Chapter 14: Matter of trust

Ryou was struggling to stay awake. He was sitting with his head propped on his hands, pretending to be paying attention.

It was eight-thirty in the morning. At the foot of the amphitheater, professor Kawashima was doing his best to captivate the interest of his Friday morning class, without much luck; most of his students were either half or all-the-way asleep.

Ryou stifled a yawn behind his palm. He would definitely need a strong cup of coffee before his shift. Maybe two cups.

At least, last night had been fun. Everyone had seemed to have a great time—especially Malik—so Ryou guessed it was worth it.

He ignored the slide professor Kawashima was raving about and started doodling in the margins of his notebook. He tried not to think of how many hours would pass before he'd be able to go home; that was dead-end thinking and he knew it.

He fought his drowsiness until the professor finally turned off the projector and said, "Okay class, that's it for today."

The students lifted their heads and looked around with bleary eyes.

"I really hope you were paying attention," professor Kawashima said, "because next week I'm gonna need a three-thousand word essay on the evolution of the latin alphabet. Oh, and you may leave last week's essays on my desk before leaving. In a neat pile, please. Thank you."

Ryou froze with his textbook half-way in his bag.

...He did not remember having any homework.

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat as he flipped through his notes. After a bit of searching he found a note, scribbled hastily in a corner. To do: Two thousand words on the norse runes' impact on the english language.

"Oh, shit," he muttered under his breath.

The rest of the students were already lining up before professor Kawashima's desk to hand over their essays. Ryou lingered in his seat, waiting for everyone to leave first. By the time he approached professor Kawashima's desk, he was feeling sick with anxiousness.

"Professor..." he started in a small voice.

Professor Kawashima looked up. "Ah, yes, Bakura! I wanted to talk to you, if you have a moment."

Ryou gulped. That couldn't be good. "Umm... Yes, of course, sir. I- wanted to tell you something, too."

Professor Kawashima cocked an eyebrow. "Well, then, go ahead."

Ryou took a deep breath.

"Professor... About last week's essay. I... I didn't do it, I- I'm sorry. You see, I-"

Professor Kawashima cut across him with a weary sigh. "Bakura..."

Ryou shut his mouth and waited, hoping he didn't look too freaked out.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." The professor took a moment to rub his eyes behind his glasses and sighed again. "Look. You don't have to give me excuses. I know you are working full-time on top of all of this."

"Sir..." Ryou started, even though he had no idea what he would say.

"You are one of the oldest students here. I know it's not easy to study and work for a living at the same time. Trust me, I have some experience with that," he said with something between a grimace and a smile. "I would really like to help you as much as I can. However... as of late, you performance has taken a dive. It's not the first time you forget to do your homework—not to mention your score in last week's test," he added sternly.

Ryou lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir."

"The thing is... You were doing really well up until now. I was impressed for a while by your performance."

Of course, Ryou thought bitterly. He was doing just fine up until his yami showed up.

"I'm sorry, I... I am going through a hard time," was all he said.

Professor Kawashima sighed. "I can see that. I really want to help you, Bakura. I don't want to fail you another semester. But you need to be willing to help yourself, too. And there's only so much I can do without it being unfair to the rest of the students."

"I understand. And thank you, I- I really appreciate it," Ryou said with a small bow.

Professor Kawashima gave him a long look. "Okay, then. I will extend your deadline for last week's essay, but I expect you to hand over both essays come next Friday. You think you can handle that?"

"Yes," Ryou said earnestly. He knew professor Kawashima's kindness was more than he deserved, so this time he promised himself he would give it his all and finish his homework. "Thank you so much, professor."

"I really thing you could do well in this field, if you were willing to give it a chance."

Ryou pressed his lips together. "I know," he murmured without enthusiasm. "I'll do my best."

"Okay, then," the professor said, slamming his briefcase shut and putting his coat on. "One last piece of friendly advice, Bakura: get some sleep, too."


Domino Pier had two faces. The first was the public one: the one the tourists saw; the one advertised on television and travel magazines. The second was not as overt, but it was much more intriguing: a whole world hidden in narrow alleys and old warehouses, much different than the one that lay in plain sight. Behind the cafes, the shops and the travelling agencies, a vast network of alleys hid all sorts of things—and, as Bakura was coming to realize, most of them were not pleasant.

He was walking down one of those alleys, along with four of Ishido's men. His whole body hurt from last night's fight, causing him to limp and wince each time he had to pick up his pace. He had not needed to look in a mirror to know that his face looked horrible. His left eye was almost completely swollen shut and moving his jaw hurt like hell. It was one of those days that he really shouldn't be doing anything else except lie down and rest but, well. That wasn't an option, and it wasn't as if thinking about it would make things better. There was no one to blame for this but himself.

He settled on twisting his mouth in distaste as he kept up with the rest of Ishido's group.

The leader of his group was a man Bakura only knew as Teo—which was definitely not his real name, but Bakura did not care. The only thing he cared about was that, thankfully, Teo seemed to know exactly where they had to go.

As far as Bakura was concerned, this place might as well have been a maze. Each alley and street looked just like the previous one. Some of them were dedicated to some sort of flea market, but the items for sale were nothing more than junk gathered out of trashcans: an old shirt, a single boot, a frame without a painting. The whole place seemed like a junkyard. The corners stank of rotting fish and piss.

Bakura tried not to step on anything questionable as he walked along. He did not know what was worse: the cold, the smell, or the pain that shot through him with each step.

He buried his hands in his pockets, hoping to keep his fingers warm. His knuckles brushed against something cold and metallic. With a bit of fiddling, he realized it was Ryou's pocket knife.

Right. He'd never gotten around returning it.

He clutched at its hilt, ready to use it if needed. He didn't really think he'd be attacked—not when he was accompanied by four bulky, scary dudes—but still. It felt good to have a knife in his hand.

He kept his hood low to hide his white bangs and tried to attract as little attention to his presence as possible. The rest of his group did not care about being inconspicuous: they strutted along the street, staring down anyone who dared glance their way.

After a fifteen minute walk through this dirty, decrepit maze, they finally came to a halt at the mouth of an alley.

Someone was already waiting for them there. Another one of Ishido's men, Bakura supposed. He definitely looked the part: tall, buff, intimidating, and way too spruce for a place like this.

"'Morning, Sonoda," Teo said once they were close enough.

Sonoda greeted him back with a nod and pointed towards one of the buildings in the alley. "Our guy's in there. He hasn't shown his face since yesterday. I think he knows we are watching him."

Teo shrugged. "It makes no difference." He turned towards his group. "Alright, listen up. Sonoda, you stay here and keep an eye out. The rest of you, follow me. You, new guy!" he barked to Bakura.

Bakura straightened his shoulders and took a small step forward. "Yeah?"

"Do you know how to use a gun?" Teo lifted the lapel of his jacket to show him the handles of two handguns.

Bakura frowned. Why the hell would he need a gun? They were after one single guy and, as far as he knew, they weren't there to actually kill him; just to take some money.

He unclenched his jaw. "Not really," he replied.

"This is the safety," Teo said, pointing at a switch on the side of one of the guns. "You switch it off, you point, you hold steady." He handed the gun over to Bakura. "Don't use it unless I tell you to. And make sure to point it away from us."

Bakura wasn't sure if this was an instruction or a warning.

He took the gun, carefully keeping his face schooled into dispassion. It felt heavy and unfamiliar in his hand. He hid it under his jacket, thinking that if it came down to fighting, there was no way he would rely on that thing. He'd simply use his knife.

"Once we are in," Teo went on, "you will cover the exit. If the guy gets away, it's on you. Got it?"

Cover the exit. Okay, that was doable. With a bit of luck, he'd manage to stay out of the action.

Bakura nodded once.

"Good." Teo looked over the rest of his group. "Alright, let's move."

Sonoda stayed at his lookout spot. Bakura followed Teo and the other three guys of his group down a narrow, trash-strewn alley, trying to ignore the way the cold handle of the gun pressed against the small of his back.

They stopped outside an old five-story building. Teo nodded towards it and simply said, "Masuda."

At once, Masuda took out his gun and moved towards the entrance. He brought the door down with one kick and disappeared inside the building. After a few short moments, the sound of voices and yells were heard from somewhere above their heads. There were a few loud thuds, the sound of something breaking, even more yelling and then, silence.

"Let's go," Teo said.

They all trampled up the narrow staircase.

One of the doors on the second floor landing stood ajar. Even before he walked in, Bakura could make out the mess the inside was: floor covered in trash, graffitied walls, too little light. A step closer revealed more of the dingy apartment: what little furniture had been there was either pushed to the side, overturned, or smashed.

