Note: 'Heartland' refers to the circular area, the whole place is known as 'Heartland City' (sometimes colloquially 'Heartland'). As much as I think the opposite is far more convenient, this is the canon, so I be sticking to it.
Beta-read by The 17th Chimera.
Chapter Ten:
As the first sight of Heartland City broke through the clouds, that colourful dreamscape of blinding technicolour, with buildings that seemed more from a picture book than what was possible in reality, Yuma gripped his fingers into the armrest on either side. The awestruck gasps from tourists did not filter through the web of apprehension woven without will, a web of apprehension that only spurned larger and grew more intricate after every passing second.
He could feel how much he'd changed since he'd left, now more than ever, as the sights rekindled memories he thought were buried beyond reach. Cities couldn't change as rapidly as people; Heartland remained the same as it always was, that pearlescent bubble frozen amidst the currents of time. As much as Yuma sought to see something new, a subconscious desire for his change to be acknowledged, he saw nothing.
Only the memories of expectations he was to fulfill.
Even after the plane touched down on the tarmac, a strip within Heartland itself, and its passengers milled out, Yuma found himself reaching for his neck; reaching for thin air.
As he dug in his pocket for the invitation slip confirming entry into the heart of Heartland City, the distinctive metallic sensation of the Key jostled against his leg, even though it sat within the envelope's folds. Yuma hesitated, but returned to his senses at the outstretched hands of the city personnel, and handed across the slip and his D-Gazer.
"Yuma Tsukumo, sir?" a voice asked, breaking his thoughts.
A man stood before him, an impossible smile gracing the person's features, and if it were any other place but Heartland the blue-orange pinstriped suit would have been obscure. Both objects were in his hands, presented toward Yuma's chest, and Yuma hurriedly clicked the D-Gazer back onto his eye and returned the slip into his pocket, careful not to brush against the pendant inside.
"Yes?" he replied.
The man bowed, and gestured away from the wall. "Right this way."
Few thoughts were running through Yuma's mind, as the two stepped onto a moving floor and quickly went underground. One was that he should have been observing everything, observing the scenery, as only the truly gifted or truly affluent were granted access to Heartland, and he ought to take note whilst he could. Another questioned why he, of all people, had access to such an area, though he knew why, and knew it was his duty.
The last thought that he was able to isolate, before a light emerged at the end of the tunnel and marked where the moving floor stopped, was the presence of a never ending well of discomfort underlying everything he did.
Astral was not there. Kaito was gone. Everyone else he'd left behind or been left behind by.
The moving floor led to a large concourse, one level below ground. Pot plants and blue plastic chairs sat atop a mosaic of winding lines and splashes of colour, a mosaic spiralling out to each corner and growing ever larger as it did so, engulfing those who dared walk atop its domain. A row of booths took the furthest wall, all kept shut with metallic grates except one in the corner, and it was there they were headed.
Then there was a blinding flash of light, and a loud shutter-snap that had Yuma jump behind the arm he'd raised to protect his eyes but couldn't remember lifting. When his vision refocused he saw his guide staring down the person responsible – and it had to be a stare, as those grins were permanent accessories part of the uniform.
"Sir, you cannot take photos in this area—"
The perpetrator, the only other person on the floor who didn't belong to staff, curled one hand around the lanyard across his suit and tilted his head back so their eyes met.
"I have permission."
Now the beret no longer kept the perpetrator's face in shadow, Yuma couldn't help but notice purple eyes of the kind he'd never seen before. They were not like Akari's eyes, they were richer, and rather than amused exasperation they excluded self-confidence and possessed a dangerous aura.
His guide seemed to have the same idea; the man's smile faltered briefly, and he bowed without looking at the affixed tag at all.
"U-Understood!"
"Good," said the perpetrator, pulling his beret down. Then he snapped another photo of the two, and smiled. "As you were."
The words had a noticeable effect, as the guide suddenly snapped to attention and that grin was fixed in place again.
