White Day is approaching, and Atem can’t quite bring herself to respond to the flowers. She calls Priest Seto as a last resort. Priest Seto is extremely busy and extremely furious, but listens, delivers several pieces of airtight logic, clicks his tongue, and cuts the call. On White Day itself, Atem arrives at Kaiba’s door with a potted plant. She says what she came to say. He says same, without hesitation. A year’s worth of moments fall into place all at once. Then there is a small box, and a ring set with a Bekily blue garnet, and Atem’s response to the proposal is, by any measure, not the conventional one.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 09 ホワイトデーに鉢植え
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
She needed to respond to the flowers — to the feeling behind them — to make it known that he mattered to her too. Even Atem felt something like that obligation, vague as it was.
But the person in question was someone the whole world reached toward.
A few months ago, she had thought without hesitation that his place was beside her, and hers beside him. And yet, the more she learned about his world, the further away he seemed to feel. She didn’t know why. It was just there — a loop she couldn’t break out of. Staying as things were, saying nothing, would be simple enough. But giving an answer felt difficult, for reasons she couldn’t quite name.
If she had stayed a man — could she have stood beside him as his one and only rival, without any of this uncertainty? Would none of this have given her pause?
“...So that’s where things stand, Priest Seto. What am I supposed to do?”
Atem had laid out everything to the special terminal connected to the Afterlife.
She had gone in circles on her own until it was pointless, the day was closing in, and she had run out of options — so she had deployed her last resort as a confidant.
She had explained Valentine’s Day, and White Day. What had happened to her. All of it. Priest Seto was sharp and forward-thinking — he would understand the customs of the living world.
She told it in halting pieces, and Priest Seto listened while continuing his paperwork.
When she finally finished, a long, heavy sigh came through the terminal. Deliberate. The exasperation was palpable.
“As you are aware, I am extremely busy. Matters of this nature are for you to resolve yourself.”
He made to end the call. She stopped him in a rush.
She knew he was busy. He had mentioned he was in the middle of incorporating welfare reforms, drawing on the knowledge he’d taken in from the living world. The man really did work an extraordinary amount.
But exasperated or not, Priest Seto was her last resort. No one else would listen to something this incoherent and still follow it. If he hung up on her, there was nowhere left to turn.
“I understand all of that, but — there’s something like a difference in standing, in your world’s terms—”
“Standing? Why would that be any obstacle to telling someone important to you that they are important to you? And even if it were — any such barrier, compared to the barrier between dimensions, is no barrier at all.”
He looked like he was struggling to comprehend. He probably was. Priest Seto had never been one for restraint where Atem was concerned — not in their first life, and still less since reuniting in the Afterlife.
“That’s true, but — it feels presumptuous, somehow.”
“Why would you need to hold back? In the first place — it was you who reached for his hand. Have you forgotten? Simply tell him the same way, without hesitation.”
“I haven’t forgotten. It’s just—”
“If you still insist on standing — the standing of a pharaoh, a living god, surpasses all others. Problem resolved. Are we done?”
The same baffling absolute logic as Seto, deployed at full force. He made to end the call again. She stopped him again.
That might resolve it for Priest Seto — but nothing had been resolved for Atem.
“Wait. That’s from a world three thousand years ago. Things are different now. And besides — right now, I’m just a woman.”
Another enormous sigh. Absolutely deliberate. The sound of a brush being set down. Then — the full weight of his attention turned toward the screen, and a pair of blue eyes fixed on her with an intensity that would have rooted any priest or official in the Afterlife to the spot.
Then, holding that gaze, his mouth curved into a smile — and in the most unhurried, pleasant voice imaginable, he said:
“I fail to understand such circumstances. Former. Pharaoh.”
Former Pharaoh.
This was bad. Priest Seto was furious. In modern terms: genuinely, seriously furious. Frightening.
“Please — just — work with me here. I don’t even know what I want.”
His expression darkened further. He crossed his arms. And then — a click of the tongue. His fingers began tapping against his arm. Very frightening.
“I decline. What exactly is the problem, in either world? And furthermore — is he the sort of man who concerns himself with whether you are a king or a woman? Personally, I would not concern myself in the slightest.”
