Chapter 3: Where the Sea Holds Its Breath
“Brother. You’re working too much. This has gone far enough.”With that single sentence, Seto’s schedule collapsed instantly.
Mokuba had swept up the executives and unilaterally launched something called the CEO Vacation Initiative. Before Seto could do what he usually did—crush it outright—the time off had already been scheduled, and even the destination decided.
“The sea?”
Seto’s brow creased openly.
“I prefer places with solid ground. Not sand.”
“But I think Atem will enjoy it too.”
Mokuba grinned.
“Even you need time when you’re not building anything, Brother.”
“Half a month is excessive. One day.”
“Then two weeks.”
“Two days.”
After several rounds of this skirmish, Seto relented—begrudgingly.
The final terms: one week.
The destination: a private Kaiba family villa, on a quiet tropical island surrounded by deep blue waters and white sand.
His mobile devices—and even his cards—were confiscated by Mokuba, forcing Seto into something he had not experienced in a long time: complete offline isolation.
Atem narrowed his eyes at the beach before him.
The sea breeze stirred his hair, and the sound of the waves rolled endlessly toward the shore.
It was a sound that existed nowhere in his memories.
“Atem. The waves can take you. Don’t go in carelessly,” Seto warned.
“This is something you’d never see in the desert.”
“It’s the opposite of the desert,” Seto replied shortly.
“There’s no end in sight.”
Atem smiled faintly.
“And what do you think of that vastness?”
“It can’t be measured.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“…It’s not bad.”
A wave washed over their feet, white foam slipping between their toes.
Seto’s voice remained dry, but there was a trace of release in his profile—just enough to notice.
Sensing that subtle shift, Atem felt a quiet easing in his chest.
So even Seto had moments like this, he thought.
And that, somehow, was enough to make him feel at ease.
The waves rolled in gently, then retreated.
Across the surface of the sea, a small cruiser—piloted by Seto—cut a clean white trail through the blue.
“My job is to entertain children,” Seto said flatly.
“You’re no exception.”
“So I’m being treated like a kid now?”
Atem let out a wry smile.
“It’s a fact. Judging by your mental age.”
The corner of Seto’s mouth lifted, just slightly.
At that dry remark, Atem found himself laughing too—like someone rediscovering a long-forgotten innocence.
Perhaps the research had made him too rigid.
The sea breeze brushed his cheeks, the scent of salt teasing his senses.
Sunlight scattered across the water’s surface, glittering as if fragments of light were falling from the sky.
“All right. Just like I taught you—rookie diver,” Seto said, guiding Atem in his wetsuit toward the edge of the boat.
“I’ll be counting on you, buddy.”
“I don’t like that term.”
“But it’s the only one you taught me.”
Atem steadied his breathing and, just as instructed, fell backward into the sea.
The moment the water closed around him, the world inverted.
Sound vanished—replaced by the rhythm of his own breath.
The hiss of air through the regulator became the only proof of life in the world.
The deeper he went, the heavier the water felt.
Pressure pressed against his chest, and the flow of blood rang faintly in his ears.
Past eight meters, a chill ran through his body.
Yet that cold, somehow, confirmed that he was alive.
Atem descended just a little more.
Not deep—no longer descending, but remaining.
As his breathing settled, something inside his chest quietly burst open.
A calm world spread beneath the sea, where blue and green dissolved into one another.
The water was clear; visibility excellent.
Light wavered, sand drifting faintly upward.
He stabilized his body without resisting the current.
Grasping a rocky outcrop, he peered into the shadows.
When he picked up a shell, Seto immediately signaled drop it with a sharp hand sign.
Atem nodded slightly and released it.
The sensation of the shell slipping between his fingers felt strangely real.
Eventually, he lay back against the seafloor.
Looking up, light filtered down through the surface.
It lined up like rungs of a ladder, bubbles rising slowly along it—
As if ascending toward the heavens.
So this is what it means to be alive.
No voice emerged.
