Chapter 8

Life was not all bad…especially not at first when my hopes were brimming to the top of my overflowing boiling pot of a mind and refusing to cool off.

Sure, the competition continued, but continuing in that was amusement to me. A sport similar to the one Gozaburo played with me; for immediately on arriving at the mansion, I could see what sort of game this all was to him—the CEO of Kaiba Corporation.

Two children with one bag each coming to live in a huge mansion with so many rooms filled to the rim of collectible, fancy decorations bought merely to take up space…we were more than merely out of place; we were fish out of water, turtles without a shell, birds with no feathers, a violinist with no fingers, a drummer who had lost the beat, a dancer with no rhythm, a singer with no voice…

But I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

That first day, as Mokuba walked behind me clutching my shirt tightly, I followed the butler into the place, hearing the ominous echoing of feet daring to tread where there usually existed only silence. The sound of a child's voice drifted where strict rules forbid any laughter or any remembrance of a different child…but I did not know about that then. Optimism soared abound in one boy's mind where dreams were forbidden and only stern obedience was allowed.

A youthful, enthusiastic spirit had arrived at the grinning gates of Disappointment, of Anguish, of Misery…of yet again, another version of hell.

I was determined not to let my brother know that was where we were.

Yugi's mother stood outside her son's door, tempted to press her ear to the closed entrance (was her son talking to someone in there?), but the arrival of Suguroku halted any devious plans on her part.

Grandpa Mutou had the ironic feeling that he had just interrupted something…not expressly allowed. Now, that pleased him because he was tired of all the times his daughter-in-law had caught him breaking the strict new diet the doctor had given him. Now he could return the favor.

"What are you doing just standing there? I always have plenty of work to do in the shop. You'd think someone my age wouldn't have to beg from those whose bodies are much limber to get a little help in the work that keeps food on the table."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Your work keeps food on the table?" Seeing the expression on Suguroku's face, she wisely kept from commenting on her own job. "Too much food, I think. You haven't had any cookies, have you?"

"That's none of your business! Why don't you tell me what you're doing outside Yugi's room?" Suguroku knew he had her; she did not even have any cleaning utensils to aid in a lie about something like that.

"I-well…he's been acting strange!"

Both of them turned suddenly to the door as the one spoken of popped out his morose face. Neither could say a word of excuse.

"Mom, Grandpa, I can hear you, you know. I know you've been there awhile, Mom, listening." The old man shot a triumphant look at his daughter-in-law, but Yugi turned to him and added, "And you have been eating cookies, Grandpa. I counted them. But if you don't mind, I'd like it if you just argued about me somewhere else."

The adolescent closed his door again, leaving the two adults looking from the door to each other.

Finally, the young man's mother turned toward Suguroku. "What was it you needed help with, Dad?" Besides staying on your diet, she finished in her head.

As the two both walked away, they each made a mental note to watch Yugi more closely. If he remained in this depressed state much longer, they would have to step in and adamantly force him to talk about what was bothering him. But there was no hurry to do that. Adolescents had such random mood swings, after all, and neither wanted to be on the brunt of Yugi's anger when he finally burst, as they knew all teenagers did eventually.

Looking after the vanishing teacher with a glare, Sven balled one hand into a fist. No one ever cast him even a glance from where he stood on the porch that never ceased to gather dust and dirt from the little collection of riffraff. Sweeping it was pointless.

Heavy steps from within halted near him. Just by the ominous sound, Sven could identify the dragon breathing hotly down his back. Not flaming yet and probably would not, but the risk was always there to make any interaction more threatening. He, however, did not turn or move to sweep.

"If you're not going to be adopted, you ought to be obeying my command and do your fair share around here." That soft voice correctly proved the feet to belong to Mr. Guy. The orphanage owner was watching with his arms crossed, seeming very at ease.

Finally, Sven could engage in the mini silent battle no longer. Unlike an animal of prey, a predator could not wait forever; it had to be the one to launch the attack and pounce.

"I only work if I'm getting paid!"

A slow smile came across the owner's face. "What kind of payment would you like?"

Such a phrase was an obvious threat. In a burst of rage, Sven shouted, "It's not fair! You never give me the chance to be adopted! You make me work and everyone thinks I am not even up for adoption!"

"Well…" Mr. Guy took one step forward, his voice still low as he said, almost thoughtfully, "Older children are so rarely adopted. You wouldn't want to be a burden on this orphanage, now, would you? If I make you work, it is for the good of this place. Besides, I have never told anyone you aren't up for adoption. I can't understand why no one wants the bully sent to sweep and clean for punishment. Or would you rather I said the so utterly helpful obedient boy who always volunteers to help an aging owner?" The sarcasm in his voice was like a snake slowly tightening and choking all his words with the emotion.

Flinging down the broom, the youth stalked away. Mind or verbal games were not for him to play and hope to win, and for once, Sven was not too proud to admit it.

