Year 1051 A.N.
...
A full day had passed since they had taken the mansion and begun cleaning the surroundings. Amid so many tasks, Giotto remembered something he had left pending... far too pending.
"The prisoner," he murmured, as his gaze shifted toward the deep forest, toward that old oak tree where he had left the man tied.
He walked in silence, accompanied only by the wind and the crunch of moist earth beneath his boots. When he arrived, he found him exactly as he had left him: arms bound, eyes blindfolded, exhausted, filthy, lips cracked from dehydration.
Giotto crouched in front of him and calmly removed the blindfold.
"Still alive?" he asked, emotionless.
The bandit barely lifted his face. His gaze was a mixture of hatred and fear.
"Bastard... if you let me go... I swear I'll—"
Giotto cut him off with a quiet but firm voice:
"Are there more bandits? Where's the rest of your group?"
The man hesitated for a second, then muttered,
"There's no one left... they all died in the attack. I was just guarding the entrance."
Giotto observed him in silence. His Vongola intuition—that sharp perception capable of detecting even the faintest tremor of a lie—activated. Partial lie. He's hiding something.
"Where is the capital of the Land of the Back?" he continued in a neutral tone.
The prisoner hesitated, then answered,
"Half a day east, along the main path. If you take the river, two."
This time, Giotto detected no deception. He nodded slowly.
Then, his eyes became more severe. His tone changed too.
"Now tell me… have you stolen?"
The bandit clenched his teeth but didn't deny it.
"…Yes."
"Have you killed?"
The man swallowed, avoiding Giotto's eyes.
"It was self-defense… they were guards."
"Have you raped?"
Silence fell instantly. The man lowered his gaze. His fists clenched.
Giotto didn't need a verbal answer. His intuition, like an invisible flame in his chest, ignited violently.
Lies… absolute guilt… no remorse. Only fear.
Giotto stood up, took two steps back. He took a deep breath. Then, from his right palm, a flame emerged.
It wasn't like the ones he used to float or train. This one was different. Denser, more intense. A Hard Sky Flame—an embodiment of his inner judgment, of his broken balance.
"I don't need another mouth to feed… or another shadow in this new light," he whispered.
The bandit barely had time to see the flame before Giotto fired a sharp blow through the air. The flame flew in a straight line like a golden spear, piercing his forehead with a dry crack. The body jolted once… then went still.
Giotto lowered his arm. But his right hand began to tremble uncontrollably.
My body… it's not ready to use this kind of flame in combat. Not for long…
"Scum…" he muttered bitterly.
For a moment, something dark and ancient overtook his eyes. A reflection of what he once was: Luciano Gravina, the Silencer of Sicily. Justice was judgment, but Luciano's judgment was final fire.
Giotto forced himself to breathe. He closed his fist.
I can't allow that side to control me… but I can't deny it either. It's part of who I am now.
He looked at the lifeless body one last time, then turned toward the forest, back to the mansion.
The day was just beginning… and the legacy still had to be built.
...
Giotto looked at her seriously. His eyes held no hatred, but an unshakable resolve.
—"He was a bandit. A sinner beyond redemption. He stole, he killed, he ruined lives. Sometimes, Sana, executing those who commit injustice… is justice itself."
She lowered her gaze in silence. Not convinced, but with nothing else to say.
Even after taking the mansion, Giotto didn't lower his guard. He remained vigilant, expecting more bandits to show up. But something else was troubling him: they needed to truly establish themselves. And for that, they needed resources.
So he made a decision.
—"We're going to visit the capital of the Land of Lomo," —he announced one morning while the children ate rice and boiled roots.
—"The city?" —Haru asked, his eyes lighting up.
Giotto gave a sarcastic smile.
—"City… they call it a city, but if it has more than 300 houses, that's already a lot. In my time, we called that a town. A big town, maybe—but a town."
Reijiro, already appointed as his captain for the future organization, chuckled softly. The others, even if they didn't understand what time their leader was referring to, assumed he spoke from experience.
—"Are we all going?" —Sana asked.
—"Yes," —Giotto nodded—. "I won't leave anyone behind just yet. This mansion still isn't ready to face serious attacks."
So they set out toward what was called the capital of the Land of Lomo. The five children accompanied him: Haru, Daiki, Reijiro, Sana, and Takeshi. They walked along a dusty path until they reached the simple buildings of the town.
The streets were muddy, the rooftops made of straw, the walls of untreated wooden planks. People in plain tunics traded rice, dried fish, and fabrics. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and damp earth.
Giotto watched everything carefully.
—"This place is a paradise for the ambitious," —he murmured with a crooked smile.
—"What do you mean?" —Daiki asked.
Giotto narrowed his eyes.
