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50. Fifty. Five tens. Ten fives. Half a hundred.

I don't know about you, but I seriously didn't see myself reaching this point anywhere near as quickly as I have. Okay, sure, so I've dropped off from my 3-times-a-week update schedule, so theoretically I should have reached this point long before now.

But life has a way of spitting on your plans sometimes. It's petty like that.

I wanted to write something special for this momentous chapter, but other than that I didn't have any particular idea outlined before I started.

I just got a new computer, and with it a new keyboard. And whenever I get a new keyboard, I have to christen it. I suppose I could have dumped a Red Bull on it (I don't have any champagne), but I don't like sticky fingers.

I decided, instead, to write this.

The last time I visited this particular scenario was five years ago, when I wrote the second chapter for "Earning an Accolade." Which is kind of romantic, since that story acts kind of like a spiritual prologue for the Good Intentions series.

I've incorporated a character new to the Good Intentions universe, but familiar to those who've read "Cemetery Dance," into this chapter; Mokuba's attendant/governess, Yoshimi Akiko.

I hope you enjoy this.


Summer, 2001


"…Then, when no one was looking, the baby dragon—"

"Bocchama! What the hell do you think you're doing?! How many times do I have to tell you, this behavior is grossly unacceptable?!"

Seto Kaiba didn't move from his place—perched on a metal folding chair from one of the supply closets—next to his brother's bed with a picture book in his lap; he didn't even bother to glance at Diamun, who stood in the doorway impersonating a bullfrog. The Kaiba heir simply stopped talking, dipped the spoon he held in his right hand into the bowl of soup he held in his left, blew on the morsel of chicken and broth he fished up, and slipped it into little Mokuba's mouth. The black-haired boy swallowed painfully, but smiled.

Diamun's entire face quivered, incandescent with rage. "You will not ignore me!"

Seto closed his eyes, sighed, and said, "Lower your voice. As you would be able to see if you bothered to do your job, Mokuba isn't feeling well. He's running a high fever, and I want him resting."

"We hire staff to handle the boy," Diamun said snidely. "You have more pressing obligations."

"No, we don't; and no, I don't. Do not presume to tell me what my obligations are." Seto finally acknowledged his antagonist. "You only hold as much authority over me as I permit you. If you think I'm overstepping my bounds, please bring the matter up with my father. See how much he cares."

Seto fed his brother another bite. Mokuba accepted it meekly.

"Don't think just because you've had a few minor successes with the company that you've earned the right to undermine me!"

"My 'minor successes' have been directly responsible for some of our most highly-regarded products in recent years. And don't be ridiculous. I claimed the right to undermine you as soon as I realized how insignificant you are. As I might remind you, my legal name is now Seto Kaiba. You have spent a great amount of time informing me, quite passionately, how powerful that name is in this city. As it turns out, you were right. Now get out of my brother's bedroom. You're making him uncomfortable."

Actually, Mokuba seemed quite entertained by this exchange; his eyes were sparkling. But then he descended into a coughing fit, and Seto set down the bowl and leaned forward. The book clattered to the floor. Seto helped Mokuba to a sitting position and tenderly rubbed his back.

When the black-haired boy could speak again, he asked, squeakily, "…What happens next?"

Seto sent one spasmodic flare-up of a glare at Diamun as he picked up his brother's book.

"You're still here?"


"…refuse to tolerate this behavior anymore! This has gone on long enough!"

Seto came into Gozaburo's office glaring down at his watch, as though beautiful and important women were waiting for him. He stood stone-still in the center of the room, arms flat at his sides, and raised an impatient eyebrow. "What is it?" he demanded of his father.

Gozaburo leaned forward. "Diamun tells me that you are spending your time frivolously. As I recall, you are scheduled to head a conference in two hours. I would remind you that Mister Yoshitori will be present at that conference. Are you sufficiently prepared?"

"I've rescheduled the conference," Seto said sharply. "I haven't the time for it today."

"You see?!" Diamun crowed.

"And what matter has so commanded your time that you cannot spare it for one of the most important moments in your budding career with my company?" Gozaburo asked, slowly.

"My brother is sick, and Diamun has the house staff running about the house preparing for some superfluous meet-and-greet with his 'contacts.' As my suggestion to hire a personal attendant for Mokuba has thus far been ignored—" here Seto sneered at Diamun, but only cursorily; the same look he would level on a persistent rodent, "—the responsibility of caring for him has fallen to me."

It was Gozaburo's turn to raise an eyebrow. "You're shirking an appointment with Yoshitori Noboru in order to feed your brother soup and fluff his pillows."

Seto didn't bat an eyelash. "That the rest of this house places no value on Mokuba's welfare is beneath my concern. Our arrangement involved you adopting and providing for the both of us. You and Diamun have thus far proven entirely inept at meeting my brother's needs. I am used to picking up the slack in that regard, so I have opted to do it here."

