The elderly Bakura stared at the rising moon.
In all his previous life, he couldn't remember feeling that concerned, not about anyone other than himself. When he first took control of Ryou's body, it was a means to an end. Nothing more. But over the years, he had started to grow fond for the host. He had taken the fall for him in duels, and protected him when he was in danger. Bakura often told himself that the boy still meant nothing to him, that he was still just a tool in his grandiose schemes to finally get his revenge against the pharaoh.
That false assurance didn't mean much after that night, and it doesn't mean much anymore… That night would forever remain embedded in his thoughts.