Yet something deep within his chest pulsed, unmistakably.
When he turned, Seto was there.
Their gazes met through goggles beneath the water, a brief nod exchanged.
In that instant, something more certain than words flowed between them.
He was supposed to return.
That was all.
And yet now, warmth burned quietly in his chest.
Something was unmistakably binding itself to this world.
Breaking the surface, Atem drew in air—and saw Seto smiling.
“Well? Even for a king of the desert, the water of the living isn’t so bad, is it?”
“…Yeah. It’s not bad. Light was coming down—brighter than I expected.”
“What you saw was what they call a ‘ladder of angels.’”
“A ladder of angels…”
Atem’s voice dissolved into the sound of the waves.
In the depths of Seto’s eyes, something flickered—just faintly.
The seaside holiday was longer—and quieter—than expected.
There was no need for suits or cards.
Only the sound of waves and wind marked the passage of time.
For the first time in a long while, Seto found himself with nothing to do.
And yet, strangely enough, he wasn’t bored.
Just having Atem beside him—logging dive records in a book while gazing out at the sea—was enough to fill the air.
“Kaiba. The sea is calm today.”
“Yeah. Less wind than yesterday. Want to do one more dive?”
“Yeah. …Wait. Shouldn’t we hold off? According to the calculations, there’s still too much nitrogen in our systems.”
“Correct, rookie.”
Such trivial exchanges felt oddly comfortable.
Atem laughed.
In the sunlight, his profile looked vividly alive.
Alive.
That simple, undeniable fact pierced Seto’s chest.
He understood it logically.
Once the research resumed, Atem would no longer be here.
That was supposed to be the goal—to reach the conclusion of “returning.”
And yet, watching Atem as he was now, that ending suddenly felt unbearably cruel.
What is there to fear?
Seto asked himself.
No answer came.
He only cast a sideways glance, confirming the presence beside him.
Waves broke. Light wavered.
As long as time allowed, the two of them dove into the sea.
Walking along the path that led down to the water, Atem gently curled his fingers into his palm.
The warmth of the sea breeze lingered on his skin—proof of life that could only be felt in the living world.
He knew it was beautiful.
And at the same time, he understood that the more beautiful it seemed, the further away the moment of choosing drifted.
“…I know. It’s fine.”
The words slipped out—directed at no one in particular.
Atem was keenly aware that the certainty of Seto’s presence, and the gentle light of this world, were things he was never meant to linger in for long.
And yet, his feet did not stop.
Knowing that the time to choose would come, Atem was not strong enough to halt his steps before such beauty.
They had come up from the sea and were sitting side by side on the sand.
The sun was slanting low, their shadows stretching a little longer.
Only the sound of the waves felt close.
As Seto brushed the water from his hair, he suddenly noticed a faint warmth lingering in his chest.
It wasn’t from the seawater.
Like adjusting exposure, he searched repeatedly for a reason—
but none of his logic accounted for it.
“…No. This wasn’t in the plan.”
A small miscalculation was beginning to take shape, slowly, deep within him.
Atem pressed a hand to his damp hair, breathing steadily as he recovered.
Seto had no idea what he was thinking.
Still, the motion felt calm—as though Atem were carefully confirming the temperature of this world, one sensation at a time.
Without realizing it, Seto was watching his profile.
A single drop of water fell from Atem’s hair and was absorbed into the sand.
In that instant, the wind stopped.
Sound narrowed until only the waves remained, the world growing unnaturally still.
Seto almost called out to him.
There was no reason.
Yet somehow, in that silence, Atem breathing felt like something he must not look away from.
He quickly averted his gaze.
This sensation wasn’t even worth analyzing.
“…We’re moving.”
He said it curtly.
Atem rose with a faint smile, turning back toward the sea.
The smile on his face wavered in the light reflected from the water, now stirred again by the wind.
Bathed in the evening sun, Atem gazed at the ocean with a gentle expression.
At the sight of it, something in Seto’s chest creaked—just slightly.
