The First of Us

by Royal_Wisteria

Summary:

GN!MC

The firsts in a relationship are often the moments that define it—the small, quiet milestones just as much as the grand, heart-racing ones. For Katsuya and you, every first you shared built a foundation of warmth and love, shaping connections into something unique that you'd thought would last forever.

Too bad Kujaku Mai exists to bring it all crashing down.

Though you may not be left at the bottom for long. Aid always comes from those least expected in moments of hardship.

Chapter 1: First

It wasn’t planned.

Things with Katsuya had caught both of you off guard, even from the very first moment.

You were in the middle of a festival, splitting a skewer of something grilled and delicious, when he went quiet. At first, you thought he was just focusing on his food, but then you noticed the way he was gripping the edge of the bench, the way his knee bounced slightly.

“I like you—no, I think I love you.”

It came out fast, almost jumbled, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You froze, mid bite, staring at him. He panicked immediately. “I mean, you don’t gotta say it back! Just—fuck—just pretend I didn’t say anything!”

You moved a bit closer to him before he could dig himself in any deeper, he sucked in a breath, his whole body going still. You gave him a small smile before shyly looking away.

The rest of the night had been awkward, clumsy, but so sweet that you felt like the rest of the world outside of the festival didn't exist.

Later that night, under the glow of streetlights, as he walked you home you whispered it back to him.

“I think I like you too, Katsuya...”

And you swear you saw him melt.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It started small—accidental brushes of fingers, an unspoken question hanging between you.

You were walking home from an arcade a few days later, neon lights reflecting in the puddles from earlier rain, when Katsuya finally just took your hand in his. No hesitation, no big deal. His fingers were warm, rough with calluses from working and dueling, but it fit against yours like it always belonged there.

He didn’t say anything about it. He just held on.

His thumb brushed slow circles against your skin, and by the time you got home, neither of you had let go.

“Goodnight, Katsuya. Be safe walking home.”

“G'night, Mc. I'll be alright.”

The little wink he gave you as he turned away with a smile playing on his lips outside of your front door almost stole your breath.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It wasn’t supposed to happen. It was just a movie night—some dumb action flick, too many snacks, Katsuya stretched out across the couch with his head in your lap.

You don’t remember when he fell asleep, only that at some point, the weight of him against you became familiar, comfortable. His slow, steady breathing filled the quiet, his hair tickling your skin where his head rested on your thighs.

You thought about waking him. But instead, you pulled a blanket over both of you and let yourself relax.

Morning came in slow golden light, and when Katsuya finally stirred, he blinked up at you, still half asleep, and mumbled, “Mornin’…” in the softest voice you’d ever heard.

The fondness in his tone, the way he looked up at you. There was a softness to his eyes you hadn't ever seen before. It made your heart thump erratically in your chest.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It didn’t happen the way you thought it would.

No fireworks, no perfect setup. Just you and Katsuya, walking home together after a long day, the air crisp with the change of the season.

He had been rambling about something—probably a duel, or a ridiculous bet Honda lost—when he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. You turned to him, confused, only to find him staring at you.

“Can I…?”

His voice was quieter than usual, uncertain in a way Katsuya rarely ever was.

You felt your heart pick up speed. The city around you blurred, sounds fading until all you could hear was the distant hum of traffic and the uneven rhythm of your own breathing.

You nodded.

Katsuya hesitated for only a second before closing the distance.

His lips were warm, a little chapped, and he kissed you like he was afraid of getting it wrong—gentle, hesitant, but completely sincere. His fingers ghosted over your wrist before settling at your waist, pulling you just a little closer, just enough to make you feel like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

It was over too soon.

When he pulled back, his face was red, his eyes flickering between yours as if trying to figure out what you were thinking. “Was that… alright?”

You answered by pulling him back in.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It had been a long day. Maybe that’s why everything felt heavier than it should have.

You were exhausted, barely keeping up with Katsuya’s usual energy as he walked beside you, hands shoved into his pockets, rambling about something that had happened earlier. You weren’t fully listening. Your mind was stuck on the way he had acted during dinner—how he had been so quick to brush you off, to ignore you when all of your friends had shown up.

It wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

“Are you embarrassed by me?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Katsuya stopped walking.

“What? No! What the hell kinda question is that?”

You crossed your arms. “Then why do you act different around me when everyone’s around? It’s like I don’t exist.”

His brows furrowed, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I don’t do that.”

“You do.” you pushed, your voice tight. “Back at dinner, the second Honda and the others showed up, it was like I wasn’t even there.”

Katsuya’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean anything by it! I just—” He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t wanna make things weird, alright?”

“Weird? How would it be weird?”

“Because—!” He stopped, running a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to put it into words. “Because I don’t wanna deal with their dumb comments. Honda already gives me enough shit—‘Ohh, look at Katsuya, all soft and mushy—’”

You stared at him. “So, what? You’d rather act like we’re nothing just so you don’t have to deal with a little teasing?”

He winced. That hit something.

“That’s not what I—dammit.” He exhaled, looking down at the pavement. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“It is to me.”

Silence settled between you. The night air felt colder now.

Finally, Katsuya sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.” His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “I wasn’t tryin’ to hurt you. I just… didn’t think about how it felt on your end.”

Your anger softened, but the ache was still there.

“I don’t need you to be all over me in front of everyone.” you said, voice calmer now. “I just don’t wanna feel like a secret in front of our friends.”

He lifted his gaze to yours, something unreadable in his expression. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hand, fingers curling around yours in a way that felt both certain and apologetic.

“You ain’t a secret.” he murmured. “An' if I ever make ya feel like one again, call me out on it, alright?”

You squeezed his hand, ready to hold him to that promise; but you never had to after that night.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

You didn’t think being apart would be hard.

Katsuya had gone away for a weekend tournament, and it wasn’t like you didn’t have things to do. But at the end of the day, when you curled up in bed, something felt missing.

Your phone dinged. A simple message: I miss you.

Your phone rang almost immediately.

“Damn, I was trying to play it cool, but I miss you... I hope I ain't buggin' ya. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

His voice was warm, familiar, grounding. You smiled, sinking further into your pillow.

“You don’t have to play it cool with me.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuya laugh rolled through your speaker. “I miss ya. It’s just a while longer though.”

 

_-_-_-_-

 

Not all of your firsts were sweet. Some were raw.

Katsuya always tried to be the strong one, the one who laughed things off. But one night, the weight of everything caught up to him.

He didn’t break down dramatically. It was quiet. A crack in his voice, a tremble in his hands. He didn’t have to say anything. You just pulled him close, fingers combing through his hair as he let himself be held.

Later, down the road, when it was your turn to fall apart, he was there—wrapping you up in his warmth, whispering, “You don’t gotta be strong all the time. I gotcha, Mc. I love you.”

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It had started with a storm.

The rain had rolled in sometime after midnight, soft at first—gentle drumming against the windowpane. Then came the wind, the distant rumble of thunder, the kind of storm that wrapped around the city and made the world outside feel impossibly far away.

You and Katsuya had been curled up on the couch, half-asleep in the dim glow of the television, your legs tangled together under a shared blanket. It had been one of those nights when time didn’t really matter, where the warmth of his body against yours was enough to keep you grounded.

You hadn’t planned for anything to happen.

But then he’d shifted, turning to face you, his golden eyes soft and searching. His fingers had traced along your wrist, up the inside of your arm—light, hesitant touches, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to.

“Hey.” he'd murmured, voice quiet in the hush of the storm. “Can I kiss you?”

You’d smiled, heart fluttering at the nervous edge in his voice. “You don’t have to ask, Katsuya.”

But he wanted to ask. That was just who he was—so full of heart, so desperate to make sure you felt safe, cherished.

The kiss had been slow. Careful. A gentle press of lips that deepened only when you reached up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His breath had hitched when your fingers slid into his hair, and he’d melted into you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Neither of you had been in any rush.

It had been a slow unraveling—lazy kisses and whispered laughter, the quiet, careful process of shedding layers both literal and figurative. He had touched you like he was memorizing you, reverent and unhurried, like his fingertips were tracing constellations across your skin.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” he'd whispered against your shoulder, lips pressing softly to every inch of newly bared skin. “I mean it.”

You’d nodded, your heart so full you thought it might spill over. “I trust you.”

And that had been it.

No urgency, no fumbling rush—just warmth, just him.

When he had finally pressed into you, his forehead had rested against yours, breath uneven, hands holding you like you were something precious. And the way he’d looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world—had stolen whatever air was left in your lungs.

Afterward, he hadn’t let go. Had pulled you impossibly close, burying his face against the crook of your neck, whispering things that weren’t even words—just soft, content murmurs, the kind that spoke of love without ever having to say it outright.

Outside, the storm had passed.

And in the quiet that followed, with Katsuya’s arms around you and his heartbeat steady against yours, you’d never felt safer.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The restaurant was a cozy little place tucked away in a quiet part of the city, dimly lit with warm candlelight and the faint hum of jazz in the background. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was perfect for you and Katsuya—intimate, comfortable, and just a little bit fancy for your first anniversary.

Katsuya sat across from you, grinning between bites of his meal, eyes full of warmth and something softer, something deeper. “Can’t believe it’s been a year.” he said, leaning back with an easy smile. “Feels like yesterday it just fell out of my mouth—how I felt.”

You smirked, setting down your fork. “I think that was the best day of my life.”

“I was so nervous when it just slipped out” Katsuya turned red, but he laughed. “I think it was the best day of my life too.”

You slid a small, neatly wrapped package across the table. “Here.” you said, the nervousness creeping up your spine. “Happy anniversary.”

Katsuya blinked, momentarily stunned. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” you interrupted, watching him expectantly as your fingers traced the necklace he had gotten you.

Curious, he carefully unwrapped the gift. His fingers froze when he saw what was inside—a pristine copy of Gambler of Legend.

A gamble card through and through. The fact the art looks just like him dressed as a cowboy with that same devastating handsome grin—you just knew it was perfect for him.

His breath hitched. Katsuya swallowed, staring at it in disbelief. “How did you—?”

You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but your lips twitched with satisfaction, the anxiety slipping away with the look of awe on his face. “I found some contact information for the collector who had it. No way in hell I was asking Kaiba to buy his copy.”

That made Katsuya laugh, but the sound came out thick, like he was holding back something else. He turned the card over in his hands, running his thumb over the glossy surface, his expression softening.

“Mc.” he murmured, voice lower now, raw with emotion.

Before you could say anything else, Katsuya pushed his chair back, standing abruptly. He didn’t give you a chance to react before he was there, tugging you up from your seat. And then—

He kissed you.

Not just a simple, fleeting kiss, but something deep and unrestrained, full of everything he felt but hadn’t said. He held the card in one hand and cupped your face with the other, tilting his head to slot his lips against yours just right. It was a kiss that spoke of love, of gratitude, of wonder that you had thought of him so deeply, so completely.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath a little unsteady. He grinned, wide and open, golden eyes full of something fierce and shining.

“I love it,” he said, voice thick with emotion. Then, softer, his thumb brushing against your cheek, he added, “But not as much as I love you.”

Your heart skipped, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

Katsuya kissed you again, lighter this time, just as the restaurant around you slowly came back into focus—soft candlelight, quiet jazz, and the warmth of his touch lingering between the two of you.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The first box you unpacked together was full of nonsense.

Katsuya had insisted on bringing it in first, practically tripping over himself as he shoved it onto the kitchen counter of your new shared apartment. You had thought it was something important—maybe dishes, maybe things you actually needed to survive your first night living together.

Instead, the box was filled with the most random assortment of things you’d ever seen.

“A broken watch, Katsuya? Really?” You held it up, the cracked glass catching the dim apartment light.

“It’s not broken, it’s just… slow.” he defended, though you're sure the hands hadn’t moved in years.

You shook your head and kept digging. A yo-yo, a toy car with faded paint, an old Duel Monsters rulebook with half the pages missing.

“This is junk.”

“This is treasure, thank you very much.” he corrected you with a crooked grin. “All the important things in my life, all in one room.” He leaned in slowly and pressed a kiss to your lips, smile still firmly in place.

You rolled your eyes but smiled, and despite everything, the first thing you officially unpacked together was that silly broken watch.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It wasn’t the big moments that made it real. It was the little things.

The way Katsuya would throw an arm over you in his sleep, holding you like he was afraid you’d disappear in the night.

The way you’d wake up to the smell of coffee, only to find Katsuya sitting at the tiny kitchen table, hair a complete disaster, staring blankly at his mug like it had personally betrayed him.

The way you’d fall into a routine—him always forgetting to put his shoes away, you always forgetting to turn off the hallway light. The way you started cooking together (or more accurately, you cooking while Katsuya ate ingredients), the way he’d turn on music and pull you into an impromptu dance in the middle of the living room, just because he could.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

There were bad days, too.

Days when Katsuya came home frustrated from a bad duel, or life just caving in on him, tossing his bag onto the couch with a little too much force. When you had long, exhausting days that left you too drained to talk.

But those days always ended the same way—curled up together on the couch, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against your skin, both of you just existing in the quiet.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

One night, a couple of months in, you caught him just watching you as you did something completely mundane—folding laundry, of all things.

“What?” you asked, feeling self-conscious under his gaze.

Katsuya smiled, soft and a little shy. “Nothin’. Just… like seein’ you here.”

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like this—you and him, together—was exactly where he wanted to be.

And you felt the same.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

It wasn’t some big romantic moment.

You were in the kitchen together when he said it, completely unprompted.

“Y'know, I think I could do this forever.”

Your hands stilled. You turned to face him.

“Yeah?”

He grinned, easy and honest. “Yeah.”

You didn’t need to say it back. The way you kissed him told him everything he needed to know.

Forever sounded pretty good with Katsuya by your side.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The KaibaCorp Grand Prix was set to be a marvel.

You’d been looking forward to this for weeks—the glittering hotel, the buzz of duelists from all over the world, the way Katsuya’s eyes lit up whenever he talked about the tournament. You weren’t a duelist yourself, but you loved watching him play, loved the way his confidence flared when he stepped onto the field.

Tonight had been no different.

You’d shared dinner with the others—Honda, Anzu, Yuugi—laughing over stories of past tournaments, teasing Katsuya about his rivalry with Kaiba. He’d slung an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Love you.” he’d murmured against your skin, soft enough that only you could hear.

Dinner had wound down, and Katsuya had excused himself from the festivities, instead choosing to turn in early so he would be ready for the eight am roll call and prep before the start of the tournament.

“Be safe and stay outta trouble. Love you.” he’d said, squeezing your hand.

You’d smiled, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips before he left as the table waved him off; and not too long after, Yuugi excused himself as well for the night.

You had stayed and chattered with Anzu, Honda, Otogi and Ryou for a bit. Random people from the past you hadn't seen in years, stopping by the table to say hello and catch up. It's had been a great night, but after a while, you'd wanted nothing more to snuggle into bed with Katsuya and get some sleep for the busy day ahead tomorrow.

You bid your goodbyes and told them you’d see them later, making your way to hotel room.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The hotel room door clicked open quietly—too quietly, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

At first, your brain refused to process what you were seeing. The dim lighting from the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the rumpled sheets, illuminating fragments of the scene in fractured glimpses—a tangle of limbs, the sheen of sweat on bare skin, the way the mattress dipped beneath their combined weight.

Your fingers went slack around the keycard still clutched in your hand. It slipped from your grasp, hitting the plush carpet with a muffled thud that no one heard over the sounds—the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin, Mai’s breathy moans, the low, familiar groan that had once been reserved only for you.

Katsuya’s voice.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

Time slowed, each second stretching into an eternity. You could smell them—Mai’s floral perfume clashing with the musky scent of sex, the faint trace of Katsuya’s cologne still clinging to the sheets from when the two of you had napped just hours before. The air was thick with it, suffocating.

And then—

Katsuya looked up.

His eyes—those warm, honey-brown eyes that had crinkled at the corners when he smiled at you over breakfast—widened in horror. His lips, still swollen from Mai’s kisses, parted around a choked gasp.

“Mc—fuck—”

Mai jerked beneath him, her manicured nails digging into his bare shoulders as she twisted to look at you. Her cheeks flushed crimson; her blonde hair mussed from where his hands had been tangled in it.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Your body had become a statue, frozen in the doorway, your lungs refusing to expand. The only thing you felt was the sharp, stabbing pressure behind your ribs, like someone had reached into your chest and squeezed your heart until it burst.

Katsuya scrambled off of her so fast he nearly fell off the bed, his hands fumbling for his discarded pants. His fingers trembled as he yanked them on, the button straining from the force.

“This isn’t—it’s not what you think—”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

What wasn’t it?

He wasn’t buried inside her?

He hadn’t been whispering her name against her skin?

He hadn’t chosen this?

Mai sat up quickly, clutching the sheets to her chest, her usual confidence shattered. “I—I should go—”

Katsuya didn’t even glance at her. His gaze was locked on you, desperate, pleading. “Mc, please—just let me explain—”

Explain what?

That he hadn’t meant to fuck her?

That it had been an accident?

That he loved you?

The words lodged in your throat like glass.

You swallowed hard, forcing your body to move. One step back. Then another.

His face crumpled. “Mc, I love you. It didn't mea—”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

The hallway outside was too bright, the patterned carpet blurring beneath your feet as you walked—no, fled—toward the elevators. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your vision tunneling.

Behind you, you heard the door slam open, Katsuya’s voice cracking as he called after you. “Wait—!”

You didn’t.

The elevator doors slid shut just as he rounded the corner.

Alone in the mirrored enclosure, you finally saw yourself—pale, hollow-eyed, your reflection staring back at you like a stranger.

I love you.

The words echoed in your skull, taunting you.

How many times had he said them?

How many times had you believed him?

The bar was dimly lit, the hum of conversation a dull buzz in your ears as you slid onto a stool. The bartender—a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed mustache—gave you a questioning look.

You didn’t speak. Just nodded.

The whiskey he placed in front of you burned all the way down, but you welcomed the fire.

Because the alternative?

The alternative was feeling everything.

And you weren’t ready for that.

All you could hear was Katsuya’s voice, ragged and ruined, saying the one thing that made it worse.

“I love you.”

As if that changed anything.

As if that fixed it.

“I think I could do this forever.”

Liar.

Katsuya was just a liar.

It's almost ironic in a way. The realization that, no matter how many firsts you had shared with Katsuya, this was the one you would never forget. This is what he'd left you with. What it all came down to.

The first time your heart broke.

Chapter 2: Unlikely Aid

The ice in your glass had long since melted, diluting the whiskey into something weak and tasteless—just like the excuses still ringing in your ears. The condensation on the glass made your fingers damp as you turned it slowly on the polished mahogany bar, watching the amber liquid catch the dim, golden lighting. The sharp scent of alcohol and lemon peel from someone's nearby cocktail mixed with the faint musk of leather seats and cigar smoke that always seemed to linger in high-end hotel bars like this one.

I love you.

Three words that used to mean everything. Now they sat in your chest like broken glass. Sharp, useless, cutting you from the inside every time you breathed. You could still smell him on your clothes from when he'd hugged you goodbye before dinner, that familiar mix of his cologne that always smelled so nice. It’s almost putrid now, twisting your stomach.

The bartender moved down the counter, wiping rings of condensation from the polished wood with a flick of his towel. You didn't ask for another drink. Didn't have to. The moment your glass emptied, it was silently replaced, the cycle as automatic as the numbness spreading through your limbs. Maybe he could just see it on your face, or maybe he knew you were a weak target to make the bar money. Either way, you appreciated it. The new glass was colder, the ice cubes clinking like wind chimes in a storm.

The stool beside you groaned under the weight of its new occupant, the rich leather creaking in protest. You caught a whiff of expensive sandalwood cologne and the crisp starch of a tailored suit before he even spoke.

“I didn't realize they allowed a stray bitch into my bar.”

Kaiba's voice was a blade—honed, precise, meant to draw blood. His words carried that familiar aristocratic disdain, each syllable perfectly enunciated just to emphasize how far beneath him he considered you.

You didn't flinch. What was one more cut at this point?

His smirk—that infuriating, perfect curve of lips that cost more in orthodontia than most peoples yearly rent—wavered when you didn't rise to the bait. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers—long, elegant, the hands of someone who'd never done a day of hard manual labor—tap impatiently against the bar. You could feel his gaze dissecting you—the slump of your shoulders under your slightly rumpled demeanor, the hollow stare reflected in the backbar mirror, the way your fingers trembled just slightly around the glass despite your best efforts to keep them still.

“You look pathetic.”

A statement, not an insult. Delivered with the same clinical detachment he might use to comment on the weather.

You nodded slowly, watching the ice cubes melt further in your glass. Tiny droplets of condensation ran down the sides like tears.

He wasn't wrong.

Kaiba's jaw tightened, the muscle jumping visibly beneath his flawless skin. The bartender materialized with what must be his usual order—top-shelf Japanese whiskey in a crystal tumbler, no ice. The glass made a soft click as it met the bar's surface.

The silence between you stretched, thick and uncomfortable. Kaiba sipped his whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he swirled it. His eyes never left your reflection in the mirror behind the bar, studying you with the same intensity he might examine an interesting but ultimately worthless duel card.

“Where's your mongrel?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. The words dripped with his trademark contempt, but there was something else there too—a curiosity that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, the whiskey's burn still lingering in your throat.

Then—

“Mc.”

Katsuya's voice cracked through the haze like a gunshot, rough and desperate. The sound of his footsteps—those familiar foot falls, approached too quickly.

Your spine stiffened, your fingers tightening around the glass until your knuckles turned white. The bartender glanced between you all nervously, suddenly finding something very interesting to polish at the far end of the counter.

Kaiba turned, slow and deliberate, taking in the sight of him—disheveled, desperate. His shirt was half-buttoned, the collar stretched where someone had clearly grabbed it in passion. His hair stuck up in wilder tufts than usual, and his lips were slightly swollen. And there, just above his collar—dark, unmistakable marks standing out against his tanned skin like brands. The evidence of his betrayal still blooming on his skin.

The laugh that escaped Kaiba was low, venomous, the sound sending a chill down your spine despite the warmth of the bar.

“Well, well. The dog finally showed his true colors.”

Katsuya's fists clenched at his sides. “Kaiba—this doesn't involve you!”

“Clearly it doesn't involve them either.” Kaiba countered, swirling his drink with deliberate calm. “Considering the state of you.”

A muscle in Katsuya's jaw twitched violently. You could see the pulse pounding in his neck, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly. He stepped closer, the scent of Mai's perfume clinging to him like a stain.

“Mc, please—just let me explain.”

His voice cracked on your name, the sound like a physical blow. You didn't look up. Couldn't. If you saw his face—his eyes, those warm brown eyes that had always looked at you like you were something precious—you might break, and you refused to shatter in front of him, let alone Kaiba who'd just use it to cut you further down.

Kaiba's smirk was razor thin, his blue eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement. “I never thought I'd see the day they'd be done entertaining you, mutt.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kaiba!” Katsuya snarled, his voice rising enough that a few patrons at nearby tables turned to look. His hands shook at his sides, the way they always did when he was trying not to cry. You were the only one in the world who knew that tell, most would see it and see rage, but not this. Not the way they trembled now.

The bar had gone quiet around you, the usual hum of conversation fading into tense anticipation. Even the jazz piano playing softly in the corner seemed to hush.

You inhaled sharply, the air tasting of the whiskey you held, and exhaled slowly through your nose as you finished your drink in one go.

“Go away, Jounouchi.”

The name landed like a slap.

He recoiled as if struck, his whole body jerking backward. You'd never called him that. Not once in all the years you'd loved him. It had always been Katsuya—warm, familiar, yours, spoken with affection even when you were upset.

Now that's all he'll ever be. Jounouchi. A bad memory, proof of a time when you had been naive and believed in something as stupid as love.

Kaiba motioned to the bartender with two fingers, his smirk deepening as a fresh drink slid toward you. The glass left a trail of condensation on the polished wood. You grabbed it without hesitation, the burn of alcohol was nothing compared to the fire in your chest.

Katsuya’s breath hitched audibly. “Mc—”

“Run along, Jounouchi.” Kaiba drawled, examining his perfect nails with feigned disinterest. “Kujaku's waiting.”

The color drained from Katsuya's face, leaving him pale beneath his usual tan. For a heartbeat, he stood frozen, his eyes searching you for something—anything. You allowed your eyes to flick to the backbar mirror, watching his reflection rather than meet his eyes directly.

The marks on his skin are easy to see. Clear as the sun on a cloudless day. Mai's work. Reflections of his choice to throw everything you've ever shared away.

Finally, his shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him all at once. His footsteps as he walked away were heavy, uneven, the sound fading slowly into the renewed murmur of the bar.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, amused as a smirk took his lips. “Pathetic.”

You didn't respond.

Just drank.

Because what else was there to do?

The silence between you stretched as Kaiba sipped his whiskey, his sharp blue eyes studying your reflection in the backbar mirror. The ice in your fresh drink clinked softly as you swirled it absently, watching the liquor coat the sides of the glass before sliding back down in amber waves.

“Another.” Kaiba said abruptly to the bartender, tapping two fingers against the polished wood. The man moved with efficiency, replacing your half-finished drink with a fresh one before you could protest.

You arched an eyebrow but said nothing, wrapping your fingers around the new glass. The cold seeped into your skin, a welcome distraction from the burning tightness in your chest.

Kaiba leaned back slightly on his stool, the expensive fabric of his suit jacket stretching across his shoulders. “I should have known a stray would have poor taste in companions.” he mused, swirling his drink. “Though even I didn't anticipate Jounouchi would be stupid enough to jeopardize...” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at you with his glass.

The whiskey burned going down, but you welcomed the fire. “I guess not everyone has your impeccable judgment, Kaiba.” you muttered, the first words you'd spoken to him all night.

His lips quirked in something almost resembling amusement. “Clearly.” A pause. “You're handling this with more dignity than expected.”

You snorted into your drink. “What did you expect? Tears? Screaming?”

“I expected something more entertaining.” he admitted with brutal honesty. “This is just depressing.”

The jazz piano started up again, a slow, mournful tune that seemed to underscore the entire miserable situation. You watched as the pianist's fingers danced across the keys, envying his ability to pour emotion into something so beautiful while you sat there feeling hollowed out.

Kaiba followed your gaze before making a dismissive noise. “Sentimental drivel.” He signaled for another round. “You're better off without that mutt.”

The words should have been comforting. Instead, they just made the ache in your chest sharper. Because that was the worst part—you knew Kaiba was right. That knowledge didn't make it hurt any less.

The bartender placed another whiskey in front of you. You'd lost count of how many that made now. The alcohol was starting to blur the edges of your vision, making the golden lights of the bar halo slightly.

Kaiba studied you for a long moment before speaking again, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “He's not worth this.”

You swallowed hard, staring at your distorted reflection in the whiskey glass.

A beat of silence passed between you, surprisingly comfortable despite everything. The piano music swelled, then faded into something softer. Around you, the bar's patrons continued their evening, oblivious to the small tragedy unfolding at the counter.

Kaiba abruptly stood, tossing a stack of bills on the bar that would cover both your tabs ten times over. “Come on.” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You're not spending the night drowning in cheap whiskey.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a suite. You can sleep it off there.” When you hesitated, he added with typical Kaiba bluntness, “Don't flatter yourself. I have no interest in taking advantage of drunken strays. Consider it... professional courtesy.”

The thought of facing your shared hotel room—the bed still rumpled from where you'd napped together earlier with Katsuya—from where he'd just fucked Mai—made your stomach turn.

Wordlessly, you slid off the stool, surprised when your legs held your weight. Kaiba didn't offer an arm or any other physical support, but he did adjust his pace to match your slightly unsteady steps as you made your way through the bar.

As you passed the piano, the musician transitioned into a new song—something slow and melancholy, that followed you all the way to the elevator. The last thing you heard before the doors closed was the soft click of ivory keys and the murmur of conversations you'd never be part of.

The elevator ascended in silence, Kaiba standing a careful distance away, his hands clasped behind his back. You leaned against the mirrored wall, watching the floor numbers light up one by one.

Somewhere in the hotel, Katsuya was probably with Mai right now. The thought should have hurt more than it did. Maybe you were too numb. Maybe the whiskey had done its job. Or maybe, Kaiba was right—you were better off.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the penthouse level. The doors slid open.

Kaiba led the way without looking back, confident you would follow. And you did—because what else was there to do now? The past was gone. The future was uncertain. But tonight, at least, you had somewhere to sleep your alcohol off at that wasn't next to Katsuya, or in that bed.

The penthouse suite was exactly what you'd expect from Kaiba—sleek, modern, and obscenely luxurious. The entryway alone was bigger than your first apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the glittering Domino City skyline. The cold, impersonal perfection of it all somehow made you feel even more hollow.

Kaiba didn't offer a tour, just strode across the marble floors toward a hallway off the main living area. “Guest room's there.” he said, jerking his chin toward a door. “Try not to vomit on the sheets. They're Egyptian cotton.”

You managed a weak nod, your head swimming from the whiskey. The room was pristine—all neutral tones and sharp angles, like something out of a high-end hotel catalog. The bed looked impossibly large, the duvet perfectly smoothed. You wondered if anyone had ever actually slept in it before.

You were still standing there, swaying slightly, when Kaiba reappeared in the doorway. He tossed a bundle of fabric at you without ceremony. “Here. They'll be too big, but they'll work for the night.”

You caught the clothes against your chest. A soft black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that looked suspiciously like loungewear. You'd never imagined Kaiba owning anything so casual.

“Bathroom's through there.” he added, nodding toward an adjoining door. “Don't drown yourself.”

The shower was all glass and chrome, the kind with multiple showerheads and controls you were too drunk to figure out. You turned on the water as hot as you could stand, letting it scald your skin until the steam filled the room. The scent of Mai's perfume still lingered in your nostrils, mixed with the smell of alcohol and an odd mix of Katsuya's—no, Jounouchi’s—cologne and Kaiba's. You scrubbed until your skin was raw, like it could somehow remove your misery.

Kaiba's clothes swallowed you whole. The t-shirt fell past your hips, collar hanging off your shoulder, the sweatpants pooling around your ankles. They smelled faintly of that same expensive sandalwood cologne, crisp and clean. You wondered, vaguely, if they were actually his, or if he just kept spare clothes around for drunken strays he took pity on.

You didn't remember lying down, but suddenly you were face-first in the impossibly soft pillows, the weight of the day pressing down on you all at once. The room spun gently, the alcohol finally pulling you under.

The last thing you registered before sleep claimed you was the distant sound of Kaiba's voice, sharp with irritation, talking to someone on the phone.

“—no, Mokuba, I didn't kidnap them. They're sleeping it off in the guest room—”

Then nothing.

When you woke hours later, the sun was just beginning to creep through the sheer curtains. Your mouth felt like cotton, your head pounding in time with your heartbeat. On the nightstand, someone had placed a glass of water and two aspirin.

No note. No explanation.

Just the quiet hum of the penthouse, and the distant sound of a coffee machine brewing somewhere in the distance.

You lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the pain to hit. Waiting for the memories of last night to crash over you like a wave.

But all you felt was empty.

Maybe that was better.

A cruel, yet merciful numbness taking you whole.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the suite, rich and dark, cutting through the lingering whiskey haze in your head. The aspirin and water on the nightstand were a silent, pragmatic kindness—Kaiba’s way of acknowledging your misery without addressing it directly. You sit up slowly, wincing at the dull throb behind your eyes. The guest bed, despite its pristine luxury, felt foreign, and for a moment, you tried to ignore the reality of your situation.

Then it hit you. The numbness giving way just enough for it to sink in once more.

Katsuya. Mai. The bar. Kaiba.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rolling up your throat as last night's events flooded back in fragmented, whiskey-drenched flashes. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply through your nose, trying to steady yourself.

The penthouse was quiet except for the faint, distant murmur of Kaiba’s voice. You pushed the covers off, bare feet meeting soft plushness as you padded toward the door. The sweatpants Kaiba had given you dragged slightly on the floor, the waistband cinched at your hips, but the comfort of clean, unfamiliar clothes was grounding.

Following the scent of coffee, you found him standing in the open-concept kitchen, leaning against the sleek marble island. He was dressed impeccably as always—tailored slacks and a crisp dress shirt, though the top two buttons were undone, and his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows. His watch gleamed in the morning light as he lifted a coffee cup to his lips.

He didn’t acknowledge you at first, simply glanced over as you hesitated a bit away. His gaze flicked over your disheveled appearance—his oversized clothes on you, the exhaustion still clinging to your features—before returning to his drink.

“You're up.” he said flatly, as if he hadn’t expected you to rouse at all.

You swallowed, throat dry. “Barely.”

He nodded once, an almost imperceptible approval, before gesturing vaguely toward the counter. “Coffees there. Take it or leave it.”

The normalcy of the interaction threw you. After everything last night—after the venom, the tension, the destruction of something you thought had been unshakable—Kaiba was standing here, sipping coffee as if he hadn't witnessed the aftermath of your world falling apart in front of him.

You take the offer of the coffee.

You moved to the counter, gripping the warm ceramic of the coffee mug like a lifeline. The first sip was bitter and scalding, but it shocked your system awake. You exhaled slowly, bracing yourself against the cool surface of the counter.

Kaiba watched you over the rim of his cup. “You going to keep looking like a kicked puppy, or do you plan on doing something about it?”

You stiffened. “Excuse me?”

He raised an eyebrow, setting his cup down with a quiet clink. “You heard me.”

Anger flared hot in your chest, unexpected and sharp. “Right. Forgot you don’t believe in emotions unless they can be monetized.”

Kaiba smirked. “I believe in emotions. I just don’t waste my time wallowing in them.”

You gritted your teeth, fingers tightening around your mug. “Well, not all of us can be a goddamn machine, Kaiba.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something unreadable, something sharp. He studied you for a long moment before speaking. “You think I don’t know what betrayal feels like?”

The words landed heavier than you expected. You frowned, caught off guard.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if irritated by his own admission. “People are disappointments. You put your trust in them, and they let you down. Again, and again.” His fingers tapped against the counter. “So, you either let it break you, or you make damn sure it never happens again.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”

His smirk returned, sharp as a blade. “I don’t see me drowning my sorrows in cheap whiskey over a mutt who never deserved my time to begin with.”

You flinched, the truth of his words hitting dead on.

Kaiba sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation exhausted him. “You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself, or you can get up and do something.” He lifted his coffee again.

You aren't sure how long you’re lost in thought, but the coffee in your hands had gone lukewarm. You cling to it anyway, the ceramic mug solid and real in your grasp. The rich, bitter aroma still lingered, though it did little to cut through the fog of last night's whiskey and this morning's heartache. Kaiba's words—sharp as shattered glass—hung in the air between you, undeniable in their brutal truth.

You swallowed hard, staring down into the dark liquid like it might hold answers. “I don't even know where to start.” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Our lives are so...” You trailed off, fingers tightening around the mug. “Shared bank accounts. The apartment lease is in both our names. Our phone plan, utilities, even the damn streaming subscriptions.” A hollow laugh escaped you. “I don't even have my key card. I dropped it when I—”

The memory hit you like a physical blow. You take a deep breath to try and steady yourself, even if the breath is stuttered. “I left with nothing but the clothes on my back.”

Kaiba didn't react to your stumble. He set his coffee down with precise, measured movements, the cup making a soft click against the marble countertop. Then, without ceremony, he pulled out his phone.

“Mokuba.” His voice was all business. “I need two things. First, a copy of the master key for Room 814. Second, have Legal draft a notice of withdrawal from a joint lease agreement.” A pause. “Today. Expedited.” Another pause. “Good.” He hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

You stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Kaiba, you can't just—”

“I can,” he interrupted, tone leaving no room for argument. “And I did.”

“But—”

“You said you wanted to untangle your life from his.” He arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “So let's untangle it.”

The sheer ruthlessness of it stole your breath. This wasn't kindness—it was a surgical strike. Kaiba was dismantling your shared life with Katsuya the same way he'd dismantle a failing business venture: swiftly, methodically, without sentiment.

Something twisted in your chest. “Why are you doing this?”

Kaiba stilled. For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, with deliberate care, he turned his coffee cup a quarter rotation on the counter.

“Because I know what it's like,” he said at last, voice quieter than you'd ever heard it, “to realize too late that someone you trusted wasn't who you thought they were.”

The admission hung between you, raw and unexpected. “And because I refuse to watch someone with half a brain waste their potential over sentiment—especially over someone as pathetic as Jounouchi.” His lips curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. “Even if that someone is a stray who hasn't quite figured it out yet.”

You exhaled sharply, torn between indignation and something dangerously close to gratitude.

He checked his watch—a sleek, obscenely expensive thing that probably cost more than a car. “Mokuba will be here in twenty minutes with clothes. Be ready.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you standing there in his borrowed sweatpants, holding a cooling cup of coffee and the shattered remains of your old life.

The moment Kaiba's footsteps faded down the hallway, the carefully constructed numbness began to crack again. You stood frozen in the kitchen, fingers still curled around the cooling mug, staring blankly at the spot where he'd been standing. The penthouse's air conditioning hummed softly, carrying the faint scent of leather and expensive cleaning products—a sterile, impersonal luxury that made your chest ache for the cluttered warmth of your shared apartment with Katsuya.

No. Not your apartment anymore.

And you don't need Jounouchi. Never again.

The ceramic mug clicked sharply against the marble countertop as you set it down with too much force. You needed to move, to do something before the dam broke completely. The guest room's plush carpet muffled your steps as you retreated, the door clicking shut behind you with finality.

The ensuite bathroom was a study in minimalist opulence—gray slate tiles, chrome fixtures, a shower large enough for three people. You turned the water on full blast, steam quickly fogging the glass enclosure. As you waited for it to heat up, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror and barely recognized the hollow-eyed stranger staring back.

Dark circles bruised the space beneath your eyes, evidence of the weight of the night before. Your lips were chapped from biting them raw, and there was a faint red mark on your cheek where you'd pressed too hard against the pillow, trying to muffle...something. Cries? Screams? You couldn't even remember now.

The shower's scalding water burned away the last physical traces of last night—the whiskey sweat, the phantom sensation of Katsuya’s hands that you could still feel on your skin if you thought about it too much. You scrubbed until your skin was raw again.

Wrapped in one of Kaiba's absurdly plush towels, you stood before the mirror again, watching as steam slowly cleared to reveal your reflection piece by piece.

A soft knock on the door jarred you from your thoughts. Moving quickly, you cracked the door open just a few centimeters.

A woman in her mid-thirties with perfectly pulled back and kept black hair smiled to you. “I've delivered the clothes Mr. Kaiba Mokuba wished for you.”

You give a quick nod. “Thank you.”

You closed the door and took another minute to pull yourself together.

The outfits Mokuba had brought waited on the bed like a challenge—sleek black wool, crisp white tops, and a plethora of other pieces to make whatever outfit you wanted, all things perfectly tailored for you to choose from.

You can't help the silly thought, that it's almost like armor. The kind of clothes people wore when they needed to face the world at its worst.

You were halfway through buttoning part of your outfit when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!” you called, expecting the same employee from before.

Instead, Kaiba himself stepped inside, already dressed in one of his signature navy suits. He paused just inside the doorway, his sharp gaze taking in your half-dressed state with clinical detachment.

Kaiba's gaze flicked away the moment he registered your state of undress, his sharp features tightening almost imperceptibly. He turned slightly, presenting his profile as he addressed the wall instead of you.

“We're retrieving your belongings from the hotel room.” he said, voice clipped. “Security has already been notified to escort us.”

Your hands stilled. The clock on the wall read 6:48 AM—far too early for any normal person to be awake, let alone ready to face the aftermath of a shattered relationship.

Katsuya would still be there.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. He might be awake already, preparing for the tournament.... or after last night—after Mai—he could be sprawled in that bed, tangled in sheets that still smelled like her.

She might even be there.

Kaiba didn’t wait for your reaction. “You have five minutes.” he said, already moving out the door. “If you’re not ready, I leave without you.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you standing there, hands trembling slightly as you finished dressing. The clothes Mokuba had chosen fit perfectly—like it had been made for you.

Armor.

You took one last steadying breath before stepping out into the penthouse’s main living area. Kaiba stood near the elevator, scrolling through something on his phone, but he looked up as you approached. His gaze swept over you, assessing, before giving a single, approving nod.

“Better.” he said. Then, with a smirk that held no humor, “You look like someone ready to ruin Jounouchi’s day.”

The elevator ride down was silent. Kaiba stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead, while you focused on keeping your breathing even. The two guards never even so much as twitched. The hotel corridors blurred past as you followed him, your pulse loud in your ears.

Then—there it was.

Room 814.

The door where your old life had ended.

Kaiba didn’t hesitate. He swiped the master key card and pushed the door open without knocking.

You took the suitcase from the security personnel that accompanied, and moved inside.

The air inside was stale, thick with the lingering scent of last night—Mai’s perfume, Katsuya’s cologne, the scent of sex that made your stomach twist. The sheets on the bed were rumpled, pillows knocked askew, proof of everything you didn’t want to think about.

Katsuya was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He looked like hell. His shirt was wrinkled, still half-buttoned over his chest, and his hair a mess.

But it was his eyes that caught you. Bloodshot. Hollow. Dark circles bruising the skin beneath them.

“The hell is he doing here?” Katsuya’s voice was raw, hoarse, and it wasn’t directed at you. His entire body was tense, fists clenched at his sides as he glared past you at Kaiba.

Kaiba barely spared him a glance as he stepped further inside, hands still clasped behind his back like he was surveying a particularly unimpressive duel field.

“Making sure they get their things without unnecessary interruptions.” Kaiba drawled, tone bordering on bored. His gaze flicked over Katsuya, taking in his disheveled appearance, the dark circles under his eyes, the visible bruises peeking out from his collar. “Though I suppose that ship has already sailed.”

“This is between me and Mc,” he growled. “Not you.”

“And yet, you seem incapable of saying anything they actually want to hear.” Kaiba mused, tilting his head. “How unfortunate.”

Katsuya’s nostrils flared, but he bit his tongue. His hands twitched like he wanted to swing, but even he wasn’t reckless enough to pick a fight with Kaiba right now before he even made the morning roll call.

You moved to the closet, grabbing the handle of the large, shared suitcase and yanked it out, the wheels rolling smoothly over the carpet a few feet before you threw it down on the floor.

You barely registered the exchange, too focused on pulling your things from the suitcase and putting them into the new one. Clothes. Your toiletries. The book you had been reading before everything fell apart.

Katsuya’s breathing grew heavier with every item you took.

“Mc.”

You didn’t stop.

“Mc, please—”

The hoodie of Katsuya’s that you had stolen for yourself.

You froze. Fingers tightening around the fabric, you stared down at it for a long moment before throwing it towards the bed. It didn’t belong to you. Not anymore. Kujaku could claim it for all you cared.

Katsuya saw. His face crumpled.

You stood and made your way past Katsuya to the nightstand. You do your best to ignore the pain in your chest. Your standing next to the bed where he had had sex with Mai just hours prior.

“Just—just talk to me, alright? I—” His voice cracked. “I fucked up, okay? I know I did. But I need you to hear me.”

Kaiba made a sound—something close to a scoff. “Now you decide to communicate. How touching.”

You grabbed your phone charger, wrapping it neatly before shoving it in the suitcase.

Jounouchi whirled on him. “Shut the hell up, Kaiba!”

Kaiba smiled—a cold, amused stretch of lips. “Why? I’m only saying what Mc's thinking.”

Katsuya turned back to you, his frustration shifting into something more desperate. “Mc—babydoll, please—”

You flinched at the pet name, and Katsuya visibly recoiled, like he’d been punched in the gut.

Kaiba hummed. “Ouch.”

Katsuya's hands curled into fists, but his anger wasn’t directed at Kaiba anymore. It was at himself.

“I love you.” he said suddenly, voice trembling. “You know I love you. That never changed. What happened with Mai—” He dragged a hand down his face, voice thick with self-loathing. “It was a mistake. A stupid, meaningless mistake. It didn’t mean anything, I swear to God.”

“Really?” Kaiba said, mock surprise lacing his voice. “Because last I checked, people who love someone don’t fuck other people.”

“I didn’t—” Katsuya turned on him, fury flashing in his eyes. “You don’t get to talk about shit you don’t understand, Kaiba!”

Kaiba arched a brow. “Oh, I understand perfectly. You had something good, and you pissed it away like an impulsive idiot.” He scoffs, “And for someone as low class as Kujaku of all women.”

Katsuya flinched like he’d been struck. “I wasn’t thinking!” He snapped, voice breaking. He turned to you, pleading. “I don’t have a single excuse that’s good enough for what I did, and I won’t insult you by pretending I do. But please—please don’t let this be the end of us.”

You zipped up the suitcase, the sound slicing through the tension in the room like a blade.

That was your answer.

Katsuya inhaled sharply, his face crumpling. “Mc, please—just look at me, just—just talk to me—” His voice was desperate now, frantic, but you didn’t give him what he wanted. You pulled up the handle of the suitcase and moved toward the door without so much as a glance in his direction.

Katsuya lurched forward, reaching for you. His fingers barely brushed your wrist.

The motion was fluid—effortless, like Kaiba had anticipated the exact second Katsuya would snap. Kaiba caught him, fingers clamping around Katsuya's wrist like a vice that left no room for negotiation.

He tensed immediately, eyes flashing with anger as Kaiba leaned in, voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

“Touch them again, and I break your fucking hand.”

The room went silent.

Katsuya was breathing hard, his pulse thrumming violently against the inside of Kaiba’s grip.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t fight.

Didn’t do anything except look past Kaiba, gaze locked on you, silently begging.

And for the first time since you had walked in and found him having sex with Kujaku, you met his gaze.

And without a word, you turned and stepped out of the room.

Kaiba let go of Jounouchi’s wrist with a sharp shove, stepping back as he followed you out.

The door slammed behind both of you and the only sound in the empty hallway was the sound of footsteps and the suitcases wheels rolling along the marble flooring, though you barly heard it over the roar of your heart in your ears.

The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing you in silence. The suitcase sat at your feet, heavy in the quiet.

Kaiba stood beside you; hands once again clasped neatly behind his back. He looked composed, unaffected.

Then—

“His first match is at noon.” he said casually. “I've arranged for front row seats.”

You glanced up at him, surprised to find a part of your lips twitching to almost attempt to smile in your confused and misery-filled state. “You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

Kaiba's answering smirk was all teeth. “Immensely.”

