Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Clean ❯ Part II: Chapter 6, Stories ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

By: Animom

Chapter 6: Stories

Three days had passed since the visit. He'd been immersed in Tantalus since then, but rather than work in The Weyr he'd set up in one of the small control rooms in the basement of the main house, where he'd turned off Mille's cameras and microphones, blacked her screens, and muted her volume. It was none of her business if he wanted to re-name all the resource files manually, and he didn't need an AI asking why he was working with thousands of files the slow, stupid way. Sitting in the dark doing mind-numbingly dull tasks seemed a good way to deal with feeling like a fish writhing on a hook – a hook he'd gobbled with full knowledge of where it would lead. At the moment, he was watching his screen scroll the status of the current software compile, turning over and over in his hands the dragon netsuke the mysterious girl in the antiquarian bookstore had given him. (Of course all the Yijing stuff she had told him was occult bullshit, but she'd also led him to the books that had been the inspiration for Tantalus.) By now he knew the dragon by heart, could picture every detail with his eyes closed. The deepset eyes, observant and self-possessed in the fringed lion-like head. The sinuous loops of the body. The curved claws that seemed to say It wouldn't be a good idea to piss me off. It was clearly a dragon that didn't need to prove itself to anyone; its power was evident even at rest, guarding whatever was inside the netsuke – for he was sure it that it was partially hollow even though the halves were joined with such complete perfection that he hadn't been able to open it. He was coming to think that the artist meant the inside to remain hidden, and he felt as much envy for the skill that had conceived such a puzzle as for the skill that had shaped the dragon itself. A few tones sounded from the security panel behind him. The dark computer screen in front of him reflected blinking green access lights and then, after the door shushed open, his brother's silhouette. Mokuba whispered hesitantly, "Seto? Are you in here?" "Don't you have school today?" "Today is Sunday," Mokuba murmured "I knew that." Sunday? It can't be. Mokuba came and stood next to his chair. "How much longer is this going to take? I was hoping we could do something together today.” "Maybe later," Seto said listlessly. He expanded the compile window and opened several sub-windows in a display of busyness. "OK, maybe I'll see you in a while.” When he glanced over his brother was gone. Seto put his head in his hands. He wanted his old life back, when everything was simple and clear. Running the company had been a exhilarating game, just like Magic and Wizards, requiring strategy, tactics, timing, and careful observation. His relationship with Mokuba had been a strong and pure bond. His life had been ordered and complete. He knew exactly where he needed to allocate himself well ahead of time: tasks fell before him like a row of dominoes. Everything was balanced perfectly. Zero-sum. Using his power had been exhilarating and effortless. Kaiba Corporation had been his castle, and high atop it he and Mokuba were secure and content. But then everything had changed. The Mind Crush inflicted by Yugi's Dark seemed to have somehow drained him of everything that made him who he was, everything that had made him successful as a duelist, as a company president, and as Mokuba's protector. From that time on, dueling had become an ordeal, every move clenched with fear of loss. The company had convulsed with the fallout from not one, but two takeover attempts – attempts that he hadn't foreseen. Pegasus had taken Mokuba from him, he hadn't been able to escape from the VR game without help ... and at every turn, Mutou and his groupies took advantage of any moment of weakness to worm into his world. Constantly pushing in under the banner of "friendship." Making unexpected demands on his energy, stirring up parts of him that should have stayed quiet, pulling at him like a black hole, threatening to swallow him before he could analyze the risks. He clenched the netsuke in his fist. He wished that he'd never met them. "Big brother? Are you OK?" He was startled out of his reverie by Mokuba, who had returned with a piece of paper in his hand. "What is it?" Mokuba hung back in the doorway, uncharacteristically tentative. "Are you sure I can come in?" Seto forced a smile he didn't feel. "What do you have?" Mokuba laid the paper on the desk. It was a drawing. At the top of a tall castle tower, a Blue Eyes poked its head morosely out of a single barred window. At the base of the tower, a woman with long dark hair was fighting various monsters, including what looked like several vampire horses. Seto flashed back to another time, years ago, when another drawing of Mokuba's had come to him and helped him though another dark time. "What is this?" "A princess is coming to rescue the dragon," Mokuba said somberly. "See, those are flesh-eating horses, like in the Hercules story." "Diomedes?" He nodded. "And when she kisses the dragon, it will turn into a prince, and they can live happily ever after." Seto rubbed his forehead. "How is she going to get up to where the dragon is? Is there a door? Or stairs?" Mokuba sighed, exasperated. "Don't get distracted by details, big brother. It's a fairy tale, you know. They never make sense." "Does," he thought for a minute, "does this