Chapter 19: Hope
Seto stood unmoving for a while, watching the doctors transfer Yori from the examination table to the curtained-off bed area. As they hooked her up to monitors and an IV, the déjà vu in the room was almost tangible. Seto half expected the same sassy hospital nurse to enter the room and tell him he would have to wait outside.
"I noticed this," the lead doctor said casually, giving Seto a side glance. He touched the back of Yori's bandaged hand where there had already been an IV earlier in the day. "Was she released from a hospital and given her care provider's approval to participate in this tournament?"
"No." The corner of Seto's mouth twitched. "She's just a rebel."
"All due respect, sir—"
"I know," Seto said, losing his humor.
"Does she have any prior medical conditions we should be aware of?"
Cobra bite. Backstabbing. Lung surgery. Drowning.
Seto sighed. "Nothing relevant that I know of."
They worked in silence for a moment before the doctor spoke again. "I don't have the equipment I wish I had, but we'll run some tests, and we'll do the best we can."
The statement got a nod from the CEO.
"Sorry, Mr. Kaiba. It seems these finals haven't been the excitement you were looking for."
Seto stared at Yori's face, relaxed in unconsciousness.
"Not exactly," he said quietly.
"I'm going to your room." Mokuba spoke up suddenly. The boy had been silent the entire time, and Seto was well aware of the redness in his eyes and the stress in his face. "I don't want to be here."
The image of Marik grabbing Yori by the throat flashed through Seto's mind.
"Hold on," he said firmly. He spoke into his radio, requesting that Roland come provide an escort.
"I can walk by myself," Mokuba said. "I'm not five. And if you think there's something I should be afraid of out there, maybe you should just fix it."
He opened the door and walked out into the hall.
"Mokuba—" Seto followed him out, grabbing his arm. "I said to wait for Roland."
Mokuba yanked away and kept walking. "I said I don't want to."
Seto's nostrils flared. He would just have to walk Mokuba there himself, then return to his duties. As soon as possible, he needed to find out how much of the ending of Yori's duel had actually gone out over broadcast. The broadcasts were meant to end as soon as one opponent's Duel Disk registered a loss, but with everything that had happened, he couldn't risk not making sure the footage hadn't dragged out. He also needed to publicly confirm the five finalists and announce the time of tomorrow's finals.
No rest for the wicked. As usual.
"Did you get any dinner?" Seto asked, suddenly realizing he'd never paused to eat, which meant Mokuba hadn't either unless he'd done so before Seto's duel.
"I'm not hungry."
"I'll have one of the staff bring something by."
"I said I don't want it! You don't even listen!"
The boy took off running, and Seto sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. They'd already fought once today, and he wasn't prepared to run the gauntlet again. His brother disappeared around the bend at the end of the hall.
"Parenting is not for the faint of heart," a voice behind him said.
Seto glanced over his shoulder as Roland jogged to meet him. He snorted. "I'm not his parent."
"Which makes things all the harder."
Seto didn't have a response for that. "I need to work out some tournament details. Will you make sure he's okay? And ask a maid to bring him dinner."
Roland nodded, then said, "The final duel never resumed broadcasting due to technical difficulties."
Seto's eyebrows disappeared beneath his bangs. "Actual technical difficulties? My company?"
"It happens to the best," Roland said stoically. "Instead, a montage of 'best tournament moments' was shown, cut from the previous duels. Mai Valentine, Seto Kaiba, Yuugi Mutou, Joey Wheeler, and Marik Ishtar were then announced as the second-round finalists, and the time was given for tomorrow's broadcast, with location to be revealed."
As Roland spoke, a warm feeling sank into Seto's bones. It was something he didn't experience often—relief.
"Normally," he drawled, "I wouldn't approve of someone overriding my orders."
Roland never lost his neutral expression for a moment. "I prefer the term 'interpreting.' Dinner is already waiting for both of you in your room, so I suggest you don't let it get cold."
"You sure you don't want that promotion to COO?" This time, Seto's voice was serious.
"Thank you, but no," Roland said, which was what he always said. He always declined the pay raises, too. The one time Seto had given him one without notifying the man, Roland had reported it as a mistake to the financial department and had it changed back.
Seto already wasn't skilled at gratitude, and Roland made it even harder. He was a good man, one Seto couldn't live without, and he'd never found a way to communicate as much.
A moment of silence passed. Seto shook his head.
"Roland, I may have really messed this one up."
"Mokuba will come around. It's late, and it's been a long day."
"A long day where I almost got him killed. Marik is dangerous."
But if it had been political suicide previously to expel the Egyptian from his tournament, it would be even more so now. After how things went wrong with the broadcast, it would be child's play for the press to come up with a story about how Seto was rigging his tournament finals in his own favor. Had Marik actually stabbed Yori, no one could have argued his expulsion, but that would have been a separate can of worms in itself.
