I'm sure some of you have realized that I must be up to something, considering how many updates have happened in the past few days. In the spirit of this, I have to admit that this went up a lot later than I would have liked.

Daily updates make my head hurt.

But there's a method to this madness, and I hope you're enjoying the ride.


1.


Tristan held the door open, stiff-necked and frowning like some kind of valet, as Joey stepped out of the car. "Are you sure about this? I get why you're worried and all, but it kinda feels like maybe you're overreacting a bit."

"Been thinkin' about this since I left the hospital," Joey replied. He straightened slowly; every movement he made these days was careful, slow, deliberate. It struck Tristan that he'd never seen his friend react to an injury like this before. It wasn't like Joey was a stranger to hospital visits. He'd spent his entire teenage life laughing in the face of carnage. Sure, he'd never been shot before, that much was clear, but Tristan was surprised that neither he nor Yugi had had to force Joey to take his recovery seriously this time.

Joey was the type to go running on a sprained ankle to "whip it back into shape." He'd done it more than once; that his legs worked at all anymore was a miracle. But this time, Joey was being almost neurotically careful. It might have been that he was just superstitious when it came to bullets, or it might have been something else entirely.

Like the fact that Mokuba was paying his bills right now.

"I get that," Tristan said, as he followed Joey down the sidewalk. "Just because you've given it a lot of thought don't mean it's not overreacting."

A smirk crossed Joey's face, but it shifted quickly to a grimace. "Trust me, man. If I had another way out of this, I wouldn't be here right now. You think I want to face any of them like this? They're like wild animals. They smell weakness. They smell fear. My only shot at this is if they're too surprised at me showing up at all."

"Sometimes I think maybe your dueling style says a bit too much about your personality." Tristan's eyes narrowed. "You're a gambler, dude. Through and through. And this is one of your stupidest bets yet."

Joey shrugged.

They walked across a gravel-strewn parking lot. There weren't many cars, other than Tristan's. The two friends were, rather, surrounded by shopping carts and debris. It was the kind of place you would expect to see illicit deals go through at night, or a police sting. The fact that their destination was an abandoned warehouse didn't help matters any.

Rather, the warehouse looked abandoned. The truth was, it was privately owned. The owner just didn't have much in the way of motivation to spruce up the place. He liked it the way it was. Inconspicuous. Hiding in plain sight. Joey had been drawn to places like this all throughout his youth, and the look on his face as he took in the sight of this old haunt was almost nostalgic.

"Home sweet home," Joey whispered.

Tristan grunted. "Get real, man. You've never had a sweet home."

Joey's smirk came back, and it didn't leave quite so easily this time. "Y'ain't wrong."

It didn't look like anyone was around. It never did. But Joey knew better, and so did Tristan. It wasn't just that the boys on security right now weren't hiding as well as they thought they were; it was simply that they knew how things went down on this side of the tracks.

This was Backfire Gulch, the poorest neighborhood in all of Domino. The kind of place middle-class parents warned their clean-cut little Harrisons and Ashleys to never set foot in. Where you were apt to find scrap metal instead of a car in somebody's driveway. Where there was a cash advance place at every other corner, and folks handed out free phones in front of grocery stores.

"You called ahead?" Tristan asked, barely moving his lips.

Joey scoffed. "If I hadn't, wouldn't be this quiet out here. I may be stupid, but I ain't an idiot."

Tristan chuckled, shook his head. "One of these days. I swear. But . . . whatever. If we're gonna do this, let's get it done."


2.


There was something hypnotic about watching Seto Kaiba perform. Because that's definitely what he was doing. Everything the man did was a performance of some kind, even if it was watching a bunch of middle-schoolers play cards. He strode through the rows of desks, watching each match, very rarely saying anything. He would answer questions if prompted, but for the most part he was silent.

And yet, he was still performing.

Aisha raised her hand. "Mister Kaiba?"

Seto turned. "Yes?"

"How did you learn to duel?"

