Kaiba summons Yami Yugi with a single demand:
"Become mine. Body and soul."
Yami hears only one thing—an offer to become Kaiba's lover.
To protect Yugi from becoming Kaiba's next target, he accepts what he believes is a humiliating contract, expecting coercion, manipulation, and pain.
Instead, he is met with relentless patience, impossible promises, unwavering protection... and a love so mercilessly thorough that it leaves nowhere to hide.
The contract was never Kaiba's idea.
It was only the name Yami gave to something he was too afraid to understand.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛人契約
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Kaiba Corporation, the president's office.
I'd been summoned — one more person needed — and when I arrived, I was met with a demand I never could have anticipated.
"Yugi. Be mine."
For a moment, I didn't understand what had been said to me.
"What?"
"Body and soul — I said, be mine."
Written down, it might have read as something sweet. But in that flat, measured tone, there was nothing of the sort.
"What are you talking about."
"Must I be more explicit? Steel yourself, and let me love you."
Steel yourself? Let me love you?
In that instant, a strange alarm went off in my head. So that's what this is? Did I mishear? No — but this is that kind of arrangement, isn't it.
Calm down, I told myself. Except there was nowhere calm to land.
What I'd imagined was a mistress contract. But his words went beyond even that.
Steel yourself, and let me love you?
Phrased like that, I couldn't begin to imagine what it would actually mean. And yet — stripped down — this was surely, still, exactly that kind of thing.
"So you're telling me to become your mistress?"
The moment the word left my mouth, I knew it carried real venom. Not that it wasn't warranted.
There was no way I could accept this.
But he didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.
"No… well. Not entirely wrong, I suppose."
He folded his arms, considering. So that's what it was, after all.
"There's no chance of that happening. And besides — I'm a soul. This body belongs to Aibou. If that's what this is, I'm leaving."
He'd gone out of his way to call for me specifically — I'd come wondering what on earth it could be, and it turns out to be this. What a waste.
To proposition me with something like that.
And yet, even after being flatly refused, he only offered a thin, cold smile.
"Then I'll take the body first."
"…What? My answer is still no."
I knew that if he came at me by force, I wouldn't stand a chance.
I took one step toward the door — and then his voice stopped me cold.
"For the body, there's your other half, isn't there."
Aibou?
"But Aibou would never say yes to something like this."
"I'm aware that he harbors a genuine admiration for me. Watch and see — which of us wins, you or I."
He smiled down at me like I was beneath him.
What he said was true, I couldn't deny it.
And with that approach, taking the body first was entirely possible. But even so — what could he actually do with that?
"Aibou would never choose you."
I covered my agitation with the loudest slam of the door I could manage, and this time I truly left the room.
Around that time, I started seeing him more often.
Though really, it was simply that he'd begun coming to school more frequently. He wasn't there constantly — just showing his face for short stretches at a time. And naturally, when he did, Aibou would talk to him.
Kaiba, for his part, would brush him off with visible irritation one moment, then offer a precisely calibrated response the next — all while maintaining a careful distance.
No. More accurately, he was closing that distance. Cleverly.
"Oh, you're heading home already?"
"Yes — and more to the point, I hear your grades are poor. If you have time to talk to me, perhaps spend some of it doing something about that."
"Mmm, well, I mean… heh."
"Academic performance will be factored into student eligibility for the next tournament."
"What?! That's a problem!"
Behind all of it, I was watching him with a look that could kill.
The turning point came quickly.
Aibou started dropping by to see him. Casually, like a friend. Sometimes they'd play games. Sometimes just talk. Once, I even found Aibou sitting there being made to study.
It wasn't just two people sharing the same space anymore. By this point, the pace at which Kaiba was closing the distance had accelerated further.
The game had begun.
"I've never gotten grades like this before."
"You… you're still ranked twentieth, even with me tutoring you? Add a zero to that. I'm done. Next time, manage on your own. Tournament entry has a cutoff."
"As expected of the immovable number one… but this is a major event for someone who's been failing everything for years. So I'll just scrape in!"
"You really are…hopeless."
"Heh, thank you."
On the surface, they looked like perfectly ordinary friends.
