#tag: ocmc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

Text

"O Capo! My Capo!" (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tignari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A/n: This township is turning into a real clownship– I definitely do NOT dedicate this to my irl friends, ya jerks /j.

Unreliable Synopsis: The Innamorati Familia might have lost almost everything, but their Capo stands tall. Just how long will you survive under 3 pairs of scrutinizing eyes? (Mafia!au. Visions do not exist.)

CW: yandere, (some) religious themes, possible major character deaths, mentions of recreational drugs, guns, etc.

YOUR CHOICES MATTER. YOU CAN VOTE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

Next Chapter

—---

[Year 192X]

"(Y/n)!!!"

At first, you were convinced you were living the Khaenri'ahn Dream. With your youthful yet crime-greased hands, you have fought hard to earn your keep as the Innamorati's current Capo– to earn yourself a family for yours to protect inside Teyvat's ruthless underworld. And family you did keep. Until candles waned like silenced hostages. Until a conspiracy pursued what little faith in humanity you had left.

Until you held your underboss' charred face and lifeless body. Until his sizzling arm burned your hand. Until flakes of Dimitri's skin powdered your fingers like charcoal pencil shavings.

The Innamorati Headquarters burned. And so too did most of your men.

"(Y/n)! Stand back– Think about your men! Would they want you to do this?! You won't save anyone there– not like this!!!"

Looking back, the Khaenri'ahn Dream lied. There was no joy in hustling but you did live an empty yet freeing life. Khaenri'ah preached about humanity and its opportune happiness, yet spoke none about how fleeting it could be once the curtains caught fire. Perhaps that very notion fooled you into believing that your idyllic lifestyle won't be snatched away easily.

The ghosts of those who perished in the manor's basement have sought their final repose on the embers that incinerated your endeavors.

Everything was terribly loud. Many people fled into the murky haze. The square was virtually deserted as people fled for their lives, but you refused to leave. This trait used to be a quality that helped you survive the syndicate, but those damn fascist conspirators turned it against you.

Tartaglia pulled you close.

"VAFFANCULO, TARTAGLIA– LET ME FUCKING GO!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!!"

You stilled, and a single heavy tear left your eye.

This is more than a mite unfair. Everything you labored for, every drop of blood you shed, every vice you committed, what was it all for? Visconti Diluc was right. You're a liar and a murderer undeserving of joy. Maybe this was the retribution he ranted aimlessly about.

You took fast and drastic measures in your rise to the top, and your opponents rightfully did the same to pull you back down.

Tartaglia watched as you writhe in agony knowing that you couldn't escape from his restrictive embrace. He never thought he'd see you appear more pathetic than when Pulcinella first picked you off the streets. Nonetheless, he felt your pain. You both led groups under the same parent organization. You are family.

To him, this was worse than accompanying his widowed sibling to their spouse's funeral.

"… My men, they're…"

You fell into deep thought.

Lyudochka, Kazari, Teppei, Viktor…

You gritted your teeth.

Viktor…

That damn brat didn't even get his chance to shift jobs… That brat still hadn't left this hellhole…

Based on the Khaenri'ahn Dream, all citizens must have an equal opportunity to achieve success through determination and pure grit…

You bit your lip down, drawing blood. In truth, you can't discern whether or not the blood came from your lips or your throat.

"DAMN IT."

Your white-knuckled hand shakily punched your thigh, feeling morbidly powerless.

Viktor said he wouldn't allow himself to die as a lowly servant…

What happened to those dreams now…?

You were so close. You were so close to taking all those fascists down. So why now?!

Tartaglia frowned. He had never seen you act like this– your anger is usually impulsive, but sharp and silent. Your fury simmers until you slice the catalyst open. Never come a time you lashed out like a feral animal as you do now.

"GET IT TOGETHER!!!"

Tartaglia shot you a piercing stare as he slapped you, and you finally reigned yourself in.

This is too pitiful.

Fire surrounded everyone, but you remained frozen by your own dialed-up emotions.

Slowly, he trusted that he could let you go.

"... Ekaterina, send in our men. We'll try to extinguish this mess as much as we can."

"Of course Capo, right away."

You held back your sobs as your knees fell to the floor, where your right-hand man's corpse lay as if he did not struggle in his miserable death.

The last time you talked to him, you called him a worthless coward who couldn't make choices without you. Pain seared through your chest. No one wants that to be their last conversation with their closest confidant.

A bloodcurdling scream rang out across the square, but you scarcely moved from your seat. You're too numb to notice who was behind that familiar voice. It was just another body that couldn't be mourned.

Your eyes focused on Dimitri's corpse instead.

You were planning to apologize after you cleared your head this morning, but what use are words to those who have already left this world? He's gone.

Fallen, cold and dead.

This is by no means the first time you've seen your men die– you had some of the deceased's blood wet your Sunday clothes– but you hope this unforgettable foul scent of burned flesh will be the last time you'll breathe it in. You're already acclimated to the metallic stench of blood; you don't need to ingrain this into your mind as well.

You passed out.

It was only when you closed your mouth did you realize, it was you who cried your lungs out the whole time.

—-----

The church bells rang.

It was 10 AM, and the mass was inching to a close but the priest passionately ignored the echoes of the bell and the mafiasos' groans.

"Is it too early to booze?" Tartaglia whispered in your ear. His yawning proved that he was bored to tears. You did your best in stopping your eyes from rolling.

Unlike Tartaglia, your aura exudes dignity, something he needed the most. When you two sit together, you both appear akin to a comedy act. The usually bloodthirsty Tartaglia transforms into a guileless little brother and your all-forgiving eyes turn endearingly annoyed when paired together. The same scenario was applied this morning.

"Tartaglia, look around you. Does this look like the right time?" You vaguely gestured at the ongoing sermon, not meeting his gaze.

"Geez. Why do we even bother with this?"

"Because even though we are nothing but lowly sinners, we must honor our Tsaritsa's benevolence."

There are 6 Archons revered by the church, and they correspond to six different regions and cities inside the nation of Teyvat. You're an immigrant from outside the country– an agnostic nation– but you're smart enough to pay respects.

"Right, right. I guess even if I asked that ten more times you'd still reply with a generic answer."

You passive-aggressively whispered back. "Maybe if your questions were worth my time I'd elaborate on my answers as well."

"Capo–"

You and Tartaglia turned around. The Fatui mob, one of yours who just got there, nervously sat up straight.

"Capo (Y/n)."

Tartaglia sank back to the pews, no longer caring. The second capo's lack of attention eased the grunt's audience-based apprehension. Their sheer trust in your credibility made you smirk. While you seemed cold, everyone in Snezhnaya knew you weren't.

You recalled how back then these words sounded alien to you but these terms are salient in the scenes. Having recruited predominantly Snezhnayan workers, you had to get used to their way of living. You wanted to foster good interpersonal relationships with your men, and there's no better approach to reach their hearts than religion in the 1920s. And by the looks of it, they seem to trust your carefully crafted sterling reputation.

You always do your job as if you're running out of time, and they put your faith in you like a farmer would a fleeting summer. With some effort, everyone was convinced they'd fall apart without your guidance.

The grunt looked at you with respect.

"Boss Dimitri delivered one very confidential info."

"I see…" You steadied yourself. "Excuse me then, Tar–"

He snatched your sleeve. Tartaglia considered removing your iconic stovepipe hat, but you don't wear it to church. He opted for the second most annoying choice.

"Hey, you can't leave me here. Don't I have every right to be in the know? Gaaahh, cut me some slack. We've practically been siblings for more than half a decade now, (Y/n). Can't you tell your fratello anything?"

"Why are you interested?"

"Cause I'm curious if it's finally time that your familia will collaborate with other factions for once."

You shook your head and sat back down. He's right.

Three major criminal organizations control the small nation of Teyvat, namely the Fatui, Akademiya, and the Adepti. You and Tartaglia are Capos or Harbingers of the former, which had the most control of Snezhnaya.

Based on your history, you don't mingle with other organizations outside Snezhnaya a lot. You had dealings with Ningguang and the Qixing before, but never their parent organization overseas which resides in Liyue.

It just so happens that Tartaglia is bolder than you are. The kid has his headquarters stationed in another province, Liyue. That province isn't far from his hometown since Teyvat is a small country but he complains like a confederate soldier. Most of what Tartaglia talks your ear out is about missing home despite finding fuses of excitement in Liyue enticing anyways. You've heard many stories from him regarding how ruthless Adepti's Prime leader, Morax, is, but that's not your problem.

The Akademiya, however, keeps to themselves. You know close to nothing about them. Snezhnaya may be the heart of trades, but the Fatui cannot tap into Sumeru's supply of canned knowledge. And you quite frankly don't give a shit about what they do. They're not the best at masking their spies.

"Speak."

"Capo, the underboss wanted to inform you that he had already figured out who the mole is."

"Oh?" You and Tartaglia spoke simultaneously.

You'd been looking for a spy among your ranks for quite some time. This mysterious mole was sending information back to Focalor, the self-proclaimed Hydro Archon better known as "Il Duce" around these parts. The braggart with a God complex promised the public that she'll drive mafiosos out of Teyvat, and she's working everyone to the bone for it. Politicians either play yes men or get on your nerves. She's the latter.

Nevertheless, you did not expect Dimitri to deliver results that fast. Bitterly, you thought about how apologizing for him later would look less genuine now that he proved himself worthy. You didn't mean to call your underboss useless– you just couldn't control your temper.

May the Archons forgive your transgressions.

You hope he'd forgive you once you get back.

"... Carry on, Felix."

"Yes, of course. The fascist conspirator is Professor Tighnari, the informant."

You snapped your head back to meet the grunt's face, bewildered.

"... What?"

"FIRE!!! THE PLAZA IS ON FIRE!!!"

One of the church's orphans– Barbara– was screaming by the door, frantically stripped of breath and her chords sounded hoarse, unlike her singing. Her weak legs barely counted as a support for her body as she toppled on the marble tiles. The groceries she carried splashed down, and some fruits rolled in your direction. Your people helped her stand up while some picked up her things for her, but the poor thing shivered like a leaf.

Barbara had always been a sister to you. Having been separated from your family at a young age as well, you two link like two peas in a pod. She relied on you like a quiet strong big sister while you protected her and the other children from street conflicts.

You stood up and calmly patted her shoulder, squeezing lightly. You gave her a gentle smile.

"My dear Barbara– take deep breaths."

She yanked your chest.

"Capo!"

Barbara began to tear up.

"It's your mansion, Capo!!! YOUR MANSION IS ON FIRE!!!"

—-------

You jolted up drenched in cold sweat.

"You're awake…"

You don't know whose voice you were expecting, but that voice was intuitively not one of them. The barren room you woke up in wasn't yours, and it's certainly not Tartaglia's manor. Considering the unfortunate events that just took place, it's foolish to think you'd wake up inside the safety of your manor. Instinctively, you reached for your holster and found it empty.

The man stepped into the light. You have a hunch on who this was. He wore a black-purple stole, vest, and strap combination, an attire you'd often see on a Sunday, yet donned a shabby brown hat on top of his silky white locks.

The stranger stared at you blankly.

"You're a disciple." You claimed.

Aside from the three mafia organizations, the Church had the superior upper hand when it came to crowd control. Nothing moves Teyvat's heart like guides and philosophies. That being said, the Church isn't afraid to get its hands filthy. They are fully aware that conversation will not solve all problems, and there is an unsaid fact that their relationship with the Fatui is far from antagonistic.

And as Capo, you're one of their most devoted patrons. The organization you belong to is filled with devotees, and have often carried out whatever mission the church wishes. Honestly, you think that the Church's fondness for the Fatui should already be a telltale sign that the Archons are nothing more than a statue made of ice.

But you shouldn't think this way. It's peculiar– romantic, even– that what saved you from the fire was your near half-hearted devotion to attending Sunday masses. To be honest, you attend partly because you want to dress to the nines. You don't know how to feel about that.

Their Holiness saved you from the embers, you can atone for your sins by suffering. And that's what this stranger is here for.

"That's correct." He said. "I work for the Sumeru Church. I was instructed to look after you until they help you renovate your manor and the panetteria beside it. That is, of course, assuming you still pass the requirements of being Innamorati's Capo."

This person did not bother easing you into things, and instead bluntly reminded you that your house and men– your home is gone.

You breathed in shakily.

Dimitri is gone…

"...You have my gratitude."

On the bright side, at least your go-to place for lunch will be back after a while. That is if Signorina Xiangling survived and the church won't abandon you.

"Don't worry, we flame to please. I'm sure our architect Kaveh was stoked to receive such a large-scale commission."

…

"I'm sorry– were you joking at a time like this?"

"Was it not funny? Hah. I think it's hysterical. Oh, would you like for me to explain it?" He didn't ask in a patronizing tone, he spoke as if you didn't have the mental capacity to know what a joke is. Which was honestly more insulting.

You didn't laugh, and he didn't apologize.

You've heard about how church officials have a clear lack in the humor department before, but you didn't take into account that they may very well be this socially inept. Which is rich, coming from you. Your transgressions weigh more than a bad joke executed at a funeral.

With a mastered poker face, you pretended that his slights did not affect you.

He extended his arm out for a handshake.

"Cyno, the former Aaru Village priest. I now work as an inquisitor." Cyno coughed, cheeks turning slightly red. "I didn't change your clothes i-in case you find it uncomfortable."

Sounds like he finds it uncomfortable instead.

His behavior perfectly lines up with his claims. The way he dressed alone encapsulates the aura of a man who used to devote himself to holy sanctums. Some minor details made it clear he's no longer part of the main clergy– that being his choker and numerous ear piercings.

You took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm (Y/n), the Innamorati Familia's Cap–"

You cringed.

"I'm… I'm just (Y/n)."

"Humble, just (Y/n)." Cyno nodded solemnly.

"No, not humble. Defeated."

"I know."

…

"Feel free to cry. I won't pass judgment over people expressing normal human emotions."

You laughed humorlessly. "Sure you won't."

Cyno grabbed the plate on the table and passed it on. "Calzone?"

You scoffed.

Admittedly, the food looked appetizing and its rich fragrance made your stomach perceive its emptiness. You trust the church, but no. Your pride would kill you for chewing food down with abandon. The only person you could eat savagely with was Barbara, and Lord knows how the poor girl is holding up. Thankfully your stomach didn't make any noise despite the pain of hunger being a treacherous one.

"I guess not." He awkwardly put it back down.

You inspected your clothes. Your once proud Prussian blue polo shirt reeked of ashes and sundered threads. Still, in a bit of a daze, you squinted.

"... Where's my coat?"

Cyno's gaze sharpened.

"I disposed of it." He spat. "You should be more alert. Someone planted a recording device on your person."

Cyno spoke in a tone that implied he knew who this person was personally, and you're inclined to think the same. You bit your bottom lip at your own seemingly minuscule mistake, opening a minor wound.

"Cazzo."

It's possible that Tighnari was the one to plant it. You let him hold your coat for a moment when you changed into your Sunday attire. That audacity of that fucking bastard.

He must've set the bomb off when he heard Nicola.

"Testa di cazzo– quel fottuto figlio di puttana." You cursed lowly.

Professor Tighnari. That man will soon find his skin flayed and draped on the walls of your basement chambers once it's rebuilt.

You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.

You'll find his family and wave their heads on a pike right in front of his chained weeping face. You'll claw the skin off their faces and rip their fingernails and limbs apart–

"(Y/n)?"

You can no longer comprehend your emotions. Inside, you are a cacophony of both forced indifference and uncontrollable spite– a contradictory pair yet one that matches how you felt towards the loss of your men and the professor's betrayal.

Slowly but surely, you saw red.

Not expecting that you would stand up, Cyno pushed you back to bed. He looked both worried yet unimpressed by your foul mouth.

"You're not supposed to leave yet."

You tried to gently pry him off, not wanting to offend the church's lackeys, but he was stronger than expected. Cyno planted you back down on the mattress. His left hand was beside your head and his face hovered above yours.

This irritated you.

You don't have much time left.

He continued. "Tomorrow, you work. Today, you rest up. Your people are with Capo Tartaglia and they're not going anywhere. If you need anything– food, water– anything at all, be sure to ring the bell. My ears are sharp. Remember, the Military Police are tailing you and the last of your men."

The Military Police? So it's Focalor's people, huh? That damn governor just won't let up, won't she? If you had nothing left to lose you would've painted her office wall with her brain matter, pronto. But you still have some reasons to continue living.

The last of your men…

Hah. Of course. You have to live for those that survived. After all, if you weren't an incompetent fucking boss you'd still have everyone in one piece.

You're so sick of this.

"May I ask who exactly reached out to help? I doubt the church would waste church funds on a low-ranked Fatui Capo such as myself."

The inquisitor averted his gaze, his brows furrowed. Cyno hid his face behind his hand, murmuring the response meekly. You don't have the best hearing—the sounds of gunshots were bound to dull your senses—and you imagined he gave a monosyllabic response.

"...e."

"My apologies, mind repeating that?"

Cyno stiffened.

"You don't need to know who. What matters is that you're safe now, and an official willingly went through signing paperwork for your manor."

"And based on your tone of voice, I assume that that official is you."

He turned his head indignantly.

"Believe what you want to believe."

Cyno's reply was a telltale sign that this conversation will go nowhere. You sighed.

