Sugoroku Mutou died one month short of two full years into Yuugi's latest retirement. The normal thing happened, nothing dramatic. Sugoroku wasn't feeling great, his eyes had gone a bit yellow, and Yuugi had taken him to the doctor to hear several tests and long hours later that there was nothing much that could be done for the old man's liver. Hospice would take over, and they'd try to ensure Sugoroku passed in peace and as painlessly as possible.

Peace and painless meant the doctors essentially knocked Sugoroku out with medicine until he stopped living. Yuugi didn't protest or comment. This wasn't the first time he'd heard bad news about the old man's health. It took a moment for it to wash over him that this was going to be the last bad news he'd ever hear. He stoically kept his game face on throughout, the face that gave nothing away.

Alone, sitting for even longer hours at the bedside waiting for the old man to die, he let his mind wander closer to the reality of what was happening. He wondered if being unconscious truly meant you were out of pain, or if it just looked that way from the outside, because, except in highly specialized situations involving ancient spirits and cursed items, there was no way to get into another person's head and make sure. Was it really peaceful to feel uncommonly unwell one morning, go through a litany of medical tests, and then fall asleep in a strange hospital room to never wake up? When people said they wanted to die peacefully, perhaps go out softly in their sleep, was that honestly what they'd meant? No-one ever precisely specified where they hoped to fall asleep before they shuffled off that mortal coil. Yuugi had heard that hypothermia apparently felt like falling asleep, too. He doubted many people hoped to die of hypothermia.

The last time Yuugi and Sugoroku had ever spoken at length, the old man had made sure to tell Yuugi what ought to happen if he died. This had been nothing new. Every time they'd gone to the hospital, even for a routine check-up, Sugoroku had bombarded Yuugi with his newest list of demands for what should "transpire should he expire" or something else morbidly humorous, because Sugoroku apparently thought his slow decline to death merited jest. Yuugi had stop complaining about it. He supposed everyone had to deal in their own personal way, even if it hurt his feelings that Sugoroku couldn't be just a bit more serious.

Yuugi should've known something was up when his wish for sincerity was suddenly granted. After a spasm of pain he'd been up with all night and hadn't called Yuugi about once, Sugoroku had stopped smiling and trying to make jokes. Instead, as they were parked in the lot of the hospital and no longer moving, he'd grabbed Yuugi by the arm. He'd told him, plainly and earnestly, as though it were the last thing he'd ever get to say, that on the event of death, he wanted to buried with the two taped-together halves of his beloved Blue Eyes White Dragon card and Yuugi's last remaining pieces of Exodia. They were in a safe in Sugoroku's bedroom, but the combination wasn't important, because the safe was never locked. Because Sugoroku looked at these cards every night before he went to sleep. Because they were the most important things in the world to him.

Yuugi had been silently mortified to discover that his grandpa's legitimate dying wish was to be buried with Magic & Wizards cards. The cards were on the small table beside him now. He'd called Jounouchi to bring them to the hospital, and Sugoroku had held them and looked at them lovingly as he'd drifted into an artificial sleep. Yuugi had only now removed them from the old, wrinkled hands. He'd been afraid that if he'd taken them earlier, the old man might've immediately died at that moment, sensing they were gone. Yuugi had even pointlessly whispered that the cards were only on the table, that he was moving them so they wouldn't be dropped on the floor, and that they'd be waiting right here for when Sugoroku woke up.

Sugoroku didn't wake up. Jounouchi arrived in time to see him go, though there wasn't much to see. The soul that left the room the instant Sugoroku passed on hadn't really been there in much of a present capacity anyway. The deepened silence knew he was gone well before either Jounouchi or Yuugi had made the connection.