A/N: Oh boy, oh boy, backgrounds are background-y! 8D

Warnings: Spoilers! Haven't made it through Yu-Gi-Oh!: Millennium World manga and don't want it spoiled, then read that first, then come back. Also, we will probably have a rating jump to M later on. I'll give a heads up before it happens, but be aware.

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! and related characters are © to Kazuki Takahashi.

…

Haunted

Part III

Raven Ehtar

…

Ryou woke, and was immediately confused. He could have sworn he had already been awake, how could he have woken up? A faint line appeared between his brows as he frowned, trying to remember the last few minutes. He didn't think he'd been sleeping… He could remember lying on his back as dawn broke outside his window, and how he watched as the sunlight slowly spilled across his ceiling like warm honey, chasing away the shadows. He could remember how it had made him feel… full. At peace. And he had thought that this was the most beautiful thing he had seen in… in how long?

The line between Ryou's brows deepened. No matter how hard he tried to remember, the rest of that thought was gone. In a long time, he was sure, just not how long. Which was such an absurd thought. There was nothing so special about light on his ceiling. He must have still been dreaming when that had crept into his mind.

And there had been… other dreams before that. Nightmares, he thought, but they were fuzzy, barely there anymore. Hiding, pain, darkness and fear, someone calling out his name… then the same person calling his name again, but it wasn't his name. It was all very vague and confused now. As was the nature of dreams, it had all made sense while he was living through it, but now it was disjointed, the few impressions that survived the night not linking together cohesively. He wondered, given the little he could recall now, if he would even want to remember all he had dreamed.

He shifted a little, and realized suddenly that he was lying on the floor. His futon, still neatly made, was a good two feet away to his right. Had he rolled out of bed during the night, trying to escape his nightmares? He also noticed that he was still dressed in the clothes he'd worn the day before. He stared down at himself, still wearing the same button down shirt, the same pants, the same socks, even his slippers. Now he was really confused; when exactly had he gone to sleep? Ryou tried to remember getting ready for bed, but it was all a muddle after his 'party'. He had put his gifts away, he remembered that. The mirror on his bedside table, the paints and brushes in a drawer and the box with the golden ring – which he had thrown against a wall in a fit of temper. Then he had sat down to work on the figurine Suichi and Taro had crushed, and had actually finished it, if he remembered right. And then… and then…

… he'd picked up the box – and opened it…?

A sharp rap at his door made Ryou jump, his heart leaping to his throat.

"Ryou!" came the familiar voice of his mother. "Are you awake? You had best hurry, or you'll be late for school! Breakfast is laid, Amane has already eaten and you have fifteen minutes to catch your bus!"

Ryou was on his feet in an instant, tearing about his room in a panicked frenzy. The panic of being late for class brought one memory crashing in bright and clear: He hadn't finished his homework the night before.

…

The school day was shaping up to be very strange. Ryou didn't know if it was just how he had woken up that was making it hard to find a good rhythm to settle into, but it felt as though every step he took, every move he made, was just slightly out of sync. Out of sync with what, he wasn't sure, but it felt like he had a physical echo to his body, running half a step behind his true self, making him stumble when he wasn't paying attention. Not having his math homework completed was another issue, but not so heavily punished as he had feared it would be. He hadn't been made to stand out in the hallway, but that was the promised consequence should he fail to bring it in again tomorrow.