Seto quirked an eyebrow. He didn't answer at once. Mokuba stopped what he was doing and immediately turned to face his brother; the young Kaiba seemed convinced that something might go catastrophically wrong if he didn't pay attention to this. Lee, his current opponent, leaned back in his chair.

"I taught myself, at first." Seto stepped over to his case of cards. "I watched every tournament I could find. I attended every tournament I could. I watched. I studied. I ate, drank, and slept the game." He chuckled as he picked up a stack of older-looking cards. "I'm not recommending that any of you take this course. Take advantage of my bad decisions. Don't emulate them."

The kids laughed at this, and so did Joanna.

"How did it feel," Joanna asked after a silence, "to go from being a fan of this game to being one of its main distributers? To . . . revolutionizing how it's played, all across the world?"

She couldn't help herself.

Seto hummed low in his throat. "Like a fever dream. Like I'll wake up any given morning and realize that I've invented the past ten years." He began going through his previous tricks with the cards in his hands. They moved even more gracefully and naturally than the first set. It seemed like these older cards were simply more attuned to his hands. "This game changed the course of my life. In many ways, this game saved it. I'm standing here because of this game." He paused. "And no, not just because this is a dueling club and without that you'd have no cause to be listening to me right now."

Another laugh.

"I don't know if any of you have that kind of connection to dueling, and if you don't, I have no intention of insisting that you should. You'll take what you can from the game, and that's as much as anyone can ask."

". . . If the you from five years ago could hear the you right now," Mokuba murmured.

Seto smirked. "He would have an aneurysm." He paused. "That's important, actually. If any of you have seen my performances from my old tournaments . . . don't listen to that kid. He was going through a lot and had no idea what he was talking about. He was, and is, not to be trusted."

"I dunno," Mokuba said. "I think he had some good ideas."

"Have you seen his wardrobe? Don't be ridiculous."


3.


He sat on a cheap lawn chair in front of a plastic table, dressed all in black. His platinum hair was pulled back in a half-tail. Sides shaved, just like always. His eyes were like glass bullets. He had his heavy boots up on the table, and he didn't move when they entered.

Next to those boots was a computer, monitor, and some species of PlayStation. Neither Joey nor Tristan could tell what model it was, covered with decals and stickers as it was. The rest of the warehouse floor was mostly open. There was some exercise equipment, a couple punching bags, some couches, televisions. It had the basic feel of a studio apartment spread out across a thousand square feet.

Joey had his hands in his pockets, an old show of dominance he'd been using since he was a kid. Tristan did not. He did not feel dominant in any sense whatsoever. He felt like he'd walked right into a wolf den. It was the best he could do not to cross his arms over his chest.

Somebody neither of them recognized came up to Joey. He was big, broad, and covered in leather; his brown hair was cropped short and sprouting out in every direction. "Got a hell of a lotta nerve coming in here," he growled down at Joey; the dude had at least six inches on him. "Yup. Yup. Whole lotta nerve."

"Not really," Joey muttered, barely paying attention. He looked up at the stranger through half-lidded eyes. "I just have no sense of self-preservation. Back off a step, there, buddy. You're crowdin' me."

Before the big man could puff out his chest and make some kind of threat, which he seemed very much intent on doing—possibly some variation on "What the fuck you say?!"—Tristan stepped smoothly in front of Joey. There was a scuffle of movement, a bone-jarring crash. Tristan had one foot planted on the guy's chest.

Joey turned his attention to the man at the table. "You let him do that."

Kenzou Hirutani held out his hands in a sort of welcoming gesture. "What can I say? You always did have a knack for teaching the newbies." He stood up. "You boys paying attention?!" he demanded. Every other person in the warehouse stood ramrod straight. "This is what happens when you don't read your opponent! You wanna make it around here, don't be an idiot!" The man Joey had once called "mentor," and who still remained the best father figure he'd ever known personally, sidestepped his table. "Stop staring like a fuckin' fish, Felix. Go clean yourself up before you embarrass yourself again."

Tristan removed his foot and watched as Felix—apparently—scrambled to his feet and practically ran full tilt across the floor. Tristan didn't think he'd cowed the big man. Anybody can get the jump on someone. It was assuredly the fact that the underground king of Domino's streets had given him instructions.

