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Chapter Text

If anyone asked Colonello what he thought of Skull, he would grin and say, “That guy? He’s a walking joke, kora!” It was said with a half-laugh and a shrug that made you think he really meant it. After all, who would take the purple-haired idiot seriously?

But if someone had looked closer—past the laughter, past the careless tone and nonchalant wave of his hand—they’d see the truth hiding in the corner of his storm-blue eyes. Colonello watched Skull. Always. In crowds, in missions, even during training exercises. His gaze followed Skull like a soldier marking an uncharted minefield. Not out of distrust, but out of reverence. Caution born from knowledge, not ignorance.

Because Colonello knew.

He had known for years—since a mission gone wrong in Eastern Europe where Skull had, for the first time, moved like the soldier he once was. There was no Cloud Flame, no signature theatrics. Just a brutal, efficient takedown of enemies that outnumbered them five to one. Skull didn’t brag. Didn’t even speak. He wiped blood from his hands with the quiet resignation of a man who had done it too many times to count.

Afterward, Skull acted like nothing had happened. Made a joke about running into a bar fight and nearly broke a rib laughing at his own punchline. The others were content to let it go.

Colonello wasn’t.

Skull was a lot of things—loud, dramatic, immortal—but above all, he was a man in hiding. Hiding from the war in his past, hiding from his own mythos, hiding from the weight of names he never wanted to remember. “Soldier,” “Traitor,” “Executioner.” None of those were Skull. But all of them were.

Colonello had scars of his own. His had been earned in battlefields and near-death operations, but even at his worst, even during the fog of combat, he had never looked the way Skull did that day in the forest clearing. As if his soul was on fire and his skin barely holding it in.

Skull had broken a man’s neck without hesitation. Without remorse. And yet afterward, he had run like a hunted animal.

That was when Colonello realized there was something special about him.

Not the clown the world laughed at. Not even the soldier wrapped in shadows. But the man who carried the weight of both.

Chapter Text

If Skull knew Colonello was watching him, he didn’t let it show. He flopped dramatically onto the couch in the Arcobaleno common room, arms tossed wide like a starfish, helmet still on despite the warm afternoon sun filtering in through the windows.

“Ugh, training is hell,” Skull groaned, voice muffled under layers of sarcasm and leather. “Remind me again why I decided to come with you psychopaths?”

Reborn didn’t even look up from his espresso. “No one decided anything, Skull. You were just stupid enough to say yes.”

“Harsh,” Skull whined, though there was no real sting behind it. “Where’s the love, Senpai?”

Colonello chuckled from his seat at the window. “If you wanted love, kora, you picked the wrong family.”

But he was watching again.

Skull’s movements were too loose, too calculatedly clumsy. Like a performer playing to an audience. He stretched just enough to make himself look lazy but never off-balance. His voice hit all the right beats of exaggerated complaint, but his tone never cracked. He was playing a part, and Colonello could see the strain in the edges.

Sometimes Colonello wondered if the others noticed. Fon, maybe. Viper if they cared enough. But Reborn? Reborn didn’t miss things—he just didn’t act unless it mattered. Verde was too obsessed with data to catch nuance, and Lal… Lal still looked at Skull like he was a well-meaning idiot they’d been saddled with for eternity.

But Colonello had seen the blood. He had seen the muscle memory that didn’t belong to a stuntman or even a hitman. Skull fought like a soldier. Clean. Precise. Efficient. And, more than anything, quiet.

He’d never told the others about what happened in Eastern Europe. Skull hadn’t either. It lived between them like an unspoken pact sealed with iron and ash.

That night, after the mission, Colonello had asked him quietly, when the others were gone and the smoke still lingered on their clothes.

“Where’d you learn that?”

Skull had stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—high-pitched and careless. “What, you mean my sick parkour skills? You’re not the only badass around here, blondie.”

Then he’d winked, flipped him off, and vanished into the night like it was all a joke.

It wasn’t.

Now, watching Skull act like a cartoon character while Reborn insulted him and Verde muttered about brain cell count, Colonello felt that unease crawling up the back of his spine.

Skull was hiding something again.

And something in Colonello’s gut told him—this time, it was going to come back with a vengeance.

“Skull,” Verde said, not looking up from the tablet in his hand, “if you shed on the furniture again, I will shave your head in your sleep.”

“Rude!” Skull gasped, dramatically clutching his helmet like it was the only thing shielding him from evil. “You wound me, Verde! Besides, it’s the jacket that sheds. Blame the fashion, not the icon.”

“You could try removing the jacket indoors, like a civilized person,” Viper said flatly from the bookshelf, where they were floating cross-legged midair. “Assuming you qualify.”

“You guys act like I’m not the most stylish one here,” Skull said, flopping sideways to avoid the slipper Lal casually lobbed at him.

“You wear fingerless gloves with skulls on them,” Lal muttered. “You look like a Hot Topic reject.”

“Thank you! Finally, someone notices the effort.”

Colonello snorted into his drink. “It’s not effort if you never change outfits, kora.”

“Consistency is branding,” Skull replied, twirling one finger dramatically. “I’m an immortal mascot of chaos, not a runway model.”

From the kitchen counter, Fon offered him a mild smile. “You do bring a unique energy to the room.”

“See? Fon gets it. Reborn, you agree, right?”

Reborn didn’t even look up from his coffee. “Your energy gives me migraines.”

The group continued to banter—light teasing, familiar bickering—but through it all, Colonello kept catching flickers of something… off.

