The title for this chapter is my rough transliteration of Japanese: "Yagami's Heir, Kaiba's Inheritance."

It's been mentioned that the name "Yagami" might have symbolic relevance to the Death Note series; I just wanted to say, if I haven't already, that I was using the name Yagami as the Kaibas' birth surnames before ever reading Death Note. I know that this is the internet, and you have no reason to believe me, but it honestly is a coincidence. Now, the fact that I use the very specific characters (夜神) to spell that name is symbolic. But the name itself wasn't intended to be.

This is something of a follow-up to the breaking of the fourth wall that I started last chapter, but there's more to it than just that. I strive not to be a one-trick pony…brony…something. Whatever. I'm bad with memes.

Have fun with this chapter; I tried to make it light.


1.


They, and by "they" I mean every adult I meet, keep smiling at me.

They coo and caw and swoon and they tell me what a strong little boy I am. They ask Father to borrow me, so that maybe their children will learn from my example. What an angel I am, what a perfect little saint.

I hate it. I hate it because they never did that when Mother was still alive. They never took any notice of how wonderful I was when Mother was here, because then I was just another little boy. But now that I only have one parent and a little brother to take care of, suddenly I'm perfect.

I'm not sure what they think they're doing to help me. Mother never coddled me. When I was upset about something, Mother would listen, then instruct. Mother knew what to do. She didn't put on a fake smile and tell me everything was going to be okay. When Mokie was going to be born, she told me that life would be tougher. She told me with a perfectly straight face that we would all have to make sacrifices to make sure Mokie could grow up properly.

Father doesn't sugar-coat either. When I ask him a question, he tells me the answer. When he has something to tell me, he tells me. Neither of them ever lied to me. But I know without thinking that the other adults are all full of themselves. They think I'm too stupid to know that they're lying. Well, the joke's on them, then. I know better.

"Everything will get better," they say, and "You're so strong to move on after such a horrible tragedy," and "How lucky your brother is to have such a strong role model," and all this other pity-party garbage that doesn't mean anything because even they don't believe it. Everything might get better compared to now,but it will never be better than it used to be. I'm not strong because I haven't moved on. Mokie might have a strong role model. Mother did used to say that I'd make a good example for him. But even if he does have me, he doesn't have her. So no, Mokie isn't lucky, unless you count the fact that he won't ever remember what he lost.

I'm sick of it. Mother used to tell me that there were plenty of good people in the world, and I don't want to say she was wrong, because she was never wrong about anything she told me. But I do think that the good people she was talking about don't live here, because so far, all I see are stupid people, lazy people, and liars.

Their smiles don't mean anything. Their words of encouragement don't mean anything.

Mokie's smile is the only smile I can trust.

When Mokie smiles, he looks like Mother.


"Bubba ma' dee-ner!"

"I'm making dinner, Mokie. Making."

"May-een."

Seto smiled despite himself as he began to chop carrots. "Close enough."

"May-een dee-ner!"

Seto took out an extra carrot and began to peel it over the garbage can. Mokuba, laughing in his high chair, watched him with wide, sparkling eyes. The toddler pointed. "Ca-wit!" he declared. Seto smiled again, and chopped the bright orange vegetable into small strips. He walked over and handed one to his brother.

"Here," Seto said. "Eat this, and calm down. You'll fall over if you keep rocking around like that."

"I naw-t fa'ober," Mokuba said. He shook his head as if reprimanding his elder sibling for daring to suggest such a thing. "Siwwy bubba." Seto ruffled the boy's hair and turned back to the counter. Mokuba munched his snack loudly, drumming on the tray with his free hand.