"I agreed to adopt the both of you. I did not agree to let you play nursemaid."

"First off, I have never given you the authority to let me do anything in regard to providing adequate care for Mokuba." Gozaburo leaned back, surprised. "Second, if this so concerns you, then hire a competent chief of staff who will allow me to appoint someone to do this for me. I'm done playing games with the two of you. I will not let my brother be neglected because you can't be bothered to hold up your end of our bargain."

"For the love of God, the boy isn't dying! He has a damned cold!" Diamun snarled.

"I'm also growing tired of hearing you call him 'the boy.' He is a Kaiba, the same as Otousama or myself. By insulting him, you insult this family. Are you so superior that you reserve the right to pass judgment on us?" Seto looked the squat little man up and down, looking thoroughly disgusted.

Diamun sputtered and squawked wordlessly, but stopped when Gozaburo held up a hand. Such a simple gesture, yet it silenced the very air around them all. "Seto is correct," he rumbled. "Young Mokuba is a Kaiba. You will treat him as such." Diamun visibly deflated. "Have you anything else to say to me?" the elder Kaiba asked Seto; a lesser man would have taken it as a threat.

Seto nodded curtly. "I do. My brother will be cared for, either by myself or someone of whom I approve. I will accept no other arrangement. Apparently, I cannot trust anyone currently under this roof to handle the minutiae of his daily requirements. And, incidentally, I spoke to Yoshitori-san myself, to inform him of our unfortunate delay. He has two sons of his own, as I'm sure you know, and he seemed quite impressed that the Kaiba family places so much importance on its children."

Gozaburo smirked. His eyes were flinty, but interested.

He gestured. "…Very well, Seto. Attend to your brother. But I expect your conference to take place no later than tomorrow afternoon."

Seto bowed his head, and turned to leave.

He stopped as he put a hand on the door. "Diamun." He said it like a curse. "I warn you now, in Otousama's presence: if you deign to treat my brother with such an offensive level of dismissal again, I will murder you with my own hands. I will bludgeon you to death, piss on your corpse, throw it into a wood-chipper, and set the pieces on fire. I've long since run out of patience with your childish ploys for authority, and you are fast proving yourself to be much more trouble than you have ever been worth." Here he stopped, and put on a pensive, thoughtful face. "But…feel free to trust in my father to have a different opinion." He glanced at Gozaburo, pointedly. "He has such a history of sentimentality, after all. I'm sure he will protect you."

Seto disappeared, and slammed the door behind him.


Autumn, 2007


"I didn't know you cooked, Seto-sama."

Seto sprinkled a dash of salt into the pot, then studied the simmering broth. "It isn't often that I have time," he murmured slowly. He reached over to grab the wooden spoon he'd left on the counter, and stirred. "How is he doing?"

Akiko smiled cheekily. "To hear Bocchan put it, he's been dying since breakfast. He says you poisoned his syrup. 'Oh, God, he's like that mom from Sixth Sense! You two are plotting to keep me locked in here forever to be the baby in some Stepford fantasy horror movie!'"

Seto snorted. "If he's well enough to make pop culture jokes, it sounds like we don't have much of anything to worry about." Some part of him noticed the use of the word "we," and from the curious glance she gave him, Akiko did, too. He didn't acknowledge it; neither did she.

It was odd how well she fit into the schema of the Kaiba Estate. But then, she'd been given the highest recommendation anyone could be given in the whole of Domino City. There was no opinion Seto valued more than Big Kristine's, though he was largely unaware of this. He didn't think of her as a mother—he was too married to his past for that—but if he'd ever bothered to truly consider the matter, Seto would have noticed that between them, Kristine Hathaway and Valery Hitcher had done as good a job as any picking up the slack, and better than most.

Kristine had recommended that Seto hire this young woman; he had hired her.

"When do we sit her down for her first performance evaluation?" Roland had asked once, and Seto had given him a blank look in return.

"When there's a point to doing one," he'd said.

Seto might have expected Akiko to make further small-talk; to mention how heavenly the soup smelled, or some crack about how Seto would make a rather convincing housewife if only he'd wear an apron. She didn't. Instead, she said, "I can't help but wonder sometimes, if you don't mind my saying, why you keep me on your payroll. I'll be honest with you, Seto-sama: he's recovering beautifully. If you want my personal opinion, he smiles far too much to be traumatized. And as for my professional opinion, he seems to have things quite well in order."

Seto smirked; there was no small amount of pride in it. But he said, "In case humility keeps your opinion in check: the reason you haven't seen more warning signs is precisely because you are here to observe them."

"What is this, Schrödinger's Psych Exam?"

