Chapter 2: The Space Between Returning and Staying
The research into undoing the entanglement of souls had begun.Atem was staying in the penthouse on the top floor of Kaiba Corporation’s American branch. It was not so much a place to live as a space designed for thought.
There were no household chores to attend to, no duties to fulfill. All that was required of him now was to think—to sink deep into contemplation. That, at present, was Atem’s only task.
Deeper within the same floor, Seto lived and worked as he always had. Before multiple displays, he issued instructions with practiced calm, moving the world faster and more realistically than anyone else could. At times, his gaze flicked toward Atem, as if confirming his presence— but he never stepped beyond that line.
I gave you a solution: that you live.
Everything else is for you to figure out.
Seto’s words, left behind so curtly, still lodged themselves in Atem’s chest.
Alone, within a long silence, Atem thought.
How could this entanglement be undone?
At last, he was beginning to understand: this was not about the return of the dead, but about a choice made by the living.
After much thought, Atem arrived at three possible paths.
One—resolving the lingering attachments Seth had left behind in a past life.
One—resolving whatever lingering attachments Seto carried in this life.
And one more—moving beyond the very concept of attachment, and leveling their relationship itself.
Whichever path he chose, all of them led, in some way, back to Seto.
Night.
Beyond the penthouse’s wide windows, the city lights flickered distantly. In the quiet after dinner, documents were spread across the table, and the two of them began their “meeting.”
“I’ve formed three hypotheses,” Atem said, pointing to the papers before him.
Unresolved ties from a past life.
Unresolved ties from this life.
Equilibrium of the relationship.
Leaning back in his chair, Seto let his gaze skim over them.
“…Past-life attachments,” he said coolly. “That’s occult territory.”
“It’s reality to me.”
“Then it falls outside my field of research.”
He dismissed it outright—but Atem noticed the slightest softening in his eyes. By now, he understood: Seto’s denials often concealed interest.
Next, Atem indicated Unresolved ties from this life.
“Do you truly believe you carry no lingering attachments?”
“I do not live in a way that leaves regrets.”
The answer came instantly.
And yet, Atem sensed something hidden beneath that rigidity. After all, the attachments of the living were often the very things they failed to recognize.
Finally, he pointed to Equilibrium of the relationship.
Seto frowned.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘leveling’ a relationship?”
“Our souls are distorted because they were drawn too strongly toward one another,” Atem explained. “If that is so, then we must return that force to balance.”
“…That’s emotional reasoning.”
“And yet emotions are what create entanglements.”
Silence settled between them. Outside, the wind brushed against the building’s outer walls.
At length, Seto exhaled softly, arms still crossed.
“Fine. Do it in order,” he said. “The past life. This life. And that so-called relationship. Clear them all.”
“I appreciate it.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Seto added. “This is to distance myself from the occult.”
“Good. Then let’s begin the research at once.”
Under the glow of the city lights, Atem smiled quietly. Seto, too, allowed the barest hint of a smile to touch the corner of his mouth.
Thus began the first night in their attempt to unravel the entanglement.
The life of a man named Seto Kaiba remained as tempestuous as ever.
He worked from early morning until late at night, his meals irregular at best. At times, Atem would think Seto had merely stepped out—only for the day to end without seeing his face at all.
Even so, Seto was surprisingly cooperative when it came to Atem’s “research.” Unless he was on a business trip, he always carved out time somewhere in his day.
Night. A room on the top floor of Kaiba Corporation’s headquarters.
Beyond the high-rise windows, the city lights still shimmered, refusing to fade.
Seto closed his terminal and turned his gaze toward Atem.
“…Sorry to keep you waiting.”
Loosening his tie, Seto took a seat.
“No,” Atem replied quietly.
He nodded in return and opened the notebook he had been writing in on the table.
Their “meetings” always began the moment Seto finished his work. Though nominally Atem’s research, the flow of discussion was handled almost entirely by Seto—smoothly, as if by habit.