"If I recall," Roland said, "so was Pegasus."
"Pegasus was an ambush." Seto narrowed his eyes. "Marik came through wide-open invitation."
Roland was silent for a few seconds. Then he removed the dark glasses he always wore, folded them, and slid them into the pocket of his suit jacket.
"I believe in what you're doing here at KaibaCorp, Seto." He looked Seto right in the eye, and the boy swallowed. "You have proclaimed that dreams are worthwhile, that the only limit to achievement is hard work, and that fun is not merely reserved for those who can afford its price tag. I remember a time when KaibaCorp existed to attack and damage the world; you have made it something that builds and betters it instead. I don't believe the potholes along the road compromise the worth of the journey or destination."
And Seto didn't know what to say to that, but that warm feeling of relief sank even deeper in his bones.
Roland smiled. "Sleep well, Mr. Kaiba. I believe there is a light at the end of this tournament."
As Yami retraced his steps to the medical bay, he reached out gently in his mind. /Yuugi?/
The boy hadn't made an appearance since the duel, and Yami had been a bit preoccupied to do anything about it until now. Of course, with everything that had happened, he didn't blame Yuugi for staying in the puzzle. Part of him wished he would have done so himself.
Yuugi didn't appear, and he didn't respond.
The med bay door slid open, distracting Yami for the moment. The doctor tending to Yori frowned at his entrance. Yami thought at first that he wouldn't be welcome, but the doctor only wanted to check the scratches on his face. They weren't deep enough to warrant much concern, and they were too long to easily conceal with a bandage, so in the end, the doctor simply sterilized them and let them be.
"Have you two had any previous altercations?" he asked.
"No." Yami's heart twisted. "We're actually . . . No."
In the back of his mind, Marik's smirk lurked in the shadows. "3,000 years ago, her life weighed too little, and you killed her."
Yami swallowed.
"Does she have any history of mental health concerns? Earlier, she mentioned talking to spirits."
"Just an inside joke." Yami knew better than to answer truthfully, although the irony that the doctor himself was talking to a spirit was not lost on him.
The man went on to explain that she was heavily sedated and would remain so while they continued testing for the source of the problem. Yami nodded along and said nothing; he knew the source of the problem, but there was nothing the doctor could do.
"May I sit with her?" he asked.
"Do as you like."
Yami pulled a chair next to the bed and sat heavily. He couldn't hold her hand for fear of dislodging the IV in it, so he rested his hand on her arm. She was no longer wearing his jacket—the doctors had removed it earlier—and her arms looked pale below her Battle City T-shirt. Yami ran his thumb over a faint scar halfway up her forearm, wondering if it had come from a knife.
Even after seeing her scars the first time, the day Joey had gone missing, he'd never asked about them, not even about the obvious snake bite. He should have; it would have given her a chance to explain the way she wanted to instead of the way the shadows forced it.
/Yuugi?/ he called out again. When he again received no answer, he frowned. He closed his eyes and reached into the puzzle.
The door to Yuugi's soul room was closed. He could sense the boy beyond it, but he didn't want to intrude, so he left without saying more.
He'd barely had a moment to ground himself in the real world before Shadi appeared.
"Again?"
"I'm afraid so," Shadi said.
The doctor, who'd been about to step through the curtained divider, glanced up. When Yami waved him off, he disappeared through the opening, closing it behind himself.
"I know you care for her, my pharaoh, but you must not allow your concern to—"
"That's enough." Yami kept his voice low, but it was firm. He had no interest in whatever "destiny" Shadi was about to preach, not if it was one that put Yori second to anything.
"If you do not gain the remaining two god cards and the other Millennium Items, then every sacrifice to this point will have been for nothing."
Yami turned away. "I no longer care about obtaining my memories."
"I doubt that, but I'm afraid, either way, it is not all about you. I warned your partner the war has already begun in Domino."
Yami frowned; Yuugi hadn't mentioned a personal visit from Shadi. It wasn't like the boy to keep secrets. But then again, it also wasn't like the boy to lock himself away in his soul room without a word.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
Shadi was silent a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "The battle fought 3,000 years ago in Egypt was no war between countries; it was a war between gods. Egypt was neither invading force nor defending nation; it was the board where the gods set their pieces, their mortal champions. Today, that board is Japan, decided by the items gathering to your position."
Yami swallowed. "I'm Ra's champion?"
"Every pharaoh is chosen of Ra."
Funny, he didn't remember interviewing for the job. Yami knew it was a bitter thought, but he couldn't help it, not when Yori's lighthearted voice teased at the back of his mind, "If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?"
