A lot of the ideas coming through in these recent chapters are … well, they're new. I've grown a lot in recent years, and my characters have grown with me. I'm sure that, eventually, it'll become inevitable that I'll have to head back to the earlier chapters and clean them up so that the whole thing is more … complete. Congruous.

For now, though, there's a bit of a journey left for our favorite band of brothers.

What say we join them, and leave the past in the past for a while longer?


1.


When morning came, Seto was—naturally—the first one awake. By the time Mokuba and Connor managed to drag themselves downstairs for breakfast, Seto was already dressed—casually, at least for him—and fully enthralled in his various meal-making rituals. The boys watched, side by side, quietly. Connor glanced at Mokuba with a question in his eyes, but Mokuba flashed a grin and winked.

Seto had a method. Everything came down to form and function. Cooking, Seto often said, was the most scientific of the arts (with baking being the most artistic of the sciences). Watching him at the counter and stovetop was more than enough for Mokuba to believe it. Every ingredient was already in place and in easy reach of his hand. He had skillets and a griddle primed and ready. Every movement was smooth and controlled. He practically danced across the room.

"First dinner, now breakfast. Don't you guys have a chef?" Connor asked.

"Yeah. But Niisama cooks on weekends. What's on the menu, big guy?"

"That depends," Seto said without looking up, "on what you want. What'll it be?"

"French toast!"

Connor put a finger to his chin. "Um . . . pancakes? Please?"

"Eggs?"

"Scrambled."

"Poached?"

Seto glanced over his shoulder. He winked.

He set to work. Utensils spun, ingredients flew, all in a magnificent orchestra of nonsense that seemed to make perfect sense to Seto, who had the look of someone doing nothing more complicated than writing in his day planner.

Mokuba led Connor into the next room.

"Do you want any sausage?" Seto called.

"Shaddup!" Mokuba shot back. "It wasn't funny the first time and it isn't funny now!"

"I happen to find it hilarious, and that wasn't an answer."

". . . Yes, I would like sausage."

"Please!" Connor called.

The dining hall was, in some ways, the most traditional room in the entire house. The lighting was soft, warm, and lent the whole room a certain . . . haunted, almost romantic aura straight out of a gothic novel. The hardwood floor was polished to a mirror shine. The table looked like the kind of thing a vampire lord might use. On the far wall, opposite where Mokuba and Connor were sitting, was a display of photos in wooden frames.

Only one of them was of Seto.

"We're in a ghost story," Connor said.

Mokuba chuckled. "Niisama likes it this way. I can turn on the main lights if you want."

"That . . . sounds good." Mokuba got up. Within moments, the whole room was awash in brightness, and Connor found a smile. "Thanks."

Mokuba sat back down. "You look tired," he said. "Rough night?"

Connor shrugged. "I guess. I had that dream again."

Mokuba nodded. "Yeah. That . . . that makes sense." He frowned. Leaned his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. "Brains are stupid that way. Get all fixed on stuff you can't do anything about and then you're just running in circles. Dreams are s'posed to be when your brain processes stuff you don't get a chance to deal with when you're awake. But sometimes I think that's just fancy talk for 'we don't know what's going on, just go with us on this.'" He paused. "You wanna talk to Kiko?"

Connor shrugged again. "I dunno. Maybe? Do you think I should?"

"Couldn't hurt." The young Kaiba grinned. "She's good."

"Yeah. Okay. If you think it's a good idea, then . . . sure."

Mokuba clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It'll get better. Watch. You'll see."

Connor nodded. "If anybody knows about this stuff, it's you guys. I've heard about some of the stuff you've done. You and Mister Kaiba. Like Batman and Robin."

"I am the night." Seto glided into the room carrying platters and glasses. He set the table with the speed and grace of a trained server. "I'll have it known that I have never been trained by assassins."

"But you're a billionaire who likes to help orphans," Connor countered. "Also you've got a whole bunch of winged creatures everywhere. It's your calling card. Everybody knows you by it. If somebody made a big spotlight of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon and shot it up into the sky at night, you'd come running. And some of your jackets really look like capes."

Seto stood up straight, looking suspiciously at Connor.

Mokuba laughed. "He's not wrong, Niisama."

Seto went back into the kitchen, muttering "Batman" to himself.

Connor, looking rather pleased with himself, and not at all like the trembling mess he'd been the night before, leaned back in his chair. He plucked up a slice of toast from one of the platters and started munching on it, humming to himself and looking generally as happy-go-lucky as he ever had.

Mokuba's grin reached his ears.


2.


Seto Kaiba never went anywhere without looking like he was off to kill someone. He'd only grown into his sense of drama as he'd gotten older, and while he had taken to wearing suits and ties instead of flashy coats and too many belts, he still had the bearing of a character in a noir comic, or an obscurely "stylish" cartoon.

There were people, usually older folk, who didn't know him on sight. But everyone in Domino City knew him as someone to watch out for.