A small chuckle with the same purpose as the beeped warning before a bomb goes off sounded. "Not so fast." One hand snaked out to grab the teen and hold him tightly. The sinisterly low voice seemed to betray the strength the man hid in his arms. "You'll do as I tell you until you are adopted or sent out of here in three years. You'd best learn respect and obedience now, for the rest of the world won't wait for you to learn it." The hot voice of unwanted truth wormed its way into his ear all the way to his frustrated, confused mind and began gorging itself on the loopy, noodle-like mass.

Every movement costing him heat in the face, Sven reached down to retrieve the broom he had flung. Then, stiffly, he went back to his chore of keeping the orphanage clean and ready for any visitors.

The rest of the boys hardly noticed the disruption caused by the trouble-maker.

A man like Gozaburo could only possibly take so much disappointment. No doubt he found me despicable. Well, I had "won" a match to him in chess. He would never let me live it down.

It was not so much that he said this aloud. Instead, I could detect it in every scowl swiftly sent my way or in the perverse joy he had when I answered something not to his satisfaction. Too many questions he asked were for the mere fact of me saying a wrong answer.

"Not paying attention, hmm, boy? Well, if you don't keep your mind on your studies, you won't be staying here much longer. I don't suffer ignorant fools in my presence, Seto."

My name was always a curse word to that man, but I never responded to him those first days, I never complained or wept or cursed; I just thought of one boy's smile and dreams as he had whispered them to me at night in the orphanage, and then I was positive, I utterly knew that this road was the only one leading forward.

Did I regret cheating at that chess game just so I could live here? Never. As long as I was the only one who suffered, everything worked out for the best. As long as Mokuba's dreams were still graspable, all my personal torment was all still worthwhile. Not a day went by when I didn't smirk at the thought of my superior brains against Gozaburo. Not just anyone could cheat in a game of chess against a master and go undetected, and my pride in that was part of what kept me strong through it all. That, and my loss of listening to my feelings or showing them at all. The smirk was my shield in the waging war. Besides, if I didn't keep the smirk on, if I didn't keep reminding myself that I had fooled him, Gozaburo would have won. And I would never allow that.

At least, that was what I told myself later.

Time did not stop for one boy's misery. Already, about nine of the thirty days to when Mokuba would be adoptable had passed. Yet, no change occurred in his brother's condition. Mokuba was still stuck under Mr. Guy's lazy leer for an interminable amount of time.

Mr. Guy was growing silently smugger. A smile cast at Mokuba from across the room was enough for the young Kaiba to know what he was referring to. The words, "Soon, little nuisance, little Kaiba, you won't be able to hide away from the buyers, you won't get to live in my place for free. I'll be able to send you away to a truly good family, one that will make certain your ego is not too big to fit into your miniscule brain" constantly came to Mokuba's mind when the two made eye contact. Such thinking was growing obsessive, but the adolescent did not even attempt to curb it; not the obsessive thoughts on Mr. Guy's hatred and scheming mind nor on his own brother still withering away in a hospital…To Mokuba, everything referred back to his brother. And he did not mean the swiftly-attaching Jumi.

When Jumi had gone to bed before him a previous night, Mokuba had heard of how Jumi's family had died from Suke.

"Jumi? He's here from fire trouble at night. His parents and sister died in the fire, and his older brother, who had been sharing Jumi's room, helped Jumi out. Yet, this brother later died of smoke inhalation." Suke had shrugged. "I think that was his story, anyway."

Just like that, and all his family was gone. He had been at the orphanage a little over a year, and it was mainly his fear of strangers that kept him there. Or so Mokuba had thought at the time and still believed.

"After all," said Mokuba, looking at the boy sleeping as he leaned against the young Kaiba, "someone this…cute should have been gone a long time ago." Then he sighed. Things did not work that way…Mokuba was still uncertain about the circumstances regarding his and Seto's stay at the orphanage…but he did not want to contemplate on that right then, and so, he squirmed a little, hating that he was awakening Jumi, but wanting more for his mind to get off the subject of why no one had wanted to adopt him.

The young boy stirred. "Oniichan? Can we eat breakfast? I smell rolls!"

A small smile crossed Mokuba's face. "Yes, Jumi."

"Then can we play a game?"

"Sure."

With that, the smaller boy raced to get dressed and drag Mokuba to the kitchen area. Even with the added excitement, it still took a long time for Jumi to finish eating, and by the time they settled back into the room to look at the scantily few games, most of the rest of the boys were awake.

"What do you want to play, Jumi?" Staring at the disarray of puzzles and board games that had exchanged pieces and figurines, Mokuba wondered if the rules of the games had been changed with the new paraphernalia added or taken away from each set.

"How about this?" The boy grabbed a nearby box and proudly held it out. Then, he quickly plopped to the ground and tore off the cover, freeing pieces and spilling them everywhere.

The game he chose was chess.

After Jumi had made a big enough mess and taken some of the pieces of a toy soldiers set, he glanced up at the motionless Mokuba who had sat abruptly five minutes before. "How do we play?"

"Um…" Mokuba bit his lip. He wasn't certain he wanted to teach Jumi this game.