But underneath, it was something else entirely.
"Which one will you pick today?"
Several options laid out — the answer to what are we doing today hidden inside each game box.
"Which one… any hints?"
"I'll answer questions. But I won't disclose everything. Fill in the rest with your imagination."
The way Kaiba presented things was always coldly deliberate. Never giving too much, but offering just enough — a precise hint to stimulate the other person's imagination, to draw their attention exactly where he wanted it.
A classic tactic.
From the hints, the answer seemed to contain something alarming. But when you actually chose — the answer was gentle. Sweet, even.
The anxiety of being pushed away, then the indulgence — the balance was exquisite. He was beginning to move in a way that suggested he could genuinely ensnare someone.
Something had started to go wrong.
Aibou was subtly different from before. The way he looked at Kaiba had softened. His eyes seemed to shine a little brighter than usual.
Something squeezed tight inside my chest.
No. That couldn't be right.
I told myself that, again and again — but every time their eyes met, every small smile, every tiny shift in Aibou's movements, all of it pointed to one thing: he was aware of Kaiba.
"Aibou. Be careful around Kaiba."
"That's sudden — what's wrong?"
"It's just…"
I couldn't say it. That because I'd refused him, he was now going after the body instead.
But Aibou only smiled and said:
"I think… I already know what you want to say."
"What?"
"Even I can tell, you know. He's straightforward about it. That's what this is, right?"
On the surface, the two of them looked perfectly peaceful together. Anyone who didn't know what lay underneath would probably wish them well.
"Then why."
"I think I'd be okay with it, if it's Kaiba. He's kind, and my grades went up, so."
The world went dark in front of my eyes.
You've got to be kidding me.
It had gone exactly as he said it would. Had I lost — to him?
The ground seemed to shift beneath my feet.
Aibou was being reeled in. This was nothing short of a disaster.
"No! You're being deceived — he's trying to—"
Use you as a scapegoat.
There was no way I could say that.
I hadn't expected to be cornered this quickly, this easily.
That someone who'd approached me the way he had could genuinely capture another person's heart — I never would have believed it for a second. He'd always seemed like someone who had no interest in any of this.
And yet here I was. Backed into a corner.
"Kaiba, what do you think you're doing?!"
Taking advantage of being Yugi Mutou, I stormed into the president's office.
No matter how fierce the argument, I had to protect Aibou from this man. Before he could be completely ensnared. That was the only thought in my head.
"What is it."
"Don't play dumb. It's about Aibou!"
"From the look of you, it seems he's finally chosen me. But the choice was his. Are you going to interfere with his decision?"
"You…"
"My way of loving is merciless."
My way of loving is merciless. Only those words fell into the air between us.
But what that actually meant — I had no idea.
Love, or domination, or something that came with pain. Countless possibilities surfaced in my mind, and I couldn't breathe.
I looked at him. He wore a composed expression, as though none of this touched him — and yet, in those eyes, something unfathomable resided.
Love? What does that even mean.
My heart hammered. My hands curled into fists without thinking. Breathing became difficult.
I couldn't move a single step. I stood frozen, desperately trying to find the meaning in those words.
But every thought, every action, was crushed beneath something unknown.
The unknown. Was he telling me to accept the unknown?
A wariness stirred deep in my chest. I didn't know how to fight back.
His eyes looked down at me, cold, and there was even a smile at the corner of his mouth.
I could tell, plain as anything, that he was certain of his victory.
But if things stayed like this, Aibou would be completely ensnared.
"So. What will you do. Will you let me love you?"
The smell of a threat hung in the air.
Without realizing it, I found that I'd clenched my fist. To think I'd lose this particular battle.
That someone like him could be strong in matters like this — it was too far outside anything I'd anticipated. No one could have imagined it. He'd always seemed like someone who had no interest in any of this.
But the reality was, I was cornered. There was no choice left but to accept that contract.
"I'll… be a substitute. But I won't yield."
"If he chooses me, I don't mind taking both of you."
"Release Aibou."
"Release? I haven't forced anything on him. His choice was his own."
That was true. There had been no coercion, no threats.
Only an ordinary game of strategy. Which was precisely why, left as things were, Aibou would simply be deceived by this man.