For some reason, the sound of the wind felt distant again.
“Atem. Are you thinking about something?”
“No. …I just thought it was beautiful.”
The wind fell away, leaving only the sound of the waves.
Seto understood then that the stillness came from Atem himself.
The moment he realized it, his breath caught—just for a beat.
“Troublesome.”
That was what he thought, yet his eyes refused to leave Atem.
Watching Atem’s profile as he faced the sea, Seto swallowed the words that rose to his throat.
As long as you see this world as beautiful, the entanglement won’t unravel.
He couldn’t say it anymore.
If he did, Atem would hesitate again.
He would be forced to choose again.
The path back to the underworld—
or a future of wandering among the living.
So that Atem wouldn’t have to choose, Seto closed his mouth.
“I see.”
That was all he said instead. His voice came out slightly hoarse.
The sinking sun melted into the sea, dyeing sky and water the same color.
Atem drew in a quiet breath.
There was warmth in his chest—warm, and a little painful.
He still had no words for what it was.
The moment he realized he liked this time, Atem lowered his eyes slightly.
For the first time, he felt a faint fear of being someone who would “return.”
As if to brush that feeling away, he spoke in a calm voice.
“Kaiba. Shall we dive again tomorrow?”
“…Yeah. If that’s what you want. As many times as you like. I can teach you how to handle the boat, too.”
“That sounds appealing.”
“…Let’s head back. You’ll get cold.”
Seto’s words were brief—almost like an escape route.
Atem started walking.
Wet sand clung to the soles of his feet, peeled away, then clung again.
The repetition resembled the gait of someone who walked without deciding, and Seto narrowed his eyes slightly.
Atem looked as though he understood.
It wasn’t that he was refusing to choose.
He understood the reality that he would have to choose one or the other.
When that awareness sank into Seto’s chest, something inside him creaked—quietly.
What Atem had seen beneath the sea, the light and darkness he had touched there.
The weight of that silence crossed Seto’s mind.
As things stood now, the gate of the underworld would not open.
The image overlapped—Atem standing motionless before the gate, and himself watching from behind.
What arose in Seto’s chest was neither protection nor pity, but something of a different color entirely.
It was something that would shatter if named,
and would never reach if left unnamed.
Holding that feeling, Seto simply kept walking.
He made a point of not noticing when his stride naturally matched Atem’s.
“…Kaiba. About earlier…”
Atem lowered his voice.
It was almost lost to the sea wind, but Seto heard it clearly.
I intended to return. But I hesitated.
That unspoken thought was something only Seto picked up.
“I’ll hear it later.”
The words were short—neither rejection nor kindness.
They contained only readiness to receive.
Atem slowed his pace and let out a breath.
It was the breath of someone stronger than anyone, more fragile than anyone, and more than anyone else—someone who wanted to live.
Seto noticed.
And still, he said nothing.
Choose. By your own will.
That was the only sentence that remained lodged in his throat,
before dissolving into the sound of the sea.
The wind blew. The waves rolled in.
Beneath those sounds, the rhythm of their heartbeats quietly overlapped.
It was the sound of souls beginning to encroach upon one another.
The sea at night wore a face different from the one it showed by day.
Moonlight slid across the surface of the waves, and the wind moved slowly, brushing against the skin.
That sensation remained—clearly—on Atem’s cheek, on his fingertips.
“…The wind smells different,” he murmured.
Seto stood beside him, arms crossed.
Atem nodded and drew the night air deep into his chest.
The air was cool, seeping into the depths of his lungs.
That coldness felt, strangely, pleasant.
A sense of being alive.
A sensation he had believed he would never feel again existed here as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The sound of the waves.
Distant lights.
The lingering echoes of human voices.
One by one, they thinned the death within Atem.
I am someone who must return, he told himself, as if to reinforce it.
And yet, something in his chest gave a faint ache.
For the first time, the word return echoed with pain.
Seto glanced over.
“What is it. Are you cold?”