“First,” Seto said, “those unresolved ties from your past life. Atem—do you have any idea what that priest might have regretted?”
His voice was low and steady.
Atem fell silent for a moment, a frown creasing his brow.
“I… caused him quite a bit of trouble,” he admitted.
“For example… he used to scold me. A lot.”
“What did you do.”
Seto folded his arms and leaned toward him. The shortened distance sent a faint tremor through their intertwined souls.
“…I slacked off inside a jar,” Atem muttered, averting his gaze just slightly.
“You— I’d fire you on the spot. …No. Wait. What is this.”
Seto’s eyes swept the room.
“What’s wrong?”
The air wavered, just barely.
Divine interference, Seto realized at once.
“Occult interference, then. I can’t even picture the proper procedure for firing someone.”
Irritation evident, Seto wrote down the fact that Atem had hidden inside a jar.
“What else did you do?”
“Uh…”
“Exclude trivial nonsense. What was your greatest failure.”
“There are two, but… probably the biggest one was that I—”
Atem’s eyes darted, searching for words. They caught in his throat.
Seto’s gaze sharpened, piercing.
“What did you do. Say it.”
“I—”
“You—?”
“I died.”
The moment the word fell, the air went taut.
Atem exhaled slowly.
“…Why did you die?”
Atem was someone who had died once already. Seto acknowledged that, if only faintly—if only because the conversation could not proceed otherwise.
“A dark god appeared,” Atem said. “At the time, there were no other options left. So I sealed it away—along with my own soul. …I know it sounds unbelievable.”
Seto had no memories of a past life. Of course he didn’t remember any of it.
And yet, the scene Atem described struck something deep within him, beyond logic.
“…That was folly.”
“Kaiba,” Atem said softly. “You’re angry right now. Go ahead. Scold me as much as you want.”
“I am not that man,” Seto snapped. “You expect me to scold you in his place? Don’t be absurd.”
“I died—and then I dumped the throne, the aftermath of ruin, the restoration of the kingdom—everything—onto you! I bound you to the throne along with my own will!”
Seto himself did not understand where this surging anger came from. Yet beneath it, unmistakably, was something like grief rising from the depths of his reason.
His brow twitched.
In the silence, the air creaked under the strain.
“…Atem,” Seto said lowly. “Retract what you just said.”
“I won’t. It’s the truth.”
“The truth?” Seto snarled. “And you call yourself a pharaoh!”
His voice dropped another register, and the sound of his fist striking the desk split the space.
“Do you intend to justify your own death? Do you have any idea who bore the burden of the ‘aftermath’ you left behind? Do you know the price I paid to preserve the name of Pharaoh?!”
“Kaiba—”
“Silence!” Seto roared. “If you ran away, I will not forgive you. If you lost your pride, then I will remind you of it! If you think that’s my role, then think whatever you like!”
Seto’s breathing was ragged. Within his fury lay undeniable pain—and attachment.
Atem met his gaze calmly.
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Seto shot back. “Never say something like that again.”
Before he realized it, Seto had thoroughly torn into Atem. Ancient memories and logic no longer mattered—only the raw impulse to never let the fool before him die again.
Then, still breathing hard, he barked one final line:
“I am not your guardian!”
Seto turned his face away.
In his chest burned a feeling he hadn’t known existed. Not anger.
It was a visceral fear—the terror of reliving a loss he could not name, and never wished to experience again.
The entanglement had not yet been undone.
But something had, unmistakably, begun to move.
“Next,” Atem said quietly, “we examine the unresolved ties of this life—Kaiba’s soul.”
Seto’s brow twitched at the words.
“What did you say? I already told you—I don’t live the kind of life that leaves regrets.”
There was a faint edge of irritation in his voice.
“And yet,” Atem replied, “when it comes to the bond between you and me, there’s plenty there, isn’t there?”
And so, the two of them decided to duel.
The sharp sound of Duel Disks activating cut through the silence.
The feel of the cards in their hands.
The density of the air.
The trajectory of each other’s gaze.
This was not a battle for victory or defeat.