"…Fine. I'll do it. I'll steel myself and become your mistress — let you love me. I'll take all of it. I accept the contract. So… stop confusing him any further!"
I fixed him with a stare loaded with fury, contempt, and something close to murderous intent.
But even receiving that, he only smiled faintly.
"I'll give you today's freedom. Tomorrow night, I'll send someone to pick you up."
"Promise me — if you leave a mark, or cause me pain, this contract is void."
"Do you understand what you're saying? Right now, I could stop dealing with you entirely, go straight to that other important person, and do with him whatever I please."
"You…"
But right now, none of the choices were mine to make.
I had to do as he said. If I didn't let him have his way, Aibou would be toyed with.
Pain — I could endure pain.
"I under—"
"But if you ask for gentleness, I will give you that."
To protect myself, even a little. For that, accepting this was the only option left.
"…Understood. That's fine. Be… gentle with me."
"…I promise."
To think I would end up asking for gentleness — there was no humiliation like it.
Damn him. But I couldn't afford to be hurt.
All that surfaced in my mind was defeat, and despair.
His way of loving was truly merciless, just as he'd said.
Not a single mark. Not a trace of pain.
Even the frustration of anticipation — he controlled that too, and drowned me in maximized pleasure without mercy.
My body had been completely taken.
"No… I don't want—"
"Say good when it's good."
"I don't want to. It's… no. Ah—"
"This is your weak spot. If it feels good, say so."
He said that, and yet he kept attacking that exact place, relentlessly.
"Stop it, I said stop— nn— ah—"
"Should I stop? Left like this, you'd be the one in trouble. So — yes or no?"
Only the weak places. No — more accurately, he'd made them weak.
Once he knew where felt good, he gave pleasure there without relenting, until I'd gone completely soft. Every time he hit that spot, my mind went numb. My consciousness nearly slipped away.
But he knew this body through and through, and he never truly let me lose consciousness.
"Does it feel good?"
I didn't want to say good.
"I won't… say it."
"Stubborn creature."
A kiss that barely touched.
Stop looking at me like that. Stop the gentle voice. Stop touching me like you're holding something precious.
To be undone like this — with those eyes, that voice, those hands — dissolved in pleasure, I could no longer move properly.
Stop treating me the way you'd treat someone you love.
"Stop— nn— no—"
Consciousness grew distant.
"Does it feel good here?"
My body was lifted, and he thrust up into me from below. A deeper connection. Pressure at the very end of me.
"I don't… want—"
"Don't lie."
Don't stroke me like that. Stop those hands.
I absolutely refused to say it. And yet my body betrayed my heart and rejoiced.
Something like this. Something like this.
Thrust into at the deepest point, my mind went numb. I couldn't endure it.
"Ah— yes—"
No. Those were words I must not say.
"Be honest."
If I said it, it would be proof that I'd fallen. I'd decided I would never yield.
"I won't say it. I absolutely…"
"Hopeless."
Hands tracing everywhere across my body, lips grazing my throat — there was nowhere left untouched, nowhere left uneaten.
That tongue — no matter how I tried to escape, it wound around me with practiced ease.
When my arm was taken and guided to the back of his neck, I clung and couldn't let go. I didn't want to do that, and yet clinging was all I could do.
He rarely touched the front. In the beginning, early on, he had — but once I'd learned to feel from the inside, that was where he attacked instead.
He understood that the pleasure welling up from within tormented me far more effectively.
When he did touch me there, it was usually at the very end, to finish the fall. Coming from outside and inside both at once, to bring me down completely.
He touched me now. And after this, I knew — I'd be dropped into a sea of pleasure and made to say that word. Good.
Once I said it, that would be the end. After that, I'd be left wanting, asking for more.
The pleasure frightened me. I would cease to be myself.
"Ah— no— this is— I can't anymore—"
"There's nothing to be afraid of."
Of course he'd seen through the fear.
In a battle of wits, I was capable. But what he did wasn't anything as charming as a battle of wits — it was simply the verification of facts.
And he did it as naturally as breathing, which made it all the worse.
Since the day I'd accepted the contract, I had been under constant observation.
