Chapter Text
Seto Kaiba did not attend “boys night.”
He didn’t do game nights. He didn’t do couch cushions that looked like they’d been rescued from a garage sale. And he certainly didn’t do casual social bonding with Yugi Mutou’s bizarre little circle of misfits.
But Mokuba had made that face again—the one he’d perfected around age 10 and somehow weaponized further at 25. The expression was all soulful eyes and infuriating logic: You need to unwind, Seto. You’re too tense. It’s one night. No one’s going to duel you.
Seto Kaiba could say no to prime ministers. He could bankrupt an entire startup with a single email.
He could not say no to Mokuba.
And so, here he was. Sitting—on the floor—in Yugi’s offensively cozy living room, wedged next to a sagging beanbag chair. On his left sat Jonouchi, who was already chewing with his mouth open. Across from him, Honda, inexplicably wearing socks with sandals.
This was actual hell.
“Hey, Kaiba,” Honda said, nudging a plate toward him. “Brownie?”
Kaiba raised a skeptical brow and looked at the tray like it was a plate of nails. “What kind of fool eats unlabeled, unwrapped food from strangers?”
“It’s literally a brownie, man,” Jonouchi said, halfway through his second. “Don’t be a corporate vampire for five minutes. Plus, Bakura made them from scratch. They’re safe. They’re not, like, mine.”
Kaiba sniffed. “I wake up at 5 a.m. every morning to maintain this physique. I will not compromise it with your sugar bomb.”
Mokuba rolled his eyes with the practiced patience of someone who’d spent a lifetime hearing about macros. “You’re no fun.” He took a brownie off the tray and popped it into his mouth dramatically.
Yugi, trying to create some kind of structure to the chaos, began setting up a board game on the coffee table. It was Needlessly Complex Battle Diplomacy: Mythic Strategy Edition.
“It’s a team game,” Yugi began helpfully.
“Dibs on Yugi!” Honda shouted before the words were out of his mouth.
Mokuba slid closer to the table, dragging Bakura with him. Kaiba narrowed his eyes. Bakura was being a little too friendly with Mokuba tonight. Flirty. Smirky. Kaiba did not like that.
He was so preoccupied with shooting daggers at Bakura that he missed the part where Yugi paired him with Jonouchi.
“What,” Kaiba said flatly, “No.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Jonouchi smirked, nudging him with his shoulder. “Scared have fun with me?”
“Statistically unlikely.”
“Well, I got my lucky charm tonight,” Jonouchi added, holding up some kind of keychain with a grinning cat. “Protects me from bad vibes. Even yours.”
Yugi cheerfully ignored Kaiba’s protests and continued setting out little plastic dragon units and miniature castles.
Wanting a drink, Mokuba walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge for another beer—and paused.
There was another plate of brownies. Mokuba remembered the way Bakura’s face had fallen when Kaiba had rejected the brownie like it was beneath him.
Rude, Mokuba thought. Mandatory fun requires participation.
Grinning, Mokuba took one of the chilled brownies from the fridge and returned to the game setup. He handed the plate to Kaiba like a peace offering.
Kaiba glanced at him suspiciously.
“It’s just a brownie,” Mokuba said innocently. “You’ll live.”
He was sitting between Mokuba and Jonouchi now, both smiling too much. That was suspect. But he was trying. And he didn’t want another lecture about how he didn’t know how to relax.
He took the brownie.
He ate the brownie.
The game began.
——
Thirty-five minutes later, Kaiba was still sitting upright, arms folded across his chest like he was preparing to sue someone, but he hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes. He wasn’t looking at the game board. He wasn’t looking at the players.
He was staring—very intently—at the lava lamp on Yugi’s side table.
Not blinking.
Not speaking.
Not even breathing all that consistently.
Jonouchi returned from the kitchen with a beer in one hand and a fistful of chips in the other. His face was pale. “Hey guys.”
“What?” Honda asked, turning. “Are we out of beer?”
“No,” Jonouchi said, rubbing his face like he’d just seen a car crash in slow motion. “Someone took one of my brownies from the fridge…”
There was a beat of silence.
“The fridge brownies?” Honda asked slowly. “Oh shit—”
“Oh shit is right,” Jonouchi said. “You know, for later later. Not boys’ night…. Who ate one of my special brownies?”
“You had weed brownies in the fridge?!” Mokuba gasped.
“They were labeled!” Jonouchi justified.
“Not well enough!” Mokuba dropped his game piece. “Oh shit.”
All eyes turned to Kaiba.
Kaiba slowly reached out and began gently patting Mokuba’s hair.
“You’re… so soft,” he said.
Mokuba blinked. “Well. Uh. I mean. Thanks?”
Honda whispered, “Is he okay?”
“I think this is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in, like, ten years,” Mokuba said, not unpleased. “Maybe ever.”
Kaiba leaned back into the beanbag with a soft wump and stared at the ceiling as though it had personally wronged him.
“What…” he whispered, “How did I get inside… a couch?”
There was a long beat of silence.
“Hey, Kaiba?” Jonouchi asked gently.
“Hmm?”
“I—don’t be mad—but you accidentally ate a pot brownie. Uh. Do you smoke pot? What’s your tolerance?”
Kaiba slowly turned his head, eyes wide and unblinking.
He stared at Jonouchi for an uncomfortably long time. Like, socially inappropriate long. Long enough for Jonouchi to start sweating.
