Chapter Six
Uncle Torao
Kaiba came to his uncle's mansion later that evening.
His limo pulled up to the large, black gate, holding in an abundance of leafy trees and rose bushes. There was a single security guard at the gate. He stepped to Kaiba's window.
"Mr. Torao is not expecting any guests this evening."
"He'll want to speak with me," said Kaiba. "I'm his nephew." The last word sounded strange; it twisted in his mouth. Kaiba made a sour smile.
The guard took out a walkie-talkie. "Name?" he asked.
"Kaiba Seto."
"Mr. Torao, there's a Mr. Kaiba Seto here to see you. He claims he's your nephew."
There was a pause. The walkie-talkie crackled. The guard listened carefully to the static.
"Right, he'll see you," the guard told Kaiba. "Please drive on in."
Kaiba folded his fingers. His uncle wasn't a complete coward, then; so much the better. He looked out the windows.
The lawns rolled with deep green hills; there were willowy trees and bright flowers. It would have been a pleasant place to live. Kaiba noticed a tree house and a swing set. Then the mansion came into view.
It was a tall, stately Victorian model: about three stories high, with a small tower in the back and cherubs built into the façade. There was a fountain at the front and more rose bushes—didn't his uncle ever get sick of them—and two bright new bicycles left out to rust in the open air.
Kaiba walked to the door. He barely had time to knock before his uncle opened it.
"Seto, what a surprise," he said, with feigned delight. "I haven't seen you in ages. Where've you been, my boy? Too busy to visit your old uncle."
His uncle's voice hadn't changed; it was rich and melodious and it ached with pleasantness. Kaiba's fingers twitched. His uncle babbled on.
"My how you've grown. Nearly as tall as my oldest boy, Isami. Isami," he called inside. "Come here and meet your cousin. Bring Toshizou."
"I'm not here for a social visit," said Kaiba.
"Nonsense, we're family here." His uncle gave him a charming smile. He had gotten a tan, making his blue eyes appear brighter. "Why don't you stay for dinner?"
"I've come about my inheritance."
His uncle's tan lost much of his color. He gulped; his Adam's apple bobbed.
"Your inheritance?"
A young boy burst through the door. "Mokuba? Mokuba's here!"
Kaiba stared at a small boy with short black hair and an oversized soccer jersey. When he saw Kaiba, his blue eyes started for a second. Then he smiled; he was missing a tooth.
"You must be Seto, then," said Toshizou. "Nice to meet you!"
Seto froze. For a moment, he thought he was looking at Mokuba.
"Yes," said his uncle, coming up besides his son. "Come in, have dinner, and meet the boys. It's been so long since they've seen you they barely recognize you, and your Aunt Tamako made roast beef for dinner." His voice was wheeling, full of honey and warmth.
Kaiba's sympathy broke.
"I'm here on business," he said. He noticed his oldest cousin coming up beside the door. Isami had let his brown hair grow long and had gotten violet contacts to cover his green eyes. He glared at Kaiba suspiciously. Kaiba looked back at his uncle.
"Perhaps, you'd rather I come back while you're at work," Kaiba offered. "I could tell the board how you got to be president by stealing the 15 of the stock that belonged to me and my brother. Or I maybe I could take the information straight to the press. I wonder if they'll still let you adopt Mokuba, knowing that you dumped him in an orphanage once and only want to adopt him now to get a hold of his 7.5 stock holdings." He smiled slightly.
The remaining color fled his uncle's face. "Boys, get back to dinner," he said in a low voice. Toshizou looked puzzled. Torao stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him.
"What do you want?" he asked.
His voice was different now, direct and to the point.
"From you?" said Kaiba. "Nothing. The way I see it, I win. I can prevent you from adopting my brother. I can buy his share and add it to mine to have 15 of the company. I can buy out the rest, force a takeover, and have you kicked out. I can send the company's stock so low you'll be bankrupt. I can do what I like. But I've decided to give you a chance."
His uncle licked his lips. "Yes?"
"Do you know of a game called Duel Monsters?"
Torao's eyes flickered. "My older boy likes it."
"It happens to be one of my favorite games," said Kaiba. "But playing by itself is boring. Each game must have a gamble, a risk."
"Come to the point."
"Meet me at the Kaiba Corp. labs next week and we'll have a friendly game. If you win, I'll forget I ever knew about the stock."
"And if I lose?"
