I have spent the past month working on a rough draft for the rest of this story. I haven't yet finished it, but figured there was enough to keep going. So understand, y'all, that I know exactly where the story's headed.
Well. "Exactly" is the wrong word. But you get what I mean. Right?
Yeah, I don't understand, either. It's cool.
.
The expression on Valery Hitcher's face, from the car ride over up to now, reminded Roland very forcefully of a soldier preparing for war. She was grim, businesslike, a stern matriarch with no tolerance for nonsense. Roland felt like a boy next to her, even though he was reasonably sure there wasn't much of an age gap between them.
If he hadn't already known any better, Roland might have assumed that Seto inherited his signature glare from this woman. And this thought was amplified all the more when—as soon as she caught sight of Mokuba—Valery's entire essence changed. Shifted. All of a sudden, she looked like a kindly grandmother. Her eyes sparkled, radiated warmth, and the smile that slid across her face was as natural as breathing.
Mokuba, however, seemed to have inherited her old persona. His smile was perfunctory. Almost mocking. When Valery approached and drew the young Kaiba into a hug, Roland was sure that he'd seen Mokuba move in for a handshake. Everyone seemed to have noticed this, perhaps even Valery herself. Roland was ashamed of himself for how relieved he felt when Mokuba—eventually—slid his arms around the woman and rested his cheek on her shoulder.
"He's not as relieved as I would have hoped," Kohaku murmured, at Roland's side.
"The world needs a Kaiba at the head of this city," said Yuki, from the other side. "With Seto out of commission, Mokuba's taken up the mantle. He's . . . he's never looked more like his brother. Acted more like his brother."
"No," Roland murmured apocalyptically. "He hasn't."
"He won't be . . . back to normal, or whatever you want to say, until his brother is back with us." Kohaku drew in a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. Roland felt a shock of superstitious surprise, as he uncovered where his employer had picked up another habit. Had he seen Kohaku do that before? He wasn't sure. Was it honestly anything to take notice of? People messed with their hair all the time.
. . . No. No, this wasn't some coincidence. That's not how Seto Kaiba worked.
He never did anything without purpose. This was ingrained.
Roland wondered when Mokuba would start doing it, and cursed himself for a fool. "Let's be honest with ourselves," he said. "This is too much for him to take. The only way he's making it through this right now is by invoking Master Kaiba."
He said this, but Mokuba's façade cracked just the faintest bit. "Thanks for coming," he whispered to Valery, who held him as tenderly as the mother he'd never had—the mother standing not ten feet away. The only real indication that summoning Seto hadn't worked perfectly was in how tightly Mokuba clung to Valery. He was trying, and to the untrained eye it would have looked like he was succeeding. But to Roland, to the Yagamis, to Joey Wheeler, even to Connor and Rebecca, it was clear just how little experience Mokuba had in blocking out his emotions. He wanted to be his Niisama. He wanted to be strong, and noble. He wanted to be a Kaiba.
But try as he might . . .
"If that boy doesn't make it out of this," Yuki said, sounding like she was choking on each syllable, "I'll strangle him myself. This is not going to happen. That creature is not allowed to win."
Roland found a smile.
". . . I hate to ask this," Kohaku muttered, "but what exactly are we intending to do now? Assuming the best case scenario, he's going to be in recovery for . . . what, months?"
"Years, most likely," Roland said, scowling again. "For a full recovery."
"So? Seriously. I mean, you've all spent a lot of time and effort convincing us that he is the key to all this, so now that he's out of commission . . . seriously, what now?"
"Now that the king has stumbled," Roland almost growled, "the knights take the field. What do we do? Protect him. Protect you. Master Kaiba insisted in spear-heading this charge because it's in his nature to shoulder the burdens of his fathe—predecessor. And we let him because that's in ours." Roland stole a glance at Kohaku, who hadn't reacted. "Now that it's, frankly, irresponsible to let him . . . it's time for the professionals."
