughing your head off" meant a few soft, curt chuckles. If you weren't actively listening for it, you might even miss it.

"Pfft. Murder you, maybe." Ieyoshi's voice was gruff, his tone sober, his face stoic. It was as if someone had turned his "energy" dial way down and then broke it off. "He did say only one of us would be offed, right?" He turned from sizing himself up in the mirror to look at his brother, who hadn't yet responded. "Right, Haku?"

Ieharu sighed, his big brunette bushel of hair poking out from under the covers. "Right," he mumbled, dejected. He cast his eyes downward before speaking again, this time in a hushed whisper. "You'd save me, right?"

The response was immediate.


Almost instantly, Ieharu brought both hands to his left cheek, where Ieyoshi has unceremoniously slapped him, a look of surprise and anger fresh upon his face. "Yoh! What the fuck?!"

Ieyoshi took a stance, leaning to the side, hand gripping lightly the base of his skull, a somewhat exasperated expression overcoming his otherwise neutral countenance. Ieharu recognized it as his brother's lecturing pose. He'd seen it a million times before. "Look," his brother began, pointing at Ieharu's face. "He's obviously not going to kill you. Think about it." Ieyoshi brought his hands together, marking off his points by counting his fingers. "A, that no-good Tsuna might be stupid, but do you think he's stupid enough to bring a killer into the house? To sleep in our beds? Eat our food?"

"Hey!" Ieharu interrupted, his voice shrill. "Dad's not no-good!" He said, referring to their father, Tsunayoshi.

Ieyoshi shrugged, continuing, his voice as low and monotonous as a boring college professor's. "Whatever. B, the guy's been here for, like, two weeks already. If he wanted to kill you, why not get it over with quickly? Why play buddy buddy with us for nearly a month? C, we don't have time for this. Get up. We have that math test, remember?"

Though he nodded at a couple of his brother's well-articulated points, when Ieyoshi told him to get up, he responded by pulling the covers over his head and rolling back into bed. "I think I'm gonna be sick..." He mumbled, peeking out from under the sheets after a moment.

Ieyoshi sighed, grabbing his backpack by the strap and swinging it onto his shoulder in one smooth fluid motion. He then sauntered out of the room as if the universe owed him a favor. Sauntering seemed to be his natural form of locomotion. From his mannerisms and personality to the way he picked up his bag and walked out of a room, in Ieharu's eyes, his brother was the pinnacle of cool.

After hearing the customary slam of the downstairs door, there were several moments of blissful uninterrupted peace, with Ieharu nearly falling back asleep. Before he could drift fully into unconsciousness, however, he heard someone at the window. He could tell without looking that it was Ieyoshi. Reluctantly, Ieharu rolled out of bed, the frigid air biting into his exposed skin. Slowly but surely he made his way to the window. After a moment, he opened it.

"Ieharu." Ieyoshi was standing on the grass outside of their home, looking up at their shared bedroom window. Their bedroom was on the second floor.

"What? I said I'm not going."

"Yeah, I know. I just remembered something."

Ieharu raised an eyebrow. Ieyoshi had that look on his face again. The one he always got several dozen turns before he won at Monopoly.

Ieyoshi's lips morphed into a slight grin. In response, Ieharu gulped involuntarily. That grin was never a good sign.

"I know something you think I don't know. And it'll make you come to class, too."

Ieharu ducked down so that only his eyes shown over the windowsill, as if his brother were going to start hurling rocks. "Wh... what are you talking about?!"

There was a moment of silence before Ieyoshi responded, but when he did, his brother's eyes grew wide with fright. "I know who Ieharu likes."

Ieharu shot up, his upper body practically leaning out the window at this point. "W-What are you talking about?! I don't l-like anyone!"
"Yes you do."
"No I don't!"
"Then you should have nothing to worry about when I confess to them on your behalf... unless you can catch me, of course."

And with that, Ieyoshi turned and began walking away with that slow measured pace of his.

