Chapter Six

Ed leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on grimy knees and pressing tightly clasped hands to his chapped lips as he stared pointedly at the dirty wall in front of him. The whole room was like that: filthy and grey, drab concrete walls with old words carved in deep to match the scratched and vandalized floors. It seemed like every room here was like that, had these same words in the same walls beside the same bunk beds. The whole building was like that, the whole city, the whole country; the whole God damned world was like that, and it was not fair. Everywhere he turned he saw the same disgusting, leering eyes traveling up his body, catching on his hips when he walked down the halls and leaving him feeling somehow violated. The other inhabitants of this awful place all had the same viciously grinning mouths, and so he had decided that it was better to keep his head down and back to the door and just not see them anymore. He had only been back for a matter of hours, and already he could feel himself growing steadily more insane.

He did not know how much longer he could stand being trapped in here, in this room, this cage, this cell. This was not his fate. This was not the future he and Saiou had seen outlined in the Tarot and had dreamed up from bloody pasts. It was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have changed things, was supposed to have freed Saiou from the chains that kept him bound to the Wheel and should have been bringing down the fiery wrath of retribution on the heads of all the world's villains. But then things had gone horribly, horribly astray, and someone had dragged sinners and God into all this mess with the Devil; some Fool or Hanged Man had gone and ruined everything, brought all their carefully constructed lies and half-truths crumbling down around them like the Tower's stones.

Damn it! It was not fair. How had this happened, anyway? How in The World had he managed to land himself in this situation?

He snorted softly at those thoughts, dropping his gaze from the wall to the floor. What stupid questions. . . Of course, he knew the real reason he was there, and just how it was that it had happened. Ed had landed in this rotten Hellhole because he had been in all the wrong places at all the wrong times and there were big-mouthed witnesses to prove it. He scowled, the grip on his hands tightening. He was here because someone needed to take the blame, and who better to cast in that role than 'D-Hero: Denigration Guy' himself? Oh yes, Ed knew exactly why he was here, and he was not at all happy about it.

They can't prove anything, Edo, and I'll never tell anyone what happened.

The oath given by calm brown eyes and an adult's somber whisper came back to him, mocking both their stubborn silences. It was a promise followed by tainted hands touching his face, smearing still-warm blood across his cheeks. Or had the blood already been there? Had it come off on the hands, or come from them? Ed did not know. He had lost consciousness after claiming that he would gladly act as a sacrifice – after begging Juudai to please save Saiou from this fate – and he remembered nothing of the events below the White Dorm once his friend's soul had been forced back into its own body by the awesome power of the Lord of Light.

He certainly did not remember Saiou dying.

Juudai had carried him above ground, he knew this for certain. They had both been covered in the psychic's blood; it streaked Ed's white suit with red and came up in bright splotches on Juudai's stonewashed jeans. The Academy's hero had been oddly quiet, reserved and brooding for what must have been the first time in the teen's life. And then those words, as if spoken by someone else. . . someone older, more mature and apathetic. Someone who had seen people die and was no longer fazed by the brutal loss of life. Ed knew that tone well: he had spoken to Juudai like that once, in the shadows cast by Skyscraper when he explained that being a hero meant bringing all the bad men to justice at any cost.

And while it was hard to imagine Juudai as the kind of boy who grew up to be a masked vigilante, Ed had strong convictions that for all the idiocy that that particular boy had displayed over their brief association, he was the one who had been used – masterfully played in the hands of yet another skilled musician – in the end.

Which came back to the fact that Ed was here and Juudai was off at home, no doubt acting the part of the Fool and cheating Fate, as usual.

Tomorrow would be the second day of his trial, and until then he was stuck in this dirty prison with no one waiting on the outside. That knowledge left him feeling small and alone, bitter and angry and terrified at the man he had let himself become. The truth about his father's death, in the form of D.D.'s shocking confession, hurt him deeply; he had loved and trusted the former champion, and to be betrayed by the man who had stood as a pillar of paternal guidance for so much of his life was more than he thought he could bear. Just thinking back to it made him want to scream, want to cry, want to just admit to everything he had never done and beg the prosecution for sweet release from this nightmare.

Well, almost. Ed still had too much pride to take the easy way out, and he refused to slip quietly into the darkness when he had lived for so long in the center of every spotlight. Besides, it would take years to get to the end of that long road; he would be halfway through his life before ever seeing the doors leading to that dreaded chair, or gas chamber, or whatever it was that they did out here. Hell, Ed did not even know if they enforced the death penalty in international waters; they certainly did not do that sort of barbarous thing in Europe.