Seto went through the various steps methodically. He found cooking soothing. Measurements and precision, clear-cut answers and honest results. Like science. Like mathematics. Once he had the answer—the recipe—right, that was the end of it. There was no guessing, no worrying, no looking back and wondering if you did it right. Not like…well…

He turned back over his shoulder and watched Mokuba amuse himself by beating on his tray. He was smiling. Mokuba was always smiling. But then…their father smiled, too, sometimes, and it never really seemed honest. Kohaku's smiles were always sad. And Seto had to wonder if Mokuba's were sad, too. He didn't think so. Mokuba looked too much like his mother, and Yuki's smiles had always been happy.

Hadn't they?

The brown-haired boy with the thin face and the bright blue eyes that always made people uncomfortable these days turned back to his soup and suddenly had to fight the urge to cry. The truth was, he didn't know anymore. The answers had always seemed simple, when Yuki had told them to him. But now, she was gone. She was gone, and he couldn't ask her anymore. And none of his answers seemed to make sense anymore.

There was a book he had been reading, with a boy in it that was a little older than he was, who said, "I don't like people. They fuck me up." And the more people Seto met, the more those simple two sentences made such perfect sense that he began to believe them. Yes. That was true.

He didn't like people.

People were confusing.

People fucked him up.

He shook the thought out of his mind as he set the chicken into the boiling broth to cook, thinking that if he kept on like that, he would turn into his father. His rough, plodding, sardonic father, who kept himself busy by working all day because it was the only thing he knew how to do, and who only smiled when he was sad. He didn't want to do that. Because if he did, then Mokuba would turn out like him.

He couldn't let that happen. It wasn't fair.

While he waited for the chicken, Seto began to clean up the counter, then stepped over to the sink and began washing dishes. Mokuba cried out excitedly—for some reason, watching his brother do the dishes was the height of entertainment for the youngest Yagami.

Seto didn't notice Miss Hitcher step into the kitchen until she spoke. "Just checking in," she said, and Seto looked at her. "Is everything going all right? Is Mokuba behaving?" She smiled, and Seto didn't like it. Mokuba pointed to her and called her name ("Vawwy," in Mokuba-speak) to make sure that Seto knew she was there. Miss Hitcher's smile widened. "Hello, little one," she said in a sugary sweet, sing-song voice. "Is Mokuba being a good boy for his big brother?"

"Goo'boy!" Mokuba said. "Goo'boy!"

Seto returned to his work.

"You're a good boy, too, Seto," Miss Hitcher said. "Do you know that? Your father's very proud of you. So am I." Seto didn't respond, didn't turn to look at her, and honestly didn't even hear her. He'd heard it so often from so many people who had no idea what they were talking about. He was tired of it. "…Your mother would be proud, too."

Seto flinched violently.

He suddenly wanted to be alone.

"Thank you," he said icily. He still didn't turn.

He thought he heard Miss Hitcher sigh. "…Your father will be home in a couple hours," she said, subdued. "If everything's all right, then—"

"Vawwy! Vawwy!"

"…Yes, Mokuba? What is it, dear?"

"Say we-come!" Mokuba said, in what was clearly meant to be a stern voice. Seto turned to regard his brother, who was watching their neighbor with as serious an expression as his cherubic face could muster. Miss Hitcher blinked, clearly not understanding. Mokuba groaned, and Seto let out a soft chuckle. "Bubba say tank yew," Mokuba continued. "Vawwy say we-come! Say! Now."

Seto wanted to laugh.

Miss Hitcher did. "Ooh…I see. I'm sorry, Mokuba. You're right. You're very welcome, Seto. Is that better?"

Mokuba nodded with a huff.

Miss Hitcher bowed her head and left the room. Seto was alone with his brother again.

Seto saw that Mokuba had finished his carrot and was gesturing frantically to the three other slices sitting on the counter. "Bubba! Bubba, ca-wit!" Seto turned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Mokuba blinked at him. "Pwease?"

Seto smiled. "Good boy."

He handed Mokuba another piece.

"Tank yew!"

"You're welcome, Mokie," Seto said, and kissed the top of his brother's head.

He went back to the sink.


2.