“I don’t even take ibuprofen,” Kaiba whispered.
Jonouchi winced. “Oh. Okay. Coolcoolcool.”
Kaiba closed his eyes. “I can hear…. So well.”
“Seto—”
“My bones are humming. Can you hear that?”
Honda coughed into his fist, barely holding back a laugh. “Okay, okay, but also… this is kinda amazing.”
“I should’ve been a tree,” Kaiba said solemnly. “Tall. Efficient. Good with wind.”
Mokuba nodded slowly. “Honestly? Can’t argue with that.”
Yugi’s lava lamp had become Kaiba’s new god, Mokuba had taken a video just in case, and Jonouchi was nervously googling “how to gently sedate a CEO.”
Then the cat entered the room.
No one noticed at first—until Kaiba sat upright like he’d just been struck by lightning.
His pupils, already dilated like the moon, fixed on the doorway.
“…What is that?” Kaiba whispered, reverent.
Everyone turned.
There, padding into the living room like she owned the place, was Yugi’s cat. A scrappy little tabby, with a ear nicked and one eye that gave her a permanent pirate expression. She was a rescue—small, sturdy, kind of ugly in a deeply charming way.
Yugi smiled. “Oh! That’s my cat. She—”
Kaiba raised a hand without taking his eyes off her.
“Shhhhhh—”
Yugi blinked. “Um.”
“I’m talking to her,” Kaiba said, voice grave.
Jonouchi snorted so hard he choked on his beer.
The cat blinked slowly and sauntered over to the coffee table, where she began sniffing at a cheese puff.
Kaiba stared at her like she held the secrets of the goddamn universe.
“What’s your name?” Kaiba asked solemnly.
The cat meowed once. Loudly.
Kaiba nodded. “I knew it.”
“You knew what?” Mokuba asked, barely holding back laughter.
“That her name is—” Kaiba paused dramatically, hand pressed to his chest. “Marzipan.”
Yugi frowned. “Actually, her name’s—”
Kaiba turned to him, aghast. “Don’t disrespect her.”
“I wasn’t—”
“She told me her name. Her soul resonates at a Marzipan frequency. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Seto,” Mokuba said gently, “Are you okay?”
Kaiba reached out like he was about to be knighted. The cat promptly flopped over on her side.
“She chooses peace,” Kaiba whispered. “But she has seen war.”
Jonouchi nearly fell off the couch.
“You good, man?” Honda asked, wheezing with laughter.
“I would die for her,” Kaiba said seriously. “I would bankrupt ten corporations for her comfort.”
The cat yawned.
“Look at her grace. Her power,” Kaiba continued. “You see a cat. I see a survivor. A warrior. She’s missing an eye, but she sees everything. Just like me.”
“You have both eyes,” Mokuba pointed out.
“Do I, Mokuba?” Kaiba replied, staring at the ceiling again. “Do I really?”
The cat trotted over to him and, without hesitation, climbed onto Kaiba.
Kaiba didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.
“She trusts me,” he whispered. “I am her chosen throne.”
“I think she thinks you’re a pillow,” Honda said gently.
Kaiba scowled. “No. This is spiritual resonance. We are bonded now.”
Then Yugi, bless his diplomatic soul, smiled gently at Kaiba. “You’re right. You’re bonded.”
“She’s chewing on the buttons on your shirt,” Mokuba pointed out.
Kaiba blinked at the sensation, then slowly placed a hand over her back.
“…I’m promoting her to Vice President,” he said.
Mokuba laughed so hard he had to lie down.
“Well,” Bakura said, his voice laced with dry amusement as he unzipped a sleek velvet pouch, “since Kaiba is currently stoned out of his mind, I think it’s the perfect time for a tarot reading.”
Seto Kaiba was still on the floor, spine weirdly straight despite being halfway melted into a beanbag. Yugi’s one-eyed tabby, Marzipan, was sprawled across his chest like a furry queen on her throne. He was petting her with almost ritualistic care, as if afraid to offend her aura.
Bakura raised an eyebrow. “Kaiba? That okay with you?”
Kaiba blinked very slowly, his pupils huge. He looked up with an expression of deep, grave importance.
“I cannot move,” he said solemnly.
Mokuba snorted from the couch.
Bakura, unfazed, smiled. “Alright. I’ll come to you.”
Yugi, sensing an opportunity to make the moment unnecessarily mystical, dimmed the lights and lit a few candles from his kitchen drawer—sandalwood, probably. It smelled like the metaphysical section of a bookstore in here now.
Bakura rolled out a soft black cloth and began placing polished stones at the corners with deliberate care. “These represent grounding, clarity, protection, and intention,” he explained, mostly to secretly impress Mokuba. “It creates a container for the reading.”
Kaiba nodded slowly, still petting the cat like he was polishing a Fabergé egg. “Stones are good,” he said vaguely. “They stay where they are.”
Honda made a quiet choking sound that might’ve been laughter.
Bakura then produced a worn tarot deck from a smaller pouch—black and gold, scuffed at the edges from use—and began to shuffle.
“Kaiba,” he said, his tone now more reverent, “do you have any questions you’d like answered?”
Kaiba didn’t respond at first. He appeared to be conferring silently with Marzipan. His brows furrowed. Then he turned to the group.
“Marzipan will go first,” Kaiba declared, gesturing to the cat as if she were the CEO of another division. “She wants to know… what card represents her essence.”