"... I don't need food, but do you have cigars?"

He scrunched his nose.

"No wonder your breath smells awful nowadays." He muttered before pulling away.

Despite his insulting observation, he pulled out a box of Cuban cigars from his pocket. Quite hypocritical that he complained about bad breath when he had some too. He lit up your cigar.

"Thanks, but last time I checked this was our first time meeting." You have no particular opinion on Cohiba's cigars but this is the best you'll get at the moment. Beggars can't be choosers. "Thanks again."

Cyno ignored you both times and he was already by the door. "Please rest up. I've left some calzone, water, painkillers, and tissues for you on the table. Try not to leave the vicinity."

He exited the room.

You closed your eyes as your hand reached for your bleeding mouth. You're relatively unscathed from the incident, which means Cyno knows something about your "condition."

You chuckled.

Painkillers and tissues, huh? There's no better cure than that, and your time would run out before the world would find a better one.

—----

Cigars were not enough.

Inquisitor Cyno likely already knew that he can't keep you here for much longer, but he didn't do anything when you escaped. He did say "try not to leave" and not "do not leave", didn't he?

Cyno claimed his ears are sharp– so you guess he just didn't care at all.

As a result, you left your room and went for a walk around the neighborhood. That doesn't mean you can leave Sumeru City, but a stroll is always pleasant. The room Cyno offered was neither spacious nor cramped, but if you started digging holes in their ugly wallpaper, you doubt the church would take it lightly.

You staggered out of the chapel and entered the slums, reminding yourself that Dimitri is dead. You need to find someone worthy enough to become the next underboss. The church will not recognize you as the Capo without one, therefore they won't help rebuild the manor should you fail this task.

Hungry and out of breath, you leaned against the unscrubbed walls of an abandoned antique store, arms folded, taking in your surroundings. You were exhausted, arms sprawled against the wall.

The people behaved too jaded to be Natlan yet too reserved to be Snezhnaya– hence, you safely assumed that you were in the Avidya-Rainforest district. This place, despite lack of funds, was still under the church's watchful eye. A holy sanctum of sorts. This meant dealings are prohibited and no one would want to be caught with a glint in their eyes.

It's fascinating how much their cultures differ for a country as small as Teyvat. The same cannot be said for Khaenri'ah. Your compatriots have only known a capitalistic grind in search of an unattainable dream. A money-obsessed country does little to preserve its customs and culture. And you were the same empty machine till La Signora took you in.

You yawned while covering your mouth, appearing vulnerable.

But of course, you didn't charge into an unknown location unarmed. You knocked out one of the Inquisitor's soldiers and seized his pistol. "For security reasons", you'd argue. Once again, Cyno likely knew about that but didn't bother acting, again. You're too tired to judge his work approach, and you could barely keep your eyes open.

Till you caught a sliver of green pass you by.

"Oh! You smell funny. Are you the Capo, (Y/n) (L/n)?"

You lazily looked up.

"Umm, hello?"

You gazed down.

It's a kid. Hunger is starting to take its toll on you as you mistook her high pitch voice for an adult your size. The child, around age 5, had green hair and scraped knees.

You're certain that she wouldn't snitch about how you left your room unguarded.

"Need something?"

"Yeah, um, I just wanna say my condolences."

You ruffled her hair. "Thanks, bambini."

She beamed.

Sadly, the kid must've mistaken this as a go signal for her to continue talking. She balled her hand into a fist and nervously cheered for you.

"I-It'll be alright, Capo. You can always make new friends! I believe in you!"

"Hmm."

"I never thought I'd ever be able to make friends but I did last month! I also met my master that time and maybe I can share some of my good luck with you!"

"Hmm."

"Are… Are you listening?"

"J-Just a little fatigued." You stifled a yawn. "Why don't you play along with your new friends, little…"

"Oh, right! I'm Collei!"

"Little Collei." You coughed, and you skillfully wiped the blood away without her knowing. "Bambini, you shouldn't talk to people like me, it's dangerous. Why don't you run along and go back to your friends now?"

"Well, I can't yet because he told me not to because he's busy right now."

"Who told you that?"

Collei smiled widely.

"Professor Tighnari!"

You froze, slowly recalling your resolve.

It felt like the world froze for a brief moment as if the few people in the vicinity halted for you to catch up on what the little girl confessed.

"...Tighnari?"

"Hmm, hmm!"

"And you're close to him?" You muttered.

You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.

Your fingers subconsciously slithered to your holster.

That's what you decided moments prior.

You glared down menacingly.

"Capo…?"

But a kid?

"... Is something wrong?"

You turned your apathetic gaze back at her. You're not even sure just how much this child meant to Tighnari. She might as well just be as insignificant as a pebble on a shore. But–

The gun you stole from the church guards is with you. It's light in your hands.

The light in your eyes dimmed.

"Hello?"

It has three bullets loaded.

There are only 2 other people outside the streets, both of which are teenage civilians. Taking her out would be as easy as–

"Hey, please cheer up!!!"

The child shook you, dragging you out of your trance. Little Collei appeared distressed because of your lack of reactions. You blinked a couple of times, making yourself mentally present, before pinching your forehead. Her lips are curled downward and her eyes match her cute frown, and you were grimly reminded of what you had tried to commit.

You cursed under your breath.

You're disappointed in yourself.

This is a child. A child of the church, no less. She likely had nothing to do with whatever it is Tighnari had planned.

"You're thinking of sad thoughts too, aren't you? Don't do that! You'll only feel bad–"

"Bambini."

"Yes?"

"How many friends do you have?"

"Oh. I have two!"

She cheerfully raised three fingers.

"I have two friends! Amber and Tighnari!!!"

Because of her clear enthusiasm, you refrained from correcting her hand. Instead, you patted her head with a heavy conscience.

But are you wrong for thinking this way?

An eye for an eye…

You knelt at her height.

Your strained smile reached her ignorant eyes. "That sounds wonderful. I have– I had two best friends too. Can I be your third friend?"

"Really?!"

"Of course. I think optimistic people like you are reeaaally cool!" You lied between your teeth.

And one kid's death won't satisfy a worthy tribute for your fallen men. One child is not enough.

You need to find more just like her.

"Hehe, thank you! But Amber's the coolest! I want to be like big sis Amber when I grow up!"

"Is that so? Well– I hope to hear more from you as you grow older. I'm sure you'll be the girl you always wanted to be, and I'd like to be your friend as you get there."

Collei awed.

"W-Wow, thank you! I've never gotten a compliment like that before too…"

The child never saw the sadness in your eyes, or maybe she mistook it as fondness. You continued patting her head as she melts in your touch. Fakely, you gave her a big smile.

"Then let's get to know each other." You grabbed her hands. "Why don't you show me around town, fratella?"

You can't kill this girl yet.

She nodded eagerly.

Not until you find out just how much this child means to Tighnari.

Besides, you didn't miss the flash of purple in the alleyways. Cyno was observing you from afar. You can't make haste.

You grabbed her hand.

You'll get your revenge, someday but not today, even if it arrives at your dying breath.

—----

Someone else is watching you. A second stalker.

It's not paranoia born out of the tragedy that occurred yesterday, but a fact.

As you were greeted by an angry Candace (Cyno's coworker) who gave you a firm yet fruitless sermon about leaving the parameters, you heard the bushes rattle by the gardens. You offhandedly mentioned it to her, and it placated her fury.

Candace agreed that she heard it as well, and she promises to take care of it as soon as you go back to confinement– "your room." Collei awkwardly bid you farewell and you promised you'll see her again in a few days. She probably thought that you were her new troublesome sibling. And speaking of troublesome…

Snatching the small glimpse of metal from the table, you pivoted your heels.

"You can't hide from me."

Masterfully, you hurled a butterknife and it landed just a few centimeters above the trespasser. He grunted almost inaudibly. Had you been any less precise that aim would've killed him, but the man had the guts to trust that you wouldn't be so foolish and kill him off without a proper interrogation. It's one of many reasons Tartaglia envies your dexterity and wit.

You glared. This man wore dark clothing yet his luminescent akasha terminal betrays any hope for a successful undercover mission. The stranger promptly calculated his response as you grabbed your remaining utensils. This time, you had a sharper blade in your arsenal.

"Speak."

"My name is Alhaitham. I'm an Akademiyan spy."

No shit. He's wearing an akasha terminal. What else could he be but a pain in the neck?

You laughed sardonically. "Oh my, a bold one, are we? Think you can take me down just because of my manor?"

"I'm not here to fight you– I'm here with a proposal, (Y/n)."

And he had the nerve not to address you as Capo.

The stranger didn't see you throw a fork in his direction until he heard the metal ring beside his ear. Some strands of his hair got caught between the points, yet he feigned an unphased disposition.

"Get out."

"Alhaitham" didn't listen. He knew you'd insist until you could drag his cold dead body into the garbage chute for Wednesday's pickup. So what did he do?

State his proposal anyways.

"I want to become Innamorati's next underboss."

Your grip on the knife loosened slightly. Alhaitham watched your serious face loosen up, but not in the reaction he hoped for. Instead, you laughed at him.

Him? Replacing Dimitri? Hilarious.

"Now that's comedy! What made you think I'll hire you? I don't know your face but I know your name."

You proudly grabbed a glass and poured yourself the wine Cyno bought that you previously insisted on not drinking.

"Ahh, this should be entertaining. Alhaitham– the Akademiya's slaved accountant. Maybe I would've taken you in if you didn't reveal that you're a spy. Would've enjoyed dragging you around till you're drained like hell. You know, if you already told me that you're here to spy on me you might as well spill who ordered you to do so."

"Khajeh." He replied immediately.

You drank half a glass. "Hah! Figured. Barely ran into any scholars but that old man is as nosy and obnoxious as they come."

"In addition, he gave me permission to try and apply as your next underboss."

"Keyword here is try."

"The Akademiya had been spying on you for a long time–"

"I know. I'm not dumb enough not to notice your men skulking around. They're practically built like an elementary school's skeletal model." You clicked your tongue.

"–But if you take me, I am at your full disposal. I will work simultaneously for the Akademiya and you, so I'd let you in on canned knowledge trades. I'm not as weak as the others. I've been a member of multiple training corps with exceptional gra–"

He stopped abruptly when you placed your glass down. It's empty.

Alhaitham met your gaze and silently noted your unamused expression.

You have never once tried getting into any supply of canned knowledge, but that doesn't mean you'd dive into this shady business after the opportunity presents itself pronto. You've seen how Dottore handles his wares, and you know how it functions similarly to heroin.

You're not letting your men go through the same addiction as you had before.

"Are you done?" You cut him off, clearly aware that he barely started with his fluffs. Realizing that all he had done was brag, he changed topics immediately.

"I know a lot of things about you, Capo." Alhaitham's lips quivered for a brief moment. "I'd dare say I found all the dirt I could find."

"Is that so…" You replied, rather uninterested. These buzzwords have always been around since the day you became Capo, not once had they piqued your interest.

"You killed La Signora to inherit her title. You announced that she died bravely against Khaenri'ahn soldiers, but it was you whom she dueled with– and now you have her authority and more."

You laughed, once again sounding wholly bored.

"Should've known Akademiyan freaks like you are into conspiracy theories." You replied in an attempt to seem like you care. You're not sure if it worked.

"You neither confirmed nor denied my statement."

Cause he's half-wrong. You're not a brute. If you want something done, then it must be swift. There's no way you could've won a match against your old Capo, everyone would agree with that.

It's much easier to kill her in her sleep and frame your fellow countryman's fault for everything.

"Do you need me to?"

There was no need for you to tell him that this information is useless. Many similar-sounding theories had spread during the first few months of acting as Innamorati's new Capo. Snezhnayans are very strict when it comes to blood relations, and they're not easily convinced when you told them that it was Rosalyne's final wish to instate you as their new leader.

It was partly thanks to Viktor that the familia grew to welcome you in. He had an apparent dislike for the old capo and when you promised he'd be off guard duties his mouth started rambling. Viktor's not one to shy away from leaking the information you puppeteered him to say. You've ensured many methodologies to spread a positive campaign about you, and people began naturally supporting your cause.

All done with minimum effort.

You smiled at him sweetly. Should Alhaitham attack your reputation, you have no doubt you have the capabilities in mending it quickly despite your situation. You're loved by the Church and most importantly the masses. Now that many of your men have passed, the public would view you as a staggering symbol of mourning. Poor (Y/n).

Alhaitham didn't react. Instead, his expression dimmed, more solemn this time.

"That's just the appetizer."

He continued.

"The truth is, you barely have 2 years left to live because of Eleazar, isn't that right, (N/n)? That's why you always act like you're running out of time."

Your eyes widened.

Now he's not half wrong. That's the whole truth.

You laughed again.

"Is that your best attempt at a death threat? Don't have specialized canned knowledge to teach you when to shut the fuck up?"

"I'd be happy to let you know that I'm not the only one who has conducted some… research, Capo." He digressed and walked closer. "Inquisitor Cyno, Professor Tighnari, and I know about it. It's quite a well-kept secret, really. You ought to be thankful."

Alhaitham pulled out a tissue from his pockets.

You squinted and paused.

Oh, no wonder. So that's how he came up with that conclusion.

"You've been coughing up blood way before you joined the mafia– and it's a miracle that no one noticed your weak constitution. None except the three of us, I mean." He continued. "I had someone from our forensics team inspect this, and I'm not surprised to hear that it's from you rather than your enemies."

"Then why."

"Why?"

"Why haven't you leaked this yet? Isn't this a good thing for you Akademiyans?"

Alhaitham smirked.

"I believe I should be the one to govern my actions– why else would I stalk these dilapidated rooftops?"

"Then how long have you known?"

"Trust me, the three of us knew longer than you'd imagine. I knew about your secret ever since you sold matchsticks for a living."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"That was five years ago…"

"So? Doesn't change that you've been diagnosed for well over six years."

"I was barely anyone back then– I was just a beggar hustling on the streets– why make such an idiotic claim?" You rolled your eyes. "I've heard enough. Leave, while I still allow it."

Alhaitham's face softened.

"So you don't remember me…"

He handed you the tissue, and you reluctantly accepted it.

As your hands met, Alhaitham pulled you close to his chest. His face looked down on you, smug and condescending.

Alhaitham caressed your cheek, and then your lips. You flushed at the sudden contact and quickly tilted your dagger near his neck.

He whispered into your ear.

"What a delicate flower you are, tesoro. But I will not lie, you're far from youthful– you're wilting, and I loathe watching this all unfold from afar any longer."

The Akademiyan gently pushed your dagger away and kissed your wrist. Your eyes sharpened, hastily aiming for his neck but he swiftly changed trajectory. He knew this was just a reminder that he could die in your hands if you will it. Alhaitham is not blind. He saw the way you curved your hand at the last second to prevent a lethal blow.

He stood a few feet away, no longer at arm's length. Alhaitham pushed the curtains aside with one foot already out the window.

"I'll meet you again here, 6 AM sharp. Tell me whatever it is that you decide then." He said before confidently adding "I look forward to working with you soon, (N/n)."

In the same fashion he entered, he left the room quietly. Deciding that you don't care enough to watch him leave the premises, you locked the windows shut.

You sighed, exhausted, and pulled the curtains closed.

Life won't let you catch a break…

Now, what's your schedule for tomorrow?

—------

Note: this is an interactive fic! The underlined word will lead you to a google forms link to decide what happens in the next chapter! Have fun voting!!!

Deadline: October 20, 2022 October 16, 2020

Next Chapter

897 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

Text

The Fox Hunt (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tighnari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A very brief summary of chapter 2 for those who had to skip due to CWs: You had been bottling your grief. You hired Alhaitham as an underboss and he tagged along when you negotiated with Diluc. (Thanks to his presence, you avoided getting kidnapped by the Visconti). When you visited the church, Rosaria offered to help you track Tighnari down and Cyno shared his story about losing his younger brother later on. At night, you decided to visit your old underboss's grave. An old friend, Dainsleif, found you in the cemetery, and helped you finally cry your eyes out for all the lives you lost that day.

CW: yandere & religious themes, mafia syndicates (therefore guns, violence, etc). Possible major character death. THIS IS AN INTERACTIVE FIC: YOUR CHOICES MATTER.

"O Capo! My Capo!" - Chapter 3

Previous chapter

—----

[4 years ago:]

"You seem to be stealing fleeting glances earwards the whole time I've been leafing pages."

"Ah, so you've noticed." You spoke sheepishly. "My apologies, Professor, but your ears are…"

Tighnari's ears boastfully straightened as he shrugged with a tiny smile.

"They do not feel as nice as you're imagining. They honestly just feel like any regular cat's or dog's."

"Your behavior says otherwise." You said. "But it's deserved. You groom it every other hour, don't you?"

"Hah?"

On a late 1910s night, renowned writer Professor Tighnari prepared his next discussion in the Innamorati Familia’s mansion.

Why inside such a dangerous place? Well, what is Teyvat without corruption? The Syndicates remained in control for most of Teyvat, and no military forces can quell their power. It reached a period where people cannot envision life without these organizations as detrimental to society. No man can exhaust the flames that burn brightly amongst the Fatui mafiosos, and should they try, they'll only find smoke in their wounded chest.