"Yes, Yuma Tsukumo, sir," he said, "if you would please follow me."
They reached the lone booth without further incident, though Yuma glanced back several times to see that the perpetrator had moved on to taking photos of literally anything and everything; from the checkerboard mural on a wall to the sign pointing toward the toilet doors. Within the booth, the woman bowed at their approach, and the twin matching smiles on both personnel raised the possibility of a training camp dedicated to smiling in ridiculous clownish uniforms.
"How may I help you?" she asked, voice melodic to the point of artificiality.
"Our last wild card," said the guide.
"Ah! I see. Thank you, I can take over from here."
The guide bowed once in Yuma's direction before walking away, back in the direction of the moving floor. Yuma couldn't help but notice the wide berth as the man strove to avoid the last occupant in the room; was the photographer really that imposing?
A clatter of keyboard keys had him look back to the woman in the booth, who had drawn up a screen beyond his line of view.
"D-Gazer, please," she said.
Yuma obliged. The device was scanned, the results displayed, then he was back in possession of it within seconds.
"Yuma Tsukumo of Heartland City, E District, correct?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Alright. May I have your invitation?"
The slip was fished out of his pocket again, and handed across. She smoothed the crumpled printout carefully, handling the paper the way most people handled fragile artifacts, before placing the matrix barcode beneath a scanner and then deftly typing for seconds that were minutes long.
Then the computer dinged, and Yuma could make out the faint shape of a tick in one corner.
"Congratulations!" the woman said, and somehow her smile grew even larger than it had been before. "You have been chosen from all of the city's residents, and officially eligible to be wild card two in the National Duel Championships!"
She obviously expected some fanfare, some cheering, or something of the sort. When Yuma only rubbed his fingers to try stop their tingling in anticipation, her smile deflated—by millimetres.
"We'll have to run through some things before you're accepted, though," she added. "May I see your deck?"
"My deck?"
"All decks need to be registered so that there's no cheating between duels, and checked to avoid counterfeiting. If you please?"
Yuma snapped open the deck box at his waist, and it was an action that hadn't been performed for ages but felt far too familiar beneath his fingertips. It was passed through the window by the opening at the base, and he watched as she lifted the lid on a machine beside her and placed it into its maw. With a soft hrum it passed each individual card through to a slot on the side, the image of each appearing for split seconds on a screen with a large green tick beside.
Then all forty-two cards were parsed, data saved into the system, and she returned the deck but kept her hand outstretched after it was claimed. "And your Extra Deck, please."
Yuma froze. "...Ah."
"Did you have an Extra Deck?"
"Y—yes!" exclaimed Yuma, "yes, I do. Could I—check it, see if I need to make some changes?"
"Certainly."
As soon as he reached into the box on his other side, he felt what he feared sitting on top of all his other cards. When he pulled the cards out, sure enough, his sole Number sat tucked behind.
Hesitation gripped him once more.
He knew from experience that there were no problems with counterfeiting, though as the Numbers were not printed they still somehow followed I2 guidelines; his concern lay in the effect a Number had on other people. Emotions would be warped at the slightest touch, and Yuma had every intent to stay under the radar as long as possible.
But he could not remove the card, if he was to win. Extra Decks were resources, and duels were unpredictable.
Yuma shuffled the Number so it sat sandwiched between the other cards, hoping it would be enough to shield the aura, then handed his Extra Deck to the woman behind the counter.
"Please be careful, most of the cards are borrowed from a friend," he said, and it wasn't a lie.
She nodded and reached for them – and it was then that Yuma finally noticed she wore gloves – and as her fingers clamped around them and no reaction occurred, he released a sigh of relief he didn't even know he was holding. After his Extra Deck passed through the machine, two alert boxes popped up on her screen. Smile unfaltering, she closed both and turned back to Yuma.
"Four of the cards have different card backs, and they're in Italian," she said.