Adaptability at its most extreme, Atem thought — but she didn’t push it further.
Pressing any harder would only make things worse. They were going in circles.
And besides — she now knew that at least one person cared nothing about any of it. And Priest Seto was right: Seto wasn’t the type to be concerned with that sort of thing either.
Even furious, he had listened. He had engaged with the problem. He was reliable — she was glad she’d asked, however frightening the experience had been. So frightening it made her want to cry, actually — but crying would make things worse than a click of the tongue, so she didn’t.
“I understand. ...All right. Thank you.”
At last sensing that Atem had landed somewhere, Priest Seto’s expression settled back toward its usual lines.
His arms were still crossed. Fingers still tapping. Still angry, then.
“Do not contact me for matters like this in future.”
The call cut off. He would probably ignore her for a while. But she had understood at least one thing: she could deliver her answer with confidence.
Priest Seto pressed two fingers to his temple and exhaled, long and forceful, until the anger went with it.
About a year ago. He had thought that once the chaos had passed and peace returned to the Afterlife, things would settle. And then this.
He understood grief. Understood it better than he would have wished. A body without a soul had been unbearably light against the weight of loss. A name called into silence. Only the confirmation, repeated, that what had been there was singular and irreplaceable.
“It’s not as though I don’t understand why he’s being cautious.”
But understanding that was entirely separate from having the problem delivered to his door. Sort it out yourselves — that was all there was to say.
Atem was Atem — but that man was that man as well.
Priest Seto processed whatever came at him without expression. Today, though, he was angry enough to want to hit both of them.
He had told that man to make an effort. He couldn’t have misread those words. And he wasn’t the sort to neglect effort — that much, at least, could be trusted. He had an eye for people.
That man had come all this way for Atem. What that had required of him was almost impossible to imagine.
And Atem had reached for his hand. A man who saw what was coming before it arrived — he would never have brought her here just to leave things at that. He was the sort who saw a wish through to the end.
He had complaints for Atem — but they wouldn’t land on someone that oblivious, so he would express them by ignoring her messages for a while instead.
He began typing on the tablet. He had something to say about all of this, and if he didn’t say it, the same trouble would find its way back to him. He could see it clearly.
The man who received the message from the Afterlife — written in ancient priestly script — read it over, and the smile that crossed his face was nothing short of villainous.
Only for a moment.
Then his eyes closed slowly. A breath in. A breath out.
And when it left him, the words that came with it were soft — the warmth of them something close to tenderness toward a heart that had almost, finally, found its answer.
“Got you.”
White Day arrived.
Atem stood outside Seto’s room, holding a potted plant.
She was about to tell him: you matter to me.
She had been exchanging feelings all along, she thought — even before. I don’t want you to lose to anyone else. Things in that vein.
Anyone but me. She wasn’t sure what made this different — but her heart was beating far too fast.
“Atem. It’s unlocked.”
She had been hovering in the corridor long enough that his voice came through the door.
“Ah — yeah.”
She answered, and her mouth was completely dry.
Her mind and her body were not in agreement. Why was this happening.
She gathered herself, took the plant in one arm, and quietly opened the door.
She’d been worried about making eye contact immediately — but Seto was at the table, moving chess pieces, and she was spared.
Good, she thought — and then, in the same breath, wondered why she’d been worried about that in the first place.
“Were you playing chess?”
“Ah.”
He moved a white piece. After a brief pause, a black piece moved on its own.
She didn’t know who the opponent was, but they’d probably concede before the end regardless.
She tended to forget — this was a man who had bent what she’d once called the occult to the force of science. He was an absolute realist, and for precisely that reason, abstract strategy games like chess were where his win rate against her flipped entirely.
The opponent conceded. A message appeared on the side display — Seto ignored it and dismissed it.
“You’re good. As always.”
“Who are you talking to. And for the record — you’re far stronger than whoever that was.”
He looked up. Their eyes met. She felt the tension, which had briefly retreated, come rushing back.
There was no reason to be tense. Priest Seto would cross his arms and say so. Probably while looking down at her.
