Disclaimer: Unfortunately I still don't own Yugioh.

Chapter Four – The Teller of Lies

The grey sky, the grey concrete road, the grey tombstone, everything looked grey, even the trees and the grass and even the light. Everything. "You are a liar!" said a broken voice. He looked up and found a young boy kneeling in front of him. For a moment he was taken aback because he thought the comments were directed at him, but soon he realized the angry comments were directed at someone else, so he continued to look on emotionlessly with half interest. "You are a liar!" the words chocked out of the boy as he slammed his small fists on the ground. Pitiful. Really. He sneered cruelly at the boy when suddenly the little boy turned around and revealed a rather familiar face…

Seto Kaiba opened his eyes sluggishly. For ten minutes he just stared at the top of his poster bed, then finally he sat up on his bed. In silence he studied the round clock hanging on the wall at the other side of the room. It read six and fifteen. He sighed, got out of his bed and changed into his school uniform before he made his way to the dining room.

"You are up early, Mr. Kaiba," commented the elderly housekeeper.

Seto said nothing and sat down in his usual seat and began reading the newspaper on the table waiting for him.

The housekeeper either did not notice or did not mind that he was rudely ignored and continued to ask, "What would you like for breakfast Mr. Kaiba?"

Without bothering to look up from the newspaper the teenager replied curtly, "The usual."

The housekeeper understood and promptly left the room without another word. Moments later he returned with a maid holding a silver platter. "Here's your breakfast, sir," the housekeeper announced as he served the warm toast and latte. Seto gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and hastily picked up the toast for a half-heartedly bit. He put his toast back on the dish. "What day is today?" he asked quietly, his eyes never leaving the newspaper.

"Sir?" he asked, surprised that he was spoken to.

"What day is today?" Seto repeated his question, his voice still as soft, but was slightly irritated. He disliked repeating himself.

"It's…" the housekeeper paused to ponder then continued, "It is November the eighth, sir."

"I see," replied Seto, absentminded, preoccupied. "Arrange a ride to pick up both Mokuba me," he thought for a moment and added, "Contact the office and tell them I won't be going tomorrow."

"Yes sir," replied the housekeeper.

For the first time his blue eyes turned toward the house keeper. "Make sure the ride will be on time. I do not like waiting," Seto warned coldly. With that he went back to his breakfast and his newspaper.

Seeing he was no longer needed the housekeeper retreated out of the room, leaving his young master behind.

And once again there was silence.

Mokuba silently pushed open the door and walked inside. He found his older brother inside, facing away from the door and in front of the computer. He was not at all surprised, after all, his older brother always seemed to be busy, even on weekends. As for weekdays he would always go to school, and then to work and then he would come home to do more work. Sometimes he wondered if his brother was a robot.

Carefully, the boy crept deeper into the room, his feet made no noise as they made contact with the soft carpet. Standing right behind his brother he finally stopped and opened his mouth, prepared to speak. Yet, moments later, he closed his mouth once again because the sound of constant typing discouraged him, so instead he silently watched his older brother's back.

As much as he loved his older brother he hardly ever talked to him. On good days he would be able to talk to Seto face to face for about half an hour, on bad days he could not even talk to him for three minutes. It was quite a shame, because although his brother may not know, he was the only one who could supply him with good conversations. It was not like he never tried talking to people his age, but he found he could never have interesting conversations with them because all they liked talking about were soccer, cartoons or video games. Although Mokuba was interested in at least one of the topics – video games, he had always find himself being so many levels ahead of everyone else. In anyway case, he often played the games before they reach the market because of his brother's connections, and really, there was no point in talking to other people about games they never played. It was for this reason that when he was around his classmates he often fell silent, and this silence was often mistakenly interpreted as snobbishness.

Not that he cared, though, he never liked his classmates much anyway they were all so… stupid.

Of course he felt lonely sometimes, but such was the price of being rich, so he never complained. He did not feel he had the right to complain… but what was the use of having all those multi-players video games when he could only play by himself? His older brother did not like visitors, and even if he did there would be no one who Mokuba wanted to invite, because everyone else was so stupid.