The first night, we drank cocoa and slept side by side.
When the car came for me and I arrived at his room in the Kaiba mansion, he produced a hot cocoa — it'll help you sleep, he said.
It struck me as obviously suspicious.
"Kaiba. Can you drink this first?"
I held the cup out to him. And he, without a word, brought it to his lips.
"I'll taste-test it every time, if you like."
His voice was calm. I said nothing, and he smiled faintly.
"There's no need to be frightened."
"There's no reason I'd be frightened of you—"
"…The shallowness of your breathing. The tension in your shoulders. Your excessive reaction to my movements. The motion of your eyelids, your pupils. The strain in your voice. And still?"
"That's…"
Facts about my own unconscious self, listed in a flat, measured tone.
The eye of an observer, stripping everything bare. Right here, right now, my interior was being read completely.
This was how he'd seen through Aibou, and reeled him in.
The sense that no matter how I resisted, it was useless. My heart hammered, and the words in my head jammed.
Even so, I couldn't look away. His gaze gave no room to escape.
But telling myself not to be tense was impossible. That's right — this wasn't fear. This was a combat stance.
"Tonight, I won't do anything yet. No moves. No touching."
Words alone weren't enough to believe. I'd only just been threatened, only just been made into a mistress.
"Can you promise you won't lie?"
"You do love your promises. Fine — I promise. But you stay here until morning."
I didn't know why, but he laughed — something like exasperation.
I showered, changed, made myself ready for sleep, and was led into the bedroom.
Actually standing before the bed, my legs went stiff.
He'd said no moves. But my heart was full of doubt.
"Get in."
"…Alright."
I couldn't go on standing there, so I got into bed, keeping just a small distance between us.
He slid in quietly beside me.
"Just sleeping. Don't go all the way to the edge. You'll fall."
His voice was steady, no pressure in it. Only the facts, stated plainly.
Just sleeping. That's all this is. I kept telling myself that as I pulled the covers up.
I lay awake, too guarded to sleep — but true to his word, he was asleep almost immediately.
No moves. No touching. No lies.
I watched his sleeping face, harmless-looking now, and thought about slipping away while I had the chance. But doing that would mean bracing for retaliation. There'd be no sleeping soundly after that.
I never did fall properly asleep — drifting in and out, waking repeatedly through the night, until around four I gave up entirely. I'd take a nap when I got home.
I was watching his face without any particular reason when his eyes opened without warning. It was exactly half past four.
He looked over at me, and for some reason — his expression eased, like something in him had settled. Something faint stirred in my chest.
"Couldn't sleep."
He reached toward me, but his fingertips never made contact.
"Anyone would struggle to sleep in this situation."
"I suppose. I'll be leaving soon. You should rest a little before you go."
"Then I'm leaving now too. I stayed until morning, just as agreed."
"In that case, I'll have you driven. And eat breakfast before you go."
Rationality, coldness, and a gentleness that kept every promise. All of it mixed together in his manner — and still, my guard didn't drop.
Wariness at its peak. Trust, reassurance — not even the shadow of either yet.
I was made to sit through breakfast, shoved into a car against my will, and finally released.
From the next time onward, I was used as a body pillow.
Hot cocoa again. I left mine untouched, and without a word he tasted it himself.
"From now on, you drink the same thing as me."
"Another promise?"
"Yes. And I'll choose first, whichever one I pick. A capricious game of Russian roulette."
"I promised no marks, no pain. I wouldn't drug you. No lies in that either — it's a promise."
The observer's eye peered steadily into me.
Today I wasn't frightened. Or so I told myself — and if it looked that way, I could simply say it was a combat stance.
"Tonight, I'll touch you. But only to sleep."
Same as before, I made myself ready for bed and got in beside him.
Touch, he'd said — what did he mean by that, exactly.
The man who followed me into bed wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close.
Surprise first, and then — a beat later — the tension arrived.
"…I see."
"I'm not frightened."
"Change in heart rate. Direction of your gaze. Quality of your breathing — and above all, your muscles have gone rigid. And you call that composure?"
A faintly amused breath of laughter against my ear.
"……"
"Well, that much is to be expected. A predictable reaction."
