Kisara in this story is fully human; she just doesn't really remember what that means. She was born to a family, had a childhood, became an adult, all that stuff. It's just that, ever since the power of the Blue-Eyes woke up in her, it's been influencing her.

She's become an amalgamation of a whole mess of people, in a way.

She's a dragon out of water, if you like.

.

The most difficult part of integrating Kisara into the family, whether one considered her a member of Seto's inner circle or simply a member of his staff, was explaining to her that she was famous too. The idea that the friends, family, acquaintances, of a given celebrity should have influence in the public sphere was ineffably foreign to her, and she seemed quite thoroughly repulsed by it.

"It makes as much sense as bending the knee to a kitchen scullion," Kisara said, when the topic was first broach. "I mean not to imply that those who work kitchens ought not be respected. Naturally, they should. I ask you, though: how many traveling nobles would offer the same deference to house servants as they would to their sovereign? You know the answer is none."

Seto, for his part, was sympathetic. "I don't disagree," he said, "but that doesn't change the nature of your situation. You are now a part of the web of influence that surrounds me. This doesn't mean that you have any more responsibility than you've already taken on. It's simply to warn you that the people of this city, in particular, are going to react to you in a certain way. You need to be ready for that."

"By which he means," Mokuba cut in, quite practiced and probably rehearsed, "the first time you notice a paparazzo taking a picture of you, you can't just go killing them. You're going to be the one in trouble." He stopped, held up his hands. "I know, I know. No puny jail cell is ever going to contain you. I promise: this isn't about what you can handle."

"It's about propriety," said Noa. All three brothers had decided they needed to work together on the project of bringing Kisara up to speed on her new social capital. "Everything we do reflects on Aniki, and that reflects on the people who work for him. Everyone at the Kaiba Corporation relies on Aniki's reputation. Any trouble we cause will come back to him, and thus them. Sometimes, he fully intends for us to take advantage of that. Sometimes, it can be used to our advantage. But it also means that we have to keep it in mind no matter what we're doing." Noa paused, then said: "You used to be a queen, right? As in, you literally sat on a throne and reigned over a country?"

Kisara scowled, obviously suspicious. She nodded, slowly. "I was, and I did," she said.

"If you sent a messenger to another country, as an emissary or something. On a diplomatic mission. You would make sure to impress on them that it was important to put their best foot forward, right? They represented you, and your country, wherever they went. Anything they did would come back on you, and could have an adverse impact on your subjects."

Kisara growled, but she didn't argue; this was as much as an acquiescence to this line of thought that they were going to get.

"Niisama is, in a way anyway, a king," Mokuba said. "Not literally. He doesn't technically have political power, not in that way. But you've probably noticed that people call him the King of the City."

"The Upper King," Seto corrected. "I represent the wealthy, the influential, the upper crust. I'm a white-collar king." He gestured with one hand. "Kenzo Hirutani is the Lower King. He represents the street-level. The destitute, the masses. The blue-collar." At the surprised looks from all three of his companions, Seto looked a little insulted. "What?" he asked, sharply. "Did you expect me to not know my own contemporaries? Come now."

Kisara grunted. "I still say this is ridiculous," she said. "But I understand."

"It's absolutely ridiculous," Seto agreed.

"It's just the way the modern world works," Noa said. "I've had a bit of culture shock lately, myself. Not to the degree that you have, naturally. I wasn't down for the count for centuries. For me It was . . . what, eleven years? I think? Whatever." He shook his head. "Still. I remember the first time I found out how much a gallon of gas ran for now."

"Ugh," said Seto.

"Somehow, though, the minimum wage is the same."

"Ugh," said Seto.