Bakura hesitated.
If it had been Jonouchi or Honda, he might’ve rolled his eyes. But Kaiba was staring at him with the intensity of a prophet mid-revelation, and—frankly—Bakura took tarot seriously enough to accept this weird vibe without question.
“Of course,” he said softly, and fanned the shuffled deck out before him like a magician. “Pick one.”
Kaiba turned slowly back to the cat, cradling her like a furry oracle.
“Okay, I’ll pick that one,” he murmured to her, and reached forward with great ceremony to draw a single card from the fan.
He pulled it slowly, reverently, and flipped it over.
A bold woman and a lion stared back up at them—serene, composed, fearless.
Kaiba inhaled sharply. “You were right, Marzipan. You are Strength.”
The entire room fell into silence.
Even Yugi had to admit it was… kind of perfect.
“Wait, what’s the meaning of Strength again?” Honda whispered.
Yugi answered before Bakura could. “Inner power. Patience. Courage through compassion.”
Kaiba nodded. “She endured. She fought. She lost an eye. But she remains.”
The cat began licking her paw.
“She agrees,” Kaiba added, eyes wide.
Bakura blinked. “Right. Well then.” He began reshuffling. “Would you like to go next, Kaiba?” He asked softly, his tone more priest than prankster now. He took this seriously—even when the client was a stoned tech tycoon holding a cat like it was a spiritual artifact.
Kaiba didn’t answer right away. He gazed down at Marzipan, who was licking her paw with mechanical precision, then nodded once.
“She told me it’s my turn,” he said gravely.
The others snorted—Jonouchi audibly choked on a chip—but Bakura didn’t flinch. He inclined his head, accepting it without irony.
Kaiba exhaled deeply, the kind of sigh one might release after narrowly averting an international scandal or realizing he was, in fact, not the villain of his own narrative.
“I would like to know…” he began, his voice slower now, distant. His gaze unfocused slightly, fixed somewhere just past the spread of cards in front of him. There was a long pause. So long that even Yugi started to look concerned.
Then: “…What stands in my way,” Kaiba said at last. “And how do I destroy it?”
Bakura blinked once. No laughter. No sarcasm. Just a slow nod. “Heavy question.”
Kaiba didn’t reply, just continued petting the cat in rhythmic strokes like he was grounding himself.
“You shuffle,” Bakura said, holding out the deck. “That’s part of the process. It matters.”
Kaiba frowned slightly. “I thought you did the shuffling.”
“I can,” Bakura said, “but it’s your energy that needs to enter the cards. The shuffle is an exchange. You move them—your mind, your hands—and they respond. Intention is everything.”
Kaiba took the deck slowly, handling it like a piece of ancient technology. He stared down at it like it might explode. “They feel… warm,” he murmured.
“They’re paper,” Jonouchi said.
“They remember better than you do,” Kaiba shot back, narrow-eyed.
Bakura raised a brow but said nothing.
Kaiba began to shuffle, awkward at first—his movements too mechanical, too practiced, like he was inputting data into a corrupted server. Then he slowed. The repetition took hold. The tension in his shoulders dropped, just a little. He stared at the backs of the cards as if the answer was already there, waiting for him to stop trying so hard.
He passed them back to Bakura with a kind of quiet ceremony.
Bakura drew three cards and laid them in a line, face-down.
“This is a classic spread,” he said. “First card: what stands in your way. Second: what lies beneath it. Third: how to confront it.”
Kaiba nodded, suddenly very still again. Marzipan still his lap and curled into a loaf.
Bakura flipped the first card.
The Moon.
Yugi leaned forward slightly. “Illusion,” he said. “Fear. Uncertainty. Not seeing things clearly.”
Kaiba’s face was unreadable, but he stared at the card like it had insulted him.
“Things aren’t what they seem,” Bakura offered. “You mistrust the unknown. You try to control it. But it’s already there. You can’t fight what you refuse to see.”
Kaiba blinked slowly. “I hate that.”
“I know,” Bakura said, and flipped the second card.
The Ten of Swords.
A figure facedown, ten blades in its back. Ruin. Collapse. Betrayal.
Honda made a quiet oof sound.
Kaiba didn’t flinch.
“This is the root,” Bakura said. “The foundation. You’ve been stabbed in the back before—by a lot of people. That’s what fuels the control. The fear of collapse. You think if you don’t anticipate everything, it’ll happen again.”
Kaiba’s jaw tensed. For a moment, the high seemed to crack. His eyes sharpened—not angry, but haunted. Then he looked down at Marzipan, as if grounding himself in her presence.
Bakura flipped the final card.
The Fool.
Yugi raised his eyebrows. Jonouchi let out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?”
Bakura looked surprised, too—but only for a second. Then he smiled. Not mockingly. Not cruelly. Just… knowing.
“The Fool,” he said. “Zero. Pure potential. Trust. Taking a step without knowing where it lands.”
Kaiba stared.
“That’s your answer,” Bakura continued. “You don’t destroy the Moon. You walk into it. You don’t fight the pain. You feel it. You start over. From the beginning. With no map. No armor.”
Kaiba opened his mouth. Closed it again. He looked like he wanted to argue—but couldn’t find a foothold. Instead, he stared at the cards. Then at the cat. Then at the flickering candlelight around them.
“She told me I’d get the fool,” Kaiba admitted, voice low.
