Chapter 46: Crushed Roses
Joey knew there were limitations. He'd known that from the start. Real duelists, they had more than the cards in their decks. Usually they had two or three decks' worth, sometimes more, cards and cards and cards just waiting in the wings to be swapped in. Real duelists, they could change their strategies to account for their opponents or the specific rules of a competition.
Between forty and forty-six cards were allowed in a regulation deck. Joey had exactly forty-nine cards to his name, and that was after adding Duke's Orgoth and reclaiming Red-Eyes. The seven extras that weren't in his deck were true trash cards that no one would let him trade away, the sort of cards people were more likely to use as bookmarks or drink coasters or maybe to let their kids chew on than they were to put them in a deck. Every decent card Joey owned was in his deck, and he had nothing else to swap in to account for rules or opponents. It was only Battle City victories that had allowed him to finally clean out all the trash ones that had padded it before. Even knowing he was fighting Kaiba, even knowing he'd be facing a god card, there was nothing Joey could do to amp up his deck.
And staring down that big, blue giant, he wished he could have. He wished there were some back-pocket card that would've flipped his whole strategy to suck the fear from this moment. Because without that trump, the whole field was dripping with it. Fear. Joey felt it in his bones.
Obelisk leaned in, looming over the whole island, red eyes sharpened for murder. He and his owner shared those murder eyes, so at least that wasn't new.
Joey took a slow, quiet breath.
The attack order came: "Obelisk, crush him."
Joey's strategy was luck, and some people said he couldn't call that a strategy at all, but it was all he had. Luck to come this far with forty-two cards scraped together through trades and victories and friends. Luck to still be on the field when everybody (himself included) knew he shouldn't be. Luck to be friends with people as great as Yuugi, Yami, Tristan, Anzu. Luck to have his sister cheer him on, sight and everything. Luck to have Kris there, too, model-gorgeous, somehow, somehow interested in him.
He'd take that luck, and he'd spear it through a god.
He gripped the pig in his pocket. Then, as the god dragged a fist through the air toward him, whipped up a wind to bend trees, Joey flicked a button on his Duel Disk.
Kaiba had tributed away his monsters. Joey's trap had failed. This card was all he had left. Yellow glow lit his side of the field, and then four little sheep materialized, smiling all calm and content.
Half of Joey expected Obelisk's fist to go right over them, or at least right through them, but the Scapegoats did their job: When the god's fist came down, the first blue sheep in the line popped out of existence.
Joey lowered his trembling arms. He hadn't even realized he'd thrown them up to shield his face. Obelisk leaned back, still towering over the field but thwarted for the moment. Joey's lifepoints remained untouched.
"Cheap trick," Kaiba snarled.
"Lucky dodge, Joey!" Serenity shouted.
Joey grinned.
There were three sheep left. He had three chances to come up with a way to beat a god.
Krisalyn didn't regret the path that had led her to Battle City. Seto Kaiba was the worst of black-hearted businessmen, and the more she saw him up close during the tournament, the more she realized that. As he mocked and berated Joey during their duel, she curled her hands into fists in her pockets and tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that he would get what was coming to him; her brother would see to that. When Zigfried had first outlined his plan for her, Kris had been slightly hesitant, wondered if it was too much even for Kaiba's crimes.
After watching the way he treated Joey, she no longer had any doubts.
Before the official press release for Battle City, Zigfried had come to Domino City in person. He'd caught Kris off guard, showing up unexpectedly at the rink, right in the middle of her practice. She finished a sit spin and looked up to find her coach, except it wasn't her coach, it was Zigfried, leaning far enough over the retaining wall that he might have fallen face-first on the ice, grinning and waving both arms to greet her. He looked like a flamingo lost in the arctic with his magenta, crushed-velvet suit and his white ruffled shirt cuffs flapping. She teared up at the idea that he'd taken time off work and flown all the way from Germany to Japan just to buy her dinner and catch up.
Except it wasn't just to catch up.
