Chapter 12: Standby Mode
October 6
—Pegasus Island—
Pegasus was, to the surprise of no one, quite chatty upon Mokuba's arrival.
He still switches between Japanese and English at the drop of a hat, Mokuba thought, and it made his head hurt.
But when they arrived at the same room Mokuba had been in before, and Mokuba handed over the libretto, Pegasus took the book in stiff hands and collapsed into one of his chairs, staring at it in absolute silence.
Mokuba wasn't sure what to say as Pegasus thumbed through each page, pausing on the two-page spread featuring the cast in their Duelist Kingdom costumes, with a few Solid Vision extras sitting or kneeling in the foreground, including a beautiful blonde girl in a lavender dress adorned with a single rose.
"Cyndia…" Pegasus murmured.
Mokuba swallowed a lump in his throat, gathering the courage to speak. "She– We wanted to include her in the story, but...well, we thought it might be disrespectful to her memory. It was one thing asking you to sign off on your likeness, but…"
"It's quite all right, Mokuba-kun," Pegasus murmured without looking up. His hands traced the curves of "Cyndia's" face for a moment before he looked up, a strained smile on his face.
He turned the pages back to the title page, where someone had written in metallic ink: Millennium is a story about growing up. It's about our changing understanding of the world, including the fact that not everyone gets a chance to tell their own story. But we can still learn from those people, those stories. It's taken me a long time to understand the person you were all those years ago, Pegasus-san, but after more than a dozen years of missing Atem, I think I finally get it: what it means to be so desperate to see someone, even one more time, that you don't care who or what you destroy along the way.
But I believe the people we've lost would want us to be happy, to move on but still remember them with what we do, and who we choose to be every day of our lives. Let Millennium 's story be the foundation for a happy future that you create with your own two hands. I know it will for me. —Mazaki Anzu
Pegasus bowed his head, his long silvery hair covering his face. His back shuddered for a moment, and Mokuba wasn't sure—
Is he– Is he crying? Should I say something?
But before he could, Pegasus looked up, a few stray tears still tracking their way down his cheeks.
"My favorite song in the show is Unimaginable," he said. "It did an excellent job encapsulating the feeling of loss. How...how it takes time to process, how you lose sight of the world around you."
"We used Solid Vision to turn everything gray for that song," Mokuba remembered. "The critics couldn't believe their eyes. Our lighting designer won a bunch of awards for that."
"I know," Pegasus murmured. "You may not have noticed me, but I was there."
Mokuba blinked several times in rapid succession. "You– When?"
"Opening night," Pegasus explained. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
"You mean the San Francisco opening?" Mokuba asked. Sure, Pegasus could probably afford to go to any Broadway show he wanted, but he was a notorious recluse even after Dartz's hostile takeover of both Industrial Illusions and Kaiba Corporation. He'd only begun showing his face in public again shortly after Battle City, when he publicly admitted that he'd been in a coma since Duelist Kingdom. He'd only recently started visiting the Duel Academias around the world, but never anywhere else—not to Mokuba's knowledge, anyway.
"No, Mokuba-kun," Pegasus said with a mild smile, "New York. July 11th, three years ago."
"Oh! Oh...I— I didn't know. I wish you would have told us, we could have invited you backstage, or to the after-party, or—"
Pegasus held up a hand to silence Mokuba. "That was not my point in telling you, Mokuba-kun. I know we have met up on a few occasions since Duelist Kingdom—"
At the Duel Dome during Big Brother's duel with that Anubis guy. And…
There had been other times, Mokuba knew, but he'd replaced those memories—darkened with fear and tinged with the taste of bile—with brighter, happier ones.
I used to be so scared of Pegasus… And now, here he was, back at Pegasus' island, all by himself. No duels, no Big Brother, no Millennium Items. Just a conversation between two creators. Mokuba found himself smiling.
I guess Malik-san and Anzu aren't the only ones who need to move on, he thought. Maybe…
"We all need to go at our own pace," Mokuba blurted. "With moving on and grieving, I mean. And coming to terms with what we've done."
