A/N: Wow, everyone, thanks for the favorites already! I really appreciate the quick feedback.


Seto's difficulty adjusting to his workload was no secret within the Kaiba household. He had collapsed onto the sofa in his study on several evenings, just to be reminded by Hobson that he wasn't finished with his lessons for the day. On one occasion, however, the butler had punctuated his reminder by returning a textbook to him, which he deposited on the low table. The book was placed in Seto's direct line of sight, surely on purpose, and he felt his insides begin to coil up. He squeezed his eyes shut and silently willed the book to disappear, knowing that if he simply left it in its place he would be reprimanded.

With a sigh so heavy he felt the hairs on his forehead shift, Seto hoisted himself up off the sofa where he'd been lying on his stomach. He reached for the book, but when it landed in his lap, cover open, Seto saw that he had been given a gift. Hobson had said the book was handed off from Mokuba, and now Seto knew why.

The child had returned Seto's Duel Monsters cards to him. Seto lifted the little pieces of cardboard out of the cut-out pages in the book, peeking quickly around the corner wall to make sure Hobson wasn't watching him. He sifted through them, smiling at each painted image on each weak monster card. His "deck" was pitiful and some of the cards were worn or damaged, but he'd collected whatever he was able to from the other boys at the orphanage, and he was proud of what he had.

Seto reached the end of the pile and found a little slip of paper behind the last card, and he gasped at what was drawn on it. Then, of course, he quickly covered his mouth and tried to cover the gesture with a fake yawn while hiding the cards back in the damaged book. He shuffled off to his room where he could look at Mokuba's artwork behind a closed door, and still pretend to be doing something productive.

Not many days later, Hobson had found the cards in Seto's room. While gripping Seto's small arm tightly in his hand, the butler presented them to Gozaburo. Seto forced himself not to struggle against the repulsive hand on his arm, knowing that pulling away would only yield him a worse punishment. He silently congratulated himself for hiding Mokuba's drawing of his dragon in a better place than where he'd tucked the cards. It hadn't been found.

"Master Kaiba, I am sorry to report that my charge has been slacking." Gozaburo set down his cup of tea and pushed aside the papers decorating his desk. He set his dark eyes on Seto's wriggling form. His stoic expression curdled into a stiff scowl. Seto tried to ignore Hobson's fingers around his bicep, and he matched Gozaburo's stare.

"Has he?" the old man scoffed. He finally glanced down at the trading cards in Hobson's hand. He plucked them up, fanned them out for a quick glance, then, in a wide sweep of his arm threw the cards back at Seto. The few that made contact bounced off and joined the rest scattered across the floor.

"Listen to me, boy. I told you that playtime is over." Gozaburo wasn't shouting, but his gravelly voice was raised above his usual tone. His eyes were what Seto found threatening. "If you wish to stay in this house you will follow my rules. If you cannot, you and that other brat will be sent right back to the orphanage. You can always commence with your games and stories there. Is that what you desire?"

Anyone else might have wavered at the question. Anyone else might have taken even one extra second to consider the concept. But not Seto. He was burning too hot to rationalize his choices, past or present. He jerked his arm roughly out of Hobson's grip, both fists clenched into tight little balls.

"No", Seto said. "I'm never going back there. But how my brother and I are treated here isn't fair."

Gozaburo stood up. At his full height he towered over the ten-year-old, but Seto kept his angry gaze strong.

"You think I have a mind to treat you fairly?" he challenged. "Certainly not! Life isn't fair, you little brat!"

"I know that. But-"

"But nothing," Gozaburo cut him off. "You are squandering your time on useless playthings. If you have all that time to spare-"

"If I had any time to spare I would be spending it with him!" Seto shouted. "I wouldn't be in my room playing with toys ."

"Do not interrupt me when I am speaking, Seto." Gozaburo had lowered his voice down to a level that usually made Seto tense up even more than when he would shout. This time he ignored it and continued his head-on assault on his guardian. Not even the threat of Hobson, Gozaburo's weapon, was enough to cool him off. His heartbeat was pounding in his head.

He needed to speak. He needed to be heard. Hobson could punish him all he wanted later, if he got what he needed now.

"My brother is the reason I am here. You can do anything you want to me and I won't back down. We'll still find a way to be close to each other."

Gozaburo stared down at the little boy of ten, standing with grounded feet and a puffed up chest. His face was red and his fists were drawn up, like he was ready to start a fistfight.

Gozaburo laughed. The insulting bellows poured out, joined quickly by Hobson's. Seto stared at them both while they laughed. Then, the laughter died out. Gozaburo went back to staring Seto down. Seto couldn't help but notice that the man was standing on his cards.

"Since it seems as though you do have extra time, you will no longer have the option of free weekends, and you will have one more lesson each day." He turned his attention to the butler. "Hobson, clean up this mess. Then remove all of the toys from Seto's room, including any recreational storybooks and his chess board."

