For those who prefer a happy ending — turning back is recommended.
After the wedding, Atem and Seto visit the Afterlife. Walking through the throne room, Atem feels something she cannot name — a shadow with no words, and no name must be given to it. Priest Seto steps out and asks: are you happy? The shadow dissolves before it can become anything. The door closes without a sound. Atem does not notice. Then Priest Seto’s thoughts unspool: the dragon he identified, the love he cultivated, the board he has managed from the beginning. Seto knows, at some level, that he is a piece being moved. The interests are aligned. It doesn’t matter. Inside the cage, Atem will forever feel free, feel safe, and remain happy — even though every choice was curated, and every path leads to the same ending. Beautiful. Cold. Happiness, bound by love.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: -- 幸福の檻
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
For those drawn to curiosity and psychological suspense — you may find this welcome.
The main story is complete, so if you want a happy ending but are reading anyway — please do take a moment to prepare yourself.
The wedding ceremony had gone smoothly, and Atem had come with Seto to visit the Afterlife.
Walking through the throne room, Atem felt a faint unease.
Was this what she had been like?
It was her own self, and yet she couldn’t quite recall. She should have been the same as before — nothing had changed, after all.
But she didn’t know.
Something she couldn’t sort out, couldn’t put into words. An unease spreading quietly, but certainly, from somewhere deep in her chest.
That nameless feeling — or rather, the thing that must not be named — what was it?
“...I am...”
A murmur that never became a voice dissolved in her throat.
At that moment, from the shadow of a column, a quiet, low voice reached her.
“Are you happy?”
Priest Seto.
The tone was like a question, and like a certainty, and so it also sounded, just slightly, like teasing.
Atem looked up without thinking.
Priest Seto was watching her with the same calm expression she had come to know in recent days.
Happy.
The moment she heard that word, the shadow of unease in her chest swayed, as though the ground had been pulled out from under it.
The shadow wavered — and before it could become words, it was gone.
“Priest Seto...”
Should she talk about this unease? Priest Seto would surely be able to put it into words for her.
But if she spoke of this shadow, she was certain she would not be able to go back.
Could not go back. Back where? And why?
Atem had no answers. Priest Seto, apparently unbothered, exhaled quietly — with something like amusement.
“Is he not waiting for you?”
It was over in an instant.
The one Priest Seto called “that man” was Seto. Seto. That name — and the black shadow was overwritten by the warm light of reality.
The unease became something that looked merely like a momentary wavering. What remained in her chest was a little embarrassment and happiness.
The only thing in her mind was the image of Seto, waiting for her.
Always at her side. The beloved, certain presence. Her “happy place.”
The shadow was swept away, stripped of its name, stripped of words.
It would never be spoken now.
What rose to her lips instead was a quiet murmur — to go back to where she belonged.
“Priest Seto — I’m happy.”
Like a flower opening.
The moment the words left her, the ache in her chest disappeared.
In truth, it had not disappeared. It had only sunk to a place Atem could no longer reach. Because the door to that place had closed without a sound.
Atem did not notice that her escape route had been sealed.
Priest Seto lowered his gaze and smiled faintly.
“That is a very good thing.”
His voice held no coldness. If anything, it resembled something like compassion.
Atem had wanted to report to a few people, so they had passed through the gate and entered the Afterlife.
He had not intended to bring Atem back here — but if she wished it, that couldn’t be helped.
He had leaned against a column and watched as several priests filed out of the throne room, and waited for Atem.
He had come prepared in case anyone tried to keep Atem in the Afterlife — but that turned out to be an unnecessary concern.
“Sorry, made you wait.”
Atem came back, completely naturally.
“Welcome back.”
“I’m back. ...It’s strange, somehow, having you say welcome back to me.”
Welcome back — and Atem had answered: I’m back. In that exchange, it was proved where Atem’s home was.
“How was the Afterlife, after all this time?”
“Everyone’s the same.”