You didn't defy Kenzou Hirutani.

"Never would've figured I'd see either o' your faces around here again," said Kenzou Hirutani, approaching the two of them. "Figured you got out. Figured you were proud of it."

Joey shrugged. "Strange times, strange bedfellows. You know how it is."

When Hirutani held out his hand, Joey shook it without hesitation. They stepped into a one-armed embrace, and Tristan wasn't sure if it surprised him or not that Joey didn't hiss in pain.


4.


It wasn't enough to say that Rebecca was pleased with herself; she practically skipped down the sidewalk. Mokuba and Connor both had to jog to keep up with her. Huan, Aisha, and Lee had all gone home for the day. Each of them had had a smile when they left.

So had Seto, and Joanna.

"What did I tell you?" Rebecca asked, giggling in spite of herself. "Am I a genius, or am I a genius?"

"You're some kind of genius," Mokuba allowed, "but we haven't quite figured out what kind yet. All right, all right, we get it. You did a good. Niisama looked like he had fun." He didn't even try to pretend that that wasn't the only thing that honestly mattered to him; neither of his friends blamed him.

"Well, sure!" Rebecca's grin, somehow, grew wider. "Everything he does is for the benefit of the next generation! All those theme parks and scholarships, all the games you guys put out, all the charity events and tournaments! It's all to shape the future! What's that thing he said once? 'The past is just a string of footsteps. The future is infinite.'"

Mokuba nodded. "Yeah. He does say that."

"This is the future! His future! Our future!"

Connor hid a smile of his own behind one hand. "If I didn't know better, I'd think this game means a lot to you." Rebecca shot him a glare, but there wasn't any real malice in it. "But, like you said. Card game capital of the world. Mister Kaiba is the best coach we could have."

"Damn right he is!"

As if summoned, Seto came gliding up behind them. As he fell into step beside his brother, the elder Kaiba ruffled Mokuba's hair.

He said: "Damn right I am."


5.


"All right. You wanted my ear. You've got my ear. Use your words, kid."

Joey did his best to look casual. He didn't feel casual. As much bravado as he had thus far managed to display, he'd never felt quite so claustrophobic. So boxed-in and vulnerable. He'd had to force himself not to turn tail and run ever since he stepped inside. What was he doing? What the fuck had he been thinking?

But none of this showed on his face; even Tristan didn't seem to notice.

Joey supposed that had to count for something.

He leaned back and drew in a breath. "My latest stunt had to've been on the news. Ain't no way anybody kept that under the radar."

Hirutani laughed. "Oh, yeah. We all saw that one. Had a bet goin' with some of the guys. They said you'd bite it. But me? I knew you'd come out on top. Takes more'n a bit of lead to take you out." He winked. "Got me some pretty good cash, there, Joe. Much obliged."

Joey smirked. "Happy to be of service."

"That what this is about?"

"Kinda. I'm not gonna ask you 'n your boys for a favor. I know better than that. But I did wanna talk atcha for a bit. Make sure you knew the score. So here's the deal: that whole cluster-fuck wasn't just about a jackass with a gun that wasn't his. He had a peanut gallery. Eggin' him on. Follow me?"

"Uh-huh." Hirutani's face lost its jovial quality. He looked all business now. "I follow."

"They're a buncha kids. Stupid kids. Like I used to be. Problem is, they ain't got a leader. Nobody paying any mind to how far they're gonna be stretching themselves. They think they got it. They think they're cut from the right cloth."

Hirutani tilted his head. "That right."

"They're not. Never mind a storm. They'll crumple from a stiff wind. They ain't like me. Rough with potential. They're fuckin' private school rejects with a chip on their shoulder. One of these days, maybe sooner, maybe later, they're gonna butt heads with you guys."

Hirutani would never be mistaken for someone with a pretty face. His whole head had been carved from granite from some vengeful god with barely any idea what humans were supposed to look like. He was a beast in a man's clothes, no two ways about it, and Joey's words had his hackles raised.