“No. That’s not it.”
Atem shook his head slightly.
It wasn’t cold—he was feeling.
The temperature of this world.
The way this world breathed.
The place where Seto stood carried the weight of the living world.
His voice. His movements. His breath.
All of it was vivid—undeniably, unmistakably alive.
As he watched that profile, Atem held a feeling that refused to become words.
Just for this moment, he wanted to live somewhere in the living world, not the underworld.
There was no reason, no logic—only that wish.
He knew it was a feeling he should not carry.
And still, his chest ached.
The waves rolled in and receded.
Atem understood.
Just as footprints left in the sand would eventually vanish, this time, too, would one day end.
Even so.
He wanted to touch this world a little longer.
That wish sank quietly into the depths of his heart, and the entanglement of souls shifted—once again—into a new shape.
The night was quiet, as if holding its breath.
The sound of the waves was distant, and there was barely any trace of wind.
Only the moonlight spilled across the surface of the sea, blurring into pale white.
Seto sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.
He looked as though he were thinking about something—and at the same time, about nothing at all.
Each time the thin curtain stirred faintly, the light brushed his cheek.
Its outline appeared so fragile at times that it hardly felt real.
Atem watched his back.
There was no sign that he intended to sleep.
“…Do you dream, too?”
The question slipped out quietly.
Seto turned his head over his shoulder.
“Dreams, huh. I don’t see them much anymore.”
That was all he said before returning his gaze to the window.
A brief silence fell over the room.
The stillness was taut, like the surface of water.
Each time their breaths faintly overlapped, the air trembled.
Atem smiled—just barely.
“Then maybe this is a dream.”
Seto said nothing.
But for a fleeting instant, something like pain crossed his expression.
Atem felt as though he understood what that pain meant.
When a dream ends, it ends.
This gentle time.
The distance close enough to touch.
The scent of the wind.
The temperature of the night.
Seto closed his eyes.
“…That might be so.”
His low murmur dissolved into the sound of the waves.
At that moment, a thin breeze slipped through the gap in the curtain, stealing just a little warmth from the room—
as if the dream itself were quietly retreating.
Atem simply watched his profile.
A formless ache seeped into his chest.
Why was it that this world before his eyes felt unbearably beautiful?
Seto did not yet ask what that feeling meant.
But within that silence, the entanglement had already tightened beyond undoing.
And deep in his heart, Atem made a small wish.
That this dream might last just a little longer.
The sea, tinted red by the sinking sun, stretched out before them.
The two walked to the edge of the beach without exchanging a word.
Each step Seto took made the dry sand rasp softly.
Atem followed behind him, occasionally stopping as if to confirm the fading light.
“…Are you watching the sunset?” Seto asked.
Atem shook his head.
“I just want to remember it.”
“Remember what.”
“This color.”
Seto did not reply.
The waves rolled in and out, as though waiting.
Beneath the setting sun, two shadows stretched long across the sand.
Seto glanced at them once.
At the instant where his shadow and Atem’s overlapped.
The wind grew a little colder.
Noticing it, Atem gave a small shrug.
Seto almost offered his jacket—
then stopped his hand halfway.
There should have been no reason to do such a thing.
“Let’s go back.”
Only that brief command was swallowed by the dying light.
Night fell.
The sea grew still, the wind ceased, and only the distant rhythm of the waves remained.
Seto still could not sleep.
He tried to calculate the reason.
But it fit none of the parameters.
When Atem closed his eyes, Seto let out a quiet breath.
He knew that now he could create distance.
And yet, not a single part of him moved.
If you’re going to stop this, now is the moment.
He understood that—
and still, he could not look away until he confirmed Atem’s steady breathing.
In the darkened room, only Atem’s breath could be faintly heard.
Within that stillness was a strange sense of reality.
Soft like a dream—
and yet, painfully certain—
there was unmistakably life there.
Morning came.
The sun rose.
The wind returned.
The waves began to move once more.
The vacation ended.