Bakura didn’t gloat. He just shrugged.
“Let’s put the tarot away and play something lighter,” Mokuba offered, already reaching for a different board game with cartoon animals on the cover.
Yugi turned on the lights, Bakura blew out the candles.
Kaiba, however, made no move. He remained seated on the floor, Marzipan curled in his lap like a warm loaf of bread. He was petting her with a kind of reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts or prototype tech.
The rest of the group shifted to the coffee table, dice clattering, game pieces being sorted. But Kaiba just stayed where he was, eyes a little glassy, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat’s patchy fur.
“Mr. Mokuba Kaiba,” Seto said suddenly, in a tone so formal it immediately pulled focus. His voice cut through the living room like a stockholder announcement.
Mokuba, halfway through a dice roll, blinked. “Um. Yes?”
“I have a proposal,” Kaiba continued, slowly lifting a hand toward a nearby glass of water like it was a high-stakes diplomatic negotiation. “If you slide that water to me… I will offer you something in trade.”
Mokuba raised an eyebrow. “A trade?”
Kaiba nodded, very dignified. “You may name your price.”
Jonouchi snorted. “Dude, it’s just water.”
“Silence, Jonouchi. The terms are not yet set.”
Mokuba, playing along, leaned in. “Alright then, Mr. Seto Kaiba. What’s your offer?”
Kaiba glanced down at Marzipan. She blinked slowly, her one eye shiny under the dim lights.
“I will give you… ten percent equity in my future cat empire.”
Yugi was already cracking up. “Cat empire?”
“She’s clearly a genius,” Kaiba said, utterly serious, stroking Marzipan like a Bond villain. “She could be trained. She’s loyal. Resourceful. We could scale rapidly. Mutou—name your price. I’m willing to offer her stock options, a corner office, and dental.”
“I—she’s my rescue cat, Kaiba,” Yugi managed between laughs.
“She’s more than that,” Kaiba said solemnly.
“Okay, now I’m picturing her in a little suit,” Honda muttered.
Mokuba slid the glass of water over to his brother with mock gravity. “Here you go, Mr. Kaiba. But only because I want you hydrated and high-functioning for your upcoming feline-led business venture.”
Kaiba took the glass with two hands like it was sacred. He sipped. He sighed. He pet the cat with renewed conviction.
“I’m having… an experience,” he said vaguely.
“Are you having fun?” Mokuba asked gently.
Kaiba blinked up at him. “My bones are softer.”
Then he whispered something into Marzipan’s ear, nodded to himself, and added, “She accepts the promotion.”
The game had devolved into chaos. Honda was arguing with Jonouchi about whether or not raccoons could be trained to ride scooters (they could, according to Jonouchi and one questionable YouTube video). Yugi was trying to re-read the rulebook for the fourth time. Kaiba hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor.
Marzipan was still draped in his lap like royalty. He had stopped petting her and was now staring straight ahead, as if receiving a vision.
Then, slowly, he turned his head and began speaking in a monotone.
“Mutou.”
Yugi looked up from the rulebook. “Hm?”
“You are very small,” Kaiba said solemnly. “That is efficient for sneaking.”
Yugi blinked. “…Thanks?”
Kaiba’s eyes slid to Honda.
“Honda. Your hairstyle is…” He stared long and hard. “…satisfactory.”
Honda frowned. “I don’t know how to take that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Kaiba replied cryptically.
Then his gaze landed on Jonouchi. The pause was longer this time. Jonouchi leaned back a little, wary.
“You,” Kaiba said, voice deep and serious. “Exhibit a statistically improbable level of resilience for your intelligence.”
Jonouchi stared. “Hey—wait, was that a compliment or—?”
Kaiba held up a finger. “I said what I said.”
Before Jonouchi could yell something about probability and punching, Kaiba slowly turned his head to Mokuba. The entire room went still.
There was a quiet reverence in his expression now—his eyes glassy but focused, his voice gentler than it had been all night.
“Mokuba,” he said. “ You are the only person I would let operate my backup satellite defense system unsupervised.You’ve earned that level of clearance.”
Mokuba’s jaw dropped slightly. Everyone else froze.
“I mean it,” Kaiba went on, oddly lucid for a moment. “You’re the reason I didn’t become a monster.”
There was a beat of silence. Marzipan yawned.
Then Jonouchi broke it with, “Okay, how high is he?”
“High enough to be honest,” Mokuba said, smiling faintly as he reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder.
Kaiba looked down at the cat, blinked slowly, and mumbled, “I’m going to make her my CFO.”
Bakura glanced around, an amused pout tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why didn’t I get an odd compliment?”
Kaiba didn’t even look up from stroking Marzipan’s spine with all the reverence of a priest polishing relics. His voice was flat, direct, and somehow colder than usual.
“You’re flirting too much with Mokuba.”
Bakura froze.
Mokuba blinked. “Wait—what?”
A flush spread across Bakura’s cheeks immediately. “I—I wasn’t—! That’s not—flirting, I was just being friendly—”
Kaiba turned his head slowly. Eyes glassy, expression unreadable. He stared directly into Bakura’s soul.
“Don’t lie in front of Marzipan.” His tone dropped. “She doesn’t like it.”
Bakura went completely silent.
Honda quietly mouthed ‘what is happening’ to Yugi, who was trying very hard not to laugh.
