Someone I respect once defined character development like this: you have to decide what a character wants, and then push them closer to it, or further away from it.
I feel like YGO did this to Seto, both at once. What did he want? Victory. The series would push him THIS close to it, each season, then push him away at the last moment. I think that's part of why I wanted him to win so badly in "Dark Side of Dimensions."
He deserves a win.
In this story, it isn't so much my goal to give him that win, though. This story has been about something a bit more far-reaching than that. This story is about Seto, and Mokuba with him, learning how to heal.
In short, what does Seto want here? Peace.
And I'm pushing him toward it.
1.
Seto and Joey watched together as the Riverside Wyverns put William Hunter through his hazing. "They look like they're havin' a good time," Joey said. "Whaddaya know? Dueling really does solve everything." He chuckled to himself; Seto smirked and nodded. "Was this the answer you expected? I mean, from Mokuba. This what you figured he'd do?"
Seto grunted. "I honestly had no idea." He cleared his throat. "It's . . . no surprise that I am not the most trusting person."
"What? No! Say it ain't so!"
"Can it." The smirk hadn't left Seto's face; it softened just the slightest bit. "If I ever have to ask myself what I want Mokuba to do, I often place myself in the same position and ask myself what I would do. Typically, I'm much more comfortable with life in general when Mokuba makes the opposite choice."
"You want the kid to be the bigger person."
"Not in so many words." Seto shook his head. "That places a burden on him that I can't abide. But what I do want is for him to be . . . prouder of his past than I am of mine. I want him to look back on his life in five, or ten, or fifteen years, and know that he did well. Know that he made sound decisions. Know that he walked a noble path."
"Man." Joey let out a breath. "I tell you what, rich boy. Listening to you talk is depressing sometimes." Seto blinked. "Everybody fucks up. It's a fact of life, dude. There ain't nobody on the planet never made a mistake they didn't wanna crawl into a hole for."
"If I didn't know any better, I would assume that you wrote fortune cookie fortunes."
Joey laughed. "Yeah, that's me. I'm eloquent as fuck. But like . . . listen, Kaiba. I spent a good few years hatin' your guts. I think we both know this." Seto nodded. "I still remember the day you called for a ceasefire. It was on account o' the kid. And I basically figured I'd do it just to prove I was better 'n you. I was sure you'd keep up on your bullshit. I'd have put money on it."
"Mm." Seto didn't make any further reply. Hunter seemed to have just lost against Huan. They were both laughing. Lee and Aisha were pointing at the players' boards and arguing about something. All the while, Rebecca looked like a queen at court, waiting to see which of these lowly peasants would amuse her first.
Connor was watching with rapt attention.
"But look at this. Here we are in Yugi's shop. You got a buncha kids over there callin' you 'Coach.' Havin' fun, playin' games, all that jazz. That's your legacy, man. That's what people are gonna remember."
The ghost of a smile haunted Seto's face.
"I mean, hell," Joey continued; he seemed to be on a roll, "think o' this. If you went out and took a poll. Asked every-damn-body in this city. 'Hey. When I say Kaiba-Corp, what do you think of?' You honestly think anybody's gonna say guns 'n tanks 'n shit? No. They're gonna talk about their favorite game you made, or they're gonna talk about Solid Vision holograms, or they're gonna talk about Duel Disks. They're gonna talk about you."
The smile came full form, and Seto leaned back in his chair. "Point taken," he said.
"The world ain't gonna remember you for the mistakes you made when you were a stupid kid, lashing out 'cuz you couldn't figure out how to ask for help." Seto gave Joey a searching look. "What, you think I don't recognize that shit? I did the same thing for just as many years. And nobody's gonna remember a damn bit of it. Here's what they're gonna remember: theme parks people get into for free. Paid internships. The revolution of 3D technology. The orphanage you turned into a frickin' resort. That's you."
". . . I never thought I'd live to hear you give me a pep talk."