Skull laughed the loudest but never missed a word from anyone. He was lounging like a slacker but subtly tracking every movement in the room. And when the front door creaked open from the wind, Skull twitched—not enough for anyone else to notice, maybe, but Colonello caught it. A muscle memory reaction. Defensive.

Not fear. Not surprise. A reflex.

He didn’t say anything. Just tilted his head, sipped his drink, and tucked it away for later.

Because this was the thing with Skull: for all the chaos he caused, he never let down his guard.

And somewhere behind the goggles and bravado, something was simmering.

Chapter Text

It started, like most Arcobaleno plans, with a stupid argument.

“I’m just saying,” Skull insisted, waving a finger in Verde’s face, “the kitchen is technically a warzone. I have the burns to prove it!”

“You set the microwave on fire,” Verde replied, not even looking up from his lab notes.

“It was experimentally justified!”

Fon, ever the peacekeeper, gently placed a teacup in Skull’s hands. “Perhaps what we all need is a break.”

Reborn scoffed from the corner. “From Skull’s cooking? Absolutely.”

Skull puffed up like a furious pigeon. “I’ll have you know my toast is perfectly incinerated!”

“That’s the problem,” muttered Colonello, hiding a grin behind his water bottle. “Kora.”

Fon sipped his tea. “It’s been a while since we did anything relaxing together. No missions, no labs, no explosions.”

“Not my fault this time,” Skull whispered, and everyone ignored him.

Reborn gave a theatrical sigh. “Fine. A day off. Somewhere quiet. We’ll even let Skull touch the sandwiches if he promises not to deep-fry them.”

“That happened once!”

“Twice,” Verde said.

“Three times,” Colonello corrected. “The bento incident.”

“...Okay, but I’ve improved,” Skull muttered.

“You tried to cook pasta in orange juice.”

“And I learned not to do that. Growth!”

Fon chuckled. “Let’s call it a picnic, then.”

Verde raised an eyebrow. “Are we bringing tranquilizers?”

Reborn stood up, already reaching for his coat. “We leave tomorrow at 0600. Pack your own food. Skull, bring juice boxes and nothing else.”

Colonello thumped a hand on Skull’s back. “I’ll supervise him, kora.”

Skull blinked at them all, strangely touched.

He smiled wide. “You guys are the worst.”

The clearing was bright and obnoxiously green, which meant Reborn had already swept it five times for traps. Verde ran diagnostics anyway. Fon meditated nearby. Skull tried to nap under the picnic blanket before it was even laid out.

“No landmines,” Reborn announced with a sigh, as if disappointed nature hadn’t tried harder to kill them.

“Are you sure?” Viper asked, appearing out of nowhere like a glitch in the light. “Because Skull is here, and statistically, danger follows his fashion sense.”

Skull sat up, purple fringe askew. “That’s just rude.”

“Truthful,” Viper replied, deadpan.

They perched near the edge of the blanket, unwrapping a surprisingly decadent sandwich from seemingly nowhere. Reborn glared at it. “Where’d you get that? We were supposed to share.”

“Skull panicked and over-ordered,” Viper said smoothly, taking a slow bite.

“I was being thoughtful!” Skull exclaimed, flailing. “I brought everyone’s favorites—look, Viper, I even got the overpriced sparkling water you like!”

Viper paused. “…That was surprisingly accurate.”

“Ha! See? You like me!”

“I like your credit card.”

Colonello, already sprawled out on the grass, laughed. “We should do this more often, kora. Sun’s nice, birds are loud, and no one's tried to stab us yet.”

“Yet,” Viper said grimly.

“Why do you always have to be so doom-and-gloom?” Skull asked.

“Experience.”

The others ignored that particular comment with the ease of people who had also seen things they didn’t speak about. Reborn poked at the tea. Fon offered dumplings. Verde mumbled to himself about raccoon DNA and picnic ants. Skull lay back with a dramatic sigh, but he didn’t really sleep.

Viper watched him quietly between bites. “You haven’t touched your sandwich.”

Skull blinked. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Guess I’m not hungry.”

The others kept talking, but Colonello narrowed his eyes slightly.

“You flinched when Reborn stepped behind you earlier,” he said under their breath.

Skull shrugged. “Old habit.”

“Habits come from something.”

A pause. Then: “You’d know.”

Colonello didn't argue. He just leaned back, arms folded behind his head, and murmured, “You’ve got layers.”

“….” Skull smiled faintly, then took a bite of his sandwich.

The post-picnic clean-up was chaos, which was to be expected when seven of the world’s most dangerous individuals were arguing over who got the last slice of cake.

“No, I brought the dessert,” Reborn said flatly, already halfway through it. “Finder’s rights.”

“You didn’t even bake it,” Colonello griped, trying to fish a leftover sandwich from under a napkin. “At least leave Skull something, kora!”

At the mention of his name, Skull perked up dramatically. “AHA! You do care about me!”

“Nope,” Colonello deadpanned, not looking up. “Just hate wasting food.”

“Cruel and heartless,” Skull declared, flopping backwards into the grass like a dying Victorian maiden. “Betrayed by my own brothers!”

Verde didn’t look up from his tablet. “Technically, none of us are related.”

“Don’t ruin my melodrama with your science!”

Fon chuckled softly from his seat under a tree. The moment was almost domestic—too domestic. That underlying tension, the kind that lived in old scars and unspoken truths, hovered beneath the surface.

Verde’s eyes flicked up briefly. “Skull, you ducked before that bee even flew near you earlier.”

