A long time ago now, I wrote out a hypothetical scene where Anime Seto met, and interacted, with Manga Mokuba. Suffice it to say that, looking back at that scene I wrote way back when, I can't believe I ever got it that wrong.
This scene, more than anything else, is my response to that scene.
I might even call it an apology.
.
Seto stared at the screen in front of him with all the grim studiousness of a field general at a map. His left hand manipulated the device he had on his knee with expert precision, and the scene unfolding on his monitor was almost too chaotic and bombastic to follow.
Masahiko watched from a few feet away, transfixed. Eventually, he said: "It's been a long time since my brother played a game."
Seto gestured with a tilt of his head to the specialty controller he was using. "One of our teams has been working on this prototype," he said. "Whether due to injury, permanent disability, holding a baby . . . playing a game with one hand is an important evolution of the form." Masahiko searched the elder Kaiba's face to see if he was joking; he seemed dead serious. "This is the perfect chance for me to put it through its paces, given that I'm currently a member of the target demographic."
Masahiko tried to imagine his Kaiba Corporation designing a gamepad for disabled gamers; he couldn't. He found a sad little smile somewhere in the depths of him. "You're really good," he said. "My brother's good at games, too."
He wondered why he kept bringing up his brother.
Maybe he was trying to relate to this man, who seemed so familiar but wasn't.
Seto hummed thoughtfully. His character leaped over a gigantic serpent and sliced into its neck, using a sword longer than its wielder was tall. "I imagine some things remain true across the multiverse. I don't think I'm much surprised to hear that this is one of them."
Masahiko took a tentative step closer to Seto and rested a hand on the corner of his desk. "How, um. How long have you been in charge at Kaiba-Corp?"
"Five years," Seto said. "I am twenty years old. I took over my predecessor's position at fifteen, after my emancipation."
Masahiko nodded. He started to say that his brother was fifteen, and that he'd just taken over Kaiba-Corp, too, but this time he managed to stop himself. Instead he said: "Your brother is older than me. But it doesn't . . . add up. How old were you when he was born?"
"Seven," Seto said. "I turned eight later in that year."
Masahiko frowned. "Seven," he repeated, mystified.
Seto paused his game, set the one-handed gamepad on his desk, and stood up. As he went about various stretches, he said: "You sound surprised. I take it that your brother is not seven years your senior, then."
"No." Masahiko shook his head. "No, Niisama was four when I was born."
"Well," Seto said, after a moment, "just as some things remain true across worlds, plenty of things must diverge."
"You're taking this whole 'other worlds' thing a lot better than I think my brother would," Masahiko said. "You're taking it a lot better than me."
Seto hummed again. "I've seen too much, lived through too much nonsense, to dismiss anything out of hand anymore. It only causes trouble in the long run." He scowled, then shook his head. "I'm a student of the sciences. I have to observe what crosses my path, and I have to work with what I learn. Not toss it aside. When all natural answers don't provide enough, the supernatural is all that's left."
"I guess so." Masahiko rubbed at the back of his neck. "I think . . . it felt like a dream, when I first got here." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I wasn't really thinking much about what was going on around me. I just . . . thought of it like that game." He pointed to Seto's monitor. "I had a quest. If I did it right, I'd get my reward."
Seto rubbed his chin. "I didn't seem like a person to you, did I?" He didn't sound accusatory; merely curious. "I was an obstacle. I was your objective."
Masahiko nodded. "Yeah. Exactly."
"Do I still strike you as an obstacle?"
Masahiko shook his head. "I don't think so."
"Why is that?"
Every question Seto asked, in that gentle tone, that neutral tone, without any malice or reproach, made something ache in Masahiko's chest. He said, eventually, after watching Seto for a time: "I don't know. I don't . . . I don't know." He averted his gaze. "But I think . . . I think I can't think of this whole place as a dream anymore, 'cuz I've gone to bed and woken up a few times now. I'm still here. If this was a dream, I'd be awake at home by now."
Seto quirked an eyebrow. "A fair observation," he said.
"Would . . . would you have done it?"
Seto frowned. "Done what? Killed me, in your place? Killed someone for my brother's sake? Is that what you mean?"
Masahiko gestured randomly. He still didn't sound upset. "Like, if you . . . if you were trying to, like. If your brother was in a coma, like mine is. And somebody said they'd help him, if you . . . if you killed me."
Seto's eyes narrowed in thought; he studied Masahiko in silence for a while.
Eventually, he said: "No."
Masahiko tried not to flinch. "R-Really?"
"I do not believe I would trust someone seeking to use me as a weapon," Seto said. "I hope I wouldn't trust a person like that, at any rate. And I would not kill on the word of anyone I did not trust. Whether you, a serial killer, or a sworn enemy. I would not be a murderer based on that alone. No."
Masahiko stared at the floor. "I guess . . . I guess that makes sense."
"I have killed men for my brother's sake," Seto said, as he sidestepped his desk and sat back down in his chair; he stared at nothing. "I will not claim moral superiority, even as I say no. I speak only of odds. Think about it this way: how likely is it, do you think, that the man who made that offer to you would have held up his end of the bargain? Say you succeeded. I am dead, and you are back in your home. Your brother is alive, and well. Would you be surprised to find that that man kept his word?"
Masahiko sighed heavily. He knew the answer.
He said: "Yeah. Yeah, I would be."
"Do you understand what I mean?"
"I think so." Masahiko made himself look at Seto's face. "One of your guys, they told me they didn't find anybody at that coffee shop where I was s'posed to go. He stranded me. I wasn't supposed to make it back home. I probably wasn't s'posed to make it out of that hospital."
"I certainly have my doubts," Seto said.
"You've . . . killed people before."
"I have." Seto's expression didn't change.
"Not just." Masahiko cleared his throat. "Not just like sending people out to do it. Not just giving orders."
Seto reached for a drawer and opened it, revealing a gun safe. "No," he said. "With my weapon, in my hand."
Masahiko stared at the safe, then turned his gaze back to Seto in open admiration. The he flinched away again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have . . . I'm sorry."
"There's no need to apologize." Seto smiled. "It happened. There's no use in pretending it didn't." He leaned forward, rested his left elbow on his left knee. "The only person you need to compare yourself to is you." Masahiko's face went blank; he blinked owlishly. "If you're anything like my brother," Seto went on, "and I have some measure of confidence in saying that you are, then the reason you asked me that hypothetical is because you wanted to know if you measure up to me."
Masahiko licked his lips. "Um. I mean. Well."
"It doesn't matter if you measure up to me," Seto said. "Or your brother. Or your father. Or anyone else. You are only responsible for you. Only you can decide if you're good enough."
"I don't know if I believe that," Masahiko said. "I don't know if I can. I've done . . . I've been . . . you don't know what I've done."
"What you've done," Seto said, his eyes flaring, "is survive. At your age, especially at your age, that is your only job. That is all you are responsible for doing. You do whatever you have to do, appease whomever you must, in order to do that. You have an entire life ahead of you to decide whether you need to atone. To grow, to thrive, to be someone you want to be. None of that will ever happen if you don't survive first."
Masahiko stared at the man in front of him like he'd grown an extra head.
"You're . . . you're serious. You aren't just saying that."
Seto locked his gaze with Masahiko's.
"I am more serious than I have ever been."
