Chapter 2

Ah, yes, there could be no merciful ignorance, no worthwhile loss of memory to replace the interlude of those next two years. Perhaps, because Mokuba was younger, he does not recall the avid scenes as well as I. Yet, maybe he does and refuses to bring them up. Certainly, there is no reason to remind ourselves of the overwhelming burden we gave to our extended family as circumstances out of our control shoved us forth into their so unwelcoming grasp.

Well, they were welcoming at first.

Some of the conversations still echoes in a chamber where I have locked away all those evil items to never be released into the present day. It was probably here, and not Gozaburo, where I learned the meaning of sarcasm. Learned but did not yet attempt its intricacies and appeal.

"Seto, Mokuba! When I heard of your father's death…it greatly saddened me."

One hand being clutched by Mokuba's rather tight and sweaty one, all I did was stand there immobile and stare at the man. I'm sure I had seen him before. But, when such a young child, as Mokuba was, the person became a stranger every time there was a brief absence from view. For me, it was probably the combination of not seeing my father's brother in such a long time and all the traumatic events that occurred in the interval.

He ushered us inside, sending us into the welcoming, snaking arms of his wife, but I caught the next part of the conversation.

"So, all the money he left is for us to use on the kids?"

The one knowledgeable of all the loopholes in the law—I'm referring to a lawyer, of course—nodded. "Yes, here's the information you need to use it. Such a shame that this happens. But at least the law and wills provide for the boys." He gave a gusto sigh as if it were his predicament to be passed off to an uncle and aunt who claimed to want him. Such a dense man. He never even realized what was going to happen.

By then, my aunt had lovingly yanked me farther away from the one who was learning the rules of stealing our small fortune. Fortune if taken all at once. Since it was for the rest of our lives, there was nothing so spectacular about it. Still, there is always a certain appeal to wealth—especially for those inhabiting absolutely no talents of their own they have to snatch it from those who have worked and strained to become something special.

Do I care that my wealth has surpassed this multiple times by now and my family has long-since hit hard times? No. The memory of it still makes me clench my teeth and hands…

For, as much as those limited omniscient dweebs liked to rant it, there was some truth that events tended to add up and cause later events. Not quite destiny, certainly, but everything led to another, and eventually my brother and I would go to a place where daily living was abominable as hell.

"Don't look so miserable, kid. We're taking you to the best orphanage around. Besides, you're off-limits to people for an order of thirty days in case your brother wakes up."

Wakes up. Those words were false. Seto wasn't sleeping. He had given up. There was no reason to believe a mere thirty days would bring him back to himself, especially left in a little room alone as he was.

"Besides, even if your brother doesn't wake up, you'll get the money that is rightfully yours from the company. I'd say you're pretty blessed."

So blessed. That was why he was back here. Back in the orphanage. But this time, he was alone. Completely, utterly, alone. And his brother might not ever 'wake up.'

Cousins. Whoever claimed every person needed kin in order to thrive and live the fullest life possible lied. There are so many liars out there it is impossible to hear anything truthful anymore. But all those trumped-up words about loving your family and learning true values there…what a crack.

I learned more from Gozaburo than I learned from anyone considered my blood relations. Of course, besides sarcasm, they managed to teach me something in their complete anarchical proceedings.

Two cousins, one boy and one girl. They were around our age, Mokuba's and mine. That was where the resemblance ended.

One always had to be the best at everything. Born a scant few months before I was, he always believed himself superior from his so much greater time of life to gain wisdom. Obviously, his own lack of wits had never proven his own fallibility. Yet.

So, in any type of game in which he would force us into compliance, my dear cousin got to experience the bliss of being perfect and being awarded such roles and achievements as such.

What I mean is that he would always throw a tantrum until we exasperatedly deemed him winner or gave him the best part in other games. And, if we stopped feeling like having any type of correspondence with him, he would overuse such tactics again because of the success he always had with his higher authority.