“Huh? Reflexes!” Skull said quickly, too quickly. “I’m nimble like a cat!”

Reborn narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Not yet.

Colonello glanced over, the breeze catching strands of Skull’s hair as he laughed too loudly at his own joke. He filed it away.

Something was wrong.

But if Skull didn’t want to talk, Colonello wouldn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, he tossed a juice box at his head. “Catch, dumbass.”

Skull caught it without looking.

Another thing filed away.

Chapter Text

The sun was bright, the sky was clear, and Skull was yelling about potato salad.

“Come on, slowpokes! I didn’t risk my life lugging all this food out here just so it’d get warm!” Skull stood in the middle of the clearing, dramatically waving a picnic blanket over his head like a victory flag. “The mayonnaise-based stuff has a shelf life, people!”

“You brought enough for a small country, kora,” Colonello called, slinging a cooler onto the grass.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Skull retorted, striking a pose with a sandwich in one hand and a baguette in the other. “You’re welcome.”

The clearing they’d chosen was nestled just past the training grounds—a little pocket of nature safe from gunfire and explosions for once. Reborn had suggested it with a shrug, muttering something about fresh air being good for Skull’s apparently decaying brain. (Skull had taken that as a compliment.) Of course, Reborn had already swept it for traps, while Verde ran diagnostics anyway.

The Arcobaleno had arrived in trickles—Verde coming in with a faint grumble, Fon appearing so soundlessly no one noticed until he was pouring tea. Viper drifted like a shadow behind them, offering no greeting beyond a curt nod and a muttered, “This better not be a waste of my time.”

Lal arrived late, sunglasses pushed up into her short blue hair, looking slightly winded. “Got held up,” she said casually. “Paperwork.”

Reborn raised a brow. “That’s code for threatening someone at HQ until they covered for you, right?”

She didn’t answer—just took a soda can from the cooler and popped it open like it owed her money.

Colonello and Lal quickly got into an argument over the “best sandwich architecture.” (Lal preferred strategic layering; Colonello believed in brute force fillings.) At some point, a tomato slice hit Reborn in the side of the head. No one claimed responsibility. Reborn merely pulled out a handkerchief, wiped off the offending vegetable, and muttered something about amateurs.

Skull kept up his usual antics—telling over-the-top stories, like the time he allegedly “taught a bear to tango in Siberia,” complete with pantomimed dance moves.

“No bear would survive your footwork,” Viper said flatly.

“I’ll have you know he wept when I left,” Skull said, dramatically holding a hand to his chest. “It was a very emotional goodbye.”

Somewhere in the middle of a particularly wild tale about skydiving into a volcano (“for science!”), Skull leapt up to swat a wasp away—and dropped instantly into a low crouch, hand briefly flicking toward his belt like he expected to find a weapon there.

Only Colonello noticed. She narrowed her eyes.

“That was... an intense reaction to a bug,” he said casually when he returned to his seat.

“Huh?” Skull blinked. “Oh! Yeah, I thought it was—uh—one of those wasps. You know. The murder kind. Probably CIA-trained. Very suspicious.”

Lal said nothing. Viper stared at him a beat too long.

After the food had been devoured and the chaos had settled into lazy afternoon lounging, Skull stood up and stretched with exaggerated groans.

“I’m gonna, uh... patrol the area. Make sure no squirrels are plotting anything shady.”

“Bring back a chipmunk,” Reborn murmured, already halfway asleep in his sunhat.

Skull wandered toward the tree line. He didn’t notice that Colonello slipped after him, hands in his pockets, steps light.

He found Skull standing at the edge of the clearing, back straight, posture oddly still. Like a soldier on watch.

“You always this twitchy after sandwiches?” Colonello asked, trying for casual.

Skull didn’t jump. “Old habit,” he said after a pause. “Places like this... used to be traps.”

Colonello was silent. Then: “You’re not as loud when you’re thinking.”

“That’s because it hurts less when I shut up,” Skull joked—but it was quieter than usual, almost gentle.

Colonello stood beside him, looking out into the trees. “You don’t have to act all the time, you know.”

“I’m not,” Skull said, a beat too fast. Then he smiled. “I’m also like this. Just... with bonus content.”

Colonello snorted. “You’re weird, kora.”

Skull grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

Back at the clearing, Lal watched them from her place in the grass, chewing the end of a juice straw. Reborn hadn’t moved, but his gaze flicked sideways under his hat brim. Fon’s tea had gone cold, but he still sat peacefully with his hands folded.

“They know something,” Viper said quietly beside her.

Lal didn’t look away. “Yeah. But not everything.”

“Yet,” Viper added, eyes narrowed.

Chapter Text

The air around the Arcobaleno estate shifted.

It was subtle at first—missions stacked closer together, briefings that came too early in the morning, files dropped off without the usual protocols. Reborn noticed it first, because of course he did. Skull noticed second, but said nothing, because of course he wouldn’t.

Lal noticed third, and she said everything.

“Why the hell are we being called out four times in two days?” she snapped, slamming a file onto the conference table. Her voice cracked across the room like a whip.

Verde didn’t look up from his tablet. “Perhaps because we’re effective?”

“Effective doesn't mean expendable,” she snapped back, and Skull winced.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed the uptick in violence—he’d fought off four assassination attempts that week alone. Not directed at him specifically, but too close for comfort. Enemies were smarter. Their intel was sharper. Their attacks more desperate.

Still, Skull didn’t complain. Not out loud.

