Working with Big Brother Mokuba in this story so far has been eye-opening, to say the least. But, of course, that's only one half of this AU's central equation.
What about Baby Seto?
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Seto Kaiba blinked wearily as he sat up in bed, hours after his brother had put him there. The only thing he could see, as he regained full consciousness, were the spitfire lenses of his butler's glasses.
"Good evening, Bocchama," Daimon said. "How are you feeling?"
Seto frowned. "Tired," he mumbled. "Sweaty." He ripped off the covers of his bed and kicked them off. "What do you want, Daimon?"
"Merely what you want, Bocchama," Daimon said. "For order to be restored. We both know that Master Kaiba was grooming you to lead his legacy into the next generation." Seto flinched violently at the mention of his father, but didn't speak. "Which is why it concerns me so much that . . . no. No, I shouldn't say."
Seto's eyes narrowed. "Then why were you talking?" he snapped.
"It's merely that . . . I shouldn't like to upset you further, Bocchama. But it seems that your esteemed brother has . . . taken advantage of the uproar that Master Kaiba's unfortunate passing has ca—"
"He's dead, Daimon," Seto cut in. "He didn't pass anywhere."
". . . Forgive me, Bocchama."
A new voice entered the fray: "It's so kind of you, sir, to use the young master's grief as an excuse to manipulate him. Your true character truly shines in the wake of this tragedy."
Seto blinked, and stared at the open doorway across his bedroom, where a figure in a nondescript black suit now stood. He was tall, broad-shouldered. His hair was slicked back. He had a little mustache, and his mouth was a thin gash underneath it.
Daimon frowned, and it did unpleasant things to his face. "Pardon me?"
Another man might have taken the old goat's tone as a threat.
"Master Kaiba has not taken advantage of anything, and it pains me to see you trying to blacklist the young master's remaining family after such a pivotal pillar has just been taken from him. The man's not even cold yet, for Christ's sake. I might have expected some decency."
"You talk to me of decency? Tell me why Mokuba has been undermining everything Master Kaiba fought for!"
"Mm. Master Kaiba. Bocchama. Mokuba. I can certainly see the hierarchy you're trying to build," the man with the mustache said, with a blade hidden in his voice. "Master Kaiba is maintaining order. Something the young master is going to need in order to grow properly. He was concerned about you, Daimon. I can see why. You change faces as often as I change ties. So. How about you stop haunting a little boy's private sanctuary while he's grieving? How about you stop painting Master Kaiba as a turncoat, when he is one of the few members of this household actually working in Young Master Seto's best interests?"
The man with the mustache pulled something from his jacket.
"Or shall we bring it to Master Kaiba's attention that you've entered his brother's room without permission?"
"You think I need permission?!" Daimon blustered.
The man with the mustache chuckled. "Seto Kaiba is the heir to everything built by the Kaiba name. Of course you need permission. To do anything in this house. I think you've forgotten, after so many years, that you are a servant. With no more authority than I."
"I have seniority, Tsukuda. I hired you."
"I am here directly on Master Kaiba's instructions. I don't think I have cause to worry about my job. I'm doing it. Are you?"
"Enough!" Seto snarled. "This is my room! I decide who comes inside and who doesn't!" Daimon started to chuckle, until Seto leveled a look on him that could have frozen the sun. "Get out. Now."
Tsukuda holstered his weapon. He bowed, gesturing grandly to the door. "May I, Young Master? Perhaps I might . . . speed this along."
Seto threw out a hand. "Fine. Get rid of him. But come back when you're done. I want to talk to you."
Tsukuda bowed again. "Of course, Young Master."
Seto flopped back onto his bed, turned away, and would hear no more.