Walking home had not been one of Manjoume's better ideas. He'd thought the fresh air would do him good, he'd had too many drinks to contemplate picking his car up from the underground parking, and he didn't want to face his chauffeur – or indeed, another soul – after how he'd been embarrassed that evening. But the duel field, soundproofed and windowless as it was, had concealed from him that vital fact: it was raining.

Not just a light summer rain, but a vast torrent, soaking Manjoume within seconds of him stepping outside, his umbrella reduced to mere emotional support. He snapped it shut with a growl, stuffed his hands in his pockets where they swam like goldfish at a festival, and sloshed on in the direction of his apartment.

A flash of light picked out in stark outline the tall grey buildings lining the street, followed by a low grumble that resonated with Manjoume's state of mind. After the duel, he'd had to wait for the party to end before he could get the place locked up and leave. He'd had to watch as Buck Wild played the crowd and twirled the women around his finger. Manjoume had hoped to get a dance with Yamazaki, at least, but she'd been far too busy joining Buck's impromptu fanclub.

The duel, though… Another roll of thunder accompanied the memory, the thrill – or the chill of the rain – sending an excited shiver through Manjoume. He checked his jacket pocket for his business card holder, the polished metal holding up better than him against the onslaught of the weather. Buck had slipped him a card, which now nestled at his breast alongside those of financiers and advertising agencies. Manjoume could call any time, expense it to the company even. He allowed himself a chuckle at the thought.


The computer screen seemed to hurt Manjoume's eyes more than usual that morning. He sighed, leaned back on his leather swivel chair, and stretched his arms.

The chair wasn't comfortable either. No matter how he tried to adjust it, the support would be in just the wrong place, or the armrests would butt up against his desk, or the height would slowly sink throughout the day. It was like it was trying to eject him through sheer force of annoyance.

The sound of suppressed laughter came from outside Manjoume's door. Whatever the joke was, his personal assistant was in on it, and had been since the party.

Manjoume picked up the business card for the tenth time that day, tapping it against the wood veneer of his desk, running the sharp corners along the edge of his thumb. When the knock came at the door he shoved it quickly under a pile of equally guilty paperwork and started typing at furious speed.

"Senior executive vice president?" came the voice of Manjoume's assistant.

"A minute," said Manjoume, tapping the keys noisily. "Now what can I do for you," he said, looking up, and his heart sank. "Kimura-san?"

Kimura leeched into the room, looking around appraisingly. "Just checking you got my email, sir. I really do need those purchase orders signed. If you're too busy, I'm sure I could help you out with something else…" He tapped the stack of papers, and Manjoume barely resisted the urge to swat his hand away.

"No, thank you, Kimura-san."

"I'll make sure he does them this afternoon," said Manjoume's assistant, apologetically.

"I'll do them when I'm free," countered Manjoume. "And I have an appointment this afternoon."

The assistant frowned. "There's nothing in your diary."

"Something just came up," said Manjoume. "Block it out."

"As soon as you can, then, sir," said Kimura, moving to leave. He paused at the door. "By the way, how did you enjoy your birthday?"

Manjoume crossed his arms and rolled the chair back to give room to rest his legs on the desk. "Fine." He pushed his nose in the air and aimed his voice somewhere beyond confident, towards cocky. "That experimental card worked really well, I thought. Did you see the expression on the guy's face? The impact it's going to have in the arena… Industrial Illusions just gave us the power to make or break careers."

"I don't think anyone else was looking at his face," said Kimura, sniggering and walking out before Manjoume could respond. Manjoume stared after him, taut and wired.

"Will that be all?" Manjoume's assistant hovered in the doorway.

"Yes, that's all for today," said Manjoume, swiping his jacket from off his chair and heading for the exit.

The revolving glass doors spit Manjoume out onto the street. He had to pick a direction, and found himself walking to the convenience store a few minutes away. He'd pick up a coffee, perhaps some lunch and a duel magazine, and maybe find a bathhouse to relax in later.

Browsing the shelves, he heard the shop door chime, and reflexively turned to look. Long chestnut hair fluttered as if blown by a flower wind, the prosaic closing of the door too banal to create such an effect. Buck.

After greeting the shopkeeper, Buck looked around. Manjoume was pretty sure he shouldn't be able to see eyelashes from that distance. He dropped to the floor, squatted behind a shelf, and prayed he'd not been spotted. If he could time his movements, he could slide between the shelves, then make a dash for the exit. He peeked out. No sign of those long legs. He made a dive for the next aisle, put a hand out to steady himself, and missed – pushing products off the shelf with a clatter.

"Can I help?"

Manjoume exhaled, prepared, and turned to face his doom. "No, it's fine. I just dropped something."

"Manjoume-san?" Buck smiled in recognition, squatting next to him, and started to put packets back on the shelf anyway. "How are you doing?"

