Chapter 5

Sleeping in the orphanage that first night was the next large struggle because it was like any first night in a new place, out on one's own. Yet, no anchor of stability or rope of safety reached out to Mokuba with the knowledge that, were everything to fail, he could always return home where one loved him without fail. With Kaiba absent from the mansion, he had no home and the boy had no control over his own life at all.

Dinner had been skipped because of his working and as another one of Mokuba's punishments. By that time, all Mokuba felt like doing was collapsing on his bed. At least he should have been allowed to do that, he reasoned.

The room that had been deigned as his was a welcome sight. Yet, when he saw the bed was now absent, his steps faltered. Was this really the same room?

"Ahh, little nuisance. Someone must have forgotten to tell you. This was just the room holding the extra bed. Don't worry; I knew you wouldn't want to be all alone, so I took the liberty and absolute favor to put your bed in the more comforting place with the other boys. You can find it just down the hall." The orphanage owner gave one of his timely pauses. "Or did you think you had some…privileges by what your second last name used to be?"

Eyes narrowing to replications of his brother's wintry orbs, Mokuba set his jaw and began to concentrate on his thoughts instead of giving into Mr. Guy's taunts.

Such a smirk should be illegal, Mokuba was thinking as he trudged over to the next room, hating feeling like he had lost a grand test. Arguing was pointless, anyway. The ever constant throbbing of his face was in equal tune with the iron rod the orphanage owner had pounded into one hand earlier that day.

But if such a smirk were illegal, where would his brother be allowed? Mokuba shook his head, refusing to follow through on such thoughts. He loved his brother. What else mattered?

A few beds were already taken by younger boys, but it was early for even such young children to be sleeping. Yet, it was obvious they had only fallen silent because Mr. Guy was present. A chorus of chiming voices had ceased as the footsteps approached. Not only Mokuba had learned to respect the owner's presence. All the little slave-children learned quickly what happened if they put their hands into the fire, and no one was going to repeat the experience. The only one who had fought out against the injustice just proved the orphanage owner's complete control…nothing could stop Guy's swift penalties. And unlike the characters in stories or history, these boys could not revolt under the conditions, could not follow Sven's example, could not take the pain of making a difference. After all, these boys had so little left to save that they held onto everything they had remaining as nettles did to skin.

Climbing into the nearest available bed, aware always of Guy's predator eyes just waiting to see Mokuba misbehave in order to punish him, Mokuba turned his back to the orphanage owner and tried to sleep. As if that would happen with Guy's presence so near. It was only when the slow treading steps moved away that he could relax enough to even feel drowsy. Even then, Mokuba wasn't certain why Mr. Guy had left without further taunts and worried the man would return.

"Oniichan!" came an excited voice. Why was it right next to him?

Turning slightly, Mokuba grew alarmed when he felt something creeping on his bed—the body's first reaction is to fight or flee such surprises, but fortunately, the boy's indecision of which to do kept the smaller being crawling up the bed safe from unintentional harm.

His heart slowed as Jumi's giggling face appeared, and the rest of the five-year-old soon nestled in closely. He was so near that Mokuba had to move over slightly to give himself more room. When that happened, however, the younger boy just crept closer, throwing an arm over Mokuba and resting his head on the young Kaiba's shoulder—basically, just making himself right at home on Mokuba's body.

These boys…they must have been like a desert cactus waiting for any moisture to suck up as they strained to feel the fleeting rain of any attention or affection. After all, Mr. Guy was very stingy with his affection, if he even had any. Why would such a person run an orphanage? Mokuba couldn't answer his own questions…that was what his older brother had been for.

Quickly shoving aside the emotions and train of thought, Mokuba concentrated on Jumi's easy breathing from where the boy had nestled in closely. In…out…and in again. Constant, steady, like the ticking of a clock. And yet…something about it made the boy uneasy instead of weary. Somehow, the thought of clocks made him think of his older brother again, and any collection of tiredness that had misted over his eyes faded.

He missed Seto.

"Niisama," he whispered so softly it was a mere mouthing of the words. One hand held his card, but there was no need to look at it. The picture was imbedded in his mind by now.