It was a ritual—time spent confirming each other’s existence.
And yet, there was no compromise within that ritual.
Only both of them, at full strength.
“You’re going all out again today?” Atem laughed, slightly out of breath.
“Atem,” Seto replied, a faint smile touching his lips,
“if you hold back, I won’t stop at scolding you next time.”
His tone was almost teasing—but the eyes behind it were deadly serious.
Atem felt a slight warmth rise to his cheeks and looked away, focusing on his next move.
They had forgotten their original purpose entirely.
It was simply… fun.
There were no words exchanged—only the selection of the next card. And with that alone, a quiet heat bloomed deep in his chest.
Each time a card was played, their awareness intersected.
Summons. Effects. Declarations.
Every call aligned like synchronized breathing.
After each duel ended, they would make a great fuss over who had won— but during the duel itself, none of that mattered.
What mattered was that each was facing the other at full strength.
Seto’s presence felt vivid—undeniably real.
His heartbeat. His breath.
Proof that he existed, here, in the living world.
Atem felt it clearly—the fierce intensity of Seto’s life brushing against his own heart.
“…So this is what Kaiba’s soul is like now,” he murmured.
In the midst of yet another exchange of cards, Atem suddenly noticed it.
A subtle shift in Seto’s expression. Not impatience. Not anger.
Quiet relief.
Something inside Seto was loosening, little by little.
Atem felt the same.
More than the harsh rebuke of that night, the shared breathing within this silence resonated far deeper.
Seto’s life spoke more eloquently than words ever could.
Not logic, but the focus of battle itself seemed to ease the entanglement of their souls. With every exchange of cards, Atem’s heart grew clearer.
And yet, paradoxically, the entanglement also felt as though it were deepening.
By the time the duel ended, the air between them had changed.
The intensity, the shadows of the past—everything felt distant now.
In the quiet, Seto smiled faintly.
“…So. Who won tonight?”
“Who knows,” Atem replied, smiling gently.
“But… it was a good match.”
That smile pierced Seto’s chest for just an instant.
Silence settled between them.
It was not an ending called victory or defeat— but one named understanding.
—That day marked the pre-opening of Kaiba Land USA.
Voices of the press overlapped as countless flashes washed the night sky in white.
Standing at the center of it all was Seto—more composed than anyone else.
Microphone in hand, he faced forward without hesitation.
“Bringing joy to children all over the world—that is Kaiba Corporation’s mission.”
A powerful voice.
A gaze unclouded by doubt.
It was the expression of someone who had turned dreams into reality—confidence made visible.
Atem, accompanying him under the guise of an employee, felt a quiet heat bloom deep in his chest.
Cheers. Applause. Light.
All of it celebrated the way Seto lived.
“Congratulations, Kaiba.”
The words were soft, yet filled with pride.
Seto glanced back just once and smiled calmly.
“This is only the beginning.”
That smile was so natural—like the sun itself.
Was the light of the living always this dazzling?
A faint ache touched Atem’s chest.
Somewhere along the way, he felt as though he was no longer standing beside that light.
Atem fell silent, simply watching Seto’s back.
Whenever he was not engaged in research, Seto devoted every moment to his work.
Morning or night made no difference—he labored as if moving the world itself.
Conceiving new games. Giving them form. Sending them out into the world.
Each time, Atem was reminded of what it meant to live.
Achievement.
Passion.
A gaze fixed firmly on the future.
The vivid intensity possessed only by those truly living in the present.
A quiet feeling spread within Atem’s chest.
Not envy.
Not awe.
Pure, unadulterated respect.
Seto’s way of living was so brilliant, so blinding, that it felt as though it cast a shadow across Atem’s own soul.
Something inside him warped, ever so slightly.
It was not sharp enough to be called pain—
nor soft enough to be soothed by a gentle touch.
The more he brushed against Seto’s future, the more clearly he felt that his own time lay beyond a door long since closed.
“The research hasn’t progressed much yet,” Seto said. “Isn’t there something you want to do—while you still have the chance?”