Atem narrowed her eyes and answered, unhurried.
Of course they were. That hardworking priest was no doubt still working just as hard. He had heard that Priest Seto had governed this world as regent for three thousand years — and knowing how thorough that man was, he had almost certainly built a system that ran without Atem quite early on.
“I see.”
Atem opened her mouth, looking slightly shy, and slightly pleased.
“...Just now, Priest Seto asked if I was happy.”
“And?”
“I said I was.”
In Atem’s eyes: pure relief and satisfaction, and love for Seto.
Happy. That single word resonated clearly in the quiet of the Afterlife.
Within Seto’s heart too, quietly, happiness and joy and love were full.
That Atem was happy like this. That he could witness it.
This was done by his own hand. A deep satisfaction that nothing else could replace.
Seto received those words with a performance of taking them entirely at face value.
His gaze was soft. His voice was quiet. He returned only a single word.
“I see.”
Behind that — within Seto — a current of love and the pleasure of possession ran through him.
This was proof that she had come back here exactly as planned.
She had spoken the word “happy” of her own will, and placed the chain on herself. No one could blame him for that now. No one would be allowed to, either.
When Atem was jealous, Seto satisfied her possessiveness — and in doing so, clothed Atem in love and took away her freedom to move. When Atem created bonds, Seto allowed himself to be bound — and in doing so, gave Atem the satisfaction and reassurance of feeling she was holding him, which itself became the thing that bound Atem.
Seto had given everything without mercy — freedom, and even love — taken hold of all of it, and closed it in.
Into this invisible “happy greenhouse.”
The joy that Atem’s home was here. But he did not let the smile show.
The dark smile that Atem must never see.
Instead, he wore a calm one, and gently drew her close by the shoulder.
“Just stay beside me like this. That’s all I need.”
Pressed against Seto’s chest, the smile Atem returned was full of love and relief — relief at having a place to belong.
And within the heart of the man looking down at that face, a laughter that no one would ever hear was ringing.
A laughter full of victory, and love, and the sweet pleasure of possession — a happy laughter.
In the moment Atem smiled with relief and buried her face in Seto’s chest — a cold gaze was directed at Seto’s back. Not a shred of malice in it. Simply the gaze of an observer.
Priest Seto. The one person who saw through Seto’s intentions, his hidden smile, the workings of his mind.
The corner of his mouth shifted slightly. Not from displeasure either.
“You look satisfied, Seto Kaiba.”
He said it softly, to no one. Of course the words didn’t reach.
Priest Seto had already known that Seto had taken Atem completely into his hands.
And at the same time — that Seto himself, co-architect of this cage, was also its prisoner.
“Let us make that happiness — that pleasure — part of the bars.”
Not a reward. Not compassion. Nothing like that.
It was simply convenient for binding Atem to happiness. That was the only reason.
Priest Seto’s murmur reached no one, and dissolved like wind.
Seto did not turn around. He only held the happy Atem in his arms.
Yes. That is exactly right.
Priest Seto’s shadow withdrew quietly, while holding complete mastery of everything. From the beginning. Always. Even now.
Priest Seto had known that Atem felt the unease — and known what it was.
It was the despair of one who had been made human without knowing it, and could no longer be a king or a god.
He had gone to the trouble of having that man kill the god. He was not going to let her become one again.
Better to cut such things off early.
“Are you happy?” — that question to Atem had been a tactical adjustment. Turn her attention toward the reality of happiness, replace the unease in her thoughts with the happiness where her co-conspirator was waiting.
Once that was done, they would overwrite each other with happiness on their own. That man was the perfect piece.
Everything had proceeded according to plan. The god inside Atem had been killed. She had been bound with love. As a result, the cage had only grown stronger.
And a cage could not simply close. Something that called itself happiness could waver, could creak. Atem needed to be held in exactly the right way.
That was why Priest Seto made even Seto’s happiness and pleasure into material for the bars.