He knew they were in Italian, but, "Card... backs?"
A gloved hand reached for a green plastic slip infixed between the machine and the wall. As it was placed before him, he identified the chip embedded in one corner and activated the AR Field on his D-Gazer. The picture of two card backs appeared, a deep brown he recognized and a golden galaxy he didn't.
"These," she said, pointing to the golden galaxy, "are the new-generation back designs released a few years ago, to commemorate the centennial of the Duel Monsters card game. Since your cards are in your Extra Deck it's fine, but for future reference, tournament guidelines state that all cards must be identical face-down."
"That means I can't add new cards to my deck."
"Oh, no. Most players use card sleeves to protect their cards as-is, and as they have an opaque back it is perfectly legal to use a mix of cards."
"And the Italian..."
"The Italian is no issue. Duel Monsters is an international sport. But you must know translation errors are no excuses for misplays especially if the card is in another language. Do you understand all of this?"
Yuma nodded, and she returned his Extra Deck to him and the plastic to the wall.
"And your Duel Disk, please," she said.
"We use our own D-Pads?"
"Of course; all duelists prefer it that way."
"Ah. Um. Mine is broken."
"How damaged is it? It may be repaired—"
She trailed off when Yuma pulled his D-Pad out of his bag and held it in his hands. It still bore the damage from when Suit-man tried to punch him; there was still a fractured split along the casing from where the duel field ripped off, and electrical tape, hastily plastered, sealed off each of the exposed wires to avoid short-circuiting.
There hadn't been any time to get it repaired, nor any money spare.
"That won't be fixed in time," she stated, and drew up a keyboard for her screen. "As you are a finalist you're eligible to borrow a duel disk until the tournament is over, but it'll take a while before one is prepared so you will have to collect it tomorrow morning. Would you like to keep that in a storage locker in the meantime?"
"Storage locker?"
A nod, and one gloved hand gestured to the right side of the room. Sure enough, now that he knew what to look for, the checkerboard design was actually a series of integrated cabinets of the upmarket kind, blending seamlessly into the wall with no bumps or grooves to mark they were there.
"All finalists are issued a storage locker, free of charge." She typed a few more commands into the computer and then Yuma's D-Gazer beeped, the small icon of a letter appearing in the top-left of his vision. "Those are the details and your temporary passcode, you may reset it at any time. Now that's all done, is there any information about Heartland that you wish to know?"
"Do you know a cheap place to stay?"
"Certainly." Her fingers flicked upward to call upon a heads-up display, and she scrolled through before pressing a button near the bottom. Yuma's D-Gazer beeped again, and the icon flashed, marking the arrival of another message. "All results on accommodation have been transmitted. Anything else?"
"No."
"Alright. The tournament begins in four days, please arrive here before 8:30 AM. The Opening Ceremony is the day before, though attendance is optional." She bowed. "Thank you very much. I wish you the best for your stay."
Yuma returned the bow. "Thank you."
He re-shouldered his bag and walked to the storage lockers, opening the first message at the same time. Locker AN89. It took a while to identify the designation system for each locker, as they were printed across arrows in two parts to make up the checkerboard lines, but soon enough he found where AN was scrawled horizontally and 89 was written vertically. He pressed the button at the intersection the arrows pointed to and the outer layer of wall flipped up and folded above a safety deposit box tucked behind.
When Yuma entered the temporary passcode, the electronic screen prompted him to assign a permanent one, and he did so. Fully expecting the door to open, he was surprised when electronic characters appeared again:
Please note that all storage lockers are emptied after seven days.
Would you like a notice sent to your D-Gazer before then?
He paused. For a moment he stood there, deliberating, then pressed Confirm and the door finally swung open.
As he was about to place the D-Pad into his locker, he changed his mind. It would be better to enquire sooner and then place it inside once he could swap his old D-Pad for the one being loaned. The locker was closed, still empty, and the D-Pad returned to his bag.