"I'm just full'a surprises, man." A pause. "And since I know you don't put much stock in the court of public opinion, I figure I oughtta mention this part: the kid ain't gonna remember all the times you could'a done better. He's gonna remember one thing and one thing only: every time he called for you, you were there. You're his hero, man. So stop worryin' so much about whether you deserve it. If he was gonna hate ya, he'd have done it already."
"Full of surprises, indeed." Seto watched the wyverns play for a while, musing quietly.
Mokuba turned, looked over, and waved. From the grin on his face, it seemed that any ill will he'd still harbored for William Hunter had been banished. Or, at the very least, he was willing to let it go.
"Seems like that Hunter kid might be okay, after all," Joey said. "Gettin' along pretty well, from the look o' things. Whatcha think, Coach? Is he Wyvern material?"
Seto shrugged. "That would depend on him. I'm disinclined to chase after people. I want this team filled with members who want to be here. The tournament scene isn't a place for duelists with one foot out of the ring."
"Startin' to sound like the old Kaiba, there. Gotta give it yer all, huh?"
"Something like that. The truth is, there are already plenty of duelists, young and old, who've given everything over to the game. There will always be people like me. Like Yugi. Like you. Getting into a match with opponents like that is only worth it if you're also ready to leave it all on the field. Otherwise, why bother?"
"I dunno," Joey said. "You 'n me, sure. But Yugi? He's always down for a friendly game. Now, Atem? Old Ghost King McSavior? He was intense."
"Mm." Seto sighed. "I used to think casual dueling was an insult to the game. The only people worthy of carrying a dueling deck were the ones willing to sacrifice for it. If you wanted the privilege of dueling me, you had to embrace dueling as a way of life."
"Not on that train no more, huh?"
"Not even close."
Joey patted Seto on the shoulder. "See? Growth. Keep this up and you'll turn into a real boy!"
"Shut up, Wheeler."
"Buy my silence."
2.
"How did he do?"
Mokuba was going over a huge collection of cards on his desk, tossing them into piles seemingly at random. He didn't look at his brother immediately; he seemed particularly focused this evening. His new playmat was placed meticulously on top of his bookshelf, and his main deck sat atop it.
"Not bad," the young Kaiba said eventually. "I think he's got potential."
"Is he interested in the game?"
"Yeah. He said he never really paid attention to it before. He's seen some matches on TV. I mean, it's Domino City. Who hasn't. But I think today was his first time actually playing." Mokuba chuckled privately to himself. "He lost every game he played. Closest he came to winning was against Connor. But he kept the cards we lent him, and he said he'd look them over and come back."
"Hm."
"I guess he's grounded for the next eternity. But as long as he's on good behavior, his folks give him one day a week to do what he wants. That's why he was out and about today. We're gonna meet up again next weekend and see what he's learned."
Seto hummed again, rubbing at his chin. "So? What about his potential as a person? Is he worth your time?"
Mokuba gave his brother a sardonic look. "C'mon, Niisama. Don't talk like that.'
Seto crossed his arms and tilted his head. "It's a valid question."
"He grew up with rich parents. He tried to play big dog with me because he had an inflated sense of his own self-importance. It didn't work." Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. "This isn't new. I forgave Noa. You really think I'm not gonna give Hunter a shot?"
"Just checking. One can never be too careful."
"He's okay. Just . . . not used to people. His old gang doesn't count. They were cronies. It's a whole different thing. They didn't care about him, or what he did. They just wanted to feel superior, or whatever. As long as he gave them an excuse to be pricks, they were okay with anything. As soon as he took that excuse away, and actually asked them—not directly, but still—to prove they were really his friends, they turned tail."
"Hm."
"Anyway, 'tis the season, right? Did you ever figure out what to bring Connor's family for Christmas?"
"Baklava."
Mokuba's eyes lit up. "Ooooooh. The devil's biscuit." He paused. "Wait. You're making yours, right? Don't embarrass me and bring store-bought. That stuff is sugar-paper."
