The biggest thing that Gozaburo teaches Seto in the manga and anime is that losing is unacceptable. Losers deserve to die. You have to win, you have to conquer, or your existence is useless.

There are a lot of things Seto Kaiba had to fight through to make it out of his childhood alive. But that idea, that core belief, is one of the most insidious. It informs his behavior through the entire story.

And it's one of the main things this story seeks to rectify.

To reverse.

To erase.

1.

Before he opens his eye, Pegasus Jareth Crawford takes stock of several things he knows to be truths: he is lying on cushions. That is one truth. His head is throbbing with the remains of a headache. That is another truth. A talk show is playing on a television to his left. A third truth.

I painted and printed every Magic & Wizards card in existence.

That is a—

Pegasus's breath catches in his throat, and he finds himself staring at the Mutous' off-white ceiling like it's a portal to another dimension. Like he'll find answers there. Like, if he just stares hard enough, everything will make sense again. Where is it? The answer must be somewhere in the nooks and cracks of the plaster up there. It has to be . . . has to be . . .

Something snags at his peripheral vision, and he turns his head.

Seto is kneeling next to what turns out to be the couch in the Mutous' living room. He looks like an acolyte at prayer. His blue eyes are too bright. Pegasus clears his throat, causing the boy to flinch violently, before he maneuvers a hand to pat Seto's cheek.

"Had you scared, there, did I?" he asks, attempting to sound nonchalant and probably failing. "Apologies. It seems I . . . haven't been taking good enough care of myself lately."

Pegasus forces himself to a sitting position, even though he isn't sure he should, and rubs the back of his neck. Seto rises to his feet and shuffles over, looking anxious and close to tears.

"Are . . . are you . . . f-feeling okay?"

Whose voice is that? Surely that can't be Seto Yagami's. So hesitant. So frail. So . . . scared. But then . . . of course, why wouldn't he be those things? Who else fell suddenly ill, and never came back? Who else ignored the pain, the exhaustion, the infinitude of warning signs, and paid for it—terminally?

Pegasus clenches his teeth and bends his thoughts into submission.

No. That will not happen again. He will not be another tragedy.

"I'll be fine," Pegasus says with fatal determination. "I haven't been sleeping well. I suppose that, combined with . . ."

His voice trails off.

Pegasus realizes that he's building a lie. Carefully constructing a ruse that, of course, Seto will be expected to believe. Because that's what you do when you can't talk about the true source of something twisting in your guts. It's what the alcoholic does when explaining away his bloodshot eyes. It's what the addict does when explaining away the constant running of his nose.

Can Pegasus do such a thing to this boy?

. . . But then, the truth is dangerous. Isn't it? Yes. Of course it is. The truth is a swirling darkness hiding in the back of his intuition, waiting to strike. The truth is a maw of daggers clamped against his throat. Eyes like slits in reality itself, revealing the blood-red expanses of horrific, torturous eternities.

The Dark Master. Zorc.

Zorc.

"Something is . . . strange about this, dear boy. And if you're going to join me on this journey I've chosen to undertake in this life, it wouldn't do for me to keep you in the dark. I'm sorry. I . . . thought to deceive you. Not so smart of me." Pegasus sighs as he adjusts himself, shifting his clothing around until it sits right again. "Where is Mister Mutou? I need to speak with him."

"Y-Yugi?" Seto asks. "Or . . . ?"

"Yugi and his esteemed grandfather, actually."

"I'll . . . I'll go get them!"

And Seto is off, jetting across the room and disappearing down the stairs, down into the shop proper, before Pegasus can even think to protest.

2.

The Mutous' living room is, moments later, filled with faces. Ellie, having bequeathed young Mokuba to his brother, stands off to one side. Her face is unreadable. Yugi looks nervous—thinking, perhaps, that he is responsible for Pegasus's predicament—and keeps fidgeting. He inches closer and closer to his grandfather with each not-so-subtle shift of his weight.

Sugoroku has his hands in the pockets of his coveralls. "What is it you needed to say, Mister Crawford?"

Pegasus leans down, and his hair covers his face. He says, without looking at anyone: "That card. Zorc. Where did you come by such a monster? Was it in a booster pack?"