Compared to how he acted when he wanted eyes on him, he was practically invisible today. He kept away from the regular foot traffic, walking easily off to one side. And yet, there wasn't a single person who didn't make at least some note of him. Most didn't say anything, most didn't stop to stare. Seto was a celebrity, but he wasn't a new celebrity.

Most were used to him . . . at least in theory.

"November the 16th," he said, holding his phone in an open palm. "4:36 PM. Mokuba is in better spirits. He seems to think Connor's time with Yoshimi will be better spent if it's in a more professional context. I'm not sure if it's for his benefit or for his parents'. In any case, he'll be meeting with her in her office at the Children's Home this coming Saturday. Her credentials are in order. I did some digging. I have to wonder why she refuses to let anyone call her 'Doctor Yoshimi.'"

Seto smirked. He wondered what Akiko would make of this entry, once he'd sent her the transcript. Upon reflection, it wasn't wonder that described his emotional reaction to finally studying his newest employee's curriculum vitae. The modesty of her position at the Domino Children's Home made more sense to him than almost anything else he'd learned about her.

"Then again," he said, remembering Akiko's insistence that he be honest and thorough, even if he did have to dance around certain topics, "I don't suppose it's all that surprising. I'm not sure how I would react upon being called Doctor Kaiba, but I doubt I would enjoy the sensation."

Seto was rather certain that the only reason Mokuba didn't call him by such a moniker, even jokingly, was because the younger Kaiba considered "being Niisama" to be a much more important achievement, and profession, than anything represented by the elder Kaiba's four PhDs.

Seto wasn't sure he disagreed. None of his degrees had anything to do with his intentions for the future; he'd pursued them as a matter of course. His entire educational career was nothing more than an excuse to avoid his phone for a set number of hours a day. Employees couldn't hound him, investors couldn't make demands of him, if he was doing what he was legally—morally?֫—obligated to do.

Some bystanders took note of him talking, but most probably assumed that there was someone on the other end of the phone. Anyone who may have noticed the truth didn't react to or comment on it. They left him be, just as he left them be. Seto's gaze was straight ahead; it was obvious that he had some destination in mind, and he was singularly focused on it. Did he have an appointment? Was he off to duel? Had someone else made the fatal mistake of crossing him?

No one could guess. But no one wanted to know what would happen if they interrupted him. No one wanted to be a lightning rod today. Seto Kaiba was no longer quite the same firestorm as he'd cultivated as a teenager, but what he'd lost in raw fury he'd gained in cold conviction. He was a dragon. He had always been a dragon. Some dragons breathed fire. Some breathed ice.

Some breathed lightning.

"This is our chief concern at the moment," Seto said, grinning in spite of himself. "So long as we can get Connor the help he needs, Mokuba won't be worried. Wheel—Joey's recovery is progressing smoothly." He took note of his own correction, and knew what it meant, but he decided to ignore it for now. "Yugi and his family are keeping his more reckless tendencies in check." Seto paused. "A new Magic & Wizards set releases in 13 days. Our duel art team has been using the preliminary prints for months now. I've yet to see the results of their work." A low chuckle escaped Seto's throat. "Spoilers."

He stole a glance around, nodded, and tapped a button on his phone. He slipped the slim device into a pocket and straightened his jacket.

"Here we are."


3.


"Are you guys sure you're ready to be back here? You were in a shooting! Has anyone ever told you two that you're both idiots?"

"All the time in elementary school," Connor said.

"Our old butler," Mokuba offered.

Rebecca's face practically broke, and she looked as though she'd been punched in the gut. She lunged forward and pulled both boys into a hug. "You weren't supposed to answer, you dorks! Now I feel bad!"

Mokuba patted Rebecca's back. "If I let you win a contest, even one of words, out of pity—would you ever forgive me?"

"Shut up." Rebecca rolled her eyes and sat down. "You may be idiots, but you're my idiots. Now c'mon. Sit down. I need you to convince me not to do something stupid." She winked. "Nobody said I wasn't an idiot, too."

They ate in companionable silence for a time.

Truth told, Mokuba wouldn't have particularly minded gently twisting his brother's arm to let him stay home from school longer. It wasn't like he'd missed anything. Seto had worked it out with the faculty and had his work brought home for him to finish. His grades were solid, and after a particularly nasty board meeting Seto had ensured that Mokuba was on sick leave from Kaiba-Corp.

Sure, Mokuba felt a little guilty for making his brother go it alone when it came to building their dreams, but he couldn't deny that he liked the decreased workload. Besides. Watching his Niisama shout at people on his behalf was still one of Mokuba's most gratifying hobbies.

So yeah. He wouldn't have minded staying home a while longer. Having too many people around still made the young Kaiba feel a bit jumpy. But he didn't think it was fair to take advantage of the debacle with Connor's cousin when it was probably the ghost of a German douchebag with lavender perfume and badly-dyed hair that was still haunting him.

But Connor had decided to go back. So Mokuba went back, too.

"All right," Mokuba said, eventually. "What's this stupid plan."

"I want to start a dueling club."

Mokuba blinked. ". . . Oh?"

