Chapter 1 :: Who's Fault is it Really?

Mokuba blinked as the morning sun shone into the room. He groaned and stretched. Seto had not come home the night before when Mokuba had gone to bed. How late had he stayed up? You'd think that he doesn't sleep at all.

It was true. After the previous tournament Kaiba had been working harder than ever, not only on improving the Duel Disk, but on his oldest dream: Kaiba Land; the ultimate Duel Monsters theme park.

Mokuba sighed. The Tournament...Seto had lost to Yugi...again. But that was not really what was bothering the young boy. It was something else. It was something that went much deeper than a loss in a game of cards. Noah's Virtual Reality World. Mokuba could still remember the ten year old so well. He swallowed, and fidgeted with the sleeve of his pajamas. He knew that the past was over and done with and no amount of holograms were about to bring it back. But all the same…that past… the past he had seen replayed before his eyes had showed him things which had been buried and forgotten in his mind.

Seto. The Seto he had known; the boy who had always called him Mokie and had always smiled; the one who had never felt ashamed of grinning when the situation called for it. What had become of him? Mokuba knew all too well. He had been smothered by the routine and discipline wrought upon him by his step-father.

The boy's little fists clenched on his bed sheets. No matter how often he thought about it, it still seemed so miserably unfair to him! Mokuba sighed again. It was getting late. It was already passed ten in the morning, and because it was a Saturday, Mokuba did not have school, but he did want to go to work. That was, of course, he wanted to see Seto at his work.

Sometimes Mokuba would not see his brother for a few days at a time. Seto would leave the house before Mokuba was up, and would come back long after Mokuba had gone to bed. This, however, was rare. Usually Seto would be the one to get Mokuba up for school.

Still…other than that, Mokuba saw little of his brother.

Mokuba kicked off his bed covers, and clambered out. It was cold outside, and the cold leaked into the great house. Mokuba was grateful for the warm slippers at the foot of his bed so that he wouldn't have to set foot on the wooden floor.

He wriggled his toes about in his wonderful slippers as he put on his navy blue bath robe. It was not every day that Mokuba got to sleep in late and see his brother. Saturdays really were a celebration for him. Though Sundays were better. Seto had the day off on Sundays, even if he spent most of it in his room on his laptop.

Mokuba's small feet padded down the red carpet on the second floor, and down the great stair case. He looked about for Morris, wondering where in the house he would be able to find him.

All of a sudden, out of the living room, who should come but Old Raison Face himself. "Ah! Master Mokuba!" exclaimed the old man. "You are awake! Come, come into the living room. I have ordered Joan," one of the maids that worked in the mansion, "to make a fire for you in the fireplace. It is very warm there." The old man bustled Mokuba into a large room to the right of the stair case. It was a large room indeed, and the fireplace that stood at one end of it would never be enough to heat the whole thing. But there was a small cushioned couch right by the fire place – not close enough to feel uncomfortable, yet not far enough to feel cold – on which Mokuba always loved to lie.

Happily, the little boy cuddled in among the cushions. "Thank you Morris," he murmured. All of a sudden the desire to go outside left him. He was so comfortable here. "Morris…could you please bring me a hot cup of tea?"

Ten minutes later, Mokuba was happily equipped with his hot tea, and Morris was standing over him, providing amiable conversation as he dusted the many book shelves that lined the walls. The room really was full of book. Mokuba had no idea on what they all were, and he was firmly resolved to read them all when he grew up.

"Morris," Mokuba said, now sitting up on his couch, and taking a sip of his hot tea. "What time did Seto get home yesterday?"

"Mr. Kaiba got home well passed you bed time," replayed Morris, climbing a library ladder to reach the upper floors of books with his feather duster. "You would not have been able to wait for him, even with those extra five minutes before bed time that you implored of me." His Queen's English accent, accompanied by his age and his articulation made Mokuba think that there really could not be a wiser man than Morris. He was glad of the Old Raison Face's company.

He took another sip. "What did he say?" asked Mokuba. "Did he say why he was home so late?"

"No, Master Mokuba," said Morris, removing an old volume of Homer's Iliad from the shelf and examining it. "I believe Mr. Kaiba was a bit too tired to present me with the information." He set the book back on the shelf.

"I think…" said Mokuba, then breaking off. He was still brooding on what he had been thinking about when he had first woken up. Seto…the old Seto. "I think Seto's the best person in the world," he said firmly. He wanted to here agreement. He wanted Morris to agree with him emphatically. He wanted to hear that Seto had never really changed.

Morris, however, did not answer at first, but continued to dust the book shelves in silence. He leaned over to the side slightly to get at the farther books. "You, Master Mokuba," he finally said, "are quite right to have such an opinion of him."

