Trouble A'brewing
Seto's hands kneaded the skin over his temples and forehead, his current frustration stemming from a persistant headache that even his very potent pain killers could not tame. Or maybe the stress had caused the head ache in the first place. No matter, it was keeping him from doing his work.
The board and directors meeting had gone reasonably well, as these things tended to go when one's company made the kind of profit Kaiba Corp did and everyone knew whom to thank for it. Almost being of age helped considerably, he had to admit. It was different facing these men now than it had been a few years ago, easier in every way. But he had fought for every tiny bit of respect, never giving it any less than his all, never backing off even an inch.
The cup next to his laptops was filled to the brim with cold, black coffee. He hadn't touched it and with his raging headache figured he wouldn't have any of the liberating brew any time soon. His physician had reprimanded him about his high cafeine consumption as it was.
He leaned back in his chair and noticed how dark it had gotten outside. It had to be past eight already. One glance at his watch made him add another hour and he decided that calling it a day was probably a good idea.
It was almost ten by the time he shut down the system and headed down to meet his driver.
At age twenty, Seto was everything any young man wanted to be: Famous, rich, popular and successful. The first three he could have done without, although the second was certainly useful. It was the success that mattered most to him though. It meant he was superior to the competition, stronger and smarter and just plain better.
His image was regularly seen on magazine covers, with him threatening his PR department every time it started to get out of hand. He didn't mind the scientific journals, he even wrote for them sometimes as he was openly interested in the developments in gaming technologies. Being 'Domino's most eligible bachelor' however, that he could do without, and he didn't care for discussions of his love life or possible affairs, though those were rare simply for lack of material.
As one reporter had once remarked, Seto was all business, all the time, and the young CEO saw nothing wrong with that assassment. His success was what he had build his and Mokuba's happiness on, and he was not going to relinquish it for something as feeble and vain as a love affair.
The mansion's house keeper greeted Seto at the door when he returned home, about a quarter past ten. He powered up his home computer system and gave the security logs a quick glance, finding nothing out of the ordinary at first. Then he noticed the absence of a note concerning Mokuba's return home and his eyes narrowed. His guards wouldn't have missed him, he had them on high allert at all times.
Eyes narrowed in disapproval and a hint of worry and fished his cell phone out of his pocket, Mokuba's number being the first on his speed dial.
He got a dialing tone, but no answer, then it went to voice mail. Seto snapped the phone shut, not bothering to leave a message. Why the hell wasn't Mokuba answering his phone? Better yet, why wasn't he home yet?
He rushed to his brother's room just in case, but of course he wasn't there, nor did the empty room give him any hint as to his where abouts. Nothing in there seemed out of place, except for a general disorderliness that one wouldn't encounter in any of Seto's own rooms.
He considered calling the police – this wouldn't be the first more or less successful attempt at kidnappig – but decided to wait just a little longer while he tried to reach Mokuba's cell yet again. And again. The missed calls should be a clear message, he thought, if his brother had forgotten the time and his curfew. What was he doing, on a school night no less?
Not quite half an hour later, Seto had managed to circle the lobby an uncounted one hundred times and finally decided to spaned a late night with an overworked police officer when his call rang and security informed him that a taxi carrying his little brother had just passed the front gate.
Crossing his arms over his chest and forcing himself not to tap his foot with impatience he waited what seemed like an eternity until the door was pushed open and Mokuba's form stumbled in, not quite like Seto had imagined he would. He was closer to falling than walking and Seto rushed over to support him, only to be greeted by the distinct smell of smoke and alcohol.
The reek distracted him to such an extend that it took him a moment to notice the way his brother looked (aside from horribly drunk). His sleeve-less shirt was all but see-through, not to mention that it didn't even attempt to cover his stomach, and the pants, so tight that they left nothing to the imagination, really didn't help. Neither did Mokuba's giggling at Seto's obvious reaction of shock.
It seemed he tried to say something, but only laughter came out. Seto was rarely as a loss for words, but nothing he had done so far had prepared him for the sight of his baby brother in a state like this. Mokuba then proceeded to empty the meager contents of his stomach onto the entrance hall's carpet.
“It's just paint, Seto, not an actual tattoo!”
And it wasn't like Seto himself had never given thought to a Blue Eyes White Dragon marking his skin, but that wasn't the point. That the dragon's head was way below the level of any decent pair of pants wasn't it either.
“I don't have to actually be eighteen to go to a club! I know what I'm doing.”
There were several things profoundly wrong with this statement.
“I was out dancing, okay? And drinking, yeah, so what? I was having fun. Figures the concept would be alien to you.”
There had been a time where Mokuba wouldn't have dreamed of talking to him in such a tone.
“Come on, Seto! We agreed I didn't need bodyguards! I feel like some animal on a leash with them around!”
Seto was glad that he, at least, knew what was best for his little brother.
