[No idea when this was originally published, but it was edited/updated in January, 2018]
Notes about the dialogue:
Dialogue in BOLD means it's spoken in Japanese.
Dialogue in [brackets] means it's spoken in an Egyptian dialect.
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Chapter 3:
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Golden bangles gleamed against the sunlight as the young Pharaoh removed his imperial jewelry. Mahna had told him many times over that it was long past time he'd begun to try making a life for himself in this era, but he couldn't help still dressing in the royal garb befitting the son of Ra. But, now that his sister and Mahad had twisted his arm into joining the competition that Pegasus was holding, he had to dress in appropriate clothing.
A soft chuckle alerted him to Pegasus leaning in the doorway of his room, the rich man eying him with some interest.
"So? Your magicians tell me that you've decided to join in on my little tournament," he said casually. Long, pale fingers moved to brush longer strands of blue-silver hair from his face.
"Yes... I agreed to their wishes."
"They seem to be pretty persuasive, especially that little sister of yours." The man edged into the room, looking the former ruler up and down. Atem had traded out all of his imperial clothing for a pair of blue jeans, sneakers, and a plain, white, button-up shirt. All of his gleaming, golden jewelry had been removed, leaving behind a rather plain-looking young man. If it weren't for the Sennon Puzzle hanging from his neck, he would have almost looked like a high school student.
The man grinned. "You look very stylish."
"Ha, ha."
Pegasus lowered his head, causing his hair to create a shimmering curtain to hide the fact that he was silently chuckling to himself. It was just so amusing to him to see Atem trying so very hard to blend into the current era and struggling so much to look like a normal teenager.
"You have your own deck to play with, don't you?" He didn't need to ask if Atem could play the game – he and his court had been the ones to introduce the English man to it, after all – but he wanted to be sure that the Pharaoh had the proper components for playing it in this day and age.
The former ruler smirked lightly, holding up a box of cards. "It doesn't serve to be the King of Games if you have no pieces with which to play, does it? Yes, I have my own deck. Even the cards you fashioned off my magicians."
"Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl, you mean? I thought you'd like them."
Atem placed the deck of cards into a holster on his belt, designed just for that very purpose, his fingers moving with power and deliberation, as if he were a great warrior sheathing his sword. As he did so, much of his dreary demeanor faded, and he turned to Pegasus, his lips tilted upwards.
"Oh, and I won't be the only new addition to your tournament."
"No?"
"Malik and Bekhura have already left to join."
Pegasus's eyes widened momentarily, right before his grin took over his face again. "Well, this ought to be quite interesting then, wouldn't you say?"
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft vibrating in his pocket as his pager went off. It was a simple message, letting him know that the first loser of the competition had just been removed from the dueling fields and was waiting to be escorted off the island.
Atem looked over when he heard the man giggling. "Hm?"
"A certain Weevil Underwood, well-known regional champion from Japan, has won the award of being the first duelist to lose in the tournament. He lost to an unknown teenager just minutes ago and will be transported back home before too long."
Atem turned away again, a small smile resting on his face. Pegasus's amusement was amusing into and of itself, frankly, and it certainly didn't take much to amuse the childish man.
["It's time,"] he said softly, more to himself than to anyone else as he grabbed a jacket and headed out the door. ["Time for the pharaoh to teach this new era what it truly means to be a winner!"]
He didn't quite catch Pegasus's eyeroll. "Always the dramatic, are we?"
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"Hey, congratulations on your first victory, Yuugi!" Honda cheered, holding his hand out to high-five his smaller friend.
"The first of many!" Jou corrected, pulling the girl into a noogie and playfully mussing her hair. He grinned while she burst into giggles.
"Stop it, Jou!"
Their brief celebration was interrupted as they noticed that Mai was still standing there, watching them. She seemed lost in her thoughts as she observed them, or perhaps that she was waiting for them to notice her before she spoke.
"Good for you, Yuugi. You got lucky on your first round." She flashed a painfully sweet smile. "Don't let it go to your head, though."
Yuugi frowned at the older woman; Mai certainly seemed to enjoy putting a damper on things. She reminded Yuugi of Seto Kaiba in that regard.
Well, if the woman was going to act like Kaiba-kun, then Yuugi was going to treat her like Kaiba-kun.
She held out her gloved hand, meeting Mai's gaze. "I know you don't want to exchange pleasant remarks or anything, Ms. Valentine, but I still want to congratulate you on making it to where you are today. You must be a very skilled duelist – one of the best from what I've heard. It makes me all the more excited to duel against you."
Mai took the girl's hand, more out of surprise than anything else, gaping as the younger one spoke. She frowned as soon as Yuugi was done. "You're cute, kid, but not that cute."
She turned to leave, calling back over her shoulder, "But trust me on this, Yuugi... You and I will duel one another before this tournament is over!"