In the midst of it all, among the splinters of wood and glass, someone was on his knees, with his hands behind his head and Masuda's gun pointed at him.

Bakura froze at the threshold.

Before Masuda's gun barrel was a kid. Sixteen years old; seventeen, tops. Scrawny, with his face full of pimples. Ripped t-shirt. Bruises forming on his cheeks.

Just a kid.

Bakura stared, uncomprehending.

Was this the one they were after?

Had Ishido really sent five grown-ass men to deal with one skinny, terrified teen? It was ridiculous. It'd better be a joke.

Teo approached the small group at the centre of the room until he stood looming over the teenager.

At once, the teen started babbling, "Sir- No, sir, please- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't do anything, I swear-"

Teo backhanded him with enough force to make his head snap to the side, effectively silencing him up. "You know why we are here?"

Without raising his head, the boy sniffed once. "Sir..." he started again."I swear I did nothing, it's not my fault-"

Teo's voice thundered in the small apartment. "Answer the question!"

The boy started trembling. "Y-yes."

"Good, good. So let's cut to the chase. Where is Mr. Ishido's money?"

The boy's lips were trembling so hard it didn't seem like he'd be able to talk. "I- Sir- I don't have it, I- It's not my fault-"

With a nod from Teo, Masuda pressed the barrel of his gun against the boy's forehead.

"No, no, no, please! Please!" the teen cried, eyes flying wide. "Please, it's not my fault! They stole it from me, sir, they stole it-"

"Who did?"

"I don't know, I don't know- PLEASE!" he screamed as they shoved him to the floor, with the gun always pointing at his head.

Bakura looked away.

He turned back towards the door, because that was his job, wasn't it? To guard the exit.

He leaned against the doorframe and kept his gaze on the corridor outside. He barely noticed what he was seeing. From behind him came the unmistakable sound of something hard hitting flesh, followed by a grunt of pain.

"Then why were you planning to run, huh?" Teo's voice boomed, loud enough to echo in the corridor outside. "You thought we wouldn't know? You thought you could just take Mr. Ishido's money and run?"

"No, sir, I-"

"Were you planning to go to another city, perhaps? Buy protection and hole up there?"

"No, no, no, sir, no-"

"Where were you planning to go?"

Bakura caught sight of some of the building's tenants cracking their doors open to peek outside, only to slam them shut again when they noticed him.

Stupid, Bakura thought. They should know better than poking their nose in matters that did not concern them. Just stay inside, with their doors shut. Out of harm's way.

There was the sound of more blows and a loud thump.

Bakura's stomach quivered.

He ran his thumb over Ryou's knife and tried to focus on its shape, counting the indents on its handle.

Teo was shouting something again, but Bakura did not pay attention. He tried to put some distance between his mind and whatever was happening behind him.

It was impossible. The noises were too loud.

He rubbed a hand over his face.

Four men teaming up against one. Four grown men against one boy, barely an adult. Even a thief like Bakura would never act like this. It was cowardly. Did Ishido really have this many men to spare, or was he that desperate to display his power?

Bakura grit his teeth. It made his jaw hurt but, at the moment, that was a welcome distraction.

The thuds multiplied and overlapped, suggesting that the rest of the guys had joined in. Bakura was sure he could make out the sound of boots kicking flesh.

He shut his eyes tightly. Fuck the lookout; he wanted nothing more than to will himself away. His fingers had gone numb around the hilt of Ryou's knife.

He tried to think of something else. Anything.

Like salted caramel cake.

Salted caramel cake in a half-lit kitchen, with Malik smiling like an idiot and cigarette smoke hovering between them.

He stopped himself at once. He wouldn't think of that now. He wouldn't taint the memories with the scent of this place. They belonged in different world; cleaner, fairer.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to focus on the present. He'd signed up for this shit, hadn't he? So he'd suck it up.

He stared at the moldy wall across from him until the noise died out.

"Search the place," Teo's voice rang in the ensuing silence. "Hey, new guy!"

It took Bakura a few seconds to realize he was being addressed at. He made sure to school his face before turning around.

The first thing he saw was that the teen was out cold with his face against the floor. Blood was slowly trickling from his nose, pooling under his cheek.

Teo's men were searching the apartment—or, trashing might be more accurate: they were gutting the mattress that lay in the corner, taking the stuffing out of the sofa cushions and breaking what little was still standing. The clatter of pots and cutlery came from a kitchen somewhere.

Bakura looked at Teo, trying to seem as bored as possible. "Yes?"

"How do things look over there?"

"All clear."

"Good." Teo turned towards the teen and nudged him with the toe of his boot.

Bakura looked away again. He dug his nail in one of the indents in Ryou's knife and resumed counting.

After a few minutes, someone said, "We didn't find anything, boss."

"Did you look everywhere?"

"Yes."

There was a stretch of silence. Bakura was tempted to turn around and look, but he resisted the urge. Whatever was going on back there was not his business. He was guarding the exit. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Wake 'im up," Teo said sharply.

Bakura heard a few soft slaps. It took a while but, in the end, a drawn-out groan told him that the teen had woken up.

When he spoke, Teo's voice was worryingly sweet. "Alright, look. Let's say I believe you. Let's say I believe you were robbed. Mr. Ishido still needs to have his money back. So..."

There was a thud and a grunt of pain.

"I'm gonna give you three days. I expect you to come and find me with Mr. Ishido's money and an apology. If you haven't done so by Tuesday morning, I will personally come to find you and you will not like it. Am I clear?"

There was a shuddering sniff and a weak, "Y-y-yes sir."

"And don't you even think of running away, or they'll find your body at the docks."

"Y-es, s- sir."

One by one, Teo and his men walked out. Bakura followed them, more than eager to get out of there. There was a part of him that wanted to look back towards the whimpering teen and do something, but that was stupid thinking. There was nothing he could do, except perhaps advise him to not mess with guys like Ishido again.

Outside, the air was cold and still carrying all sorts of foul smells. After the half-light of the dingy building, Bakura had to blink.

He took deep breaths. He didn't let go of Ryou's knife yet.

How much damage had they done? They'd definitely destroyed what little possessions that boy had. How much had they injured him? Had they broken a cheekbone? His wrist? A rib or two?

How did Ishido expect to get his money back if the person owing them couldn't even move?

Then he remembered that Ishido didn't really care about that stuff. Bakura could hardly move after last night's fight, and yet he was forced to come here and do this shit. Ishido knew it. He'd seen the fight. He'd seen him in the locker room afterwards, he'd witnessed just how badly hurt he was. And he still sent him here.

He guessed this was another display of power from Ishido's part. A reminder of who's the boss.

Fucking sadist, Bakura thought.

At least, yesterday he'd had Malik and his stupid bag of peas. He had given him a painkiller and a quiet place to chill. But that boy up there? Who knew if he had anyone to-

Bakura pressed his lips together.

That was none of his business. Not his problem to worry about. He was just the guy that guarded the exit. He'd done his part, and now he could finally go back to his room at the Golden Egg, light a cigarette and never think of this incident again.

"New guy." Teo extended his hand, palm facing upwards. "The gun."

Bakura handed it over at once.

The ride back to the Golden Egg was blissfully short. He would never expect he'd feel relief seeing its ran-down facade, but there he was. His eyes were instinctively drawn to the third floor windows, already picturing the quiet isolation of his room.

The moment the doorman let them in, Bakura made a beeline for the staircase, not willing to give anyone the chance to come up with more chores for him. He climbed up to the third floor, keeping his hood on and his eyes downcast until he was behind the door of the room 308. He made sure to lock and plopped on his bed.

His heart was beating madly. He couldn't tell why; nothing too bad had happened. No one had been killed. And Bakura himself had done nothing. Sure, he had stood by while others beat the crap out of a kid but, other than that...

He groaned into his blanket. Five men against a kid. Yeah, he'd seen that before. He'd lived it. Time and time again; and the guards of the Pharaoh hadn't been gentle, either.

But that was life.

His belly had hurt when he had been left in a cell without food for days on end. The whip of the guards had burned against his back, but it's not like he'd had a choice. Back then, it was either steal or die. That was life.

It had been his life.

How many scars had he accumulated? He had counted them once. He had used pebbles to keep track of the number; one pebble for each scar. By the time he was done counting, he had made a pile reaching halfway up his knee.

He wondered if the kid back in the dingy apartment had found himself in the same dilemma: steal or die. Work with scum like Ishido or die.

Perhaps he had someone to take care of. Perhaps he wasn't doing this for himself.