At the question, Atem faltered.
“Something I want to do…”
Even as he tried to speak, nothing surfaced.
He had ended his life as a pharaoh.
Been unsealed.
Fulfilled his duty.
What was someone who had completed their使命 supposed to desire next?
More than that—was he even allowed to want anything?
The moment he traced the outline of that fear, something deep within his soul trembled.
A nameless emotion was breathing there—undeniably alive.
“If you were to leave regrets,” Seto asked, “what would happen then?”
There were no regrets.
And yet—
Seto continued to take on new challenges, carving open the future.
As Atem watched him, a wordless heat took root in his chest.
The boundaries of his awareness wavered.
“…I suppose,” Atem murmured softly.
He wasn’t doing anything in particular.
Simply observing Seto as he was now—and his heart was quietly, irrevocably stained.
The force of this life was too vivid, too compelling.
Resistance was impossible.
He could no longer remain unaware of Seto’s existence.
The entanglement of their souls had ceased to be mere interference—
and had become guidance instead.
They tried many approaches, but it could not be said that the research was progressing well.
Eventually, they reached the same conclusion every time:
there were things that could not be solved by logic alone.
Even so, Seto remained cooperative with Atem’s research.
Calmly. Methodically.
Sometimes with dry sarcasm woven in, Seto listened to Atem’s thoughts every night.
As though they were unraveling the tangled threads of their souls together.
Seto’s workspace and Atem’s area for contemplation had no physical partition, yet their roles were clearly divided.
Still, that boundary grew more ambiguous with each passing day.
One morning, as Atem was about to spread out his materials, Seto silently placed a mug beside him.
“It’s coffee. I kept the caffeine low.”
There was no explanation beyond that—no insistence, no pressure.
Only when Seto sensed that Atem was deeply focused did he quietly leave a cup behind.
The way he closed the distance was neither command nor overt kindness.
It was a quiet consideration—
one offered simply as someone who shared the same air.
Atem drew in the aroma of the coffee and felt a faint warmth spread through his chest.
This man did not intrude—
but neither did he ever step away.
That manner of being present softened Atem’s thoughts, even before the tangles themselves could be undone.
The entanglement could not be resolved by Atem’s Shadow Magic,
nor by Seto’s equations.
It might be responding instead to emotion, to memory—to the subtle vibrations of the heart.
Within a distance where they could not touch directly, they created time that stimulated the senses and emotions alike.
In other words, they were smoothing their relationship.
Through action rather than words.
As if confirming one another’s presence.
One night, during a break in their research, the two of them stepped out onto the rooftop.
The wind rushed between the buildings, and the city lights shimmered far below.
In the silence, the night air brushed against their skin.
After a long pause, Atem finally spoke.
“…Both my past life, and this one.
If I don’t put them in order, I can’t move forward.
And… I’ve sorted them out, to a certain extent.”
Seto sat down beside him without a word and offered him a single can.
Atem accepted it, their fingertips brushing ever so slightly.
In that instant, body heat passed clearly between them.
They accumulated moments like that—
day after day.
As night fell, the room filled with nothing but the sound of Seto’s work and the quiet rhythm of Atem’s breathing as he thought.
Even without words, the silence was never heavy.
The speed of Seto’s keystrokes.
The movement of Atem’s fingers as he turned pages.
Those small, almost negligible rhythms gradually aligned, as though tuning one another.
It was not something they intended.
It was simply the gentle wave of breath formed naturally by two beings who had lived in the same space for a long time.
Atem suddenly realized something he had never been allowed in his past life—
the existence of quiet time shared with someone else.
This, he understood deep in his chest, was how the lives of the living were built:
through the accumulation of such minute differences.
Before them lay a notebook and a cup of tea.
Beyond the penthouse windows, the city glimmered in the distance.
Seto tapped a single memo with his finger.
“As for your hypothesis—searching for lingering attachment… at the very least, I’ve reached a conclusion on my side.”