Stop observing every little thing.
A hand settled gently against me, adjusting the distance by degrees.
He held my gaze deliberately, pinning me in place. Not a glare. Just observation — and the awareness of being watched was enough to keep me from moving at all.
"You'll lose sleep again if you stay that tense."
"Whose fault is that."
"I'm going to sleep. You sleep too."
Even told that, sleep was out of the question.
But just like before, he was asleep almost immediately.
His arm never loosened.
Several nights like that followed — being held like that, night after night. And so I let my guard down, and one night I simply fell asleep without meaning to.
The accumulated sleep debt didn't help. When I woke and checked the time, it was past eight.
"You finally slept."
He was already dressed in his suit, working at the bedside.
The look in his eyes was calm — the kind reserved for something quietly, simply pleasing.
"What is it?"
"I…"
Why did I fall asleep.
A chill ran through me.
"I— I'm going home."
"There's nothing to be afraid of. Breakfast before you go."
"No. I'm leaving."
"You're my mistress, aren't you. Then be kept, quietly. Eat breakfast, and I'll have you driven after. Until then, you're not leaving."
His voice was composed — less a command than something that felt like the exercise of a right that naturally belonged to me.
In the end he won, and I was fed breakfast and sent home.
One day, around that time.
The hour when the car usually came had passed — but tonight, it didn't come.
The appointed time was approaching, however.
Reaching out to confirm felt like admitting I'd accepted this arrangement, and I hesitated. But if he had kept every promise, and I was the one who broke the rules — that thought frightened me more.
It was I who had decided to be the substitute.
For the first time, I went to the Kaiba mansion of my own will.
What is this.
At a glance, nothing looked different. But something about the security felt off. A certain heaviness hung in the air, palpable against my skin.
I stood watching for a moment, and then — a car pulled up right beside me.
The door opened, and I was pulled inside.
The car moved immediately, passing through the gates of the Kaiba mansion.
"Sorry for the late notice."
"Kaiba."
He was staring out the window with eyes I hadn't seen in a while — sharp, focused, cold.
"Now that you're here, there's a chance you've been seen. For the time being, I'll keep you here under my protection. I'll contact your home, and send security that way as well."
"What's going on?"
"The usual kind of trouble."
Hot cocoa was brought out as always — but for once, Kaiba wasn't sitting across from me.
He was glaring at a holographic map of Domino City, taking calls, working at his computer.
"What happened?"
"Just a death threat. An organized one, but still."
A death threat.
So that was why the atmosphere had felt so heavy.
"Are you… going to be killed?"
This man, killed.
If he disappeared, I'd be free. But somehow, that didn't feel like the ending I wanted.
Even after everything he'd done — I couldn't bring myself to want him dead.
"No one kills me that easily. Even if I were actually attacked, I could handle it."
His specs made that seem entirely plausible.
"But you're different, Yugi. If someone took a shot at you, there'd be no time to react. No chance to use any occult power either."
He kept working, unhurried, though a faint crease appeared between his brows from time to time.
"You always seem so certain of yourself — but your face is tense, you know."
For once, maybe he wasn't entirely fine. It felt like I'd finally found a crack.
"I see… so you think I could remain composed, knowing I've dragged you into danger."
His voice was the same as ever. Quiet, measured.
"Me?"
"Never mind. What matters is making sure there's no second incident, no third. I'll crush this completely. That's what this fight is for."
"What do I have to do with any of this?"
A death threat against Seto Kaiba had nothing to do with Yugi Mutou.
At that moment, an incoming transmission cut off any answer he might have given.
"…Took you long enough to find them."
Eyes cold enough to freeze the air. A voice stripped of warmth.
Several pins appeared on the holographic map of Domino City.
"Now whether they live or die is entirely up to me. Rest easy, Yugi."
"Kaiba!"
"Everything will be settled by morning. It's late — you should sleep."
"Are you planning to kill them?"
"I won't take their lives. I'll simply make them understand what it means to make an enemy of me."
He made a call, issued a single cold instruction — do it — and cut the line.
Not a trace of the gentle warmth I'd come to know.
