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    Summary

    He had a schedule. First, select the Strongest Seven among Flame Users, then test and tie them together as a Mafiosa Famiglia. The third thing was to curse them, because the world needed fuel and that fuel had to be them. So the Sky Arcobaleno died - and that was also on the schedule, nothing wrong there. The problem happened when Luce's daughter was unable to keep the Orange Pacifier because the girl, Aria, did not have enough strong or pure Flames.

    Well, screw it. Did you hear that, Sephira? He's had enough of those fucking Pacifiers. Kawahira was washing his hands of it, doing well and thanks.

    It was around this time that Harry Potter, eighteen years old and fresh from a fucking war with a mad magician, set foot in Italy.

    And as the new earthlings say, shit happens.

    Or that fanfic in which Harry Potter goes on vacation - because he deserves a little peace, after all -, gives an auspicious stumble in Palermo's Cosa Nostra and ends up unintentionally with a certain colored Pacifier hanging around his neck.

    (And, as always, Lucky Potter is an epic and absolute disgrace. Not that Reborn and the rest of Arcobaleno have any complaints about it.)

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