A/N: I am not going to apologize for this post being late. I spent Sunday at Six Flags, and I am not sorry. So there's that. Enjoy!


Seto spent the evening in his bedroom reading sewing tutorials and watching visual "how-to's" at his computer. By the time he needed to sleep, all he was confident he had learned was that he needed to physically apply the methods described to solidify his understanding, and also that there were far too many various methods of sewing to know which ones to trust.

He didn't want to admit that he needed a teacher, but he couldn't forget hearing his father complain about the workers he hired who had had their training under someone else. It made sense, then, to at least remain open to the concept of working best in a shop where everyone used the same general methods.

Seto was astounded at the number of differing ways he found to make something as simple as a necktie, or the slit of a dress shirt sleeve. Unable to differentiate which methods were trusted as the traditionally "correct" way of sewing, Seto had no choice but to put his research to a rest for the night and go to sleep.

Although he might have preferred learning under anyone else in his shop but his twin brother, he had to admit that Noa was the most accessible teacher he had. Seto could be as attentive as he wanted in the shop, and he would only learn so much. As he lay in bed, he contemplated the best way to request tutoring from Noa.

He decided on requesting not how to sew, so much as which ways to do the work. He could familiarize himself with the methods on his own, as long as he knew which ones Noa, and by extension their father, would have found acceptable.


The next morning, Seto woke early and returned to his computer. Rather than continuing his fruitless work of sewing research, he dug up the article Mai had commissioned in order to sabotage his name. To his dismay, Mokuba had been correct. The article was posted on every social media platform Seto knew of, and a few he hadn't even heard of. He found dozens of pages linking to the original article.

After a little digging on the name of the blogger, Espa, Seto found that the writer used a pen name. He found the writer's real name on an outdated public blog linked to another one of 'Espa's' accounts, dug a little more for a phone number, and contacted him.

"Hello?" came the voice of a young man over the phone, just as there was a knock on Seto's bedroom door.

"Is this 'Espa'?" Seto asked, ignoring the knock.

He glanced at the clock on his computer screen. Mokuba would need to leave for school any minute.

The man on the line was silent a moment, and the knocking returned. Seto stood and answered his door.

Mokuba, dressed for school with his book bag hanging off one shoulder, opened his mouth, but Seto raised a finger to his lips, signaling quiet.

"Who wants to know?" the voice finally replied.

"Seto, I have to go," Mokuba whispered. "Aren't you going to work?"

Seto glanced at the clock again, and shook his head. He would be late, by Noa's standards, but he had promised Mokuba he would do his best to take care of the issue.

"This is Seto Kaiba," he said as he leaned in to give Mokuba a hug. "As in from Kaiba's Coats."

The gulp from the other end was audible.

Seto waved as Mokuba trudged down the hallway, and closed his bedroom door again.

"I am aware of a certain slanderous article that I believe you were paid to write by the very subject of the article."

The man on the other end suddenly raised his voice.

"So what? Why should I care that you're a Kaiba? I don't work for you. I took a paying job, that's all. Besides, the article has already been written. There are copies of it everywhere! What do you expect me to do about it now?"

Seto narrowed his eyes. "I expect you to delete the original and any copies you have control over, thus breaking most of the links that have been posted. If you don't, I'll be forced to sue you for slandering my company's name."

"I'm a reporter. I write the stories that come to me. I've seen the photographs of you and my client, so you can't tell me that I've written complete lies. You can't sue me for exposing the truth. The public of Domino City deserves to know!"

Seto chuckled. "You are not a reporter. You are a blogger, a wannabe writer who gets paid to lie—or twist the truth, if you prefer—if it sells a story that creates ad revenue for you. And if the version of the story you published was really true, then I might be inclined to agree with you, but I'm not that kind of person."

"These photos suggest otherwise," the man snapped.

"Those photos don't tell half the story. Did Miss Valentine tell you that she lured me out that night? That I was only in her bed at her request? Did she tell you that she's essentially blackmailing me through you?"

"Why should I listen to you?" Espa asked after a beat.

"Because if you don't, you'll be hearing from my lawyer, and suddenly whatever piddly scrap you were given to write this slander won't add up to much against your legal fees. The choice is yours."

The line again fell silent.

"And what if I take down the original article? My client will demand her money back. How does that benefit me?"

"It benefits you by enticing me to call off my lawyer."

"I think you're bluffing. You won't sue me."

Seto ground his teeth, irritated. "And are you willing to call me on my bluff?"

"Yes. I refuse to take the article down. Freedom of speech, you know."

"Fine," Seto chuckled darkly. "Have it your way. You can expect a call in a matter of hours."

Seto pulled the phone away to hang up, but heard the man reply.

"Wait!" Espa said.

"Changed your mind?" Seto smirked.