But even if Ed managed to squeeze his way out of these false charges, it was not as if there was anything to escape to. The initial scandal had been huge when the information that he had been the lead suspect in a double murder was leaked to the press, probably by the same dueling officials who revoked his professional certification. It had only gotten worse when the tabloids got their sleazy fingers on the details. He killed his manager and his foster father? The horror at the mere suggestion that he could be capable of such atrocities had tarnished his once good name and dragged his reputation and public appeal through the mud. By tomorrow, the world would know that he was the only suspect involved in the investigation of D.D.'s death, and that the other possible killer in Saiou's had been excused on the grounds that there 'was no motive' and the boy had a rock-solid character defense.

Ed wondered what it must be like to have someone vouch for the goodness of one's nature, to have someone stand up and say that he had to be innocent simply because of the kind of person he was. But no one had said anything about Ed's 'character' except that he seemed to have a volatile temper, and the witnesses remembered him being bodily removed from the White Dorm's premises the night before so as to keep him from 'doing something he might regret.' They also remembered him screaming furiously at his manager, breaking through a window to get inside, and an instance much earlier when he was seen standing over a dead body in front of the school. The final statement had led to yet another investigation, this one involving deaths in cities he was staying in just before or after each one of his professional duels. While the results had not come up today, they would certainly be mentioned at the beginning of tomorrow's trial. Ed could not help but grimace, knowing all too well what the police would find. There was no way that they could not find the body trail he had left behind while traveling, even if those 'victims' had all been thugs and criminals, he was fairly certain that it did not matter. Murder was murder in the eyes of the Interpol, after all.

He had gone from being a rising star, a genius and the next big name for the world leagues, to being known as a fifteen year old serial killer who was being tried as an adult in an international court. And all of it was possible because he had taken on the guise of a professional duelist. . . Ed knew for a fact that Kaiba Seto was feeling the heat for this one: this was exactly the reason that the certification process had been implemented. The idea was to keep out freaks and murderers, conmen and gangsters.

"Bloody Hell. . ." the U.K.'s former champion muttered the curse, unclasping his hands to rub wearily at his eyes. It did not help Ed's case that he had been the last person spotted on D.D.'s boat before it burst into flames with the world champion on board on the very same night, nor that soon the whole world would know of his impressive track record with this sort of thing. "This is worse than a nightmare."

I'll never tell. . .

What was it that Juudai had seen down there, had done down there? There had to be more to this story, some dark and hidden truth that Juudai was trying to protect. The prosecution claimed that Ed had lost his temper and done the terrible deed in a fit of rage, but that was just ridiculous; Saiou was – and had been for quite some time – the only person other than D.D. that he trusted completely, the only one he had believed could help him avenge his father. Saiou had been – and would always be – his best friend, even after Saiou had come clean about his selfish manipulations. Ed would not have killed Saiou. Ed could not have killed Saiou down there that night, because he had been unconscious for the whole damn thing. But no one else seemed to care about that little detail, and it was labeled as a cheap fabrication to protect himself. Juudai refused to testify at all, and neither supported nor denied either side. What everyone did remember, of course, was that no one else had gone down there until the two of them had come back up. Ed had confirmed this part of the story in his written account of that night: he distinctly remembered Juudai's big friend – the one who thought he was a dinosaur, what was his name? – going down beneath the White Dorm and retrieving the body. He remembered hearing the boy's trembling voice begging them please not to look. You don't want to see this. Just close your eyes and look away.

Ed had never been good at following orders that came from anyone other than Saiou. He had looked anyway. He had pushed Juudai aside and stared, horrified at the gory mess cradled like broken glass in the bigger boy's muscular arms. All four of them were covered in red, smeared and streaked and staining their bright costumes. He could still smell it, heavy as ozone before the storm and sickly sweet as decay. The odor clung to the back of his throat and he could taste it even now; the memories rose up with bile into his mouth, burning his esophagus.

No. Ed could not have killed Saiou, which meant that there was only one possible conclusion to be reached, even if Juudai did not seem capable of being that kind of hero or monster. He smiled despite himself, the expression a humorless muscle spasm of the lips, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and wishing he could wash away the taste of vomit.

They were all being played for fools.

The end of the week came faster than even Manjoume could have hoped for.

This was not to say, of course, that he had not been looking forward to and praying for this week's end. After all, even he could only stand Juudai's ridiculous antics for so long. Normally, it would have been fine. But even when it was just the two of them, they had never been truly alone before, especially not for days on end with no respite. Normally, Manjoume was sure that he could have handled it, and for a while it had been all right. But after the third day, with no sign or sound from the spirits that usually followed them both and little to refocus their attention on, Manjoume was more than ready to go home, now thoroughly convinced that this was far worse than any conceived torture.

