I don't know why I have it in my head that Modern Kisara comes from a political family, but it's one of the things that I've had in mind for her since I started working with the character. For whatever reason, it just feels right to me.

This Kisara may not be the same character as the one in "Cult of the Dragon King," as you may notice by the difference in her last name, but there are notes that match for both of them.

If anyone reading this is wondering about "Dragon King," and I haven't yet done anything with it by the time I post this, just know that I am working on it. Like I said in the first chapter of this reboot: I'm working on every story in my backlog.

I promise.


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Seto Kaiba spent Christmas morning surrounded by affluent conservatives; he'd never been more in control of a situation. Kisara's father, Henry St. Vincent, was the mayor of Ulysses' Crossing, Iowa. Every adult in this house was some kind of high-ranking socialite, and they acted like it. They made "off-color" jokes to each other, they complained about tax rates, they made cracks about Kisara landing a big-city liberal, and they . . . tried to be subtle about their assertions that, while Seto might have money, he would never have the kind of influence that they did.

Mokuba had already turned things in their little group's favor; he'd immediately charmed Kisara's grandmother. Noa, meanwhile, had roped her grandfather into a game of dominoes and was pretending to lose.

Seto acted like he had no idea what was going on, nodding and chuckling at the right moments to blend in, and waited for his moment.

When Kisara's mother—who, thankfully, did not have a blonde, reverse bob haircut—started talking about how good it was to see her back home, and how it was so lovely of her friends to see her off, Seto knew that that moment was fast approaching. Kisara looked uncomfortable, and her grandparents—the only ones who seemed to notice—lost a lot of their easy good humor.

Seto knew when to press leverage.

He'd been on this same battlefield so many times; he was very, very nearly prepared to draw steel. He caught his brothers' attention, Mokuba first and then Noa; he took hold of Kisara's hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, and squared his shoulders as he stood up.

"Mister St. Vincent," Seto said, his voice crisp, "would it be possible for me to speak with you privately for a moment?"

He'd been schooling his every reaction to every person, to every word, in this house to remain as toothless and unassuming as possible. He knew that Kisara's father didn't sense a threat from him; he probably thought Seto was going to ask his permission to propose. Proper. Traditional. Boring.

That was precisely where Seto wanted him.

"Well," said Henry, brightly, "certainly, my boy. Please. Come, sit on the porch with me."

Seto bowed his head and fell into step behind the man. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly.

As they were leaving, a gaggle of children came bursting through the front door. Seto watched as one of them, about seven years old with bright lavender hair tumbling well past his shoulders, immediately launched himself onto Kisara's lap.

"Sissy Kay!" the boy cried. "Sissy Kay, did you do it? Huh? Huh? Did you bring it?"

Kisara, looking just as lost as the rest of her family, frowned. "I . . . I'm sorry, Riley. Did I bring what?"

Riley pouted. "You said! You said you'd get me Seto Kaiba's awful-graph!"

Seto stared at his bodyguard like he'd never seen her before, stunned at this sudden shift in good fortune. He actually laughed. "I'm sorry," he said, holding out a hand in invitation. "Did you need to get an autograph back home?"

Kisara, obviously flustered but of a different sort than before, smiled as her face reddened. "I am . . . sorry. I completely forgot about that." She looked at Seto. "Do you mind?"

Seto chuckled privately. He reached into a pocket, pulled out a Magic & Wizards card and a marker. He quickly scrawled a little message and his signature onto the description, leaving the artwork pristine. He approached Kisara, and Riley, slowly.

Holding up the card, he said: "You say you wanted an autograph?"

"Yeah!" Riley crossed his arms. "Sissy promised!"

Seto reached up with his free hand, mussing his own hair so that it fell into its usual windswept style, and squatted down in front of the boy on Kisara's lap. "Whose autograph was that, again?"

Riley's mouth fell open as his eyes dropped out of his head.