She had to say it. This was what she’d come for. And compared to the full force of Priest Seto’s fury — this wasn’t frightening. Probably. Most likely.
If she came back with I couldn’t say it, the consequences of that didn’t bear thinking about.
“Thank you — for the flowers, the other day.”
She said it. Half of it left to go. She had to finish.
Atem closed her eyes once, then looked back into his.
“I — you matter to me. Very much.”
“Same.”
Seto’s answer came without a moment’s pause. Atem went red and pressed her lips together.
She had known, well enough, how much she was cared for. But hearing it said directly — her heart refused to be still, and her body had gone rigid.
What was the right thing to say now? She cast around in her head for reference points. Téa — Téa would say something about love, probably.
Love? To who?
Yugi would say something wobbly but true.
Something true — what would that be?
Neither Téa nor Yugi was useful here.
Priest Seto — what would he do? She didn’t know. He’d probably give the most sensible answer of anyone, but she couldn’t picture what it would be. He wouldn’t hesitate — but she didn’t know what he wouldn’t hesitate to do.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I — I’m not sure, actually.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“I see.”
Seto smiled faintly and closed his eyes. The same expression as during their koibana.
“That can’t be helped, then.”
He reached over and ruffled her hair.
As though he already knew, even the parts of her heart she couldn’t name.
“I don’t know — but you do, don’t you?”
“Who can say.”
Within reach. Right there. She could stretch out her hand and touch him — a distance that belonged to no one else in the world, no matter how many people reached toward him.
And if she did reach out — what then?
What did she want?
Her chest felt tight.
The reason he had given her flowers. Thinking about that felt dangerous — it made everything feel like it might come apart.
I’m a woman. That was what kept snagging, kept pulling her away from the answer.
“Tell me. What’s happened to me?”
“Nothing has happened.”
“That’s a lie.”
“It isn’t.”
He set the plant on the table and took Atem’s hand in his — that large hand, closing around hers.
He looked at her face. The expression there: something like longing. Eyes wide and beginning to fill. A face on the edge of saying something it had never said before.
If this is the moment, then this is the moment, he thought, simply.
He recalled Priest Seto’s message. Please stop toying with her, it had said.
He had no intention of toying with her. He had every intention of making sure he never lost her again.
“If nothing has happened — then I am...”
If that was true, then it had always been true. From the beginning. Which meant the reason for the flowers was exactly that kind of reason. Atem felt her face go hot.
And this man had known it from the very beginning.
It’s a day for giving something to the one you like — those had been Atem’s words.
Seto never forgot Atem’s words.
Could it really be possible? That she had been that way. And that he had been that way too.
Was that why Priest Seto had said, so firmly, that it didn’t matter whether she was a king or a woman?
What she had wanted to say wasn’t only you matter to me. That was why she had hesitated. Being a woman had made her hesitate — because she couldn’t stay as only his rival anymore. She had built walls that didn’t need to exist, because the person on the other side was him.
The pieces were falling into place.
I don’t know was wrong.
“I — is it that you... like me? Have you liked me?”
Wrong. That was backwards. And she had gone and said it out loud. Though somehow, even thinking of it as finally felt strange, for something she had only just put into words for the first time.
Like. Said out loud, the word seemed to drop into her chest and settle there — and whatever had settled felt like it might overflow.
“And you?”
“Ah — of course you’d ask that.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
Seto, for his part, looked entirely at ease. He even had the composure for one of his jokes. She was in complete earnest, and none of the gravity seemed to be reaching him — Atem was at her limit.
“But — like, and things like that — I don’t really understand them. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with anyone.”
“Neither have I.”
His eyelashes are long. The blink rate is low. A head scrambling for any escape route was producing irrelevant observations.
“You’re thinking about something else.”
“No I’m not.”
How did he always know? Lies never got through.
“Atem. What do you want to do with me?”
“Wh — what do I want to do, it’s not the kind of thing you can just do something about. You’re — I mean—”
“You can do anything.”
Téa. Yugi. Priest Seto. None of them were any use here. Looking for reference points was probably the wrong approach entirely. It almost certainly was.