Then he walked back to the counter, with intent of requesting information on repair services in Heartland, and wondered what Astral and Kaito were doing whilst he fulfilled his role.
The sliding doors opened soundlessly, and were it not for the sudden scope of light entering the secluded room its presence would not have been detected. The footsteps that followed, soft and imperceptible, belied the sturdy, commanding aura of the person taking each one.
When the man came to a stop beside the only other occupant in the room, the doors closed behind them, and any warm yellow light was called back into its grasp and replaced by artificial glare from the array of monitors before them, emitted from the darkness beyond.
"So, Droite?" asked the man, casting a lazy glance toward the screens, then turning his head to the woman who stood elegantly next to him. "You said there was something interesting?"
Droite tucked a loose strand of deep blue hair behind one ear, an action wasted considering a fringe that reached beyond her chin, then her eyes flicked toward him. "He's here."
"You can't be serious."
She didn't respond, merely tapping a key. A window appeared on one screen, replacing what used to be a text-based interface, and as the output loaded and each image appeared, the man's eyes widened.
"He's the one, isn't he?"
Droite nodded. "Just as expected."
"No. 39: King of Hopes – Hope, eh? Detach an overlay unit to negate battle... his defeat, I can feel it..."
Brown eyes flashed toward purple. "Do not get ahead of yourself, Gauche. Remain cautious."
"It's not so tough, and you know it," replied Gauche, scoffing. "It's an Xyz deck, not even an Xyz turbo, and these days all of them are the same anyway."
"Whilst that may be true, it doesn't change the matter."
"What matter? A Number with a five card Extra Deck?"
"You have work to complete."
"I got the missive." Gauche scowled. "It would save a lot of trouble if we could send out the mercenaries."
"They aren't—"
"We both know why they help, because of what they're getting in return. If that doesn't make them mercenaries then I can't feel what would."
"I know. They aren't available."
"Tch."
His eyes returned to the screen, though it was not the deck he looked at but the duellist profile beside it. Name, duellist ID, professional Circuit record, and above all, an image snapped by an overhead pin-size camera, in the foyer beside the stadium.
"Numbers Hunter, Yuma Tsukumo," muttered Gauche, taking in every detail of the oblique figure, from the spikes in his hair to the backpack by his feet. "I feel I'll have a lot of fun before you fall."
Heartland truly was a city for the rich, a playground for those with money to spare, as even the cheapest hostel Yuma could find cost as much as a normal hotel room in Heartland City. But as he glanced around, he couldn't deny the features despite the shared accommodation. Three bunks to a room – six beds, four of which were free; a bathroom, en suite; a large window casting light onto a modest table; and a stack of lockers for safely storing valuables, though the system was no where near as high-end as the locker before.
The other two occupants in the room barely spared him a glance as he walked toward the free area, the young women far too engrossed as they fussed with their hair to pay him any mind. Yuma threw his backpack onto the floor near the bottom bed before lying down, tucking his head behind the lisp of the top and falling back. There was no point lifting his legs up, as he still had his shoes on, and the shadowed roof keeping up the mattress above was the only thing his eyes were left to see.
An exhausted sigh escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes as he remembered trekking across the city to find shops that could repair. Despite cross-referencing prices, they were still too dear for the money he did have, and repairing his D-Pad would have to wait.
He heard the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by footsteps so soft they were almost lost upon the tiled floor. A smattering of giggles erupted from the two young women, who then began whispering amongst themselves, and it was then that Yuma noticed the footsteps were approaching his direction through the way they rose in volume.
"Hi," said a voice, masculine and laced with smooth undertones. "Is this bed free?"
Yuma opened his eyes to see a man in a fitted blue waistcoat, towing a small travel bag off one arm and carrying a jacket draped over the other. Long silver hair, braided, fell forward over one shoulder, and vibrant blue eyes accompanied a pleasant smile. The man gestured to the bunk bed opposite, and Yuma shrugged.