Instead, he hung back after meetings, checked mission rosters twice, and started packing medical supplies in his bike's saddlebags, just in case.

Meanwhile,

Colonello pulled off his tactical vest with a grunt and let it drop to the floor of his room.

He was exhausted—mentally, physically—but his thoughts were stuck on Skull again.

During the last mission, Skull had taken a direct hit to the chest. It should’ve left him gasping on the floor, but he’d just blinked, spat out a bloodied tooth, and kept fighting. There’d been something in his eyes, a cold clarity that Colonello hadn’t seen since—

Since war.

And then, Skull had smiled like nothing had happened, calling it "a mild inconvenience" before pretending to trip over his own feet.

Colonello didn’t like it. Didn’t like how that part of Skull seemed more and more like the real one lately.

Somewhere else, Viper stared up at the ceiling of their room, arms crossed.

“This isn't normal,” they muttered to themselves. “Too messy. Too noisy. Too fast.”

No one listened when Viper spoke to themselves. But the growing pattern in the reports was setting off alarms in their mind, and that meant something had changed.

And if something had changed, it usually meant something—or someone—was about to break.

Back at HQ, Skull sat on the edge of a rooftop, alone.

He was tracing old scars with gloved fingers. Ones hidden even from himself most days.

Cloud Flames curled softly at his side, reacting to the tension beneath his calm. Something was coming. Something big.

And he wasn’t sure if he was ready to stop pretending when it did.

Chapter Text

Arcobaleno were called in for a string of suspicious mission reports—high-level assassinations, intel leaks, and organized attacks in formerly stable regions. They’re seated around a sleek briefing table. Holographic screens project photos and intel files.

Verde flips through the data, eyes sharp behind his glasses.
“Three missions. All coordinated. Too clean to be coincidence.”

“Too messy to be Reborn,” Viper adds dryly.

Reborn smiles without humor. “Not my style. Whoever’s doing this is sloppy but smart. A dangerous combination.”

Fon’s expression is serious. “There’s a pattern in the regions—each one holds a former battlefield. One we’ve all fought on at some point.”

Skull stiffens slightly. It’s subtle—but Colonello notices.

Lal, seated beside him, glances his way and says nothing… but files the reaction away.

Each Arcobaleno is being sent to a different location to gather intel, eliminate threats, or intercept communications. Skull is assigned to a region known for a previous, bloody skirmish—one that doesn’t appear in official records but which Colonello know he was involved in during his “pre-Arcobaleno” days.

Skull immediately starts joking. “Ah yes, send the guy known for getting lost with a GPS to the middle of nowhere. Classic strategy!”

“Better than letting you handle explosives,” Reborn mutters.

But Lal watches as Skull double-checks the mission file with uncharacteristic silence when he thinks no one’s looking.

Timeskip

The safehouse smelled like gunpowder, antiseptic, and bad vending machine coffee.

They’d just cleared out a weapons facility posing as a defunct tech company on the outskirts of Milan. Viper was already downloading corrupted files onto a drive the size of a thumbnail while Verde argued with a holographic map. Lal stood off to the side, bandaging a scrape on her arm with methodical precision.

Verde is irritated—someone tried to hack his drone tech.
Fon is calm, but noted that the enemy tactics are eerily familiar.
Viper reports that all the mercs they encountered had no identifying symbols—professional, scrubbed clean.
Reborn’s half his normal snark—he found a body with a Sky Flame signature. “Don’t know whose,” he adds, voice grim.

“Four engagements in one op,” she muttered, tightening the gauze. “They knew we were coming.”

Reborn tipped his fedora back just enough to meet her eyes. “Or someone wanted us to be seen.”

“Either way,” Viper added dryly, “this reeks of something uglier than a rogue supplier.”

Skull was sitting backwards in a plastic chair, his helmet off for once. Strands of violet hair clung to his sweat-damp forehead. He was grinning—but his eyes were focused on a blood smear near the exit.

“Aw, come on guys,” he chirped, “maybe they just really didn’t want to share their bullets.”

No one laughed.

Colonello glanced sideways at Skull, blue eyes narrowing just slightly. “You took a hit earlier, kora. Shoulder okay?”

Skull blinked innocently. “What? This?” He waved his arm too enthusiastically. “Flesh wound! Barely counts. I’ve had worse paper cuts!”

Lal cut in. “You were limping. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Strategic limping!” Skull shot finger guns. “Gotta make the enemies underestimate me. Classic tactic!”

Colonello didn’t smile back. He didn’t say anything at all.

Chapter Text

The safehouse had long since emptied out. Most of the Arcobaleno had returned to their quarters or vanished into research bunkers.

Skull was still in the weapons prep room, running his fingers along the edge of a cleaned blade. His Cloud Flames hovered faintly, pulsing like a quiet heartbeat.

Colonello leaned in the doorway.

“Hey.”

Skull looked up and smiled. “Yo, Colonello! What’s up? Need me to sharpen something for you? Ooh, wait—wanna compare scar counts? I’ll win, obviously—”

“Cut the act.”

Skull’s grin faltered.

Colonello stepped inside, boots clicking softly on the tile. “You’re pushing yourself harder every mission. Not just ‘oh I’m reckless and immortal’ Skull. Actual calculated risks. The kind a soldier makes.”

Silence.

“...You’re remembering more, aren’t you?”

Skull looked away. “You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not.” Colonello’s voice was quieter now. “I’ve seen that look before. On people who don’t think they’ll make it back. You fought like you knew exactly what to do today. That’s not instinct. That’s training.”

