Seto Kaiba begins spending more time in the afterlife.
At first, it is for efficiency.
Better lighting. Better systems. Fewer interruptions.
He does not question why Atem keeps every light on.
He does not question why Atem never walks in the dark.
He does not question it—
until Atem asks him to.
There are nights that cannot be counted.
And nights that no longer need to be.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 数えられない夜
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
The fact that Atem had once been the King of Ancient Egypt three thousand years ago, and that he was now the King of the afterlife, were merely titles—nothing more.
Kaiba visited the afterlife regularly, and they dueled.
Victory and defeat mattered. But that was not the only purpose.
Sometimes, they exchanged words.
Nothing significant.
Only the bare minimum required between battles.
The afterlife remained as it had always been: Ancient Egypt, unchanged.
Light came from fire. Records were kept on papyrus.
From a practical standpoint, it was unacceptable.
So Kaiba brought what was necessary.
Electric light, instead of flame.
A tablet, instead of papyrus.
Remnants, perhaps, of Atem’s time in the modern world as the other Yugi.
Atem, of course, used them without hesitation.
His movements never faltered. His handling was careful.
The time he had spent in the modern world still lingered in his body.
It was a rational adaptation.
Nothing more.
At least, that was the conclusion Kaiba had reached.
On one visit to the afterlife, Kaiba noticed something unusual in one of the palace chambers.
Atem was sitting before his tablet.
That alone was no longer remarkable.
But the display beside it caught Kaiba’s attention.
Battery
—100%
“…You seem well prepared.”
Perhaps sensing his gaze, Atem looked up and answered lightly.
“It would be a problem if it ran out midway, wouldn’t it?”
He spoke as if it were obvious.
Kaiba’s brow moved, just slightly, but he did not press further.
“You don’t use it heavily enough to require that level of charge.”
“I know. But just in case.”
Just in case.
The phrase caught, faintly, somewhere in his mind—but he discarded it.
Atem’s reasoning was rational.
Tools should be kept usable.
That was all.
“Keep it between eighty and ninety percent. One hundred damages the battery.”
“…Is that so?”
“Yes.”
That was the end of it.
Kaiba lost interest and turned to leave.
Outside the chamber, priests were waiting.
When they saw him emerge, they stepped back naturally.
Their presence remained, but they never intruded.
Less guards than attendants.
Kaiba slowed his pace and observed them from the corner of his eye.
After confirming that Kaiba was still with Atem, they quietly withdrew.
A system was already in place to ensure Atem was never alone.
“…Are you unable to move about on your own?”
His tone was flat.
Neither provocation nor mockery.
A simple question.
Atem looked away for a moment, then shrugged as usual.
“I’m the king. If I disappear without warning, it causes problems.”
“I see.”
“I see.”
The answer was sufficient.
Logical.
Complete.
And yet, Kaiba felt a faint sense of misalignment in his chest.
The priests remained because Atem was king.
The tablet was charged because it was rational.
None of it was wrong.
Precisely because none of it was wrong, the explanations were too complete.
Kaiba said nothing more and continued walking.
Atem followed, half a step behind.
At this point—still—
Kaiba believed it was merely one of Atem’s habits.
A remnant of his life in the modern world.
The manner of a king.
Nothing more.
And nothing less.
Two weeks later.
When Seto Kaiba visited the afterlife that night, the palace was unnaturally bright.
The lights did not break, even at the far end of the corridor.
They were not flames.
They were the electric lights Kaiba himself had brought, arranged in precise intervals.
It resembled a building of the modern world.
“…This is excessively wasteful.”
He murmured it to himself, but Atem, walking ahead, turned back.
“It’s a royal palace. It’s only natural that the king’s path is lit.”
Logically, that was correct.
Kaiba said nothing more and surveyed his surroundings.
There were shortcuts in the afterlife.
Having visited many times, he knew the structure of its corridors.
Passages narrow and dim, like cracks between walls.
Shorter. Faster.
But Atem did not take them.