Why?

What an odd question to pop into his thoughts right at that moment, so surprising like how Jumi had the tendency of appearing from nowhere. Why did Mokuba love his brother? Merely because Seto was his brother? The boy wasn't certain Seto had ever shown much of a tender side, not even to him

No, that's wrong! Mokuba thought desperately. I know Seto was always there for me; I just can't recall anything right now. But I know it…

Finally, searching thoroughly throughout his mind, Mokuba finally discovered a memory that would assuage his growing fear, a fear that was unnamed in case the name would make it real.

Remembrances of past times in the orphanage flowed through his mind right then. He recalled all the boys, all the laughter, all the parents. But most of all, he remembered his brother. They would play chess and other games. There, through the memory of his five-year-old self, Mokuba could see the innocent smile filtering onto Seto's face. It was pure, it was true, it was the water Mokuba needed to keep going. Whenever anything grew to be an intense struggle, Seto had been there for him.

Bullies had tried to pick on Mokuba plenty of times. But, always, his niisama would be there to help him and keep him safe. Simply, Mokuba's world had revolved around his brother.

"Niisama," he would whisper at night when he crept into Seto's bed for comfort, "will you tell me again about what we're going to do later?"

Never was there a need to translate. He had asked it so many times the boy himself had the answer memorized. But his older brother's voice would always whisper back, "When we're free from this place, we're going to do whatever we want. You can become anything you ever dream about and grow famous. You can become a spy, even."

All this was heresy back then, back in an orphanage that couldn't even afford to educate those within it. And Seto had already known when so young that one needed an education to get anywhere in life. But Mokuba still trusted his older brother; if such complications arose, he was certain Seto would get him out of them again.

"What about a soccer star?" Mokuba's dreams of what to become were the only part of the conversation that would change. It seemed his lifetime career would take about twenty different turns if his decisions back then influenced it at all.

"Yes, a soccer star. Anything, Mokuba. That's what being free is about. We're not always going to be held back."

And, snuggling in closer, the innocent youth would whisper to himself, "Anything!" as he fell into a peaceful slumber dreaming of all the different pathways his life would take. Always, though, his brother had been beside him in those dreams. Unlike now.

This isn't what you had in mind, Seto, Mokuba thought to himself with a lump in his throat. It's not what I had in mind. But don't worry; I won't let anyone hold me back here.

Mokuba's closest teacher had noticed the boy's absence, and she wondered when next she would see him in class. A phone call to the principal told her that she would not be expecting Mokuba again for a long time, if ever. Yet, oddly, no one informed her of why. Usually, teachers knew the circumstances even if they were not allowed to prattle about it to the students, but this time, no one had told Ms. Dojinschi anything.

So, doing as she always did in such cases, the teacher placed the thought in the back of her mind and told herself to check up on it. Then, she promptly forgot about it in her daily struggle to complete grading papers and homework as well as plan out the class for the next day.

But the Kaibas were not entirely simple to forget. Going shopping for some much-needed food reminded the teacher of what she had promised herself she would do.

The tabloids at the checkout caught Ms. Dojinschi's attention as they normally did, but this time there was a different reason as well. Within the past week, the Kaiba family had been in the headlines no less than four times. Reminded of her desire to seek out the truth, the articles merely provoked her curiosity and made it so she had to learn more.

"Kaiba Seto—genius?—goes insane!" That magazine was a very moderate one, and Dojinschi doubted if it held any truth. These other ones were more likely closer to the real circumstances.

"Sudden disappearance for Japan's leading businessmen! Even by leaving behind a decoy, our reporters discovered the truth! Pictures of the Kaibas being abducted by aliens and the fakes the other species left behind."

Another one had the title: "Back to his origins? Kaiba Mokuba sent back to the orphanage while waiting making the decision to take his brother off life support."

Yet, by far, her favorite was, "Pressure was too great for the 17-year-old CEO when people learned that 12-year-old Mokuba was truly his son."

She bought a copy of each to be safe and set out on her way again. This time, forgetting Kaiba Mokuba was not about to happen.

