Those who have read "Paved with Good Intentions: Blue Eyes, Violet Eyes" will know that I have experimented off and on with an AU scenario inspired by Kintatsujo on Tumblr. The scenario is a simple one: what if the Kaibas' ages were switched? What if Mokuba were Seto's legal guardian throughout the story, instead of the other way around?

I quickly realized, as I worked out the idea in my head, that there was a lot more to this concept than I'd originally seen on the surface. Owing to that, I knew that I would eventually have to explore it.

And from that exploration comes this project.

This story is, like "Kick a Hole in the Sky" before it, a twisting of canon to suit my own narrative purposes. There's a lot to learn from AUs, I think, and while "Sky" has a lot going for it, I think there's still a lot to take in from this idea, too.

In these scenes and chapters, you'll meet the same Kaibas you will remember from my other stories. Just … tweaked a bit.

Well. Maybe more than a bit.

I guess we'll just have to see.

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As morning drifted across the quiet barrier into afternoon, two teenage boys met in a private study room in their school's library to share stories.

One was dressed in a private school uniform; the other in a three-piece Armani suit. One had platinum hair; the other had jet-black. One had brown eyes; the other, violet. Aside from these ultimately superficial deviations, the two boys could have been twins.

Ryou Bakura looked up from his history textbook to regard Mokuba Kaiba with an uncertain smile.

Mokuba gave, in exchange for that smile, a friendly sort of smirk. He then sat down, and said without preamble: "My brother said to me this morning—first thing out of his mouth, mind you. He said, 'What moron thought The The Angels Angels would be a good name for a sports team?'"

The two boys were seated opposite each other at a heavy table loaded down with books and notepads that were apparently color-coded by subject. Ryou set down his pencil, confusion flitting across his face. "Excuse me?"

Mokuba gesticulated randomly. "Seto. My brother. Haven't I mentioned him yet?" Ryou shook his head. "Sorry."

"What's this about . . . 'The The Angels Angels?'"

Mokuba shrugged. "He's talking about the Anaheim Angels. Said he looked them up this morning. Their official name is 'The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.' Since 'Los Angeles' already translates to 'The Angels,' the name actually translates to . . ." He trailed off, and gestured invitingly.

Ryou's expression was blanker than slate. "Aha. Right."

Mokuba's smirk turned self-conscious. "He, um . . . well, there's no real label for this. He . . . likes to prove how smart he is, basically. He'll find some new theory, or observation, and regale me with evidence to support his stance. Last week, he showed me a PowerPoint presentation on a more efficient order for the English alphabet."

Ryou chuckled at this, which seemed to be his version of an out-and-out laugh. This quiet reserve was the first thing Mokuba had realized about his newest classmate. Mokuba thought, in all honesty, that that was what had drawn him to strike up conversation in the first place.

It was an improvement over his usual social circle, at least.

Ryou raised an eyebrow. "Our alphabet's origin can be traced back to Egypt. But, I suppose back then, the focus was more on logography than phonics." He frowned, put a finger to his chin. "The Middle East, Europe . . . the Phoenicians, the Greeks . . . I don't think there is any reason for the order of our alphabet. But it's been basically unchanged since the Bronze Age." Ryou's smile turned cheeky. "The ancients must have had a reason for that."

Mokuba laughed; unlike Ryou's, this laugh was loud, almost raucous. "Okay, I need to introduce you two. I'll be the first to admit my ignorance on this subject. I think he'd love to have someone to compare notes with."

"How old is your brother?" Ryou asked.

"Nine." Mokuba waited a beat. "And don't think I'm just using an expression about those notes, by the way." He gestured to the scattered pads on the table. "He's a scholar after your own heart, I'd say. Every time he picks up a new project, he buys a three-ring binder. The alphabet has about a hundred sheets so far, bound up in bright red and sitting on his desk at home."

"He sounds like an excellent student . . . or a horrible one," Ryou said.

Mokuba laughed again. "Somehow, in ways that I can't quite figure out, he's both."