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'Tis the Season – Chapter 2 (of 7)Almost five years ago
How his secretary had convinced him to follow her and several of his staff to karaoke, he couldn't say, but here he was, bored out of his mind and slightly tipsy. He'd hoped he could have at least gotten drunk on this little escapade, but his strong sense of duty prevented him from indulging as much as he'd liked because he knew he couldn't ever show such a weakness to those under him.
He'd maintained control of his outstandingly efficient office for the past year by never letting anyone see him less than impeccable at all times. Though they obviously trusted him enough to party with wild abandon, (Wakaba definitely needs to join AA), he couldn't let his guard down.
Consequently, he'd gotten all the entertainment he could stand watching his staff make drunken fools of themselves as they sung increasingly poorly in the large private room. He supposes he'll have to pays for everything since it was his suggestion to rent a room and not subject the entire restaurant to Fuji's singing, if it could be called that.
As the aforementioned accountant staggers up to the microphone again, Seto decides he's had enough for the night. Slipping out the door, he tracks down their waiter and gives him the company and account number to charge everything to for the room. As it was a Saturday night, no one would be expected in the next day, so he was sure they'd close the place down.
Sauntering off toward the exit, his ear catches the sound of a clear tenor voice laying out a popular tune. Instead of leaving, he winds his way to the front of the club, where a slim, man stands in the shadows of the stage crooning to a group of obvious regulars. Three large men crowded around him, blocking his form from most of the crowd. Seto surmises that the guy must be famous and crosses his arms to watch. The man wasn't too bad, but was a bit off-key. His score of 72 at the end reflects that mistake. Seto smirks as the crowed supports the man in his disappointment.
The spiky head looks up and right at him. A smile crosses the celebrity's face and he issues a challenge.
"You seem awfully cocky. Think you can do better?"
"In my sleep," he replies, never being one to back down from a challenge.
"Really? You're on then," the man replies, extending the mic to Seto. Confidently, he strides to the stage amid boos and howls.
What the hell was he getting himself into? As the man hands him the microphone, he whispers, "Loser buys a round of drinks." That close, he recognizes the self-satisfied grin before him, Atemu Mutou, the King of Games.
The game master, primarily known for his prowess at Duel Monsters as its reigning champion, also currently held the World Chess, Backgammon, and Go titles as well as being the number one bachelor in Japan. His reputation for winning at anything kept most people at arms length and Seto had just accepted his challenge.
'Well, if I'm going to be humiliated, I might as well do it in front of a crowd', he muses to himself. 'I hope my employees are still in that room.'
Steadying himself, he flips through the book to a familiar and appreciated ballad and starts the music. His strong baritone silences the crowd as he renders the song casually, not really putting his all into it, knowing that his singing isn't anything spectacular. He just hopes he doesn't get booed off the stage or laughed at like Fuji. And any score above 50 would be a triumph.
Which is why he's very surprised to receive applause from the audience and an 87 as his score.
"Two out of three!" Yami yells, grabbing the mike and flipping through the book for a new song. He finds something upbeat and launches into it, taking the crowd with him as they stand and clap along. He earns a 92.
With his newfound confidence and not willing to be outdone, Seto also finds something upbeat, eventually earning squeals of delight from the women and a few men by the end of the song. He earns a 95.
Now obviously miffed at being bested in anything, Yami calls out, "Okay, three out of five and that will decide it!"
"Sure," Seto shrugs, the latent ruthless competitor now fully out of the bag.
Yami opts again for a ballad, this time throwing himself into it, turning on all the obvious charm at his disposal. Swooning women fall in his wake. He gets a 97.
"Humph. Top that," he smirks at Seto, handing him the mic for a final time.
"I will," he replies confidently. He takes a little longer to find a song this time, settling on a poignant piece about a lost loved one that always reminds him of Mokuba. He closes his eyes, knowing the words by heart and begins. Pouring his heart into the song, he is stunned at its end to see people standing nearby in tears, some leaning on other patrons and sobbing. He blinks. This wasn't his intention at all. In fact, he doesn't know why he even picked such a personal song. Turning to the duelist behind him, he is amazed to find tears streaming down the man's face before he turns abruptly and runs off the stage, the bodyguards at his heels.
Seto's eyes then fall on his score: 100.
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The night at the karaoke bar still plagues him more than a month later. Apparently, it was the only time Yami had lost at anything in the last five years and reporters talked about it endlessly. It didn't help that Seto's 100 had been the first ever earned in the club's 15 year history and everyone was clamoring to find the man who received it. Regular patrons of the bar begged for his return, record execs wanted to sign him, bands looking for a singer posted ads for him; it had become a complete circus. The only consolation he had was that his entire staff had been too blotto to leave that room so they couldn't say anything but how they were disappointed to have missed such an event.
Still, Seto kept a low profile, avoiding being out anywhere unless he had to be. Opting to drive instead of take the train, his workday began earlier and ended later. He skipped three of his acupuncture treatments and six of his martial arts classes. He even resorted to grocery shopping at 3:30 in the morning in case any of the patrons recognized him earlier in the day.
But the shift in his routine was taking its toll.
The stress headaches were back. He'd started acupuncture a few years ago to lessen their severity and frequency, but found the treatment completely eliminated them.
Because he'd stopped Tai chi, his moods had gotten darker again. The practice, which he'd started in the orphanage at the age of 12, three years after he lost Mokuba, focused his rage about being helpless to stop Mokuba's adoption and later his rage about not being able to find him, into something more productive. While he could have practiced at home, his apartment didn't have the mentally and emotionally "clean" space to do so and now, after three weeks, he was starting to unravel.