The chess match.

Before, just a mention of that day caused me to grow a little smirk.

Kaiba Gozaburo and his attitude that classified perfectly into my cynical view of the world at age ten. There was no one better to be adopted by than one I so intimately understood already. We were one and the same. Derisive, sarcastic, and bitter. Almost doppelgangers of one another but for the age difference.

For the sake of Mokuba, for the sake of myself, for the mere sake of knocking down this egotistical man, I had to challenge him. Simply, Mokuba's future dreams, my own pride, and Gozaburo's arrogance all added up to a combination that meant there could be no losing. And I knew that before I even challenged him.

If there were ever a doubt in my mind that I would have lost, I would not have done it. Playing the game is pointless if you are not planning on winning.

"Today is the day I'll keep my promise, Mokuba. That guy is the president of Kaiba Corporation. We should become his adopted children. No, he'll adopt us for sure…I'll make him."

How fortunate that Kaiba Gozaburo had even come to our orphanage. Probably, that was the one event in life where luck was anywhere resembling my side. Then again, knowing what followed, luck had probably been high on drugs. With the state of the world, it was not as if I could blame it.

Never should there have been a reason for me to rely on one such as him for even a cast aside crumb of moldy cheese. One day, the world would see what it had done to one forgotten child and cringe as he strode forward in power once more, turning a kind hand to those of his own position and letting them have fun for free.

No.

Only Mokuba's dreams were important to me.

Mokuba's gaze was resting on my back with as much attention he gave to the first crawling ant he had ever seen. And I almost felt his gaze like the path of such an ant, only the footsteps left a blazing trail of fire. I couldn't turn back to make my brother's eyes ever lose their flame of hope.

Planting myself before Gozaburo's path, I gazed at him with the view of the vile world when it regarded us urchins.

"Please adopt my brother and me."

A silence lingered in the air like a puff of smoke from his cigar. "What did you say?" Gozaburo had asked, removing the cigar from his lip in order to guffaw better, glancing once at his subordinates in utter amusement.

"I said, please adopt my brother and me." I paused just long enough to let his mind catch up to my own. "Of course, there should be conditions. First, I'll beat you at chess."

"Heh heh. This is an interesting kid." Gozaburo's eyes narrowed in contempt, laughing. "But it would be too difficult for you to be adopted that way—I'm a six-time world champion, and it's impossible to beat me."

"There's no such thing as impossible."

Another small pause encompassed all of those within a certain perimeter. "You can't win chess by luck."

I was lucky enough to have you come to my orphanage, I thought. "It doesn't matter. Will you take the challenge?" Right then, I tried on the glare that would become my future appearance. The expression, so new, did not feel at all awkward but natural in this world of hypocrites.

"You look brave." His own eyes were wholly concentrated on me, and because I knew the look of when one's mind is pattering on ahead like a dog, stopping only occasionally to glance back to make certain its owner was still following, I could already sense his answer. "I accept." Gozaburo turned his back and began walking. Without turning, he added, "I won't go easy on you."

"That's my wish."

And so we played. Everything in my life focused on that win. There I was, ten years old, and I could defeat a champion strategist. That plan had been growing for months since I had seen him play on television, and I had even plotted out what I would be thinking when I challenged Gozaburo. Everything was under my control.

In the end, it didn't seem to matter how advanced he was or whether or not I had even studied him. When it came down to it, I needed, wanted, to win so desperately I would have done anything. As Edgar Allan Poe stated in his "The Murders in the Rue Morgue," it was possible for a novice to beat a master by simply being more concentrated.

That, I surely was. After all, it takes a lot of concentration to cheat at chess without a master realizing it.

For once, a bubble of hope was blossoming within me to give me the idea that there just might be a point to existence, that one could possibly change one's fate. Right then, my half-thought-of dream began to change to a concrete reality. Maybe not just Mokuba's dream could be true. Maybe one of mine could as well.

So I gazed over at Kaiba Gozaburo, and within his dark eyes I saw the fire that was within my soul just waiting to flare out and encompass me.

And I knew a challenge had then begun.