Right. This man was capable of being ruthless. There was never any reason to believe in his kindness. All of it — an act, staged for the sake of the contract and its promises.
Promises. How terrifying, what an illusion can become. I'd gone and believed in his gentleness on my own.
Believed in his gentleness?
Impossible. What was I thinking.
I shook my head and scattered the thought before it could take root.
"Wouldn't it have been more convenient to drag me into this? It would've given you a reason to keep me close."
"Absolutely not. Why would I expose you to danger?"
He looked genuinely puzzled.
A mistress was replaceable. So why—
"Are you trying to protect me?"
"What an obvious thing to say. …Ah. You're unsettled."
"I am not!"
"Your gaze is unsteady. Your voice is low. Your breathing — shallow and quick."
The observer's eye, stripping everything bare again. Stop laying me open like this.
Or something irreversible was going to happen.
"Stop reading everything like that."
"This is my way of loving. I told you it was merciless. To grasp everything, and return the most fitting response. Did you agree to be loved without understanding that?"
"That kind of love…"
Merciless love. I'd taken it as a figure of speech. When the physical demands proved so relentless, I'd assumed that was what he meant.
That when love was involved with this man, you needed to be prepared to be psychologically stripped bare — that I never could have imagined.
That something as ordinarily sweet as love could contain that kind of fear.
For the first time, I felt afraid of love itself.
"If you dislike being seen through, then be honest."
"Then I'll say it plainly. I don't need protecting."
"That I can't accept. If there's danger, I'll protect you. That's all."
Protect me. When I was already caught in the jaws of the man right in front of me. His jaws.
And still — protect. The contradiction was glaring.
To treat me with something like genuine love, and then to say he wanted to protect me —
I frowned before I could stop myself. Why. Why go that far.
In front of me, he went on working, unhurried — but glancing over at me at intervals.
I understood what it meant. He really was watching to keep me safe; if I walked out now, he'd judged it dangerous.
But why he'd exert that kind of care — why he'd go out of his way to involve himself — I couldn't understand it at all.
A small irritation kindled somewhere deep in my chest.
I knew, in my head, that resistance against emotion was futile. And precisely because I knew, the feelings that defied rational explanation made my body restless.
What is with this man. He makes no sense.
And yet — I was undeniably being protected. As a fact, as an action, completely and perfectly protected.
It was strange. I couldn't understand it. But the sense of safety was real.
A sense of safety? Here? With him?
Even my own thoughts no longer made any sense.
"It must be about time. Why not let your heart concede as well?"
I noticed, without knowing when it had happened, that his voice had shifted back to the gentle tone I knew.
About time? What did that mean. My body had grown accustomed, yes. But my heart was still refusing. Wasn't it.
And to let my heart concede meant giving him everything — body and heart both. That would mean he'd gotten exactly what he wanted. The heart was the one thing I couldn't surrender.
"I haven't conceded anything—"
"I conceded long ago. Stop making this difficult."
He'd closed everything he was working on, and glanced over at me sidelong.
That look — that was his exasperated look.
"If you've conceded, then give up. I'm just a mistress, aren't I?"
"Mistress. That's a word you invented yourself. What I said was — body and soul, be mine. Steel yourself, and let me love you."
At those words, I felt my eyes go wide.
That's a word you invented yourself. The phrase ricocheted through my mind, again and again.
Even without being observed, I knew — right now, I was shaken.
Body and soul, be mine — that's what he'd said, and so I'd assumed it meant exactly that kind of thing, and—
I wanted to think it through, but the confusion came first. Surprise. Relief. Something dangerously close to joy. Every emotion arrived at once, and my thoughts wouldn't settle.
Joy? Relief? Why are those in there.
"What… that's not— you're lying—"
"Ah. You've finally conceded."
He narrowed his eyes and smiled — something that looked almost like pleasure. Was that the most fitting response, calculated from reading my state of mind?
That this was somehow a cause for celebration — was that really what my heart looked like to him?
"……"
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could only stand there, wordless, as the wave of feeling broke over me.
Everything that had been shown to me — in manner, in action, in that measured and relentless gentleness — was finally given language, and for the first time, it settled somewhere inside me and made sense.
He conceded long ago. Probably from the very beginning.
