Chapter Text
Yamamoto Takeshi was a normal name. Common, generic, completely unmemorable. There’s probably at least a few dozen Yamamoto Takeshis in his prefecture alone, and he was being generous. His was a name that was supposed to be forgotten, unremembered except for his exceptional skill in baseball in high school.
Yamamoto Takeshi has never been someone destined to be forgotten.
Yamamoto Takeshi was a name whispered with awe, respect and fear in the underworld. He was the unfathomable Rain, left hand of the Vongola Decimo, rumoured heir of the strongest hitman in the world. He was the shadow of the Guardians, the Ghost with hands as bloody as Vongola’s sins.
No one could dispute his deadliness.
Except for the man himself.
Yamamato Takeshi was a normal man with a normal name. He has a questionable career, and while it’s not something that he could ever put down in his resume; swordsman, assassin, mafiaso, he was also a man with a family and friends who he’d die to protect. He liked to garden and experiment with cooking; he also liked to spar with the most lethal fighters he knew. He was a man of contradictions, but he was also a normal man with normal ambitions.
He built his reputation around that normality, and no one ever looked twice at him in meeting rooms.
Because he was a normal Japanese man with a sword, and he liked being just that, even in a mafia setting.
It wasn’t some sort of weird moral compunction; he liked to think he tossed aside society’s perceived sense of morality when he followed Tsuna to Italy.
He simply enjoyed being underestimated. His entire shtick relied on him being ordinary, a hapless Japanese teenager caught up in the drama of Sawada Tsunayoshi. Poor kid, people looked at him and whispered. He had such a bright future in baseball, with so many offers of scholarships from scouts even before he graduated high school. If only he wasn’t Tsuna’s classmate. If only he hadn’t caught Reborn’s eye.
He wouldn’t have to walk such a dark path.
The thing is, Takeshi wasn’t a naïve child walking straight into the unknown. He knew what he was getting into joining the mafia. He saw a glimpse of that world after being thrown into the future, into a war with Byakuran. He knew exactly what he was sacrificing when he took up the sword. After all, he had lost his father once.
The sword felt right. More than a baseball bat in his hands.
Baseball had been his solace in his childhood, still struggling to find his equilibrium and self-worth. Baseball had been the smile on his father’s face. Baseball had been fun and games and remembering how to laugh again after his mother left and never came back.
He was more with the sword. Or perhaps he became what he was always meant to be when he found his purpose in the sword, in Tsuna.
He was a friend, a son, a Guardian. He was the violent waves under the surface of a still ocean, the torrid downpour hidden behind an unassuming smile.
He was the only one left. The survivor.
Could he really be called a Guardian if he has no one to protect anymore?
He was meant to be ordinary, to walk in the shadows as the Vongola’s Rain. He wasn’t meant to save everyone.
But when Yuni and Kyoko approached him with their plan, he knew he doesn’t have any choice.
He was the only one left.
The thought of dying seemed easy.
But dying willingly? Heading straight to your death without the slightest hint of uncertainty?
Even though dying for his friends was never a question, it’s human nature to fear death. Much less dove forward towards one’s own death without hesitation.
He has never been lacking for conviction. His unfaltering resolve has always been his strength; when he gave up everything in his life to follow his friends on an uncertain dark path, when he lit up his ring within seconds to fight for his loved ones.
He’s grateful to the ladies, for being thoughtful enough to add the ice in. It dulled his senses and motor functions, and he welcomed the cold, sinking through his clothes and skin. His hands trembled slightly at the edges as he climbed into the tub, keeping his eyes forward.
“I’ll see you on the other side.” Kyoko said tremulously, looking down at him. Her hand found his, and his fingers found the discoloured mark around her ring finger. They both exchanged a look filled with meaning and understanding.
“Hasta la vista.” He quipped and felt his lips quirked in amusement when she snorted.
“We’re ready.” Yuni said softly.
The smile faded from Kyoko’s face, and she bit her lip in determination, settling into her position. He gave her a small smile and squeezed her hand.
He was reluctant to leave Kyoko, but he knew that if they succeed, he wouldn’t have to worry about her any longer.
This world would be gone.
“Please save everyone, Takeshi-san.” Shouichi said. Even though he was barely thirty, he looked twice his age. Silver streaks shot through his vibrant orange-red hair, and he was permanently slouched, weighed down with loss and grief.
I-Pin, her eyes red-rimmed and watery, leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead. She sat down next to Colonnello, who gave him a weary nod.
“Good luck, Takeshi.” Haru smiled.
Sky, mist, sun, storm, rain, lightning. Everyone has gathered.
He stole a few seconds to stare at their faces hungrily. He has grown close to them in the past few months. Even though he might see them again, it won’t be the same.
His eyes fell shut and he let go, submerging himself into the water. The ice stole the breath from his lips in surprise, and his body took a reflexive jerk. The pool was shallow enough for him to escape easily, but he controlled the urge to fling himself out of the tub.
His instincts demanded for him to live. He has been taught to fight since he was fourteen, and he hasn’t fought this long to die this quietly. To die without fighting against his death.
He reached up blindly for the chain around his neck. The Rain Vongola Gear has been destroyed a long time ago, but the remnants still remained. The dog head and crest were crushed, the text unreadable, and the sword had broken into half. He still continued to wear it; perhaps for sentimentality or motivation. The broken sword was still sharp enough to dig into the flesh of his palm, and he wrapped his hand around it tighter.
Slowly, he released his breath and inhaled a mouthful of ice water. It filled his lungs, swift and sudden. He could feel himself lashing out wildly, every alarm in his body going off as instincts warred against his actions.
He took in another mouthful and forced his muscles to unloosen with sheer willpower. Suddenly, he could hear a song swelling and settling into his bones, and then he was no longer cold.
He felt limp and boneless, his hand loosening around the Vongola Gear on his chest. Flickers of rainbow lights danced in his blurry vision, and faraway, the sound of laughter flitted away from his yearning grasp.
He breathed and goes willingly to his death.
He has given his entire life to his Sky. It only makes sense he’d die for him as well.
On 24th March 2029, Yamamoto Takeshi, the last living Guardian of the Vongola Tenth, took his final breath and died.