Jonouchi choked on a potato chip. “Kaiba, did the cat just become the moral authority of this night?”
“I think she’s his legal counsel now,” Mokuba muttered.
Kaiba adjusted Marzipan gently in his lap. “She sees through people,” he said gravely. “And she judges.”
“She’s a cat,” Bakura whispered, still red.
“She’s my cat,” Kaiba corrected. “Now.”
Mokuba raised a brow. “Seto, she’s literally Yugi’s—”
“Silence. We’ve bonded.”
Marzipan began licking Kaiba’s fingers, entirely unbothered by the chaos. Kaiba sat upright on the beanbag like a king on a makeshift throne, Marzipan curled in his lap like a familiar. His hand moved rhythmically through her fur as he stared out at the group with terrifying focus.
“She has spoken,” Kaiba announced.
“Who?” Honda asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kaiba pointed at Marzipan.
“She has appointed each of you with tasks. Great tasks. Prepare yourselves.”
Jonouchi grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Kaiba fixed him with a piercing stare. “Jonouchi. Your mission is to acquire four green grapes. Not three. Not five. Four. And they must be cold.”
Jonouchi burst out laughing. “Okay, sure, yeah. Cold grapes. For the sake of the cat-god.”
“You mock what you do not understand,” Kaiba said gravely. “Marzipan says they are essential for balance.”
Next, Kaiba turned to Honda.
“Honda. You must fortify the perimeter.”
“What?”
Kaiba pointed toward the sliding glass door. “The back deck. Too exposed. We’re vulnerable from the east. You know what to do.”
Honda blinked. “You want me to—what? Close the blinds?”
“This is an opportunity to fix what you’ve done,” Kaiba replied, eyes glittering with purpose.
Honda stood up, dramatically saluted, and went to pull the blinds shut.
Bakura was trying very hard not to laugh. “And what about me, oh great mouthpiece of Marzipan?”
Kaiba turned slowly. His gaze narrowed.
“Your mission is to contemplate your intentions… in the bathroom. With the lights off. For seven minutes.”
Bakura blushed furiously. “That’s not even—how is that a mission?”
“Are you going to question Marzipan?” Kaiba said, stone-faced.
Then Kaiba turned to Yugi.
“Mutou. You are the keeper of puzzles. You will assemble the Forbidden Snack Plate. Something salty. Something sweet. Something mysterious. You have seventeen minutes.”
Yugi, who was already halfway through making popcorn, nodded like this was all totally normal. “Understood.”
Mokuba leaned forward, snorting. “Okay, what about me?”
Kaiba looked at him for a long moment. His voice softened.
“You are the only one I trust with Mission Omega.”
“What’s Mission Omega?”
“You know,” Kaiba whispered.
Mokuba blinked. Then smiled. “…Right. Of course I do.”
“You’re the only one who could pull it off. You’ve earned that level of clearance.”
Mokuba gave him a fond look and ruffled his hair. “Okay, boss.”
Kaiba didn’t even blink.
“Good. Begin immediately.”
Once the plate was set in front of him, Honda closed the curtains, and Bakura stood in the bathroom for seven minutes, Kaiba studied the room with awe.
He placed one hand over Marzipan’s back like a grounding wire.
“This is the calibration array,” he explained solemnly. “For the psychic resonance test.”
Bakura, genuinely intrigued, leaned in. “Of course. Naturally.”
“What are you calibrating, exactly?” Jonouchi asked, half-laughing.
Kaiba didn’t look up. “My internal frequency. It’s the only way to confirm that my enemies haven’t replaced me with a duplicate android.”
“Ah,” said Yugi, nodding like this made sense.
Mokuba rubbed his temples. “How would grapes confirm that?”
Kaiba gestured to Marzipan, who had now placed one paw directly on the nearest grape.
“She’s validating the control group.”
Everyone just… let it happen.
Ten minutes later, Kaiba forgot about the grapes entirely and tried to balance a Duel Monsters card on her like it was an antenna.
The group let Kaiba be, and returned to the coffee table.
“I’m redoing my will,” Kaiba announced, voice low and grave.
Mokuba looked up from the board game, blinking. “What—right now?”
Kaiba didn’t look up. “Marzipan has shown me the truth. I need to get my affairs in order.”
Yugi tried to hide a smile. “Do… do you want legal help?”
“No. This is a binding. The cat has witnessed it.”
Kaiba cleared his throat and began to read aloud: “To Mokuba: All assets. Every company, every prototype, even the secret ocean base. Use them with discernment. And beware the Belgians.”
Mokuba froze. “Wait, what do the Belgians have to do with—never mind.”
“To Marzipan: My soul.”
Honda raised an eyebrow. “You can’t bequeath your soul to a cat.”
Kaiba didn’t blink. “She already owns at least 40% of it.”
Kaiba continues, “To Jonouchi: One limited edition Blue-Eyes White Dragon.”
Jonouchi’s jaw dropped. “Seriously?!”
Kaiba looked him dead in the eye. “But only if he defeats me in chess. Outdoors. By moonlight. No exceptions.”
Jonouchi groaned. “You’re the worst rich person I’ve ever met.”
Kaiba turned the page slowly, dramatically. “To Honda…” He paused for effect. “Nothing. He knows what he did.”
Everyone looked at Honda.
“I genuinely do not know what I did,” Honda muttered, unnerved.
