Author's Note
Hello to all my dear readers,
In this chapter, I feel like I've committed a bit of a sin… by not putting enough effort into Saruo's backstory.
But! I need to wrap up this first volume quickly—dragging it out too long is dangerous xd.
The next chapter will mark the start of a new year.And with it… some big moments are coming:Alaudi's summoning and Giotto's fight with Saruo will finally happen.
I'm putting my heart into all of this—So here we go!
With that said…I, Wissumi Wizaki, wish you a happy read.Chao chao!
Year 1047 B.N. – between September and December
Four months after the failed escort of Prince Yaskar, the skies over the Land of Lomo remained silent.The clouds drifted aimlessly, as if the world itself were holding its breath.But in the shadows, something had begun to take shape.
Giotto Luciano Vongola Gravina had not given up.He was no ordinary child. And certainly not someone who would waste time crying over past mistakes.What many didn't know —not even his closest allies— was that within him lived two pasts, two souls, and a single vision.A vision that now sprouted underground, far from the eyes of King Kiku and the royal courts.
At just eight years old, Giotto had split his focus with surgical precision: 40% to the foundation of the Underworld, and 60% to physical training and mastering the Sky Flame.During those months, as the continent went on unaware, Giotto was building something new from the ruins of humiliation.
Ruins of the Sōra Temple – Midnight, Red Moon
The moon bathed the broken tiles of the temple in crimson.A controlled fire crackled in the center of the camp hidden among ancient debris.The smoke danced as if it had a soul of its own.
Daiki, his expression unreadable and his gaze sharp as obsidian, reviewed reports written in invisible ink.In front of him stood three figures in black masks, motionless, like statues of the night.
He was secretly leading a long-range mission: to establish Vongola micro-organizations in every nation on the continent.
—"The team sent to Nōkotsu is struggling to establish a base?" —Daiki asked, raising an eyebrow with that dry tone sharper than any blade.
One of the masked figures nodded.—Yes, sir. We detected someone trying to uncover our movements on that mission. They were doing it quietly and efficiently… but we stopped them before they could reveal key data. The problem is… —he hesitated— the mask they wore had a crack. The secret Vongola symbol was exposed for a moment.
Daiki clenched his eyes shut, clicking his tongue.—Tch… This must not reach Giotto. Not now. Not when we're just laying down the roots.
—What do we do with the zone?
—Evacuate. Disband all efforts to build a base there. Burn the records. Leave not even ash behind. The next move will be on the southern coast of the Land of Water. Understood?
—Understood.
The figures vanished one by one, dissolving into the mist.Daiki remained alone, staring into the fire with weary eyes. Then he pulled out a medallion engraved with the crest of the First Family.On the back, precisely carved, were the words:
"We are united under one sky."
His fingers brushed the letters with a tenderness surprising for someone so cold.It was the first draft of the Underworld drawn by the Vongola: an invisible network of agents, managers, messengers, and enforcers loyal only to Giotto.
All were teenagers, underestimated by adults.Just as Giotto had predicted.
—"Train soldiers with unbreakable wills, Daiki. Trust them, for they are your brothers," —Giotto had written in his first encrypted message—. "No one is to be forced. Only those who wish to rewrite their fate."
And so, he did.
They were trained to move through shadows, track without leaving a trace, gather intelligence, survive gambits, and deceive nobles and bandits alike.Those who survived the trials were given a codename, a mask, and a role in their respective branch.
The "masked agent" protected the local headquarters and, if needed, neutralized threats with surgical precision.Those who excelled in theory and strategy became branch managers, capable of handling money, contacts, intelligence, and risk.
Everything followed a structure designed by Giotto. Not random. Not impulsive.Each rule, each code, each silence was the product of two full lives:That of Luciano Gravina, a modern mafia boss forged in betrayal and blood; and Vongola Primo, lord of the Sky Flames, who had given his soul for his ideals.
—"I don't want blind loyalty," —Giotto once said—, "I want wills with an edge. If I have to drag them all through the mud, then they still don't understand what it means to follow me."
It was the beginning of something greater than them.With every move in the expansion plan, new routes of power, knowledge, and fire opened up.It was the silent rebirth of an empire that had no name yet—But it already had a purpose.
