I usually have a soundtrack when I work on a story. Usually there's a particular type of music that I'll play depending on what the story is. This arc, so far, has been fueled by dubstep remixes and videogame raps.

Which, honestly, feels about right.


1.


The Riverside Wyverns didn't stop meeting once their winter vacation started. Rather, they made their way to the Turtle and held meetings there. Rebecca had more in line for her teammates than just practicing and dueling. Sometimes they watched movies or TV shows, sometimes they would play board games. Mokuba suggested a tabletop RPG campaign, which everyone seemed enthusiastic about.

"Don't you already run a D&D game?" Rebecca asked, squinting suspiciously at the young Kaiba, like she thought he was pulling some kind of trick on her.

"Yeah," Mokuba said, "on weekends. But I'm not working at Kaiba-Corp right now. I've got free time." He flashed a grin. "Besides. Niisama says running RPGs is a good way to keep your creativity sharp. Do you guys remember The Shieldbreaker Code?"

"Yeah."

"Ooh! I love that one!"

"It's my sister's favorite of all your games."

Mokuba nodded sagely. "Niisama came up with the original pitch because of a Warhammer campaign. I'm not just having fun. I'm doing market research." He paused. "That's my story and I'm sticking with it."

Huan sipped at an energy drink, studying the young Kaiba like she wasn't quite sure what species he was. "So you . . . really do have a job at Kaiba-Corp. Er, did. It's not just rumors?"

Mokuba shook his head. "Nah. No rumors. I'm an executive. I just don't wear a suit." He grinned. "As far as who actually handles the work I should be doing as Kaiba-Corp's vice president, that would be Niisama and his directors. They spread everything out among themselves. I'm . . . a glorified intern."

"But you're still the vice president."

"Technically, yeah."

"So you have a salary?"

"Sort of. The money that would be my salary is split up and sent to a bunch of charities every year. I do research and change things up depending on what I find out." Mokuba took a bite out of his chocolate bar and chewed slowly, almost meditatively. "I don't need more money. We're doing fine. We could lose, like, half our assets and life wouldn't change at all. We wouldn't have to sell our house or let any of the staff go or anything. So we're always looking out for things to do. People have been trying to convince Niisama to go into politics lately."

"Really?" Aisha looked intrigued. "Do you think he might do it?"

"I have no idea." Mokuba held out his hands. "Niisama hates politics. But that'd be all the more reason for him to do it. He likes to break things down and build them back up. It's what he did with Kaiba-Corp."

"I always thought your brother's dream was to run a game company," Lee said.

Mokuba shook his head again, emphatically this time. "Nah. No way. Niisama's an inventor. An engineer. He likes making things. That's not what you do when you're in charge. I feel like Niisama is just waiting for the right time to retire."

"He could retire any time he wanted," Connor put in. "Couldn't he?"

"Sure. But Kaiba-Corp isn't ready for that yet. I think he wants to make sure that everything's . . . set up the right way before he leaves. He wants to make sure he has the right people in charge. Niisama has a particular way of doing things, and I'm betting if he walked away now almost all of his policies would get turned over in a week."

Rebecca, who was leaning back in her chair like a queen at court, nodded knowingly. "Mister Kaiba scares them. He doesn't need money, so he uses it. He funnels it into things that make the company run better. That's just fine if the rest of the top brass believe in the mission. But if they're your standard, garden-variety pricks, they'll chase the green instead of keeping the people happy."

"They've tried for years to convince Niisama to change his methods. They don't push too hard, though, 'cuz they're scared of him. Not just the way you said, Rebeca. It's not just superstition or 'cuz they're confused. He's pretty nice during practice and all that, but that's 'cuz it's us. None of you have seen him at work. Around other adults, he's . . . he's pretty terrifying when he needs to be, that's all I'm saying."

Rebecca smirked. "They remember what happened to the last board of directors."

"Sometimes I think your brother's not real." Aisha crossed her arms and eyed Mokuba suspiciously, as though she thought he was in on the conspiracy. "I think he's a cryptid, is what I think. Nobody's actually seen him before. Our coach is just some body double."

"Yup." Mokuba nodded. "We hired him last year. His real name is Ryu Hanzaki. His friends call him Beef."

Laughter erupted around the table, and the conversation turned to other topics. All the while, Yugi Mutou and Joey Wheeler kept tabs on them; Joey at the counter, Yugi restocking and arranging the shelves. Joey rang up an elderly woman buying $300 worth of Deadpool comics, watched her go with an expression close to wonder, then said: "Y'think Rebecca did this on purpose?"

Yugi, who was eyeing a Cards Against Humanity set for damage, said: "Did what on purpose?"

"The club. I mean, don't get me wrong. She's a great player. I ain't sayin' nothing about that. But she never struck me as much of a team player before. Kinda sticks to her own for the most part. But listen to them. All laughin' and playin' games and shit."

Yugi finally looked over. "You think she started this dueling club to help Connor and Mokuba? To distract them?"