Juudai had been acting far from 'normal,' even by Duel Academy's sketchy standards. The boy had hung around him like an ill-fitting shadow, invading any semblance of privacy or personal space that Manjoume could find in the tiny apartment. Maybe it had something to do with the unexplained disappearance of the monster spirits, but it seemed like Juudai could not stand to be alone for more than a few minutes at a time, and the insistent badgering left Manjoume feeling frustrated and drained. Their days were spent running around downtown Rintama and avoiding fist fights with the local thugs, climbing down into half-collapsed basements and daring each other into going first into burned out warehouses on the outskirts of the district. And Juudai, normally the laziest person Manjoume knew, rarely slept over the course of the week, regardless of how late they stayed out exploring; he was constantly harassing Manjoume at night, poking and prodding at the younger boy and asking him if – hey, hey, Manjoume! – he was still awake.

And that did not even count the bizarre and uncomfortable dialog that kept creeping up between them over the course of the week after the God incident at the bottom of the elevator. He had never before realized just how many religious references were made in everyday speech, and when he let one slip again, it was met with dark glares and the occasional snarling act of violence. But then it would be covered up again just as quickly as the change had arrived, and he would find "Gotcha" fingers just in front of his nose, would hear the hero laughing and see that idiot grin taking up its rightful place on Juudai's face. The back of his head still ached from where he had banged it open in the elevator, and no matter how many sheepish apologies he received, he could not shake this anxious feeling. He felt as if he was walking on egg shells every time he opened his mouth, and each twitch from the school's hero left him feeling terrified that he had made some vital mistake.

Juudai's mother had spent most of her time working, coming in and out of the apartment after long and irregular intervals. While she was home, she begged them for quiet and rested, sometimes asking her son in a small murmur if he had eaten anything today before falling into a troubled sleep. Juudai always just smiled, and said that neither boy was hungry yet, and that he would make dinner tonight. This left them fending for themselves most nights. It did not help that neither knew much about cooking, and as a result they had been living off stove-top noodles and instant rice, doctored leftovers that Juudai swore would not cause cancer, and the occasional cheap popsicle run. He was starting to feel the effects of their unhealthy diet, leaving his stomach queasy and aching for real sustenance. How was it possible to have survived so long on so little? If this was normal for Juudai, then it was no surprise that the boy thought their meals in Osiris Red were well-balanced luxuries.

All in all, Manjoume was very glad to see Monday morning arrive; he just wished that he could have woken up for it in his own time.

"You're an idiot," he snapped angrily at his companion for what must have been the seven hundredth time since they had left Duel Academy. Juudai simply beamed at the insult, leaning over the edge of the couch and into the younger boy's face. Another scowl, and Manjoume threw his pillow over his face and rolled over onto his side, facing away from the other. He was still tired from yesterday, wiry muscles still sore from their last big escapade. Why could Juudai not be as lazy at home as he was school? Just one more hour would have made everything fine. . . "I'm going back to sleep."

"But today's your last day!" Juudai held until the final vowel of that sentence, stretched it out into an annoying whine that quickly grated on Manjoume's fragile nerves. Manjoume felt a finger prodding into his shoulder, but only growled and tried to ignore the desire to lash out at his insistent host. "Y'know, we need to. . . to make the most of it! Have fun, and eat shrimp, and go fishing in a dam somewhere!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Isn't that how it goes? Carps in the dam, needing to be fished. . .?"

"The term is 'carpe diem,' and it means 'seize the day,' you half-wit," Manjoume turned back long enough to swat at Juudai's head with the pillow and give him a foul glare before lying back down with the item clutched over his ears. "Now shut up."

"Okay, so you don't like fish," Juudai did not seem fazed as he hopped up to a standing position on one of the couch's cushions, gesturing excitedly with vague motions. His own pillow and blanket fell to the floor on top of his house guest. "What about exploring? Like, hardcore abandoned building spelunking? There's an old factory across town, kinda close to the harbor, that they're gonna tear down over the summer, and we should totally go check it out before you gotta leave."

Manjoume groaned, but grinned beneath the pillow's cover all the same. Since their excursion in the elevator, they had both come to realize that there was something inherently thrilling about sneaking into dangerous places with little to no protective equipment, especially if that place could fall apart at any moment. He had done some limited cave-diving while tromping through the ice flats and scaling the glaciers around North Academy in his freshman year, but somehow it never been quite as fun. Maybe it had to do with the temperature. He wondered, briefly, if it had to do with the company he was keeping, but quickly decided that that was ridiculous nonsense and he needed more sleep and less food-poisoning.

