Illustration credit: ilshatass on DeviantArt

Chapter 2: That One

Seto Kaiba stepped out of a limo onto a quaint street lined with intricately detailed three-story buildings. His long, white trench coat billowed in the wind as he stared up at it with cold, iolite eyes.

Seto crossed his arms and turned to Roland, his suited bodyguard with dark glasses and a thin mustache. "They call this Silicon Valley?"

A, "Big brother!" call from Mokuba assaulted Seto's ears before Roland could reply.

"Mokuba, is this some sort of joke?" Seto asked.

Mokuba looked around. "What? This? We got a really great deal on the place, it's a historic landmark, it's really close to Caltrain, and just wait until you see the inside."

Seto grumbled under his breath as he followed Roland and Mokuba up the dark, narrow staircase. When they reached the top, he was temporarily blinded by the brightly lit office.

"Eh? Eh?" Mokuba waved an open palm at the workspace.

"Better," Seto admitted.

Mokuba introduced the nearest person, a dude with sun-bleached hair wearing a "Monsters of the Duel" T-shirt like most others in the office. "This is Rob Fletcher, our video content manager. Rob, Seto."

Rob stuck out a hand for Seto to shake, which he reluctantly took. "Hey bro, amped to finally meet you. How long are you going to be in Cali?"

"Two weeks," Seto replied.

Rob shook a wavy lock out of his eyes. "Far out! Hey, you wanna make a guest appearance on our next livestream, bro?"

Seto crossed his arms again. "No. You're fired."

"Whaaa?" Rob's jaw dangled.

"Nobody gets to call me bro except Mokuba."

Mokuba pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's just an American expression, Seto. And I'm not firing him. The fans like him."

Seto turned his back on Rob and drew closer to Mokuba. "That slang actually attracts gamers?"

"They eat it up!" Mokuba assured. "People play games to relax, and there's nothing more relaxed than that California surfer vibe."

"As long as he's actually boosting sales, you can keep him. Just don't put me next to that guy in front of a camera."

"Noted." Mokuba led Seto over to Laura and Matteo. "This is our narrative designer Laura Aurelio. Laura, Seto."

"Hey," Laura gave him a quirky smirk. "How did you like my portrayal of the Shadow Realm in the lore?"

Daggers of ice shot from Seto's gaze as traumatic memories of ancient Egyptian hooligans with magical 24-karat gold artifacts flashed through his mind. "The what now?"

"You know, since you and Mokuba spent some time in the Shadow Realm and all . . ." her confidence faltered, and Matteo put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I mean, have you even been reading the lore?"

This time, Seto kept his glare on the object of his scorn while he conferred with his brother. "Mokuba, is there something I need to know about the lore?"

Laura looked away from Seto, her eyes pleading with Mokuba for help. "Don't worry, Seto. Everyone knows it's pure fantasy. Laura is just bouncing off some old stories I told her."

"You read every word this woman writes before it gets published?"

"Practically the entire staff does. I always check the final version before it goes out, of course."

"She so much as tries to slip in any slander and she gets canned, got it?" Seto caught Matteo rolling his eyes. "And pretty boy here can pack up his things and leave now."

"He doesn't work for us," Mokuba said.

"What is it, bring-your-boyfriend-to-work day?" Seto scoffed.

"Actually, kinda. It's May Day and that's . . . never mind, but Americans will glom onto any excuse to celebrate. Consider it part of our vibrant and diverse office culture," Mokuba explained.

"What a sham." Seto turned on his heel and sauntered into the lounge. He made such a dramatic entrance with his arms crossed and his death glare that everyone in the room fell silent and turned to stare. Seeing his face beside the huge banner, he needed no introduction. Someone started clapping, and it crescendoed into applause until Mokuba showed up.

"Thanks for giving my brother a warm welcome, everyone. He's had a long flight and he's glad to finally meet you all," Mokuba announced.

Seto ignored the cheers that followed. "Mokuba, why is that banner in here and not outside on display?"

"Oh that? We need to get permission from the city before we can put it up, especially since this is a historic landmark and all. It's going to take a month to approve our application," Mokuba lied.

"Then why didn't you just bribe the city officials or . . ." Seto's gaze fell on a pair of breasts pressed against navy blue fabric. The woman they were attached to stood tense but bored at the same time, soaking in every detail of her surroundings but eager to move on to something else. Such women, in his experience, were the most eager and passionate lovers. They didn't simply go through the motions or lie in bed like a dead fish trying not to ruin their makeup before the next client. Seto reflexively tapped Roland's chest with the back of his hand. "Get me that one. In the floral dress."

Ever since an incident involving a broken wine glass and eight stitches followed by expensive scar removal procedures and lawsuit threats from both parties, Seto had Roland screen his prostitutes. "Sir, may I suggest a jaunt to Nevada? The laws here don't permit—"

"That. One."

Roland remained stock still.

"Never mind. I'll get that one myself." Seto took a step forward, but Mokuba caught his arm.

"Seto, no! That's my art director's girlfriend, and you already threatened to fire his wife and tried to fire her boyfriend, who doesn't even work for us!"

Seto's eyes gleamed with the hunger of a hunter. "Really now? Turns out I do know a good whore when I see one." He jerked his arm out of Mokuba's grasp and strode past the chattering game developers towards his target.