No, he would be glad to get home again, and shake this strange feeling that had settled over his shoulders like a shroud. After his mother had roused him, he'd used every second in getting ready in the most haphazard fashion he could ever remember doing before. Every textbook he could find was snatched up and stuffed into his bag with no consideration as to their order and the bag zipped up and buckled before he realized he'd forgotten his notebooks. After they were added to the bursting satchel and it again all sealed up he remembered his pens, pencils and wallet to buy lunch. By then he was so flustered that he'd thrown the bag over his shoulder without bothering to close it properly. He only changed his pants to the regulation school pair and put on the jacket over his street shirt, judging the risk of anyone looking closely enough to notice was worth the time it saved to not change into a clean one. He'd not washed his face or brushed his teeth, having only enough time to run a comb through his hair a dozen times – and ripping out a few knots in the process – before speeding into the kitchen. His mother had reprimanded him, either for his sleeping in or for his mad dash through the apartment or both; he wasn't sure, as he ignored her. He'd caught up a glass of orange juice, chugged it down – to further reprimands – and then stuffed two pieces of dry toast between his teeth and sped to the door. The laces of his shoes became sentient, he was positive; deliberately twisting out of his grasp like vipers when he'd most needed them to cooperate. He'd torn out of the apartment, his shoes tied too loose, his shirt un-tucked, toast hanging out of his panting mouth and his heavy book bag hitting him across the legs with every step. Despite his rush, there was still a vague terror that he had still missed the bus. Upon seeing a few fellow students also standing by patiently, however, he sighed with relief. He finished his toast with as much dignity as he could muster, taking deep breaths between bites. His mind was still muddled, but it seemed the day would be a little better after making it to the bus on time.

That little illusion was shattered upon stepping onto the bus when it arrived, and his overloaded bag tipped, scattering its contents over the steps and across the sidewalk.

Not a good beginning to the day, overall.

The ride to the school, the daily ritual of swapping out his shoes, finding his place in the classroom and setting out his supplies, all did nothing to settle him back into his groove. The inside of his mouth tasted foul because he hadn't brushed his teeth, the dry toast and orange juice had done nothing to fix that, and his whole body was incredibly sore. At first he thought it a combination of having apparently spent the night on the hard floor and then spending the first part of his morning at a dead run, except that everything hurt; from his back and his legs to his arms, his face and even his toes. It certainly made trying to function normally difficult, doubly so with the odd echoing sensation of his movements and his stubbornly wandering thoughts.

Whatever was left of his dreams blew away with the trials of the day.

While the troubles of school life that plagued him so long, those did not wait long to impress themselves on Ryou again.

The feeling of palms slamming into his shoulder blades was becoming so familiar that Ryou had to wonder if permanent impressions weren't being left behind. Years from now, long after he'd graduated and escaped the reach of all his bullies, there would still be hand prints left in his scapula, mementoes of his schooldays.

Ryou stumbled, but didn't fall. Instead he staggered into a wall, narrowly avoiding cracking his nose into the bricks. Before he could flip around himself – his reflexes were dull, another result of his 'body echo' – one of those hands took him by the shoulder and did it for him. Ryou wasn't surprised to see it was Taro. The older boy leered into his face, his teeth and eyes looking far too small in the frame they fitted into. Privately Ryou thought he looked more and more like a goblin every day.

"Hello there, birthday boy," he said through the grin full of too-small teeth. "You have anything special today after your day of gifts? Anything you want to share?"

Ryou stared back up at him, feeling strangely detached even from this, like he was watching a scene unfold on television or in a game. He knew he should be frightened. Taro had caught him inside, it was true, but he was cornered by the bathrooms, down a side hall no one came down unless they needed the facilities, and right now every class was in progress. The chances of rescue were slim at best. Still, all he did was look up at Taro, his heart barely changing its steady rhythm, only the tiniest jolts of adrenaline shooting through his bloodstream. He blinked, and then replied with a calm that would later baffle him. "No."

Taro scoffed in his face. "Don't give me that, Miss Priss. Everyone knows your family is one of the richest in the school, and rich kids always get great loot on birthdays. And it would be rude not to share."

The younger boy struggled a little to control his face. Rich? That was stretching the word a little. And as for expensive gifts, well, one certainly counted, but a paint set and mirror with a kindergartener's frame didn't. None of them would be things he would bring to school with him. Did Taro expect him to have just gotten more rare figures to fall prey to the underside of his shoe? Or was he expecting Ryou to have brought in any of his gifts, no matter what they were, for his bully to steal or destroy?

