The hum of classroom chatter dulled to a quiet murmur as Mr. Nezu stepped up to the front, clutching a clipboard with a grin that didn’t quite match his usual tired energy.

“Alright, everyone, settle down,” he called, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve got an announcement that, frankly, I still don’t believe myself.”

The room quieted. A few students perked up, sensing something big.

“As part of an international cultural exchange program,” he began, pausing for effect, “our class has been invited on an all-expenses-paid trip… to Italy.”

Excited gasps broke out across the room. Someone in the back actually cheered.

You didn’t react. Not yet. You glanced sideways — Tsuna had gone rigid in his seat, eyes fixed on his desk like he was trying not to exist.

Mr. Nezu continued, oblivious to the tension suddenly coiling in the space beside you.

“And while we’re there,” he said, flipping a page, “we’ll be attending a very special event: the official succession ceremony of the Vongola Family’s new boss. Some kind of elite gathering.”

You could practically feel the silence roll off Tsuna like heat.

You leaned in slightly, voice just above a whisper. “So… it’s happening.”

He nodded, barely.

“I didn’t think they’d turn it into a field trip,” he muttered, a little pale.

You nudged his knee gently beneath the desk, offering a small, wry smile. “Well… at least you’ll have your classmates cheering you on when you’re crowned Mafia royalty.”

He huffed a quiet, nervous laugh, finally meeting your eyes. There it was — that flicker of warmth, of grounding. Of Tsuna.

“As long as you’re there,” he said quietly, “it won’t be so bad.”

You squeezed his hand beneath the desk, steady.

“You’ve got this, Decimo.”