Except for his older brother, who was always too busy to play… though Mokuba was used to the whole deal by now, or at least that was what he often try to convince himself…

Forgetting where he was he let a sigh escape his lips.

Seto turned around in alarm but clamed down when he saw his brother. He commented thoughtfully, "I didn't know you were here."

Mokuba looked at his brother for a moment before asking, "Hey Seto," he hesitated before continuing, "Can I ask you a question?"

Seto nodded subtly.

"Why are we," Mokuba paused trying to find the right words, "why do we… have to visit that grave tomorrow?" asked Mokuba quietly.

Seto looked surprised for a moment, but he recovered and replied curtly, "It's a tradition."

"I guess I will have to go?" Mokuba asked.

"Yes." There was no room for argument.

"Okay," Mokuba replied softly.

Seto stared at his brother for a moment then he too sighed. "Listen, Mokuba. I know you don't like this too much, and how last year this idiotic reporter took pictures and edited the photo on computer so that it looked like you were crying hysterically, and you got laughed at by some kids. But at least that woman wrote nothing bad about you. Frankly, I am not too fond of graves either, but it will be very bad for our reputation if we don't even visit our real father's grave. It's sort of our duty as sons. Ridiculous, I agree completely. But– "

"What was father like?" Mokuba interrupted.

Again, Seto was surprised. For a long time he said nothing, then he replied in an icy voice, "Does it matter? He is dead. That's all you have to know."

"But he was a better father than Gozuburo right?" asked Mokuba with a frown.

Seto sneered. "Define 'better' Mokuba. What is 'better'? No adults in this world are actually good inside, you know."

"But still, you liked him better than Gozuburo right?"

To this Seto gave no answer and there was silence.

"I can't believe you… How can you just leave us at a time of crisis like this?" cried a dark haired woman, with tears in her eyes.

"I – I look, Yuko, money is tight for us too. You cannot believe how much day care cost, and food… I can't cook, you know sister, and eating at a restaurant cost a lot of money… And I can be fired at any time. With two children that I must take care of I cannot afford to not save up the little remainder that I have each month," explained Seto's father.

"Little! For heaven sakes! You are living in the wealthy part of Tokyo! How dare you not help us!" the middle aged woman screamed.

"I would if I can!" cried the father.

"So you are going to completely disgrace your family by not helping your own sister!" the woman cried angrily.

"I am sorry, but the large amount of money you are asking to borrow is not exactly money I can just suddenly give," replied the father.

"Fine! If you are not going help us we will go! Let's go Ichiro, if this selfish man is not going help us, we will find our own way," the woman said quietly to a tall, black haired teenager standing at the other side of the room with his younger cousin.

The teenager silently gave a quick wave at Seto, and followed his mother out of the house.

"Remember page thirty-two math, and the page fifteen in the workbook," the teacher said to the anxious students. "Dismiss."

Thirty-two students shot up like rockets and filed out of the classroom, their backpacks in hand. In seconds they were all gone, except for one.

Sluggishly, the remainder rose from his seat, and collected his books and put them in his backpack. The teacher waited impatiently at the door. "Come on Seto! I need to leave for an appointment today, come on! Quick! Quick!" the teacher rushed.

Still Seto was reluctant to move any quicker than he was. However, he did begin walking, toward the door while the teacher glanced at him disapprovingly. He walked out of the classroom without a word and into the half-empty school building. He paused at the door and looked outside. The schoolyard was almost empty. He smiled weakly and began to walk outside toward the playground with his head staring hard onto the ground.

"Look! It's Takooser coming this way! Everyone take cover!" cried a boy. Everyone laughed and ran behind the slide on the playground.

The brown haired boy gasped, and nervously looked up. Then he began to walk the other direction.

"Woof! woof!" mocked another. Everyone giggled like mad again.

Seto said nothing and continued walking.

"Hey is he leaving already? How rude! We waited for him for a whole ten minutes and this is how he is treating us!" teased a girl.

"No wonder he has no friends," replied another sarcastically. The group laughed again.

Still Seto said nothing.