Professor Tighnari joined the Innamorati Familia when several academics from his university inexplicably vanished. The fox believes they'll target him next based on their trend of research topics. He initially gave his services in exchange for the security of his research, but unanticipatedly discovered that everyone in the Familia has values, culture– precious lives of their own. They were kind people who simply had a penchant for violence. As strange of a revelation as it may sound, they lived their lives hurting as little as they could with their religious restrictions upheld by their capo.

Not long after that, the hitherto snarky professor had become close friends with the aforementioned boss.

"Don't think I don't notice that every time I'm about to enter the room, you brush your fur like you're five minutes late to a party."

"I-I just wanted to look presentable, that's all. Do you think I'd show up to work with bed hair? Who am I? Dimitri?"

Aware of his sharp tongue but lacking the means to keep it in check, Tighnari accidentally insulted your underboss. The hairs on his body stood and he was ready to make a fool of himself by offering an apology, but your usually unreadable resting face looked warm.

"Mhm. Sure. I'll choose to believe that." Without hiding your curiosity, you turned back to his ears. His ears were not touched, despite your hands being close to his head.

"A-as you should." Fortunately, Tighnari is good at masking his emotions. If cowardice overcame him, he would encounter a blade's glimmer rather than your gaze. Tighnari digressed by returning to his books while maintaining the illusion that his thoughts were clear.

"Alright then. Platonically, can I pet you?"

"... Excuse me?"

"You're one of those Vulpes who always wondered why close friends would think touching your ears would make you angry right?" You told him in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

Tighnari is a smart man, yet he is unable to understand how your mind may go in circles and still arrive at a logical conclusion. He did ask, but it didn't make sense. You sincerely advised him to give up most possessions and gain a new perspective from the experience when he sought guidance on how your deduction functions. There is no way in hell that he would act in that manner.

You continued. "I'm just skipping that whole step. So, are we intimate enough for me to run my fingers through your hair?"

Tighnari snorted. "Phrasing, Capo."

"So, am I a close enough friend to touch you in that special area?"

"You'll never get me flustered– I might just bite you instead if you keep testing me."

"What a major shame."

Your gaze lowered to the pages he was writing. Tighnari is a well-known botanist at the University of Teyvat, a public university for bright students with limited financial resources. His intricate writing style regarding the fundamentals of bryophytes speaks volumes. You doubt that students can understand what he jotted down, but then again, Tighnari's an effective communicator.

In all honesty, you hated those books, not because of their contents, but because of the memories laced within them.

These were the type of pages you sift through in hopes that you will be the one to decipher a cure. Dottore used to help you sort through whatever books were more easily digestible. Nowadays staring at something related to moss feels akin to reading about an end of a long relationship. It was fun and exciting, but ultimately the compatibility led nowhere. As much as you want to tell him that he should take his research elsewhere, he'd probably reply with a sassy "Or what? Are you going cage me?" reply. Simply not worth the effort or time.

He cleared his throat, his cheeks dusted in a pinkish hue. "Whatever. You can pet me if y–"

"Mosses huh? Why this area of study?" Those words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Tighnari tucked his tail underneath his chair, his eyes unblinking.

" … I have a theory."

You nodded, recognizing the shift in his tone. "Go on."

"The Goddess of Flowers often described in their books that Sumeru's mosses have an intricate healing property in them that can only be harnessed by those who are as knowledgeable as the Scarlet King."

"I never thought you were a devotee."

"I'm not," Tighnari answered. "I only believe in Gnosticism when it benefits me."

Spoken like a true University of Teyvat graduate.

"But phytotherapy is a rather complex and time-consuming field– why focus on this?"

"And why does a Capo like you know that?" Tighnari asked, and you digressed immediately to avoid him probing on things he need not know.

"–Our familia is doing fine, Professor. Hmm... Is there someone in particular that you're praying for good health–"

"You have Eleazar, don't you, Capo?"

You knew it. He saw the recollection in your gaze when you glanced at his books. You weren't surprised that he figured it out quickly. You were just waiting for him to confess that he knew your condition. However, you just didn't expect him to ask at that very moment.

This time, you patted his head without asking, tracing your fingers around his fluffy ears. You grinned. Your smile was just a centimeter off and your shoulders were square; neither of those rigid signs sent him a positive response. The way you held his ears was restrictive, far from the quote-unquote "platonic" gesture you offered earlier. Your soft chortles sent chills down his spine and your glare froze his nerves akin to Snezhnayan rivers.

"Hoping to sell that information, Vulpes?"

"Of course not!" Tighnari was shocked to hear himself raise his voice. "I'm not stupid."

You hummed and pulled your hand away. Tighnari may have acted tough, but you knew he was shaken by that exchange.

Oh well, it's not like you were being serious.

You just did that so you can hold his ears. (By the way, he lied. They're even fluffier than most animals.)

Unbeknownst to you, Tighnari found your touch enthralling. He shook by an entirely different reason compared to your assumption.

Talking to you was addictive. Tighnari could take his studies elsewhere, but what's the point if you're not there?

He chuckled.

Save for the low-volume classic jazz the fox played in the background, you both indulged in the comfortable silence of each other's presence. An atmosphere as cozy as this makes it tempting to brush your cheek against his shoulder and flutter your eyes shut– but the dawn hasn't crept in and you will not be deterred from your sleep schedule. Tighnari's pleasant pen strokes came to a halt, releasing you from your trance.

"Capo?"

"... Yes?" You sucked your yawn in.

"If– If I told you I could find you a cure, but I'd have to sell my soul for it, what would you do?"

"Easy question: don't."

He was taken aback. Tighnari did not expect that answer.

"But why?"

"I know that look in your eyes, Tighnari." You shifted on the sofa, doing your utmost to stay awake. "Those were the same eyes Dimitri had when he killed his step-sister. That's the gaze of a feral animal. You're part of my familia, Tighnari– I'm not letting another fratello of mine lose himself to greedy impulse."

"What if–"

"No."

You spoke dangerously low in the tone Tighnari hears when you interrogate those who were chained in your basement. This was not the voice you used to talk to your men. This (Y/n) was not just commanding– this Capo was daunting and domineering. And he would loathe being at the receiving end of your torturous whip and fingers.

Suddenly, Tighnari had an epiphany.

Before he could save a kind friend, the professor would have to save a cold-blooded murderer first.

"Alright. Fine then. If you don't want to be the patient who'll help me get a Nobel Prize then have it your way." Tighnari joked, but his mind was made up.

He won't do as you commanded.

"But don't think I'll stop studying mosses. The world doesn't revolve around you, Capo, I still have many to save."

And just like that, he retired for the night.

Once upon a time, these half-asleep conversations were routinely done in order to check up on one another. A Capo is the busiest person one could be in Snezhnaya, and it warmed his heart to know you allot some time for his mundane conversations. But these heartfelt gestures are now mere ashes behind Tighnari.

Never to return.

—----

[Morning, 1 AM:]

The Fatui Headquarters is a daunting place.

Filled to the brim with murderous sociopaths, no sane man would act juvenile amongst your crowd. This room never fails to make you feel small. Everyone, from 2nd to 10th, showed up dressed to the nines with capes and fur, which was slightly less grand than the funeral clothes everyone wore for La Signora. Their extravagant yet sensible winter attire contrasts sharply with your unimpressive standard Prussian-blue coat in the sea of whites and blacks.

"Can't believe you showed up."

You turned to face the front. Scaramouche, in his custom-made Kasa hat, sat on the opposite end and sneered with disdain.

This gremlin never took a shine to you. The feeling is mutual. Whenever he utters a nasty word, the impulse to clothesline him to the nearest tree arises.

"It's not a habit of mine to miss meetings, it's not gonna change now no matter your wishes, Scaramouche."

"You dare use that tone against me? Remember who you are talking to, number eight."

As the 8th Capo– higher only for Tartaglia (10th) and the 9th– you were looked down on by the rest of the Harbingers. Had the 1st rank not been filled by a fellow Khaenri'ahn, Archons know how mistreated you would've been.

"I have a firm grasp of my identity. Never have I shared your indecisiveness, number six." You spat. "What about you? Have you decided on whether or not you're human yet?"

Everyone knows that Scaramouche may not even be human, but no one would open that can of worms other than you.

He crossed his arms.

"Maybe after you figure out whose fault it was that your men died, you… or that fox?"

"SHHH!!!" Tartaglia shook his pointer finger near his lips. When he noticed you staring, he donned his best brotherly smile. "H-Hey (Y/n), what do you think about the rising inflation in Mondstadt City?"

Tartaglia actively avoided talks about the Innamorati Arson Incident. It's been days and he has not once brought it up. You recalled how when you first visited his manor, he asked about your experience in the church of Sumeru– and it was solely focused on what happened AFTER the incident.

… Now that you think about it, he probably made those stupid jokes about Alhaitham that day because he didn't want you to look so grim.

"More problems with their funds, considering how most of it is all gone." The shorter man managed to still find a quip along the way. "Honestly, why are they even here? Shouldn't they go back to selling matchsticks by now?"

You visibly stiffened.

"Shut it, Scaramouche." Arlecchino interjected with a sympathetic yet mildly condescending outlook. "They're still a Capo through and through, even if they're past their prime."

Prime.

That's how they referred to the Dottore who had never taken a dose of canned knowledge. The youthful and composed Dottore you were once friends with.

You've always dealt with the very murky morality of your line of work by contrasting the transgressions of your coworkers. At least you went through rehab and detox when you were hooked on heroin. Meanwhile, he hasn't done anything other than feed his addiction. Truly, Zandik is fortunate to receive a wage that exceeds his necessities.

You and a monster like him are not so different, not anymore. He is no longer human; instead, he is a corpse that runs back home covered in more scrapes than on his previous visit. As for you? Well…

Batting your eyes, you scoffed breathlessly. Are you really past your prime? Words failed to come up when you tried thinking of a retort, and perhaps that was for the best.

Finally, the man of the hour entered the room.

Like many Khaenri'ahn kids, you formerly held Pierro in high regard. He was the gleam of hope that even impoverished and orphaned immigrants might change the tides, even if it was in a world other than their home country. For most, he's the one who would nod his head upward. Pierro, the first Khaenri'ahn Capo, was the hero in the eyes of your younger self who lived off thanks to the table scraps of your even younger foster siblings. Tsaritsa knows you fumbled on your first meeting, and you were proud that was the only time you embarrassed yourself in front of him.

Considering how things are now, it certainly wasn't the case.

Pierro took a proud stance and showed no remorse for what had happened to you. His gaze veered in your direction. At that very moment, if you had been blinking, you would have missed the disappointed expression on his face. He promptly rotated the whiteboard after removing his sheets from his folders.

You stood up. "Lord Pier–"

"Let's start."

You sat back down again.

The entire meeting was a blur. You felt like you weren't there the entire time. Arlecchino eagerly chatted about her child soldiers whilst the other occasionally quipped a word or two. When her turn was done, it was Scaramouche, then Capitano, then Tartaglia– not once had the bottle turned to face you. The reason behind that is simple:

Pierro did not plan to call you, Number 8th, during any of his discussions.

—---

The meeting was adjourned, but far from over. Just as you were about to head to the cathedral, a lithe hand pulled your coat sleeve, stopping you from reaching the front gates.

You sighed, looking at their perfect doll-like fingers, there's no one else it could be other than…

"Shylock businesses aren't my style– ask Tartaglia instead."

"You know damn well that's not what I'm gonna ask, Brighella?"

"Then what is it, Kunikuzushi?"

He flushed red at your venomous retort.

Neither of you liked those names– unlike you, who dislike your Harbinger title purely because it sounds stupid– Scaramouche doesn't like hearing his baptismal name out of family reasons. Guess who's the more insecure one between the both of you.

"Are… Are you al– tch. Forget it." He paused before he scoffed and pointed his finger accusingly. Scaramouche grumbled. "I invested a lot of money in your casino project, so there better be some results!"

You nodded, barely paying attention to his tirades. His infantile behavior was never endearing to you; you either find it repulsive or boring. With the weighing pressure on your mental state, you were quick to chuck his new burlesque anger as mind-numbingly monotonous this time.

"Sure."

"Sure? Sure what, worm?"

"The Casino is not affected– the men who handled it are all alive. Zero casualties."

Unless you count Dimitri who used to manage the Casino in his spare time.

"That's good to hear." Surprisingly, he sounded genuinely relieved for what felt like their safety rather than financial compensation.

"Agreed. Are we done here?"

His grip on your sleeve tightened.

"One final thing." Scaramouche leaned closer. "Use caution. Tighnari had likely received divine favors."

"Maybe you're stupid or you just don't care, but my devotion to Gnosticism is just a front. I appreciate your concern, though."

"I wasn't concerned. Just can't have my idiotic colleague underestimate what the divine can do." He smirked. "Can't have you burning another property you don't deserve."

You yanked your sleeve away.

Heartless puppet.

"Goodbye, Balladeer."

—----

[Morning, 3 AM:]

With Felix trailing behind you (Alhaitham was in his Akademiya job), you both entered the church searching for Sister Rosaria.

The stained glass of the church had recently been updated. No one was surprised when disciples started taking away any hydro-related emblems from all northern churches. Even if those pieces of art are incredibly captivating, the fascists had already started utilizing them as a sign of movement, thus they are deemed not worth saving for future generations.

"Since when did they begin removing those things?"

"Since yesterday," Felix said with bags under his eyes. It's clear to you that he genuinely didn't want to be here. "Under Architect Kaveh's orders."

"I see. Go get some rest, Felix. There are surely some empty rooms in the convent."

"Thank you, Capo."

You let him leave.

Should you die today, you've already written a will that Felix will be the one to inherit your position. You'll let him have his quite-possibly-last good sleep before the Capo life keeps him busy.

You stared back at the glass.

In a way, architect Kaveh was similar to Alhaitham in that you were familiar with their names but not their faces. Even though he is consistently the first to offer to assist you with construction, this man always finds a way to decline your requests for an audience. The last time it was because he caught boar fever (how? ), but that was nothing compared to the time he wrote you a disorganized handwritten letter about how an Akademiyan spy sabotaged his clothes after breaking into his home and harassing him to gain confidential information.

... At least he has extraordinary talent. You can excuse any eccentric traits as long as a person's value outweighs the costs. That is the same reasoning you employed when you hired Alhaitham.

"(Y/n), is it true that you're going to find Tighnari?"

That voice couldn't be anyone else but your little fratella.

You were about to answer with a firm "yes", but when you turned around you felt a pang of guilt seeing how troubled she looked. Her hands gripped the hem of her dress in a suffocating hold and her eyebrows were knitted together.

"In Sumeru City? Of all places?" Barbara scurried and hugged your arm.

"Don't go. Please."

[CHOSE: REASSURE BARBARA]

"Mia sorella, don't worry…" you cooed and soothingly lowered your gaze before bluffing. "Sumeru City's a lot safer nowadays. Alhaitham told me so."

[DID NOT CHOOSE: SAY "GOODBYE"]

[FAILED TO UNLOCK CHANCE FOR SECRET ROUTE: "MUSICIAN VENTI"]

"No…" Barbara stiffened and tore herself away. She clenched her fist, but everything else about her was calm and resolved.

Barbara looks exactly like you when she's mad. She mimicked your traits so perfectly.

"No. You're lying. I heard Sister Rosaria talk to Inquisitor Cyno– it's not safe there."

"Barbara…" You traced your thumbs against her cheek. Her heartfelt display of anger almost successfully beseech you to reconsider. She slapped your hand away, but you kept talking. "I have to go."

“No. No, you don't– don’t be prideful! At least bring some of your men with you.” Barbara argued.

You can’t. Some are stationed to help with church work while others are with Visconti Diluc. You purposely made them preoccupied so that they won’t put themselves in danger (like you.) Besides Tartaglia, there’s no other Capo who loves their people more than you– and perhaps this overprotective nature will be your cause of death, but so be it.

“Sister Rosaria will tag along. I'll be back soon– like I always do." You scooted closer to her, bending your knees a bit. With an unnoticeably forced chuckle, you shook her slightly. "C'mon, it's me, your very cool older Capo sibling. Don't you have faith in me?"

"I-I…"

There are two things that can convince a pure-minded individual like her who has been sheltered from harm: a prayer and a cheerful smile.

"If you're worried about me, why don't you pray for my safe return?"

And you know damn those are the only thing that helps Barbara keep moving forward– the two things that help keep her sanity intact or else she'll break down. Religion is her sole solace. Despite living in poverty, she wouldn't sin. She's "used to hunger", that's just the type of person she was. Without prayers and smiles, nothing can help Barbara forget how her real biological sister left her in this chapel.

"Can you do that for me, sorella?"

Barbara paused.

Snezhnayan men are the most religious. The people of Mondstadt nor Sumeru couldn't possibly compare with how Snezhnaya rears their impressionable children. Barbara was raised in this chapel and Snezhnayan culture ran deep in her veins.

“F-Fine.” Barbara sighed. “I’ll pray for you.”

You ruffled her hair.

“Grazie, sorella.”

—----

After reassuring Barbara that you will be safe and praying to an archon you don’t believe in, you slithered behind the church.

"You watched everything earlier, I presume?"

Inquisitor Cyno didn’t move a muscle from his position. He was leaning by the wall, staring at the church cemetery. Still, he cracked up a small yet wholesome smile. He seemed pleased by your response.

