A/N: An anon on my tumblr asked me what I thought about Tabloidshipping. I shuddered, and wrote this in response. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!, Takahashi Kazuki does.
Redgrove Academy was home to the rich, the powerful, and the obscenely talented under the age of eighteen. The children of film stars, celebrities, industry giants, geniuses, and even child idols all attended, rubbed elbows, and built the foundations of a future where they would one day shape the world with their own hands.
And, during morning homeroom, Redgrove was also home to the most incorrigible gossips in the nation.
One particular morning, Mokuba Kaiba, heir apparent to the largest and fastest-growing gaming conglomerate in the eastern hemisphere, found himself the target of Redgrove's finest.
He looked up from a last-minute check of his homework at the whisper of his name, trying to locate the source. His brow furrowed when he noticed some of his classmates clustered around a desk, tittering. One of the girls turned and caught his eye, promptly blushing bright red and immediately jerking her gaze away.
… What?
"Hey, Hana." Mokuba turned to the dark-haired girl sitting next to him. "What's going on over there?"
Hana Chiaki, second daughter of an aeronautical engineering entrepreneur, looked up from her phone and shrugged. "New boyfriend quiz?"
Another girl from the crowd glanced at him before turning back sharply, whispering furiously to her friend.
"Hey, hey," Mokuba wheedled tugging on Hana's sleeve, "Go see what it is."
"What? You go do it!"
"But they're girls."
Hana sent him a withering glare. "And what, pray tell, am I?"
"A sane girl," Mokuba replied, flashing her a grin.
Hana's expression didn't change.
"I'll fast-track your Dad's aeronautics contract to Nii-sama's desk."
A gleam entered Hana's eyes. "Throw in a week of clean-up duty, and you have a deal."
"What?!" Mokuba protested, "No! Two days, tops."
"Four."
Mokuba narrowed his eyes. "… Fine."
The two of them shook hands and a boy with burgundy hair tied back in a queue laughed, appearing beside them. "Or you could just ask, Mokuba."
Leon von Schroeder, heir apparent to the Schroeder family fortune, waved a copy of The Herald at them. "This is what they were looking at."
"Ha!" Mokuba spun in delight. "This is why you're my favourite, Leon! Have fun on clean-up duty, Hana~"
"Hey! We had a deal!"
"Nope, contract contingent on you getting me the newspaper, not Le - EW!" Mokuba shrieked, practically vaulting out of his seat, "Get it away from me!"
Leon scrambled to fold the paper out of sight against the backdrop of his best friend's exaggerated gagging.
"Okay, now I'm curious," Hana said, reaching over. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers when she saw the title of the article.
FORBIDDEN ROMANCE
The shocking truth about the Kaiba brothers behind closed doors!
Beneath it was a picture of Seto down on one knee before Mokuba, cradling his head to tilt his face up. Seto was wearing a familiar outfit of a bright white studded trench coat over black pants and a black turtleneck with belts on his arms and legs, and Mokuba had one hand wrapped around his sleeve.
"A brand new exposé reveals the hidden hearts of Domino City's darlings," Hana narrated disbelievingly, "Where does one draw the line on true love?"
"Do you know what happened there?" Mokuba fumed, storming back and stabbing his finger into the paper. "Nii-sama was checking me for a concussion, and I was reminding him that unlike some people, I don't hide my injuries."
Leon looked at him in surprise. "You remember when this was taken?"
Mokuba waved dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, it was during Battle City." His expression turned vicious. "I hope this guy suffered when he lost his job."
Hana shook her head. "I wouldn't want to be that photographer when Mr. Kaiba gets his hands on them."
Mokuba smirked. "I said 'lost,' not 'will lose.' There's no way Nii-sama doesn't already know about this."
His classmates winced. They glanced at each other in amusement as Mokuba continued grumbling fiercely under his breath, throwing himself back in his seat with a huff. Leon leaned over Hana's shoulder, reading the article.
The very lurid, scandalous article, which made them highly doubt the newspaper would still be in business by the end of the day.
Suddenly, Mokuba brightened. "Wait, we have snipers!"
Leon and Hana stared.
"What?" Mokuba said, valiantly not pouting. "Kaiba Corp was a weapons developer, and Gozaburo contracted with PMCs all the time - some of whom trained Nii-sama. He's got contacts."
Hana sighed. "You can't just… I need more normal friends."
Leon snickered. "You probably shouldn't have come to Redgrove, then."
By the end of the day, the story had circulated through the entire school, along with the story of Mokuba not-so-accidentally setting the tabloid on fire during his chemistry class and triggering the fire alarm.
Leon was still snickering at his disgruntled best friend when classes let out, and they saw Duke waiting at the school gates.
"'Sup, Little Man?" Duke greeted cheerfully, "Little Man #2."
Leon smiled back at Duke's greeting, but Mokuba narrowed his eyes. "… Where's my brother?"
Duke waved dismissively. "Business meeting ran late, so he asked me to take you to Turtle Game instead."
Mokuba's expression didn't change.
Duke's smile gained a lethal edge. "Bodies may end up off the docks after said meeting."
Mokuba scoffed. "A vat of bleach or an incinerator would be better. Water's a great forensic countermeasure, but bodies always attract police attention."