The group quickly caught up with the boy and stood in front of him. "Hey Takashi!" cried one of the boys. Seto ignored him and began to run around the group. "I said Takashi!" the boy cried angrily and roughly shoved Seto back.

The brown haired boy stumbled and rather ungracefully fell on the ground with a thud.

Seto slowly made his way to his home. What normally was a half an hour trip took him a whole hour due to the five bruises on his leg. He slowly took out his keys and opened the door.

"There you are!" cried Mr. Takashi, "I was about to phoned the school to see if you had a detention or something."

Seto looked up at his father silently, then he took off his shoes.

"Didn't I tell you to come home early today?" asked Seto's father sternly.

"I am sorry," Seto replied quietly and began limping toward his room.

The father frowned. "Hey Seto come here please," he requested. Seto thought for a moment before complying and walked toward his father as quick as he could. "What's wrong with you legs?" the concerned father asked.

"I was playing soccer with my classmates and someone accidentally kicked me when he was trying to get the ball," replied Seto smoothly.

Mr. Takashi shook his head silently, "That's why I hated that sport. I assume you got your uniform dirty the same way, right?" Seto looked down at his shirt stained with dirt, and nodded silently. The father sighed, and then he smiled. "Alright then, you better change quickly. You know it's a special day today. We will be leaving in five minutes." With that he gave Seto a small push toward the bedrooms.

"Here's water," said Seto as he limped back with a small vase filled with water.

"Thank you," Mr. Takashi said as he took the vase from his son and set it in front of his wife's grave. "Okay Mokuba you can put your sunflower in now."

Mokuba walked up to the grave wobbly and carefully stuck the flower in the vase. Suddenly a butterfly flew in front of him and he began to chase it.

"Mokuba!" Seto cried, as he got ready to walk after his little brother.

"Just let him go," Mr. Takashi said as he placed his hand on his son's shoulder, "He can't really hurt himself here, besides, it's his birthday."

Seto nodded with a soft smile and turned his attention back to the grave.

"Hey Yuki, it had been three years now. Mokuba is three today and Seto is now eight. They are both well and healthy. Seto is doing very well in school… I think you must had been watching over us, because all three of us had been quite happy the last three years…" the father said to his deceased wife. Seto bit his lips at the last comment. "Do you have anything to say to your mother Seto?"

The boy stared at the grave hard for a moment, and then he closed his eyes tight and summoned an image of his mother in his head. A graceful woman with brown hair and blue eyes appeared talking to a younger version of himself…

"Go apologize to that boy now, calling people names is mean," the woman said sternly.

"But mother! He called me names first!" replied the young boy.

"Seto, two wrongs don't make one right. Revenges are just for weak people who have no control of themselves," replied the mother. She looked at the confused looking boy in front of her and gave a small laugh. She continued, "You see, Seto, people's heart are weak like flowers, you have no idea how much a little comment can hurt other people's hearts. So Seto will you go and apologize?"

The young boy looked up at his mother, and nodded.

Seto opened his eyes again, in front of him was still the grave, and beside him was still his father waiting patiently for him to speak.

"Mom, I am confused."

"Mokuba, smile!" cried Mr. Takashi in frustration, "We need some good birthday pictures." Of course, he had already given up on making his three-year-old son listen to the command a long time ago.

Seto struggle to hold his little brother down, "Take the picture! I am tired," Seto cried. So the father did, but the pictures didn't turn out well. Mokuba either looked like he was growling or crying, both were not exactly desirable for perfect pictures, however, at least they were pictures.

The father sighed as he put down his camera. He made sure he put the camera a far enough distance so the birthday boy would not be able to touch it. "Seto, should I get the cake now?" he asked as he sat exhausted in his seat.

The boy nodded. A few minutes later, a small double chocolate cake with three burning candles arrived, again Mr. Takashi made sure the cake was far enough from Mokuba so he could not touch it. When the song was sung and Seto blew off the candles, because Mokuba could not blow them all out himself. Then, the cake was cut up and shared between the three.

"Seto," the father said as he took another bit of his piece of cake.

"Yeah?" the boy replied with half interest.

"I am sorry I had not been home much in the last few months, you know," the father said.