"I don't have anything to share," Ryou said, still calm. Though a more accurate description might have been 'numb'. "I only received a few presents, and I left them all at home."

Taro's face, never a lovely sight, darkened in an ugly way. "How very inconsiderate." His body, already blocking Ryou into the corner – close, but not close enough to the door to escape – leaned a little closer, crowding him uncomfortably. "What am I supposed to do for entertainment, now?"

It all felt like a film playing out, with Ryou's consciousness safely tucked away someplace far removed, simply observing. But it was a film with a familiar theme, one whose pattern he could trace without having to watch. Here, with the heightened threat of violence was where he was meant to back down, to murmur something indistinguishable but generally placating, and sneak off with nothing but more taunts at his back. It's how the drama of 'Ryou, a School Boy's Life' was meant to go. There was never a variation of the theme that had him come away with more than a few shreds of dignity.

But if today Ryou was the audience watching the show unfold, then whoever was in charge of his body hadn't read the script.

Ryou shifted, a small movement meant to press himself further into the corner, his lips forming around words to fashion a meaningless apology, when the flow of the scene abruptly changed. Suddenly Ryou felt too hot, a flush speeding up from his collar and across his face. White noise filled his ears, like TV static, and his vision tunneled, cutting off his periphery. Instead of stepping back, Ryou was taking one forward, forcing himself into Taro's personal space until he stepped back, giving the much smaller boy ground! Though the small retreat might also have been from the glare that was leveled at him, a glare given from beneath drawn brows and swaying bangs, from a boy who had no right showing resistance. Before he could gather his wits, Ryou ground out in a voice he barely recognized as his own, "I suggest playing with rocks. Even chances you can outsmart them."

For a moment time seemed to freeze. Ryou would have laughed at the expression of confusion on Taro's fat face, except he was almost certain he was wearing the exact same one, overlaid with a shade of horror. What had he just said?

Eventually realization and fury twisted Taro's face. At that slow dawning, Ryou's detached consciousness seemed to decide that enough was enough and came back full force, dumping him back in his body just when he could most use being away. Terror and dread promptly washed over him, dampening the heated flush on his skin and leaving behind a sick clamminess.

Taro drew back a fist with one hand while the other came up to shove him in the chest, either to knock him off balance or to hold him down so he couldn't get away.

As soon as Taro's meaty palm came into contact with his shirtfront, Ryou let out an involuntary shriek, pain ripping though his chest.

With a look of panic, Taro changed the fist coming at him to a palm, pressing it against his mouth to stifle any more sounds. While that worked to muffle Ryou's whimpers, it couldn't call back the scream that had already escaped.

"Is everything alright down here?"

At the call of a teacher's voice, Taro's panicked expression became almost comical, though even without Taro's fingers digging into his cheek Ryou wouldn't have been able to laugh. He was too distracted, trying to drag air into his lungs without letting his ribcage to move in the process. It felt as though a giant set of claws had taken hold of his ribs and was squeezing with every attempt at breathing he made. Outside his own struggle for oxygen Ryou could just hear the sound of footsteps approaching. Bringing his face closer than Ryou had ever wanted to be to him, Taro hissed, "Keep quiet, Priss," and stepped back abruptly, pulling his hands back behind himself, a picture of comparative innocence.

As the teacher came round the corner of the alcove harboring the two boys, Ryou was still attempting to catch his breath, one hand over his sternum to keep his heart from bursting out of his chest like some sort of science fiction alien. Beneath his fingers, under his shirt, something hard moved with a muted clink.

The teacher, a woman Ryou didn't recognize, took in the scene of them standing in the lonely corner, a little frown line appearing between her shaped brows. "What's going on here, boys?" Her tone suggested she wasn't expecting to like the answer.

"Nothing, sensei," Taro burbled. "Just met in the hall and were saying 'hi' before heading back to class."

Ryou took a slow, deep breath which set off a small coughing fit. The teacher looked at him, her frown deepening with concern. She held out a hand towards him, stepping closer. "Goodness, are you feeling alright? Do you need to see the nurse?"

