This chapter picks up during a scene that I mentioned earlier in the framing story, which is why it starts the way it does. I think this chapter, like most of this section, really defines the relationship that Mokuba has with this version of Kiko.
It's kind of lovely, but it's also kind of depressing.
.
". . . I want you to keep fighting, Bocchan, because I know it's in you. You deserve that second chance, and part of my job is helping you take it."
Mokuba scowled at Akiko, but his voice nonetheless sounded hungry for her approval when he said, hesitantly, "What makes you so sure I deserve a second chance? What makes you so sure I'm not a monster, like Niisama?" There was something about the way he said it, something about the look he was leveling on her, but Akiko couldn't—quite—place it.
"You don't really think your brother is a monster, do you?"
"It doesn't matter what I think," Mokuba snapped back. "Niisama says I need to face reality, no matter what it looks like. Reality says he's a monster. Reality says . . . reality says I'm just like him."
"Why would you say that?" Akiko asked, making sure to sound firmer and sharper than she would have liked, simply because this boy didn't take well to gentle voices.
"Why do you think? I know what people think of me. They think I'm just like Niisama. They think I'll grow up and be a power-hungry narcissist like he is. And why not? Why shouldn't I be?"
"Is that who you want to be, Bocchan?" Akiko asked.
"Stop that!" Mokuba snarled. "Stop trying to . . . to trick me! I don't like it!"
"I'm not trying to trick you, Bocchan. I'm—"
"Yes, you are! Stop it!"
Vulnerability. That's what it was. That's what she sensed from him. She realized that the shields he had been trying to put up were failing him, and he was starting to panic. He panicked the way that a Kaiba always panicked: angrily.
Akiko wasn't sure why she did it, what possibly could have possessed her to do it, but before she realized what thoughts were going through her mind, she'd dropped to her knees and hugged the boy.
The strength with which he fought her was wrought with something deeper than panic. Something rawer, more primal. Something that told her more about his condition than she ever would have wanted to know. He squirmed, flailed, slapped, and she thought he might bite her. "Let me go!" he commanded.
Akiko held the young Kaiba's head against her shoulder. "You're safe," she whispered. "You're safe, Bocchan. Whatever hurt you can't reach you now. Shhh. Sh-sh-shhh. You're safe now . . ."
It took her a moment to realize, once he finally stopped fighting, that Mokuba was crying. Akiko didn't think she'd ever heard a more gut-wrenching, pitiful sound in all her life, and she went from gripping him to cradling him, like he was her own. Some part of her railed against this; part of her knew that it was dangerous to do this. She was gambling.
All the rationalizing in the world could not stop her from gently rocking the trembling child in her arms, and before she knew it the tears had stopped, too. She half-expected Mokuba to be asleep, driven to unconsciousness by sheer emotional exhaustion. But when she dared a glance down, he was staring blankly at the wall.
He was clutching at her with the desperation of a newborn.