Seto wasn't sure what made him smile as he watched his brother snap a carrot stick in half with his teeth as he sat in the dining room staring at his homework. The black-haired boy chewed methodically, looking as if he were waiting for the answers to pop up in front of him.

They weren't.

He looked up. "Niisama! You're home!"

Seto shrugged, and Mokuba jumped up to hug him. "Hey, kid," he said. "Yes, yes, wonders never cease. I'm home before nightfall. Studious as ever, I see. Tell me, just how many scratches are on the table?"

Mokuba looked guilty. "We're…doing algebra," he said, sounding mortally offended. "There's fractions with variables and…well, yeah. It's stupid." Seto chuckled. Mokuba slunk over to the table and sat back down. Seto rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and began to wash his hands at the sink. "Cooking dinner, Niisama?"

Seto shrugged again. As he dried off his hands and stepped over to the cupboard, he said, "Aside from the stupid variable fractions, what other activities filled your day?"

"Rebecca sat with me at lunch. She told me something…scary."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I'm not used to attributing that particular tone with the word 'scary.' What, exactly, did she tell you?"

"That people write stories about us."

"That's…rather obvious. I burn them constantly. Elaborate."

"I mean, like…stories. You know…like…" The boy gestured. "…Stuff."

"Well, thank you for explaining yourself," Seto said dryly. "I fully understand now. You're right. That is frightening. Which closet will you be hiding in?"

"Niisama, that's not what I mean! Like…you know that one story I wrote for that language arts assignment in fifth grade? The one with the characters from Transformers in it? Like that. Fanfiction. Only…"

Seto's face went blank. "Oh. That." He shook his head, unable to keep a shudder from taking him as he retrieved a frying pan and a large glass bowl. When he stood back up, he saw that Mokuba was staring at him. "Yes," he said, "I know about it. I've not had the…pleasure of reading any of it, but I've been told of it."

"You…you know?"

"Certainly," Seto said. "People are sick, depraved creatures, Mokuba. They'll grasp at any straw to fulfill their imaginations. I believe Detective McKinley once mentioned answering a domestic disturbance call and finding a painting of us in a…compromising position, I believe he called it. He was slightly green when he told me."

Mokuba looked horrified. "You're…not serious."

"Not at all," Seto said in a deadpan tone. "It's a joke. Can't you hear me laughing?"

"…I'm gonna have nightmares."

"Console yourself in knowing you've never seen that piece of…artwork. He has apparently been attempting homebrewed brain surgery in order to remove the memory. What would you like for dinner? Stir fry. Pork or chicken? We have both."

Mokuba looked at his brother strangely. "This doesn't…bother you?"

Seto stopped mid-stride and frowned. "Bother me? Of course it bothers me. But until it becomes financially feasible to own the internet, I'm faintly sure it would be impossible to stop these idiots. Trying would only encourage them."

"So I should ignore it."

"Unfortunately, it's the only solution I've managed to come up with that didn't involve an eventual psychotic breakdown." Seto's frown deepened. "I would wonder why Miss Hawkins would bother mentioning this in the first place."

"It just…came up."

Mokuba thought about mentioning something else Rebecca had said, I'm not having a direct hand in getting one of my best friends thrown in prison or assassinated, but decided against it. It would just cause more trouble, and he wasn't sure that Seto wouldn't do that. Now that he looked more closely at his brother's face, he saw the telltale twitch above his right eye—a phenomenon Mokuba had discovered a few years ago—that said Seto was far more irritated than he was letting on.

"Hey, Niisama?" Mokuba said suddenly. Seto grunted as he continued preparing for their evening meal. He was back in the cupboard, rummaging around and muttering about his own organization methods. Something clattered, and Seto cursed. Mokuba stifled a giggle and said, "How come you're home early?"