Or perhaps he'd simply liked the idea of easy money and bit more than he could chew. No one's fault but his. He should've known by now that the world owed him no compassion.

That was life. That was just how things were, and how things would always be, no matter how many millennia passed. Bakura should stop thinking about it. There was no reason to get worked up over such a thing. It was stupid.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and rolled a cigarette. His hands were shaking.

He thought of Malik. He thought of calling him, but instantly dismissed the idea. He had called him yesterday and it had made him feel like an idiot. Even the pretense of calling to ask about the Spellbook hadn't made him feel less pathetic.

On the other hand... Yesterday, Malik had actually managed to lift his spirits.

Oh, for fuck's sake, he thought, taking a long drag from his cigarette. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up like the pharaoh's cheerleaders: praising the merits of friendship and everything.

No. He wouldn't call Malik. Enough of that self-pity.

He'd go downstairs to look for some vodka. That should be enough; all he needed was just a bit of quiet, to relax and clear his mind. His body was still tired and aching from last night's fight, after all. He'd feel better if he just rested.

He managed to sneak into the Golden Egg's kitchen and claim a bottle of vodka without any unwanted encounters. He spent the rest of the day in his room, drinking as he watched the light outside his window fade, trying not to think.

Come nightfall, the noises outside his door grew louder. Once the familiar beat from the club started shaking the building, he drifted off to sleep.


The world was burning.

The world was burning and he was running.

There was nowhere to go. The houses he'd known all his life seemed monstrous, deformed. Half-collapsed doorways formed gaping mouths, wide open, everywhere. Everything was screaming.

There was only grey and red. All other colors were gone. The fire had eaten them all, and now there was only smoke. It was everywhere: in his eyes, his nose, his throat. Even his chest was burning.

He didn't know where to run to. The smoke was too thick. Coughing it out made no difference.

Soon he wouldn't be able to breathe. But no breathing meant no running, and he had to run.

The world was screaming. The smoke was too thick, burning his throat. He had to run. He had to get away.

He had to run—he had to get away.

He had to run.

He had to-

Bakura snapped awake with an inhale so sharp it grazed his throat.

All he saw was gray and black; his mind howled at him to get up and run.

He writhed where he lay, fighting his bedcovers. His chest was still burning. I'm suffocating, he thought.

He jerked so hard he smacked his head at the corner of his bed stand; the pain was so sudden it cut through his panic. He stood still and took a better look around.

For a few very long and crazy seconds, none of the things he was looking at registered in his mind. He expected to see doorways like open mouths, with smoke oozing out of them. What he saw instead was his desk. The small refrigerator in the corner. The walls of his room. It was dark, but not because of smoke; it was simply night-time.

His eyes fell on the window. His lungs were screaming for air.

He scrambled out of his bed, carrying half his bed-covers with him in his haste, and staggered to the window. He did not like the sounds his throat was making. He fumbled with the latch with shaking hands and pried the window open with enough force to make the glass crack.

Freezing air rushed in. The sudden cold felt like a slap, yanking him back to the present.

He stuck his head outside and took deep breaths; loud ones. He sounded as if he'd never breathed before—or as if he'd stayed underwater for a few seconds too many.

He looked down at his hands, half-expecting to see them covered in soot, but all he saw was white skin and the scar at the centre of his left palm.

…Right.

Breathe, he told himself. You are okay.

"You are okay," he whispered out loud.

The words hovered in the cold around him. He realized he needed to hear them again.

"You are okay," he repeated. "You are okay. Okay. It's okay."

His hands trembled on the windowsill. The cold air bit at every inch of his exposed skin, like millions of tiny needles, and he'd never been more grateful for it. He gulped it down, happy to feel his lungs freeze.

"Okay. Okay," he whispered.

His breath was white in the night. The temperature outside must be somewhere between fifteen and twenty degrees.

"It's okay."

Slowly, the meaning of his words registered. He collapsed against the windowsill and buried his fingers in his hair.

…Damn.

Why? Why had he thought- Why had he dreamed of that? Why now?

He had been in the world of the living for weeks now. Weeks without a single dream. And it had been millennia—fucking millennia—since Kul Elna.

Fucking-

He gritted his teeth so much his jaw hurt. He furiously dug the heels of his palms into his eye sockets because he would not cry. Not over a dream. Not like this. Not-

His breath was coming out ragged. It felt like something was stuck in his throat and he didn't like that. It made him feel silly, and pathetic, and vulnerable, and so, so fucking-

Alone.

He pushed himself away from the window. His blanket was in a messy heap on the floor, next to the empty bottle of vodka; on his bed stand was Ryou's knife and a full ashtray. He made to reach for his tobacco bag, but immediately recoiled. The thought of smoke in his lungs made his stomach turn.

The beat from the Golden Egg was still reverberating through the old walls of the building. For the first time, it sounded enticing.

Fuck it, he wouldn't go back to sleep. Not tonight.

He put on his jacket, pulled his hood low over his eyes and grabbed his key. There should be enough vodka downstairs and enough people to lose himself in the anonymity of the crowd.

He did not close his window before leaving.


Malik was on edge. A week had passed since his birthday, and things had been... too quiet.

He hadn't heard from Bakura, which frustrated him endlessly. Why hadn't that asshole left him a number? Why all the secrecy? It wasn't as if Malik would pester him day and night; all he needed was to be able to send a text and ask him if whether his job had sent him to the ER yet or not.

...Okay, maybe he was both frustrated and worried.

He'd tried asking Ryou, very discreetly, but Ryou told him he'd had no encounters with his yami, either. Sure, Ryou had avoided telling him he'd met with Bakura at all—probably in order to not trigger Malik's mother hen mode. Correspondingly, Malik had avoided telling Ryou that he knew all about it, because that would mean admitting that he had been talking with Bakura, and that was a conversation he really did not look forward to.

He knew he would have to tell Ryou all about it eventually. He did not enjoy hiding things from him, but... He couldn't just up and say, 'Hey, by the way, I've chatted with your yami a couple of times.' He would have to be delicate about it. Find the right moment, and all that.

However, that right moment proved to be quite elusive, what with Ryou working and studying so much.

He didn't have any news from Yuugi and Atem, either. He was guessing those two were over the moon with the reunion, so he had decided against bothering them.

The good thing about this was that Malik still hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of Mariku. With each day that passed he was becoming more and more certain that whatever was going on did not involve his own yami in any way. Which was a relief. One less thing to worry about.

But he did not like all that quiet. He did not like it one bit.

He'd have expected things to be anything but quiet. A bunch of yamis had returned from the dead, Seto Kaiba was investigating the Millennium Spellbook, and instead of them being in a frenzy of action, they were all being unbelievably casual about it. They were waking up in the morning and going to work, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He'd tried talking to Ishizu a bit, too, but she had nothing new to report about their 'case', either.

Frankly, it was a bit infuriating. It made him feel as if he was the only one that cared about everything that had been going on.

So, he was probably the only one to be actually excited when his phone buzzed early on Wednesday morning with a text from Seto Kaiba.

The text simply read, 'My office, asap.' Nothing more than three words, but it meant something had happened, and that was enough for Malik.

So it was that, at 06:20 in the morning and after a hasty phone call, he picked Ryou from his home and headed straight to KaibaCorp.

It was too early for him, and he had been working at the Crow the previous night, but he felt wide awake as the rode his bike across the city. His heart beat with anticipation—and, admittedly, more than a bit of nervousness—but it was better than inactivity.

Once he and Ryou arrived to KaibaCorp, they rode the elevator up to the top floor. The elevator's glass walls offered a magnificent view of the sun rising over Domino, but neither of them had the mind to pay any attention to it.

When they reached Kaiba's office, they found Jounouchi, Yuugi and Atem already there. Kaiba himself was on his desk, his eyes glued to the screen of his computer. He seemed to be in a bad mood; he probably hadn't slept at all, if his puffy eyes were anything to go by. The rest were all bumping around sleepily, looking for mugs and passing the pot of coffee from hand to hand.

"Hey, guys," Malik said as they approached them.

"'Morning," Jounouchi grumbled.

"Oh good, you are here. Hurry up and sit down," Kaiba said, without glancing up from his computer screen.

They dragged a bunch of stools and chairs in front of Kaiba's desk and huddled around it. Yuugi passed Malik and Ryou a cup of coffee each, mumbling, "What a way to wake up. Seto's drivers started ringing the doorbell and calling us at the same time. Atem thought the world was ending again."

"I did not," Atem said, indignant.

"You were shouting at me to bring you your deck."