Main Mission: "Rebirth of the Will"Objective: Lay the foundations of the Underworld.Current Progress: 25%
Rewards:— Summoning of the Six Original Guardians: 4/6— Sacred Beast of the Flame— Original Vongola Ring Accessories— New Template Slots Unlocked
One afternoon, while reviewing reports and communications, the System granted Giotto a new item:
You have obtained: Cloud Seed.
A living gem, deep violet in color, pulsing like a heart.
—"This seed will summon your Cloud Guardian when the time is right."
Giotto held it with reverence. He felt the echo of a familiar presence: Alaudi.His former Guardian would return...When the Cloud decided to move.
—"All in due time," —he murmured—. "The Cloud does not need to be called. It only needs space to drift freely."
While his agents worked in the shadows, he did not rely on his networks alone.Giotto threw himself into training with obsessive fervor.
He subjected himself to a brutal routine, both physically and mentally.He knew that in this new world, cleverness and delegation weren't enough.He needed speed, strength, endurance, and absolute control over the Sky Flame.
At dawn, he ran barefoot across rocky ground and burning embers.In the dead of winter, he dove into frozen lakes.He sparred barehanded with his Guardians.He meditated for days in isolated caves.
In mid-December, he exhaled over ice.He submerged himself in freezing lakes at night to learn how to hold his breath for over five minutes.
But the hardest part was mastering his flame.His most demanding training was controlling the Dying Will Mode.He entered that state again and again, forcing his body beyond its limits.He monitored his pulse, energy, and heat.
Every second gained was one step closer to perfection.
One day, in the forest near the old Vongola mansion, he sparred with his bear companion Shōgan, knocking him out with a sudden explosive strike.Lampow, watching from nearby, whistled:
—"That was wild, cousin! You almost scorched my hair!"
Giotto dropped to his knees, gasping, but smiled.He had felt the true core of the Flame.
—"I'm close… closer every day."
Weeks passed.As his flame control improved…
Giotto coughed up blood.He had attempted to hold Dying Will Mode for three full minutes while maintaining control.His still-childlike body trembled from the strain.
—"Again, Primo?" —asked Lampow, hanging from a tree, munching on a peach.
—"Yes… again," —Giotto panted.
He ignited the flame in his palm. The soft orange aura flared to life.A subtle pressure wave knocked down dry leaves.The ground cracked beneath his feet.
The boy closed his eyes, focusing on the pulse of his flame, trying to hold it steady without bursting.
But just as balance seemed within reach, a flash crossed his mind:His adult self in Italy—Luciano Gravina—seated at a marble table, surrounded by enemies.The memory destabilized him.
FWWWHM!The flame burst out of control.Giotto was flung backward, crashing into an oak tree.
—"Cousin!" —Lampow shouted, falling from the tree.
Giotto spat out more blood. The flame had collapsed.
—"It's not enough…" —he murmured—. "If I can't control this flame… if I can't sustain it for at least fifteen minutes… I won't survive what's coming."
Lampow stared at him. For a moment, his childish expression vanished.
—"Primo… do you really think they'll come for you?"
Giotto looked up from the ground.
—"Not for me. They'll come for all of us. For Kiku. For this country. For the orphans we've yet to train. For every idea that Vongola stands for.My gut tells me so."
Lampow lowered his gaze.He knew time was running out.The storm was coming.
And though they were still children…He knew deep down that Giotto had never recovered from the failed escort of Prince Yaskar.Only time would heal that wound.
Meanwhile, in a distant land of the continent,
where the mountains roared with ancient echoesand the wind carried whispers of war,a lone figure hung upside down in a shadowy cave.
Saruo, the young monkey warrior —his fur longer now, his eyes burning with a feral gleam— held a crumpled letter in his hands, delivered secretly from Masanobu.
"The Vongola kids are making strange moves. Rarely do we understand them… and even less do we know where they're pulling the strings,"
Saruo muttered, chewing calmly on a piece of dried fruit, his jaw working in sync with his thoughts.
"That mess with the Land of Fire made them bolder, harder… more dangerous. But if they think I'll just sit back and watch, they're more lost than a bear in winter."
He flipped upright with a nimble motion, letting out a sigh that slithered into the damp air of the cave. With practiced ease, he adjusted the tribal staff on his back —his tool of defense and symbol of identity— each scar upon it telling tales of past battles.
