Author's note: I'm back from vacation with a fabulous tan and sun-streaks in my hair. Ah, the beach has been good to me! Anyway, I just want to take a second to thank all who have reviewed and continue to read this story. All of you rock out, and I appreciate every last one of you. Thanks!

Now then, aren't you excited? You're finally going to learn the significance of my seemingly irrelevant story title! …yeah, well you can feign excitement right?

………………………

Chapter Three

The patriarch of the Mazaki household was always the first awake each morning.

Contrary to his wife's laid back disposition, and his daughter's cheerful exuberance, Mazaki Heiji was a serious, steadfast man. Tall, broad shouldered, and often adorned in plaid, his appearance perfectly reflected a hardworking, diligent, man who'd get the job done. But there was intelligence and good humor in his forest green eyes that betrayed his lighter side, and his manners were impeccable.

Although in spite of this, he still had a stubborn streak which he had passed onto his daughter. It was a quality which ensured that the beginning of each day should at least hold some semblance of familiarity and routine where the rest of it often scattered into unpredictability (compliments of his lively family).

Having grown up on a farm, Heiji's preference for rising at dawn had more to do with years of training his body to adapt to the hours before most of the world had risen then anything. But his inherent sense of self-discipline ensured that relocation to the city hadn't stamped out this specific inclination where others had eventually fallen away.

Anzu was used to waking up to find her father just getting in from his morning run, or on occasions where she was able to sleep a little later, in the kitchen making breakfast. It was a rare occurrence for her to be awake before he was.

Which was why finding her casually seated in his favorite armchair at 5 o'clock in the morning, innocently perusing the morning paper that had arrived mere minutes ago, gave Mr. Mazaki quite a start. He ran a hand through sleep disheveled black hair, and tapping his chin, studied her with a mixture of confusion and concern.

"Don't tell me you're having a secret affair with the paper boy."

Despite his serious demeanor, life with a playfully witty wife had drawn Heiji's own sense of humor out of him. Together, they enjoyed nothing more than good-naturedly teasing their teenaged daughter, and Anzu had grown accustomed to her father's dry remarks paired with an unflinchingly deadpan countenance.

She barely glanced up from the society page she was looking over, "I'm having his love child."

"I see," he dropped gracefully into Eri's rocking chair and pretended to seriously digest the information. "Well considering the legends of his father's homeliness spread clear across the neighborhood, we can only hope that nature is kind to the poor bastard and he inherits his mother's famously beautiful features."

"That," Anzu finally lowered the paper, "Is a gross and unfair exaggeration."

"Which part? Your beauty or our paper boy resembling a fairytale ogre?"

She almost smiled before, remembering the terms she was currently on with her parents, rolled her eyes instead.

"So," Heiji studied his daughter seriously, "Set your alarm clock wrong?"

She studied him with equal seriousness, "You shaved your mustache."

"Your mother was right to advise against excessive facial hair. Wood chips kept getting stuck in it." He swung the conversation back on track, "Expecting an early morning caller?"

"Just the father of my child and his paper cart. Don't carpenters, as a general rule, wear their wood chips with pride?"

"Not this carpenter. Lose a bet?"

"Not lately."

Heiji pressed forward, "Had a sudden, uncontrollable desire to see the sunrise?"

"No."

"Taking up early morning jogging?"

With the type of overly dramatic sigh only a teenaged girl infinitely annoyed with her dad can expel, Anzu folded up the paper and set it aside.

"What is it about parents that make them demand explanations for even the most innocent behavior?"

Her father smiled, "We don't perceive any behavior to be innocent. Particularly when it involves teenagers who have no prior obligations that would require their waking at what they once dubbed an 'indecent hour,' wide awake at 5am."

"Yeah?" Anzu demanded, "Well maybe said teenagers are not awake by choice but are kept up most the night by the mortifying prospect of facing another day under the watchful, all-seeing eye of a maniacal boss their parents were so generous as to secure for them!"

"Hmm," he contemplated the substance of her outburst. "I'm not quite sure I understand what you're getting at, love. Perhaps if you were less subtle..."

"Argh! Can't we be serious for one second in this household?" Anzu glared at her dad. "Man cannot live on sarcasm alone."

"Now this is precisely why it worries parents to see teenagers awake at such hours," he calmly replied, "Lack of sleep combined with those who are not generally morning people makes for cranky outbursts and overall surliness."

"My surliness has little to do with sleep deprivation, and everything to do with unreasonable parents and stupidly smug bosses." She stood up with an indignant air, "Now if you're quite finished tormenting me, I have to go mentally prepare for a day of psychological warfare."

