I have about a week-and-a-half before school starts. I say it like it's what I've been doing for the past few years, but this is a step up for me, as I'm heading to a "real" college. As I intend to teach at the community college from which I recently graduated, I need a Master's Degree from the university to which I'm transferring.
Wish me luck. I have a feeling that I'm going to need it.
While I salvage the final 11 days of my summer vacation (I think that's what it's called), take a look into the mirror of yesterday, and see a glimpse of life at the Kaiba Estate while everyone's favorite tyrant lived there.
No, not Seto. At least, not just Seto.
Someone else would wonder how the heir to a multi-billion-dollar empire, dressed in a custom-tailored suit and wearing an expression that would have been more at home on an executioner, could sit cross-legged on the floor and play a board game.
For the five-year-old, largely forgotten second son of Kaiba Gozaburo, it was perfectly natural. Why wouldn't Niisama play a game? Niisama played whole lots of games. He even made them. So Mokuba just played, strategizing as much as he could to make sure that he lasted a long time. Of course, he'd never beat his brother, who was best at everything. But he could make it hard, at least.
They both wore identical expressions of dedicated concentration. For Mokuba, it was expected and thus didn't look out of place in the slightest. For Seto, it looked almost absurd. He could have been sitting at a war council. He rolled the die like a professional gambler, and moved his game-piece as though setting it in the wrong place would cause a nuclear explosion.
"Bocchama."
He didn't flinch. He raised his head slowly and, without looking back, said, "I specifically requested that I not be disturbed, Diamun."
Gozaburo's squat, trollish butler stood in the doorway to Mokuba's room. "Yes, yes, I'm sure you have plenty of time to be wasting. Unfortunately for you, your esteemed father requires your presence."
"It is not your place to quantify the value of my time, Diamun," Seto replied icily, rising smoothly to his feet. Mokuba, looking heartbroken, stared up at his brother. "I'm sorry, Mokuba. We'll have to finish this later."
"But…but…you said we would finish this time! You said!"
"I know, Mokuba, and I'm sorry," Seto repeated.
"Unlike some of us, your brother has work to be doi—" Diamun began.
Seto cut him off: "I do not recall asking for your assistance."
"…I was simply doing my part, Bocchama."
"Let me rephrase: I do not recall giving you permission to insult my brother."
Diamun blinked. "…Permission?"
"Mokuba is Otousama's responsibility, and mine. Whether he has delegated that responsibility to you is irrelevant, as I have not. Since you are so concerned with wasted time, I would suggest you not argue the point. I do not care to listen to your opinion, and I doubt Otousama would appreciate the delay."
Seeming to chew on his lower lip, his beady black eyes smoldering, Diamun turned on his heel. "Shall we?"
Seto turned to leave.
"Niisama!" Mokuba was tugging on his brother's hand. "Wait! It's…it's almost done! Can't we…?"
"No, Mokuba," Seto said, stern now. "We'll play later."
He took his hand away.
Mokuba's eyes widened, and he subconsciously hit the "adorable" switch in his mind. "But…but—I love you…?"
Seto straightened at this last-ditch effort. Stared at the boy for a moment. Diamun sighed with disgust. The elder Kaiba brother knelt down in front of his tiny sibling, and the smallest of smiles graced his normally severe face. "I love you, too, Mokuba," he whispered. "I promise, we'll play later. Tonight, before bed. Okay? How's that?"
Sniffling, Mokuba nodded. Looking hopeful, he held out his arms.
Seto's smile widened as he pulled the black-haired boy into a hug.
Before standing again, Seto kissed his brother's forehead. "I'm sorry," he said again. He stood, turned, and left Mokuba's room, shutting the door with a sweep of his hand. Diamun, looking murderous, growled at him: "Do I have permission to bring you to your father?"
Seto's cobalt eyes narrowed. "I saw the mark on his hand, Diamun."
"Mark?"
"I had hoped that I was clear the first time I warned you that I would not tolerate it," Seto snarled. "I was evidently unclear. Reprimand him if you must. Punish him if you must." His face gave a spasm as though it were physically painful to say this. "That is your prerogative. That is the role Otousama has given you."
He stepped closer to the short, balding little man, whose anger was wavering as the full fury of a Kaiba met his charge's face. The butler stumbled back a step.
"But if you touch him again…with anything, for any reason…I swear on everything I hold sacred that you will die for it." He leaned in close and whispered: "Do we understand each other?"
Diamun drew in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling honest fear for the first time in decades.
"…We do, Seto-sama."
I have mentioned previously that Seto's most dangerous quality (one of them) is his temper. As shown here, he was beginning to cultivate it as young as fourteen. I think it first started manifesting just after his mother's death; it was underneath the surface his entire life, wanting to lash out at the people who bullied him when he was little, but I don't think it was until he ran into his adoptive father that he was driven to the point where he would let it out.
And when Seto does something, he does it full-tilt. An angry Seto is a homicidal Seto.
Even before he took over Kaiba-Corp.
