When Seto's ship crash-lands in the afterlife, no design flaw can explain why it keeps getting rejected on the way home. Seto's solution: an old superstition about calico cats, a certain king, and a countermeasure that has nothing to do with engineering at all. Neither of them expected the real fix to take this long — or for leaving to become the hard part.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 三毛猫
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
The crash-landed craft was caked in sand.
Heat rose off it from all sides, the smell of scorched metal from the fall hung thick in the air, and the edge of the open hatch shimmered visibly with heat.
Priests of the afterlife had gathered around it. No one approached — partly because it belonged to the king's guest, partly because no one knew what to do with this foreign object. Naturally, no one felt confident enough to deal with it directly, so they only watched from a distance. With nothing but the rustle of fabric and hushed voices, they made for remarkably well-mannered onlookers.
When Atem arrived, the circle broke.
Something had fallen from the sky. The instant he received that report, Atem had started running.
When Atem looked inside, the hatch's interior was cast in shadow, dark. Sunk into the seat, Seto sat unmoving.
"Kaiba?"
He set a hand on his shoulder, and felt warmth through the fabric. The heat of someone alive.
"Kaiba. Wake up."
He shook his shoulder a few times, and eventually Seto's eyelashes moved.
His eyes opened, and it took a moment before they focused.
What he was looking at, or whether he could see at all, Atem couldn't tell.
While he waited for consciousness to return, an arm reached out.
Still slumped in the seat, Seto's outstretched arm circled around Atem's back and pulled him close.
Heat came from directly in front of him.
Chest met chest. Warmth carried through, separated by only a single layer of cloth. Their heartbeats were too close together to tell, for a moment, whose was whose.
At the sudden movement, Atem couldn't move.
A chin settled on his shoulder. The hardness of the jawbone came through directly, and just behind his ear, he could hear breathing. A long exhale brushed against the side of his neck, and the warmth rose along with it.
Behind him, a stir went through the crowd.
For the priests, touching the king was something entirely outside proper conduct, and voices pressed forward from behind like a wave.
This is bad, Atem thought, and raised one hand.
He used no words. With the back of his hand, he signaled: back off. Reluctantly, but obediently, the rustle of fabric receded into the distance.
Through all of it, Seto didn't let go.
His chin stayed on Atem's shoulder, and the hand around his back tightened once more, as if confirming something.
Atem felt his own body stiffen, his breathing grow shallow.
"Kaiba...?"
Confusion crept into his voice.
He felt Seto's body tense, just slightly. His consciousness seemed to be surfacing all the way now.
Seto lifted his face.
At this close distance, the eyes that met his were already fully awake.
"...Why are you here."
"Y-you, suddenly..."
Atem's half-formed words went unheard to the end. Seto's gaze had already shifted toward the open hatch — the sand, the rising heat, the priests watching from a distance.
"Is this the afterlife."
The arms released him.
The hand around his back withdrew, and the warmth that had enveloped him receded. Air rushed into the space where they'd just been pressed together.
"Weren't you supposed to have just returned to the living world?"
Having said that much, Atem searched for what came next. Someone who'd returned had, somehow, ended up crashed in the afterlife.
"Why are you here."
"Like I'd know."
The answer was short. Seto's face had already turned toward the instruments.
"First, let me check for injuries. Come to the palace. Treatment—"
"Not necessary."
Cut off again.
Seto put a hand on the edge of the hatch and began checking the exterior. Showing no concern for the heat, he ran his fingers over the scorched metal without hesitation.
He traced the dents and cracks with his eyes, one by one.
Atem only watched that profile.
No trace of blood. He was standing. He was walking, even. Maybe there was no need to examine him. That much, at least, was reassuring.
Deep in the craft, a latch clicked shut.
After returning to the palace.
The sun had set at some point. No — he'd noticed it happening.
By the time Atem returned to the sandy expanse, the surroundings had already sunk into darkness. Perhaps because everyone had been cleared away, there wasn't even a priest in sight.