"Your mother says you're a drama queen," Heiji couldn't repress a full-fledged grin, "But if that's truly the case, I have seen nothing of it."

"This is me leaving," she unnecessarily declared as she started in the direction of the hall.

"Hang on. There actually was something else I needed since you've mentioned it."

"What?"

"Nothing really," Mr. Mazaki said casually, "Just another explanation for some innocent behavior of yours."

"Which is?"

"I was cleaning out the fire pit last night…"

Anzu froze, "And?"

"Well I personally see nothing wrong with using a polyester miniskirt for kindling," he said, "But your mother seemed to think it was a little strange."

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," she insisted, stalking out of the room.

But her blush gave her away.

…………………………

"What are we doing today Moki-bear?"

Three hours after her early morning mortification minute with daddy dearest, a less irritable Anzu cheerfully addressed her charge as she entered his room.

"Moki-bear?" While his tone was more curious than annoyed, the youngest Kaiba's expression betrayed his dislike of the spontaneous nickname.

"Not a fan of the whole 'animal-related names' thing I see," she observed. "Well I guess that rules out Monkey-boy and Mackerel."

Mokuba cringed briefly in horror, before understanding dawned on him and he smiled shyly, "You're joking."

"I never joke," she winked, "So no nicknames of animal origins, that does narrow it down. Hmm… Oh I know! How about Mac-n-cheese?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Right… no food-related names either, gotcha." She grinned at the boy while pulling up a chair next to the desk he was seated at. "What's happening here?"

Spread out before them was a collection of illustrations of impressive skill and wonderful detail for having been drawn by an eight-year-old. They mostly depicted two creatively costumed superheroes battling villainous foes of various shapes and sizes. Anzu smiled at the two heroes' features as both had thick brown hair and vivid blue eyes, though the boy of the pair was given much darker eyes than the smiling girl.

"Just drawing some pictures," Mokuba shrugged, "It's no big deal."

"Ah, now you're joking," Anzu studied his work appreciatively, "These are fantastic."

The boy blushed. "You think so?"

"Hey keep this up and you can forget about food or animal names, I'll just call you Michelangelo."

Mokuba grew even redder, "Really?"

"Absolutely," she nodded emphatically, "I know skill when I see it kiddo, and this? Talent with a capital 'T.' Maybe you'll draw something for me sometime, if I'm lucky?"

"Sure!" he beamed up at her, "I'll draw you a picture right now, if you'll draw me one."

"Well I don't know about that," Anzu glanced nervously at his artwork. "I mean, I already confessed yesterday that I can't draw stick people, and when in direct comparison with such artistic genius… I just might develop a complex."

"Don't feel bad," Mokuba earnestly patted her shoulder. "Let's see, you also told me yesterday that you have a lousy singing voice, no cooking skills to speak of, can't grasp math or chemistry, and you say you talk way too much."

"Well yeah, but I didn't think such information would be used in a failing attempt to make me feel better," her shoulders slumped, "And this is my complex in the first stages of development."

"Hey, I wasn't finished," he pressed on. "What about how you said that you're an excellent public speaker, and a terrific dancer. What about your infal… infuri… in…"

"Infamous," his sitter supplied.

"Right. Infamous social skills, and all the great advice your friends are always happy to get from you?"

"I guess," she hid her smile.

"Plusyou're really pretty, and smart, and nice," Mokuba informed her, "In case you didn't know that too."

"Well thank you sweetie," Anzu playfully pinched his cheek, "You're pretty cute and clever yourself."

"Thanks." Mokuba blushed for what felt like the billionth time that day, and pushed a blank sheet of white paper towards her, "Now will you draw something?"

"I will draw to the best of my ability," she assured him.

Then, selecting a bright orange pencil crayon drew a reasonably straight line down the center of the page, "There."

Mokuba glanced at it skeptically, "It's a line."

"Ah, to the untrained eye, it is but an ordinary line but to a true artist it becomes so much more."

"Uh… okay," he squinted at the page, "So, um, what is it?"

"Ever hear of a political spectrum?" Anzu asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

"No."

"Well basically it's a scale, or you know, line representing where various groups with their various ideologies stand in regards to various issues."

"Okay…"

She tapped one side of the paper, "You see, over here on the left side of the line is where those with more liberal ideas would be, and here on the right side, the more conservative folks hang out. And the farther to the left or right, the more liberal or conservative respectively you are."

Mokuba wrinkled his forehead. "I see."

"You'll learn all this in school a couple years down the road, and you'll be ahead of the game because of it," Anzu informed him. Then she grinned, "You see what a good nanny I am? I teach you useful things!"

