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The first time Kaiba had gazed upon the holographic dragon, its blue eyes staring back at him with a strange intelligence, Kaiba had wept. The tears had come of their own accord, streaming down his face in two fat rivers down his cheeks. His engineers had said nothing, politely silent with eyes averted elsewhere, while Mokuba had merely placed a hand on his arm—so gentle that Kaiba had barely felt it.
This technology would revolutionize his company. True, it still needed refinement—better AI, higher resolution that could support truly lifelike proportions—but Kaiba is certain that he holds the future within his two hands.
As well as the key to his revenge.
He would pay Mutou Yuugi back for that humiliating defeat. And better yet, that runt had no inkling that he himself was the very inspiration for the vehicle through which retaliation would ride.
Kaiba roughly wipes at his face, powers down the simulation, and orders everyone out of the room.
He spends six months in a dream. Most of the time, what was left of his consciousness floats in white noise. Othertimes, Kaiba relives the last moments of his life: thick, clammy fingers gouging into his neck; swaying, clinking metal chains; ancient breath as frigid as the touch of winter. A pin-prick of pain stabbing at his chest, impaling and dragging his skin back and with it, pulling and pulling until the rest of Kaiba followed, inside-out, into the void. Nothing around him but darkness and shadow and darkness. He feels utterly alone at these times, adrift from the world. Completely lost. A coldness permeating his bones that no longer existed.
Sometimes, he fought. Claws at the world with venom coursing through the ragged fragments of his heart.
Sometimes, he could hear his own voice. He didn’t recognize it the first time.
Sometimes, he could feel the reachings of warmth in the far distance, its light too faint to really see. But he knows it was there—could feel the gentle heat ease into the emptiness, filling it. Kaiba feels its caress, kind and protective like a mother’s, and the loneliness isn’t as unbearable. He is no longer nothing.
It would linger for a while, and then it would leave, just as ghostly as it had come.
The loser wasn’t the first person he’d expected to see upon landing on the island. He hears his name called out as though in amazement, sees the stupified expressions on the group of idiots’ faces. Yuugi had been the first to approach him, but it had been Jonouchi who’d confronted him, and what the hell was his problem, anyway?
He was barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Kaiba has much more pressing issues to deal with. His brother. His company. Pegasus.
Jounouchi doesn’t rank up there. Kaiba barely knows him. He doesn’t have time.
Amber eyes glow like slow-burning fire at him. One hand, dirty and calloused, grasps at the front of his shirt, an attempt to intimidate but only succeeding in raising Kaiba’s ire. What did any of this matter to Jounouchi?
Fine. If it’s what he wants, then Kaiba would give him a beating to remember. Apparently the punk was into humiliation.
When they are done, Kaiba leaves a defeated Jounouchi seated in the dirt, feeling his eyes on him long after Kaiba departed.
That a deadbeat like Jounouchi had made it to the finals of the Battle City tournament was a joke. But at least it had given Kaiba a taste of Ra’s might, so allowing Jounouchi to stay had been worthwhile, after all. Jounouchi had survived a direct blow from Ra’s true form—a god!—and while Kaiba couldn’t tell if it was merely dumb luck or a cockroach-like resilience, he couldn’t deny that the feat was respectable. Jonouchi had fought until the brutal end—would have won the match, really, if he could have retained consciousness enough to play his last card—and only in facing death head-on could Kaiba recognize him as a true Duelist.
His rival’s heart was wavering, and while Kaiba awaits their Duel to begin, he wanders the halls of the tower alone. He’d come so far...he’d wait as long as it would take.
Kaiba pauses when his feet lead him to a door marked “Medical Room.” Peering inside, he is astonished to see that it is empty, save for its lone occupant. The metal of the doorknob is cool as he turns it, the air inside the infirmary brisk. Jounouchi is tucked away in the farthest recesses of the room, an oxygen mask covering his mouth and a tangle of cords connecting monitors attached to his arms and chest.