Now, he looks up.

Sugoroku quirks an eyebrow. "A . . . promotional package, actually. Yugi and I built that deck together. Why do you ask?"

"I'll get to that." Pegasus waves a hand. "When did you receive this package? Do you remember?"

". . . No," Sugoroku admits. "Some months ago, I believe. I don't recall the exact da—"

"September 14th," Yugi says suddenly.

Pegasus blinks. "You're sure about that, Yugi? Absolutely sure?"

Yugi nods decisively. "Yeah. I remember, 'cuz there was a letter that came with all the cards. I was excited. It was . . . the letter was . . . from you. So I . . . kinda . . . kept it."

"September . . ."

"That's the day we met," Seto says suddenly. His face is drawn. Worried. But there's steel in his eyes. He's looking at Pegasus. Looking through Pegasus. "September 14th. I remember."

Pegasus nods. "I was . . . thinking the same thing. I do apologize, Yugi, but . . . I sent no such package to you. I don't know what any of this might mean, but . . . I did not write a letter, nor put together a set of cards for this shop, nor did I paint the artwork for that monster or its ritual."

Sugoroku looks dumbfounded. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Mister Crawford, but did you not paint every card?"

Pegasus twists his face into something resembling amusement. "You see, now, my confusion. I apologize for the spectacle I must have caused, but my fluctuating physical health is hardly my concern at the moment. Someone at my company is using my name, and my game, for some purpose I cannot begin to fathom."

Mokuba, huddled against Seto, murmurs Pegasus's name.

All at once, Pegasus is tempted to show them. Sugoroku Mutou, a retired archaeologist, would have some idea. Wouldn't he? Or would he? These questions and a hundred more rattle around in the cage of Pegasus's skull. If he could . . . just . . . confide in someone. Someone who might know what this . . .

This power. This drunken superiority. This glimpse into that unfathomable otherness that might be Heaven, but might just as well be Hell. And that name.

That name.

Why does he know that name? Why does this "dark master," whatever it is, feel so uncomfortably familiar? Why does something sing in his blood whenever he thinks about that one, harsh syllable?

And why shouldn't he tell them? Why has he been hiding for so long? He looks up, through his hair, at the children he hopes to call his own. How can he sit here, calling himself their father, if . . . if . . .

Tears are falling silently down Seto's face.

The air feels suddenly thick in Pegasus's throat. No. He cannot share this burden. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. Look, he tells himself, at what it's already done. Look at its footprints, stamping over the lustrous garden of this day that should have been such a beautiful memory?

He looks up, almost without thinking, and isn't surprised at what he finds in a far corner of the room.

Yuki Yagami stares into his soul. Again.

"Is it not ironic," she asks, in a voice like needles, "that you just resolved not to lie to him . . . and here you are, lying again? How long has it been? Four minutes? Impressive."

I know, Pegasus thinks, his heart breaking, but this is a name that should never be spoken aloud. Surely you know that. Would you have me impose upon him the truth? The whole truth? Has your whole motive not been to alleviate his suffering? What would you have me do?

Yuki doesn't answer.

Pegasus actually chuckles. Of course.

He shakes his head, and runs a hand through his hair. It's clumped with sweat, and must look an absolute mess.

"Would it be within the realm of propriety for me to ask for a bit of privacy?" he asks of Sugoroku. "I'd like to . . . talk to Seto and Mokuba for a moment."

Sugoroku looks confused, but shrugs. "Of course. Come along, you two," he says to Yugi and Ellie.

Yugi snaps to attention, and immediately heads for the stairs.

Ellie lingers for a moment, eyeing Pegasus suspiciously, before following.

3.

"There's something on your mind, Seto."

Seto sniffs, averts his eyes, and mumbles something into his brother's hair. He holds Mokuba close, cradles him. Mokuba doesn't seem to understand what's going on—at his age, who could fault him?—but he knows Nii'tama is upset. So he sits there, huddled in Seto's arms, and clings to him.

Pegasus leans forward. Clasps his hands between his knees. Waits.

". . . I lost."