Beside the craft, a single light.
Blue, cold light. Seto's Duel Disk was still active, lighting his hands. A substitute for a lamp. In that thin light, Seto crouched beside the craft, tightening something.
"Kaiba."
No answer, and his hands didn't stop.
The pale blue light traced the line of Seto's cheek. His fingertips were smudged with oil, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. No words, and long gaps between blinks.
This is reckless, Atem thought.
"I've had a room prepared."
His hand paused, for an instant.
"Come. The rest can wait until it's light."
Seto didn't move right away. He let the Duel Disk's light slide once over a dent on the exterior. Then, slowly, he straightened up.
Not exactly gracious about it, but he didn't refuse.
A room in the palace had its lights lit.
Seto silently brought the food that had been brought to him to his mouth. He didn't check the taste. Food was only something to fill hunger. The sound of setting down a dish fell low into the quiet room.
Then, he activated the tablet.
The screen's light lit Seto's face. He pulled up the blueprints already committed to memory. Down to every line, every last digit, he had it memorized. There was no need, now, to look at it again.
Even so, he traced through it once more. The cause of the crash had to be somewhere in here.
He scrolled the diagram forward with a finger, back, forward again.
But nowhere was there any flaw in the design. Of course there wasn't — he'd designed it himself. That was exactly why he'd come.
Which meant the cause lay outside the design.
The time showed at the corner of the screen. The date had already changed; a considerable amount of time had passed.
Seto set the tablet face down.
The light went out, and the room held only the color of the lamps.
Without any real resolution, he lay down. Sleep came sooner than he expected.
After breakfast, Seto immediately headed for the craft.
On the way, he ran into Atem in the corridor.
"Find anything?"
"No. Based on the pattern so far, it's probably in the realm of the occult."
"Occult..."
Atem repeated it under his breath. It didn't sound like something that would come out of Seto's mouth, as a cause. But there was no trace of a joke on his face.
Leaving only the words that he'd finish the repairs, Seto left.
That day too, even as night fell, Seto didn't return.
Atem went out to the sand. The blue light, the bent back.
"Kaiba."
At the call, his hands finally stopped. The same as the night before.
The next day was the same. The sun set, darkness came, and only the Duel Disk's light remained. And Atem went to call him. Seto lifted his face at a good stopping point.
Counting the day of the crash, there had been no rest in these three days. That much time spent, and the craft seemed largely restored.
At the end of the fourth day, Seto put a hand on the hatch.
"Repairs are complete. I'm going back."
Atem caught the arm reaching to climb in.
"Wait."
"What."
"If it's just repairs, it's the same as before."
Seto's hand stopped, still on the edge.
"If you leave under the same conditions, won't the same thing happen again?"
Seto stayed silent for a while.
"Then does this occult business you preside over have any countermeasure?"
Atem couldn't answer. He knew something of the laws of the afterlife. But he didn't know the logic behind a living being's vessel being rejected and thrown back.
Still, if you assumed no flaw in the design, it was a natural conclusion that the problem lay in the environment instead.
There was something in Seto's expression. He probably knew. What Seto carried was the air of someone who already knew the answer.
Atem could tell that much. Especially where this man was concerned, more often than not.
"Do you have some idea?"
Seto didn't answer right away. Then he gave a short huff of a laugh through his nose.
"There's an old custom of putting a male calico cat aboard a ship."
"...What are you talking about."
"You don't understand?"
Seto let out a breath, looking bothered.
"If I bring you along, in theory, it's the same thing."
The same. As what. Before he could ask, the meaning arrived on its own. Putting a calico cat aboard a ship, as protection. That role — meaning, himself.
"Wait, Kaiba, that's—"
A hand settled on his shoulder.
At that weight, Atem's back stiffened. It was a familiar distance. The same as the arm that had reached out from inside the craft, that day. By the time he thought this is dangerous, it was already too late.