dragon-prince have any family?" He was hoping that Mokuba wasn't identifying himself with a princess again: he hadn't had time to read up on how to handle cross-dressing. "I dunno," Mokuba said thoughtfully. "Hm, maybe." He scrunched up his face, then said cheerfully, "Yeah, his brother was kidnapped by the guy who owns the horses. And if the Dragon Prince doesn't come up with the ransom soon, it'll be all over for the prince's brother." He made a dramatic throat-cutting gesture, complete with gurgling noises. "The princess is going to need help from a knight." Mokuba suddenly snatched up the picture. "No, that wouldn't work. Knights kill dragons. It's got to be a princess. For the kiss." "Calm down." Placating, he asked, "You wanted to do something?" "I thought we could hang out, watch TV, something like that." "Alright." He pushed himself to his feet, set the netsuke atop the monitor. "But there's something else I want you to do first," Mokuba said, "right now." "What's that?" Mokuba folded his arms. "Put on real clothes instead of pajamas! And take a shower. You smell like rotten clams!" . Mokuba had a knack for mischief at times. "Hey, what's this?" His voice was muffled. "This big package from Italy?” Seto unlocked the bathroom door and opened it a crack. Shit. He must mean the box from Milan tossed in the back of the closet. "I don't remember," he lied, quickly pulling on a black turtleneck and pants. He heard Mokuba clapping and hooting. "Wow, Seto! when did you get this stuff? And why is it still in the box?" "I'll never wear any of it," he said as he came out of the bathroom, slipping the locket over his head and tossing his pajamas in the laundry chute. The turtleneck sleeves were long, but not as long as he'd have liked. Keeping the scars on his wrist covered until they healed was essential. Mokuba, unwrapping a tissue-wrapped cylinder, whistled. "Not even this? It's awesome!" He held up a long metal wrist-cuff. "I didn't notice that before." Curious, Seto took it and read the small tag attached. "Museum reproduction. Interesting." He glanced at the instructions, then released the concealed clasp. The cuff opened along a nearly invisible hinge. He snapped it shut around his left forearm. It was solid, heavy enough to hold his sleeve in place, and with the fabric underneath it didn't slide at all. Snug but not too tight. It was like armor. Wearing it might be acceptable. "Here's the other one." Mokuba asked as he fitted it around Seto's right forearm, "Do they have these in my size?" "Ask Millie," Seto said, swinging his arms. Like using a well-balanced weapon, the cuffs made his motions feel significant. He smiled a little. I feel like I have muscles and bones again. And then he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He started to take the cuffs off. "What are you doing?" Mokuba squawked. "I look like a fool." Mokuba jumped to his feet and snapped the cuff shut. "No you don't!" He sounded urgent, almost desperate. "You – you – look like a superhero! Or a prince." Superhero? How long would he look up to me if he knew my secret identity's secret? The gray eyes shone up at him. "Please, just for today? After that you can put them away." I am such a bastard for putting him through this. He put his hand tenderly on Mokuba's head and stroked the thick black hair a few times. "OK, you win." "And this too?" Mobuka dashed over to the box and held up the heavy brocade coat with the massive curved shoulders. He shook his head. "Absolutely not." "Why not?" "If I wore that in public, I'd be laughed off the streets." "The house isn't public!" Mokuba smiled his widest smile and added Big Eyes."Pleeeease? it's awesome!" Seto, feeling generous, reached for the purple monstrosity. The sleeves, form-fitting below the elbow, had concealed zippers. "Mokuba," he said doubtfully, "There's no way this will go on over … " Mokuba looked at him, arms akimbo. "Put the arm things on top." "It's stupid-looking," he muttered as he put the cuffs on over the coat sleeves. "It's cool-looking," Mokuba said as he wadded the tissue paper into a ball and happily shot it into the wastebasket. . He had to admit, the coat was well made, with a pleasing weight and swing. It still seemed too dramatic to wear in the house, but Mokuba kept looking at him and grinning, dancing around him and clapping and calling him "Your Highness” as they went up to the third-floor home office to watch anime. "Only this once,” he grumbled. Instead of the super-robot or martial arts series that Mokuba had favored in the past today's show had girls, lingerie, and breast jokes. The plot seemed to be that a high school club, run by a nerd in glasses with four girls as members, used magic to fight alien robots. The club president spent half of each episode with nosebleeds as a result of his sexual fantasies about the other members, only one of which (a tall, flat-chested tomboy with red hair) had any intelligence. "So what do you think? Do you like it?" Mokuba asked, a gleam in his eye. “Magic is pointless. They should be using science and guns to fight the aliens,” he said, folding his arms, "and the club president should be content with the redhead and leave the other girls alone." Mokuba looked at him steadily, a lopsided grin growing. "If you're going to pretend to watch something with me, you really ought to pay a little bit of attention. That's a boy who keeps trying to kiss Takakura." "The one with the long red hair is a boy?" "Yeah," Mokuba giggled. "It's funny." Seto snorted. "Why are you watching this