Kaiba locked eyes with him. “Liar. You did it on purpose.”
Then Bakura, who had been quietly sipping his tea in the corner, raised a hand. “And… do I get anything?”
Kaiba regarded him with a long, unreadable stare.
Kaiba lifted his hand slowly, solemnly, and pointed at Bakura with the gravity of someone delivering a prophecy. His expression was unreadable, eyes wide and utterly serious.
“Marzipan doesn’t approve of your auras,” he declared. “Yes—plural. But she hasn’t decided if both are ancient evil… or just one.”
Bakura blinked. “I—I don’t have multiple auras,” he stammered, thrown off. “Anymore,” he added quickly.
Kaiba narrowed his eyes and stroked Marzipan with exaggerated care, like a cartoon villain petting his co-conspirator.
“Don’t try to gaslight the cat, Bakura,” he said coolly. “She sees everything.”
Mokuba snorted. “Bro, you’re talking like she’s your spiritual advisor.”
“She is,” Kaiba replied without hesitation. “She read my birth chart. With her eyes.”
Kaiba sat up, as if jolted by divine purpose. Marzipan remained balanced on his lap, utterly unbothered by his shift in posture. He turned toward Yugi with complete seriousness.
“Mr. Yugi Mutou,” he said, voice low and formal. “I require a notebook. What do you want in trade?”
Yugi blinked, caught mid-bite of a cookie. “Uh… I dunno. Can we be friends?”
Kaiba paused. Considered. Then gave a sharp, decisive nod. “For one day.”
He extended a hand with a dignified slowness, and Yugi—trying very hard not to grin—shook it solemnly. He then passed Kaiba a small notebook with a Kuriboh on it and the glitter pen.
“Acceptable,” Kaiba said, cracking it open. He clicked the pen once with unnecessary gravity.
He turned his attention to Jonouchi across the room, narrowing his eyes as if sighting prey in the wild.
“Subject A,” Kaiba muttered, scribbling. “Displays erratic behavior under mild stimulation. Further tests required.”
Jonouchi sat up, immediately defensive. “What?!”
Kaiba didn’t look up. “Noted,” he said, writing quickly. “Reactive. Easily startled. Possible unhinged tendencies.”
Jonouchi pointed at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re the one stroking a cat like a supervillain while writing in glitter.”
Kaiba didn’t even blink. “Subject growing hostile. Threat level rising.”
Jonouchi lunged forward like he was going to tackle him, but Yugi threw out an arm to stop him—partly out of fear for the notebook, partly out of curiosity for what Kaiba would write next.
Kaiba, for his part, whispered to Marzipan: “Prepare for phase two.”
He hunched slightly over the Kuriboh notebook, pen poised like he was conducting a vital psychological study. Marzipan remained curled on his lap like some small, benevolent oracle.
Across the room, Bakura had resumed fiddling with his tarot deck, quietly shuffling and realigning the cards with practiced care.
Kaiba’s eyes narrowed, focused entirely on him.
“Subject B…” he murmured aloud, not noticing the way everyone started to glance at him. “Presents with soft vocal tone. Affect: dreamy. Aura: suspicious. May be harboring ancient forces.”
Bakura blinked and looked up. “What?”
Kaiba didn’t answer. He was too busy scribbling, lips moving as he mumbled.
“Subject’s hands move fluidly, as though accustomed to sleight-of-hand. Possible pickpocket. Or magician. Or both. Must test.”
Bakura looked alarmed. “Kaiba, are you writing about me?”
Kaiba finally looked up, confused. “Am I speaking aloud?”
“Uh, yes,” Yugi said, trying not to laugh. “For like… five minutes now.”
Unbothered, Kaiba stared directly at Bakura and tapped his pen against the notebook like a gavel. “Subject also attempts denial. Very suspicious. Probably hiding a second soul.”
Bakura turned a light shade of pink. “Excuse me?!”
Kaiba, unshaken, spoke:” Blushes when confronted. Noted. Possibly guilty. Subject will need to be monitored during moon cycles.”
Then he turned to Marzipan and whispered, “He knows we know.”
Kaiba’s eyes slowly slid toward Honda like a security turret locking onto its next target. He didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. Just stared, pen hovering ominously over the Kuriboh notebook.
Honda raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Kaiba didn’t answer. He scribbled something down.
“Subject C: immediately defensive. Avoidant gaze. Classic guilt posture.”
“I’m literally just sitting here,” Honda muttered, shifting uncomfortably.
Kaiba underlined something. “Further deflection. Doesn’t deny guilt outright—because he knows what he did.”
Yugi, barely holding in laughter, asked, “What did Honda do?”
Kaiba didn’t look up. “That information is classified. For national security reasons.”
Honda sputtered, “National security?!”
Kaiba slowly turned the notebook toward Marzipan and tapped the page twice, as if presenting evidence to a silent advisor.
Marzipan didn’t move.
Kaiba nodded solemnly. “Confirmed.”
Honda threw his hands in the air. “You guys hearin’ this?! I’m being accused of war crimes by a billionaire and a one-eyed cat!”
Kaiba didn’t look up. “Subject C: prone to dramatics. May crack under pressure. Unfit for satellite clearance.”
He paused, then added with eerie calm: “Keep eyes on him.”
Kaiba’s gaze shifted to Yugi next. He squinted, scrutinizing him like a glitch in an otherwise controlled simulation.