Without the aikido to physically vent life and work's random frustrations, he'd begun snapping at his staff and treating his boyfriend like shit. Not that they weren't near the end of their tether already, he'd just hoped to end things amiably rather than with Kei storming out of his apartment without looking back.
This was ridiculous. His semi-stable life had gone to hell in a little over a month, all because of that idiot King of Games.
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It had been two and a half months since that night and things had only gotten worse for the young executive. He'd even been called into the office of the CEO, Noah Kaiba, who'd demanded an explanation for the huge drop in production for his department in the last month. Seto couldn't explain. Not really. What could he say?
'Well sir, because I beat the King of Games in a karaoke bar two months ago, he's gone into hiding, refusing to do interviews and everyone is trying to find out who bested him so I can't go out of my house to do any of the things that stabilize me and have turned into the complete prick I am at heart.'
Instead, he promised to improve his department's performance immediately.
Two weeks ago, he'd started jogging to help him calm down and it was helping a little, but after the meeting with Mr. Kaiba, he'd gone back to the stress level he'd been carrying for the past month. He couldn't lose this job. It wasn't just that he'd worked hard in his career and enjoyed his job immensely, but he needed the money to continue his search for Mokuba. He had to find his brother. Nothing else mattered to him more than that.
He runs harder, determined to control his rage and get back on track at work. Normally, he only jogs in the early morning, but today he needed an extra run to clear his head and set out around 10:30pm. Figuring the roads would be pretty deserted at this time of night, he heads toward the park a few miles away. He'll make the circuit and then call it a night. Halfway there, he's nearly run over by a limo that blows through a read light. Angrily he bangs on the hood of the car as it slams on its brakes, inches from his right thigh.
"What the fuck is your problem asshole?" He yells at the tinted window, unable to see the driver's face.
Jogging away in a huff, he's surprised to find the limo pulled up beside him a few minutes later. Stopping in his tracks, he turns toward the tinted passenger door and crosses his arms, a look of annoyance on his face.
"What the hell do you want?" He sneers, lightly panting from his exertions.
A few moments pass before the window slides down slowly, revealing the elusive King of Games.
"It is you," he breathes, surprise and delight warring across his face.
Seto starts, but doesn't reply. This is certainly the last person he expected to see.
Finally, the battle on the tanned face ends and the game king smiles brightly.
"Get in," he commands lightly, opening the door with a flourish.
Despite his misgivings, Seto complies, settling into the soft leather.
The Game King continues to smile at him, his broad lopsided grin threatening to take over his whole face. They ride along in silence for a while before Seto breaks the odd quiet.
"So, what do you want?" He inquires seriously.
"What's your name?" The Game King asks, ignoring Seto's question.
Seto narrows his eyes.
"Why?"
The lopsided grin doesn't waver.
"I just want to know the name of the man who beat me and to beg for a rematch," he grins.
"What if I don't want a rematch?"
"What's your name?"
Seto crosses his arms and leans back.
A slight frown knocks away the grin and he purses his lips in defeat.
"Fine," he mumbles, turning away to look out the window.
"Where are we going?" Seto asks after a short while.
"You won't answer my questions, I won't answer yours," he snaps in reply.
'What a spoiled brat,' Seto sighs to himself. 'I don't even know what possessed me to get in this car.'
Fifteen minutes later, they pull to a stop. Seto had started to drift off, figuring the brat had told his driver just to drive around for a while. The opening of the car door stuns him awake. Climbing out behind his host, he immediately recognizes his location. They've arrived at the karaoke bar that started this whole mess. Great.
Amid many protests, Seto finds himself being dragged into the club. Even on a Tuesday, the place is hopping. Unable to break free from the grip on his hand, he is soon pulled to a table down front near the stage. Thankfully, he'd gone with the t-shirt and sweats tonight instead of his usual jogging wear of a tank and shorts. After dropping Seto in a chair, Yami flops his spiky haired self into the chair across from him.
With no one singing at the moment, the bar, though busy, was rather quiet.
"So…" the smiling young man trails off.
"So what?" Seto scowls, crossing his arms again.
"Don't you have any other mood than sour? I remember that you were warm and pleasant the last time you were here."
"The last time I was here I had a life. After encountering you, I've stopped going out so I won't be recognized, work has become difficult because I've had to give up all of the activities that keep me sane and my boyfriend broke up with me. Tell me, what do I have to be pleasant about?" He grouses.
The other's face falls.
"I-I'm sorry about all that. I didn't realize it had affected you that way. I thought the media would forget all about you once I gave them the story of me as a recluse. My publicist and agent assured me that they would just drop it."
"Well, they didn't," he grumbles, looking at the stage that had cost him so much.
"What should I call you," Seto sighs after a few moments of silence from the duelist.
"My name is Atemu Mutou, but just Yami is fine."
"Yami?" Seto turns to face him.
"A nickname my little brother Yugi gave me. He died from a rare liver condition last year."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I don't think it would be appropriate for me to use so personal a name."
"Think of it as a thank you for your song," Yami replies, soberly.
"My song? What do you mean?" Seto frowns.
"The last song you sang here. You sang it with such sincerity that, for a moment, I felt Yugi here with me. It was an unexpected gift. Thank you."
Seto swallows; too shocked by Yami's revelation to reply immediately.
Yami continues.
"I'd hoped to run into you again to thank you, but you never came back here and none of the regulars knew who you were." He looks away toward the stage.
An uncomfortable lull descends upon them, broken by Seto after about ten minutes.
"Funakoshi," he inserts into the awkward space.
"What?" Yami turns back to the sullen man before him.
"My name. Seto Funakoshi. Under the circumstances, I guess you could call me Seto."
"Okay, Seto."
The lopsided grin returns.