A smile grew across Yuugi's face, even as small complaints arose from Anzu, Jou, Honda, and Ryou. Maybe, someday soon, she'd win Mai over. It could still happen.
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Malik wandered over the island, walking tall and erect as he looked around at his surroundings. Dueling arenas had been constructed here and there, and duelists were scattered about every which way he turned, sometimes in groups and sometimes flying solo.
He and Bekhura had split apart from one another a ways back. They hoped that they would each call less attention to themselves by doing so, and maybe avoid any unnecessary trouble. Even so, the blonde tomb-keeper had a bad feeling that trouble was coming his way, sooner or later. He reached into the holsters on his belt, running his fingertips over his deck of cards and the Rod in an attempt to put his mind at ease.
Malik continued walking, searching for a duelist to engage. He wasn't just out here to stretch his legs and smell the air, after all – he was here to stretch his mind, too. But, it seemed like entering a duel might be difficult, as he only spoke an older form of Egyptian, rudimentary English, and rudimentary current Egyptian.
["I didn't think this through quite as much as I thought,"] he muttered, leaning against a tree. ["... The grass is nice..."]
"SCREW OFF!"
… Well there went his nice, peaceful afternoon.
Turning his head, Malik began searching for the voice that was cussing someone out, their curses ranging between English and current Egyptian.
It was a teenager, his tanned skin and his physiology clearly marking him as a Middle Eastern. The most interesting feature about the boy was his hair, which, like Malik's, was entirely too light in color for his lineage.
The boy was arguing with an American – a man dressed like a street thug and wearing a bandana around his bleached locks, the bandana patterned like the American flag. Clearly, this man lived up to his country's stereotype of "proud and aggressive."
"Leave me alone," the Egyptian boy growled, teeth clenched.
The American wouldn't be ignored. "What was that, King Tut? I didn't catch that."
"I said f*** off, Keith! I won the duel fairly and you know it, and if you won't give me your starchip then your presence is nothing more than a nuisance!"
"Oh, my presence bothers you? Well, ain't that just too damn bad!" Keith gripped the front of the boy's small shirt, pulling the boy onto his toes. "Maybe your face bothers me. Now tell me how you rigged that game!"
"Just because you're a cheater doesn't mean I am!"
The American glared at the teen and let out a growl, his fist pulling back and aiming at the boy's face. It didn't ever make it that far, the man being distracted by a sudden pain in his groin before he could release his fist.
Malik frowned distastefully as he finished the American with a swinging hit to the back, knocking the man to the ground. He looked down at Keith, meeting glare for glare. "I am going to count to five, and when I reach it, I don't want to see a hair on your head. One... Two..."
The American scrambled to his feet, growling and muttering as he limped away.
With him gone, Malik turned towards the modern Egyptian, who was busy straightening his shirt and the chains on his clothing. ["A simple 'thank you' will be sufficient."]
The boy finally looked up, meeting Malik's gaze briefly before looking away again. ["... Thanks. I could have handled him on my own, though."]
["Sure you could,"] the tomb-keeper said in a teasing kind of voice. ["You were just biding your time as all."]
He held his hand out towards the boy. ["Name's Malik. You?"]
["... Namu."] The boy was hesitant, but he finally allowed Malik to shake his hand, although he did look at the taller one suspiciously. ["You're from Egypt, are you not?"]
["Yes."]
["Then tell me, 'Malik,'"] as if he didn't even trust that it was the other male's name. ["Is your arrival purely coincidence or were you sent by my sister to keep track of me?"]
Well then. It seemed as though Malik had company in the over-controlling-sister department.
He couldn't help but grin. ["My own sister doesn't even know I'm here... yet. And once she knows, there will be hell to pay."]
Noticing the discomfort on the boy's face but electing to ignore it, Malik stepped over to him, throwing an arm over the boy's shoulders. ["Hey, I'm looking for a dueling partner. I was thinking maybe a skinny Egyptian kid, maybe even the kind that likes wearing short tops -"]
["And what's wrong with my top?"] Namu asked self-consciously, his fingers tugging downwards on his shirt.
["Nothing, nothing at all, I like it that way,"] Malik was quick to reassure the boy. ["It makes you look very pretty. But what do you say, Namu? Up for a partner?"]
["... My brother and sister sent you, didn't they?"]
An amused hum escaped the tomb-keeper's lips. ["I knew I'd like you. I knew the second I heard your voice... cussing out that thug-wannabe."]
He released the boy, giving him back his personal space and moving towards a nearby dueling arena. ["Come on, let's you and I go find some opponents, shall we?... partner?"]
["Well... alright,"] Namu agreed after a moment's thought. He moved after the other, matching his pace. ["I suppose it couldn't hurt. But just remember that I can handle my own problems, got it?"]
If Bekhura or Atem had seen him now, they wouldn't have recognized the eager grin on Malik's face. Something about this boy... well, let's just say he really, really liked it. A lot.
["You got it, small fry!"]
["And don't call me that, either!"]