He walked without hesitation along the fully illuminated corridor.
“…That would be quicker.”
Kaiba gestured casually toward one of the darker paths.
Atem looked at it once.
Then, just slightly, he looked away.
“There’s no need.”
It was a brief reply.
He did not slow.
Kaiba shrugged and said nothing further.
A matter of preference.
Perhaps it was simply arranged as the king’s proper route.
That was sufficient explanation.
When they entered Atem’s chamber, every light was on.
There were almost no shadows.
“…Here as well.”
“It’s better when it’s bright.”
Atem said it calmly.
Kaiba glanced at him once, then dismissed the subject.
He had not come to discuss lighting.
He had come to duel.
They finished their duel in the great hall.
That should have been the end of his business.
Kaiba turned to leave.
“Kaiba.”
The voice stopped him.
“Stay. I’ll have a room prepared for you.”
Kaiba looked back.
“There’s no need.”
“It’s already night. I’ll see you off to the usual place in the morning.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“I’ll do it anyway.”
His tone suggested that alone was reason enough.
No justification was offered.
And it was clear he did not expect refusal.
Kaiba reviewed his schedule.
There was no conflict.
“…Do as you like.”
“This way.”
The room prepared for him was also bright.
Kaiba opened his tablet and resumed his work.
Time passed no differently than in the living world.
And yet, the nights here felt longer.
Before he noticed, the date had changed.
He looked up.
Atem sat some distance away, staring at his own tablet.
“Return to your chamber and sleep.”
It was a casual remark.
“…Yes. I will.”
Atem answered without looking up.
Nothing followed.
Even after Atem left, Kaiba continued working.
Eventually, his concentration broke.
He glanced toward the corridor.
Across from him.
Atem’s chamber was still lit.
“…Still awake?”
If so, another duel would not be unwelcome.
Kaiba stood and stepped into the hall.
Light spilled from beneath Atem’s door.
He did not knock.
He opened it.
Atem lay on the long couch, every light still on.
Papyrus lay scattered around him.
His tablet remained active, unfinished material frozen on its screen.
His breathing was slow.
Deep.
He was asleep.
Kaiba stopped.
He watched him.
The lights remained on.
The tablet remained in his hand.
And he slept.
“…”
Kaiba said nothing.
He closed the door quietly.
None of it was rational.
But neither was it abnormal.
Atem existed somewhere between the two.
Kaiba returned to his room and reopened his tablet.
—Perhaps the lighting arrangement should be revised.
He did not yet realize
that the thought itself was already a step too far.
At night, Atem opened his eyes.
No—
he had never been asleep.
The darkness was there.
The walls were there.
The ceiling was there.
Nothing changed.
Nothing moved.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
That alone proved he existed.
He counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
He counted to one hundred.
Then returned to one.
Repeated.
It did not end.
Because it did not end, he counted.
Three thousand years.
He counted.
Again and again.
He no longer knew the exact number.
He lost track partway through.
Still, he began again from one.
There was no time.
There was too much time.
He could not move.
He could not speak.
He had no body.
Only awareness.
—When will it end?
There was no answer.
There was no end.
Forever, like this.
When he realized it, Atem was gripping his own arm.
His nails dug into his skin.
Pain.
It hurt.
The pain existed.
It was here.
He was here.
Now.
He inhaled.
Exhaled.
One.
Two.
Three.
He counted.
He should not have needed to count anymore.
And yet—
he did not know how to stop.
After some time had passed—several weeks later—when Seto Kaiba next visited the afterlife, Atem said something unusual the moment he saw him.
“Before we duel, could you look at the lights?”
Kaiba frowned slightly.
“…The lights?”
“Yes. They flickered. Only once.”
His tone suggested it was nothing more than that.
Kaiba said nothing and examined the corridor.
All lights were functioning normally.
Wiring. Voltage. Control systems. By every measure, there was no fault.
“There is no abnormality.”
“I see.”
Atem seemed satisfied, but his gaze lingered on the line of lights.
