Chapter 9: Facing Shadows

Yami didn't say anything for most of the walk home. Yori didn't mind; she figured it was best to leave him to his thoughts after so much had happened in a single day. Not to mention she was still trying to take it all in as well.

So with both of them a little out of it, it was no wonder she didn't realize they were being followed until it was too late.

It was the rhythm that gave it away—the sound of multiple sets of feet keeping a pattern that was too careful, too focused. By the time Yori heard, she could tell the group following them was too close to run. If she'd been by herself, it might have been a possibility, but a two-person escape was never as fast unless coordinated. Unfortunately, she could also tell the group was too big to turn and fight. Again, if she'd been alone, things might have been different.

"Trouble," she whispered, bumping her elbow against Yami's. It was the only warning she could give him.

He gave a small jolt, and at the same moment, a voice behind them said, "Hey, kids. How's the evening stroll?"

She and Yami came to a stop, turning to find five dark figures in the path behind them, each wrapped in a purple cloak that seemed to mirror the pooling shadows.

"I was told this treasure hunt would be challenging," the same man said, lowering his hood. The streetlight above him caught on a black Eye of Horus tattoo in the center of his forehead. "Yet the X falls right in my lap on the first night out."

"Hey, nice costumes." Yori scoffed. "Most gangs just go with matching jackets or bandanas, but you're really invested in making a statement. What do we call you, the Cloaked Clowns?"

Unfortunately, the man's only reaction to her taunt was a lazy smile. So they weren't dealing with a hotheaded gang; they were dealing with professionals. Possibly even hired professionals, based on the man's statement.

"Gonna let your girlfriend talk for you?" The man eyed Yami. "No tongue of your own?"

Unfortunately, Yami did react to the taunt.

"Leave her out of this."

"Ah, but she's so anxious to be in this, hurling insults with her first breath."

"You haven't heard an insult yet, honey." Yori smiled sweetly. "Leave now, you won't have to."

"There's a bounty on your head," the man said, still addressing Yami. "A prize for whoever can best torment the boy with the puzzle. Gee, I like prizes. I wonder how tormented you'd be if I cut that sharp tongue out of your girlfriend."

"I said leave her out of this," Yami snarled. "Your fight is with me." His voice crackled with a power that raised the hair on Yori's arms. If she didn't know better, she'd say the shadows around him gathered in on his iron stance like reverse ripples.

"My master's fight is with you," the man said. "I'm just the happy messenger."

He nodded, signaling the men around him to charge. Yori braced herself for a fight, but before the first goon even reached her, the leader threw a knife that opened a line of heat across her shoulder. The knife clanged to the sidewalk behind her, red with her blood.

She tried to recover in time to meet the first punch, but she was too late. The fist caught her in the chest, knocked her off her feet.

Just as she hit the ground, Yami's Millennium Puzzle flashed gold.

And everything turned black.

It had been five months since Yami had last conjured a shadow game.

After he'd first been released from the puzzle, his awareness had been hazy at best, only truly picking up during the first encounter with Pegasus, when the man had stolen Mr. Mutou's soul. Throughout Duelist Kingdom, Yami had tried desperately to connect with Yuugi, both to get a firmer understanding of his surroundings and to better help the boy out, but Yuugi had kept a wall of distance between them.

After their battle with Kaiba on the Duel Castle tower, Yami thought he understood why. For a few seconds, he'd lost his mind completely, so caught up in the hunger for victory that he'd thrown morals to the wind. He'd scared Yuugi. He'd scared himself.

"Kill me, Yuugi!" Kaiba had screamed, standing at the edge of the tower, ready to fall. "Kill me if you can!"

And Yami could have. If Yuugi wouldn't have stopped him, he might have.

After that duel, the haze of those early days began to clear, leaving Yami with memories of battle after battle in the shadows.

"What is this devilry?" the cloaked men's leader demanded.