Seto Kaiba is throwing a tournament, Zigfried told her. The appetizers hadn't even hit the table yet.
Seto Kaiba. Zigfried's obsession.
Z was a programmer. All through his childhood, he'd been groomed to take over their father's company, Schroeder Corp. At every business party and company retreat, Hans von Schroeder spoke about his son, the child prodigy, and all the wonderful things in store for the company once Zigfried became a part of it. Krisalyn had only attended one such party. One of her father's board members had looked sideways at her hearing aid, and after that, her father told her she didn't need to be part of the company atmosphere because she had no future in it—after all, Schroeder Corp only needed one heir. He tried to be gentle about it, but tact was not a strong suit for either of her parents. It stung, but not as much as it did five years later when her little brother, Leon, started attending those same parties with her father's full encouragement.
How's Schroeder Corp? she signed. She had to sign it twice because Zigfried was practically bouncing in his seat and couldn't keep his eyes in one spot.
Can you just speak? he said. My signs are rusty, and there is so much to say.
Krisalyn bit her tongue. The appetizers arrived, and she tried to content herself with the salty flavor of her favorite seared tuna because with the restaurant noise, she couldn't hear half of Z's words, but he wasn't really talking to her anyway.
Seto Kaiba's tournament. Kris had heard the rumors, of course. Her coach knew KaibaCorp was the direct rival to her father's company, so he always informed her whenever the corrupt organization made a public move: opening a theme park, releasing a new toy, holding a Duel Monsters tournament. Just because Kris had no future in her family legacy didn't mean she was ignorant of company concerns.
"Do you want to participate?" she asked her brother.
He almost choked on his salad. Auf keinen Fall! Then he launched into what was a familiar story, based on the pieces she caught.
Once upon a time, Schroeder Corp, as a proud parent company, ran many successful branches. Most beautiful of these was Gretel Games. Every toy, every game, everything Zigfried von Schroeder loved was produced at Gretel Games, and one day, when he was president of Schroeder Corp, he would expand the branch to be the company's main focus. Because of the financial soundness of the idea and the greatness of his son's vision, Hans von Schroeder the Wise supported the endeavor and began preparations immediately.
Emboldened by family support and filled to the brim with grand dreams, Zigfried set to work on revolutionizing the gaming industry. Over years of painstaking labor, heart-shattering defeats, and triumphant rallies, the prodigy slowly developed the greatest achievement of his life: an augmented reality system which would bring ordinary games to life through holographic projections. He called it DreamSight.
But when he was twenty years old, a rival appeared on the field. KaibaCorp, a company which had previously been military focused and only a blip on the Schroeder radar, suddenly rebranded. They had a brand-new CEO, and that CEO had a brand-new direction—gaming.
Zigfried met Seto Kaiba by accident. They both applied for the same international grant, which funded innovations created by "bright minds under twenty-five" in the business field. The creator was an old businessman who wanted to see the world advance before he outlived it; he was known to be ornery and hard to impress, and though he offered his impressive grant each year, he rarely awarded it. When Zigfried received word his application had advanced to a "true consideration" round, he was only too happy to board a flight to Switzerland. But when he arrived at the mansion, dressed in his best satin suit and ready to impress, all the while pretending he wasn't sweating, he discovered someone already there. A kid. A surly kid in an underwhelming, blue cotton suit.
Seto Kaiba. Fifteen years old. CEO of KaibaCorp.
Zigfried couldn't hold back his shock.
"My innovation will change the world," he said. "I will revolutionize gaming. I will bring it to life as never imagined possible. What could you have to offer?"
With barely a dismissive glance, Seto Kaiba the Kid said, "You have gum in your hair."
Zigfried frantically checked his prized, waist-length locks, freshly trimmed and straightened for his interview, only for Kaiba to say, "My mistake. It's all that color."
Bubblegum-pink was indeed Zigfried's choice of dye, but he recognized the insult, the idea that he was lesser, that he was unprofessional, whether by looks or ability. And such a thing implied by a child who'd been in the field a bare month.