Yugi smiled at him, patient and open as always—still hopeful for “one day of friendship.”
Kaiba flipped to a clean page in the Kuriboh notebook, then began muttering to himself while he wrote.
“Subject D. Small frame. Compact. Potentially engineered for stealth dueling.”
Yugi tilted his head. “Um, are you writing about me?”
Kaiba didn’t look up. “Subject exhibits deceptive softness. Likely a control-type with hidden trap synergy. Kind on the surface—dangerous when triggered.”
“Kaiba,” Yugi said gently, “you’re describing me like I’m a monster card.”
Kaiba nodded gravely. “You are a rare-effect monster with impossible stats. Friendship-based attack strategy. Ridiculous draw probability. Suspected ancient spirit boost.”
“I—what?!”
“Also suspected of fusion potential with multiple archetypes. Possibly broken. Needs errata.”
Bakura covered his mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Kaiba, I am not a broken card,” Yugi protested, utterly bewildered.
Kaiba looked up slowly, completely serious. “You made Slifer cuddle a pumpkin last Halloween.”
“That was just a decoration—!”
Kaiba scribbled with renewed urgency. “Confirmed. Controls Egyptian God cards through seasonal decor. Subject not to be underestimated.”
Mokuba laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch, and Marzipan leapt into Kaiba’s lap as if in full agreement.
“Marzipan knows,” Kaiba said, stroking her solemnly. “She sees the aura. It’s shiny and suspicious.”
Yugi groaned into his hands. “I liked it better when he was talking to the cat.”
Kaiba didn’t even blink. “We are still talking.”
Kaiba paused, then glanced at Mokuba, who had been half-watching him while also trying to keep the group’s board game from dissolving into chaos.
His expression shifted. No longer calculating or suspicious, just quiet. Almost fond.
He turned to a fresh page in the Kuriboh notebook.
“Subject E…” he said softly, the words more reverent now than analytical. “Mokuba Kaiba.”
Mokuba blinked. “Are you writing about me now?”
Kaiba didn’t answer. He just kept writing, eyes never leaving his little brother.
“Primary system stability. Core support structure. Unshakable internal architecture built on empathy, loyalty, and a deeply annoying but statistically effective sense of humor.”
Jonouchi snorted. “You sayin’ Mokuba’s got ‘architecture’?”
Kaiba ignored him. “Subject E is the reason the entire simulation hasn’t collapsed. Most likely to survive the end of the world. Most likely to rebuild it after.”
He paused, tapping the pen against his lip.
“Also—excellent with technology. Acceptable taste in music. Highest clearance. Can be trusted to override my failsafes in the event of catastrophic ego implosion.”
Mokuba smiled. “Seto…”
He looked up at Mokuba, completely sincere.
“Mokuba. If I’m an android… I trust you to tell me.”
The room fell into stunned silence. Jonouchi choked on his drink.
Yugi mouthed, “Oh my god.”
Mokuba, holding back a laugh and a tiny bit of affection-panic, managed: “You’re not an android.”
Kaiba narrowed his eyes. “That’s exactly what I’d be programmed to believe.”
Then he turned to Marzipan, still nestled in his lap.
“I need confirmation from someone unbiased.”
The cat blinked her one eye, indifferent.
Kaiba nodded solemnly. “She says I’m 92% organic.”
Pause.
“I can work with that.”
Jonouchi leaned back against the couch, arms folded behind his head, grinning like he’d just caught Kaiba hugging a teddy bear.
“You’ve gone soft, Kaiba,” he teased, snickering. “Talkin’ to cats, whisperin’ to your notebook like it’s your diary—what happened to Mr. ‘I Don’t Have Time for Friendship’?”
Kaiba didn’t even look up from where he was adjusting Marzipan’s position in his lap like she was royalty. He simply exhaled through his nose, calm and clinical.
“If by ‘soft’ you mean my capacity for refined emotional regulation and strategic vulnerability has outpaced your intellectual development,” Kaiba said coolly, “then yes. I’ve gone soft.”
Jonouchi blinked.
“That’s… that’s not even an insult. That’s like a roast wrapped in a college thesis.” Mokuba said, trying not to laugh.
Kaiba finally looked up, deadpan. “That’s because I’m efficient. Unlike Jonouchi’s brain, which seems to operate exclusively on impulse and carbohydrates.”
“Hey!”
“Marzipan agrees,” Kaiba added solemnly.
“All right,” Yugi said brightly, holding a piece of notebook paper. “New rule. If you want visitation rights to Marzipan”—he gestured to the tabby curled smugly in Kaiba’s lap—“you have to agree to spend time with us.”
Kaiba’s eyes narrowed. “Define ‘time.’”
“Like this,” Yugi said, smiling. “Games. Snacks. Light socializing. No corporate espionage. No tournaments. Just… people.”
Kaiba stared at him for a long moment, unmoving except for the rhythmic stroke of his hand down Marzipan’s back. She purred like an idling machine.
Jonouchi leaned over Yugi’s shoulder, reading the glittery print. “You even signed it: ‘Witnessed by Kuriboh.’ You’re such a nerd.”
Kaiba’s gaze drifted away—past the snacks, the dimmed lights, the tarot cloth. His expression went distant, almost blank, as if he were running mental simulations of every possible future outcome. Then, with a slow and deliberate motion, he took the paper and began to write.
The room fell quiet.