"It's fine," the boy replied quietly with a shrug, as he cut a piece of the cake with his fork.

"It's not," replied the father, "So I promise I will take Friday and Saturday off this week end so we can finally build your birthday gift together."

Seto stared at his father, as a smile crept onto his face. "Seriously?"

The father smiled. "Of course. I never lie."

Seto looked outside the window. Large raindrops beat on the window as a lightning flashed. He sighed. Turning around, he walked toward the large paper box at the corner of his room. He smiled softly, his father promised to build the computer with him tonight. He turned to look at the clock. It was seven. His father should be returning any moments…

The sound of an opening door interrupted his thoughts. He quickly ran out of his room to the living room. However it was not his father, instead an old lady and his little brother greeted him. "Oh it's you, Mrs. Hida," Seto said, his disappointment apparent in his voice.

The old lady shook the water off her umbrella and let go of Mokuba's hand. "Hello Seto, your father phoned me and told me to pick up Mokuba from the daycare for him because he is stuck in traffic," Mrs. Hida said with a kind smile.

"Did he say when he would be home by?" Seto asked anxiously.

"Eight. You must be hungry though, let me make something for you guys to eat. I will stay with you guys until he arrives," the old woman said as she walked toward the kitchen, leaving the two children alone in the living room.

Seto sighed and turned on the television and his Playstation, while Mokuba sat beside him and watched him play.

"Why isn't dad here yet?" Seto asked anxiously. It was nine-thirty and his dad was still not home. He was beginning to worry.

"It's probably just the traffic," replied Mrs. Hida soothingly.

"But he said he would be back by eight!" cried Seto.

"Shhhh!" Mrs. Hida said, "You don't want to wake Mokuba up."

Seto nodded and quieted down, but he was still as anxious. "But…"

"It's a very rainy day Seto, maybe he is stuck behind some large accidents," replied the old lady. The bell rang. Seto gasped. Mrs. Hida stood up from her seat and walked toward the door, with Seto following closely behind her. "Maybe your father forgot his keys," she said with a smile and opened the door. Greeting her at the door was not the face of Seto's father; however, but two policemen. "Hello, how may I help you?" Mrs. Hida said in a confused voice.

The policemen looked nervously at each other before looking at Seto, their eyes shined with pity. "Is this the Takashi resident?" asked the one standing on the left.

Mrs. Hida nodded. "Yes, what is the problem?"

"Mr. Takashi had been in…" began one of them.

"An accident," the other finished.

"Which hospital is he in?" Seto asked before anyone else could say more.

There was an awkward silence before one of the policemen replied, "The university hospital…"

"What… What is his condition?" asked Mrs. Hida, with her hand over her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper.

The policemen glanced at each other nervously again, but before either of them could say anything, the eight-year-old boy answered softly, "He is dead, Mrs. Hida."

"I… want… father…" Mokuba cried. Tears were spilling down his cheek as Seto held him still. "Stop it Seto! You are hurting me!" he cried as he struggled to escape out of Seto's grip.

Yet, Seto refused to let go of him, instead he ordered, "Sit still!"Surprised at his brother's raised voicet, because his older brother never yelled at him before Mokuba stop struggling and sat still in the seat next to Seto.

A Buddhist priest wearing special costume entered the room. Mokuba began sobbing again. "I… want… to see… father…" Mokuba muttered between sobs.

"Stop crying!" Seto hissed in a low whisper, extremely irritated, "Father is dead! Stop asking for him!"

"No! He is sleeping! Why can't I go and wake him up?" Mokuba asked, getting ready to jump out of his seat again.

Seto hold his little brother still. "He is not…going…to…wake up!" Seto exclaimed in frustration.

"But he promised – " Mokuba began but he was interrupted.

"Promises are not meant to kept," Seto whispered bitterly.

The priest began to do the Sutra chanting. Everyone in the room quieted down.

"No! Dad would never break a promise!" Mokuba defended in a low whisper.

Seto closed his eyes in despair. An image of his father appeared in his head, and he could almost hear him saying, "So I promise I will take Friday and Saturday off this week end so we can finally build your birthday gift together." He bit his lips hard. The priest was still chanting, but he was not listening. His mind floated to a conversation he had with his father two years ago...