Leon shook his head. "This is why Hana yells at you every fifteen minutes, you know."
This time, Mokuba did pout, resuming his irritated railing against paparazzi and the moral degradation of the news industry.
Duke laughed, tousling Mokuba's hair. "Come on, you two. Let's get going; I want to beat traffic. And maybe help my boyfriend hide the bodies."
"You say this like Nii-sama would leave bodies behind."
Daiki Tamashiro, age 52, thought he was doing pretty well for himself. He was the editor of a major newspaper, business was booming, and he wasn't overburdened by bleeding hearts and nuisance ethics investigations. He could put out the news the people wanted, and Domino City's social elite had plenty of that.
And then he walked into his office to find death waiting for him.
His blood froze in his veins.
A demon made of obsidian and blood sat in his chair, cold cobalt eyes watching him like a dragon about to feast. Seto Kaiba wore all black, save for a slash of crimson down his chest from his tie, and blood on his wrists - no. Not blood, just red-jewelled cufflinks, glinting in the low light of his office.
His elbows were propped up on the table, fingers steepled, and that morning's edition of the Herald lay in front of him.
Right. The love affair article.
For the first time in nearly thirty years of journalistic experience, Daiki felt dread and remorse crawl up his spine.
"Mr. Tamashiro," Seto said, voice as hard and icy as a king overseeing an execution, "Sit."
Daiki found himself moving towards the chair in front of his desk before he realised what was happening. He stumbled, drawing himself to a stop, and straightened his spine. He was more than three times this kid's age, who was he to order him around? In his own office, no less?!
He cleared his throat, wincing internally at the dry, pathetic croak, and crossed his arms. "And just who do you think you are ordering me around in my own office, boy?"
The temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees, the hair on the back of Daiki's neck rose.
Seto's expression remained cold and ruthless, his piercing gaze boring into Daiki before flicking down and to the side to the chair in another silent order.
Daiki's knees quaked, but he held his ground. Then he blinked, and found himself seated in front of Seto. The chair was purposefully lower than Daiki's chair behind the desk, and Daiki had to look up slightly to meet Seto's gaze.
But - how had that happened?!
Seto tapped the newspaper deliberately and for a wild moment, Daiki thought the sound was the ticking of the countdown to his death.
"I'm sure you know why I'm here, Mr. Tamashiro."
Daiki cleared his throat again. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Oh?" Seto's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Then, let me enlighten you."
He spun the newspaper sharply and thrust it across the desk at Daiki. The 'FORBIDDEN ROMANCE' headline and photo of Seto kneeling before Mokuba blared out at the editor in full technicolour. The glee he'd felt that morning seeing the article hot off the press felt distant and sour now.
"I care very little what you print on this dishrag masquerading as a newspaper," Seto continued, "Your word is of little worth and value to someone in my position. My brother, however, is off-limits. He always has been, and I can assure you, your tenuous presence in Domino City's news engine is no match for the force of my wrath."
Daiki bristled. "Are you threatening me?!"
"Not at all, Mr. Tamashiro. You'll know when I'm threatening you."
"It's just a story!" Daiki snapped, puffing up and crossing his arms defiantly, "News sells!"
Seto leaned forward, menace dripping from every syllable out of his mouth. "So do human organs on the black market."
His gaze flicked down to the newspaper, and Daiki followed it. The blood drained form his face as he read the text beneath the photo. Instead of the article he'd published, he saw lines of text listing his name, birth date, address, family history, medical history, personal e-mails, travel receipts -
He flipped through the rest of the pages, finding the details of his entire life chronicled in neat, tight print. He saw the names of escorts, bank statements, tax filings, and there, on the second-to-last page, a chart on how much human organs of middle-aged men were worth in various countries.
"Surprisingly, the highest bidders are Moldovans looking for kidneys," Seto remarked, "With prices up to a quarter of a million dollars. Far less surprising are Europeans clamouring for lungs, in the two hundred thousand dollar range."
Daiki trembled, skin ghostly pale and clammy with sweat. "You - You can't do this!"
Seto's smirk was less an arrangement of his facial muscles and more the blade of the Grim Reaper's scythe, gleaming sharp with the inevitability of death. "Domino City is my city," he practically purred, "I think you'll find there's very little I can't do."
This, this was a threat.
"I - I can fix this," Daiki stammered, "I'll print a retraction, first thing in the morning! This will never happen again!"
"Of that, I am certain," Seto replied, eyes gleaming. "But don't think you're getting out of this so easily." For a fraction of a moment, something red flashed through the slats of the window blinds above the teen mogul's shoulder.
Daiki whimpered.
A short while later, Seto stepped out of the building into the sunshine, buttoning his suit and adjusting his sleeves as he looked out at the cheerful evening bustle of the city. His eyes briefly shifted to the side, catching sight of a glint on the roof of a nearby high-rise.
He pulled out his phone, pressing a number on speed dial. "Roland, bring the car around. My business here is completed."
Three days later, questions about Daiki Tamashiro or the employees of a newspaper called The Herald were universally med with simple, bland smiles and a politely confused answer, "Who?"
A/N: Did Seto murder the staff of the Herald or simply encourage them all to leave the city? The world may never know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