The elevator glided upward in near silence, the only sound the soft hum of its machinery. You stood still, staring at your reflection in the polished metal doors, processing everything that had just happened.

Katsuya had begged. Pleaded. Looked at you like you'd ripped his heart out.

Jokes on him, he did that himself.

The elevator chimed softly as it arrived at the penthouse. The doors slid open to reveal Mokuba, standing casually in the foyer, three coffees in hand. His dark eyes lit up when he saw you, but there was no pity there—just something amused, expectant, like he knew exactly what kind of storm you had just walked through.

“You're late.” he teased. “I was about to send a search party.”

Kaiba strode past you without so much as a glance, reaching out to take the suitcase from you. He set it just inside the penthouse before turning back to face the elevator as he took one of the cups Mokuba held without breaking stride.

Your brow furrowed. “Uh—” You glanced between the brothers. “Why is my suitcase in there?”

Mokuba snorted, handing you the second coffee before taking a sip of his own. “Because you're coming with us, obviously.”

Your confusion deepened. “Where?”

Kaiba, who had already stepped back into the elevator, gave a long-suffering sigh. “You'll find out.”

Mokuba laughed, stepping in beside him as he looked at you. “C'mon, don't make that face. You'll like this part.”

Still uncertain, the doors slid shut again, and the elevator began its descent.

Mokuba nudged your arm lightly, his grin a little too pleased. “By the way, I had our accountants flag the bank account on record for the hotel room.”

Your fingers tightened around the coffee cup. “...What?”

Kaiba, standing beside him, spoke without looking up from his phone. “Just because rooms were awarded for qualifying doesn’t mean we don’t require a card on record in case of damages. Your account with Jounouchi was the primary one associated with the reservation.”

“Yeah,” Mokuba added, eyes glinting with mischief. “And your account's been frozen and flagged by Kaiba Grand Hotel accountants since about four this morning. Just a little precaution, you know, to keep Jounouchi from emptying it before you had a chance to.”

Your stomach flipped. “You—”

Mokuba held up a hand. “Don’t worry, it's not permanent. Alerts usually don’t roll out until nine. By then, your account will be empty, and the flag will be removed just like your name from the account.” He smirked. “Jounouchi won’t even know what happened until he gets the same idea to empty the account, or use his card, and it declines.”

You blinked at him.

Mokuba shrugged. “I work fast.”

Kaiba made a noise that might have been approval. “Your competent, unlike some other imbeciles.”

The elevator slowed as it neared the ground floor. You exhaled, staring down at your coffee as a strange sense of relief—of control—settled over you.

Katsuya wasn’t going to get to pull anything. You held some power, some control over your life that seemed like it's been spiraling since last night.

You had help...

The doors opened to reveal the hotel lobby, and beyond that, a sleek black limo parked right at the entrance. The morning light was harsh, too bright after the weight of the last hour, but you didn’t hesitate as you followed the Kaibas outside.

The driver opened the door, and you slid in after Mokuba, Kaiba following last. The moment the doors shut, Mokuba turned toward you again, still grinning.

“Also,” he said casually, stretching his legs out, “I had legal reach out to your landlord directly. He's more than willing to take you off the lease today if you sign, and we get the payment for next month’s rent turned in.” He shrugged. “Past that, he doesn’t really care.”

You stared at him. “...You're serious.”

“Dead serious.” Mokuba confirmed with a large grin.

Kaiba, who had taken the seat across from you, sipped his coffee. “Unless you want to be legally tied to that apartment for the foreseeable future.”

You exhaled, leaning back against the leather seat as the limo pulled away from the curb. The morning was still early, not even seven thirty, the city just beginning to stir, but your old life was closer and closer to being severed.

It felt... nice? Part of you still felt so hollowed out, but if you work fast enough you won't be tethered to Katsuya—Jounouchi, you remind yourself—forced into a space with him that there's no escape from.

“No.” You shake your head. “I... I don't want to be trapped with Katsuya any longer than what's my choice.”

“Once the accounts are cleared, if you have a private one at the same establishment, I recommend you pull everything from that one as well and just close it out. That way you don't ever have to worry about running into him there.” Mokuba gives a soft smile as he looks over to you. “Later today I can take you to our bank and help you get set up.”

It's extremely kind of him, but Mokuba always has been. Like an offset from Kaiba. Mokuba has always been full of love and compassion, soft and caring. At seventeen he's still just as sweet as he was at twelve. It's almost a miracle all things considered.

Just as you go to thank him, you go rigid. The familiar thrum, vibration, of your phone in your pocket stops you dead. A small heartbeat rhythm accompanied by the roar of the Red-Eyes Black Dragon.

A text from Katsuya.

Mokuba hesitates as he looks to you, caught somewhere between sympathy and anger. “We can also get your phone taken care of today. A brand new one with a new number on the Kaiba Corporation networks.” He says gently.

You take a deep, shuddered breath. “I haven't checked my phone since before dinner last night. It was in the room and...” you trail off.

The younger Kaiba lets out a sigh, “I can look at it—not his text, those can sit unanswered—but for anyone else trying to get a hold of you. I can route them through me and just say you dropped your phone for now until we get it taken care of.”

“The Dork Squad may betray you today as well.” Kaiba says as his eyes flick to you from his phone. “Depending on who gets a hold of the number from you and how they pass it around, Jounouchi may get access.” He says in a clinical tone. “Though on our network you can notify Mokuba, and we can have it switched it in hour.” He looks back down to his phone.

The truth slams into you like a truck. It's true... if you don't tell them why you don't want Katsuya to have it, they'll give it—especially if they think it was just you getting a replacement or something. They may be a bit confused about why he'd be asking, but he could just say it didn't save or something—thereby negating Mokuba’s work in the first place.

You exhale slowly, pressing the warm coffee cup between your palms as if the heat could somehow fix it. The limo’s interior is quiet, save for the muted sounds of the city beyond its tinted windows.

Mokuba, perceptive as ever, watches you carefully. “You don’t have to check it.” he reminds you, voice soft but firm. “Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to.”

You nod absently, your fingers tightening around the cup. The vibration had stopped, but the weight of Katsuya’s message still lingered in your pocket, like an anchor trying to pull you back into something you were barely starting to even process.

The ride continues in silence for a moment before Kaiba speaks again, tone still detached but laced with something keen and knowing. “Even if you do check it, don’t respond. Anything you say can be twisted, manipulated.” He finally looks up from his phone, his sharp blue eyes locking onto you. “I recommend you let him scream into the void and completely ignore it.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, but nod again. “Right.”

You sit back against the leather seat, staring at the cityscape rolling past the tinted windows. The idea of starting over—of severing every tie—feels both daunting and freeing. There’s still a hollow ache in your chest, but it’s dulled slightly by the knowledge that you’re not alone in this, even if it is just Kaiba's hate of Katsuya and Mokuba's kindness.

It's like an odd numbness still lingers over you. Maybe it's still shock. So much of this doesn’t feel real…

The limo slows as it nears the bank, and you inhale deeply, steeling yourself. One step at a time.

As the car pulls up to the curb, Mokuba sets his phone down and glances at you. “Ready?”

Not really. But you nod anyway. “Yeah.”

The driver opens the door, and you step out into the bright morning light, your old life slipping further away with each step you take toward something new.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

Your phone goes off six times while you draw the money out and begin to sever your financial connection to Katsuya.

It isn't much, but it's the collected effort the two of you put forward for a future, and in a way it's like a small severance for suffering. He took your future and ruined it first—you're just finishing it.

The whole process once Mokuba called the accountants and has the flag personally lifted and the account is unfrozen is overall painless. In and out in twenty-five minutes, the money securely tucked in your pocket and you’re free from Katsuya on one front now.

The folder of paperwork isn't big, but it feels like a brick in your hands.

Kaiba is still on his phone when you and Mokuba enter the limo, doing who knows what as his thumbs fly across the keyboard.

You take a deep breath once more, and the younger Kaiba takes the folder from you. You take that chance to pull your phone from your pocket.

It's daunting. Four of the six times it went off weren't Katsuya. But he called once. Sent another text. The ringtone assigned to him playing while the bank employee explained closing the account had been surreal in a way, almost ironic.

Did he know the account was empty? Was he pissed off about it? Why did a stupid part of you feel like you were betraying him by doing it?

Part of you wants him to be mad. To be hurt somehow, so it isn't just you in pain after what he did.

You unlock the phone, checking missed calls. It reveals what you already know and something you didn't. Katsuya's call, just a few minutes after Anzu's while you were in the bank sits there, but the one that hurts is the one from last night.

One missed call from Katsuya, not too long after you left the room, before he found you at the bar. It means he heard your phone ring, and in that you hope it hurt. You hope the ringtone you had for him ripped him apart inside as it played. The realization that you didn't have it etched on his stupid handsome face while it rang and rang and rang—you hope it was one of misery.

You move to the texts. You don't mean to look at Katsuya's, but the message in waiting stares back at you. A small glimpse of the message before you click into Anzu's conversation—it's like it's seared into your brain.

Please be careful, babydoll. I love you. I'll be at the pavil—

You do what you can to focus on Anzu's messages.

Still on for breakfast or brunch?

Yuugi said Katsuya isn't answering his phone, did you two over sleep? You know Kaiba will make sure he can't get in at any opportunity. Me and Yuugi will be by soon to knock, so don't get busy!

Or if you are getting busy, hurry up! Don't make him late, Mc! Lol!

You aren't sure what to do. What to say. You completely forgot about getting breakfast with Anzu while Katsuya and Yuugi readied up for the duelist check-in and registration.

Should you just go completely silent on that front? Or is it better to say something? If you did, what do you say?

'Sorry. Not in the mood. Katsuya fucked Mai and I'm hanging out with Mokuba and Kaiba right now, attempting to sever my life from the web I tangled myself in with a blonde fuckwit whose completely shattered me?'

You aren't sure what to say to anyone about anything. Things like this make friends chose sides, and in that there's the chance for anything you say to be relayed to Katsuya. And just like Kaiba said, in that leaves room for manipulation and twisting.

You hate this. His choice to put his dick in Mai not only blew apart your future, but it could very well take friends.

Honda is one of Katsuya’s best friends... it doesn't matter what he did, he'll be on his side. There's one down.

Shizuka is his sister... there's another.

Gone.

You lock your phone and look away from it. Part of you wants to throw it out the window.

Part of you wants to text every contact you've ever collected in it, and tell them all what a liar Katsuya is. A cheater. That he fucked Mai and he's desperately begging for you to take him back.

The limo glided smoothly through Domino’s morning traffic, everything blurring past the tinted windows. Mokuba stretched his legs out, nudging your knee lightly with his foot.

“Leasing office is just a few minutes away.” he said, checking his watch. “We’ll have you out of that contract before nine am.” He gives a soft smile.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around your phone. “I—” The words stuck in your throat. “I don’t have enough to cover next month’s rent outright. Our pay cycle—”

Kaiba didn’t look up from his phone, fingers still flying across the screen. “Consider it an investment.”

Mokuba grinned. “Translation: he’s enjoying watching Jounouchi’s life implode too much to let something like rent get in the way.”

You huffed a small, quiet, confused laugh despite yourself, but the sound died in your throat as your phone buzzed again. Anzu’s name flashed across the screen, followed by another rapid-fire string of messages:

Where are you??

Kat showed up to roll call and prep looking like he got hit by a truck.

Mc, are you okay? I think I overheard someone say Kaiba was involved??

Katsuya doesn't seem okay. At all.

Mc, What's going on?

The screen blurred slightly as you stared at it, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could you even say?

For lack of what to do, you simply held your phone out for them to read.

Kaiba finally looked up from his phone, his expression unreadable. “Say nothing.”

You frowned. “But—”

“Anything you tell her will get back to him,” he said flatly. “And right now, the less he knows, the better.”

Mokuba nodded in agreement, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let him sweat. Let him wonder what you’re doing.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting. “Let him panic when he realizes you’re not coming back.”

You exhaled sharply, locking your phone without responding. They were right. Anything you said now could just give Katsuya ammunition for something—a way to twist the narrative. You don't want to care about Katsuya anymore. He doesn't care about you—doesn't love you like you thought he did—so why should you respond?

Let him choke on the silence instead.

The limo pulled up to the leasing office, and before the driver could even move to open the door, Kaiba was already pushing it open himself, stepping out onto the curb with an uncharacteristically light step. There was a faint smirk playing at the corner of his lips, his usual sharp-edged demeanor softened by what could almost be called enthusiasm.

Mokuba shot you a smile as he slid out after his brother. “I haven't seen Seto this excited for paperwork in years.”

You followed, the weight of the impending paperwork sitting heavy in your stomach. The leasing office was a small, nondescript building—beige walls, fluorescent lighting, the faint smell of cheap coffee lingering in the air. The landlord, Mr. Hakatori, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a perpetually harried expression, looked up from his desk as the three of you entered.

His eyes widened slightly when he recognized Kaiba.

“Mr. Kaiba,” he said, standing abruptly. “I—uh—wasn’t expecting you personally.”

Kaiba didn’t bother with pleasantries. “The paperwork?”

The landlord nodded quickly, already shuffling through a stack of files on his desk. “Right, yes. Your legal team already sent everything over. It’s all in order—just needs signatures.” He hesitated, glancing at you. “And, uh, the payment for next month’s rent, as discussed.”

The pen felt heavy in your hand as you stared down at the termination agreement. The landlord had slid it across the desk with an almost apologetic expression, as if he could sense the gravity of the moment. He probably did to some extent. The timeline so far means Mokuba and Kaiba had Kaiba legal up this guys ass since six in the morning. The fact its such an easy break either speaks to them being a pack of rabid lawyers or Mr. Hakatori thought better than to make a ruckus against the Kaiba name and see the full force. Either way, it's lead to this moment. He knows what else that means, that you're leaving Katsuya on the lease... alone. That by signing, you're walking away.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you positioned the tip over the signature line.

This was it. A couple stroke of ink, and another thread binding you to Katsuya would snap.

You exhaled sharply and signed.

The sound of the pen scratching against paper was deafening in the quiet office. Each loop of your signature felt like cutting through an invisible tether, severing another tie to the life you'd built—and lost. The numbness still lingers, and maybe that's a good thing. You never wanted your life Katsuya to end...

When you finish, you set the pen down with deliberate care, as if letting go too quickly might make the whole thing unravel.

Kaiba didn't hesitate. He plucked a sleek black credit card from his wallet and handed it to the landlord without a word. The man took it with a nervous nod, processing the payment quickly. There was no argument, no discussion—just the quiet beep of the card reader and the mechanical whir of the receipt printing.

Kaiba pocketed both the card and the receipt with a satisfied smirk. The landlord, meanwhile, slid a copy of the signed paperwork toward you, his voice oddly gentle.

“You’re officially released from the lease. The apartment is no longer your responsibility.”

You took the papers, the weight of them somehow both heavier and lighter than before.

No more shared rent. No more shared space.

No more living with Katsuya.

The thought sent a sharp pang through your chest, but beneath it, something else flickered—something like relief.

You won't be trapped in the apartment you once called home with a man who isn't faithful. Who would probably bring Mai over to fuck while you were at work. It's a real possibility that last night wasn't the first time he slept with Mai while you were together.

It could be that last night was just the night he was caught.

What if he's had her in your bed before? Laid next to you and told you he loved you where he had sex with her?

Mokuba nudged your shoulder as he turned to leave. “Next stop, your apartment. We’ll grab whatever essentials you need.” He glanced at Seto. “Should we have security meet us there? Just in case someone decides to show up?”

Kaiba didn’t break stride as he pushed open the office door, the morning sunlight cutting across his sharp features. “They’re already there,” he said smoothly. “along with movers.”

You blinked. “Movers?”

Kaiba finally looked at you, and the smug satisfaction in his expression was almost alarming. “Point out what’s yours,” he said, “and it’ll be taken care of.”

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The limo pulled up to your apartment building, and the sight of two black KaibaCorp security SUVs already parked out front made your stomach twist. Four uniformed guards stood at attention near the entrance, their expressions professionally blank. A moving truck idled nearby, its back doors open to reveal stacks of boxes and packing materials.

Mokuba squeezed your shoulder gently as you stepped out. “We'll make this quick.”

Your hands shook slightly as you fished your key from your pocket. The metal was cold against your fingers, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. This was the last time you'd use it. The last time you'd walk in to a place that used to hold so much love and happiness.

The lock clicked open with finality.

The apartment was exactly as you'd left it—cozy, lived-in, frozen in time from before everything shattered. The blanket you'd curled under to watch movies with Katsuya still lay rumpled on the couch. The air still carried the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the candle Anzu had gotten you as a house warming gift you loved.

It smelled like home.

And it made your chest ache.

Had Katsuya brought Mai into your home? Fucked her on your bed? The couch? Washed everything and lit the candle and sprayed some air freshener with the windows wide open to remove the evidence?

You hated that you didn't have an answer. That you couldn't say no. There was no way to tell, and it's not exactly like you can trust Katsuya to be honest about it if it did happen. In the end, it doesn't really matter now.

This place isn't yours anymore. So, he can bring her back here, to this broken, shattered reality of what was once a home full of love. Let her perfume seep into the walls and you hope he chokes on it one day.

Kaiba and Mokuba lingered near the doorway, giving you space as you moved further inside. Your feet carried you to the shelves lining the living room wall—the ones crammed with framed photos capturing years of memories.

There you were, grinning beside Katsuya at some duel tournament, his arm slung carelessly over your shoulders.

There you were again, sandwiched between him and Yuugi at Domino Pier, ice cream smeared on your nose.

Another of just the two of you, foreheads pressed together, laughing at some private joke, a photo Honda had taken.

Your fingers trembled as you opened the first frame. The glass came away easily, and you didn't hesitate before tearing the photo in half—right down the middle, separating yourself from Katsuya. You tucked your half into your pocket and placed the other half, Katsuya’s smiling face, back in the frame, glass replaced, now conspicuously empty where you'd once been.

You repeated the process with every photo. Group shots, candids, even the silly posed ones—you excised yourself from each one with methodical precision.

He doesn't want you? Fine. You'll take yourself away. Out of everything.

By the time you finished, the shelves looked almost normal... just emptier. Like you'd never existed there at all.

Maybe that's what he wanted all along.

Kaiba watched silently from the doorway, his earlier smugness replaced by something unreadable. His gaze tracked your movements, but he said nothing, just observed as you erased yourself from the life you'd built.

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket—Anzu calling, then Yuugi. Texts followed in rapid succession, the vibrations constant against your thigh. You ignored them all, focusing instead on gathering your important documents and packing a small duffle with important items and some essentials.

Honda's ringtone causes you to freeze. The rock anthem blares in your pocket as you take a deep breath and shove the last of your important things into the duffle.

The movers worked efficiently, boxing up the items you pointed out with quiet professionalism. Piece by piece, your presence was stripped from the apartment.

Mokuba appeared at your side as the movers continued to work. “Is that everything?” He asked quietly.

You opened your mouth to say yes—then froze.

The key.

Wordlessly, you walked to the kitchen counter, staring down at the spot where Katsuya had once stood, grinning that lopsided grin as he told you he wanted forever.

Your throat tightened like a vice, the words catching on something jagged and broken in your chest. The air in the apartment suddenly felt too thick, too heavy—every breath scraping against your ribs like sandpaper. Your fingers clenched around the key so hard the teeth bit into your palm, the pain sharp enough to sort of bring you back to the present.

“I was right here,” you whispered, the words raw and fractured. Your vision blurred but you refused—refused—to let the tears fall. Not here in this mausoleum of memories that you would have once died to protect. “When Katsuya told me he thought forever sounded pretty good with me.”

Mokuba moved closer, his presence warm and steady beside you, but you couldn't look at him. Couldn't risk meeting his eyes and seeing the pity there. The kitchen tiles beneath your feet seemed to tilt, the memories crashing over you in waves—Katsuya's laughter echoing off these walls, his hands framing your face, his voice rough with affection as he told you he loved you.

A shudder wracked your body, violent and uncontrollable. Your free hand flew to your mouth, pressing hard against your lips to stifle the sob threatening to break free.

Forever.

The word tasted like ash.

A broken, humorless laugh tore from your throat—ugly and wounded. “What a fucking lie that turned out to be.”

And with that, you hurled the key onto the counter with all the force of your shattered heart. It clattered against the granite, spinning wildly before skidding to a stop right where he'd once stood, where he'd spun pretty lies that meant nothing in the end.

You didn't look back. Just turned on your heel and walked away, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps—but your eyes dry as you stepped out of the apartment for what would be the final time.

The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind you, the air inside seemed to crackle with unspoken tension.

Mokuba exhaled sharply, his youthful face twisted in anguish as he stared at the key still spinning lazily on the counter. “God, Seto...” His voice broke slightly. “Did you see their hands shaking? They're barely holding it together.”

Kaiba's expression darkened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. The usually pristine lines of his coat seemed sharper somehow, his entire body radiating a dangerous energy. “Jounouchi doesn't deserve the oxygen he breathes.” he hissed, the words dripping with venom.

Mokuba moved to the photo shelves, gently touching one of the altered frames where you'd carefully excised yourself. “They tore themselves out of every memory...” His fingers traced the empty space where your smiling face should have been. “Like they were never here at all.”

A muscle in Kaiba's jaw twitched violently. He strode to the kitchen counter, snatching up the discarded key. The metal gleamed cruelly in the morning light as he examined it. “Sentiment can be weakness.” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual conviction.

“Not for them it wasn't.” Mokuba turned, his dark eyes burning with rare anger. “They believed in it. In Jounouchi. And he—”

“He made his choice.” Kaiba's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “And I'll make sure he lives with the consequences.”

Mokuba studied his brother's face—the barely restrained fury in the set of his shoulders, the way his grip on the key threatened to bend the metal. “This isn't just about business, is it?” Mokuba asked carefully.

Kaiba's icy mask slipped for just a second, revealing something far more human beneath. “They deserved better.”

The simple statement hung between them, weighted with meaning. Mokuba nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes.

Kaiba reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a sleek business card, placing it deliberately on the kitchen counter, corner just under the abandoned key. The embossed KaibaCorp logo gleamed under the lights.

Mokuba recognized it immediately—their personal contact line, reserved for VIP clients and high-stakes business. A silent offering for when Jounouchi inevitably came crawling back to this half empty apartment. A taunt.

A vicious smile tugged at Mokuba's lips. “Think he'll call?”

Kaiba's answering smirk was razor sharp as he turned toward the door. “I'm counting on it, Mokuba.” he said, his usual composure sliding back into place. “Come on. Mc's waiting.”

Mokuba cast one last look around the apartment—at the photos with your glaring absences, at the empty spaces where your life had been carefully dismantled. “Do you think...” He hesitated. “Do you think they'll be okay?”

Kaiba paused in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the morning light. “They will be,” he said with quiet certainty. “Because unlike Jounouchi, I'll ensure they're strong enough to walk away from last night.”

With that, he stepped out, leaving the ghost of your shared life with Jounouchi behind. Mokuba followed, closing the door softly on the empty apartment—and on the echoes of promises that would never be kept.

 

Chapter 3: Little Weapon

The limo's plush interior felt like a sanctuary as you slid inside, the weight of the morning pressing down on your shoulders. Mokuba settled beside you while Kaiba took the seat opposite, his sharp gaze already fixed on his phone as he typed quickly.

Mokuba turned to you, his voice gentle. “We can wait on setting up the bank account if you want. Do it another day when—”

You shook your head before he could finish. “No. I'd rather just... get it done today.” Your voice was quiet but firm. The thought of lingering in this limbo any longer made your skin crawl. Not only that, but you had the help now. It may not be around later.

You aren't an idiot. Kaiba's money and name are powerful, and it's the only reason you're as far as you are. If not for him hating Katsuya, you'd either be waking up in the lobby hungover and destroyed looking for Katsuya or one of the others, hoping you could at least get into the hotel room to get your stuff... all so you could get back to the apartment at least. You'd be trapped there with him when he got back. And that's just the surface of it. Of all the misery you'd be trapped in for months trying to undo yourself Katsuya, trapped there looking at his face day after day. Listening to excuse after excuse trying to ration out what the hell you were going to do...

And worst of all? You still love him. You would have died for him just a few hours ago.

What if you'd let him talk you into taking him back? Dying for him... a 'mistake' that broke your heart is nothing comparing how far you would have went for that man.

At least here with Kaiba, he's giving you the opportunity to hold onto your dignity. Some self-respect and allowing you to pull yourself out of the mess that is Jounouchi Katsuya.

You almost laugh out loud at the sheer absurdity of it all. The world flipped so insanely that Kaiba is the one offering you aid and helping escape Katsuya of all people. There was never a time in your life where you thought this possible. You'd have bet your life and lost...

Mokuba nodded, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. “Okay. Seto can get you in and out of the bank in twenty minutes flat.”

Kaiba didn't look up from his phone. “Fifteen.” he corrected, tone clipped. “If it takes longer, I'm slipping.”

Mokuba snorted, rolling his eyes. “Right, right. Either way, that puts us back at the hotel by ten, traffic depending.”

You exhaled, leaning forward to dig through the duffel bag at your feet. Your fingers brushed against the folders of paperwork—terminated lease, closed bank account statements, all the proof that your life with Katsuya was being systematically dismantled. You pulled out the documents you'd need for the new account, tucking the rest carefully back inside.

“How much is it to open an account?” you asked, thumbing through the papers.

Before you could finish the question, your phone buzzed again from your pocket—another text, another unanswered call piling up. You ignored it, but Mokuba didn't miss the way your jaw tightened.

“It's covered.” he said simply.

You glanced up, frowning. “Mokuba—”

He shook his head, cutting you off. “You've done all kinds of stuff for me in the past you never had to do. You did it because you wanted to and you cared.” He grinned, nudging your knee with his. “Let me do this for you.”

A hollow chuckle escaped you. “Yeah, well, when we get to the part where I have to put an address and I write homeless, I'm sure the bank is gonna love that.”

Your phone buzzed again—another text. Then another.

Kaiba finally looked up; his gaze sharp. “You haven't been homeless yet in this situation.” he said matter-of-factly. “Your things are in the penthouse. You've been staying in the guest room since last night.”

You blinked at him, stunned into silence for a beat. Then, slowly, you exhaled. “Jesus Christ. You really hate Katsuya.”

Kaiba's smirk was all teeth. “I have a very low tolerance for stupidity.”

Mokuba laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out his own phone. “Okay, multitasking time. While we head to the bank, you can pick out a new phone.” He handed you his device, already pulled up on a page displaying the latest models. “Just scroll through and let me know which one you want. We'll have it ready and in your hands in no time.”

You took the phone numbly, scrolling through the options without really seeing them. Before you could focus, your own phone rang again—the familiar tune of Yuugi's ringtone.

You let out a slow breath, pulling it from your pocket. The screen flashed with Yuugi's name and photo, the call eventually going to voicemail. A second later, a text popped up. And you clicked the banner, not actually opening it, but enough to view it.

Mc, please just let me know you're alive and safe. You don't have to say anything else. I just need to know that much.

You stared at the message, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. Yuugi deserved an answer. But did you owe him one right now? He'd talk to Katsuya, wouldn't he? Did he already know? Or had Katsuya just told them some sort of lie to cover his ass?

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temple. “Yuugi just wants to know I'm alive and safe.” You glanced between the brothers, your voice quieter now. “That’s all he said.”

Kaiba’s response was immediate. “Don’t answer.” He leaned back, arms crossed, his gaze sharp. “They’ll see for themselves shortly before noon. Why let Jounouchi off the hook so soon?”

Mokuba, always the mediator, sighed. “If you have to answer, keep it vague. One word.” He shot you a meaningful look. “Safe. Tells them nothing, but it’ll soothe Yuugi’s nerves.”

You stared at the screen a moment longer before shaking your head. “No. Kaiba’s right. They’ll see soon enough. It’s just a few hours.”

Still, a heavy weight settled in your chest as you locked your phone and let it drop into your lap. Silence stretched for a moment before you spoke again, your voice unsteady. “How am I even supposed to navigate them now?” You looked at Mokuba first, then Kaiba. “I know I can’t trust Honda now. He’s basically Katsuya’s brother at this point—of course he’ll take his side.”

Mokuba’s expression softened, but you weren’t done.

“I’ve already basically lost Shizuka. She loves her brother too much, and every little thing I say to her will go right back to him. Doesn't matter what it's about.” You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “I’ve seen things like this split friend groups. And as far as who’s really in my corner...” You exhaled shakily, looking between them again. “So far, all I have is you two. And that’s only because Kaiba hates Katsuya—Jounouchi.” You shake your head as you try to put space between Katsuya and yourself. Jounouchi. That's all he is now, and you need to remember it.

Kaiba didn’t deny it.

“And because you,” you turned to Mokuba, “are my friend. But Kaiba is also your brother.”

Mokuba frowned at that. “That’s not the only reason I’m here for you.”

“I know.” You forced a small smile before your throat tightened again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Katsuya cheating is taking everything from me. And that’s not fair.” Your hands clenched into fists in your lap. “All I did was love him.”

The limo was quiet again, save for the faint hum of the engine and the city noise beyond the tinted windows.

Kaiba's jaw ticked, his fingers tapping once against the leather seat. When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, but deliberate. “Then it's time to stop letting him take anything else.”

You lifted your head, meeting Kaiba's piercing gaze. “What do you mean?”

Kaiba leaned forward slightly, his fingers steepled. “You're thinking like a victim.” he said bluntly. “Stop.”

Mokuba winced at his brother's harsh tone, but Kaiba continued, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

“Jounouchi took your trust. Your sense of security. A future he beguiled you with, but was too incompetent to give. But he doesn't get to take your friends. Your dignity. Or your ability to move the fuck on.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you let him.”

You stiffened, the words hitting you like a lighting bolt.

Kaiba wasn't done. “You think Honda and Shizuka will blindly side with him? Fine. Let them. But Motou? Mizaki? Bakura? They're not complete idiots. And if they do choose him after knowing what he did?” His lips curled. “Then they were never anyone you needed to begin with.”

Mokuba nodded slowly. “Seto's right. You don't have to burn bridges—but you don't have to beg people to stand with you, either.” He nudged your knee. “Let them come to you.”

Kaiba's smirk returned. “And when they do?” He tilted his head. “You decide if they're worth keeping.”

“You sound pretty confident with 'when' instead of 'if'.” You sigh deeply as you study Kaiba carefully. “You're the one that told me people are disappointments. That if you put your trust in them, they just let you down.”

Kaiba held your gaze, unwavering. “I did.”

You studied him, searching for any sign of contradiction. “So, what? Now you're telling me to trust people?”

His expression remained impassive. “No.” he said simply. “I’m telling you to let them prove whether they deserve it or not.”

A bitter chuckle escaped you. “And if they don't?”

“Then you walk away.” he said without hesitation. “With your head high and without wasting another second on them. Just as you are right now with Jounouchi.”

Mokuba gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just—let things play out.”

You let out a slow breath, your fingers tightening in your lap. It wasn’t an easy answer. Nothing about this was easy. But Kaiba had a point—several, actually. You weren’t the one who had done something wrong. You weren’t the one who had something to prove.

A sharp buzz from your phone cut through the moment. Another call. You didn’t even look at the screen before flipping it over.

Kaiba’s smirk deepened slightly as he watched your movement. “Good.” He sat back, crossing one leg over the other. “Now, what are you doing about your living situation?”

Mokuba frowned. “They just terminated the joint lease, Seto. Can you not be a jackass about it?” Mokuba cringed.

Kaiba exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Mc’s staying in the penthouse, but for how long? Is Mc planning to find a new place in Domino? Leaving the city entirely?” He flicked his gaze back to you. “You don’t have to decide now, but you do need a plan.”

You hesitated, staring down at your hands. “I don’t know yet.” you admitted. “Everything feels... too raw, new, to think that far ahead.”

Mokuba nodded. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to rush into anything.”

Kaiba hummed, unimpressed with that answer but not pushing further—for now.

The limo slowed as it approached the bank, and Mokuba straightened, reaching for the documents you needed. “Alright, let’s knock this out. New bank account, new phone, new start.” He smiled at you. “And then a quick brunch. Because I refuse to let you be emotionally wrecked and starving.”

Maybe it's just because you’re in an emotional hole, but the fact of eating makes you think to things you probably shouldn't.

You can't help it.

The one answer you don't have is why Katsuya did it.

The obvious thing that stands out is appearance. You never thought Katsuya so vain or judgmental, but had that played a part? Mai's only 52 Kilo grams. Objectively pretty. According to guys—and even some women you've talked to in the past—she has 'everything in all the right places'.

Was that it? Something as shallow as that?

As simple as cutting back a meal here and there to have not lost your everything? Have your world fall apart?

“I'm going to be honest, Mokuba. Between last night's whiskey and everything so far, I'd rather try to eat later. Like afternoon or dinner maybe.”

Mokuba studied your expression for a moment before nodding. “Alright, we can hold off on food. But,” he held up a finger, “you have to pick a phone. Otherwise, I will just shove food at you until you cave.” His tone was light, teasing, but firm.

You sighed, rubbing your face as the limo pulled to a stop outside the bank. The sleek, modern building bore the KaibaCorp logo prominently—no surprise there. As the door opened, you stepped out, the weight of the morning pressing down on you again.

“It doesn’t matter.” you muttered, shaking your head. “Just pick one you think is best. All I care about is having a new number—and the ability to change it again if Katsuya—Jounouchi—gets it.”

Mokuba gave you a reassuring smile. “Got it handled.” He nudged your shoulder lightly. “Trust me, by the time we leave here, you’ll be set.”

The inside of the bank was all polished marble and hushed efficiency. The moment the three of you walked in, staff snapped to attention, their expressions a mix of professionalism and thinly veiled anxiety. Kaiba didn’t even glance at them, already striding toward a private office where a manager waited, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

The process was ludicrously fast.

Kaiba had already filled out most of the paperwork—likely on his phone during the ride over—and all you had to do was hand over your documents and sign where indicated. The manager barely asked any questions, his hands steady but his voice just a little too quick as he assured you everything was in order.

Mokuba, meanwhile, had stepped aside to handle the phone situation, speaking in low tones to another employee. By the time you finished signing, he returned with a satisfied nod.

“Phone’s being prepped now. Should be ready before we leave for the tournament.” He grinned. “New number, fresh start. And if Jou somehow gets it, we’ll just change it again.”

You exhaled, nodding. “Thanks.”

The world feels like it's moving too fast. It doesn't feel real.

Kaiba checked his watch, then glanced at the manager. “Are we done?”

The man nodded rapidly. “Yes, Mr. Kaiba. Everything is processed. The new account is active, and the cards will be ready within the hour.”

“Good.” Kaiba turned on his heel and strode out without saying another word.

 

_-_-_-_-

 

The limo ride was quiet, the hum of the engine and the faint tapping of Kaiba’s fingers against his phone the only sounds. You leaned your head against the window, watching the city blur past—buildings you’d walked past a hundred times with Katsuya, streets that used to feel familiar but now just felt hollow.

Mokuba broke the silence, stretching his arms behind his head. “Alright, so—tournament passes. You get a VIP lanyard to go with the executive pass since you're with us. Any preference on the design?” He grinned, pulling up a list on his phone. “We’ve got Blue-Eyes, Dark Magician, Obelisk, you name it.”

You glanced at the options, noting the ones he hadn’t mentioned among the countless others—Red-Eyes Black Dragon, Harpie Lady Sisters. A small, bitter smirk tugged at your lips. Mokuba had done that on purpose, trying to be kind.

But you had other plans.

“Actually,” you said, voice steady, “I want Katsuya’s.”

Kaiba’s fingers stilled on his phone. Mokuba blinked.

“...His?”

“And Mai’s.”

Silence.

Kaiba slowly lifted his gaze, studying you with something dangerously close to approval. “And what, exactly, do you plan to do with their lanyards? Turn them into nooses so they can hang themselves?”

You met his stare without flinching. “No. I’m going to twist them together and wear them as one.”

Mokuba’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh.”

Kaiba’s smirk was sharp. “Ah. So that’s the game.”

You leaned back, arms crossing. “You didn't plan the front row seats just for our view, Kaiba. Even I know that. You're expecting Katsuya to look at me. So, if he does…”

Kaiba didn’t deny it.

Mokuba whistled low under his breath. “Damn. Okay. They'll be brought up with your Executive VIP badge before we leave.” He shot you a look—half impressed, half concerned. “You sure about this?”

“No.” You answer honestly as you shake your head.

Kaiba's fingers resumed their rhythmic tapping against his phone, but his gaze remained fixed on you with a calculating edge. “Interesting,” he mused. “It's almost a good litmus test.”

Mokuba tilted his head. “For what?”

“For who knows the truth.” Kaiba said smoothly. His smirk deepened as he leaned back against the plush leather seat. “Let's see how many of your friends recognize what they're looking at when they see that lanyard. It's a list of who Jounouchi's confessed to. Who Mai's bragged to.” His eyes glinted. “And who's still in the dark.”

Mokuba snapped his fingers. “Ohhh, damn. Yeah. The ones who know will react when they see it up close. Jou won't be able to tell from the stage—not unless someone points it out or he gets close enough—but the others?” He grinned. “Instant tells.”

You swallowed, turning the idea over in your mind. It was brutal. Efficient. A way to force the truth to the surface without saying a word.

Kaiba watched you, his expression unreadable. “Of course, it also means you're wearing their shame like a badge.”

You met his gaze. “No. I'm wearing the truth like one.”

Something flickered in Kaiba's eyes—something almost like approval.

Mokuba exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Okay, but—just to be clear—you're sure you want to do this? Once you walk in there with that lanyard, there's no taking it back. People will talk.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I know. But I can say all I need to say without saying a word. Even retaining my silence I'm still speaking in a way. It's a pretty clear message for everyone to see. I'm known as Katsuya's partner. Imagine if it was anyone else and they walked in with their partners’ lanyard wrapped around someone else’s. Let alone sitting with the enemy.”

If Katsuya wanted to burn your world down, you’d make sure everyone saw the ashes. At the end of the day, you didn't do anything wrong, and Kaiba's right—you can either fall into the victim mentality and let him continue to hurt you, or you pick yourself up and try to move forward.

It doesn't mean that it won't be agonizing, the pain of what Katsuya did will last for a while—and probably in ways you can't even think of right now—but willingly choosing to drown in all of it is a choice.

Save yourself or fall apart.

Kaiba's fingers stopped tapping. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face as he studied you. “You're learning.” he said, his voice low and approving. “Silence can be louder than any scream. And that lanyard?” His smirk sharpened. “It's a small but effective detonation button to part of Jounouchi's reputation. While it won't ruin him, it will hinder him in different ways.”

Mokuba’s slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “You know, Jounouchi doesn’t even have to be in range to see you in before the duel.” he mused. “The screens in the arena can do it for us.”

Kaiba’s smirk matched his brother’s in sharpness. “Which means you don’t have to see him at all up close.” His fingers drumming once against the armrest before he turned his gaze to you. “He, on the other hand, will be served a rather large psychological blow before he even steps onto the stage.”

Mokuba snapped his fingers, eyes gleaming. “And Seto’s giving the speech to kick off the tournament. If the camera crew keeps the focus on him until he sits down—right next to us—then boom.” He spread his hands, his grin stretching wider. “They pan out, and there you are, right beside us. Front and center, where everyone—including Jounouchi—has to see you.”

Kaiba let out a quiet, amused exhale, his smirk deepening. “Jounouchi’s already upset that I’m involved in all of this. He hates that I’m offering you aid. So, he either already suspects you’re with me, or he’ll be too caught up in his rage to look away.” His eyes gleamed coldly. “Either way, he falls for the trap.”

Mokuba nodded eagerly. “Yeah. And once he sees you with that lanyard—?” He whistled low, shaking his head. “We don’t even need to be close to him. We can be halfway across the arena, and he’ll still see it. Everyone will.”

The weight of their words settled over you, but rather than feeling crushed beneath it, you felt something steadier take root inside you. It wasn’t so much about revenge for you.

It was about showing Katsuya he broke your heart—but not you.

Mokuba leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Between the extra clothes I had brought this morning and the stuff in your duffle bag and suitcase, we can put together one hell of an outfit.” he said, grinning. “Rub some salt in the wound of what he doesn’t have anymore.”

Kaiba, who had been watching you closely, tilted his head slightly. Then, slowly, he leaned in. His voice was low, deliberate, and cuttingly precise as he looked you dead in the eyes as a smirk took his lips.

“You.”

The single word sent a shiver down your spine.

Not an accusation. Not a challenge.

A statement of fact. A declaration.

You were the wound Katsuya would never fully recover from. You were the consequence of his betrayal. You were the one thing he could never undo. And the one thing he can't have back.

And now, he'll be forced to face it.

The limo pulled up to the KaibaCorp Grand Hotel, its gleaming towers stretching into the sky like a monument to Kaiba Seto’s ruthless ambition. As the doors opened, Kaiba stepped out first, his navy three-piece suit immaculate, the silver tie clip catching the light of the private parking garage with a cold gleam.

You and Mokuba followed, the younger Kaiba being kind enough to take your duffle bag.

The elevator doors slid shut with a hushed whisper, sealing the three of you in the cold, soundproofed interior. Kaiba stood with his back to the mirrored wall, his piercing blue eyes locked onto you with unnerving intensity. The silence stretched for a beat too long before he spoke.

“How far do you want to take this today?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Mokuba shifted slightly beside you, his gaze flickering between you and his brother.

Kaiba’s smirk was razor thin, the kind that promised he was about to say something sharp enough to cut. “You still don’t see it, do you?” His voice was smooth, controlled.

You shifted, crossing your arms. “See what?”

His eyes gleamed, cold but amused. “Jounouchi.” he said simply. “How far he’s already fallen. How much further he has to go.” He took a measured step closer, slow and deliberate, making sure you had nowhere to look but at him. “And how you—whether you realize it or not—hold his leash.”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t have a leash on him.”

Kaiba’s smirk deepened. “Yes, you do. And if you don’t start recognizing that, you’ll never understand what you can do with it.” He tilted his head, studying you as if waiting for the realization to sink in. “Jounouchi isn’t just feeling guilt and shame. He’s feeling loss. He’s already desperate, we both heard it in that hotel room.” A dark chuckle rolled past his lips as he took another step closer.

Kaiba’s eyes gleamed with something darkly satisfied. “Jounouchi wants you back. Not just in some shallow, ‘I made a mistake’ way. No—he is desperate for you. Right now, he’s reeling, wondering how the hell he let you slip through his fingers.” His voice dipped lower, almost teasing. “And now, you’re out of his reach.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers twitching. “And you think that’s really hurting him?” you tone holds confusion. Katsuya doesn't care. He made that choice to sleep with Mai—if he cared, he wouldn't have ever done it.

Kaiba chuckled, low and knowing. “Hurting him? It’s destroying him, Mc.”

Mokuba hesitated before nodding. “He’s right. Jounouchi's not just guilty—he's panicked. He knows he messed up, but more than that? He’s terrified he's lost you for good.”

Kaiba leaned in slightly, his voice smooth as silk. “Jounouchi is drowning in his own mistake. And the more he struggles, the deeper he sinks. The guilt, the regret, the overwhelming need to fix what he’s broken? To have you back. It’s pulling him under.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “And the cruelest part?” His smirk was razor sharp. “He still loves you.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Kaiba’s gaze didn’t waver. “And that love—his desperation to have you back—is the very thing that you can ruin him with if you so choose.”

The elevator hummed softly as Kaiba studied your reaction, his sharp gaze dissecting every flicker of emotion across your face. He exhaled through his nose, almost amused by your disbelief.

“You don’t believe me.” he observed, tilting his head. “I can understand why. After all, if Jounouchi loved you, he wouldn’t have betrayed you, would he?” His voice was cool, clinical. “But that’s giving him too much credit. The truth is far simpler—and far more pathetic.”

He stepped closer, the polished leather of his shoes nearly brushing against yours. “Jounouchi is an idiot. A reckless, impulsive fool who doesn’t think—he never has. He didn’t cheat because he stopped loving you, Mc. He cheated because he was too stupid to understand what he stood to lose.” A pause. “And apparently too stupid of a mongrel to understand loyalty.”

Mokuba shifted his gaze to you, one of sympathy, because you can tell by his face that he agrees with his brother.

Kaiba’s smirk was merciless. “Love can be exploited. And Jounouchi?” His eyes gleamed. “He’s weak for you.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around your arms. Could Katsuya have actually loved you like you thought? His actions don't speak to it... but Kaiba seems to think he has the reason pegged. Katsuya being stupid. It almost stings less than the other few reasons you've come up with so far.

“He wants you back. Desperately. And that?” Kaiba's voice dropped to a near whisper, laced with dark promise. “That is your leverage.”

Mokuba let out a slow breath. “Seto’s not wrong.” he admitted reluctantly. “Jou’s been blowing up everyone’s phones trying to get to you. Mine too.” He admits as he looks away. “I haven’t opened them, just read the banners. The only difference is I know what he did and the others may not. It doesn't change what I said though, Mc. He’s not just guilty—it's obvious he's terrified he lost you for good.”

Kaiba’s fingers flexed once before he crossed his arms. “Which brings us back to my original question.” His gaze pinned you in place. “How far do you want to take this?”

The elevator dinged softly, signaling your arrival at the penthouse. The doors slid open, revealing the opulent suite beyond, but Kaiba didn’t move. He was waiting for your answer.

Kaiba seems to think you could make Katsuya suffer past just the shame you wanted to make him feel with the lanyard. That Katsuya still cares for you past just shallow regret that will die in day.

You don't want Katsuya to know your hurting, that he broke your heart, but he'll know that regardless. He already does because you're not there trying to work things out or even acknowledge him.

But you are sure that you want him to know he didn't break you, but how far do you really want to go? There's no point in lying, a part of you wants him to suffer, to feel just a part of the pain he's put you through. Though the other part, mature and tired, just wants it over—the pain in your chest to end.

But it won't just end. That takes moving on, and that takes letting go—and that takes time. You've already started with Kaiba and Mokuba's help. You're further ahead than you would have been alone.

But Kaiba seems to think you hold a leash on Katsuya.

Does it really matter though? At the end of the day, everything you had with Katsuya ended the moment he touched Mai.

You're a free agent. Single for the first time in over three years. What you do or don't do with yourself doesn't concern him. If it hurts him—that's on him. He had you, he chose to gamble everything and lost.

