I've been busy lately. Commissioned to edit my first professional work, which is taking more energy than university ever did. As a result, this update is much later, but also much longer, than I originally planned. I hope that this makes up for the gap.

I'll be honest: I haven't been able to write much of anything lately. Turns out editing is a much more draining process than I once thought. It makes it hard to focus on anything else in the interim. Anything literary, anyway.

Nonetheless, this is probably one of my favorite chapters so far, for reasons I believe will become apparent as it goes on.

Let's get started.


From what she had heard from Akiko, and from what Kohaku had reported during his research, Yuki might have thought that Seto would look bitter, or pained, as he stood in the doorway of the library, watching Sotaro help Mokuba with his homework. Angry, with Sotaro or perhaps with himself, that he wasn't the one sitting there, talking about variables and guiding the black-haired boy through each equation.

But he looked . . . peaceful.

There was even a smile on his face as he turned away and started back down the hallway. When he saw Yuki, an expression struck him that was something like betrayal, and he stood staring at her as though he'd forgotten she existed.

Maybe he had.

"Pardon me," Yuki said, inclining her head. "I wondered if I might have a moment of your time."

If he was reeling, he hid it well. He seemed to calculate something in his head, then nodded. Quick, curt. "Fine. What do you need?"

"I just wanted to see if it would be possible to meet your security team," she said. Even though she had been told that this man was her son, and even though he was still a number of years younger than she, Yuki felt a certain level of apprehension, dealing with him. Perhaps it was remembering the gun, or how he'd reacted so instinctively, and so violently, when Kohaku had touched him. "I understand that these people will be defending our lives, and I appreciate that more than I could possibly express. But . . . I'd like to know who they are."

Again, Seto seemed to be calculating something, very quickly.

Eventually, he nodded. "I'll arrange it."

"Thank you."

Days passed before Yuki spoke to him again.

In between sightseeing, learning, and trying to keep track of Sotaro's stories of electronic conquest and virtual victory, Yuki still found plenty of time to unravel the bundle of paradoxes who called himself Seto Kaiba.

He was twenty years old—barely passed out of childhood. Yet the way he carried himself didn't remind Yuki of someone still shaking off the bad habits of high school; he was already settling straight into the worst habits of old age. He never walked, never talked, never moved without knowing precisely where his destination was. If he didn't have a task to complete, he found one.

Yuki often told her husband that he needed to stop, unwind, and let himself recover once in a while; he often went weeks without proper sleep, running himself so ragged that in the astronomical event that he got a full day off, he often spent it in a numb stupor, barely able to function past finding his way to bed.

Compared to the elder of the Kaiba brothers, Kohaku's habits were healthy. If Seto wasn't at Kaiba-Corp's offices, he was on his phone or at his computer. She'd caught him a couple of times, seated at the dining room table as his brother was washing his hands, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Each time, only a handful of seconds went by before his phone rang. Those cutting blue eyes would open again, and he would reach into his pocket, and the race would start again.

Yet it seemed that Seto Kaiba couldn't comprehend the idea of succumbing to fatigue. Not to say he didn't get tired; he often looked exhausted. But the concept of resting was incurably foreign to him. It struck Yuki at times that if not for the fact that she and Kohaku often stepped in to stop him, Sotaro would have already begun falling into these same habits.

Any number of times as she acclimated to the rigid routine of life at the Kaiba Estate, it was on Yuki's lips to tell the man who was supposed to be her child that he needed to slow down. But she never managed to find the right words, nor did she ever find a time or a place where she might be able to tell him even if she had.

It occurred to her one day why it never felt right. It was like infringement. If it was anyone's job to tell Seto to slow down and take a nap, or else take a personal day and spend it venting all that pent-up frustration so that he could come back to the helm refreshed and ready, it was Mokuba's. It often took no more than a wistful glance at night to make Seto wrap up his business and spend a handful of minutes with his brother. Yuki was sure that Mokuba wasn't even aware of what he was doing. He wasn't manipulative. Not, at least, from what she had seen. And he wasn't spoiled, either. This wasn't a boy who got anything and everything he wanted handed to him.

Despite what Yugi Mutou said, this family was not hers. Nor was it Kohaku's. This was the Kaiba family, and the Yagamis were guests.

Not to say that that stopped her from worrying.

One day, she was helping Akiko dust the front parlor. Akiko insisted that she was a guest, and had gone through enough stress. She should rest. But Yuki insisted that feeling productive would help her to cope with her current situation, and this sentiment seemed familiar to Akiko. She smiled, and nodded.

It was just crossing Yuki's mind to make tea when Kohaku stepped into the room. "Yuki," he said, and the last time she'd heard that tone of voice had been a year previous, when he'd told her that Sotaro had broken one of his thumbs during recess.

She turned. "Yes? What is it? What's wrong?"

He gestured vaguely. "Come with me."

Kohaku silently led his wife through a series of halls, into a huge and dark room with the largest television Yuki had ever seen as its centerpiece, and sat in front of a computer in the corner. He gestured. "Mokuba showed me how to use this," he said, at Yuki's questioning look. "It's called a search engine. See, information's taken a flying leap upward since—when we're from." He grimaced. "Basically, this machine connects to one impossibly huge, interconnected library. Anyway, I've been reading up on whatever I can find about Gozaburo Kaiba."

