Over a board game, with no special occasion and no particular atmosphere, Atem mentions that Isono has started calling her Madam. Seto thinks it through — paperwork ready, timing good — and suggests they simply do it. Atem agrees. The board game is left unfinished. Marriage runs on momentum. In Egypt, Ishizu calls Seto the royal consort of the Pharaoh. Atem says she is just someone’s wife now. On the plane home, Seto says something about wedding night customs and she spends the rest of the flight facing the window. The mansion has been transformed into a party venue. The ceremony date is set: the evening of October twenty-fourth, running past midnight, because the last hours of his twenties are hers.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 16 女神の褒賞
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
The event venue built by KaibaCorp opened its doors.
Seto stood in a white formal suit, working through press interviews and greetings. White clothing, a formal suit, and the ring story still not entirely settled — nearly every question was about the marriage.
None of it needed to be concealed anymore.
Seto announced, here and now, that the ceremony would take place today.
Applause broke out. Congratulations flew. Unreasonable as the man consistently was, somehow everything he did or said was received positively by the world. That was simply how it went with him.
Atem watched it all from a screen in the dressing room.
The caption at the bottom of the screen shifted — from coverage of the venue opening to: KaibaCorp President Seto Kaiba (20) — married.
It had started as a press greeting. Now it was impossible to tell whether it was news or an advertisement. The impact, though, would be considerable.
He had planned this, without question. Seto Kaiba was a strategist and a force — and the situation was unfolding in exactly those terms.
“Your husband... that’s very him, isn’t it.”
“He said there wouldn’t be any press coverage inside, so apparently this is for the promotion. ...He’s too conspicuous.”
“The reservation line for this venue is going to be flooded by tomorrow, guaranteed.”
“Probably. ...Téa, you saw this coming, didn’t you. How long have you known?”
Téa had been quietly cheering for Atem and Seto the whole way, and her instincts had read both of their hearts exactly right.
Téa smiled softly and answered.
“From the day you first called me.”
Atem’s head came up, startled.
“That long ago... I see. It took me so long to understand my own feelings — I must have kept him waiting.”
“Was he waiting, do you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“Waiting or not waiting — Kaiba was always right there with you, wasn’t he.”
Always right there.
She had returned to the Afterlife, thought the promise of a rematch was broken, thought their paths would never cross again — and then Seto had come, and they had crossed once more. Then she had followed him to the living world, and somewhere along the way, it had become this.
Somewhere along the way. Or perhaps — from the very beginning.
From the beginning. That was what Seto had said.
“Yes. That’s right.”
The bride, smiling peacefully — Téa looked at her and thought: beautiful.
A stir outside the dressing room, and the others arrived.
“I still don’t want to give her away — !”
“Joey, it’s too early to cry.”
“But the ceremony is just today — the registration is already done, so technically I’m already someone’s wife.”
“Congratulations, Atem. But where did you pick up a phrase like ‘someone’s wife’?”
“Well, Aibou, there’s this drama on in the afternoon—”
“Okay. Got it. Thank you. Never mind.”
Yugi’s quiet suffering showed no sign of coming to an end. It was possible this was simply going to be the rest of his life. Atem was a natural wonder, after all.
“Is that Egyptian traditional dress?”
Yugi asked.
“This is clothing from that era. Seto — same name, it’s a bit confusing — you know, the priest from the world of memories. He arranged it. Afterlife-made.”
Seto had apparently gone to retrieve it at some point without anyone noticing. Those two were cut from the same cloth. Perhaps, in some sense, they got along.
There were very few people who could communicate with Priest Seto without incident.
In terms of actual warmth — it was not bad, as such — but that was not something Atem knew. Neither of them had much interest in other people.
“Oh, that Kaiba-lookalike! He’s a good guy.”
The men made noise about wanting to share drinks with him someday, but Atem privately doubted the temperament match.
Priest Seto was very much like her husband. And given that they still led with confrontation where Seto was concerned — she could only hope, if that day ever came, that it wouldn’t turn into a fight.
She couldn’t imagine Priest Seto fighting with anyone, but his manner was not exactly pleasant, and he was not the type to care about things like camaraderie or friendship — which was just like Seto.
She considered connecting them now, but she had only just been in contact, and he was almost certainly still annoyed. She decided against it.
