Winner Take All
by Cryptographic DeLurk
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AN: Written for YGOME 2016 on ao3. Prompt was for Yuugi and Mokuba bonding over life in Atem and Seto's respective shadows.
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He'd come back from the tournament in Vancouver with a trophy – the Dark Magician Girl, shining in plated gold. She was jumping for joy, holding up her staff and the miniature of a more traditional winner's cup.
Yuugi thought it was a bit garish, but it made for a cuter trophy than some of the others he'd seen. And the Dark Magician Girl was at least related to the game of Duel Monsters. It was only uncomfortable when the announcer had presented him with the trophy, and called her the 'girl version' of his best card, and why didn't he use the Dark Magician card anymore? It was still a fan favourite.
Mana and Mahaad – the Dark Magician Girl and her mentor – they were the servants of his other self.
No, Yuugi reminds himself. Not his other self. They were Atem's servants.
But it was Yuugi's name engraved on the plaque at the base of the trophy.
Grandpa had accepted the trophy from Yuugi, and placed it with the others, along the ceiling shelf in the game shop. In the wake of Yuugi's tournament standings, Kame Game had done booming business. But it was more than that. Grandpa had been the one to introduce Yuugi to Duel Monsters, so he should have the trophies, Yuugi felt.
Grandpa had been the one to see him in at the airport. Jounouchi had been busy with work, but caught up with Yuugi later that night. Yuugi was going to be in town for the next month, at least, taking tournament positions and advocating for the Duel Monsters League on the local circuit.
Everyone else was out of town.
Except for the people that never left town, of course. Some people had skyscrapers and mansions and statues in Domino City. Some people couldn't leave.
Yuugi called Kaiba that night, after Jounouchi had fallen asleep and been pulled onto a spare futon.
He'd gone downstairs to the main room of the Kame Game shop, so as not to wake Jounouchi. The room was dark and quiet and, waiting in the limbo of the late night before opening hours, Yuugi watched the shadows gleam off the Dark Magician Girl trophy as he searched through his cell phone contacts and listened to the dial tone.
Kaiba was producing movies, video games, heaps of merchandise. He was running a chain of theme parks. He still had exclusive rights to the Solid Vision technology used at all the Duel Monsters tournaments. What Kaiba didn't do anymore was duel. He didn't even make appearances at the local tournaments.
Yuugi could understand that, but he felt Kaiba's absence. Duelling professionally was not the same as duelling Kaiba.
He wondered what Kaiba would say if Yuugi told him: You were the best opponent I've ever faced.
I was the best opponent your other self faced, imaginary Kaiba spat.
Real Kaiba didn't even answer his phone. Yuugi left some inoffensive message on whatever machine he'd been connected with – something about whether or not Kaiba was keeping up with the tournament ranks, or had he talked to Pegasus recently, or just inquiring about his and Mokuba's general health.
"Call me back if you can," Yuugi said, before hanging up. It was as leading as he was willing to get.
Five days later, Kaiba still hadn't called back. And Yuugi stopped expecting him to.
This was how much friendship got you, apparently. Because Yuugi could probably call any other game company in the world and, given his position in the Duel Monsters international tournament ranks, be guaranteed a response and an audience. But calling Kaiba meant being bounced to the answering machines and ignored.
But Kaiba was the only one who knew. The only one who knew Atem.
But then, on the sixth day, Yuugi does receive a call-back. He's at the museum, negotiating a deal with the curators. They've gotten a hold of some Pegasus Crawford originals, and are thinking about bringing back the Egypt exhibit. They're hoping a display mixing ancient Egyptian relics and modern Duel Monsters concept art will increase interest in both Egyptology and the Duel Monsters franchise.
Yuugi says all the right words, but he's thinking about Atem's sarcophagus.
They break for lunch when a name pops up on his caller ID. He only had to read the first character – the sprawling crisscross of an ocean field, Kai – before hurrying to answer.
"Ah, excuse me," Yuugi says. He covers the speaker with his hand, as he ducks past the other curators and businessmen and figureheads. He swings around a corner, into the Southeast Asian exhibit.
"Hello?" he speaks into the mic. "Kai-"
He cuts himself off, looks back to make sure he's alone.
He walks a few more steps, before turning to press his back up against a wall. Across from him is a dancing brass Nataraja. It smiles at him.
"Kaiba?" Yuugi asks.
Kaiba doesn't laugh very often, and certainly not the way the person at the other end of the line does, without a trace of mania.
"Well, one of them anyhow," the person answers.
