Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh.

This is a story that I've been thinking about doing for a while. It wasn't until last night that these pieces finally clicked for me and I managed to get out this first chapter. So I'm incredibly happy :)

I would really like some feedback on this first chapter, so please leave a review!

Chapter One : Thunderstruck

"Please tell me that this is all a lie."

Sitting across from me is my father, who's leaning an arm on the table and rubbing his forehead. I know he's tired of dealing with me and my "teenage-rebellion" behavior, but I could care less. I'm so furious that I'm ready to just scream at him.

And he knows this. That's why he arranged for our dinner tonight to be at an expensive restaurant and not, like he promised, at home. He had wanted to break the news to me in a place that had witnesses who really gave a damn about manners. An added precaution, I guess, just in case I lash out at him.

I close my eyes and try to breathe deeply. It doesn't seem to work very well.

"April, this is just a precautionary measure," he says, using that firm tone he employs when talking to a relatively stubborn businessman. Or very bad gangster. He cuts up his steak neatly into little square pieces, seemingly absorbed by the mundane task.

"Me, move to Japan? On my own?" I ask, laughing with derision. "You've got to be kidding me, Dad. I'm only seventeen!"

"It's not safe for you here," he says coldly. My eyebrows furrow together in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, shaking my head. Suddenly, a cold thought hits me and I lean forward, my voice dropping to a whisper. "You said 'business'"— I put quotes around the word—"went fine the other day. Are you lying to me?"

He averts my eyes when he replies. "Of course it did, baby. I swear. Just some bad blood from it, you know? It's only temporary. You can move back when it's over."

"Don't bullshit me, Dad," I say, losing my patience. I drop my fork and fling down my napkin onto the table. "That's the only reason why you'd ship me off to another country!"

"I can't risk losing you," he says firmly. He reaches for his glass of crimson wine. "April, listen to me. This is for your own good."

"I'm not some animal you can just control," I snap, narrowing my eyes. "So stop treating me like one. I'm a person! And I'm not Mom! I can handle the things she never could!"

His face blanches like I knew it would, momentarily stunning him. But we both know I've played my last card; I'm desperate to stay in country that I love and understand. I'm freaking American, for crying out loud, even though half of me is Asian.

"I've already set up a place for you to live," he says finally, in a voice of forced gentleness. He's not used to speaking kindly, even to me. "It's nice. I went there last week during the business trip. You'll have your own apartment and you'll live on your own."

"What, that's your way of making it up to me?" I ask coldly. "Independence? I want to stay here, Dad. I wanted to be free here."

"Well, that's out of the question," he snaps.

"I can't keep up with the curriculum."

"The school says it will take care of that."

"What did you do, donate a fortune as bribery?" When he says nothing, I gasp in shock. "What the hell, Dad..." I mutter, stuffing the rice pilaf into my mouth in anger. "Do you not have a shred of pride?"

"Your protection means more," he says coolly. "And the language barrier won't be too difficult. You remember everything your mother taught you, don't you? That'll have to be enough."

I roll my eyes. My mother, a native Japanese woman who immigrated to Los Angeles as a college student, had tried to assimilate as best she could when she got here. But of course, once she married my dad and learned that bilingual children got along farther in the world, she spoke only Japanese to me and sent me to Japanese class every Saturday morning.

It was hell.

"You'll be using her last name, of course," says Dad, placing neat square of rare steak into his mouth. "As added protection."

"And money?" The question is quite self-centered, I know. But it's essential that I do know where cash for my living expenses are coming from.

"Taken care of," he says breezily. "I don't expect you to be Great Depression-era frugal, but I am expecting you not to draw attention to yourself either."

"Dad, I—"

"Please, April," my father says quietly. He meets my eyes and holds our gaze. I can see the desperation in his eyes, and to see that in a man like him is almost unsettling.

I'm silent.

Even though I started out completely hating the plan, in the last five minutes since I've heard it, it's starting to grow on me. The thought of being alone in a foreign city, instead of scaring me like it did a second ago, is starting to sound more and more appealing by the second. Dad wouldn't be around to bother me. None of his gang business would follow me.

I'd be April Kujira, a nobody, instead of April Standig, daughter of mob boss Eric Standig. None of his crap would influence my new start. I'd have my own place, carve out my own name.

So it's cheesy. But I guess it was all that gooey cheesiness that made my decision for me.

"Fine," I say, subdued, unable to believe the words are coming out of my mouth. "I'll do it."

When I arrive in the Domino City airport three days later where my dad has arranged for me to stay, it's a couple of my dad's associates who pick me up, men who are just as sketchy as he is. They know that even saying the wrong word to me would mean having to deal with Eric Standig's wrath, so they're careful to only speak when absolutely necessary as they take me to the apartment.

But to be honest, I'd rather they be there than not. I don't think I would be able to move in alone.

