This is a scene I started a while ago that I wasn't sure how to finish at the time. I decided to pick it up and finish it off. It's not the most pivotal scene in the series, but the point of "Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes" is to give snapshots of the Kaibas' lives (and the others, sometimes), and this certainly counts as one.

This chapter brings back a character from a previous chapter: 17 — I'm the Shadow on the Ground.

Which means, strictly speaking, this chapter is a flashback.

Seto is 18 here. Or so.


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"I have to ask you something, Mister Kaiba . . . considering your background, to say nothing of your present, why are you attending this school in the first place? I'm not one of those people who think advanced degrees are worthless in this so-called 'modern' age, but in your case, surely it's a decent point to make?"

"Decent, yes," Seto said slowly, flipping a fountain pen around his fingers with the unconscious ease of long habit. "There are a few reasons, Doctor Manheim. I suppose the most noble of them is to provide an example for my brother."

Johan Manheim raised a thick, grey eyebrow. "Since you say it that way, I suppose I'm to understand that it isn't the primary reason?"

"No," Seto said, gesturing dismissively. "There are a great number of lessons to be learned from a higher education, but I have other methods I could use to teach them to him, methods more suited to his situation . . . so no. That isn't the primary reason at all."

Manheim leaned back against the corner of his desk and crossed his arms. "So, may I ask after your other reasons?"

Seto looked up finally. "I am young. Merely a child according to most of my staff. By attending college, I assuage their fears that I am irresponsible, which keeps them from breathing down my neck. Furthermore, most instructors here insist that cellular phones be turned off during class time, which affords me the perfect excuse to add a second barrier to their constant bickering."

Manheim chuckled. "You view your classes as a distraction-free environment, where you can work in peace."

Seto shrugged. "Effectively, yes."

"So it would be disingenuous to say that you pay attention during your classes."

"Probably."

"Yet you somehow manage to answer every question I've ever called upon you to answer, and you've aced every assignment." Manheim chuckled. "Well, I suppose it does me little good to be offended by that. At least you have good reason to ignore the lectures. Unlike some people I could mention."

"If it makes you feel any better," Seto said, with a sly smirk, "I find it particularly difficult to focus in your classes." He set down his pen, and tented his fingers in front of him. "You are . . . singularly distracting."

Manheim grinned toothily, and let out a booming belly laugh. "I will, indeed, take that as a compliment!" A moment passed, Seto made a few lines of notes, scratching deftly with his obscenely-expensive pen, and Manheim's expression turned a touch more serious. "My next class isn't for another forty minutes, and you don't seem inclined to leave just yet. Would you mind if I . . . assuage another curiosity while you're here?"

Seto made another dismissive gesture. "Feel free."

"Your car."

Seto blinked, and looked up. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sure that everything you have in your possession is top-tier. Your suit, your utensils, your book bag. But most of it—in fact, all but one article—is rather conservative. Muted colors, simple designs, classic. Refined. But that car . . ."

The surprise left the elder Kaiba's face. "You consider it too flashy for me?"

"Not in so many words," the good doctor said, chuckling, "just . . . surprising."

"I take it you don't know me by reputation, then," Seto said. "A relief, in all seriousness."

"Used to people knowing you no matter where you go, is it?"

Seto's nod was slow, without any of the usual arrogance that came with discussing himself. It was clinical, that nod. Like he was disclosing his medical history during a bout with a serious illness that could turn terminal.

Then he said, "If you think my car is flashy, you should see my jet."

Manheim put on a strange expression. "You have a—of course you have a jet."

Seto actually laughed. It was short and sharp—the vocal equivalent of a knife to the throat—but it was certainly more pleasant than people had reason to expect from him. Doctor Manheim seemed to take this as another compliment.

"Was that an offer?" he asked.

Seto, obviously surprised, leaned back in his chair and studied his sociology professor with a new kind of interest.

Eventually, Seto said, ". . . Yes."