So why not just have some fun anyway, and if it tugs at a leash—why should you care? He didn't care about you? Why extend a fake courtesy, there's no point.

What you do with yourself, or your life is your business, and he lost any weight his opinion carried the moment he touched Mai with anything but pure intentions.

“You're asking how far, and you're the one who seems to think I have a leash. If I do or not doesn't really matter, Kaiba.” You look up to him. “Katsuya saw to that last night when he ended anything and everything between us by choosing Mai. What he does or doesn't do with his life, how he feels or what he wants, at this point isn't really my business or concern.”

The grip on your arms tightens as you press your fingers in deeper. “But I'm also not an idiot. You're only offering because you seem to think I'm the weapon against Katsuya that you've always dreamed of.”

The elevator hummed ominously as you met Kaiba's piercing gaze once more. A dangerous calm settled over you as you realized exactly what kind of opportunity this was.

“You want leverage against Katsuya?” you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “Fine. Here's my offer.”

Kaiba's eyebrow arched; his full attention locked onto you. Mokuba stiffened beside you, sensing the shift in the air.

“Keep helping me untangle my life from his.” you continued. “Let me stay as long as I need—free to come and go as I please. And in return...” You took a deep breath. “Today, I'm yours. Until midnight, I'll be the weapon. Wear whatever you want, do whatever you want. Whatever role you need played to the best of my abilities. If you think I have some imaginary leash on Katsuya? Then for today, you can pull it however you want. I don't care.”

Mokuba's jaw dropped. “Mc, do you have any idea what you're agreeing to? You're giving my brother full rights to use you to run a full-blown Kaiba-level-crash-out-campaign against Jounouchi.”

You turned to Mokuba, your expression hardening. “I don't think it's going to work anyway. That requires Katsuya caring past anything other than the truth coming out and what it could do to him.” You shake your head. “And if—for some fucking reason—your brother is right, and I do have him on a leash—why should I care? His feeling aren't my concern anymore.” Your voice dropped to a whisper. “He made his choice and I'm suffering it, Mokuba. And unlike him, I didn't do anything to deserve it.” Your voice cracks. “All I ever did was love him. I gave Katsuya everything, Mokuba...”

You don't expect the few tears that run down your cheeks, but you wipe them away quickly as you look away from both of them.

Mokuba groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Look, I'm all for a good revenge crash out against a cheating ex, but I don't think you've considered the level of how far Seto might push this.”

Kaiba's fingers caught your chin before you could fully turn away, forcing you to meet his icy gaze. They felt warm against your skin, his grip unyielding yet strangely gentle.

“Those tears,” he murmured, his thumb brushing away a stray drop you'd missed, “are exactly why this will work.” His voice dropped to a dangerous purr. “Because you still love him too. And that, my dear weapon, makes you utterly devastating.”

Mokuba made a choked noise. “Seto, you can't possibly—”

“Watch me.” Kaiba interrupted, never breaking eye contact with you. “Here's what's going to happen. I'll delegate the opening speech and official start announcement to Isono. It'll put Jounouchi on edge. We'll arrive late to the tournament—a bit after he's taken the stage. You'll be wearing head to toe KaibaCorp black with that twisted lanyard prominently displayed. Mokuba will be telling the arena crew to prepare the private skybox once we exit the elevator.”

Mokuba blinked. “The skybox? But I thought—”

“The front row was for a single cut.” Kaiba purred, eyes gleaming. “We're doing a bit more than that. I want Jounouchi straining to see Mc. Let him search every crowd shot on the monitors...” His smile turned vicious. “Only to find Mc tucked away in my private box, like they belong there.”

Kaiba's smirk widened into something truly predatory as fingers traced your jaw. “Jounouchi will be watching that empty seat behind his duel stage like a dying man watches for water in a desert.” he said, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. “That's where you always sit, isn't it? His lucky charm, his anchor. Right at his back like a symbol—that you'd always be there.”

His fingers paused, moving to grip your chin lightly as his thumb traced your bottom lip. “When you don't appear there, he'll tell himself you're just running late. There's no real way you'd abandon him after everything, right? That surely, you'll be there... Then the match will start, and that empty space at his back will feel like a physical wound.”

Mokuba paled slightly. “Seto—”

“Then, when he scans the front row—expecting to see me parading you like a trophy—he'll find only Mokuba.” His lips curled. “No explanation. No warning. Just your absence where he thought you'd be, and mine where he knew I would.”

You swallowed hard, the plan unfolding in your mind with chilling clarity.

His laugh was ice-cold. “Imagine his confusion when he finds Mokuba sitting alone. Where could his precious Mc be? And why isn't Kaiba on his customary front row throne?”

Kaiba leaned in, his voice a dark whisper. “And do you know what that does to a man like Jounouchi? It makes him wonder.” His fingers twitched as if plucking the threads of Katsuya's sanity. “Where are we? What could possibly be more important than the opening of my tournament? What could I be doing with you that would make me miss it for the first time in my life?”

Mokuba looked between you and his brother. “You're going to let him imagine the worst.”

Kaiba's eyes burned with intensity. “The cameras will find us eventually, of course. My arm casually draped over the back of your chair.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And the best part? He'll never know how far it's really gone. Whether we're just putting on a show—if you're even there by choice—or if you've truly let me claim what he so desperately craves.”

Mokuba made a strangled noise. “That's... that's actually diabolical.”

Kaiba's smile was all teeth. “That's just the opening gambit.” Kaiba's hand slid from your chin to cradle the back of your neck, his grip possessive yet oddly comforting. “Jounouchi will stumble through his duel.” he smirked, his voice a velvet blade. “Distracted—mind twisting like laundry on a line on a breezy day—making mistakes he hasn't made since we were children. But if by some miracle he wins?”

A cruel smirk twisted his lips. “That's almost better. Because then he has to stand on there with his hollow victory while everyone whispers about why his partner isn't there to celebrate. While the cameras keep cutting to my skybox where you sit at my side, wearing my colors—my mark—wearing your intertwined lanyards of their aces—the evidence of his betrayal—like a crown.”

Mokuba exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Then there’s the interview right after the duel—win or lose—that he'll have to get through.”

You felt your pulse quicken as Kaiba's fingers traced idle patterns along your nape. “I can keep Jounouchi teetering on the edge of madness all day. But the true masterpiece of all this? Even if you only let me wield you today, eventually he has to go home.” Kaiba tilted his head, leaning in as his lips brushed over your ear, “That empty apartment. The silence where your voice should be. No sign of you for him to cling to. The bed where he slept right next to you—where he held you, fucked you—where you whispered his name like a prayer once—empty.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That will be the death knell. The moment he realizes you're well and truly out of his reach. When the weight of his reality crashes down around him.”

Kaiba's fingers tightened ever so slightly against your nape as he pulled back to study your reaction, his icy blue eyes searching yours with predatory intensity.

”So, here's my counteroffer.” he purred, his voice dripping with dark promise. “I'll give you everything.” He chuckled as his thumb slowly and purposefully traced your pounding pulse. “My personal assistance untangling your life from that mongrel's—and everything my name brings with it. Unlimited resources to build a life you wish, free of one Jounouchi Katsuya—while you live comfortably doing so. Free to come and go as you please, and me, personally at your disposal. One day, one month—years. However long it takes, however long you desire. My full support in whatever the future holds—but with one condition.”

Your pulse hammered in your throat under his thumb. This was a deal with the devil. Kaiba is willing to give you more than you asked for, and you asked for as much as you did simply because you knew he'd jump at an offer to try and dismantle Katsuya.

But this?

Kaiba's not only offering you help—but salvation.

He's offering you a chance at a future. A way to live your life however you please after Katsuya burnt it all down—and he has the power to deliver. It isn't just some empty promise.

Less than twelve hours ago, you wouldn't have pissed on Kaiba to save him if he were burning alive. And if that scenario was reversed? Kaiba would piss on you just to demean you, hold it over your head that he saved a pathetic wreck of a life—and then charged you a fucking fee for his time.

Now here he is, with Mokuba. They've already untangled you a decent amount—you're further along than you would have ever been alone.

“And that is?” You ask quietly as you look to his eyes. Everything has a price—dealing with the devil would be no different—but a way forward might just be worth your soul in the wreckage Katsuya's left you in.

Kaiba's lips curled into a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on your nape tightened, pulling you closer until his breath ghosted over your lips—hot and dangerous.

“Absolute surrender.”

The words dripped like honey laced with poison.

“Until midnight, you'll be mine. No rules. No limits. My vengeance made flesh, and mine to command in every way.” His thumb pressed harder against your pulse, relishing the way it fluttered under his touch. “Complete submission.”

“Complete submission?” you echoed, voice barely above a whisper. The implications sent another shiver down your spine—part fear, part sickening curiosity. “Kaiba, that's—”

“Non-negotiable.” His fingers flexed against your skin, his smirk widening as he felt your pulse jump. “You'll be the noose around Jounouchi's throat,” he purred, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “and I'll be the hand that pulls it tight while he rides the knife's edge between madness and hope.”

“Let me be perfectly clear.” he continued, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur. “For just under the next fourteen hours, whatever I want, happens. No questions. No hesitation.” His thumb traced your jawline with deliberate slowness. “If I tell you to wear the outfit I choose, you wear it. If I decide you should sit in my lap during his duel, you comply.”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as his fingers slid up, threading through your hair, tangling firmly at the base of your skull. Before you could even process the shift, he gave a slow, deliberate tug—not cruel, but sharp enough to make your breath hitch and your spine straighten, eyes instinctively snapping to his.

There was nothing but him in your view now—those glacial eyes swallowing you whole, leaving no room to look away, no space to think. His smirk deepened, sharpened, relishing your helpless focus.

“And if I decide that I want to watch Jounouchi choke—violently—you'll let me pull that leash you hold, even if it means I'm fucking you against the glass of the skybox for Jounouchi to witness.” The venom in his tone matched his smirk.

Your knees nearly buckled at the sheer audacity of his words. The mental image alone sent a conflicting rush of heat and dread pooling in your stomach. This wasn't just an attempt at vengeance against Katsuya—Kaiba seems to think he can use you as something to secure annihilation against Katsuya.

Mokuba made a strangled noise. “Seto, for fuck's sake—”

“Quiet.” Kaiba snapped without looking away from you. “And in return? I don’t just help you survive. I make sure you thrive. A future built from the ashes of his mistakes.”

Your mind raced. Fourteen hours of complete submission to Kaiba Seto—a man who had never shown mercy in his life. Fourteen hours where he could demand anything, use you in any way he saw fit.

His eyes searched yours, waiting—demanding. And you knew, clear as day, that if you said yes, he’d take every piece you gave him and attempt to pull Katsuya apart—thread by thread, leaving him on the edge of ruin for the thrill of it.

Kaiba's grip in your hair tightened just enough to make your scalp tingle, his lips hovering a breath away from yours. “So, what do you say, little weapon?” His voice was a dark caress, the promise of ruin wrapped in velvet. “Fourteen hours of surrender in exchange for everything?”

The air between you crackled with tension—part threat, part temptation. A devil’s bargain, wrapped in silk and sin.

Your breath hitched as the realization crashed over you like a wave—no matter what Kaiba demanded, no matter how far he pushed it, nothing could compare to the soul-crushing agony of walking in on Katsuya buried inside Mai. The way your world had shattered in an instant, the betrayal so deep it had stolen the very air from your lungs, leaving you gutted and hollowed out.

Kaiba wasn't offering pain. He was offering power. A chance to rise from the ashes while Katsuya continued to burn for what he did.

And the price?

Fourteen hours.

Fourteen hours to secure your future.

Fourteen hours in the devil's hands.

But you had been the one to offer the deal in the first place.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you met Kaiba's predatory gaze. The words left your lips before you could second-guess them—steady, sure, and laced with a promise of your own.

“Take what you want.”

Kaiba's smirk was nothing short of triumphant, his fingers tightening possessively in your hair as he finally closed the distance between you. His kiss wasn't gentle—it was a claiming, a brand, his teeth scraping your bottom lip before his tongue swept into your mouth with ruthless force.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Mokuba groaned, his voice thick with disgust and exasperation as he immediately turned on his heel and exited the elevator, muffled curses echoing before vanishing somewhere deeper in the penthouse.

Kaiba didn't so much as glance after his brother. His grip in your hair tightened, angling your head back as he deepened the kiss. There was nothing tender about it—this was a conquest, his tongue mapping every inch of your mouth like he was memorizing the taste of your surrender. When he finally pulled away, his teeth dragged over your bottom lip hard enough to sting, his breath hot against your swollen lips.

“Good little weapon.” he murmured, the praise laced with venomous sweetness. “That's exactly how obedient I expect you to be.” His grip in your hair loosened, but didn't release entirely, keeping you locked in his gaze.

“First rule,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “You don’t look at him. Not once. Not even a fucking glance until I say.” His tongue traveled your bottom lip. “Let him wonder if you even remember he exists.”

You exhaled shakily, unsure of what to do. You had already surrendered yourself, this was it. Whatever he wanted to do until midnight. A life of whatever you want—a way to severe every tie with Katsuya—lays just after midnight.

Kaiba's lips crashed against yours again before you could respond, this kiss was even more demanding than the first. His free hand gripped your waist, fingers digging in possessively as he backed you against the elevator wall. The cold metal pressed into your back while his body pinned you in place, his thigh sliding between yours with deliberate pressure that made your breath hitch.

“Second rule,” he growled, moving to your neck. “You don't speak to him. Not a single word unless I tell you to.” His tongue traced up your neck, only leaving to claim your lips again, the kiss turning filthy enough to make your knees weak. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. “Maybe I'll be merciful enough to let the mutt hear you moan my name.”

Kaiba's hands roamed your body with possessiveness that sent electric shocks through your nerves. His lips trailed fire down your throat as he murmured the next rule against your fluttering pulse.

“Third rule,” he purred, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where your neck met your shoulder. “You don't react to him. No flinching, no anger, no tears—nothing.” He panted. “You are untouchable. Unaffected. You'll let him wonder if he ever meant anything to you at all.”

A shiver wracked your spine as his hand slid up your ribcage, thumb brushing just beneath your breast. The realization hit you like a lightning strike—this was the first time anyone but Katsuya had touched you like this. The first kiss, the first hands, the first body pressed against yours in anything more than casual contact. And it wasn’t some sweet, hesitant exploration—it was Kaiba claiming you, marking you as his weapon, his tool, his revenge given physical form.

He must have felt the hitch in your breath, because his smirk curled against your skin before he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes.

“Fourth rule,” His voice a dark caress as his fingers traced the edge of your hip. “You don't lie to me. If I ask you a question, you answer it truthfully—no matter how much it burns.” His thumb rubbed a slow firm circle on your hip, teasing. “Understood?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering where his lips had just been. All you could manage was a nod.

Kaiba's grip on your hip tightened slightly as he studied your face, his piercing gaze searching for something in your expression. His voice was lower now, less commanding and more... curious.

“Tell me,” he murmured, his thumb still tracing slow circles against your hip. “Has anyone else ever touched you like this? Or was Jounouchi the only one before today?”

Your breath caught at the question, unexpected in its intimacy. The way he asked wasn’t cruel—just probing, as if he genuinely wanted to know.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just... just him.”

Kaiba's eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in their depths. His fingers flexed against you, possessive but not punishing. “And how does this feel?” His thumb brushed higher, skimming the curve of your waist as he leaned down to your neck. “My hands on you. My lips on your throat.” He asked as his lips drug across your pulse.

You swallowed, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch. “Different.” you admitted, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

“Different how?”

Your breath hitched as Kaiba's lips hovered just above your skin, waiting. “Like I'm being claimed rather than cherished.” You admitted, your voice barely steady.

Kaiba went utterly still at your words. For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his piercing blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that you couldn't make sense of. Then, without warning, his entire demeanor shifted.

His grip in your hair loosened, fingers uncurling to cradle the back of your head instead. The punishing pressure of his body against yours softened, though he didn't pull away entirely. When his lips met yours again, it was with a startling tenderness that contradicted everything you knew about Kaiba Seto.

His kiss was slow. Deliberate. The hard demand of his tongue gave way to something more exploratory, tracing the shape of your mouth with a patience that bordered on reverence. His free hand, which had been gripping your hip possessively, now smoothed up your side in a lingering caress, fingertips mapping the curve of your waist through the fabric of your clothes.

The change was so sudden, so complete, that you found yourself stunned. Where before his touch had been about marking, claiming, now it felt like... discovery? His lips moved against yours with a quiet intensity that sent warmth pooling low in your belly, his breath hitching slightly when you tentatively responded in kind.

You're kissing someone other than Katsuya for the first time in your life—and it's Kaiba of all people. Your brain can't quite make sense of it. Maybe you're more messed up over Katsuya than you know, but you did offer to play the part. Absolute surrender, complete submission.

When he finally pulled back, it was just far enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven in a way you'd never heard from the normally composed Kaiba Seto. His thumb traced your kiss-swollen bottom lip with surprising gentleness.

“And how does that compare to him?” The question was deceptively soft, his voice rough but lacking its usual edge.

The question hung between you, loaded and dangerous. You could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he was holding himself perfectly still as he waited for your answer.

“You don’t kiss me like you love me...” the confession rolls off your tongue, ripped directly from chest, “but then again, neither did he in the end.”

Kaiba didn't move. He didn't smirk. He didn't gloat.

His eyes flickered—just once—but it was enough to make you question if you imagined it. The usual icy armor he wore cracked, revealing something raw beneath, but it was gone before you could decipher it. His thumb stilled against your lip, and you could feel the tremor in his breath as it ghosted over your skin.

“You don't know what love looks like.” he said, barely above a whisper, more to himself than you. His tone wasn’t cruel—it was soft, like the admission cost him something.

Your throat tightened. His words shouldn’t have felt like a knife, but they did, because you realized that maybe you didn’t. Not really. Not after last night. Because if it had been love between the two of you, how could have Katsuya done it? Slept with someone else?

Before you could gather yourself, his hand slipped from your hair to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing a stray tear you hadn’t realized had escaped. His touch was heartbreakingly gentle now, the opposite of the man who just minutes ago spoke of using you as a weapon.

His eyes searched yours, still sharp, still calculating—but now heavy with something buried deeper.

He leaned in until his lips barely brushed the corner of your mouth, but didn’t fully kiss you. His breath warmed your skin, but he stayed like that, as if unsure whether to continue.

“I'm not going to ask you to trust me.” he murmured. “Not after last night. Not after him.” His jaw tightened. “But I need you to understand... I won't break you.” His thumb traced your cheekbone.

You can't help the scoff that leaves you. “Twelve hours ago, you would've left me to die in an unmarked grave, Kaiba. Please don't pretend to care now.” You whisper. “'Vengeance made flesh', that's all I am in this. That's what I offered you, and I told you to take what you wanted in that endeavor—but please don’t act like you care.” A pause. “I've had enough of that to last a lifetime thanks to Katsuya.” It's a barely there whisper as the words leave you.

Kaiba didn’t flinch. He didn’t retreat. If anything, your biting words only rooted him more firmly in place. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in something far more dangerous. Determination.

“You’re wrong.” he said, quiet but resolute. His hand remained on your cheek, thumb ghosting across your skin like he couldn’t bear to stop. “I do care.”

The words weren’t dramatic. There was no grand flourish or heated denial. Just three syllables, steady and certain.

Your breath caught in your throat, confused by his words.

Kaiba exhaled slowly, like he was taming something inside himself. When he spoke again, it wasn’t the voice of the CEO or the avenger. It was just Seto, stripped of the armor, the cold edges softened.

“You think I didn’t notice?” His thumb wiped another stray tear from your cheek, lingering longer this time. “The way he paraded you like a prize but never protected you? The way he claimed you, but never saw you?” His eyes softened with something you never thought you’d see directed at you—pity, no, not pity—remorse.

“You were already ashes long before you got to me.”

Your knees almost gave out. His words stung because they felt too honest. The anger in you flared, but so did the quiet despair beneath it, and Kaiba caught the shift instantly.

He didn’t press.

Instead, he shifted. His forehead pressed more firmly against yours, like he was trying to ground you. His free hand lifted from your waist to cup your other cheek, caging you gently between his palms.

“I accepted you as my weapon because you offered.” he said quietly.

“It doesn't matter anymore.” you whispered, your voice fraying at the edges. Kaiba's hands still cradled your face, but you couldn't meet his eyes anymore. “If you think you can make him suffer through me—then do it. Use me. However you want.”

Your breath shuddered, and for the first time since last night, you let the full weight of your grief press into your words.

“I don’t want to hurt anymore. Maybe seeing him break will help. Maybe it’ll just break me too. I don’t know.” Your fingers curled into the fabric of Kaiba’s jacket, clinging like it was the only thing keeping you upright. “But I need out of this hole he left me in. And being your weapon gets me there—if it means I get to watch him bleed for what he did—then fine.”

A raw, broken sound escaped you—half-laugh, half-sob. “Maybe watching him ache will make the hollow in my chest hurt less. Or maybe it won’t. But at least at midnight, I have chance to get out of this fucking hole he threw me in!” A cracked and raw sob left you.

Kaiba didn’t move. His hands stayed on your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was steady—anchoring you when you felt like you might dissolve into nothing.

For a long moment, Kaiba just looked at you, his gaze tracing every fracture in your composure. He didn’t recoil from the words. He didn’t pull away from the mess you were becoming. His fingers remained steady, cradling you like you were something fragile and volatile all at once, like he knew the storm wasn’t over yet.

And you weren’t done. Not even close.

Your knees finally gave out, and Kaiba caught you, sinking with you to the floor without hesitation. His arms bracketed you carefully as you crumpled, the weight of everything hitting you at once—the betrayal, the humiliation, the helplessness that came with realizing the man you loved hadn’t loved you back, not the way you needed, not when it mattered. And in that your world had come crashing down into pieces. Katsuya had betrayed you, the one person on this earth you'd trusted everything too—and he tossed you aside to fuck Kujaku Mai in the bed he was planning to sleep with you in once you got back. To hold you and tell you he loved you—pretend that he hadn't been unfaithful and continued to let you believe a lie because he got what he wanted. Your devotion and the ability to fuck around on the side without you ever knowing—never once even thinking he would.

You sobbed, the sound tearing free from your throat without mercy. Ugly, shuddering gasps racked your body as you clung to Kaiba’s lapels. You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, how broken you looked. There was no dignity left to salvage.

“He kissed her like he meant it.” you choked out, voice cracking hard on the words. “I—I thought—I thought it was just me. I thought he chose me.” You fisted Kaiba’s jacket tighter, as if you could physically anchor yourself to him and not be pulled under. “But it was all a fucking joke. I wasn’t enough. I’ll never be enough.”

The confession cracked something open deeper inside you, and the sobs only came harder, sharper, pulling from places you didn’t even know you were still holding onto. All the moments you ignored, the excuses you made for Katsuya, the smiles you convinced yourself were love—they flooded you, poisoning everything you’d fought so hard to preserve.

Your breath hitched painfully as you whispered, “I begged him to be honest. I would’ve forgiven anything if he’d just—just told me he didn't want me. But he didn’t. He made me believe I mattered.”

Kaiba’s hands stayed steady, thumbs still catching every tear he could, but he didn’t let go. He didn’t interrupt. He just stayed, through every ugly, violent sob.

“I hate him.” you rasped, though it tasted like a lie the second it left your lips. “I hate him—I hate him—I hate him—” The words spiraled into a hiccupping, incoherent mess as you curled in tighter against Kaiba, desperate for anything to keep you from splintering fully.

Kaiba adjusted, pulling you fully into his arms without forcing it. He didn’t shush you. He didn’t tell you to calm down. He simply shifted until you were seated fully between his legs, pressed against his chest, letting you take what you needed.

Your fists weakly pounded against his chest, half-hearted and exhausted. “Why wasn’t I enough? What did I do wrong?!” The question broke from you like it hadn't been festering for only hours—but maybe years. You didn’t expect an answer. You just needed it out.

Kaiba caught your wrists gently when you began to truly crumble, slowly guiding your hands away from hitting him. His eyes flicked down to you—messy, snot-streaked, blotchy with tears—but there wasn’t a hint of disgust or impatience on his face. Just a quiet understanding. His thumb brushed your pulse at your wrist like he was reminding you to breathe.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Kaiba said, low and firm. “He failed you. That’s on him. Not you.”

The words, simple as they were, hit like a dagger. You tried to push them away, tried to cling to the belief that maybe if you’d loved harder, been prettier, sweeter, more forgiving—anything—maybe it wouldn’t have ended like this. But Kaiba didn’t let you. He didn’t give you room to shrink away from the truth. His hand pressed gently to the back of your head, tucking you against his shoulder.

“You hear me?” he said again, quieter. “Not you.”

And that’s when you really lost it.

The next sob wasn’t just grief—it was exhaustion, helplessness, shame, all of it clawing out of you like a wounded animal. The sound you made wasn’t soft or cinematic. It was ugly. Raw. Unforgiving. You hated how you sounded, hated that Kaiba was witnessing it—but you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t even pretend to keep it in anymore.

You just kept sobbing, shaking against him, until your voice was nearly gone, reduced to gasps and quiet, broken sounds muffled against the expensive fabric of his jacket.

Kaiba never let go.

Even when your grip on his clothes weakened. Even when you sagged against him, trembling and spent. He didn’t release you.

He shifted only enough to bring his lips to the crown of your head—not a kiss, not quite—but the whisper of warmth was grounding all the same. His hand rubbed slow, steady circles into your back, never faltering, never pushing for more.

And then, softly—so softly you almost missed it—he murmured, “I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure when the sobbing dulled into quiet trembling, only that at some point the storm inside you lost its strength. The elevator felt too big, too quiet, except for the soft rustle of fabric as Kaiba shifted to keep you pressed securely against him. His warmth bled through the layers of expensive clothing and armored pride, steady and constant in a way you didn’t expect.

Of all people, it was him.

Kaiba.

Last night, you’d stood on opposite ends of the battlefield. Today you had offered yourself up like a sharpened knife, ready to let him use you however he saw fit, if only to feel something other than the gaping hole Katsuya had carved into you. Kaiba had spoken of you like a tool, a means to an end—and you accepted it. Willingly.

So why was he the one holding you now? Why wasn’t he pulling away, disgusted, or telling you to get up and get on with it like you always thought he would? Why was it his arms keeping you together instead of leaving you to choke on the mess Katsuya left behind?

You blinked up at him, dazed and confused, throat raw and lips trembling. “Why are you—” the words caught. Your voice was hardly more than a scratchy breath. “Why are you doing this?”

Kaiba didn’t look away. His sharp blue eyes, always so cutting, softened—still steel, but no longer a blade.

“I know what betrayal tastes like.” His voice was even, but the undercurrent was bitter, personal. “And I know it leaves you stranded.”

You stared, trying to reconcile this man—the one who spent years making your life hell by proxy, the one who reveled in control and power—with the one who now cradled you like you were something precious and breakable. Kaiba Seto, of all people, was the one sitting on the floor, acting like the only thing that mattered was keeping you from disappearing into yourself.

Your mind whirled, trying to make sense of it. Why wasn’t he mocking you? Why wasn’t he walking away now that he’d seen you crumple? Why wasn’t he treating this like a weakness?

It wasn’t mercy, you realized. He didn’t pity you. And it wasn’t kindness, either—not the sugary, soft kind that Katsuya had always fed you.

Kaiba wasn’t capable of that.

No, this was something else. Simpler. Sharper.

He hated Jounouchi.

He loathed him.

Maybe that's was enough. Maybe Kaiba’s hatred for the man who broke you was the only solid ground left. Because if there was one thing Kaiba never wavered on, it was his enemies. He meant it when he said he wouldn’t break you—not because he cared in some romantic, fairy-tale way, but because you were his now, in this silent, brutal war between him and Katsuya.

Enemy of your enemy—in that was something you could trust.

And Katsuya is the number one enemy shared between you and Kaiba now.

Your hands, trembling and worn, curled tighter into his jacket—not out of desperation this time, but decision.

Kaiba’s eyes flicked down, catching the motion, and something in his expression flickered again.

“I’m not going to lie to you.” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t do ‘comfort.’” His thumb traced your cheek, feather light. “But I won’t abandon you in it either. Not after he did.”

The finality in his voice was terrifyingly steady, as if he’d already made the choice last night, long before you realized how deep you were sinking.

“I can’t fix your broken heart,” Kaiba said softly, his voice a near whisper. “But I can make sure you never forget what it means to be whole.”

You exhaled, ragged and disbelieving. But somewhere under the exhaustion, under the grief, you felt something small click into place. Maybe trust didn’t have to look like care. Maybe, for now, it could just look like Kaiba, angry and bitter, a burning pit of rage and hate for Katsuya, but unwilling to let you fall in the endeavor of war against him.

Your breath trembled against Kaiba’s steady frame, but for the first time, it wasn’t just grief gnawing at you—it was anger. Hot, bitter, unbearable anger unlike before.

You curled your fingers tighter into the expensive fabric of his jacket until your knuckles ached. Your heart was already splintered, so what did it matter? Why should you flinch now?

“Screw it.” you whispered, tasting the fury behind the words. Your throat burned, but you pushed through it. “Run the crash out, Kaiba.”

His eyes flicked sharply to yours, narrowing just a fraction, like he was studying you, searching for the catch, for the strings you’d try to pull back. His hands remained steady, holding you without forcing you, but you could feel him watching, waiting. He wasn't the type to take words lightly.

You swallowed, chest heaving. “I don’t care anymore.” The words cracked, sharp and breathless. “I just want it to end.” You shoved lightly at his chest—not to push him away, but out of frustration you couldn’t place. “I can’t keep sitting here hoping it’ll fade on its own. I’m sick of hoping. I’m sick of hurting.”

Kaiba stayed quiet, eyes razor focused, but you could tell you had his full attention.

“I loved him. God, I loved him. And he fucked it all up.” Your voice trembled, but this time you didn’t collapse. You clenched your fists tighter, anger turning your sorrow into something sharp. “I feel like I was worth nothing. Like I was some replaceable piece in a game.”

His name tasted sour on your tongue. You refused to even say it.

“I gave him everything, Kaiba.” you hissed. “And he chose her.” Your nails dug into the fabric of his lapels. “So if you want me to be your weapon, then fine. I’ll do it. No limits. No hesitation.”

Kaiba’s breath caught—not enough for most people to notice, but you were close enough to feel it.

“I want him to hurt.” you continued, barely able to stop the trembling fury in your words. “I want him to ache like I do. I want him to rot in this empty, miserable hole he tossed me into. And if the only way to make that happen is to be yours until midnight—then so be it.”

Your voice dropped into something cold, hollow. “Whatever it takes, Kaiba. Do it.”

Kaiba’s eyes flickered—subtle, but unmistakable. Not satisfaction. Not triumph. Something far more complex.

“You’re serious.” he said flatly, testing.

You nodded. “Yes. I don’t care what happens after. I just want the hollow in my chest to stop swallowing me whole.”

Kaiba studied you for another long heartbeat. His jaw tightened, but he gave you no lecture, no empty reassurances. He never was one for comforting lies. Instead, after another breath, he adjusted his hold, his hands curling into your arms—not controlling, but deliberate.

“Then we run the crash out.” he said, voice low and absolute. “No limits. No hesitation.”

You stared at him, the anger and grief inside you colliding like a storm you couldn’t stop. But there, in the center of it, Kaiba stood unflinching.

Maybe it wasn’t hope. Maybe it wasn’t salvation. Maybe it wasn’t even healing.

But it was something. More than just numbness, more than just an empty hole of grief and pain. A way for all this fucking anger to leave.

“And you can do it? Keep him on that edge of madness all night?” You asked as you sniffled, trying to regain yourself.

Kaiba's grip on your arms tightened slightly, his eyes darkening with something dangerously close to anticipation.

“I won't just keep him on the edge.” his voice low and rough. “I'll make Jounouchi question his sanity.”

His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if mapping out the path of destruction he intended to carve through Katsuya.

“Every second he spends wondering where you are, why you're not where you should be, who you're with—it'll eat at him. Every glance from the crowd, every whisper. And then every time the cameras catch you at my side instead of his—it'll be another cut.” His lips curled, sharp and satisfied. “And I haven't even planned anything past the duel yet.”

You swallowed hard, the image crystalizing in your mind—Katsuya, desperate, unraveling, his eyes searching for you in every shadow, only to find you just out of reach, just beyond his grasp.

And sat with his fucking enemy—Kaiba.

Kaiba leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And the best part?” A pause. “He'll know it's his fault. Every second of it.”

You shivered, the anger inside you flickering hotter.

Kaiba pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his own burning with quiet intensity. “So tell me, little weapon—are you ready to watch him break?”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

“Yes.”

The word was barely a whisper, but it was enough.

“Then we make him bleed.” he studied your face for a moment. “But not like this.”

His hands found your face, gripping firmly, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You don’t break for him. Not today. Not ever again.” There was no room for argument in his tone. “You want him to suffer? Then you stand tall. You let him see you don’t need him.”

His thumb brushed your cheek one last time, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “And when midnight comes?” His lips curled, just slightly. “You have everything you'll ever need. That’s the deal, and I promise you'll have it.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching in a way that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with the way Kaiba was looking at you—like you were something worth rebuilding—like there was an escape from this fucking hole in your chest that was burning you alive and pulling you under.

“Now,” he said, straightening, his voice regaining its usual edge, though softer. “Let’s go make sure Jounouchi regrets every choice that led him to this moment.”

His hand found yours, lacing your fingers together as he pulled you up. “We'll start by getting you proper armament for war, little weapon.”

You wouldn't call it a smile on his lips, but it's as close as anything you've ever seen on his face before.

 

Chapter 4: Perspective

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in cold, sterile light, the city stretching out below like a chessboard waiting for its players. Your shoes barely made a sound against the polished floors as you stepped inside, Kaiba’s presence at your back like a shadow—or a shield.

Mokuba was already there, perched on the arm of one of the sleek couches, his phone in hand. The moment he saw you, his expression softened into something warm, almost relieved. His eyes flicked to his brother, then back to you, and he offered a small, knowing smile. He had probably heard it all.

“Glad you made it.” he said, pushing to his feet. “I already made sure the skybox is being prepped. Stylists will be here in twenty—hair, makeup, the works.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, unmarked phone, holding it out to you. “Here. Fresh line, fresh start. Isono ran it up the back stairs since you two were monopolizing the elevator.” he gave a soft, teasing quirk of his lips.

You took it numbly, the weight of it foreign in your palm.

Kaiba didn’t pause. He held out his hand, expectant. “Your old one.”

Your fingers twitched. That phone was a tether—to Katsuya, to the life you’d had, to the people who might still be scrambling to figure out why you’d fallen off the earth after dinner last night. You hesitated for only a second before pulling it from your pocket and placing it in Kaiba’s waiting palm. The ones who still had your best interest in mind and cared would understand you needed at least today. After midnight you can try to form some sort of plan.

His fingers closed around it like a vice. “Unlock it.”

You exhaled sharply but complied, tapping in the passcode with stiff fingers. The screen lit up—missed calls, unread messages, notifications stacked like a tower of guilt. Kaiba didn’t bother scrolling through any of them. He went straight to the messages, straight to ICE Katsuya.

His eyes skimmed the texts, his expression darkening with every second. Then, with a derisive scoff, he muttered, “Pathetic.”

You didn’t ask what he meant. You didn’t need to. You could imagine the messages—pleading, desperate, confused. Katsuya had never been good at hiding his emotions, even in text.

Kaiba’s thumb hovered over the screen, his jaw tight. “He’s still trying to spin this like it’s a misunderstanding.” A cold smirk curled at the edge of his lips. “Like if he just explains enough, you’ll come back.”

Your chest ached. That was the worst part—you knew. You knew exactly how Katsuya operated. Knew the way his voice would crack when he was panicking, the way he’d fumble over his words trying to make things right. Knew that, in his mind, this wasn’t really over. Not yet. It was salvageable.

Kaiba’s fingers tightened around the phone. “He doesn’t get to pretend this is fixable.”

Then, without hesitation, he dropped it onto the marble floor—and crushed it under his heel.

The sound of shattering glass and splintering plastic echoed through the penthouse. You flinched, but Kaiba didn’t so much as blink. He just stepped over the wreckage like it was nothing.

Mokuba whistled low under his breath but didn’t comment. Instead, he nudged the new phone in your hand. “All your contacts are already transferred. Only the ones we cleared, though.” His grin was sharp. “No surprises.”

You swallowed hard. That meant no Katsuya. No Mai. No blindside messages from mutual friends who might not know whose side they were on yet for you to say something to that might get back to him.

Kaiba turned to Mokuba. “The summer line?”

Mokuba nodded. “Already here. The stylists pulled everything—plus a few extras.” His grin turned sly as he glanced at you. “Figured you might want options.”

Kaiba’s gaze slid back to you, assessing. “You’ll need to look the part.” His voice was low, deliberate. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No half-measures.”

You knew what that meant. You wouldn’t just be there in the skybox—you’d be seen. Flawless, untouchable, his. Every camera would catch it. Every whisper would spread. And Katsuya would have no choice but to watch.

Your fingers curled around the new phone. “No half-measures.” you echoed, voice steadier than you expected.

Kaiba’s eyes gleamed.

Mokuba clapped his hands together. “Then let’s get you ready for war.”

The penthouse erupted into controlled chaos the moment they gave the go ahead.

A whirlwind of people swept in—tailors with garment bags slung over their arms, makeup artists with cases full of gleaming palettes, hairstylists wielding irons and sprays like weapons. The air filled with the hum of chatter, the rustle of fabric, the sharp scent of setting spray.

You stood frozen in the center of it all, still raw-eyed and hollow-cheeked from a night spent drowning in grief. But no one seemed to notice—or if they did, they didn’t care. They moved around you with efficiency, fingers brushing your shoulders, tilting your chin up, assessing.

“Skin’s a little dehydrated—we’ll fix that.”

“Eyes are swollen, but nothing a cold compress won’t handle.”

“Hair needs texture—let’s give it some life.”

Mokuba perched on the arm of a nearby chair, grinning as he watched the transformation begin. He tossed out suggestions like a seasoned critic—”Not that one, too predictable,” or ”That neckline would kill him, but let’s not make it obvious.”

The stylists listened. They pulled pieces from the racks, holding them up against you, debating in hushed tones. Fabrics whispered over your skin—silks, fine wool, something that felt like liquid metal. Colors were debated, discarded, resurrected.

“Too soft.”

“Too expected.”

“Perfect.”

Then, the final selection. You didn’t even see what it was at first—just the knowing smirk on Mokuba’s face as the lead stylist nodded in satisfaction.

“Oh, this will ruin him.”

Then came the real magic.

Cold globes were pressed beneath your eyes, erasing the evidence of tears. A serum-soaked mask clung to your skin, plumping away the exhaustion. Your hair was twisted, curled, pinned—then tousled just enough to look effortless.

Makeup was an art form. They didn’t hide the sharpness in your gaze—they enhanced it. Darkened the hollows beneath your lashes, made your lips look like they were made for cruel words. When they finally stepped back, you barely recognized yourself in the mirror.

Gone was the shattered, sleepless wreck from this morning.

In its place stood something lethal.

The outfit played every angle—hinting at what had been lost without screaming it. The cut of the fabric made your silhouette sharp, deliberate. The way it moved with you was a taunt—you could have had this. Now you don’t.

Mokuba let out a low whistle. “Damn. You look like you’re about to end a man’s whole career.”

You exhaled, slow and steady, watching your reflection do the same.

Flawless. Untouchable.

The energy in the room shifted the moment Kaiba stepped through the doorway.

Dressed in a three-piece suit of deepest black, he looked every inch the ruthless CEO—the sharp lines of the tailored jacket accentuating his broad shoulders, the vest and jacket fitted perfectly to his frame. The silver glint of the KaibaCorp logo adorned his collar, subtle but unmistakable. His gloves were pristine, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. He was power personified, and the entire room seemed to straighten unconsciously in his presence.

His gaze swept over you, lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then, with a quiet exhale, he murmured, ”You look... formidable.”

It wasn’t the kind of compliment laced with sweetness. It was an observation, blunt and honest—but there was something in his tone that made it feel like more. Like he wasn’t just acknowledging the transformation, but approving of it.

Mokuba grinned, twirling a stylus between his fingers. ”Fuguta’s been feeding me updates.” he said, tapping his tablet screen. ”Jounouchi already did his pregame interview. Sounds like it didn’t go horribly, but...” His smirk sharpened. ”The cracks are visible.”

Kaiba’s lips curled in satisfaction. ”Isono?”

“Already in position.” Mokuba confirmed. ”Just waiting for your go-ahead to start the tournament announcement.”

Kaiba pulled out his phone, dialing with a single flick of his thumb. ”Fuguta.” he said the moment the line connected. ”How’s the mutt faring?”

A pause. Then, a low chuckle.

“Still checking the reserved seat, huh?” Kaiba mused, his eyes locking onto yours. ”Pathetic.” He hung up without another word, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

Mokuba held up his tablet. ”Fuguta sent over the raw interview footage if you wanna see it.”

Kaiba considered for a moment before shaking his head. ”No need. We’ll see the fallout soon enough.” He checked his watch. ”We still have plenty of time before we make our entrance.”

His gaze flicked to you again, assessing, calculating. “Plenty of time for him to keep looking for you. Left with nothing but anxiety and hope.” A slow, dangerous smile curved at the edge of his lips. “But don't worry, we'll show him exactly where you've been.”

“Well, I'm going to watch it. I'm curious.” Mokuba says quickly. “Pregame misery won't be wasted.”

You can't lie. You're curious. It's not bad by any means, if Katsuya is cracking under the weight, that twisted part of you wants to see every second.

Kaiba arched a brow, his expression one of detached amusement. “I suppose observing just where the mutt's at psychologically couldn't hurt.” he drawled, as if the idea was only mildly interesting to him.

He moved to stand behind Mokuba, resting a gloved hand on his brother's chair as he brought up the footage. He glanced at you, his gaze sharp. “Do you want to see it?”

There was a challenge in his tone—an unspoken dare.

Then, with a smirk, Kaiba added, “I'll even bet you can see the leash in this interview.”

Mokuba grinned, fingers tapping against the edge of the tablet. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” he murmured, before adding, almost too casually, “I may have suggested some... interesting questions be asked.” His smile turned wicked. “Nothing obvious, of course. Just little things that'll eat at him. Just a little pregame warm up for the crash out, you know? “ Mokuba's voice was almost whimsical.

Kaiba's lips twitched. “Play it.”

The footage began—standard pre-duel press, the usual fluff about strategy and deck composition. Katsuya stood in front of the cameras, trying for his usual confident grin, but his eyes kept darting to the empty seat in the front row—your seat.

Then came the shift.

The reporter, all polite and professional adjusted her notes before asking, “You're known for your adaptability in duels, especially running a gamble deck. How do you handle when things don't go according to plan?”

A reasonable question about dueling strategy. But Katsuya's jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Uh, you just... you have to deal with it.” he muttered, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “Do what you can to get back to where you were.”

The next question was more pointed. “Your fans admire your loyalty. What's the most important lesson you've learned about trust in this game?”

Katsuya's fingers twitched. He looked like he'd been struck. “Trust is... it's everything.” he said hoarsely. “When you break it...” He trailed off, cleared his throat, then forced a smile. “Anyway, next question?”

The next question was the dagger.

“Looking back at your career so far, is there anything you'd do differently if you had the chance?”

Katsuya froze. The camera caught the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard. For two full seconds of dead air, he just stared at the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw. “Yeah. One thing.”

The feed continued rolling as the interviewer, sensing blood in the water but maintaining professional decorum, pressed forward.

“The fans are curious, what's the most valuable card in your deck emotionally?”

Katsuya visibly steeled himself, his shoulders squaring as he forced his usual bravado back into place. But the cracks were still there—the too-tight grip on his deck box, the way his thumb rubbed absently over the worn edges.

“Gambler of Legend.” he answered without hesitation, voice firm.

The certainty in his answer was striking. Like it was the one thing in this entire interview he didn’t have to think about.

The interviewer tilted her head. ”What makes it so special?”

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in Katsuya’s expression—something raw and unguarded—before he schooled his features back into place. He opened his mouth to answer, but then his gaze flicked to something off-camera.

“Ah—looks like the stagehands are trying to get my attention.” he said, gesturing vaguely behind the reporter. ”Probably need to get mic’d up.” He gave a quick, practiced nod. ”Thanks for the interview.”

And just like that, he was walking away, the feed cutting abruptly as he escaped the line of questioning.

Silence hung in the penthouse.

You just stared at the tablet, your fingers curling unconsciously into the back of the chair.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat too long before Kaiba spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet with surgical precision.

“What's the significance of that card?”

It wasn't a request. It was a demand—one bound by the terms of your arrangement.

Honesty, no matter how much it burns.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against the chair's leather back.

“I gave it to him.” you admitted, voice softer than you intended. ”For our first anniversary.”

You paused, then, the gates opened. If Kaiba wanted the answer, you might as well give it in full.

“I saved for months to afford it. The collector who had it—they weren't even selling at first. But when I told them it was for Katsuya... that it was an anniversary gift...” Your throat tightened. ”They changed their mind.” You said quietly. “Said they wanted it to go to someone who understood it. That they'd be excited to see it used by someone who appreciated the gamble decks like Katsuya did. He's the poster boy for them after all.” You give a small, empty shrug.

A humorless smile tugged at your lips. ”It fit his style. But the artwork...” You trailed off, the memory vivid. ”The cowboy on the front—blonde, grinning like he's already won. It looked just like him.”

Your voice wavered, just slightly. ”It was perfect.” You whispered.

The words hung in the air, raw and almost feeling too real.

Kaiba studied you, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing—just watched as you wrestled with the ghost of what used to be.

Then, quietly, “He doesn't deserve it.”

It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mocking. It was just true.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Mokuba shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two of you before clearing his throat. ”Uh, Isono's ready when we are. We should probably give him the go ahead soon to start the speech and announce the start of the tournament so the match can start precisely at noon. I can head over now and get in position in the front row.”

“Text me the exact moment Jounouchi realizes he's going to the live stage without Mc in their seat, and the exact moment he sees the two of us aren't front row where he expected to see them next.”

Mokuba hesitated, then nodded as he set the tablet down, slipping out of the room with one last glance in your direction.

The moment the door clicked shut, Kaiba stepped closer, his voice low.