She didn’t know it — but the matter of “getting really furious” had left him in a rather lingering mood, and not calling was, in fact, the wiser choice. Atem’s luck was holding.
While she was watching the friends making noise, Seto’s voice came from outside.
“Atem, may I come in?”
“Yes.”
The groom’s entrance.
A well-made face, an exceptional bearing, a presence that would give any professional model pause.
Seto crossed the room to her side. They looked at each other for a moment.
Standing together, they had the same naturalness as always — as though this were simply the ordinary order of things.
The two of them, dressed beautifully as today’s principals. A picture in every sense.
My favourites. Téa pressed a hand over her mouth. An entirely normal reaction.
“You changed.”
“That was for the press.”
“Huh. You think of everything.”
Those blue eyes studied Atem, unhurried.
Wedding clothes from three thousand years ago, from that first life. The eye makeup particular to that country, drawing out the line of her eyes.
“Well? It suits me, doesn’t it.”
“Yes. You’re very beautiful.”
“Seto — in front of everyone—”
“You were the one who asked.”
The pre-shoot clothes were also good, he said, almost as an afterthought, looking faintly exasperated as he added it.
His tone was entirely calm. None of the sharp edges of the Seto Kaiba the world knew. For better or worse, this was a man who knew exactly how to present himself. And with Atem, he was thorough in his indulgence.
He reached toward her hair as he always did — and stopped short of making a mess of it, letting his fingertips play lightly at her fringe instead.
“Don’t mess it up, please.”
“Obviously.”
Then he looked at her face, pulled one lipstick from the row laid out, and held it out.
“This colour will suit you.”
“Oh — right.”
“I’ll be waiting for you inside.”
As though that had been the only errand, he left.
It was difficult to know where to look when those two were being like that, and Yugi felt a quiet relief inwardly. Sweet Seto Kaiba was a hazard with a gravitational pull toward somewhere inadvisable.
“What did he even come here for?”
“Maybe that was us — we interrupted the newlyweds.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s waiting for me.”
Seto was always waiting for Atem.
In sickness and in health, until death do us part—
The familiar words. To love and to cherish, in all times, and to pledge one’s whole heart.
“I do.”
Atem answered first. A clear, unwavering voice.
Here, beside him, right now. And from here on, always.
“I do. Death itself will not part us.”
Death itself will not part us. Those crimson eyes flicked sideways, briefly. There would be no more separation.
Lips in the colour she had chosen. No veil.
He bent down slightly, and they exchanged a short kiss.
At the edge of her vision, as predicted, four grown men were in tears.
The friends had somewhat recovered by the reception — though eyes were still red — and Isono had yet to put away his handkerchief. Hopeless, all of them.
Seto Kaiba was a public figure. No press inside — this was private. But Atem being hunted down because of that was not acceptable.
First: an official announcement from KaibaCorp. One photograph, a brief comment. Every outlet would have to work from that.
But that alone would not be enough — footage would find its way out regardless.
Next: video and photographs taken by a select group of trusted internal staff would be allowed to surface, appearing to leak by chance, to specific trusted media outlets. Atem’s natural smile at the reception. Small, candid moments between the two of them. The media would jump at it — but the timing and content would be precisely managed.
Beyond that: small, seemingly coincidental details fed quietly onto social media. A minor story from the ceremony. A behind-the-scenes image from a guest, posted through an anonymous account. The conversation would spread, but Atem’s privacy would be protected by design.
Which moments to select. The cake cutting — no. The bouquet toss — better, but Atem would be too visible, too exposed. The ring exchange was safe but too expected — that sequence of insufficiency again.
Through all of this, the balance between public attention and private life would be maintained. For the world: a glamorous, talked-about wedding. For the two of them: a quiet, settled time of love.
The information strategy would be an invisible shield around them both.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing in particular.”
“You had your work face on.”
“My apologies.”
“It’s about being a CEO’s wife, isn’t it? I understand. No need to worry.”
Did she really understand? She hadn’t been a wife before, but she might be conflating it with a queen consort’s duties. He controlled many things — but he had never become a king.
In practical terms: her surroundings would become noisier. There would be occasions requiring her presence as his partner. Atem had been royalty, and was sharp — manners and conduct she would pick up quickly enough. No real concern there.
Atem was looking at her ring, the one with the blue line, eyes soft.