Ryou shook his head, white strands of hair whipping him in the face with each frantic toss. "No, thank you, sensei," he managed through the coughs. He snuck a look up at Taro, who was glowering at him behind the adult's back. He decided he didn't want to be sent back to class at the same time as Taro, not when it involved long empty hallways. He flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile the teacher's way, mumbled, "Excuse me," and shouldered his way through the restroom door. As it swung shut relief flooded through him, not the least of reasons being the sensei telling Taro to get back to class. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being jumped as soon as he walked out the door.

Finally feeling more in his own body than he had all day, the boy walked to the sinks, twisted the taps on and splashed icy water over his face.

What the hell had come over him? He'd stood up to Taro, who had him boxed into a corner, with no real chance of rescue in sight at the time. More than that, he'd not even really felt nervous at the time. Instead he'd felt a rush of anger, close to fury, and a need to punish, to pay back the one who had been the source of suffering. There had been no fear until he'd already stuck his foot in it and it was too late to back out. That was when the much more familiar sensation of dread came sweeping back to fill him up.

What is wrong with me today?

Ryou leaned over the sink, watching the water swirl round and round the drain in a whirlpool before snaking down the pipes. He concentrated on breathing, and over the sound of rushing water he heard the faint clink from beneath his shirt again.

Frowning, Ryou undid the buttons of jacket and rumpled shirt. Beneath his clothes lay the pendant his father had sent to him, its golden, unblinking eye seeming to glare back at Ryou with metallic malevolence. It hung from a cord that looped round his neck, the metal heavy and greasy feeling against his skin.

Ryou stared at it, water dripping from his face and a few small locks of hair. He couldn't remember putting the cord on the pendant, nor the pendant on himself. It wasn't just today that was so off; last night had been as well, complete with memory lapses. The boy squinted in the mirror, looked down, then back up to the mirror. Carefully he pushed aside the hanging points of the ring, shuddering involuntarily as the oily feeling metal touched his fingers, and stared at the pale skin just beneath them.

A set of very, very dark bruises stood out against the pale flesh that covered his ribs. They were so dark that for a moment Ryou thought they were open wounds. A careful prod corrected that assumption, and informed him that they were unbelievably tender and painful. These were the reason it suddenly became hard to breathe when Taro had pushed him. He'd slammed the ring right into the bruises, making them flare to life. But how had he gotten them? Slept on his belly at some point during the night, pinning the metal between him and floor? It was the only thing he could think of. But then, he wasn't exactly at 100%, just now.

Really, when had he put the pointed ring on, and why hadn't he taken it off before falling asleep? Why had he gone to sleep in his clothes, feet away from his futon? Why did he feel so… so out of step with the world around him, not like himself at all?

The eye of the ring drew his gaze to it, just as the drain water had been drawn irresistibly to the drain. He stared at it until his eyes started to ache. Under the fluorescent lights that drained the life and color out of everything, the eye seemed oddly alive. A bead of water ran from his face, down his chest and to the metal, glinting over the smooth curve. Watching it, Ryou's mind wandered…

… a darkness that was large only because that was all there was. All encompassing, all consuming, until the very thought of light becomes something to be treasured. Until sunbeams on a paneled ceiling become something beautiful and precious…

The bell rang, making Ryou jump, abruptly coming back to reality. It was the end of a period, and he had to get back before someone started looking for him. Without even thinking to take the ring off first, he buttoned up his uniform and headed back to his home room.

…

The rest of the day was an improvement over how it had begun. He still hurt everywhere, most especially over his chest since his attention had been brought to it. Every movement made him ache and the ring under his shirt brush against the bruises, lighting them up with pain. He wondered how he had managed to not notice them before. Still, it was some improvement. He finally felt awake, and in his own body. The strange physical echo that had been clinging to him evaporated and he could function without the danger of running into a wall while trying to avoid stumbling over himself.