"I think so," he said. "But I just got here."
The man nodded, then drew the travel bag up against the wall and placed the jacket on the top bunk. Then he turned to Yuma and smiled, extending a hand to shake. Yuma jumped up, forgetting the low lisp, then reeled back as he hit his head against it far too quickly. The resulting jolt of pain was more than enough to make him regret doing so.
"Are you alright?" asked the other man, just as Yuma fell back against the mattress.
He cringed; his antennae would never be the same again. "Yeah, I'm okay."
"That's good. I'm Victor, Victor Romani. You?"
"Tsukumo... Yuma Tsukumo. It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
Victor nimbly climbed the ladder at the foot of the bed, the action quickened as long legs took every second rung, then sat on the mattress with his back touching the wall. Despite taking the bottom bunk, the distance between the two beds meant Yuma could still see the other, and he watched as Victor reached for his jacket to take out a deck of Duel Monsters cards.
"You duel?" Yuma asked, honestly surprised.
Victor shrugged, flicking through and sorting them before him. "Every so often. It's more a hobby."
"I see. Same here."
Bored, Yuma reached for his backpack to get the D-Pad inside it, then kicked off his shoes and lifted his feet to a cross-legged position. Idly he reached for his deck and picked up the first card, before placing it on the D-Pad's surface and flicking a switch on the side. A green LED lit up, and the figure of Gagaga Magician rose from the surface.
"What's that?" came Victor's voice, suddenly, and Yuma looked up to find the older man staring as Gagaga Magician hovered, awaiting commands.
Yuma flicked the switch off. "Oh—it's nothing."
"That certainly didn't look like nothing." Rather than being accusing, Victor was more intrigued. "D-Pads don't have a native hologram function, it's all augmented."
"Ah—erm, it's been modified."
"Let me see."
"A—"
Yuma cut himself off as his eyes widened. Rather than descending down the ladder, Victor placed his deck to the side and leapt over the railing, landing directly beside Yuma in a movement instantaneous, deadly and far softer than it should have been; so soft that neither of the two women noticed.
Victor rose to his feet, and it was then that Yuma noticed how tall the other man stood.
He extended a hand. "Please let me see that."
The D-Pad was handed across, reluctantly. "Careful, it's broken—"
"I thought so."
Yuma blinked. "Thought what?"
"This is Solid Vision."
"I can explain..."
"No need," replied Victor, inspecting the D-Pad's components. "You must be gagaga99."
"What?" spluttered Yuma, "how did you—?"
"You commissioned it from me. The software."
"You're V-V.R.?"
"Of course. Victor Romani. Freelance developer, at your service."
"Victor... Romani? Then what's the first 'V'?"
Victor shrugged. "Nothing. VR was too short. Regardless, what brings you from the land of steel to the city of carnivals, lights and never-ending fun and games?"
"What?"
"I sent those files to an address in Neo Domino City. Why are you in Heartland?"
"I..."
Yuma's eyes flickered to the D-Pad, and Victor caught the action.
"Were you going to get that repaired here?" asked Victor. "There are quite a few services in Neo Domino that could look at it for you."
"No; I... I came to enter the tournament."
"Then you know that modified Duel Disks are illegal for entry, correct?"
"Well, she did ask for it but it was broken, so..."
"Consider yourself lucky. If it wasn't broken you would have lost all of my code."
"Lost your code?"
The D-Pad was given one last cursory glance before being returned. "What do you think they do after they take it? All hardware is reformatted to ensure tournament guidelines are met. You have it live booted, yes?"
"Yeah. The code would be fine."
"Not if they dispose of my memory chip."
Yuma paled. "Oh."
"Yes, you're quite fortunate. You'll be borrowing a disk, then?"
A nod.
"The safest option." Then, Victor smiled. "I've been meaning to test my deck for a while, actually. How about it, Mr. Tournament Qualifier? Let's duel."
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