A lot of Seto Kaiba's behavior can be explained by the singular fact that he is a fifteen-year-old boy. He's a kid. More to the point, he's a kid who's used to being ignored, who's used to fighting for everything he's ever needed, or wanted.
Kintatsujo, a dear friend of mine, first built this AU—or, at least, the version of this AU that I'm constructing my version upon—for a number of reasons; one of the most important, as I understand it, was to draw into stark relief just how young Seto really is.
By making him even younger.
And yet, none of his behavior really changes. He's still the same kid.
It's just, now it's harder to forget that.
.
Seto Kaiba was standing atop a table, dead center in the auditorium, pointing at random people as he went about his performance; no one could ever accuse the young Kaiba of not putting everything into his passions. His entire body was dedicated to projecting his disdain across every square inch of the Maiden's Lullaby.
"Cowards!" he shouted. "You call this a ship of champions?! Yet there isn't a single one of you with the courage to face me in open combat! Pitiful! Pathetic! Is this really the best that dueling can produce?! Here I thought I would be finally faced with a real challenge!"
The combatants gathered on this ship for the upcoming Duelist Kingdom tournament paid as little attention to the boy as they could, which still meant shooting glares at him every so often. They were busy trading cards, discussing strategies, psyching themselves up, and other similar pre-competition rituals. Some, perhaps specifically to spite Seto, were dueling each other.
Seto's words were inflammatory, accusatory, and the crowd held any number of people—other children and even some grown adults—who couldn't hide their irritation at being insulted by a ten-year-old, as much as they probably wished they could.
But none of them rose to his bait; they all seemed convinced that it was more important to ignore Seto than to accept his challenge.
The first thing Mokuba noticed, as he stepped into this space—aside from the fact that Seto's blustering bravado wasn't quite as polished as it usually was; he was clearly out of sorts after trying so many different tactics, only to be met with a stone wall of silence—was the immediate change in Ryo's attitude.
Gone was the quiet, contemplative loner who haunted dark corners and empty rooms. He strode toward Seto's little stage with a fire lit behind his bright brown eyes. He pulled out his dueling deck and started shuffling them again, this time using dexterous flourishes and quick little tricks that Mokuba recognized as cardistry; Ryo flicked his cards this way and that, spun them on his fingertips, sent them soaring about his shoulders like spinning birds, flipping them over and under his knuckles in mesmerizing, cascading patterns, catching the attention of the gathered duelists as easily as a veteran ringmaster.
Even Seto, as fired-up and irate as he was, seemed intimidated.
"I wonder," Ryo called, projecting his voice with an ease and mastery that Seto could only dream of having, "what Mister Crawford would think. To have this band of great gladiators, his hand-chosen children, brought low and silent by the challenge of a newcomer. Have you all so little confidence in yourselves? Can't go showing off your masterful strategies before the big day? Very well. Sit and stew, if you please. Miss out on the perfect chance to scope out your competition. Just . . . don't be surprised when you go home early."
Ryo sat down at Seto's table.
Seto, still standing on said table, stared down at Ryo. "You . . . you'll play me?"
Ryo set his cards down. "I think I'd like to see what the new generation can do. Always assuming, of course, that your call to battle was made in earnest. You aren't all bluff and bluster, are you?"
Seto's eyes went wide as soup plates, too excited to notice the slight. He grinned like Christmas had come in the middle of Summer, hopped down, and sat down opposite his new opponent. He was so filled with excitement at the prospect of playing his favorite game that he was wiggling and dancing on the balls of his feet, barely able to keep his cards together well enough to shuffle them.
Mokuba swept his gaze over the crowd and saw that the other duelists were sharing looks with each other; unsure, confused, guilty looks. Perhaps they were feeling out of sorts to have been called out by two strangers, and Ryo's calm evisceration hit them harder than Seto's barrage. Or, just maybe, they saw the change in Seto's attitude, just how quickly he went from hissing and spitting to giggling and dancing, just from one person granting him their attention, and realized that they were dealing with a little kid.
As Ryo and Seto cut each other's cards and drew out their first hands—Seto with stars in his eyes and Ryo with a calm, smug little smirk that was almost certainly directed at their audience—the others started to gather; first one, breaking away from the group. Then another, then another. By the time Seto won the right to make the first move, there was a full ring of spectators.
Mokuba stayed near the entrance, leaning against the wall, and felt a soft little smile tug at his lips. For the first time since boarding the Maiden's Lullaby, he was glad to be here.
". . . I'm glad you're here, too, Ryo."