Every time Atem said “I’m happy,” that man would feel the pleasure of possession alongside his love — and in that pleasure, find his own happiness.
That love, that pleasure — they would become the chain.
And then that man would want to give more. And Atem would receive it more openly, and return feeling in kind. That chain would continue, without end.
Priest Seto only needed to watch from a distance.
Two people loving each other, entwining with each other, a cage that strengthened itself.
Reinforced by the reality of happiness — no longer breakable from the inside.
Priest Seto lowered his eyes the same way he had when he spoke to Atem, and let a faint smile form.
“That is a very good thing. Atem.”
A boy who ended his life at sixteen.
To Priest Seto, a king was nothing but a god.
But that fact — of being a king, of being a god — had been too heavy. Because she had been a king, she had no freedom, was bound, had even her future taken away.
So at the very least, from now on, she need only be happy.
The god had died. Atem had become human. And she was inside happiness.
Atem felt happiness and said “I’m happy.” Priest Seto’s offering showed its completed form.
His voice dissolved into the air like wind.
But that one sentence had rung like the strike of a hammer driving in the final key.
The cage he had designed was complete. Its lock was closed.
The happy future he had wished for was finished.
And that happiness had become the strongest prison of all.
Priest Seto stood quietly in the empty throne room.
A king. A god. Such things.
There was no board before him, no pieces. And yet, the world Priest Seto commanded, the board itself, was always moving.
Because there was a piece that kept choosing the best move on its own.
The first time he saw the dragon, he thought: this one might be useful. It could become the optimal piece for achieving the goal. But at that point, it was a contingency — a replacement plan for isolating the King of the Afterlife.
A period of observation, and the decisive evidence came quickly.
Always standing at Atem’s side, as though drawn there. Without concern for onlookers. Without hesitation. Without concealment. Proudly, even. And above all — with the kind of force that made such an attitude natural.
When he saw how that man looked at Atem, Priest Seto was certain. What that man carried was not mere obsession or rivalry.
Atem probably hadn’t noticed. Those eyes — the color of something being burned — a possessiveness that would not permit release.
It was love.
When Priest Seto found it, something almost like a smile rose in the depths of his chest.
Ah. This is good.
Could there be anything more convenient than this?
Not optimal — the finest, the supreme piece.
Not duty. Not obligation.
Simply personal desire — that man wanted Atem, as an individual.
And as though in answer, Atem too had begun to show the first signs of the same.
It was natural. That man and Atem were of different types. A matter of compatibility — in matters of love, pure feeling cannot overcome rationality. By any estimation, Atem would be captivated.
Truly, there could be nothing more convenient.
Priest Seto had always been willing to use any means for the sake of the goal.
Love — a fine thing, wasn’t it.
“I see.”
A low murmur, eyes lowering. He held back what was almost a genuine laugh.
This was it. No — was there anything beyond this? This was the optimal, the finest piece. If this piece could be used, the board could be changed entirely.
And the piece, if it wanted Atem, had no choice but to move exactly as Priest Seto intended. Not merely isolating the King of the Afterlife — bringing Atem out of it, and killing the god within her, right there.
The interests aligned. If the conditions were set, the piece would perform at its best without any further prompting.
On a board like that, all that was needed was something as light as quietly arranging the frequent visits.
What needed to be done: wait until Atem was sufficiently entangled, and decide on the moves to make when the time came to bring her out of the Afterlife.
And for that too, there was no need for Priest Seto to do anything directly. The finest piece would move on its own.
It was after inheriting the throne. The future Priest Seto had mapped inside himself was now one that knew no error.
Without complete mastery, one mistaken interpretation, one mistaken move, and the kingdom could fall. Every day had been a repetition of exactly those judgments.
He had an eye for people. For situations too.
That man’s way of loving would be without mercy. So if they each desired the other, the cage would naturally assemble itself.
Atem would not notice — she would be protected by the iron bars called happiness.
