THIS POST-EPILOGUE IS IN NO WAY TO BE CONSIDERED A CANON CONTINUATION OF 'TREBUCHET'. IT IS A SEPARATE IDEA I EARLIER SCRAPPED, BUT DECIDED TO WRITE FOR MY OWN AMUSEMENT. THE STORY ENDS AT THE END OF THE MAIN EPILOGUE.

Thanks.

Yugioh is Kazuki Takahashi. I own nothing except the historical fact I wrote this story, and the fact that I knew some of the French used earlier on.

Post-Epilogue

X ~ X ~ X

Wednesday, October 26, 2005, 7:37 AM

Tokyo, Japan

There was a slight knock on the door, and then Yoori entered. He then placed the mug of coffee on the bookcase that was directly adjacent, and didn't bother to either look at Kaiba nor deliver the coffee directly to him. The door clicked shut just as quickly.

It was several minutes before Kaiba decided to retrieve the now cooling beverage: black, no sugar, no sweetener. Tough: It could put hair on your chest. Or if you were Kaiba, it just cemented your reputation.

The current project in hand was a finalization to the proposed expansion of KaibaCorp's second stretch overseas. The first 'round' – which had been implemented almost immediately that previous year, wherein KaibaCorp had spread into Germany to fulfill the void left by SchroederCorp and also into Richmond, Virginia, United States – had been so successful that this year, they were planning on other headquarters: China, maybe (that one was still iffy with the board); France; and Toronto, Canada. The last two were definite: they were happening. He just had to iron out a few last kinks. It was practically all he had to do today, other than sort through his email, deal with customer services, plan functions, manage the marketing department, streamline the budget, and everything else most people would rather poison themselves than do.

Kaiba made a few last clicks on his mousepad on the site where he had secretly been expecting a commission. His left hand now curled, bony, around the mug: he then drank deeply. It would be there later tonight, he knew: he had given directions for a 'special package' to be placed underneath one of his pillows. Odd orders, of course, but a man of mystery was not to be understood.

He remembered the one time where work was everything, and when Mokuba had been on the backburner, despite him being the root cause of all of his hard work, determination, and newfound power and wealth. Now, Mokuba was gone, and on the forefront of his mind: his eyes were glazing over just staring at the screen, only absentmindedly running the company. He shivered and remembered the weather outside. He didn't turn around to look.

Insetad, he remarked that now he needed coffee in the morning, a ritual he had previously despised seeing in other people. Hopefully, this would wake him up more. He could work without coffee, certainly, and nobody would say anything. But why settle for anything less?

Instead of clearing, the screen almost instantaneously got more blurry. Kaiba was suddenly struck by nausea; and he wondered if there was something in the coffee. He looked down: but there was nothing. It looked like coffee to him.

His hand dropped the mug of coffee, and it reached for the phone: he staggered to his feet. He swallowed, then immediately realized he shouldn't have done so. His mind was spinning. Act fast.

Yoori, outside, heard the incoming call from his boss' office. His eyebrows drew closer together, ever so slightly; and then he lightly picked up the receiver.

He did not answer it: instead, he laid it down on the desk and listened. There was a wheezing; then a crash as his boss dropped the phone and collapsed. Then he hung up, but he could still hear, ever so quietly, the dial tone still humming behind the closed door a few meters away.

. . .

When the police came on the scene, with a stretcher, two investigators, a swarm of journalists, and a crowd of pedestrians clogging traffic tens of stories below, Yoori had already imbibed some of the cadmium-laced coffee himself, and was dead in his chair. After entering the bureau of the most powerful man in Domino, still recovering from the death of family he never knew he had, they found him dead, too, sprawled behind his desk, looking more like a dead cockroach than a champion of anything.

At Yoori's apartment – several subway stops away – they found a note that he had written that morning. It read:

Parents can only give good advice or put them on the right paths, but the final forming of a person's character lies in their own hands.

- Anne Frank

My boss had no parent. She appeared to show him the path he always should have known, and the ungrateful sonava bitch killed her. His own character – it was his own. It was monstrous. I knew this once I read the news and I made the connections. I feel like I have to do this. It wasn't what I signed up for. I'm willing to die for justice.

. . .

Thursday, 27 October 2005

Mokuba was informed of the news. Everyone at the Kaiba mansion was informed of the news. Eventually, they all had to sort through Seto's belongings, and find what Mokuba wanted to keep. They didn't expect to find anything very sentimental, and especially not after the nonchalance Seto had kept after his mother made her transient appearance in his life. But underneath the bedroom pillow of the deceased, they found a special commissioned add on to the locket he had always worn. And it read:

La chance crée les parents, mais un choix crée la famille.

25 December 1958 – 25 October 2005

It was, the investigators assumed, an old twist on the old Jacques Delille quote. And the dates inscribed were the lifespan of the mother of the deceased. And between those two dates was a dash lived in mystery, to virtually anyone who might find it of interest, just as the fame-stroked life of her son had been.

They couldn't figure out, even after the case closed and the secretary was locked away, whether it meant he had accepted Noelle Hermand regretfully post-mortem, or whether it was a breast-bound promise to keep her away like an unruly spirit.

One solid thing they could figure, based on the KaibaCorp records as accessed later on 23 November 2005, was that Kaiba truly had had a poor taste in secretaries.

They all had a good laugh about that one.

~ X X X ~