"Wait! Yoh! Don't! Stop!" Ieharu pleaded, but if his brother heard his protests, he didn't act like it. His fears of being assassinated evaporated instantaneously, replaced instead by the terror of complete social doom at the hands of his brother. Ieharu brought his hands to his face. Unlike his brother, he didn't think of himself as very cool, or smart, or anything. He didn't have many friends. No one respected him, but at least they left him alone. If Ieyoshi was serious about telling, and he's always serious...

Well, he'd never be able to show his face at that school again.

Like a hurricane, Ieharu threw on whatever clothes were lying around. He and his brother shared a room, and they were the same in size and height, so they shared apparel too. In roughly eight minutes time, Ieharu had gone from half naked to mostly ready for school. Brushing his teeth would have only slowed him down anyway. As he rushed towards the door, open book bag swinging off his shoulder, it began to dawn on him that, even if he were to run his very hardest, his brother had an insurmountable lead. Immediately, he began to regret not stopping his brother while he had the chance. Still, maybe there was hop—

Upon bursting through his front door, Ieharu tripped over his own feet and face-planted on the stairs outside. Slowly but surely, he raised himself up off the ground, propping himself up with one arm and holding his injured face with the other. He was trying his very hardest to resist the urge to cry, but it was yet another fight he just wasn't winning. That same bitter thought that always hobbled him reared its ugly head once more: the loser Ieharu has failed.

Little did he know, a shadow slowly crept up behind his unprotected back.

"Buongiorno, young Ieharu," his terrifying home tutor greeted him as casually as ever, his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket, "I didn't think you'd be so eager to go to school today, especially on such a terrible day like this." Godot looked up toward the sky, of which was blanketed in thick clouds. The air was moist from the remains of the previous night's downpour, and water glistened on the soaked grass and wet concrete. For his part, Ieharu yelped audibly at the sound of his name being called. Godot's pleasant demeanor would have eased the boy, had their last conversation not ended so terribly. Instead, his stomach did a backflip and his chest turned to ice. Gradually, he turned his head, once again looking over his shoulder. The feeling of deja vu was practically nauseating. The man always seemed to approach from his blind spot.

"M-mi-uh-G-g-g-godot... h-hi..." He managed to stutter his tutor's name, eyes wide with fear as he suddenly remembered: he was going to die today.

"Oh, by the way, about our little agreement last night... I got word from my client that there's been a change of plans." Again, there was that peaceful smile, as if all was right in the world. "It's sort of exciting, I suppose."

Iehari inhaled sharply. Deep in the recesses of his gut sparked the faintest glimmer of hope. "A change?" The pitch of his voice inflected as he spoke, making his question come out as more of a plea.

Godot nodded. "Yes," he replied, "a pretty big change. You see, I'm not going to kill you later." At that very statement, in one swift motion, Godot brought his hand out of his pocket, a black pistol in hand. All so suddenly, Ieharu found himself staring down the barrel of Godot's Beretta. That flicker of hope in his gut disappeared just as swiftly. Too scared to move, too scared to even think, Ieharu did what came natural.

He screwed his eyes shut.

There was a delay, however. Godot hesitated, although he smirked when he did so. "Seeing as you've accepted your fate already," he said, "I guess that must mean you don't have any more regrets. There's no special person in your life? No unfinished business with somebody close, not even your family? Nothing, eh?"

After several moments of silence devoid of a bullet to the face, Ieharu gathered that the question hadn't been rhetorical. Still, he didn't dare open his eyes. Maybe this way, he still had the chance to wake up from this nightmare.

From under his breath, the boy mumbled something.

"Speak up, boy," Godot demanded, "You're only getting one chance to say it, so spit it out!"

Somewhat startled at the command, Ieharu repeated himself, this time with a bit more volume. His kept his eyes closed. "W-why do you care about what I regret, M-mr. Godot?" Ieharu could almost swear he heard Godot chuckle.

"You'll understand if you die." With that cryptic statement, Godot rotated his wrist sideways and squeezed the pistol's trigger.