He looks like he’s been burned. The skin on Jounouchi’s cheeks is darkened and peeling across his nose and cheekbones, as though from a harsh summer tan. Patches of hair are singed at the ends, turning thin strands into golden curlicues. Kaiba presses a strand between two fingers, watches as the curl crumbles into microscopic pieces. He brushes the hair aside, away from Jounouchi’s face.
Kaiba feels a sudden, inexplicable urge to press his palm to Jounouchi’s forehead. He watches in detached horror as his hand takes on a life of its own, closes the gap, and settles atop Jounouchi’s head.
It’s not as hot as he expected, and just a bit sweaty.
Jounouchi stirs, and Kaiba’s stomach drops. He wants to wrench his hand away, but Jounouchi’s lips quirk into a soft smile, his uncovered arm rising to gently settle over Kaiba’s wrist. It’s too dark, but Kaiba wonders whether he saw Jounouchi’s eyes flit open momentarily or if his own are simply playing tricks on him.
He stares at his hand. If he leaves now, then perhaps Jounouchi would think it had just been a dream.
Seeing Jounouchi like this makes Kaiba think back to his own extended time in the hospital. He feels like he’s been here before, but in reverse, but that notion alone is preposterous.
Kaiba stares at Jounouchi’s sleeping face for a long while. Although he had removed his hand long ago, there is a lingering warmth that makes his palms itch.
There’s a strange trembling in his chest as he turns and exits the room silently.
It comes as a bitter pill when moments later, Kaiba experiences his own defeat at the hands of the one who’d stolen everything from him.
The sky is almost the exact color of the sea below, a calm backdrop contrasting the destruction midair. Fiery debris crashes to the ground and is swallowed up by welcoming waves.
With the controls of the fighter jet under his grip, Kaiba feels like he is taking off towards the future—his future—finally putting the past to rest behind him, where it belongs. The other Duelists stand in shock atop of the blimp, and Kaiba can hear their screams and gasps carry over through his intercom. Although it’s Yuugi who is staring directly at him, for some reason, it’s only Jounouchi who Kaiba sees. His strong eyes pierce through the distance, and Kaiba raises two fingers in salute.
Yuugi had told him that hatred is a dead end. Although Alcatraz lies in ruins, Kaiba wonders whether his heart will ever be freed.
Setting off with his brother beside him, Kaiba decides to let go and see where life takes him.
When they finally arrive, Kaiba knows that he’s already missed it. Something about how the sun radiates off the dunes, bright and golden, the shimmering haze like a gateway to someplace unreachable. But he’s glad, in a way—he would have felt acutely out of place amongst people who were not his friends, and he would have only been there for one person, anyway. Although the Other Yuugi is gone, Kaiba isn’t sure if he could ever truly end their rivalry.
It’s better this way.
When the group emerges, somber and wordless, they all pause as they hone in on the brothers. Jounouchi is the first to waken from his stupor. As if ignited, he runs over to them, his sneakered feet catching and sliding against the sand. Kaiba stands there, waiting.
At first, Kaiba thinks he is going to be punched, but the impact never comes. Instead, Jounouchi balls his fists into the lapels of Kaiba’s jacket, refusing to meet his gaze. Very slowly, Jounouchi bends his head in close, and Kaiba can see tears in his eyes.
He doesn’t understand why.
“Don’t ever leave like that again!” Jounouchi cries, his fists closing in tighter. They shake as though he’s been holding this in for a long time. Had Kaiba been gone so long? “Your life is not your own,” Jounouchi finishes, his voice now barely above a whisper.
"I don’t need friends! I don’t need anyone but myself!" He’d said those words to the Other Yuugi, a lifetime ago.
But with Jounouchi before him, clinging as though his life depended on it, Kaiba feels the stirrings of something new in his chest, as though gears that had long been silenced finally began turning.
He places a hand upon Jounouchi’s head and sends a farewell to the one who’s passed.
Along with his gratitude.