"I dunno, man. I'm just sayin', it sounds like something I would do. And, hell, she even got Kaiba in on it. If she didn't do it on purpose, then it's a hell of a happy accident. And I dunno about you, but ol' Becky Hawkins ain't never struck me as the type to deal in accidents."

Yugi turned his attention to the small group across the floor.

Rebecca glanced up, waved, and returned to her business.

Yugi set his merchandise in place and crossed his arms. "Huh."

"Right?" Joey spread out his hands as though presenting something. "I'm tellin' ya. I think this is all part of her master plan. Which is to say, someday that gal's gonna take over the world."

". . . I don't not believe that."


2.


Joey was no chef, but he knew his way around a kitchen all the same. He was particularly good at making do with very, very little. So it was that that afternoon, he found himself scrounging around in the Mutous' cabinets for something he could make without using too much of their food. Surely Missus Mutou, or Solomon, or even Yugi, would have told him not to worry. You're family, they would have said. Our food is your food. Eat whatever you like.

But Joey had a code, and that code would not be broken.

He was trying to figure out what he could do with a tortilla, dry ramen, celery, and peanut butter—just one spoonful at first, then a second; a guy had to splurge sometimes—when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs into the living room. He broke the ramen in half, put one piece into a bowl of water, and crushed the other half into pieces. The bowl went into the microwave; the crunchy bits went into the tortilla.

Joey had heard that watching him cook was to fear for the future of humanity, but he didn't have time for that kind of nonsense. Food was fuel, and while it was nice to have traditional food sometimes, like fried chicken or whatever, a lifetime of coasting on pocket change had taught him to think outside the proverbial box.

The box in this case being "anything that reasonable people would consider a meal."

So far, Yugi gave him the least grief over it. Though, he also refused whenever Joey offered to share. Everyone had their limits. Joey didn't understand what was so offensive about a butter sandwich, but whatever.

As if summoned by Joey's thoughts of him, Yugi came into the room. "You have guests," he said. "They are for you, these guests."

Joey was just wrapping up his various scraps into something resembling a burrito. "Who, me? Since when?"

"What are you making? And why does that soy sauce in your hand make me feel so nervous."

"Lunch. It's a meal you eat. In the afternoon, usually. That's what they call the time that comes after . . . noon."

Yugi rolled his eyes. "I hope you know that if Mama asks me what you had for lunch, I am going to lie." He huffed and crossed his arms. "We went to that taco truck up the street. We had real-people food. It was lovely."

Joey chuckled as he took a bite of his concoction. Not the best thing he'd ever eaten, but far from the worst. He shrugged. "Sounds good," he said. "Anyways, I guess I oughtta see what's up." He patted Yugi on the shoulder as he passed. "Not sure how much room you got to talk, there, Mister Hot-Sauce-on-Ice-Cream."

"Hey!" Yugi elbowed Joey in the ribs—gently, so gently. "That's different."

"Uh-huh. It sure is."

"Oh, go on. Remember! Taco truck! Lovely!"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." Joey waved without looking back. "You got it."


3.


Connor offered up a little wave as Joey entered the room. His parents stood on either side of him. "Hi, Mister Whee—I mean. Um. Joey." He smiled, and Joey smiled back. He chomped on his burrito and offered up a wave of his own as he made his way to the couch. "How are you doing?"

"I ain't too bad," Joey said. "I hear you was lookin' for me." He grinned up at them. "What can I do for ya?"

The three Brinkleys sat down alongside Joey, and nobody spoke for a while. Joey finished his lunch as he waited, as it seemed like both Enid and Leonard were struggling to put words together. In this silence, Connor said: "Your duel against Mister Kaiba was really cool."

Joey chuckled. "Yeah? It was pretty good, wasn't it?" He flashed a grin. "Think that was the first time we ever tied. Having a duel end in a draw ain't that common, y'know. A lot of times, you'd just end up having a rematch. Mostly duels are pretty quick."

"I dunno about that," Connor said. "I've seen some of the duels Mister Kaiba had with Yugi Mutou. From the old tournaments? Those duels took forever."

"Yeah, well. Kaiba 'n Yugi are outliers. Always with their strategies on top o' strategies."

"Do you think I could get that good someday?"

"I don't see why not." Joey shrugged. "You're gettin' a much earlier start on this whole thing than I did. I was fifteen when I learned how to duel. You're gonna have, like, three years on me." He winked. "Besides. I hear you're good with numbers. You've got it made."

Apparently spurred on by their son, the two elder Brinkleys seemed to find their words.

"You asked what you could do for us," Enid said. She looked like she was choking up. "But that's not why we . . . wanted to talk to you. It's what you've already done." She sounded solemn, like she was giving a speech at a funeral. She put a hand on her son's shoulder. Connor smiled up at her, then turned his attention back to Joey.

Joey, for his part, frowned. "Hey, now," he said. "That weren't nothin'."

"It most certainly wasn't nothing," said Leo.

"I just did what anybody would'a done." But Joey knew better than that. Before even finishing the sentence, he knew he didn't believe it. He sighed. "Hey. Look. I'll tell you what I told my Ma. This is just . . . what I do. I spent a whole lotta years gambling with my life. I just learned how to do it for the right reasons."