"No, of course not," his father had said with his confident voice, "I will never leave you and your brother alone."

"You don't know anything you naive idiot!" Seto pushed Mokuba down on the floor, eyes flaring, fingers pointing accusingly. 'They are all damn liars!"he cried abruptly above the chanting. Everyone stared at him, but he could not see them. In a frenzy he ran to room where they kept his father's body, somehow avoiding everyone who tried to stop him. "Liar!" he repeated, he pounded on the door. Behind him he could hear shouts, commotions, and his little brother crying.

He could care less.

As he attempt to open the door he screamed again. "Liar!" There was more commotion behind him. The door would not budge. His mind blanked out except for thethoughttoopen the door. He hit the door with his fist a few more times before he began kicking. His brother cried harder. Still the door would not open. He backed up a little and rammed into the door. The door would not budge. He backed up again but suddenly strong arms grabbed him, stopping him. He looked up and saw that a few guests had taken hold of him. In vain he struggled to be free. Slowly his brain began to registered the voices around him calling him to stop. As his common senses returned he gave up struggling, instead, limply, like a broken doll, he allowed the adults to carry him back to his seat.

The priest continued chanting.

When the priests left the hall seemed rather quiet. The guests began to leave. Against the flow of people, a tall dark haired teenager slowly moved toward his cousin. "Um…" he began, but he paused, uncomfortable, "I am sorry about your father."

The boy nodded dully without looking up. He said nothing.

"Your aunt Yuko said that…" Ichiro paused again. "You can't come and live with us."

"I know," Seto replied in a whisper.

"I am sorry…" Ichiro repeated, his voice was filled with guilt.

"It is okay," Seto replied softly, mechanically, emotionlessly, "I will be okay." He stood up and began to walk away from his cousin.

"Seto, it's not!" Ichiro cried. He calmed down quickly and added, "Stop avoiding me."

Seto abruptly turned. Eyeing his cousin in surprise, compassion was not something he was too used to. He frowned slightly. "I am not avoiding you."

"You always walk away when I want to talk to you about your future," Ichiro replied. "Don't you know where they are going to take you?"

Seto nodded calmly. "I know."

"Don't you care about that at least a bit? Don't you know how serious this is?" Ichiro asked, his voice demanding for an answer.

"I know," Seto repeated himself. "They are putting my brother and me in an orphanage."

"Aren't you going to at least fight that? Do you actually want to go to an orphanage? You are not even going to try begging my mother to change her decisions? Are you going because you hate my mother?"

Seto shrugged. "How will begging change the situation?" he asked quietly. "Grandma died a few years back, my father was an only child, and your mother is the only sister of my mother. The account my father set up for us will not allow us to use the money till I am eighteen. So the orphanage seems to be the only other option."

Ichiro recoiled, offended at his cousin's indifference. "Why do you let the world push you around all the time?"

Seto shrugged again. "Because this is the only possible outcome."

"So you actually believe in fate and destiny?"

Seto looked at his cousin for a moment, then he shook his head. "I don't. But in this case, there is only one possible out come. And no matter how hard I fight I will still end up in an orphanage. I don't want to waste my time."

Ichiro stared at the ground in front of him in despair. "You are going to go with your brother. Do you know how much he may suffer? He is still young."

"I know." Seto turned his head toward his little brother, asleep in a chair. He smiled weakly. Turning to his cousin he added thoughtfully, "I will take care of him. After all he is the only family I have left." His face was unreadable as he turned away once again. Again he began to walk but again he stopped. Without turning his head he whispered, "Ichiro, to answer the question I think you are asking me: I don't hate your mother. She is ignorant, but it is not her fault."

Ichiro kept his silence but frowned. While it seemed all right for a teenager like himself to think that, it seemed unnatural for an eight year old to call an adult ignorant, even if that was true. Seto continued his analysis, "She is greedy, but she really did love my mother. As for you, you always keep me company when she argues with my dad about money." He sighed wearily. "Though with the amount of money she was asking for, I was not surprise my father did not give it to her. When my mother died, your mother inherited half of her money. If she used the money wisely you guys would have been living relatively well right now."