Pegasus nodded slowly. "You're far wiser than your years would indicate, Mokuba-kun. Very wise, indeed."
Mokuba found his cheeks reddening at the unexpected compliment, but before he could say anything, Pegasus continued.
"My way of…'grieving' perhaps wasn't the best way. Nor the healthiest."
"But it made sense," Mokuba interjected. "I mean, I didn't find out until after I was off the island, but Anzu...she told me what your diary said, on the ride back to Japan."
"I assumed as much," Pegasus responded. "Now, to business, yes?"
Pegasus rose to his feet and walked to the corner of the room where a pair of wrapped, framed paintings sat, along with an assortment of boxes, packing materials, and cut sheets of a transparent sort of paper Mokuba had never seen before.
"You– you knew I'd be able to get the libretto?" Mokuba asked, pointing at the boxes. "You got everything ready even though I hadn't so much as emailed you to tell you how I was doing?"
"Hmm, well, I suppose I should say that was the case, as I never truly doubted you would come through. I was, after all, the one who told you about the paintings in the first place."
Mokuba blanched, remembering the mysterious direct message he'd gotten on Chirper nearly two weeks ago.
"Y–You're FB10…" Mokuba trailed off, realizing that the numbers corresponded perfectly to what Pegasus had told him when he'd first returned to the island:
"Your brother isn't the only one with a birthday in October, you know. I'll be having my own little fête just two weeks before."
FB100875: what had looked like a totally spammy account name, maybe even a bot, turned out to be none other than Pegasus J. Crawford himself, using a username style straight out of Mokuba's childhood!
"Indeed, indeed!" Pegasus exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "FB for my favorite cartoon, of course."
"Funny Bunny," Mokuba and Pegasus said at the same time, Mokuba's voice flat compared to Pegasus' enthusiastic pronouncement.
Mokuba slapped a hand to his forehead. "Why didn't I figure it out sooner?"
Pegasus leaned over and smiled at him, a sheath of silvery hair covering his empty eye socket. "Perhaps you didn't need to, dear Mokuba-kun. You are here now, and we both have what we want. And I have no indeed to address these boxes to the Tenma Gallery in San Francisco after all."
"Yeah, right…" Mokuba chuckled under his breath. "So I can just— I can have these?"
"Do you want me to change my mind?" Pegasus asked him with a raised eyebrow.
"No, no, no way! Thank you very much, Pegasus-san," Mokuba bowed and dashed toward the boxes, sealing them up with a nearby roll of packing tape and hefting them into one arm each.
Pegasus let out a hearty laugh before saying, "Mokuba-kun, Crocketts will be happy to assist you with the boxes…"
Mokuba awkwardly shifted the corner of one box from his hip to his knee, and looked in the doorway, only to find a bespectacled Crocketts staring at him with an amused smile pushing up his moustache into his cheeks.
"Oh, really…? Thank you, Crocketts…"
Crocketts and Mouba were almost out the door when Pegasus called out, "Do be sure to unpack the paintings carefully, Mokuba-kun. There may be a surprise or two in there for you and your brother."
Mokuba shot a worried glance at Crocketts, who only shook his head and smiled. "You're the one that told him it was Mr. Kaiba's birthday in two weeks…"
October 9
— The Duel Standby: Bringing You the Latest Duelist News from Around the World —
Posted by: RHFirePrincess at 9:30 a.m.
Tagged: Pegasus J. Crawford, Art, Rumors & Secrets
Location: San Francisco, California
Duel Monsters creator and prolific painter Pegasus J. Crawford just celebrated his 38th birthday and the opening of his art auction, MILLENNIUM, last night at San Francisco's opulent Fairmont Hotel in a star-studded affair that lasted well into the wee hours.
In attendance were numerous scions of business and technology from around the world, as well as a select few champion duelists, including yours truly. Kaiba Corporation USA's President and Vice President also attended, as well as student representatives from Duel Academias around the world.