[AFFECTION METER: 39.05%]

"It's in my job description."

You smiled sweetly. "Forgive my sins, Inquisitor, I forgot you were a professional stalker."

"Not stalking; I'm monitoring you."

"What's the difference?"

"Stalking has a more sinister connotation."

"Oh, then forgive me, your holiness." You theatrically bowed.

Cyno nodded. "You are forgiven."

You laughed loudly.

The inquisitor innocently raised his eyebrow and tilted his head. His pup-like demeanor shut you up. Apparently, that response wasn't a joke. Ex-priest Cyno wholeheartedly forgave you in a religious fashion.

Why is he only hilarious when he's not trying to be?

You cleared your throat. "My apologies, I suddenly remembered a joke, that's all."

"Would you mind sharing?" Cyno asked. "I want to find new comedy material. My previous jokes didn't seem to work."

You were about to cut it straight that he's the joke but ultimately decided to keep your mouth shut. 'You mean 'ALL your jokes don't seem to work.'' is what you wanted to say, but kindness is not the absence of mean-spiritedness. It is when you are restricting such actions.

“I don’t think you’d find it funny.”

“Is it an inside joke?”

How very kind of him to offer you a way out of this one.

“Something like that.”

“Then I won’t ask.” The Inquisitor nodded. "But there’s something else I want to request. Won’t you allow me to join you–"

"No."

[CHOSE: DO NOT INVITE INQUISITOR CYNO]

[AFFECTION METER: 25.00%]

Cyno paused.

You cannot allow him to join. Since you observed how the inquisitor and your new underboss interacted, you had a feeling that Cyno's presence would cause more issues than they would solve. He knew Tighnari well. He might even kill him before you do if he is provoked. Besides, it's not as though any sane man would hold an Inquisitor captive if given the chance; that would be like trying to wrestle an alligator to scare a dog.

Plus, you want to exploit Cyno and Tighnari's previous friendship against him. The safest course of action is to bluff and say you'll kill Cyno should that bastard try anything funny.

“Why not?”

“I hate to impose or be more indebted to you, Inquisitor. My conscience will not allow it.”

Cyno frowned.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to rely on others, Capo.”

“How very strange that I’ll hear that coming from you,” You said. “I know it is not my place to say this, but I’ve done my research and found out that you fulfill your duties alone. Candace kindly told me that you’ve always been a lone wolf, so I can’t say I’m persuaded by your advice.”

“Hmm. Understandable.” That’s all he could say. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You held his hand. He flinched, both shoulders tensed up like a shocked cat.

Your hands weren’t warm. They were cold. But as a desert dweller his hands oddly fit well with yours– a perfect balance. Unlike you, however, he had never used these hands to do evil. The Inquisitor silently wondered how would it feel like if these fingers wrung his neck–

Cyno closed his eyes.

He cannot think of such sinful thoughts.

“Please relax, Inquisitor.” You spoke, circling the back of his palm. “I know what I’m doing.”

Should those words be the whole truth, then you must know unsavory your actions must be behind the pretense of kindness.

You debaucher.

“Do you now…”

You grinned.

That effectively made his heart skip a beat.

Cyno doubts you somehow knew about your hold on him.

“Hmm!”

“Fine. Then I’ll let you be.”

—----

He shouldn’t do this.

He’s worried. The Inquisitor did work with the spy before–

But Cyno doesn’t trust Alhaitham.

Cyno handed the disciple a dagger.

Alhaitham is calculating and most of all selfish. This was the man who actively disobeyed the church’s teachings unapologetically. Perhaps such behavior is cultured in the Akademiya but Cyno cannot stand it.

Maybe that's why he tried stopping himself first, but after that fire…

Cyno's overprotective nature worsened.

He convinced himself that this feeling was a product of his past losses and argues that this is just a precaution. The Goddess has given him a second person to watch over. A second Usir. A new blessing to make up for his past transgressions.

And he will not waste this second chance.

"Take this. And do not forget my orders."

—---

[Morning, 4 AM]

Towering dome buildings, abundance of trees yet eerily silent streets– Sumeru City was not a tourist spot for amusement.

Considering these facts, Dunyarzard, in all her former glory, still built a large theater underground called The Zubayr Theater. She had the intention of making the city a more joyous location with her contributions, and it's sad to see that it had done little to brighten up its citizens. Then again, Dunyarzard probably won’t be bothered by this if she lived longer.

You would know this because she was once your friend too.

Dunyarzard...

It’s a shame an invasive fox is hiding inside her paradise-on-earth.

That, and a troublesome dog too.

You glanced at Alhaitham. He behaved strangely the entire time, glancing at his watch as if he were counting his seconds down. Soon enough, he walked closer and tapped your shoulder.

"(N/n)."

Assuming this is about the akasha terminal he let you borrow, you let him talk. "Go on, speak."

[AFFECTION METER: 28.00%]

"Tuqburni."

"… what?"

"Means you bury me in Sumeru," Alhaitham said, looking away sheepishly. "I decided it'd be best if you heard it again, even if Cyno isn’t here."

Is he trying to imply that an Inquisitor would care enough to kill him? Please. He’s an insignificant cog in the grand scheme of things. If he’s so sure you’ll lead him to his death then he should just quit. Go back to being an Akademiyan spy, it’s not that hard.

"Good to know." You'll forget about that word in ten minutes, tops.

He pursed his lips, troubled. "You don't remember what Tuqburni means?"

"Can't remember something I never learned."

Alhaitham frowned.

"I see…"

Sister Rosaria swerved her way between you two before pushing Alhaitham away with little force. "Take a hike. We don't have time to entertain you, underboss."

His nose scrunched. "Sister Rosaria, age 25. Weight 80kg, height 5'9, address–"

"Yeah, no shit I know where I live, so what?" The nun retorted. "Think you can take me on with your calculator, kid?"

You snorted.

"I'm not trying to intimidate you," Alhaitham spoke. "I'm letting you know that–"

"Whatever." Rosaria clicked her tongue. "Capo, what're your orders?"

Thank the Tsaritsa that Rosaria is here.

“We’ll split.” You pointed at the theater. “There are three main sections in Zabayr.”

You handed Rosaria a map. Alhaitham didn’t ask for a copy– he presumed that you already trust that he knew the location with the help of new technology. Instead, it was Rosaria who had a follow-up question.

“Where’s your copy, Capo?”

“They don’t need one,” Alhaitham answered. “They were here when the place was built– they helped Lady Dunyarzard build her dream theater.”

“I didn’t issue any orders for you to speak.” You glared. “Know where you stand, underboss.”

You cleared your throat. "As I was saying, we'll split up. I'll scout the theater, Rosaria outside the buildings, and you're on the apex building. Understood?"

"Yes."

"Of course."

—----

Despite saying "of course" confidently, Alhaitham found himself in a small library.

This was likely NOT the place you ordered him to find, but the wealth of information stored around here was relevant to your investigation. Why? Because these were records haphazardly left by the fascists.

Their intel was right. The theater was one of their headquarters.

"These runes…" His eyebrows furrowed. “‘A tool that can only be used if the wielder upholds absolute justice above all else and would sacrifice the means for a satisfactory end.’ None of these descriptors match the Akademiya’s records at all, except...”

Alhaitham's eyes widened.

This specific piece of information corroborates how Tighnari behaved thus far.

"However, if the Archons live with us and not Celestia then isn't it possible that Focalor is–"

His fingernails dug into the papyrus while his eyes frantically skimmed through its contents. If the contents of this papyrus were true, then what the hell was that collaboration between La Signora and the Adepti about? What the hell did they exchange?

Alhaitham heard the sound of breathing.

He turned around and turned on his terminal, hoping to reach you before the assailant stops him.

"(N/n), be careful! Whatever Tighnari's holding, that's a gn–"

[SHUTTING DOWN…]

—---

The Akasha Terminal buzzed, the signal muffling its voice. You surmise that this was caused by the theater's layout. The architect of the Zubayr Theater– which is funny enough, still Kaveh– specifically chose this location for its lack of noise. That being said, it would be nice to watch an actual play here now that Alhaitham wouldn't bother you with his senseless blather. Pity that no one's performing.

"… B… c…ful! Wh….. na… ri…ho…."

"T…s … ...sis!"

You shook your head and nonchalantly thought out loud.

"The terminal must be acting up."

There's no one there to accompany you in your confrontation with Tighnari should you encounter him, and you preferred it this way.

You opened the door to the main stage.

And you finally found him.

You spotted the back of his silhouette lingering on the theater’s second floor. Props were crushed and some built-in chairs were knocked over. Whoever wreaked havoc around Dunyarzard’s theater had to pay– but that isn’t your main priority. Your target is already right here.

The professor no longer wore his cotton dark caramel coat– instead, he replaced it with a blander yet bolder black one that made his figure look larger. His eyes were vacant, looking forward as if a person would warp from near the ceiling. The bastard appeared to be waiting for someone.

Someone that isn’t you.

"Hello, professor."

A chill shot down his spine as his eyes met yours. Tighnari looked down, seeing you stare at him with a small smile. There was malice behind your peaceful expression. He made indescribable noises when he took a step back. No one else was in the vicinity except for the two of you, but his thoughts screamed that there was nowhere else to run. Tighnari knew that look was nothing he had ever seen before– a look of pity and anger reserved only for a dead man walking.

He sensed bloodlust, and it was consumingly relentless.

"It's been a while. Mind if I bother you outside office hours?"

Tighnari's hands were trembling but the rest of his limbs were frozen. He couldn't completely deny the possibility that he could die at this very moment. After all, he had seen your agility wipe out an entire floor of men with two dull daggers. If that was lazily done to protect him, he can only imagine the full extent of your abilities. On the bright side, at least you were below him and he could sprint somewhere– he just didn’t know where that is.

When you go on a hunt, you don’t stop until you catch your prey.

The professor knows that damn well.

"N-No," Tighnari answered with false confidence. "No, I don't."

"Can I ask a few questions, then?"

Your way of speaking contradicts whatever thoughts you both had in mind. Your voice inflection bounced off lightly, but the air shifted as soon as you traced your holster.

He didn't reply, and you took that as a yes.

[FREE TALK EVENT: START]

[READER REPLIES MARKED IN RED]

"Why."

It came out more like a general statement than a question, so you repeated it with added conviction. You're not a static force. You're here because you willed it– you're here to satisfy your demands. Your lust for revenge.

"Why did you do it? Why did you burn my manor?"

Like a grim reaper appeasing their curiosity, you spoke calmly while simultaneously patronizing his inconsequential life.

Tighnari bit his lip. "You already know why–"

"But I need the confirmation, the closure. Any reason to make your death tenfold more satisfying."

"I did it so that you'd get your cure."

Your eyes squinted.

Of course he did. You don't doubt him. You've known his obsession with Eleazar and how he rightfully suspected that you're burdened by this illness.

But he took the whole truth and poured some out.

"That still doesn’t make sense, Professor Tighnari."

He took a sharp yet deep breath. Tighnari's treading on thin ice. He was scared not just for his life. He was scared that this would be his final moment when he had yet to give you what you needed.

"I had to–"

"Surely the cure for Eleazar doesn't involve mass murder."

You were remarkably calm. As opposed to your uncharacteristically feral actions during the previous few days, this argument was entirely typical of you. Strategic and reserved, but ready to unleash everything in a single strike.

"I…" Tighnari bit his cheek. He sighed exasperatedly. "Just. Just trust me for once, Capo–"

"Don't call me that." You tensed up. "You lost the right to call me Capo the moment you betrayed your familia. How can I trust you when I don't forgive you? Why trouble yourself so much when you can rip my head off my shoulders right now? I'm just another body between you and your precious cure, correct?"

He almost didn't notice how you threw a dagger mid-talk like pelting a mere pebble. Tighnari dodged it, albeit barely, and you calculated as much. You won't let him die until he hears everything.

You spat lowly. "You snuffed the lives out of the only people that mattered to me."

"Please don't be mad. I had to–" Tighnari spilled. "I had to or else Focalor wouldn't help me."

"How the fuck can I not be mad? You're a fox, I'm sure you can smell the hatred I have for you. Your olfactory system is sensitive, after all." You masterfully kept your voice calm despite the severity of your words.

"Your associates are such idiotic bastards then if they have to kill my men for a cure." Your eyebrows furrowed. "Where is it? Where the fuck is the correlation, Professor?"

"It's to prove my loyalt–"

"The only thing you've proven is that you're a piece of shit. Is this what fascism is about? I can't see why you'd ever want to be one."

Tighnari looked down and muttered something you didn't hear.

"Who said I wanted this to happen?"

You continued. "I know I was only spared because I was in the chapel– so take out your gun so we can settle this already."

You fired a warning shot, this time with a bullet and not a dagger, burying another close call between his tall ears.

There were so many things to worry about, but Tighnari relied on hopeless dialogue. It's the only tool he has left to de-escalate the situation.

Unfortunately for him, you're better with words.

"I don't want to kill you."

"Teppei."

"... What?"

"Lyudochka, Kazari, Bao'er, Viktor… " You cocked your gun. "Lindhart. Did you regret killing them?"

"Capo, I know what you're trying to do."

"You should or else we'd both look stupid."

"But saying their names won't change my mind. I've already decided that they're replaceable as friends."

Replaceable?!

"You bastardo–"

You fired a second shot– it missed. With a bit of spite, you aimed higher knowing that he'd evade. You didn't repeat the same mistake.

He ducked behind the second-floor barrier.

But didn't take its spiral pillar designs into account, and the gaps were exactly where you aimed at.

"GAH–"

His guttural scream echoed across the theater.

You shot him in the leg.

Whoever designed that barrier had great tastes– you'll thank the architect for this later.

It'd be so easy to just kill him now.

"Your fur will look better draped around my shoulders, Vulpes." You aimed with Tartaglia's revolver. "It's winter, is it not? Don't worry, I'll put it to good use."

The most significant thing he would do with his life is dying.

Lucky for him, you can’t grant him that just yet.

You still have hope.

You still believe that there’s a way to get rid of Eleazar.

And as much as you hate it, you also believe in Tighnari.

Rather, you believe in his abilities and nothing more.

With the "goodness" in your heart, you’ll let him finish what he started.

"But I’ll suffer through the winter for now. That cure is the only thing keeping you alive. The day you finish your research will be the day I finish you. After that, I’ll make sure to kill every last person you hold dear."

Tighnari huffed self-deprecatingly, clinging onto his wounded leg by the theater's second floor. gazing at you with a melancholic stare. "Jokes on you (Y/n), there's no one else but y–"

"Cyno. Collei."

His eyes widened.

You smirked jadedly. "I had Inquisitor Cyno keep her in our custody. Did you know that pain is heightened ten times more for those of us suffering from Eleazar?"

You traced your old battle scars. They were all healed, but their numbers will keep multiplying.

Each time you pinch, no matter how dated these may be, it's as painful as yesterday's wounds. Nothing prepared you when you were diagnosed with Eleazar. Each wound, each papercut– the pain clings onto you like a leech that can never be scrubbed out, or else it'll cling tighter.

"It's excruciating. That's why I was addicted to heroin– it numbs everything. Have you heard? Children are more vulnerable when it comes to drug addiction–"

"Don't." He faltered, lowering his gun. "Please. Don't touch them."

Bullseye.

Them. He used the word “them” instead of “her.” Despite Cyno’s impression, the fox still cares about him.

Maybe you should’ve invited Cyno to tag along.

You tilted the revolver sideways.

You want him to inflict even more pain.

If Cyno were here, you would’ve made sure he said all the wrong things and watched Tighnari squirm. After all, you do have the uncanny ability to get people to behave in the way you want them to, don’t you?

"Then parry this."

But you didn’t pull the trigger.

Surprisingly, Tighnari bravely climbed up and hung his leg by the barrier, making him more susceptible if you attacked. You can’t tell if you hesitated or you’re curious as to what he’s trying to accomplish– the second floor was meters high above your station– he’ll surely die if he jumped.

Sister Rosaria emerged from your peripheral vision, ragged and stripped of breath. It's a long way from the main theater to the bazaar– she ran when she heard your argument as soon as possible.

Tighnari fished something out of his pocket.

A blue light shimmered in what appeared to be a chess bishop.

… What kind of trick is this?

"Tighnari, what the hell are you holding?" Your nose scrunched, squinting at the small piece. You could've sworn you've seen that symbol somewhere– in large glass-stained imageries.

"Can't you see?" Tighnari croaked, angrily crying out in a desperate attempt to make deaf men such as yourself hear. "Focalor is the Hydro Archon– there's no better healer than her if you would just allow us to help you find a cure."

His eyes… Whatever it is you’ve said, it had its impact.

Tighnari lost his mind.

Sister Rosaria's breath hitched. Fortunately for both of you, she understood the situation.

"CAPO, GET BEHIND ME–"

"This is the Hydro Archon's gnosis," Tighnari yelled. "I'll prove to you– I'll show you that all those sacrifices were worth every drop of blood I had to spill. Maybe I haven't figured out how to heal with it now but destroying things has always been easier than fixing them!"

Gnosis?

What the fuck is he talking about?

Like the 7 gnosis the Tsaritsa collected?

That bedtime story?

"Fox, where on earth did you get that?!" Sister Rosaria pushed you near the exit door, mediating the argument. "Where did you steal that divine artifact?!"

