Yu-Gi-Oh is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect is intended by this fanfiction.

Author's Note:
These vignettes, though they mostly follow the canon events and characterization of the original anime (with a few supplemental details from the manga) are set in my Temenos AU, where Pegasus and Gozaburo are purposefully distorted.

This chapter grew out of a longish drabble I did for the LJ ygodrabble community.

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Impressions: The Public Eye

by Animom

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At the last possible moment, with every piece of clothing in his portmanteau strewn across the hotel's king-sized bed, Maximillion surrendered himself to the dark gray suit, white dress shirt, and muted necktie.

The outfit's funereal somberness was appropriate for mourning the sacrifice of his hair to his quest for venture capital, but then, he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure success. Grateful that his father's old college chum had arranged this audience with the fabulously wealthy industrialist Gozaburo Kaiba, he was determined to follow Mister Oshita's many admonishments – Cut your hair short, dress conservatively, answer every question as briefly as possible, don't let on you're only eighteen unless he specifically asks your age, call them matches rather than duels, emphasize the fighting aspect, downplay magical and fantastical elements, explain that trap cards are like land mines – to the letter. To do otherwise, to wear or do anything that might make Mister Kaiba dismiss him as a frivolous flibbertigibbet, would be foolish.

He tightened the knot of his necktie a miniscule amount, turned this way and that to ensure that no gleam of gold escaped his eyepatch, and finally dusted the toes of his new black shoes – oxfords, dreadfully uncomfortable, he couldn't wait to toss them out – with a corner of the bedspread. Satisfied that he had done all he could for his appearance, he opened the leather portfolio to review one last time the six cards he had selected from the special set – with Japanese rather than English text – he'd custom-made for the meeting. Mister Oshita had advised him not to show any cards unless Kaiba asked to see samples, but as recommended, there were no female figures, spellcasters, magical creatures, animals, or magic cards. He sighed. Kagemusha, the two M-Warriors, Giant Soldier of Stone, Two-Pronged Attack, and Trap Hole: good cards, but aesthetically rather dull.

He remembered, just as the door was about to close, that he hadn't grabbed his room key or put on his wedding ring.

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He had wondered in the elevator how he would find Mister Kaiba – no, he must remember to use Kaiba-sama – in the hotel's expansive dining room, but he needn't have fretted. The maitre d'hotel motioned discreetly as soon as he entered the restaurant, and escorted him to one of the private rooms at the back.

Kaiba Gozaburo had his head down, writing something. As Maximillion waited nervously for acknowledgment of his presence – one needed acknowledgment before introducing oneself and sitting down – he noticed that a young boy also sat at the table.

Blindfolded.

Just as he was about to demand an explanation, the boy said, "Knight to d7."

"Took you long enough," Gozaburo said coldly. "Which knight?"

"The b-file."

"Rook to d1." Gozaburo looked up. "Who are you?"

"I'm Maximillion Crawford, Kaiba-sama. Oshita Konosuke, your vice-president of business strategy, went to Harvard with my father." He discreetly wiped his palm on his jacket and started to extend his hand, then realized that Kaiba-sama was Japanese and bowed instead. Not too deeply: he had been told that too much was almost as insulting as too little.

"Knight to b6." The boy – who looked to be ten or eleven – had turned his head slightly when Maximillion spoke, but otherwise continued to sit perfectly still, his hands folded in his lap.

"Queen to c5." Gozaburo picked up his knife and fork. "We are on a tight schedule: Seto's exhibition matches begin in less than an hour. You have five minutes."

"Thank you, sir." Maximillion sat, but before he could begin the boy asked, "Isn't queen to c3 better?"

Gozaburo laughed derisively. "And expose her to the bishop on e6? Why would I do that, Seto?"

"Sorry, sir. I forgot that we're playing the same moves they did. Bishop to g4."

Curious despite his ticking clock, Maximillion asked, "Who?"

"Fischer and Byrne." Gozaburo cut into his nearly-raw steak. "So what did you want? "

Maximillion took a deep breath. "As Mister Oshita may have told you, for the past year and a quarter I have been producing and marketing a limited-edition series of cards used in a fighting game. Demand has always exceeded supply, but recently the demand has increased exponentially."

"The tipping point," Gozaburo nodded, chewing. "Oshita said as much. You're a one-man shop? What you Americans call an S-corporation?"

"Yes, Kaiba-sama. I'm looking for investors so that I can incorporate, hire staff, and hand off all operations except card design."

"Oh, now I remember." Gozaburo wiped his mouth, took a swallow of his drink. "You're an artist."