One shadow game had been against a bully who'd forced Yuugi to pay larger and larger amounts of money in order to prevent the man from hurting his friends. The man's penalty had left him hallucinating everything around him as cash. It took him six months to recover.

"This was supposed to be an easy target," another man growled.

One shadow game had been against Joey's former gang, who had strung him up like an animal after he quit and tortured him with electroshock weapons. Their penalty had electrocuted all of them. The leader never recovered.

"Yami?" Yori's eyes were bright against the shadows.

One shadow game had been against a death-row criminal who'd escaped from jail and taken Anzu hostage. His penalty set him on fire.

He never survived.

The black mist at Yami's feet hummed a tuneless echo of power that called to some deep part of his soul. Shadows rose at his back, pawing at him like a cat after food.

Devour or be devoured—the unspoken rule of the darkness.

"We're here to play a shadow game," Yami said.

"A game?" The leader scoffed. He drew a second knife from under his cloak. "If you think your pathetic illusion can fool me, you're mistaken. My master holds a greater power than you could dream of."

"Is your master the one"—Yami narrowed his eyes—"who trapped my partner in a fire?"

The man's sneer said it all.

"I'm glad you brought a knife," Yami said. "You'll need it."

The muscles in the man's arm tensed, poised to throw. But when he raised his hand, the shadows before him reared up with a banshee's shriek, staring at him from red skulls beneath the mist. His eyes widened, and his mouth hung open; the blade almost slipped from his fingers.

Yami smirked. "If you do not play the game, the shadows will swallow you whole."

A shudder passed through the man's frame before he gathered himself. He drew back a step, lowering his arm.

"Seems the treasure has teeth. Very well. I'll just win your little mist game. You'll still suffer in the end."

"I may," Yami said. "But it is not my game; it is yours—decided by your actions and the weakness in your heart. Only by overcoming that weakness will you triumph."

The man bared his teeth. "Explain the game already."

A thrill of excitement raced up Yami's spine. The shadows whispered their game to his mind in a language he had never learned, yet understood. The darkness pressing against him both made his skin crawl and left warmth in its wake.

"We each have one knife" —shadow strands twisted through Yami's fingers, braiding themselves into a blade identical to the leader's—"and one partner. Choose yours."

The leader raked his eyes over his men, then jerked his head to the side. "Vihaan."

One of the men lowered the hood on his cloak, revealing the same Eye of Horus tattoo, and stepped forward.

Yami turned to look at Yori. She was on her feet again, and though he couldn't read her expression, she moved to his side before he said a word. He stared at her shoulder.

"You're bleeding," he said quietly. The shadows whispered something cold.

She shook her head. "It's shallow."

"Get on with it," the leader snapped.

Yami pointed to the left, and the shadows pulled apart like spider webs to reveal a large timer on a shelf of air.

"We'll each stand with our legs apart. When the timer buzzes, we get one throw; the person able to embed his dagger closest to either of his own feet without hitting one will be the victor."

The leader snorted. "This is a kid's game. A ridiculous test of masculinity."

"It's a test of trust," Yami said. "You didn't wait to hear the final element: We'll each be blindfolded. The only way to make the throw is to rely on the guidance of your partner."

The shadows twisted around Yami's empty hand, turning to cloth beneath his fingers. A matching blindfold appeared for the leader, and his shoulders twitched as he looked at it, his face breaking into a wide smile.

"This is all?" He let out a burst of laughter. "Vihaan, step back. I'll do this myself."

Yami's eyes narrowed. "Are you certain you wish to reject the partner afforded to you by the game?"

"I've been throwing knives longer than you've been alive, kid. Any throw I make, I can make blindfolded." He sneered. "And if this is the test you measure yourself by, I'd like to break your spirit."

"The weakness the shadows have found in your heart is a lack of trust in the people you call your friends," Yami said. "Even knowing that, will you continue alone?"

The man had already set his feet wide and was in the process of tying his blindfold. "Stop talking and make your throw."