Limited-edition, hand-signed prints of some of Pegasus' rarer card art went for upwards of $1,500 in some cases, with online bids steadily creeping upward by the second. By the time the party wrapped, every single print of fan-favorite Black Magician Girl had been snapped up, including those featuring the apprentice magician alongside her teacher, the world-famous Black Magician card, such as "Magic Expand" and "Magician's Combination."
Speaking of other world-famous cards, when asked why the original oil painting of the ultra-rare Blue-Eyes White Dragon card—valued at over $10 million USD—no longer appeared on the auction block, Mr. Crawford told Duel Standby that the dragon "found its own way home." What that means, I'll leave up to you, readers and duelists, because this reporter frankly has no idea.
The MILLENNIUM art auction features 1,000 lots of Mr. Crawford's original Duel Monsters art as well as many of his other pieces, previously featured at the Tenma Arts Gallery in downtown San Francisco. Bidding is open through November 20, though individual lots have various closing dates, so be sure to "watch" the prints you have your eye on, lest you get sniped by a D.D. Bidder! New lots are made available on a daily basis, but the next day's lots aren't announced until 9:30 Pacific Time the night before.
Mr. Crawford announced that 50 percent of the proceeds from the auction would go toward funding scholarships for students to Duel Academias anywhere in the world, and could be used for tuition, room, board, and for credit at Academia card stores.
Now if you'll excuse me, there's a few art pieces I've got to get bidding on…
Catch you on the flip side, friends!
DUEL, STANDBY!
October 11
–Harajuku, Omotesando Street, Tokyo—
Seto returned to Kaiba Corporation on October 7, no tanner than he was when he left, but noticeably relaxed, if one judged solely by his posture. That Friday, he and Mokuba made their way to Jacques Mode's Tokyo atelier.
"Why won't you tell me where you went on your vacation, Big Brother?" Mokuba asked as they exited their vehicle, this one one of the company's classic black towncars.
"Why don't you tell me how you didn't spend a single yen out of trust fund for three years while you were getting your undergraduate education at one of the most prestigious and expensive universities in the United States?" Seto countered.
"I'll tell you!" Mokuba shot back. "I've never said it was a secret. So here's what I—"
Seto raised a finger and silenced Mokuba. The street they had to cross to get to the atelier was thick with people, any of whom might recognize the Kaiba brothers and pounce on a juicy piece of information spoken just a bit too loudly in public. "Time and place, Mokuba. Time and place."
"Yeah, yeah," Mokuba grumbled as he trailed after his older brother. "Killjoy."
A few minutes later, they made it to the shop, a glass-walled storefront with a pair of sculptural dress forms arranged in either window. Each was draped in the latest Jacques Mode fashions, some of which Mokuba had seen at Paris Fashion Week. An elegant chime sounded as they stepped inside, and a moment later, a familiar face appeared.
"Kaiba-sama," Mai nodded politely to Seto, "Mokuba-kun. It's good to see you again."
Mai leaned forward and placed her manicured hands on Mokuba's shoulders before proceeding to give him a European kiss on each cheek, which he went along with as if he'd been expecting it the entire time.
"Mai-san, you're looking radiant today," Mokuba told her after she released his shoulders and turned to lead them into the atelier proper. He could feel Seto's eyes boring a hole in his back, but he refused to turn around and give him the pleasure of appearing embarrassed just because a beautiful older woman had kissed him on the face.
There's no way I want to explain to Seto why I've seen Mai-san recently, anyway, Mokuba thought. He'd had a hard enough time trying to tell the story piecemeal to people like Jounouchi.
"Flirt," Mai mumbled under her breath. "But thank you."
"Kaiba-sama, if you'll wait here, Jacques will be with you shortly to handle the final fitting and tailoring of your suit. Mokuba-kun, if you'll come with me, I'll lead you to the dressing room where you can try on yours."
