Atem spends a year building a careful, deliberate campaign to win Seto's heart — small gestures, patient observation, the slow accumulation of charm. He's certain he's the one running the long game.
He's not entirely wrong. He's just not the one in control of it.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 収穫
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Bad chemistry. Or maybe just different leagues entirely.
Two months.
About two months since Atem started making moves on Seto.
At first, he'd figured on falling in love the quick way — a short, decisive campaign.
That plan collapsed almost immediately. Seto's reactions didn't so much as flicker. Same as ever, no sign of being unsettled at all.
The impatience quickly turned into resignation to a long war.
So Atem figured it had to be chemistry, or maybe just the wrong opponent.
Across the table, Seto was adjusting his deck. The movement of his fingers, the long legs, the occasional tilt of his head — every bit of it caught Atem's eye and wouldn't let go.
The approach showed no visible effect, but Seto would toy with Atem on a whim now and then. Sometimes he even acted like he knew exactly what Atem was feeling.
That said, Atem couldn't quite convince himself Seto's feelings were pointed his way either.
Rationality and overwhelming insight, a complete and total controller of every situation — Seto Kaiba.
In romance, either the chemistry was off, or they were simply playing in different leagues.
As it turned out, Atem's guess wasn't far from the truth.
No matter what tactic Atem tried, Seto's response never changed. All that remained, for now, was the time they spent together and however much attention Atem could catch during it. And even that wasn't going particularly well.
"Kaiba…"
"What."
"No — nothing."
Caught up wondering what to do, he'd ended up muttering the name out loud despite Seto sitting right across from him.
They were still at the stage of cautiously closing the distance, feeling things out. Naturally, Atem was still keeping his feelings hidden.
Except hiding anything from Seto was basically pointless. Seto himself had no interest in romance, but he'd been on the receiving end of more advances than he could count.
Picking up on that kind of atmosphere was effortless for him. He'd clearly noticed the shift in Atem's behavior — and kept his usual attitude and their usual dynamic completely unchanged regardless.
"I see."
Still, he wasn't entirely cold about it either. Aware of what was going on in Atem's heart, he'd engage just enough to enjoy it a little.
Every time, Atem would end up flustered or embarrassed — and without quite realizing it, he was slowly succeeding at leaving traces of "Atem" inside Seto. Being natural, as it turned out, was actually more effective.
Two or three times a week, a few hours at a time.
There was no clean, game-like progression to point to, and Atem spent his days in a state of restless frustration.
Seto Kaiba… Seto. When would they even get to the point of using first names.
Atem glanced across at Seto, still adjusting his deck.
The sharp features, the fingers touching the cards, the long legs. That look alone was, frankly, a direct hit on Atem's type. Being drawn to something beautiful couldn't be helped.
"Still going?"
"No — I have a meeting in thirty minutes. I'll leave in twenty."
That voice, so good on the ears, was unbearable too. A hit. Especially with that calm tone he was using now.
"I see."
"What, you want me to stay longer?"
Those narrow blue eyes looked at Atem, almost teasing.
Another hit. In baseball, that would be an out. His pulse jumped.
"Well — I won't deny it. I don't get bored with you around."
What he really meant was he wanted Seto to stay, and rather than "not bored," it was closer to — fun, comfortable, simply being able to be near the person he liked. All positive feelings, dressed down into something safer.
"I see."
Today's approach — "I don't get bored" — had ended in failure once again.
Even Atem knew a line that roundabout wasn't going to land the message. But going in with anything more direct still felt too risky; the odds of his feelings being returned still felt too low.
Not knowing what Seto was thinking made that unavoidable.
What Atem did know about him: rational, sharp insight, a strategist. And, probably, someone capable of recognizing his own emotional shifts.
That read wasn't wrong, as it happened. When it came to romance, Seto was the type who read other people's psychology and acted strategically — someone who could grasp and control his own emotions to a considerable degree as well.
If he had a weak point in matters of romance, it was that his heart was rarely shaken and his emotional expression ran fairly thin — and, more fundamentally, that he simply had an extremely low level of interest in that sort of thing to begin with.
If Seto was aware of his own emotional state and his attitude toward Atem still hadn't changed, that meant the approach wasn't landing.
Wrong opponent, or different league. That, at least, was how it felt to Atem.
"Well — I'll be back."
"Yeah. See you. I'll be waiting."
Exactly twenty minutes later, Seto returned to the living world.
Atem's approach wasn't a complete failure, though.