". . . Please, Thunder-san?"

Ah, there it was: the pleading tone that was always paired with imploring eyes and a slight pout, if only he bothered to check. Juudai only ever called him 'Thunder' and remembered the honorific when he was sucking up for something. Manjoume peered out from under the pillow, careful to hide his amusement under a disapproving look. "Let's get one thing straight, Juudai: we're still not friends."

"Wahoo! You're the best ever, Manjoume!"

"–San da," he quickly corrected, ignoring the inevitable 'whatever' that followed. "And you'd better not forget that you owe me Tenjoin-kun's number."

"Right, right, right," Juudai waved the reminder off absently, jumping down off the couch to the living room floor, earning him another swat as Manjoume pointed down at the floor. Old lady? Recovering? No loud noises? Juudai shrugged, stepping around the coffee table to his bag from school, which he still had not yet unpacked. Quickly, he unzipped it, rifling through for something. Clothes were flung haphazardly as he dug deeper; Manjoume pulled his blanket up over his head to protect himself from a pair of pants that went flying by. Finally, Juudai let out another whoop of victory, prompting Manjoume to peer out from his conspicuous hiding place. The boy had his cell phone held up in one hand. "You want it now?"

"Yes!" Manjoume bolted upright, scrambling to reach his own phone. He chose to ignore Juudai's snickering. As he was leaning in to get the number, though, a thought occurred to him, and he steadied his host with a dirty glare. "Actually, I want you to call her first."

"Huh? Why?"

"Just in case."

Juudai's grin fell to a wry smile, and he gave Manjoume a sarcastic little laugh. Apparently, the suggestion that Juudai had been lying about having Asuka's number was not at all funny. Not that it really mattered: Manjoume was being serious and he did not mean it to be amusing. He raised a brow at the other boy, waiting for him to continue. With a roll of dark eyes, Juudai dialed the number, setting his phone on 'speaker' so that they could both hear. It rang several times before a bright and charming voice answered:

"Hi, you've reached Tenjoin Asuka. I'm sorry that I can't get to the phone right now, but if you leave your name, number, and a brief message, I'll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can."

Manjoume's breath hitched in his throat quietly, and he stared, attention fixating on the phone. He had not heard her voice in so long. . . even if it was just a generic message on her answering machine, it was beautiful and heavenly. She had the voice of an angel, and sounded so much happier here than anytime he could remember back on the island. Juudai gave him an odd look, but Manjoume did not care. Just one more moment of this, please. . . Asuka's tone suddenly took on an icy property for her next comment:

"But if this is Mitsuo-kun, please stop leaving me messages, because I'm never returning your calls anyway."

Juudai erupted in laughter as Manjoume's head jerked up and he looked to the boy questioningly:

"Who's Mitsuo?" he asked, worried. Was Asuka being stalked? Did Fubuki know about this? Should Manjoume be offering to use his impressive deductive reasoning skills and unmatched detective prowess to find the little bastard and potentially have this fiend killed? Juudai just waved it off absently with the silent insinuation that he would explain it in a moment as his phone beeped, reminding them that they needed to leave a message and now was as good a time as any.

"Hey, Asuka, this is Juudai!" he managed to get out before he had to cut himself off with another fit of laughter. "Great message, by the way; tell me if it works, okay? Anyway, I just wanted to call and. . . uh. . . find out when you're leaving for school, and stuff. Call me back, okay? See ya."

He hung up.

". . . Is Mitsuo one of her. . . her. . .?" Manjoume trailed off with a vague gesture, obviously not wanting to finish that question. Juudai tossed him the phone then, shrugging.

"Her what? One of the many guys she's beaten in a duel? Well, yeah, duh. He's this cool gambler guy who showed up to duel her for her key, and stuff," Juudai seemed thoughtful, thinking back to that day and scratching idly at the side of his neck, just below his left ear. "It was a really awesome duel, but when I mentioned it, everyone just started looking at me funny. I totally felt like I was out of the loop and missing something, y'know?"

"You? Missing something?" Manjoume scoffed, shaking his head as he copied Asuka's number into his own phone. He paused, thinking back on his luck, and then reached over to the coffee table to rip the corner off an envelope. A few more moments of scrounging awarded him with a pen, and he copied the number down a second time and stuffed the scrap of paper into the pocket of his jacket. Just in case. "That's almost as unlikely as you getting abducted by aliens!"

"I know! Totally, right?"

Manjoume just sighed.