If it hasn't been made clear by now, my apologies. Masahiko's world, his dimension if you like, is based on the manga. Whereas the main setting is based on the anime. That's the difference here, and why everybody keeps comparing notes. I'm sure I mentioned at some point or another that the Atem from this story is also from the manga, but it's been so many years that I don't actually know for sure.

Part of the reason I started this story was to kind of compare notes on the differences between the two versions of the story. Because there's a lot of them.


.


"Daimon is . . . dead?"

Mokuba nodded solemnly, holding out a portable recorder. "You can go ahead and listen, if you want to know what he said." He shrugged, a little self-consciously. "I could tell you, but I know you don't really trust us yet. So, I figure this would be easier."

Masahiko took the offered device. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Mokuba cleared his throat. "I'm, uh. I'm sorry." He scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't know what kind of . . . relationship. You guys had. But . . . even if I wanted to stop them, that's just not something I can do. I have a lot of sway with my brother, but sometimes he pulls rank."

Masahiko shook his head. "It's okay," he said. "I hated that old bastard. I always figured somebody would kill him someday." He sighed. "I've, um . . . been thinking a lot. There's not much else to do, really."

"If you want anything," Mokuba said, "like a computer or a PlayStation or something. Like, we'll have to monitor anything you look at online, but we can get you pretty much anything."

Masahiko shook his head again. "It's not that I don't have things. It's just, I can't focus. So I just kind of . . . I end up staring at the wall." He gestured vaguely. "You didn't have to do all this stuff for me. I mean." He lifted up the recorder. "You kept him in a warehouse."

Mokuba offered a soft little smile. "Well. He got a lot closer to hurting Niisama than you did."

"I just. I don't get it. Niisama and me; we learned all our lives that other people can't be trusted. Especially adults. You know?" Masahiko turned his eyes to Mokuba's, searching, desperate for some kind of familiarity. "But you, and your brother, and all these guys you've got working for you. They're just—they're all so nice."

Mokuba was nodding. "Good," he said. "If they weren't, I'd be looking into disciplinary action." He puffed out a breath and slipped his hands into his pockets. "Look. Masahiko. You knew what you were getting into. You knew what you were here to do—well, try to do. So, like, it probably doesn't resonate much if somebody says that you don't know what you're doing. That you aren't responsible for your own actions. I used to be confused, too. People would say something like that, and I'd get mad. How do you know so much about me that you can tell me what I know about what I'm doing?"

Masahiko nodded, almost desperately. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah."

"Niisama explained it to me once." Mokuba held out his hands, like he was displaying something. "Our brains aren't fully developed yet. We're still, like, mimics. That's what kids are. We're around the age Niisama was when he started going through all this shit. And kids, we take what other people do and we apply it to ourselves, right?"

"Mimics," Masahiko repeated.

"Yeah. It's how we learn to speak our first language, it's how we learn to walk, it's how we learn how to do basically anything. So, like, if my brother tells me I'm too young to know what I'm doing, what he's saying is that I'm not responsible for what I'm doing, because I'm just applying what I've seen other people do to whatever situation I'm in. I can't remove myself from that mimicry yet. I don't have the tools or the experience necessary to convince myself out of the situation. Whatever it is. You aren't in charge of yourself, so you can't take responsibility for yourself." Mokuba shrugged. "Or something like that. He would say it better."

"I mean," Masahiko gestured randomly, "I kind of am in charge of myself, most of the time. Niisama's always busy. He doesn't . . . didn't . . . have time to deal with me. Much."

Mokuba averted his gaze. "I'm sorry," he said.

Masahiko grimaced. "When we were little, Niisama would talk about what life would be like when we got out. Of the orphanage. You know?" Mokuba nodded. "He would say we'd only ever have to worry about each other, and we could do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. And when I thought about that, I always thought it would be . . . together. You know, like how you and your brother are. I mean, I don't know you, and I don't know him, but you guys look like a team."

"We are," Mokuba said, nodding again. "We're a team."

"That's what was supposed to happen, with Niisama and me. But . . . it didn't."

"What happened?" Mokuba asked, after a beat of silence.

Masahiko stared at the floor. His scowl deepened. "He just . . . he got different. Like Otousama. All the stuff we used to talk about, all the things we were supposed to do together, he didn't care about that anymore. All he cared about was victory. Winning. Against Otousama, and then against Daimon, and then against Yugi. Basically, anybody he thought wanted to get one over on him, Niisama wanted to crush. Stomp into the dirt. Everybody was an enemy. Everybody was an opponent. Even me. Sometimes it felt . . . it felt like . . . especially me."

Masahiko went on, almost mechanically, droning on like he was reporting on the weather, about life with his brother. As he listened, Mokuba found himself picturing all his worst impulses, every fear for the future he'd ever had, and suddenly everything about this boy made sense. He wondered if this was how Seto felt when he started to understand someone.

The image of Seto losing himself in his pursuit of survival, in a mad grab for power, the thought of just not being able to keep up, of letting him down, of wondering if following him was worth it after all, and then . . . to have someone else, a stranger, an interloper, come in and punish him. Demand retribution. Infringe on his private damnation and extract payment.

Mokuba wondered what he would do if someone offered him a chance to turn back the clock after all that. He realized, all at once, that he wouldn't be all that much different from Masahiko.

Not so different at all.

"So," said Masahiko, nearly an hour after he'd begun, "that's it. Pretty much."

Mokuba steadied himself. "I'm . . . not sure if there's anything I can say that'll make that much of a difference." He looked his double in the eye. "But I can say this: in this Domino City, as long as you're here, none of that's going to happen to you."

Masahiko actually smiled; there was a touch of sadness in it. "You can't know that," he said, sounding apologetic. "Not with Otousama still on the attack. I know . . . I know you're trying to make me feel better. And the thing is, I . . . I think I believe you. But things aren't normal anymore. There's no way to be sure about anything."

"You're never sure about what happens in Domino City," Mokuba said. "Nothing's ever normal. But my point is, Niisama's dealt with plenty of stuff like this before. He's older than your brother, and that makes a bigger difference than you might think. The longer you deal with stuff, the better you get at dealing with it. Everything's just practice for the future. That's all it is."

Masahiko hummed. "I guess, maybe," he said. He looked down at his lap. "Is . . . is your brother just stronger than mine?"

Mokuba was silent for a time, as he considered this question; or, rather, considered how to answer it. Eventually he said: "I mean, I don't know your brother. I only know mine. But . . . I don't think so, no. I don't think that's how it works."

"It just sounds like your brother didn't . . . fall, like mine did."

"Niisama's fallen a whole bunch of times," Mokuba said, quite confidently. "I mean, you saw his right arm, right? Anyway, that's not it. Trust me on this subject if nothing else. I don't know what the difference is, but I know it's different. From all you've told me, it just sounds to me like you guys had a rougher time than we did. More happened to you, and it's gonna take longer to come back from it. To heal from it."

"You think . . . you think he can heal? For real?"

Mokuba nodded. "Definitely. I don't know what he's dealing with, your brother. I don't know what it means to put your heart back together. But my brother is the strongest person I know, and I think your brother's just as strong. Just as stubborn. Jut as angry." He smiled, reached out and put a hand on Masahiko's shoulder. "He's just younger. That's all."

Masahiko looked desperate to believe. "How . . . old is your brother?"

"He turns twenty-one this year."

"That's . . . five years."

"Mm-hm."

"You really think five years makes that big a difference?"

"It really does."

Masahiko bit his lower lip. He looked younger than he ever had. "Do you think . . . will I be stronger in five years?"

Mokuba grinned, showing his teeth. "Absolutely," he said.