"It wouldn't be this," he muttered. He'd rather be an unqualified train conductor.
"During the duel, I warned you there are mere days remaining before—"
"God cards. Items. Valley of the Kings. Stop the mystery war. Got it." Yami gave an empty half-smile. "Because I'm Ra's 'mortal champion'—the dead, nameless pharaoh, apparently irreplaceable even after 3,000 years of candidates."
Had Yori been awake, Yami would have told her he was experiencing possibly his first-ever "why me?" moment. She would have appreciated it. Maybe she would have laughed and kicked his foot under the table. Maybe she would have reminded him of their first conversation in the game shop: "Recently retired, huh? How's that working out for you?"
"Self-pity is unbecoming on you, my pharaoh."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."
Shadi stepped closer to Yori, lifted a hand to gently touch her shoulder, then lowered it. His cold eyes regarded Yami.
"She did not cross three millennia and incur the god of creation's wrath out of blind affection. Would you waste her sacrifices by abandoning yourself to such?"
Yami narrowed his eyes. "Don't test me, spirit."
Shadi's expression remained empty. "What irony. She may make you feel alive, Pharaoh, but the truth remains. There is no life for you here; it was spent long ago. Should you become selfish now, all is lost."
The puzzle warmed with heat. Yami looked away, forced the power back down.
By the time he looked back, Shadi was gone. And good riddance.
Seeing Mai's face brighten as they all piled into the small room again eased something of the edge in Joey's soul.
"Congratulations, mon cher!" she said, smiling warmly at Joey. "I look forward to a battle with you in the finals."
He grinned back.
Nothing had changed for Odion, unfortunately. And since Mai showed them the laptop she'd used to watch Joey's duel and asked what had happened during Yori's, they had to be the bearers of more bad news.
"It seems the tournament is turning to vinegar." Mai gave a quiet sigh.
"Give it a night." Joey tried for a smile. "New days make all the difference."
"Yeah, I bet Odion and Yori will both be on their feet come tomorrow," Tristan said. Once again, he always had Joey's back.
"You need to sleep." Anzu squeezed Mai's shoulder. "I can sit with him tonight."
Mai's eyebrows rose. "You also need sleep."
"I'm not dueling. At the very least, sleep for a few hours, and then we can trade back."
Ryou frowned. "Are we protecting him from something?"
Mai shook her head at the same time Anzu smiled faintly.
"Just keeping him company," Anzu said. "I'm sure Yuugi will do the same for Yori."
Joey frowned. "I don't like that idea if she attacks him again."
"I think the doctors will keep her knocked out for quite a while," Tristan said. "But just in case, I'll go check on him."
"Sounds like it's sorted." Ryou yawned. "The rest of us should kip down for the night."
They all nodded and mumbled agreement. Anzu stayed in the room with Odion, taking over Mai's chair, and the rest of them filed into the hallway. Mai headed for her room, and Tristan ducked into the main medical bay.
When Tristan had spoken with the staff earlier, they'd offered to let spectators share staff accommodations since they had extra beds and it was more practical than doubling up in single-bed finalist rooms. Joey would have happily shared his room with Serenity and slept on the floor, but she'd insisted she couldn't do that to him when he needed his rest for the tournament. So staff room it was.
"Hey," he said, ears burning, "before we head to the staff place, I gotta make a pit stop."
He ducked into the nearby men's restroom, fingers shaking because he'd realized if he walked Serenity to the staff room, there would probably be female staff there, which meant . . .
He tugged the handkerchief from his pocket again, ran his thumb across the embroidered KvS. He examined himself in the mirror, trying to fix the stupid cowlick that made his bangs stick out. As always, it refused to be fixed. And he still had an ugly scab on his cheek from the fight with the Ghouls. He was an embarrassment.
"I really liked her," Tristan said in his mind. "So I should have said something."
If Joey backed out now, maybe he'd never have another chance. And maybe he was an embarrassment, but she hadn't said so yet. With the shirt, she'd been helping him—employee obligations and whatnot. But no one had made her give him her Token of Affection. No one had made her learn his name.
He looked at the handkerchief.
Use. Wash. Return. That was what Tristan said.
Feeling like a goof, he dabbed the soft cloth over his face, accomplishing nothing except tickling his nose.
Okay, use. Then wash.
He held the white square under the faucet until the water turned on automatically and doused it.
Should he use soap? He should probably use soap. It wasn't a wash without soap.
He added hand soap to the cloth and scrubbed it against itself, accidentally splashing bubbly water across the counter. He tried to scoop the water back into the sink and only made more of a mess, so he gave up. The faucet turned off when he pulled away, and then he twisted the handkerchief over the empty sink, wringing a small flood of water down the drain.