"Dear sister…" Tighnari chuckled darkly.

"If there's a will, there's a way."

He raised the chess piece to the sky.

"I'm sorry Capo– but this I swear: I never betrayed you." He spoke softly while his ears lowered. "Open your eyes– everything I do is all for your health and wellbeing. This little thing right here is worth more than your men. Easier to do things first before apologizing later, that's what you told me last time, right?"

"Fuck off." You didn't take a step forward. In this instance, Rosaria would handle this better than you could. "Take a swim in the river Cocytus for all I care– but don't you fucking dare dedicate that slaughter under my name."

[FREE TALK EVENT: END]

Tighnari grinned emptily.

[AFFECTION METER: ERROR.]

[AKASHA TERMINAL STATUS: DISABLED]

“I’ll never know.” He spoke softly. “I’ll never know why I like you so much. At this rate, I’m too afraid to find out.”

His hold on the “gnosis” tightened.

The bishop piece beamed.

“Farewell, my Capo.”

—-----

[6 years ago]

Alhaitham lived a monotonous life.

The same old nine-to-five schedule: wash up, dress up, eat, work, eat, sleep, and repeat the following day. When compared to his former self, he had a professional short haircut and was dressed in white dress shirts that were buttoned up. Alhaitham has the appearance of a plastic toy. Too typical and bland. Nothing exuded uniqueness.

He thought he got what he wanted. Alhaitham graduated and became an accountant, just like what he aimed for for years. As a child, he grew up under the misconception that he had something special. Alhaitham was the boy every parent preached about when their lackluster children produced little results. Maybe he was the smart kid everyone loathed– but his repertoire was genuine. The world handed him an easy-to-follow script, and he mindlessly fulfilled it with his innate abilities.

But for goodness' sake, if this is what success is, then why is it so empty?

His purpose in living had turned into nothing more than a bank's problem fixer until he returns to doing what he loved most:

Nothing.

What the hell is life boring him for?

"Tired of life, tesoro?"

Alhaitham looked up.

He saw an underdressed person wearing a white tattered shirt and lousily safety-pinned flip-flops. Had they worn white instead, they would be easily mistaken as a hospital escapee.

More specifically, they looked like they just got out of the heroin rehabilitation center just a few blocks down the street.

Alhaitham didn't send them away. They had a sparkle in their eyes, something that he lacked nowadays. However, there's something about it that made it more noteworthy compared to civilians around here.

Those pupils are (e/c) Khaenri'ahn eyes.

A natural trait, but its presence alludes to artificial happiness in the same manner endomorphs appear friendly and kind. No matter how lifeless a Khaenri'ahn may be, the gem in their eyes will always make them look more alive than the rest of the world.

They covered their mouth.

"Oh, pardon. I can't help but ask. You're rather down and I thought you needed a distraction..."

They didn't seem all that sorry when they immediately sat down beside him after that apology.

"Incorrect." He bluffed. "What makes you assume that?"

They smiled.

"I dare say you look like you've achieved everything you thought you wanted in life, but you're still feeling empty inside, aren't you?"

Alhaitham's head snapped back in their direction.

"What do you mean?"

"You work for the Banco Di Snezhnaya, around age 23, have a wage of 500 thousand mora per week," they chuckled, gesturing at his hair. "Aaand you probably don't own a hair dryer."

Stalkerish-ly spot on.

"How did you–" He clicked his tongue, disappointed at himself for becoming immersed in parlor tricks. "Nevermind. I'm not buying into whatever astrology thingamajig you're selling."

"Oh please, the only thing I'm selling are matchsticks. Hair dryers ain't astrology, ya dumbass, they're a new Fontaine invention." They huffed. "If my matchsticks could tell the future I would've achieved my dreams by now."

Alhaitham still can't phantom why, but he's oddly intrigued by whatever came out of their mouth.

"And your dreams are?"

"I want to become a journalist." They said, softly knocking their chest with a closed fist. "Future Teyvat Times journalist. The best of the best."

"Unlikely." Alhaitham muffled his laughter. Unlike most people, he can regulate his emotions masterfully well. "Someone like you who obviously achieved no real education? Give up on that dream while you're still ahead."

"Yikes. Already sizing up my intellectual capacity? That's rude."

"I'll see your dreams if it happens." He continued. "But it's my turn to guess things about you– you're a heroin addict who just got out of rehab and now you're stuck doing community service by selling matchsticks. Not only are you uneducated, but you also have a drug record so say goodbye to any stable employment."

They smirked. They were right– he's not the type to hold his tongue. That just makes him a better conversationalist.

"Close, but no dice." They snapped their fingers, pretending to be saddened by his faulty inference. "EX-heroin addict. I got out of rehab a year ago and I'm not selling matchsticks because of community service– that sure sounds better than the actual truth, though."

He'd rather they communicate properly with little subtext and implications. Alhaitham sighed. "Alright, fine. I'm hooked, what's the truth?"

"Don't tell me you can't tell." They raised an eyebrow before they pried their left eye open, showing off their unique pupil. "I'm an immigrant, so of course finding a job is as easy as becoming the seventh archon, ragazzo."

Their butchering of the Snezhnayan language further cemented that they're not from here.

"I didn't get any quote-unquote "real" education, but living on the streets? You'd be caught dead if you're not skilled at inferences." They said grimly, but the smile on their face never left. "That's why I know how to spot a person easily. I know a guilty murderer when I see one, and I know an unsatisfied man once I look down on him sulking by the fountain."

"Right. I forgot you're Khaenri'ahn." Alhaitham muttered.

"Well, then you must be the first person to do so. That's literally what everyone points out after looking at my eyes. Congratulations." They snickered.

"Why am I even talking to someone as arrogant as you?"

"I may be arrogant, but you're a lot happier now that I'm here, aren't you?"

Alhaitham froze.

"See? I'm pretty good at swaying people into behaving the way I want them to."

"What's your goal exactly?" Alhaitham pulled out his wallet. "Need me to buy a pack of cigars? I'm not funding your addiction."

He said that but he already took out 150 bills.

"Nah. That sounds great though but I was just trying to practice my conversation skills." They sheepishly told him. "I want to practice speaking Snezhnayan, and also cause I want to seem friendly."

"'Seem' friendly?"

They laughed. "Well, we all have secrets, don't we? There's something powerful about being charismatic yet setting boundaries all the same. Master both and you might just get somewhere."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alhaitham grunted.

"We've been talking for a while now– I'm (N/n), and yours?"

"That's…"

Alhaitham subconsciously glanced around.

Morepesok was not one of Teyvat's safest plazas. And they look Khaenri'ahn in the worst place possible, not that anyone besides him would appreciate that. Drugs are prevalent but it's not the only social cancer in the plaza. Petty thievery, human trafficking, money laundering, the list is bottomless and in no small thanks to the syndicates. Immigrants especially get a bad rep around here as either helpless victims or eager puppets, so forgive him for exercising caution based on generalizations.

They cringed. "Ah, right. Don't worry– no need to spill your real name, just give me something I can call you."

He paused.

"... Deshret."

"Well, well, nice to meet you Deshret. Is that from The Scarlet King's Court Jester?"

"Nevermind. Let's just change it to–"

"No no no! It's perfect." They said. "Very underrated bedtime story. The kids loved it… even though it was pretty dark and abusive."

"Many say it's a real tale."

"Do you believe that?"

It was also his favorite story as a child.

"Yes."

"Heh. I don't, but I don't want to make little Kaeya cry." They laughed. "As you can probably tell, I'm Khaenri'ahn, and we just don't have all these strange cultural beliefs you people have…"

They gazed down his thighs.

"Hey Deshret, isn't sitting with your legs together uncomfortable? Go on, cross your legs, or whatever. I don't mind."

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow before he slowly did what he was told. It's been a while since he sat this way. He trained himself to stop since it wasn't appropriate in the office, and somehow he forgot he could still do it outside work.

He relaxed. The change in posture was effective.

"... You're creepily perceptive."

"As I said, gotta be more observant." They chuckled. "Being liked is key to survival–"

Out of the blue, a loud metallic thud reverberated around the plaza. The both of them flinched at the sound and everyone turned their heads to its source.

"Hey, isn't that Adepti Underboss, Xiao?" They whispered.

The Adepti were incredibly busy that year. By June, a rat published a book entitled "Rex Incognito" where they detailed and provided evidence that Morax is the Geo Archon himself, which makes the piece both heretical AND entertaining.

The man, whom they both assumed was underboss Xiao, tossed a man upward till they landed on the roof of a nearby car. With his lithe yet muscular form, he swiftly disposed of a 70kg policeman like a garbage bag. No one moved a muscle in their direction. Not a single person showed empathy for the nose-bleeding cop in the middle of the plaza. The civilians pitied the car owner and not the injured man. Only children shrieked at the sound. For the rest? Just another Wednesday garbage cleanup.

There's no semblance of justice in Teyvat that remains in broad daylight.

Alhaitham closed his eyes, disappointed.

"Pathetic how the tri-mafia overpowers the military police in every way. The police are useless."

"Yeah man, fuck the system."

"Fuck the system indeed." Alhaitham nodded solemnly. They nearly laughed at how strangely innocent the word 'fuck' sounds coming from him.

"Wanna know what we should do?"

"I genuinely don't."

"Let's join the mafia together."

Alhaitham snorted. It's funny how he considered himself a pro at regulating his emotions moments prior because now he couldn't hold back the cute little chuckles that betrayed his lips. His shoulders trembled as well as his hands while he composed himself.

That was the stupidest idea he had ever heard.

"W-What?" They asked mid-laughter as well, clearly not considering their own enthusiastic suggestion. "Don't think we can overthrow the government together? Tsk, tsk."

They look positively malnourished. Alhaitham would bet on the chance that they'd achieve their dream journalist career rather than a stable life as a future mafioso.

Then again, Alhaitham looked very straight-laced and put-together before he joined Akademiya.

"Ah yes, an accountant and a matchstick vendor joining the mafia together; one of them might even become the next leader. Find out next time in chapter 3."

"Coglione, I'm the one who's going to be a journalist here, not you."

"Not with that awful pronunciation you're not."

They frowned. "You Teyvatans are so strict with your stupid lingua francas."

"But still, it's not a bad idea, isn't it? Let's meet each other again after we join the mafia." They nudged his side. "Same time, same place. C'mon, it'd be funny if the next time we meet you'd be holding your head thinking that there's too much excitement in your life now."

Alhaitham rolled his eyes before he looked down at his watch.

"At 6 in the morning?" He looked rather amused for someone who claimed to be uninterested.

They bantered back with the same vigor. "6 AM sharp of course, tesoro."

Alhaitham chuckled.

They laughed along with him.

"Heh. Anyways, say, what's it like being an accountant?"

"Well…"

Since then, the two of them began meeting weekly as Deshret and (N/n). They've used their morning hours as an excuse to get drunk in the crack of dawn. Both have forgotten what the true purpose of that time was,

But it's not as if they'd both remember that joke, right?

—---

Well, if that's true, then Alhaitham doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Something about that small conversation rekindled a fire in him– a torch he had never once touched for he saw no need for it. But after seeing how empty those cubicles were– how mechanical the bigger picture was– nothing had been the same for him. His conversations with coworkers were barely anything compared to what he shared with (N/n). Dialogues in the office were canned scripts, and they were oh-so-predictable.

And so that morning, he went up and quit his job before accepting the offer to be the Akademiya Syndicate's bookkeeper.

But (N/n) was nowhere to be found in their usual spot.

Not in the fountain– not in the old bar.

Where the hell were they?

Alhaitham asked the people of Morepesok if they'd seen them, but these efforts were futile. Some were eager to point out that they know what's-their-name-s, but none led back to where they were. And the street urchins that were familiar with the name (N/n) assumed they'd departed the country and gone back to their homeland.

He refused to believe that. Passions quite like theirs do not burn out as easily as he did.

As a result, waiting in Morepesok for (N/n) in the hopes that they'll return has become a daily ritual. For the first few days, no one was eager to approach the new Akademiyan mafioso; instead, he would monitor the time with a feverish bloodlust. Even in Snezhnaya's harsh winters, he is frequently observed by numerous concerned bystanders who urge him to get inside because it is cold out. None of their worries stopped him. He saw waiting as a chance to relieve stress. These quiet moments remind him of his humble humanity, and he was grateful to have ever met (N/n) because of this.

Yet they never came back.

But Alhaitham never held it against them. It's alright.

Thanks to them, he lived the kind of life he never knew he dreamed of.

"6 AM sharp, huh?"

The more he hung around the square, the more people thought they understood him. They were under the impression that this immovable man was not on a syndicate mission– he was just a lovelorn yet patient man.

"But I doubt I'm far gone. I just appreciate them. That's all there is to it." These were the words that helped him sleep at night. But if the term "lovelorn" simply means "unrequited" then perhaps the way he feels while waiting for them to return fits the description.

He was still sitting upright by the fountain in Morepesok Plaza, waiting expectantly for (N/n) to return like a dog.

—----

And even now, he waited.

Until (Y/n), Capo of the Innamorati family, found him lying on the ground.

(N/n) didn't come.

"(Y/n)..." Rosaria whispered while her face grimaced at the pungent and metallic smell. You both observed the pool of blood on the ground.

You and Rosaria narrowly escaped the blast of whatever divine power Tighnari conjured– and you’re still processing what happened in the theatre that you couldn’t comprehend the body right in front of you. If Rosaria wasn’t there to lift you on her shoulders you would’ve stood and resigned to your fate. Thankfully, you weren��t wounded, but the bump you had on the seats when the water pressure pushed you back nearly gave you a concussion.

In the end, you both came back for Alhaitham with soaked coats and socks, dripping from head to toe. Rosaria’s veil was discarded and left by the doorsteps as it was distractingly clinging to her skin– you would’ve done the same with your coat had it not been one of your favorite ones. Your cold and quivering limbs weep for respite but you remained steadfast. However, your mind does not share the same willpower. Your thoughts were slow but chaotic.

Just how did Tighnari flood the underground theater earlier?

Was that really a gnosis?

Why did he have one?

Where did Tighnari flee now?

You shook your head in an attempt to focus on what was in front of you.

Who attacked Alhaitham?

His neck is bleeding and there's a clean stab wound on his neck. The crimson trail trickled down to his exposed arm. With his back leaning on the wall and head facing down, Alhaitham did not move a muscle. You know little about Alhaitham but you did know one thing: he wanted to work with you far longer than your first guess.

Suppose he’s underqualified to be an underboss, after all, failing his first (and last) mission like this. You once heard Pantalone say that "Akademiyan spies are the weakest species in Teyvat" and your new "underboss" proved that right by messing up the marble tiles with his blood.

The collar you were supposed to give him feels useless in your pocket.

Maybe you should've picked Enjou instead. That crazy maniac would survive better than him, and he's just a merchant in the Abyss Market you like to gossip with.

Alhaitham is pathetic. Was pathetic.

"One of those fascists likely killed your underboss," Rosaria said, sounding awful like she was reading from a script. "It seems that Tighnari will do anything to stop you from maintaining your position."

That's funny, cause the only way those shits can achieve that is by burying you alive– and they failed miserably– comically, even.

Did they seriously think you'd weep for Alhaitham?

For someone as “replaceable” as him, as Tighnari would put it?

You've said it once and you'll say it again: that's fucking hilarious. Tartaglia would love this story– you're sure. They've already taken your best friend Dimitri, everyone else is secondary. You love your men, but they know they can never be him. Hell, you'd argue that if the others were equally loved, Alhaitham would be "less equal" than the others.

You didn't take a second look at Alhaitham, and not because you lack remorse.

The real reason is too boring.

He's not dead.

He's just unconscious.

Sadly no, that was not just the first stage of grief speaking. There's still some life left in him. He's nowhere near as cold as a corpse shouldn't be. Would've made your job a lot easier if he was, but he's still breathing, albeit shallow and excruciatingly so. However, that doesn't change the fact that he'll survive. All for one damn good reason–

Sister Rosaria was the one who attacked him.

The inquisitor must've left him like this hoping that fate will decide whether he lives or not, which means she was hesitant to kill him. In a way, your casual friendship with the nun saved your second underboss. This isn't your first rodeo– you've had good friends who tried to kill you once and vice versa, and it's nothing a visit to Angel's Share can't fix. Rosaria was merely a tool. Her feelings had nothing to do with this. It's a good thing your conversations with Sister Rosaria are never dull, you hate to imagine what you would've done to her otherwise.

Lucky bastards, both Alhaitham AND Sister Rosaria.

Still, this meant that someone else ordered you to assassinate your underboss.

Someone from the church. The very same cathedral you swore fealty to and devoted half of your life's work on.

You laughed furiously.

"Hahahaha! I see!"

Who the FUCK is the rat that tried to take what's YOURS?

You wrapped the scarf around his neck taut like a gauze and propped him upward. Alhaitham's weight leaned on your right side as you began lazily carrying him. It doesn't look like he'll wake up soon, so at least he wouldn't be bragging about getting carried by his boss.

Rosaria wore a stiff expression.

You both know the truth, and she's wholly aware you've pieced everything together. But you're not mad at her– any sister of Barbara is a familia to you. She's just following orders, and if what the church wanted was to frame Tighnari for this…

Then who's to say they haven't pinned someone else for any other crime?