"What have you found?" Yuki asked keenly, staring curiously at the screen in front of her husband.

Kohaku clicked through a few windows, earning him a strange look, until he landed on a piece called The Kaiba Dynasty: Blood for Blood. He stood up, and gestured for Yuki to sit. "Read this," he said.

It seemed to be a biography about Gozaburo. It started with his childhood in Kyoto, how he'd started the entity that would become the Kaiba Corporation as Kaiba Kabushiki-gaisha in the mid-seventies, and how he'd eventually immigrated to Domino City and become a citizen after his native country proved too small for his liking.

He'd married a proper woman, likely for little more than appearances, and with his wife he had one son: Noa. From the start, this boy was groomed to take over the now-gargantuan Kaiba legacy; though heralded as the forefront of revolutionary technology, Gozaburo's work in medicine and entertainment served primarily as a funnel through which he poured funding into his true aims as an arms dealer.

When Noa died in an accident some ten years after his birth, the family split up. Gozaburo wasted no time grieving neither his son nor his wife, and almost immediately sought out a replacement for his prized progeny.

He'd found it . . . in a thin, pale-faced little genius called Seto Yagami.

Seto quickly proved even more adept at the business of leadership than Noa ever had, the article claimed, and it wasn't long before Gozaburo was putting the boy in charge of his own projects. Allegations of emotional and mental abuse aside, Seto Yagami rose to every challenge his adoptive father set before him. At fifteen, Seto was already primed to take Gozaburo's seat. So, in a move that was surprising to absolutely no one, he'd decided to take it.

Yuki's heart began to pump faster, and her breath hitched in her throat, as she read about what happened next. Details were scarce. The elder Kaiba's board of directors called Gozaburo to a conference room on the thirtieth floor of the Kaiba Corporation's regional headquarters. Seto, who had been collaborating with these men—known collectively as the Big Five—revealed to his father that, with their help, he had seized majority control over the company.

The next day, the news broke that Gozaburo was dead.

Seto Kaiba, newly risen to the position of CEO of a conglomerate worth ungodly amounts of money, was emancipated at fifteen, gained legal guardianship over his seven-year-old brother, and set about the systematic breakdown of everything his adoptive father had built; and from the ashes he created the Kaiba Electronic Gaming Corporation.

Rumors spread thin over how the old man died. Some suggested it had been a sudden, massive heart attack brought on by the surprise betrayal, which caused Kaiba the elder to stumble through a window, plummeting three-hundred feet to his death.

Some advocated suicide, in which case he'd jumped out of that window.

Some, though, harbored the more nefarious belief that he'd been thrown by none other than his traitorous heir.

As she finished reading, Yuki stepped back and let out the breath she had been holding.

" . . . We need to find out more about this," Kohaku said, glancing over his shoulder at his wife. His grey eyes were blazing with a rare severity that brought their less-than-friendly benefactor quite forcefully to mind.

Yuki licked her lips, feeling unconsciously, superstitiously nervous.

The next day, the Yagamis met the Kaibas' head of security, a middle-aged man named Roland Ackerman. He was tall, with broad shoulders, short-cropped dark hair and a thin, trimmed goatee.

As he stepped into the front parlor, Roland removed a pair of thin sunglasses and slipped them into an inside pocket of his pinstriped jacket. He nodded deferentially to his employer. "Master Kaiba," he said, then turned his attention entirely toward the others.

Yuki stood up and extended a hand. "Yuki Yagami," she said, smiling graciously. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Ackerman."

A flash of . . . something passed over the man's face. "Please. Roland."

"Roland. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help."

Roland took the offered hand and shook it. "Of course. Of course. I understand you've been having a rough time of things. I can assure you, the protection of the Kaiba family extends far beyond this roof." He winked. "You can be sure we'll do everything in our power to keep you safe."

"Thank you so much."

Kohaku stood next, and mirrored his wife's gesture. Roland shook his hand, as well. "Kohaku Yagami. Thank you, sir."

Sotaro, clearly nonplussed, remained seated. But he said, "I'm Sotaro," and lifted a hand in a little wave.

Roland smiled, a disarmingly pleasant expression considering the starkness of his appearance and his demeanor. He tipped an invisible hat to the boy. Again, that little flash. "A pleasure, Sotaro." He turned his attention back to Seto. "This is your aunt, uncle, and cousin, correct?"

Seto flinched, grimaced, and said: "Mm."

"I can certainly see a familial resemblance. So . . . what is it, exactly, we're being faced with, sir? You were rather vague on the phone."

Seto opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Glared at his family as though they had insulted him by their very presence. Tried to speak again: "Apparently . . . " But he trailed off, eventually growling incoherently and whirling on a heel. He gestured dismissively. "They can tell you better than I."

Considering just how quickly he vacated the room, one might have suspected a fire.

Roland sighed and nodded to himself. "I see. Well, that complicates things." He stepped around the coffee table and pulled up a spare chair. "I am going to make a series of assumptions. Please stop me when I am wrong."