"Are you done?" Kaiba glared at them over his computer screen. Even when sleep-deprived, his gaze was cutting; silence fell at once. "Good."

"Stop being an ass, Seto, and tell us what this is about," Jounouchi said.

Kaiba raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you think this is about? I did what you asked. I hacked Blackwood," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Perhaps it was due to not having drunk enough coffee yet, but it took them all a few seconds to realize what he'd just said.

"You what?" Jounouchi exclaimed at last.

"Pay attention for a change, Jounouchi," Kaiba drawled, but the tease lacked its usual bite. He kept frowning at his screen, looking more unhappy by the second. "I hacked Blackwood. A few hours ago I managed to gain access to his files. But-" he said loudly, drowning out Yuugi's excited cry, "before you start celebrating, you should know that things did not go as planned."

Yuugi's face fell, reflecting Malik's disappointment perfectly. He wasn't that surprised, though; Kaiba's dark expression had tipped him off the moment he'd walked inside.

"What went wrong?" Malik asked.

Kaiba's face twitched. "They caught on to me almost at once. They flushed me out of the system before I could do much about it."

"They what?" Jounouchi exclaimed again.

Kaiba looked at him as if he was contemplating throwing him out the glass window. "Apparently," he went on, his voice sharp with irritation, "Blackwood has invested a lot in security. They were surprisingly alert; I didn't even have time to install a backdoor."

Malik glanced at his friends; they all looked as defeated as he felt. As for Kaiba, he seemed to have taken this failure as a personal insult. He went back to typing furiously, the features of his face harsh and set.

"I tried hacking my way back in, but the second time around they were expecting me. They flushed me out even faster. But-" he added, and now his expression turned wicked, "I am fast, too. And I did manage to get my hands some of their files before they shut me out."

He tapped a key with a flourish. A hologram appeared over his desk.

Malik blinked a few times and realized he was looking at a magnified, 3D rendition of whatever was on Kaiba's computer screen.

Jounouchi snorted. "Do you really need to show us this in hologram form? Just turn your laptop around so we can see the screen, you show-off."

"Shut up, Jou," Kaiba said. He stood up, his eyes fixed on the hologram, and tapped one of the semi-transparent folder icons that hovered before him. A number of new folders sprouted from it and came to hover in front of his nose. "Blackwood and his team have been very careful with what they keep in digital form. I suspect they do keep most of their findings in hard copies somewhere in their lab, after all." He tapped one of the new folders. "Most of the files I copied are useless. Half of them are legal papers; permits from the Council of Antiquities and the Egyptian government, receipts and the like. I've already had people check them and they all seem legit. But that's not why you are here. You are here because of this."

He touched another folder and typed in a password at a pad. The previous hologram collapsed and a new one took its place: the hologram of a rectangular object—or rather, multiple thin rectangular objects, one stacked on top of the other.

"Pages?" Ryou said in a voice soft with wonder. He leaned forward. "Is this...?"

Malik squinted at the image. It definitely looked like pages; about a dozen of them. Their semi-transparent edges were frayed, looking like they were made from a million tiny threads that had just started loosening. Something was written on the first page, but the shapes looked like nothing Malik had ever seen before. They weren't hieroglyphs, nor hieratic, aramaic, or even greek.

Atem rose and took a step closer to Kaiba's desk. His crimson eyes were huge, reflecting the blue-ish hues of the hologram.

"Is this the Millennium Spellbook?" he breathed.

"Part of it, yes," Seto replied. "Fourteen pages, to be exact. I don't know how many more there are."

He made a sweeping motion with his hand and the first page flipped to the side to reveal the one below it. The scribbling on the second page was even more dense and complicated than the previous one.

"Can we take a better look?" Malik asked.

Kaiba chuckled. "You can try." He swiped his hand over the image and it grew twice in size.

Ryou rose from his seat, too, and approached the hologram until the tip of his nose touched one of the incomprehensible shapes. "What did they write these with?" he asked in a voice so low Malik wasn't sure if he was addressing them or simply wondering out loud. He ran his fingers over one of the symbols, as if it were something solid. "This doesn't look like it was written in ink."

"It looks as if they are... burned on," Malik said, approaching and looking over Ryou's shoulder. "But I don't know if it's possible to do that without burning off the papyrus."

"If that is, indeed, papyrus," Ryou said.

"Other me?" Yuugi said in a low voice. "Can you read it?"

They all turned to look at Atem. He was staring at the magnified page with an expression of utter bewilderment.

"No," he replied. "It doesn't look like anything I recognize. I- I have no idea if these are even words." There was hurt in his voice, as if he felt betrayed by his memories.

"They have to be words," Ryou pointed out.

Malik wasn't sure about that. What he was seeing could very well be some sort of abstract art. He focused on the page and tried to see if he could make out anything that resembled a word.

He thought the lack of breakfast must have taken a toll on him because, after a few seconds, the symbols seemed to move in strange ways. He blinked but the impression did not go away. The more he looked at them, the more they seemed to writhe like snakes, coil around, change shapes. Either that, or the room around him had taken to spinning.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "What the fuck?"

"You see it, too?" Atem asked. He had backed away from the hologram and was looking at anywhere but the page.

"Fuck," Jounouchi rubbed the heels of his palms in his eyes. "What is this?'

"It makes me dizzy," Yuugi confirmed. He was glancing at the page and away repeatedly, avoiding looking at it for more than a few seconds at a time.

Malik didn't want to give up so easily, so he persisted. He squinted at the hologram, but after a while he ended up feeling that he was looking at an entirely different page than the one he had started with. It made him so dizzy he wanted to throw up the coffee he'd drank.

He looked away again with a groan. How were they supposed to read this thing?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ryou. He was still staring at the hologram, absolutely mesmerized by it. He seemed lost in his thoughts; he probably hadn't even noticed all of his friends had looked away.

"Ryou?" Malik murmured.

Ryou hummed in reply.

"Are you... okay?"

Ryou glanced over his shoulder with a questioning frown. "What? Yeah, sure. I mean, I-" He turned back to the hologram, tracing the symbols with his fingertips. "I've never seen anything like this. It's… fascinating."

From where Malik was standing, the symbols seemed like a dark, writhing halo around Ryou's white hair. He tried to focus on his friend's figure instead of the page hovering in front of him, but even so, it made him nauseous. He looked away again.

"How do you do that?" he asked in between taking deep breaths to calm his stomach down.

"Do what?"

"Looking at it," Yuugi said. "Doesn't it make you... dizzy?"

"Dizzy?" Ryou repeated.

"Ugh, Seto, turn it off, I'm gonna throw up," Jounouchi whined.

There came the light clicking of a few keys being pressed, and everyone groaned with relief. Malik dared glance upwards; the hologram was gone.

Ryou was looking at them one by one, taking in their unsettled expressions and pale faces. "What's wrong, guys?"

"Focusing on the pages for an extended period of time seems to cause minor hallucinations and hamper with things such as balance, perception of depth of field, etcetera," Kaiba explained.

Ryou folded his arms across his chest. His forehead crumpled. "Huh."

"You really didn't notice?" Yuugi said.

Ryou shook his head. "Perhaps... the hologram projection is faulty? No offense," he added, glancing at Kaiba.

"It's not the hologram," Kaiba said at once. He took a small stack of papers out of a drawer and slapped it on the desk. "Here's a printed copy. See for yourselves."

Nobody moved. Ryou bit his lip and glanced at his friends, expectant, but no one seemed willing to take the printed pages and put them to the test.

In the end, Malik decided to be the brave one. He sighed and picked up the top page, bracing his stomach for the experience.

He recognized the first page, even though he still couldn't make any sense of it. The symbols looked just as eerie in printed form as they had in the projection, and Malik thought Ryou was right: Kaiba's printer aside, the original definitely wasn't written in ink. The symbols seemed too dark to be written in any conventional methods. They looked like they had... depth, as if they were engraved, but that wasn't possible: they were written on paper—or papyrus, or parchment, or whatever that was—not stone or any sort of material that would allow such a technique.

He blinked, trying to focus. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, but the more he looked, the more he got the feeling that these were carved on. There was an unquestionable depth to them, sucking his gaze in.

His eyes watered. He wanted to blink to clear his vision but found that he couldn't; his gaze was drawn in deeper. Someone had carved these symbols by digging in the page for miles and miles. Malik could see no bottom.

Perhaps there wasn't one. Perhaps they kept carving, even now, making those symbols deeper and bigger. How could he have ever thought these symbols were small? They were huge, big enough to swallow him whole. They were an abyss right before him, and Malik planted his feet to resist the pull because, if he fell, there'd definitely be no way out-

The page was snatched out of his hands.