"It is good you applied," he told Kaiba. "It is good you have rebranded. Now I have someone to beat."
But that wasn't how the story went. Old-man Wilson did award the grant that year, but not to Zigfried von Schroeder. He gave it to Seto Kaiba. Every business magazine heralded the magnificent news of the fifteen-year-old prodigy making waves.
Refusing to be beaten, Zigfried returned to his work with renewed vigor. He threw everything he had at DreamSight, and such dedication returned tenfold. Only twenty-two years old, he completed his life's work, and at its internal unveiling, the company worshipped his name. But it was too big, Zigfried realized. Too majestic. It wasn't enough to roll DreamSight out to the public on some small-name board game. No. The grandest technology needed the grandest game to showcase it.
Duel Monsters, the pride and joy of Industrial Illusions, was a snowball that began with its pre-release marketing campaign and tumbled into international success. Zigfried saw the future of gaming, and the future of gaming was Duel Monsters displayed to its fullest potential by his DreamSight. It would drive the public to a frenzy. It would drive his company to unparalleled success. There would be no victory like it in history.
He reached out with enthusiasm to Pegasus Crawford—
—only to be met with Earth-shattering rejection.
"It sounds delightful, my boy!" Pegasus said. "But you see, I've already acquired just the thing. The press release is today."
So Zigfried watched the news unfold through television broadcast and printed press: Industrial Illusions partners with KAIBACORP, incredible new SOLID VISION technology, Duel Monsters LIVE AND IN COLOR!
And the horrifying truth sank deep into his bones. Seto Kaiba had stolen his technology. Seto Kaiba had stolen everything. How could a bratty-mouthed fifteen-year-old overtake an entire company? How could that company change fields from military defense to gaming without going bankrupt? How could grant-awarder and thriving millionaire alike fall at Seto Kaiba's feet?
There was a leak in Schroeder Corp. Someone had taken his designs and sold them to foreign hands. "Solid vision"—nothing but a cheap copy of DreamSight! Gozaburo Kaiba had given his son the company in order to make the change of course plausible, a child turning to games. And to make the success that much more impressive. A trap, a trick. Zigfried had never seen it coming.
He announced DreamSight, but the public cried copycat, fraud, thief. Stocks fell. Gretel Games, which had put all its resources into development and depended entirely on the successful release of DreamSight, went under. And with it, all of Zigfried's hopes and dreams. To stave off the press, Hans von Schroeder took the helm once more. The company stabilized. But Zigfried couldn't.
Krisalyn wasn't cold-hearted. She'd seen Zigfried's dedication firsthand, his years of work. She knew what DreamSight meant to him and how crippling its loss had been. She just hated to hear him talk about Seto Kaiba because it made him so miserable and there was nothing she could do. Kaiba was a corrupt thief, but they couldn't prove it.
"Z," Kris said gently. She smiled. "It's good to see you."
Her brother softened. You too, Schwesterherz.
"You have a new perfume."
He perked up at that. Oh, you like it? He tossed his hair, somehow managing a grand flourish that didn't drag any strands through his plate of spiny lobster. When he said the fragrance name, she didn't need to hear it to know it was roses.
After dinner, Z took her back to the rink, since they were still within her practice hours. Before she could ask if he was heading back home or staying in town a few days, he beat her to the punch, announcing his visit as a full weekend. Even better, he pulled a pair of skates from his bag.
Krisalyn smiled. Z was the only person who ever skated with her.
I have practiced my axel, he announced. You will be impressed.
She was impressed at the force with which he hit the ice; he'd have a bruise the next day. Undeterred, he pulled himself up and made a second attempt, this one with a successful—though shaky—landing.
Krisalyn applauded. She mimed throwing roses.
Thank you, thank you. He swept a bow, graceful in that at least.
They raced from one end of the rink to the other, crashing into the retaining wall, laughing. He asked to see her new routine, and she proudly showed off a section of her best footwork and her improved triple lutz.
