Chapter 11

Finally, at long last, the day had arrived.

Mokuba would get to see Seto today!

As soon as his eyes popped open a little after five in the morning, he was unable to go back to sleep and lay trembling in excitement. When would Ms. Dojinschi arrive? Unfortunately, his memory was completely intact, and the exact time was around ten o'clock. At least five more fours to wait.

Jumi was still sleeping. Though the tendency was slowly lessening, the younger boy had crawled into his bed last night after a nightmare. Though Mokuba had asked what it had been about, the young orphan had not replied and only hugged his "oniichan" tighter. Mokuba could guess what Jumi had seen, and he had stayed silent after that, leaving Jumi a silent strength instead of one built on unsteady words.

Slowly, Jumi blinked open his eyes. "What's…going"—here a big yawn interrupted his speech—"on, oniichan? Is it time to get up?" His eyes were like half-moons from the way they were opened.

"No, it's not, Jumi. Go back to sleep."

Too late; once young children were awake, they stayed awake, especially at the thought of an entire new day of games.

The other boys were sighing angrily in their sleep, and one nearby rolled over in discontent. From the jerking of the blankets, it was obvious trying to convince the younger boy to remain abed was not a good idea. They needed to go somewhere else.

Across the way, as Mokuba slid to the side of the bed, he noticed the absence of Sven. Then, the thought of the older boy's news of adoption brought a faint smile to Mokuba's face. But, still, it was difficult to be happy for someone else when his own life was dismal. And, Mokuba just was not certain how well the teen would fit in with his new life. He still remembered the retorts about rich people.

Yet, unbeknownst to the young Kaiba, Sven was, at that very moment of darkness in the Januka mansion where he had awakened from the same eagerness as Mokuba felt, trying on suits.

The two raced through breakfast, Jumi for once not needing to be urged to hasten nearly as much, and with a smile creeping out from behind his small hand, Jumi couldn't help but continue to beam around at everything as if it all were an inside joke.

In a way, it was. Mr. Guy had no idea, or so Mokuba guessed, of what was going to transpire. The element of doing something without permission added another layer of excitement to an already six-tiered cake. But soon, the cake would wobble and smash to pieces of gooey frosting and wads of air-fluff gasping for breath as they lay upside down in chunks on the dirty floor.

Always thrilled to do the same things they had done the past endless count of days, Jumi grabbed Mokuba's hand and dragged him off to begin another round of games. This time, it was building something with the blocks inside.

Automatically making a tower the young boy could knock over, Mokuba's thoughts dived into his past. And, suddenly, an hour before the car would arrive for Mokuba, the boy realized something. He could imagine just how everything would go if he went to visit his brother.

A roller coaster of emotions. The high would come each time Mokuba was allowed to go visit his brother. There was so much hope he could have floated away in the air. Would his brother respond today? Always, without fail, the boy would believe his older brother would.

But, as roller coasters go up, they must plummet back to the ground. Only, for Mokuba, the track had been detached somewhere and he would crash instead of slowing gradually. His brother would always be the same when he left. It was obvious. If Mokuba had had no effect when the strange condition set in, why would a few weeks make a difference?

Then, if he went once, the next time Ms. Dojinschi hesitantly offered to bring the boy, he would nod excitedly without pause and began to count down to the time of the next visit where he would be crushed…and so on in a pattern that never changed because Kaiba Seto never did things by anyone else's desires. Always his own.

The cycle was so obvious that Mokuba could visualize it effortlessly.

Mokuba slowly took his place near his brother's still form. Those vapid eyes would not resemble a cold mountain stream again; instead, they were a mirror, but one that was so aged and abused that it had fogged and cracked.

"Hello, niisama," Mokuba said softly, taking his brother's immovable hand.