For a split second, it looked to Mokuba as though Seto had something to say, but no words came. He just gave a curt nod and waited in the brightly lit room's central fitting platform. He looked like an awkwardly posed mannequin, to Mokuba's eye, but soon he rounded a corner with Mai and could no longer see the reflection of his brother on the mirrored walls.
Mai pulled a sleek garment bag from a rack and brushed aside a thick, velvety curtain separating a row of small rooms from a side corridor.
"Here's your suit," Mai said, turning to Mokuba as she hung the bag from a hook on the wall. "Your measurements in the Solid Vision system were more up-to-date than your brother's, so Jacques doesn't think you'll need much in the way of tailoring, but we always like to check, especially if you've never gotten a custom order from us before."
She gently pulled on the bag's golden zipper and revealed a dark blue coat patterned with familiar gold hieroglyphs. Two black shawl-style lapels dipped down, the left side covering the right and meeting at two pairs of ornate golden fasteners with delicate golden cording wound around them. A pair of matching black trousers hung from the same hanger.
"We weren't sure of your preference for dress shirts, but we have a few coordinating options in navy, black, gold, or white. Once you select one, I can bring out matching ties and pocket squares, if you want," Mai told Mokuba.
"I trust your judgement, Mai-san; I'll go with whatever you think matches best," Mokuba replied, smiling at Mai as he started thumbing open his jacket.
Mai's mouth dropped open a fraction before she turned away, her pink cheeks visible in the corridor's triple-paned mirror.
"I appreciate you, Mokuba-kun," Mai murmured. "You're not like— like a lot of other people in your social class, or even your age group."
"That better be a good thing," Mokuba responded cheekily. He pulled the curtain shut as he peeled off his dress shirt and began toeing off his loafers. He heard a muffled chuckle from the other side of the curtain, and the clack-clack of Mai's heels as she walked away to get Mokuba his shirts.
I hope this means she and Jounouchi got a chance to really talk the other day. He hadn't spent enough time around Mai to know for sure whether or not her genial attitude indicated she'd made up with Jounouchi or not.
By the time Mai returned, Mokuba had changed into the suit pants and replaced his loafers. He tried wearing the jacket slung over his shoulder, just to imagine what color might look good, but his shirtless reflection—holding up a vest with one hand and a jacket slung over his shoulder in the other—provoked too much laughter.
"What are you chuckling about in there?" Mai asked. "I have your shirts. White's traditional, but a soft gold could work, too. If you went with navy or black, you might be too dark on top. I guess it depends on if you're going to wear your hair up or not."
"You're not worried about a navy shirt appearing too matchy-matchy with the jacket?" Mokuba asked. A part of him was tempted to throw the curtain open, just to see how Mai'd react, but he knew he shouldn't.
"Take a look," Mai said, and she thrust her hand with the shirts in through the curtain.
Mokuba took each of the four proffered shirts and went about trying them on one at a time, first adding the vest, and then the jacket if he liked the look. He was midway through trying the navy shirt—a matte silk option so as to not be too hot with the thick jacket—when he decided to just ask Mai about how things had gone with Jounouchi.
"You should come to the exhibition, Mai-san," he said, trying to keep his voice level.
She's going to say she's already going as Jounouchi's plus one, or that she'll only go in a professional capacity as the head of this atelier, or no way in hell; she doesn't duel anymore and doesn't go to those kind of events, or—
"Hmm, I might. I'm still thinking about it," she responded, but her voice didn't sound sad or angry or anything like that. If anything, it seemed a little…
Wistful?
"Well, what do you think?" Mokuba asked, thrusting open the curtain. While he liked the look of the navy shirt, and the gold one did provide some unexpected textural contrast between the silk facing of his lapels and the velvet of his jacket, the white shirt just looked sharp.
Is this why Big Brother always wears white suits when he has a fancy event?