Such elegance. He beamed. Perfect grace each year, then somehow, greater than perfect the next.
Then he signed, The Silent Swan.
Krisalyn ducked her head, cheeks flushed with heat. Silent Swan was her skating moniker. Her coach embraced it and pushed it to the press, but it was her idea from the start. When she'd first asked her parents' permission to train with a coach, they'd told her skating was a hobby, nothing more. They told her it would be a waste of money, that she had no hope of competing, not with her disability, her handicap, her less-than-their-standard-of-perfection.
She was fully prepared to run away from home and beg for money on the streets rather than watch her dream fade, but she didn't need to. Zigfried had his own bank account already, full of funds proudly given by their father in order to help him build his own computers and robotics. Without asking permission, Zigfried hired her coach. He took her to the rink himself. He was only twelve years old.
You will be the most glorious skater anyone has ever seen, he told her. You are a von Schroeder.
The best gift Z had ever given her was always treating her as an equal. When she first started competing and repeatedly failed to place, he was the only one she trusted to see her cry.
"I can't do it," she told him through her tears. "The other skaters can follow the music. I'm landing the same jumps, but no one cares. If I skate to music, I start late, I'm off beat. But they won't let me do a routine without it."
Z didn't try to comfort her. He didn't tell her it was a broken system, didn't do anything to ease her embarrassment. He said, Then do better. You find a way to be on beat. You practice more.
She didn't bother telling him every skater already practiced all day. He knew obsession as well as she did. But she picked herself up and went back to the rink and spoke to her coach. Wearing her hearing aids was out of the question because they gave her such a terrible headache under the loud music and audience sound. Instead, her coach gave her a visual cue for the start of the music, even though that limited the positions she could start in. She practiced counting measures. The counting threw off her skating as she tried and failed to focus on both. But she wanted so badly to win, so she kept trying.
A few weeks later, Z showed up at the rink with a white leather band. He strapped it around her wrist, then showed her a box with an extendable metal antenna. After a hushed conversation with her coach that left Kris more confused than ever, Zigfried punched a few buttons on his box, then told her to take her place to practice her routine.
When her coach gave her the cue for the music, the band around her wrist vibrated at the same instant. It pulsed the rhythm against the inside of her wrist: one-two-three-and-one-two-three-and—
Krisalyn performed her short routine. Then she did it again. Then again. The bracelet cued in the start of the music, kept the beat for her, then buzzed with more intensity for the final measure before it stopped.
Krisalyn threw her arms around her brother and cried into his shoulder once more, soaking his ascot without care. He chattered about upgrades and improvements and whatever else, but before he left, he looked her in the eyes and said:
You are different. Own that. Unashamed.
Coming from the boy who dyed his hair pink and perfumed it without apology, the boy who had a wardrobe of nothing but tailored suits in either satin or velvet, Krisalyn took that to heart. Z knew who he was; he always had. Maybe it was time for her to figure out who she was.
After a few more years of competitions, full of wins and losses, a few more years of figuring out how she fit in the professional skating world, built for hearing people, Kris knocked on her brother's door, interrupting him from where he was disassembling some kind of metal disk full of wires.
"The Silent Swan," she told him. "That's what I want people to call me."
Her artistry points were always the highest. Judges praised her grace. She'd finally discovered her own identity.
He smiled. I like it.
And when she showed him the sign name for it, he repeated it back: The Silent Swan.
Krisalyn owed her brother for so much. She would give him the world if she could.
So when they sat on the bleachers together, unlacing their skates, and he caught her attention once more, when he said, This tournament Kaiba is throwing—it is my chance. It is how I can finally have retribution. But only with your help.
In honesty, she didn't even have to think. She just said yes.
Note: I'm going to try for monthly updates to finish out Coming Home Part Two and start part three. Sorry it's slower than before, but I'm hoping to have a consistent update schedule, even if it's slower. Love you guys! Thanks as always for reading.