He paused. “You moved like you knew that terrain, kora.”

“Lucky guess,” Skull says, not meeting his eyes.

“Bullshit,” Colonello replies, too calm.

Skull finally looks at him—his eyes are tired.

“I did know it. I just wish I didn’t.”

Lal watches from the hallway, unseen. She doesn’t smile.

Colonello’s jaw tightened.

Skull stood up, shouldering past him with his usual swagger—but something in his movements had sharpened, like a blade hidden behind cloth.

“I’m fine, Colonel Mustache. Seriously. I just like being underestimated. Keeps things fun.”

He was halfway down the hall when he added, too quiet for anyone else to hear:

“...And it’s the only thing keeping me from going back to who I used to be.”

Chapter Text

The next mission was meant to be “routine.”

But most had learned by now that when Reborn said routine, he meant “something that won’t kill most of us.”

They were stationed in a crumbling outpost in South America, investigating local intel about flame users being smuggled through jungle territories. The heat was oppressive, the humidity a second skin. Mosquitoes the size of bullets.

“Absolutely hate this,” Viper muttered, swatting at one with an illusionary hand. “This is a war crime.”

“Cheer up,” Skull said cheerily, from where he was half-hanging off a vine. “At least the bugs like you. Means you're sweet.”

“Stop talking,” Viper said flatly. “Forever.”

Reborn had taken point that day, moving like a ghost ahead of the group. No banter, no jokes, no commentary. Skull tried to make three jokes by lunch and got nothing but a cold glance in return.

Something was off.

They set up base in the remains of an old temple, half-swallowed by vines. Lal and Colonello were going over field maps when Reborn stalked back into the clearing, hat pulled low, expression unreadable.

“They’re testing us,” Reborn announced. “Whoever’s behind this operation—smuggling those flame users—they’re watching how we respond. Every move. Every weakness.”

His gaze flicked around the group.

And then landed on Skull.

For just a second, something unreadable flashed across Reborn’s face.

Skull blinked. “Uh. Did I accidentally trigger another ancient curse or something?”

Reborn didn’t answer. He turned away.

But the weight of that glance lingered.

Later that night…

Skull sat alone near the perimeter, Cloud Flames curling lazily at his feet like a tired cat. He wasn't on watch, but he couldn’t sleep—not when Reborn looked at him like that.

Colonello joined him silently, crouching down with a tired grunt.

“You felt it too, huh,” Skull said without turning.

“Yeah,” Colonello said, voice low. “Reborn doesn’t stare like that without a reason.”

Skull’s grin was smaller than usual. “Maybe I annoyed him one too many times. It’s a fair bet.”

“Maybe,” Colonello agreed. “Or maybe he’s starting to notice.”

Skull didn’t answer. He just tilted his head back toward the jungle canopy, where the stars were mostly hidden by clouds.

“It was easier,” he murmured, “when they just thought I was an idiot.”

Lal found them both like that, silent under the tangled trees. She tossed a ration pack at Skull without a word, then another at Colonello.

“You’re both thinking too loud,” she said. “Eat. We move at dawn.”

As she walked away, Skull called after her, “Aw, you do care!”

“Yeah,” she said without turning. “That’s why I’m still here.”

Chapter Text

They split into two teams.

It was Lal’s idea;efficient, logical. Reborn, Verde, and Viper took the western route to intercept flame trails. Skull, Colonello, and Fon were assigned to scout the southeast perimeter.

“I still think we should’ve brought snacks,” Skull muttered, swatting at a mosquito as they cut through thick jungle brush.

“We’re not on a school trip,” Fon said mildly, pushing a low-hanging branch aside.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Skull said. “All we’re missing is a campfire and some traumatic team-building.”

Colonello chuckled beside him. “Careful what you wish for, kora.”

Despite the banter, the air was tense. Even the animals had gone quiet.

They found the first trail an hour in—burned foliage, scorch marks twisting across bark in jagged spirals.

“Sun Flame, but wrong,” Fon murmured, crouching to examine the charred leaves. “Unstable.”

Colonello raised his rifle, scanning the treeline. “We’re being watched.”

Skull didn’t say anything. His posture had shifted. No longer slouched and lazy—he was still. Focused. A thread pulled taut.

Colonello noticed.

The first attack came fast, too fast.

Figures cloaked in flame-enhanced gear burst from the underbrush. Fon moved instantly, deflecting a blow with his staff. Colonello laid down cover fire. Skull—

Skull had vanished.

For two breathless seconds, he was gone.

Then chaos. One of the attackers screamed, body flung into a tree hard enough to snap bone. Another collapsed with a cracked helmet, unconscious before he hit the ground.

Skull reappeared behind Colonello, breathing hard.

“You okay?” Colonello asked.

“Fine,” Skull said tightly. “Don’t get separated.”

But Colonello kept watching him. The way Skull moved, too fast, too precise. No flash, no drama—just brutal, fluid efficiency.

Fon noticed too.

When they regrouped that night, Fon quietly reported the ambush to the others. Reborn listened, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“Unstable Sun Flames, huh?” Reborn said softly. “Strange. And no injuries?”

Fon glanced briefly at Skull. “None.”

Reborn hummed. “Interesting.”

Later, Skull wandered a little too far from camp under the excuse of collecting kindling. Reborn found him before the mosquitoes did.

“You’re improving,” Reborn said casually, stepping out from the shadows.

“Improving?” Skull parroted.

“In combat,” Reborn said. “Your timing. Your silence.”

Skull grinned. “You noticing my ninja arc?”