"So you drew me a political spectrum so you could… educate me? In the Summertime?"

"When you put it that way, it does sound rather cruel," Anzu playfully admitted, "But fear not! This particular spectrum is not political, but rather a crude representation of the differences between… Oh I don't know say, your brother and myself which make us both such unique individuals."

"Which is your 'grown-up' way of telling me what I already know," Mokuba declared, "That you and my brother don't get along very well."

Anzu blanched, "Now what makes you say that?"

"Just because I'm a kid, doesn't mean I'm blind or deaf," Mokuba told her. He studied the 'spectrum' on the page, "So if you're all the way on one side, and he's all the way on the other…"

"That's right," Anzu said, "We are on opposite sides of the spectrum, and thus cannot relate."

She added a dot to each end of the line; one to represent herself, and the other to represent Kaiba.

"Hmm," Mokuba took the page from her to add his own additions before handing it back.

He had drawn another smaller line precisely through the middle of the first.

"What's this?"

"It's where you two will relate," the boy explained, "I don't see a spectrum, I see a road. With two people traveling from different directions."

"Okay, and this intersecting line?"

"That's where you guys meet in the middle," Mokuba grinned up at her. "That's where you become friends."

………………………………

"He thinks the two of us are destined to be friends," Anzu told Kaiba later that day in his car, "Imagine that."

"I'd rather not," he snidely told her, narrowing his navy eyes when she scrunched up her face to mimic his rude response.

"Yeah well I'm sorry you find the idea so distasteful," she tossed her hair in a manner which would have had greater effect had it not been restricted by a bright pink ponytail. "Although, I can't say my reaction was any different than yours, I at least had the courtesy to keep my disgust to myself."

"I have no use for courtesy," Seto explained.

Which was true. Kaiba was used to being on the receiving end of unfaltering politeness from those around him, but then it came with being on the top of the food chain. That didn't mean he appreciated it; in fact he rather despised it. If it were delivered with even a modicum of sincerity, he might feel different, but such as it was, every pretense was just another game people played.

But while he was especially skilled at said games, Seto didn't enjoy others trying to play with him. It was insulting. He was well aware that very few people actually liked him, but they all acted like they did. Was he supposed to respect these blatant phonies? No, give him somebody who had no qualms about telling him to his face that they couldn't stand him, and he might be forced to take notice.

Speaking of which…

"You? No use for common courtesy? Wow, I never would have guessed," her frequent sarcasm… didn't quite annoy him as much as one would think. "You sure hide it well."

"So why exactly did Mokuba assume we'd ever want to be friends?" he said the last word as though it left a vile taste in his mouth.

"I don't know, Kaiba, why don't you ask him?"

"I asked you."

"Well I'm not a mind-reader okay?" She turned to face him with a rather put-out expression, "God, who cares, anyway? So the kid wants two people he likes and admires to get along, big deal."

He stopped at a red light, and met her gaze. She was clearly irritated, and trying to repress her obvious discomfort at being confined to a car with him. Kaiba noticed that she didn't look as sexy today as she had the day before. She was more… cute with her huge blue eyes and flushed cheeks, hair pulled back in a stubby little ponytail, and a fluttery pale blue top combined with white peddle pushers and strappy sandals.

Of course, she was no doubt wearing underwear as juvenile as the pair she'd unwittingly shown him the day before. He couldn't imagine the type of innocent, bubbly, overly-cheerful girl who'd don bright yellow panties with daisies… well actually yeah. He was looking at just that type of girl and finding himself regarding her with something besides the usual unmitigated disdain. Which was really frustrating.

He decided he needed to punish her for causing such thoughts, being so appealing.

"You don't think before you speak," Kaiba replied deliberately.

"So?" She turned back to face the road at the same time the light turned green. "What's your point?"

"It's pathetic," he said, while casually stepping on the gas. "It indicates ill-breeding, lack of thought, weakness."

Anzu snorted in a fashion that was particularly unladylike, and had no doubt been picked up from her idiot dog-faced friend.

"You," she said, "Are ridiculous. Did you know that?"

In fact, he did not know that. Kaiba had been called a lot of things in his day; cold, cruel, hard, bastard, megalomaniac, egotistical, ruthless, to name just a few and barring the rather extreme 'megalomaniac', he didn't deny any of them. But this was the first time he'd ever been accused of being something as pitiful as ridiculous. He was actually offended, though he didn't express it.

Instead he kept the perpetual sneer on his face, and turned a corner. "Pin-pointing one of your many failings makes me ridiculous?"