At first, Atem's clumsy attempts had simply been a puzzling object of observation for Seto. But once their true nature became clear, these two months had, in fact, left an "Atem who harbors that kind of feeling" firmly registered in Seto's awareness.
The unchanged attitude didn't mean Seto found it unpleasant — it just wasn't enough to make him want to respond to it. That was all there was to it.
Even if Atem suddenly threw a fastball straight at him, Seto had no intention of accepting it on the spot. He was already planning to respond with something like, "What brought this on all of a sudden?"
Four months.
About four months since the approach began.
Seto's attitude toward Atem hadn't changed much.
Frustration, anxiety, a loss of confidence — and yet the occasional smile, the occasional gentle word, came more often now, carrying a faint hope that giving up wasn't necessary yet.
In fact, Atem's natural, unguarded charm had gradually become something distinct and recognizable inside Seto — "Atem's charm," as a defined category.
Of course, by this point, Seto had already fully grasped the intent behind Atem's clumsy actions and expressions and had reached his verdict: "this naive one has feelings for me." He was even watching now with a kind of idle curiosity — when, exactly, would Atem make his move.
Further still, Seto had concluded that the fastest route to establishing this relationship was to act first himself — there was no need to wait for Atem's fastball, and it would, in fact, be more efficient for Seto to take the lead. That was the coolly calculated result of his analysis.
Still, inside Seto's heart, things hadn't yet connected to the same word Atem was using — "like."
Seto's demeanor hadn't shifted much, but compared to when the approach first began, his attitude was noticeably softer, and the distance between them had closed. Atem found himself hesitating over whether it was time to throw the fastball or not.
"Kaiba, hey — have you ever actually dated anyone?"
"No. …Not that it throws off my judgment."
"Judgment?"
"Who knows."
He laughed it off and dodged the question.
Digging further into the topic felt like it would be pushing his luck, so Atem said, "I see," and let it drop.
Not yet. This wasn't the moment to throw the ball. Atem understood that instinctively, and quietly continued his approach — and his observations.
Six months.
Atem's approach had, without incident, left a solid impression of "Atem" inside Seto. Though that wasn't thanks to the clumsy attempts — it was almost entirely the natural, unguarded charm doing the work.
Seto's manner had grown closer, more familiar.
And yet, what Seto actually thought of him remained completely unclear.
Atem found himself in a strange state of not even understanding himself anymore.
The approach kept coming. The results didn't follow.
"Have I been acting weird lately?"
Weird. If it was the clumsy approach, Seto had been on the receiving end of plenty of that. But it wasn't causing him any trouble. If this was what Atem wanted to do, better to just let him do it.
That much was already accounted for. Even an unexpected variable — say, a sudden fastball — could be handled with ease.
"No, there's no problem."
Seto stated only the fact.
"…Really?"
"Nothing to worry about. You're exactly the same as always."
And to Seto, that was entirely true — Atem was, in fact, exactly the same as always.
At Seto's flat, matter-of-fact answer, Atem felt an exquisite blend of frustration and relief. To Atem, it was the perfect response, balanced right on the edge.
Close, but the heart still wavered, ever so slightly. And that, too, stirred something in Atem's chest.
Eight months.
Seto's manner had visibly changed by now.
Not in a way that suggested affection, exactly — more like observing Atem, watching over him.
Seto had known about Atem's feelings for a long time — practically from the very beginning.
On top of that, he had started gauging the point at which he could accept Atem without any strain, without difficulty.
Small, reassuring gestures. Subtle consideration. He never failed to state facts while sustaining the goodwill, all while managing things efficiently to keep Atem just a little on edge.
He reassured Atem while quietly observing the way Atem's frustration — and his charm — were accumulating inside Seto himself.
He was waiting for the moment his own feelings would take the same shape as "like." That was what he was waiting for.
It would come eventually. He'd already predicted as much.
Seto would move once Atem's charm reached its peak, once various emotions had been sufficiently filled, and he judged: "acting now offers sufficient value, efficiency-wise."
In fact, Atem was charming. Someday. That's what he thought.
To Seto, romance was something like a rational project — one with a clearly defined objective, which made it look all the more that way. Naturally, the moment he'd become conscious of it, the method had already been perfectly designed as well.
Atem, for his part, was beginning to think it might be time to throw the fastball.
Seto's manner had changed. There was a chance — maybe — that it would be accepted.
That "maybe" was exactly what kept holding him back.
Atem worked up the courage over and over, only to choke on the words partway through, again and again.