Reborn smiled too. But his eyes weren’t amused.

“Thing is,” Reborn said, voice soft, “people don’t improve that fast. Not without remembering what they were first.”

There was a beat of silence.

Skull’s grin faltered for half a second. Then he laughed.

“Guess I’m just a natural, huh?”

Reborn didn’t reply. Just turned and disappeared into the night.

Skull didn’t move for a long time.

Chapter Text

The jungle mission ended without casualties, but the silence followed them back.

Even the usual chaos of Verde’s lab didn’t shake it. Skull cracked a few jokes in the hallway, loud and bright like sparklers—no one laughed. Not even Colonello.

Lal watched him out of the corner of her eye as she passed him in the corridor. He had blood on his gloves and hadn’t noticed.

She didn't say anything.

Sparring with Colonello had always been a controlled burn—gritty, focused, clean hits and clean exits. But today, he was distracted. Off by a fraction of a second. That was enough for Lal.

He landed flat on his back.

“Again,” she said, offering a hand.

He didn’t take it. “You saw it too.”

Lal raised a brow.

“Skull,” Colonello muttered. “He moved like—like he used to. Maybe even better. You saw it.”

Lal crossed her arms. “I’ve always known there was more to him.”

“You think Reborn suspects something?”

Lal snorted. “Reborn suspects everything.”
She paused. “But yeah. He’s watching.”

Colonello hesitated. “...Should we be worried?”

Lal didn’t answer immediately.

“He’s not dangerous,” she said at last. “Not to us. But I don’t think he knows that.”

It was always the same.

A jungle. Screams swallowed by wind. Hands covered in blood. His? Someone else’s? It didn’t matter.

He wakes before the shot fires.

The next morning, Skull wandered into the kitchen half-asleep and flopped across the table like a cat with unresolved trauma.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled into his arm.

“Didn’t sleep again?” Viper asked without looking up from their tablet.

“No dreams, just free psychological torture,” Skull said brightly.

Verde glanced over his glasses. “Fascinating. Care to be studied?”

“Only if I get snacks.”

“Denied.”

Colonello set down a mug of coffee near Skull’s hand without a word. Skull blinked. Smiled. Took it.

Reborn walked in just in time to see the smile—and the faint red lines on Skull’s wrist where he’d gripped too hard the day before.

He still said nothing about it.

Later, in the quiet of the training yard, Lal approached Skull.

“Didn’t know you were such a good fighter,” she said, casual.

Skull shrugged, eyes squinting at the sky. “I dabble.”

“You don’t get that good by dabbling.”

A pause.

Skull’s voice dropped. “I don’t like hurting people, Lal.”

She nodded slowly. “But you know how.”

He didn’t answer.

That was enough for her.

Chapter Text

“A simple recon job,” Verde said, sliding a folder across the table.

Skull squinted at the mission file. “Why am I getting this one alone? Not that I’m not totally awesome and capable of solo ops or anything…”

“You volunteered,” Reborn replied calmly.

“I did not.”

“You did. Three days ago. I remember. You were upside-down and eating chips at the time.”

Skull opened his mouth. Closed it.

“…Okay, that does sound like me.”

Reborn tilted his fedora. “Just scout the abandoned base and report back. No confrontation unless necessary.”

Skull saluted. “Copy that, bossman.”

But as he turned to leave, Reborn said, just barely loud enough to hear:

“Don’t die. I’d be very annoyed.”

Skull paused. Laughed it off.

But the silence behind him felt heavier than it should have.

The base was tucked into a ravine, scorched and blackened from old battles. Ivy strangled the stone, trees grew through shattered support beams. It was the kind of place ghosts remembered even if no one else did.

Skull picked his way through the rubble with a practiced eye.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t hum. Didn’t joke.

There was something familiar about the walls.

And he hated it.

Bullet holes in metal. Scorch marks on ceilings. A rusted dog tag half-buried in the soil.

He shouldn’t recognize any of this.

But he did.

He knew this place.

It hit like a thunderclap.

Smoke, screams, a name shouted through the comms—his name. The feel of a rifle in his hands, blood in his teeth. Someone crying. Someone burning.

And then silence.

Back at base, Reborn sat at the window, watching clouds gather.

“You sent him there on purpose,” Viper said.

Reborn didn’t answer.

Viper leaned on the wall beside him, arms crossed. “You’re testing him.”

“I’m confirming something.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Reborn exhaled smoke. “Then Skull is exactly who he pretends to be.”

Viper didn’t believe that either.

He came back late.

Helmet in hand. Boots muddy. Expression unreadable.

He dropped the mission file on the table. “Scouted. No survivors. No active traces. One body. Old.”

Reborn didn’t look at him. Just nodded. “Good work.”

Skull left without a joke.

Colonello and Lal watched him go. Neither said anything.

But later, alone, Skull stared at the shower wall and whispered, “I buried him there.”

Chapter Text

For once, they were all in one place.

Reborn had dragged them out to a quiet countryside inn that specialized in “comfort food.” Skull insisted on ordering three milkshakes and a plate of fries "for science." Viper stole half his fries. Lal threatened to punch anyone who touched her dumplings.

It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Skull made jokes. Colonello laughed a little too loud. Fon refilled everyone’s tea like clockwork.

But Reborn never took off his gloves, and Viper didn’t lower their illusioned veil once.

Peace made them restless.

It never lasted.

They returned to the mansion around midnight.

A letter was waiting on the front steps.