The apartment complex they pull up to is kind of nice, I guess. It's like a box of cement, and the closest thing I can think of that it resembles is a motel, as its hallways and doors can all be seen. According to the nice landlady, it also has its own bathhouse, renovated spa, and washing machines. She hands me a pair of keys cheerily and tells me I'm welcome for dinner every night since I'm living alone and I'm not from the area. I can't help but smile; her hospitality for someone she barely knows is heartwarming. I'd expected to be living on instant noodle every night.

After that, the men help me haul my three huge check-in luggage up to my first floor apartment. And when that's done, they leave immediately, probably beside themselves with happiness at having finished dealing with me. But the largest one surprises me. He stops for a moment and turns around. There's no hostility in his face, like I expected. But it is stony. I can't get a grasp of anything.

"Here's a number you can reach us at," he says. He hands me a business card that I take wordlessly. "If you're ever in any trouble—" he looks knowingly at me, and I nod my head—"ask for Hotohori. He'll be able to help you out."

"That's your boss?" I ask, glancing down at the card. This Hotohori person owns a number of clubs in the area. Of course he does, I think to myself, shaking my head. I look up and nod at the man. He nods back and then with a wave of his hand, he leaves.

I inspect my new home once they're gone. It's nice, I suppose, and I can only guess at why my dad would pick something so small. If he were picking out a place for himself, he'd most likely pick one of those high rise skyscrapers that I passed on my way here. But instead, he picked an apartment in a more quiet part of town. But despite all that, I'm beginning to like the place.

Once you walk in through the door, there's a small kitchen to the left, equipped with the usual appliances. Farther down the hall is a bathroom, and at the end of the hall is my bedroom. The walls are painted a light green and there's a large window with purple curtains. A bed is pushed against the wall, with a tall bookcase behind it and a small closet in front of it. A dark green rug and low, rectangular wooden table cover the shiny hardwood floor. There's a chest of drawers and a small television set on the other side of the room.

All in all, it's pretty quaint. I can't really see myself using more than any of that. I throw my bag onto the floor and collapse on my bed, too exhausted to unpack all of my stuff.

But just as I'm about to fall asleep, a loud blast of rock music explodes through the wall. I pull the pillow over my head, trying to stifle the throbbing drumbeats and crazy guitar, but it doesn't work. I try to ignore it, picking to stay optimistic and hope that whoever the person is, they'll have enough sense to shut down the music.

It doesn't happen. The music just seems to get louder. I can't even hear words; it's all a mess of pure pandemonium. Is this really considered music?

I push myself off the bed, gritting my teeth as I yank open my door. I glance to the left. The music is coming from the room next to me.

Oh. My. God. I haven't even met my neighbor yet, and I'm ready to kill him. So much for manners.

I bang on the blue door with my first. But the music is so loud that my banging has probably become part of the racket.

"HEY!" I yell loudly, pounding on the door even harder. "OPEN UP!"

It's only when I threaten to call the police that the door miraculously opens. My cheeks burn when I take in the person standing behind it.

A guy is standing there, a towel hung low around his waist, his soppy black hair dripping water onto his chest. A burst of steam gusts out behind him, hitting me in the face. He raises one eyebrow when he sees me, a look of amusement rather than irritation on his face.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice just barely audible over his blasting noise.

I cross my arms, give a smile dripping with poison, and then lean in a little closer until my lips are close to his ears. "TURN OFF YOUR DAMN MUSIC!" I scream into his ear. He steps back, wincing.

"Jeez, calm down, you crazy woman," he mutters under his breath. He rubs his left ear, glaring down at me. "There's no need to shout."

"Well, I wouldn't have to if you didn't turn your music up so loud!" I retort. "It's giving me a headache!"

"Then take an aspirin," he replies dryly. "I've got a bottle in my cupboard, do you want it?"

My nostrils flare. "No, I do not want your drugs. I want you to turn off your stupid music!"

"First of all," he says pleasantly, as if none of this really bothers him, as if I hadn't just destroyed his hearing. "It's aspirin. I'm only going to give you one. Or two, if you've got cramps or something. And second, what, you don't like AC/dC?"

My eyes widen. This guy is insane. And the fact that he can say all that with a straight face while half-naked completely astounds me.

"I was about to take a nap!" I protest. "Could you please turn it down?"

"Well, since you said please..." he lets the sentence drift away. I'm ready to throw a punch into his arrogant face. Before I can lash out again, he turns and reaches for a remote on his hall table. He aims it into the corner of his room. Immediately, the music cuts off and all I'm left with is a dull throbbing in my ears.

He turns back to me, eyebrow raised.

"Happy?"

I sigh. "Thanks," I say curtly. With a last grudging glare, I turn to leave. He grabs my arm firmly.

"I haven't seen you around before," he says, leaning in a little too close for my liking. His eyes are so green, they're almost hypnotic. "What's your name?"

"It's none of your concern," I counter when I can speak without stammering. I yank my arm out of his grasp and storm back into my own room. It's only when I collapse against the door and try to contain my headache that I realize two things.

He knows where I live now. And what's worse, there are nameplates outside our doors. So he knows my name without even my having to tell him.

Could this day get any worse?

Yeah. Muse is being blasted through the walls now.

This stupid arrogant jerk could not have more nerve.