"I was informed by Child Protective Services that if I don't spend more time looking after you personally, I'm going to be forced legally to waive my rights as your guardian." Seto said this so quickly, with such a blank expression on his face and such a bored drawl of a voice that Mokuba actually went pale. Seto glanced up, saw the look on his brother's face, and chuckled. "That one was a joke, Mokuba."

Mokuba pouted. "…You need to work on your sense of humor, Niisama."

Seto shrugged. "So the good detective tells me. I've noticed a growing trend of coming home just in time to see you to bed," he said. "I thought it time to…rectify that. Besides, if I don't let those idiots in the development department do their own work once in a while, I'll end up having to teach them how to sharpen pencils."

Mokuba grinned. He suddenly felt better. "Thanks, Niisama."

"Mm," Seto said, but the twitch was gone. He looked up from the bowl in his hand (he was running his thumb over what looked like a crack) and said, "You never did say. Pork or chicken?"

"Pork," Mokuba said. "Please."

Seto's smile returned.

And as he finally turned his attention back to his homework, Mokuba thought he heard Seto mutter something under his breath as he replaced the broken bowl with two smaller, un-cracked ones, and headed back to the counter.

It sounded like, "Good boy."


3.


"Since when did incest become popular?"

Detective Darren McKinley stopped moving, looking suddenly as if he'd just watched someone skin and boil his grandmother's kitten. "…I know I'm going to regret asking this, but you have this sick fascination with drawing me into your masochism without my consent. I just can't help myself. What, exactly, caused that line of thinking?"

Seto was grimacing again. He often did this. Not grimacing…well, that too. But whenever he was especially preoccupied with something, he walked. Sometimes Darren walked with him, sometimes not. He wondered if this had been a habit left over from childhood. During these walks, and only during these walks, Seto had no destination in mind. He simply moved. Darren had long since stopped asking where they were going when this happened; his friend didn't know.

"Mokuba's been talking with Rebecca Hawkins at school," he said.

"She's a duelist, right? Child prodigy?"

"Nnh," Seto said. "She entered her first tournament at eight. Anyway, she informed Mokuba recently about the…fanfiction phenomenon surrounding him and…me." He cleared his throat. Darren grimaced now, too. Seto looked at him again. "What is this? Do you understand the appeal? Is there something I'm not seeing because I'm a part of it?"

Darren snorted laughter. "I'm going to give a you answer: people suck. Seto, sick people are always going to exist. There are always going to be people who see you in public and think, 'wow, he's hot,' and then they're going to see Mokuba and think, 'wow, he's cute,' and they figure that's a recipe for…" He gestured, then wiped his hands on his slacks.

Seto's face twitched. "Oh, yes," he said with a sneer. "That's hot. No wonder they do it. I'm going to try it for real now. Cover for me. What thedo these people have any standards?"

"…No?" Darren shrugged, wondering if Seto was this animated with other people; he didn't think so. "I think you are too close to it. I mean, Jen's attracted to me, but that doesn't mean Katie is. But if I were famous like you, that wouldn't matter. These people don't think about who you are. They don't think about why it doesn't make sense. That's not how this 'Kaibacest' movement works. And before you shoot me, I didn't make that word up. Renie told me."

"I'm destroying the internet," Seto grumbled. "I'm done with it. That's it. Over."

"I won't stop you. Hell, I might encourage you."

Seto suddenly shot the detective a disgusted look. "Irena isn't a part of this, is she?"

"Hm? Oh. No. She disallows it on her sites. I asked her after I found that…ahem. Yeah, she isn't a fan. Said that even if she were, she wouldn't let it on her web-space. Said you'd kill her." The look on Seto's face said she hadn't been wrong. "I don't understand it any better than you do," Darren continued. "But people distance themselves when they make up this junk. They don't think about you, or Mokuba. Don't think about them. They'll drive you insane, and they'll think it's funny."

"Irena's pages are the official fan clubs, are they not?" Seto asked. "For both of us."