No name. No return address. Just old parchment sealed with a jagged wax emblem none of them recognized.

“Is that from the CEDEF?” Verde asked, already scanning it.

“No.” Reborn’s voice was razor-thin.

Skull hovered near the back, arms crossed.

“Just burn it,” he muttered. “Things that show up without a name rarely mean anything good.”

Reborn opened it anyway.

Inside was a single sentence, written in tight, archaic Russian.

Reborn read it aloud.

“The traitor lives. The soldier will answer.”

No one moved.

Skull didn’t breathe.

Later, while the others feigned sleep, Lal found Reborn standing alone in the kitchen.

“You knew this was coming,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t know when,” he replied.

“Should we be worried?”

Reborn didn’t answer right away. Then:

“Yes.”

He sat on the mansion rooftop, arms wrapped around his knees. Helmet beside him. For once, he wasn’t talking.

Colonello found him like that and didn’t say anything either. Just sat beside him and handed over a canned soda.

After a minute, Skull spoke:

“I thought I killed them all.”

Colonello looked at him sideways. “Who?”

“The ones who served that emblem,” he muttered. “I burned the camps. Crushed the last outpost. Buried the bodies. But I missed one.”

Colonello didn’t say “You’re not alone.” He knew Skull wouldn’t believe it.

So instead, he said, “If they’re still breathing, we’ll stop them. Together.”

Skull didn’t look at him.

But he didn’t leave either.

Chapter Text

Skull was gone when the others woke.

His helmet sat neatly on the kitchen counter. A note beneath it, scrawled in sharp, messy letters:

“Going for a ride. Don’t follow. – S”

Viper raised an eyebrow. “Is it just me, or is that less ‘motorcycle joyride’ and more ‘self-destructive brooding’?”

“I vote both,” Colonello said grimly.

Reborn didn’t speak. He simply tapped the letter from the night before, still on the table, now surrounded by scattered translations, historical references, and ink-stained notes.

“The emblem’s origin traces back to a unit disbanded during the Russian mafia collapse,” he murmured. “It shouldn’t exist.”

“It does now,” Lal said. “Which means someone’s poking the past.”

Reborn glanced toward the window.

“And Skull's bleeding from it.”

Skull stood at the edge of a burned-out military outpost. The trees around it were slowly growing back, but the air still smelled faintly of ash and old violence.
He crouched beside a half-buried metal plate, brushing away the dirt.

Same emblem. Same jagged seal.
Same graveyard he thought he left behind.

He didn’t hear the figure behind him until it spoke.

“You came back after all,” the voice rasped. Cold. Familiar.

Skull spun—no one there. Just trees.

He swallowed hard.

“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” he lied aloud.

The air around him whispered.

Back at the mansion, tension had begun to spike.

“You’re being reckless,” Viper snapped, cornering Reborn in the hallway.

“I’m being cautious,” Reborn replied flatly.

“You’re hovering over him like a bomb, waiting to see if it explodes.”

Reborn’s hat shadowed his eyes.

“He is a bomb.”

A beat.

“You didn’t always think that,” Viper murmured. “What changed?”

Reborn didn’t answer.

But his fists clenched.

He came back after sundown. Covered in dust. Silent.

Colonello opened the door before Skull could knock.

“You okay?”

“No,” Skull said bluntly, brushing past.

Colonello followed, brows furrowed.

“Do you wanna talk—?”

“Not right now.”

Not angry. Not sharp. Just—tired.

Reborn watched from the stairs.

“You found the place,” he said.

Skull didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Did you see anything?”

“…No.”

A lie.

A soft one.

Reborn let it slide—for now.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere around the kitchen table was unusually stiff.

Skull wasn’t speaking. Reborn wasn’t not staring.

Lal cleared her throat. “We’ve got a lead.”

Colonello perked up. “Yeah?”

“There was another sighting,” Lal said. “Warehouse fire. Same seal. No bodies.”

“No bodies left,” Verde corrected.

Skull flinched—barely. But Reborn saw it.

“You’ll be staying behind this time,” Reborn said suddenly.

Skull blinked. “What?”

“You’re compromised.”

Fon frowned. “He’s not that compromised—”

“He’s compromised enough.”

Skull shoved his chair back. “You don’t get to make that call for me.”

Reborn stood, calm as glass. “I already did.”

The silence afterward buzzed like a fuse.

The others left for the mission.

Skull stayed.

He paced the empty hallway for hours. Tried to watch TV. Tried to nap. Gave up.

Then he found the note.

Taped to his helmet.

Same jagged seal. Same cryptic handwriting.

“Don’t forget who you really are. We haven’t.”

There was no signature. There was no need for one.

But Skull’s breath caught.

At the warehouse, the mission ended quickly. No enemies. Just ruin.

But something felt wrong.

Reborn stepped over burned rubble and found a half-charred photograph pinned to a crate.

It showed a younger Skull.

Unmasked.

Smiling, but surrounded by soldiers.

Reborn stared at it a long time.

Then tucked it into his coat pocket.

When they returned, Skull was sitting on the roof.

Helmet on. Shoulders hunched.

“I got another letter,” he said quietly, without turning.

Reborn stood behind him. Close, but not too close.

“Want to show me?”

Skull hesitated.

Then held it out.

Reborn read the note. Read it again.

“…This isn’t just some leftover mafia grudge,” he said. “They know you.”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re watching.”

Skull nodded once.

Reborn handed the note back.

“I need to know who you were, Skull.”

“…So do I.”