There was only one person like this in the world. And only one person who could possibly keep up with him. So that person should be her.
The moment she thought it, something in her settled.
When he gave her those flowers, there were no words. Every word was in the bouquet. How she received it had been up to her.
Had he gambled on that? And if so — the result of that gamble—
“I don’t know what I want to do with you. But I want to be your one and only.”
“You already are. From the beginning. Nothing has changed, has it?”
He said it slowly.
And it was true — nothing had changed. Nothing at all.
So the gamble had already paid off. A hundred percent. It hadn’t even been a gamble.
Which meant the answer had always been there. She had simply not been able to see it.
“You really do like me a lot, don’t you.”
“I do, yes.”
“That’s — embarrassing.”
“You were the one who asked.”
Seto said it with complete ease. For Atem, it was something she could not have imagined saying until this very moment.
“What would you have done if I hadn’t noticed?”
“I was certain you would.”
“But it wasn’t until just now.”
“Even so — I was certain you would reach the answer.”
She didn’t know how he could say that with such confidence. How had he been so sure she would make this choice?
Once she became aware of it, she couldn’t stay as only his rival. She could have chosen to avoid that awareness and keep the feeling hidden — had he truly not considered that?
“How could you be so sure—”
“If there were any chance you might not, I would simply have kept giving. The same as always. Nothing different.”
Atem’s eyes went wide.
“I — you would have—”
All the kindness he had given her. The warmth of his hand. Every single part of it — all of it had been that. Even if she hadn’t noticed. Even if she had hidden from it. He would have kept giving, unchanged.
I’m only kind to you. The thing he had left in Japan. A date is perfectly fine with me. No reason needed to give flowers. Worry when she was unwell. Snow sculptures. What’s your type.
It had been all of it, the whole time. From the very beginning. Atem had a good memory. Let herself look back, and a year’s worth of moments told the whole story at once.
A strategist. A considerable force. She’d known that. He hadn’t changed — he was exactly Seto Kaiba, exactly as always. Got me, she thought, with a small smile and a breath let out.
The reason her chest had gone unsettled and full of something she couldn’t name — it had probably been this, all along. She had been receiving it from the very start.
“Kaiba...”
To think she had been loved this much.
He grew up without the existence of romantic love, the message from Priest Seto had continued. So take care of him properly.
But look at this expression. Cheeks flushed. Eyes bright. Every muscle in her body drawn taut. On the verge of saying something she had never said before.
The moment had finally arrived. Words could be given now.
A year of teaching her heart how much she mattered. Priest Seto had been right — she would have known nothing of love or romance — so he had helped her find it too.
There was more still to teach her. Another year, two years, however long it took — he didn’t mind.
He drew her onto his lap so they were facing each other fully, and brought his forehead to hers. Close enough that their lashes might touch. He gathered the hand he’d been holding into both of his.
From here, they would share what was deepest. Physical distance had no place in that.
“The truth is — I love you. Only you, Atem. And you?”
“My feelings are the same as yours. So — I like you too.”
She looked away even as she said it, but her eyes were blinking more than usual and her cheeks were red. Her breathing was shallow. The awareness was visible in every part of her.
Simply becoming conscious of it, and she was this transparent.
“What is that.”
For now, those words were enough. Whatever path they had taken, the shape was the same.
“I’ll probably get jealous.”
“I’m honoured.”
“I’ll want to keep you to myself.”
“You already do.”
“I’ll start saying I want to be beside you always.”
“Then be beside me. I’ll be there.”
He put his arms around her.
To be beside someone. How precious a thing that was. That loss had changed him.
Above Alcatraz, he had sent a signal across the distance — a rematch — and crossed to America. The meaning had been received correctly. Both of them had intended it that way.
He had planned to come back from America, to have that rematch, and to hold her. The man who had been Yugi’s other half — stubborn up to a point, and flexible beyond it — that was the sort of person he was. He had meant to take his time, to return again and again, to persuade her through sheer persistence.
And then, a single month. Atem had disappeared. No longer in the living world, he was told. Nothing to hold onto — and that was something Seto could not allow.