But that's not what matters now– Alhaitham's situation is urgent compared to these half-baked conspiracies.

"He lives." You said. "Don't worry Rosaria."

Neither of you addressed how you subtly forgave her.

She placed two fingers on his wrist. The nun sighed a little too relieved when she felt his pulse.

"Good. Then we should go find help."

You smirked. "Oh, no need to worry. I know a medical professional nearby."

"Whoever it is you have in mind, you better make the right call, we're losing him." She spoke casually.

Neither of you showed any semblance of panic over a dying man.

Sister Rosaria, a child of the Archons, was more afraid of your fury than his stripping lifeline.

"Of course, Sister Rosaria."

In all honesty, he's by no means the "right call" for this scenario. But who else can you turn to,

other than Il Dottore himself?

—---

→ Common Route First Half Complete!!! ←

A/n: Did y'all think Alhaitham was going to die? Me too. Trust me, I'd give you guys a lot of chances to kill these three.

Btw, did some of their dialogue sound familiar? You're all very creative!!! I had to cut some responses off (I'm sorry.) because some were already similar while others currently don't fit the situation… But I hope some of you read it and went "oh, this is MY answer from the open-ended question (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)!!!" I want you all to feel like you're part of what builds Capo!Reader's personality!

Same as usual, the underlined word (Il Dottore) leads to the polls. Have fun voting!!!

Deadline: TBA

Taglist, thank you all for reading "OC!MC!" ❤️: @scaranaris-lil-niko @ruru-senpai-is-an-infp @vienettacream @theglowfly @vermillionite @nasidibakar

415 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

Text

"O Capo! My Capo!" - An interactive & vote-based yandere mafia!genshin x reader fanfic (cyno, tighnari, alhaitham, and more!)

Set in visionless 1920s Teyvat, three inconspicuous yet significant men began to spy on the Fatui's 8th Capo: (Y/n) (L/n). The story begins when the Innamorati Familia's headquarters burns down and in a twist of fate, to say that you've been dealt with an awful hand would be the understatement of the decade. Can you survive– most importantly– can you make the right choices?

A/n: thank you all so much for 1k followers!!! Here's a little animatic as a treat (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) ❤️

For those who haven't read it yet, here's the link for the first chapter and here's the link for the chapter I just uploaded!!! (and yes, you can vote for what the reader does next like an otome game!!! The reader's decision making depends on the most popular votes!!!)

Song: Leave Me Alone - I Don't Know How But They Found Me

Reply to this post if you want to be added in the taglist!!!

315 notes · View notes

throwaway-yandere · 2 years ago

Text

The Capo's Soliloquy (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tighnari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A/n: I see that none of you have any self-preservation when it comes some men and I respect that–

CW: hurt/comfort, yandere, mafia, and religious themes. Possible major character deaths. Mentions of human trafficking, su*cide & grief. Please avoid this fic if you're sensitive to the contents mentioned!!! SKIP TO CHAPTER 3 IF YOU NEED TO, THERE'S A BRIEF SUMMARY AT THE BEGINNING!!!

YOUR CHOICES MATTER. People, including both the reader and love interests, can die. Have fun voting!!!

"O Capo! My Capo!": a yandere!mafia au - Chapter 2

Previous || Next

—----

[Morning, 6 AM:]

You woke up at 4 AM, but only mustered up the willpower to get out of bed an hour later.

Breakfast and utensils were left for you by Inquisitor Cyno (you presume). It's not unusual that a clean fork and knife to be on the table, but there's a note above that says "Not a weapon. It's not knife to harm a room's wallpaper."

The audacity to leave that note after confiscating your gun (that you stole, but that's not important.) Needless to say, the first thing you did was crumble that paper and dump it in the trash. That joke was garbage so you're not listening to his instructions.

You ate your fill, showered, got dressed (in poor quality clothing), and you waited till the clock struck 5:59 AM, and when it did–

The window opened a minute later, just like he said.

Alhaitham peeked from the window incredulously while you begrudgingly applauded his time management skills. The spy pointed at your hands.

"Why do you always have a knife each time we meet?"

"It's a premonition." You answered half-heartedly. It'd be nice if it was. You'd gladly dig a hole in his chest when the day comes.

Alhaitham hummed in amusement, shutting the window behind him.

You'd believe him if he said he just rolled out of bed—he was dressed in the same clothing as the night before. Although that is most likely their standard uniform, you'd rather he be well-dressed than wear a basic black coat. In his current clothing, Alhaitham resembled a thinly wrapped-up rubbish bag. Candace would probably mistake him for garbage if you did kill him that night.

"What's your answer?"

"I don't like impatient men." You deadpanned.

Alhaitham began mentally preparing for his debate and points to argue about–

[CHOSE: RECRUIT ALHAITHAM]

"But I'll take the risk."

Alhaitham jerked up, not believing what he was hearing.

"You… don't want to look at my resume?–"

You recalled Inquisitor Cyno's words yesterday.

-----

'–I was instructed to look after you until they help you renovate your manor and the panetteria beside it. That is, of course, assuming you still pass the requirements of being Innamorati's Capo.'

-----

You scoffed.

You're dying. You don't have enough time to look for a sacrifice and you can't get the Church's permission unless you are still a Capo. Subsequently, you're not qualified to be a Capo unless you have an underboss.

He will suffice.

Time is a vital resource. And you barely have two years left. It doesn't matter if you just met him last night– his reputation precedes him and you'll do anything to maintain your position.

"You think I'd give you more chances to brag?" You eyed him too narrowly for the situation, making it known that you're not fond of how his mouth prattles. "Listen, do you want the job or not? Because I've received a letter from Beidou last night that she knows a new kid who would gladly take it off your hands–"

"I am honored, Capo."

Alhaitham hurriedly bowed down with a hand on his chest. You looked pleased. That's it. That's the reaction you're after. He clearly enjoys taking his sweet time.

You don't like Alhaitham. You've not spent much time interacting with him, but he reeks of academic pretentiousness.

"Good." You put your hand on top of his head.

"Don't fuck it up."

But you don't want to burden your men with a responsibility they are not prepared to shoulder.

You hired him so someone else would take the fall.

Alhaitham looks like the type who wouldn't take "no" for an answer, so you'll give him what he wants.

Unbeknownst to you, Alhaitham smiled gleefully.

[AFFECTION METER: 15.00%]

He looked up after you pulled your hand away and straightened his (awful) coat.

"This is not just an afterthought, so tell me this: why did you decide to pursue this occupation?" You said. "Was the Akademiya's pay that low that you'd join the familia?"

He nodded slowly. Even his most minuscule of mannerisms looked annoying.

"I wanted to work with you."

Can't say the same. You want to carve his face off.

"I've been researching Eleazar for 3 years and twenty-six days. In my list, you are the oldest and longest-living patient of this disease."

And he'd join the familia because…?

"I assure you, I care more about your health than what meets the eye."

You don't care. What matters to you most is your familia. You don't want your underboss to be loyal to you– a leader must be loyal to their men.

"–Besides, I think you and I would make great partners–"

Again, has little to do with the actual Innamorati familia.

Your nose scrunched.

There's a word to succinctly describe him, and it's not "annoying."

"–I don't hide the fact that I find you aesthetically pleasing." He said. "You're quick-witted and a very capable leader–"

It's at the tip of your tongue– obnoxious? Troublesome? Obsses–

"–My coworker, Aryabhata also agrees that your face is an epitome of Divina Proportione, and he's always been a prompt mathematician–"

You raised your hand, halting him.

…

Hold on.

With this renewed silence, your grip on the butterknife tightened.

Bile rose to your throat, and if you could vomit blood right now, you would just so he's aware of how you felt.

You remember the word now. Tartaglia frequently uses it to allude to the bambinis who come to his manor. The term is nauseating and demeaning, but there is no other way to describe how the spy acts.

… It can't be, right?

Suddenly, your opinions about Alhaitham drastically plummeted. Your spirit left your body, and you hope a couple of shots will help drag it back down once you enter Tartaglia's manor.

Damn. You thought Tartaglia was joking when he said you have some very… unquenched and downright masochistic... admirers.

Not that it's confirmed, but with the way Alhaitham looks at you, you just had to know…

You cleared your throat, uncomfortable.

...

"In other words, you're doing all this because you're some sort of groupie?"

Alhaitham froze.

Your face contorted into a perfect depiction of unbridled revulsion and intrigue, a look that screams you simultaneously want and don't want to learn more about what he does inside his bedchamber.

In a way, you're awestruck that some men are THAT desperate to get laid– it's almost commendable– but to be so brazen enough to admit it is just…

"What– Of course not. Unlike some people, I'm not that far gone yet."

Yet???

Alhaitham stiffened, unsure how you ended up with a half-baked yet reasonable (reasonable because he knows the truth) conclusion. Despite his voice sounding cool and composed, his nonverbal behavior betrays him.

"Smettila di raccontarmi cazzate." You mumbled to yourself.

"Non sto mentendo." There was a faint edge in his voice as he argued back.

Your eyes widened.

Alhaitham's eyebrows furrowed. "... What's so surprising, tesoro? Don't tell me you didn't expect an Akademiyan spy to not be fluent in Snezhnayan. We had to learn 20 languages before we could join the Akademiya."

There was something natural about the way "tesoro" rolls off his tongue, and you didn't question it the first time he called you that the first time. Now that you're hearing it again in this context, you wanted to spit on his face.

You're not hearing any of this.

You're not entertaining the idea that your new underboss applied just for a chance to warm his bed.

...

Sometimes, maybe ignorance is bliss.

Let's just conclude it with that life lesson and move on. You don't want to kill him yet.

"First command I'll give is that you will never address me as tesoro again. Ugh. I don't wanna know how many women and men you've beckoned with that name." You looked down, face wrinkled in absolute disappointment.

Alhaitham sighed. He can't refute if you pressed on asking similar questions. There's a high chance he would've told you right then and there that he did some questionable things with the tissues he picked up from your trash bin.

Not wanting to give him opportunities to defend himself, you digressed immediately. You don't want to dwell on your previous accusations.

You dropped something in his hands.

As per recruitment tradition in the Innamorati Familia, you gave him a piece of clothing. A single green scarf.

A far cry in quality from the opera gloves Rosalyne gave you and the eyepatch you gave Dimitri.

Alhaitham graciously accepted it, but he's confused as to why you gifted him a scarf rather small; he might as well use it as a towel. He was expecting that you'd give him a hat similar to the ones you always wore. He's rather petty that this is what he received, but the answer is simple…

"You'll only be an underboss by name. I grant you no real authority."

He gave you an unimpressed look before wrapping it around his neck. It barely covers him. Alhaitham was devastated that the scarf didn't feel like it was yours, but he'd never admit it. Instead, he asked you about his job in his normal snarky tone.

"I'm well aware you'd say something to that effect before I applied. Are there any other words of wisdom you'd like to share with your new underboss?"

"You only have one job and it's to sit still and look pretty. Other than that, I hope you change or die." You meant it.

"What an encouraging thing to say." Alhaitham chuckled. "Then again, thank you. Word on the streets is that you're usually friendly but reserved, I must be pretty interesting if you're talking this much."

He takes the phrase "word on the streets" quite literally. Alhaitham has a propensity of eavesdropping when he visits cafes near Morepesok square. And you happen to be his favorite subject. Every time someone mentions you, Alhaitham jots it down in his little notebook. You're too popular, and for a damn good reason. He can't help but join in on those chats knowing what it's about. Regulars now recognize him as the lunatic Eleazar researcher, but you don't need that information.

You rolled your eyes and twirled your knife.

Annoying.

You placed your knife down and extended your hand out. He stared at it, silently confused.

"Take my hand."

He quickly, and almost desperately, followed your command. "And? Your hands are warm… but what's your strategy?"

You're starting to lose your patience.

You sighed, waving your other hand dismissively. "At this point, maybe you do need to take lessons of when to shut the fuck up– you'll probably sound smarter if you talk less."

"How do you prefer for me to act? You already got Cyno, a brooding bodyguard, so what role should I take? My skills like more o–"

You can't take it anymore.

You yanked him by the collar. Your faces are only a hair apart, and as it stands, the proximity has made his legs wobbly. Alhaitham's breath hitched as you gazed at him menacingly, as though your pupils shrank in anger. Your fingernails messed up his ironed dress shirt and should he strike your nerve ONE MORE TIME you might just rip his throat out.

"Act like a fucking human being with brains instead of scarabs, maybe. Good riddance– I don't have time for this– do I have to train you like a DOG?" You growled.

He's your underboss, (Y/n).

You cringed. You've nearly forgotten it's you who mostly owe him a favor, not the other way around. You saw the almost perfectly hidden apprehension in his eyes and felt a twinge of guilt.

Don't forget, you're as terrifying as Rosalyne when you're angry.

Don't scare him away. Like it or not, you NEED him. Or else the Cardinals, Pierro, and maybe even Inquisitor Cyno won't recognize you as a Capo– Do you want that to happen? Do you want your men jobless and living on the streets? Are you that selfishly angry?

You breathed in. You breathed out.

Steel yourself, (Y/n).

... You used to be so in tune with your emotions. You were able to suppress most of it– not a lot of people can tell when you're angry. Your anger used to be silent.

What on earth happened to you? Are you still yourself? If so, why are you acting like a mess?

....

Supposed that influx of anger makes sense for someone who lost almost everything in one day. Your hands are trembling. You're homeless, your business is gone– and half of your friends are dead.

But you're directing all that anger on the wrong person.

Alhaitham didn't burn your manor down. He can be a suspect, but there are no solid shreds of evidence against him. What is wrong with you?!

Snap out of it!

You can't mourn.

You don't have TIME for that!!!

You dropped your hold on him, shaking your head. For a moment, Alhaitham forgot how to breathe and his chest heaved for what felt like the first time. No one had pulled him that close before.

You're sane.

You're still sane.

You just have to keep believing that.

"... I was only asking to prepare myself for the inevitable culture shock." He said after collecting himself. "But whatever you did just now was enthralling."

You felt a nerve twitch.

This man.

"You're a researcher. It's high time you use your head." You grunted. "For now, you're coming with me– I'm introducing you to the familia."

"Understood. Lead the way."

The door creaked open.

"(Y/n) are you alright–"

The three of you froze.

Inquisitor Cyno and newly appointed Underboss Alhaitham exchanged calculating glances. You observed as they each attempted to fish something out of their pockets in slow, meticulous movements. Cyno peered hypocritically at the knife he claimed was "not a weapon."

You coughed, but neither flinched.

"Yes, I'm quite alright, Inquisitor." You smiled cheaply. "Please, allow me to introduce my temporary underboss. This is Dimit– Alhaitham, he'll be working for me starting today."

Dimitri.

Why did you almost say that name?

He's gone.

Accept it.

Cyno's eyes widened before he frowned intensely. He looked at Alhaitham, unsure where to start.

"Him?" His voice dripped in alarm and disappointment. "Are you sure? You do know who– of course, you do– but he's–"

"A high risk?" You said. "He is. But he's a risk I'm willing to take."

You grinned. "Besides, I know Alhaitham's reaction time– he wouldn't last a second against me if assassination is on the table."

Last night's rendezvous was a fine attestation for that claim. If you put in the effort, Candace would've found a dead body haphazardly thrown in the public trash can.

Cyno didn't say a word, he knows your skill. He nodded, yet his eyes said otherwise.

Why is he looking at you like that? Why is he looking at you like you're out of your mind? You're perfectly alright.

The inquisitor noticed that something was off about you and gazed at Alhaitham instead. His stare was laced with the kind of venom that can only be found between two men who already had a grudge against one another.

The air weighed heavy as you both walked past the inquisitor.

"Watch your back, Akademiyan spy."

Alhaitham smirked.

"Yours as well, Church assassin."

—----

As expected, your men had mixed feelings when you showed up with an Akademiyan spy, and their reactions heightened when you revealed and stressed that he'd be a TEMPORARY underboss until you found a suitable replacement.

You cannot emphasize enough that as an ally, he's only a band-aid solution and that you'll find someone more suitable in your ranks, but that doesn't quell any feelings of rivalry they may have. It's exhausting to count with both hands and feet just how many men announced that they'll take over Alhaitham's occupation soon enough and that they'll get rid of him "in our Capo's name!" They were rather noisy– it's a good thing Tartaglia's in another room drinking his sorrows away (apparently he got dumped.)

While that sounds sweet, what's sweeter is seeing the look of annoyance on Alhaitham's face. A room full of Snezhnayan men acting like frat boys is likely not what an introverted scholar expected when applying for the mafia.

Other than Alhaitham's woes, you were so relieved a handful made it out alive.

Felix discreetly handed you a list of the survivors' names. You didn't order him to do anything, but he collected everyone's signature with encouraging remarks in 3 stacks of paper, back to back, all cheering you on. Some are brief, others were straight-up novel worthy– but the length didn't matter because these were borne of familial affection. Even Felix, who is normally gruff and reticent, informed you that the Innamorati Familia awaits your orders. To think that Felix used to be the disobedient one, too.

Everyone trusts and admires you. That never changed even after you lost almost everything. Not a lot of people are fortunate enough to say the same.

After some deliberation, you tucked those papers safely in your pocket along with your swayed heart, promising them that you will devise a strategy just like what you always do.