“Only for an instant. Just a moment.”
“The interval?”
“I don’t remember.”
Kaiba exhaled softly.
A brief flicker was nothing more than environmental noise.
“And it concerned you enough that you couldn’t duel?”
It was not mockery.
It was confirmation.
Atem paused before answering.
“…I couldn’t concentrate.”
The words remained.
But Kaiba did not analyze them.
“Then I will correct it.”
He turned.
“I’m leaving. I’ll replace them.”
“Now?”
“It’s fastest. If I leave it, it will distract you again.”
That was all.
Noise before a match was unacceptable.
Several hours later—
Night.
Kaiba returned to the afterlife carrying new lighting equipment.
Enhanced flicker resistance.
Redundant systems.
Excessive, even by modern standards.
“…You work quickly.”
“It was necessary.”
Installation was finished in a short time.
The corridor was illuminated more evenly.
More strongly.
“These exceed the previous specifications. This will suffice.”
Kaiba stood.
“Is there anything else.”
Atem considered, then shook his head.
“…No.”
But as they began walking—
“That way would be shorter.”
Kaiba gestured toward a narrow, dim corridor.
A passage of shadow.
Atem stopped.
Just for an instant.
But completely.
Kaiba did not turn.
He only registered the absence of footsteps.
“….”
Several seconds passed.
Kaiba did not wait.
“Do as you like.”
He continued down the lit corridor.
Atem followed shortly after.
The distance remained constant.
Not too far.
Not too close.
Kaiba thought as he walked.
It was not the flicker.
Not the lights themselves.
It was the darkness.
But he did not say it.
Not yet.
He did not have proof.
From that day on, Kaiba spent more time in the afterlife.
“The living world is inefficient.”
That was his reason.
Meetings.
Documents.
Coordination.
Noise.
Nothing proceeded at optimal speed.
The afterlife was quiet.
Undisturbed.
“…Work progresses better here.”
He opened his terminal.
A natural action.
Atem watched from a short distance away.
“…What exactly are you here for?”
“Work.”
“In the afterlife?”
“Is there a problem?”
Immediate.
Atem hesitated.
Then sighed.
“…Unbelievable.”
He said nothing more.
Kaiba brought what was necessary.
Additional lighting.
Communication relays.
A server.
Environmental controls.
The afterlife changed.
Quietly.
“You’re accelerating civilization.”
Atem muttered.
“Optimization.”
Kaiba corrected.
“It is easier to live here.”
“That is not the purpose.”
Kaiba answered without hesitation.
“If left unattended, faults will occur.”
That was all.
Between these exchanges, they dueled.
After each installation.
Between processes.
Between tasks.
“…Do you only work or duel?”
“It is efficient.”
“And my schedule?”
“I’ll hear it later.”
He said he would hear it.
Not that he would follow it.
Morning came.
Kaiba entered Atem’s chamber.
The lights were dim.
Atem slept.
“…Atem.”
There was movement.
But he did not wake.
Kaiba opened the window.
Morning light entered.
“…Are you still sleeping?”
Atem frowned and opened his eyes.
“…Good morning… Whose fault do you think that is?”
“What do you mean.”
“You. I have duties…”
Atem sat up, suppressing a yawn, and glared at him.
“How many duels do you think we had last night?”
“You remember.”
“Of course I do.”
Kaiba crossed his arms.
“You are awake. Good. Duel me before your duties.”
“…Are you serious?”
“It changes nothing.”
Atem was silent.
Then he laughed.
“…You truly do not belong in a palace.”
“Is that praise?”
“No. It’s disbelief.”
Atem exhaled and stood.
He was no longer afraid.
He was only tired.
Every morning, Atem does the same things.
He opens his eyes.
He checks the lights.
They are on.
He moves his hand.
It moves.
He speaks.
“…Good morning.”
The voice comes out.
He opens the window.
He can see outside.
There is light.
Only then—
“Today has ended.”
He can confirm it.
The seal has been broken.