"But…don't you think so?" prompted Mokuba.

"My dear Master Mokuba," said Morris, turning around on his ladder to look at the little boy. "My answer is only this. I doubt that in all the world there is a man who loves his brother more than Mr. Kaiba loves you."

"Can't you ever stop calling him Mr. Kaiba?" Mokuba snapped in aggravation. "That's what you always used to call our step-father." Morris did not say a word, but merely turned back to his dusting.

Mokuba's eyes rounded with shock as his mind grasped an idea which he simply couldn't let go of. "I…is that what you think?" he whispered, setting his tea cup down on the carpet. "You think that Seto's like our step-father?" The little boy leapt up for his seat and ran over to the ladder. "Morris, answer me!" he yelled, tugging at the pant leg of the old man. "Do you think that Seto is like Gozaburo?!"

Morris descended his ladder quickly. He then went onto one knee in front of Mokuba, and – having dropped his dusted – took the boy by the shoulders. "Now Master Mokuba," he said, his old voice shuddering. "You…must…not ask me such things. You know full well that it might lose me my position and–"

"Seto would never sack you!" Mokuba interjected. "Not after all the things you did for us when we were under our step-father. You always brought us candy, and gave us the books we wanted, and…and…" Mokuba was silence by Morris's look. It was quite clear that the old did anything but agree with the little boy. He did not think that Seto would spare him anything.

Mokuba tired a different approach. He wanted to hear his brother praised! He wanted it ever so dearly! "But it was not his fault!" the boy declared. "Our step-father made him like this! It isn't Seto's fault! It…it can't be."

Morris smiled sadly and finally spoke, his grip strong on Mokuba's shoulders. "I will say this much Master Mokuba, and listen well, for it is the only time that you will ever hear me speak so. Your brother, though not yet nineteen and a half, looks to present himself as an adult. That, dear child, is quite fine, giving how he never had a true childhood. But for an adult to go blaming his imperfections of character on a man long dead, who provided both him and you with room and board, is more than a little foolish. I guaranty you that no one in six years time will say, 'Oh, but he had such a difficult childhood.' The old Mr. Kaiba has been dead for five years now. If your brother has not been able to change back to whom he was before he met your step-father, it may very well be because he does not want to."

Morris gave Mokuba's shoulders a last squeeze, then let go. He picked up his feather duster, and climbed back up his ladder. Mokuba, meanwhile, stood there as if paralyzed, mulling over in his head what Morris had said. Didn't want to?!

The words kept resounding in the boy's head as he made his way to the great KaibaCorp building. The harsh March wind pulled at his red scarf but he ignored it. Hands in mittens, mittens in pockets, Mokuba walked from the garage where he had ordered the limousine to be parked, to the great sliding glass doors of his brother's corporation.

Mokuba entered the building and was immediately greeted by all the occupants of the lounge. He smiled distractedly and gave them all an acknowledging nod of the head, before heading for the elevator. To a stranger the scene would have looked comical. There was a boy who only reached up to some of the adults' hips coming into the room and everyone greeting him like a superior. There was that same boy acknowledging these people in a fashion, and immediately rushing off to other business. It would really have been rather funny…could not the boy's brother have sacked any and all whom he thought were not bowing low enough.

Mokuba leaned back against the stainless steel elevator side, thinking. His eyebrows were creased, and the look of sever concentration did not suet his little face at all. Whose fault was it really? Why hadn't Seto changed back to his old self after Gozaburo's death? Was it…could it be…because he had not wanted to? Mokuba thought back to what Seto had once said to him. He had said it when the two of them had been locked in the depths of Noah's world. That had been when Mokuba had again begun to wonder what had become of the Seto he had known. That was when the old, deep wounds had been reopened. 'The past is over. I may not be proud of every decision I ever made, but everything I did, I did for us. Now let's move ahead…and don't look back.'

Don't look back… Mokuba closed his eyes. He had nodded then, and smiled. He had said 'Okay Seto,' and taken his brother's hand. But…but even now he did look back. If Seto had not been proud of every decision he had ever made…why hadn't he changed what he could change…if he could.

To conclude, by the time the elevator had reached the hundredth and tenth floor, Mokuba had time to completely scramble his own reasoning so that his brains were nothing short of a mess. Apprehensive and slightly miserable, he made his way down the long hallway.

Mokuba nodded silently to the secretary who was sitting in her office next to his brother's. Her door was open for two reasons. One was so that she could hear Seto call for her when he needed, and the other was to be able to stop anyone who wanted to barge in on her boss without an appointment. Naturally, Mokuba did not fit into this latter category. So all too soon Mokuba found himself craning his neck up at the plaque on the door which read 'Chief Executive Officer/ Seto Kaiba.' He had never thought that he should be so nervous about coming into his brother's office. He raised his hand…and knocked.

