Some of the plot points and character beats coming up in these recent chapters have been in my back pocket for so long that I can't actually remember when I came up with them.

But maybe this was meant to be.

I like where we're headed, here.


1.


It was rare that Joey Wheeler visited the Kaibas at their home. Despite the fact that they were on much better terms than they had been in the past, Joey still had a tendency to just . . . not consider it a possibility. What business did hehave on this side of town? Joey Wheeler, homespun and rough. He wasn't fit to be here. He was thrift stores and instant rice. He was torn jeans and ramen. This was where the bigwigs lived. The people with 401ks and summer homes and swimming pools in their yachts. He just wasn't suited to this kind of neighborhood.

But when the Kaiba brothers invited you to visit, you visited. Whether it was at their offices or at their homes, at a coffee shop or at the amusement park. If they called for you, you answered.

That was just how it went.

So he sat in their front parlor, on a plush chair next to a little table where someone had left a glass of lemonade. "All righty," said he, looking over at the couch where the brothers were seated. Roland Ackerman stood in one corner of the room at parade rest. "I'm gonna venture a guess and say there's some business we gotta have cleared up. Kinda doubt y'all called me here just to have a drink. What's up, rich boys?"

"How are you?" Mokuba asked. "How goes the recovery?"

"Can't complain," Joey said. "Still not in love with the sensation, y'know, and I've actually really been cravin' oatmeal for some reason right now, so that's no fun. Fiber's bad for me, I guess. I dunno. I looked it up on the internet. Doc ain't called me back. But I'm doin' okay. Everything's going smoothly."

The young Kaiba smiled.

So did the elder, which was something that Joey hadn't necessarily expected. He still wouldn't have called himself an expert on Seto, but he did think there was something about him these days that was . . . different. If pressed, he wouldn't have been able to properly articulate what it was, but he knew it was there. He could feel it; he could sense it. He supposed Yugi would have said it was something to do with Seto's aura. Joey wasn't sure if he believed in that stuff, but for the moment it was as much as he could pinpoint.

"We've called you here because there's something I'd like to discuss with you," Seto said. All business, like usual. "You have been . . . performing a service for us, so to speak. This is not to accuse you of wanting anything in return, but simply using the most applicable term for the situation. You have been watching Mokuba when I am indisposed, and for that I am . . . immeasurably grateful. Thank you."

Joey blinked. "I mean. Dude. He's my li'l buddy. 'Course I'm gonna look out for 'im. But . . . hey, man. S'cool. You're welcome."

Seto nodded. "I have called on you numerous times in the recent past, and you have answered. I had no right to treat you as an employee, and yet that is what I have done." Joey started to say something, but Seto held up a hand. "Without question or complaint, you have placed yourself in between my brother and danger. And most recently, you have suffered serious injury as a result of that. So I have a question to ask of you, Joey Wheeler. A very serious question. When you are fully recovered, and have returned to life as you knew it before your injury, do you intend to continue . . . looking out for Mokuba?"

Joey's face scrunched up in confusion. "I mean. Yeah? Of course. What, you think this is gonna be some life-changing thing? I mean, sure, it sucked. No question. But you could pit me in that fight a thousand times and ain't a one of 'em I'd let a kid take a bullet."

"You would place yourself in danger again, for my brother's sake?"

"Yes. Look, man, I dunno what's going on here, but this is getting' kinda weird."

"I know." Seto drew in a deep, measured breath. "For that, I apologize. But I had to know. Before we continue this conversation, I had to hear it from you directly."

Joey tried to think back and point at any other time in his life that Seto freaking Kaiba had ever apologized. He found that he couldn't. Never mind to him. Okay, something was definitely different now. But as he watched the man's face work itself into its old neutral mask, Joey found that the annoyance creeping up on him had vanished.

Mokuba was sitting there, silent, letting his brother talk. He didn't look particularly enthusiastic. Whatever this conversation was going to turn into, Mokuba wasn't ready to have it.

"If you agree to it," said Seto, "then I can see to it that you will be prepared for the next time this happens. I can't pretend that Mokuba will never be placed in danger again. As much as I would love to think that my reputation and influence is enough, it clearly isn't. Nor can I be there at all times to see to Mokuba's protection. What I can do, however, is see that you are trained. That you are equipped. That when and if another gun is pointed at Connor, or Mokuba, or you, you will know precisely what to do."

Joey frowned. ". . . What're you gettin' at, moneybags?"

Seto smirked. "I'm offering you a job. Mokuba needs someone to guard him. I want you in that position."

"You would officially be a member of my team," said Roland. "However, for all intents and purposes, you would be completely autonomous. Your only concern is to keep the young master safe, by whatever means necessary. On paper, you would answer to me and Master Kaiba. In practice, you would answer to no one."


2.