Footsteps occasionally shuffled past next to a sharp, stern click of a nurse's feet. And, voices loud by nature would ask mumbled questions that were either answered with a smile or a bored tone, depending who was on duty. In the psychiatric ward of the hospital, a visitor never knew exactly what he or she would hear. But within his brother's personal room, a different sound would stifle and spur on memories, regrets, wishes, and other random emotions. This sound was far worse than unseemly laughter or babbling that indicated a person at least was conscious.

Silence.

Such a potent sound…one heard a lot during the visits and echoed within Mokuba's own heart. His questions…unanswered. His memories…forgotten. His regrets…left to guilt him. His wishes…impossible. His overwhelming thought: Seto is surely going to snap out of this state. One day. Soon.

A lie.

For the first time, Mokuba began thinking his brother was not going to wake up at all.

And, as Jumi bounded along next to him, releasing a small giggle, the young Kaiba realized something else.

He wished Seto had never won that chess game.

The day it happened was one forever marred for any semblance of fond remembrance.

Getting through the lessons was harder than usual because Gozaburo was relentless.

"You've been studying here for more than six months! I should expect you'd have improved more than you have!"

"You're just never happy!" I had balled my hands into the fists they so often made. Indeed, the form was more natural to me now than the form of a thumb's up or polite wave.

"I have reason not to be happy. You're not performing at my expected level. I should go back to the orphanage and choose a better heir!"

Here, my smirk was triumphant. "You never chose me! I forced you to adopt me when I won chess against you!"

For some reason, my words made a smile slither slowly to his face. "What was that, Seto?" he asked more calmly.

This terrified me more than anything ever had. Voice higher than usual, and not from the puberty I was about to go through, I reiterated, "I chose to come here myself. Remember our deal? I won the chess match to you!" Would he rescind his side of it now and drop us back off at the orphanage?

It was worse than that.

"Oh, I see. You think you won that game through your own techniques and…skills." His eyes focused clearly on mine, and they were not lying. He might have even known I had cheated. But that didn't mean anything; I had still outsmarted him. "Well, Seto, it so happens that I went to that orphanage that day to adopt an heir. And I left with one."

No…

That meant…

Oh, yes. My platinum box was crushed. The pieces irredeemable.

The moment I challenged him, Gozaburo's decision had been made. I would be the one. He let me win. He came to the orphanage to adopt a child, and he had gotten the perfect one for his wishes. He didn't want a frightened, timid soul who would do his work out of fear. Rather, the tyrant wanted someone who had some spirit to fight back and would survive the harsh conditions of the training. A rebellious heir would better manage a corporation fighting against numerous other companies.

My hands had gone slack and I almost sank to the ground. But I did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words had shocked me. How much the truth had given an insufferable blow to my mind and pride.

After that lesson, which had sunk into my very soul never to raise out a hand for aid again, the truth of my lesson to Mokuba returned to me. I had been a fool to think I could ever show my true self or that my dreams ever mattered. Trust no one…

I never had control in my life for one second. I had not changed the course of events. Someone else had always held the power over my life. And, in one of philosophy's other eternal debates, choice or destiny, the answer remained ambiguous. Perhaps that was why I detested so much hearing others who believe in fate.

Ten o'clock arrived, as did a certain car to pick up Mokuba for a visit to his brother.

Alone, hidden away, Mokuba never saw the confusion on his teacher's face as she played a game with Jumi, the boy unable to answer her questions. He never saw Mr. Guy's growing ire at the way Kaede felt she could come and visit as much as she wanted without so much as filling out paperwork. He never saw Jumi's beaming smile at his teacher or his leaning over to whisper something secret in her ear. He never even saw the other boys doing what they did to get by through the slow days.

He never saw his brother that day, never gave in to the hope in his heart. He never even glanced at the picture around his neck.

Mokuba, stowed away in a closet with numerous belongings, passed most of the day in utter darkness and stiffness. He was a corpse without truly being dead. But from the way the young Kaiba felt at the moment, his experience could not have been far off from real death.

Now, the vice president of the largest gaming company put his head into his arms and wondered which felt worse: his brother betraying him or him betraying his brother.