That is fact.
But unless he confirms it,
he cannot believe it.
Time passed after Seto Kaiba began using the afterlife as one of his bases.
The placement of the lights.
The power systems.
The work pathways.
All necessary optimizations had already been completed.
After confirming their operation, Kaiba closed his terminal.
“There should be no further issues. This matter will not require additional time.”
It was a simple report.
In the middle of it, Atem stopped walking.
Kaiba did not notice.
His eyes remained on the terminal’s display.
Silence fell.
The lights maintained their constant brightness.
Only the shadows shifted slightly.
“…Kaiba.”
Kaiba looked up.
“What.”
Atem did not answer immediately.
A brief silence.
As if choosing something.
Then—
“…Have you ever counted time with nothing but your consciousness?”
It was sudden.
Kaiba did not answer.
He judged it was not a question that required one.
Atem kept his eyes on the light.
“I have.”
His voice was low.
Steady.
“Separate from the sixteen years I lived as myself…”
He paused.
“There was time when I could do nothing. Could not move. Could not speak. Only awareness existed.”
Light reflected in his eyes.
“…Three thousand years of it.”
Kaiba did not correct him.
He understood it was not exaggeration.
“…Does it continue now.”
The question was brief.
There was no sympathy.
No judgment.
Only confirmation.
“No.”
Atem answered immediately.
But he did not stop.
“…But.”
His breathing deepened.
“It has not ended, either.”
Silence.
Only the faint sound of the lights.
“When it’s dark,”
Atem said,
“I lose track of time.”
He whispered it.
That was all.
He did not explain further.
There was no need.
Kaiba said nothing.
Eventually—
“I see.”
That was all.
Not agreement.
Not rejection.
Only acknowledgment.
Atem exhaled slowly.
He had not realized he had been holding his breath.
The lights remained.
Unchanged.
Within Kaiba, every inconsistency aligned.
Overcharged batteries.
Lights left on.
Illuminated corridors.
Attendants.
Not fear.
Not instinct.
—Memories that had never ended.
“Kaiba, I have a request.”
Atem spoke after their duel that night.
“What is it.”
“Will you come with me somewhere dark?”
Kaiba narrowed his eyes.
“…Why.”
“I want to test something.”
“What.”
Atem paused before answering.
“If I know I’m not alone… whether I can endure the darkness.”
Kaiba did not ask further.
“…Understood.”
Beneath the afterlife.
The deepest corridor.
No light reached it.
Kaiba placed his hand on the final switch.
“I’m turning it off.”
“…Yes.”
The light vanished.
Complete darkness.
Boundaries dissolved.
Distance dissolved.
Even the position of his own body became uncertain.
Atem should have been beside him.
“…!”
A sharp intake of breath.
His breathing faltered.
“Should I turn it back on?”
Kaiba asked.
“…Wait… Kaiba…”
His voice trembled in the dark.
“I’m here.”
Kaiba did not move.
He did not change position.
He did not change distance.
“If it’s too much, stop.”
Not an order.
A confirmation.
“…I won’t.”
His breathing was shallow.
“…Kaiba.”
He reached.
Searching.
The same motion, repeated countless times in darkness where nothing could be grasped.
Kaiba took his hand.
Their fingers touched.
Warmth.
Weight.
Real.
“I’m here.”
The darkness did not change.
But the solitude did.
“Count.”
Kaiba said.
“To ten.”
Atem’s grip tightened.
“…One.”
His voice still trembled.
“Two.”
His breathing continued.
“Three.”
He did not stop.
“Four.”
He did not disappear.
“Five.”
He was here.
“Six.”
He was here.
“Seven.”
His fingers clung.
“Eight.”
They did not separate.
“Nine.”
There was an end.
“Ten.”
Silence.
“…I’m turning it on.”
Light returned.
The world regained its shape.
Atem had not let go.
As if he did not yet know how.
Kaiba said nothing.
“…Shall we try fifteen?”
Atem nodded.
The light vanished again.