Though, that didn't necessarily mean he was able to focus, either. His mind continually wandered when he should have been paying attention to lessons. He thought about his father, half a world away in the place he considered to be more home to him than with his family. He thought about the last time he had seen him, a brief visit of a month over summer, time he could spare from his work, but no more. He'd been distracted the whole time he had been with them, spending his evenings reading academic papers and all his conversation centered on dusty old tombs. It had felt bizarre, like having a houseguest no one knew exactly how to behave around. Even his mother seemed to feel it, which made every meal tense and awkward.

Ryou wondered, as their homeroom teacher wrote up a simple equation on the board, what exactly had possessed his father to send him such a strange birthday gift? His note had said it had seemed 'meant for him', but what did that mean? He'd never shown much interest in Egypt or anything related to it. If anything, he did his best to avoid the subject entirely, as getting bored to death by his father whenever he was around was quite enough. It was probably just a case of his father not knowing at all what to get his son and hoping that what would have interested him as a child held true for his offspring as well. Even so, it didn't answer all Ryou's questions. Where had his father found the ring, what was its original purpose, was it even genuine or was it some tourist trinket? It certainly felt like more than a knick-knack when he held it in his hands, but he had trouble imagining a genuine artifact making it through customs. How could a precious Egyptian artifact come to be hanging around the neck of a ten year old Japanese boy?

Which got him to wondering how, exactly, it had wound up around his neck at all? Try as he might, Ryou could not call up any memories beyond the 'party' and the opening of his gifts, eating cake, spending the day with his mother and Amane, heading back to his room for the night… putting things away, finishing rebuilding the broken figurine… No, after that memories fled before his searching, refusing to reveal themselves. The image of picking up the box that contained the ring might have been a memory, or it might have just been his imaginings of how he must have handled it. He could have put it down to over tiredness making his recollections so muddled, but that didn't hold up. He hadn't been so tired yesterday as to lose chunks of his day, even ones near the end of it.

Then there was the matter of his dreams. He remembered practically nothing at all, yet as the day wore on they weighed on his mind, as though they had something important to convey, some clue to impart that would unravel of the uncertainties of the morning.

He caught himself idly playing with the ring through his shirt. Frustrated, he forced himself to pay attention to the class, which had become history without his noticing.

By the end of the day he had exhausted himself with his brooding. After so many hours he would have thought he would have had enough, but as he gathered his things and went out to meet the bus that would take him home, his sneakers and the pavement between blurred as his eyes unfocused. He was miles away as his body continued to carry out its functions, a mindless automaton. So it came as a jolt when his elbow was caught in a vise-like grip and he was steered off of his course.

Ryou came to his senses just in time to have them nearly knocked out again as he was thrown against the brick wall of the school building. Ryou looked around quickly, noting that while he and his assailant – Taro, of course – were only a stone's throw away from the throngs of children awaiting buses; they were around a corner, effectively hidden. Help was unlikely unless he screamed for it, then.

And Taro wasn't interested in any sort of long, drawn out kind of payback for being embarrassed earlier. No sooner had Ryou caught his breath and realized where he was then pain and light bloomed like a sun in his left eye. It wasn't the first time he'd been punched, but it was a particularly heavy blow. Recoiling, he already knew it was going to leave an impressive black eye.

Then… then came something even less expected than the punch that left one entire side of his face throbbing. It was a repeat of what had happened before when Taro had him cornered: He was suddenly too hot, the sound of TV static filled his ears, his vision narrowed to only hold Taro and every aching muscle in his body tensed. But it was faster this time. Much, much faster, almost instantaneous. One moment he was reeling from the strike, the next he was coming back up, his teeth bared in a snarl, the edges of his vision taking on a reddish hue…

