The next morning I woke up to the smell of omelets on the frying pan. Rubbing my sleep-filled my eyes, I saw Mokuba humming away while making breakfast. How long was I going to let my brother take care of me like this?
Probably better him cooking than me—for both of our sakes. The last time I attempted to cook, both the kitchen and the food looked like they had gone through a natural disaster. Cooking was not a skill Gozaburo felt was crucial for a businessman to learn, so I had never learned, nor was I ever given the free time to learn on my own. Mokuba, who was never expected to become heir, was given much more freedom and learned from the cooks at the mansion.
"Eat up! All you had for dinner last night was some popcorn," Mokuba said. I grunted and retorted, "Says the person who only had skittles."
Mokuba grinned at me in return and set the table. The sight and smell of the fluffy yellow omelet made my mouth water.
"Itadekimasu," we said together before attacking our food.
"You are going to make the doctor's appointment, right?" Mokuba asked after washing down his omelet with a glass of milk.
"If it makes you happy," I replied. I had no desire to go to any doctor, let alone a shrink. The thought of sitting in front of someone, having to spill my life story…no thanks. Even Mokuba didn't have the privilege of that.
I didn't argue with him, however. I picked up the phone and made the appointment. One I was planning on not going to.
We headed out around noon towards the heart of Domino City. Domino was a small town—calling it a city was too kind—with scatters of tiny houses that all looked the same with the exception of what was commonly known as the Financial District. No actual business deals occurred there, but it was the area where the wealthy lived. Where Mokuba and I would have lived.
We arrived in the downtown area—a sad mix of a dozen or so shops—and headed over to the cell phone shop. As we walked over, I had a creeping sensation that someone was following us. I quick glance to my periphery told me that my hunch was correct. I forced myself to be calm for Mokuba's sake. While he perused the store, browsing through the phones, I decided to act.
Leaving my brother in the hands of the salesperson, I nonchalantly left the store. My pursuer did not budge from his hiding place. That confirmed it for me. The target was Mokuba.
I rushed into action, cornering the stalker in the dark alley where he had been hiding. He was covered in some strange purple robe with a picture of an eye that looked exactly like the eye on Muto's pyramid. That bastard, I thought, ripping the robe off of the figure.
The man looked up at me with frightened eyes. Yes, I thought, he should be scared. I placed my hand around his neck and began to squeeze. The fear in his eyes delighted me. As I slowly increased the pressure, I leaned into the man's face and asked in a low voice, "Who hired you? I'm not the patient type. I'll give you five seconds…one…two…"
"I don't know," the man wheezed, as I constricted his throat further, "I don't even know what I'm doing here or who you are."
"I was hoping you'd have a better cover story than that," I whispered into his ear and kicked him in the groin. He doubled over in pain. I released his throat, watching with satisfaction as he coughed and spluttered in agony.
"That's enough," I heard a voice behind me. I turned—and my suspicions were confirmed. There, in the flesh, was Muto.
"Does it hurt to see one of your own men in this state?" I hissed. His eyes narrowed. I had just enough time to see his fist coming towards me. I blocked his right hook and swung my own—which he caught in his own right hand. Confused at the strength he displayed, I released the tension in my arm.
"Go," he commanded to the man I had beat up. The man looked grateful, and hurried off. My fury mounting, I made a motion to follow the man—only to have Muto's fist connect with my stomach. I slumped to the ground with Muto staring down at me.
"What do you want?" I wheezed. My mind was already becoming hazy and I was quickly discovering an inability to breathe.
"I want you to listen. That man had nothing to do with this situation. Furthermore, his true target was me, not you or your brother," he said in a low voice. I stared at him in disbelief.
"What the hell is going on?" I managed to say.
His eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought they softened. But within moments, they returned to their cold, piercing glare.
"I am sorry. It seems you are not ready yet," he murmured in a voice so low that I barely registered it. Then he did something I did not expect. He extended a hand to me. I turned my face away. I certainly didn't need this punk's help getting to my feet.
"I have done a good job of making you hate me, haven't I?" he said, giving me a smile. My frown deepened.
"Some answers would be nice," I growled. His smile widened.
"In good time, I assure you," he replied, "It would help if you weren't so suspicious of me."
"You've given me no reason to think otherwise," I replied.
"I am sorry," he repeated, and walked away.
Remembering that I had left Mokuba alone at the cell phone shop, I hurried back. Mokuba, thankfully, had not noticed my absence and was busy chatting away with the salesperson about the features of the cell phone in his hand. I sighed in relief. Mokuba heard my sigh and turned—only to frown in confusion. I remembered then that I must look less then presentable, after my adventures in the alley. Ignoring his—and the salesman's—confused looks, I inquired about the features of the phone Mokuba was holding in his hand. I bought a pair and we left the shop in silence.
After the silence stretched for an uncomfortably long period of time, Mokuba spoke.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Nothing to worry about," I replied. Realizing that I was going to say nothing further, Mokuba fell silent. It was better if he didn't know. Besides, I had no idea what was going on myself. I needed answers. And I needed them now.