Ichiro bit his lips. He muttered bitterly, "I know. Gambling. She is addicted to it, but I could do nothing about that."

"Exactly. Sometimes, you just can't do anything about the situation…" Seto said. He turned back around, and looked deep into his cousin's eyes. Ichiro flinched and pulled away from the unnerving gaze, the boy's eyes were much too knowing for comfort. Seto did not seem to notice and continued, "Aunt Yuko will stay the same. Even if I can give her all my money the outcome will still be the same, at the end she will be broke, and at the end my brother and I will still be sent to the orphanage. Nothing will change."

"I would make you stay with us no matter what… but…" Ichiro said suddenly with a meek laughed. "I won a scholarship Seto, soon I will be going to America."

Seto smiled sincerely. "Congratulation." He laughed quietly. "I guess that is another reason why we can't come and live with you."

"I am sorry I can't stay with you guys."

"Don't be," Seto replied earnestly. "You were always nice to me. You were the only one nice to me. There is nothing that you should be sorry about. I will be fine. Perhaps it's better this way," he added evenly, "Everyone in my school hates me anyway."

"They hate you?" Ichiro asked gently, his brows furrowed.

Seto shrugged. "Teasing, mocking, jeering… They did what ever they can to make themselves feel smarter than I am. They want to feel superior…" The boy faltered. His eyes hardened. He continued icily, "Sometimes they hurt me."

"So that is why he gets all his bruises…" Ichiro muttered to himself. He shook his head sadly. "Why don't you ever tell your father? Why don't the teachers do something?" He lift his hand and placed it on his young cousin's shoulder.

Seto's eyes flashed. "Don't pity me!" the young boy cried as he shook off the hand. Ichiro looked up in surprise, but Seto's gaze was once again lowed on to the ground. His voice once again became meek and with his feet he drew invisible circles on the floor. He began in a low voice, "I don't mind them so much anymore... I used to. I used to wish that I could be their friend. I used to do things to please them, anything, even if I knew what I did would be pure entertainment for them and would do absolutely nothing. I just wanted them to like me. I used to wish that one day they would just suddenly like me." He paused. His voice grew cold and cynical. "I don't want to be their friends anymore. I am glad I am not their friends."

"Why didn't you fight back?" Ichiro asked. "Why did you just let them hurt you?"

"What can I do? I am over powered ten to one. My retaliation would be most spectacular," Seto replied sarcastically. "I never like fighting anyway…" His mouth tilted to a bitter smile. "But don't you think it would be much worst if they completely ignore me? They are just jealous that I know more than they do. Jealousy implies some form of respect."

Ichiro was speechless at his young cousin's cynical view and melancholy voice. He did not know how to response. He realized that what the boy told him was probably something he never said to anyone else. His father would become too protective; his brother is too young to understand, as for the teachers, the boy could not trust them. He felt horrible, because he did not know how to comfort his poor cousin, who, though he had always liked, he never quite got to know, and who he would likely not see often in the future. Finally, after a long silence he decided to speak the only thing he thought could be of comfort, "Those kids are just dumb, you are a very gifted child. As long as you can keep that in mind it is okay."

A faint smile appeared on the boy's face. He changed the topic. "Hey Ichiro, you will come back after you finish university in America right?"

"No… at least probably not but we will see…" He looked at the boy in front of him. The boy was looking at the ground in deep thought. Uncertain, Ichiro took a step toward the boy, however, he did not touch him; he was scared the boy would crumble at his touch. "Are you…" But before he could finish his question, he could feel two thin arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He felt his shirt becoming wet.

Seto was crying.

The Kaiba brothers slowly made their way to their father's grave. Unable to bare the silence, Mokuba spook up, "Hey Seto, you are not mad I asked you about father yesterday are you?" Mokuba asked with his head staring down on the ground.

Seto said nothing for a while but finally replied, "No."

"I am sorry big brother. I just don't really remember what father was like. I can't even remember what he looked like," Mokuba said apologetically.

"It's okay, Mokuba. The past does not exist, not any more."

Not the end

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