I don't often talk about Seto in the context of dueling. My approach to fandom work, art or fiction or honestly anything else, is to look around at what canon leaves by the wayside. Since the game is at the heart of YGO as a franchise, I don't really do much with it.
After all, anybody who wants to watch dueling can just watch the anime.
Or read the manga, if they're a purist.
Point being, I've always tended to explore Seto's other facets: a teenage boy, a single dad, a business tycoon, an orphan. Anything about him that has nothing to do with cards is my wheelhouse.
But he still loves the game, and sometimes it's important to remind myself of that.
.
Kisara liked to duel against Seto, but she didn't like using Duel Disks, or Solid Vision holograms at all, when they played. She preferred to sit at a table and set the cards down on a mat, the way the game was meant to be played. Using technology to invoke a battle tended to put her in mind of too many real battles that she'd lived—and died—through.
The change in method did not change Seto's approach to the game, however. He still described every turn like he was a field general; he still made dramatic hand gestures, and he still drew each card like he was unsheathing a weapon.
In her own way, Kisara matched his energy.
If Seto was a general, then Kisara was a queen. Seto's actions, words, aura; they were all dramatic. They were wide, and sweeping; a performance. He practically danced, even while seated, because Magic & Wizards woke some part in him that needed to indulge. Kisara, meanwhile, lounged like she was on a throne. Her eyes were bright with a kind of lazy authority that couldn't be un-mantled. She chuckled like a supervillain whenever Seto made a move that she could exploit. Her every movement was sinuous, seductive, ineffable. When she spoke, her words thrummed with power.
If Seto was the unstoppable force, then Kisara was the immovable object.
When they played in the drawing room, or the parlor, or pretty much anywhere in Kaiba Manor, it was only a matter of time before Noa, Mokuba, or the house staff would come in to watch. There was something irresistibly charismatic about the way Kisara played off Seto's signature style. She was quiet where he was boisterous, clipped where he was discursive. In almost every way, she was his antithesis.
Except in how committed she was to the game.
There was a small, but vocal, percentage of duelists in the professional circuit who complained about Seto's theatrical attitude; it gave duelists a bad name, they said. It made them look ridiculous. Champion or not, he ought to grow up. Sometimes, a member of this faction would come against Seto in the arena, during a tournament or an exhibition, and it had an unmistakable deflating impact on Seto—and through Seto, the crowd.
Kisara seemed bound and determined to never sour Seto's mood when they indulged in his favorite hobby. She played in her own way, but she always matched her prince's enthusiasm.
"I think it must remind Aniki of playing with him," Noa said once.
Kisara looked affronted when he did. "I certainly hope not," she said shortly.
"Excuse me?" Noa was clearly surprised; he'd meant it as a compliment. "What do you mean?"
"The forgotten king," said Kisara, "has done many good things. In many ways, he was a good man. A good boy, perhaps. A good friend. But to my prince, he was none of those things. To my prince, the Ghost of the Golden Age was unattainable. Much like every role model he has ever tried to find for himself, my prince found himself utterly unable to meet his standards."
Kisara seemed just as dedicated to not saying Atem's name as Mokuba was to Gozaburo's.
"I would not have my prince ever think of sour things, when he sits at a table with me," Kisara said, with grim finality.
"Ah," Noa said, as understanding dawned on his face. "I see." He paused, then continued: "You, uh, seem just as fond of Atem as Mokuba. Which is to say, not."
"I have no fondness in my heart for him," Kisara agreed, and it carried all the weight of a threat.