Malik blinked. The endless black was replaced by colors and blurry shapes. There were faces around him. Someone with pale skin and pale hair—Ryou?—had placed a hand on his shoulder.

Malik groaned and rubbed his eyes. He could feel his eyeballs itching.

"Are you okay?"

It was definitely Ryou's voice, very close to him. Malik opened his eyes and finally recognized the room and the people around him. He was sitting on a stool, but he did not remember being pushed into it.

"I think so," he mumbled.

A familiar throbbing had started in his temples; weak for the time being, but insistent.

Everyone was watching him tentatively, even Kaiba. Ryou was clutching the Spellbook page to his chest, hiding its printed side from view, and Malik was glad; he really didn't want to set eyes on the thing again.

He pointed a weak finger to it and tried to smile. "Can confirm, though. Printed or not, it's the same shit."

Jounouchi patted him on the shoulder. "Took one for the team, huh, buddy?"

"I'm glad I helped. Just don't ask me to do it again," Malik chuckled.

Ryou took a step away from the rest and smoothed out the paper in front of him. He looked at it with an expression of intense concentration, every now and then bringing it closer to his face.

"I still can't see what you're seeing," he said after a while.

"How is that even possible?" Jounouchi threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture.

Malik winced at the sound. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, replaying Jounouchi's question in his head.

Ryou kept frowning at the page, and everyone else kept frowning at Ryou, and it really didn't make any sense except-

It all clicked into place as suddenly as the flick of a switch. Malik dropped his hands from his head and looked up, his pulse speeding up with excitement.

"Wait. The Spellbook was allegedly written by Zorc, right?" Everyone turned to him, bewildered. Malik jumped to his feet, too fired up to remain seated. "Maybe that's why it doesn't affect Ryou. He's been under Zorc's influence for so long his body has probably developed some sort of resistance to it."

Everybody contemplated Ryou.

"It makes a lot of sense, actually," Atem said.

Ryou arched an eyebrow. "Zorc has been away for years."

"Yes, but your body is used to this sort of shadow magic," Malik pointed out, and then he thought he should probably try not to sound as enthusiastic as he did.

Ryou's look was darkening by the second. "Lucky me," he said, his voice clipped, and placed the Spellbook page down.

"I'm not saying you are lucky, but... this could work to our advantage," Malik said. "The rest of us can't even stand to look at it, whereas you-"

"Yeah, but you forget one thing," Ryou cut across him. "I still can't read it."

Silence followed his words.

"He's right," Atem said at last. "Looking at it is not the same as reading it. This doesn't really help us."

Jounouchi turned to Kaiba. "Can't your computer translate this or something?"

"If by computer you are referring to the AI I built, no, it cannot. It can find no match with any known languages. This language—if it is a language—doesn't follow any of the known linguistic rules, nor does it resemble anything we've seen before. But that's not even the worst of my problems."

"It gets worse?"

"Oh yes, it does." For the first time, Kaiba sounded exhausted. "I haven't been able to run any translating programs for long. After a few minutes everything just... crashes." He sighed and made a vague gesture with his hand. "I've been trying for hours, but everything keeps crashing. And I can't find out why, which means that I can't fix it."

"Oh, crap," Jounouchi breathed.

Kaiba simply nodded.

"But, still," Yuugi said, ever optimistic. "This is the Spellbook, right? As long as we have it in our hands, we can keep trying."

Malik turned towards the great glass windows. The sky over Domino was gradually going from grey to a dull, wintery shade of blue. The stars were disappearing rapidly, but Malik was able to spot a couple of the brightest ones—and, of course, Venus. Venus was particularly bright this time of the year.

He focused on that small speck of light and tried to tune out his friends' voices. He needed a moment to think.

The way he saw it, no AI Kaiba could ever build would be able to translate the book. It was a work of magic and, if Kaiba ever failed to take something into consideration, it was this. It had always been his weakness; the one thing he could never quite get.

They were approaching this the wrong way.

This was Zorc's work. And, as Ryou had just proved, it would take someone used to Zorc's influence to look at it... And perhaps someone with Zorc's knowledge to actually translate it. Someone who knows how Zorc operates; someone who has shared a mind and soul—a whole existence—with him.

And, as far as Malik knew, there was only one person who ticked all these boxes.

His spirits fell at once. He glanced at his friends, who were deep in conversation about hiring linguists and translators.

Malik bit his lip.

It would take a whole new level of bravery to actually suggest to them to recruit Bakura. It would take persuasion, and careful cajolery, and even then... Chances were it wouldn't go down well. He would have to reveal that he had met and talked to Bakura, and Malik was not sure if he wanted to open that can of worms right now. He hadn't even told Ryou about it.

He rubbed his fingertips in his temples again. His headache was getting worse.

Revealing that he was in speaking terms with Bakura wouldn't even be the worst part. He guessed the worst part would be convincing them that Bakura was somehow different now.

Best case scenario was that his friends would be intrigued enough to agree to meet Bakura and see for themselves if what Malik was saying was true.

Worst case scenario... They'd be suspicious. It wasn't hard to imagine what they'd think.

Damn. How many years had passed since Battle City? Twelve? Thirteen? And he still wasn't sure if he'd shaken that stigma off his shoulders. He wasn't sure if he'd ever manage to.

He huffed and rubbed his palms over his face.

The others were still talking about hiring professionals, the way Blackwood had. It wasn't a bad idea; it was just not good enough. They were still way behind in the Spellbook game. Professionals might be able to translate it eventually, but they wouldn't be quick enough. The only one who would give them an actual edge over Blackwood was Bakura; Malik was certain of it.

It crossed his mind that he could take those pages and show them to Bakura without telling anyone else. He could do it behind everyone's back. It would be simpler.

He hated the idea. All these years, he'd kept telling himself that he was no longer that guy. He didn't want to be that guy. And, if the others even found out—and he was certain they would, eventually—no one would blame them if they stopped trusting him altogether.

If he was to do it, he'd have to be transparent about it. He would settle for nothing else. Trust went both ways. He should have some faith in his friends, too, before demanding that they do the same.

He swallowed.

Okay, he told himself. He would tell them. Now he had to find the best way to do it.

He looked at Ryou: pale, tired Ryou, who nowadays had a pinch between his brows that never seemed to go away.

Malik decided that he would tell him first, alone. It concerned him in a much more intimate way than the rest.

It was not bound to be easy, though. Ryou wasn't likely to take it well.

That thought was enough to make Malik's resolve waver, but he clenched his fists. Enough with waiting for the right moment. He'd put this off for way too long.

He would take no steps back. Not today.

He leaned towards Ryou. He faltered for a second before tapping him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Ryou?" he whispered.

"Hmm?" Ryou turned towards him, peeling his gaze away from Kaiba, who was explaining why the rest of his attempts at hacking had failed.

"I need to talk to you."

"Right now?"

"Not now, but... Afterwards. If you have time. We could go for a quick cup of coffee."

Ryou's expression turned concerned. "Okay. Is everything-?"

"I'll tell you later," Malik whispered hastily, because he didn't want to draw anyone else's attention.

He sat back into his seat and looked at his fists.

There was no backing away now. It was scary, but he'd taken the first step.

He reached into his bag for a painkiller. With a bit of luck, his headache would fade before his talk with Ryou. Now all that was left to do was hope for his friend to be in a good enough mood.

He was spacing out for the rest of the time they were in Kaiba's office, mentally preparing himself for what would follow. He snapped back to the present only when Yuugi nudged him and said, "Hey, Malik?"

When he looked up, he saw all gazes directed to him.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said," Kaiba said, slowly, "do you want me to send these pages to your sister?"

"Oh," Malik said. "Yeah, sure. Ishizu might be able to figure something out."

He wasn't sure if that would do them much good, but he didn't tell them that. Ishizu had skills and knowledge, just like any other professional of the field, and she might be able to decipher something eventually; Malik just didn't know how soon that would be.

"Okay. That's all for now then. Get out of here, I've got a company to run." He tried to sound stern, but he failed miserably; he was obviously in desperate need of sleep.

Jounouchi must have picked on that, too. Instead of rising to put his coat on, like the rest of them, he went to the coffee pot. He filled a cup with fresh coffee and slid it towards Kaiba, gently nudging his hand.

Kaiba stared at the cup he was being offered. Then he murmured, "Thanks," in a surprisingly soft voice.

"I gotta be at work in ten minutes," Yuugi said, wrapping a thick scarf around his neck.

Ryou checked his watch. "I have forty-five minutes. Will that be enough?" he mumbled to Malik.

