This is the first chapter where I feel we get a glimpse into what Mokuba's like in this particular version of the YGO world.
And what kind of training he's had.
.
Mokuba made a point of standing stone-still, rigid and unyielding as a statue, as the entire house staff milled into the front parlor on the ground floor. He kept his hands at his sides. Loose but still, like the rest of him. No fists. No crossed arms. No indication that he was threatened.
He was Master Kaiba now, and this was the moment to prove it.
He'd put Seto to bed, kissed his forehead, promised that everything would be better when he woke up. Every time Mokuba contemplated just standing back and acting like a teenager who'd just lost his only parent, he remembered the heartbreak in his brother's big blue eyes. He remembered what this estate had done.
He remembered what this estate was capable of doing.
Mokuba waited for Daimon to slink into the room like a poltergeist before he began to speak.
"As you all are well aware, my father, Gozaburo Kaiba, died this morning," Mokuba announced, his voice like a whip crack. "I have not called you here to talk about him, but rather to discuss how his legacy will continue." He looked around at them. He wondered how many of them would still be employed in the morning.
No one spoke.
Mokuba took one, very calculated, step forward. No one moved. He said, "Plenty of you know the extent of my experience under my predecessor's tutelage." This was a calculated move. He watched their reactions. Gauged how many of them were offended, versus how many were stone-cold neutral. "I will be the first to admit that I have not been adequately trained to take his place. However, as the previous Master Kaiba's eldest son, it is my duty to uphold his name. To usher the Kaiba name into a new age. I ask you, his most trusted, to help me. Stand by me, and I swear on everything my name stands for in this city that I will stand by you. Support me in this, my moment of weakness, and I will see to it that each and every one of you will never want for anything again."
More than a few smiles acted as beacons. Mokuba allowed his own expression to school itself into something positive.
He looked at one of the kitchen workers. Ken Yamashiro was in his thirties, and dressed like a government operative. Mokuba graced him with a full smile. "I don't think I need to tell you that my brother is taking this loss very hard. He loved my father more than anyone. Can I ask you to make sure that his favorite dinner is waiting for him when he comes down from his room tonight?"
Mokuba waited. Watched.
Ken's eyes flitted to Daimon; Daimon nodded.
They thought they were subtle.
"Of course, Mast—"
Yamashiro's words were cut off and replaced with a gurgling Urlghk! sound when Mokuba sent his right fist crashing into the man's face, sending him sailing through the air. Yamashiro crumpled to the floor, nursing a broken nose. As blood dribbled through his fingers and down his chin, Mokuba swept a raptor's glare across every other face in the room.
"Does anyone else want to test my patience today?!"
No answer.
Absolute, crushing silence.
When the new Master Kaiba spoke next, it was in a deathly whisper: "Question my ability to run this house, and I will listen. Question my right to run this house, and I will show you the door. I will lift you up and cast you out personally. I am not Daimon's puppet king. You do not answer to him anymore. I am the word of law in this house."
He glared daggers into Daimon's rounded lenses; Daimon, for his part, seemed to have finally remembered just what sort of monster he and Gozaburo Kaiba had spent the past three years building.
"I . . . will brook . . . no . . . interference." Mokuba turned his attention back to the ones who might yet be saved. "Have I made myself clear?"
To a one, they said: "Yes, Master Kaiba."
Mokuba nodded. Then he shot a finger out and pointed. "You."
A middle-aged man with slicked black hair and a thin mustache stood straighter, and looked like he wanted to salute. "Sir," he said.
Mokuba crooked a finger. "You called me earlier today, to inform me of my father's passing. Tsukuda, correct?"
The man stepped forward, bowed at the waist. "Yes, sir. On both counts."
"I would speak with you alone. The rest of you, attend to your duties."
The sound of so many feet scrambling to get their owners out of the room sounded like peals of thunder.
Mokuba glared down at Ken Yamashiro like a malevolent god.
"Clean yourself up. Make my brother's dinner, or get the fuck out of my building. I don't care which. But whichever you choose, do it quickly."