"Mm-hm. Even put up some sort of seal when she got your expressed permission."

"And she sells…merchandise."

"Some. T-shirts, DVDs of appearances, bracelets, necklaces. Knickknacks, mostly. She set up an agreement with your company; part of the proceeds from every sale goes to the Children's Home. It's all legal, all approved. You must have been told about it."

"Nnh," Seto muttered. "Fine. It sounds like I have no cause to take her to court over it." He sounded almost disappointed. "What about Katherine? She's Irena's best friend. She must have had a part in this."

"Katie moderates and regulates the forums," Darren said. "Some of them. And she's been increasingly vigilant about it ever since I met you. I…might have had something to do with that. I think I grounded her once for letting a particular thread go on too long."

Seto smirked.

Darren patted his friends shoulder. "Don't worry. Some of us still have souls. Look at the public outcry over the reaction to that whole shitstorm with von Schroeder. It started on those forums. You should have heard some of the things on there. People boycotting magazines that tried to paint you like a villain; protests, petitions. It brings a tear to your eye."

"Mokuba would be pleased to hear that," Seto said. "He's had a problem with the political spin on that event ever since he found that tabloid that called me a 'spineless murdering coward.' He called the editor. It looked to me like he actually wanted to bite the man's ear off. I'm pretty sure that tabloid went out of business, actually."

"Didn't that guy say you should be 'shipped back to China or whatever the hell fascist nation he's from'? That was gold. I have it framed on my wall. They picked a good picture of you for the cover. 'Kaiba, a Kareless Killer?' All K's, too. You know, like the Klan. You're a racist now."

"Fantastic," Seto muttered. "That makes hating people so much easier. I don't even have to think anymore." His face suddenly screwed up, and he stopped moving. "…Fascist?"

"Yeah," Darren laughed. "Isn't that great? I love it."

Seto bowed his head and looked ready to cry. "They're trying to stupid me to death."


4.


"What did Mokuba say to the editor of that magazine?"

Seto's smirk returned. "He was magnificent. 'Hello, my name is Mokuba Yagami Kaiba, and I'm the vice-president of the Kaiba Electronic Gaming Corporation. I want to talk to you about something. Who, exactly, do you think you are? What do you think 'editing' means? If you bothered to look it up, I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve sitting in a fancy swivel chair and drinking imported vodka while your writers make up fairy tales because they're so bitter about their own pathetic lives that this is the best they can come up with.'"

Darren burst out laughing. "He said that?"

Suddenly, all traces of bitterness were gone from Seto's face. His eyes were practically glowing as he recalled the event. "'What do you care if I'm really Mokuba Kaiba or not? You people don't check sources, you just make up names. What do you mean, how do I know? I looked it up. There's nobody named Daniel Horschack, and nobody related to Daniel Horschack, within three-hundred miles of this city. Oh, I'm sorry, I'm being rude? If you wanted me to be polite, maybe you shouldn't have let this Farell Edwards make my brother out like a deranged maniac. Don't you dare tell me what happened that night, you fat sack of imbecile, I was there.'"

"Fat sack of…! God, I love that boy. How have you not told me this story before?"

Seto was laughing, and it was one of the few times Darren could recall that his laughter wasn't tainted by bitterness or sarcasm. He was legitimately pleased. "A masterful performance. I should have filmed it. I might have, if I'd known he was going to do it."

Darren was grinning from ear to ear. "I'm getting a sneaking suspicion that someone is protective of your image. Did you ever get a reply from this editor? Or was he too scared to speak to you? After all, Mokuba had to learn it from somewhere."

Seto shrugged. He looked up at the sky, still with a grin on his face that was only half his usual smirk. Darren felt accomplished. He had successfully steered the conversation in a different direction. He said, "How is Mokuba liking his new school?"

"He seems to enjoy it," Seto said. "He's been preoccupied. He hasn't said anything to me about it, but he's been having problems with public places. People. Crowds, especially. I think it's extending into his time at school. He's surrounded by strangers, except for Rebecca Hawkins."