And that was it. A loud pop!. A flash of pain. Pressure around his forehead. And then nothing. Ieharu Sawada, son of Tsunayoshi Sawada and Kyoko Sawada, brother to Ieyoshi, friend to few, and most of all, still a virgin, died at that moment.

However, while dying, Ieharu regretted. He regretted parting with the world. He regretted what a waste his life had been. He regretted spending the time studying for a math test he'd never take. But there was one thing he regretted more than anything else. One thing that, even as the bullet pierced his skull and robbed him of life, he wished he had accomplished with all his heart.

I should have stopped Ieharu from confessing for me... from saying something stupid... I could have stopped him...

His body was cold before it even hit the ground.

... with a dying will.

On the other side of the street, several passersby screamed in horror. One was even so bold as to yell, finger pointing in violent accusation: "That thug just shot that kid!"

Ieharu's body slumped on the ground, blood pooling under his head. One second, he was certainly dead. But then in the next...


Ieharu literally exploded, most of his clothes burning away to ashes, his then-dead body springing to life like round two in any good video game's boss battle. Though he was still scrawny and mostly naked, he sported a look that'd never crossed his face before. His eyes were wide and full of determination, his pupils dilated, his irises practically glowing. He was grinding his teeth in seething rage. Most noticeable was the massive orange flame located smack dab in the middle of his forehead, the blaze shifting and pulsing to some unknown rhythm.

His sudden re-emergence from death and accompanying roar of rebirth startled everyone in the area, excluding Godot. One of them—an old woman—fainted where she stood.


And with that, Ieharu sped off, his feet carrying him as fast as an Olympic athlete as he raced with all his might towards Ieyoshi and Namimori High.

Godot watched as the half-naked boy sped off like hell on wheels, and so did the rest of the neighborhood. People looked at Godot, flabbergasted at what they had just witnessed. Godot smiled at them affably.

"Things are going to be a lot more interesting around here from now on."

The setting changes from The Sawada Household to Japan


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Enon Nakada Character Portrait: Mayu Kojima Character Portrait: Lilith Dusk Character Portrait: Aobane Kuroiobashi Character Portrait: Lala Wakahisa Character Portrait:
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The palpitations struck at midnight, forcing him awake in another place of vague familiarity where the creaking bones of machinery sang its lullaby of life’s mundane tragety. Humans were sectioned into compartments, mimicking the evolving technology, and the exertion thinned their hearts until they became hollow. They observed the world with gouged eyes, the business folk like carved gourds, and he let the train return him home whilst staring back into the compartment’s passengers, watching as they wore themselves down to inhumanity, and let themselves become spirited away by witching hour.

By the time he was expected to arrive at the school’s gates the blood vessels of his sclera had begun to swell; the tiny, tiny freckles of red dilating until the white expanses became webbed with the tale of his sleepless night. His body – the neglected exterior – hung from the membrane of his soul, worn and thin, muttering from within: when did you feed me last?

Enon didn’t reply, his memory crowded with the background music of the artificial heaven surrounding him, where people could trade their lives for comfort and convenience and pretend to shower one another with sweet affection. When he ceased walking in the straight line, that vengeful muscle in his chest began to race again, acting simultaneous with the numbness in his feet, all on account to the wandering of his mind – school? No, there was no desire to walk in those halls and suffocate himself today. He exhaled, slow and deliberately, and turned to the direction of a nearby bakery, deciding to end any questioning of when he last ate something, and henceforth sooth the rest of his thoughts with hot tea and fresh bread.

Despite how the bakery was built close to Namamori High it became one of the few public places he designated as acceptable, bordering on comfortable when the familiar face of a certain employee was there. Lilith Dusk was a well-known name even at a school she didn’t attend, but it wasn’t her popularity that made his feelings towards her step out of neutral ground. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon; however, it seemed as if the woman’s shadow held a different reality that what she wore on her face, opposite to the angelic presence she was known for.

Although he was wrapped in layers of clothing he didn’t remove his coat upon entering the bakery, comforted by feeling hidden from the eyes of the humanoids invading the space. Corporate slaves and housewives alike already stealing the space’s oxygen and polluting it with hushed conversation and he shoved his hands in his pockets when standing in line, waiting patiently in anticipating of speaking to Lilith today, and filling his empty stomach with a serving of melonpan.