It takes Yuugi a minute to recognise the timbre of the voice, the slight nasal quality retained past the crack of puberty.
"Oh, Mokuba," Yuugi brightens. It's more of a relief than he expected – not having to have this conversation with Kaiba. "How have you been?"
"Good, thanks," Mokuba replied. "Just returning your call. A little late, but- I figured I better look into it if the Duel Monsters Champion is calling us!"
Yuugi laughs nervously.
"Er, it wasn't really a business call," Yuugi admits. "I was just calling to check in."
"Well, as the Vice President of Kaiba Corp I had to make sure," Mokuba scoffs. "I saw you duel in the finals at Vancouver."
There's a second, where everything's so quiet, Yuugi's sure he would have heard a pin drop in this empty wing of the museum. The Vedic gods are laughing at him.
"You did?" Yuugi asks.
"Not live," Mokuba laughs. "I hunted down the online video feed of the event last night."
How strange. Yuugi knows thousands of people keep up with his duels. Magazines print interviews with him, forums analyse every card in his deck and every one of his plays, and he autographs the cards and posters and playmats of enthusiastic fans after each event. But hearing that Mokuba took the time to watch him duel, even if it was only in preparation for making this phone call. – it makes him feel important somehow.
"Your finishing play with the Silent Swordsman and Magic Cylinder – it was a really smart move."
Yuugi blushes. He wrings the right leg of his jeans with his free hands.
"You think so?" he asks.
"Of course," Mokuba assures. He doesn't miss a beat. He's the smooth and charismatic voice of Kaiba Corp after all.
Maybe that's why it's so easy to talk to him. Which is why Yuugi hides in his portion of the museum far past the time he's probably due back in the museum office. He's chatting with Mokuba about the tournament, and Pegasus's newest card releases, and, well, everything really. Mokuba doesn't scoff when he talks about Anzu getting cast in Chicago, or Honda's wedding, or even when he talks about Jounouchi's latest string of part-time work.
"Well, it was good to catch up," Mokuba says, after the stone Buddhas start to look a little too critical and Yuugi begs off to return to work. But then, "Sorry-" Mokuba slips out at the tail end of his farewell.
It's almost baffling. Mokuba's been nothing if not polite for the entirety of their conversation.
"For what?" Yuugi asks, trying to straighten his hair, as he delays exiting the exhibit.
"Sorry that it was me who called you back… I'm not my brother," Mokuba says.
Nataraja lifts one leg in his dance. Then the other.
It's said so straightforwardly, without the faintest trace of irony, that it makes Yuugi laugh.
Yuugi snorts, and breaks down guffawing into the phone. Mokuba is silent, and Yuugi wonders if he's offended him.
"Well- tell your brother sorry for me then," Yuugi manages to say, hushing his laughter behind the words.
Mokuba waits a moment before responding.
But, when he does, he actually sounds curious.
"Why's that?" he asks.
Because I'd rather talk to you, Yuugi thinks.
But then another thought intercepts this and, before he can rethink things, he says it instead.
"Because I'm not Atem."
He feels his eyes widen, his face flush. Even in a completely neutral tone, Yuugi can hear the bitterness and the loneliness in those words. He slams the End Call button on his phone, pulls it away from his face, and stares betrayed at it.
He doesn't want to hear Mokuba laugh at him.
He crouches down, hugs his knees, then stands again. He stares at the phone, face flushing deeper and deeper, as he stands hunched over the screen. After a moment, it seems Mokuba doesn't intend to call him back.
Yuugi thinks for a second – he should just leave it. No harm, no foul.
But, no- he hasn't gotten a chance to reassure Mokuba the way he wants. He remembers watching Mokuba as a kid, tagging along behind his brother, dragging his briefcase. Yuugi can't let Mokuba think that's all he remembers – not when there were stolen star chips and Legendary Heroes and games of Capsule Monsters.
Yuugi considers calling him back, but in the end he types it out carefully into the text box, so there can be no mistakes.
I'm really glad it was you that called me back, he writes. I'd rather talk to you.
Yuugi feels good about that, as the text message sends. It's a little embarrassing… but good. He slides his phone back into his jacket pocket, and leaves the Southeast Asia art exhibit behind, and doesn't really expect a message back.
But Mokuba does text him back – a full half-hour later, when Yuugi's in the middle of negotiations.
Likewise, it reads. We should talk again sometime.
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Mokuba kind of wished the penguin thing had gotten off the ground.