Yami knotted his own blindfold, adjusting the fabric across his eyes. He stepped his feet apart.

As soon as he did, his legs went numb. He let out a startled gasp, hearing something similar from the gang leader.

"What is this?" the man snarled.

The timer began buzzing its countdown.

Yami could feel nothing from his chest down, as if he'd been severed at the torso without pain. The shadows whispered in his ears, and he suddenly couldn't remember if he'd stepped his feet shoulder-width apart or wider. Had he stepped them apart at all?

A steady hand gripped his shoulder, grounding him to reality. Yori's voice was warm on his ear as she said, "Get ready."

Her other hand wound firmly around his wrist, her arm braced on his, ready to guide his arm through the throw.

The timer stopped with a DING.

Yami relaxed into Yori's guidance, allowing her to send his arm out wider than he felt it should go. When his elbow straightened, he released his hold on the knife, sending the blade shooting down. The instant before release, he was certain it would pierce his foot, certain she would laugh and say it was what he deserved for starting such a game in the first place.

But he released anyway.

He felt solid ground beneath his feet again.

And the leader shrieked.

Yami pulled his blindfold off.

The leader's knife had impaled his right foot.

Yami's knife had embedded itself in the shadows not an inch from his right shoe. If he'd released when he felt he should, he would have been in the same position as the gang leader.

"I'll kill you, kid!" the leader screamed. He produced another throwing knife from under his cloak and sent it hurtling toward Yami, but the shadows dissolved it in the air between them, red skulls cackling.

Penalty, they hissed. They swarmed forward, mouths open wide for the leader.

Yami's puzzle flashed.

The darkness vanished, the harsh street lights glaring down on them once more.

The leader clutched his foot, blood visible around the knife he still hadn't removed. His wide eyes darted around the street.

"Since you are so eager to be on your own," Yami said, "the shadows have granted your wish."

One of the cloaked men tried to catch the leader's attention, but he didn't react. He couldn't see the man. He couldn't see any of them.

Yami turned piercing eyes on the remaining men. "Would anyone else like to challenge me?"

They beat a hasty retreat, two of them dragging their leader even as the man shrieked about ghosts.

But as they left, one of them still had enough bravado to throw out, "Our master is coming for you! He'll meet you in Battle City!"

"Let him come," Yami murmured. He dropped the blindfold he still held, and when it touched the ground, it dissolved into mist.

They were walking in silence again. Yori knew Yami wanted her to say something, was waiting for her to speak—he kept shooting worried glances her way. She tried, but she couldn't think of any words.

He held the door for her at the game shop, and she stared into his eyes a moment longer than necessary. They were his normal striking color.

During the game, his violet eyes had been streaked with the red of blood.

"Welcome back, Yuugi," Sugoroku called out from the adjoining room as they entered. "How was the tournament announcement?"

He stepped into the room just as Yami said, "Mr. Mutou, sir, Yori's been injured."

Yori blinked. She looked down at her shoulder to where her fresh cut was still oozing blood. With everything that had happened, she'd completely forgotten the wound.

And suddenly, she understood the worried glances. Her heart twinged.

Sugoroku's eyes widened. ". . . Yori?"

Yami's face paled. "I-I meant—"

"It's okay," Yori said. When she'd told Yami, she'd been prepared for Yuugi and Sugoroku to learn as well. The fact that he'd kept it a secret even when she didn't ask him to was just him being kind again. "It's my real name. Sorry I didn't say anything for so long."

Sugoroku shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. Come in the kitchen; I have a first aid kit."

She followed him through the entertainment room to the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, taking down a small container full of bandages, ointments, gauze, and other supplies.

"Thanks," Yori said. She had bandage wraps and super glue in her room, but it seemed pointless to argue, especially when his supplies were much better than hers anyway.

She glanced over her shoulder; Yami hadn't come with them.