Rage. That's what twisted and writhed in his guts, what filled his mind with terrible, wordless violence. He had always felt it, especially against his tormentors, but had kept it under tight control, hidden away where no one could see. Now it was loose, and Ryou didn't even attempt to stop the fist that seemed to move of its own accord, and which landed under Taro's chin, snapping his head back. He watched, once again a distant observer from his own body, in fascinated horror as he took hold of the larger boy's shirtfront and shoved him back, away, into the opposite wall of the narrow walkway and held him there. He watched himself as he leaned his face in close to Taro's, his lips curling back from his teeth in an animalistic sneer, rough sounds that might have been meant to be words but came out as an incoherent snarl. He watched Taro's eyes widen as he pulled back a balled fist, ready to trade one blow for another…

Ryou blinked. He was back, fully in control of his body, and wondering why it was he thought he could punch his bully in the face and get away with it.

Taro felt the difference immediately, his beady black eyes narrowing. Ryou took the moment of confusion to turn and hightail it to his bus, which was just finishing loading up its students.

…

Not for the first time, and Ryou suspected it was far from the last, he was grateful of his mother's apparent indifference to him and his comings and goings. His face was already swelling, and from the furtive glances he'd received on the bus ride home, it was shaping up to be one doozy of a shiner. Even the bus driver, an arthritic old man who wore a baseball cap and never seemed to take much notice of the children he ferried from place to place, had done a double take when he caught sight of Ryou's face. He'd quickened his pace and gotten off and away before the driver had managed to find his voice, avoiding one confrontation. And he avoided a second by simply calling to his mother that he was home and scurrying into his room before she thought to check on him. He needn't have worried. From the sound of it, she was fully preoccupied with helping Amane help her make dinner. He made it to the questionable sanctuary of his bedroom without incident, only coming out once for a cold, damp washcloth for his eye.

He was trying very, very hard to not think about what had happened. It was too frightening to think about rationally, which was what he needed to do. He needed to take it all apart, decide what it meant, and then figure out what to do next. Except whenever his thoughts would drift back over the events of the day, they would skitter apart, making it all seem even less real than while he had been living it through. It wasn't that he had been attacked and was now a hiding in his room, clutching a wet rag to his face that throbbed in time with his heartbeat, a headache forming between his brows. The incident where his figurine had been crushed had been a surprisingly mild case of bullying, and while this incidence was particularly harsh, it was far from Ryou's first time on the wrong side of someone's knuckles.

No, what was hard to come to terms with was his own behavior, how his body had seemed to act without any sort of input from his brain. He was a thoughtful person, especially for his age. The idea that without any kind of warning his judgment could be bypassed and he could do things he would never otherwise consider… it was terrifying. What if it happened again? What if, while going through his day, he just lost control? What was he capable of doing, of saying if he lost control again?

Even more unsettling, perhaps, was how it had felt. There had been fear, certainly, with its lesser followers, anxiety and anticipation, and then that terrible, red raw rage that had bubbled up from the pit of his stomach like acid, burning through his whole body until the very tips of his fingers had tingled. Fear and rage, those had been the two overwhelming emotions he'd felt, but as he thought back to it – try as he might not to – there had been more mixed in. Surprise had probably been foremost, closely tied with shock, not only at his own actions, but that he had gotten Taro to react, to back off, even. It was probably only out of his own disbelief that he had backed down, but still, it was there. Then, beneath everything else he had been feeling, there had been this sort of… happiness. Not like his usual sort of happiness, the kind he felt when he beat a videogame or went to his favorite fast food place, but a different sort. A darker sort. Ryou wasn't even sure he should label it with so bright a word as 'happy', which brought to mind smiles and laughter and a sense of comfort. What he had felt… it might be closer to 'glee'. A dark, half-mad glee to see the fear flash in Taro's eyes, to have him so easily, if briefly, in his power, at his mercy. It was a wild, fluttering satisfaction in his heart that warmed him in a way the rage had not, and for the barest of instants, he had imagined what it would be like to have Taro even more at his mercy, to have him plead for it, and his heart had swelled to bursting…

Ryou shook his head, pressed the now warm washcloth more firmly against his swelling eye. He didn't want to think about it, about the sensations that had crept through him, so foreign and yet so familiar at the same time. Finding enjoyment in another's discomfort, no matter how deserved it might be, was repugnant to him, utterly repugnant. He just had to remember that and forget the forbidden rush of joy.