Maximillion bristled at the amount of disdain he heard in the older man's voice. He was struggling to formulate a reply that would preserve his dignity without antagonizing Kaiba-sama further when the boy saved him.

"Byrne's next move was Bishop to g5," he said calmly. "If he had gone to e2 instead it would have protected the King and prepared for castling, but he probably underestimated Fischer. Black's next move was to sacrifice his knight."

"You've memorized the moves," Gozaburo said, transferring his ill-humor to the boy, "but have you understood them?"

"I think so, sir." The boy's hands, clenched in his lap, became white-knuckled.

"Not good enough."

Maximillion decided to return the favor. "Kaiba-sama, pretty pictures aren't why I have been – and will continue to be – successful. I know my business, I know my market, and they want what I'm selling."

Gozaburo chuckled. "And what is that?" There was an unpleasant glint in his eye.

"I give young men living ordinary lives a way to feel victorious and successful." Maximillion had never used that phrase before, but he was pleased with himself for thinking of it. "With a hobby like this game, once they begin collecting, they will always be hungry for more powerful cards and tactics – as will anyone they defeat. In the end, the demand will be self-perpetuating, because acquiring the biggest gun, the hardest-hitting first strike, the unassailable defense is an easier goal for the ordinary person to achieve than a mastery of strategy and tactics. For these reason, I believe that whatever I make will be snapped up by an ever-increasing player base." He knew that he had gone completely off the rails of Oshita's advice, but he was certain the gamble would pay off.

Gozaburo sat back, amused. "Well, well. It seems you can think like a man after all. Do you have samples of these cards?" He glanced at the boy. "We're done."

Maximillion handed over the portfolio. As the boy removed the blindfold, untied the knot, and then folded the strip of silk into ever-smaller thirds Maximillion asked him softly, "Where's your lunch?"

Intense blue eyes – so unlike Kaiba Gozaburo's muddy hazel – flashed at him in surprise, then quickly lowered.

"Seto has a weak stomach," Gozaburo muttered as he scowled at the cards. "I prefer that he not dishonor our family by vomiting in public."

Maximillion saw the boy's neck turn red in shame, and he wished for a cartoon boxing glove to knock Gozaburo through the wall of the restaurant.

"You painted these? It seems you have talent," Gozaburo said. "As a miniaturist, at least."

"So, you'll invest in my company?" Maximillion asked, in his joy clasping his hands together in what he realized later had been a very non-masculine way.

"No," Kaiba Gozaburo said, snapping the portfolio shut, "but I will pay you seven hundred and fifty thousand yen to paint a portrait of my son. We'll be back at three this afternoon, you can start then." He tossed his napkin on his plate, dropped the portfolio on top of that, and stood. "Come, Seto. The television crew is waiting. Try not to disappoint me."

As the two wound their way through the restaurant to the door – Gozaburo in the lead with the boy creeping along behind – a stunned Maximillion snatched up his portfolio and hurried after them. He plucked at the boy's sleeve until he turned, then asked in a whisper, "If there was no chessboard on the table, why did you have to be blindfolded?"

The shy smile he got in reply was worth more than a blank check.

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~ : To be continued : ~

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AN: Thank you to Rroselavy for beta, and to bluemusic for suggesting the Fischer-Byrne Game of the Century (turns 8 – 11 are re-played).

For those who have not read any of Beholden, I'll explain that I've decided to use "Maximillion Jacob Crawford" as Pegasus' birth name; this way, when he adds "Pegasus" later as a middle name (making him "Maximillion Pegasus Jacob Crawford"), it accommodates both his Japanese name (Pegasus J. Crawford) and his English dub name (Maximillion Pegasus). Also, as I've done in other fics, using a slightly off-center version of a canon character's name is my reminder that this is an AU.

Konosuke Oshita is one of the Big 5. He's known as Gansley in the English dub version.

Finally: I'd had a theory about Seto's physical gauntness as a teenager (and yes of course as an anime character he's stylized, but that's not the point) being the result of a psychological complex where eating had acquired negative associations as a result of stressful meals with Gozaburo, but I thought that it was sort of a far-fetched idea … until I recently began to read Graham Farmelo's The Strangest Man: The Hidden Life of Paul Dirac, Mystic of the Atom. The beginning of that biographical book has Dirac as an old man recounting how stressful dinners with his father gave him a life-long eating disorder. (If Paul answered a question wrong, his next request – no matter what it was – was denied. One can assume this included requests to be excused from the table to use the bathroom or to vomit from stress. Made me want to reach through time and hug Dirac – though he probably couldn't stand to be touched – and beat the crap out of his father.)

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(06) 15 Nov 2012