“You're allowed to miss it.” he said, blunt as ever. ”But don't forget what he did with that loyalty you gave him.”

You can't help the snort that leaves you. “You mean how he shoved it right into Kujaku's vagina?” You ask bitterly.

Kaiba's eyes flashed dangerously at your crude remark, but he didn't rebuke you. Instead, a slow, predatory smirk curved his lips. “Precisely,” he purred, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And today, we're going to make sure that decision haunts him for the rest of his miserable life.”

His gloved hand came up, fingertips brushing just beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his piercing gaze. “When those cameras cut to us in the skybox, I want you to remember that moment in the bar last night. Remember what you saw when you walked in on them. The smell of Kujaku's perfume. Then look at me like I'm the only person in this world who matters.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the intensity in his voice. You could already picture it—Katsuya mid-duel, glancing up at the arena screens only to see you nestled against Kaiba's side, your expression one of adoration rather than devastation.

“You don't have to duel to destroy someone.” Kaiba continued, his thumb tracing your jawline. “Sometimes the most lethal weapons don't come from a deck. They come from knowing exactly where to strike.” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And darling, we're about to hit him where it hurts most.”

Pulling back, he checked his platinum watch with deliberate slowness. “We need to make some last minute touch ups.” From his inner pocket, he produced a small velvet box.

Kaiba flipped the box open with a flick of his thumb, revealing a delicate silver necklace. The pendant—a polished, understated KC emblem—glimmered under the penthouse lights. It was sleek, refined, and unmistakably his mark.

“You’ll wear this.” he stated, plucking it from the box. His tone left no room for argument.

Your throat went dry as he stepped behind you, the cool chain brushing against your collarbones. His movements were methodical, precise—the soft clink of metal and the faintest graze of his gloved fingers against your skin sending an unexpected shiver down your spine.

“Hold still.” His voice was low, measured, right by your ear.

You obeyed, your pulse thrumming as he secured the clasp. The weight of the pendant settled against your skin, deceptively light, but heavy with intent.

Kaiba didn’t step back. Instead, he moved in front of you, his keen eyes scanning his handiwork. His fingers traced along the delicate chain, adjusting it slightly until the logo sat just where he wanted—right above your sternum.

“Perfect.”

The single word sent a strange satisfaction curling in your stomach.

But then, Kaiba’s smirk deepened, something almost wicked flickering in his gaze. “Could use something, though.” he mused.

Before you could ask what he meant, his fingers—cool from the thin barrier of his gloves—drifted lower, just beneath the pendant, pressing lightly against your skin. Then, with deliberate slowness, he slid the necklace slightly to the side.

Your breath hitched, his intent registered a moment too late.

You stiffened as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your pulse point. Then—warmth. His lips, unexpectedly soft yet firm, pressed against your throat. A slow, open mouthed kiss, not just a fleeting brush but something meant to linger. His tongue flicked out briefly, a tease of sensation before his teeth latched onto the sensitive skin.

A gasp escaped before you could swallow it down. Your fingers curled, gripping the chair behind you for support as his gloved hand splayed against your collarbone, anchoring you in place. A traitorous shiver ran down your spine as the pull of his mouth sent heat straight to your core.

You shouldn't be reacting like this.

You shouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

But you were.

Kaiba hummed against your skin, the low vibration sending another rush of sensation through you. His grip tightened, and then—one last sharp suck—he pulled away.

Your breath came uneven. You barely processed him shifting the necklace back into place, his fingers skimming over the fresh mark. The ache he left behind throbbed in time with your pulse.

When you finally gathered yourself enough to meet his gaze, your face burned. You had made a sound. Worse—you had reacted.

Kaiba, smug and entirely too pleased with himself, smoothed part of your outfit like he hadn’t just left his mark on you. “No shame in enjoying the pleasures of the flesh, Mc.” he smirked. “You’re single now. And technically…” His fingers traced lightly over the necklace, a ghost of a touch along your throat. “You belong to me until midnight, anyway.”

Kaiba’s sharp eyes roamed over your throat, his head tilting in quiet consideration. His gaze was calculated, dissecting.

You shifted uneasily. The heat of his scrutiny sent a warning signal through your body—one that urged you to step back. You did.

And hit the back of the chair.

Kaiba took a single step forward, closing the distance you’d tried to create. His attention never wavered, still fixed on your neck, studying the way your skin was already beginning to flush.

“Jounouchi had three last night.” he remarked, voice smooth as silk, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. “That I could see, anyway.”

Your stomach dropped.

“The makeup team may have hidden them, but I know exactly where they are.”

You barely had time to process the implication before Kaiba’s gloved hand lifted. With unerring precision, his fingers touched your skin—three deliberate points.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, pulse jumping beneath his touch.

Kaiba leaned in, his breath warm as it ghosted over your ear. “Jounouchi hides his in shame.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But you—” His fingers curled slightly against your throat. “You get to be the silent mouthpiece of the statement.”

And then his lips were on you again.

The first kiss was firm, but the pull of his mouth against your skin was insistent. The pressure built, heat coiling beneath your skin as he sucked against the sensitive spot, ensuring the mark wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

A sharp breath left you before you could stop it. Your hands shot forward, gripping the front of his suit jacket, clinging for stability as your knees threatened to go weak.

He pulled back just enough to admire his work—another darkening mark blooming on your skin, the stark contrast against your flesh undeniable. His fingers trailed down, brushing to the next spot.

“Jounouchi should get the message loud and clear.” Kaiba mused. His tone was deceptively casual, but there was something possessive lurking beneath it. His fingers pressed against the next target. “That you match.”

And then he was on you again, lips sealing over the second spot with more intensity.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the noise building in your throat. But when his teeth grazed just slightly before sucking hard, a whimper escaped before you could stop it.

Kaiba heard it.

And it only spurred him on.

His free hand came up, gripping your hip, pulling you just slightly closer as he worked the mark deep into your skin. He didn’t pull away quickly this time. He took his time. Letting his mouth linger, savoring the way you trembled against him.

When he finally pulled back, he exhaled softly, pleased.

“The best part,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the second mark before drifting lower, finding the third and final spot, “is that Jounouchi will know exactly who marked your skin.”

Then, he didn’t hold back.

His mouth was on you in an instant, rougher this time. His teeth scraped along your pulse before his lips latched onto the soft flesh. He sucked hard, the force sending a lightning bolt of sensation straight through you.

A gasp tore from your throat, louder than before. Your hands tightened in his jacket, but it wasn’t just for balance anymore.

You were starting to feel it.

A warmth you hadn’t expected, a pulse of something familiar and intoxicating. Your breath came in uneven pants, your body betraying the confusion your brain felt. It almost felt wrong reacting like this.

But your body didn’t care.

Kaiba felt it. He knew.

And it made him relentless.

His lips dragged over the final mark, sucking with a force that sent your head spinning, reinforcing his mark. Your gasps turned into something else—something dangerously close to a moan.

Kaiba smirked against your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was steady—completely composed—but his eyes were sharp, triumphant.

Kaiba straightened, his gloved fingers trailing one last possessive stroke along the column of your throat before withdrawing. His smirk was razor sharp as he took in your flushed face, the way your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“Don't look so ashamed.” he said, his voice a low purr. “There's no crime in enjoying yourself.”

His thumb brushed over the darkest of the marks, the one just above your pulse point, and you couldn't suppress the slight shiver that ran through you. His eyes darkened at the reaction.

“Though I suppose,” he continued, tone dripping with disdain, “if Jounouchi touched you the way he duels, it's no wonder you're so... responsive.”

The implication hung in the air—blunt, crude, and designed to make your face burn hotter.

“All reckless charge and no finesse.” Kaiba mused, his gaze raking over you with deliberate slowness. “No strategy. No patience. Just brute force and hope.” His lips curled. “How underwhelming for you.”

Your breath hitched.

Kaiba leaned in, close enough that his next words ghosted against your ear. “Tell me, did he even try to make it good for you? Or was he as selfish in bed as he was out of it?”

The question was a blade, twisting just enough to make you ache—not with grief, but with something far more dangerous in your current predicament.

Kaiba's gloved fingers tightened slightly beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “You do need to answer.” he reminded you, his voice dangerously soft.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I... I always liked it.” you admitted, the words coming out quieter than you intended. “It was Katsuya, and I—” Your voice cracked slightly. “I loved him. That made it... nice. Special.”

The confession burned as it left your lips, raw and vulnerable. You couldn't meet Kaiba's eyes, your gaze dropping to his chest instead.

Kaiba watched you for a long moment. Then, coldly clinical, he asked, “Did he ever take his time with you? Or was it always rushed?”

Your face heated further, but you answered truthfully. “He... sometimes. A lot at the start. A lot of it was just... mood.” You shrug for a lack of words.

Kaiba's grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly, his piercing gaze never wavering. “When was the last time Jounouchi worshiped you?” he demanded quietly. “Not just a quick, rough fuck. Not just groping you in the dark like some desperate teenager. When did he last take his time with you? When did he last make you feel revered?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and damning. Your mind raced, flipping through memories—the 'enthusiastic' encounters after tournaments, the tired quickies before bed... the way Katsuya’s hands had grown increasingly absentminded in recent months.

The silence stretched too long, your hesitation answering for you.

Kaiba's lips curled into a cruel smirk. “That long?” he purred, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “No wonder you're trembling over a few love bites. He left you starving, Mc.”

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Kaiba noticed, of course—he fucking notices everything. His eyes darkened with predatory satisfaction as he continued his interrogation.

“Did he ever touch you just to hear you moan? Without expecting anything in return?” His gloved hand trailed down your neck, over the marks he'd left, coming to rest at the base of your throat. “Or was every caress just a means to an end?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. “He... it wasn't like that...” you whispered defensively. The realization slams into you with all the grace of a semi into deer on a highway, but you don't let it show, at least you try not to.

Kaiba's smirk vanished, replaced by something dangerously cold. His grip on your chin shifted, gloved fingers tilting your face so your eyes met. “It wasn't like that?” he repeated, voice dripping with contempt. “Then enlighten me. What was it like?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. The words wouldn’t come—because the truth was, you couldn’t remember the last time Katsuya had touched you like that without an end goal in mind. The realization settled heavy in your chest, like a dull ache, inescapable and unable to be ignored.

Kaiba didn’t wait for an answer. He already knew. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something almost like anger passing through them.

“Well,” he asked, voice low and lethal, “when was the last time he made you cum more than once in a single night?”

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Kaiba exhaled sharply through his nose. “Christ.” he muttered, the word more of a growl than anything else. His fingers flexed against your skin, not quite painful, but firm. “You deserved better.”

The words weren’t gentle. They weren’t meant to comfort. He said them as if they were a fact, delivered with the same cutting precision as every other observation Kaiba had ever made.

Maybe that's what made them hurt more.

Kaiba studied you for a long moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Tonight,” he whispered, voice dark with promise, “I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

A shiver tore down your spine.

Kaiba pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk sharp enough to draw blood. “And the best part?” His thumb traced the edge of your bottom lip, possessive. “Jounouchi will know. I'll make sure of it.”

Jesus Christ—Kaiba just said he's going to fuck you.

And make sure Katsuya knew.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the weight of Kaiba’s words.

I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.

The statement coiled around your ribs, a slow, tightening vice. Your body was betraying you—your skin burned beneath his touch, your breath unsteady. You wanted to recoil, to push back against the sheer arrogance dripping from every syllable.

But you didn’t.

Because some part of you was listening. Maybe the part that missed the familiar touch of Katsuya, the part that wished he would have given you something you could have actually used to defend against Kaiba. Or maybe it was the part of you that hurt, that ached, wanted to forget Katsuya altogether.

Kaiba smirked, reading the conflict in your expression. His gloved fingers traced along your jaw, slow and deliberate, as if testing your resolve. “You're already thinking about it, aren't you?” he muttered. “Wondering what it would be like to have someone who knows what they're doing for once.”

You swallowed thickly.

Kaiba leaned in again, his lips grazing the curve of your ear, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Someone who doesn’t fumble. Doesn’t rush. Someone who takes his time—” His fingers trailed down, pressing lightly at the base of your throat, feeling your pulse jump. “—until you can’t think of anything except me.”

Your fingers curled into the lapels of his suit. It was instinctual—grasping for something to hold onto as he unraveled you thread by thread.

His smirk deepened, satisfaction gleaming in his ice-blue eyes. “Jounouchi won’t just see the marks.” he continued. “He’ll hear you in his head when he looks at them.” His grip tightened, just slightly. “Feel you shudder under hands and lips that aren’t his.”

A sharp breath left you, and Kaiba’s expression darkened with approval.

“Go ahead.” he said smoothly. “Tell me you don’t want to try it.”

You should tell him that. It's Kaiba. You should shove him away, tell him he was wrong. That this was just a game to him, another way to sink his claws into Katsuya’s pride and twist the knife deeper.

But your lips wouldn’t form the words.

Because deep down, you weren’t just embarrassed, you were curious. There's a whole world outside of Katsuya... one that you're now severely aware of. Not only because of last night, but because of how Kaiba can make your body respond.

And it doesn't even seem like he's trying.

Maybe that's worse than Kaiba and his grudge against Katsuya—but does it even matter now? You made the deal.

Salvation at midnight.

Kaiba chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s what I thought.”

His fingers flexed against your throat once more before finally releasing you. He took a step back, putting just enough space between your bodies for you to suck in a desperate breath.

But he wasn’t done with you.

Not even close.

Kaiba reached for his tie, loosening it with ease before pulling it free. The silk slid between his gloved fingers as he folded it, measuring, considering. Then, with a smirk, he lifted it between you, letting the fabric dangle between his fingers.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you, darling?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

Your gaze flickered between his eyes and the silk tie dangling from his fingers. The weight of his words pressed down on you, heavy with implication.

Darling.

The way he said it—smooth, condescending, laced with wicked amusement—made your stomach twist. But what unsettled you more was how your body responded to it. The heat of curiosity creeping up your spine, the way your pulse fluttered beneath your skin.

Kaiba took a step forward. Not close enough to touch, but enough that his presence filled every inch of space you had left to retreat. “You're hesitating.” he observed, tilting his head slightly. “Why?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “Because this is insane.” you whispered with a lost look on your features.

Kaiba hummed, the sound rich with amusement. “Maybe.” He twirled the tie around his fingers idly, watching you like a predator indulging in the final moments before sinking its teeth in. “But that doesn't mean you don't want it.”

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. “This isn’t about me.” you shot back, voice steadier than you expected. “This is about him. You just want to humiliate Katsuya.”

Kaiba smirked. “And?” His voice was maddeningly unbothered. “You think that makes a difference?”

It should.

It should make a difference.

But you were still standing here, weren’t you?

You could have walked away the moment he touched you. Could have shoved him back, stormed out, told him to go to hell and meant it.

But you didn’t.

And Kaiba knew it.

“Let me make this simple for you.” he said, his tone taking on that sharp, business like edge he probably used when closing a deal. “You can either walk away right now, go back to licking your wounds, and pretend this never happened.”

He let that option linger in the air, just long enough for you to process it.

“Or,” he continued, stepping closer, bringing the tie up to brush along the curve of your jaw, “you can let me erase him from your skin.”

The words sank in, hitting deeper than they should have.

Erase him.

Katsuya—his hands, his mouth, his voice, all the ways he had touched you... and apparently all the ways he had left you aching.

And now, Kaiba was offering something else. Something deliberate. Something designed to replace everything Katsuya had given you.

Something that belonged to him.

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale.

Kaiba saw the shift immediately. The exact moment hesitation turned into something more dangerous.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his lips. “Good choice.” he murmured.

Then, in a blur of motion, he looped the silk around your wrists, tugging them forward. The movement was practiced, precise—not just some half-hearted attempt at restraint, but something intentional.

Your heartbeat stuttered. “Kaiba—”

“Shh.” His voice was a purr, low and indulgent. “You wanted to forget, didn’t you?” His fingers tightened around your bound wrists. “So let me help you.”

Before you could say anything, he pulled you flush against him.

And then his mouth was on yours.

Kaiba kissed you like he had something to prove. Like he was branding his claim into you, like every movement of his lips against yours was deliberate, calculated, designed to make sure you felt it.

Your bound hands pressed against his chest, fingers curling into the fine fabric of his suit, desperate for balance as his mouth moved against yours. He didn't start soft—there was no teasing, no slow build up. He took. His teeth scraped your lower lip before he deepened the kiss, his gloved fingers tightening around the silk tie that held your wrists.

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

That sound—it did something to him. You could feel it in the way his grip on your wrists flexed, in the way his other hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

He was warm. You still weren’t expecting that, even though you had felt it in the elevator. You’d assumed Kaiba would be cold—detached, clinical, more interested in the victory of this than the act itself. But no—his body burned against yours, his breath came rougher than before, and the way he kissed you—fucking hell.

He broke away only long enough to let you gasp in a breath before he tilted your head back and took again.

Your mind was spinning.

This is Kaiba.

Kaiba fucking Seto, who should have had no business touching you, no reason to kiss you like this, no reason to make your knees weak with just the press of his mouth.

And yet—

He is—and you were losing yourself in it. In him.

His hand slid from your back, trailing lower—possessive, purposeful, learning the shape of you as if memorizing where to touch to make you react like he had in the elevator. He mapped over your hips before gripping your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Kaiba—”

He smirked against your lips. “Seto.” he corrected, voice a low murmur. “If you're going to say my name while I ruin you, you’ll use the right one.”

Your body betrayed you. Again. Heat shot through you like a live wire.

A shiver. A sharp inhale. The way your fingers tightened in his suit, the way your bound wrists jerked slightly under his grip but didn’t pull away.

Kaiba hummed, smug. Satisfied.

“You like this.” he noted, tone dripping with arrogant amusement. “The restraint. The control. You like being handled properly.”

You wanted to deny it. God, did you want to deny it.

Wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up.

But the moment his grip on your wrists tightened—

A sound left your throat that you didn’t recognize.

Kaiba exhaled sharply through his nose, a quiet, pleased chuckle vibrating against your lips. “I knew it.” he smirked. “You're already so obedient for me. I doubt Jounouchi even ever figured this out.”

Shame and desire twisted together in your stomach, warring, fighting, clawing at your ribs.

Kaiba wasn't wrong. You didn't even know you liked it.

“Tell me something, darling.” Kaiba purred, his grip shifting, forcing your wrists above your head, pinning them against the wall.

When the hell had he walked you backward against a wall?

His body followed, pressing you back, keeping you trapped between the smooth surface and the solid, overwhelming presence of him.

His breath was warm against your ear. “When was the last time Jounouchi made you beg?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Kaiba waited.

You said nothing.

His smirk widened.

“That's what I thought.”

His hand left your thigh, his gloved fingers trailing dangerously close to where your body ached the most. Not touching. Just hovering. Threatening.

“Let's fix that, shall we? Theres just enough time to give you orgasm number one.” His smirk full of arrogant pride.

Kaiba's gloved fingers pressed against you through the fabric of your clothes, heat building beneath his touch. His smirk deepened as he felt the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched when he applied just the right amount of pressure.

“You're already so responsive.” he laughed, his voice low and rough with amusement. “How long has it been since he actually tried?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer—but your body betrayed you, hips arching slightly into his touch.

Kaiba chuckled darkly as his fingers moved with deliberate precision, working you through the fabric, the friction maddening—just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. His hand remained wrapped around your bound wrists, keeping them pinned above your head as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“Tell me, darling,” he purred, “do you want to cum?”

Your nails dug into your palms, your entire body trembling with the effort of keeping still.

Kaiba's lips curled. “Use your words.”

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” His fingers pressed harder, circling just right, making your knees buckle. “And don't forget to beg.”

“Yes, Seto. Please.” you gasped, the name slipping out before you could think.

The sound of his given name on your lips seemed to ignite something in him. His grip on your wrists tightened, his other hand finding a way into your outfit and then working you mercilessly, his breath coming faster as he watched you unravel.

“Fuck, darling.” he growled. “Now cum for me.”

And just like that—you did.

Your back arched off the wall, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashed over you in waves. Your legs trembled, your bound hands gripped tightly and Kaiba's body against you were the only things keeping you upright.

Kaiba didn't stop. He kept his fingers moving, drawing out every last shudder, every last gasp, until you were limp, mewling against the wall, panting, your vision blurred at the edges.

Only then did he finally pull his hand away, inspecting his glove with a slow, satisfied smirk. The leather was damp, glistening slightly in the light.

His gaze flicked back to you, dark with hunger.

“That,” he murmured, “was just the beginning.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “We have twelve hours and twenty five minutes left, darling. And I promise—you won't remember his name by the end of it.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Kaiba pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk sharp enough to cut. His tongue dragged slowly over the damp leather of his glove, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours with predatory satisfaction. The sight sent another wave of heat through you—equal parts humiliation and arousal.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice thick with dark amusement. “Just like I knew you'd be.”

Kaiba’s smirk was nothing short of wicked. He still had you pinned, wrists bound, body molded against yours, his breath warm against your ear. The scent of him—sharp cologne, something faintly sweet below—lingered in the space between you, intoxicating.

“Now comes the fun part.” he said, voice like silk. “Because when I see Jounouchi later, I’ll look him in the eye and tell him exactly what I know.”

Your breath caught, a flicker of something sharp cutting through the post-orgasm haze.

Kaiba leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “I’ll tell him I know how you taste.” he whispered, drawing out the words like they were something decadent, something meant to be savored.

Your stomach flipped.

“You think he’ll throw a punch?” Kaiba mused, as if talking to himself. “He’ll want to. I hope he does. Because the best part?” He chuckled, low and dark. “He’ll know I’m not lying.”

Your head spun, shame and lingering arousal tangling into something dangerously addictive. You should have shoved him away. Told him to fuck off. But Kaiba was peeling you open, layer by layer, exposing all the places you hadn’t even realized were vulnerable.

He exhaled slowly, the warm brush of it against your neck making your pulse spike again. “He’ll wonder how I did it. How I got you to agree.” His gloved fingers dragged lazily down your arm, stopping just above your elbow. “And the real kicker?”

Kaiba pulled back just enough to meet your gaze once more. His eyes were sharp, electric with cruel amusement.

“It took me less than a minute to find something he hasn’t in years.”

Your breath left you in a shaky exhale.

Kaiba watched you like a gambler savoring a winning hand, waiting, watching, taking in every micro reaction, every unspoken admission.

Then, unexpectedly, his smirk faded—just slightly—into something darker, something almost... angry? Confused?

His grip on your wrists tightened, not in cruelty, but with a sudden intensity that made your breath catch.

“You didn’t even realize, did you?” he asked, voice low and rough with something that wasn’t just disdain—it almost seems like remorse again. “Just how thoroughly he was failing you.”

The words weren’t mocking. They weren’t even cruel.

Kaiba’s hands moved to cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone with an unexpected gentleness—but his eyes burned with something far from soft.

“Over three years,” he said, voice low and rough, “and he apparently didn't put a modicum of true effort in.”

His jaw tightened, something dark flickering in his gaze. “He had you—all of you—and he didn’t even try.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering beneath his touch while it seemed like sandpaper was rubbing the inside of your ribs.

His fingers tightened slightly against your skin, not in cruelty or frustration—like disbelief. “And you—” He exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering over your face. “You just didn't know any better.”

Kaiba’s expression darkened. “Because he was your first. Your first kiss. Your first love. Your first everything.” His voice dropped, edged with something dangerously close to regret. “And he fucking wasted you.”

Kaiba’s breath came out sharp through his nose, his grip on you tightening for just a fraction of a second before he exhaled—long and controlled, like he was forcing fury back under his skin.

But it was still there, simmering in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly as he reached for the silk binding your wrists.

“Jounouchi had other lovers before you. Relationships.” he said, voice dangerously quiet as he worked the knot loose. “He knew what he was doing. He wasn't some inexperienced idiot in all of this.” His fingers brushed against your skin as the fabric fell away, his touch lingering just a moment too long. “He should have known better—been better.”

The words hung between you, heavy with implication.

Kaiba’s hands dropped to his sides, but he didn’t step back. His gaze burned into yours, unflinching.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words rough but deliberate. “That you never knew there was more. And I'm sorry that you've come to value scraps as love.” His voice dropped lower, edged with something that wasn’t quite pity, but something that seemed far more dangerous. “Because if you had truly experienced love past those pathetic scraps you would have been rid of Jounouchi years ago.”

Kaiba's hands came up to frame your face, his touch unexpectedly gentle despite the tension radiating through him. His thumbs brushed along your cheekbones, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Do you know what infuriates me most?” he bit out, his voice raw with barely contained anger. “That he had you—completely, devotedly—something so very rare in this world, real loyalty—and he traded it for something so fucking frivolous.”

Even someone like Kaiba could see you gave Katsuya everything. Every piece of yourself—and so much more. Willing to fight, beg, borrow and steal, to bleed—die for Katsuya...

And all you have to show in return is a hollowed-out chest where a heart should be.

Left gutted and filled with a carousel of pain and misery in its wake.

Kaiba’s grip softened, but only just. “I’d burn down the entire fucking world to protect someone who gave me what you gave him,” he muttered, the words laced with an almost painful sincerity. “Because loyalty like that is priceless. And Jounouchi?” A bitter huff of a laugh passed his lips, “The lucky prick stumbled right into it, right into you. And he didn't have enough goddamn common sense to hold onto it.”

You swallowed, throat dry, heart pounding with a mix of shame and something that felt almost like desperation again. The words Kaiba had just spoken—the anger, the frustration, the almost protective fury—had landed somewhere deep, stirring things inside you that you had tried so hard to bury again. The hollow feeling in your chest, the gnawing ache, present and ready to boil over again. “I already understand why devotion like that is rare.” Your voice trembles. “You're looking at the price of it, Kaiba.” You scoff as you look away from him.

Kaiba’s expression shifted as your words cut through the heavy air, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. He looked at you like a card he was trying to decipher the rules of, something about you sparking the faintest flicker of realization in his eyes. His grip on your face loosened, but only just enough to give you room to breathe, as though he had just become aware of the rawness of the emotions you had been trying to bury beneath the surface.

“You're not just the price of devotion,” Kaiba said, his voice low and almost contemplative now, stripped of the biting sharpness it had once held. “You’re the cost of trusting the wrong person.”

You swallowed hard at his words, the weight of them sinking in deeper than you'd anticipated. They rang true in a way that made your chest tighten with regret. Regret for ever having believed in the possibility of something pure, something real with someone.

Of believing in Katsuya.

“I understand,” you whispered, the bitterness creeping into your tone despite the tears threatening to burn your eyes. “I understand why people don’t bother with devotion past the first time. Because the first time you're too stupid know better.” A bitter laugh leaves your throat. “After that... it’s just this.” Your voice breaking on the last word as the ache in your chest flares painfully, raw and unrelenting.

Kaiba's hands slid from your face to grip your shoulders, his fingers pressing in just enough to ground you. His gaze burned into yours, intense and unyielding.

“You're looking at it wrong.” he said, voice rough. “It's not why you'd put yourself through this again.” His grip tightened. “It's who would be worth it.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “There isn't anyone worth this.” Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I'd throw myself down every stairwell in your goddamn hotel if it meant never feeling like this again.” You hissed.

Kaiba's expression darkened. In one swift motion, he backed you against the wall once more, his forearm braced beside your head, caging you in.

“Then you haven't been paying attention.” he growled. His free hand came up, gloved fingers brushing the marks he'd left on your throat. “Jounouchi failed you. That doesn't mean everyone will.”

You trembled beneath his touch, torn between pulling away and leaning into it.

Kaiba leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You think this pain is the cost of devotion?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It's not. It's the cost of his weakness. His failures.”

He pulled back just enough to look meet your eyes directly, his eyes blazing with conviction.

“I could show you what real devotion looks like.” he said. “No stairwells required.”

All you can manage is raw confusion.

Kaiba smirked slowly. “Twelve hours left.” he reminded you. “Plenty of time to decide if you want to find out.”

Then he pushed off the wall, offering his hand.

“Are you coming?”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just come out of his mouth.

I could show you what real devotion looks like. No stairwells required.

Your mind reeled, scrambling to grasp the weight of his words, the sheer audacity of them. The idea that Kaiba Seto, of all people, was offering you anything remotely close to comfort—let alone devotion—was absurd.

Yet, there he was. His expression was the classic unreadable mask, his hand outstretched, waiting.

He had to be fucking with you. Had to be reveling in your misery, savoring the way he'd dismantled you with nothing but sharp words and sharper truths.

But Kaiba didn’t play with people like that. Not like this.

He cut, he destroyed, he obliterated his enemies—but he didn’t lie.

Never once has Kaiba lied to you, even on opposite ends of the battlefield.

And there was something in the way he looked at you now, something that burned hotter than his usual arrogance, something that felt almost—earnest?

You forced yourself to speak, your voice hoarse. “What the hell are you saying, Kaiba?” you ask slowly.

Kaiba didn’t flinch at your question, didn’t roll his eyes or scoff like he usually would. Instead, his gaze held steady, sharp and unwavering. His outstretched hand remained, fingers relaxed, patient in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’m saying,” he began, voice low and deliberate, “that you don’t know what it means to be chosen.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your stomach churned. “That’s—”

“That’s exactly what happened.” Kaiba cut you off, his voice edged with something sharp. Not quite anger, not quite pity, but something bordering dangerously close to understanding. “Jounouchi took what you gave him. He took you. And he didn’t even value it.”

Your hands curled into fists. “You act like I don’t already know that!” you hiss.

Kaiba’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if you were the one frustrating him. “Knowing isn’t the same as understanding.”

You scowled. “And what exactly am I supposed to understand, Kaiba? That I was an idiot? That I wasted years of my fucking life on someone who didn't give a shit about me when it counted?”

His eyes darkened. “No.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“You’re supposed to understand,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less intense, “that it wasn’t your fault.”

Silence. A beat of stillness so heavy it felt suffocating.

“It’s infuriating,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “That he gets to let you believe this was your failure.” His jaw clenched. “That you’re standing here, convincing yourself that you deserved it.”

You swallowed hard. “I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice was sharp, clipped. “You think I don’t recognize the way you’re unraveling? That you’re clinging to your pain—because at least that makes sense in everything, and it stands true against it all.”

Your stomach twisted.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to reel himself back in. His voice, when he spoke again, was calmer—but no less firm.

“Stop looking at this like it’s the price of your devotion.” he said. “It’s not. It’s the price of his negligence. His incompetence. His complete and utter failure to deserve you.”

Your throat tightened, your pulse pounding in your ears.

You didn’t want to hear this.

You didn’t.

Because if you accepted it—if you let yourself believe that this wasn’t your fault—then you’d have to accept something worse.

That you had loved Katsuya.

Fully.

Completely.

Honestly.

And he had still chosen someone else.

Your breathing grew unsteady, but Kaiba didn’t let up.

“You want to throw yourself down every stairwell in my hotel?” His tone was sharp again, cutting through the chaos in your mind. “Go ahead. But it won’t change the fact that you gave him something priceless. And he threw it away like it was nothing.”

Your vision blurred. You clenched your jaw, trying to shove the burning behind your eyes down, trying to keep yourself from breaking apart entirely.

Kaiba’s voice softened, just enough to make the words hit even harder. “He didn't deserve you.” he said, low and final.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breathing shaky.

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, you exhaled—long and slow, forcing some of the pressure out of your chest.

And when you opened your eyes, Kaiba was still there.

Still waiting.

Still offering.

You stared at his outstretched hand, your own fingers trembling at your sides.

“Why?” you whispered.

Kaiba frowned slightly. “Why what?”

You swallowed hard. “Why do you care?”

Something flickered in his expression.

His fingers flexed, just barely, before stilling again.

“Who says I do?” he said.

But the way his hand stayed there, unwavering, told a different story.

“You're wrong. I do care.”

You let out a shaky breath, staring at him like he was something impossible—something you couldn’t quite wrap your head around. It’s like looking insanity in the eyes.

“Twelve hours and—” he glanced at his watch, “—three minutes left.” His gaze lifted back to yours, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you coming or not?”

Your heart pounded, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

None of this made any fucking sense. Life hasn't made much sense since last night, when it all exploded in your face.

But Kaiba had been there. He pulled you out of the bar, and he's already started to help you pull yourself out of the pit Katsuya cast you into.

What was one more time?

It's not like you had much left to lose.

And after all, this was the start of a crash out, right?

 

Notes:

Gambler of Legend is a real card; and yes, it is a gamble card—with a blonde smirking cowboy who I challenge you to look at and NOT see an ode to our boi Jounouchi Katsuya.

Chapter 5: Loss or Consequence

Notes:

To everyone who has liked and commented so far, thank you. At the point I was writing this chapter, I included you in the crash out. I hope you like it when you see it. <3

The muffled roar of the crowd pulsed through the walls, the sounds of clashing monsters and the announcer’s excited commentary echoing faintly down the dimly lit corridor. The scent of industrial carpeting and freshly cleaned floors clung to the air, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding just beyond the stadium doors.

You walked beside Kaiba, your steps measured, deliberate. He led the way, there was no hesitation in him, no uncertainty. He had decided to make his move, and he was executing it.

At your chest, the twisted lanyards hung like a weight, the interwoven Red-Eyes Black Dragon and Harpie Lady Sisters making a statement louder than any words could. Kaiba's approving smirk when you first slipped them over your neck had said enough for how it looked.

The duel continued to rage somewhere in the distance, Siegfried’s voice carrying just enough to pick up the smug elegance beneath his words, followed by Katsuya’s rough-edged retorts. The announcer chimed in, hyping the crowd, but you barely registered it.

As the private elevator loomed ahead, Kaiba finally broke the silence.

“I told you I would keep him on the edge of madness while I choke him. I meant it.” he said, his voice low, measured. He didn’t look at you, eyes instead focused ahead. “Are you ready?”

You inhaled slowly, fingers brushing the twisted lanyards. “Yes.”

Katsuya couldn’t ignore this. Not the sight of you here, not the weight of Kaiba’s presence at your side, and especially not the silent message hanging from your neck.

The private elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, revealing a sleek interior, lined with dark glass and cool metal. Kaiba stepped in first, turning to watch you as you followed.

The doors closed behind you, cutting off the sounds of the duel almost completely. In the quiet space, Kaiba’s gaze flickered to you, sharp and knowing.

“Do you remember the rules?” he asked, voice smooth, but there was an edge of challenge beneath it.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, the dim lighting casting sharp shadows across Kaiba’s face. His gaze never left yours, waiting, expectant.

You swallowed, then recited the rules like a mantra, your voice steady despite the way your pulse thrummed beneath your skin. “Don’t look at Katsuya. Don’t speak to him. Don’t react to him.” You pause. “And don’t lie to you.”

Kaiba’s smirk was slow, satisfied. “Good.”

The elevator slowed to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal the opulent skybox—plush seating, a panoramic view of the duel arena below, and, most importantly, the view of massive screens broadcasting every angle of the match to the arena.

Kaiba's hand settled at the small of your back, guiding you forward with possessive precision. The expansive view of the arena stretched before you, Katsuya's duel playing out live and also on the massive screens below.

“Watch closely.” Kaiba said as he steered you toward the plush seating area. “Mokuba's in position.”

Your gaze instinctively flicked downward, scanning the front rows until you spotted Mokuba's familiar spiky hair. He sat exactly where they usually positioned themselves for tournaments—center stage, impossible to miss. Even from this height, you could see the wicked grin on his face as he deliberately turned in his seat, making eye contact with Katsuya mid-duel.

Kaiba's chuckle was dark with satisfaction. “He's going to signal him right... about... now.”

On cue, Mokuba raised his hand in an exaggerated wave—not at Katsuya, but pointedly up toward the skybox. The motion was impossible to misinterpret.

Katsuya’s reaction was immediate—his head jerked upward, eyes narrowing as he searched the shadowed expanse of the skybox. His opponent’s next move should have commanded his focus, but his attention was clearly elsewhere, pulled by the deliberate bait Mokuba had set. He couldn’t see through the tinted glass, not yet, but that didn’t matter.

He felt it.

“He's wondering if you're here with me.”

Kaiba leaned back into his seat, the leather creaking softly beneath him, his smirk deepening as he watched Katsuya waver between the duel at hand and the unanswered question lingering above him. The uncertainty alone was enough to tilt the momentum.

“Wait for it.” Kaiba smirked, his fingers tapping idly against the armrest. The patience in his tone was that of a predator who had already set the trap and was merely waiting for it to snap shut.

The announcer’s voice rang out, breaking through the tension. “Jounouchi hesitates! Will he counter Siegfried’s play or—?”

Katsuya flinched, jaw clenching as he yanked his focus back to the duel. Siegfried’s smirk was cutting, clearly enjoying the slip in his opponent’s concentration. A single misstep could be costly, and Kaiba knew better than anyone that Katsuya couldn’t afford distraction—not against someone like Siegfried, who thrived on psychological warfare as much as strategic play.

Yet the seed of doubt had been planted.

Beside Kaiba, you remained still, your heart a steady drum against your ribs. The weight of the twisted lanyards against your chest was grounding, a silent reminder of why you're here in this moment to start with.

Katsuya hadn’t seen you yet—but he knew something was off. He knew Kaiba was watching.

And soon, he’d know you were too. Cozied right up next to his number one enemy, looking to Kaiba like he hangs the stars in your sky...

Like how you used to look at Katsuya.

Kaiba’s gaze flicked to the control panel built into the side table near his seat. With a slow, almost theatrical motion, he pressed a button. The tint on the skybox windows began to lighten gradually—not all at once, but just enough to allow the world below a glimpse into the domain above.

From the arena floor, the subtle shift in visibility wouldn’t be immediately noticeable. Not to the roaring crowd or the distracted spectators. But for Katsuya, whose gaze kept darting upward between turns, it was impossible to miss.

Slowly but surely, the moment would come.

You inhaled slowly, keeping your posture composed even as your pulse quickened. You could feel Kaiba’s satisfaction, the way he savored the psychological chokehold. He had told you his plan, had prepared you for this exact moment—but it still doesn't seem real.

You reel yourself in, taking a deep breath.

“Be ready, darling. You've about forty-five seconds before we start to have fun.” The wicked smirk on his lips only growing.

It felt like an eternity as the windows continued their slow fade to transparency. He didn’t rush it—didn’t need to. This was a game of patience, and every second that passed tightened the psychological noose around Katsuya’s throat.

You leaned into him without thought, your posture effortlessly relaxed against his side, as though you belonged here, in his domain. His arm draped casually behind you along the back of the plush seating, fingers barely grazing your shoulder in an absentminded display of possession. His legs crossed at the knee, the very picture of unbothered control.

You exhaled slowly, fingers grazing the lanyards at your chest. The weight of them was a quiet thrill. It wouldn’t be long now.

And then, like clockwork, the camera feeds shifted.

The massive screens framing the arena flickered, adjusting from the dynamic close-ups of the duel to a sudden, sweeping cut of the KaibaCorp skybox. The reaction was immediate—voices in the crowd shifting, a low murmur rippling through the stadium.

The announcers barely missed a beat.

“And it looks like—Kaiba has arrived!” One of them exclaimed, voice tinged with the kind of polite excitement reserved for the presence of undeniable power. “We weren’t sure if the CEO would be making an appearance after being absent from the opening, but there he is—”

A pause. Then, the shift.

“But wait—who’s that with him?” The second announcer’s voice lilted with intrigue. “That’s not Mokuba, and that certainly isn’t one of Kaiba’s usual guests. Isn’t that—”

Recognition sparked. You could hear it in their hesitation, in the way they grasped for professionalism even as the curiosity bled through.

“That’s Jounouchi’s partner, isn’t it? They usually sit behind him during matches—what are they doing in Kaiba’s skybox?”

The camera lingered, as if demanding an answer neither of them could immediately provide.

But the answer wasn’t for the crowd. It was for Katsuya.

And he had just looked up.

For a split second, his expression was blank. Not out of indifference, but because his mind hadn’t caught up yet—hadn’t processed what he was seeing.

Then the pieces clicked.

The lanyards at your chest.

Your proximity to Kaiba.

The easy way you leaned into him, the way his arm rested behind you, the way you hadn’t moved from his side.

Shock flickered across Katsuya’s face like a live wire—his lips parting slightly, brows pulling together. You could practically hear his brain stalling through the distance. Confusion bled into disbelief, and then—

Rage.

It was a small thing at first. The slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers twitched near his deck. But then it solidified, his entire body tensing with the force of it, golden eyes burning with something raw, something incredulous and furious all at once.

And in his distraction—

His timer ran out.

The duel system beeped sharply, signaling the missed opportunity.

“Oh, and—Jounouchi misses his counter window!” The announcer’s voice was a mix of surprise and concern. “That’s going to cost him—Siegfried won’t waste an opening like that.”

They were right.

Siegfried’s smirk was almost taunting as he played straight through the lapse, capitalizing on the mistake without mercy. The crowd’s reaction grew, a mix of excitement for Siegfried’s sudden advantage and confusion over Jounouchi’s slip.

Katsuya barely seemed to register it.

He was still staring at the skybox.

Kaiba exhaled, satisfied, before shifting slightly, lowering his voice just for you.

“The cameras are off us now.” he murmured.

But it didn’t matter, because Katsuya wasn’t watching the screens anymore.

He was watching you.

Fury rolled off him in waves, his grip on his cards so tight his knuckles went white. His lips moved—something half-formed, unsaid, lost beneath the roar of the crowd. Maybe it was your name. Maybe it was a demand. Maybe it was a curse.

Kaiba chuckled. Low. Amused.

“He’s angry.” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Angry that I have you here, that you’re with me of all people.” His fingers brushed the curve of your shoulder, subtle, but deliberate. “Good. You're doing wonderful, Mc. You gave them nothing and everything all at once. The crowd's already putting the pieces together.” he tilted his head to one of the screens.

You didn’t look at Katsuya.

Not when the cameras lingered on his stunned expression, not when his disbelief gave way to something darker, something volatile. You kept your eyes forward, unwavering, even as the weight of his stare burned into you from across the arena. The noise of the crowd was distant, muffled beneath the steady thrum of tension coiling between you.

Kaiba leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper meant only for you. “He’s trying to force it into logic.” he mused, a quiet amusement threading through his tone. “Trying to convince himself that he didn’t just slip because you're with me. That it isn't what it is, that he didn't just see the weight of his sins around your neck.” His fingers traced an idle, feather light line along your shoulder, just enough for the cameras to miss but for Katsuya to see. “But he knows better. He's also probably wondering if you're here by choice or if I've forced you into all of this somehow. Another way for his poor, pathetic, brain to cope and shift the blame.”

Your breath was steady. Controlled. You had known exactly what you were doing the moment you accepted Kaiba’s invitation, the moment you took your seat beside him, the moment you allowed the cameras to capture something that couldn’t be explained away so easily. You gave the world a riddle—one they would dissect and twist, one that Katsuya would have to watch unfold with every speculation, every murmured theory in the stands.

Jounouchi was bristling now. His stance, once open and fluid, was rigid. The tension in his shoulders was visible even from here, a stark contrast to the easy confidence he usually carried. The duel stage sat higher than the stadium seats, elevating him above the majority of the audience but placing him in line of sight with the skybox from the stage just a bit below. From that vantage point, Katsuya could see everything—every small shift in proximity, every subtle touch, every unspoken implication.

Kaiba’s voice dipped lower, a whisper just for you. “Watch.”

Siegfried, ever the opportunist, pressed forward. A calculated move—one that should have been a simple block for someone like Katsuya. But he hesitated. Just for a breath. Just long enough for the opening to slip past his fingers. The misstep cost him another card, another advantage. The crowd reacted accordingly—some gasped, others muttered among themselves, confused by his lack of precision.

Katsuya exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around his deck as though grounding himself. You could almost see him fighting to pull himself back into the match, to shut out the gnawing irritation clawing at his focus. His breathing steadied. His shoulders squared. And then—he moved.

The shift was instant. His next play came swift and precise, a counter that caught Siegfried off guard, forcing him to adjust. It wasn’t reckless—it was controlled, practiced. But there was a weight to it, something raw beneath the surface. Katsuya wasn’t just playing to win anymore.

He was playing to prove something.

His anger had cooled, tempered into something sharper. But it had left something in its wake. Hurt. Bare and unguarded for a moment too long before he locked it away. But it was there. The brief flicker of betrayal in his eyes, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus.

Kaiba smirked. “There it is. He’s trying to bury it, but he felt it.” He tilted his head slightly, regarding you with something almost resembling approval. “Good.”

Katsuya’s next move was clean, calculated. The crowd roared as he gained back ground, his duel instincts kicking back in full force. But his eyes still flickered up, just for a second, just to see if you were still watching.

You didn’t look at him.

You simply remained where you were, steady, composed. A presence he couldn’t ignore, an absence where your attention had once been unwavering.

Kaiba leaned back, satisfied, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “By the time this is over, he won’t remember the plays or the strategies.” He turned his gaze toward you, sharp and considering. “He’ll only remember how it felt.”

And Katsuya knew it too.

You saw it in the way his jaw clenched, in the way his chest rose with a sharp breath, in the way he turned his attention back to the duel with an almost violent determination, as if forcing himself to forget what had just happened.

But he wouldn’t.

Because the damage was already done.

The duel raged on below, but the real battle was already won. Kaiba's fingers drummed a slow, predatory rhythm against the armrest as he watched Katsuya struggle to regain his footing. Every time Katsuya seemed to find his rhythm, the cameras would cut back to the skybox—to Kaiba's fingers tracing idle patterns along your arm, to the way you leaned into his space with ease, to the twisted lanyards that hung like a noose around Katsuya's fragile composure.

“His pulse point is twitching.” Kaiba said, his sharp eyes catching every micro expression. “Right temple. Means he's most likely fighting a migraine.” A dark chuckle rolled past his lips.

On screen, Katsuya misplayed a trap card, his fingers fumbling the activation. The crowd gasped as Siegfried capitalized on yet another mistake.

Kaiba's fingers stilled their idle drumming, his gaze sharpening with predatory focus. With deliberate slowness, he reached for the silver KC necklace resting against your collarbone—the one he'd fastened around your neck himself. His gloved fingers toyed with the pendant, turning it over and over in a mesmerizing rhythm that caught the light with each movement.

“Jounouchi will just love this.” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple.

Below, the cameras caught the intimate gesture in high definition, broadcasting it across every screen in the stadium. The pendant swung gently from Kaiba's fingertips, the KC logo glinting like a challenge.