He swore to himself: by any means necessary. And in doing so, he began to pursue two things at once that would seem to contradict each other — by whatever means, and yet appropriately, exactly as needed.
An occult item — a soul dwelling in the Millennium Puzzle. If that was true, then he would restore it.
If the soul would not answer a summons, then he would go there himself.
The hardworking priest’s indulgence of Atem had given him the opening he needed. Looking back, that too had probably been part of Priest Seto’s design — but he was happy to follow that particular lead.
Everything that followed had been beyond what his former self could have imagined.
He had brought her into the living world and taught her freedom. Indulged her. Looked after her. Made her understand that he was always watching, always the one who knew her best. Made her hands accustomed to his. Made her remember the closeness of this distance. Drew out the feeling that had been buried in her and helped it grow. And today, at last, he had given her the words.
Got her.
Not letting go.
He opened the lid of the table’s surface — the one they always used for games — and took out a small box.
“Atem. Will you accept this? And someday — will you spend your life with me?”
“Your life — your life?! That means — marriage. Does it?”
Atem’s eyes went wide.
“Yes. In name and in truth — I want you beside me.”
“You were far too prepared for this.”
“I’ve intended it from the beginning.”
The moment she became aware of her own feelings, he had decided. Her sex had never factored in — not once. He had originally intended to restore her as a man. If the world had taken issue with that, he would have changed what the world considered normal. He understood well enough the scope of his own influence.
The life the goddess had given had taken this form. That was all.
From the beginning.
Joy and shock had her mind close to breaking. And yet some part of her stayed clear — and that part was laying out the person across from her, the way she’d been forced to learn him from every angle over this past year. Her rival. Who on earth was this person? If only she could have gone on not having to wonder.
An ordinary woman might simply rejoice at a moment like this. But she couldn’t be only that.
A powerful person’s marriage was never simple. Feeling alone couldn’t decide it. She knew that well. Even as pharaoh, she had never taken a wife — and finding the right person had been complicated, endlessly.
“Wait. I’m not ready for this. And you’re Seto Kaiba. This is too — too sudden—”
“There is nothing sudden about it. And I made this choice. So there’s no need for readiness.”
“But—”
“I said it, didn’t I? Nothing is going to change. I’ll be at your side. That’s all. Will you accept it?”
The voice Seto turned on her then was gentle. Unhurried. The cadence of someone helping her find her way through.
Nothing changes. I’ll be at your side.
She couldn’t keep up with the pace of it — the dizzying sequence of events, the familiar impossible logic — but she did want to be beside him, so she gave a small nod.
There was a degree to which she was simply being carried along by the atmosphere — and she didn’t notice.
That too was, to Seto, unbearably dear.
He took the ring from the box and placed it on her left ring finger.
Set in gold to complement her brown skin, the centrepiece a Bekily blue garnet — a stone that shifts from blue to red between day and night, hiding the colours of his eyes. In this light, it was red. Diamonds scattered around it in service to the main stone. On her slender finger, it was a considerable presence.
But that was right. It called to mind the jewellery she had worn in that other world. The meaning of the stone: hope and renewal. Inner beauty. Clarity. Trust. How could it not suit her.
“I can’t wear something like this.”
“It’s an engagement ring. You don’t have to wear it. Though naturally, I’d prefer it if you did. I’ll have something simpler made for the wedding band.”
“A wedding band. Wait, just wait, I don’t understand what’s happening yet — I need to think — just let me—”
“There’s no need. Leave it to me. You can take your time getting used to it.”
This back-and-forth with an answer already decided was probably going to continue until she gave in. Today, for once, there was no sign of him stepping back the way he usually did.
This handsome menace.
“...Fine! All right. I give up. I leave it all to you. I wash my hands of it!”
Not, by any measure, the conventional response to a proposal.
Her feelings. His feelings. They had been the same from the beginning, and they had come to meet each other now. That much, and only that much, was clear to Atem in this moment.
The tension released — and yet her heart was beating harder than before. She didn’t know why.
In the circle of his arms, Atem held the shape of a love she had only just learned, and happiness, and a place to be — and let herself receive it, softly, in all its sweetness.