Seto scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Please. Give me a little credit. I didn't spend four years perfecting that recipe for nothing. What are you up to, anyway? Are those new?"
"Yeah. I bought them today." Mokuba plucked up a small pile of cards and waved them in Seto's general direction. "I'm building a theme. See, what I'm thinking is, Sword Stalker was part of a special strike team. And the reason he's so vengeful is because a bunch of his teammates got killed. So I'm trying to make, like, a half-zombie, half-squad kind of thing? Every card tells a story, right? But the thing is, a lot of the cards I was thinking of using aren't right for it. The descriptions are off."
"Aha." Seto looked surprised but impressed. "I haven't seen many duelists quite so dedicated to the meta-narrative. Well done, Mokuba. Well done." The elder Kaiba plucked his phone out of a pocket and glanced at it. "Remember. We have a toy drive to attend in the morning. If you're not in bed before I am, there will be dire consequences."
"Mm-hm. I'm petrified. Truly." Mokuba looked up. "Hey, Niisama. Are you gonna be okay? There's gonna be a lot of people at Connor's house for the holiday. And his house isn't that big."
"I'll manage, kid. I'm surrounded by people rather constantly."
"Yeah, but these people aren't employees."
Seto grimaced. "You're not wrong. But it will be fine. Don't worry about me."
"Too late. I always worry about you."
Seto watched his brother for a moment, torn between exasperation and fondness. He held out an arm—a well-established gesture at this point in their lives—and Mokuba got up from his chair. He strode up to his brother and into a hug. "I know you do," Seto said. "Someone has to. Get to bed at a decent hour, all right?"
"Yes, Niisama," Mokuba said. "I love you, Niisama."
"Love you too."
3.
Seto spent the next several days, leading up to Christmas, baking. If he was meticulous about cooking, and he surely was, it was nothing compared to this. Everything on the kitchen counter, from the measuring cups to the hand towel, had been measured out with a straight edge. Aside from baklava, he had also set out the ingredients for several different types of cookies.
He would alternate from sifting flour to crushing walnuts to measuring out syrup at any given moment.
Mokuba spent those days putting together care packages for his team, including card sleeves and booster packs and energy drinks—"You need duel fuel, Niisama, everybody knows that"—while simultaneously second-guessing himself at any given opportunity.
Whenever Mokuba tired himself out from wondering whether Aisha would prefer Rockstar or Red Bull, or whether dark chocolate could be counted as an insult, he would venture into the kitchen to watch his brother work.
Seto was always at his calmest when he was in the midst of something that took every scrap of his attention. It was true that he had trouble meditating; idle hands were not Seto's friends. But his face was always smoothest and blankest when the rest of him was in constant movement. When he was like this, Seto actually looked his age. When he was like this, Mokuba didn't worry about him.
It was soothing.
Mokuba wrote holiday cards for his friends, as well. He took his time, composing in a notebook with a pencil, before switching to a pen and picking up the actual cards he'd picked out.
"I have to make sure this is right," Mokuba mumbled half to himself. "A Kaiba only accepts the best, right? Isn't that the whole idea? I don't want to bring shame upon the family."
"Theoretically," Seto said, as he tossed a lemon into the air and let it drop onto his chef's knife. As the fruit fell in two perfect halves onto his cutting board, he smirked to himself. Mokuba clapped in the background. "Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week." Seto paused. "We have a reputation to uphold, to be sure. Honestly, though, the very fact that you're worried about it tells me you don't have anything to worry about." He glanced over his shoulder and winked. "I have every confidence in you, kiddo."
"Get outta here with your affirmation nonsense," Mokuba mumbled, chomping on the end of his pencil. "If you show too much personal growth I'm not gonna be able to handle it. Where's my real Niisama? Where did he go?! He's been replaced with some self-actualized hyper-dad! You're gonna have to start wearing, like, penny loafers and Argyle sweaters or something."