His body lifted off the ground.
Seto was carrying Atem up. Before he could resist, he was carried, lightly, like luggage, to the seat, his back sinking into it.
"Put me down. Kaiba. Wait..."
His shoulders were pinned down. He twisted, trying to escape, but a belt slid over him from above. Across his chest, his waist, the buckle slid into place with a click.
"Kaiba!"
His voice had become one meant to check whether the man had lost his mind.
Seto didn't answer. Only, his face was entirely serious. Was he genuinely trying to turn the king into a calico cat?
Several thoughts ran through Atem's mind at once. He prayed for Seto's safety. But he had no certainty he could take the place of a calico cat. And besides, he couldn't leave this place.
"Kaiba, listen, I—"
The buckle was quietly undone, and the hand pinning his shoulder withdrew.
Seto straightened up and leaned an elbow on the edge of the craft.
"Now that was some occult phenomenon."
He laughed, faintly.
Atem couldn't get up from the seat for a while.
"Departure is tomorrow, once the sun's up."
Seto said that, and started walking toward the palace.
"The final inspection isn't done yet."
Atem got out of the craft and followed that back. Walking alongside him, their strides didn't match. He followed a little behind.
Departure was set for the following day.
So, that night, they dueled. It was supposed to be one match, but in the end, they played two. Neither could settle it in one. As long as the field lay between them, there was no king, no guest. They laid out their hands, wore each other down, down to the last card. There were only two equals.
By the time they returned to their rooms, the night had grown deep.
The next morning.
Atem came to Seto's guest room.
"...Are you really going to leave. Under the same conditions."
Seto, hand paused mid-check on his luggage, turned around.
"You really are a defenseless man, aren't you."
His arm was caught.
"Or do you want to come?"
Atem couldn't answer.
If he'd spoken, he should have said no. The king couldn't leave the afterlife. That was the law. But the words wouldn't come out.
Thinking about it, he couldn't say he didn't want to go. He might be able to become the calico cat. And not only that — he might get to see the light of the living world again. That it wasn't tempting was simply not true.
He couldn't shake off the arm holding him.
Seto watched that face.
Wavering. Unable to answer no, right away.
The calico cat thing had been meant as a joke. But, if he really did bring him along—
This man wasn't merely a king. In the afterlife, Atem could be said to be the law itself. The rules of this realm, standing here in a body.
Then, if he took this man out with him—
He'd be carrying, out through the border that rejected him, the very side of the law that made the border what it was.
Seto tightened his grip on the arm he held, just slightly.
"...Give me a day. To think."
His mouth said it, on its own.
Seto blinked, twice.
What he needed to think about, Atem himself didn't know.
There was time.
From the palace's high window, the sandy expanse was visible. The craft was still there.
Atem traced his own insides.
Worry was the first thing he thought. If he left under the same conditions, he'd likely be rejected again. And this time, there was no guarantee of safety. The logic that there was no flaw in the design held up. But that alone wasn't reason enough to be rejected.
He considered whether it might be a flaw in the workings of the world itself. If the law governing a living being coming to the afterlife and returning again had gone askew, then, as king, he ought to set it right. Plausible enough. But it missed the core of it.
He tried framing it as duty, too — that seeing off a guest was the responsibility of the host. That, too, was wrong. Nothing but an excuse.
However many layers of logic he stacked, one thing remained at the bottom.
Something that wasn't an answer, that could be read as either an answer or a wish.
—I don't want him to go back.
That was all. He shouldn't have noticed it. He shouldn't have thought it.
Once, he himself had been the one seeing someone off. His friends had lined up, and everyone had watched that back walk into the light. That day, without looking back, he'd come here instead.
This time, he was the one standing on the seeing-off side. Watching his rival's retreating back, the one who'd flown in to see him, grow distant.
That was what he hated.
It wasn't logic anymore.
The following day, a sandstorm rose.