"Yes, Ms. Cane?" asked a sharp voice form within. Mokuba could hear the continuous tapping on the computer keyboard. He had always marveled at how Seto could say something, yet never break his concentration from his work. It did not awe him today. Rather, it unnerved him. He opened the door a crack, and there he saw his brother slightly stooped over the screen of his computer.

"It's just me," he said, almost in a whisper.

Upon hearing his voice Kaiba looked up. Mokuba thought that he looked like one come out of a daze. He seamed in another world entirely. The world of computer chips and data. "Oh, hello Mokuba," he said distractedly. "Care to come in?" Mokuba did, but by the time he had closed the door after himself, his brother was already staring fixedly into the computer again.

The boy stood for a few minutes by the door, hovering awkwardly. He would usually go sit down on the couch in the room and read a book, just so that he could be with his brother, but no. This time he just stood there, until finally Seto turned again. "Eh… did you come for something Mokuba?" he asked. "I mean, did you need something from me?"

Mokuba looked at him. Now that the time had come, he was not sure that he had the courage. But then this came upon him in full force. Had he really been reduced to feeling meek and frightened of his own brother? Seto? The boy took a deep breath, "Well…I…I wanted to talk."

"Ah… maybe later Mokuba," the CEO said, looking back to his computer screen which held all his plans for the corporation's future. "I'm rather busy right now."

Mokuba had not just come thought the March outside, one hundred and ten flights of stairs and a particularly long hall way to be brushed off so easily. He decided to begin somewhere. Walking up the side of his brother's desk so that he could look at him, Mokuba took a deep shuddering breathe, and asked, "Why won't you call me Mokie anymore?"

For the first time Mokuba could remember, his brother's fingers halted over the key board. He looked up from the screen again and his blue eyes met Mokuba's as if he were only seeing his little brother for the first time. The two stayed like that for a few moments, until the older Kaiba snapped out of his trance. His gaze pulled away from Mokuba's, and he shrugged. "You're a big boy now," he muttered. "It doesn't seem to fit you any more." His spider like hands again began to dance across the keys.

"That's not true," Mokuba said bluntly, making his older brother look up again sharply, his hands stilling again. "It wasn't when I grew up. It was when you grew up. You stopped calling me that when Gozaburo came along." The older Kaiba opened his mouth as if to argue, then, having nothing to say, let it snap shut again.

"Well!?" Mokuba demanded of his brother. "Am I right?! If I'm wrong, believe me I'd love to know it. But it's true Seto! It's TRUE!" All the vexation and anger that had filled the boy since he and his brother had relived their lives in Noah's world seemed to be poring out now. "You've always told me that it was our step-father's fault that you're the way you are! And I always agreed. You know why? Because it was his fault Seto! It was his fault when he was alive!" Tears started to well up in the boy's eyes. He felt so very silly for having just come in here to throw a tantrum. But at the same time, he also felt very justified in doing so after all these years.

Seto's arms had dropped from his keyboard to grip the handles of his seat as if that might protect him in some way from his brother's railings. "Why don't you call me Mokie now! Why don't you smile now! Why is it that if you hated him so much you're still acting the way he taught you!?"

"Mokuba…I…I…" Kaiba was lost for words. His face, which was always pale from sitting so long before a computer and seeing the light of day so rarely, had turned paler yet.

"Do you even remember who you were before we met Gozaburo?!" Mokuba continued, his voice now out of control with sobs and yells. "Do you even remember who our parents were?!"

"Now that's going too far!" Seto's booming voice resounded in the office. He rose to his full six feet. "NEVER speak to me about our parents Mokuba! NEVER!" his face, which had been pale only moments before, had turned a ruddy red. "Their gone Mokuba! They died in a small town outside Domino, called Tochi, and there is NO POINT TALKING ABOUT THEM!" Yes, Seto remembered their parents. He remembered them very well and no one, not even Mokuba, would challenge that.

Mokuba coward under his brother's glaring eyes. He had never had his brother this mad at him. Never. The tears which had been accumulating in his eyes burst forth. He ran out of the office. He ran back down the hall. He cried freely in the elevator. He raced out of the lounge before he could be asked any questions. He ran out into the cold March air and cried the harder because no one was there to comfort him. He cried in the cold limousine that took him back to Kaiba Mansion. He pushed past Morris who had been waiting for him at the doors with his feather duster, and pelted up the red carpet staircase. Mokuba collapsed onto his bed in his room, and cried until his eyes were red and his throat was soar. One might have thought that he cried his very heart out.