Malik nodded. It should be more than enough.

"Hey, Jou," Yuugi called. "Are you coming?"

"Nah," Jounouchi shook his head. "I'll stay here to help Seto."

"Okay. See you guys soon."

They rode the elevator down without much talk. Malik glanced out of the glass walls; the sun had risen now, dousing the city in a cold, pale light.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot and avoided Ryou's eyes, because he knew he was watching him. He hoped his anxiousness didn't show on his face.

Once outside, they bid goodbye to Yuugi and Atem and climbed on Malik's bike.

He drove straight to downtown Domino. There were many cafes close to Ryou's workplace and, at this hour in the morning, they were bound to be quiet. It would be ideal; they could talk without being overheard and Ryou wouldn't worry about being late to work.

They found a cozy little cafe that had a few small, round tables on the sidewalk. Since everyone else had opted for the cafe's warm interior, there was no one else outside. It was perfect.

"Do you mind if we sit here?"

Ryou arched an eyebrow. "Outside?"

"I don't want to be overheard talking about... you know. Everything."

"Okay, then."

They picked a table that was hit by the sunlight, even though that did not do much to warm them. They ordered two coffees and waited until the waiter was gone to start talking.

"Alright," Ryou said once they were alone. "What's going on?"

Malik sighed. "I sort of... have an idea, but I didn't want to say it in front of the others. I wanted to run it by you first."

Ryou's brow crinkled. "This feels like something I'm not gonna like."

"You probably won't," Malik admitted. He didn't know how to go on from there; his stomach was a nervous knot.

And to think he was once considered a master manipulator.

He bid for time by lifting his tiny espresso cup and taking a sip. "Okay, here goes. So... You noticed how you were the only one unaffected by the Spellbook, back in Kaiba's office?"

"Yes..." Ryou said, uncertain about where this was going.

"Well, then... We saw that it takes someone used to Zorc's influence to look at it... And perhaps... Someone with Zorc's knowledge to read it."

Ryou caught on immediately. He set his own cup down on its saucer with a loud rattle and hissed, "No."

Malik winced. He couldn't say he didn't expect this.

"Please, just... Hear me out-"

"No," Ryou repeated fiercely. "Forget it. We are not going to involve him in this."

Ryou's face was set in an expression Malik knew all too well; his brown eyes were cold and sharp in a look that said that nothing would sway him.

"Think about it," Malik insisted. "He is our best chance against Blackw-"

"No."

"He might be the only one that can actually read the thing!"

Ryou narrowed his eyes. "Exactly. And that's why I don't want him within ten feet of it."

Malik frowned, confused. "Why-?"

"He cannot be trusted with it," Ryou snapped. "Who knows what hell he will unleash if he gets his hands on this book? And you are suggesting that we give him free access to it?" He looked at Malik as if he thought he was an idiot—or crazy.

Malik lowered his gaze to his cup.

So now came the hard part.

"I don't think that's true," he said in a quiet voice.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ryou tilt his head. "What?"

Malik could feel his pulse beating in his throat. The throbbing in his head picked up again.

"I don't think... he would unleash hell, as you put it. I don't think he would do anything."

Ryou's face was stony. "What do you mean?" he asked. There was such suspicion in his voice that Malik felt his skin crawl.

There it was. The moment he had been dreading. It was bound to be unpleasant, but at least he could make it quick.

"I've seen him," Malik said, his throat dry. "Bakura, I mean. I've talked to him."

His words hovered in silence for a while.

Ryou stood still. His fingers were white around his cup.

"What do you mean, you talked to him?"

"He came to find me. Twice. And we talked."

"Twice," Ryou repeated. One corner of his lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Malik knew that tone. He was treading dangerous territory, but he'd promised himself: no steps back.

"Yes. He found me at the Crow. I don't know how," he added hastily. That was a lie, but at the moment, it seemed like a harmless one. He didn't want to make things worse.

"When?"

"Uuh... Two weeks ago, more or less-"

"And yet you are only mentioning it now." Ryou's voice was frigid.

Malik had to keep himself from wincing. He didn't have a good excuse for that—nothing except admitting that it was a conversation he didn't want to have.

"And the second time?" Ryou asked, still in that frosty voice.

Malik sighed. He looked at his coffee again. It had gone cold in his cup.

"A week ago, on my birthday... After the party."

Ryou pushed himself away from the table; the legs of his chair screeched with a hair-raising sound. For a couple of bewildering seconds, Malik thought that Ryou was about to leave, but all he did was hold himself at arm's length from the table, as if he wanted to see things from a distance—or put some space between him and Malik.

And then he laughed.

It was one of those sounds that Malik hated, because it wasn't a genuine laugh. It was low, full of sarcasm. There was nothing happy about it; it cut like pieces of broken ice.

"Well, thanks for finally telling me about it," he said in a mock-amused tone.

"I didn't go looking for him, you know," Malik said. "He contacted me both times. I don't even know how to-"

Ryou shook his head, lips still curled in a humorless smile. "No, I don't care. What I do care about is why you felt the need to hide it."

Malik hesitated.

The honest way to answer would be to simply point at Ryou and say, This is why. That reaction was exactly what he'd feared. That sarcasm, that cold, distorted expression, that goddamned suspicion-

"I was waiting for the right moment," he said instead.

"We are texting each other every day."

"I didn't want to say it through a text."

"It would be better that not saying anything at all."

"You don't make it easy, you know."

Ryou lifted an eyebrow. The cold derision in his expression was beyond annoying.

"Yes, see?" Malik said, vaguely gesturing towards Ryou. "This is what I wanted to avoid. I can't even mention his name without you getting all pissy about it-"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to throw him a welcoming party, too?"

"No, I just want you to listen!" Malik snapped.

Ryou folded his arms. "Alright, then. I'm listening. Tell me what I need to hear. What did he tell you? Is he a changed man? Has he repented? Is he a good guy now? Cause, let me tell you, I've heard that kind of bullshit from him a million times before."

Malik rubbed a hand over his face. How did they even get to that point?

His pulse was quick and his face felt hot. He took a deep breath.

"Well, for starters," he said, struggling to keep his tone calm, "Zorc is no longer a part of him."

Ryou chuckled. "Yeah, he tried to sell me that tale, too." Then he snapped his mouth shut and his look turned guilty.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for Malik to grab onto and counter-attack.

"I know all about that, too. It seems I wasn't the only one who was hiding something."

Ryou's expression quickly turned into a scowl. "I see he lost no time in telling you everything."

"He didn't."

It was Ryou's turn to get defensive. "The only reason I didn't tell you is cause I didn't want to freak you out."

"Yeah, you didn't want to tell me about how you gave him your knife and told him to use it, right?"

Ryou's eyes turned wide. There was a hint of fear in his features, like he was being caught doing something he really shouldn't. He licked his lips. "I didn't want to cower before him, that's all. I wanted to show him that I'm not scared of him."

"You know how fucked up that was, right?" Malik said. "Even he was freaked out."

As if that was the cue he was waiting for, Ryou's face hardened again. "Don't let him fool you. He was probably disappointed when he saw his old tricks won't work on me anymore."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

"I see he's really convinced you he's changed, hasn't he?" Ryou shook his head. "He's playing you for a fool. And you've walked right into his trap and believed him."

"He's not," Malik replied. "He had no reason to lie to me."

"No reason? Well, how about getting his hands on the Spellbook?"

Malik threw his hands in the air. "He didn't even know about the Spellbook before I told him!"

He realized what he'd said the moment the words left his lips, but it was too late. Ryou's eyes narrowed.

"You… told him?"

"I... Umm… Shit," Malik breathed. He rubbed his hands over his face. "Well, he had no idea what was happening and I-"

"And you thought filling him in was a great idea," Ryou finished his sentence for him. "You are either too blind to see that he's manipulating you, or you've arranged this together."

Malik froze. He gaped at Ryou, trying to figure out if he had heard correctly. The look on Ryou's face did not leave room for other interpretations.

Malik's blood was running cold.

"Arranged this together? Do you really believe I would do that?"

Ryou shrugged. He didn't say anything more. Malik guessed that was an answer in and of itself.

"Whoa," he breathed.

He would have anticipated this kind of accusation from someone like the Pharaoh, who hadn't been around for the past decade. Someone who hadn't seen him grow and change. But not from Ryou. Not him.

"Shit, Ryou," he mumbled. "All... All I was trying to do is be logical about it and find the best solution. I thought you'd see that. You, more than anyone else." His voice was coming out weird, cracking in the wrong places.

Ryou was not looking at him. The guilty look had returned to his face.