Katsuya’s head snapped up at the movement, his eyes locking onto the necklace with dawning horror. His face twisted as realization struck—this wasn't just any jewelry. This was Kaiba's mark. His claim.

Kaiba smirked, leaning in closer to whisper in your ear, his lips brushing your skin just enough to make the contact obvious. “He's realizing it now.” he purred. “That this may not be some temporary arrangement. That maybe you're wearing my marks by choice. The uncertainties of it all are already eating him alive, Mc.”

As if to emphasize the point, Kaiba drug his fingers lazily up the chain, almost possessively before coming to rest at the nape of your neck.

Jounouchi's reaction was instantaneous. His duel disk arm trembled visibly as he misplayed another card, his focus shattered. The crowd's murmurs grew louder, confusion mixing with growing speculation.

“Interesting strategy from Jounouchi today.” one announcer commented, voice laced with concern. “These uncharacteristic mistakes are piling up at a crucial moment.” The announcers said, still striving to keep professionalism while warring with their own confusion.

Kaiba's chuckle was dark with satisfaction. He pressed the advantage, hand sliding from your neck to your shoulder, his fingers tracing invisible patterns through the fabric of your outfit. His touch was feather light but deliberate—designed to draw the eye without appearing overtly sexual. The cameras lingered, capturing every subtle movement.

“Look at him.” Kaiba whispered against your ear, his voice a velvet threat. “He's counting every point of contact like they're knife wounds.”

Below, Katsuya’s breathing had turned visibly ragged. His golden eyes kept flickering upward between moves, his teeth worrying his bottom lip raw. When the cameras cut to a close-up of Kaiba's fingers brushing along your jawline, Katsuya actually flinched as if struck.

Below, the crowd's murmurs crescendoed into audible speculation.

“Is that really Jounouchi's...?”

“Why would Mc be with Kaiba of all people?”

“Did something happen between them?”

Kaiba's smirk deepened as he observed the crowd. His free hand reached over the edge of his seat and he produced a sleek KC branded tablet. With a few taps, he pulled up a live feed of the duel arena's social media chatter. The screen flooded with posts:

[WakingNightmare]: OMG IS THAT JOUNOUCHI'S PARTNER WITH KAIBA???

[BLUE-EYES4LIFE]: Kaiba marking his territory like a damn dragon lmao!

[Fireworks1]: Someone check on Jou, he looks ready to combust

[JustDaeDreaming]: Did Kaiba kidnap Mc? Like do we ask for welfare checks?

[Animegirl27]: Those lanyards are sus! And Jounouchi? He can’t handle it. You can see it on his face.

[praxisrence]: One thing’s for sure, something’s definitely going down. Jounouchi is not playing like himself, and Kaiba looks like he’s enjoying every second of it. How does Mc fit into this mess?

[Sereginis]: Just realized! One’s from Kujaku, the other from Jounouchi. What does this mean for the story though?? Did they choose to get them, or was it something else? Where tf are the fangirls when you need them?

[KatsuyaFan23]: we are SCREAMING RN BC HOW DO NOT GET WHAT IT MEANS? LIKE OMG!

[KatsuyaFan23]: I'll pay for a name change rn oml.

You remained perfectly still, maintaining the image of calm indifference even as your pulse raced. The twisted lanyards felt heavier than ever around your neck.

Suddenly, Mokuba's voice must have crackled through Kaiba's earpiece. The shift was so slight that if you hadn't been as pressed into him as you were, you would never have known.

Kaiba's lips curled in triumph. “Denied,” he whispered for Mokuba to hear. Then louder, for your benefit, “Let him choke on it.”

Kaiba's fingers tightened possessively on your shoulder. “He's unraveling.” he observed with clinical detachment. “Notice how his breathing pattern changed? The dilation of his pupils? Classic signs of psychological distress. And the best part?” He turned to look at you. “This is child’s play. A simple warm up for what’s to come for the rest of his day.”

Below, Katsuya was visibly struggling to regain his composure. His breathing came in short, sharp bursts as he kept stealing glances at the skybox between moves. Each time he looked, Kaiba upped the ante—fingers tracing the necklace again, leaning into whisper something that made you smile, his arm draping more possessively across your shoulders, pulling you ever just a bit closer.

The psychological warfare was working with brutal efficiency. Katsuya’s next move was so poorly timed that even Siegfried looked surprised by the opening he was given. The German duelist didn't hesitate, capitalizing with a devastating combo that left Katsuya reeling.

The duel reached its crescendo with Katsuya backed into a corner, his life points dwindling to a mere 400 against Siegfried's overwhelming field advantage and 3200 life points. The crowd held its breath as he stared down his opponent's monsters, golden eyes flickering with desperation before hardening with resolve.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he slapped a card onto his duel disk. “I summon Gambler of Legend!”

The holographic projection materialized in a swirl of golden dust—a cocky blonde cowboy with a smirk that always mirrored Katsuya’s own, spurs jingling as he tipped his hat with one hand while spinning a coin across his knuckles with the other. The crowd erupted at the familiar sight, the announcers immediately jumping in.

“Would you look at that!” the lead commentator laughed. “It's like that card was custom-made for Jounouchi! From the reckless grin to that signature confidence—I've said it before, and I'll say it again; he should make this his ace instead of Red-Eyes!”

Up in the skybox, your fingers dug into Kaiba's thigh. The sight of that card—your anniversary gift, your months of savings, your devotion made physical—being played now, after everything, sent white-hot fury coursing through your veins.

Kaiba's hand closed over yours before you could react, his grip firm as he effortlessly pulled you into his lap. “Easy.” he murmured against your ear, his free hand tilting your chin away from the duel. “It doesn't matter.” His lips brushed your temple. “We have the upper hand.”

Below, Katsuya wasn't looking at his opponent. His gaze was locked on the skybox, not with anger, but with something painfully raw—a silent plea as his fingers hovered over his duel disk.

“I activate Gambler of Legend's effect!” His voice cracked slightly.

The holographic cowboy stepped forward, and with flourish and grace flipped his coin, each toss glinting under the arena lights. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath as the results materialized.

Heads. Heads. Heads.

“THREE HEADS!” Jounouchi shouted, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline as Siegfried's monsters began shatter into pixels. “Which means I get to clear your entire field!”

The crowd went wild as Katsuya seized his chance, summoning reinforcements and launching a blistering counterattack. Each strike chipped away at Siegfried's life points.

“Duel... OVER!” the referee announced as Siegfried's counter hit zero. “Winner, Jounouchi Katsuya!”

The stadium erupted, but Katsuya didn't celebrate. Chest heaving as he looked up at the skybox one last time—right as Kaiba deliberately turned your face toward his while sat in his lap.

Kaiba's hand slid from your chin to cradle the back of your neck as he leaned in. The kiss wasn't rushed or aggressive—it was slow, deliberate, his lips moving against yours with ease. His free hand settled at your waist, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened just enough to be unmistakably passionate, but restrained enough to leave room for doubt.

Did Mc want this?

Was this real?

Was it by choice or had Kaiba trapped you into it somehow?

The questions would eat at Katsuya—and that was the point.

When Kaiba finally pulled away, it was with a soft, almost tender brush of his thumb across your bottom lip. The cameras lingered for one breathless second before cutting away—just long enough to capture the way your fingers had curled into the fabric of his jacket, the faint flush on your cheeks.

Below, the crowd's cheers for Katsuya’s victory were still roaring, but his smile had already faltered. He stood frozen on the duel platform, his golden eyes locked onto the skybox with horror. The triumphant set of his shoulders had collapsed into something uncertain, his fingers flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for something that wasn't there anymore.

“Look at him.” Kaiba said, tilting your chin downward just enough for you to see.

Katsuya looked wrecked. Confusion, hurt, betrayal—all of it flickered across his face in rapid succession before he schooled his expression into something neutral. But it was too late. You'd seen it. Kaiba had made sure of that.

A satisfied hum rumbled in Kaiba's chest as he smirked. “Mokuba. Make sure the press asks about Gambler of Legend in the post-duel interviews.”

Mokuba's answering laugh was bright with mischief in Kaiba's ear. “Oh, I'll do you one better, Seto. I'll leak that it was an anniversary gift—from Mc.”

Kaiba's smirk was sharp. “Perfect.”

Below, Katsuya was being ushered toward the press area, his steps heavy, his gaze still flickering upward every few seconds as if hoping for—what? A sign? An explanation?

He wouldn't get one. Not from you.

Kaiba's fingers traced idle circles along your hip as he watched the scene unfold, his voice a low, satisfied purr. “Wonder how well he'll hold up. I imagine he'll paint a picture of his own destruction.” As his eyes never left the screens.

Jounouchi stepped into the press area with the weight of victory on his shoulders, but none of its usual lightness. The gathered reporters erupted into applause, their voices overlapping with congratulations and rapid-fire questions. He forced a smirk, rolling out his signature bravado as he adjusted his duel disk like he hadn't just been rattled to his core.

“Jounouchi! That comeback was insane—three heads in a row! What was going through your mind?”

Katsuya let out a laugh, though it rang a little hollow. “Ah, y’know, same thing as always—go big or go home, right?” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake the tension in his muscles. “When you gamble, ya gotta be all in. And I guess Lady Luck was feelin’ generous.”

The press chuckled, nodding along, eating up the easy charm he threw their way.

“Did you ever doubt yourself, seeing Siegfried dominate the field like that?”

“Pfft, what kinda question is that?” Katsuya scoffed, leaning forward with a grin that almost looked real. “C’mon, if I folded under pressure, I wouldn’t be standin’ here, would I?”

The laughter that followed felt natural, and for a moment, it seemed like he might make it through unscathed. But then—

“Jounouchi, about your finishing move. Gambler of Legend was the key to your victory today. We heard that card was an anniversary gift. Any truth to that?”

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

Katsuya froze for a fraction of a second—long enough for the cameras to catch the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly.

In the skybox, Kaiba hummed in approval, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he leaned back into his seat. “There it is.”

You stared at the screen, at the way Katsuya's jaw clenched before he finally forced himself to answer.

“Uh... yeah,” he admitted, voice suddenly tight. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his cheek like he could scrub the heat from it. “It, uh—yeah, it was.”

More murmurs from the press, and then another question cut in, sharp and pointed.

“Well now that we know why it's the most emotionally valuable card in your deck that makes sense. The reason you won today. How does it feel, knowing that without it, you wouldn’t be standing here as the champion?”

Katsuya flinched. Just slightly. Just enough.

You felt Kaiba’s fingers brush against your wrist, a silent nudge—watch.

“I—well, I mean...” Jounouchi trailed off, looking off to the side, suddenly unable to meet the cameras head on. He licked his lips, exhaled hard through his nose, then tried again. “It’s, uh... yeah, it’s the most important thing to me.”

“Then how do you feel seeing Mc wearing your lanyard in Kaiba's private skybox—tangled with Kujaku Mai’s? Any comment on what that means or why they were with him?”

Katsuya’s entire body locked up, and for the first time since stepping into the press area, he had nothing. No comeback, no joke, no practiced bravado. Just silence.

You could see it—how his hands curled into fists, how his eyes flickered helplessly toward the skybox like he was searching for something. But there was nothing to find. Kaiba made sure of it when he tinted the glass back to full cover.

Kaiba exhaled slowly, pleased. “Guilty.”

The reporters didn’t let up.

“Jounouchi, was there something between you and Kujaku Mai? Something Mc didn’t know about? Twisted lan—”

“Are you and Mc still together, or—”

“Is Mc willingly with Kaib–”

“Did something happen that led to this split? A symbol like that usually means tha—”

Katsuya’s face twisted with something raw, something that almost looked like pain before he smoothed it over. But the damage was done. The hesitation, the guilt in his expression—it was all on display.

Hiroto stepped in then, throwing an arm over Katsuya’s shoulders and steering him away from the podium with a forced laugh. “Alright, alright, that’s enough. Five minutes is all ya get—we’re off to celebrate!”

Katsuya put on a weak smile, nodded along, and let Hiroto pull him away without another word.

The cameras followed their retreat, lingering just long enough to catch Yuugi’s confused expression in the background. His brows were drawn together, lips slightly parted like he was missing something important. Next to him, Anzu stared at the skybox, her own brows furrowed, deep in thought. Ryou stared off after Katsuya and Hiroto while Otogi nudged him to follow along with a growing look of realization.

The arena’s massive screens then switched Siegfried.

Kaiba hummed again, satisfied. “That was pathetic. He couldn’t even lie properly.” Kaiba’s fingers ghosted along your jawline, drawing your attention back to him. His eyes gleamed with victory.

“I told you.” he said, voice smooth as silk. “On the edge until midnight and after once I'm done.”

Your fingers curled into fists against Kaiba's thigh, nails biting into the fabric of his slacks as you turned to stare at the screen where Katsuya had just stood. “I can't believe he used my fucking card.” you hissed, voice trembling with barely contained fury. “After what he did—after last night—he has the audacity to play my card like he deserves it?!”

Kaiba's hand settled over yours, his grip firm, as his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, deliberate stroke. “Oh, he knew exactly what he's doing.” he said, his voice dark with amusement. “That wasn't just a desperate play to win, Mc. That was a plea—to you—and the halfwits attempt of a threat to me.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “A plea for what? Forgiveness?”

Kaiba's smirk was a razor. “A plea for attention.” His fingers tightened slightly around yours. “He wanted you to look. Wanted you to remember. Wanted to remind you—and himself—that it still means something.”

You exhaled sharply, your chest burning with something between rage and grief. “Well, it doesn't anymore.”

Kaiba hummed, satisfied. “You're correct.” His fingers traced up your arm, lingering at the twisted lanyards around your neck. “Because now, every time he sees that card, he'll remember this moment. He'll remember the way you didn't react. The way you didn't care.” His lips brushed your ear. “And most of all, he'll remember that I was the one touching you when he played it. And he'll wonder if you chose that.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Below, the screens were on Siegfried's post duel interview, the German duelist looking far more composed than Katsuya had. But no one was paying attention to him. The crowd was still buzzing about Katsuya's abrupt exit, the whispers growing louder, the speculation running wild.

Kaiba's earpiece must be going off again, the slight shift of his eyes and the upward twitch of his lips giving it away. Kaiba's fingers tightened slightly around yours as Mokuba's voice faded from the earpiece. His other hand reached up to tap the comm device twice—an acknowledgment—before his attention returned fully to you.

“The next act begins now.” he said, his breath warm against your temple. His thumb traced the curve of your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “And this part is equally easy and interesting.”

Below, the screens had shifted to highlights of the duel, but the real show was happening off camera—in the hushed whispers of the crowd, in the way reporters were already scrambling to piece together a narrative from Katsuya cracking.

Kaiba's phone buzzed. He didn't need to look to know what it was. “Mokuba's coordinating with our media team.” he explained, holding the device out for you to see. The screen displayed a live feed of social media reactions, each new post more speculative than the last:

[DUELNETOFFICIAL]: BREAKING: Sources say Jounouchi Katsuya left the press area visibly distraught after being questioned about his relationship status. More details soon.

[KC_PRESS_RELEASE]: KaibaCorp CEO, Kaiba Seto, has refused statement at this time.

Kaiba smirked. “Let them wonder. Let them dig.” His fingers trailed down to the twisted lanyards, giving them a deliberate twist. “The more they speculate, the louder the silence from our end, the more it will eat at him.”

You exhaled slowly, watching as the feeds updated in real time, theories spiraling wildly.

Kaiba leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “Now comes the easy part.” He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes alight with cold amusement. “We disappear.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Exactly.” His smirk widened. “We leave. Now. While the chaos is at its peak. While he's still reeling. While everyone is watching.” His thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Let him chase ghosts for a few hours, wondering where you are, if you’re still with me, what you're doing.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the implication.

Kaiba tapped your hip twice. “Shall we?”

You moved and stood up. Taking a moment to stretch and breathe. The first part was done. You'd held your composure where it counted and with any luck, you've done well enough.

Over all, it hadn't been bad. The truth was starting to rise and Katsuya was squirming. Cracking. That stupid look on his face when asked about the card—when he saw you in the skybox.

All of it accompanied by confusion, upset and uncertainty. You hoped it hurt. That part of it was all sinking into Katsuya now.

The weight of his choice.

Even if he never regrets hurting you, he'll regret crossing you, and Kaiba is already making sure of it. His reputation will be altered forever now. And for the moment, that's a small blessing and helps ease the raw edges in your chest a bit.

Kaiba stood and straightened his suit jacket. Once done, he offered out his hand.

You took it without hesitation.

Kaiba's fingers laced through yours with possessive certainty as he guided you toward the skybox exit. “We'll make our departure more... visible than we arrived.” he said, a smirk playing at his lips. “Let the vultures catch a glimpse of us slipping away together. Word will spread faster that way.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles as the private elevator doors slid open. “Mokuba will meet us at the penthouse to debrief.” The way he said it—cool, calculated—made it clear there was more to this strategy.

As the elevator descended, you exhaled slowly, the adrenaline of the last hour finally catching up to you. “What do you need me to do during the downtime?” you asked, flexing your fingers slightly in his grip.

Kaiba's gaze slid to you, sharp and assessing. “Rest.” His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. “You hardly slept last night, and when you did it was far from peaceful, even in a whiskey haze.”

Your fingers tightened around Kaiba's reflexively at his observation about your sleep. “I'll rest when this is over.” you muttered, though the exhaustion weighed heavy behind your eyes.

Kaiba's thumb traced your knuckles. “You'll rest when we arrive.” he corrected, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You're no use half conscious, and it lets the mongrel believe you're affected by his absence and what he did. Let him slowly realize you're not here next to me by force. It'll serve to crack another layer.”

The elevator slowed to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a private corridor leading toward the stadium's VIP exit. Kaiba didn't hesitate, tugging you forward with that same effortless authority.

“Press is just ahead.” he warned, adjusting his grip on your hand so his fingers laced more possessively through yours. “Don't look at them. Don't acknowledge them. Just walk.”

You nodded, squaring your shoulders as the exit doors came into view—and with them, the inevitable flash of cameras.

The moment you stepped outside, the shouts began.

“Mr. Kaiba! Any comment on—”

“Is it true you and—”

“MC! What's your relationship with—”

Kaiba didn't so much as glance in their direction, his free hand lifting in a dismissive wave as security ushered you both toward the waiting town car. The door swung open; Kaiba guided you inside before sliding in beside you, the divider already raised as the car pulled away from the curb.

Silence settled for a beat before you turned to him. “So, what happens next? After we disappear for a bit?”

Kaiba leaned back, his arm draping along the seat behind you. “The two remaining duels will proceed as scheduled at the stadium.” he said coolly. “Five to eight is the KaibaCorp charity dinner—all duelists are contractually obligated to attend or forfeit their tournament standing.” A smirk curled at his lips. “And since the mutt won, he'll either show up or surrender his chance, but I think we both know what choice he'll make.”

Kaiba's fingers drummed a slow rhythm against the leather seat as the town car glided through the city streets. “He'll show up.” he said, voice dripping with certainty. “His chance of proximity to you relies on staying in the tournament for as long as he can. Not only that, but he'll attend for the chance to grovel at your feet. More wasted words and pathetic excuses, I'm sure. Or if he's still uncertain if you're here by choice, he'll try to confront me to 'save' you, playing on his utter ridiculous hero complex—as if he wasn’t the one who made his choice.” His lips curled into something sharp and predatory. “And all he'll get is the privilege of watching me lead you around the ballroom in formal wear.”

The image was vivid—Katsuya, forced to stand by while Kaiba paraded you through the event, his hands possessive at your waist, his lips brushing your ear at every opportunity. No words needed. Just presence. Just proof. Katsuya would make of it what he would, and in that with no certain answer—he'll spiral with questions and no way to get an answer.

“I assume Yuugi may try to approach you. It is your choice who you speak to as far as friends, but you should keep in mind whatever you say to him may make its way back to Jounouchi as things are now—intended or not. If you break down, you cry, tell Yuugi you're hurt—anything—the mongrel may get wind. I do recommend that you turn him away for the night, but I won't force it upon you.” Kaiba warns as his middle finger traces absentminded patterns on your wrist while looking out the window.

“Anzu is his plus one.” You say quietly.

You had been set to be Katsuya's plus one. Table three with Yuugi, Anzu, you, Katsuya and at least one other registered duelist and whoever they may or may not have brought along. You were so nervous about your outfit. Anzu had helped you put together one, and you were sure it would steal Katsuya’s breath.

More wasted time. Wasted effort on a man who held you in such low regard.

Chosen someone else.

Kaiba glanced at you before looking back to the window. “Same applies to her. As I said, I won't interfere. All I ask is if you do speak with either of them, tell me what was said, word for word, so I can readjust as needed. At this point, your silence isn't the only best option.”

You just silently nod. You aren't sure what to do on that front. So far, the crash out has worked—and it's helped. The sharp edges are dulled, if just marginally—but it is something to hold onto in all of this. It's keeping you from drowning and every moment Katsuya suffers—even if it's just the blow to his reputation, not for what he did to you—it's like a small drop of something to fill the aching void in your chest.

Healthy? Probably not... but it's either this or fall apart, and falling apart hurts too much. It's too vivid, too real—too much.

The town car glides smoothly into the private underground garage, the tires whispering against polished concrete as it came to rest in Kaiba's reserved spot. The garage is silent except for the quiet sounds of the engine cooling—no press, no spectators, just the sterile glow of fluorescent lights reflecting off sleek vehicles.

Kaiba exits first, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete as he turned to offer you his hand. You took it, stepping out into the cool, filtered air of the garage. His grip remained firm as he guided you toward the private elevator, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin.

The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime. Kaiba ushered you inside before pressing the button for the penthouse. As the doors closed, sealing you both in the mirrored interior, you caught sight of your reflection—the twisted lanyards still hanging around your neck.

The silence stretched between you for several floors before you turned to face him. “Kaiba... can I ask you something personal?”

His blue eyes flicked to yours, sharp with interest but guarded. “You can ask.” His voice was neutral, giving nothing away. “Whether I answer depends on the question.”

The elevator continued its smooth ascent as you gathered your thoughts. The hum of machinery filled the space between you, the only sound in the otherwise silent compartment. Kaiba waited, his expression unreadable but you knew you had his attention.

“I've always wondered...” you start, unsure of what purpose the question even serves right now, “Why do hate Katsuya so much?”

Kaiba’s fingers stilled against your wrist at your question. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the elevator as it continued its ascent. His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze sharpened—like he was calculating how much to reveal.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, a quiet, almost amused sound.

“Jounouchi is a man who has been handed opportunity after opportunity and squandered every single one.” His thumb pressed just slightly harder against your pulse point.

“But Hate is a strong word.” he said, his voice smooth, deliberate. “I don’t waste energy on hatred for inconsequential things.” His thumb brushed your pulse point once before he withdrew his hand, straightening his cuff. “What I do have is contempt for weakness. For mediocrity masquerading as worth.”

His eyes flicked to yours, cold and assessing. “Jounouchi is a gambler who mistakes luck for skill. A man who takes what he’s given and still manages to fuck it up.” A pause. “And now, he’s proven himself exactly what I always knew he was—unworthy of what he had.”

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the penthouse foyer. Kaiba stepped out, his hand lingering on your wrist moved to your hand to guide you forward.

The penthouse was quiet, bathed in the muted afternoon light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Kaiba released your hand as he stepped further inside, his shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. He didn’t look back as he spoke.

“You should rest.”

You lingered near the entrance, watching as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the black leather couch.

“You didn’t answer my question.” you said, crossing your arms. “Not really.”

Kaiba paused head tilting, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth. “Send me the link.”

The penthouse hummed with quiet tension as Kaiba moved toward the guest room, his strides purposeful. He disappeared into the guest room for only a moment before returning with the tablet in hand, fingers tapping swiftly to pull up whatever you assume Mokuba had just sent. The screen flickered to life, revealing Valon’s hotel suite in disarray—clothes strewn across the floor, drawers yanked open, and Valon himself pacing like a caged animal, his Cockney accent sharp with fury.

“—think I wouldn’t find out? Over two years, Mai! Fuckin’ years!”

The camera jerked as Valon stormed toward the balcony, his grip white knuckled around a handful of Mai’s designer makeup. With a snarl, he hurled it over the railing, the tiny bottles and compacts vanishing into the open air. The chat exploded with reactions, viewers flooding in by the thousands.

Kaiba exhaled, something darkly amused in the sound. “Seems Valon got the message loud and clear.”

You stared at the screen, your chest tightening. Valon’s rage was raw, unfiltered—familiar. The way his voice cracked on the edges, the way his hands shook—not just from anger, but from something deeper. Something broken. Being betrayed, just as you had.

“Fucking Jounouchi?!” Valon roared, grabbing a silken robe from the bed and chucking it over the balcony with a vicious snap of his wrist. “That's what you threw it away for? For fucking Jounouchi?”

The screen shook violently as Valon stormed back into the hotel room, his face flushed with rage and something dangerously close to heartbreak. He wrenched open his suitcase with such force the zipper nearly tore off, rummaging through his belongings before pulling out a small velvet box.

The chat exploded.

[IceFox965]: NO FUCKING WAY

[Wolfie]: IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS???

[TatsuoK]: BRO WAS GONNA PROPOSE LMAOOOO

Valon flipped open the box with a sharp click, revealing a glittering diamond ring nestled inside. His laugh was hollow, bitter. “Yeah. Fuckin’ hilarious, innit?” He held it up to the camera, the gem catching the light. “Two months I been plannin’ this. Two months.” He hissed bitterly.

Your breath caught. Valon was going to propose to Mai. He really was all in on their relationship... just as you had been with Katsuya.

Only to be betrayed in the end, just like you.

Valon snapped the box shut with a snap and tossed it onto the bed like it burned him.

[MayMayTheBayBay]: LMFAOOO Mai really chose Jounouchi over THIS?!

[Greengal14]: Bro I'm actually crying for him rn...

[Moonogre]: THROW IT OFF THE BALCONY NEXT

[MidnightAngelJustForYou]: King you could do the craziest thing rn is2g. Call Mc

[ValonStan]: KING YOU DESERVE BETTER

[DarkChirithy]: Fuck Jounouchi all my homies hate Jounouchi

[ShinyCarboard]: Can we get a closeup of that ring tho? Asking for a friend...

[ToxicLove]: This is why I stay single folks

[PrincessKristaline95]: Valon baby go get Mc!

[Popit]: This is better than reality TV

[GoneWild]: Valon if you're single now...

[DuelLyfe]: We are ALL witnesses to history right now

Valon ran a hand through his hair, pacing again, the camera swinging wildly with each turn. “Y’know what?” he spat suddenly, whirling back toward the lens. “Maybe I should just go propose to Mc right now, eh?”

Your eyes widened.

The chat went ballistic.

[MayMayTheBayBay]: VALON X MC ARC???

[Kaibaswife69]: KAIBAS GONNA MURDER YOU

[CHAOS_LOVER]: DO IT DO IT DO IT

[Yunari]: We will be talking about this for YEARS

[Chazzfan]: Worst fumble in history

[ValonGigachad]: Absolute KING behavior

[CheatersSuck]: This is what they BOTH deserve

[PettyKing]: Valon is all of us right now

[TeamMC]: MC BETTER BE WATCHING THIS

[DramaLlama]: SOMEONE CALL MC RIGHT NOW

[Lovevai22]: CHOO CHOO ALL ABOARD THE KARMA TRAIN

Valon barked out a laugh, wild and unhinged. “Fuck it, why not? We’ll just disappear. Let the two sluts have each other, since they clearly don’t give a shit about anyone else!” He grabbed the ring box again, shaking it at the camera. “What d’ya say, Mc? Wanna watch the world burn with me?!”

Kaiba's jaw clenched as Valon's words rang out through the tablet's speakers. His response was icy calm. “We can use this.”

On screen, Valon was now digging through his pockets with frantic energy, pulling out his business phone with a triumphant snarl. “I know just who'll have Mc's fucking number to.” he declared to the live audience, his fingers flying across the screen.

The chat went into overdrive.

[SETO_STAN]: OH SHIT HE'S CALLING YUUGI

[JustDaeDreaming]: SOMEONE SCREEN RECORD THIS

[VALON_GANG]: KING SHIT RIGHT HERE

Kaiba's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. “Interesting. We may just find out how much Mutou knows now.”

The call connected after three rings. Yuugi's voice, cautious and confused, filtered through Valon's live stream.

“Valon? What's—”

“I need Mc's phone number.” Valon cut in, his voice razor sharp. “Don't fuckin' play dumb, Yuugi. I know you have it.”

“I... don't.” Yuugi said slowly, the lie painfully obvious in his hesitation. “Why would you think—”

“Cut the shit.” Valon snarled. “You lot are tighter than Mai's cunt ever was, so I know you fuckin' have it.”

Another pause. The chat was in a frenzy.

“It doesn't matter if Yuugi gives him my number.” you said partially from shock. “Mokuba already set me up with the new phone. Valon won't be able to reach me.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Kaiba's smirk was sharp and amused. “Then I'll just go to him.” He tapped his earpiece. “Mokuba, Valon's room number?”

Mokuba's response was immediate apparently. Kaiba shoved the tablet into your hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long against yours. “Feel free to watch.” he said, already striding toward the penthouse elevator. “I'll be back with Valon.” His tone amused.

The doors slid shut behind him, leaving you alone with the chaos unfolding on screen.

Valon was still gripping his phone, his face twisted in fury as Yuugi's hesitant voice crackled through.

Yuugi let out a deep sigh. “...Look, Valon, I do have MC's number, but—they haven't been answering anyone. We didn't even know they were okay until we saw them in Seto's skybox today.”

“Okay?” Valon spat, his voice breaking on the word. “You think they're fucking okay, Yuugi? After what that piece of shit did?” His breath came in ragged bursts, the camera shaking as he paced. “Tell me—are you with Jounouchi right now? Because if you are, tell him I'm going stain this fucking ring red before I shove it down his damn throat!”

[RECtheCHAT]: HOLY SHIT

[TeamValon]: KING SHIT

[YuugiProtectionSquad]: STOP THIS MADMAN

Yuugi's voice was strained. “Valon, listen to me—”

“NO, YOU LISTEN!” Valon roared, slamming his fist against the wall. The camera jerked violently. “How would you feel, huh? If it was Anzu? If you found out she'd been spreading her legs for some worthless fucker behind your back?”

The line stayed dead silent.

Valon laughed, the sound jagged and broken. “Yeah. That's what I fucking thought.” He grabbed the ring box off the bed, shaking it at the camera. “So don't you dare tell me to calm down. I'll drag Jounouchi's corpse to that charity dinner tonight as proof of fucking investment for MC if I have to.”

[JounouchiHater]: PLEASE DO

[ChaosEnjoyer]: THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE

[TeamKaiba]: KAIBAS GONNA BEAT YOU TO IT

Yuugi's voice was quiet but firm when he finally spoke. “I'm not defending him, Valon. What he did was...” Yuugi let out another deep sigh. “But this isn't the way, Valon. Mc wouldn't want—”

“Don't you dare tell me what Mc would want!” Valon snarled. “You think they were sitting pretty in Kaiba's lap because they asked for Kaiba's hands all over them?” His laugh was hollow.

The tablet screen trembled in your hands as the confrontation escalated. Valon's raw pain and fury filled the penthouse, his voice cracking through the speakers with devastating clarity.

“Answer me, Yuugi!” Valon demanded, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles turned white. “Do you really think MC was in Kaiba's skybox by choice? After everything that happened?”

[TruthSeeker]: YUUGI BETTER ANSWER

[TeamValon]: ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

[SetoStan]: WATCH YOUR MOUTH VALON

Yuugi's exhale was heavy. “I... don't know. But Seto wouldn't—”

“Wouldn't WHAT?” Valon's laugh was raw. “In what fucking universe does Kaiba Seto become the safe option, Yuugi?” He paced like a caged animal, the camera shaking with each furious step. “Tell me, Yuugi. Make it make sense.”

The silence stretched too long.

“Fuck this.” Valon spat. “Where are you? I've got a dog to put down.”

Yuugi's voice turned urgent. “Valon, stop—”

“How can you even stand to look at him?” Valon interrupted, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet. “After what he did to me? To Mc?”

Another pause. Then Yuugi's voice, strained but firm said, “I'm not defending what Katsuya did—”

“Then give me your fucking location!” Valon roared, slamming his fist against the wall. The camera jerked violently. “If you won't do anything about this, I will!”

[Moonogre]: GIVE HIM THE ADDRESS

[Guest13]: SOMEONE STOP THIS MADMAN

[TeaMchaos]: LET HIM COOK

Yuugi's sigh was audible. “I can't, Valon.”

“You're fucking protecting him?” Valons furious voice was full of disbelief.

“No, Valon. I'm protecting you from doing something that's going to alter your life!” Yuugi snapped in a rare bout of frustration.

Valon's chest heaved with ragged breaths, his face flushed with fury and heartbreak.

“Protecting me?” Valon snarled, his voice cracking. “From what, Yuugi? From making Jounouchi pay for his part in what they did?” He grabbed the ring box again, shaking it at the camera like a threat. “Because I swear to god, if you're standing there next to him right now—”

Yuugi cut in sharply. “I'm not with him, Valon. But that doesn't mean I'm going to help you ruin your life over this.”

Valon let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, my life's already ruined, mate. Might as well take his down with it.”

[praxisrence]: VALON IS SPEAKING FACTS

[YuugiProtectionSquad]: YUUGI TRYING TO BE THE VOICE OF REASON

[TeaMchaos]: LET HIM THROW HANDS

Yuugi's voice softened slightly, though it still carried an edge. “Valon... I get it. I do. But Mc wouldn't want you to—”

“STOP TALKING LIKE YOU KNOW WHAT ANYONE WANTS!” Valon roared, slamming his fist against the nightstand this time, sending an empty glass bottle crashing to the floor.

The creak of a door followed by a cold, smooth voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

“Charming proposal. Though I'd reconsider the part where you involve what's mine.”

The camera jerked violently as Valon spun toward the door—where Kaiba stood, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed. His expression was glacial, his blue eyes sharp with warning.

[IceFox965]: HOLY SHIT HE SAID WHAT

[TeamMC]: “WHAT'S MINE”????

[Animegirl27]: DID KAIBA JUST CLAIM MC ON LIVE STREAM

[Wolfie]: VALON VS KAIBA ARC???

“The fuck you doing here, Kaiba?” he snarled, his grip tightening on the ring box.

Yuugi's voice came through the phone, urgent now. “Seto? Is Mc okay?”

[SetoStan]: DID HE JUST SAY “WHAT'S MINE”?

[TeamValon]: OH SHIT OH SHIT

[MCProtectionSquad]: SOMEONE CHECK ON MC RN SAVE OUR BBY!!!

Kaiba's lips curled into that familiar smirk as he pushed off the doorframe. “They're exactly where they need to be.” he said dismissively, his icy gaze never leaving Valon.

[TruthSeeker]: THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER

[HeartbrokenSoul]: MC BABY WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?

Valon took a threatening step forward, the camera shaking with his movement. “You got something to say, Kaiba? Or you just here to gloat?”

Kaiba's smirk didn't waver as he casually adjusted his cufflinks. “Actually, I think it might be... beneficial for you and Mc to talk.” His voice dripped with calculated calm. “Given your shared... circumstances.”

Yuugi's voice crackled through the phone. “Seto, what are you—”

“Stay out of this, Mutou.” Kaiba cut him off smoothly. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Valon's camera. “Unless you'd rather keep screaming into your little livestream like a jilted teenager?”

[TaatsuoK]: KAIBAS GOT A POINT

[fireworks1]: DON'T LISTEN TO HIM KING

[Seregins]: THIS IS A TRAP

Valon's breathing was ragged as he lowered the phone slightly, the camera now capturing his shoes. “Why the hell would I trust you?” he spat. “You've wanted Mc for yourself for years, don't pretend this is some fucking charity.”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as Valon's words echoed through the penthouse.

“You've wanted Mc for yourself for years—”

“What the fuck?” you whispered aloud, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

On screen, Kaiba's smirk didn't waver, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. “End the live,” he said, voice lethally calm. “And I'll take you to them right now.”

[TeamValon]: DON'T DO IT KING

[WakingNightmare]: OH HE'S PLAYING DIRTY

[MCProtectionSquad]: MC BABY RUN

Yuugi's voice crackled through, strained. “Seto, Valon—both of you, just—”

Kaiba didn't even glance at the phone. “Mutou, unless you're volunteering to clean up the mess your friend made, stay out of this.” His gaze locked onto Valon. “Choose. See Mc now, or keep performing for your audience.”

Valon's breathing was still ragged, the camera shaking as his grip tightened. “How do I know this isn't some fucking trap?”

Kaiba's laugh was ice. “Please. If I wanted you gone, you'd already be in a body bag.” He tilted his head. “Tick-tock, Valon. Mc's waiting.”

[Greengal14]: HE'S GONNA DO IT

[HeartbrokenSoul]: MC BABY HOLD ON

[MidnightAngelJustFotYou]: THIS IS A SETUP

Valon's jaw clenched. Then—

The screen went black as the live feed cut.

Silence.

[Host has ended session.]

You stared at the darkened tablet, your heart pounding.

Somewhere below, Kaiba was bringing Valon to you.

Kaiba may have genuinely offered you devotion.

And being his until midnight while running the crash out to get you what you wanted—Katsuya’s suffering—was just Kaiba showing you a small piece of what he had to offer.

“Plenty of time to decide if you want to find out.”

It's why the deal was so heavily loaded in your favor when midnight hit.

Everything.

A way away from Katsuya, a way to have your life as you wanted—whatever he could do to make you happy and try and keep you together after all of it.

It's like you can't breathe, that there isn’t enough oxygen in the room.

What the hell is happening? Did Katsuya fucking Mai fuck something up in the universe?

... It's like a slow wave that washes over you.

That's why Kaiba hates Katsuya.

Why he was so bitter when he told you Katsuya failed you so many ways and why he was so upset you said that no one else was worth the pain you were feeling. He was watching his chance slip away because Katsuya was taking that too.

“Stop looking at this like it’s the price of your devotion. It’s not. It’s the price of his negligence. His incompetence. His complete and utter failure to deserve you.”

“He didn't deserve you.”

The elevator chimed softly, and Mokuba stepped out with a spring in his step. “You should see the chaos downstairs!” he said, tossing his jacket onto the couch. “Press is going wild trying to figure out where you and Seto disappeared to after—”

He paused midsentence when he saw your expression, his grin faltering. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”

You forced a weak smile, setting the tablet down too carefully on the back of the couch. “Just... processing.” You said for lack of better words to describe the chaos that you just witnessed, and how it seemed to be unfolding and enveloping you with it.

Mokuba studied you for a long moment before sighing. He plopped onto the couch, uncharacteristically serious look in his face as he tilted his head back to look up at you. “Look, I don't know how long Seto's felt this way about you.” he says quietly. “But I know he means it. And he's not Jounouchi.” Mokuba gives a small half smile. “I think he's trying to walk this weird line—helping you without pushing. But no matter what happens after midnight, that help? It's real, Mc. You'll always have it—from both of us—no matter what happens.”

Before you could respond, the elevator chimed again, and the penthouse doors slid open.

Kaiba strode in first, his usual impeccable composure untouched. Behind him, Valon looked like a storm barely contained—his clothes disheveled, eyes bloodshot, that damned ring box still clutched in one white knuckled hand.

Your breath caught. Seeing him like this was like looking in a mirror—this was you last night at the bar. Broken. Furious. Lost—the same hollowed out pain you'd seen in your own reflection last night and still carry in your chest.

Valon's gaze locked onto you, raw and searching. “How'd you find out?” he rasped.

The question hung in the air.

You swallowed and took a deep breath. If anyone deserved to know the details, it was Valon. “I walked in on them.” Your fingers absentmindedly move to the lanyard around your neck. “Katsuya and Mai were... they were fucking in Kat and I's hotel room... on the bed.”

Valon flinched like you'd struck him.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.” you added quietly. It almost makes you want to cry. You haven't had your head on straight enough to do the right thing. Valon should have been your first priority. Letting him know what you found...

“Don't.” Valon's voice cracked. “I get it. The fucking world's exploding, you're not thinking about warning fucking anyone else.” He finally looked down at the ring box in his hand, his expression twisting. “Just trying to make it to the next fucking moment.”

He shakes his head as he stares at the velvet box. Without any warning, he tossed it onto the coffee table with a hollow clack.

“Guess we're both idiots.” he muttered.

“Yeah.” You whispered as you stared at the ring box.

You move without thinking, finding your way to Valon and take him into a hug. “I don't know if it was just the once. But I do know Kujaku threw away a good man, Valon. That's not your fault, and you didn't deserve it.” Your voice cracks. You know how he feels. You at least had Kaiba—of all the people in the world—Kaiba—to tell you something in effort to help. Even if Valon finds it empty or it seems untrue to him, at least Valon knows he has an ally in you, no matter what.

Valon's arms are stiff at first, his body frozen in place as you held onto him. It was like he didn't know what to do with the comfort, like the concept itself was foreign. But after a few ragged breaths, his muscles slackened just enough for his fingers to dig into the fabric of your top. His grip was desperate, like if he let go, he'd fall apart completely.

Mokuba, ever perceptive, quietly rose from his seat and stepped away, giving the two of you space. His expression was unreadable, though there was a glint of something—understanding, maybe?—as he exchanged a brief glance with his brother. Kaiba, for his part, simply observed, arms still crossed, his presence an unspoken pillar of stability.

“I hate them.” Valon finally muttered, voice hoarse. “I fucking hate them both.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Me too.”

He exhaled sharply against your shoulder, like the weight of those words—spoken aloud, finally admitted—somehow made it more real. For a moment, neither of you speak. The penthouse is eerily quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the city far below and the occasional rustle of fabric as Valon fought to keep himself together.

Kaiba, apparently satisfied that Valon wasn't about to shatter into a million pieces, finally broke the silence. “Hating them is fine. What you do with that hate is what matters.”

Valon pulled back just enough to glance over at him. “And what? You have a game plan for that too?”

Kaiba smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I always have a plan. Whether or not you want to listen is your problem.”

Valon let out a bitter chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face as he still held onto you. “Course you do.”

You squeezed Valon's arm before stepping back, giving him space but staying close enough that he knew you weren't going anywhere. “Kaiba’s not wrong.”

“That's why you were in the skybox with Kaiba.”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

“I couldn't make sense of what the fuck I was seeing. I knew as soon as I saw you with Kaiba, all cozy that something was wrong. It wasn't until the close up I saw the lanyards.” Valons eyes trace the twisted lanyard still around your neck. “I saw his fucking face.” Valon's voice cracks as he hisses. “The fucking shame pouring out of him. And to have the balls to use the goddamn Gambler.” Valon clenches his fist. “How the fuck you played it like you didn't give a single fuck—without going right down there and ripping it up in front of everyone—I don't think I'll ever understand.” He admitted.

“Kaiba.” You admitted quietly. “We made a deal. Until midnight he's going to help me make Katsuya’s life hell. I just do what he says.” You give a small shrug. “I didn't even think it would work.”

“Of bloody course it would. The box dye blonde is just as stupid as Mai.” Valon pulls his phone from his pocket. “Thinking they can smooth it over, and that they didn't fucking ruin us with their fuckin' actions.”

It's a text chain from Mai. You don't have to look at long to see what he means.

“I know Jounouchi loves Mc. Can you clearly decipher through your emotions if Kujaku honestly loved you, or may still love you?” Kaiba asks, a clinical detachment to his tone.

Valon stared at Kaiba like he’d grown a second head. “Are you seriously asking me that right now? After everything?”

Kaiba's expression remained impassive, his sharp gaze unwavering. “Yes.”

Valon's grip on his phone tightened. He flicked through the messages, eyes darkening as he reread the desperate pleas Mai had sent him. The texts blurred together—apologies, excuses, explanations that all boiled down to the same meaningless garbage. He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “I don't know, mate. Maybe she did. Maybe she didn't. Does it even fucking matter now?”

“It does if you intend to move forward rather than stagnate in your anger.” Kaiba said coolly. “Or do you prefer wasting your energy on people who never deserved it?”

Valon scoffed, tossing his phone onto the coffee table next to the abandoned ring box. “Easy for you to say when you've already got your prize wrapped around your fucking finger in a deal.”

You stiffened, but before you could respond, Kaiba took a measured step forward, his presence commanding. “If you think this is about winning a prize, then you're even more of a fool than I thought.”

Valon tensed, voice rising. “Then what the fuck is it about?” His voice cracked with raw frustration. “Why even bring me here, Kaiba? Why the fuck do you care what I do? You got what you wanted, right?” His gaze flickered to you, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before being buried beneath a fresh wave of anger.

You took a slow breath, trying to get a hold of yourself for a moment. “Valon... I don’t want you to destroy yourself over this.” You hesitated before adding, “They've taken enough from us.”

Valon let out a bitter laugh. “You're talking like that slag didn't take everything, Mc. I know damn well you gave that bastard every fucking piece.”

“Whatever you decide to do Valon, I’ve got your back. But so far, the Kaiba sponsored crash out has been pretty therapeutic.” You give a small, crooked smile, though your face twist grief. “It hurts a little less.” Your voice cracks. “Everything that's so fucking sharp is... a tiny bit less? And I know that's not a lot and it's not hopeful or... helpful... but it feels like it's helping. Even if it isn't and this just turns out to be a bigger fucking mess? Nothings worse than when I remember walking in on them. So... do you wanna join the crash out?” Your voice is small by the end.

You can't help the few tears that slip out, and just as you embraced Valon earlier, he returns the favor and takes you into a hug.

“I fucking hate them for what they did to us.” You whisper as more tears slip out. “I hate Katsuya.” You hiss.

Valon holds onto you tightly, his grip bruising, but you didn't care. It was grounding, this shared anger, this heartbreak neither of you should have had to endure. His breath was ragged against your hair, and for a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he muttered, “Yeah. Fuck it. I'm in.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sob, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Valon confirmed, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There was something dangerous flickering in his expression now—still raw, still hurting, but tempered into something sharper, something with purpose. “If we're crashing out, might as well make it fucking spectacular and go for the kill.”

Kaiba, still standing off to the side, gave an approving nod. “Now you’re thinking like a winner.”

Valon scoffed. “Don’t stroke yourself off just yet, rich boy. What’s the plan?”

