Showcasing how Seto handles a bully is kind of a rite of passage for my stories at this point. It's when I know things are moving forward properly. Or, so I tell myself.

There's just certain tropes that I can't help but work into my stuff.

I'm predictable like that.

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Seto never would have said this aloud, but Noa was soft. He was sheltered, pampered, and he'd never had to deal with anyone who didn't fall over themselves to impress him. He was used to being special; he didn't lord it over anyone, not the way he could have, which was to his credit. All the same, when he joined Seto at Phoenix Gate Academy, surrounded from all sides by several hundred other genius children who didn't find him very impressive at all . . . it was obvious at a glance that Noa wasn't sure how to handle it.

Seto knew, from the start, what he would have to do.

It was impossible to tell when it would happen, or from what direction, but he knew on a level that went beyond instinct—it was something primeval—that he would have to fight off somebody for his new brother's sake. Amaya had told him, in no uncertain terms, that part of being a Kaiba meant helping Noa. Backing him up. Making sure he healed properly.

Seto didn't say any of this to Noa. He didn't warn him, didn't reassure him; mostly because he had no idea how to even broach the subject. Nonetheless, he was ready. The first day Travis Copeland dropped them both off, Noa with his brand-new messenger bag that matched his cane, everyone who paid attention knew that Seto was in a grim mood.

That first day passed without incident. Noa went through the usual ritual of introducing himself to the class; Seto realized, for the first time, just how naturally his new brother spoke in front of a crowd. He was quick-witted, clever, and he kept the class's attention when he talked. He immediately distinguished himself as, if not a special student, an active and attentive one, and for a while—especially when he got the whole class laughing, including Mister Oliver—Seto thought maybe he was worried about nothing. Maybe he was just being paranoid, and everything was going to be just fine.

Maybe the constant fighting and just-as-constant reprimanding from authority figures was just a product of the months he'd spent at the Domino Children's Home. Maybe the students of Phoenix Gate really were cut from a better cloth than that. Maybe fighting was low-class.

Seto permitted himself to think that for the first week or so, even after the history incident.

Then the second week started.

Seto wouldn't be able to recall exactly what happened; not for a long time. He reacted to the whole situation the same way he'd reacted whenever somebody stole Mokuba's favorite toy: he saw red, he pounced, and he would worry about the consequences later.

It was lunch time. An older boy, whose name Seto never even tried to learn, kicked Noa's cane out from under him as he was headed for a table. One moment, Noa was focused on finding a seat and eating one of his favorite meals—the house staff made oyakodon that morning—and the next moment, he was sprawled on the floor of the cafeteria, watching numbly as his cane, and his lunch, clattered out ahead of him.

Seto didn't think.

He didn't wait.

He leaped over his brother and sent his fist right into the boy's laughing face, and the whole crowd of other students immediately went from laughing at the new kid's misfortune to cheering as the other new kid pummeled an infamous bully into submission.

The only words he offered, after being pulled off his victim by two teachers, were:

"Try it again. I won't let them stop me."

.

The nurse offered Seto ice for his hands, but he refused; he didn't want relief. The pain was bracing, and it reminded him that he'd done his job. He wasn't sure what would happen now, whether he would be expelled or suspended. He didn't know how Gozaburo or Amaya would react. All Seto knew was that Noa's knees were bleeding when they were brought into the faculty building, and that was reason enough to feel justified.

Seto didn't need any other reason.

"Do you understand the seriousness of what you've done, son?" a counselor asked him.

Seto stared blankly at the man. "I protected my brother," he said. "I'm not interested in talking about it." He clasped his hands in his lap and stared off at nothing. "Do you want me to apologize? Fine. I'm sorry. Does Noa have his ibuprofen yet?"

It was clear, immediately, that nobody was going to get Seto to budge.

They tried Noa but were equally as successful with him.

"I want to know why the boy who started this isn't here," Noa said, when the subject came up. "My blood is on the cafeteria floor, and my brother isn't the one responsible for that. So, what it seems like to me, is that you want me to turn on my family. You expect me to condemn what he did for me. I won't do it. Call my mother and be done with this charade."

So it went.

Eventually, the older boy was brought in. It turned out that his parents were already here, mucking up a storm, threatening to sue, threatening to bring the place down around the superintendent's ears, any number of other inventive warnings. Seto refused to let himself think too hard about what was going to happen now. He didn't want to guess what kind of trouble he might bring to his new family, especially so soon, because if he did, he was just going to break down and start sobbing.

He didn't understand why Noa could be so calm about the whole thing, until he watched the boy's parents stomp into the office and stop dead upon meeting his brother's cool, calculating eyes.

"Hello, Yoshinori-san," Noa said, quietly, gently. Apocalyptically. "I'm terribly sorry about all this."

Seto watched his latest nemesis's face go from smug and furious to confused and horrified as his parents went pale as ghosts. The man Noa had addressed licked at his lips and looked around himself, like he was seeking out an escape.

"Ah . . . yes. Aha. Aha-hah."

The boy's mother spoke, almost whispering: ". . . Hello, Noa-sama."

Noa smiled sweetly. "It's a shame about my accident," he said. "I so looked forward to that party you sent us the invites for. I might have even met your son, and maybe we could have avoided all this." He shrugged his shoulders dramatically. "Now, I do hope you aren't going to be trying to paint my brother as a villain in all this," he went on, his gaze locked on the boy who'd tripped him, "because I think we both know that isn't true. Don't we?"

Seto forced himself to maintain a neutral expression.

He'd never gone from wanting to cry to holding back laughter so quickly.