Malik shook his head.

"You are my best friend. You know me. You know me better than anyone. Don't you trust me?"

Ryou lifted his eyes and, for a moment, there was a pained edge in his expression. Their gazes met.

The muscles around Ryou's jaw tightened. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.

"Sorry. No."

Numbness hit Malik like a punch. He felt his stomach drop; then his lungs and heart followed, dragging everything down until he was spinning in some sort of sickening dizziness.

When he blinked himself back into stability, Ryou was nowhere to be seen.


The drive back home was a blur. His headache had spread across his forehead and he'd had to use all of his willpower to focus on the road. He barely registered parking his bike and climbing the stairs.

He realized he was in his apartment only when he wondered why it was so quiet all of a sudden. The silence made the ringing in his head sharper.

He gulped down another painkiller and waited. His breathing was loud in his small kitchen.

He hadn't thought things would go that badly. He'd known Ryou was bound to be negative, but this?

'You've arranged this together.'

Malik felt like choking with the unfairness of it all.

He took a deep breath; he focused on the way the air filled his lungs and expanded his ribcage. That's it, he told himself. Breathe.

For a couple of minutes, all that could be heard was the soft hiss of his breath, gradually slowing down. The ringing in his head turned into a deep pounding.

He leaned with his hip against the kitchen table and hid his face in his hands. He was exhausted.

The worst thing was there was no one to blame for this but himself. He should have trusted his gut feeling, back in Kaiba's office. He should have kept his mouth shut.

He had been too optimistic. Naive, even.

Now he knew. It would never really go away. The doubt, the suspicion; it would always be there, in the back of everyone's head.

It was fucking sad. It was sad that he was sitting there, knowing it was so easy for everyone to question his intentions—and his sanity. It was sad that they were more than ready to believe he had relapsed.

Relapsed.

He'd overhead Ishizu saying this once. Malik had been visiting his siblings in Egypt, a few years ago. One of those nights he got angry and argued with Ishizu over some stupid thing; she had said something about Malik getting a degree, just to have some qualification, and that he should have greater aspirations than being a barman and riding bikes. And Malik had gotten angry.

Later that night, he'd overheard her talking to Rishid. She was saying she feared he might be relapsing.

He huffed.

Fuck this, he thought.

All of this was unfair. He did not deserve being treated like this. He did not deserve this kind of mistrust.

Especially from Ryou. He'd taken care of him so many times in the past. He'd proven his loyalty. Hell, fuck loyalty; he'd proven time and time again that he cared for him and would never ever do anything to hurt him.

He grabbed his phone, half-expecting to find a text or a call. There was none.

He scrolled down the list of recent calls until he found the Unknown number one from a week ago. He bristled in silence, staring at it as if he could somehow will the actual number to appear. If only he had his number, he could call Bakura and-

He hesitated.

Call him and say what? Vent? Bite his head off for something that wasn't even his fault?

He rubbed a hand over his face. He was so angry he couldn't even think straight. He had to calm down.

Nothing good ever came out of being angry.

He left the cramped kitchen and made his way to the living room. He dropped at the centre of his carpet and crossed his legs. At once, his body accommodated itself in his usual meditation pose; back straight, tip of index finger and thumb lightly touching.

He closed his eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

In-

His head hurt.

And Ryou had said he didn't trust him. Just like that.

Inhale-

Fuck.

He gave up with a huff and got to his feet. Forget clearing his mind; there was too much going on. And Ryou always told him he's too calm, too laid back, even when the situation did not call for it.

Well then, he would take action for once. They had their misgivings for him, anyway; he might as well give them a reason to.

Plus, he was trembling with restrained tension and he felt that he had to do something. He couldn't sit there, thinking the same things over and over and boiling in his anger.

So yeah. Fuck everything else. He'd do it himself.

He'd track Bakura down and-

He paused.

...How exactly would he track him down?

Bakura had given him no phone number, no address, nor any other kind of information whatsoever. He had said he would contact Malik and had left it at that.

Malik guessed he could wait for Bakura to show up. The problem was that Bakura was unpredictable; he might call him within the hour, but he was just as likely to disappear for another week or two.

Malik wasn't sure he could wait that long. And he definitely wasn't in the mood for tests of patience.

He grabbed his laptop, opened a search browser and paused again. He didn't know what to search for. All he had were fragments of information about Bakura's job. What he knew with certainty was that Bakura's workplace was illegal, so it probably wouldn't be listed in Domino's businesses.

He typed Domino illegal fighting in the search bar, feeling like an idiot, and hit enter. All that came up were police reports about gang activities or attacks.

Well. No surprise there.

He added the word gambling in his search. There were more articles from news sites, but this time there came up something that looked interesting.

'Fighting for money: inside one of Domino's underground gambling clubs'

Malik clicked on it, his heart beating fast.

It was an article from one of those 'alternative' news sites. The reporter was giving away no names, naturally, nor addresses or any specifics, but there were a few things that stood out.

'I didn't really know what to expect when I set foot in one of Domino's many illegal clubs,' the reporter wrote.

Malik frowned. Domino's many illegal clubs? Just how many were there? That would only complicate things; without an address, he'd never find Bakura.

He paused at a sentence further down the article. 'We all know there are parts of the city we should avoid; parts where the police has no power over, and streets where the only law is that of the gangs running them.'

Malik knew of what parts of the city the reporter was referring to. He didn't like that he was harking back to Battle City so often that day, but he couldn't help it. He remembered seeing Domino's darkest alleys through the eyes of his Ghouls. He remembered basements, warehouses, and dives that the police didn't know about—or pretended not to. One could host all sorts of crazy activities without ever being bothered by the authorities. Malik hated to admit that, but he'd had first-hand experience with that.

He didn't entertain the idea of going there alone now—and he didn't feel confident about his knowledge, anyway. He had never ventured too deep into these areas; he was under the impression that he'd barely scratched the surface. Trying to find Bakura there would be like looking for a needle in a haystack; one white-haired, grumpy needle in a haystack made of thieves and criminals.

No, it definitely didn't sound like a good idea.

There wasn't anything actually helpful in that article, so Malik clicked out of it and kept looking. He searched for more than an hour before setting his laptop aside with a huff.

He wouldn't give up yet, though. Malik knew people. Lots of people, thanks to his job. The Crow gathered all kinds of customers; someone was bound to know something useful.

He always took care of his appearance but, that night, he put extra care in everything. He felt fired up in a way he hadn't been in years. He had a clear purpose, a plan, and the determination needed to see it through, and damn if that didn't awaken something in him.

He looked in his mirror and met his own sharp gaze. He saw the resolve in his eyes, the calculating brain behind them, and grabbed his eyeliner almost without thinking.

The feeling of cool, wet pigment against his skin was intimate, and it sent a pang of some unidentifiable emotion through his chest. His hands remembered the movements; he barely had to put an effort to draw the lines. He knew just how to angle the brush, just how much to drag or press it.

When he was done, he stared at his reflection. The sight was so familiar he had to take a minute to absorb it.

It was surreal. It was like wearing the world's oddest armor; he felt simultaneously shielded and exposed. It was so bizarre he contemplated removing the eyeliner altogether, but his reflection reminded him he'd promised to take no steps back today.

He grabbed his helmet and left.


Malik loved the Crow; he cherished the smell of old wood and alcohol, the soft orange lighting, the way the loud music hugged him. However, that night was not like the others. That night was... weird.

Malik felt focused and calm, much in the way that the eye of a storm is calm. It was a false stillness; one wrong step and he could be easily swept by the cyclone that raged on the outskirts of his mind.

He would make no wrong steps, though. He knew what he had to do.

He wasn't in the mood for small talk, but he chatted with customers anyway, trying to figure out if anyone was likely to know anything that would help him. Once or twice he went all the way and asked a couple of regulars if they knew of any underground gambling joints, with no satisfactory results.

He asked his co-worker, Reiji, too. Reiji had no clue himself but promised to ask a couple of his friends who apparently were big time gamblers.

Malik glanced at the door every time it opened, each time hoping that Bakura would walk in and save him the trouble. He swore the next time he saw him he would demand his number and wouldn't shut up until he got his hands on it. Enough of that secrecy; this time they would have to actually cooperate.

As for Reiji, he kept eyeing Malik through the night without much effort to hide his concern. "Dude, you look scary," he told him at some point. "You gotta chill. And what's with that?" he added, nodding towards the phone Malik had just checked for the hundredth time that night.

"I'm waiting for a phone call," Malik replied in clipping tones.

"Yeah, I got that. Did you break up or something?" He shrunk back at the look Malik gave him. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you alone."