But you can't stay much longer.

You should be happy to receive such heartfelt letters from your familia... But why didn't you feel anything?

Why do you feel so hollow?

You don't want your men to worry, so you left immediately after a small speech, and with Felix's help, you met up with the manor's Capo.

You already left the common room when someone threw a glove at Alhaitham's face– it was funny but an audience with your figurative "fratello" would be more spectacular. Since Tartaglia inherited everything the now-retired Capo Pantalone had, he keeps a surplus of alcohol in his minibar and cellars. It's enticing, but you'll go for a non-alcoholic drink. Can't get wasted when you have a business meeting later today.

Not that you want to get drunk with Tartaglia. His voice has a certain bell-like quality to it when you're hungover.

Your fratello yawned, staring at the wall before you came in. When he noticed your presence, he patted the empty seat beside him.

"... Mind giving me a rundown of what happened at the Sumeru Church?" He sounded depressed. Just how beautiful was this boy or girl to make him look this sad?

You dismissed Felix and sat down.

"I suppose I should recount everything that happened, starting at around yesterday morning…"

It was a long story.

You tried to narrate everything in a detached perspective, viewing the fiasco as nothing short of a random story, and yet…

In a switch, Tartaglia busted into a fit of laughter.

Tartaglia couldn't stop laughing as he poured himself a shot of fire-water. His entire body was shaking in pure joy as you recounted the events. Your fellow Capo's spirits buoyed immediately as you got to the last part. He couldn't restrain himself and sure enough, some of his drink spilled. You stared at him bewildered as Tartaglia wiped it off with his sleeves. Where the hell is this boar's dignity? Uncultured swine.

"H-Hol-Hold on– hAHAHA!–" Tartaglia held his stomach while his other hand balled into a fist, shakily slamming the table. "You're telling me he joined ca-cause he wants to fuck?!"

You ignored him, furiously cutting a lime. Just earlier, Tartaglia was moping that he got rejected by a blonde traveler (who's his target), so he's experiencing a massive schadenfreude.

There are so many details he could've nitpicked, like how you metaphorically adopted another troubled girl or how you nearly shipped Alhaitham for Wednesday's garbage pickup, and he had to choose that one. He would have been moved by what Felix and the others had done for you if he had let you finish talking. But no. Tartaglia is Tartaglia. Tomato, to-ma-to.

"Do you have to put it so perversely? It's not as if it's confirmed." Leaning over to whisper to him, you pulled his ear. "It's just a hunch. I'm not sure if he sees me like that."

You kind of want to brag that at least you get admirers while he can't even get a foreigner's attention, but you're not that low.

"H-Holy shit my comrade! You're so fucking dense!"

"Stop speaking." You said, making darting motions with the knife.

Violence isn't out of the equation, though.

Don't worry, you're sure physical wounds are easier to heal.

"I-I can't! This is gold." He cackled like a goose. Under normal circumstances, you would've chuckled over his dumb-sounding laughter, but you're the butt of his jokes. "You? A prude like you?– c'mon mio amico Alhaitham, you can do better than that, fratello!"

"When on earth did you start calling him your brother?–" Your voice was dangerously leaning towards platonic jealousy.

"Since he started thinking about smashing my older sibling." Both his elbows rested on the counter, and his blue eyes hawked as if waiting for a moment to strike.

"Oh, and for the record, I'm definitely Team Alhaitham on this one. Send my regards to Cyno. He put up a fight when he decided he'll help repair your manor but it ain't as great as a good fuck."

You twisted his ear, making him squirm and moan in pain loudly.

"Don't drag the Inquisitor into your whimsical fetishes. You are the scum of the earth and for the sake of Teyvat, I hope you will never reproduce. May the Tsaritsa forgive you, you lonely lonely man."

"Ow-ow-ouch!!! Hey! T-Take a breather with that knife, won't you? Might hurt yourself there, comrade."

You put it down.

"... I've been pointing blades around excessively for a while now. Perhaps I should stray away from knives." Your eyes trailed down his waist.

"Exactly–"

"Tartaglia, lend me your double-action revolver."

His smile dropped.

"You've got to be kidding me." There was a high-pitch strain as he ended his sentence. Tartaglia protectively covered his gun. "I'm not giving you my babygirl."

"My hostler's been light lately; it's not for aesthetics. The least you can do is let this homeless person borrow a gun."

"Yeah but you're beautiful even without one, didn't Alhaitham call you the apple of his eye?"

"I will gouge yours out."

Tartaglia gulped.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. Here." The pressure in his tone deepened as he reluctantly passed his revolver.

You took it off his hands and just as you were about to inspect for bullets, you glanced at your watch.

You still have a meeting scheduled in half an hour.

"Cazzo– I have to go."

"Hey wait!–"

You stood up and left for the common room, leaving your heartbroken brother back alone as he listened to your call for Alhaitham.

Tartaglia sighed and went back to his drink, painfully aware of the deafening silence. He sipped his shot and stared sadly at the aisle of drinks in front of him. No one to share with. And most of all, his lucky gun isn't with him.

"Damn. I'm a fucking capo but why do I feel like I've been robbed?"

—--

[Morning, 11 AM:]

"Is this the Ogonptitsa district? But why?"

Alhaitham followed you about like a lost dog yearning for a home. You would normally have driven your car (which was parked in one of Tartaglia's garages), but you felt like torturing him. The Akademiyan agent is far too pale. Even if your destination was the desert, you'd trek merely to fry him in the sun.

He appears like a child wearing a bib with the scarf you gave him. You tried hard not to laugh at him.

Mental note: buy Alhaitham a collar next time.

"Don't you know? Aren't you supposed to be my underboss?" You shrugged. "We're going around town, and do use caution. After all… When in Snezhnaya, you do what the Snezhnayans do."

You stopped at a familiar red building, and Alhaitham nearly walked past you had you not called his name.

This is the place you're looking for.

Three maids dropped their baskets and scrambled to usher you both inside. Alhaitham trailed behind as you thanked the hardworking staff, unconcerned about how easily you've been brought inside.

Before you know it, you and your underboss are on the 4th floor of the mansion, facing its owner.

"Hmm, he looked just like the uploaded pictures in the Akasha Terminal," Alhaitham muttered, memorizing Diluc's face intensely. The earpiece he's wearing buzzed. "Interesting. He's 72 kilograms and 6'1" in height."

You raised an eyebrow.

Why the hell does Alhaitham need that information?

Fucking weirdo.

Too distracted by his mutterings, Alhaitham was the first to claim the empty sofa. Your new "underboss" crossed his legs like a man would in the comfort of his own home. You held back a long sigh as you took a seat beside him, making a mental note to lecture him about this. Underbosses shouldn't take a seat before the Capo themselves– and you're painfully reminded just how underqualified he is in areas that do not involve bookkeeping and information gathering.

You summoned your patience so that you would refrain from kicking Alhaitham's leg while the host flipped through his papers. His eyes are twitching, and his small stifled yawns indicate that he didn't get much sleep either.

Mister "Darknight Hero" here must've been helping the citizens while you were away.

[CHOSE: NEGOTIATE FUNDS WITH VISCONTI DILUC RAGNVINDR]

[NARROWLY AVOIDED BAD ENDING 1: "You're Collei's Friend, After All!" ]

"Buongiorno, Visconti Diluc. My apologies for this sudden appointment"

"Likewise, Capo." He was unable to catch himself from yawning out loud. The Visconti's shoulders sheepishly dropped as he lazily composed himself. "P-Pardon me, as well. I've been too busy as of late."

"Understandably so." Alhaitham suddenly said.

Diluc regarded bim with cool, disinterested eyes, before pretending he wasn't in the room. You're sure he's dying to ask some questions, but you both respect each other's time.

[ALHAITHAM IS PRESENT]

[MODERATE RISK -> VERY LOW RISK]

"Before we start, I'd like to extend my deepest condolences, (Y/n)." He muttered. "I know the anguish of being separated from family."

It's been years since his father died, but grief doesn't hit all at once; it comes in waves. Diluc's eyes softened, and if his hand had been near yours, he would have held it. You're difficult to read, but that doesn't mean you're uncaring. That is one characteristic you both share.

"Grazie, Signor."

Visconti Diluc was no syndicate and did not have the machinations to become one. His hands were clean until his father died– and he had a vendetta against the mafia ever since.

Despite that, he is still your reluctant ally.

You import and export drinks between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya; cultivating an unfavorable connection would be unwise. As a result, you frequently invite him to stay for supper, in which the Visconti would chatter about how a person like you should change occupations while you still have the opportunity. Diluc's dissatisfaction is palpable whenever you demonstrate your legal business management abilities. You would have been a formidable competitor in the wine industry. Someone who will make running Dawn Winery less mundane.

However, his emotions do not prevent him from occasionally keeping you company in Angel's Share.

"I assume you're the one that sent that letter?" He asked.

"If you're referring to my pigeon Picus, then yes." You nearly ranted about how Tartaglia made a joke that your pet nearly became a crispy fried pigeon but you refrained from revealing that information.

"I see…"

"For the record, you don't need to state your case," Diluc said. "I'll let you loan the money."

He agreed without putting up a fight because his adopted brother was just like you in terms of negotiation. Frighteningly enough, both you and Kaeya have an uncanny ability to wrap everyone around your fingers…

So really, he'd give in either way. Might as well save everyone's time. Besides, Diluc could never say no to you.

You're not a bad person in his eyes.

You're just lost.

"Grazie again, Visconti. But I assume you'd need my men?" You gestured at his folders, which were all about festival wine.

Diluc laughed humorlessly. "Yes, if you would, please. I need extra hands for the next batch."

"Gladly."

"Thank you– but please don't leave yet. I need your council."

You shifted from your seat, relaxing slightly.

Meanwhile Alhaitham crossed his arms. His stare was cold and directly aimed at the Visconti. The Akademiyan Spy must've found some dirt on him by simply observing his room– or rather, his trashcan– but he can't tell you that information right now.

It'll be a bigger mess if Alhaitham revealed what Diluc had been doing to your picture. So he'll let you talk to him, for now.

Visconti, you are so terrible at hiding things.

Diluc cleared his throat. "Remember our previous discussion about the Rex Lapis-Morax theory?"

You snorted. "Why would I?"

Rex Lapis and Morax. There's a theory circulating that the Adepti's leader, Morax, is the Geo Archon, Rex Lapis. This spread like wildfire once Focalor claimed to be the unappreciated Hydro Archon. Akademiyan scholars beat this dead horse by spinning nonsense about how an Archon could take a human's shape. Even Tartaglia believed the same and insisted that he had seen Morax transform before his very eyes into a primordial dragon.

But was that what Diluc was actually talking about?

No. Of course not.

Your previous discussion ended with a certain green musician. That's WHO he was referring to.

For now, Alhaitham observed his surroundings while eavesdropping on your conversation.

"There had been a new development," Diluc shared with a small grin. "News circulated that he was seen wearing cloaks, not unlike the depictions of Archons through the mouth of a blonde 'worker'."

You snorted.

"Was there any doubt? They should know by now that she won't be 'working' for them forever. Love for one's familia has more value than their petty greed. If they're not willing to listen, well, the Darknight Hero would be mad, wouldn't he?"

"Hah. Should I meet up to tell them just that? Give the papers something to write about?"

"Nah. You should just announce it by the grapevine. Make sure to invite my fratello if things start to get wild."

"Indeed I should, and I will. Maybe a taste test would do well in this line of business."

"Ah, but do you really need that?" You smiled. "You have the barrels you need."

"Fair enough. Nothing of value was lost when the storm died anyways. At least we have the wind in town."

"Hmm, hmm. A wind pretending to be human, how curious. Enough about him, are you going to help her?"

"There's no need. She's plenty capable handling herself. Haven't you heard? She even met your fratello."

"... She's the one that dumped him?"

"Who else?"

"Oh my God–" You laughed. "What a small world!"

Alhaitham's eyes sharpened. He's smart, but he is not a miracle worker. Your conversation did not make sense without any historical context. Those jargons were likely terms only the two of you knew.

But Alhaitham could tell you're not underestimating his competencies.

In fact, this was probably you testing him to see if he could catch up.

The only thing he understood was "grapevine."

That's what Mondstadters use when referring to a human trafficking ring.

But the rest of the conversation? Absolutely cryptic. But that doesn't matter.

Whoever this mystery woman is must've been a slave who broke free. As for her identity, however...

Alhaitham will figure it out soon enough.

Diluc signed the parchment.

His signature had severe angles and curves, somewhat hostile and prideful but conveyed in an elegant manner. You're no expert, but Diluc's handwriting aptly describes his personality. No matter how hard he tries to repress himself, bits and pieces will always leak into one's daily life.

And so, the deal is done.

—---------

"We'll be taking our leave. As always, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise, Capo."

You took a look behind you. Alhaitham was already a few meters away, his nose buried in a book. You made a mental note to chastise him later. Perhaps you do need to train him like a dog. You know that madman is all about liberty and self-government, but there is a hierarchy he must adhere to.

"Oh, and Capo?"

"Yes?" You turned to face him again.

Diluc looked away, a bit upset.

"Whenever you come to visit, would you mind not bringing your underboss along?"

You furrowed your eyebrows.

"Why?"

"I prefer talking to people one-on-one."

He said it so quickly that you're convinced he practiced that lie in front of a mirror.

But you have an idea as to why that is, and it's likely not security related. At all. His brother told you the reason behind Diluc having so awkwardly when around you. That's because before Crepus adopted him, you were Kaeya's orphanage sibling first.

Visconti Diluc Ragnvindr harbors feelings for you for over three years now, and he does not know how he should to properly manage it. Kaeya had shown you proof of this before by leaking his unsent love letters and you thanked him for the heads-up. This is likely his half-assed admission that he doesn't want to see another man close to you.

You nodded, lying better than Diluc did.

Shame that the feeling isn't mutual.

"I'll see what I can do." You answered without conviction.

Diluc smiled.

With his hair all messy and his clothes disheveled, Diluc looked truly at home. The view from in front of his porch felt personal as if you were coming home to see your husband waiting for you by the door. There's an unspoken intimacy in the way he smiled. If you're lucky enough, you might just figure out why.

But you don't want to.

You don't have time to indulge in a mere flight of fancy.

Anyone would hesitate to love a dead man.

"Thank you– be careful on your way back. I'd offer to walk you but…" His face soured as he quickly glanced at Alhaitham.

"I will. Buona giornata, Visconti Ragnvindr."

[CHANCE FOR SECRET ROUTE: "VISCONTI DILUC RAGNVINDR" UNLOCKED]

[AFFECTION METER: 29.25%]

Alhaitham yanked your hand, unamused.

His akasha terminal was flickering red lights on and off as if he had received bad news. Alhaitham was staring at Diluc, and this time for sure you knew he was measuring something.

A meter you couldn't see.

'Disgusting boar.' Alhaitham thought to himself.

"We'll leave. Now." He ordered slowly.

You nodded and waved Diluc goodbye one last time.

Whatever it is, you decided to trust your new underboss's judgement. And thank Tsaritsa you did.

With everything Alhaitham saw with his Akasha Terminal, he will never let you visit that man alone.

Because Visconti Diluc is the one guilty of what you accused Alhaitham of.

If Alhaitham wasn't there, Visconti goody-two-shoes Ragnvindr would've kidnapped you.

Alhaitham huffed, both angry and amused.

'Fucking pervert.'

Disgusting as that Visconti may be, he understands where he's coming from.

But that man doesn't know you're dying.

And Alhaitham would rather spend the last of your days doing what you want with him by your side than the confines of his basement.

—------

[Afternoon, 3 PM:]

[Chose: Visit Barbara]

You went to visit Barbara alone.

Alhaitham left for his accounting duties, but not before ordering that no additional business meetings will take place for the rest of the evening. Not that you had any. Whatever the case, the Visconti must've left a bad taste in his mouth despite his polite behavior.

His mouth was always in motion, and none of his words were nice. Alhaitham suggested other organizations that would sponsor you instead but stopped mid-sentence when you started fidgeting with Tartaglia's gun. As he should. Someone as green as him in this scene shouldn't question his boss's judgement.

"Be careful around Visconti Diluc. He's a lunatic."

"More than you?"

"Hah. You Fatuis seriously require better intel."

He was getting on your nerves. It's a good thing your last destination is the church. You would've left his body in an alleyway if it wasn't.

A familiar nun stood outside, horribly displeased. Sister Rosaria never finds morning lectures and hymns interesting, and that attitude is strictly how you figured out she's not a simple nun. She's a disciple and inquisitor, much like Cyno.

"Ciao, Sister Rosaria." You greeted. "Is Barbara around?'

"She told me that if I saw you I should apologize for her sake," Rosaria spoke in a near grumble. "And that I should help you out."

"Not that you would." You grinned and she chuckled.

"Not that I would normally." Rosaria corrected you. "But your people were good men. My condolences, Capo."

Your smile faltered, threatening to spill before you huffed and worked on your image. When those words come from people with burdens like Visconti Ragnvindr and Sister Rosaria, their sincerity weighs heavier than your pride.

"Thank you, Rosaria."

"The streets have become safer when they were around. The priest was glad when Dimitri taught the children how to defend themselves. It's a shame that he died–"

"Dimitri's not dead."