Or maybe not penguins in specific. Ootaki's obsession with them had maybe soured that idea past saving. But penguins were cute, and they were the closest they'd come to having a mascot at Kaibaland that Seto didn't have… strong personal feelings about.
Seto's clicking his cutlery against his plate. His knife rattles unevenly against the platter as he cut his steak. Eventually he sighed and set his fork and knife down. He closed his eyes and took two deep breaths, before taking up the cutlery again.
Mokuba seesaw-ed his tie against the back of his neck. He had untied it long ago, before they had sat down for dinner, but he couldn't stop from pulling nervously at his collar.
He'd spoken against Seto's plans for marketing direction at a board meeting earlier. There was a market for Kuriboh plushies. Market testing groups revealed people preferred the contrasting aesthetic of the Blue Eyes & Red Eyes rollercoaster blueprints. Foreigners were clamouring for a Kaibaman game starring the Blue Eyed Maiden. And Pegasus's focus on the exoticism of Ancient Egypt was a big drawing point for a lot of his current work – there was no point in alienating themselves from Industrial Illusions, the Duel Monsters copyright holder, because of this.
This wasn't abandoning the traditional image that had made Kaiba Corp's transformation to entertainment empire a success, as Seto said it was. It was only a way to expand their target demographic. Corporations grew or they stagnated.
"Nii-sama, are you angry with m-?" Mokuba asked.
"I'm not angry," Seto cut him off.
Mokuba bit his lip. He pushed his own cut of filet mignon back and forth on his plate.
"I only acted on behalf of the company's future," Mokuba said. "And I know you did too."
Seto said nothing to that. He was looking down at his steak.
Mokuba sighed. "If you're angry-"
"I'm not angry!" Seto snapped.
"If you're angry, we can talk about it!" Mokuba retorted. "And you are angry!" he said. "We should talk about it!"
Seto wasn't listening.
"I understand why you feel so strongly about this stuff," Mokuba lied. "But- I can only-"
Nah, there was nothing he could do.
They sat in silence for a moment, before Mokuba adjusted the white silk of the tablecloth. He took off his tie, and placed its dark blue cloth down over his utensils.
"I'm not really hungry," he said, standing up. "Can you give my apologies to Hanako-obasan for me, for not eating her food?"
Seto didn't say anything, which Mokuba chose to interpret as acquiescence. He could always make amends with their maid later, if Seto chose not to deliver the message.
This was the only thing he was good at. Seto was better with computers, and numbers, and corporate planning. He was better at games, and martial arts, and inventing. Talking to people, making things appealing, making things sound appealing, selling an idea – that was all Mokuba was good at. And he knew this, because he'd spent years trying to catch up to Seto. And after computer club and mechanical blueprints and judo and practice hands of Duel Monsters, and all the mediocre results they produced, he'd gone to business school and found the one thing he could really provide for his brother's company. And he knew his marketing plan was good, that his instincts about what would appeal to customers weren't wrong. But what good did it do him, since finally, finally being good at something had only caused him grief.
Maybe it was just to get his mind off things. Maybe it was just a habit at that point, they'd been talking for a while. But probably there was something else to it, when he sat down, alone at his desk, reached for his phone, and texted Yuugi.
You're still in town, right? Do you want to maybe meet up sometime? At the arcade?
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Yuugi doesn't realise it at first. He misses the man's entrance. Suddenly somebody's making a beeline towards his table, and aggressively fighting for eye contact from behind a pair of dark glasses. And Yuugi flusters.
Mokuba's not as tall as his brother, but he's grown enough so as not to be immediately recognisable. Long legs in dark slacks. And he's got a light blue blazer thrown over a tee, and it shifts over his chest, pulled taut between his shoulders.
He swivels around the minefield of other tables, sliding between the gaps, and swings back to plant himself in the chair across from Yuugi.
"Hey," Mokuba says, waving one hand up in greeting. "Good to see you."
Yuugi colours.
"Are the sunglasses really necessary?" he asks.
Mokuba flicks his hand up. He sneaks a finger up behind the glasses, in front of right eye, and curls it down, to tug the glasses down below his pupils.
"Necessary?" Mokuba grins. "Probably not. The press aren't going to waste time following me around. I just thought I looked cool in them."
Yuugi can't hold back half a smile.
"Although…" Mokuba continues. "Who knows if I'm trailing around an ace duellist like you?" he teases. "In that case, I'm wearing them to look good for my close-up."
Yuugi can see him wink behind the glasses. He laughs at that.