He glanced at his own — the one with the red line. Getting the colour to render precisely, without any variation, had taken an extraordinary amount of work. The workshop had a considerable pile of near-misses, attempts where the colour had come out slightly wrong. His eye for colour tolerated not even the smallest difference.
“Atem, Seto — let’s take a photo.”
“Of course. Get in the frame — and no sulking.”
“Fine.”
He put an arm around Atem’s shoulders and looked toward the camera.
Being photographed was nothing new. He glanced over at the friends making noise about blinking or making faces.
Unbelievable, you came out perfectly in all of them — when Atem said it, he looked at the screen on her device, and found that he had, in fact, blinked in one.
Not something he considered impossible — it was simply a matter of experience. The odds with enough shots taken were what they were.
“We took several. Even a poor shot can land, given enough tries.”
Atem was still grumbling quietly, but when Isono came over tentatively to ask for a photograph, the one that came out seemed to please her, and her mood lifted entirely.
This was not because Atem had grown more experienced. The photographer had simply been skilled.
If she wanted to improve, there would be plenty of opportunities. By the time she was used to it, it would all be good memories.
If things with Atem could be accumulated this way, even the past was not so bad. The past taking on a new shape, becoming the future.
That he would ever think something like that about memory and the past — he had not anticipated it.
“You really are beautiful. It suits you perfectly.”
“Thank you. I had no idea he had this kind of taste.”
Atem was happily deep in a girls-only conversation.
The clothes that one had prepared suited her almost too well.
A few days before the ceremony.
He had received word from that one and gone to the Afterlife, and been handed the wedding clothes without a word.
“Is this all right?”
“You ask the same thing as that time. I told you then. If it were not all right, I would have had you detained long ago.”
“There seemed to be no shortage of attempts.”
“Ha. You do say things.”
When Seto accepted the clothes, the priest smiled faintly. The expression was one of unmistakable satisfaction.
From the very beginning, this priest alone had never turned hostility or bewilderment toward him. He didn’t know why, and hadn’t been interested enough to find out. Even when he had stepped forward on his right foot before the King — the priest had not shown so much as anger.
As though this man had held the same view all along.
Because Atem had been slow to come down, he had ended up making a scene — and the priest had watched it all with an unreadable expression, not a flicker of change in his face.
Not intervening. Not provoking. No fear, no agitation. Just those blue eyes, watching steadily.
The first real conversation had been the day Atem said the living world was what was wanted.
After months of observing the Afterlife, he had no difficulty knowing who to approach. Priest Seto. The man from the stone tablet.
The day Atem said she wanted the living world — he had gone to the priest directly.
“Atem wants the living world. Once everything is in order, I’m taking Atem.”
He had declared his intention to take the King — and the priest had stood, but shown no displeasure. Only something that looked like interest.
“You’ve come, then. In that case, I have a thought.”
He waited without speaking, and the priest’s mouth curved.
He had been prepared to take Atem regardless of who objected. But what followed — the words, the content — ran against every expectation. Calm.
“I bear you no ill will. And the goddess’s reward — perhaps one can be obtained.”
“A reward?”
“You accomplish everything by your own hand. You would say you need no help.”
“Obviously.”
He had his way. Find Atem’s body, restore it, place her soul within it. Even without the original method, there were others.
“Is a wish for the living world truly all Atem wants? It isn’t, is it.”
“Correct. You already know. You know it on your side as well. What is your purpose.”
“Purpose? I never moved to stop you. I am not stopping you now. Does that not tell you everything?”
“...Yes. I thought as much.”
That first bearing. That expression in the opening moment.
“What that person wishes for — I want to grant all of it. Only that.”
No one nearby. He had cleared the room, clearly. Thorough.
He called Atem by name and spoke of Atem as a person. Probably simply for that reason alone.
And he said he wanted to grant that wish.
That had been the priest’s desire.
“A boy whose future was taken from him. That is my understanding. If I can give back what was taken — I would even petition the goddess.”
“...A petition. What are you playing at.”
“You have nothing to worry about. I inherited the throne, so I know. A king is nothing but a solitary god. I am that person’s one and only friend.”
The priest’s eyes fell. He was looking at that loss. Knowing the same pain, arriving at the same thought — that was natural.
But this man.