He clenched his hands into fists, then forced them open again. ". . . Keep talkin', kid."

Joey had a sudden thought: he finally remembered, on a visceral level, why people called this man the second king of Domino. He had the same aura as Seto Kaiba. He wasn't rich, and he wasn't famous. Not in the traditional sense. You'd never catch Hirutani at some black-tie gala drinking champagne.

But all the same . . .

If Seto Kaiba had a dragon trapped behind his eyes, then Kenzou Hirutani had a tiger behind his.

"I can't make you do anything. I'm not gonna try. But I just . . . wanted to warn you ahead of time. Don't . . . don't do what we used to do. If you gotta teach 'em their place, then teach 'em their place. You'll take one look at any one of 'em and wanna do dental surgery with them boots you got. I know it. I've felt it. But . . . they're kids, Kenzou. They're stupid kids."

Hirutani studied his former lieutenant in dead silence.

"I'm not sure what you're giving me, here. You think they need a thump on the head? You think I'm gonna be your own personal disciplinary committee? Knock 'em down with one hand to help 'em up with the other? Is that what I am to you? Some school marm?"

Several of Hirutani's men had come to see what this meeting was about. Some of them Joey recognized.

"No." Joey shook his head. "Let me be honest here. I couldn't care less about those little shits if you paid me. They're fuckin' wastes. They crank Green Day and cry about rebellion and then they get all dolled up in polo shirts and khakis to visit country clubs on the weekends. Fuck 'em."

Hirutani raised an eyebrow. "But . . . ?"

"I know where my chips are now. And I can't afford for you to make an example out of these kids. Because word's gonna get back to somebody important to me, and he isn't gonna like it. He's been through enough, and I'm not gonna let him go through more without doin' what I can to avoid it. Because if he finds out about this, it's gonna get ugly. And I don't want any more ugliness right now."

"So who is this person," Hirutani asked, a hint of danger in his voice, "that you think's so damn important that I'm gonna interrupt my business? Who's so important to you that you're gonna come in here and tell me how I should conduct myself? Who do you think is gonna protect you if I get angry? Because this is inching pretty close to an insult I can't forgive, even from you. Who is it? Huh? Why don't you tell me that?"

Joey didn't flinch. "Mokuba Kaiba."

Hirutani blinked.

Stared.

He stood up. "It was good seeing you, kid. Thanks for the heads-up."

Joey almost smiled. He resisted the urge. "Yeah. Any time."

"Don't be a stranger, huh? You find yourself in our neighborhood, you come on in. We'll have ourselves a tourney, just like old times. Felix is pretty good at Tekken."

Joey nodded. "Yeah. Sounds good."

He stood up, nodded to Tristan, and they both turned to leave.

From behind him, they heard Hirutani being berated with questions. Joey knew some of the voices; others, he didn't. But he could hear the indignant anger in each of them, and he recognized it. Like some nostalgic wine.

"What the hell, boss?!"

"That's it?!"

"You're just gonna let 'im talk to you like that?!"

"Are you scared of some trust fund brat?"

Joey grinned at Tristan; Tristan winked back.

"ENOUGH!"

Silence reigned. As the two outsiders stood in the doorway, preparing to leave this part of their lives behind—this time, hopefully, forever—they couldn't help but wait this one out.

"I've been running these streets since some of you fucks were in diapers! I've seen every kind of cock-eyed prick come strolling into this city with a suit and a fuckin' leather wallet thinking they can make something of themselves! Like this is the fuckin' Gold Rush! What do I tell you idiots every fucking time you come back here with black eyes and your own damn teeth in your pockets?! Know. Your. Target. I swear to God and Jesus and all the saints, if any one of you jackasses bring either Kaiba's heat down on my head, I'm gonna string you up by your fuckin' ankles and use you as a fuckin' piñata! Do I make myself clear?!"

The door shut behind them.

Joey and Tristan practically strolled down the lot toward Tristan's car.

". . . That went well," Joey murmured.

Tristan rolled his eyes. "We aren't dead, so . . . I guess. Never do that again."

"No promises."