In the morning, the sky turned murky yellow. Wind kicked up the ground, dissolving the craft's outline into sand. Departure wasn't possible. Word came that it would be postponed.
Atem watched out the window.
As if he were seeing, in the raging sand beyond, the very same thing churning inside himself, Seto watched him from the corridor.
That profile watching outside, and the storm beyond it. And the fact that he couldn't leave. The law of the afterlife.
In his mind, the dots connected, forming a single line.
Repairs finished, the same conditions as the first day. But this time, weather blocked the way.
Coincidence?
No. Unless something was done about this occult calico cat—
Listening to the sound of the storm, Seto began to think that.
Seto dueled Atem until he cried mercy.
Once wasn't enough. Not twice, not three times. Every time he raised the Duel Disk, Atem bit right back — until, eventually, he showed his palms in surrender.
Even Seto's own appetite for dueling wasn't infinite. Still, he thought, even so. If satisfied, this man would surely let him go. The law ought to release its hold.
As predicted, the next day cleared.
No wind, the sky dry and high. In that window, Seto headed for the craft.
Atem came along to see him off.
Standing beside the craft, the wind began to blow.
Not enough yet to kick up sand. Just enough to sway the hem of his clothes, brush against his cheek. Even so, it had, undeniably, begun to blow. No telling when it might turn to a storm.
Seto climbed aboard, lightly, and turned around.
"Coming?"
Atem put a hand on the edge of the craft.
"...The weather's bad."
The wind was weak. By anyone's judgment, not enough to prevent departure. Even so, Atem said it. His fingers on the edge didn't let go.
An arm reached out.
From inside the craft. Seto's arm circled around Atem's back. Pulled close.
Heat came from directly in front of him. Chest met chest. A chin settled on his shoulder. The same as that day he'd crash-landed.
That day, Atem hadn't been able to move. He'd stiffened his body, shallowed his breath, only endured it.
This time, it was different.
He let it happen, and closed his eyes.
"Next time, I'll bring something."
The voice came, right beside his ear.
"It must be boring here."
The arms released him, the warmth pulling away.
Atem couldn't find words right away. Only one word slipped out.
"...Next time?"
Atem's eyes went wide.
The wind settled.
The sand calmed, and the sky was simply, quietly, dry. Seto's craft caught the light, glinting.
Atem saw off that departure.
This time, it wasn't an ending.
Some days later.
As promised, Seto came.
He'd brought several games from the living world. The two of them played them together. Winning, losing. A light kind of play, different from dueling.
"So you made it back."
Atem said, suddenly. It was a belated thing to say. Seto had made it back to the living world, and that was exactly why he was here again, like this.
"...I made it back."
Seto didn't lift his eyes from the board.
Even when it came time to leave, the weather didn't turn.
The sky stayed dry, no wind. The sand was quiet.
Seto stood in front of the craft and said, without turning around,
"Coming?"
In place of an answer, weight came against his back.
Atem had wrapped his arms around him from behind. Arms circling around. A forehead pressed against his shoulder blade.
"I'm not coming."
His voice was muffled, through his back.
"Come back here."
Inwardly, Seto gave a wry smile.
Seto's home was the living world. And yet, this man was telling him to come back to the afterlife.
Cat or not, he's turned into a house cat, hasn't he.
He started to glance back over his shoulder, to see his face.
The instant he did, the arms tightened. Atem clung even harder, burying his face against his back — as if to say, don't look.
Seto took hold of Atem's left hand.
He loosened the hand wrapped around him from behind and lifted it. He felt resistance, but strength wasn't something he'd lose at.
He pressed his lips to the fingertips.
Behind him, Atem's body gave a small jump. There was a sense of a breath caught, and the warmth at his back seemed to rise, just slightly. He couldn't see his face, but it came through clearly enough.
"I'll come again."
This time, he turned around.
He lifted that lowered face. Lightly, their lips met. It was over in an instant.
Then, he climbed aboard.
The law, this time, didn't stop him.