When Lala grabbed her shoulders she visualized electrons being wretched away from their atoms, left stranded as invisible bolts of lightning stole their place and darted in-between the fine fibers of her uniform until the madness of static electricity could ghost over her arms. Naturally the upperclassman had been granted superhuman powers of Zeus, forcing Mayu to seal her lips and listen carefully to a sound that wasn’t the stream of her endless consciousness or the brawl continuing in the background. Blinking away her astonishment, the edges of her mouth eventually wavered away from the shock of physical contact and into more jovial territory, and carelessly she smiled, somewhat proud of her summarization of the morning.

Following Lala’s eyes she watched the scene continue to unfold in silence, raising her brows only in response to the moment when Rosa’s balance was sabotaged with the dryness of her uniform. A bold of forewarning ran through her, as if the anxiety residing in her spine was diligently advising her to maintain a safe distant from the school’s queen for the day (unless she got the chance to compliment the other girl’s boots, which could only be a source of envy). Lala’s reassurance didn’t placate the foreboding though, not when the ‘paparazzi’ oiled their gears and began following orders, and she could only imagine that this would result in a string of misfortune: forever would the relations between the Holy Monarchy and the Sawada Twins be tarnished, and thus the kingdom of Namamori would be split down the middle and thrown in a hundred years’ war.

"Mentally, huh?” Dazed, her response was empty, her energy only returning when Lala took her hands away from her shoulders. “Yeah! I suppose twins would be pretty close anyways.” Mayu added, the smile returning to her visage with a renewed vigor, although it diminished warily when watching the other begin to prepare to confront the messy situation. Perhaps Lala would literally shake some sense into the twins, and henceforth prevent the approaching social calamity to protect their average, everyday lives as High School students. “You can do it, Lala-chan!” And when the girl disappeared into the erratic crowd, Mayu called out to her with all the encouragement she could muster from the bottom of her heart, waving just as fervently back to her – and jumping into the air for good measure.

Lala was about to enter the fray after all...she needed all the good luck she could get.

And how true that was. Once Yoh transformed into a Yakuza member with a peculiar taste in underwear, throwing punches and infecting the land of Namamori with more violence, her heart began to race; beating in a skipping pattern of one-two-four. Yet her hands didn't shake, and beads of sweat never down her neck, but she did wince at the final punch, convinced that the student may mysteriously ‘transfer’ the next day. Yikes – definitely time to check out of here, lest the authorities show up ready to interrogate everyone in sight. Mayu began to wander from the spectacle, only to become distracted by the sight of plain indoor shoes, indoor shoes that traditionally would never wander from the safety of clean, polished floors and disinfectant.

When she looked up from the ground, her jaw lost a bit of its strength and her eyelids lifted, letting her eyes appear larger and larger and – (well, luckily it wasn’t to the extent that they would fall out onto the floor). “Aobane! ….-kun!” Straightening her back, she managed to narrowly dodge the unforgivable act of forgetting to formally attach fondness to the end of her classmate's name, and inside her imagination she pictured herself capturing a baseball while the referee shouted ‘safe!’ at the top of his lungs. Turning her head towards the dying action, she began piecing the situation together, and her facial expression relaxed.

“So you rushed out here to see the commotion.” The tone, sharpened and bitter, was a poor attempt at teasing the other first year, but she soon lost track of her train of thought, wavering at her own indifference. Returning to her normal, smiling composure, she ignored the battle's finale to talk to the student who had become one of her personal favorites – if simply because he was a radiant, bundle of joy of endless rambles for a million topics. “Don’t worry. They’ll be okay – physically.” Repeating Lala’s words Mayu nodded and clenched her fist, her other hand now burdened with the task of holding her schoolbag alone. “…Probably. As long as no one tells the more intimidating Hibari twin."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Izaya Ryujin Character Portrait: Roni Hideaki Character Portrait: Enon Nakada Character Portrait: Chester Sterling Character Portrait: Cambrey Bovino Character Portrait: Ieyoshi Sawada
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A fully clothed Ieyoshi sighed. It seemed to have become his default go-to reaction to events that weren't interesting enough to capture his attention. And precious few things were ever truly interesting to him nowadays. Perhaps this is what puberty feels like? Ieyoshi sighed again. How boring.

