Yes! Bed bedpost was his own! The bed was his own! The room was his own! Best and happiest of all, the time ahead of him was his very own!

"I will live in the Past, the Present and the Future!" Seto repeated as he scrambled out of bed. He was so flustered and so glowing with his good intentions that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call.

"They are not out the window," he declared of his cards, perched in their usual place of honour by his bed. "Not torn to shreds. They are here: and I am here: and the shadows of things that would have been will be dispelled! I know it!"

"Brother!" The door to the room opened, and in walked the younger Kaiba, summoned most likely by his sibling's merriment, dressed in his oversized pyjamas which were purple and long in the arms so that they hung over his hands. This fact isn't especially relevant to the tale; however, it's always worth taking a moment to address how Mokuba's adorableness rivals that of a kitten.

"Mokuba!" Seto picked up the boy and swung him around. "I don't know what to do!" he declared, and Mokuba couldn't tell if he was laughing or crying. "I am as light as a feather! I am as happy as an angel! I am as merry as a school boy! I am as giddy as a drunken man! I am as smiley as the Pot of Greed!

"No wonder you don't know what to do," remarked the younger boy. "Seto, nobody knows what Pot of Greed does."

"Oh, a Merry Christmas to you, little brother!" He hugged him close and Mokuba, who didn't have the faintest idea as to what was going on, happily returned the gesture and decided not to question it. "Ah – that is, it is Christmas, is it not?"

"Of course it is!"

"Then I haven't missed it!" Seto put his brother down then. "The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like, of course they can!"

"Of course they can!" echoed Mokuba.

"You know the Poulterer's just in town? Do you know whether they've sold the prize turkey that was hanging up in there? Not the little prize turkey; the big one?"

"The one as big as me? It's hanging there now," replied the boy.

"Go and buy it," Seto ordered. "Then order somebody to drop it to my clerk's home."

"But brother, it's Christmas," Mokuba reminded him. "Will it even be open today?"

Seto walked to his dresser and tossed Mokuba his wallet. "I expect so. We're at that point in the plot. Now go!"

The boy was off like a shot, but doubled back at the door.

"Seto, I'm know I'm little, but even so – if there is a turkey the same size as me, perhaps it's not the best thing to be eating. Should I just get the smaller turkey instead?"

"Ah – yes." Seto stilled, and nodded.

Mokuba nodded too, and was off like a shot for real this time. Seto dressed in a hurry, barely able to do up his buttons for he was shaking so much. Then he took to the streets in search of a man – a specific one, that is.

He found him quick enough, that unusual-but-not-protagonist-worthy hair standing out in the crowd.

"How do you do!" he greeted cheerfully.

"Mr Kaiba?"

"Yes," said Seto. "That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon, and if you'll have the goodness-" he whispered an amount in the man's ear.

"Sir! That much?"

"Not a penny less. And my company will happily donate a duel disk to each child under your charity, I assure you."

"I-I-I don't know what to say!" stammered the man.

"Say nothing," Seto insisted; "But please come and visit me some time. Will you do that?" Tristan did promise, and Seto walked away after thanking him.

He jovially walked the streets and watched the people hurrying to and fro, filling his morning with cheer, before rushing home to be with the one person he wished to spend the season with more than any other.

Seto was up late that night with his dear Mokuba, and up again early the next day to make it to the office. If only he could catch Yugi behind schedule – that was what he had his heart set upon.

And he did! The clock struck nine, and there was no Yugi. Then five past, ten past; and at last at eighteen past, the door opened and in stepped young Muto, shrugging off his coat.

"What is the meaning of this?" Seto demanded, struggling to keep from breaking out into a grin.

"Ah—I apologise," Yugi hurried to say. "I was up rather late last night. But-! It is only once a year!"

"Muto, I'm afraid I cannot abide this situation any longer," Seto declared, rising to his feet, and Yugi for a moment feared for his job. But then: "And therefore, Muto, I am about to raise your salary!"

"You—I beg your pardon?"

"Yes, my friend. Raise your salary; and rest assured, I will help you and your family in any way I can. A Merry Christmas, Yugi – merrier than I've ever had, and many more to come!"

Seto was better than his word. He did it all and infinitely more. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city ever knew. It was often said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas all year around as well as anyone. May that truly be said of us, and all of us!

And as Kuriboh – who did not die – observed: "Kree-kree, kuree!" And I don't think you need me to tell you what that means.