It's always strange when the audience knows more than the characters do. It's particularly odd for me this time around, because I'm used to writing Seto such that he knows far more than I ever could. But here we have him . . . well, at his most ignorant.

This Seto is a mystery to me. This isn't a Seto who knows how to handle his brother, nor a Seto who even knows how to love his brother. This Seto is stunted, and he makes the man I usually write look like a perfectly well-adjusted young parent.

And considering the man I'm used to writing is an emotional wreck, that's really saying something.


.


Kaiba Seto wasn't exactly known for having a habit of introspection, which—Isono reflected after watching the young man for several years—probably explained why he didn't seem fully aware of the fact that he was even more snappish and aggravated than usual. Which said a lot.

When he was alone in his office, knowing that his brother wasn't nearby, the young CEO seemed downright sulky.

Isono stood in the open doorway, watching his employer with something vaguely resembling sympathy, and said, "Are you feeling all right, sir?" He expertly hid the smirk trying to make its way onto his face; he knew the answer already: Kaiba Seto was never all right. "You seem . . . distracted."

Kaiba grunted noncommittally, jabbing at his keyboard like it had offended his religion. Isono watched silently as the quiet drama unfolded for a while longer, before he added to his previous observation: "You're regretting your decision to let Mokuba-sama go ahead without you."

"No, you idiot, that's not—" Kaiba stopped. ". . . Damn it."

Isono chuckled. "He'll be fine, sir. Your previous parenting methods may have been questionable . . ." Isono paused, just long enough to let Kaiba know that he was downplaying in the extreme. Kaiba half-flinched, but said nothing. "But, all in all, they've had the benefit of making Mokuba-sama resourceful beyond his years. Far beyond his years. I'm sure anything that might crop up, they'll more than be able to handle it."

Isono was thinking about a broken-down car, running out of gas; at worst, a mugging at a corner store. Kaiba, by the look on his face, was anticipating a phone call from the police, calling him in to identify a body. For the most part, Isono found this oddly endearing. Plenty of people in Domino City—most of them, in fact—would have found it insulting.

"What?" they might have asked the elder Kaiba. "You're so good at protecting your brother that you've been staving off the crazies all by yourself? You think since you're not there, now he'll get attacked? Get over yourself."

Or, "Sure, now you're worried about him. That's cute. What about all the times you've put the poor boy through hell, in the name of 'teaching him important lessons?' What you're worried about is that he might just be having a good time for once, away from you, you selfish son of a bitch."

Isono said, "You're worried about him."

Kaiba grimaced. "I shouldn't be. I've no right. But . . . fine. Yes. I'm worried about him."

"You have every right to worry," Isono said, smiling. "You're his guardian. His only parent. He's off on his first road trip all on his own. It's your job to pull your hair out fretting over him. You're just not used to it, because you've only recently come to realize just how important your job actually is. Not to other people, but to you."

Kaiba rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Apparently he had given up on doing anything productive for the moment. "Thank you. I hadn't realized you were my private therapist. I'm sorry, we haven't yet approved the budget for a long couch. Quit your goddamned giggling. You're distracting me now, and that's the precise opposite of what I need."

Isono laughed. "Loosen up a bit, sir. You probably have more than enough ulcers as it is. You don't need any more."

Kaiba grunted again. He was back to not speaking.

A man stepped up to Isono as he was turning to leave. Isono thought the man's name was Hiroki. "Tsukuda-sama," he said. "We, ah . . . just called ahead to the community center, to make sure that Kaiba-fukushachou had everything set up on time."

Isono frowned. "And . . . ?"

"Ah . . . that is, sir, they told us . . . he hasn't arrived yet."

A sudden crash from inside Kaiba's office made Isono jump, and reach spasmodically for his sidearm. Turning, he saw that his employer had shot to his feet, and his right fist was still planted dead-center in what remained of his keyboard.