By those capable hands. By that deep, unwavering love.
Whether he spoke of love, or showed kindness, the method didn’t matter and wasn’t of interest. What Priest Seto held in mind was only the goal.
But each of those movements — he could predict — would lead Atem toward the cage, and place the chain called happiness around her.
The negotiation with the goddess. To make Atem a simple human woman.
That man had not chosen Atem because she was male. Watching had made that unmistakable.
But for Priest Seto — if what that man carried was love, then it was simply rational to optimise the relationship and the surrounding circumstances.
Better to cut off anything that looked like it might become an obstacle.
What mattered was that, as a result, Atem’s wish would be granted, and the state of happiness maintained.
A man and a woman in love — an ordinary, unremarkable situation that no one would find cause to question. Then let the optimised board be arranged accordingly.
That man did not care whether Atem was male or female — so female was fine. And on that optimised board, the piece could perform to its full capability.
Priest Seto only ever needed to add the slightest adjustment.
Because the finest piece would naturally bring the board into perfect order on its own.
And now, that man himself was tightening the cage with his own hands — through pleasure, and love.
Priest Seto’s mouth curved the slightest degree. The same faint smile as always.
What a fine piece. There is none finer.
Whether it was praise or confirmation, it was clear without being spoken.
The piece was moving perfectly.
The finest piece — and yet the piece itself did not know it. For now — that didn’t matter. He had no interest in that man’s awareness.
Without either Atem or Seto knowing, the cage grew more solid by the day.
Priest Seto only needed to watch.
There was no need to act. The work was complete from the moment Atem was entrusted.
The only thing — it was taking longer than expected, so he had added one small move to the board: Atem does not understand love. That man would have acted on it immediately. That man’s work was fast.
That alone was enough. After that, it assembled itself.
Priest Seto truly only needed to watch.
Because the finest piece would keep choosing the best move, and move perfectly.
Seto had decided to pretend not to notice.
There was no rational reason to do anything about it, even if he had noticed.
But somewhere, from a certain point, in the very depths of his heart, he had felt it with certainty.
That he too was being quietly moved, as the finest piece.
Even so — the interests were completely aligned.
By whatever means, appropriately.
And besides — the awareness of a co-conspirator held no interest and no meaning for Seto.
His purpose was Atem. And Atem’s freedom, and happiness.
And so the cage — terrifying and gentle in equal measure, designed by Priest Seto — was completed.
Everything mastered without anyone knowing. Everything guided. Everything filled with love and happiness.
That was Priest Seto’s intention, and his joy.
Happiness took shape inside the cage — beautifully, quietly, certainly.
No one was forced into it. Without force, they chose on their own — so all that was needed was to curate what choices were offered in advance. Whatever choice was made, the options that led to the same unchanging conclusion were the ones to set out. It would not be made to look like manipulation. Only quiet observation.
This happiness was not the product of Atem’s will alone. But Priest Seto was fine with that.
Unbroken, without fear or suspicion.
For Atem to have a future that was free, and simply happy — that was Priest Seto’s only goal, and entirely sufficient.
Seto’s skill, Atem’s enchantment — both were scenes in a production perfectly designed by Priest Seto, conditions on the board.
By the hands of two people, happiness was completed as a double cage.
Seto — through love and guidance, directly and pleasurably drawing Atem down, letting her experience freedom and love, continuing to give happiness without mercy.
Priest Seto — intellectually commanding the whole, narrowing the choices, indirectly controlling Atem’s freedom, cutting off the buds of divinity, assembling happiness itself into the shape of a cage.
Inside that cage, Atem would forever feel free, be immersed in a sense of safety, and remain happy.
Even though that freedom had been completely calculated, and designed in a form from which there was no escape.
Beautiful. Cold. Happiness, bound by love.
The ultimate freedom given to the boy who had been a king.
It was a “cage of happiness” — doubly held, doubly given.