"Yes! You take such pains to be as arrogant, unfeeling, and… just evil as you can possibly be in any given situation," she moved her hands around a lot while she made her point, "You're not even a real person, you're like a caricature, a cartoon. The big, evil, villain with the cape and diabolical plans that foil the hero at every turn. God! All you need now is an evil laugh, which I'm sure you're saving for a moment where the effect will be the most chilling."

This absurd description of himself was a huge blow to Seto's ego, not because she compared him to a cartoon villain, but because doing so revealed how little she thought of him. He didn't care that she didn't like him, or that she found him evil, but the fact that she did not take him seriously wounded his pride and in turn made him angry.

"You," he spat "Are far too uninformed, ignorant, and utterly melodramatic to form a coherent or accurate opinion of anybody, let alone myself. It's no small wonder you befriend such morons; you're too pathetically ill-advised to see how stupid they really are."

"Oh get over yourself," she tossed back. "You're just trying to belittle me so my opinion doesn't hold any gravity. I'm not stupid, and you very well know that. And why does everybody say I'm melodramatic? I'm not! I'm… expressive. I'm a dancer, a performer, and by definition we as artists are allowed to have… flair."

"Right," Seto barked, disgruntled by her ability to hold her own in an argument. "I'm sure flair by definition means 'gross exaggeration that pushes the boundaries of all that falls into the realm of common sense and realism to the extreme.' You've only just further proven your own ignorance."

"Let me tell you what jackass by definition means," she was starting to raise her voice now.

"No need," he assured her, "I've seen your friends."

"I… you…Augh!" She buried her face in her hands.

Seto smirked at her lack of a comeback, glad to have won that round. He really was so much better at this sort of thing.

"Stop smirking," Mazaki commanded irritably.

She was glaring at him in a way that made her look especially attractive, eyes dark and icy, cheeks flushed a pretty pink. There could be no doubt to any casual observer that she absolutely hated him, and the thought cheered him. At least she was taking him seriously now.

"And button up your damned shirt," she continued with aggravation, "Who do you think you are, anyway, some kind of stud?"

Seto narrowed his eyes, and pulled over in front of her house, grateful for the opportunity to really study her. She was looking at his chest with a mixture of anger and… what was this? Interesting. He'd unbuttoned his shirt earlier in response to the heat with no intention of making himself desirable but apparently it had just that effect. And on this infuriating girl, no less. Having the upper-hand was an excellent position to be in.

He laughed mockingly at her expense, "You clearly think I am."

"What?" Now her cheeks were crimson, "That is completely insane and not even remotely true. You're delusional."

"And you," he said with arrogant amusement, "Are blushing."

"If my face is red it's because I'm angry," she insisted, "And disgusted by your conceit."

"Mazaki," he smirked, "You forget how transparent you really are."

"Oh just shut up, you maniacal freak," she finally noticed they were in front of her house and hurriedly reached for the door. "I'm glad we had this opportunity to have a 3 second conversation about Mokuba. What a fantastic idea this whole driving me home thing was, it's working very well."

"Good night, Mazaki."

"I believe that was a courtesy you previously claimed to have no use for," she accused.

"Very well." She had a point. "Get the hell out of my car, and try not to flash me this time."

"Ack!" She was practically purple at this point, "I hate you!"

He said nothing, but watched calmly as she scrambled out of his vehicle as fast as she could manage. But instead of speeding away the second she slammed the door, he waited for her to stalk into her house before leaving.

Seto bit his lip pensively as he headed home. Now what in the hell was that all about?

……………………………

"Anzu, sweetheart!" Eri held up the charred remains of her daughter's miniskirt as the irritable teenager stormed into the house, "What did Calvin Klein ever do to you?"

"Get that cursed material away from me."

"Well I see you're adjusting nicely to your new job."

"Could you just give it a rest?" Anzu glared at her mother.

She sighed, "Okay dear. I'm finished. What's wrong?"

"Aside from the obvious?"

"Yes."

"Just… Diabolical super-villains are not supposed to be hot!"

"Now, now darling," Eri grinned, "Everybody should be hot if they possibly can be."

"I concur," Heiji said as he walked by.

"Why am I living in the only household on the planet in which the parents' united front is more about tormenting their child than disciplining her?" their daughter demanded. "Why?"

"It was all in the manual," Mrs. Mazaki serenely explained.

"How to torture your child through incessant teasing?" Anzu shook her fist towards the ground as though addressing the underworld, "You did this."

Her parents couldn't contain their laughter, even as they took turns kissing her forehead.

"What would we do, Heiji, without our little drama queen?"

"I am NOT a drama queen!"

……………………………

Author's note: Ah, but she totally is. See you all next chapter!