Chapter Text

Skull hadn’t slept. He sat at the table while Lal brewed coffee, his helmet tilted just enough that she could see the shadows under his eyes.

“You look like hell,” she said flatly.
“Thanks,” Skull replied, voice muffled but unusually quiet.

Colonello ruffled his hair like nothing was wrong, grinning in that easy, careless way. “Don’t worry, kora! We’ll wrap this mission fast.” But Skull didn’t answer. He kept fiddling with the edge of the letter folded in his pocket. Reborn noticed. Of course he did. He always did.

Their intel pointed to an abandoned safehouse in the mountains. The Arcobaleno moved in formation, their usual mix of professional efficiency and chaotic banter.

“Stay sharp,” Lal warned.

“Always,” Fon murmured, scanning the treeline.

The forest was too still. No birds. No wind. Just smoke clinging faintly to the air.

“Déjà vu,” Viper muttered.

That was when Skull froze. On the ground, carved into the dirt with brutal precision, was the same jagged seal. His stomach dropped.

Chapter Text

The attack came fast. Shadows burst from the treeline—masked figures, silent and coordinated. Colonello raised his rifle. Lal fired. Fon moved like water. Reborn’s gun was already drawn. Skull didn’t hesitate.

His posture shifted. Helmet tilted back. Hands moved with a speed too clean, too practiced. He tore through the enemy like the battlefield was home. For a moment—just a moment—he forgot to hold back.

Reborn saw it. Every precise strike, every soldier’s instinct. The man Skull pretended not to be. And then, as suddenly as they came, the attackers melted away. Leaving only smoke.

Breathing hard, the group regrouped. Colonello clapped Skull’s shoulder. “Nice moves, kora! Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Skull forced a laugh. “I’m full of surprises, you know me—hilarious guy, party trick expert, clown of the century!”

But his hands were shaking when he adjusted his helmet. Reborn didn’t speak. He just watched. Lal frowned, crossing her arms. “They weren’t testing us.”

Everyone turned.

“They were testing him.”

And Skull froze.

Chapter Text

The car was too quiet.

Normally, Skull would fill the silence—complaining about Reborn’s hat, Viper’s insults, or Colonello hogging the window seat. But today, he stared at the floor, helmet hiding his expression.

Colonello elbowed him lightly. “You did good, kora.”

“Uh, yeah. Totally. Super fun ambush. Ten out of ten, would recommend.” Skull’s laugh was sharp, brittle.

No one laughed with him.

Back at base, Lal cornered him.

“Who were they, Skull?”

Skull tilted his helmet. “Dunno. Angry cosplayers? Wrong convention?”

“Drop the act,” Lal snapped. Her voice wasn’t cruel, but it was cutting. “They targeted you. You fought like—” She stopped, frustrated. “Like someone who’s done this before.”

Skull’s hand twitched. Then he grinned wide, too wide. “Wow, Lal, I’m flattered you noticed my killer instinct! Maybe I’ve been watching too much action TV—”

“Skull.”

His grin cracked.

But he slipped past her before she could press harde

Later, Reborn found Skull on the roof again.

The smaller man was sitting cross-legged, fiddling with a broken lighter.

“Colonello thinks you’re just hiding talent,” Reborn said.

Skull didn’t look up. “And what do you think?”

Reborn’s gaze sharpened. “I think you’re lying to all of us.”

Silence stretched.

Then Skull barked a laugh, too loud, too fake. “Yeah, sure, Reborn. That’s me—King of Lies, Clown of the Century, everyone’s favorite punching bag. Congrats, you solved the mystery!”

But his voice wavered.

Reborn didn’t push further. Not yet. He just said, “Eventually, Skull… you’ll run out of jokes.”

Somewhere far away, in the ruins of the ambush site—

Masked figures regrouped. One held a communicator, whispering: “Phase one complete. He reacted as predicted.”

A pause. “No. He doesn’t remember everything. Yet.”

The leader’s laugh was low, cruel. “Then we’ll remind him.”

Chapter Text

Breakfast was unusually loud—and not in the fun way.

“Stop hogging the coffee,” Viper snapped at Colonello.

“Maybe if you didn’t drown it in sugar—”

“Enough,” Lal cut in sharply.

Even Fon sighed, setting down his tea. “We’re losing focus.”

Reborn said nothing. He was watching Skull again. Skull, who was laughing a little too loudly at Colonello’s whining. Skull, whose hands trembled when he buttered toast. Skull, who was pretending none of them noticed.

Later that day, Lal led a routine patrol near the mountains. Skull tagged along, complaining dramatically about mosquitoes.

But halfway through the sweep, Lal spotted it.

Pinned to a tree. The same jagged seal.

This time, the note was shorter:
“You can’t run forever.”

Skull’s laughter died in his throat. Lal tore the note down, glaring at him. “This is about you. Again.”

Skull shoved his hands in his pockets. “Wow, yeah, I’m super popular with the creepy fan club, huh?”

But his voice was flat.

Back at base, Lal pulled Reborn aside.

“He knows more than he’s saying.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you forcing him to talk?”

Reborn tipped his fedora low, unreadable. “Because when Skull breaks… it won’t be something we can fix.”

Lal froze.

Reborn’s tone was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “Better to let him unravel on his own terms than shatter all at once.”

That night, Skull sat on the roof again, the note clutched in his hand.

His helmet was beside him. His face, for once, uncovered.

He whispered into the dark:

“…I told you to stay dead.”

And for a moment, the clown mask slipped completely—leaving only the soldier beneath, haunted and exhausted.