"Never." Seto grimaced. "I'm not the boy I was, and I doubt I'll ever manage to wear quite that many belts again. But I will not become a sitcom uncle. Do you hear me? Never."
"What? Too old-fashioned?"
"Not old-fashioned enough. The day I'm tempted to wear that nonsense, I'm going to turn back the dial much further. I'll attend your wedding in full plate mail. I'll come with a battle standard and four different spears. I might bring a sword, but that seems too . . . passé at this point."
"Bold of you to assume I'll get married. It's a capitalist trap."
"I weep for your future partner." Mokuba stuck out his tongue. "Don't buy diamonds. Under any circumstances. If we're going to talk about capitalist traps. A chunk of granite from a sidewalk broken apart by weeds is more valuable than a diamond. A plastic ring from a vending machine is worth more than a diamond."
"If you find the right vending machine. What about a ring pop?"
"Which flavor."
"Blue raspberry."
"Absolutely worth more than a diamond."
"Watermelon."
"No. You watch your mouth. I'll not have you speaking blasphemy in this house."
"Green apple?"
". . . Debatable."
Mokuba giggled, then seemed hit with a sudden fit of inspiration and started scratching something into his notebook. Seto bent his full attention back to his baked goods, and they fell into companionable silence again. Roland came into the house at some point that afternoon, watched the brothers at their separate tasks for a time, then left again without making any commentary.
Neither Seto nor Mokuba noticed him arrive, and they didn't notice him leave.
4.
"You look like you ate some bad food, Niisama. Are you okay? You're not sick, are you?"
Seto groaned and tossed his head back. "Close," he said. "Someone decided to email me an e-card, and for some ridiculous reason I decided to look at it. Now I have a ridiculous chiptune song stuck in my head, and he probably feels like he's won something."
Mokuba started to ask who his brother was talking about, then closed his mouth. "Pegasus," he guessed.
"Mm."
"What does he want?"
". . . Apparently he's been regularly visiting the DCH for the past couple of months. Setting up some kind of event. It might have to do with the new league next year. I have no idea. He still delights in riddles and hasn't offered straightforward information once in his life. He's not going to start now."
Mokuba's eyes went wide, then narrow. "What's he doing? What do you mean, 'event.'"
"I haven't the faintest," Seto said shortly. "Something to do with an art contest, I think. It's probably harmless. He . . . is apparently proud of us. For the work we've done."
Mokuba's face scrunched up in disgust. "Is that s'posed to be a good thing?"
"Who knows."
"I don't know about that guy. Is he being honest? Is he just messing with us? Does it really matter which? He . . . he doesn't have that eye back, does he?"
"I talked to Kristine. From how she described him . . . no. No, he doesn't."
Mokuba shuddered. "That's good, at least."
"Mm."
". . . I don't have to leave him in the past, do I? I don't think I want to start inviting him to stuff." Mokuba honestly looked frightened all of a sudden; as though he fully expected his brother to tell him that forgiving Pegasus Crawford was a vital component to growing up. "I'm not sure I'm ready for that."
Seto's entire essence turned inward for a moment.
He closed his eyes and drew in several deep, calming breaths. "No," he said eventually. "You don't. Who you forgive, and who you don't, is no one's business but your own." Seto stood up from his chair. "People will tell you that forgiveness is important. Necessary, even. That no matter what someone does to you, it is vital that you forgive. For your own sake, if not theirs."
"Yeah. I've heard that kinda stuff."
"It's bullshit."
Mokuba smiled. "Yeah?"
"Forgiveness is not a resource. It is owed to no one. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your friends, not your teachers, certainly not me." He walked over to Mokuba and put a hand on his shoulder. "You are the only arbiter of your own decisions. If you want to forgive Crawford? Forgive him. If you don't? Don't. If you want to hold onto a grudge until his funeral, then you go right ahead and do that. You hear me?"
Mokuba grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, I hear you."
"Good."
". . . What are you gonna do? Are you gonna hold a grudge against him forever?"
"Probably."