"Nobody's going to bother worrying about me either," Yuugi protests.
"You say that," Mokuba grins, "but don't think I didn't notice the hat."
Yuugi pulls self-consciously on his newsboy cap. He pats down the frizzy hair under it.
"Maybe I just wanted to try a new look, too," he says.
They can't talk about business – too much classified information and too many conflicting interests between them – so they don't. They talk about the characters from opposite sides of the Street Fighter arcade panel.
"Why Chun Li?" Yuugi asks, watching Mokuba's character spin-kick around the screen.
Maybe Mokuba shrugs from the other side of the machine.
"Why not?" he asks. "Thighs, kicking, odango buns, and a tragic backstory. What's not to like?" She falls on her back when Yuugi's character performs a dash combo. "Not to mention, she's iconic," Mokuba adds, tapping the buttons rapidly. He snickers. "Did you just choose El Fuerte because he's short?"
Yuugi laughs. "Maybe," he says. Or maybe he doesn't want Chun Li to lose to Vega, who would have been his first choice. Or maybe he likes the idea of a character that's kind of silly – someone whose story still hasn't been completely told.
Yuugi's won nine consecutive matches and considering tossing the next one, when Mokuba tells him he better not lose on purpose. Yuugi nods and completely decimates Mokuba next round.
After that they drift over to some shooting game. Yuugi's playing by himself, against the computer, and Mokuba's cheering as Yuugi headshots alien after alien, and the score in the corner of the screen rises and rises and-
"You're about to beat the high score," Mokuba says suddenly, pointing to the top of the screen. "Don't beat it. If you do, nii-sama's going to spend the next month here trying to overtake your score."
"Does he still have the all the high scores at this place?" Yuugi asks, hitting another couple of aliens.
"Yup!" Mokuba snorts, unable to hold back a smug grin.
"Even on DDR?" Yuugi asks, scandalised. "He beat Anzu's record?"
"Okay, maybe not all the high scores," Mokuba laughs, but then he frowns as Yuugi drops his shooting arm, and lets the aliens take him out.
GAME OVER.
The screen flashes. KAI's high score is preserved at the top of the list.
"I didn't think you'd actually do it." Mokuba pouts.
"You told me to," Yuugi shrugs and smiles. He doesn't really want to be held responsible for Kaiba being absent from work for a month.
"Yeah, but I kinda wanted to see how far you'd go," Mokuba says. "I wanted to see you do the best you could."
Yuugi hums, as he replaces the plastic gun on the rack. He looks up at the screen. Game over, and the tower of high scores – the game is asking him to key in his name for the second place on the scoreboard.
"Do you ever lose?" Mokuba asks.
"Heh~" Yuugi laughs self-consciously. He crosses his legs and bends his torso over the game panel. "Nope."
Mokuba doesn't say anything to that.
"Or I guess I surrendered to Rebecca that once," Yuugi says. "And I lost to my other- to Atem when we were in America. But that duel was kind of metaphorical. I guess you could say it was rigged."
Mokuba goes to stand next to him. They're not facing each other. Yuugi's still staring forward at the game over screen. And Mokuba goes to lean back and look out over the rest of the arcade, in the opposite direction.
"You know it was possession," Yuugi says. "Even after we became completely aware of one another… There are times I can't remember things… Times where I must have blacked out… All those times, he used my energy and my body… to live instead of me.
"I didn't want to win that final duel with him, really. I just-" he falters, "couldn't play as anyone less than myself."
Yuugi turns to Mokuba and smiles.
"I gave him all those times knowingly. I would have gladly given him my life, if I could have. If it had been about giving and receiving, and not winning and losing…"
"That's fine isn't it?" Mokuba says. "I would give up my life, if it meant saving Seto."
He lays his hand over Yuugi's, which is still poised over the buttons on the game panel.
"It just doesn't work like that." Mokuba says.
"I guess not," Yuugi says, turning his palm up into Mokuba's. "I'm glad."
He looks again at the flashing screen of the game, still requesting his name for the second place ranking. Something occurs to him.
"Ah," Yuugi colours. "If I had won, we could have put your name at the top. Then Kaiba wouldn't have had to worry about beating the score."
"I don't think I have the skills to back that claim up," Mokuba laughs.
"Well, it's too late now, anyhow." Yuugi sighs. "What alias do you think I should put?"
Mokuba shrugs. He swings Yuugi's hand down off the panel.
"Eh~ Let's just leave it for someone else to fill in," he says. "After all, neither one of us is second best."
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