Dry? How about dry. Tristan should have said dry.
He grabbed a bundle of paper towels and used them to wring the handkerchief again. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get it drier than damp, and it was now patterned with wrinkles that hadn't been there before.
"Joey, you alright, mate?" Ryou stuck his head in the door. "After everything that's happened, I think Serenity's a little paranoid you'll fall into a coma at any moment."
Joey started, dropping the handkerchief and towels on the floor.
"Be right out!" he said.
He scooped them back up as Ryou disappeared. He slowly peeled the white cloth from the paper towels. After another shake, he tried to fold it neatly and tuck it back into his pocket.
Now return it.
The hardest part.
He squared his shoulders, looked at himself in the mirror, and raised both fists.
"Kitto katsu!" he whispered.
His face turned red as a beet; he was a complete idiot.
He darted out of the bathroom and hooked an arm around Serenity's shoulders like nothing had happened.
"To the staff room!" he announced, already dragging her in that direction as she giggled.
Ryou smiled. "See you guys in the morning."
As he started to turn away, Joey came to a dead stop and grabbed his arm.
"Wingman!" he blurted. It was meant to be a request, but it exploded in a way that was just weird for everybody.
Ryou blinked. "Beg pardon?"
"Just . . ." Joey could feel the heat in his face again. "Just come with. Please."
Although Ryou chuckled, he also nodded, and he didn't ask anything else. Once again, Joey was beyond grateful for his friends.
Even if what he was about to try fell to pieces, at least he'd still have his friends.
Yami looked up when the curtain parted, raising his eyebrows when it was Tristan who entered. The brunette pulled a second chair next to the spirit's.
"How you holding up, man?" He clapped a hand on Yami's shoulder.
Despite himself, Yami almost smiled.
"I'm fine," he said, the lie heavy in his heart but easy on his tongue. "Thank you for asking."
Tristan tapped his own cheek. "Guess it's not so bad. Looked a lot worse when it happened."
"Felt a lot worse," Yami said quietly, turning to look at Yori once more. She lay as still as ever, almost like she wasn't breathing. The thought had scared him so much while sitting beside her that he'd already touched her neck twice to ensure she still had a pulse. And all the while, the echo of Marik's voice taunted him: "You killed her."
"You know"—Tristan snorted—"I didn't like her at first."
Yami nodded. He held himself back from reminding Tristan that he hadn't liked Anzu, Yuugi, Ryou, or perhaps anyone upon first impression. In all honesty, Yami wasn't certain Tristan would like him either—after all, he thought he was conversing with Yuugi.
"Anyway, when we had that big party after Serenity's surgery, I think that was the first time I really talked to her. She said she could count on one hand the number of times she'd gone to a doctor. I said, 'You gonna tell me it's an apple a day?' and she said, 'It really works. As long as you throw it hard enough.'"
Yami managed a real smile this time, but it ached.
"Right?" Tristan grinned. "And we had some stuff in common, stuff I wouldn't have expected. She knows how to drive a motorcycle, and she's read Tomoe Gozen's biography. Nobody likes biographies, man. Joey still gives me grief whenever he sees me with one."
Something pressed on Yami's chest, a weight he couldn't see. "She's remarkable."
"Yeah, she's not so bad. I was wrong." Tristan's expression darkened. "And Marik's gonna pay."
Yami couldn't manage words, so he nodded.
"Good." Tristan stood, slid his hands into his pockets. "I know Yuugi doesn't go for revenge and stuff, but something tells me a guy like Marik is a downhill boulder. He won't stop until someone else stops him."
Yami's eyes widened. He tried to speak and found himself at another loss for words.
"Don't forget to sleep," Tristan said, glancing down at him again. "And let us know if you need anything. We've all got your back."
Yami nodded mutely. As Tristan left the room, he sat in something of an awed silence, counting names to himself—Yori and Yuugi, obviously; Ryou; Joey; Anzu; and now Tristan.
It was everyone. It was the entire group. He was no longer standing in Yuugi's shadow; from now on, whatever he did, his friends would see him do it as himself. And they were his friends. The folder he'd labeled Yuugi's and tucked away had opened to share its contents. Not by mistake. Not this time.
The thought was so overwhelming he had to stand up and pace, even though he only had a cramped space in which to do so. When he finally had himself under control again, he retook his seat and gently rested his fingers across Yori's, careful not to disturb her IV.
More than anything, he wanted to talk to her.
But there was nothing he could do except wait.
Note: I know last week's chapter was a bit depressing for Christmas, but I feel like this one is perfect for the new year. Hope is an irreplaceable motivator; it makes it possible to move forward through the darkest of times. I hope everyone has plenty of hope for this new year. Welcome to 2020! See you next Thursday, January 9th.