Those words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them. Rosaria closed her mouth.

"He's... I'm sorry. You're right. He's dead. I'm... Thank you. I appreciate your kind words."

"(Y/n), you..." Rosaria's eyebrows furrowed. It looked like she contemplated on saying something blunt, but decided against it.

"Nevermind, if you ever need someone to do your dirty work, I'll wipe them off for you."

"I'd rather be the one to clean this mess, but I appreciate it… although if you could find where Tighnari is–"

"I have a lead. Consider it done."

"Grazie."

And that was the end of that.

"Good talk. Now, why don't you go inside?" She gestured at the cathedral. "Someone you know is there."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is it Tighnari?–"

"Would've dragged his ass out immediately after spotting you, so no."

"Cazzo." You snapped your fingers, comically emphasizing your dissatisfaction.

Rosaria replied nonchalantly. "I know. What a fucking shame."

You both snickered at your foul language. Had Barbara been there, she would've begged you both to stop.

Heretics.

"I better head in and pray for salvation."

"Don't bother praying for me."

"Wasn't planning to."

—-----

"Oh, so it's you." You muttered.

The last time you saw him was earlier this morning when he nearly stabbed Alhaitham with your butterknife– and there's a clear difference between that and him looking like a man of the Archons. Or maybe he just looks different in a white dress shirt rather than his violet Inquisitor getup.

Cyno knelt in front of the Lessor Lord Kusanali's stained glass image. It was her lone depiction inside the Tsaritsa's cathedral. You assumed he was deep in his prayers and you sat on the pews, but the inquisitor replied.

"In times of anguish, you can rely on the Archons and your will."

Khaenri'ah would censor the former.

Cyno looked up. "Care to join me?"

"I appreciate it, but I've already prayed."

"And thus, you'll forever see faith as a routine rather than hope."

Cyno had a point. A point you'll receive on deaf ears. He resumed.

"I lost my family as well."

He let those heavy words hang in the air. Cyno gazed at the altar, a forlorn expression painting his features as his fingertips traced her image.

"For a time, I believed that I had no one left to keep me company but the Lesser Lord Kusanali." He muttered. His gentle touch didn't chip away the dry paint as he caressed the glass. "My family tore apart when I was at a young age... I can't recall much due to trauma."

Knowing that he cared for his relatives, you went straight to asking "How was your search for them? Any worthwhile discoveries?"

"Unfortunately futile, but there were some facts I've uncovered while investigating on my own."

You nodded, signaling that you were listening. Cyno's probably just trying to connect with you. Dumping traumatic experiences isn't normally how you should console a grieving person, but you can understand his efforts.

Besides, what does he know about your pain? He didn't lose as much people as you did that nig–

You stopped thinking.

You knew that line of thought will lead you nowhere.

His hand seemed to reach for his chest before he faltered and pulled back. Cyno's hand turned into a fist.

"I have a brother. I found out when I read a letter addressed to a human trafficker. The handwriting was akin to wolf scratches, but his name was spelled like Usir." He mumbled. "I can't remember who he was or how he acted if he loved his older brother. All I knew was that he's still out there somewhere and–"

"That's why you resigned from the clergy and became an inquisitor? I understand. More freedom of movement, right?"

He sat beside you.

"Yes." Cyno nodded, smiling. "I'm glad you're skilled at inferences. I tire of explaining things repeatedly."

It's one of many things Cyno adores about you.

You two went silent. It was a peaceful and comfortable silence, signaling that the topic of conversation was finished until he spoke up again.

"I never thought I'd find a chance to talk to you like this." He said. "I've not been one for talking and you're always too busy."

"Can't be too busy when you're only handling the livelihood of 20 to 50 men nowadays."

"Still a high number."

"Too true."

Cyno laughed.

His laugh was soft, albeit muffled, yet its jovial innocence echoed on the empty cathedral. At first, listen, Cyno's chortles sound empty and forced, but after a while, you'll realize that's as genuine as it could get.

In a way, his lack of emotional execution makes him charming.

[AFFECTION METER: 18.00%]

"You've always been so direct to the point." He said, not realizing that he spoke out loud.

Always, huh?

"So you've been stalking me for how long?"

Cyno coughed awkwardly. "Less stalking and more monitoring."

Sure, whatever you say, pal.

"So you do know about me having Eleazar."

He contemplated for a while before answering.

"... Yes. Yes, I do. Tighnari, Alhaitham, and I know. We know who has Eleazar and those who have long died because of it."

Guess Alhaitham wasn't lying.

You looked in the direction he was facing. Barbara's tiny figure emerged from a distance, waving at you as she ran with her weekly grocery chores. You suspect this was because she spoiled most of what she bought last time when she fell. As small as she looked in your proximity, it's hard to miss her worried yet compassionate face.

She's like a sister to you, but what does Cyno think of the two other men he mentioned?

"What's your opinion on my new underboss?" You asked while vaguely waving at Barbara.

Cyno's face hardened.

"Never liked him."

That also makes sense, given their morning exchange. You don't have to listen to his reasons. There's something innately strange about Alhaitham that makes him so dislikeable. But there's something more to this. There seems to be a rivalry between these three. Something they don't want you to find out.

"And Tigh–"

"I was close friends with Tighnari, and I never expected him to pull something like this. I haven't been able to hunt him down since then." He confessed immediately. "I'm sorry that he had done something this rash."

Close friends, huh?

You closed your eyes.

You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.

You laughed, your throat unknowingly dry. This man is a church disciple and your challenged moral compass is at risk of toppling down. You're by no means faltering from your decision, and if Cyno meant something to Tighnari, then you'd gladly slit his throat right here and now.

But if what the Inquisitor's saying is true, then it's possible that he didn't matter to Tighnari at all.

"... What made you think you're both close?"

"He was the only one who could tolerate my jokes and listen to me ramble about cards."

... Are those his only qualifications for a close friend? That's rather sad. When Cyno put it so bluntly, he sounded pathetically asocial.

"I can sense your bloodlust. (Y/n), I am not your enemy." He frowned.

"Tighnari not only betrayed you, but he also betrayed my trust and declared himself an enemy of the church. As I mentioned, I was tasked with monitoring you– and he nearly put you in grave danger."

Cyno clicked his tongue. "Tch. Judgement will pass soon enough."

You didn't miss the devouring fire in his sunset eyes. An ignition you're all too familiar with and rely on completely.

It was spite.

That was enough for you to trust Cyno, for now.

But the way he talks about betrayal makes you question how he'll treat you if he finds out what you've done to Rosalyne. It would be out of character for him to already know but ignore your sins. This man used to be a priest. Cyno would put you on the same lowly pedestal as Tighnari for your actions.

"Inquisitor, I–"

"I know what you're planning. I understand your grief but don't."

"... What do you mean?"

"You can't kill him. You of all people shouldn't."

"And why is that?"

Then Cyno turned around, dropping a fact you wish you didn't know.

"Because Tighnari has made the most progress. He's the closest we have to get the cure for Eleazar."

Your heart sank.

Suddenly, Barbara hugged you from behind before you could ask more. Cyno took it as a cue and swiftly left the room, much to your chagrin. Perhaps he departed because the conversation was confidential, or perhaps he left you to ponder your fate alone.

"(Y/n)! Are you alright?! Please tell me if there's anything I can do for you!!!"

You patted her head. Cyno escaped from your grasp but you can never be angry at Barbara.

"Well, why don't you sing for me, sorella?"

There's nothing Barbara could truly help you with right now, but you do know this: you approached Cyno intending to clear your head, what you got instead was a myriad of new inquiries left unanswered but it all builds up into one final question.

Would you take revenge at the cost of a cure?

—-----

Cyno slithered out of the cathedral without anyone noticing him. Seeing the person he had been monitoring for years look this depressed was heartbreaking.

He will not lie: he wants to kill Tighnari too.

But he can't, since whatever Tighnari's doing, it's for the sake of your cure– but he can't accept that he did not adhere to their deal.

No one wasn't supposed to lay a single finger on you.

That was the truce between the three of them. Now that Tighnari broke that rule, Alhaitham and he expectedly followed suit. Their friendship is gone. This is now a competition, and the professor is the wild card.

Tighnari can't be killed.

But that Alhaitham…

He's a threat to you. Unlike Cyno and Tighnari– his motivations are inherently selfish and only prove to benefit himself alone.

That Akademiyan shamelessly claims that he sees you as a subject of Eleazar for him to study. He doesn't deserve to be near you– if Cyno knew he'd pull something like this, he would've volunteered to be your underboss instead.

But this isn't where this game ends.

Cyno smiled.

If he could just convince the Cardinals and make it look like an accident…

—----

[Evening, ??? PM:]

[CHOSE: LEAVE FLOWERS]

A tranquil night makes an ideal atmosphere for you to collect your thoughts. In these hours, solitude proved to be the finest solution. Or at least, you're hoping that nobody's there. Because this is the night you plan to leave these feelings behind.

The soles of your shoes crushed heart-shaped leaves as you made your way to Dimitri's grave. You trailed a rich scent of fresh inteyvats, boxed Saghert and Cream, and whiskey as you walked past many familiar names in the cemetery. Some were your victims, others were old friends, but none mattered as much as Dimitri Blaiddyd.

That's because he was the only corpse they salvaged properly. Because he died in your arms. Unlike like Viktor, Teppei, and the others.

Not visiting their graves felt like a sin, but they had no graves to begin with.

Looking back, your friend never had a sense of taste, so you doubt he'd care for whatever you brought him. Truth be told, you've fed him spoiled food multiple times but Dimitri stomached it all without question. Perhaps your relationship had always been rocky and he had been incredibly tolerable of your "practical" jokes– but you wouldn't stoop low enough to offer spoiled treats as a tribute to the dead.

Perhaps you'd join him soon, too. You wouldn't mind if you were buried beside him.

"Happy 26th birthday, my beloved friend."

Silently, you set them down and lit the candles. As you observed the tiny flame adorning his headstone, you felt conflicted. Although you were positive that this is what he would have wanted, it didn't feel right to have his cause of death dance six feet above his corpse.

Life would be easier if you just forget about how the clock is always ticking. But neither of you could cover your ears at the ringing echoes of regret.

Dimitri had no family left, and you both reveled in that freedom when he was alive. He was your true partner-in-crime, reeling you in should you act too reckless– even when it cost him his left eye. Not once had Dimitri faltered from fulfilling his duties. You will never find a dog– a lion more tamed than he was, but a circus animal usually carries baggage of its own.

And fate loves to play jokes.

Coincidentally, his father also died in a fire years ago in the middle of a business meeting, making him an orphan. That's what led him to a life of crime. Dimitri behaved as if he'll forever be imprisoned by his past and couldn't bear to let go of his guilt. He often prayed to the Archons above for his end to come soon enough. Perhaps it's cruelly morbid for you to think this way, but maybe his death was ordained by fate in the grand scheme of things.

He got what he prayed for.

You don't care if he went to heaven or hell. What is hell for people like him? He never found real pleasures in life nor a sliver of hope. Dimitri would curse the earth before hell itself.

But damn it.

It fucking hurts.

You miss him.

It's only been a few days but you miss your best friend so damn much.

You sense another person behind you, but they're not a threat.

"This wouldn't be the first time you lost a partner-in-crime."

You turned around.

For a brief moment, you nearly fooled yourself into believing Dimitri's apparition manifested itself to give you a firm scolding whilst wearing a thick and dark trench coat. But this blonde and blue-eyed man wasn't your old underboss– the man before you is very much alive.

That may not be Dimitri, but that doesn't change that this man certainly was an old friend.

You grinned weakly.

"Buona sera, Dainsleif."

There were no ghosts. It was just you, him, and the lonely hooting owl in the vicinity.

And yet you can't look at his face for long enough.

He looks too much like...

Dainsleif stood behind you, looking down at your old friend's grave. He had both hands empty, indicating that this encounter was not planned.

"Lost the ability to greet good evening in our native tongue?"

"I've long abandoned my patriotic ways."

"More accurately, you've long abandoned me." He laughed bitterly. "I don't recall you blaming the entirety of Khaenri'ah for La Signora's death."

"Maybe I did, maybe I did not." You bantered back. "Starting a propaganda can be pretty wild sometimes."

Dain replied with a teasing lilt. "Hmm, sure it is."

You laughed, genuinely this time. It's only been two days since you laughed from the heart, but it felt like an eternity ago considering everything that had happened.

Dainsleif was the man you framed for La Signora's murder. When you were both in your early twenties, you had nowhere else to go but up. As Khaenri'ahn immigrants, there was only one option left for you two: it was to compete. All is fair in love and war, and you dived head-first into the syndicate while he worked for the police. It didn't matter if he was a brother from the orphanage– a lust for power blinds all.

But he never failed to treat you with unconditional positive regard.

Dainsleif took your betrayal indifferently, and you recalled how he took the dagger from you and lathered Rosalyne's blood in his hands. You recalled how he angrily told you to leave– and for once you were reluctant about continuing your schemes.

Everyone from that orphanage has to stick together.

They're the first "familia" you've ever had. Even if you abandoned your country.

Six years passed since that day. After placing operations to search for the "Khaenri'ahn soldier", you heard that he's been running around Teyvat as a reputable informant. Visiting Dimitri's grave was his way of letting you know that he harbored no ill will against you.

You're still siblings, no matter how disastrous of a monster you have and will become. And it's not a matter of if but when.

"I heard your old underboss resembled me, now that I see his portrait, can't say they're wrong." Dainsleif droned on. "Blonde hair, blue eyes. Had a smile that longed for the sweet release of death. Can tolerate your insufferable demands. I think we would've been fast allies."

"You got all that from a single black and white portrait?"

"I'm an informant, take a guess."

You chuckled sadly. "I'm sure you both would have talked shit about me in Angel's Share."

"And it would've been more enjoyable if you'd listened in as well. I've traveled far and wide, I'm certain you'd learn a lesson or two should we go out for drinks again."

"Yeah, if we could…"

But that was a pipedream.

The path you both thread are separated, and neither of you would share your keeps. As easy as it would've been to ask Dainsleif if he could be your next underboss, the consequences of your actions run deep into the heart of the problem. You already blamed Dainsleif for everything, no one would trust you if you bring back Rosalyne's "murderer" back into the familia.

Besides, there's one major difference between Dimitri and Dainsleif. The former believes that Archons are real but we humans lack the means to grasp their hands, while the latter's convinced they're nothing but social constructs.

Dainsleif never truly belonged in Teyvat because of this. Chastised for his lack of religious beliefs, he searched for a reason to leave. Everything that happened between you two was ultimately for the best. That chapter in your lives had long been closed.

But you wouldn't mind if you welcomed him in this new one.

After all, the last time you hired an informant, the bastard burned your house down. Might as well hire someone you consider your real family.

You opened your arms, still not looking at his face.

"Would you hug me if I asked for one?"

You're stepping your boundaries with this request, but if this was still the Dainsleif you knew…

Dain blinked laconically.

"Only if it'll give me a chance to stab you in the back."

You smiled.

It's still him. The same bitter old Dain.

"Have at it, old friend."

He hugged you.

His hug was gentle and damn near brotherly. A rose like you rarely dulls its thorns for a second of soothing vulnerability– and this is a privilege only Dimitri, Dainsleif, and Tartaglia could afford.

And yet...

With reasons you can't explain, the weight of the world suddenly sat on your shoulders.

And you know that you're about to collapse.

You croaked. "D-Dainsleif I–"

He hugged you tighter.

"Shhhh... It's okay. It's okay to be sad." He whispered, combing your hair with his fingers. "It's just me. And I will never judge you."

Finally, you cried.

Your bones were held together by the crushing pressure of managing a familia that you ignored what it means to be human.

You didn't allow yourself to grieve yesterday, and if Dainsleif wasn't here you would've done the same tonight.

You are tired.

You are so tired of everything.

For a brief moment, you didn't have to think about what was in store for you the next day. You pulled him closer, tearfully happy to know that he was there. That he was the one who found you that night–

Or else you don't know what you would've done with Tartaglia's gun.

'Dimitri, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry that I never got to say I'm so fucking sorry. I've been an awful friend. I should've appreciated you more when you were here with me.'

'Dimitri... I wish you were here. I'm so fucking stupid and ungrateful– I don't deserve you.'

You wept and clawed Dainsleif's shirt, wetting it with your large tears. He never complained. Dain cooed and repeatedly reassured you that he won't let you grieve alone.

'I'm so sorry.'

Dainsleif looks just like him. He's as tall as him.

And damn it– they almost sound the same.

You bit your lip, trying not to cry even harder but Dainsleif patted your back. And he's the only thing that's keeping you from reaching for your holster–

He grabbed your hands.

"(Y/n), don't hold it in. Cry. And we will never speak a word about tonight again if you want."

—---

Next Chapter

Note: There are two underlined phrases/words in this fic. The first one leads to a snippet of what the bad ending could've been and the last one is the voting poll! Vote wisely. Have fun!!!

Results from the last voting session here.

Voting closes at October 30, 2022!! CLOSED. Please wait for the next chapter!!! I have an extra treat there too 🥰

Taglist, thank you all for reading "OC!MC!": @scaranaris-lil-niko @ruru-senpai-is-an-infp @vienettacream @theglowfly @vermillionite @nasidibakar

386 notes · View notes