"Were they friends before now? They've met, obviously."

Seto nodded. "The first time he saw her, she was at the original KaibaLand asking to borrow an arena for a duel with Yugi. Apparently it was over the card I destroyed. She thought Solomon Mutou had done it. The card was originally her grandfather's."

"The fourth Blue-Eyes." Seto raised an eyebrow, and Darren shrugged. "You pick stuff up. Katie's an encyclopedia. Can't have been a pleasant meeting, if she was looking for revenge."

"Nothing became of it then. He saw her on a more personal level at the KC Grand Prix tournament. I'd invited her. She's quite talented, come to think of it. Never did duel her personally." He frowned, thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should send her a copy of Millennium…another opinion, from a tournament duelist? I don't want Yugi's opinion. He'll love it without playing it. Wheeler, too, I've no doubt. Rebecca might be more objective. She's in the target demographic, too."

Darren quirked an eyebrow. "I've been meaning to ask you something; why is it that you sometimes call Yugi by his first name, but Joey Wheeler only by his last? Is it just habit?"

Seto blinked, as if he'd never thought of it before, and was just realizing it. He said, "…I don't know. Probably. He was the first duelist to ever defeat me. Crawford was the second. Not honestly, but…anyway, I suppose I respect him. No small feat summoning Exodia with the streamlined, stripped rule system I used back then." He sounded disgusted with himself. "Never beat him, either. Haven't asked for a rematch in…almost a year." Seto's grin returned with a devilish curl. "I should have Mokuba duel him."

"Does that mean you don't respect Joey, then?" Darren asked. "You say you call Yugi by his first name out of respect…I think that's what you said, anyway. So…"

"I didn't," Seto admitted. "As to my thoughts on him now…I'll get back to you on that."

Darren chuckled. "I see. Ever think you don't like him very much because he reminds you of…you? Don't give me that look. You know precisely what I mean, and I know you do. He's blunt, honest, proud, protective—need I go on? Should I write this down? Come on, Seto."

"I could call that slander."

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. You quoted the line properly."

Darren grinned. "I's edja-cated."

"Clearly."


5.


"Roland said you went for a walk today."

"Mm," Seto said, sipping at his mug of black tea and leaning back in his chair. Mokuba slipped into the room, and Seto saw that he'd discarded his sneakers in the hallway. The younger Kaiba seemed to think that tracking even the faintest amount of dirt into his brother's bedroom was a grave insult.

From anyone else, he thought, it would have been.

But then, it wasn't as if he let anyone else into this room in the first place.

"Did I make it right?" Mokuba asked, gesturing to the tea.

It was a bit too sweet, and he wasn't exactly a fan of the milk, but he said, "It's fine, Mokuba. Thank you."

"You don't like it."

Seto chuckled, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did. I can tell."

"You know I'm a minimalist when it comes to what I drink," Seto said.

"I thought maybe you'd like something different."

"Perhaps it's an acquired taste. Don't look like that, Mokuba. You didn't cut off my left foot. It's fine. I just don't like sweet. You know that. I think maybe you're just looking to convert me into a sugar-infested zombie like the rest of you people. Nice touch, using tea. Next you'll sneak it into my coffee, and there you have it. Sugar is a watered-down derivative of cocaine, you know."

Mokuba sputtered with sudden laughter. "Where'd you come up with that?"

"Study. Very important doctors and scientists. Done by the Huntingfield Research Institute, in fact. You don't know who that is because you're a heathen."

"You made that up."

"Nonsense. Look it up in the dictionary. H-E-A…"

"Not that!" Mokuba crossed his arms. "You're just joking around to make me feel better."

Seto raised a curious eyebrow. "Is it not working?"

Mokuba tried to keep his face stern, but couldn't quite manage it. He half-smiled. "…Maybe."

