The moral of this chapter is:

Do not underestimate a young dragon.

Their fangs are still sharp.


.


Mokuba Kaiba was no stranger to mimicking his older brother in times of high stress, when he had to project strength and conviction, but never before had he exuded Seto's aura quite so forcefully. He was dressed all in black—from his slacks to his shirt, to his tie to his sport coat, to his boots—his hair was pulled up in a high tail, and he walked with an intensity of purpose one would normally expect from an assassin. He strode through the halls of Kaiba-Corp like a freshly-coronated king.

Ever the dutiful right hand, Roland kept a respectful distance behind the young Kaiba, but his eyes were ever watchful. He wasn't quite as paranoid as he might have been, being as how he wasn't alone right now. Darren McKinley wasn't wearing a weapon, but he still had the bearing of a trained professional, and he kept pace easily.

"From what my daughter tells me," said the detective, as Mokuba stopped to meet with a pair of clerks, "there are plenty of . . . well, let's call them doubters, to be polite, of Mokuba's sincerity as Seto's second-in-command. They think it's cute that Seto lets him chase coattails. I wonder what they would think, those people, if they saw just how seriously everybody in this building takes the kid's presence here."

Roland hissed a little chuckle through his teeth and rolled his eyes. "I don't suppose I should be surprised," he said, thoughtfully. "In the public eye, the young master is ever a wide-eyed devotee. All eyes on Niisama, where they belong."

"Mm," said Darren. "Seto's been projecting that whole 'look at me' attitude ever since he took over, hasn't he?" Roland nodded. "He wants all those eyes on him, so that people will leave Mokuba alone. And after all that's happened to them, who could blame him? I think, in all honesty, if you placed me in his position I'd have lost my entire shit long before now."

Mokuba's eyes were feverish, but sharp. He had a kind of jerky, animated confidence that almost looked casual; if not for the fact that both men watching him knew better, having seen Seto still in his hospital bed, they might have been convinced that Mokuba was riding a sugar or caffeine high. The vice-president of the Kaiba Corporation had simply entered into his position, fully and without reservation, for the first time. He took on his brother's appointments without comment, without complaint, moving from one task to the next with ease and confidence.

"I get the feeling," Darren murmured, "that anybody who doubts Mokuba for too long is gonna end up severely regretting that decision."

Roland smirked. "You've no idea."

"Hey!"

Darren whirled; Roland's right hand whipped to his hip. The watched a younger man, perhaps thirty or so, come stomping up the hall, headed directly for Mokuba, bearing down on him like a tidal wave against a beach. Mokuba watched him with a resigned sort of calm; the fever left his face in favor of simple fatigue. He looked so much older than his age.

"I've been waiting for a week to hear back from you people! I finally find out what's going on and this is what I find?! A goddamned kindergartener is running this place?!"

"Lower your voice, please, sir," said Mokuba. "We are experiencing several delays owing to extenuating circumstances right now." His words carried the lilt of long practice; he'd been telling a lot of people about extenuating circumstances lately. "If there's been a breakdown in communication, I will be happy to clear up any confusion. If you could follow me to my office, we can get this all squared awa—"

"Oh, I don't think so!"

Darren made to step forward; Roland stopped him.

Mokuba closed his eyes, drew in a slow breath, let it out, then said: "If you refuse to cooperate with me, you are free to leave. Those are your options. Make your choice."

"How old are you?! Who the fuck are you?! You think you can talk to me like that?! After how you people have been treating me, you think you can just drop me?!"

Mokuba's jaw flexed. "I am Mokuba Yagami Kaiba, Vice-President of this corporation. My age is irrelevant to this discussion. I have told you to lower your voice. This has evidently not gone over well. I am now going to ask you: could you please lower your voice, and keep it to a reasonable level?"

"Don't talk down to me, you little—"

"If you don't want to be talked down to," Mokuba snapped, projecting his voice just the way that Seto would, "then stop embarrassing yourself. Knock it off. You're acting like a child, and I don't have the time or patience required to deal with your tantrum. I am the acting head of this company right now. If you want to work with the Kaiba Corporation, you are going to work with me. If that's not good enough for you, then get out. You think you're being insulted? You think we've treated you poorly? I haven't started treating you poorly. I'm going to give you one more chance to act like a professional, and I suggest you take it. Now. Are you going to follow me, quietly, to my office? Or are you going to leave this building?"

The man's face went slack. He struggled to find words to express his outrage.

Couldn't.

He went stiff.

Finally, he managed to choke out: "Mister Kaiba is going to hear about this."

"First off," Mokuba hissed, "I am Mister Kaiba. Second, Seto Kaiba is not going to hear anything because he is in a medically induced coma for his own health. He has far more important things to be concerned about than the state of your ego, or he would have, except he doesn't because he isn't conscious right now, and I'll be happy to explain that a third time if you have difficulty understanding me, since you are apparently fully and fundamentally incapable of listening to anything you don't want to hear. The fact that I am Seto Kaiba's vice-president has been open and public knowledge in this city for the past five years, and the fact that you are so dramatically bitching about it right now shows just how little attention you have ever paid to the way our corporation works. I do not know your name, I will not learn your name, and I'm fucking done dealing with you. Mister Ackerman."

Roland stepped forward. "Sir," he said.

"Escort this idiot to whatever flashy metal death-trap he's using to compensate for . . . this." Mokuba gestured dismissively. "Do not come back inside until he's gone. If I ever see this man anywhere within a mile of this building again, his hospital bills are coming out of your salary. Have I made my instructions clear?"

"Sir," said Roland, bowing his head.

He stalked over to the blustering man, gripped him—hard—by his left forearm, and leaned in close. "We are going to take a walk, silently, aren't we?"

The blustering man gave a quick, curt, nod.

They left.

There was a moment, a brief flash of quiet, as Roland pulled his prey around a corner.

Mokuba dove for a nearby wastebin, gripped it hard with both hands, and vomited.