Kaiba smiled. "I'll think of something."
0 0 0
Shortly after their father's funeral, Uncle Torao, who always bought them expensive birthday presents, pulled up his Rolls Royce and announced pleasantly that he'd give them a ride to the orphanage. Aunt Tamako hugged them both, then gathered her sons, their cousins into their second car, a Mercedes, and headed back to the apartment.
It was a warm afternoon. Seto looked back at the tombstones: thousands and thousands of plain white rocks, gathered together like pigeons on a rainy day. They were all the same. Already, Seto couldn't tell his mother's grave marker from the others; his father's differentiated only in that it was freshly dug, with the smell of incense still hanging in the air.
So this was death: to be made the same, plain, nothing.
Mokuba clung to Seto's arm, sobbing. Seto barely felt the fingers tightly gripped around his arm, the small face pressing against his sleeve. He was numb.
The Rolls' engine began to hum. "Come on boys," said his Uncle cheerfully. "We don't have all day."
Seto opened the door. He made sure Mokuba went in first, then he sat down against the hot black leather. He shut the door.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," said Uncle Torao, as they drove. "It's hard losing a father." There was no emotion is his uncle's voice, just that same, irritating pleasantness. "Why, when my father died," his uncle continued, "I was overcome with grief. If I didn't have my older brother there, I don't know what I would have done. Brothers are great, very handy."
If only he would shut up. His words were stupid and annoying. Seto stared at the window and watched houses fly by. Mokuba's sobs subsided into a quiet snuffling.
"It's so sad, I only wish there were more I could do to help." Seto stared at the back of the slick, black head, bobbing as the words babbled out. "No really, if there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask."
The Rolls Royce still had that new car smell. Seto squeezed his hand into a tight fist and buried it in the black leather.
"It's too bad how things turned out. Orphaned so young. Such a shame."
At last, the orphanage came into view. It was a pleasant-looking place; it had a wide lawn and the house was white. It was autumn; the red leaves were falling, and some of the older children pushed them into big piles while the younger children scampered into them. They all stopped and stared as his uncle's car drove up.
"Well, boys this is your stop," said Uncle Torao.
Seto opened the door and got outside. He noticed Mokuba was still sitting in the car, looking frozen and afraid. Seto walked around to the other side, opened the door.
"Come on, Mokuba," said Seto. "Let's go."
Mokuba looked at him with sad blue eyes. Seto grabbed his hand and walked with him towards the orphanage. Seto walked with his back straight, unhesitating. Mokuba hung onto him, walking slowly. His Uncle unloaded their luggage and put it by the side of the road.
"Well, boys, I guess this is goodbye," said his Uncle. "Mokuba, be good, and try not to pick on your brother too much. And Seto, you watch out for that little brother of yours." It was the same thing he said every time he left, as though this were some family outing coming to an end.
Seto felt his brother's grip on his arm tightening. He noticed, for the first time it seemed, that his sleeve was wet from his brother's tears.
"Take care, boys. Goodbye." This last, buoyant remark was thrown from the already rolling windows. The black tint sealed off his uncle's handsome, smiling face, his merry blue eyes. Then his car drove off, the squeal of tires echoing in Seto's ears.
0 0 0
Kaiba hated him.
He thought of this as he worked, sleeves rolled up, typing furiously on his laptop. From the glass box, smoke came out like a thick heavy fog. Yellow eyes formed first; teeth and claws gleamed. The fog set into scales, rippling over a muscular body. The dragon roared: from it's mouth came a whirling stream of red.
Kaiba checked his monitor. No good. The body would just pass out.
He needed to go farther.
His eyes ached from the constant glare of the monitor. He studied the effect on the body's nerves. Those were simple enough; what was more difficult was fooling the brain.
Fool it into thinking the body was hot. Fool it into thinking the body was cold.
Fool it into thinking the body was dead.
Kaiba stretched. He craned his neck to look inside the box. The fire had erupted into a thousand tiny demons, cackling and biting, ten thousand sharp, tiny teeth. Each one was aimed to send a sharp jolt of electricity to a nerve in the body. There had to be pain, not just force, or the mind would resist the allusion.
He turned back to the keyboard.
It was all so simple, like a game of chess. Uncle Torao would come. Uncle Torao would play. And Uncle Torao would lose.
Then Kaiba would test the Death Stimulator on a real, human subject.