“Mc wants me to keep Jounouchi on the edge of madness until midnight,” Kaiba's eyes flicked to yours, “and that's what I'm going to deliver them. The question is,” he looked to Valon now, “what do you want, Valon—and how far are you willing to go for it?”

Valon's fingers twitch, his jaw working as he considered Kaiba's question. The raw fury in his eyes had sharpened into something more calculated—more dangerous.

“What do I want?” he repeated, voice low. “I want Mai to feel exactly what she did to me. I want her to choke on it.” His gaze flicked to you. “And I want Jounouchi to burn.”

Kaiba's smirk was sharp. “Good. Then we're aligned.” He stepped forward. “Mokuba—status update and what of the charity dinner.”

Mokuba, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, perked up immediately. “Press is already speculating about Mc's absence from Jounouchi's side for yours. Rumor mills in overdrive after Valon's live stream cut out. Anyone who had any doubt what the lanyards meant won't have it for long.” He grinned, tapping away at his own device. “Oh—and Mai just arrived at the hotel. Alone. Looking real nervous. So far, neither of them have pulled out. Still says they're pledging attendance to what I see.” He turned the tablet to show his brother.

Kaiba pulls out his phone with a smooth motion, his fingers gliding across the screen as he pulled up what looked like a detailed itinerary. “The charity dinner is merely another act.” he said, his voice cool and calculated. “It’s where we twist the knife—prolong the madness. But the real spectacle begins at the afterparty.” His sharp gaze flicked to you, then Valon. “We arrive at nine. Sharp.”

Valon crossed his arms, his jaw set. “And what exactly does twisting the knife entail for dinner?”

Kaiba’s smirk was razor thin. “The same as the skybox, but in formal wear.” His eyes locked onto yours, unreadable yet deliberate. “I promised to keep Jounouchi on the edge until midnight. Every touch, every glance—it’s all designed to make him question, to make him ache.” He tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “His reactions tonight will dictate how we proceed at the afterparty. If he’s desperate, we push harder. If he’s resigned…” A pause. “Well. Then I make sure he remembers what he lost.”

You swallowed, your fingers tightening around your arms.

Kaiba turned his attention back to Valon, his tone shifting into something colder, more analytical. “Now. You. I need to know—where does Mai stand in all of this?”

Valon stiffened. “What the hell does it matter now?”

“It matters,” Kaiba said flatly, “because if she’s just ashamed of being caught, that’s one thing. But if she’s genuinely feeling loss? Regret? That changes how we handle her.” His eyes gleamed with something predatory. “And I will handle her as well, if that’s what you want, Valon.”

Valon was silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the discarded ring box on the table. His fingers twitched, as if fighting the urge to pick it up and hurl it across the room. Finally, he let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know.” he admitted, his voice rough. “Her texts are all over the fucking place. One minute she’s begging for another chance, the next she’s making excuses.” He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into his words. “I don’t know if she’s sorry for hurting me or just sorry she got caught.”

Kaiba hummed, thoughtful. “Then we’ll assume the worst—that she’s only sorry for the consequences.” His lips curled. “Which means we make those consequences unbearable.”

Mokuba, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, finally speaks up. “So, dinner first. Then the afterparty. What’s the play for each?”

Kaiba didn’t hesitate. “At dinner, Mc and I will be visible. Close. Jounouchi will be forced to watch, to wonder, to stew.” His gaze slid to Valon. “You, on the other hand, will be elsewhere.”

Valon bristled. “The hell I will—”

“You’ll be with Mai.” Kaiba interrupted smoothly. “If she’s desperate to talk to you, then let her. Let her try to explain. Let her see you—calm, collected, unbroken—while she unravels.” His smirk returned. “And when she realizes she can’t fix this? That’s when you walk away.”

Valon’s eyes darkened, but after a beat, he gave a slow, grim nod. “Fine. But if she starts with the crocodile tears, I’m not making any promises.”

Kaiba’s expression didn’t change. “Do whatever you need to. Just don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing you break.”

You exhaled shakily, your mind racing. The plan was brutal. Calculated. Perfect.

“After you walk, you'll know. Loss or consequences. You'll then call me and tell me everything. We adjust from there. As far as you not attending right at the start, we can use a mental health waiver with your live as evidence. You'll still be allowed to participate in the tournament—though you will lose to me if we are matched up later, though that's here nor there.” He tilts his head dismissively.

Kaiba turned back to you, his voice lowering just slightly. “As for you—tonight, you’ll be mine in every way that matters to him. Every move, every whisper, every touch will remind Jounouchi that he could have been by your side tonight.”

Valon let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You really are a bastard, Kaiba.”

Kaiba smirked, completely unbothered. “And you’re just figuring that out now?”

You swallowed, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs.

“What do you have to wear tonight, Valon?” Mokuba asked quickly. “Also, make the meeting place with Kujaku at the hotel bar, backroom. It'll be on camera that way... I feel like dealing with Kujaku could get twisted—fast. For Valons own protection, having eyes is beneficial, Seto.”

“Actually, set the meeting for now.” Kaiba smirked.

“Now?” You gave Kaiba a confused look.

“Not enough time for word to spread about Seto being on the live to Mai. Not only that, but it hasn't been that long that even if she did find out. Valon can say Seto was just... setting a ground rule.” Mokuba shrugs with an awkward, quick glance to you. “Plus, you'll know by time you leave—loss or consequence—gives us ample time to plan your part of the crash out appropriately and redirect plans.” Mokuba gives a wide smile. “We've can better utilize you at dinner and the party.”

“Try it. If she won't meet, that's answer enough.” Kaiba says coolly.

Valon stepped towards the coffee table and snatched the phone up, as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. His fingers hovered over the screen, his jaw clenched tight. The tension in the penthouse was palpable as he typed out a quick message to Mai, his thumb jabbing at the screen with more force than necessary.

“Hotel bar. Backroom. Now.”

He hit send and immediately tossed the phone back onto the coffee table like it burned him. “There. Happy?”

Kaiba didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the dark screen, waiting.

The silence stretched.

Then, a soft ping.

Valon's phone lit up.

Mokuba leaned forward, eyes wide with anticipation. “Well?”

Valon snatched up the phone, his expression darkening as he read the response. “...She's on her way.”

Kaiba's smirk was sharp. “Good.” He straightened his cufflinks with a deliberate flick of his wrist. “Then you begin.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. This was really happening.

Mokuba clapped his hands together, bouncing on his heels. “Alright! Valon, you'll head down. We've got eyes on the bar—security will make sure the cameras catch everything.” He shot Valon a grin. “Just remember, calm, collected, unbroken.”

Valon scoffed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah. Don't get your hopes up, kid.” But there was a new steel in his voice, a determination that hadn't been there before.

He turned to you, his gaze lingering for a moment—something unspoken passing between you. A shared understanding. A promise.

“I'll make sure to tell security to get you up here once you’re done. Just tell the bartender you need to see me.” Mokuba added quickly.

Then, without another word, Valon stalked toward the elevator, his shoulders set as Mokuba followed. After hitting a button, Mokuba leaves the elevator and the doors slide shut behind him with a soft whoosh sending Valon into the unknown.

Silence.

Mokuba exhales sharply, his excitement barely contained as he moves back towards you. “This is gonna be epic. Double crash out.”

Kaiba doesn't respond, his attention already shifting to you. “You should rest.” he said quietly. “Tonight could be... demanding.”

You shook your head. “How am I supposed to rest when Valon's down there facing Mai alone?” Your voice cracked slightly. “What if—what if she breaks him all over again? He only just found out, Kaiba.”

Kaiba studied you for a long moment before stepping closer. His hand hovered near your elbow, not quite touching, but there—steady. “Valon isn't alone.” he said, his voice low but firm. “Mokuba has eyes on the situation, and I'll intervene if necessary.” His gaze held yours, unyielding. “You, however, are running on adrenaline. You need to rest.”

You let out a shaky breath, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “There's too much noise in my head. I can't just—turn it off.”

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, something almost resembling patience in the gesture. Then, without another word, he guided you toward the guest room with a light but insistent touch at your elbow.

Mokuba shoots you an encouraging smile. “We've got this, Mc. Just close your eyes for a bit, yeah? When you wake up, you can see for yourself how Valon's holding up. I got is back, don’t worry.”

Kaiba nudged the guest room door open with his shoulder, his voice quieter now, just for you. “Sit. I'll be right back.”

You sink onto the edge of the bed, your limbs suddenly heavy. Kaiba returned a minute later, tossing something at you with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Change. Sleep.” His tone brooked no argument, but his next words were softer. “The noise will still be there when you wake up. But at least you'll be able to think through it.”

You clutched the fabric in your hands, your throat tight.

Kaiba hesitated, then added, almost grudgingly, “And if you can't sleep—come find me. We'll... figure it out.” He looked away quickly.

The moment the guest room door clicked shut behind Kaiba, the dam broke.

You sat frozen on the edge of the bed, Kaiba's borrowed sleep shirt crumpled in your white knuckled grip, as the images came flooding back—Katsuya's bare back glistening with sweat, Mai's legs wrapped around his hips, the way they'd both frozen when you'd appeared like some unwanted specter.

A choked sob escaped your lips as you pressed your palms against your eyelids, as if you could physically scrub the memory away. But it was burned into your retinas—the crumpled hotel sheets, the way Katsuya's mouth had formed your name with that guilty fucking look.

The worst part? You could still smell them.

Floral perfume, sweat and sex, Katsuya’s cologne—it clings to your memories like a stain.

Your breathing turned ragged as your thoughts spiraled. Valon was downstairs right now facing the same hurricane of betrayal all alone, only Kaiba's security watching second hand.

A fresh wave of nausea rolled through you. Kaiba Seto—arrogant, untouchable Kaiba—was orchestrating your revenge while looking at you with something you can't even hardly begin to comprehend. None of this made sense. Your world hasn't made sense since last night.

You miss when it was simple. When it didn't hurt...

When Katsuya was still someone you looked at and trusted. Who you thought looked at you with love and wouldn't ever hurt you. Would hold you in his arms and tell you he loved you—and you believed it.

It's all so far away now, yet it isn't far enough. The world seems upside down. Backwards. In what world is Kaiba the anchor in your life? The one person you can trust to be honest?

Someone fighting to keep you together of all things—and now, Valon, too.

You hate Katsuya—and you hate Mai too.

The soft click of the door opening breaks through your haze, and you quickly wipe away the tear streaks from your cheeks.

Kaiba stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the hallway. His posture was still—unreadable—but his eyes flickered to you, then softened just slightly. You hadn’t expected him to return so quickly.

“Thirty minutes.” he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “You haven't moved.”

You didn't answer. Couldn't. Your throat was too tight, your chest too full of everything and nothing all at once, and time seems so distorted and jilted.

Kaiba exhaled sharply through his nose and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. He moved with purpose, crossing to the ensuite bathroom without a word. The sound of running water filled the silence.

When he reappeared, he carried a damp washcloth in one hand. “Look at me.”

You forced your gaze up. The intensity of his stare was almost too much—too real, too present—when all you wanted was to disappear into the numbness.

Kaiba's jaw tightened as he took in your tear-streaked face. Then, with surprising gentleness, he pressed the cool cloth to your cheeks, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown with careful, methodical strokes.

“You're thinking too much.” he muttered.

You let out a wet laugh, swiping at your traitorous tears on the cheek he had already wiped. “Yeah, well. Turns out getting cheated on makes it hard to stop.”

Kaiba's hands stilled, the cloth hovering near your temple. His expression was unreadable. Then, abruptly, he tossed the washcloth aside.

“Change.” he ordered, nodding to the sleep shirt still crumpled in your lap. “Now.”

When you didn't immediately move, he made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and reached for your hand and pulled you up. He dropped your hand, turning and took a few steps forward.

“You've one minute, or I'll do it myself.”

At this point, you don't have the mental fortitude to test it or his patience.

The cool fabric of Kaiba's sleep shirt swallowed you whole, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and something uniquely him.

“Done.” you whispered.

Kaiba turned back, his gaze assessing. Without a word, he pulled back the covers and nudged you toward the bed. “Lie down.”

You went willingly, too exhausted to fight.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he perched on the edge of the bed, his back against the headboard, one leg bent at the knee.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured.

When you hesitated, he reached out, fingers barely grazing your eyelids, urging them shut with a touch so uncharacteristically soft it sent a fresh ache through your chest. His warmth lingered even after he pulled away, his presence as steady as the quiet hum of the city beyond the window.

“I’ll stay.” he said, voice low, certain. “Until you fall asleep.”

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, something fragile and desperate coiling in your chest. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Kaiba muttered. He shifted beside you, settling more comfortably against the headboard in an unspoken promise that he wasn’t going anywhere. “But I will.”

It shouldn't have comforted you. This was Kaiba—ruthless, calculating Kaiba who had built an empire on others' ruin. But as you sank into the pillows, you realized that for the first time since walking in on Katsuya, the images didn't immediately assault you.

There was only the steady sound of Kaiba's breathing beside you, and the unfamiliar but not unwelcome sense that somehow, against all odds, you weren't alone in all of this.

Your eyelids grew heavy.

Somewhere beyond the door, the world kept turning. Valon was facing Mai while Mokuba kept an eye on him. Hopefully Katsuya’s life was falling apart.

Kaiba's watchful presence was keeping the ghost at bay, and you could have sworn you felt his fingers gently brush along your hairline before you were pulled under to slumber.

 

Chapter 6: Table Three

A warm hand pressed lightly against your shoulder, the gentle weight pulling you from the depths of sleep. Your lashes fluttered as you stirred, blinking against the late afternoon light streaming through the curtains. The scent of expensive cologne lingered, familiar now, and oddly grounding.

Kaiba.

“Wake up, Mc.” his voice was quiet, a murmur just above the hush of the city beyond the window. Not commanding, not impatient. Just there, a steady presence pulling you back to reality.

You inhaled sharply, suddenly remembering. Valon. Mai. The meeting.

“Valon?” The question left your lips before you could even fully sit up, your heart lurching in your chest.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, the ghost of a smirk curling at his lips. “See for yourself.”

The uncertainty that had held your stomach in knots turned to something heavier as you pushed yourself upright, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Kaiba stepped back, arms crossed, watching as you stumbled to your feet and out the door.

You barely made it three steps into the living room before you spotted Valon, standing near the floor to ceiling windows. And he was—

Smiling?

Not the sharp, bitter smirk you’d seen before he left. Not the forced amusement someone could wield like a shield.

No, this was something softer. Looser. Like... like a strange sort of peace?

Your heart sank, a cold weight settling in your stomach. You have your answer, you know what Valon found.

Consequence.

Before he could even turn to greet you, you closed the distance between you, throwing your arms around him and holding tight. Valon let out a soft grunt of surprise but didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, his hands settling against your back with an ease that almost broke you.

“It’s alright.” he whispered against your hair. “Better I know now than after marrying the slag. Imagine the fucking headache that would have been.”

His words were light, teasing, but you could hear the raw honesty beneath them. He meant it. He meant every word. And that should have been a relief, but it just made your chest ache more.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. And then, as if finally realizing something, his brows lifted, and his lips twitched into a grin. “Well, well. Didn’t think I’d see this particular sight.”

Confused, you glanced down—and felt heat rush to your face. Kaiba’s sleep shirt barely brushed mid thigh, hanging loose off one shoulder, baring far more skin than you realized.

Mokuba, who had just appeared in the living room, let out a low whistle, laughing. “Damn, if you show up to the dinner like that, Jounouchi might just throw himself off a building. Especially of we monogram my brother initials into that sleep shirt.”

Your face burned hotter as you tugged at the hem of the shirt, glaring at them both. “I forgot I was wearing it, alright?!”

Valon just chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, you might wanna get used to the attention, sweetheart, ‘cause I’ve been helping Mokuba pick out your formal wear for tonight.” His grin turned downright wicked. “The mongrel’s gonna feel it the moment he sees you. We don’t even need Kaiba’s help for this one.” He shot Kaiba a sly look. “That’s just a sweet little twist of the knife.”

Kaiba, who had remained silent up until now, merely smirked, adjusting his cufflinks with an air of satisfaction. “I do appreciate precision.”

Mokuba cackled, clapping his hands together. “This is gonna be legendary.”

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands.

Valon slung an arm around your shoulders, giving you a light squeeze. “Oh, don’t be shy now. This is your moment, sweetheart. Time to make the bastard regret ever letting you go. He’s a fucking moron. They both are.”

“Stylist and wardrobe will be here in twenty.” Mokuba said as he all but threw himself onto the couch. “Also, the press is running them through. Some of the headlines are hilarious.” Mokuba tilts his head. “I’ll show you them tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna... go change now.” You say as you awkwardly motion to the guest bedroom and turn to make a quick escape.

Once the door clicks behind you, you let out a deep breath.

Valon had found some sort of acceptance. Some sort of peace, if even just a sliver for the moment.

It almost makes you jealous.

Shaking off the thought, you moved toward the bed, grabbing the outfit you had on before changing into Kaiba’s sleep shirt. Slipping back into it felt like reclaiming a small piece of normalcy, even if normal had long since left the equation.

By the time you stepped out of the room, you felt more like yourself again—at least, until you noticed the way Valon and Mokuba were still grinning at you like they knew something you didn’t.

“What?” You looked down to your outfit and back to them.

Kaiba’s voice cut through before they could respond. “Ignore them.” He stepped forward, his sharp gaze sweeping over you. “They’re being annoying.”

Mokuba grinned, bouncing on the couch cushions. “Just wait until you see what options we picked out for tonight. Jounouchi’s gonna—”

“That’s enough.” Kaiba’s tone left no room for argument. He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “The stylist will be here shortly. Until then, you’re going to eat something. We may be going to dinner, but I don’t have a solid timeline of when you ate last.”

Valon snorted, flopping into the couch. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you fainting from hunger when you walk in to destroy that bastard’s will to live.”

Your cheeks burned again as you moved toward the kitchen island where a spread of food had been laid out. Kaiba followed, pouring a glass of water and pushing it toward you without a word.

As you picked at the food, your mind kept circling back to Valon’s reaction. The ease in his shoulders, the lack of bitterness in his voice. It should have been comforting, but instead it left you unsettled.

Kaiba noticed, of course. He always noticed everything.

“You’re thinking too loudly.” he said again, low enough that only you could hear.

You glanced up, meeting his piercing blue eyes. “I just... I don’t understand how he can be so... ‘okay’ already.”

Kaiba’s lips quirked slightly. “He’s not. But he’s smart enough to know when he’s better off.” His gaze flickered to where Valon was laughing at something Mokuba said. “And I may have helped find him an excellent distraction for the moment.”

Following his line of sight, you saw the way Valon’s eyes kept drifting to his phone, the small smile playing at his lips whenever he checked it.

A notification chimed, and Valon immediately had his nose in his phone, his grin widening as he typed out a response.

Mokuba rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re already texting someone else? It hasn’t even been three hours since—”

“Mind your business, kid.” Valon shot back, though there was no real heat in it. He pocketed his phone with a satisfied smirk. “Let’s just say I’ve got plans for after this whole charity dinner mess.”

The elevator chimed softly before you could process that information.

Mokuba jumped up. “That’ll be the stylist! They’re early.” He dashed toward the elevator, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement.

Kaiba sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be unbearable.”

Valon just laughed, stretching his arms behind his head. “Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s gonna be fucking brilliant, mate.”

As the stylist entered with an armful of garment bags and a team of assistants, you had the distinct feeling that your life was about to become even more surreal.

Kaiba caught your eye one last time before the chaos descended, his gaze intense. “Remember,” he said, just for you. “Edge of insanity. “

The weight of his words settled over you like armor as the stylist descended, already chattering excitedly about the ‘vision’ for tonight.

“Guest bedroom.” Mokuba smiled as he started ushering the team towards it. “Feel free to help yourselves to the spread.” He motions towards the island. Valon sent off another quick text, a small smirk on his lips before he joined the chaos.

The stylist’s team moved quickly, transforming the guest bedroom into a makeshift dressing suite. Garment bags were hung with reverence, makeup cases snapped open, and makeup brushes and combs readied. It’s even more intense than earlier, and you didn’t think that possible. You barely had time to process before you were gently but firmly guided into a chair, a cape draped over your shoulders to protect your clothes.

The lead stylist—a sharp eyed woman with platinum blonde hair tied into a sleek ponytail—circled you like a sculptor assessing marble. “Alright,” she said, tapping a manicured nail against her chin. “We’re going for devastating. Not desperate, not overdone—just effortless enough to make it hurt.” She snapped her fingers, and an assistant immediately handed her a tablet. She swiped through a few images before nodding decisively. “Yes. This one.”

Mokuba and Valon lingered in the doorway, craning their necks to see. Valon whistled low under his breath. “Damn, sweetheart. You’re about to ruin that bastard’s whole night.”

Mokuba grinned, bouncing on his toes. “Wait until you see the—”

The stylist cut him off with a pointed look. “Out. Both of you. Go get dressed yourselves, or I’ll have my assistants drag you out.”

Valon held up his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk was anything but innocent. “Wouldn’t dream of interfering with art.” He winked at you before Mokuba grabbed his sleeve and yanked him away, the door clicking shut behind them.

The forty minutes passed in a blur. The stylist worked ruthlessly trimming, shaping, blending. Your hair was styled just so without looking overly deliberate. The makeup was subtle but striking, enhancing without overpowering.

Then came the outfit.

The stylist unzipped one of the garment bags with a flourish, revealing a sleek ensemble in deep, jewel toned hues. The fabric was luxurious, the cut immaculate—fitted enough to command attention but not so tight it looked like you were trying. As you slipped into it, the stylist adjusted the lines with a critical eye before stepping back, satisfied.

“There.” she said, tilting her head. “Now that is a weapon.”

A knock at the door interrupted her. Before anyone could answer, Kaiba’s voice cut through from the other side. “Are you decent?”

The stylist rolled her eyes but called back, “Yes, Mr. Kaiba. You may enter.”

The door opened, and Kaiba stepped inside—then stopped dead.

He was already dressed for the evening, a perfectly tailored suit in a shade of deep cobalt, the fabric catching the light in a way that made his eyes look even more piercing than usual. His silver cufflinks gleamed, and his hair was perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

But for once, Kaiba wasn’t the most striking thing in the room.

His gaze swept over you, lingering for a fraction of a second too long before he schooled his expression back into its usual indifference. But you saw it—the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.

The stylist smirked. “Well? Does it meet your standards?”

Kaiba didn’t answer her. Instead, he stepped closer to you, his voice low. “Turn this way.”

You turned as Kaiba instructed, but your eyes stayed fixed on a point just past his shoulder—somewhere on the far wall where it was safe, where you wouldn’t have to meet his gaze. The weight of his attention was almost tangible, and your fingers fidgeted at your sides before you forced them still.

“If this one isn’t good enough,” you said, voice too light, “there’s a whole rack. I can change real quick.”

Silence.

Then, Kaiba’s voice, dry as bone. “You’re staring at the wall.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s a real nice wall.”

Another beat of quiet. You could feel the stylist and her team holding their breaths, caught between fascination and the instinct to flee.

Then, without looking away from you, Kaiba spoke again—this time to the room at large. “Leave.”

No one argued. The stylist gave a sharp nod to her assistants, and within seconds, they were filing out, the door clicking shut behind them.

And then it was just the two of you.

Kaiba didn’t move. His gaze didn’t waver. But something in the air shifted—charged, like the moment before a lightning strike.

“You’re avoiding looking at me.” he said. Not a question. A fact.

You swallowed. “Am not.”

“Liar.”

Your jaw clenched. Still, you didn’t look at him.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, something between irritation and amusement. Then, deliberately, he stepped closer—close enough that you could smell the faint, expensive spice of his cologne, close enough that you had to tilt your head just slightly to keep avoiding his eyes.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing the side of your face—not forcing you to look at him, just there, a silent demand.

“Tell me why.” he said.

Your breath caught in your chest, the words sticking in your throat. Kaiba’s fingers still lingered near your jaw, warm and grounding despite the storm of uncertainty inside you.

How long?

The question burned at the back of your tongue, but you couldn’t force it out—not when his gaze was this intense, not when the air between you felt like it could ignite at any second.

Instead, you swallowed hard and nodded—just once, just barely.

Kaiba’s eyes darkened, his fingers flexing ever so slightly against your skin.

“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking,” he said, voice low, “then the answer is longer than you’d believe.”

Your pulse stuttered.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. The weight of those words alone was enough to make something in your chest twist with things you couldn’t understand. Far too much noise clouding your brain to decipher what the hell was spinning through you, or how to even proceed.

A beat passed. Then another.

Kaiba’s thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, slow, deliberate. “Does that change anything?”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know if it changed anything. Not when your heart was still raw from betrayal, not when the lines between revenge and reality had blurred beyond recognition apparently somewhere along the way and everything still seemed like a fun house of upside down logic.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, something almost resigned in the sound. Then, with one last lingering brush of his fingers, he stepped back, his expression shuttering back into its usual cool detachment.

“Tonight,” he said, tone clipped, “you don’t have to think about it. Tonight, you just have to act.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, leaving you standing there with his words echoing in your skull—

Longer than you’d believe.

And you had no idea what to do with that.

The silence after Kaiba left stretched, humming with tension. You stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the closed door, his words still ringing in your ears.

Longer than you’d believe.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, restless. You should move. You should follow him. The dinner was starting soon, and you had a role to play—one you’d agreed to—offered.

But your feet wouldn’t budge.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you could face him again right now—not after that. Not after realizing that this entire time, Kaiba’s motivations hadn’t been purely about revenge.

Had this ever just been about Katsuya for him?

A sharp knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts.

“Hey,” Mokuba’s voice called through the wood, “you decent? We gotta head down soon.”

You exhaled, forcing your shoulders to relax. “Yeah. Come in.”

The door swung open, and Mokuba stepped inside, already dressed in his black suit, his hair neatly styled. Valon loomed behind him, looking unfairly good in all black, his usual rough edges polished into something dangerously refined.

Mokuba’s grin faltered slightly when he saw your expression. “Uh. You okay?”

You forced a nod. “Fine. Just… thinking.”

Valon smirked, crossing his arms. “Thinking, or overthinking?”

You shot him a glare, but there wasn’t much to it.

Mokuba glanced between you and the door, as if piecing something together. Then, with a knowing look, he clapped his hands together. “Right. Well, whatever existential crisis you’re having, save it for after we destroy Jounouchi’s will to live, yeah? You got this, Mc.”

Valon barked a laugh. “That’s the spirit.”

You rolled your eyes, but some of the tension in your chest eased. They were right. Tonight wasn’t about you—it was about making Katsuya regret every choice he’d ever made.

And Kaiba?

You’d deal with that later.

“Alright.” you said, squaring your shoulders. “Let’s go ruin someone’s life.”

Mokuba grinned, wicked and bright. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Valon slung an arm around your shoulders as the three of you headed for the door. “You’re gonna haunt him far longer than he haunts you, Mc. Trust me.”

The penthouse elevator ride down to the ballroom was silent, save for the soft hum of the elevator itself. Mokuba fiddled with his cufflinks, Valon checked his phone, still smirking at whatever messages he was getting, and you?

You focused on breathing.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the opulent lobby of the Kaiba Grand Hotel’s ballroom level. The distant murmur of voices and clinking glasses already echoed from the grand double doors ahead.

And there, waiting for you like a shadow against the gilded backdrop, was Kaiba.

He stood with his back to you, speaking quietly to one of the event staff, but the moment the elevator doors opened, he turned—as if he’d felt your presence.

His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unreadable.

Mokuba nudged you forward with an elbow. “Showtime.”

You swallowed hard, then stepped out of the elevator—toward Kaiba, toward the ballroom, toward the inevitable collision of revenge and something far more complicated.

Kaiba’s lips curled, just slightly, as you approached.

“Ready?” he asked, offering his arm.

You hesitated only a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, his warmth seeping through the fabric of his suit.

“Ready.”

The grand ballroom doors swung open before you, revealing a scene of glittering opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light over the sea of Domino City’s elite, their champagne flutes catching the glow as they mingled. The hum of conversation dipped for just a moment as heads turned toward your entrance—toward Kaiba’s entrance—before the noise swelled again in excited murmurs.

Kaiba’s arm beneath your hand was solid, unyielding, his posture radiating effortless control as he guided you through the crowd. You could feel dozens of eyes tracking your every move, the weight of their curiosity pressing in from all sides.

“Don’t look at them.” Kaiba murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Look at me.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his, and the intensity in those blue eyes sent a shiver down your spine. There was something different in his expression—something beyond his usual calculated arrogance. Something dangerously close to what you could only call possession. It made your stomach twist.

The moment stretched between you, the noise of the ballroom fading to a distant hum as Kaiba’s gaze held you captive. His fingers tightened just slightly around yours where they rested on his arm, a silent claim that sent your pulse racing.

Your heart pounded as Kaiba led you deeper into the ballroom, his grip firm but not constricting. The murmurs around you ebbed and swelled, the weight of countless gazes continues pressing in. You had prepared for this, told yourself you were ready to play your part, but under the glittering chandeliers and the suffocating scent of expensive perfume, and the realization of what your reality has suddenly become—the reality of the moment hit differently.

The crowd parted effortlessly before Kaiba, as if the sheer force of his presence was enough to command the space. He moved with unshakable confidence, and for the first time, you understood just how much control he had over the room without uttering a single word.

Mokuba and Valon trailed slightly behind, just far enough to let Kaiba take the lead, but close enough to keep their own watchful eyes on the gathering vultures disguised as high society. You stole a glance at them—Mokuba’s smirk was almost challenging, daring anyone to say something, while Valon’s gaze swept the room, sharp and assessing.

“Eyes on me.” Kaiba murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper.

You obeyed without thinking, your breath catching as you met his gaze once more. His expression hadn’t changed much, still carefully composed, but there was something else lingering in the depths of his expression.

Not just possession—expectation.

A waiter stopped just short of colliding with you, bowing slightly before offering a tray of champagne. Without hesitation, Kaiba plucked a glass from the tray and handed it to you before taking one for himself.

“To a flawless performance.” he smirked, lifting his glass.

You forced a smirk and clinked yours against his, the crisp sound cutting through the chatter around you. “To making someone miserable.”

A pleased glint flickered in his gaze before he took a sip.

Movement at the far side of the room caught your eye.

You might always be able to pick him out of a crowd, or maybe one day you’ll finally be able to just pretend he never existed—never destroyed you—but now, in this moment, you just knew who it was.

Katsuya.

The air in your lungs stilled.

He stood near the bar, dressed far more casually than the others—black slacks, a dark button-up with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the familiar scar across his forearm. His usual disheveled charm might have worked anywhere else, but here, among the wealth and refinement of Domino’s elite, he stood out.

And then his gaze lifted.

His posture stiffened the moment he saw you, his amber eyes widening slightly before narrowing into something unreadable.

Valon let out a low chuckle beside you. “Oh yeah. That’s the look of a man getting hit by a train.”

Mokuba snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “Told you.”

Katsuya’s gaze flicked between you and Kaiba, something simmering behind his eyes—anger? Regret? Jealousy? It was impossible to tell, but whatever it was, it sent a thrill through you as you kept your eyes away from Katsuya as Kaiba’s rules dictated, pretending he wasn’t even among the crowd.

Kaiba, still impossibly composed, turned slightly toward you, his body shifting just enough to make it clear—to Katsuya and everyone watching—that you were here with him. That you belonged at his side.

It worked.

Katsuya’s jaw tensed. His fingers curled slightly against his glass, grip tightening just enough for his knuckles to turn white.

“Do we approach, or let him come to us?” Mokuba mused, eyes alight with amusement.

Kaiba took another sip of his champagne before lowering his glass, his gaze locked onto Katsuya’s with something that could only be described as pure, calculated cruelty.

“He’ll come to us.” Kaiba said, smooth and certain.

And sure enough—after a long, tense moment—Katsuya set his glass down with a sharp clink and pushed off the bar.

He was coming straight for you.

The moment Katsuya took his first step forward, Kaiba’s hand tightened slightly around yours. Without breaking eye contact with Katsuya, he set his champagne glass down on a passing waiter’s tray, then smoothly took yours as well.

“Dance with me.” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your stomach lurched. “I don’t know how to dance.”

Kaiba didn’t respond. Instead, he guided you toward the center of the ballroom with effortless authority, his grip firm but not unyielding. The live orchestra shifted seamlessly into a slower melody—something elegant, sweeping—and before you could protest further, Kaiba’s free hand settled at the small of your back, pulling you just close enough to follow his lead.

You stiffened, your pulse hammering in your throat. “Kaiba—”

“Relax.” he said, his voice a quiet command. “Just sway. Don’t think about it.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move with him, though your steps were hesitant, uncertain. Around you, other couples glided across the floor with practiced satisfaction, their movements fluid and graceful. Meanwhile, you were painfully aware of how stiff you must look in comparison—how out of place.

“I’m tanking your reputation right now, Kaiba.” you muttered under your breath, caught between embarrassment and resisting the urge to glance toward where you knew Katsuya was standing. “Facing him might’ve been easier.”

Especially the way your pulse raced as Kaiba gently moved along with you. Everything is such a mess in your head and every time Kaiba looks at you, the scrutiny is almost too much to bare, even now.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, something dangerously close to amusement in the sound. “That’s nonsense.” His fingers pressed slightly firmer against your back, adjusting your posture subtly. “I’m simply dancing with my date. If anyone has anything to say about it, I’ll take care of it.”

You huffed, but before you could argue further, Kaiba leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “He’s still watching. Even this is enough, Mc.”

A shiver raced down your spine.

“So relax,” Kaiba continued, his breath warm against your skin. “And try to enjoy yourself.”

You didn’t dare look—didn’t dare risk meeting Katsuya’s gaze—but you could feel the weight of his stare. Kaiba’s hand at your back was steady, his presence an unshakable anchor amidst the sea of watching eyes you seemed to be drowning in.

Slowly, hesitantly, you let yourself lean into the rhythm, your movements growing less rigid as Kaiba guided you with quiet confidence.

The music swelled around you, the strings and piano weaving together in a rich, romantic melody. Kaiba’s hand remained steady at your back, his other hand clasping yours with just the right amount of pressure—not too tight, not too loose. As you relaxed into the rhythm, you realized with some surprise that he was actually a decent dancer, his movements precise yet fluid, effortlessly compensating for all of your inexperience—even if it was just lame, high school level slow dancing. Maybe both of your reputations wouldn’t be tanked with your useless, embarrassing display after all.

You chanced a glance up at him through your lashes. The golden light of the chandeliers caught the sharp angles of his face, casting dramatic shadows that made his piercing blue eyes seem even more intense than usual. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something different in the way he looked at you—something that made your breath catch.

“Stop thinking so hard.” Kaiba said, his thumb brushing lightly against your back. “You’re doing fine.”

You swallowed. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably been waltzing since you could walk.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Something like that.”

The song shifted slightly, the tempo slowing just enough that Kaiba adjusted his hold on you, drawing you a fraction closer. Your heart pounded against your ribs, the warmth of his body seeping through the layers of fabric between you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of movement—Katsuya, standing at the edge of the dance floor. His expression was dark, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching from here.

Kaiba noticed your slight stiffening. His smirk deepened.

“Perfect.” he murmured, so low only you could hear. Then, deliberately, he shifted his hand from your back to your waist, pulling you even closer—close enough that your chest nearly brushed his with every breath.

Your face burned. “Kaiba—”

“Trust me,” he interrupted, his voice a velvet whisper against your ear. “This is exactly where we want him.”

And then, before you could protest, Kaiba dipped you—just slightly, just enough to make your stomach swoop—before smoothly bringing you back up. The movement was elegant, practiced, and drew more than a few appreciative glances from the surrounding guests.

From Katsuya’s direction, you heard the distinct sound of glass shattering.

Valon’s loud, delighted laugh cut through the music. “Oh, that’s beautiful. Someone get the poor bastard another drink!”

Kaiba didn’t even glance in their direction, his focus entirely on you. “You see?” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is far more effective than any confrontation could ever be.”

You exhaled shakily, torn between embarrassment and a strange, giddy thrill. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Kaiba’s eyes gleamed. “I enjoy precision. And this?” His grip tightened just slightly. “This is perfection.”

The music began to wind down, the final notes lingering in the air. Around you, other couples slowed to a stop, breaking apart with polite applause for the orchestra. But Kaiba didn’t let go—not right away. He held you there for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his gaze searching yours for something.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he released you, stepping back just enough to offer his arm again.

“Shall we?” he asked, his tone smooth and self assured.

You hesitated only a moment before slipping your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you off the dance floor.

Katsuya was nowhere to be seen out of your periphery vision.

Mokuba materialized at your side, grinning like a cat who got the cream. “Well, that was fun. Think he’ll actually have the guts to show his face again tonight?”

Kaiba’s smirk was razor sharp. “Oh, he will. And when he does?” His fingers brushed lightly over yours where they rested on his arm. “We’ll be ready.”

The promise in his voice sent a shiver down your spine—equal parts anticipation and something warmer; something far more confusing, considering your world at large.

“What even happened, anyway? I didn’t see it.” You glanced up to Kaiba.

Valon appeared at your other side with a predatory grin, swirling his own champagne flute. “Oh, it was fucking artistic.” he drawled, his accent thick with amusement. “Box dye blondie was offered a drink right as Kaiba decided to get handsy—”

Kaiba shot him a withering look, but Valon just laughed.

“And the poor bastard downed it in one go like he was doing a fucking shot at a dive bar.” Valon mimed the motion with his glass, tossing his head back dramatically. “Then our dear CEO here dips you, and—” He clutched his chest, feigning devastation. “Wish I’d filmed it—guy looked like he’d been hit by Exodia himself.” He took a long sip before adding, “Then he stormed off toward the terrace. Probably to have a little crisis in private.”

Mokuba snickered, barely containing his laughter. “The best part? He was holding the empty flute so tight the stem snapped clean off. Just—” He made a crunching motion with his hands. “Pop! Glass everywhere. Classic.”

Valon wiped an imaginary tear from his eye as he took a sip of his champagne, then added with a smirk, “Shame the ballroom isn’t on a higher floor.”

Mokuba snorted. “We’d have to send security to make sure he didn’t become a jumper then.” As a twisted smile took his lips.

Kaiba’s fingers tightened slightly, just enough to draw your attention back to him. His expression was the picture of cool indifference, but there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

“Let him stew.” Kaiba said smoothly. “We have better things to focus on.” He glanced down at you, his gaze lingering just a second too long before adding, “The auction is starting soon. We should move to take our seats.”

Mokuba perked up. “Oh! That means the real show’s about to start.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you. “You’re gonna love this part.”

Valon slung an arm around Mokuba’s shoulders, steering him away with a chuckle. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go make sure we get our front row seat to the carnage.”

Kaiba guided you through the glittering crowd, his hand warm and steady at the small of your back as he navigated toward a set of ornate double doors at the far end of the ballroom. The moment you stepped through, the noise of the party faded into a muted hum, replaced by the quiet elegance of a smaller, more intimate auction chamber.

The room was bathed in soft golden light, rows of plush velvet chairs arranged in gentle arcs around a raised podium. A few guests had already taken their seats, murmuring quietly amongst themselves as staff circulated with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

Kaiba led you to a pair of seats near the front—prime real estate, clearly reserved. As you settled in, he leaned slightly toward you, his voice low.

“Feel free to bid on anything you like.” he said, his tone casual, as if he were commenting on the weather rather than offering you unlimited access to what’s bound to be a high end auction.

You blinked at him. “Kaiba, I don’t even know what’s being auctioned.”

His smirk was faint but unmistakable. “Does it matter?”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in.

“Oh, it absolutely matters.” Valon drawled, dropping into the seat beside you with a grin. “Because somebody,” He jerked his thumb toward Kaiba. “might’ve slipped in a special item just for tonight.”

Mokuba, sliding into the chair on Valon’s other side, shot you a conspiratorial look. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, the picture of feigned exasperation. “If you two are quite finished—”

Valon held up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of spoiling the surprise, mate.”

You glanced between them, suspicion creeping in. “What did you do?”

Kaiba adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. “Nothing excessive.”

Mokuba choked on a laugh.

Valon just grinned wider.

You exhaled, leaning slightly toward Valon. “Do you think he’ll actually drag himself in here before the auction starts?”

Mokuba’s grin turned razor sharp, and for a moment its almost startling just how much he looks like his brother. “Hard to tell. But don’t worry—Isono’s got eyes on the terrace. If he so much as twitches in this direction, we’ll know before he even makes it through the door.”

Valon let out a low chuckle, tilting his head toward you. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard’s still out there hyperventilating into a potted plant.” He took a sip of his drink, amber eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Though, honestly? I’m a little disappointed. I wanted him to try and swing on the smug bastard.” Valon held his drink up in motion to Kaiba. “Would have loved the excuse to make the box dye blonde swallow some of his teeth.”

Kaiba’s voice was a low, icy murmur. “You wouldn’t have gotten the chance, Valon.” His gaze flicked toward the other man, sharp and unamused. “If he swings, I handle it.”

Valon smirked, swirling his champagne lazily. “Oh, come on, mate. You’re telling me you wouldn’t let me have a little fun?”

Kaiba’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If it happens, it’ll be at the afterparty. Not here. He still has enough self preservation in that empty head of his.”

Your stomach tightened. “You really think he’d resort to that?”

Mokuba snorted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Oh, if it’s gonna happen anywhere, it’s probably there. It’s open bar, no tabs—Seto already paid for everything in advance. And every duelist in the tournament gets automatic entry for the week. Makes for a possibility of a perfect catalyst of bad decisions.” He shot you a knowing look. “It all boils down to what he does, that’s his choice to make. And let’s be real—Jounouchi’s never been good at holding his liquor. With Seto upping the ante at the after party, it’s a guessing game if he holds his temper or runs with his tail between his legs.”

Valon barked out a laugh, loud enough that a few nearby guests glanced over. “Fuckin’ right. Mongrel’s going to snap, no one knows just how badly or when. Add in if he hits that open bar, it’s anyone’s guess, Sweetheart.”

Your fingers tightened around Kaiba’s hand without thinking, your grip turning almost desperate as the reality of the situation settled over you.

“Katsuya rarely drinks more than a few drinks because...” Your voice trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

Because you knew why.

Because you remembered the nights he’d wake up in a cold sweat after nightmares of his father—of the way the man would stumble home reeking of booze, fists flying before the door even shut behind him. Because you’d held him after those dreams, listening to the way his voice cracked when he admitted he was terrified of becoming him. Because he knew he had a temper, knew he could be reckless, and the idea of losing control like that—of hurting someone he loved the way his father had hurt him—his mother—made Katsuya sick.

Katsuya had only ever pushed the envelope a few times with alcohol, and Hiroto had been there, ushering him off and ‘claiming him’ for the night under the guise of ‘boys night continuing’.

You aren’t stupid, and Katsuya had told you that if he ever did get in a situation where he reached his limit, he had made a deal with Hiroto to make sure he kept him away from people and out of trouble—just in case. Hiroto understands, he had front row seats to Katsuya’s suffering as a teen when not everyone knew the dark, dirty truth that Katsuya hid behind smiles and excuses.

The memory of those quiet confessions made your chest ache. Katsuya had worked so hard to break the cycle, to be better than the man who’d left him bruised both inside and out.

Valon’s expression darkened, his usual smirk fading into something more serious as he leaned in closer to you. “I need to ask now, love—because that bloke out there sure as hell ain’t the man I thought he was this morning.” His green eyes searched yours intently. “Did he ever hurt you when he’d had too much?”

The question hung heavy in the air between you. Kaiba’s grip on your hand remained steady, but his body tensed beside you like a coiled spring. Mokuba’s playful demeanor vanished, his dark eyes sharp with sudden concern.

Valon’s jaw clenched. “I’m not ignorant to how one or two of those ‘boys nights’ went when the rest of us broke off from the group.” His voice was rough, almost protective. “So tell me. Did he ever cross that line with you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, never like that. We... We never kept alcohol at home. We only ever drank a bit when we were out with everyone. The most Katsuya ever did on those nights when he did accidentally go too far was get a bit handsy—but in that clumsy, overly affectionate way drunk boyfriends do.” You swallowed, remembering those rare nights. “Hiroto always stepped in when it happened. He made good on his promise to keep Katsuya in line.”

Valon exhaled through his nose, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Good. Because I think the three of us men would have agreed to have a very different kind of after party plan if you’d said yes.” His thumb rubbed absently against his champagne flute.

Mokuba leaned forward and met your gaze. “Whatever happens tonight—whether he loses his temper, makes a scene, or walks away—that’s all on Jounouchi. He’s his own person, and how he reacts is his choice alone.” His fingers tapped against his knee. “Seto might be pushing his buttons, but at the end of the night, Jounouchi’s the one who decides what kind of man he wants to be in front of everyone.”

Valon nodded in agreement, swirling his champagne before taking a slow sip. “Kid’s right, sweetheart. Kaiba might be the one winding him up, but every action that mongrel takes from here on out? That’s his responsibility. Doesn’t matter if Kaiba’s aiming to dismantle him.” His eyes flicked toward the auction doors. “No one’s forcing him to drink. No one’s forcing him to act a fool. If he cracks, that’s his weakness showing—not yours, not anyone else’s.”

Kaiba remained silent beside you, but his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles—a silent affirmation. He didn’t need to say it aloud. The message was clear.

This was Jounouchi’s reckoning. And he would face it. The choices from here on out were his to make.

Before you could press further, the lights dimmed slightly, and the auctioneer stepped onto the podium, tapping the microphone to quiet the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer began, “welcome to the Kaiba Corporation’s annual charity gala auction. Tonight’s proceeds will benefit—”

You barely registered the rest of the introduction, your attention still in your head mulling over possible ‘what if’s’ and worry pooling in your chest—but they are right. However Katsuya reacts, war or not wrought upon him—is his own choice. He has his own autonomy, and what he does with it now... it hasn’t been your problem since he used that same autonomy to fuck Mai.

Your attention was snagged from your thoughts by the way Kaiba’s fingers drummed once, just once, against his knee.

Anticipation.

Whatever was coming, he was looking forward to it.

The first few auction items passed in a blur of polite applause and escalating bids—a rare vintage wine collection, a week long stay at a private island resort, an original painting by some Renaissance master you didn’t recognize. Each piece sent murmurs rippling through the crowd as Domino’s elite raised their paddles with nonchalance in regards to the amount of capital being spent, numbers climbing higher with every flick of a wrist.