She cleaned the cut quickly before covering it with an adhesive pad. The damage to her shirt bothered her more than the damage to her skin, but it was the exact reason she always bought (or stole) cheap clothes. Life on the streets was brutal to all fabric types.

"What happened?" Sugoroku asked quietly.

"Just got caught off guard by some punks." She packed the bandages and alcohol wipes back into the kit. "They ran scared in the end—nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Can't even feel it anymore." She plucked at the torn fabric. "I'll have to mend my shirt, though. Thanks for the bandage."

She turned to leave.

"Yori . . ."—Sugoroku hesitated—"was it?"

"Yeah." Yori shrugged as if it didn't matter. "Angel is a nickname I picked up a while back. Sometimes even I forget."

He tugged at the knot of his black bandana; Yori's relaxed expression turned strained as she tried not to think of the other man she knew who wore a bandana to keep his hair back.

"May I ask you something else?"

"Sure." Any distraction was welcome.

"You've been here nearly a month now. I've never . . . heard you speak of your parents. Not after the day we met."

Her cut ached. She rubbed her shoulder gently. On the day they met, he'd asked her where she got the Millennium Bracelet, and she'd answered with an easy lie. She had buckets and buckets of easy lies—stories she'd rehearsed and perfected over the years, some to keep her safe and others to fill the gaps she liked to pretend didn't exist.

She could tell another easy lie now.

Or she could tell the truth.

She could still picture the gang leader laughing as he said he could do things on his own. She could hear Yami's voice: "The weakness the shadows have found in your heart is a lack of trust in the people you call your friends."

Most of all, she could feel Yami's arm against hers, feel the way he relaxed into her grip, trusted her to guide him through something that could have injured him permanently.

No one had ever trusted her like that before. Not in any of the years she could remember.

"I'm an orphan," she said, throat burning.

"Oh, my dear girl." Sugoroku stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug the same way he had the day she'd saved Yuugi.

Except this time, it was a little easier to hug him back.

"It's fine." she said, and it was still the truth for the most part. "Happens to a lot of people."

He pulled back, looking her fiercely in the eyes.

"You found your way here," he said, "and I want you to know that this home is yours as long as you want it."

That made more than her throat burn. All she could do was nod.

She traced her way back to the main room. The store was empty. She jogged quietly up the stairs, but instead of turning toward her room on the left, she turned to the room on the right and knocked.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal Yami.

"I'm glad it's still you," she said.

His shoulders relaxed. The faint light from the stairway softened his violet eyes.

"I'm glad you're glad," he said.

They sat on the floor together with their backs against the foot of the bed, and though it felt weird to be in Yuugi's room, Yori was grateful for the privacy. The moon shone right above the skylight, casting soft blue light across their knees.

A small altar occupied one corner of the room, a beautiful hinoki stand that supported a framed picture of a man and woman standing together outside the game shop. Yori recognized Yuugi's faded eyes in the woman and his wide smile in the man. As she'd told Sugoroku, being orphaned happened to a lot of people, even the best, like Yuugi.

But it wasn't being an orphan that was hardest for her.

Yori stared at her hands. "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?"

Yami nodded.

She pressed her fingers together until she felt the ache all the way to her elbows.

"When I was a kid," she said, "an orphanage in Wakkanai found me on their doorstep. I didn't know my parents' names; I didn't even know my own. All I had was the bracelet on my wrist and two Duel Monsters cards in my pocket, even though the game wouldn't be released to the public for another six months."

She took a long, slow breath, held it, then released. "The cops put out a half-hearted search that yielded nothing, so the orphanage told me to pick a name and get in line to be adopted. That second part never happened."

Yami's eyes were wide and bright. "You have no memory of your past either."

She gave a pained laugh. "I wish I could say I'm telling you this to be empathetic."

"Why are you telling me?"

"I wanted you to know." She swallowed hard. "I trust you, too."

After a breath of hesitation, Yami reached out, fingers brushing Yori's hand. She turned her palm to meet his.

This time, the silence between them was comfortable and calming.