His eyes fixed on the horizon, where the sky seemed to smolder with unspoken promises.
"Next time our paths cross, Vongola… I won't come to talk, nor to waste time with nonsense. I'll go straight for the jugular,"
he whispered firmly, as if daring the wind itself to carry his words.
"I'll face your leader… and make him pay for every drop of spilled blood. Spiders die without their heads… and then, we'll see who leads this dance."
For a moment, the warrior let the darkness and silence embrace his thoughts —a storm of rage and hope twisted within his chest.
Will my strength be enough? he asked himself, a bolt of doubt cutting through his mind.Can I bear the weight of being the one to stop that shadow?If I fail, it won't be just me who falls… all of us who believe this world can still be reborn will fall too.
But just as that thought threatened to break him, his gaze hardened —sharpened with resolve.
"No. I can't —and won't— doubt. Growing hurts, but it's the only path I know. And this time, the monkey will strike first."
With that, Saruo turned, his figure slipping back into the cave's shadows, ready for the road ahead.The battle was only just beginning, and his story was yet to be written —in fire and bone.
Kaien Fang Base – Silent Night
The base reeked of iron, old sweat, and weathered flesh.Torches flickered along the walls, casting shadows like ghosts born from old scars.
Kaien Kiba hurled knife after knife at a humanoid-shaped target.Each blade sliced through the air with a whistling precision and landed dead center —between the eyes.
—I sent the letter to Saruo, boss, —said Masanobu, arms crossed, eyes tracking each impact.—Think that'll make him train harder?
Kaien barely grunted, not even turning his head.
—Our boy still isn't strong enough to take down even one Vongola guard. And that says a lot… just imagine how strong the boss must be.
His voice was low, the voice of a man who'd seen hell —and returned with bloodstained teeth.
Masanobu nodded, though a flicker of doubt danced in his eyes.
—Do you think this training will be enough? That Saruo will gain the strength he needs to win this time?
Kaien threw the last knife.This one struck dead center in the target's heart.He turned slowly toward Masanobu, half a twisted grin pulling at his face.
—I don't know, —he said, voice quiet like a blade wrapped in filthy velvet.—But if that fight ever comes… Saruo will have to sacrifice himself. He must. Otherwise, he'll never earn my love.
He paused, weighing the weight of his words.
—And he'll never have my approval either —the thing he craves like a starving dog longing for its master.
Kaien went on:
—I feel like that's the reason I destroyed his family. I fed him, trained him, shaped him… manipulated him to be my spear against the Vongola. That's fate. A weapon with a child's face and an animal's fury.
Kaien let out a dry, nasal chuckle.
—That's how knives are forged, Masanobu. You heat the metal… you beat it… bend it… break it… and forge it again. Regret? Not the time.
Masanobu interrupted, as if struck by a sudden thought:
—Sir… now that Saruo left Prince Yaskar alive, and he's hiding back in his own country… the prince could talk. He might tell Saruo things he should never know. Like how we enslaved the simians long ago… and sold them to the Land of Fire…
—True, —Kaien cut in, a glacial glint in his eyes.—Now we'll need to keep an eye on the Land of Fire…
Silence returned —thick as swamp fog.Kaien walked toward the window, his steps barely a whisper against the stone.
—Why do you think I ordered Saruo to train alone? I didn't send him off on another mission by accident.
He stopped at the window frame, staring into the darkness like he was speaking with ghosts of the past.
—Saruo's usefulness has an expiration date —starting now.
A cold breeze drifted in through the slit.Kaien closed his eyes.A memory hit him —unexpected, brutal.
—I still remember… when I killed his father in that hidden jungle, among wild monkeys. His warm blood on my hands… and that boy… that filthy little pup crying without understanding anything…
Kaien smiled, bitter and twisted.
—And I took him in. Eleven years ago.
He turned slowly, locking eyes with Masanobu.
—We raised him as our weapon, didn't we? But knives… they cut backwards too, if you hold them wrong.
Masanobu swallowed hard. He didn't respond.
Kaien looked at the moon.But his mind was elsewhere.Back in that jungle.Back in Saruo's eyes when he first saw him.In that primal fear.In that fire —a fire he had fed.