Darkness.
But his hand was already there.
“One.”
His voice was steadier now.
The numbers continued.
Knowing they would end.
Fifteen.
Then twenty.
Again.
And again.
In the darkness, Atem counted.
And Kaiba remained beside him.
“You’re accelerating civilization.”
Seto Kaiba glanced at the additional lights installed along the walls and the newly arranged pathways.
It was neither praise nor criticism.
Only observation.
“How many times must I correct you. It’s optimization.”
Atem shrugged.
He was neither denying it nor proud of it.
“It is easier to live here.”
He paused.
“I told you. That was not the purpose.”
Kaiba answered immediately.
“If left unattended, faults will occur.”
That was all.
There was no emotion in it.
At least, none he recognized.
Atem was silent for a moment.
Then he exhaled softly.
“…You haven’t changed.”
Kaiba did not respond.
“It’s for dueling. Isn’t it.”
Atem said it as if rephrasing the truth.
“…What else would it be.”
Kaiba finally looked up.
Their eyes met.
Only briefly.
But everything unspoken passed between them.
Understanding.
Noninterference.
And still—not leaving.
Atem’s lips curved faintly.
“Then let’s go.”
“…Yes.”
After they began counting in the darkness, Atem sometimes remained in Kaiba’s chamber.
He never announced himself.
He never explained why.
Kaiba would simply notice him there.
Sitting beside a chair.
At the edge of the sofa.
Sometimes, he fell asleep.
Sometimes the lights were on.
Sometimes they were off.
It made no difference.
One night, Kaiba felt weight against his arm.
He looked down.
Atem, asleep, held the sleeve of his coat.
Not tightly.
But unconsciously.
As if he could not release it.
Kaiba watched him.
There was no reason to pull away.
No reason to question it.
He reached out.
Drew Atem closer.
Held him.
There was no resistance.
He turned off the light.
Darkness came.
But the counting did not begin.
Night remained night.
When Kaiba stayed in the afterlife, Atem’s place became, without discussion, within his arms.
It was a quiet night.
The lights were minimal.
There were shadows.
There was darkness.
But it was no longer something that needed to be erased.
Kaiba closed his terminal.
Not because he was finished.
Because there was no need to continue.
There was no reason.
Atem was there.
Close.
Not touching.
Yet the distance held the same meaning.
“…Kaiba.”
Kaiba looked at him.
That was enough.
Atem stepped closer.
Touched his sleeve.
Held it.
Not asking permission.
Confirming.
Kaiba lowered his gaze.
Atem’s shoulder.
His throat.
His breathing.
All familiar.
“…What is it. Are you cold.”
An excuse.
Atem did not smile.
“Yes.”
Kaiba said nothing.
He did not refuse.
That was answer enough.
The night continued.
“…Shall we.”
Kaiba’s voice was quiet.
Not a question.
A confirmation.
Atem did not answer.
His fingers tightened.
That was enough.
The lights remained on.
It no longer mattered.
The night already knew what would follow.
Morning light touched the ceiling.
Kaiba was awake.
There was weight in his arms.
Atem slept.
His breathing was deep.
Steady.
His fingers still held Kaiba’s coat.
Unconsciously.
As if there was no need to let go.
Kaiba did not move.
There was no reason to rise.
Atem exhaled softly.
Shifted closer.
He was not searching for darkness.
He was simply there.
After a while, his grip loosened.
His eyes opened slowly.
“…Morning.”
“…Not yet.”
Kaiba answered.
He did not look at the clock.
There was no need.
Atem closed his eyes again.
There was no counting.
There was no need.
The night had ended.
And yet—
there was no reason to end it.
Even when dawn approached, Atem remained in Kaiba’s arms.
There was only warmth.
One day, Kaiba noticed.
Atem walked through a dim corridor.
Only a few steps.
Within shadow.
He did not stop.
Kaiba said nothing.
Atem offered no explanation.
None was needed.
The afterlife was quiet.
And then—
it was brighter than before.