Pegasus blinks. "You . . . lo—" The word chokes off, before he can ask. "The final duel." Seto nods miserably, sniffles again, chokes back a sob. "Oh." Pegasus shifts his weight. "Oh, Seto, you . . ."

You couldn't have hoped to defeat that thing even if you'd had ten years to prepare.

Wha—

Pegasus shakes his head, jerking from one side to the other. What sort of superstitious drivel is that? He shakes the malaise of fear from his shoulders and resolves to bury it. This is not the time to quiver. This is not the time to hide.

He wants to call himself a parent. It's time to act like one.

"Seto," he says. "I . . . I'd like you to look at me. Please."

Seto does so, slowly. So slowly.

"This is the part of the day when I'm supposed to tell you that winning isn't everything. That what matters is that you had fun, that you did your best. It would be nice if that worked, if hearing it were enough. Certainly things would be easier on everyone." Pegasus sighs. "But life isn't interested in handing us easy answers, is it?"

". . . I just . . . I wanted . . . I wanted to . . . to show you . . ."

But Seto can't finish.

Mokuba snuggles against Seto's chest and whispers something that only the two of them can hear.

"What you've shown, to me and to everyone who was watching you down there, is your mastery. Make no mistake about that." Pegasus lets silence accentuate this for a moment. "This culture of ours . . . it romanticizes victory. Deifies it. To win is the apotheosis of life itself. And to lose is the central tenet of ultimate failure."

Silence.

Pegasus actually chuckles to himself, as he lowers his gaze and stares at the floor.

"It's bullshit."

Mokuba gasps. Pegasus can sense Seto's sudden tension.

"Here is what will happen, because of today. You will take up the cards you've won, examine them, and build up a new arsenal. And when the time comes again for you to face an opponent in the arena, you will have a whole new reason to stand there. A person learns more from a single loss than from a lifetime of victories. May I tell you, Seto Yagami, how this society has failed you?"

Seto looks confused. Apprehensive.

But more than that, he looks desperate.

"It's told you that you have to earn your place. That your happiness comes from hard work, and nothing else. That good fortune will only come your way once you prove yourself worthy of it." Pegasus stands, then kneels, and puts one hand on Seto's shoulder. The other presses against Mokuba's back. "You don't have to earn the right to live. You don't have to prove yourself worthy of what you have."

Seto licks at his lips, and doesn't answer.

"And even if you do, even if I'm completely wrong and the pressures placed on you are true and right and worth listening to—even if you do have to earn your happiness—haven't you? Isn't it about time you have the peace that you've been yearning for? Haven't you borne this burden long enough?"

". . . How much of this do you believe, and how much are you saying just to make me feel better? "

Pegasus smiles. "I believe everything I have ever said to you, Seto Yagami. From now, to the ends of eternity, you can rest easy knowing that whatever words I say to you . . . they are as true as I know how to make them."

The ghost of a smile finally graces Seto's face. "I guess . . . I guess it's silly. Getting all worked up. It's just a regional tournament."

"Silly? Not at all. I ask you this: who among the two of us made his fellow duelists cheer and applaud and have a grand old time? And who, among the two of us, fainted in the middle of a public venue and generally made a fool out of himself?"

The smile comes full force. ". . . Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll be right as rain, as the cliché has it." Pegasus jabs a finger against Mokuba's side. "And as for you, little warrior. I have a very important job for you. Hm? I'm to be your father. You have to listen to me."

Mokuba blinks, and looks confused.

"If I get hurt, or sick, or do any of those silly things I did today . . . you have to look after your Niisama for me. Understand? Niisama does a whole lot for us, doesn't he?"

Mokuba nods. "Uh-huh. Uh-huh."

"We have to make sure he's okay, too. Don't we?"

". . . Yeah."

"That's right. We're a family now. Soon, it will be official. We have to look out for each other, don't we?"

"Yeah."

Pegasus chuckles as he ruffles Mokuba's hair. "That's the ticket. Now, then. I have to go see about fixing the mess I must have made of this tournament. And I do believe you have some booster packs to pick out, young man."

Seto nods. "Yes, sir."

"Sir, he says. Come along, you two. Let's get to it."