—"It means this land is fertile... for business. But not ordinary business. I'm talking about organizations. Hidden power. Here, we could start something big… very big."
Reijiro stepped closer, serious as always.
—"What kind of organization do you have in mind?"
Giotto didn't answer right away. He stopped in front of a stall selling rusty weapons and stared at some knives that, in his former world, wouldn't have lasted a single fight.
—"Picture this… a network that controls commerce from the shadows. That enforces order where neither feudal lords nor guards can reach. Imagine people fearing and respecting a name—not because of laws, but out of loyalty and fear."
The boys stared at him, wide-eyed. Haru looked confused, Takeshi excited, Daiki curious. Sana frowned.
—"That… sounds like a mafia," —she finally said.
Giotto glanced at her and smiled ironically.
—"Mafia? What a curious word."
—"We can't do that!" —Sana insisted—. "It's immoral! That's manipulation, threats—!"
Giotto raised an eyebrow and feigned innocence.
—"Relax, relax. Our version will be… more ethical. Yes? More moral. No unnecessary killings, no cruelty. Just… discipline. Order. Justice—our way."
Reijiro let out a short laugh, and the other boys exchanged looks filled with a mix of doubt and complicity. They all knew Giotto was "adapting" his ideas. Sana might protest, but the others… followed him with near-religious faith.
Because they didn't just admire him.
They had given him their lives.
On the way back to the mansion, Giotto walked in front, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought.
—"Reijiro," —he said suddenly.
—"Yes?"
—"From now on, you'll handle field matters. Meetings, minor operations… I want you to learn how to observe. To judge. To decide."
Reijiro nodded, fully understanding the weight of what he had just been entrusted with.
...
June passed in the blink of an eye, and with it July, the month when Giotto felt the closeness of his close brother. Then came August, with its warm summer and gentle rains, a prelude to the month Giotto had been eagerly awaiting: September.
On that day, the country of Lomo was being battered by the biggest storm of the year. Thick, black clouds crowded the sky, seeking to unleash their fury upon the earth. Hurricane-like winds, nearing one hundred kilometers per hour, made the trees cling tightly to their roots, preparing for the rage that was coming. The rain began to fall softly, like an introduction to the thunderous roar the storm would unleash.
Amid this natural chaos, Giotto held in his hands the Storm Seed, whose intense glow shone brightly at the very heart of the tempest. As he watched the cloudy sky, his mind traveled back to the past, to the memories shared with G, his first friend and right hand during his life as the First Vongola.
Flashback
Giotto and G grew up together in the same village hidden among mountains and rushing rivers. From a young age, they shared games under the rain, training under the sun, and starry nights telling stories of ancient heroes.
They fondly remembered the time when, as mere children, G had ventured too close to the river during a storm, and Giotto had quickly saved him, holding him tightly to prevent the current from sweeping him away. That experience sealed an unbreakable bond between them, a silent vow of mutual protection.
Their afternoons were filled with laughter and lessons; Giotto, though more serious, was the strategist who always found a solution, while G was the free spirit, the tireless guardian who defended his friend regardless of the danger.
It was common for them, after a strong storm, to go out into the forest to collect fallen seeds, dreaming of the day those small promises of life would become towering trees, just like their friendship and their future powers.
The flame-shaped tattoo that G had worn since childhood was an ancestral symbol of his clan, representing strength, passion, and protection. Giotto, although without visible marks, felt the fire of will burning inside him with equal intensity.
Those memories, etched in time, returned to Giotto's mind in the middle of the storm, giving him the strength to move forward and reclaim everything that had been taken from them.
Giotto returned to reality as the storm reached its peak. The trees swayed violently, almost dancing to the rhythm of the wind. Suddenly, the seed floated up into the sky, and Giotto's pupils dilated at the spectacle. The seed, glowing crimson, settled in the midst of the storm and the earth itself.
"If I don't see it, I won't believe it," Giotto murmured, astonished.
The storm began to spin like a tornado, being absorbed by the shining seed. The clouds surrounding the tempest contracted until they vanished, leaving a completely clear sky.
The seed descended, but this time it had grown to a size similar to Giotto's. From it emerged a boy: G. His light red hair contrasted with his eyes of a darker shade. On the right side of his face, a flame-shaped red tattoo stood out, marking his identity as the Guardian of the Storm.
Opening his eyes, G recognized an old friend in his childlike form, just as he remembered, noticing that he himself had the same appearance.
"Hello, cousin," G greeted with a wise smile. "I am here for you again, to serve, protect, and watch over my leader and childhood friend."
G's words deeply moved Giotto, whose eyes became wet before he embraced his old friend tightly.
And thus, G, the Guardian of the Storm, was summoned once again into the world of Naruto, ready to fulfill his destiny alongside Giotto.