He worked on his homework for the rest of the evening, focusing first on the math papers he had previously neglected – he had no desire to stand out in the hall! – then moving on to what had been assigned that day. When his mother called him for dinner he made the excuse of having too much work, and promised to come out later for food. It might have been a sign of trust that she didn't insist he come out, but Ryou chose to see it as further negligence. When Amane knocked on his door, again he said he was too busy, too tired to play, and promised to play tomorrow. She put up a little more of a fight, but she, too, eventually wandered off.

It was barely seven o'clock by the time Ryou had all of his assignments finished. He'd been checking the progress of his eye in Amane's mirror throughout the evening. It was swelling up, but the skin was still intact and the discoloration was surprisingly mild, not nearly as horrific as he had feared. Still, it was noticeable; even to his mother should she chance to look at him. It was best to stay in his room for the rest of the night to avoid a confrontation. He'd come home from school with bruises before and knew firsthand what it was like when a parent discovered them. He felt no need to repeat the experience. Still, he thought with a wince as his belly grumbled, he might sneak out for a snack once everyone else had gone to sleep.

In the meantime, he was stuck in his room with no more schoolwork to occupy his mind, to distract him from all the upsetting memories of the day.

With no assigned work to lose himself in, Ryou turned to his RPG's once again. He had no figures he wanted to work on, but he had been taking notes for a storyline for some future campaign. Settling down at his desk, Ryou pulled out the notebook where he kept all of his gaming notes; his characters, stats, world maps, designer class attributes, monster and treasure distribution charts, dungeon layouts and plot outlines, and a pen. He opened it up to where he had left off, which wasn't very far in, and stroked his fingers over the paper lovingly. Even if he never got a chance to play with another human being in his entire life, he wouldn't be able to say it was wasted effort. Ryou loved figuring out all the details that went into a well-designed world, the little touches that made it feel really real. But more than anything, Ryou loved to tell a good story. As a Dungeon Master of RPGs, that was what his real job was: spinning an epic tale for others to enjoy and adventure through.

Ryou picked up his pen, found the balance of it, and continued to outline a pivotal character in his most recent game design.

Our warrior is bereft of friends, expelled from his village and forbidden to return. He wanders the wilderness, aimless, for months before being discovered by a motley band of fortune-seekers. Taking pity on him and advantage of another experienced sword in their group, they allow him to join them. Unfortunately for them, they have heard no rumors of why the man was cast out by his own people, and the nature of his curse prevents him from speaking openly on the subject…

Ryou was effectively lost in a cloud of imagination until his eyelids became too heavy to keep open any longer. Satisfied with the progress he'd made both on his schoolwork and on his hobby, he slipped into his pajamas and then into bed, ready for sleep.

Once safely between the sheets, however, sleep became a teasing specter. With nothing to preoccupy his thoughts, he couldn't keep from thinking of his day. He wouldn't be able to keep his black eye a secret for long, he knew. Most likely that would be discovered in the morning over breakfast, or if he somehow avoided that, there would be no way of hiding it at school. And once at school… Ryou groaned and turned towards the wall on his futon. Once he was at school he would have concerned teachers to contend with, the kind who would phone home to ask what was going on and set his mother into the kind of state he could never seem to set her into himself. He'd have fellow students staring, whispering about him behind their hands, asking what had happened just so they could tease him about it later. And their teasing would be nothing compared to what would happen when Taro, Suichi, or any of his other bullies caught him alone. He suffered under no delusion that Taro would tolerate the kind of insubordination he'd seen festering in Ryou's eyes, the blow he'd been dealt, nor would any of the others, whom Taro would doubtless tell. He could expect some form of retaliation. Though probably not more bruises, if the adults were on higher alert than usual. But then that would just mean subtler torments. Until Ryou was no longer being watched so closely…

And to top it all off, he was only now remembering the promise he'd made to his mother to find some food before going to sleep. The emptiness in his belly was just another thing working to keep him awake, but he didn't want to risk waking his mother in a food raid on the kitchen. Since obviously she had forgotten his promise as well, he had no intention of reminding her. So he curled into a little ball on his side, doing his best to ignore the throbbing of his face, the ache of his belly, the dread of the upcoming day and the still lingering fear of whatever it was that had come over him at school.