The rational resistance dissolved easily, in the face of this joy, this confusion.
"It's a lie. Something like that."
"Your heart rate when I reached for you. The way your body temperature changed when our eyes met. What were those?"
"That was…"
Pulling up the recent memories — my pulse had risen. My body had grown warm.
That can't be.
For the first time, I noticed the warmth underneath the fear of being exposed.
Being loved had required courage — not as a threat, but as a genuine strength needed to receive it.
"Do you still think I took something from you?"
Seto smiled faintly.
The fear remained. But that fear began shifting into something else.
The conflict was still there, intact. But I was beginning to understand — faced with this man's unwavering gentleness and that relentless, all-seeing eye, there was no choice but to start accepting the part of myself that couldn't resist.
No — if I was honest, the signs had been there for a while, a contradictory unease I hadn't wanted to examine. To avoid the confusion, I'd chosen only one half of it — rejection.
That all along, something had been quietly growing in me. Having to admit that.
Something had been stripped bare, and truly, something irreversible had happened.
I looked at the holographic map of Domino City. He had moved to keep me safe. That was a fact.
The anger hadn't gone. The confusion either. But somewhere deep in my chest, quietly — and yet without question — something was shifting.
Ah. Maybe I can't fight this anymore.
It wasn't the despair of a forced contract. It was a feeling lit with something almost like brightness — a surrender that had chosen itself.
Of my own will, not through logic, but naturally — my heart was moving.
My heart.
"Now. Give me your heart."
"But… I can't forgive you. And yet…"
A small exhale, and something faintly warm spread through the center of my chest. It should have felt pleasant — and yet it felt wrong to be here.
The wall in my heart hadn't completely fallen. The anger was still there, and the wariness too.
But in the cracks of that wall, rooted there over time, something had taken hold — a trust, a quiet acceptance — and I'd gone and found it.
He'd forced his way in, and yet in the time we'd actually spent together, the gentleness had been real.
His eyes held no words. But that gaze — it held me, unmistakably.
Still surprised at myself, I acknowledged it for the first time. No — I finally admitted it.
My heart had turned toward this man.
What a hopeless situation. Carrying anger, carrying wariness, and still — my heart had quietly begun to answer.
I wanted to be angry, but the anger wouldn't hold. Couldn't sustain itself.
What he'd wanted, even through threats and force — it was never obedience, never domination. It had been declared from the very beginning, openly: my existence, itself.
"I… the anger still won't go… the wariness either… I can't. It's impossible."
"Right now, anger and love exist inside you at the same time. But that's natural. Complex, I'm sure — but natural."
Anger and love, living side by side. Caught between both, I couldn't move in any direction.
"…How do you know that?"
The question left me before I could stop it, and he rose, his gaze moving over me as he crossed toward where I sat.
"…Breathing. The tremor in your voice. The dilation of your pupils. The subtle tension in your muscles. The unsteadiness in your eyes. Observe everything, and what's dominant, what's being suppressed — it becomes easy to grasp. Your anger is still sharp. But at the same time, some part of you is trying to accept. The differences in your expression, your responses, the smallest movements — they show it."
Still reading, as naturally as breathing. Not strategy. Verification of fact.
I breathed in sharply. Heat rose from somewhere deep inside, and my mind fell into confusion.
"You're reading my body too."
"It comes in as visual information. But the body is only an indicator. What matters is the will — the tangle of reason and emotion."
Something in me eased slightly at that explanation.
That my confusion, my contradictory feelings, weren't something to be denied. Knowing only that was enough to loosen something in my chest.
"You can't escape. But you can be understood. You can face me with exactly these feelings, as they are."
My breath caught. I felt something — anger, still — and yet somewhere underneath, warmth was spreading.
"The anger inside you hasn't gone yet."
"No. It couldn't possibly."
To say it aloud made it feel real in a way that frightened me.
"But at the same time — there's a part of you that doesn't refuse me."
"Doesn't refuse?"
My breath broke for a moment. I didn't want to admit that.
But his eyes held no dishonesty — only a quiet, certain gaze, fixed on me.
Yes. He'd promised not to lie.
"That is love."
My mind went white.
