Then Izana glanced sideways, lips twitching. "Still not over you casually being raised by Hibari freaking Kyoya."
Takemichi sighed. "Tell that to my childhood self. I couldn't say 'discipline' without flinching for years."
Kakucho snorted before becoming thoughtful. "What does him being your dad's guardian mean? Actually, what does a guardian is?"
Takemichi blinked, surprised. "Ah… that wasn't in the pamphlet, right?"
Izana shook his head. "No. The pamphlet barely explained the flames, let alone whatever guardianship means."
Takemichi exhaled softly and shifted his position on the park bench, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at them both.
"It's not in the pamphlet for a reason," he said. "It's rare. The bond between a Sky and the other flames isn't just about compatibility. It's about… stabilization. Sky flames accept and harmonize with the others. That's their nature. When a Sky builds a deep enough connection with someone of another flame type, that person becomes a guardian—not in the metaphorical way. It's a real, binding flame bond."
Kakucho frowned thoughtfully. "So it's like a team?"
"More than a team," Takemichi said, choosing his words carefully. "It's emotional. Personal. Intimate, in a way. Not romantic necessarily, but… you're letting someone into your flame. Your energy. Your self. You give them access to a part of you, and they do the same. That bond creates balance. A Sky with six official guardians—one of each flame—can harmonize a whole battlefield."
Izana leaned back slowly. "That's… intense."
Takemichi nodded. "It is. That's why most Skies wait. We don't bond early. We wait until our personalities are stable—until we're sure of who we are. Because if we don't, the bond can go wrong."
Kakucho glanced at him, curious. "Do you have any?"
Takemichi froze for a second. Then smiled weakly.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
Izana gave him a pointed look. "You're a teenager. Isn't that the time to start?"
Takemichi flushed, looking away.
"I… don't feel ready," he admitted quietly. "There was a situation... Someone tried to force a bond on me when I was younger and it kind of messed me up."
Kakucho and Izana both stiffened at that, the mood immediately shifting.
Takemichi rubbed his arm, suddenly feeling cold despite the mild breeze. "Luckily, it didn't work. My papa killed the person before he could completely force it and do any damage to my Flames. But it messed with my flames and how I saw them. For a while, I didn't want to use them at all."
Neither teen said anything, but the air between them settled into something more serious. Empathy, layered with an understanding neither of them had the words for.
Izana looked off to the side, jaw tight. "Whoever did that… they deserved to die."
Takemichi gave a faint smile. "Yeah. I was lucky. So now, I wait. Until I'm sure. I'd rather not hurt myself—or someone else—trying to bond too soon."
Kakucho's voice was quiet. "That makes sense."
A silence followed, more contemplative than heavy.
"Alright," Izana said, finally smiling a little. "What's next, then, teacher?"
"If you want to get better at controlling your flames," Takemichi said finally, "the safest, most stable way is… meditation."
Kakucho blinked. "Meditation?"
Izana raised a brow. "That's it? Just sitting around and thinking really hard?"
Takemichi huffed a laugh. "It's less about thinking and more about feeling. You don't just summon flames by force—you listen to them. Feel them. It's like breathing. You don't command your lungs to expand. You let it happen. Guiding your flames is like that."
The two boys looked at him like he'd just tried to explain how to become wind.
Takemichi stood up, dusting his hands on his pants. "I'll show you a basic method."
He crouched slightly onto the grass and pressed one hand to his stomach, the other placed lightly on his chest.
"Sit straight, legs crossed or tucked under you," he instructed. "Hands like this. Eyes closed, but not tight. Breathe from here—" he tapped his stomach, "—not here." A tap to his chest.
Kakucho followed the instructions first, adjusting his posture with quiet focus. Izana copied him, a little skeptical but willing—for now.
"Now picture a small flame. Just a spark. Inside you."
Takemichi's voice softened as he stepped in a small circle around them, watching their posture. "Feel where your flame naturally lives. For most people, it's in their heart. You don't need to grab it—just notice it. Let it notice you back."
He lowered his voice even more. "If it pushes back? That's normal. Especially with Cloud Flames."
Izana's brow twitched, but he didn't open his eyes.
"Next," Takemichi said, standing again, "breathe in and try to let the flame grow a little with it. Just a flicker. Not fire. Just… awareness."
Kakucho's face was neutral but concentrated. Izana looked oddly calm. It didn't take too long for Takemichi to feel it—two low, flickering signatures. Like embers buried deep underground. Distant, but alive.
He smiled a little to himself.
After a few minutes, he let them settle into the rhythm of it. Then, slowly, he sat down with them. Eyes closed. Hands folded. He breathed in—and his own flame stirred like a quiet sunrise. Warm. Balanced. Familiar.
Twenty minutes passed in stillness. Birds chirped. The wind rustled the trees. A passing cyclist didn't even notice them.
Then:
"This feels weird," Izana muttered, cracking one eye open.
"It's supposed to," Takemichi replied, eyes still closed. "You're meeting a part of yourself you've never spoken to before. Give it time."
Kakucho didn't say anything. But his aura had steadied.
Takemichi peeked at them both, a small smile curling on his lips.
"You're doing better than most first-timers."
Izana scoffed but didn't argue. Kakucho cracked one eye open to glance at him, his expression unreadable.
"Keep practicing like this," Takemichi said, voice soft. "A few minutes every day. Just enough to check in with your flame. To understand how it wants to move. You don't need to force anything."
Izana let out a long exhale. "...So that's how the Vongola do it?"
Takemichi shrugged, smiling. "It's how my dad taught me. Papa would've just lit me on fire and said, 'Adapt.'"
Kakucho choked on a laugh.
Izana's lips twitched.
.
As the sky darkened above them and the last dregs of evening light melted into the city glow, Takemichi glanced at his phone. "Ah," he muttered, "it's later than I thought."
Kakucho checked his own phone, nodding. "Yeah. We should probably get going."
Izana stood as well, brushing off the back of his jeans. "What should we do next?"
Takemichi slung his bag over his shoulder, eyes thoughtful. "Well, for now, try practicing that meditation technique I showed you. Get comfortable with the feel of your flames. And if you want a goal…" He dug into his pocket and pulled out a pencil. "Try this."
Kakucho blinked. "A pencil?"
"Yeah. Try infusing your flames into it," Takemichi said, holding it out like it was some kind of ancient relic. "When you can do that without burning it to a crisp, give me a call. It's trickier than it sounds."
Izana took the pencil with a skeptical but intrigued look, turning it between his fingers.
Takemichi smiled. "But really—if you need anything. Advice, a check-in, someone to yell at your flames when they won't behave… just call or text. I'll be happy to help."
Kakucho gave him a lopsided grin. "You're way too nice for someone from the mafia."
Takemichi chuckled. "I get that a lot."
Then Kakucho stepped closer and, without warning, ruffled Takemichi's hair, rough but affectionate. "Thanks, seriously."
"Ah—hey—!" Takemichi sputtered, trying to swat him away with no real force.
Izana watched the exchange, amused, before his gaze softened slightly. A small smile—barely there, but real—touched his lips. "See you, Takemichi."
"Yeah," Takemichi said, grinning at them both. "See you guys soon."
They parted ways under the misty glow of the streetlamps, the pencil still in Izana's hand, and a quiet warmth lingering in Takemichi's chest.
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