Seto snatched the mug from his desk and drained it. A slight shudder went through him, and he grimaced. Mokuba laughed again. He said, "Fair is fair, kiddo. For that, tomorrow morning, you're drinking coffee. Ah-ah. I'll have no argument."

"I hate coffee."

"Blasphemer."

"Atheist."

Seto scoffed. "I'm sorry, was that supposed to be an insult?"

"No. You can't blaspheme an atheist."

"Is that a challenge?"

"If it is, I just won."

Seto scowled. "...You keep getting better at this. Stop it."

Mokuba grinned. Seto shook his head, stood up from his chair, and rolled his shoulders. He watched as his brother stepped over to the small bookshelf in one corner of the room. Mokuba began to scan the titles. "Miss Lorwell says we're reading 'To Kill a Mockingbird' after we finish the book report," he said.

"Hm," Seto offered. "I take it you haven't decided what to read for that report." He stepped over to stand behind the black-haired boy as Mokuba shook his head. He looked over his small collection, even though he knew every volume. His thin fingers traced over them. Mokuba stepped to the side and watched his brother for a moment.

Seto looked pensive. Thoughtful.

He said, almost dreamily, "I think. I am. I will. My hands, my spirit, my sky, my forest, this earth of mine…" His fingers stopped on a particularly thin spine and he removed it. He stared at the cover. Mokuba looked expectantly at him.

"What's that one, Niisama?"

Seto's lips curved. "Anthem," he said. "It's short. Some call it prose poetry—idiotic term. Don't ever use it. She may not accept this." He handed the slim volume to Mokuba. "Take this to her. See if it will suffice. If you like."

"What…what is it?"

It was written by Ayn Rand, an author whose name Mokuba was quite familiar with. He didn't recognize this particular title, however. He was slightly confused; it wasn't often that Seto looked like this. He looked…well, there was no other word for it: he looked sentimental.

"I bought it myself," Seto said, "at a local bookstore. When I was five."

Mokuba blinked. "…You were reading…by five…? This…?"

Seto laughed quietly. "Mother told me I probably wouldn't understand it, but…I suppose I liked the title. Or the dust jacket. I had saved my allowance, which she and Father had begun giving me just that year. That was the first thing I purchased. My first possession, if you want to be romantic about it."

Suddenly, Mokuba looked as if he were holding the first handwritten edition of the Bible. He was about to say something embarrassing when a thought came to him. He said, "Did you understand it?" and Seto laughed again. Mokuba wondered idly why his brother was in such a good mood tonight, but decided not to question good fortune.

"More or less," Seto said. "You should have no trouble with it. It's not quite as involved as her other fictional work." He gestured. "As I said, however, it may not be sufficient for what your instructor is asking you to do. Still…it's worth asking. If you want to."

Mokuba beamed, and held the small novel to his chest like a priceless treasure back to his own room. Seto watched him go, and felt peaceful for what felt like the first time in weeks.

Both Kaiba brothers slept well that night, with smiles on their faces.


END.


The book little Seto references in the first scene is "The Gunslinger" by Stephen King, and the character quoted is John "Jake" Chambers. If any of you recall the Top-10 lists I had on my profile a long way back, he was on my list of Favorite Male Characters. High on that list. Or, if he wasn't, he should have been.

The reference to Ayn Rand will be familiar to some of you, as well, I think. Yes, I'm still of the opinion that Seto reads her work. No, I don't intend to go into much detail about it. I'm off my high, so to speak, and I've tempered myself since "Back from the Dead." These stories are no longer my personal sounding board. I am the stories' sounding board. There is a difference...I think.

I'm not sure I need to make reference to the Shakespeare quote, but in the interest of full disclosure, it's from Hamlet. The line is often misquoted as "Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Seto, being a learned sort, knows this to be false. So, apparently, does Darren.

I'll see you all next time. Hope you had fun with this one.

Take care.