About half of this chapter is groundwork. Because I can't even take a fun little idea and play around without giving some sort of reason for its existence. The entirety of this universe's second spin-off, "Lightbringer," is testament to this.

Depending on how this is received, this may be the next miniature story arc for "Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes," or it might also be just a little something to which I'll return every so often.

This is a testing ground, to be honest. I have a few character dynamics to work out before I get started on a major project.

With this all in mind, let us begin.


1.


Two Kaibas watched as the third beat a punching bag into such a state of submission that, were it sentient, it would need therapy for decades. Noa, in particular, was enthralled. He'd never seen his elder outside his usual modes of Dueling or Administrating.

Seto had honed his body to a razor's edge, using the training forced upon him by the old Kaiba patriarch for his own purposes. Gozaburo had enforced martial training simply because it was expected of a Kaiba to protect himself. Seto enforced martial training because he had something more important than himself to protect, and had learned from entirely too many separate sources just how important that was.

Noa's face eventually fell as he contemplated his own part in those lessons. He glanced over at Mokuba, who was relaxed almost to the point of boredom; he was tilting and spinning his brother's water bottle with a finger.

"I've been working on something," Noa said eventually.

Mokuba glanced over. "Huh?"

"Well, I don't have to sleep," Noa said, "so I have a lot of time to kill at night. I've been looking at how Aniue has refined Solid Vision over the past few years. The virtual spaces he's built with those pods are . . . inspired."

Mokuba smiled. "Yeah. It's crazy."

"It's a lot smoother and harder to corrupt than the space that was built for me," Noa said, trying to sound offhand; something resembling his old bitterness still flavored his words, though, and Mokuba's smile faltered for a moment. Then Noa's face brightened, and Mokuba's brightened with it. "I think it's because Aniue tends to work with small scenarios first, then expands. My father had it in his head to make sure my new home was as huge and all-encompassing as possible. So it was flimsy. He was brilliant, one of the sharpest minds in technological history, but he . . . never had much patience."

Mokuba nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what . . . Niisama says."

Noa frowned. "You never knew my father very well. Did you?"

Mokuba shook his head. "No. He didn't . . . pay much attention to me. Niisama made sure of that." Mokuba glanced spasmodically at his brother to make sure the earbuds from his mp3 player were still in—Seto tended to listen to extremely loud music when he trained—and added: "He . . . Niisama—he probably still thinks I don't know what he went through. But . . . I know enough."

Noa closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath. "He knows you're sharper than you let on. Part of him probably knows he doesn't hide it as well as he wants to. But, anyway!" He forced a grin back onto his face. "I've been building a scenario of my own!"

Mokuba blinked. "Really? Like, a game?"

"Kind of," Noa said. "More like a social experiment."

Mokuba leaned toward his adoptive sibling and raised an eyebrow. "Okay . . . ? What kind of experiment?"

Noa suddenly looked smug. "You'll see."


2.


Seto and Mokuba stood by their chosen pods—they weren't labeled, but they may as well have been—and waited. Noa was pretending to use a console in one corner of the room, when he was actually accessing the inner workings of his project remotely.

Mokuba was swinging his arms back and forth, while Seto glanced at his watch.

"Can we get a hint, maybe?" Mokuba asked after the silence had gone on for a bit too long. "Niisama, stop that. You said you cleared out your schedule for this."

". . . Testing something," Seto muttered, obviously not paying very close attention to anything. He started muttering to himself, and eventually started counting something while tapping on his fingers.

"Okay!" Noa eventually sad, with triumph in his entire being. He grinned from ear to ear. "I think it's ready. Mokuba, I think you'll recognize this. Aniue, it's a surprise." He giggled, looking too pleased with himself for conscious expression. Seto rolled his eyes, but stepped over to one of the pods and slipped inside.

Mokuba didn't miss the fact that, in spite of the fact that Seto's facial expression was grim bordering on angry, he sat down and prepared himself for the simulation without even bothering to check the program himself. Mokuba wondered if that silent measure of trust was as important as he thought it was.

He got into his own pod and wondered what he would find on the other side.


3.


The first thing Seto saw was Yugi Mutou.

Specifically, the version of him that he tried all too often to forget. His face was sharp, almost angular; his hair looked like a sequence of weapons, and he was wearing his uniform jacket like a cape again.

Something almost like nostalgia washed over him, and he wondered for the first time what the point of his synthetic sibling's scenario was. A part of him, a largely forgotten part these days, decided that he didn't care. It was a game, and he would defeat it. That was his function, that was his destiny. That old arrogance was back, and he actually found himself grinning.

He murmured under his breath: "Whatever you have planned . . . I hope you're ready for me."

Oh-ho. Listen to you, Aniue.

Seto looked around and took stock of his surroundings. He was lying on a couch in the Mutous' apartment. He grunted and sat up, testing the responses of his various muscles. The simulation was solid, if a little . . . flighty. He held a hand up in front of his face and moved each finger individually.

He looked at Yugi—no. Yami. That was the name his friends had used for him. Yami.

The digital manifestation of Seto's old rival was looking at him like he'd grown a third, and fourth, arm. But then he grinned. "It worked. By all the gods and each of their servants—it worked!"

"Well done, Your Imperial Majesty," Seto muttered as he stood up. He looked around the room, saw his brother seated on a plush chair, and smirked. Mokuba shook his head, flexed his jaw, and blinked several times.

"I think my soul is sore," Mokuba murmured thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry," Yami said. "I must admit . . . my ignorance, on what the magic did to you. I do hope you're both all right?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow and faced both brothers in turn. Mokuba nodded; Seto remained silent.

"So, um . . . what's up, Yugi?" Mokuba asked idly, after a moment. "What did you do?"

"It's hard to explain," Yami said. "I . . . I'm sorry, this is just so surreal. I mean, it's hard enough believing that the Duel Monsters world is real. But alternate dimensions? I can hardly believe it."

So many memories slammed into Seto's head at once that he very nearly fell back onto the couch. The sentiment of his shock came out in a single word: "Doma."

Yami's face suddenly turned serious. He nodded. "That's . . . that's right."

"Oh, good," Mokuba said. "That's what we need. Those psychos."

Seto's smirk returned.

Then he heard footsteps coming up the stairs leading up from the Turtle Game Shop. Seto glanced over and waited, a curious expression on his face. He could feel Noa's giddiness, and realized that whatever was coming up those stairs was exactly what the third Kaiba had been waiting to show the other two.

". . . Not like I might have something to do right now. No! It's not like my entire livelihood is at risk. I'll just come on over and hang out with you. Why not? Stress relief is important, right? Let's sit down to a game of chess, why don't we? That will be—"

The speaker finally revealed himself, and choked off his soliloquy.

Seto Kaiba stared at the young man standing in front of him. He was dressed in an Armani suit and a long black coat. His shoulder-length hair was jet black. His eyes were an achingly familiar grey-violet.

His face was a picture in absolute shock.

"S . . . S-Seto?"

"What?" came a voice from behind the young man, as a young boy came up beside him. The boy was small, brown-haired, dressed in jeans and a sleeveless shirt with a dragon emblazoned on it. "What is it?" He pushed the man. "Moku-nii, what—"

Then he saw the other occupants in the room.

Seto let out a breath.

Noa, somewhere in the ether, was laughing.

Mokuba squealed.