Currently, the elder-by-eight-seconds Sawada twin was making his way across the school's courtyard and towards the massive metalwork fence that marked its perimeter. He was accompanied by Damien, of course. Over the course of this, the first month of school, it'd become a sort of habit of the twins to meet up with Damien and Aobane at the outer gate after school and walk most of the way to their homes as a group. This day, Ieyoshi met up with Damien somewhat earlier, at the steps outside the main hall. Interestingly enough, Ieyoshi was not accompanied by his other half, which struck Damien as odd. The two were typically inseparable. If the morning taught him anything, it was that them being separated was an omen, if anything.

"Haku's not with you again? Don't tell me he's taking another run ahead of you," he asked while putting emphasis on another run. "He already got kids calling me the Hokage because of the smoke bombs."

Ieyoshi sighed again, this time in response to Damien's question. As they were walking, they'd passed by the area that several hours earlier had been the scene of their morning commotion. People had started calling him "batman" because of it, not that he cared—or, at least, that's what he told himself. "Yeah. And apparently I'm Batman." He felt like there was more he could say, but meh. The next order of business for him was making it home and questioning Godot about this nonsense Ieharu was spouting with guns and bullets and assassinations and all that. Knowing his younger twin, he was probably talking to a teacher about a book or a poem or something. Why he cared what they thought was beyond Ieyoshi's ability to fathom. "But if he comes running at me this time, I'll put him down."

Of course, he was joking. Maybe.

Damien did a fangirl pose jokingly. "Oh, my hero! Not the hero Namimori deserves, but the one we need!" He pretended to faint flinging his body towards the ground. Right before landing on his back, he caught himself with one hand with ease.

Despite himself, Ieyoshi laughed. His version of laughing was a curt smile followed by exhaling loudly. "Isn't your village missing you, bitch?" Ieyoshi's voice lightened considerably with his words. Joking around with Damien was always a welcome break in the grinding monotony that he called his daily existence.

Damien quickly popped up back to his feet. "Haha, you mean village full of bitches? Of course they are." He stood as if he were a Hokage with his hand on his invisible large hat. His other hand stood at his side. "Ladies," he paused for a brief moment, "I have returned." Ieyoshi made a face, rolling his eyes in dramatic dismissal. He always gave a slight performance with Ieyoshi and Ieharu for fun. They were close. "Anyways, I wonder what they're calling Haku?"

By now, they'd reached the ashen gunmetal gates that marked the entrance to and exit from the courtyard proper. Instead of going through the gates, Ieyoshi stopped, electing instead to turn and lean against the steel beam that made up part of the left gate's hinge, arms folded. His brother—typically accompanied by that Kuroiobashi kid—should have caught up to them by now, but he had yet to appear. "Pfft. Maybe they'll call him perv. Or idiot. Or crouching idiot, hidden perv fool."

"Haha, if only they knew how he really was. Poor Haku," Damien laughed.

"How about poor us," Ieyoshi responded, chuckling.

When five minutes turned to twenty, all the chattering first and second -years began evacuating the courtyard at a leisurely pace and heading home—long after the too-cool-to-hang third-years had swaggered their way through the front gates, of course. Still, there was no sign of Ieharu. Ieyoshi had long since closed his eyes, as if snoozing, though he was doing anything but. He was merely listening, taking in the sounds of the environment. Though his senses weren't nearly as sharp as Damien's, he could quite easily pick out some familiar voices amongst all the chitchat. Especially Ieharu's voice, which was like a lighter fluffier version of his own.

After several moments of hearing everything but his brother's voice, he sighed, opening his eyes.