The sister was in the same sort of confinement as Mokuba and myself, but when she raged out at him without fear—growing up in a land of evil makes one slightly immune to the evil—he would just move onto Machiavelli's first rule: if the end is desirable, the means are justified; better known as the ends justify the means. So, he would use bodily power or his rare-sprung good idea to twist the words around to make himself appear like the victim to those who only had ears for him anyway.

At a time when we were still adjusting to life with absolutely no guidance and complete responsibility, at least on my part, these cousins taught the rules of the world to us. So, for all those who believed Gozaburo's influence to be the corruption of a soul once pure and valuable ignore the fact that the soul also had relatives take it in and merely keep it and mutilate it for two years before the money from its father was gone.

Then, the loving, caring kin dropped us off at the orphanage.

The orphanage, as anyone could have guessed, was dismal. For one, hardly anyone Mokuba's age was there. The few that happened to be looked surly and unapproachable. For a second, the owner of the orphanage had a glint in his eye that indicated he was assessing every new boy as an animal to be sold for the best price. His name was Mr. Guy.

"Mr. Guy, this is Kaiba Mokuba. Remember the circumstances regarding him?"

The man looked Mokuba up and down, one hand holding a limp lank of greasy hair between two fingers. "Yes," he said softly. "This is the one who will remain with me for a month with no attempts of paying me back for my charity. The one who is to be off limits to every set of parents that arrive to observe the boys and lovingly take them home. The one who will eat off my plates as if he belongs here more than the other boys who are genuinely trying to be adopted. The one who comes from a family of such excellent means that he should never have to be here."

The social worker frowned. But, Mr. Guy suddenly smiled at him and held out his hand that had not been touching his greasy hair. "Fear not. I will take excellent care of him. Do I not do so to all the boys in my care?"

One sweeping worker paused to look up right then, eyes glaring at the owner of the orphanage. But, hardly discernable, Mr. Guy flicked his hair back, and the sweeper got back to business.

With no reply, the social worker gave Mokuba's back a small shove. The woman social worker handed over the correct paperwork needed to explain everything, and then they turned to leave.

"Remember what I told you, Mokuba. There's no need to worry until later. I'm sure your brother will be back to himself in no time."

Mr. Guy's slow leer crossed his face at those words, but he said nothing. Miserably, the boy followed the orphanage owner into the set of buildings.

Opening the door to a room that was exactly the same as the others, Mr. Guy watched Mokuba enter the room and sit on the very edge of the bed, back stiffly straight.

"No doubt you wish to know mealtimes. Dinner will be served in two hours. One of the other inmates will be able to direct you to the mess hall. Good day."

With a swift stride, the owner was gone, leaving Mokuba to sit there quietly on the bed. There was nothing for the young Kaiba to do, as none of his belongings were yet there. He did not even know if any of them would be coming. And what would he do about school? Did he just not go anymore?

There was no understanding anything. The social workers had explained so much, but he was still unanswered.

Why had his brother gone mad?

They had discovered his brother still sitting, eyes open blankly, in his office. Well, it had happened before that he worked all night long. But this time, everyone could see that something was different. Still, they had not noticed how long he had been sitting that way the day before. Kaiba Seto was a difficult person to approach.

Not this time. An employee hesitantly asked if he needed anything. As the man was ignored, he tried more questions. There was no scathing remarks, no biting criticism. That frightened the employee more than a caustic reply would have. So, he went to alert someone.

Doctors finally came to see what was wrong with the CEO of Kaiba Corp. All they could determine was that he was in a mental shutdown. Without tests, they would learn nothing more. Still, once they had led him to the car and hospital like a docile patient just gone through lobotomy, the tests never showed anything more. They admitted him to the hospital and sent a phone call for Mokuba.

The one time Seto had gone hostile during everything was when the doctor had been changing his clothing and giving him a hospital gown. The doctor had also tried to take his brother's watch, but for some reason, Seto didn't want to give it up. And, once the doctor had gotten it off, his brother had gone completely still, back to his old form. Almost like he was listening, straining. Except that that was impossible because Seto was doing nothing. He was limp. It did not make sense.

And now, there he remained in the hospital, dead to everything.