When an hour passed and still sleep eluded him, Ryou felt about ready to cry. He was so very tired but couldn't drift away, but more than that, he was bones deep weary of this kind of situation he always seemed to wind up in: backed into a corner, a bad option facing him on every side, and no one he could turn to, none he could rely on.

Why was it he could never seem to hold on to any friends? He wasn't so bad, just quiet and a little nerdy. That wasn't a good enough reason for a lifetime of exile, was it? Was it too much to ask that had have just one friend, just one other person he was allowed to feel close to, out of an entire world that, when it wasn't actively beating him down with cruelty, told him over and over he just wasn't that important enough to bother with?

Ryou allowed himself to sink into fantasy, imagining what it would be like to have that one friend whom he could always rely on. While in the thick of enemies, one friend counted for a lot.

As his mind finally began to unwind, the dream expanded so his one friend became many, and the bullies that had populated his entire world all disappeared. Ryou smiled sleepily at the impossible dream.

It would be nice if that could happen, Ryou thought to himself muzzily, half asleep. It would be so nice if life were like in an RPG, and the bad guys were all laid low, defeated, and the hero's companions remained by his side forever…

As Ryou finally succumbed to exhaustion, that final, impossible wish echoing in his mind, the last thing Ryou remembered was an inexplicable feeling of someone smiling at him – just a tiny smirk – and a voice in his ear that might have said, "As yadonushi wishes…"

And then there was darkness.

…

A/N2: Fairly quiet chapter, all around… that'll probably change as we go along. ;3

Sensei: Probably everyone knows this one, but just in case, this is the Japanese word for 'teacher'. Occasionally the term 'sempai' is used, but that's usually reserved for students who happen to teach as well, such as upperclassmen or TA's. Sometimes teachers will allow students to address them as 'sempai', but it's a very informal term to use on a teacher. (This is all gleaned from internet research. If someone out there with more direct knowledge on this spots something wrong with any of this, feel free to point it out!)

Yadonushi: Again, something that just about every Bakura fan probably knows, 'yadonushi' can mean two things: Landlord / innkeeper, and host, such as a host for a parasite. Considering the nature of the spirit of the ring, it's a particularly well fitted term, one that was used in the original manga to my knowledge, and one that's become pretty common to see in fan works. Like this one.

RPGs VS JRPGs: Gaming nerds will know that there are some pretty big differences between a western RPG – Role Playing Game – and a JRPG, a Japanese Role Playing Game. There are entire videos and such dedicated to breaking down how they're different, in style, structure, goals and more, so I won't be getting into that. What's being shown here, though, is pretty typical of what you would find in old school western RPGs, like Palladium or Dungeons and Dragons. The reason for this… I'm more familiar with the western style, and can do more with them without the danger of totally screwing it up. Author's convenience, and let's just say that Ryou is an enthusiast for foreign styles of gameplay. It can happen.

Japanese School Structure: Save for what I can find on Japanese school systems via the internet, I'm not that knowledgeable about how it all works. Rules on restroom breaks, for example, or how the children are supervised during recess breaks, I have no idea beyond what I've picked up from media. So again, I'm falling back on what's fairly typical of what you would find in the US. If any of this is so far off that someone notices, please point it out, send me some sources to educate me! :3

Thank you, everyone, for reading! I appreciate all the time, love and attention! (Ooh, the attention, gimme gimme gimme! ;D)