He did hear someone interesting. Scanning over the various disparate cliques and courtyard gaggles that so poetically described high school life, his eyes landed upon a-a... a girl? Hmm. Ieyoshi frowned slightly, squinting. For some reason, the girl looked familiar. Like, really familiar. And though he forgot names fairly easily, he'd never forget a face he'd seen before. The girl was tall but sported a small figure, complete with intense blue eyes. Her smooth thin black hair somehow reminded him of one of his father's guardians. Lambo. That was his name. So, where had he seen her before?

He looked down at his folded arms, chewing through his own memories. Things like this really irked him. He'd seen her somewhere before, but where, damn it? After a few moments of pondering, Ieyoshi gave up, filing the question away somewhere in the back of his mind.

He looked up again, his eyes scanning the crowd for something else—anything else!—that would pique his interests and stave off the twin specters of boredom and annoyance.

He spotted Jett. Jett Hideaki. He was milling about along with his sister, though Ieyoshi didn't quite remember her name. He knew Jett, however. Though he personally abhorred watching sports, everyone knew the school's premier basketball champion and most valuable player, even the first-years. Ieyoshi wasn't quite sure how he felt about the Hideaki siblings. Jett especially. He was an imposing person, perhaps intimidating to some, but...

Ieyoshi began to chew on his lower lip.

Whenever he and Jett came within close proximity of each other, something inside of him... it was like he felt a sort of kinship with the guy. Like the two of them shared a relation on some sort of base fundamental level. It was strange, it was unexplainable, it was whatever.

He also spotted Izaya, who was running around the courtyard for reasons only Izaya was aware of. Like Jett, everyone in the school knew Izaya's name, but for less glorious reasons. Ieyoshi shook his head shortly after catching sight of the green-haired kid. Oh well. In any good action movie, the stupid ones always died first.

While following Izaya with his eyes, Ieyoshi crossed eyes with—

Again, Ieyoshi squinted. There were many unfamiliar faces in the crowd, but this one was quite... let's say odd. Red eyes, for a start. Blood red. Glasses. Hair slicked back, as if by hand. Average height. He looked like the type of person that turned out to be the crazy serial killer at the end of a horror flick, but for some reason Ieyoshi felt nothing when he looked him. Absolutely nothing. Not impressed. Not intimidated. Not scared. Not happy. Not even bored. He just felt nothing, a sense of no presence, as if he were staring at a whitewashed brick wall instead of a human being.

Certainly, the guy wasn't in his class. Ieyoshi would have remembered such a face. He didn't seem tall enough or cool enough to be a third-year, though, so he was probably part of the junior class. Interesting. Odd, but interesting.

He stared for a while longer before feigning a loss of interest, lest someone notice him glaring.

Full of unsated curiosity, Ieyoshi pondered asking Damien who the red-eyed guy was, or at least if he had an opinion about him. That's when something slipped by his left peripheral. Now typically, Ieyoshi would have paid it no mind, for such things always pass by one's peripheral vision without incident. This time, however, his body tensed up, the joints in his arms locking for a brief moment. It was a small panic reaction, a flinch, as if someone had tried to jump-scare him. This was a result of Ieyoshi's extremely acute intuition, which lent itself to a very hyper sense of awareness. It was a wholly passive perception and quasi- sixth sense, and one of the precious few areas that he had his friend Damien beat hands down—and that guy goes through Varia-style training regularly.

With a reaction spanning milliseconds, he snapped his head to the left, and saw what triggered his sense of danger.

Uncharacteristically vivid blue hair, like out of a cartoon, tufts of which stuck out from under his hood. A now-familiar face. A boy... at least, Ieyoshi was fairly sure he was a boy. The same one from this morning.

Ieyoshi followed the boy with his eyes as he passed through the gate and out the other side, walking between several others as he went. As far as he could tell, the blue-haired kid hadn't taken notice of him. On the other hand, no one else seemed to take notice of the kid, not even Damien. It was as if he were a ghost, or a rock, and people just seemed to move around him, passively acknowledging his existence. It was fascinating to observe, but eventually the kid moved out of view, and Ieyoshi didn't want to give off the impression that he was interested.