Yuki smiled. "Protective of your paycheck, aren't you?"
Roland smirked back at her. "Sure. That's it."
She chuckled.
While this conversation and several others took place across the span of the evening, Mokuba returned to his vigil near his friends. Valery sat nearby, talking softly to him. He paid attention to her, vaguely, until Sotaro came shuffling up to them.
Roland watched, feeling superstitious, as Mokuba adopted yet another of his brother's essential habits: the smile that slid onto the young Kaiba's face was achingly familiar, as was the way Mokuba reached out and ruffled Sotaro's hair. Gone was the grim isolation. The fear. The anger. The vulnerability.
Mokuba held one of Sotaro's hands in one of his own, and suddenly looked more animated, more like himself, than he had in hours. Even Valery seemed surprised—though, not as surprised as she might have been—at the transformation.
"Never more like his brother," Roland repeated quietly to himself, and shook his head. "Honestly. These two. They'll have adopted every child in this city by the time I retire."
Connor and Rebecca quickly joined in the conversation, and before long Sotaro was laughing. He tentatively showed the older children a deck of cards he'd been building, and Rebecca immediately transcended common decency and became a firework of enthusiasm. Before long, they were dueling each other on the tile floor, while Mokuba and Connor watched; the latter with tentative interest, the former with reserved fondness.
"Rebecca Hawkins," Roland explained without prompting. "Current reigning junior champion. Rumor has it she could retire today, and have enough to live on for the rest of her natural existence, just based on her sponsorships alone. Never mind her actual tournament winnings."
"Sponsorships?" Kohaku repeated.
"Magic & Wizards is Domino City's sport of choice," Roland said. "Duelists are treated very well here."
". . . Huh."
"With those holograms," Yuki mused, "it's like watching ancient gladiators. It's like . . . professional wrestling, but with magic and dragons."
The evening continued like this, with little snippets of attempted small talk, and eventually two topics reigned supreme in Roland Ackerman's mind: Seto Kaiba, and Yugi Mutou.
Where the hell . . . ?
A sudden beeping noise, as if summoned by his own frustration, sounded in Roland's right ear. He quickly tapped a small button hidden in the lapel of his jacket. "Report," he snapped.
"Found him on Broadview, sir. Headed back your way."
"What was he doing?"
"Gonna have to get back to you on that one. We haven't the foggiest. Could be he just took a long walk to clear his head. But given this one's history, sir, we're . . . not inclined to believe that."
"You're on the clock until we know what he's been doing. This was his stunt to begin with."
"Loud 'n clear, boss."
Roland sighed as he cut the connection. "Damn it, Mutou."
Yuki seemed about to speak, perhaps to ask who Roland had been talking to, given that the headset he wore was so small that she probably hadn't noticed it tucked into his ear, but cut off whatever inquiry she'd been about to make when Doctor Morris Jay made his return to the waiting room.
Everyone turned to face him.
The room itself seemed to hang on his return.
He held up his hands. "Understand, everyone, that I'm not in the business of lying to folks. We're not out of the woods just yet. It's going to take time, patience, and probably a lot of emotional labor on the part of all of you, to make sure he doesn't sabotage his own recovery." He locked eyes with Mokuba. "But given that time, patience, and labor, our king will sit his throne again."
He chuckled, as if he'd just made a joke.
"N-Niisama . . ." Mokuba whispered brokenly.
"Will be just fine. A bit worse for wear, obviously. He didn't stub his toe out there. But . . . well. I don't have to tell any of you that Seto Kaiba doesn't give up easy. So chins up, everybody! You know that old cliché about darkness before dawn, right? Well, the day's breaking soon. We're past the worst of it."
Cheers broke out through the room, and Roland closed his eyes.
Past the relief at the news, past the shame at how worried he'd been, he felt a renewed sense of purpose, blazing like a bonfire behind his eyes. "Our king will sit his throne again," he repeated, and let himself believe it for the first time.