Beside you, Kaiba remained still as marble, his gaze fixed ahead with detached interest. Only the occasional tightening of his jaw betrayed his impatience.

Item four was a new model duel disks—custom made, engraved with the KaibaCorp logo. Sleek, refined, gold inlays against the onyx device giving it a sharp, beautiful edge. The bidding war that erupted was almost violent, corporate executives and duel enthusiasts alike driving the price into absurd territory within seconds.

“Going once at four million yen!”

Valon leaned over, his breath warm against your ear. “Watch this.” he muttered.

Kaiba lifted his paddle. Just once.

The auctioneer’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Ah—we have a bid from the house for seven million.”

A stunned silence fell over the room. No one dared counter.

“Sold to Mr. Kaiba!”

Mokuba muffled a laugh into his hand as Kaiba set his paddle down, his expression utterly smug.

Item five came and went—some jewelry set that had the socialites in the room practically salivating—before the auctioneer cleared his throat and sold at an alarming 15 million Yen. Item six was a mildly interesting piece of abstract art by a new, up and coming Domino artist. It sold quick enough at a few million yen, surprisingly. The auctioneer was adjusting his glasses as a fresh item was wheeled in behind him. A glass case, with something small in it.

“And now, lot number seven—a truly unique piece.”

The image that flashed up on the screen to show a close up made your breath catch.

It was a card.

Gambler of Legend.

There’s only three in existence. The one that was easy to find, held by the collector that you secured and gave to Katsuya. You always assumed Kaiba probably had one in his collection, as he’s known for collecting cards. The third one... the jokes have always been that some little kid must have gotten it from a pack and it was lost beneath playground sand, or something equally as asinine, as it’s never showed up in all its years since release.

“Is it...?” You couldn’t hardly form any words, let alone take in what the auctioneer was saying.

“No. Jounouchi unfortunately still holds his copy given by you. Though him having it will serve the damage long after today.” Kaiba reminded you.

“Because now, every time he sees that card, he’ll remember this moment. He’ll remember the way you didn’t react. The way you didn’t care. And most of all, he’ll remember that I was the one touching you when he played it.”

When Kaiba had leaned in to whisper it in your ear while you were on his lap—the fact that he kissed you while Katsuya watched, using your devotion made tangible as a plea to you—is what Katsuya would, hopefully, be haunted with forever.

“I did my research after you told me the significance. Statistics said the third was either lost or still in a pack unopened somewhere. Simply just a matter of time until it was found.” He smirks at you. “I still of course hold a copy in my collection, but if you’d like, there’s no shame in bidding to be the third holder of Gambler of Legend. You’d be free to do as you please with it.”

It isn’t the card you gave Katsuya, but it is a symbol. Gambler of Legend is your devotion that you gave Katsuya in physical form... and Kaiba’s giving you a chance to reclaim a part of your devotion by holding the last one in existence that isn’t owned.

A chance to take your devotion back and do what you want with it...

Free of Katsuya this time around.

The auctioneer’s voice cut through the murmuring crowd. “Bidding will start at one million yen for this ultra rare promotional card—one of only three in existence.”

Your paddle was in the air before he finished speaking. “One million.”

A collector two rows back immediately countered. “One point five.”

“Two.” you said without hesitation, fingers tightening around the bidding paddle. Kaiba’s thumb traced slow circles against your inner wrist, a silent anchor as the numbers climbed.

“Three million.” called a woman in an emerald gown.

“Four.” Your voice didn’t waver.

The bids came faster now, the room electrified by the card’s newfound notoriety as much as its rarity. Every time you raised your paddle, your chest tightened. This wasn’t just about owning a rare card—this was about reclaiming what that symbol meant. Your devotion, your trust—given freely once and now being fought for in a room full of strangers who could never understand its true worth.

“Eight million.” you ground out when the price had doubled, your nails digging into your palm. The cool metal of Kaiba’s cufflink brushed your arm as he shifted beside you, his presence steady as the bids continued to climb.

“Ten million.” countered a silver haired businessman.

Your breath hitched. The number was staggering, but the thought of walking away empty handed made your stomach churn. That card represented everything you’d given Katsuya—everything he’d thrown away. To hold its echo would be to take back control, to prove your devotion wasn’t his to keep after breaking it.

“Twelve.” you forced out, pulse roaring in your ears.

A hush fell over the room. The auctioneer’s eyebrows shot up. “Twelve million in the front row! Do I hear thirteen?”

The pause stretched. Your knee bounced uncontrollably until Kaiba’s hand settled over it, stilling you with just that touch.

“Going once...”

You held your breath.

“Twice...”

The gavel hovered.

Slam!

“Sold to our guest of honor for twelve million yen!”

The paddle slipped from your fingers as relief crashed over you in waves. Around you, polite applause broke out, but all you could focus on was the way Kaiba’s fingers laced through yours, his grip firm as he brought your hand to rest on his thigh.

“Congratulations.” he whispered, his breath warm against your temple. “It’s yours.”

Yours.

Not Katsuya’s. Not tied to memories of betrayal. Just yours—to do with as you pleased.

The weight of that realization settled over you as the auction moved on, Kaiba’s thumb resuming its slow strokes along your thumb. For the first time since everything had shattered, something inside you felt... close to whole again. Just a tiny bit.

Like you had a chance.

The auction continued, seven more lavish items crossing the podium—a vintage sports car, a private concert by a famous musician, a rare first edition manga collection—but your mind barely registered them. The weight of what had just happened sat heavy in your chest, the significance of that single card thrumming through you like a second heartbeat.

Kaiba’s hand remained loosely curled around yours, his thumb occasionally brushing over your knuckles in silent reassurance. When the final lot was sold—a week long cruise on a luxury yacht—the auctioneer thanked the guests, and the room erupted into polite applause.

As the crowd began to disperse, Kaiba leaned in, his voice low. “The card will be held for you until after the event. You can collect it then.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly tight. “Kaiba, I—”

“Don’t.” His fingers flexed slightly against yours. “You don’t have to thank me.”

But you did. Because this wasn’t just about revenge anymore—if it ever had been. This was about you. About giving you back something you thought was lost.

“I am thanking you.” you said quietly, turning your hand in his so your fingers tangled together once more. “Not for the money. For… this.”

For understanding. For seeing what that card meant, and for what he could give you the chance to have back—even if it was something as stupid as a Duel Monsters card at the core of it.

A card that represented so much more than you could ever describe.

Kaiba’s gaze held yours for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in the depths of his blue eyes. Then, with a slight incline of his head, he stood, pulling you up with him.

“Come on.” he said. “Dinner will be starting soon, but we have some time.”

He guided you back through the double doors into the ballroom where guests mingled in clusters, champagne flutes in hand, the hum of conversation filling the air once more. The atmosphere was lighter now, the tension of the auction replaced by the anticipation of the meal to come.

You exhaled shakily, still processing everything.

Kaiba’s hand settled at the small of your back, steadying. “Breathe.” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Do you need a minute?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, your fingers tightening reflexively around Kaiba’s. The weight of the evening—the auction, the card, the way your entire world had shifted in the span of less than a day—pressed down on you all at once.

Kaiba didn’t hesitate. With a subtle tilt of his chin, he guided you toward a secluded alcove near the grand windows overlooking the city. The noise of the ballroom faded into a distant hum, the twinkling lights of Domino’s dusk stretching endlessly beyond the glass.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy but not uncomfortable, the kind that settled like a weighted blanket.

Then Kaiba turned to face you fully, his gaze searching yours. “Tell me what you need.” he said, his voice low. Not a demand. An offer.

You exhaled shakily. “I just—” Your fingers flexed against his. “I don’t know what to do with it. The card, I mean.”

Kaiba’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “You don’t have to decide now.”

“But that’s the thing,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I want to decide. What if I—” You swallowed hard. “What if I get it wrong again, Kaiba?”

The words spilled out, hanging between you, raw and vulnerable with the meaning.

Kaiba’s grip on your hand tightened, just slightly. “Then it’s yours to get wrong.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “That’s the point. It’s yours.”

Something in your chest cracked open at that.

The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the quiet.

Valon appeared first, his smirk sharp as ever, with Mokuba trailing just behind him. “Well, well,” Valon drawled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the alcove’s archway. “Looks like the slag showed up during the auction.”

Mokuba nodded, his expression a mix of amusement and calculation. “From what I saw, Jounouchi and Kujaku are keeping their distance from each other—for now.” He shot Kaiba a knowing look. “No idea if that’ll last.” He grinned.

Kaiba’s grip on your hand didn’t waver, but you felt the shift in him—the subtle straightening of his spine, the way his gaze sharpened. “Valon,” he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, “there’s a woman here tonight—blonde, red dress, red lipstick. She’s been eyeing you since we arrived. I’m sure she’d love a dance.”

Valon’s grin turned wicked. “Oh? And here I thought you were just gonna tell me to behave.”

Kaiba arched a brow. “I don’t waste my breath on pointless requests.”

Mokuba snorted, already pulling out his phone. “Security says Yuugi and Anzu showed up during the auction as well. Otogi too. Haven’t seen them yet, though.”

Something unreadable flickered across Kaiba’s face, but it was gone before you could decipher it. “Noted.”

Valon pushed off the wall, stretching his arms behind his head. “Right, then. Guess I’ve got a dance to attend to.” He winked at you. “Try not to miss me too much, sweetheart.”

Mokuba groaned, shoving Valon toward the ballroom. “Just go.” He rolled his eyes as he watched Valon saunter away with a wickedly twisted smirk and a bounce of his brows.

“I feel like if your plan for Valon tonight didn’t involve condoms you’ve made an oversight.” You look between Mokuba and Kaiba, still slightly stunned that you now own the Gambler.

Mokuba choked on a laugh, his face turning pink as he quickly looked away. Kaiba’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly—the only outward sign of his reaction—before he fixed you with an unreadable look.

“Valon’s choices are his own.” Kaiba said, his tone dry. “Though I did have the hotel reassign him a new suite, and stock said suite with a variety of... necessities for whatever his night would beholden to him.”

Mokuba made a strangled noise. “Seto!”

Kaiba ignored him, his gaze flicking toward the ballroom crowd where Valon had disappeared. “Regardless, he’ll be occupied after dinner for a while until he shows up of his own accord, or we meet him at the afterparty when scheduled.” His lips quirked. “Which means he won’t be our problem for a while after dinner.”

You snorted, some of the tension in your chest easing. “Good to know your definition of ‘handling’ someone involves setting them loose on an unsuspecting socialite.”

Kaiba’s smirk was razor thin. “Efficient, isn’t it?”

Mokuba groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m going to go check on the seating arrangements before I lose the will to live.” He sighed heavily as he turned to leave.

As Mokuba hurried off, Kaiba turned back to you, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “Ready to face the masses?”

You exhaled, glancing toward the ballroom where the hum of conversation and clinking glasses spilled out. Somewhere in that crowd, Katsuya was lurking. Mai too now. Yuugi and the others..

“Yes.” You exhaled deeply.

And with that he offered his arm once more and you were off into the crowd again.

About twenty minutes later after some idle chatter with the few people who did approach Kaiba, his arm slid around your waist with ease, fingers pressing lightly against your hip in silent reassurance. You didn’t need to look to know why—someone was watching. Kujaku or Katsuya, maybe both.

Across the ballroom, you spotted Anzu weaving through the crowd, leaving Yuugi to fend off a swarm of Domino’s elites. He shot you an apologetic smile over someone’s shoulder, his eyes warm but clearly overwhelmed. You knew that look—Yuugi never could shake off the vultures easily, too kind to be rude even when he wanted to escape.

Anzu reached you with purposeful strides, her royal purple dress swishing around her knees. She hesitated for only a second before throwing her arms around you in a tight hug that smelled faintly of her vanilla perfume and light hairspray.

Kaiba didn’t loosen his possessive grip, but he inclined his head politely. “Mizaki.”

She ignored him, whispering in your ear, “You tell me you want me to ‘accidentally’ shove Katsuya into the champagne fountain and I’ll make it happen.”

A surprised laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it.

Anzu pulled back with a satisfied smirk, though her brown eyes remained serious. “No, really.” she said quietly, squeezing your hand. “Whatever you need. What do you need?”

Before you could answer, Kaiba’s fingers flexed against your waist. “They’re handling it.” His tone wasn’t unkind, just factual.

Anzu shot him a look that clearly said ‘I wasn’t asking you’, but she didn’t voice it. Instead, she focused back on you. “Yuugi and I—we’ve got your back. Whatever you decide.”

Over her shoulder, you saw Yuugi finally manage to extract himself from the swarm. He hurried over, his signature tricolored hair bouncing with each step.

“Hey.” he said softly, adjusting his cufflinks and suit jacket. His gaze flickered briefly to Kaiba’s arm around you before meeting your eyes with quiet confusion. “You okay?”

Kaiba’s grip tightened on your hip. “They’re—”

“Let them answer, Kaiba.” Anzu cut in sharply.

You moved to squeeze Kaiba’s hand resting on your waist before he could retort. “Better than I thought I’d be.” you told Yuugi honestly. “Really.”

It’s far from the truth, but not a lie.

Yuugi studied you for a long moment before nodding. “Good.” His smile was warm, though his eyes darted nervously toward the terrace doors where Katsuya had disappeared earlier. “We, uh... if you need something...” he nodded quickly. “Anzu has a whole five step plan to get her hands on a whole tray of champagne and make sure it finds his head.” Yuugi tilts his head with a small warm half smile, though his eyes held sympathy.

Yuugi’s quiet admission hung in the air for a moment before Anzu elbowed him gently, her lips quirking. “It’s six steps actually,” she corrected, smoothing her dress. “And one of them involves Otogi ‘accidentally’ tripping the fire alarm if needed.”

Kaiba made a low sound that might have been amusement. “I’d pay to see that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Tempting as that sounds, I think I’ll stick to Kaiba’s plan of psychological warfare for now.”

Anzu arched a brow. “Which involves...?”

“Making him watch every moment of what he threw away.” Kaiba answered without hesitation, his voice carrying that razor sharp confidence that made lesser men flinch. His hand subtly slid down to your hip, his fingers flexed possessively against you. “Seeing them happy. Thriving. Wanted.” A slow smirk curled his lips. “By me.”

Anzu’s eyebrows shot up, her mouth opening slightly before she snapped it shut. Yuugi made a small choking noise, his cheeks turning pink as he suddenly found the ceiling very interesting.

“Right.” Anzu said after a beat, blinking rapidly. “That’s... thorough.” She said as she nodded along, trying to make sense of it.

Kaiba’s smirk widened, all teeth. “I don’t do things by halves, Mizaki. You know that.”

You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, but before you could respond, the orchestra’s music shifted and a small announcement was made about seating for dinner opening.

Kaiba took the opportunity to steer you away, his hand still at your hip. “Enjoy your night.” he tossed over his shoulder, tone dripping with amusement.

As you walked, you caught Yuugi mouthing ‘Holy shit!’ at Anzu, who responded by miming a tiny explosion near her head.

The grand dining hall doors swung open with a flourish, revealing an opulent space bathed in more golden light. Kaiba guided you through the threshold, his hand never leaving the small of your back as murmurs rippled through the assembled guests.

“Table assignments are on the placards.” a staff member announced as you passed.

Kaiba didn’t even glance at the seating chart, leading you straight to the head table where Mokuba already sat, grinning.

“I think tonight’s dinner is going to be exceptional.” The younger Kaiba’s grin never faltered.

Mokuba nodded subtly toward table three, but Kaiba’s hand pressed gently against your back in warning. “Don’t look yet.” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.

Mokuba leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “Yuugi and Anzu are still at table three, along with Jounouchi. I made sure to keep your original seat empty—just to twist that knife—but I may have made an adjustment or two.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What kind of adjustment?”

Kaiba’s lips curved slightly. “Table three seats six.”

Your stomach dropped as you put the pieces together. Slowly, you turned to Kaiba, disbelief coloring your voice. “You did not.”

Kaiba’s smirk deepened. “You’re right. I didn’t.” He nodded toward Mokuba. “He did.”

Mokuba looked far too pleased with himself. “Jounouchi has the perfect view of our table—and Mai gets to look directly across at Valon and Jounouchi all night.” He shrugged, swirling his water glass. “Already went over the plan with Valon. He’s in—promised to be perfectly respectable and unaffected. Well, aside from a few well placed digs here and there.” His grin turned sharp. “But let’s be honest, they both have it coming. Not only that, but if it gets too much, he can leave whenever—free and clear—under the mental health waiver that we submitted with him after he got back from talking with Kujaku.”

You groaned. “Why would you torture Yuugi and Anzu like that?”

Kaiba’s smirk sharpened as he leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “You know perfectly well Mazaki will be delighted once she takes her seat and realizes the setup.” His gaze flicked toward table three with predatory satisfaction. “And seating the sinners before ‘moral compass Mutou’? That’s just poetic justice. Jounouchi will drown in shame just looking at him.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Kaiba continued, his voice dropping to that dangerous purr. “I knew where Mutou stood the moment I rewatched the live footage. The fact he wasn’t trailing after Jounouchi like a lost puppy, begging to help him fix things?” A cold chuckle. “That was all the confirmation I needed.”

Mokuba snorts into his glass. “Yuugi’s going to be giving Jounouchi the ‘disappointed brother’ eyes all night, I just know it. It’s going to be brutal.”

Kaiba’s fingers drummed against the tablecloth. “People forget—the Pharaoh left more than just memories in Mutou. He also left behind quite a vicious little piece of himself.” His lips curled. “I can’t help it if people refuse to acknowledge it.”

Mokuba sighed dreamily. “It’s going to be like watching a train wreck in slow motion.” He smiled as he watched more attendees file in before turning back to you. He raised his glass with a grin. “To psychological warfare and good friends.”

Kaiba clinked his glass against his brother’s, his smirk bordering on predatory. “To watching them squirm.”

The grand dining hall filled slowly, the clink of fine china and murmured conversations creating a deceptive veneer of normalcy. At table three, Katsuya was second to arrive, his shoulders hunched as he pulled out his chair. His fingers clenched around the back of it when he looked up and realized two things simultaneously.

One, your empty seat was directly to his left, the place card still bearing your name in elegant script.

Two, Valon was already lounging in the chair to his right, swirling a glass of whiskey with a smirk that promised trouble.

Katsuya’s jaw tightened visibly, but he sat anyway—trapped between the ghost of you and the reality of Valon’s presence. Abandoning dinner meant surrendering to a loss at the tournament—his only access to you at the moment.

Mai arrived next, her gold dress shimmering in the lighting like a spark. She froze mid step when she saw the seating arrangement, her painted lips parting slightly before she schooled her expression into something cooler. She took the seat angled toward Valon—a strategic choice that forced Katsuya to stare past her, directly at the head table where Kaiba had his arm draped over the back of your chair, his fingers brushing your shoulder with deliberate possessiveness.

Anzu arrived next, her heels clicking against the marble floor with purposeful sharpness. She didn’t even blink at the seating chart as Yuugi pulled her chair out for her.

Yuugi was the last to sit, his usual soft expression replaced by something far more measured. He took the remaining seat between Anzu and Mai, folding his hands neatly on the tablecloth.

The tension at table three could have been cut with a knife as the first course arrived. Delicate scallops on saffron risotto that no one touched.

Kaiba’s fingers trailed lazily down your arm as he leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered something just for you. The movement was calculated—his free hand coming to rest possessively on your thigh under the table, his thumb tracing slow circles that made your breath catch. Every touch was perfectly visible to Katsuya’s direct line of sight.

Across the room, Katsuya’s fingers clenched around his wine glass so tightly you could see his knuckles whiten from where you sat out of the corner of your eye.

Valon broke the silence first with a wolfish grin. “So Mai,” he drawled, swirling his whiskey, “how’s the resort business these days? Must be... challenging after recent events.”

Mai’s smile was razor sharp. “Business is excellent, actually. Some of us know how to recover from setbacks.”

Anzu made a show of adjusting her napkin, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Funny, I bet your next investor meeting will be quite the disaster. Something about... trust issues?”

Katsuya looked away as he flinched.

Yuugi remained silent, but the weight of his disappointed gaze was heavier than any words. When Katsuya finally dared to glance his way, Yuugi simply raised one brow before deliberately turning to engage Anzu in conversation—the ultimate dismissal.

Kaiba chose that moment to feed you a bite of food from his own fork, his blue eyes locked on Katsuya as he did so. It was savory on your tongue, but the real satisfaction came from knowing Katsuya’s face would twist before he looked away.

“One of them is going to snap soon.” Kaiba murmured against your hair, his hand tightening on your thigh.

At table three, Mai abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly. “I need some air.” she announced coldly before striding away.

Valon smirked, raising his glass in mock toast to her retreating back before turning his attention to Katsuya on his left.

“So, mate,” he began, voice dripping with false camaraderie, “was getting any traction with Mai difficult? I imagine Kaiba’s gonna have the opposite problem tonight with Mc, if ya catch my drift.”

The dining hall seemed to hold its breath.

Katsuya’s knuckles turned white around his fork. “Shut the fuck up.” he growled, voice low and dangerous.

Valon held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Ah, my bad. Didn’t mean to insult your new bitch, mongrel.”

Katsuya’s jaw clenched. “I’m not with her.”

Valon sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “That’s a real shame.” Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached into his pocket and tossed a diamond engagement ring onto the table between them. The silver band clattered against the fine china, the stone catching the light as it skidded to a stop right in front of Katsuya.

“Thought you might need it.” Valon said, swirling his whiskey with a chuckle. “Isn’t doing me fuck all now.”

Anzu’s lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers tightening around her wine glass. Yugi’s expression darkened, but he remained silent—his disapproval radiating in the way he didn’t intervene.

Katsuya stared at the ring, his face twisting with something close to guilt before settling to something harder, like he was pushing it down.

At the head table, Kaiba’s fingers tightened possessively on your thigh, his smirk bordering on feral as he watched the scene unfold.

Valon leaned back in his chair, utterly unbothered. “Cheers to that, eh?” He raised his glass in a mocking toast before downing the rest of his whiskey.

Though Valon’s grin turned wolfish as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “So tell me, mongrel,” he purred, “was last night the first time? Or were you and Mai fucking around before that?”

Kaiba’s hand slid higher up your thigh under the table, his fingers pressing possessively as murmured against your ear, “Don’t react. It doesn’t matter how he answers—he’s already lost you.”

Katsuya’s face twisted, his fingers curling into fists on the table.

Yuugi, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of finality.

“Answer him, Katsuya.”

The dining hall was utterly still in the tables close enough to be able to hear what was unfolding.

Katsuya’s throat worked before he finally ground out, barely audible, “Just last night.”

Valon barked a laugh, slapping the table. “Oh, that’s rich.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a mock conspiratorial whisper. “You should probably get tested, mate. I highly doubt Mai was unfaithful to me before you.” He tilted his head. “Unless you were dumb enough to go in raw?”

Katsuya’s face flushed dark red.

Valon smirked. “Ah. Classy.” He gestured lazily with his empty glass. “Tell me, did you at least get to finish after getting caught? Or did the whole thing just... kill the mood when you saw Mc’s heart break?” He gestured vaguely.

Anzu made a disgusted noise into her wine glass. Yuugi’s expression darkened further, but he didn’t intervene again.

Katsuya didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Just sat there, jaw clenched, staring at the engagement ring still gleaming mockingly on the table in front of him.

At the head table, Kaiba’s lips brushed your ear, his voice a velvet purr as he watched over your head. “Perfect.”

Table three descended into an awkward silence. The rest of the dining room decided to carry on with its business.

The next ten minutes stretched like molasses through the grand dining hall.

Valon had flagged down a waiter for another whiskey, drinking it with the same sharp grin still plastered on his face, though his knuckles were white around the glass. Every now and then, he’d glance at the ring still sitting untouched in front of Katsuya, his smirk tightening just slightly before he took another sip.

Katsuya hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just sat there, staring at his untouched plate like it held the answers to the universe. His fingers twitched every time Valon shifted, every time the ice in his glass clinked.

Anzu and Yuugi had retreated into quiet conversation, their voices low enough that no one else could hear. Anzu’s fingers tapped impatiently against the tablecloth, her gaze flicking between Katsuya and the exit like she was debating whether to bolt. Yuugi, ever the peacekeeper, kept his tone even, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable.

Meanwhile, at the head table, Mokuba was doing a terrible job of hiding his amusement.

“Should we start placing bets on who cracks first?” he whispered, leaning toward you and Kaiba with a grin. “I’ve got twenty thousand yen that Kujaku doesn’t come back at all.”

Kaiba didn’t even glance up from where his fingers were tracing idle patterns on your thigh. “Fifty says Valon orders another round.”

Mokuba snorted. “That’s not even a bet. That’s a given.”

You focused on the slow drag of Kaiba’s fingers along your thigh, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric of your outfit. His movements were deliberate—tracing absent circles one moment, then dragging his fingertips along your inner thigh the next. Each touch sent tiny sparks of awareness through you, making it impossible to concentrate on anything else.

The delicate appetizer in front of you went mostly untouched. You picked at the edges of the scallop, the saffron risotto cooling as your fork pushed it listlessly around the plate.

Kaiba noticed, his hand stilled momentarily before his thumb pressed in just slightly harder, a silent question. You shook your head minutely—you weren’t hungry, you couldn’t focus enough to eat if you wanted to anyway.

He gave a subtle nod in response, his fingers resuming their lazy exploration, this time drifting higher in slow, teasing increments.

Mokuba rolled his eyes dramatically from across the table. “I don’t even want to know what’s happening over there, but I do know you two are disgusting.” he muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

Kaiba didn’t even glance up. “Jealousy is unattractive, Mokuba.”

Mokuba opened his mouth to retort just as the waitstaff arrived with the second course.

And as the second course arrived—untouched, forgotten, at table three—Valon had his glass refilled again, his smirk never fading.

“I just got to thinking—if you did go back and finish—there could be puppies in the future! I bet that is exciting!” Valon nudged Katsuya’s arm with his elbow. “You and Mc talked about kids before, yeah?”

Valon’s grin turned positively feral as he tapped his glass. “Oh, that’s right—you never did get around to proposing to Mc, did you?” He sighed dramatically. “Shame. Though,” he added with a mock thoughtful tilt of his head, “I didn’t get to propose either, so I suppose I can’t really give you shit about that now—”

The words died in his throat as Mai approached the table, her gold dress shimmering under the chandeliers. It was brief—just a moment—but all of Valon’s pain was visible for everyone to see.

Mai’s sharp eyes locked onto the engagement ring still sitting in front of Katsuya’s untouched plate. She froze mid step, her manicured fingers tightening around her clutch and champagne flute.

Valon recovered first, his smirk returning tenfold. “Ah, Mai! Perfect timing.” He gestured lazily at the ring. “Tell me, love—did our boy Katsuya here at least buy you dinner first?” His voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Or was this more of a back alley quickie situation in his shared hotel room?”

Mai’s face went sheet white.

Katsuya finally snapped. “Shut the fuck up, Valon—”

“Because I,” Valon continued, undeterred, “always took you to five star restaurants before fucking you in my penthouse.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink. “Just curious.” He shrugged.

Mai’s breath hitched audibly as her gaze darted between the ring and Valon’s smirking face. Her perfectly manicured nails dug into her clutch as realization dawned—that ring had been meant for her.

For a long, terrible moment, the entire dining hall seemed to hold its breath.

Then Mai dropped her champagne flute, the sound of shattering glass filling the void of silence. She slammed her hand over her mouth with a choked sound and fled, her heels clicking sharply against the marble as she shoved past waiters and wandering guests alike.

Valon watched her go before leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Well,” he drawled, swirling the last of his whiskey, “I just can’t seem to get many answers tonight, can I?” He knocked back the rest of his drink in one go, then pushed his chair back with a scrape.

“Right then.” he announced, standing and adjusting his cuffs with deliberate nonchalance. “I’m officially done with blondes.” His smirk turned wicked as he glanced at his watch. “Got a rather ravishing redhead waiting for me to finish up this depressing little soirée so I can fuck her until she can’t walk straight.”

He paused just long enough to shoot Katsuya a mocking salute. “Try not to have too much fun tonight, mate. Oh—” He snapped his fingers as if remembering something as he pointed to Katsuya. “And you should probably get on that STI check. Just saying.”

With that, Valon sauntered out, leaving behind a stunned silence.

It was deafening. You stared at the empty space where he’d been, the weight of what happened settling heavily in your chest.

Katsuya sat frozen at table three, his face caught between mortification and pain, his fingers still curled into fists. Mai had fled. Valon had left in a blaze of cruel, calculated destruction. And yet...

It didn’t feel good.

Not the way you thought it would.

Kaiba’s hand tightened on your thigh, pulling your attention back to him. His blue eyes searched yours, sharp and assessing. “Once again, you’re thinking too much.” he said, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your outfit.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s just...” You hesitated, struggling to put the tangled mess of emotions into words. “Valon is still hurting.”

Kaiba’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes—something almost like understanding. “Of course he is.” he said simply. “He loved her.”

The words hit you like a blow.

Because that was the difference, wasn’t it?

Valon had loved Mai. Deeply. Enough he was going to propose...

You looked at Katsuya—at the way he sat slumped in his chair, his shoulders hunched, his face a mask of shame—and felt... nothing.

No rage. No grief. Just a hollow sort of satisfaction that justice had been served to some point.

And that’s what unsettled you.

Because if you didn’t feel the way Valon did—if you weren’t destroyed the way he was—then what did that say about what you’d felt for Katsuya in the first place?

Kaiba’s fingers brushed your chin, tilting your face back toward his. “Stop.” he ordered, his voice low but firm. “You’re not him. Your pain isn’t his. And that’s fine.”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers curling into the fabric of your outfit. “But—”

“But nothing.” Kaiba’s thumb traced your jaw, his gaze unwavering. “You gave Jounouchi everything. He threw it away. That’s on him—not you.”

Across the room, Katsuya finally stood, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at anyone. Just turned and walked out, his head bowed under the weight of his own choices.

Yuugi and Anzu exchanged a glance before Anzu sighed, pushing back her chair. “I should... make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” she muttered, though she didn’t sound thrilled about it.

Yuugi nodded, his expression weary. “I’ll go with you.”

As they left, the dining hall slowly came back to life—murmured conversations resuming, silverware clinking against china.

The show was over.

Table three now abandoned by all of its guest.

And you?

You were still here with Kaiba’s hand warm on your thigh, his gaze locked onto you, and he didn’t look away. “We’re leaving.”

You barely had time to process the words before Kaiba stood, pulling you up with him. His arm slid around your waist, possessive and sure, as he guided you toward the exit—past the staring guests, past the whispers, past the ruins of Katsuya’s pride and the fallout of table three.

And for the first time all night, you didn’t look back, and didn’t need to be reminded not to.

Kaiba’s grip on your waist tightened as he guided you through the hotel’s ballroom and into the private elevator, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting. The moment the doors closed, he turned you to face him, his hands framing your face with unexpected gentleness.

“You’re still thinking about them.” he said, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His blue eyes searched yours, that sharp intellect missing nothing. “Valon’s pain. Jounouchi’s shame. You shouldn’t waste your sympathy on either of them.”

You exhaled shakily, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. “It’s not sympathy, Kaiba. It’s just...” You hesitated, struggling to articulate the strange hollowness in your chest, how its all seemingly shifted and you can’t explain it. It still hurts, there’s still pain... but there’s also just... an odd sense of nothing. This tiny little sliver of it you’ve found, and now it seems so solid, so different from being numb.

Kaiba’s jaw tightened slightly. “You feel guilty,” he concluded, his voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “Because Valon is still mourning what he lost with Kujaku. Because Jounouchi looked broken when he left.” His grip on your face firmed. “Stop.”

You blinked up at him, unsure of how to explain it. He’s only partially right. You do feel bad for Valon and his pain, his clear suffering—but you don’t care that Katsuya walked away hurt, broken. You don’t feel anything about it, and that’s the part you don’t know how to say to him. There’s no rage, guilt, grief...

It’s all just nothing in this odd little slice of feeling.

It doesn’t make sense. You thought you loved Katsuya. You know you did.

So why doesn’t it hurt like it did before? Like you loved him more than anything?

“Kaiba—I—” You can feel your eyes burning, and you can’t help the confusion as you look up to him.

“Listen to me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. “You have nothing to feel guilty for. Valon chose to love someone unworthy. Jounouchi chose to betray you. Their pain is theirs.” His jaw clenched. “You don’t owe them your grief. And you sure as hell don’t need to feel bad for how either of them left.”

“That’s the problem.” You said, voice trembling. “I feel bad for Valon... but... but I don’t care that Katsuya walked out hurt.” Your tears threatened to spill over as you took a shuddered breath. “Why don’t I care, Kaiba?”

Was your love that weak? So... so little that it’s done? Run its course?

All you could do was look at him as your tears started and your throat worked to try and explain. “Nothing. There’s nothing. Not anger, not sadness... not even—not even fucking grief, Kaiba.” Your voice cracked. “So what’s wrong with me?” You asked softly as your tears poured down your cheeks and onto his thumbs unbidden.

“Because if it doesn’t hurt—was my love wrong? I loved him—I know I did—so why doesn’t it hurt like it did?” Your confusion crashes down on you like a pile of bricks as you stared up to him, begging for an answer to make sense of the odd hollow that no longer seemed sharp and loud as silent tears streamed from your eyes.

Just seemingly empty, a quiet finally in the small oddity you’d found above all the pain and noise that lurks below. It’s there, you can feel it at the edges, but it’s kilometers away. No more misery, no more clawing rage in your chest, just trapped in an odd stillness of it all.

“Because it hurt before dinner. It was sharp and angry and painful and it hurt...” you blink up to him as your voice cracks. “So why doesn’t it hurt anymore? Why don’t I hurt like Valon still does? What did I do wrong? What’s wrong with me, Kaiba?” You quietly plead for an answer to your confusion. To the unsettling realization in your chest that it seems like nothing remains in this little part of you. It isn’t numbness, the weight that drug you under and made things bearable at the start that you tried to hold onto when you needed to.

And that’s what makes this feel wrong. Because if you aren’t grieving and in pain while still hollowed out, while it still stings and boils below, then what the hell is it? Where did the sharp edges go? Where is the agony, the sting that’s been under your skin since the moment you walked in on them?

Kaiba’s expression darkened, his grip on your face tightening just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to ground you. His eyes burned with an intensity that only served to heighten your confusion.

“Nothing is wrong with you.” he bit out, voice low and fierce. “Do you hear me? Nothing.” His thumbs brushed away your tears with a roughness that belied the gentleness of the gesture. “You loved him. You gave him everything. And he broke it. He killed it. That’s on him, not you.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket. “But—”

“But nothing.” Kaiba cut in, his voice sharp. “That doesn’t mean your love wasn’t real. It just means you’re starting to realize you’re done.” His jaw clenched. “And that’s okay.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your chest tight. “Then why does it feel like I should care?” The burn of eyes intensifies and your trying so damn hard to keep your demeanor from shifting into that ugly, raw crying that you can’t control.

Kaiba’s lips twisted into something bitter, almost mocking—but not at you. “Because people like to romanticize suffering.” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “They think if you don’t ache, it didn’t matter. If you’re not destroyed, then it wasn’t real.” His fingers pressed into your skin, forcing you to hold his gaze. “But that’s bullshit.”

Your breath hitched.

“You’re not feeling nothing.” he growled. “It’s a moment of realizing it’s over, and that one day, you’ll be free.”

The moment the word free left Kaiba’s lips, something inside you cracked open—not painfully, but like a dam finally giving way after holding back too much for too long.

You were still crying, but it was different now. Less desperate, but still just as lost.

Kaiba didn’t let go of your face. He didn’t look away. His thumbs kept brushing your tears away, each stroke firm, deliberate—like he was trying to wipe away every last trace of doubt, of guilt, of that lingering wrongness you couldn’t shake in this odd little space you’d found in your chest.

“It’s the start of freedom,” he repeated, voice lower now, rougher. “And if you don’t feel like breaking apart over him, that doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. It means you loved him enough to know when it was over.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening in his jacket. “I—”

“No.” His grip shifted, one hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back just enough to force your gaze to hold his. “You don’t owe him your suffering. You don’t owe anyone that.”

A shaky breath escaped you.

Kaiba exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally released you—but only to grab your wrist and pull you from the elevator and through the penthouse into the guest room.

You didn’t resist.

The room was still a disaster from when the stylist had been there and told to leave by him—bed unmade, the clothing racks, abandoned makeup palettes, items to do your hair everywhere and the floor to ceiling curtains over the windows overlooking the city were wide open. Kaiba didn’t turn on the lights, letting the glow from outside paint the space in shadows and silver.

He stopped just inside the doorway, his back to you for a moment before he turned, his gaze sharp.

“We’re staying in tonight.” he said. It wasn’t a request.

You blinked. “But the deal—”

“Ends at midnight.” he cut in. “Which means until then, you’re still mine.” His jaw tightened. “And I’m not letting you spend the rest of that time in a hole, or parading you around to devastate a man that never mattered to start with.”

All you could do was blink at him.

Kaiba took a step closer, his voice dropping. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to shower. You’re going to change. And then you’re going to sit down and eat something, because you didn’t touch your plate at that godforsaken dinner and you barely ate four bites before we left for it.”

You opened your mouth—to argue, to protest, you weren’t even sure at that point, just shocked—but he wasn’t done.

“And then,” he continued, his voice dropping to something dangerously quiet, “you’re going to tell me exactly what you want to do with the rest of this night.”

Your pulse jumped.

Kaiba’s eyes darkened. “Because until midnight, you’re mine. And I don’t waste my time on things that don’t matter.”

The implication hung heavy between you.

You matter.

You swallowed.

Kaiba didn’t wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and turned the light on as he strode out, leaving the door open behind him.

You stood there for a long moment, your heart pounding, your skin still warm where his hands had been.

Then, slowly, you moved toward the ensuite bathroom.

Was Kaiba right?

Was this the start of freedom? Everything torn to shreds so completely by Katsuya that there finally wasn’t anything left to hold on to?

“He broke it. He killed it.”

“—that doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. It means you loved him enough to know when it was over.”

Over.

It’s been over since the moment you walked into that room less than twenty-four hours ago.

Freedom.

Were you beginning to break free of Katsuya, of pain and suffering and betrayal—even all the good that made it all hurt so much to start with?

The shower was scalding, the water washing away the last remnants of the dinner, of Katsuya’s shattered pride, of Valon’s raw, bleeding heartbreak. You just stood there for a moment, letting the steam fill your lungs.

Acceptance?

Was this just what acceptance of it all felt like? Was that what this odd little sliver that you stumbled over was. The start of really accepting Katsuya and you were done?

It was over between you and Katsuya, and everything that was—was just that.

Was.

Done.

The past.

It didn’t hurt, it didn’t feel like someone had reached into your chest and squeezed your heart until it burst. There was no glass rubbing your ribs raw with every breath, no agony.

Just... calm? Knowing?

Yes, you had given Katsuya everything... and he took it all and killed it.

But you didn’t feel dead. Not really.

The burn of anger, the swell of pain, the unending depths of sorrow were there; all at the bottom, softened and far away… So by logic, you can’t be dead, just part of a feeling, wilting away under the negligence that was Jounouchi Katsuya.

You took a deep breath, and in this moment it didn’t rub you raw. Existence didn’t completely ache...

Fucking Kaiba—of all the fucking people on earth...

Kaiba.

He’s the one that had to explain that this was the start of accepting it. That it was okay to do it, even when it didn’t make sense and you were lost.

The laugh that leaves you is a mix of absurdity and realization.

Of all the people on earth, Kaiba had held you up. Held you together, and pulled you forward through every ounce of the pain and betrayal since the fucking start of it all.

And not once had he flinched, looked away, been horrified or thought you weak.

He had kept you marching—and he marched you right to the realization that your devotion and love wasn’t gone just because Katsuya had treated it like a commodity and taken it for granted. Broken it and taken it from you—because Katsuya couldn’t take that from you—no matter how much you gave.

It’s always been yours to do as you please with. It isn’t something that once given disappears, or you lose the ability to do—unless you let Katsuya take that from you. It’s something you can have, and give, without him at any point in your future.

The only thing you have to do is find somewhere worth putting it.

Someone worthy of it when you were ready to give it again—because it didn’t die the moment you walked in and your world shattered.

Kaiba goddamn Seto.

A man so ruthless you were sure kittens and puppies died if he ever really smiled just fucking yesterday.

And he’d lead you headlong into the storm and never faltered.

Not once.

He took what you offered, and he still was there; pulling you from the wreckage that Katsuya had twisted your life into.

When you stepped out, a set of clothes was waiting for you—soft, no doubt more expensive than any piece of clothing had any right to be—

And Gambler of Legend.

It was like your body locked up at the sight of it. Mind stilling and your breath catching dead in your lungs.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for it, tracing the edge of the hard plastic card sleeve—an echo of the card you’d painstakingly saved for, hunted down to secure for Katsuya as an anniversary gift. Tangible proof of your devotion to him.

Except—

It wasn’t his anymore.

This was yours.

Because Kaiba had given it back to you.

Your breath shuddered out of you as you turned the card over in your hands, the weight of it suddenly unbearable. This wasn’t just a rare collectible. It was proof—proof that your ability to love and your choice to give devotion hadn’t died just because Katsuya had betrayed it. That it still existed, still meant something, even if he hadn’t been worthy of it.

And Kaiba—

Kaiba had known that.

He’d known—the whole time—and he’d made sure to get it back to you.

Your throat tightened as you set the card down.

You dressed slowly, the soft fabric of the black turtleneck swallowing you whole, the sleeves falling past your fingertips until you rolled them up twice. The sweatpants were just as oversized, the waistband cinched tight to keep them from sliding off your hips. It wasn’t the first time, but it felt different now. Not terrifying or weird or foreign... just... like an offer of safety.

Gambler of Legend sat heavy in your palm as you moved from the bathroom before you placed it carefully on the nightstand beside your phone. You traced the edge of the card one last time before stepping back.

Yours.

And it isn’t just an echo of the past. Not really. It’s real, solid, and it’s forever yours to do as you wish with it.

The penthouse was quiet when you stepped into the living room. Kaiba stood near the coffee table, his back to you as he arranged takeout containers with the same precision he did everything else—methodical and exact.

This was the same man who had orchestrated an entire plot of psychological warfare. Who would have continued it for a whole week straight if you’d asked—and probably beyond.

The same man who had spent twelve million yen on a card just to help you realize that Katsuya didn’t take everything from you.

The same man who had looked at you—broken, betrayed, desperately aching and needing a way to move forward—and had offered you his hand like it was natural to make whatever you needed to happen, happen.

It had never once been about revenge—not really for Kaiba.

It was care.

Even if it twisted in the deal you made, he took the offer as you as a weapon because you simply offered—and he was seeing to it that whatever needed to happen to make your pain bearable came to fruition. Allowed to wield you as needed to get you what you thought would ease it all.

Even without the deal he had given you refuge and started to untangle your life from Katsuya; mercilessly targeting things like finances and living space—objectively some of the hardest things to fix, especially if you had been left alone in that endeavor—and he saw it completed before ten in the fucking morning himself.

And if you hadn’t made the offer—taken the deal—he probably still would have done whatever he could.

“Longer than you’d believe.”

Your chest ached.

He didn’t turn when you approached, but his shoulders tensed slightly, the only indication he knew you were there.

The elevator chimed softly, its doors sliding open to reveal Mokuba balancing an armful of takeout boxes. His dark hair was slightly windswept, cheeks flushed from the night air as he kicked off his shoes.

“Next time, you can be the errand boy.” he grumbled, shooting his brother a look as he dumped the containers onto the already crowded coffee table. “I swear, the delivery guy looked at me like I was insane when I told him it was all our ord—” His gaze landed on you, and his entire face lit up.

“Hey! You look like you’re doing better.” he said, grinning as he plopped onto the arm of the couch.

You gave a small, quiet laugh, fingers tugging absently at the too long sleeves of Kaiba’s turtleneck. “I feel better too.” You answered quietly.

Mokuba’s grin widened. “Good.” He nudged one of the containers toward you. “Got extra of... well.. everything.” he motions to the coffee table. “Figured you choose what you wanted that way.”

Kaiba, who had been watching this exchange with his usual unreadable expression, finally spoke. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”

The question was deceptively casual, but you knew him better than that. There was weight behind it—the same weight that had been there since he’d pulled you from that elevator and told you that this was the beginning of feeling freedom.

You sank onto the couch, the warmth of the penthouse and the scent of good food wrapping around you like a shield.

“I’ll leave that up to the Crash Out King and his co-conspirator.” you said, lips quirking into a small smile. “So far, you haven’t led me astray.”

Mokuba barked a laugh, nearly knocking over a container of sauce. “Damn right we haven’t.” He said as he corrected the container.

Seto’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Then we’re done.”

You blinked. “Done? Done with what? “

“With him.” Kaiba clarified, his voice low. “Unless there’s something else you want?” He arched his brow.

You exhaled deeply. No more physiological warfare, no more pretending, revenge or plots and scheming or—

“Though don’t think I’m letting you out of the deal that easily.” Kaiba’s voice cut through your thoughts. “You’re still on the hook until midnight. So, since you’ve deferred to Mokuba and I—” he snatched a container from the table and pressed it into your hands, then retrieved a utensil and stuck it into the container, “your first order of business is to eat a container of food. I don’t care how you split it up, as long as you do it. You have half an hour.”

Mokuba let out a snort as he stood and grabbed a container for himself quickly, “Dibs.” He declared as he sat on the end of the couch, angling himself towards you. “And I decree—as Crash Out Co-conspirator—you tell me if you want to actually go to the after party. No games, just fun.” He smiled as he began to dig into his container. “I won’t even force the wardrobe on you, unless you want the help.” Mokuba winked with a grin. “Though it would probably make Valon’s night if you did.”

You turned the container in your hands, considering Mokuba’s offer. The idea of going out—of being around people, music, normalcy—felt foreign after the emotional whirlwind of all of this.

“I don’t know.” you admitted, picking at the food with your utensil. “I’ve never... been in this position before. I’m not sure what the exact procedure for what to do next is.”

Kaiba didn’t look up from where he was methodically sorting through the last takeout containers. “It’s whatever you want to do.” he said, his voice clipped but not unkind. “It’s your life now. No one gets to dictate that outside of me until midnight.” A pause. “And after that, it’s only your choice.”