He tried to catch Seto's attention with small gestures, a smile, a hand offered — but ended up repeating the same pattern over and over regardless.
Each time, his heart ached with frustration, his chest burned.
And once again, today ended in failure.
There had been one big problem from the very start: Seto never seemed particularly interested in romance to begin with.
Ten months.
Seto's observational data was essentially complete by now.
Atem's frustration and anxiety were near their peak.
The thought of how Seto actually saw him had become a near-constant undercurrent in Atem's daily life.
During their unguarded moments together, Atem found himself closing distance and reaching out to touch more often.
And, unable to bear the frustration any longer, he'd started asking confirmation-seeking questions more and more frequently.
For instance:
"I really haven't been acting strange lately, have I?"
"No. Nothing abnormal at all."
Or, on another day:
"Am I… doing okay?"
"No problems whatsoever."
That kind of thing — checks meant to gauge Seto's reaction.
Seto's words gave Atem a deep sense of relief. But at the same time, the frustration only grew.
The sense that the waves of emotion were reaching Seto, accumulating there.
The unconscious, natural charm kept piling up, and this was also the period when the "presence of Atem" that Seto was absorbing reached its maximum.
Atem himself might not yet be able to voice the decisive words, but the feelings attached to that affection — not affection alone — were now sufficiently directed at Seto. That, at least, was how Seto read it.
Affection, frustration, anxiety, relief.
The psychological groundwork was steadily falling into place. If he were to accept it, the moment those feelings peaked would be the right one. Seto kept observing.
Alongside that, he never forgot to subtly signal, through glances, distance, and light physical touches, that he was watching over Atem.
He didn't say it in words, but he offered a sense of psychological reassurance within a range Atem could easily perceive.
Naturally, given Seto's state of mind, something like romantic feeling had begun to sprout. On the surface, he kept it hidden — not quite enough yet to bring this relationship to completion.
But it was already predicted that he, too, would eventually hold the same "like."
This was already the final checkpoint on timing.
Watching Atem's growing frustration, the charm Atem had accumulated inside him, and the surrounding circumstances, Seto was carefully waiting for the moment he could judge: acting now yields the maximum effect.
If Atem had thrown his fastball right at that moment, the success rate would likely have been quite high.
Twelve months.
The conditions for Seto to act were fully in place.
He anticipated that Atem would throw the fastball soon, and he was prepared to receive it calmly and efficiently.
After a year of approach, Atem's natural, unguarded charm had become plainly visible to Seto.
The balance of frustration and anxiety was exquisite, and Seto judged that acting now would yield the maximum effect.
Psychological and situational risk: minimal. No possibility of rejection, no chance of an unexpected reaction from Atem. More than anything, it was clear that Atem's feelings were overflowing, welling up, on the verge of spilling over completely.
Just the two of them, a natural flow of events — the circumstances suited to completing this relationship were all in place.
As a rational judgment, it was efficient.
Furthermore, there was no significant benefit in waiting any longer — it would only mean Atem's feelings continuing to overflow pointlessly. If anything, settling the relationship at maximum speed was, itself, the more efficient choice.
The observational data was complete, and Seto had already finished deciding exactly when to act.
Atem, meanwhile, had reached his peak — he couldn't wait any longer, he wanted to tell Seto how he felt.
It was visibly, obviously about to spill over.
At last, Atem stepped forward, ball in hand, and faced Seto.
"Kaiba, I need to talk to you. …It's…"
From his expression and the tone of his voice, Seto understood. Now was the moment.
Now — though he also understood that Atem probably wouldn't manage to actually say it.
The ball from Atem — that was the trigger Seto had set for himself.
"The truth is…"
Atem's words caught in his throat.
Being unable to bear it any longer, and actually managing to put it into words, were two entirely different things. Their relationship right now was already quite close; the fear of ruining its shape was real.
Which was exactly why part of him thought it might be better to wait a little longer, until some sign of affection showed on Seto's side.
But Seto spoke first, easily.
"I already know what you're going to say."
Atem's heart skipped for a moment. He'd been making his approach this whole time, and he'd figured Seto had probably noticed by now — but hearing it said outright like that made "waiting a little longer" no longer an option.
There was nothing left to do but throw the ball.
"It's — well…"
But a fastball falls before it reaches its target.
Watching Atem falter like that, Seto closed the distance by one step.
"I've made you wait quite a while, haven't I."
The ball, never thrown, fell — and Seto caught it.
There had never really been a chance Atem could say it outright to begin with, and Seto had predicted as much. He'd been ready to catch it all along.