Ieyoshi sighed softly. There was something about that kid. Something about the red-eyed guy. Something about many of these so-called students. Something he couldn't quite put a finger on. One thing was for sure, though: he needed to hone his intuition. He got feelings all the time about places and people, but rarely did he know enough about what his instincts were telling him that he could act on them in an effective and efficient manner.

He did have one feeling he recognized: his intuition told him he'd be dealing with the blue-haired kid—dealing with all of these strange people—a lot more directly over the coming months. It was just his luck, after all. If he wasn't being tackled by crazy familial relations in the morning, it was gonna be something else.


Ieharu placed his hands under the one of the bathroom sinks' faucets. A stream of perfectly-warmed water met his hands instantaneously. His father always talked about how, "back in the day," water faucets always had "hot" and "cold" handles on them and you have to mix and match them manually to get it just right. Nowadays, they have faucets that have infrared thermometers attached to them. They set the water to the perfect temperature automatically, based on skin temperature. Honestly, Ieharu couldn't fathom having to twist little knobs to make water come out. It was dumb. If he wanted cold, he'd just say "colder" and the faucet would obey him. If he wanted warmer water, he'd just say "warmer". Why did it take people so long to think up such a basic idea?

The boy giggled at the thought. Living in the past must've really sucked.

The faucet automatically added the correct amount of soap to the water, so he didn't have to do anything but move his hands around a little before they were sufficiently clean.

Tucked under his arm was a book titled A Wrinkle in Time, by a long-dead American author named Madeleine L'Engle. Currently, it was Ieharu's favorite book, though the designation of "favorite" was doled out on a weekly basis to the works of prose that found their way into his hands, if that. He was truly a voracious reader.

The book itself, of course, wasn't any normal paper book. It was technically a paperback, sure. It wasn't one of those old-fashioned e-readers or anything—it was better. The book's "paper" pages were each a type of foldable hardware, and the pages themselves could switch text and content at the will of the reader. One moment, he could be reading A Wrinkle in Time, the next he could be perusing a newspaper or pretending to read his class's Social Studies book.

Gokudera—Damien's dad—always complained when Ieharu took it out. "You kids are spoiled rotten," he'd always say. "You don't need these all these newfangled toys! Isn't a smart phone and infinity internet enough for you brats?"

Haha, old people are funny.

Ieharu let his hands rest under the luxurious warmth of the running water for a while longer before removing them from the stream and moving towards the door. He waved his wet hands over a small silver plate on the wall, which unleashed a burst of air as his they passed, shearing the excess moisture from his skin like an air blade. The bathroom door opened for him shortly after, though Ieharu paid the automated marvel no mind. Such things were rudimentary at this point.

The school day had come to an end a while back, yet he'd gotten distracted talking to his teacher. They continued the class discussion about the nature of main characters in prose, with Ieharu relating what they'd discussed to A Wrinkle in Time.

Oh well, Ieyoshi would forgive him if he were just a little late.

Next order of business: go meet with Aobane and head down to meet Ieyoshi and Damien. He'd asked Aobane to wait by the elevators while he went to the bathroom, so he was probably still there. Hopefully. Ieharu's cheeks burned red with the thought of him having taken too long in the bathroom. Agh!

Turning on his heel, the boy began walking down the hall. The elevators where in a small niche on the right side at the end of the hall.

He made it about two-thirds of the way there before he was stopped.


"What is this guy doing?" Ieyoshi lamented, not bothering to hide his exasperation at his brother's absence. The courtyard was virtually empty at this point. Even some of the staff were beginning to head home. Creepy teacher Zenith-sensei had even passed him by, offering a creepy wave and generally being a creep. Ieyoshi wasn't quite sure why he didn't much care for the man, or why he seemed like such a creep, but...

Whatever. He'd give it five more minutes, max, and then Ieharu would be walking home without him. On second thought, maybe he should leave now. It'd do his brother some good to be independent for once. The elder twin looked over to Damien. "Wanna just go?"