garbage?" "It has cute girls." Mokuba said matter-of-factly. "Which one do you like best?” "None of them. They're cartoons.” "But if they were real people, which would you go out with?” Seto shook his head. "I don't associate with the brainless.” He had a low tolerance for inanity, having overheard and seen at school to last a lifetime. Take the White Day nonsense: girls he'd never met pummeled each other over the "right" to put unwanted chocolate in his locker. An idiotic waste of time, to spend so much energy on something so ephemeral. Still, it was easy to ignore. Like this show he was watching with Mokuba. "You mean, just quit the magic club?” one of the girls asked the other. His eyes widened. I am an idiot. To get off the hook, all I need to do is spit out the bait. Truly, it was a sign of how badly he was affected that it had taken him this long to see something so obvious. He wouldn't, couldn't be pulled off-course if he distanced himself from everything but the three things that mattered: Regaining his title. Running his company. Taking care of Mokuba. Anything that didn't contribute to those three things had to be ignored until he was back to normal. After that, if he decided it was worth squandering the time and resources, he would consider … exploring new experiences. He got up from the couch and went to his desk. "Should I play another episode?” Mokuba asked. "I have work to do." He opened his laptop, began scanning his e-mail. Mokuba changed the channel. A news announcer was saying "- the Director of the Bureau of Egyptology in Egypt, and the foremost scholar in the research of Egyptology.” He glanced at the screen. Surprising – that woman was a scholar and a museum director? The museum must be very small. "Oh, look. It's a new exhibition! Can we go?” "No. I'm not interested in archeology – and if I was, I'd rather do my own research than look at someone else's broken pottery.” Mokuba pouted. "I think it's interesting. I've never seen any Egyptian stuff before.” A wheedling tone. "Maybe it will give you a game idea.” "Doubtful.” The phone rang, on the line that forwarded calls from the corporation office. Who in hell is calling on a Sunday? "What is it?” "Sir, Miss Ishizu Ishtal of the Bureau of Archaeology is on the line for you.” He watched the woman on the screen invite the public to the museum while the voice on the phone offered a personal invitation. "I'll be there in twenty minutes,” he said, then hung up the phone, pressed the intercom, and asked for a driver. "Where are you going?” Mokuba asked. "To the museum. She says she has a rare card for me. It's probably a trick to get me to make a donation.” "Miss Ishizu? Wow, Seto! She looks like a princess! Maybe you'll like her.” He frowned at Mokuba, closed the laptop, and stood. "It's business.” As he reached for his briefcase he realized that he was wearing the ridiculous coat. Well, no time to change – and no matter. He was just going for the card: he didn't care what a stranger he'd never see again thought of his outfit. . Women and their mystical bullshit. Hexagrams, pharaohs. Still, sometimes something useful was left after the sparkly haze dissipated – like Tantalus. Or like God Warrior of the Obelisk. A two-monster tribute to destroy all the opponents' monsters and wipe out their life points in a single attack? Obelisk on its own would make most duels one-shot deals; if the other cards were even half as powerful, he would be unstoppable. Ishizu had said that members of this "Ghouls” operation had them: it was up to him to lure them into his net. He ran through a mental checklist of what he'd need to do to get a tournament off the ground. Dueling equipment and venue? He was supposed to get the final prototype of the new duel disk system tomorrow. A tournament would be excellent publicity for it, which would be good for sales. In fact … if he made using the new system mandatory, it would be simple to add a chip that uploaded data to the mainframe: then every duelist, every duel – every card – could be tracked via satellite. Especially if he used the entire city as an open-air arena. He'd have to do something special for the final rounds, too: something high-profile that would also keep the mediocrities and rabble out. Advertising? Once he got production information on the new duel disk, he would let viral marketing spread the word. Faster, cheaper and more targeted than print or media advertising. Tournament rules? He'd have to give some thought to this, but at the very least there had to be an ante rule, with the winner taking the loser's best card. It would ensure that he'd have justification for using force if needed to take the two God cards when he defeated their holders. The rush he felt as he pictured it – he hadn't felt this energized in months. Battle City would lure the Rare Card Hunters; once he took their God Cards he could duel Yugi again and remove the stain from his – and Kaiba Corporation's – reputation. Yes, he had wasted too much time recently on dissecting events he could not change, being distracted by activities that gave only tenuous rewards. No more. From now on his only concern would be the future – his glorious future. End of Chapter 6

Notes for Chapter 6

Thanks go out (though 6 years late) to ori for the annotated translation of the manga and the original anime's version of the scene between Isis and Kaiba, long before anyone had anything other than raws to look at. The anime they watch in this chapter is Mahou Tsukai Tai (Magic User's Club). Human brooms! . (13) 7 March 2010