The man carved in the stone tablet three thousand years ago. Who inherited the throne. Who wrote poems. If the content was true — who had stood at the intersection of souls and wished for a shared future.
Was he saying it was all right if the future beside Atem was not his?
“Is this all right?”
“If it were not, I would have had you detained long ago.”
“As though you could have.”
“And yet that person seems to have you thoroughly detained.”
The priest laughed. Fair enough. Detained — yes.
“It’s the other way around.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
Someone Atem had been waiting for, all along. The insolent man standing before him.
What she saw in this man, Priest Seto did not know. But Atem had wanted him. That was sufficient reason. This man had strength, and a quality of spirit — good to place at Atem’s side in the living world. And beyond that, it was clear they held the same view. Which meant this man was, for Priest Seto’s purpose, the most fitting—
The priest looked up. What an intent gaze, brought to bear head-on. Seto was not the type to flinch at that. He simply noted it.
“A parting gift. I will negotiate with the goddess in my name.”
When the priest turned away, he thought he caught a glimpse of white dragon wings.
“You give that person a place. I give that person a self.”
Taking orders from others — it was not in his nature and he would not permit it. The solidarity and cooperation that Atem was fond of — no thank you to that as well.
And this man shared that disposition. He had seen it in the watching, confirmed it in the conversation.
And yet the priest had wished — with his own hands — for Atem’s happiness. For Atem’s future.
To make it certain, this method was now the optimal one.
By whatever means, appropriately. That had already become second nature.
The interests aligned.
“Not a god. A human.”
In this world, that was an act of complete presumption.
To wish for such a thing. This was, in a certain sense, collusion.
“Fine. When it’s ready, I’ll come again.”
He would take that hand. The feeling was mutual. Seto turned his coat and left the priest’s room.
Blue eyes. Like looking into a mirror — the same colour as his own. Not the slightest shade of difference.
“Seto.”
“What is it?”
“Happy birthday.”
“Of all the things to say.”
The wedding clothes that one had sent were so perfectly suited to Atem that they had spoken — at a level entirely apart from Joey making noise about not wanting to give her away, or Ishizu being difficult — of something immeasurable.
Not simply celebratory dress. The silhouette and colours spoke of nobility. The detail of fine embroidery carried delicacy and a quality of light. And above all, there, barely visible — the wings of a dragon, watching over and protecting.
The man who had wished more than anyone for Atem’s happiness. Who had known Atem better than anyone.
One and only friend. Indeed.
If this was what friendship looked like, then what the others had was friendship in name only.
He would not claim there was no jealousy. He would not say he had won or lost. That one felt the same. This too was a form of love.
Only Seto knew that.
Priest Seto — Atem walks into a happy future. He said it silently.
“Well, you look happy this year for once.”
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t say it like it’s someone else’s business.”
“Fair enough. Thank you.”
Atem’s eyes went wide with something like surprise.
“Seto said thank you—”
“What is that.”
Last year was terrible, she said — he had no particular opinion on that. It was in his memory, but it was not his concern.
He scooped a bit of cake cream from the corner of Atem’s mouth with his fingertip and tasted it. Sweet. Like this reality itself.
The wish for happiness, for freedom — the weight of that wish was the same. The shape and the role were different, that was all.
“Atem. You are going to be happy.”
There it was — he had said the same thing as that one. Seto was briefly exasperated with himself, and for just a moment, frowned.
“I am happy. You be happy too.”
“You are here. That is already done.”
“Oh, honestly — you are so embarrassing!”
He took her hand and looked into her eyes and murmured as he always did, and Atem went red and came back with something sharp.
Someday she would grow used to it and stop reacting — but that was fine too. That would be its own proof of having received it.
For now, she was probably searching for some complaint while she turned red.
But she was happy — that was simply the truth, and there was nothing to be done about it. Seto would simply go on telling her, without a word of falsehood.
Atem. The one and only existence he had wanted, not out of reason or calculation, but from his own heart.
Seto had been the one to want her first, to wait, to let her choose.
That answer would never be betrayed. Not ever.
A god does not bring healing. A god does not bring happiness.
What a god gives is life, and only that.
That it was the human being called Atem who touched Seto’s heart and gave him everything — when would Atem come to know that?
However many years it took, it did not matter. Not even death would part them. There was all the time in the world.
All that was needed was to keep showing her.
Again and again. The same way. One thing at a time.