The other boy seemed to sense his hesitation, for he looked imploringly up at Mokuba, one hand on Mokuba's knee as he leaned forward, head getting very close to the Kaiba's.

"This game may be too complicated…" Jumi did not respond. "The rules are tricky, Jumi."

All he received was a wide-eyed stare, much like a begging puppy. Finally, caving in, Mokuba set up the board correctly (minus any toy soldiers determined to crawl onto the board) and attempted to explain to a five-year-old how to play the game of chess. Such a task certainly was not simple.

"I like this one!" Jumi exclaimed, holding up the figure of the queen. "And I'll go here!"

Of course, that move was illegal even for the queen, who could move the most out of any of the pieces.

To correct the boy or leave him be…

"No, Mokuba, you can't do that. The king can only move this way." Seto's finger had traced out a block one space wide around the king.

"Okay, I'll go here!"

The boy had glanced up with a smile at his older brother, legs kicking idly under the table. For some reason, Seto had had a little smile on his face, which merely had made Mokuba's sweet curve go wider.

"Sorry, Mokuba, but now I'll go here. Checkmate."

While Mokuba had not ever understood the game enough to plan much, he had always enthusiastically joined his brother in set after set, simply relishing in the time with Seto and how his brother kept teaching him the rules over and over again, always patient.

…Now, the Kaiba had to return the lesson to this boy.

"Actually, uh, that piece can't go there, Jumi."

The boy's face fell as he looked confusedly at the board. "Oh. Where can it go?"

Mokuba studied the board and pointed out all the places the queen could move. Jumi picked one and instantly began waiting impatiently for Mokuba to go. Had Mokuba ever been like this? Right then, he was not too certain about how he had acted in the orphanage.

After just a few turns, the young orphan was casting his eyes about the room for better entertainment. Jumi's attention span was short, and for the first time, Mokuba was beginning to realize how unique his relationship with his brother was. Not just any five-year-old would be interested in playing chess for hours on end. And it took a special teacher to keep up enthusiasm even when the trainee kept losing, game after game…

In the middle of the game, Jumi sat a book down on the floor, crawled into Mokuba's lap—upsetting the chessboard—and begged the adolescent to read to him.

Mokuba gladly complied, quickly forgetting about the chessboard and all the painful memories it brought with it.

Later that night, a small scuffling noise drifted from the doorway. Still awake, Mokuba's eyes strayed over to the sound to see the silhouette of a hunched person. Unaware of his audience, Sven trooped over to his bed and collapsed into it, turning his back to everyone as the world had already done to him. The posture looked familiar…

From one of the earlier days at Gozaburo's house, Mokuba could still hear the sound of his brother and Hobson, the butler. Their argument had been loud enough in the silent house that when Mokuba had awakened to get a drink, he had padded down the hall to see what was going on.

"Making me slave away when I'm so exhausted won't make me any smarter any faster."

"Master Seto, I think we have different opinions on that. And you have no reason to be exhausted. You're behind in your studies already and should find all of this rather simple. If you can't stay awake, you have poor control."

And, as Mokuba thought now, it was probably the comment on control that had made Seto say nothing more.

Outside the door where he had gazed down the darkened hallway with wide eyes, Mokuba had wondered if he should step into the narrow rectangle of light coming from the partially open door. For some reason, the light had seemed to be treacherous, seemed not at all like the blessed sun's warmth that would reflect in his hair and eyes. This light had glimmered sinisterly, ready to devour anyone who went into it. And so lost in his imagination for however long, Mokuba had barely managed to dash back down the hall and into the nearest room when steps had tread over to the door.

"Go get some blessed rest then, Mast Seto. Just remember; I'll be there to awaken you in the morning. You don't see me complaining, do you?"

The butler had waddled down the hallway, acute eyes for once not picking up on the small breathing boy in one of the many extra rooms in the mansion. Instead, Hobson had gone by to wherever he stayed.

Slower to exit, slower to trudge down the hall like an old man, had come his brother. Normally, the boy would have been quick to walk next to him and pipe out little observations or questions in his high voice, but that…just wasn't his brother.

So, he had waited and padded after the brother-imposter and finally just stood in Seto's doorway that the adolescent had forgotten to close all the way. Then, Mokuba merely had looked in.

Seto had already collapsed in his bed, silhouetted in the moon's pale, slender light. His body had been curled slightly in the fetal position, exhaustion adorning his face even as it sought a peaceful interlude from the mansion that sought to eat him alive of his complete willpower, drain him of all emotion. Even in the quick sleep snatching his body, the blue bags under his eyes had made him seem much older, much feebler than the Seto he knew. Quickly, Mokuba had hurried back to his own room.

Slowly, as the memory faded, Mokuba's eyes went back to the window he looked out near his bed and put one hand to the back of his head.

For about the twentieth time just that night, Mokuba pulled out his necklace and down at his brother's smiling face.

I wish you would wake up, Seto, and show me. Show me how you're so different from Sven and Mr. Guy.