Manjoume scrabbled at the items, ladies' sanitary products of all things, and couldn't hide the blush as he reshelved them. "I'm well, thank you. Buck, was it?"

"That's right!" Buck beamed. "I'm pleased you remember."

"How could I forget?" Manjoume grumbled.

"Oh, did you need some of these?" Buck held out a pack of pads to Manjoume. Manjoume thrust his hands back, reddening further.

"What for?"

"Well, if you don't need them for someone in particular, they're handy to have around. Women appreciate a thoughtful man." Buck put the last of the packs back, and Manjoume hoped Buck didn't think he was a pervert. "Do you have a wife? A girlfriend?"

"Not… not at the moment, no," said Manjoume, straightening up.

"An eligible bachelor, then?" Buck clapped Manjoume on the back. "Want me to set you up with my sister? She's a great girl, and an awesome duelist, too…"

Manjoume waved his hand dismissively. It wouldn't be the first time someone had pretended to be interested in him, only to be holding out for a job or sponsorship. "No thanks."

Buck laughed. "Well, it was worth a try!"

He wasn't leaving. Manjoume headed for the prepared bentos, and Buck followed. "So, do you work around here?"

"Sometimes," Buck admitted. "I go wherever my client is, of course, but I'm lucky enough to have a number around here. It's a nice part of the city."

Manjoume pored over the options and scrunched up his nose. Nothing appealed. He wanted something hot. "I suppose. I don't get to see much, beyond the office."

"Well, then," Buck looked at his watch. "I've got a couple of hours before I need to be back at the venue. Shall we get lunch?"

Manjoume stared. Buck's smile seemed genuine. "This isn't… you won't… charge?"

"Not beyond the pleasure of your company, no," said Buck, his smile dimming slightly.

Manjoume hesitated, eyed the unappealing clingfilm over cold breadcrumbed pork, and looked back to Buck in his bright floral print shirt open two buttons too low.

"Don't worry about it," said Buck. He waved and headed for the door. "You're a busy man. I'll see you around, maybe."

"No, wait!" Manjoume shouted, dropping the bento box he was holding and running after Buck. "I'd like to."

"Really?" Buck's expression brightened, and as he put his arm around Manjoume's shoulders Manjoume felt the last of his resolve collapse. "I know a great place, come on."

The steakhouse was up three floors, and advertised by garish yellow boards. From the outside it looked cheaper than Manjoume's usual haunts. The interior wasn't much better, white walls with wooden benches and chairs, and the small kitchen just behind the counter set with stainless steel and plain white crockery.

"It smells great," admitted Manjoume, taking in the rich scent of meat mixed with barbecue woodsmoke.

"It tastes better," said Buck, flashing Manjoume a bright smile. They didn't have trouble finding a seat. It was the tail end of the lunch service, a few diners were left polishing off their meals or chatting over drinks, giving a pleasant buzz to the room. They ordered, Manjoume first, Buck second.

"Is that all you're having?" said Manjoume, suddenly regretting opting for the wagyu steak, and wondering if money was tight for his dining partner.

"Yeah," said Buck sadly. "I'm working later, I can't afford to risk a pot belly."

"I don't think you could get one if you tried," said Manjoume, remembering the sight of Buck's near-naked body gleaming statuesque in the lights on the duel field. The thought brought the flush back to his cheeks, and he rested his chin in his hands, trying to use his curled fingers to hide it.

"Trust me," said Buck. "The minute I stop working out, this life is going to catch up with me. The late nights, the strange mealtimes, the stress of a month with no bookings…"

"You must be really popular, though?" Manjoume couldn't imagine a week without work butting in. Through the duelists on his roster he understood the need to keep it that way. A month without a match, and people would start talking in hushed tones of ring rust and scandal, regardless of the truth of events, which could start a career plunging. But a man like Buck with twin talents had to be in demand.

Buck shrugged. "I have my niche, and I guess within that I'm number one. But the market for adult entertainer duelists is smaller than you'd think."

"I didn't even know there was a market," said Manjoume, "beyond a gimmick to resurrect a bad duelist." He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "I've got some ideas about who hired you for the party, I don't suppose you'd be willing to confirm my suspicions?"

"Sorry," said Buck, "I can't do that. I feel like I want to do something for you, to make it up to you. When people aren't into the whole experience it's kind of a downer. You did enjoy the duel, though?"

"Yes!" said Manjoume, emphatically and a bit too soon. Buck chuckled, his eyes creasing, and tilted his head to one side to rest on his fingertips.

"Do you have your deck with you?"

"No, it's back at the office." Manjoume had locked it in his safe.

"Oh, that's a shame. I'd love to have taken a look through it." Their drinks arrived, and Buck poured Manjoume's beer for him. "You really made me work. I play to lose, obviously, but I have to drag it out or it loses the tension. It's a matter of balance." Buck swirled the water in his own glass, looking appraisingly at Manjoume. "I think there's a true duelist inside you. Buried, perhaps, but it's there."