A little fluffball of a kitten came waddling into the room. Mokuba snatched it up and set it onto his lap. The boy didn't seem particularly engaged with the situation he was in; if anything, he seemed to be doing his best to ignore it entirely. "Hi, there, little Sausage," he said, quietly, under his breath. "Who's a little Sausage?"

"So what've you got to say on this, kid?" Joey asked.

The young Kaiba sighed. "I don't know." He looked up at Joey. "I don't want you to get hurt again. Not for me. But . . . if you're gonna do it anyway, then it's gonna be good for everybody if you have the right equipment and stuff for it. And you're gonna do it anyway, aren't you?"

"Yup. Pretty much."

"Well, then . . . I guess that's it? I don't really like it, but I'd rather you know how to do it right than not. So, like. It makes sense. It's the better choice, for all of us."

"I'm not some kinda greenhorn, y'know," Joey said. "I know my way around sticky situations."

"You do," Roland said, "but we're not talking about brushing up on your fighting skills. We're talking about certified training. By the time we're done, you will be one of the most qualified professional bodyguards in the country."

"Defensive driving," Mokuba said, ticking at his fingers, "risk assessment, public safety, police science, first aid, yoga . . ."

"Yoga?" Joey asked.

Mokuba chuckled to himself.

"None of this training will begin while you're still in recovery," Seto said. "Once you have a clean bill of health, we'll get you started." He paused. "If you accept, that is."

"Uh-huh. And how long will this training take, exactly?"

"Two years," said Roland.

"How much is this two-year training gonna cost?"

Seto rolled his eyes. "You will be entering into it as a Kaiba-Corp employee. It won't cost you anything."

Joey scowled. "You're gonna pay me to get job training."

"Naturally."

"You make it sound obvious. I ain't never heard of a company willing to do this outta the gate."

"Then the companies of which you've heard are awful." Seto waved a dismissive hand. "As I said. I want to recruit you. It is my responsibility to make the offer. Your task in this is to make a decision." Seto leaned close. "Take your time. Consider this carefully. I am under no delusion that this will be easy."

". . . I dunno what to make o' this, guys. I mean. I guess I never really thought 'bodyguard' was a real job. Y'know? Kinda always figured it was just some thing the mafia did. Y'all ain't part of a crime family, are you?"

"That depends entirely on your definition of 'crime,'" Seto said.

Joey snickered. "All right, point taken." He blew a stray lock of hair out of his face. "All right. So if I understand . . . y'all wanna get me trained up to be a meat-shield. Gonna be certified and all that. I'm basically gonna be on the clock whenever the Moku-man needs to go somewhere. And anybody who looks at him sideways, I puff out my chest and go: 'You're gonna have to go through me first.' That about the size of it?"

Seto shrugged. "It's enough of an understanding to start with."

"Like Master Kaiba said," Roland put in, "take your time. You'll still be in recovery for some months. Think hard on this. It isn't an easy commitment to make."

Joey shook his head. "Nah. I never been good at makin' life choices. What I'm hearing is you guys are gonna train me to get better at protectin' my friends. And then you're gonna pay me to specifically protect the littlest of 'em. Which I been doin' for a while anyway. I was an intern, and now I'm risin' up the ranks."

He flashed a grin.

"I'm in."


3.


"See? That's what I mean when I say you can't just look at the numbers on the card and make your call from that. It's not that simple." Rebecca smiled, and patted Connor's hand. "No worries. It's always tempting to just grab as many high-point monsters as you can."

"Hmmmmmm . . ." said Connor.

"Wanna know a secret? I hear from certain sources that Joey Wheeler's first deck was just monsters. No spells or traps or anything. Just monsters." Connor looked incredulous. "And now? He's a tournament-level player. People use his name to draw in new people. He's famous. But he started from the bottom of the barrel. And he was quite a bit older than you when he started."

"I've seen him on TV," Connor said. "He plays a lot of gambling-type cards. Maybe he's an adrenaline hound? I think he likes taking risks."

Rebecca nodded. "I bet you're right about that."

"Have you dueled him?"

"Oh, yeah. He's a tough one. It's almost impossible to predict what he's gonna do. Half the time he loses, it's his own fault. Which is infuriating to his opponents. I honestly think that's why he does it. Psychological warfare across the entire pro circuit."

"Is that what we're going for? Like. This team division you're talking about. Is it professional? Like, with prizes and stuff?"

"Yup!" Rebecca winked. "They're gonna be filmed and all that. At some point we're gonna have to get you used to playing with a Duel Disk." She gestured to the table, and their playing mats. "This is old-school. This is like . . . doing math with an abacus. The pros are all about them holograms."

". . . Me? Play with 3D holograms?"

"Uh-huh!" Rebecca frowned. "What's up? Is that a problem?"

Connor fidgeted. "I dunno. I guess I just . . . it feels like . . . you have to reach a certain level before you play with a Duel Disk. Like. Like I'm not worthy, or something. Besides, aren't they expensive?"