Most days at Kaiba Corporation, if Seto didn't have a bombastic television appearance to make (in which case his custom tailored jackets—studded collars, big shoulders and all— made a rare appearance), Seto usually wore black suits, black shirts, and silver or ice blue ties. He claimed it made things easy in the morning: if his jacket, trousers, and shirt were all the same color, then he didn't have to worry about anything else. It wasn't as if someone would deign to tell the CEO of Kaiba Corporation that his tie really didn't complement his skin tone or his eyes, or his slacks actually were more of a charcoal black compared to his ink black shirt. But even Seto Kaiba needed to get dry cleaning every now and again, and that meant sometimes he had to resort to wearing navy suits, or heaven forbid, gray ones.
So he's got to wear something totally opposite to stand out, I guess? Mokuba thought. I suppose I can see the logic in that. After all, that was why he wanted his own custom suit after years of refusing to show up in anything more than his standard dress shirt and slacks. He didn't want to keep showing up as merely "Seto Kaiba's little brother."
I'm 24 years old, dammit!
Mai tilted her head and gave Mokuba a once-over, her violet eyes raking him up and down, Mokuba almost shivered in place, but he swallowed the feeling before it could manifest as anything other than goosebumps crawling up his forearms.
"I think you've got good taste, Mokuba-kun. Brains and style: a winning combination, if I do say so myself."
They walked back to the fitting area where Seto stood, his arms spread out as Jacques Mode weaved around him with the speed of a bee, flitting to and fro with a tape measure and notepad.
"Well Big Brother, what do you think?" Mokuba asked, striking a pose and then turning. "Am I too sexy for my shirt?"
Mai stifled a laugh with her hand, and Seto fixed Mokuba with a glare, but he didn't respond right away. Seto's gaze drifted back to his own reflection across from him in a mirror, stiff to the point of appearing inhuman.
"You look fine, Mokuba. The pattern's a little loud for my taste—"
Jacques Mode snapped the tape measure around one of Seto's wrists a bit too tightly, drawing Seto's ire in his direction.
"Veuillez m'excuser, Monsieur Kaiba," Jacques murmured, not once pausing in his measurements and pin placements.
"...but it looks good on you," Seto finished. "The more important question is, do you like it?"
"Hell yeah I do!" Mokuba exclaimed. "I'm thinking I'll go for a cool bow tie instead of a regular tie, too. And maybe a nice pocket square."
Jacques Mode looked up from his measurements with a mild smile on his face; Mokuba could tell the designer appreciated his enthusiasm.
"Fine," Seto grumbled out. "If you need any additional tailoring, take care of it now. These measurements have to see us through until the exhibition. We can pick up the final alterations next week."
Some twenty minutes later, Mokuba and Seto both changed out of their suits and were back in their regular clothes and headed back to the towncar, unfortunately parked in a structure a few blocks from the atelier.
"What's with you and Kujaku?" Seto asked as they weaved their way through afternoon pedestrian traffic. Seto didn't look Mokuba's way, but Mokuba knew his brother wasn't just asking to make small talk.
"Oh, we ran into each other at Paris Fashion Week," Mokuba explained.
Which is totally the truth. No white lies here!
"That's right, I saw you took the company jet out to Europe. Why did you go to Paris for Fashion Week?" This time Seto did turn to Mokuba, his piercing gaze silently challenging Mokuba to try and lie to him.
Mokuba would have swallowed, wondering just how Seto had found out about the trip, but he couldn't let Seto rattle him. If this was just another test to see if Mokuba could handle having actual responsibilities, after all the hard work he'd done to EARN this spot, well, then…
"You told me to arrange a fitting for your suit, and there was this note for me to get a suit, too." Mokuba thumbed back in the direction of Mode's atelier, "And since this place was closed for Fashion Week, I figured it made sense to at least go to Mode's show, see what he might do for me. How can I know what's trendy if I don't go to the shows, you know?"
"I wasn't aware you cared so much about being on-trend," Seto replied flatly.
Mokuba shrugged. "You've got your style, I've got mine. It was technically for business, you know."
"I never said it wasn't," Seto said.
"So does that answer your question?" Mokuba prompted after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sound of crosswalks beeping and cars honking. "I only met up with Mai-san since she was at the show too, and she helped me arrange for this fitting, even though it was really soon after they got back from Fashion Week."