"What if I were interested in… changing the story? I'd like to hear more about your side."

"I hope you don't expect to get paid twice to rewrite the article in my favor. You won't get a dime out of me."

"No, that's okay. I'll do this one for free."

"How generous," Seto drawled.

He was glad. While he hadn't been bluffing, he wasn't looking forward to paying a lawyer for something he shouldn't have had to do in the first place.

Seto relayed the events of the night as he recalled them, and added in some of the background of Mai's bullying toward Mokuba. He tried to play down anything that involved his little brother, but Espa seemed highly interested in that aspect of the story.

"How soon will this re-write overtake the original version of your story?"

"I can have it written in as little as two weeks."

"Two weeks? Are you kidding me?" Seto barked. "How long does it take to write down two thousand words? I've just given you the whole story!"

"Yes, but… I have other contracts I'm working on in the mean time. Paid contracts."

Seto scoffed. "Are you seriously trying to tell me you still expect me to pay you to get on the top of your to-do list?"

"No… no… I already agreed that this was free," Espa said in a panic.

"Then what do I have to do to get this article written?"

"It's not that easy…"

"Damnit, just tell me your price!"

"I sometimes take out contracts with clients, you see. A promise, that their story will remain promoted on my front page for a certain time period."

"And Miss Valentine's contract isn't up yet, is that what you're saying?"

"Y-yes."

"So she paid extra for this 'service' you provide?"

"She did."

"Then void her contract and consider the rest of her pay to be my fare to get to the top of your list, or you will still be hearing from my lawyer."

"I can't void her contract, or I'll have to return her fee."

"Why do seem bent on making that my problem? You're the one who is screwing me over. Do you realize what kind of effect this is having on my business?"

It wasn't having much of an effect at all, yet, but Dartz felt like it was a pressing issue, and if Seto could get it taken care of, then perhaps he would let up on the idea of making Seto work for him. It would also help Seto if he didn't have to worry about a widespread slandering of his name before he could even make one for himself.

"I can't void a client contract. You'll just have to wait it out."

"I'm not buying that. Void her contract or—"

Seto was interrupted by a click. Espa had hung up on him.

Seto dialed the number again, but it went straight to voice mail. He clutched his phone tightly, fighting against the urge to hurl it into the wall. With his luck it would break, and add to his mounting list of things to deal with, and pay for.

He contemplated filing a suit like he had threatened, but while he didn't want to be known for making empty threats, he didn't feel that he had time for the hassle, or the funds for the expense. If he sold the business to Dartz, the issue would be out of his hands soon enough. But his name still wouldn't be clear.

Seto forced a breath, stood and crammed his phone into the pocket of his slacks. He would try again later, and block his number from the 'reporter's' caller ID if he could. He focused instead on getting ready to go in to the shop for the day. He threw on a gray sport coat and his shoes and left the room.

When he made it downstairs, Noa was already in the living room, glaring at Seto.

"Is it because I'm 'late'?" Seto asked without waiting for Noa to pounce on him. "I'm leaving in a minute. I was trying to take care of that atrocious article, if you care."

Noa didn't answer, although his glare softened somewhat.

"I've decided," Noa said without looking at Seto, "that while you and Mokuba are gone, I'll need to be in the shop. You might not believe this, but I've been practicing sewing with my left foot."

"I know," Seto droned as he ventured into the kitchen. He opened a new box of meal-replacement bars and stuffed one into the pocket of his jacket.

"You know?" Noa called, sounding deflated.

"Your machine is pressed up against the wall. Mokuba and I can hear it rattling the windows in the living room. You're not nearly as stealthy as you think."

Noa went back to glaring.

"You should go. You're really late now."

Seto lingered a moment, wondering if he should talk to Noa about teaching him to sew, or if he should just leave like he wanted. While it didn't feel like the time to ask for a favor, talking about an opportunity to lord his experience over Seto again might diffuse the mounting tension. Seto was willing to throw him that bone.

"What?" Noa barked.

Seto exhaled because he had begun to grow hot under his jacket at the thought, but tried not to make a show of it. Why was asking for a favor from Noa—rather, a necessary development—so difficult for him to do?

"Sometime soon," Seto started, "I need you to give me a few pointers."

"For what?"

"I'm going to try to do what you said in the beginning of this fiasco, and learn to sew."

Noa scoffed. "Why bother?"

"Because I can see your point," Seto lied, "in how it can help me run the business more smoothly."

Noa glared at the wall a moment, but his expression slowly softened.

"I can try. I can't promise to be able to teach you if you're no good to begin with, though."

"That's all I need to hear for now," Seto relented, mostly so that Noa would stop with the backhanded insults.

"Now go, you're late!" Noa urged.

Seto grabbed his briefcase, which he had left by the stairs, snagged Noa's car keys off the hook by the garage door, and left.