"So . . . you're 'Master Kaiba' now, huh?"

Mokuba didn't miss his brother's tone, and had to admit—to himself, if no one else—that it hurt. He'd known that Seto would take the news of his beloved patriarch badly, and that he would lash out. He'd known that Seto would bristle at the idea of someone else taking Gozaburo's place, when he had spent so many years being groomed with the idea that he was the master's chosen successor.

Isono gave Mokuba a look, but Mokuba didn't pay much attention to it. His attention was locked on Seto. The elder Kaiba took solace in the fact that the younger was attacking his dinner with all his usual gusto. Seto often found eating to be little more than a nuisance, and had to be reminded three or four times that food wasn't optional.

He always made an exception out of macaroni casserole.

So long as it was cooked to his specifications, that was. Red bell peppers. Only red. None of that orange or yellow nonsense, and woe betide anyone who thought green was an option. Sharp cheddar. Fresh garlic. Enough black pepper to kill small animals.

Mokuba had checked the kitchen when Isono told him that his brother was awake. Ken Yamashiro had left. A fresh hire, Liam Connolly, had taken over the job of Seto's evening meal.

"You do know his . . . particulars, I hope," Mokuba had said.

Connolly was a slim young man with his brown hair pulled into a high tail that was almost a bun, and a meticulously sculpted, thin beard. His skin was heavily tanned, as though he'd spent any number of years outside in malevolent heat, and the overall dark caste to the man made his uniform almost unbearable.

He wore crisp, traditional, blindingly bright chef's whites. Mokuba had been only slightly surprised that he didn't wear a toque to complete the look. But, sadly, he'd been conspicuously hatless. Nonetheless, he carried himself with the bearing of a master, and Mokuba had realized quite quickly that he'd probably found his new head chef.

In answer to Mokuba's question, the man had given a jaunty little salute. "Not a problem, chief. Just you watch."

Sitting here in the dining room, watching his brother descend upon his food like a natural disaster, Mokuba had to admit that Connolly's confidence had not been misplaced. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Even the lowest-ranked member of the Kaibas' house staff was head and shoulders above most.

Mokuba waited until Seto was mostly finished to speak.

"Yes, Seto," he said. "I'm . . . Master Kaiba now."

"Bet that's cool," the boy muttered.

Mokuba ignored the jibe. He reminded himself that Seto was grieving. This tiny little wunderkind had no reason to understand why Gozaburo Kaiba's death was worth celebrating. Why purging that urban warlord's memory from the earth was a noble errand worth nothing less than Mokuba's full attention.

Seto's Papa was dead.

"It's what we have to work with," Mokuba said eventually, choosing his words carefully. Seto eyed his brother suspiciously. "Seto, I'm not going to pretend that I like this arrangement any more than you do. But it's either this, or . . ."

Something cut Mokuba short.

He wasn't sure what.

Seto's sharp expression gave way to confusion. "Or what?"

"If I . . . if I let you take the reins at your age . . . I'll be deemed unfit to take care of you." Seto blinked. "Nobody dared questioned him. Otousama was a well-established member of Domino City's elite. Us? We're children. Afterthoughts. There will be wolves at the door within the day, and if I don't present myself as a picture of perfection in my capacity as your guardian, then the courts will . . ."

Mokuba left the rest unsaid. Yet another calculation in a series of calculations.

Seto was staring at him.

Mokuba sighed and shook his head. He tried again: "Let me . . . let me handle things for now. Okay, kiddo? Let me clean up all these legal issues, clear the floor. Then we'll see what we can do to . . . make Kaiba-Corp what it should be."

Seto studied his brother for a while.

Then the smallest of smiles tilted his lips upward.

". . . Okay."

"I'm gonna need your help," Mokuba said in a sudden flash of inspiration. "You're the visionary. I'm just muscle."

Seto's smile widened. "Aye-aye, Kaiba-shachou."

Mokuba grinned, ruffled his brother's hair, and ignored the searching look Isono—their silent sentinel—was leveling on him.