Manjoume puffed his chest out in pride. "I am a duelist, as it happens."

"I knew it! Academia?"

"No…" Manjoume slumped again. "Middle school. I… decided not to take it any further. I had the business to run."

"That's a shame, you've got the talent." Buck seemed lost in thought for a moment, his smile dropping. "Although it might have been for the best."

The sizzling of food being placed on their tale brought Buck's cheerful expression back. "Let's eat!"

Manjoume pressed the sharp knife against the crisscrossed surface of the steak, testing. It had a good amount of springiness, a telltale sign of the rare meat inside. When he cut into it the pink interior was still moist with the juices. He took a tentative bite, chewing slowly with his eyes closed. He'd been unconvinced by the reasonable price, but it was a quality piece of meat, cooked to perfection.

When Manjoume opened his eyes, Buck was watching him with a dreamy smile. "I told you this place was good."

Manjoume looked at Buck's plate of salad, decorated with a few meagre strips of beef, and cut off a small piece of steak. "Try some."

"Feed it to me," said Buck, leaning forward.

"What?" Manjoume's face contorted, unsure of the appropriate expression for this situation.

"There's less calories that way."

Manjoume was pretty sure that that was not how science worked, but still, he pressed his fork into the tender meat and raised it to Buck's lips. Buck took it with his teeth, tugged it delicately off the fork, and made a happy sigh as he chewed. Manjoume felt an odd warmth in the pit of his stomach, akin to the sense of a job well done. "Would you like some more?" he ventured.

"No, but thank you." Buck settled back in his seat and picked up his own cutlery.

Manjoume, somewhat disappointed, returned to eating. "So how did you get into… your field of work?"

"You can say stripping if you want, I don't mind." Buck gathered a forkful of leafy vegetables. "I just wanted to make people happy. Dueling was… Dueling can work both ways, you know? So I figured I should do something else, something that spreads love and positivity."

"You were a duelist first," said Manjoume, realising. "Were you at Duel Academia yourself?"

"Yeah," said Buck, in between mouthfuls. "For a while."

"You didn't graduate?"

Buck stopped, looking at Manjoume, his eyes narrowed and judging. "Something happened. After that I tried, but my heart wasn't in it, so I quit."

"What happened? I only ever hear great things about Academia."

"Funny, that." Buck laughed humourlessly. "Seto Kaiba must have a great publicist. And I'm sorry, but you must have at least five flags to unlock my tragic backstory."

"Flags?" Manjoume's brow furrowed, unfamiliar with the concept. "How many do I have?"

"Two," said Buck, back to eating again. "One for the duel, and one for coming to eat with me. If you want a third, we have to go on a date."

"A date?" Manjoume spluttered through his beer.

"Why not? I find you interesting, and you're an attractive man. Also I want to make it up to you for the stunt your colleagues pulled." Buck laid his hand over Manjoume's where it rested on the table, and looked intently into his eyes. "I hate taking money for a job where someone's clearly uncomfortable with the entertainment, so, how about I spend it on taking you out for a belated birthday celebration? Anything you want."

"I don't even know your real name," Manjoume said, trying to distract himself from the butterflies in his stomach.

"Want to know the real me, huh?" Buck seemed happy. "Fubuki Tenjoin, at your service."

"Jun Manjoume," said Manjoume. Fubuki's family name rang some old bells, and Manjoume studied his face with renewed interest. "You said you had a sister… is her name Asuka, by any chance?"

"How did you know?"

"We were in the same year in middle school," said Manjoume. He'd carried such a torch for Asuka, though he'd hardly spoken to her outside of class. He'd tried to get her attention, made it to the top of the year, had all the boys licking his boots, and still she'd never so much as glance in his direction. He didn't even know she had a brother. And if she'd said she had, he'd never have guessed it would be someone like Fubuki. The family resemblance was there, though, now he knew to look for it.

Fubuki laughed. "Of course you were. Do you believe in fate, Manjoume-kun?"

"I don't know." Manjoume frowned, thinking about all the choices that had been made for him, the lack of control he felt he had over his life. "Maybe."

"I do." Fubuki set cash down for their meals, including a generous tip. "I think we were meant to meet, and I think you should come on a date with me. You've got my work cellphone number, give me a ring when you've decided and we'll work something out."

Manjoume thought frantically, not wanting to let Fubuki go without at least a partial answer. He was finding Fubuki to be unusually palatable company, and it certainly would be enjoyable to indirectly use the money Manjoume's employees had scraped together for his own ends, but what Fubuki stood to gain from the arrangement was unclear to him. Even as he tried to leave his credit card in place of the cash, Fubuki gently pushed his hand away.

"I think…" Manjoume started, testing the words in his mouth. "I think I'd like that."

Fubuki beamed, and Manjoume couldn't help but smile back.

"I'd like that very much."