*
He managed to stay awake for a full hour yesterday. Or however long ago it was. That was progress. The hospital room had changed a little every time he opened his eyes, but that could just be his imagination. He learned that he had a full team of doctors assigned to him, and more than one nurse, too. He never heard any noises typically associated with a hospital though, so he figured he had to be far away from other patients. Of course, his father would make sure he got several rooms to himself, and only the best of care, so he could quickly recover.
Every time his eyes opened, he forced himself to look at this strangely grown body of his, to become familiar with it. So he was older now, what did it matter? He could deal with that. He made rapid progress on all fields, or so the doctors assured him with enthusiasm. He could speak a few words at a time, but his voice was hoarse from not having been used in so many years. He slowly regained controll of his too long limbs, too.
The day he first managed to sit up without assitance he laughed out loud, amazed and happy and relieved.
It took longer for his legs to support him and he fell the first time he tried. It sent the doctors and nurses into a panic which in turn made him shout at them furiously. He wasn't disabled, he was merely inconvenienced, and wouldn't be for much longer anyway.
He wasn't sure how much time lay between that outfurst of fury and his first independend walk through his room, but he knew it was the day he finally insisted on seeing his father. He needed to see him now, not later. He remembered it as the day he learned of his father's death.
*
On that day, Seto had thought that what had happened would never leave his mind. That he would think of it daily, that not an hour would pass without the consious knowledge of what he had done, that it would forever be burned into his mind.
And it was true, the memory never faded. It was as clear today, with years in between, as it had been a second after the event. But he didn't think of it as often as he used to. He could look at the wide glass panels behind his desk and not see them broken. He could sit in his chair and not imagine an older, long disposed of model. He could face the members of his board of directors, even the oldest, and not remember the man they had served befor him.
It wasn't anything in particular that made him think of the cruel man that was his adoptive father. It wasn't the gray clouds, heavy with unfallen rain, nor the old carpets on seventh floor he had walked down earlier that day, nor the stale, bitter coffee in his mug. No, the memory krept up on him unbidden, and found him unprepared, like it always did.
It was a cold shiver down his neck and a faint phantom pain on his back and the illusion of a choking force around his throat. It lasted maybe a second before he cast off the shadow of his past and moved on, deliberately working on repressing the old sensation for the rest of the day.
*
Noah had a lot of experience with hate. Hate, disdain, animosity, hostility, contempt, spite – he knew them all quite well, had learned from the best. But nothing he had ever felt even came close to compare itself to his current state of mind, focused on a single person who, he thought, might drop dead just from being the center of his hatred:
Seto Kaiba.
It took him the better part of a week to calm down and realize that he wasn't a threat to anyone in his current state, which only meant that his recovery became all the more imperative. His father may be gone, but he had left him a purpose that couldn't be clearer: revenge for his legacy.
To recover from a coma and regain full health within a year was impossible, or so the doctors said. But from what Noah had gathered, his waking up alone still baffled them. So he decided to become a miracle: a year from now he would face this Seto Kaiba and take back what was rightfully his.
He woke up regularly now, every morning, the mental image of the thief, the ursurper in front of his eyes. When he didn't force his nurses to take him through exercise after exercise for his strengthening body, he head papers and magazines featuring his rival, that boy who didn't know yet he had gained a frightening enemy. Seeing his face, cold and arrigant and so very sure of himself, gave Noah the energy to keep going, to push himself past his limits each and every day.
*
Kaiba Corp had changed in a lot of ways, even personnel wise, but the higher up the ranks, the less changes there were. In fact, most of those who made the real decisions about the company had known his father personally and if Noah's memory didn't fool him they had agreed with how Gozaburo Kaiba had lead the company. How they could now follow this new wannabe CEO who had turned Kaiba Corp into nothing short of a joke was beyond him. What mattered though, was that they would support him, like they had his father, and with his directors against him, what could one Seto Kaiba possibly do?
Noah pushed his wheelchair down the empty corridor, hating that he needed it, but there was nothing to be done about it, for now. When he had found out where exactly he was – somewhere around the outskirts of Domino City, right in the middle of nowhere – he had been furious, but by now he had decided to make that an asset, too. He was out of his enemy's sight, something he could use to his advantage.
And he could call those he needed to him. He had them followed and spied on, until he could be sure of their loyalty toward his father, and only then did he contact them. They came like a pack of obedient dogs, willing to do his bidding.
He had to open the door by hand before giving it a firm kick so he could pass it in his wheel chair. Sitting up straight and dressed in a spotless, dark business suit, he thought himself quite impressing, wheel chair or not.
The five men in the room, all seated around one heavy desk, quickly rose to their feet when he entered, only to sit down almost at once, uncomfortably noting his indisposition. He chose to ignore it and instead cut right to the chase.
“Gentlemen, I believe we have a problem.”
And so began his recapture of the company that should have been his from the start.
Finding out that his father had left him considerable amounts of Kaiba Corp stocks did help, but that alone would have been worthless, had it not been for the support of several board members. Having the company they had helped build turned into a toy had pained them just as it had Noah. His father had to be turning in his grave with rage.
Oh, but they would confront Seto, the boy undeserving of the family name he had stolen, and they would beat him as surely as the sun rose every morning to wake him.