Mokuba nodded enthusiastically around a mouthful of noodles. “It’s pretty fun! It’s at Neon Horizon downtown—full club scene, VIP section for tournament duelists and guests. Open bar—well, for you two.” he added with a mock glare at his brother. “I get to enjoy the ambiance and the mocktails.”

You blinked. “I never went to any of the after parties before. Katsuya and I always just... went somewhere else with the others after. Quiet. Low key. Just to relax and hang out with everyone. Plus—Kaiba was always there...” The last part slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, but it was the truth; and until midnight you are technically bound to honesty...

Mokuba snorted. “Yeah, probably because Jou always got way too competitive about tournament losses and needed to sulk in a corner somewhere.” He waved his chopsticks, dismissing the comment. “This is better. Music, dancing, actual fun. Plus,” he grinned, “you’d get to watch Seto glare at anyone who looks at you wrong all night. That’s going to be entertaining all it’s own.”

Kaiba shot his brother a withering look but didn’t deny it.

You froze, unsure of what to do or say until your brain kicked out some sort of reply to move past it. Like that whole thing wasn’t still.. present and existing and confusing in its own right.

“What if it isn’t my speed?” you asked quietly.

Kaiba’s gaze snapped to yours, sharp and unyielding. “Then we leave.” As if it were that simple.

Mokuba nodded. “No pressure. We can go for five minutes or until the club closes. Up to you.”

You took a deep breath. Then another. The weight of the decision felt heavy, but not crushing. You just weren’t sure what to do. Would going out and trying to have fun be too much? Right now you’re in this... sliver of starting to accept things, but that doesn’t mean it’ll hold, or it won’t just randomly shift into who knows what.

Mokuba titled his head and looked you over. “Valon is still set to show up sometime around ten, if he doesn’t roll up sooner.” He shrugged. “We can ask how his hook up went.” Mokuba’s grin grows as he shakes his head and laughs.

Checking on Valon wouldn’t be a bad thing. He’d probably still be hurting, or maybe he’s in this weird space with you? He already accepted it—sort of—you saw that before the dinner... but did he feel the odd hollow? The weird... nothing that was the supposed start of freedom? Is that what it had been before dinner?

“If you hate it,” Kaiba said, standing to retrieve his phone, “we’ll burn the place down on our way out.”

“He’s joking... Probably.” Mokuba added as his face twisted while looking at his brother, as if trying to decipher if he was serious.

You watched as Kaiba grabbed a container for himself and sat on your right. Not too close, but close enough that you could feel his presence in your space.

As you looked at him, it occurred to you that if you did want the club razed to the ground by dawn, he’d probably do it if you asked.

Even after midnight.

You quickly turned your attention back to the container in your hands.

Kaiba never said anything—however long it’s been—most likely because he thought you were happy and didn’t want to take that from you. He also offered you until midnight to see what his version of devotion looked like, but he’s been showing it since far before the deal was struck and everything fell out into the open.

Would it be absolutely insane to see how things go under the new direction of the deal? Not as a weapon but just... his until midnight? With things how they are now, it probably wouldn’t be anything weird or extreme anyway... right?

No. This is too fast. It was only last night you were helplessly devoted to Katsuya.

But Kaiba had said you don’t owe anyone your suffering, and he’s right. He’s also right, your life is your own, it’s not like tonight is a commitment, and it’s not really a date or anything like that—just some weird awkward half deal now. A commitment you need to get through for stability.

Plus he had left it all in your hands anyway, and with that comes whatever limits you want... sort of. Kaiba’s still at the helm.

Is this what rebounding is?

It slams into you with all the grace of a shotgun going off.

You can’t do that to him. It’s slimy. Greasy and wrong. Kaiba has feelings for you.

It’s like another shotgun blast as the thought comes into your brain, honest and true. You knew—you knew since he confirmed it before dinner. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it or not been confronted with it.

But now it is glaringly real.

Jesus fuck, what has life become?

Does that mean... that while ‘doing things’ in the name of physiological warfare might have been... harder for him? Or did it make it easier? All this time he’s been delivering your vengeance and also able to take out his anger on Katsuya...

God, now all you can think about is that fucking tie. Where the hell did you put that in all of this. Kaiba had made you cum. He’d fucking tasted you!

Oh, god…

Christ. It’s like accepting it partially and getting a breath of freedom made room for everything else to come crashing in, and you don’t know the first thing to do with it, or what the fuck it means past the facts—Kaiba Seto is in love with you, and he has been for some length of time.

“Twenty-two minutes. At this pace you’re set to fail.” Kaiba says without looking up from his container as he takes a bite.

It’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen. You’ve never seen Kaiba eat. At one point you just assumed he was a robot with synthetic skin made by his step dad.

And now your thinking about his tongue, and how it’s fucking tasted your cum.

“You look like you’re trying to load dial up directly into your brain.” Mokuba laughed. “It’s just the club, Mc. If need be, we can have Valon stop over here after he’s done partying.”

“I’m fine.” You say quickly, and far too defensively.

Kaiba snorts as he readies another bite, “Sure you are.” He still doesn’t look at you, but you can hear the smirk on his lips. “And I’m the King of Games.”

You took a deep breath, pushing aside the whirlwind of thoughts about Kaiba—for now—and focused on the immediate decision. “Okay.” you said, nodding slowly. “Let’s try the after party. If nothing else, I want to check on Valon.”

Mokuba’s grin was instantaneous. “Yes! Okay, next question—wardrobe? You want help, or do you have it handled?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you don’t already have that taken care of after how giddy you and Valon were about the formal wear.”

Mokuba waved a hand dismissively. “The after party outfit was the easy part. Took Valon all of two minutes.”

You sighed heavily. With Valon at the wheel there’s no telling what the hell he went with. “That... does not inspire confidence... but I’ll defer to you two. Honestly it’s one less thing I have to try and deal with in my head right now.” You leaned back into the couch as you stare into the container like it holds the answers.

Mokuba’s grin turned downright mischievous. “Perfect. And don’t worry—if you start making actual dial up sounds, we’ll pause the night for an ER visit at Kaiba Medical.”

Before you could respond, he was already on his feet, darting toward the guest room.

The moment Mokuba disappeared, the air between you and Kaiba shifted. He still hadn’t looked up from his food, but you could feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

“You’re overthinking again.” he said, voice low. “You seem to be very good at it.”

You scoffed, poking at your noodles. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Finally, Kaiba lifted his gaze. His blue eyes were sharp, assessing. “I think in facts. Currently you’re spinning in circles.”

“Maybe I have a lot to spin about, okay?” you muttered defensively as you stab into your container.

Kaiba set his container aside. “Such as?”

There is no way in fuck you are even touching the last few thoughts you’ve had.

You exhale sharply. “Okay, well to start,” you say, voice still edged in defensiveness, “less than twenty-four hours ago we were enemies, I was with Katsuya, and now I’m—” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, “here.” Your defensive edge slowly begins to give way to nervousness, “In your penthouse. In your clothes, and about to go to a club in whatever fucking nightmare outfit Valon picked out.” Your knee starts to bounce.

Kaiba’s expression didn’t change. “And?”

“And?!” You look to him incredulously. “Is that not completely fucking insane? Doesn’t that seem... fucked up? Fast? Messy?” You swallowed as you rattled off the best descriptors your failing brain could manage. “Like—like I’m just—”

“Rebounding?” Kaiba cut in, his voice dangerously calm.

You flinched, disgusted by the very word and the fact that Kaiba was already ten steps ahead in your brain. “Yes.” You say as you look away.

Kaiba leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Do you feel like you’re rebounding?”

“I don’t know what I feel.” you admitted, quietly. “I don’t exactly know what the fuck I’m doing, that’s the problem, Kaiba. I also don’t want to use you.” You cringe as it slips out, mouth once again acting before your brain can catch up.

“You couldn’t use me if you tried.” Kaiba studied you for a long moment. Then, to your surprise, he smirked. “Stop trying to define it and figure it all out. Until midnight, you’re mine. After that...” He shrugged one shoulder. “Your choice. No labels. No expectations. Just...” His gaze darkened. “See where your life goes.”

Your breath caught. That was... dangerously reasonable, and terrifyingly tempting.

It was also permission to just... see what happens. Whatever the fuck you’ve just stumbled into with what life has been drowning you in.

The thought alone jumbled with everything else crashing around in your head didn’t help anything.

Before you could respond, Mokuba came barreling back into the room, a garment bag clutched triumphantly in his hand by the hanger. “Found it!”

Mokuba unzipped the garment bag with a flourish, revealing the outfit in all its scandalous glory. Your mouth went dry.

The top was black, the neckline plunging dangerously low, held together by delicate silver chains that crisscrossed the back in an intricate pattern that left very little to the imagination. The matching bottoms were just as daring—black fabric clinging to the hips and inner thighs before giving way to more delicate silver chains along the outer thighs, the design practically begging for trouble.

You stared, stunned. “...Where the hell is the rest of it?” you whispered, face burning as you shift to get a better look.

Mokuba beamed. “What? It’s designer!” He shook the hanger for emphasis. “Valon said—and I quote—” He cleared his throat and launched into an almost pitch perfect imitation of Valon’s cockney accent, “‘It’ll look devastatingly fuckable on our sweetheart, won’t it kid?’.”

Kaiba, who had been watching this entire exchange with detached amusement, finally spoke. “I suppose I can’t be too upset with Valon.” he mused, tilting his head as he studied the outfit. “He was given an objective and succeeded.”

You whirled on him, incredulous. “What was the objective?! A wardrobe malfunction or to look like a stripper?” You hissed as you slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

The moment your hand connected with Kaiba’s chest, the room went still. His eyes darkened, that predatory glint returning as he caught your wrist before you could pull away. His grip wasn’t tight—just firm enough to make your pulse jump.

“Careful,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your racing pulse. “You keep hitting me, I might start thinking you like me.”

Kaiba released your wrist with a smirk, his thumb lingering just a second too long against your pulse point before pulling away.

Mokuba, still clutching the scandalous outfit, snorted. “You were way off about the objectives, by the way.”

You narrowed your eyes as your head snapped to him. “Then what the hell were they?”

Mokuba’s grin turned wicked. “Valon said ‘slutty, but refined’.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It also has pants that are the same, if the shorts are too much.”

“I’ll take the pants.” You say quickly.

“Pants it is. Makes shoes an easier option to be honest. Though I’m pretty sure if you were trying to escape how tight the bottoms are, the pants might be worse...” Mokuba mused as he turned the outfit towards himself to look at it again.

“Christ.” You whispered. “Pants.” You say again.

“Alright. I’ll grab them and get everything else ready while you finish eating, then you can try it on.” Mokuba called over his shoulder as he made his way back to the guest room leaving you alone with Kaiba.

His gaze tracked Mokuba’s exit before sliding back to you, his fingers drumming once against his knee. “Twelve minutes left.” he reminded you, voice smooth as silk. “Clock’s ticking.”

You rolled your eyes but obediently took another bite, leaning back against the couch cushions. “What happens if I don’t finish? You gonna punish me?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, dripping with sarcasm.

Kaiba’s smirk sharpened like the edge of a well honed blade, his blue eyes flickering with something dark and undeniably smug. His fingers stopped drumming against his knee as he leaned toward you, just slightly.

“I ensure my partner finishes.” he said smoothly, the words laced with intention. “So if you need help, I’m more than willing to take a more... hands on approach to make sure you beat the timer.”

Your brain stalled.

Heat shot straight to your face as your utensil clattered against the edge of the container, your body tensing at the unmistakable weight behind his words.

Kaiba watched your reaction with a lazy kind of satisfaction, like a predator enjoying the first signs of its prey realizing exactly what kind of danger it was in.

“I—I can do it myself.” you stammered, grabbing your utensil like a lifeline.

His smirk didn’t waver. “Eleven minutes.”

You squared your shoulders, meeting Kaiba’s challenge with a smirk of your own. “If I force this down in eleven minutes, the next ten after will be spent vomiting.” you shoot back, twirling your utensil lazily. “So you’ll just have to deal with whatever progress I make, partner.”

The emphasis on the word partner a deliberate jab back to him at his phrasing.

Kaiba’s eyes darkened, but his smirk only grew. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t enjoy progress just as much.”

Your smug expression faltered. What?

He leaned back, stretching his arm along the couch behind you, his smirk turning positively predatory as his fingers traced the cushion lightly. “Should I be worried about you... choking while trying to progress?” His voice dropped to a velvet purr, blue eyes glinting with mischief as he emphasized the word in a way that left absolutely no doubt about his meaning.

Your face burned.

“If you keep this up,” you shot back, voice trembling with equal parts indignation and something far more dangerous, “you’ll find out if I spit or swallow when this food works its way back up.”

Kaiba’s gaze flickered toward the hallway—checking for Mokuba—before returning to you with a dark chuckle. “Careful,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “You’re still bound by the midnight rule. And now you’ve got another question to answer.” His teeth flashed in a wicked grin.

Your pulse roared in your ears.

The bastard was enjoying this, of course he was. And worse—you couldn’t say it was a line of questioning you absolutely hated.

Stupid fourth rule—no lying to Kaiba.

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around your utensil. “What do you think the answer is?” you challenged, voice dropping to match his tone.

Kaiba’s smirk turned positively feral as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to that dangerous purr that you’ve discovered sends shivers down your spine.

“I think,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear, “that you choke beautifully when you’re overwhelmed—but never for long.” His fingers brushed the back of your neck, feather light. “And as for the second question...” His thumb traced your jaw, tilting your face just slightly toward his. “We both know you always swallow.”

Kaiba didn’t pull away. Didn’t give you an centimeter of space to recover. He just held your gaze, his own dark with satisfaction, watching the way your lips parted, the way your chest rose and fell just a little too fast.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” He challenged.

You could feel your mouth working to move, but nothing came of it.

Kaiba’s thumb pressed harder against your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his predatory gaze. “Though I must admit,” he continued, voice dripping with dark amusement, “I’d much prefer watching you choke prettily on me than some takeout.”

Your breath audibly hitched.

His free hand slid slowly up your thigh, fingers tracing the inseam of your borrowed sweatpants with deliberate, teasing pressure. “You’ve got a few minutes left on the clock.” he murmured. “Plenty of time to decide how badly you want to test my patience tonight.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out yet again—just a soft, traitorous exhale. Kaiba’s eyes tracked the movement, his smirk deepening.

“Or,” he continued, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed yours, “we could skip the pretense entirely. Call it a draw.” His fingers tightened on your thigh. “I’d consider it a win either way.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, heat pooling low in your stomach. The rational part of your brain screamed that this was reckless, too fast, too much—

But the way Kaiba looked at you, like he already knew every filthy thought racing through your head, like he’d been waiting years for this moment—

He actually might have...

He never told you how long... just that it was longer than you’d believe.

Your face feels like it’s might catch fire. Kaiba’s probably thought about it. Imagined it. Your lips wrapped around his cock—face fucking you until he was cumming down your throat.

Oh, fuck.

He’s probably thought about far more.

Not just about you kneeling for him, lips wrapped around his dick, choking on his length—no, that would be too simple, too expected. Kaiba wasn’t a man who thought in singular images. He planned. He strategized. He dissected and analyzed until every possible angle was mapped out in his mind.

And if he’d thought about this, about you, then he’d thought about more.

How you’d look sprawled out beneath him, wrists pinned, your body trembling under his touch. The way you’d sound—breathless, broken, begging—your voice catching on his name. The way you’d react when he pushed you past whatever limits you thought you had, the sharp gasp when he finally took what you both knew he wanted.

Heat rushed down your spine like a live wire, pooling low in your stomach. The realization hit like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Kaiba had thought about it.

And worse—you wanted to know exactly how much.

His fingers tightened against your jaw, dragging you back to the present, to the way his eyes darkened as he studied you—memorized you. He could see it, the way your pupils were blown wide, your chest rising and falling just a little too fast. The subtle tremor in your hands, the way your thighs pressed together without you even realizing it.

“Oh?” His voice was a low hum, velvet smooth and taunting. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

Shit.

That smirk of his sharpened, lethal and knowing. His fingers brushed the delicate skin beneath your chin, tilting your face up ever so slightly. Daring you to lie.

But you couldn’t. Not with the damn fourth rule hanging over you like a noose. Even without it, Kaiba could spot it a kilometer away.

Kaiba chuckled, soft and dark, his breath warm as it ghosted over your lips. “How far have you gotten, I wonder?” His thumb dipped below the turtle necks collar and stroked over your pulse, feeling the rapid thrum beneath his touch. “Just your knees on the floor?” His hand trailed up from your thigh slowly, fingers ghosting over the bare skin just above your waistband as they slid under the sweater. “Or have you let yourself go further?”

Your entire body felt like it was burning. You squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made it worse. Because now you were thinking about it.

Kaiba’s hand didn’t move, resting just above your hip, a phantom weight, a reminder that he was right there, watching your every reaction. “I bet I know.” His voice dipped lower, each word curling around your senses like smoke. “You don’t just imagine kneeling for me.” His fingers pressed just a fraction harder. “You imagine me pulling you down by the hair, don’t you?”

A sharp gasp slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

His eyes blazed.

You barely had a second to process before his fingers tangled into your hair at the base of your skull, gripping just enough to make you feel it.

Your pulse roared.

“There it is.” His smirk was pure sin, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “That’s the reaction I was waiting for.”

He tugged—gentle but commanding—and your body followed, your breath completely stolen as he forced you to tilt your head back.

His lips parted slightly, gaze flickering over you with something unreadable—something dangerous. His breath ghosted against your skin as he leaned in, just enough that you swore you could feel the heat radiating from his lips.

And for one agonizing moment, you thought—hoped—he’d close the distance.

But he didn’t.

He just stayed there, drinking in the sight of you, his grip firm, his dominance absolute.

“You should finish eating.” he murmured, low and smooth, the barest edge of command lacing his tone. “You’ve only got a few minutes left.”

And just like that—he let go.

Your body jolted at the sudden loss of contact, at the overwhelming emptiness where his hand had just been. The air felt too cold—even in sweatpants and a turtleneck—your skin too sensitive, every nerve still singing with the phantom of his touch.

Kaiba leaned back, effortlessly composed, smirk intact, watching you with a satisfaction so deep it made your stomach twist.

You swallowed hard, hands shaking as you clutched your utensil and the food—only to realize that, between the heat coursing through your veins, and the way your thoughts were spiraling, you weren’t sure you could swallow anything at all.

Your whole body was still burning from the way Kaiba had touched you, teased you, controlled you. He was composed now, leaning back against the couch like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t just unraveled you with a few words and well placed touches.

Jesus Christ.

The guest room door swung open with a bang as Mokuba strode back in, arms laden with accessories. “Alright! Outfit is almost ready to go—” He paused, glancing between you and Kaiba with narrowed eyes. “Why does it look like someone just walked in on you two doing something illegal?”

You choked on air, nearly dropping your container.

Kaiba, the bastard, didn’t even blink. “They were just realizing a few things.”

Mokuba snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.” He tossed some of the accessories onto the couch beside you. “Anyway, Valon texted—he’s on his way up. Wants to pregame a few drinks with you in the down time before we hit the club since we aren’t sticking to the ten pm deadline anymore.”

The second the words left his mouth, you were on your feet, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to escape Kaiba’s predatory gaze. “Great! Sounds great. I’ll just—go get ready.”

You didn’t wait for a response, practically sprinting for the guest room once you set your container down, your face burning. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you sagged against it, pressing your palms to your flushed cheeks.

What the hell was that? Is this rebounding? Was he just being flirty for the fun of it? Was he... is it just until midnight? Oh god, what the FUCK are you doing?

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the vibration jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts. Your stomach flipped before you even walked over to it—because you already knew who it was.

You hesitated for half a second before making your way across the room and opening to the message before you could chicken out.

Kaiba: Seems you’ve conceded. I’ll be along shortly to see to your ‘punishment’, as you so graciously put it.

You put the phone back on the nightstand with a shaky exhale, forcing yourself to focus on the outfit Mokuba had left for you.

It was either that or stand there and think about what Kaiba considered a punishment...

What would he consider—no! Nope. No. Not going there right now.

The pants, mercifully, were not as scandalous as the shorts—but they would still be sinfully tight, the fabric would be clinging to every curve. The top, though...

You held it up, swallowing hard.

Slutty, but refined.

Valon’s words echoed in your head as you traced the delicate silver chains with your fingertips. It was refined—in the way a predator was refined. Elegant, but dangerous.

The door swung open without warning, and you nearly dropped the top in your hands as Kaiba stepped inside, closing it behind him with a quiet click.

Oh, shit, shit, shit.

He leaned back against the door, arms crossed, his gaze dragging over you with slow, deliberate intensity—lingering on the way the too big sweatpants pooled at your ankles, the way his own turtleneck still swallowed you whole. His lips quirked.

“I do have to admit Valon made an interesting choice.” he mused, nodding to the clothes in your hands. “Though I’m not sure it’ll fit over what you’re currently wearing.”

Your face burned. “I—I was just about to change.”

Kaiba pushed off the door, prowling forward. “Were you?”

You swallowed hard, clutching the outfit tighter. “Yes. So... go away.” You said nervously.

He stopped just centimeters away, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. His fingers brushed yours as he plucked the top from your grip, holding it up between you.

“Then let’s get you out of these.” he murmured, his free hand tugging at the hem of the turtleneck you were drowning in.

Oh Jesus Christ he’s gonna take my clothes off.

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Kaiba—”

“You lost,” he reminded you, voice low. “And I always collect.”

His fingers skimmed your waist, slipping beneath the fabric of the turtle neck, hand slowly finding the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants and your breath stuttered.

This wasn’t just a punishment.

This was a promise.

Kaiba was going to dress you in the ‘devastatingly fuckable’ outfit like a frickin’ doll.

Kaiba’s fingers hooked into the waistband of the sweatpants, his knuckles brushing against your bare stomach as he slowly tugged them down your hips. The fabric slid over your skin with a whisper, pooling at your feet and leaving you standing there in nothing but his oversized turtleneck and your underwear.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your throat as his gaze raked over you—slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every centimeter of exposed skin.

Kaiba’s fingers trailed along the waistband of your underwear next, his touch light as he hooked his thumbs beneath the fabric. His knuckles brushed against your bare hips, sending a shiver up your spine as he slowly—painfully slowly—tugged them down your thighs.

You sucked in a sharp breath as his hands lingered, his fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before finally letting the underwear drop to the floor.

“Step out.” he commanded, his voice rough.

You obeyed, your legs trembling slightly as you lifted one foot, then the other, his foot kicking the discarded clothing aside. Kaiba’s gaze never left you, his blue eyes dark as he took in the sight of you standing there in nothing but his turtleneck, the hem skimming your thighs.

Then, without a word, he reached for the pants Mokuba had left for you, holding them open expectantly as he kneeled down.

“Step in.”

You hesitated for only a second before placing one hand on his shoulder for balance and stepping into the pants. You couldn’t being yourself to look at him. Kaiba’s fingers brushed against your calves, your knees, your thighs as he guided the fabric up your legs, his touch lingering just a beat too long each time. By the time the pants were settled snugly against your hips, your breath was coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

Kaiba’s hands smoothed over your hips, adjusting the fit with meticulous precision before his fingers moved with deliberate slowness as he fastened the button of pants, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin just below your navel with every precise movement. You sucked in a sharp breath as his thumb grazed your hip, the touch soft but searing all the same.

He didn’t rush.

His fingers lingered, knuckles dragging along the waistband, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, his fingers found the zipper.

You bit your lip as he pulled it up with the same slow, torturous precision, the sound unbearably loud in the quiet of the penthouse. His knuckles brushed against you again—just once, barely there—before he smoothed his hands over your hips once more, adjusting the fit with a possessive little tug.

Kaiba rose to his full height, his gaze raking over you with quiet satisfaction before his lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.

Kaiba leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “Your pants fit like a second skin.”

A shudder ran through you.

“I bet everyone who looks at you tonight will wonder if you have anything underneath. Guess we’ll keep the truth our little secret.”

Your brain was utterly offline. Static.

“Turn around.” he commanded.

You obeyed, your pulse hammering as you faced away from him. His hands slid up your thighs, catching the hem of the oversized turtleneck. Then, with agonizing slowness, he began lifting it—centimeter by torturous centimeter—his fingers dragging against your skin as he exposed you.

The fabric glided over your ribs, your back, your chest—until finally, he leaned in and his lips brushed against your ear.

“Arms up.” he ordered.

You swallowed thickly, slowly raising your arms. The turtle neck slipped off quickly.

You instinctively crossed your arms over yourself as soon as your arms were free, your skin prickling under the cool air of the penthouse and Kaiba’s gaze.

Kaiba let out a low, amused sound as he discarded the sweater. “Shy?” He asked as he circled you slowly. His fingers trailed along your crossed arms, tracing the delicate curve where your arm met your chest. “After everything else I’ve already touched?”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his hands skimmed up your bare arms—slow, deliberate—before gripping your wrists.

“Arms up.” he commanded again, his voice rough.

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You let him guide your arms upward, exposing yourself fully to his predatory gaze. His eyes burned over you—lingering on the flush creeping across your chest, the way your breath came uneven—before he finally reached for the sleek top.

You still can’t look at him, Kaiba’s just seen you topless, made sure you’re not wearing underwear, and his fingers have touched so much of you today.

The silk slithered over your skin as he guided it onto you, his fingers dragging possessively down your arms as he settled the fabric into place. The neckline plunged just enough to tease, the material clinging to every curve.

Kaiba’s hands smoothed down your sides, adjusting the fit with a slow, proprietary touch before settling at your waist. His thumbs pressed into you, his grip firm.

“Perfect.” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now they’ll all see exactly what they can’t have tonight. What’s mine.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest—or maybe just outright explode.

“Valon was right.” Kaiba said, his voice a dark purr as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. His gaze raked over you with slow, deliberate appreciation—lingering on the way the silk clung to you, how the deep neckline teased just enough skin to drive a man mad. “You do look devastatingly fuckable.”

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks as his words sank in. Kaiba had seen you—most of you—had touched you with those precise, knowing hands. The way his fingers skimmed over your bare skin, the way he’d stripped you without hesitation—it sent a fresh wave of embarrassment and something hotter, darker, coiling low in your stomach.

His smirk sharpened as he stepped closer again, his fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Still flustered?” he taunted, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “After all the ways I’ve had my hands on you today?”

You swallowed hard, unable to hold his piercing stare.

He chuckled darkly, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed your ear. “Tell me,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin, “did you like it? When I touched you? When I made sure you were dressed just right for me?”

Your pulse pounded in your throat, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Kaiba didn’t wait for an answer. He straightened, his hands sliding possessively down to your hips as he pulled you flush against him. The hard lines of his body pressed into you, leaving no room for doubt—no room for escape.

“Tonight, everyone will look. Everyone will want.” His grip tightened. “But only I get to touch.” he said, his voice rough with satisfaction.

You were certain your face was on fire.

Kaiba didn’t move away. If anything, his breath ghosted down your neck now, as if he was drinking in your reaction. The silk top suddenly felt a hundred degrees too warm, stifling with the way your skin prickled under his attention.

“I can’t believe you’re this smug about winning a bet.” you muttered, your voice shaky as you tried to deflect.

He chuckled, low and unapologetic. “I’m not smug about the bet.”

You blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone.

Kaiba tilted his head, brushing a knuckle lightly under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. “I’m smug because you let me touch you like this,” he said softly. “And you haven’t told me to stop.”

Your heart stuttered. Every nerve in your body felt lit with electricity, caught somewhere between anticipation and sheer disbelief.

He stepped back finally, his eyes still lingering on you like a claim. “Valon’s probably waiting. I’d hate to keep him from his pregame ritual.”

He released you, and you watched him retreat toward the door, his movements unhurried, confident, assured—like he already knew you’d be thinking about this moment the entire night.

Just before he slipped out, he paused with his hand on the doorframe. He didn’t look back, but his voice was clear, calm, and low.

“Don’t take too long. I want to see the whole outfit.”

Then he was gone.

And you were left standing there, pants clinging tight, pulse still skittering under your skin as the silk moved across your bare chest.

You pull your socks on slowly, one at a time,—almost mechanically—your fingers moving in quiet, steady motions like you’re stalling. The soft fabric clings to your ankles, and the shoes Valon picked are by the edge of the bed thanks to Mokuba. You slip them on and pause, hands resting on your thighs.

Kaiba had dressed you like a doll... Saw you topless—and you had let him.

You’re still bound to midnight, and even though something tells you you’d still most likely have the help even if you bailed ship...

It doesn’t feel like the worst thing in the world to see it through?

The problem is, Kaiba has feelings. You can’t not look at it now. Push it away and try to deal with it later—but you aren’t in the right head space to be making decisions like that—you know that.

But he said that it’s only rebounding if you felt like you were, that you couldn’t use him if you tried...

But part of you—under the arousal you can’t deny, and the odd swirling emotions in your chest over Katsuya that are still buried, lingering just under starting to accept that it’s over—feels absolutely slimy. Like it’s somehow taking advantage of him. Granted you made the deal before you knew, and Kaiba... well Kaiba’s been Kaiba.

Is that what makes it weird? Confusing?

He’s done all this... everything to get you what you needed, and it was all under the guise of revenge at the start—but it wasn’t.

It was Kaiba showing you his devotion silently, doing what he needed to get you through... even if he... took some liberties.

What’s worse—a part of you can rationalize his actions outside of the crash out.

You made the deal, and if Valon hadn’t slipped on the live, you would have never known, and Kaiba probably wouldn’t have said anything, at least not for a while—if he ever would have at all... you don’t know what he would’ve done. He probably thought it’s as close as he’d ever get, especially considering how he was the enemy not even a full twenty-four hours ago. And after the live—

He hasn’t... he hasn’t run from it. He also hasn’t told you much, just that when midnight comes you’ll have what you need.

More care, him making sure you have a life after it all burned down.

More silent devotion.

It complicates things to a level that you aren’t sure where to put it, how to deal with it—and maybe it’s just because of how you still hurt over Katsuya that makes it nice, Kaiba’s attention. To feel wanted, lusted after—after Katsuya broke your heart by fucking Kujaku.

Yet you had asked Kaiba, asked him if all of this was too messy, too fucked up and just... too much.

And he had simply said just to live your life and see where it goes. While somewhat reasonable, it leaves a gap—and in that gap is Kaiba of people—bending over backwards and trapped with his own feelings that he’s been holding for... for some fucking amount of time.

All of this feels like using him—using his silent devotion against him. After how Katsuya treated you, your devotion... it broke you apart.

And for as much of an asshole Kaiba has been for years—since last night it’s been... different. No longer treated like crap because of proxy because of being tied to Katsuya.

All of the things by proximity... the viciousness, the names... everything... It was probably just so he kept his distance. Never once did Kaiba ever give you any indication he had anything other than disdain for you—

Because he probably didn’t want to disrupt your happiness most likely.

It’s more than just simple kindness in that. It’s sacrifice. He’s watched you for how long with Katsuya? You don’t even know.

“Longer than you’d believe.”

You run your hands down your face slowly. Everything is so fucking insane. Messy, fucked up, a goddamn slow motion wreck unfolding still—and you don’t know where to even begin.

But the truth is, Kaiba has waited. And now that Katsuya isn’t involved past just Kaiba being able to torture him if he wants with everything, he seems to be set on making sure he doesn’t miss his opportunity again; to let you know he’s an option.

Outside of the deal, he never pushed. He never went too far, instead he acted like a scalpel, freely and willingly offered himself and Mokuba to cut you away from Katsuya because you needed the help. Without Kaiba you would have been... you would have been in that shared apartment, crying, alone and just lost. Then Katsuya would have come home—

But as soon as he pegged it at the bar, he made his choice. He could have let you be, let you drown for a bit—could have just rubbed salt in the wound and went about his life. Stood back and let you struggle through it alone...

But he hadn’t. He had helped. From a place to sleep off the booze to—to everything.

Why did Kaiba have to be nice? Why did Katsuya have to cheat? You’re world is still so fucked up, and it feels like doing anything too rash is bound to fail, be the wrong choice and just end up exploding.

Kaiba isn’t an idiot... that’s why before dinner he told you to ‘act’. It’s why he told you to just ‘live’ and see what happens... like he’s ready for however it all plays out...

Even if it means you end up using him in the end.

You can’t help the small wave of tears that take you over. Between confusion and even considering the surface—not even the depth—of his feelings, he’s willing to do, and give things, for you, that you would have done for Katsuya.

To bleed, break, and still keep standing there no matter how much it hurts, to be used until there isn’t anything left—

For you.

It’s too much.

There’s a sharp knock at the door before it swings open, revealing Valon leaning against the frame with his usual grin.

“Oi, sweetheart, you decent—” His green eyes rake over you, taking in the silk top clinging to your curves, the trousers that leave nothing to the imagination. His smirk widens. “Well. Fuck me sideways.”

You hastily wipe at your eyes, but it’s too late—he’s already seen.

Valon’s expression shifts instantly. The teasing glint fades, replaced by something sharper, more assessing. He steps inside and shuts the door behind him.

“Oi,” he says again, softer this time. “What’s all this, then?”

You shake your head, trying to steady your breathing. “Nothing. Just—overthinking.”

Valon snorts, crossing his arms. “Yeah, no shit. You look like someone just kicked a kitten.” He tilts his head, studying you. “This about Blondie? Or...” His gaze flicks toward the door. “Or the other one?”

You don’t answer.

Valon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m shit at feelings, yeah? But even I can see you’re tangled up in your own head.” He leans back against the dresser, arms crossed. “So let’s simplify it. You good with Kaiba?”

You blink. “What?”

“Simple question, love. You good with him? With... whatever this is?” He gestures vaguely between you and the door.

You swallow. “I don’t know.” You admit.

Valon nods like that’s answer enough. “Right. And you still wanna go to this party?”

“I... yeah. I think so?”

“Good.” He pushes off the dresser and strides over, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the mirror. “Then let’s focus on the important shit first.”

You frown. “What important shit?”

Valon grins, wicked and bright. “Making sure you look so fucking irresistible that rich boy loses his goddamn mind when he sees you.” He spins you toward the mirror, his hands on your shoulders. “Because let’s be real—that’s half the fun, innit?”

You stare at your reflection—the flush in your cheeks, the way the silk clings, the faint red around your eyes from crying. Valon meets your gaze in the mirror, his smirk softening just slightly.

“Listen,” he says, quieter now. “You don’t gotta figure everything out tonight. Just... breathe. Have a drink. Dance if you want. And if Kaiba looks at you like he wants to devour you alive?” He shrugs. “Let him. No rules, yeah? You ain’t responsible for policing other people and their shit.”

You exhale, shoulders loosening slightly. Valons right. You aren’t responsible for other people, but it still doesn’t help, things are still a fucking mess, and you still feel like a scum bag.

Valon squeezes your shoulders before stepping back. “For tonight, you’re having fun. We’re going to get fucked up, forget our woes for a bit, and deal with that shit tomorrow.”

A small, real smile tugs at your lips with the incredulously of it all. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes. Just for tonight, a few hours, we’re just having a good time. Whatever happens, happens. As long as we don’t wind up in the clink or dead—successful night tonight, sweetheart.” He offers his arm with a flourish. “So lets go wreck some shit and start pregaming. It’ll help slow down your brain a bit, and I need an emotional drinking buddy. You seem to check all the boxes.” He let’s out a laugh as a small smile takes his lips.

You take his arm, letting him lead you out toward the living room and to the kitchen island—toward the night, toward whatever comes next. Even if it’s a wreck, at least its forward, right? That has to count for something.

For tonight, you can be what Valon needs, a comrade in a fucked situation. Everything else... for now everything else can just go how it goes. You can’t control more than your own actions, Valon is right. And for now, your actions got you into a deal, and you’ll see it through.

Valon steers you toward the kitchen island with a purposeful stride, his arm still linked with yours. “Oi, Mokuba!” he calls, his voice carrying that familiar, boisterous edge. “Where’s your brother hiding the good shit? We’ve got some pregaming to do.”

Mokuba, perched on the couch with his phone in hand, glances up with a smirk. “What, you didn’t bring your own?”

Valon grins, unrepentant. “Mate, I’m still under Kaiba’s crash out protections, yeah? Might as well take full advantage.” He pats your shoulder. “Besides, my emotional support drinker here needs it more than I do, I think.”

Mokuba rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. He pushes off the couch and strides to the sleek, hidden minibar tucked into the penthouse’s far wall. He pulls out a bottle of top shelf whiskey and two shot glasses, setting them on the counter with a clink.

“Don’t tell Seto I gave you this.” Mokuba sighs, though his smirk says he doesn’t actually care. “It’s some stupidly expensive single malt he’s been saving for a ‘special occasion’.”

Valon snorts, already twisting the cap off. “Pretty sure all of today counts as a special occasion for that bastard.” He pours two generous shots, sliding one toward you. “Bottoms up, sweetheart.”

You eye the amber liquid, the sharp scent of oak and spice hitting your nose. Normally, you’d hesitate—but tonight?

Fuck it.

Valon’s right, it’ll help slow your brain down a bit, and you’ll be in good hands. So what’s unwinding a bit and taking Kaiba’s advice and just seeing where your night goes? It may be a bit cowardly, but for now you just need things to slow down a bit. A fucking reprieve from chaos, or at least chaos that’s drowning you.

You clink your glass against Valon’s and throw it back, the whiskey burning a smooth, smoky path down your throat. Valon lets out an appreciative groan, slamming his glass down. “Now that’s the good shit.”

Mokuba watches, amused, as Valon immediately pours another round. “You two are gonna be wasted before we even get to the club.”

Valon winks. “That’s the idea, kid.”

You take the second shot, the warmth spreading through your chest, loosening the knots in your stomach. Valon’s right—for tonight, you’re just here. No overthinking. No guilt. Just existing.

Make it to the next moment.

Valon leans against the counter, his grin turning wicked. “So. How pissed d’you think Kaiba’s gonna be when he sees us already three sheets to the wind?”

Mokuba snorts. “He’ll survive.”

You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all day. “I am not aiming for drunk, just loose. That’s all I need.” You give a small smile.

“Well, loose usually starts at four shots.” Valon winks as he pours more whiskey into the shot glasses.

“Four?” You laugh at him. “Four is the edge of fucked up.”

“And that’s right where we need to be before the club.” Valon slides the third shot toward you with a devilish grin. “C’mon, sweetheart. Bottoms up. Go, go, go!”

Mokuba shakes his head but doesn’t stop him, clearly entertained by the whole spectacle. “Just don’t blame me when Seto drags you both out of the club by your collars later.”

“Jokes on you, Mokuba. This top? What fucking collar?” You hesitate for only a second before knocking back the third shot, the alcohol buzzing pleasantly through your veins now. The edges of the room feel softer, your thoughts less tangled. Valon watches with approval, his sharp grin widening as he pours the fourth.

“I’m fucking proud of ya.” he laughs, clinking his glass against yours. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

You exhale, leaning against the counter as the tension in your shoulders finally unwinds.

Valon leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “How badly d’you wanna see Kaiba’s face when he realizes we raided his good shit?”

You giggle—actually giggle—the sound surprising even you. “I mean... he did say to... just see where life went. The fact it went to expensive whiskey—well he was on my case this morning about it being cheap whiskey—so if anything, I’ve taken his advice under advisement.”

Valon barks out a laugh, slapping the counter. “Fuckin’ bloody beautiful!”

Mokuba sighs, but there’s no real annoyance in it. “You two are terrible influences on each other. Also, please god, I hope I’m back in time to hear you tell him you took it ‘under advisement’ as to why you’re in the good stuff.”

Valon throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a half hug. “Nah, mate. We’re therapy for each other.” He gestures grandly with his free hand. “Alcohol fueled, emotionally unstable therapy. I say we’re owed a night of lettin’ loose and not focusing on surviving moment to moment. Kaiba will make do.”

You snort into your empty shot glass, the absurdity of it all hitting you at once. Here you are, dressed in designer clothes Kaiba paid for, picked out by Valon, slightly tipsy, and about to go out with the two people who—against all odds—had somehow become your partners in crime through this mess along with Mokuba, the absolute little sweetheart he is.

Valon leans back against the counter, looking every bit the dangerous charmer in his club attire. You hadn’t really looked earlier. A fitted black silk shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing off the sharp lines of his collarbones and a hint of tattoos snaking across his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms adorned with more intricate ink. His dark pants hug his hips just right, the expensive leather belt matching his designer boots. The whole look screams calculated recklessness.

Mokuba stretches and lets out a sigh. “Alright, I’m gonna finally change out of this suit.” he says, plucking at his formal vest. “Be back in five.”

Valon watches him go with a smirk before turning back to you. “Bet you fifty quid Kaiba’s in his room right now taking care of business before we leave.” He shakes his wrist violently.

Your fingers slip on the shot glass, barely catching it before it has the chance to shatter on the marble countertop. “Jesus Christ, Valon!”

He throws his head back laughing, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Oh come off it, sweetheart! I saw him slip out of your room. Man’s been hard since he saw you zipped up in those trousers.” Valon pours himself another shot, wiggling his eyebrows. “He’s gonna be watching you all night like some starved fucking predator anyway. You really think he’s gonna last without taking the edge off first?”

Heat floods your face as you stare into your empty glass. The whiskey buzz makes Valon’s crude assessment both horrifying and weirdly flattering.

“Look at you,” Valon teases, nudging your shoulder. “All flushed and bothered. Maybe you should be thinking about taking the edge off too, eh?” He makes an obscene gesture with his hands that has you choking on air. “Two birds, one stone and all that.”

“You’re disgusting.” you mutter, though there’s no real venom in it.

Valon just grins, shark like and unrepentant. “I’m honest. And let’s be real—after tonight?” He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “That man’s gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name. You are on the hook still till midnight as Mokuba told me.”

The shot glass slips from your fingers again, this time hitting the counter with a loud clink. Valon’s laughter echoes through the penthouse as you bury your face in your hands, equal parts mortified and... something else you’re not ready to examine, because now you’re thinking about Kaiba tasting you after he made you cum again. The look on his face as his tongue drug across his gloved fingers.

Too much, too soon. Still, too much in your head.

“Relax.” Valon says, still chuckling. “Just having a bit of fun. But seriously,” he adds with a wink, “drink up. We’ve got a club to wreck and a certain CEO to torture. Your leg of ‘crashing out’ isn’t over, it’s just shifted, love.” He laughs. “That’s what the club crawl is.”

Valon’s crude humor hangs in the air as you both hear the distinct sound of a door opening down the hallway. His grin turns positively feral as he leans in. “Oi, that’s our cue. Bet you another fifty quid he’s got that freshly fucked look about him now though not enough time for a shower... unless he multitasked.” Valon shoots you a wolfish grin.

The footsteps grow closer, and when Kaiba strides into the living room, Valon doesn’t disappoint.

“Oi, mate!” he calls, slamming back his shot with a grin. “You look relaxed. Get a quick wank in before the party, did ya?”

Kaiba doesn’t even flinch. His icy blue eyes flick to the half empty whiskey bottle, then to your flushed face, before landing back on Valon with a look that could freeze hell over. “Charming as ever, Valon.”

Valon barks out a laugh, slapping the counter. “Fuckin’ hell, that’s practically an admission in my book!”

You choke on your tongue, heat flooding your cheeks as your eyes dart between them. Kaiba does look different—his shoulders less tense, that ever present furrow between his brows softened. And now that Valon’s put the idea in your head, you can’t stop thinking about it—Kaiba in his room, those long fingers working himself to the thought of—

Nope. Nope nope nope.

You grab the whiskey bottle and pour yourself another shot, downing it before your brain can spiral further.

Kaiba’s gaze flicks to you, noting your flushed face, the way your fingers tremble around the glass. His lips twitch—just slightly—before he turns to Valon. “You’re pregaming with my whiskey?”

Valon shrugs. “My emotional support drinker needed it.” He motions to you with his shot glass. “And since I’m still under Kaiba crash out protections—”

“—you’re exploiting my generosity.” Kaiba finishes dryly.

Valon’s grin turns positively demonic as he leans across the counter towards you. “Oi, sweetheart—tell me something.” His finger circles the rim of his shot glass. “Did you have to pour yourself into those trousers, or did someone help you get them on?”

Your entire body freezes.

Valon’s eyes widen dramatically. “Oh, fuck me—” He slams his hands on the counter, looking between you and Kaiba like he’s just uncovered the secret of the universe. “That’s why you were coming out of their room earlier! No wonder you needed to—”

“Valon.” Kaiba’s voice cuts through the air like a whip, cold, calm and collected. “Shut the fuck up.”

Valon doesn’t shut up. If anything, he looks even more delighted. “Mate, I knew you had to take the edge off, but Christ—”

Kaiba’s expression doesn’t change, but something dangerous flickers in his eyes. “If you don’t stop talking in the next three seconds, I’m revoking your crash out privileges and having security throw you out of my hotel.”

Valon snaps his mouth shut—but his smirk says he’s filing this away for later.

Kaiba exhales through his nose before turning his attention to the takeout containers littering the coffee table. “You’re both eating before we leave.” He nods toward the food. “And you—” His gaze lands on you, lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump. “finish your container and don’t make me put a timer on it.”

Valon snorts, already making his way to the couch. “Yes, Daddy.”

Kaiba doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he grabs a container of still warm lo mein and shoves it into your hands, his fingers brushing yours just long enough to send a jolt up your arm.

“Eat,” he orders, his voice low. “Or I will make this difficult for you.”

You don’t doubt him for a second.

Valon, already digging into a container of dumplings, grins at you over the rim. “Better listen, love. Something tells me the man’s got a very specific definition of ‘difficult’.”

Kaiba shoots him a glare that could melt steel.

You focus very intently on your noodles.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes until the club.

Twenty minutes until whatever comes next.

You take a deep breath—and obey.

 

Notes:

I Just realized I never mentioned the songs that polluted my mind, and helped make this story possible. Kaiba's is a real banger. Lol. Give it a listen, I'm begging you.

Artist - Title
Fame on Fire - Signs (For Mc)
Divide The Day - Fuck Away the Pain (For Kaiba)
Chase Wright - Burn It All Down (For Valon)

Also, this story is set to be eight chapters. It is completed, just in the editing phase. All of your feedback has kept me going, so thank you all! Let me know what you thought of this chapter. :D