—Let him train. Let him fulfill our objective. Let him bleed. Let him hate if he wants to. But when the time comes… if he's not stronger than his doubts… he's worthless.
He paused.His voice turned grave —like a final sentence.
—And then, Masanobu… you and I will have to kill our son.
The torch crackled softly in the background.And once again, silence reigned over the base of Kaien Fang.
...
Eleven years ago…Year 1052 B.E. — The Iwakuma Jungle
There was a corner of the world where the sun barely dared to pierce the canopy of eternal leaves. Where the trees were not merely wood, but elders whispering in dreams. That place, older than any map and wiser than any scroll, was the Iwakuma Jungle: the untouched region of the wise apes.
You did not reach Iwakuma.The jungle chose you.
Hidden among mists that knew how to keep secrets, and vines that hung like the beards of gods, Iwakuma was sacred. Comparable to Mount Myōboku, the Ryūchi Cave, or the Shikkotsu Forest, it was the last stronghold of a non-human civilization: the domain of the talking apes, guardians of natural knowledge. There, the language of the wind was law, silence had grammar, and respect was not a suggestion, but a command.
There, Saruo was born.
His mother, Mihana, was a healer of deep wisdom. Her bright, pink fur made her a rarity; her eyes, which seemed to reflect every moon she had known, could calm even the most enraged jaguar. When she spoke, she did so with a cadence that seemed to rise from the roots of the earth.
"Children, mud doesn't just stain… it also heals. Learn it."
His father, Gakuro, was another story. Leader of the Uchigumo clan, he bore the tribe's ceremonial staff, carved with the symbols of generations. His voice was firm, direct. He never raised it—he didn't need to. His gaze alone was enough to make any youth bow their head.
"Don't raise your hand if you don't know whether the wind blows with you or against you. Striking without thought… is what humans do."
The Uchigumo lived by the laws of Tai'yō no Kotowari, the Code of the Sun. An ethical structure passed down through dances, fire, and dust:
"Respect the spirit of the tree that gives you fruit.""Do not drink from the river if you cannot return something to it."
Every action had consequence; every mistake, an echo.
The young apes played in the treetops, leaping between branches while the elders recited tribal history beside the fire. The shamans taught them to read the stars, to listen to the jungle's sighs, to interpret the creak of the branches as warnings from the beyond.
Saruo, only two days old, slept in a cradle woven from cane threads and moss-hide. Around him, the spirits of the forest celebrated his birth with blue fire dances and perfumed rain. His eyes still closed, and already, the jungle protected him.
"Never break the branch that gives you shade, my son," Gakuro would say, carving his first ceremonial staff, though Saruo merely drooled in his lap."And never heal one who only seeks to harm," Mihana would murmur, cradling him in her left arm, singing an ancient lullaby.
That world was in balance.But the jungle, wise as it was… was also cruel.Cruel to the innocent.Cruel to those who had not yet learned to fight.
And the moonless night came.
First came the wind: restless, humid, tasting of metal.Then silence… the kind that precedes disaster.Then, fire.Rain made of flame.
Armed men.Humans.
Hunters of legends.
They had found Iwakuma thanks to an exile: a banished ape who sold his tribe's soul in exchange for a promise of power. And so they came. With nets. With chains. With blades that cut not only flesh, but history itself.
The Sacred Tree, Iwakuma's living altar, was the first to burn.
Gakuro roared—not as a father, but as the ancestral spirit of the jungle itself.He leapt into battle, fearless, knowing he would die, yet hoping his roar would be heard by the trees.By the generations to come.
He died standing, among fire and broken roots.
Mihana screamed.But her cries were not of pain.They were curses.Prayers.Prophecies.
They chained her.Took her away.
Saruo… barely a newborn, was sent to the arms of Inari-han's elder brother.His tiny fingers still trembled, searching for his mother's hand.
Mihana… the last thing she saw before closing her eyes from the smoke was a tall figure—human—covered in mud and blood, approaching Gakuro's lifeless body.He knelt down… and deeply inhaled the scent of his neck.
"The scent of the leader… of the warrior," the figure said. "This power will serve well to make the child believe that our leader is his father."
That man was Kaien.The killer of his father.The man who would raise him as a weapon.