However, a few minutes later, Reiji slunk closer again and elbowed Malik in the ribs.

"I think that's for you," he said, nodding towards the entrance.

The door had just opened and a very familiar white-haired figure had walked in.

Malik froze. It took him a few seconds to realize that the person with the blazing eyes and the wild hair was Ryou, not Bakura.

He pressed his lips in a thin line. The cold numbness from that morning returned, along with an awful sense of foreboding.

Ryou spotted him and went straight for the bar. He was looking furious. He had probably come to continue their fight, perhaps rub in a couple more hurtful facts. He did not bother slowing down as he reached the bar; he nearly crashed on the counter, right in front of Malik.

Malik did not shrink back. He braced himself, mentally preparing to hear whatever argument Ryou would throw in his face.

Ryou's eyes were like slits. He slapped his hand on the counter and somehow managed to narrow his eyes even more. "Alright, look," he said through gritted teeth. He raised his hand so abruptly that Malik thought he'd hit him, but all Ryou did was jab a finger at him. "I trust you," he hissed. "I trust you, okay? I do. But I don't trust him. So, if we're doing this, we're doing this together. I won't let you deal with him alone."

Malik blinked.

That was not what he had expected to hear.

He wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He stared at Ryou's ferocious glare and clenched jaw and replayed his words in his head.

We're doing this together.

I trust you.

His anger collapsed like a wall hit with a sledgehammer.

He threw himself over the counter and pulled Ryou in a tight hug. Ryou took a sharp, surprised inhale; his jacket was damp, and doing this with the counter between them was uncomfortable, but Malik didn't care. He squeezed Ryou, repeating his words in his head because his brain seemed unable to do anything else.

He felt Ryou hug him back, a bit tentatively at first. He buried his face in Malik's hair and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Malik squeezed harder. "It's okay," he replied, and he found that he really meant it. The tension that had been simmering in his limbs all day was fading away.

When he finally let Ryou go, there was a small stinging in the back of his eyes.

"Don't you cry on me, Ishtar," Ryou teased him, but his voice was somewhat thick, too.

Malik breathed out a laugh. "Don't worry. I don't wanna smudge my eyeliner."

"Speaking of which..." Ryou said, nodding towards it. "I haven't seen you do that in a long time."

Malik merely shrugged.

"It suits you, you know," Ryou went on. "I'd forgotten."

Malik knew. He'd forgotten, too. He didn't feel like discussing it, so he grabbed a bottle and said, "Vodka?"

"Sure."

He poured a glass of vodka for Ryou and whiskey for him and they clinked glasses. For a moment there was only quiet drinking and music, until Ryou placed his glass down and said, "So. Where do we go from here?"

Malik sighed. "We find Bakura," he said without an ounce of enthusiasm. The frustration from his day of fruitless efforts must have shown on his face, because Ryou's brows knit together.

"Is he that hard to find?"

"Sadly, yes. I told you, he contacted me both times. I don't really know how to find him."

Ryou hummed thoughtfully. "You know he could be around, watching us, right? You could try carrying a sign that says you need to talk to him. Chances are he'll see it."

Malik shook his head. "No, I don't think he's around. He wouldn't have stayed hidden for that long." Not from me, he added inwardly.

"I'm out of ideas, then."

Malik bit his lip. "I have been trying to track him down, but… The only true lead I've got is his job."

Ryou choked on his vodka. He coughed, eyes watering and nose probably burning from the alcohol. "His what?" he hissed at last, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, I was surprised, too," Malik said with a shrug. "I guess even ex-ghosts have to work for a living."

"What sort of job could he do?" Ryou said, disgust coloring his disbelief.

"Well..." Malik started with an awkward half-smile, "apparently, he gets paid to fight in illegal boxing rings."

Thankfully, Ryou wasn't drinking anything this time around; the expression on his face turned almost comical as his mouth fell open and his eyes widened.

"He what?" he breathed.

Malik simply nodded.

"Okay, he's clearly lying," Ryou said at once.

"He's not. When I saw him, he was..." He hesitated, not knowing if it was wise to tell Ryou the details. But they were about to track down Bakura, and they were about to do it together, so Ryou would see for himself sooner or later. No point in hiding anything. "He was badly beaten up," he confessed. "His face was a mess. You can't fake that."

Ryou did not look convinced. "That could have happened in a number of ways. He could have been jumped at in some alley and been too embarrassed to admit it." Malik did not like the vindictive look that crossed Ryou's face as he said that.

"I don't think he was lying," he said hastily. "He had no reason to."

Ryou shrugged. "Keeping his pride intact is a reason."

"Anyway-" Malik cut across him, because he wasn't in the mood to hear how shitty of a person Bakura was, "I am trying to locate the joint he's working at."

"And how are you gonna do that?"

"That is the problem," Malik huffed. "I don't know. I have asked around, but so far no one knows anything."

Ryou arched an eyebrow. "You go around asking people about illegal boxing rings?"

"Well, the internet wasn't that helpful," Malik said defensively.

Ryou rolled his eyes. "I'll ask in a few forums. In the meantime, keep an eye out for him. I will, too."

Thankfully, they didn't have to wait for some stranger in an internet forum to answer their question, because Lady Luck decided to smile upon them for a change.

The following night, Malik was at the Crow again, mixing drinks with one eye at the door. He was halfway through his shift when he noticed Reiji beckoning at him.

Reiji was at the other end of the bar, huddled around the counter with a couple of customers. Malik recognized them as two of Reiji's friends; they looked like they belonged in a biker gang, complete with leather vests, gloves and bandanas.

Malik approached them, hastily wiping his hands in a towel.

"Hey, Malik," Reiji said. He nodded towards his friends. "This is Takei and Miyamoto. Guys, this is Malik Ishtar."

"Hey, nice to meet you," Malik said as he shook their hands.

"Yo, Malik, you were asking about gambling joints yesterday, right?" Reiji said.

Malik's heart gave a loud thud. "Yes."

Reiji gestured towards the guy on the left. "Then Miyamoto's your man. He knows all the ins and outs."

"Come on, Reiji, I'm no expert," the guy named Miyamoto said with a wave of his hand.

"You spend half your waking hours gambling everything down your kidneys," Reiji retorted.

Miyamoto chuckled. "And yet I still have both of them."

"Reiji told you what I'm looking for?" Malik asked.

"He mentioned it. So, do you have something specific in mind?"

"Well," Malik started, his mouth dry with excitement, "I have never been there myself, but I know there's a joint somewhere in the city where you can place bets on fighters. Or something like that."

Miyamoto chuckled again and took a sip of his beer. "I know at least five places that fit that description."

"Really?" Malik leaned closer. "Do you remember any addresses?"

"More or less. It'd be easier if you told me exactly what it is you're looking for. Do you want legit fighting or something more like a… a wrestling show?"

Malik hesitated. He only had one more bit of information to give, but his was his chance; he had to go all in.

"Alright, look. I'm looking for someone. He's a fighter in one of those joints. He must have showed up three weeks ago—four weeks, tops. He's skinny, with long white hair."

Miyamoto eyebrows shot upwards. "Are you talking about Diabound?" he asked, a hint of awe in his voice.

Malik blinked at him. He'd heard that name before.

He racked his brain until he finally remembered: Ryou and the guys had mentioned it years ago, when they'd told him about Bakura's last shadow RPG.

It had to be Bakura, then. Diabound wasn't a name you heard every day; what were the chances that there was another white-haired guy using it?

"That's him," Malik confirmed. "Have you seen him?"

"Dude." Miyamoto let out a breathless chuckle. "Diabound's all the rage right now. The guy is sick. You should've seen his last fight."

Malik's mouth twisted in an unhappy smile. I saw the aftermath, he thought.

"So you know where he is?" he asked.

"You bet I do. I'm going to his next bout, on Saturday."

"Saturday?"

"Yeah." Miyamoto considered him. "You wanna come along?"

Malik's eyes went wide with excitement. "You mean it?"

Miyamoto shrugged. "Sure, why not? And they won't let you in unless you're with an older member."

"Yeah, I wanna come along!" Malik's face split in a wide grin. "Thanks!"

"No problem, man."

"Can I bring a friend with me?"

"Sure, as long as you vouch for them."

"Great! That's- That's great!" Malik stammered in his enthusiasm. "Now excuse me for a sec, I gotta make a phone call—drinks are on me!" he called out as he grabbed his phone and ran outside.

"Hey, Ryou?" he said the moment his friend picked up. "I found out where he works, and I found someone who can take us there. Make sure to be free on Saturday."