“I agree. You’ve always taken responsibility for your choices.”
“Then isn’t it possible that the issue lies on your side?”
Atem narrowed his eyes slightly.
“On my side?”
A brief silence.
Still staring at the cup in his hands, Atem exhaled slowly.
As for lingering attachments on Seto’s side, it felt as though they had exhausted that line of inquiry.
But applying the word attachment to himself stirred a strange resistance.
“Me…?”
After a short pause, he chose his words carefully.
“But I don’t have any lingering attachments.”
Seto’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
“…And yet you remain in this world.”
“That’s because of the entanglement.”
“The cause of that entanglement lies in how you exist.
Not in the past, and not in this life.
In who you are now.”
His voice was calm, but the observation struck mercilessly at the core.
Seto’s tone dropped, edged with certainty.
“The entanglement is a result. The cause must be something else.
Find it.”
Atem lifted his face quietly and met Seto’s blue gaze.
Those eyes were composed—yet held a faint heat at their depths.
Atem let out a small, wry smile.
“…You’re as strict as ever.”
“I’m not a teacher,” Seto replied.
“I’m your superior.”
The words cut cleanly through the air.
Atem nodded, a faint smile still on his lips.
The meeting that night ended in unusual quiet.
But deep within each of them, something had begun to move—slowly, unmistakably.
The night view blurred against the glass.
On Seto’s desk lay a single notebook—the one they shared.
Atem closed it quietly.
“…I tried thinking the way you suggested. And I don’t believe I have any lingering attachments, either in my past life or in this one.”
“You’re stating that definitively?”
Seto’s voice was cool, yet carried the weight of confirmation.
Atem gave a wry smile and leaned back against the chair.
“I died when I was meant to. I fulfilled my duty as Pharaoh. …At that time, there was nothing more for me.”
Seto said nothing, only glanced at Atem from the corner of his eye.
“And yet, you remain in this world.”
Atem hesitated, then turned his gaze toward the window.
The lights of buildings, the flow of cars, the glow of the city swaying in the night wind—
none of it had existed in Atem’s era.
“…Your world is dazzling.”
“Dazzling?”
“The world of the living—its sounds, its scents, its textures. Everything is vivid.”
Seto looked away, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
“The one who made such a fuss about returning now envies living?”
“I don’t envy it.”
Atem denied it at once.
Yet there was the faintest uncertainty at the edge of his voice.
Seto did not miss that tremor.
“Then what is that expression?”
Atem didn’t answer. He merely narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at the nightscape.
Deep in his chest, something creaked—softly, almost imperceptibly.
Still with his arms crossed, Seto exhaled quietly.
“As long as you see this world as beautiful, the entanglement won’t unravel.”
“…Perhaps.”
Atem smiled gently.
That smile was somehow boyish—
and at the same time, it carried the loneliness of a Pharaoh.
The night air flowed in silence.
Within that quiet, an unnamed emotion was unmistakably alive.
The sound of the wind.
The distant lights of the city.
Beside him, the heat of Seto’s living presence breathed steadily.
That certainty of existence stirred Atem’s soul.
What does it mean to live?
Having ended as a Pharaoh, released from sealing as a soul, now merely existing—
could that truly be called life?
The more he came to know Seto’s way of living, the more that question quietly seeped into Atem’s chest.
The entanglement had not been undone.
Yet it began to feel more natural to draw closer to it than to try to unravel it.
From that night on, the two of them changed, little by little.
Without exchanging unnecessary words,
when one inhaled, the other exhaled—
as though their breathing had begun to align.
Moments where the heart wavered started to blend into the everyday.
Neither of them yet realized
that this was not the end of their research,
but the beginning of their relationship.
Atem suddenly turned his gaze back toward the window.
Far away, the city lights still shimmered, refusing sleep.
Seto was living toward the future.
And what about himself?
The moment that question surfaced, a faint ache spread through his chest.
“…What does it mean to live?”
The words were not meant for anyone.
They simply dissolved, quietly, into the air.