Enid looked like she might cry. "You saved our son's life. If not for you . . ."

"Hey." Joey flashed a thumbs-up. "I'm trainin' to be a bodyguard. Had to get my foot in the door sometime, right?" He put on a serious face. "I did what I had to do. I wasn't gonna turn tail and let little kids face down a gun. That ain't in me."

Enid seemed to melt. "Thank you, Joey Wheeler. Thank you so much."

Leo reached out and offered Joey his hand. Joey shook it heartily.

"You really saved our butts," Connor said. He looked embarrassed and couldn't maintain eye contact for long. "I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't shown up."

Joey patted Connor's shoulder. "Don't worry about it, li'l man."

"You're a hero," Leo said. "You know that, don't you?"

Joey's face scrunched up. "Now you're goin' a bit far, there, man. I ain't a hero."

But Leo was already nodding before Joey could finish his protest. "You absolutely are. We won't hear otherwise. You saved our little boy." Connor made a grunting sound. "You saved our boy. That's a hero to me."

Enid was also nodding. "Agreed."

Joey chuckled to himself, and shook his head, but he didn't argue again. "Y'know what, y'all? I'll take it." He tapped his chest with one fist. "Golden Firebrand. Sounds like a superhero, don't it? Now all I need is a cape."

"I'll get you one for Christmas," Connor said.

Joey laughed. "I like it!"

"Speaking of . . ." Enid looked sly all of a sudden. "Do you think you would be able to make an appearance at our house this Christmas? There's . . . a lot of people I know who want to meet you."


4.


Swimming was one of Seto's quiet comforts. He had used the pool more than any other piece of equipment to keep himself in shape as he shouldered the tutelage of the old Kaiba dynasty. It removed the rest of the world from consideration. It was as close as any human being could reach to flying.

Surrounded by the water, he felt at peace.

He couldn't hear anything. He couldn't see anything. But he could feel. The cool crispness around him, the sweet ache as his muscles propelled him forward. There was no need to think. All he had to do was go forward. Forward. Forward.

He had told his predecessor that he preferred swimming to other forms of cardio work simply because it was a full-body workout. He'd done his research, and brought up all the salient points in its favor. But the truth had always been so much simpler, and he wondered if that old demon had ever figured it out:

It was an escape.

Here, he was cradled. Here, he was lifted. The past didn't exist here. The future didn't exist here. He was just . . . here.

Seto took note of his brother's presence long before he acknowledged it. As drunk as he was, under the influence of nostalgia and cold silence, he would never fail to notice Mokuba nearby. Eventually, Seto lifted himself up, broke the surface of the water, and sat on the edge of the pool. "Hey, there, kid," he said.

Mokuba smiled at him. "Didn't think I'd find you out here," he said. "You usually only swim if you're stressed out." Sudden worry flitted across the boy's face. "Are you okay, Niisama?"

"I'm fine, Mokuba." Seto offered a lopsided little smirk that didn't have anything like his usual sardonic edge. "Consider this a preemptive measure. You wouldn't be able to guess how many people have told me that I should meditate." He paused. "Sitting in silence, at one with myself, has never worked for me. I thought I might try this."

"Is it working?" Mokuba asked. He'd changed into his swimming shorts and a t-shirt, despite the cold evening that surrounded them, so that he could sit with his brother. He flopped down on the pool's edge and kicked idly at the water.

"It might be," Seto said. "I think there is a part of me, somewhere hidden where I can't confront it directly, waiting for the other shoe to drop." He sighed. "We've gone an entire month without anything fundamentally awful happening. Surely we must be on borrowed time now."

"Mm." Mokuba nodded. "I think I get that. So you're out here trying to tire yourself out so your inner pessimist will shut up?" He grinned suddenly. "Do you have the opposite of an inner child, Niisama?"

"Precisely," Seto said. "I have an inner crotchety Republican. He's in his 60s, rants about Communism, and wears socks with sandals. Oh, and mismatched suspenders."

"Does he wear bifocals?"

"Trifocals."

"Ooh."

Seto looked at the sky and watched the colors of the sunset flow overhead. "I'm tired, Mokuba. I've been tired for so long. I want to rest. I like the quiet."

Mokuba put a hand on Seto's arm. "I know, Niisama."

"I never wanted to be angry. It's the only armor that works. What else but anger could have toppled him? What else but anger could have pulled us up from that? But that anger has been buzzing in my head for so long, like a hornet's nest. I can't turn it off. But the water drowns it out. When I dive, I don't hear it. When my lungs are burning, I don't feel it. When there's nothing but . . . blue . . . I don't see it."

Mokuba dared a smile. "That's something," he said. "You didn't used to have an escape. You didn't used to let yourself escape. You'd hear that buzzing and you'd convince yourself it was important that you hear it. Vital that you hear it. That anger was all that was keeping you alive. But if you're trying to leave it behind . . . that means you outgrew it. Right?"

Seto, eyes still skyward, found a smile.

". . . I suppose it does."