Connor, in the middle of a peanut butter sandwich, lifted his eyebrows by way of a similar reply. He made a circular motion with one hand. Go on, it seemed to say.

"I've played some tournaments in the official Youth League," Rebecca continued, "But there's a new division next year for team play. I want in. But if we're gonna do it, we need the build a team first. I've already got all the paperwork. All I have to do is find a faculty adviser to sign off, and we can start recruiting."

"I'm lost," Mokuba said. "What's the stupid part of this plan?"

"The part where I'm the captain."

There was a pause, then Mokuba snorted with laughter. Connor grinned around his sandwich. Rebecca stared at them both for a bit, then sighed and shook her head.

"I'm afraid I'm not gonna be very useful," Mokuba said. "I like it."

Connor nodded.

Rebecca groaned, snapped a bite out of the carrot she was holding, then shook her head. "All right, fine." She didn't sound particularly disappointed. "Then I've got a question for you, rich boy."

"You're one to talk," Mokuba said. "You think I don't keep track of how much you pull in?"

"I'm not rich. Just industrious."

"Let's pretend I believe that. What's up, Captain?"

"We'll need a coach. Do you think you could, y'know . . . talk to somebody?"

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. "You're devious, you know that?"

Rebecca smiled innocently.

Connor washed down his bite of sandwich with a sip of milk and said: "Can . . . can I join the club?" He looked embarrassed. "I'm . . . not very good."

Mokuba offered a doting sort of smile, but he didn't speak.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Obviously you can join, doofus. What, you think I'm starting a club to be the best duelist in the world? Do I look like an anime character? This is a game! This club isn't gonna be about crushing opponents. Knowing you're better than your opponent isn't what this club's about. It's about sitting down to each match knowing you're better than the you who sat down to the last one."

Connor looked surprised, but not displeased.

"If I didn't know any better," Mokuba said, "I'd think you'd gone soft. It's not about winning, it's about having fun!"

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Gonna have to do better than that to beat me in your contest of words, capitalist dog. Anyway. The point is, winning is great. I love winning. It lets me feel superior to all you mere mortals. And winning is a lot more fun than losing. But anybody who goes into their first marathon wanting to break a world record is only gonna break an ankle."

"Shoot for the moon," Connor said. "Even if you miss, you'll end up in the stars. Right?"

"Fancy talk," Rebecca said, "and a nice sentiment for lifetime achievements. But no. Walk before you run. Run before you jump. Jump before you fly. Fly before you burn. I'm not here to feed my ego. I'm here to pump new blood into the game. I wanna test my skills against new people. I wanna forge the next generation, our generation. Domino City is the card game capital of the world. It's about time we started acting like it. Now, are you with me?"

Mokuba was already nodding. "I'm in."

"Me too."

Rebecca pumped her fist. "Now we're talkin'."


4.


"I'd be lying if I said you didn't look familiar."

Seto wore his signature smirk. "I've seen your work," he said. "As I understand it, you had more than a little to do with a pastel piece currently hanging in my home office. The first point on my agenda in meeting you today is to . . . express my gratitude. I don't think you quite understand the magnitude of the project you took on for my brother."

Gloria Haley hopped onto her desk, crossed one leg over the other, and grinned. "I think I have some idea, sugar. You didn't see the look on the tyke's face when I showed it to him." She inclined her head. "All the same, it does my heart good to hear you say that. So for that, I thank you most kindly. And on the subject of your gratitude . . . you're quite a sight welcome, my good sir."

Seto took in the studio. It was a wide space, open and inviting. Every square inch of wall was covered in some kind of artwork. Haley had been in this for a long time. It wasn't just a business; it was a sanctuary. A monument to one woman's dedication to her foremost mode of expression. Portraits, landscapes, still-lifes, mock motivational and political posters, comic strips. He took a closer look; each piece was dated and titled. Several of them had been made more than ten years ago. More than a couple were from the past handful of weeks. Years upon years of passion and craftsmanship were on display here.

In the center of the studio was an easel, innumerable tools and colors, and a half-finished piece that looked like an old-fashioned world map unrolled on a wooden table; it was replete with a delicate little sea serpent and the words HC SVNT DRACONES.

In gleeful defiance to the name Haley had given her business, this was—far and away—the single most vulnerable building Seto had ever entered.

Yes. This was the right choice. This was exactly where he was supposed to be right now.

"Anything catch your fancy?" Haley asked. "Whatever you might like to spice up your home decor, just pluck it right off the wall and we'll make a deal. Everything's got a price tag, 'cept the plumbing. I kinda need that. And I'd be much obliged if you left that OPEN / CLOSED sign I got there on the door."

Seto chuckled. "I wondered if I might interest you in another project. Something more varied and widespread than my brother had you perform."

"You're sayin' all the right words, sugar, but I'm afraid I won't be able to give you an answer until I know the scope of this project. Got a schedule to keep, yeah? So why'ncha pull up a chair right there and tell me what you got in mind? I'll see what I can do for ya."

Seto nodded. "Perfect."