Seto chuckled. "Not quite." He stirred again, grabbed a fresh teaspoon, tasted, and nodded decisively. This done, the elder Kaiba stepped over to the cupboard, fished up a short stack of bowls, and ladled soup into one of them. He dropped a pair of ice cubes from the freezer into it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were spoiling him," Akiko said, when she realized Seto intended for her to figure out what he'd meant on her own. "Fresh, homemade soup just because he's home with the sniffles? Are you doing this because the chef is off today?"

"I sent Connolly home myself," Seto said. "It's…something of a tradition."

"This family seems to have a number of those."

Seto shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps," he said.


Akiko leaned against the doorway. Seto sat near his brother's bed while Mokuba attacked his meal. Apparently the soup was not poisoned. Seto's hands would fidget, every once in a while, and Akiko figured that when the little Kaiba had been younger, Seto had fed him during days like this. This was no longer strictly appropriate—Mokuba was nearing puberty, after all; he wasn't a toddler—but the habit was nonetheless engrained.

She smiled when Mokuba started humming a happy little song to himself as he chewed.

He spied Akiko, who grinned and gave him a little wave.

With virtually no prompting whatsoever, Seto leaned back in his chair, glanced up at the ceiling as though deep in thought, and said, "…The house looks like it's been abandoned. Not for long, though. It's still well-kept, but the lawn is overgrown."

Mokuba popped the spoon out of his mouth, set it back into his empty bowl, and leaned back in bed. "Is there a mailbox?" he asked, catching on immediately.

"There's a post near the sidewalk, splintered at the top, that might have been a mailbox. Probably taken off by a teenager with a penchant for fast cars and baseball bats."

"What about a car?"

"There's an old Ford Fairlane sitting off in the backyard, near a decrepit old oak tree. It's a big property, several acres behind the house."

Akiko realized what was going on, and thought it must be another tradition. Seto would probably claim it was a creative exercise to keep the boy's brain sharp even when he wasn't in school, but that was his way. Seto often had to disguise his own actions, both to others and himself, so as to hide the fact that sometimes he liked to have fun. It was like his own self-loathing had convinced him that he was no longer allowed to enjoy himself. He didn't deserve to smile, so he grimaced and put his nose to the grindstone and perpetually rubbed it raw.

"Do I hear anything?" Mokuba asked.

"White noise," Seto murmured. "Chirping, a distant echo of a barking dog. Brakes screech. Possibly someone's pet just ran out into traffic after a ball or a stick."

"What about from the house?"

"Nothing. Some creaking, but nothing out of place for such an old and tired building." Seto's voice was low, soothing, entrancing. Akiko reminded herself that the man was a performer at heart; it bled into everything he did.

"Creaking like from somebody walking around?" Mokuba wondered; his eyes were riveted on his sibling, bright and happy despite the haze of sickness. "Like maybe it's not abandoned?"

Seto shrugged. "…You're not sure," he said, lips sliding into a smirk.

"I wanna go inside!"

Yes. Seto would have called it an exercise. He would have said it was obligatory, would have layered over it with psychosocial jargon until it barely recognized anything a human might be caught doing, but Akiko could see the truth, playing out right in front of her.

Seto was telling his baby brother a story to make him feel better.

Eventually, the younger Kaiba drifted off into an exhausted sleep, and Seto stood up. He removed himself from his brother's sanctuary, and Akiko fell into step beside him as he haunted the hall. "You're quite the storyteller," she noted.

Seto smirked. He reached his office, then turned to look at her. "Thank you," he said. He wasn't referring to the compliment. "I've been looking for someone like you for some time now." Some people might have thought this sounded odd, or quaint, stalker-ish or even romantic, but Akiko didn't think it was any of these.

She shrugged. "…I really haven't done much of anything, Seto-sama. Forgive me, but my presence really doesn't seem to have much of an effect on this…ahem…lofty estate of yours."

But Seto's smirk widened knowingly.

"Yes," he said decisively. "It does."


I don't often write Kaiba the Elder. Gozaburo is a fascinating presence to me, but he often serves better as a bitter memory than an active player. Here, I thought it prudent to place him in the quintessence of his element; that is to say, I think it is important to realize that Gozaburo was more than a tyrannical plot device to darken Seto's angst. He was a prolific and prodigious businessman in his own right.

He was cruel, yes, but cruelty without intelligence does not a powerful man make. Gozaburo may have been a slave-driver, but if he'd never let Seto exercise his own authority, how would he have possibly made a good CEO? Gozaburo's motive for adopting Seto was, in my opinion, purely pragmatic. After all, he had to have seen potential in Seto, else he wouldn't have bothered. And he wouldn't have driven Seto so hard if he didn't expect results.

For better or worse, I contend that the Seto I present to you here is precisely what Gozaburo wanted to build. He didn't want obedience or submission; he wanted a Kaiba. And that's exactly what he got.