At the gentleness in Seto's gaze, in his tone, Atem's heart warmed slowly. At the same time, his face went hot. The moment his feelings had finally reached Seto — that was the moment Atem became certain of it.
Seto, on the other hand, had been receiving those feelings all along, had already decided what to do about this relationship, and had simply been waiting for the trigger — so he remained composed.
"That's — you… don't. Don't make me say it."
Atem, flushed red, turned his face away.
"Hopeless, right to the very end. …Fine. I'll take it from here."
"…Do whatever you want."
"I intend to."
Atem, facing away, couldn't bring himself to turn back around.
Right now, the decision belonged entirely to Seto.
A faint smile touched the corner of Seto's mouth.
"Words aren't necessary. I already understand everything."
Slowly closing the distance, Seto's arm came around from Atem's shoulder to his back.
Their faces were close enough to feel each other's breath; Atem couldn't bring himself to look up.
Instead, Seto's fingertips gently traced his cheek, brushing the corner of his mouth.
"Give everything of yourself to me."
That kind of approach was unfair. It made his heart race. Atem let out a small, quiet breath. Feelings he couldn't put into words welled up in his chest, and his head spun.
Pulled gently into an embrace, Atem discovered, for the first time, a sweetness that filled both heart and body without a single word needing to be said.
The weight and warmth of Seto's hands enveloped everything, and quietly, certainly, the two of them became something real.
Hand the ball over, and it came back as a perfect, blazing fastball. Truly, smoothly done.
"Understand now?"
Atem nodded, and the arms loosened.
Glancing over to check, Seto's expression looked exactly the same as always.
They'd kept up a relationship this close, this long — the chemistry couldn't have been that bad after all.
"Since when… did you know."
"A year ago."
"From the very start…"
It wasn't the chemistry. It was simply the wrong opponent to have taken on.
That level of observation was frightening. Not a single wasted move. He'd known the whole time and never let it show in his expression or manner. The way he'd closed the distance had felt completely, effortlessly natural.
"And you?"
"About four months ago. I predicted my own feelings — figured it was only a matter of time. I made the decision two or three months back. I was just waiting for the timing."
Never swept away by emotion, the odds calculated carefully in advance, and the finish delivered at maximum speed.
Seto was the one who had decided the shape of this world.
Wrong opponent. Different league entirely.
Whether he'd finally caught something, or been caught himself — Atem honestly couldn't tell anymore.
"Chosen" — that was probably the correct word. And from that came joy, frustration, pride, relief, a sense of accomplishment, all at once.
Everything Atem was feeling right now was, in part, the direct result of Seto deliberately waiting until Atem's feelings were on the very verge of overflowing before he acted.
What an opponent to have taken on, Atem thought — and yet, from the bottom of his heart, he was glad he had.
"Want to try saying it back? Either way's fine. Whenever you're ready."
Seto, as composed as ever.
Atem's lips trembled, his eyes drifted away.
"I…"
No words came. But deep in his chest, the feeling burned, unmistakably real.
Seto watched him steadily.
"I see. You don't have to say it. I already know."
Atem nodded faintly and let himself be held, though the words he wanted to say still sat, unspoken, in his chest, and his body trembled in Seto's arms.
Seto's words — I already know, even without you saying it — seemed, paradoxically, to confirm Atem's own feelings back to him, and his chest grew warm.
His breathing slowly steadied, and he opened his eyes to look at Seto.
"You. Do you really understand?"
His voice came out small, still trembling.
Seto smiled gently and brought a hand to rest softly against Atem's cheek.
"I understand. That's enough."
At those words, the wall around Atem's heart crumbled, piece by piece. Steeling himself, he murmured, quietly.
"I… l-like you… okay."
Seto caught every word and pulled Atem into an embrace.
"I know."
Atem buried his face against Seto's chest and kept going.
"…I want… to stay… by your side… always."
The words came out broken, halting — but the feeling behind them landed whole and complete.
Seto smiled at that, tilted Atem's face up, and gently rested his forehead against his.
"Of course. You're already the closest one to me."
And so, Atem — who had carried feelings he couldn't put into words — was, little by little, able to convey them to Seto.
Words, touch, hearts — everything connected, all at once.
It was something Atem could never have accomplished alone.
Atem's long approach had finally borne fruit, caught in Seto's hands.
From Atem's side, it looked like "a long chase, finally won through sheer persistence."
In truth, it was Seto's own "harvest, timed to the moment of perfect ripeness."