Seto felt like his whole body would explode. So much energy and rage bubbled up inside him, and just when he'd begun to release it with the words he needed so badly to say, Gozaburo stopped up the stream. Like the cork on a bottle of champagne. Like bashing his head against a cold, brick wall, and expecting it to break. The energy had nowhere to go but inside him, to rot and putrefy his insides, until nothing clean was left.


Gozaburo never hit him. That fact didn't comfort Seto; it only let him know what to expect.

Gozaburo had been the one to hire Hobson, and to put him over Seto's discipline. The fact that Hobson enjoyed his job didn't escape Seto, nor did it surprise him to realize that Gozaburo had chosen the most effective person for the duty. Hobson did the hitting, but Tousan had ordered it to be done that way. At the end of it all, the old man's fists were still behind the blows.

The collar hurt. The whaps of the ruler still came, but they had stopped bothering him much. The healing wounds on the back of his hand were given by only taps compared to the pain of the electric shocks he received from the collar. He had begun with wondering what the importance of sitting up straight was, but after the third shock, the reason didn't matter anymore. All that remained was obedience, or whatever he had to do to lessen the pain.

He had to live with the collar on. He studied with it, of course, but he also ate, bathed and slept with it on. As if the punishment itself weren't enough, he had to be humiliated with the constant reminder. He had had the naivety to believe that living with a rich man would lead to a luxurious lifestyle, but despite the gourmet food and comfortable clothing, Seto still felt more lowly than a dog when the metal collar was strapped around his neck.

For the first time since the brothers had moved in to the Kaiba manor, Seto was thankful Mokuba was seeing less and less of him. He tried to hide his new accessory the best he could whenever they wound up in the same room together, but Seto knew that if it hadn't seen it yet it was inevitable that he would eventually anyway. Only Gozaburo knew how long Seto would be forced to wear the contraption.

The metal collar itself also chaffed. It rubbed roughly against the soft skin of his neck with his every movement, from his arm strokes while he studied, to the dipping of his shoulders while he walked, and even when he turned his head to cough.

The jolt of electricity shooting through his system brought him the worst pain. Each time Hobson pressed the button of the little remote control he kept always at hand, Seto was startled out of whatever he was doing so suddenly that his mind went blank. He dropped whatever he was holding, most commonly his writing utensil.

Once, he'd been caught slipping into a slouch at the dinner table, and the spoonful of soup he'd been about to put into his mouth slipped from his fingers, splashing broth and bits of chicken onto the lacy tablecloth, his lap, and eventually onto the carpet. Seto had been shocked enough times that he had begun to conceal his reactions, so Mokuba didn't hear him cry out at the pain. Perhaps, if Mokuba had known to look, he might have seen Seto grinding his teeth.

What angered him most was that he'd felt his shoulders slump and already remembered to readjust his pose. He was about to do so when the shock set in. How much over-the-top reinforcement did these people think he needed?

Seto immediately took to dabbing at his lap with his napkin, feeling both angered at the scene, and embarrassed that Mokuba was there to see it. The boy, now six, was staring at him, no doubt wondering why – even how – Niisama had just suddenly spilled a whole spoonful of soup all over himself.

Seto's face was growing hot. When Hobson retrieved the napkin from him and began cleaning up the mess for him, Seto had to clench one hand under the table. His breathing grew steadily deeper when Hobson began dabbing at the new yellow stain on the lower thigh of Seto's white slacks. He actually expected the butler to offer him a condescending smile and tuck a new napkin into his shirt, in case he spilled again.

"You ought to be more careful with your utensils, Young Master," Hobson said with a smirk. Seto growled.

Hobson took the soiled cloth away. He replaced it with a new napkin, but placed it on the table at Seto's right hand. Seto could feel Gozaburo's eyes on him as he unfolded it and placed it in his lap.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Seto?"

He made himself take control of his breathing. The napkin was already a wrinkled ball in his lap under the table. He swallowed once, then picked up his new spoon and dipped it in his bowl.

"I'm sorry, Tousan. It won't happen again." If the shocks had to keep coming, he had to get better control over his reflexes.

"Hobson, Seto seems to be developing a clumsy streak," Gozaburo said to his employee, though his eyes were still on Seto. "See to it that he works on this." Seto could see the smirk peeking out behind Gozaburo's sneer, but one glance at the butler said that Hobson wasn't even trying to hide his.

"Yes, Master Kaiba."

Seto, sitting up as straight as his back could manage, cautioned a glance at Mokuba, but turned his eyes back down to his soup when he saw that the boy was still staring at him. Seto's eyes darted to Gozaburo's face, and the boy burned.

He itched to throw down his new spoon and scream in the man's face, finally telling him aloud just what he thought about the collar, about the work he was forced to do, about everything all at once. He itched to send his bowl of hot soup flying against the wall behind him – or better still, to dump the hot liquid into his lap and ask him how it felt.

But instead he sat still, back and shoulders perfectly straight, and sipped spoonful after spoonful of the wretched soup, being careful not to slurp. He knew at the end of it all that it would make no difference, even if he made Gozaburo hear him.

Because he knew that at the end of it all, no matter how loud he yelled or how hard he could hit back, the brick wall would still remain.