Damien looked in the direction that Ieharu would walk in. Alone. He started to get a bit worried. "Eh, but shouldn't we wait a bit longer. I mean especially after today when he—"

"DAMIEEEEEENNNNN!" Enn charged forwards and leapt towards him with his arms outstretched, smiling widely. He completely ignored Ieyoshi. Behind him somewhere in the distance, a brown-haired third year with a jagged scar across his face watched in surprise, barely hiding anxiety as he walked towards the gate, green sweater slung over his shoulder. "Damien there you are I couldn't—"

Damien instinctively ducked on his knees and dodged Enn's charge. He knew in that instance, what this meant. Enn flew over him and rolled to a crouch a few feet away, continuing without pause. "—find you—" got up instantly and leant in low, sprinting towards Damien's back and lashing out with a punch. "—anywhere!" A grin fell on Damien's face as the punch flew in his direction. It was Enn's turn to be the attacker while he was the defender. He placed his right palm out and blocked the punch instantly.

"Mmm, close but not there yet," Damien replied. At this point his body was faced towards Enn and his eyes were fixed on his every move.

"Don't worry," Enn grinned happily, a wild look in his eyes. Ah, fighting Damien was fun! So much fun that Enn didn't want to think about even trying to kill him. He hadn't had this much fun ever after he left Italy and couldn't take part in hits as much as he liked anymore, since Shou didn't like it. Shou was right, high school was great! He grabbed hold of the wrist of the hand holding his own hand and pulled as he whirled and bent, hurling Damien over his shoulder. "I'm just getting started!" The game of attack and defense went on. Enn attacked furiously, sending flying kicks, punches, a flurry of blows were all thrown at Damien. To each, he merely blocked, ducked, and jumped back, and it was clear to those who knew them well that they were just playing around, albeit semi-seriously.

Ieyoshi merely looked on at the two, mouth slightly agape, a disturbed look fresh upon his face, as if someone had told him one plus one equaled fish with a zealous fervor. He wasn't really familiar with this kid who so cavalierly attacked Damien, though he knew his face, and knew his reputation. He was a fellow first-year, and one of the more annoying ones, too.


After a few moments of observation, he sighed and looked away, bored once more. Maybe he'd just go home anyway.

"Enn, why'd you run that fast—" the brown-haired third year came to a halt as he stared at the scene, panting a little. A group of emotions rapidly cycled over Shou's face before settling on a strange sort of resignation (and relief that his brother wasn't seriously trying to kill someone) and a mixture of worry and anxiety. "Oh no stop..." he straightened and turned to Ieyoshi, eyebrows creased in worry over the situation. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I'm so so sorry," he apologised frantically, bowing a little in apology. "Enn was waiting for me to finish with club and then he ran off before I could stop him I'm sorry!"

Ieyoshi eyed the guy before him. Shou, was it? He wasn't in Ieyoshi's class, but he'd seen seen the guy around—primarily around Enn. Most likely a third-year, though he didn't have the air of one. If memory served, Shou and Enn were brothers.


Shou didn't seem as bombastic and frenetic as his brother, so that was a plus. "It's whatever," he said, shrugging in acknowledgement of Shou's apology. "Hey, you haven't happened to have seen my brother around, have you? He looks just like me, except his hair is dyed black for some reason." He shot a glance over at Damien and Enn. "And I'm about to leave him to walk home alone, too," he added, grumbling under his breath.

"O-Oh," Shou said, straightening up from his bow into a sort of relaxed posture, hooking a thumb around his bag-straps. He thought back throughout the day, trying to think about whether he saw—um, Iehaku? That was his name—going about his day, Eventually, he shook his head. "I don't think I saw him," he said regretfully, shaking his head. "Sorry."

Ieyoshi was about to sigh for the thousandth time this day, when his intuition pricked him. Looking away from Shou, a figure in the distance was approaching them, moving most expeditiously in their direction. Ieyoshi raised his eyebrows in expectation, frowning slightly at the realization that it certainly wasn't his twin brother.