It was requested that I feature Connor again, and as I'm always happy to explore the psyches of my own creations, I figured that I would oblige. At his creation, Connor was little more than a name. But I figured, with Mokuba's past, anyone he'd choose to befriend would have to be more than your typical schoolyard buddy. Kid's got high standards, just like his brother.

Seems a common thread that Mokuba is friendly with the main group; he's often the intermediary between them and Seto. But he's got to have friends his own age, doesn't he? Well, that's why Connor's here. They're out there. Just takes a while to find them.


Connor Brinkley wasn't exactly used to standing up for himself. He'd always thought it was easier and more accommodating to stay quiet, to stay out of sight. You know who bullies noticed? The people who drew attention to themselves. That's what he'd thought. He'd thought it was true, too, honestly true, for a really long time.

And then he'd skipped sixth grade, gone straight to Middle School at eleven years old, and realized that he was now drawing attention to himself just by being there. His parents had worried that he would miss his friends from his old class, but the truth was that none of them had been all that friendly, when you came right down to it.

Eddie hadn't come to his tenth birthday. Joel hadn't been able to help him out with that essay that was worth more points than two tests. Amanda couldn't even remember his name half the time when they met in the hallway. She kept calling him Conrad.

A month at East Rivers Middle, and Connor wanted his old acquaintances back.

Until…

"Hey, smart kid!"

One of the older boy's friends punched him in the arm and said, "You moron, that's Kaiba's friend. Whatever you're thinkin' of doing…yeah, don't."

"Man, shut up." The older boy sat down in front of him. "Word out's you know math." He took a couple of crumpled sheets of paper out of his back pocket and tossed them onto Connor's desk. "I didn't get a damn thing on old man Hall's handout. What's this 'variable' shit about, anyway?"

Connor glanced up at the boy and raised an eyebrow. "There's this process called 'taking notes' they made up a while ago. You might think of trying that. Might help. Mister Hall covered this stuff in class."

The boy blinked, obviously not used to this kind of treatment. "…What, you think I got nothing better to do than listen to that old bastard?"

Connor smirked. "Doesn't sound like it." He pushed the paper away. "Can't. I'm busy."

"…What? Hey, hold on, man, I—"

"Leave it," said the friend.

"No, I ain't gonna—"

Connor had taken out a book and started to read.

If he had to pick one thing Mokuba Kaiba had taught him, it was that standing up for yourself didn't mean putting up your fists and yelling at people. It didn't have to mean confrontation. It could just as easily mean refusing to be treated badly. He felt his stomach fluttering and his temperature rise, but he didn't let it show. He looked up and raised a calm eyebrow even though he felt the exact opposite of calm running up through him like wildfire.

Calm façade.

Calm…façade.

Breathe slowly, don't look at him. Don't show doubt. Don't show anything less than supreme confidence. Just read. If they think you aren't interested, if they think you aren't scared, they won't know what to do. They can't handle this.

The older boy pulled Connor's book down and stared at him. "What the hell, kid? You think you can just ignore me?"

"Donny!" the friend hissed. "Don't be stupid!"

Donny curled one hand into a fist.

Connor's eyes widened, and suddenly his mouth went dry.

He froze. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. No. It's not what…it's not how it happened. This wasn't right. It wasn't going to happen. He'd done it. Just like Mokuba . Calm. Strong. He'd done it!

He had!

"You think you're too good for me?"

Connor saw the door, his only escape, and Mokuba stepped into the classroom, his bag slung over one shoulder. He hung it on his chair and sat down, not even looking at them. Connor was about to speak when he noticed Donny's friend, who was staring at the young Kaiba with nothing less than absolute terror.

"We're leavin'," the boy said, pulling Donny out the door. "We're sick today! Caught the flu! Move!"

Connor let out a shaky breath and noticed that the rest of the class was torn between looking at him and looking at Mokuba, who looked to be studying, serene and entirely oblivious to what had just happened. He caught more than a few appreciative smiles headed his way, and a thumbs-up or two.

Later, days later, Connor had a moment to ask Joey Wheeler—the most approachable of Mokuba's older friends—how the Kaiba brothers had such a reputation that they could scare people without even trying. "He just walked in the room!" the blond boy said. "That's all he had to do, and they just…ran! How's he do that?"

Joey shrugged, a resigned, helpless little smile on his face.

He said, "Don't ask, kid. Don't ask."

And Connor wasn't sure if the man was holding back laughter, or biting back tears.


How do you explain to a halfway well-adjusted, "normal" person (a kid, no less), Seto's reputation? On its face, the crux of the issue is billions of dollars backing a bad attitude. But there's something deeper than that.

Seto Kaiba is not above beating, maiming, and killing, if pressed. He's not an armchair general sending out his legions of workers like so many chess pieces. He's right there on the front lines, weapon in hand. There's only one thing more dangerous than an angry man; it's an apathetic one. Seto doesn't care who you are, or what you're doing; cross him, and it's on.

Cross his brother, and it's over.

Take a look at the most recent chapters of the original Good Intentions, and you'll know what I mean.

Take care, everyone.

'Til Thursday.