(A/N: Applies to theme #22 'The World'. It's still a bit vague and the characterisation depicted here isn't terribly consistent with the rest.)

"… Okay, who the hell are you?" Bakura said, sounding unimpressed and looking him over with vague distaste, "You're like a smaller, more obnoxious version of Kaiba."

"I'm Kaiba." Noa sniffed huffily, standing quite as straight as he could, "He's masquerading as one."

"You're dead." Input Seto sharply, not looking at either of them but continuing to type as if they weren't there at all. Both Bakura and Noa were silent for a moment until Seto finished whatever it was he was doing and closed the laptop computer; Seto then looked directly at Noa and continued along his previous thread, "Besides that small detail, there official signed adoption documents that name me a Kaiba."

"You're not a real one." That was rather pouty, if it had to be described, an argument coming from someone who wouldn't give in even when beaten. Noa's arms were crossed over his chest and he looked prepared to be fairly stubborn.

Bakura took this moment to offer his insight. "If you're dead you hardly qualify as 'real', kid."

Noa strode right over to him and prodded him in the chest hard enough to make him take a step backwards. "That's real."

"I can take that body away, Noa." Seto again, snappish this time. Tired, or merely annoyed with the whole pointless conversation brought on by Bakura's uninvited arrival in his house, who knew, but he wasn't pleased with the ordeal. No, he was going to set down some rules. "Bakura, don't goad him on."

Bakura smirked. "Of course not. The little boy is just as alive as artificial intelligence is. He's quite real, I believe you."

Noa reddened. "You… I'm not manufactured!"

"Noa, leave it alone. He's only trying to rile you." Seto sighed; this was going to land him with a headache, he knew it. "Bakura, you can leave."

"Hardly! We've only just barely been acquainted. So what sort of Kaiba model is he, three-point-oh, or something a little more advanced?"

"I'm older than he is." The teal-haired boy muttered darkly; it wasn't properly true, but it certainly wasn't a lie either.

"Oh? Then why are you so short?" Bakura went over and patted Noa on the head, using it to indicate the difference in their heights – the white-haired thief had a good seven inches on him.

Seto spoke again. "He's Gozaburo's."

Silence fell thick and heavy.

Bakura stepped away from Noa, visibly sombered. "I see." He was looking at Seto now, staring intently, nigh on examining him. He knew, knew things about Gozaburo and how much hatred there was between he and his adopted son. Son, hah. What a poor word to use. Seto was hardly Gozaburo's son – Seto was his own person, and quite unafraid to tell Bakura so. Usually, that made Bakura smirk, but today. He could see the stiffness in how Seto sat, caught that his fist sat clenched at his side. He spoke again. "Why?"

"Mokuba." A one-word response to a one-word question. Seto knew Bakura could take that and understand.

Noa, however, could not. "What about Mokuba?" He'd only had this body for about two days now, and since then he'd met Seto's younger brother. Quite the endearing kid, really, but it was hard to explain that in some way, Noa was his oldest brother and in many, many others he was not.

Seto sighed and rose from his seat on the couch. "Bakura, you've got five minutes." He then left the room.

Bewildered, words tumbled out of Noa's mouth, his face reddening more as he stumbled on, "Does he mean… that you… but he…"

Bakura smirked and gave him a small pat on the back of the shoulder, "Welcome to reality, kid."