"They were at first." Rebecca rubbed her chin. "The prototype models weren't cheap. It was like, you paid for the privilege of getting in on the ground floor. Us early adopters had to swallow one hell of a bill to wear a Disk on our arms."

"They're cheaper now?"

"Oh, yeah. Kaiba-Corp streamlined their production process and took a hit to their profits after a while to lower the costs." She frowned. "I haven't bought a new one in a while. Our illustrious Kaiba-sama doesn't hold with that planned obsolescence crap. KC products are built to last."

"Planned obsolescence," Connor repeated. "Like iPhones?"

"Exactly."

He smiled. "Cool."

"So what do you think? Most new duelists pick one or two monsters to build their deck around. Everybody's got a trump card. It's not just a tradition, either. It's to make sure you have a focused deck. In a lot of divisions, there's no upper limit to how many cards you can have in your deck. It can be tempting sometimes to fill it with as many powerful options as you can find. But if you do that, you'll end up with nothing to show for it. You can only draw so many cards, and having twelve percent of four different strategies in your hand isn't going to help you. So. You're gonna want to pick an ace."

"Like Mister Kaiba and his Blue-Eyes."

Rebecca nodded. She gestured to the various stacks of cards between them on the table. "Anything strike your fancy? Anything speak to you?"

Connor hummed for a bit, reaching out for various cards and second-guessing himself at every other turn. Eventually, he said: "I really like that Shadow Ghoul card. It looks interesting. All those eyes. And the claws. It's like an alien." Connor looked embarrassed all of a sudden. "I like aliens."

Rebecca grinned. "Good answer, new kid. I like you."


4.


Sometimes, at night, Seto would watch anime with Mokuba while they ate popcorn. They rarely talked during these nights; they would simply sit together. Mokuba might ask questions in between episodes, or Seto might make note of some obscure reference that he recognized, but for the most part neither brother would say much of anything. It was simply enough to be together.

However, if there was plenty on one or both brothers' minds, they wouldn't turn on the television.

Sometimes Seto would watch his own reflection in the blackness of the screen.

Mokuba would usually watch Seto.

This night, they sat in silence; Mokuba leaned against Seto's side while Seto read a magazine. Every so often Seto would ruffle his brother's hair. Sometimes Mokuba would read an article through half-lidded eyes. But for the most part, they simply . . . sat.

"Hey. Niisama."

"Mm?"

"Do you know what's gonna happen to Matt?"

Seto shrugged. "Somehow I doubt you're talking about the legal system."

Mokuba shook his head. "I mean, like. Later. After he . . . if he gets out. Do you think he's gonna be okay?"

"It's certainly possible." Seto set down his magazine. "I may have gotten through to him. I can't guarantee it. I was in no fit state to listen to anyone the last time we . . . talked. But it's not as though it's impossible for him to learn. To grow. To move past his choices now and become a different man. I'm proof enough of that." Seto paused. "I won't say I'm surprised you're asking me about this. I assume this has been on your mind for a while."

"Mm."

"So? What prompted this?"

"I dunno, I just . . . things feel okay now. Connor's doing better. I'm doing better. You're doing better. I guess I'm just hoping that . . . you know. He does better, too. I know what he did, and I know why it made you mad. It made me mad too. But . . . I guess I just want to put all this ugly stuff behind us. Y'know?"

"I think I do."

"You said once . . . when you were dueling the pharaoh at Battle City," Seto flinched, hoped he hid it, knew he didn't, "that the past is just a string of footsteps. Rebecca reminded me."

Seto looked up at the ceiling. "The future is infinite."

"I didn't know what you meant back then. I thought you were just . . . saying that you didn't want to think about where we came from. I thought maybe thinking about him made you angry. Maybe thinking about Mom and Dad made you sad. So you just wanted everything to be . . . buried."

"Considering that was four years ago," Seto murmured, "I'm not entirely certain you're wrong. My personal belief systems back then weren't the most nuanced things in the world. I am many things. Subtle has never been one of them."

"But I think . . . I think it means more than that. I think there's something hidden in there. And I'm really starting to understand. I think. I hope." Mokuba patted Seto's arm. "I think the past is where you leave everything you can't carry with you. You leave the stuff that makes you angry there. You leave the stuff that makes you sad there. You leave the stuff that scares you there. All the stuff that makes your footsteps so heavy that you can't help but see them."

Seto hummed low in his throat.

"I don't want to be scared anymore. I don't want to be mad anymore. It makes me tired. I can't think very well when my brain gets . . . like that. It's too much of a chore just to get through the day. I just want to go home and sleep. I don't like that feeling. I want to see the infinite future you talked about. I want to show it to other people. I want us to explore it together. Can we just . . . leave everything else behind?"

". . . I think we can, kid. I think we can."