Inside the tangle of anger and love, I had no idea which way to move.
My body, my heart — both caught, unable to resist, held entirely in that gaze.
He came and sat down beside me. Close — but no longer frightening.
I couldn't remember when it had stopped being frightening.
"Stay as you are. All of it — I'll take it. You only need to steel yourself, and let yourself be loved."
Can I endure it?
The question churned somewhere in the back of my mind.
He read me steadily, utterly certain.
Let yourself be loved. Easy enough as words. But underneath them lay a countless number of watching eyes and a love that showed no mercy.
The moment his hand made contact, my body responded without asking permission.
My heart beat fast, my breathing went shallow, my reason fell into chaos, and fear and anticipation tangled together until they ruled my mind completely.
I can endure it — or maybe I can't.
But I knew I couldn't run. No choices remained.
"This time…"
"I'm not unsettled, and I'm not confused!"
The answer came out strained, involuntarily. But I couldn't look away, and my body answered honestly regardless.
"You know by now that lying is useless. Your gaze, your breathing, your hands. I have all of it."
The observer's eye, stripping everything bare.
This man's love was not only gentleness, only sweetness. No mercy, no wasted force.
Only the facts, seen clearly, answered with precision.
That was love — and before I could understand it as such, my heart had already been laid open.
Can I endure it?
"Shall I answer that?"
"Answer… what?"
"You can."
He read that too.
My reason warned me — to endure this, to be loved like this, it's too soon. But my body could no longer run. The warmth of his hand, the way his chest had felt when I was held against it, the closeness of his breath — all of it shook my reason apart.
Fear and sweetness blurred at their boundary, and a small bewilderment surfaced somewhere in my heart.
There's nothing to be afraid of, he had said. I recalled the words, but understanding them in my head and feeling them in my body were different things.
I was not yet ready to face a love this merciless.
And yet the man in front of me didn't waver.
"Why can you say that so certainly."
"Because I chose you."
"What do you…"
"I was certain you could endure my way of loving."
His gaze — gentle, unwavering — held me, and gave no ground.
Inside that pressure, I felt it. Slowly, my heart turning toward this man. The relief hidden inside the fear. The pleasure I couldn't refuse, and the confusion alongside it.
Whether I can endure it or not — I didn't know. But he said I could.
And this feeling — I couldn't refuse it. Reason, in the face of emotion, was a fragile thing.
But then.
Right now, everything inside me was tangled and in pieces.
Even so — he would take all of this feeling, and love me anyway?
Something like that.
If you think you can, then try.
Damn. I looked away and dropped my eyes.
"…Kaiba. Promise me something."
"Still more promises, even now."
"That's your fault."
"…Fine. Say it."
I raised my eyes. The same table as always. The same hot cocoa as always. No poison, no drug — just something simply, sweetly warm.
This man was fundamentally gentle — but that wasn't all he was.
He kept his promises. And he loved without mercy.
If I was going to brace for something, that was something I was good at. Then this time — I would brace for this. Properly.
"Promise me — that no matter how I fight back, you'll hold on to me until the very end and never let go."
You were the one who said your love was merciless. So I'll brace for that.
And I won't show any mercy either. A half-hearted love — I will never accept that.
The contract was irrelevant. There had never been one to begin with.
There had only ever been this: a place where promises were made, where they would certainly be kept — and I had kept demanding them, one after another.
"An absolute and immovable attachment."
Beside me, I heard him breathe out something almost like a laugh.
"Rest easy. There is no escape for you."
The way out — sealed.
No running now. He'd promised to hold on and never let go. No — I had made him promise it.
I'd demanded it myself, and yet when he agreed, I found I couldn't breathe. I'd taken in air, but no words would come.
My pulse was getting in the way of my thoughts.
With nothing to say, I looked up at his face, and our eyes met. That observer's gaze I'd always struggled with — and yet right now, I wanted it to read the words I couldn't speak.
He received my gaze, and returned one that was gentle. But he said nothing.
Wordless acceptance. That, perhaps, was the most fitting response.
The eyes that Seto looked into still held anger, still held wariness. But more than either of those — they trembled with love, and were threaded through with relief.