Yuki frowned, but nodded. "Okay."

"Fine. I guess." Kohaku gestured.

"Assumption number one: none of you are Master Kaiba's aunt, uncle, or cousin." He waited a moment, eyeing the three of them critically. Yuki and Kohaku both started to speak but, like Seto had done, they stopped themselves. "Assumption number two: you are members of Master Kaiba's family."

Again, silence.

"Your arrival here has something to do with Yugi Mutou, as well as with Young Master Mokuba." He waited again, looking like he hoped they would speak up now. They did not. "The facts that you, ma'am, share both first and last name with Master Kaiba's mother; and that you, sir, share both first and last name with Master Kaiba's father, are not coincidences."

The three Yagamis shared a look with each other, all looking more nervous than before.

"Your son, there. Sotaro is not his real name."

No one spoke.

"His name is Seto Yagami. Isn't it?"

Three nods.

Roland took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He pointed to Yuki. "Yuki Sasaki. Born in Otsu in July of 1961, immigrated to the United States in 1982, married in 1984, became a mother in 1987. Part-time floral designer." He pointed to Kohaku. "Kohaku Yagami. Born in Kusatsu in November of 1964. Full-time construction worker, part-time pizza delivery driver."

Blank stares. "How . . . ?"

"You are my employer's parents. Aren't you?"

Yuki licked her lips, then eventually nodded. "Yes."

"And that child, there. He is my employer. Isn't he?"

"Yes."

"You were brought here magically. Hence, Yugi Mutou's involvement. And, unless I miss my guess, Young Master Mokuba's involvement. Some sort of spell."

"You seem to have an easier time believing all of this than we do," Kohaku said. "Definitely an easier time than he's having."

Roland shrugged. "I've spent years chronicling Mister Mutou's . . . exploits. There's no point in arguing that things are impossible anymore. He'll just prove me wrong." He stood, and began to pace about the room. "What is it that has brought you here? From what, or whom, are you seeking protection?"

"Gozaburo Kaiba has targeted our son," Kohaku said.

Roland stared. His mouth opened.

" . . . Son of a bitch."

If Yuki or Kohaku had known Roland Ackerman better than they did, they would have realized just how bad a sign it was that his entire demeanor changed at the name Gozaburo; they would have spied something that went deeper than concern, deeper than nerves, deeper than fear.

Something darker, something colder than that.

As it was, they glossed over it. They didn't know just what it took to shake him. Roland not only managed to stand, but thrived on standing, side-by-side with a man for whom near-death experiences were mundane and gut-wrenching terror was par for the course.

"You certainly came to the right person for help," he said, clearing his throat. "Master Kaiba is the only person on whom I'd put my money, if you're looking to trade blows with Gozaburo."

Kohaku raised a sardonic eyebrow. "I'd like to talk to you about that. Did you work for Gozaburo Kaiba?"

"I did. I was rank-and-file back then, but yes. I've been with the Kaiba Corporation for most of my professional life."

Yuki looked worried, and leveled an unreadable look on her husband. "Ko," she said. "We shouldn't—not in front of . . . "

"We have to know, Yuki," Kohaku replied. "We all have to know. Mister A—Roland. The Gozaburo you knew . . . how did he die?"

Roland frowned. He looked at Sotaro, whose face was completely blank; though his eyes were bright with unnerving interest. "Suicide."

"Do you know that for a fact?" Kohaku asked, harshly. "How did it happen?"

"Ko!"

"I do know," Roland said, holding up a hand in Yuki's direction. "On the day they were adopted, both Master Kaiba and Young Master Mokuba were given two percent of the Kaiba Corporation. Master Kaiba had seized forty-nine percent through an agreement with his adoptive father's board of directors. Thus, it was Young Master Mokuba who became the deciding factor. When it became clear to Gozaburo that his sons were united against him, he claimed that he'd lost the game that he and Master Kaiba had been playing since the adoption. He told Master Kaiba to—ahem—burn into his memory that this was what a loser deserves. Then he . . . leaped through the window of his corner office."

Kohaku closed his eyes, and his body sagged with relief. Yuki, by contrast, straightened.

Roland smirked, rather bitterly. "Public opinion is widely split on just what happened that day. If you will allow me to guess . . . that's why you asked me about it. You were worried that Master Kaiba himself was directly responsible for Gozaburo's death. Weren't you?"

Sotaro's eyes widened slightly, but still he remained silent.

Yuki looked guilty and angry at the same time; so did Kohaku.

"I can tell you with absolute certainty that he was not. Listen . . . I don't intend to ask what you have heard, or seen, in your time with Master Kaiba. Chances are that he has been less than hospitable." Kohaku stifled a scoff, trying to pass it off as clearing his throat. Roland chuckled. "Think of Master Kaiba as an example."

"Of what?" Kohaku asked. "The worst-case scenario?"

Yuki hissed in a breath.

Roland shrugged. "Exactly. And considering that the worst-case scenario is a man fully willing to, and capable of, saving your lives from the most megalomaniacal tyrant in this city's history, I think we're all rather lucky."

None of the Yagamis had an answer to that.