"You're on a first-name basis with her, I see," Seto said after a minute.
"I've known her since I was ten, Seto. Besides, I don't like being called 'Kaiba-sama,' and it's just plain weird calling someone you've known for so long by their family name."
They stopped at a crosswalk and waited for the light to change. When Seto spoke next, his voice came out uncharacteristically soft, just barely above a whisper. It was a wonder Mokuba heard him at all, over all the street sounds.
"I wasn't aware you didn't like being called by your family name."
Mokuba sucked in a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to have this conversation with Seto—not here, not now.
But I guess it needs to get said, sooner rather than later.
"It's not my family name, though. It's Gozaburo's. We got saddled with it and all the baggage it came with, too. No one ever said we had to keep it."
The light changed, and Mokuba started walking, but Seto remained frozen on the sidewalk. Mokuba shifted his jaw and hurried back.
"Why didn't you change it when you turned 20 then?" Seto asked, stepping forward once Mokuba was within a meter of him. They walked at a brisk pace now, crossing the long street before the light could change and impatient drivers could get a shot at running them over.
"...'Cause it would have made headline news? I can see it now: 'Kaiba VP Distances himself from Brother's Multi-Billion Yen Company: Scandalous Details Inside! 'Any decision I make doesn't just affect me, it affects you and the company," Mokuba said as they walked down the sloping path of the garage to the car.
"Or maybe because it doesn't matter what newspapers and strangers and talking heads call me, it matters what my friends and family call me, which is my name: Mokuba."
Before long, they arrived at the car, but Seto stood outside the driver side door, unmoving. Mokuba tried the door handle on the passenger side, but it remained locked.
"Bro, are we going, or…?"
Seto visibly swallowed before looking up at Mokuba with darkened eyes. "So when others call me 'Kaiba-sama,' it just reminds you of him ."
"Of Gozaburo? Yeah," Mokuba said, shifting his weight to one side and leaning his hip against the car. "He's not the boogie man though, Seto, I'm not afraid to say his name."
"So then why does it matter that we kept his surname? That we didn't change the name of the company?"
"It doesn't," Mokuba replied with a shrug. "Like I said, by the time I was old enough to consider it as a possibility, I knew what kind of an impact it would have. Even if we just changed our names, it would still put a dent in the company's reputation. Bad enough we're still dealing with investors who remember Dartz's shenanigans and hesitate because of that. Doing vanity stuff like name changes just doesn't make sense—not then, and not now."
"But do those risks really outweigh all the baggage that comes with the Kaiba name?" Seto asked as he unlocked the doors and they both got in the car.
Mokuba turned to look at his brother, who had yet to so much as put his key in the ignition.
"You tell me, Seto. I'm just your VP."
The sound of Seto slamming his hands down on the steering wheel took Mokuba by surprise so much that he jolted against the passenger door. Seto wasn't violent, Ruthless in business, sure. He could be loud and forceful or quiet and seething, but he was never violent.
"You're not 'just' my VP, Mokuba. You're my brother, dammit. You're the only family I've got."
Is Big Brother getting… choked up? A froggy quality Mokuba had never really heard before entered Seto's voice. Maybe he's coming down with something?
Mokuba rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment before deciding to give voice to his thoughts.
"Is that because you're too afraid to get close to someone, or too scared to let me go?"
Seto inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, even as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. He leaned back into his seat slightly, but he didn't move to put on his seatbelt.
"...Both, probably."
I figured. I just didn't expect Seto to admit it. Not out loud, anyway, Mokuba realized.
"Have you ever thought about getting in touch with them again? Our aunts and uncles, I mean?" Mokuba asked. Over the years, he'd been curious about them; looked them up from time to time, to see how the family was doing. On a number of occasions, he'd been surprised that the family didn't seek them out… but maybe they didn't realize that the famous Kaiba brothers were the orphans they'd left behind at the orphanage?