Mokuba leaned over to peek. “What are you writing, bro?”
Kaiba didn’t answer right away. His handwriting was sharp and precise, but unusually small, like he didn’t want anyone to see it unless they really looked.
Finally, he set the pen down and nodded once.
“I accept the terms.”
Jonouchi blinked. “Wait—seriously?”
Kaiba looked up, perfectly calm. “I have weighed the cost-benefit ratio. The opportunity to commune with a being of Marzipan’s perceptive magnitude is… worth tolerating your collective chaos.”
Yugi grinned and took back the paper.
Kaiba had signed it with a flourish.
“I’m going to frame this.” Yugi whispered.
Soon, Kaiba’s eyelids grew heavy, the sharp edges of his mind softening as the high gradually ebbed away. The glitter pen slipped from his fingers, rolling quietly across the carpet.
He stretched once, arms reaching overhead like a coiled spring finally releasing, then settled back against the couch with a long, slow exhale.
Marzipan blinked up at him from his lap, her one eye gleaming in the dim light.
The room felt quieter now. The laughter, the teasing, the endless games—all had slowed to a gentle hum.
Kaiba’s gaze drifted toward the window, where the stars flickered cold and distant. For a brief moment, the weight of the world, the endless battles, the corporate empires—it all felt far away.
Mokuba, sitting beside him, nudged his shoulder gently. “You okay, Seto?”
Kaiba blinked, meeting his brother’s concerned eyes, then allowed a faint, almost imperceptible nod.
“Exhaustion. And mild disorientation. No unexpected side effects,” he said with his usual clipped tone, though there was an odd softness beneath it.
Jonouchi grinned, elbowing Honda. “Look at Mr. Perfect, all mellow now.”
Kaiba glanced at Jonouchi, eyes narrowing—but there was no real bite in the glare, just tired acceptance.
“I’m done with your foolishness for the night,” Kaiba declared softly. “But I suppose… it was tolerable.”
He shifted, patting Marzipan once more before closing his eyes briefly, allowing himself a rare moment of quiet.
“Next time,” he muttered, voice low and almost conspiratorial, “I’m bringing my own food.”
The room was quiet now, save for the soft, rhythmic purring of Marzipan nestled comfortably in Kaiba’s lap. Kaiba himself was finally asleep, his usual sharp gaze softened into peaceful stillness, a rare vulnerability that made the group pause.
Yugi leaned against the doorway, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “I never thought I’d see Kaiba like this… relaxed, even.”
Mokuba chuckled quietly. “Yeah, who knew a pot brownie and a cat could do what I couldn’t in years.”
Jonouchi grinned, shaking his head. “Man, watching Kaiba try to negotiate with Marzipan was priceless. ‘You’re my second-in-command.’ I’m still laughing.”
Honda stood a bit apart, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I still don’t get it. Why doesn’t that cat trust me? I was good to her!”
Bakura smiled softly. “Some things just don’t need explaining. Maybe Marzipan just knows who the real boss is.”
Honda sighed, looking back at Kaiba and Marzipan. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”
The group shared a warm laugh, the night winding down on a strange but unexpectedly tender note. Outside, the city lights twinkled as if winking at the odd little family inside—one even Kaiba couldn’t deny belonged, at least for tonight.
The soft red glow of the wall clock read 1:03 a.m.
Kaiba stirred.
His eyes opened slowly, the kind of groggy, unguarded blink reserved for deep sleep or unexpected vulnerability. His hand twitched reflexively against the warmth curled in his lap—Marzipan, purring like a tiny generator.
Across the room, Bakura noticed and immediately shifted, removing his arm from Mokuba’s shoulders with a slightly guilty look. Mokuba, half-asleep himself, didn’t seem fazed.
Kaiba didn’t speak. He sat up with slow, deliberate movements, his back stiff and his expression unreadable. The others quieted as he glanced around—first at them, then at the coffee table littered with snack wrappers, loose cards, candles burned low.
Finally, he picked up the notebook.
He flipped through it wordlessly, scanning his own handwriting with increasing suspicion. There were pages of notes. Diagrams. Bullet points like “Subject A prone to startling.” “Mokuba is mission objective.” A flowchart evaluating whether Bakura was possessed, flirting, or both.
Kaiba stared at one drawing labeled “Kuriboh: potential spy?” complete with arrows and a radar system. He blinked once. Closed the notebook.
His tone was flat. “What happened.”
Mokuba grinned from the couch. “Don’t you remember?”
“You gave me a pot brownie.” Kaiba deadpanned.
“On accident!” Mokuba tried to justify.
“Then tried to recruit the cat into a cyber security task force.” Yugi added helpfully.
Marzipan stretched contentedly on his lap, utterly unbothered.
Kaiba looked down at her, then back at the group. His face didn’t move, but something subtle—an exhausted disbelief—flickered in his eyes.
“You agreed to one day of friendship and to hang out with us again the next time you want to see my cat!” Yugi said with too much enthusiasm.
“Didn’t you have a little bit of fun?” Jonouchi asked.
Kaiba didn’t answer. He simply leaned back against the couch cushion, one hand resting protectively on the cat, the other still holding the notebook like evidence in a federal case.
Somewhere behind him, Honda muttered, “Still can’t believe the damn cat never warmed up to me.”
Kaiba didn’t even look up. “It’s because you wore socks with sandals,” he muttered. “She has standards.”