But the more Mokuba tried to remember that day, the hazier his memories seemed to become.
So much of what I thought I knew about back then is straight from Seto's mouth. And even he was only eight years old when our dad died….
"Why would I bother getting in touch with people that spent our inheritance and then disposed of us like we were the week's trash?" Seto said disdainfully. He opened his eyes and scowled at the cement wall in front of them, as if it somehow reflected the faces of their relatives.
"Is that really how it happened, Seto?" Mokuba asked under his breath. "You were eight. No one would fault you if you got some of the details wrong."
"I didn't—" Seto shouted, twisting to face Mokuba. He swallowed his words and jerked back upon seeing the expression on Mokuba's face.
With a resolute set to his jaw, Seto clicked his seatbelt into place and started up the car. Mokuba followed suit, and they were on the road in a matter of moments, the car thick with silence. Even the outside sounds were muffled by the towncar's superior soundproofing, and Mokuba began to fidget, tapping one foot on the carpeted floor.
"I—" he began.
Who am I kidding, I don't know how to do this! It was one thing to insist Seto help others—treat Yuugi and Anzu and all of them like friends. He'd been doing that—in his way—for years now. But Mokuba had never dared to outright state that Seto was wrong.
"Half the family was going bankrupt due to a bad real estate deal when Dad died," Mokuba finally said, staring up at the sun visor on his side of the car.
"One of our aunts-in-law got diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer, and the family got into a big fight about whether to pay for her chemo or try and help the relatives get out of their financial trouble, since they, you know, were going to live, presumably."
Street after street, Mokuba told Seto what he'd learned about their remaining biological family years ago, and snippets he'd gleaned in the time since. His brother remained silent the whole way.
"Then one of our cousins committed suicide," Mokuba said softly. "Threw herself in front of a train. She was getting bullied really badly at school, but because of everything going on, nobody in the family noticed how much she'd withdrawn from them, how sad she was."
"And then we showed up," Mokuba finished. "It's not like I've ever gotten in touch with any of them, but I'm trying to imagine what kind of life we'd have had with any one of our aunts and uncles while all of that was going on."
"...It would have been better than Gozaburo, I'm sure," Seto muttered.
"Maybe in some ways," Mokuba admitted. "But probably not in others. I'm never going to pretend like Gozaburo was a saint for adopting us. It was good PR for him, nothing more."
"Why haven't you reached out to them, then?" Seto asked after a breath. "You've had plenty of opportunities."
"True," Mokuba said. "But every time I thought about it, I thought 'I should be doing this with Seto.' So I never did."
"But you've never even mentioned it before today," Seto countered.
"You've never asked about my friends!" Mokuba retorted. "Even in college, you just— you only cared about how my classes were going, about how my training was progressing. I tried to tell you about moving out of the dorms, getting my own apartment with some friends…" Mokuba trailed off.
"All this started just because I said I didn't like being called 'Kaiba-sama.' Maybe we'd've been better off if I never said anything."
"You can't undo what's been done, Mokuba," Seto finally said. And, after a breath, he added, "No one can."
All this back-and-forth made Mokuba's head hurt. He adjusted his seat to lean further backward and cast one last look in his brother's direction before he decided to just close his eyes and rest a bit.
"We might not be able to change the past, Seto, but you've always told me that we get to decide our future," he said.
And I believe it, every word, even today.
Destiny was a cool concept and all, but the world seemed much more exhilarating if one treated it as an exploratory journey or a series of unique challenges to overcome. Where was the fun in just walking down one path, never even bothering to look down the other trails, or to forge one yourself? What good was it to march on, all alone?
"But," Mokuba continued, "that doesn't mean you get forever to make up your mind. The world will keep going while you're analyzing all the data and trying to choose the most logical option. And all the while, you'll push the people who care about you away, to a place where you can't reach."
And with that, Mokuba pulled his suit jacket over his head and promptly fell asleep, not waking until after they'd arrived at Kaiba Corporation's underground garage and Seto had already left the car.