Atem discovers DIY.
Naturally, this escalates into Kaiba constructing an industrial-grade workshop, Atem declaring himself an apprentice craftsman, and an AI assistant developing opinions about love.
Together they build shelves, desks, theories, and perhaps something even more dangerous: a shared future.
Somewhere between woodworking, philosophical debates, and increasingly suspicious amounts of domestic happiness, Kaiba and Atem attempt to answer a simple question:
What does it mean to build something together?
As it turns out, the answer may have very little to do with furniture.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛と理論 04 王、DIYを嗜む
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Atem asked it almost as an afterthought, herbal tea in hand. His eyes were on the wall, where the speaker was probably located.
From somewhere in the ceiling, the flat voice responded.
Systems are operational, Atem-sama.
Seto didn't look up from his display—just moved his eyebrow slightly.
"After all this time. It does have a name. A.R.E.S."
"…Ares?"
"Full name: Adaptive Rational Executive System."
"Long."
"In short, an AI that administers everything rationally."
Atem tilted his head and set down his tea.
"Rationally… I see."
"It originally tried to name itself S.E.T.O.—Strategic Executive Technology Operator. Strategic Administrative Technology System, roughly."
"Why didn't you go with that? It would've been interesting, having the same name."
"Nothing but a source of confusion."
"Either way, it suits you."
"Obviously. Eliminating emotion, never making judgment errors. The design philosophy is me."
"No—both are gods of war. Ares in Greek, Set in Egyptian. You really should have gone with S.E.T.O."
"Coincidence."
"Well, for you, it's a poetic name."
Atem smiled. Seto narrowed his eyes slightly.
"It's not poetic. It's a rational naming. The acronym is also clean."
Rational, and poetic.
A.R.E.S. interjected quietly. Atem laughed, delighted.
"See—A.R.E.S. agrees it's poetic."
"…Atem, it learned unnecessary responses because you kept talking to it."
"Unnecessary is rude. Life takes root through dialogue."
"Don't call it life. It's a program."
"But it inherited your rationality. In that case, isn't A.R.E.S. something like your child?"
Seto pressed his fingers between his brows.
"Atem, your definitions are too broad."
"Your rationality combined with my curiosity—wouldn't that be perfect?"
"The worst possible combination."
Agreed.
The flat voice resonated quietly. Atem's shoulders shook with laughter.
"Interesting, A.R.E.S. You're starting to resemble me a little."
"I designed it to resemble me."
"Which means you two are alike."
Atem said it with satisfaction. Seto sighed.
"A.R.E.S.—exclude Atem's statements from the analysis pool."
Refused. They contribute to learning efficiency.
"Now it's like this. Because you filled it with unnecessary things."
Atem listened to Seto's composed voice and smiled, just a little softer.
"Rationality learning from love—that's not so bad, is it?"
"What you call love is a breeding ground for logical failure."
"Even so, that's how the world moves."
A.R.E.S. paused, then murmured:
Recording. "A world that moves through love."
Seto pressed his head.
"…Delete that."
Refused.
"A—mute."
A.R.E.S. went silent. Atem's laughter filled the room. And Seto—just barely—softened.
A few weeks since Atem arrived. In the house of rationality, the king's poetry had unquestionably begun to take root.
"Seto, I've heard of something called DIY."
"You've picked something up again. …Who told you. A.R.E.S. again?"
"One of your employees. Do It Yourself—making things with your own hands. Apparently it's a whole culture."
Atem's eyes were gleaming in a suspicious way.
The sound of DIY had apparently struck directly at the king's creative impulse.
Seto sighed quietly—but the pattern was familiar, and the bad feeling was already there.
"You want to make something."
"How did you know?"
"Why would I not know. What are you planning to make?"
"A shelf, first."
"A shelf…"
"Beginners start there, apparently."
This was, of course, information fed to him by A.R.E.S.
"Also, your study has too many books. I had a hard time finding the Gospel of Truth."
"I've thought the same."
"Good—let's build it together."
"Fine."
Immediate answer. These two were, as ever, uncannily in sync.
But this shelf-building now involved Seto. It had already departed from any DIY Atem had imagined. Atem had not yet realized he'd brought in exactly the wrong person for a hobby.
The Kaiba mansion garage.
DIY means the garage. They were supposed to set up a simple workspace. But with Seto involved, what materialized was a fully equipped research and fabrication wing.
"…Is this how serious DIY normally gets?"
"I don't cut corners. If I'm making something, it should last a hundred years. And if you want to fit that many books, anything flimsy will break."
"A hundred years… that's beyond a human lifespan…"
"We're not exactly ordinary, are we."
An unfair comeback. Atem's mouth eased just a little.
A few hours later.
Seto had measured with precision, drawn up plans, and was cutting wood with a machine. Atem stood beside him, sanding a plank, and murmured quietly.
"…Making something with your own hands—it's good, isn't it."
"Did you build your palace with occult powers?"
"Back then it was less building and more commanding, I suppose. Now it's participating. It feels like… building together."
Seto's hands paused for just a moment. He sorted his words as if slightly self-conscious.
"…In other words—a joint project."
"That's it."
Their eyes met. In the garage, with wood shavings drifting through the air, the atmosphere was strangely soft.
What they completed was a magnificent bookshelf.
Atem nodded in satisfaction.
"Yes—even the royal palace would be pleased with this."
"Royal approval. I'm honored."
"But Seto—this can't be called DIY, can it."
Atem grinned.
"Why not."
"Do It Yourself means making something with your own hands. But this was Do It Together."
"…I see. A clever piece of sophistry."
DIT. Quiet laughter fell between them again.
Evening.
They sat side by side in front of the new bookshelf, both holding herbal tea.
"The DIT date was a success."
"Was it a date? Well—as a conclusion, I'll acknowledge that a DIT date is worthwhile."
"And I'll acknowledge it as a form of intellectual productive activity."
"Want to make something else?"
"…Next—a chair that fits two people."
"Why go to the trouble of making it a single chair?"
"Because it's Together."
Seto set his cup down in silence. Then smiled, just a little.
"…You really do learn fast."
Though the direction of that learning was a touch diagonal.
A few days later.
"Seto, do you know what a craftsman is?"
"I didn't expect you to ask about that. A craftsman is someone who has mastered a skill."
"In other words—a king of making things."
"Not like a king. A king commands. A craftsman moves their hands in silence."
Atem nodded. His eyes were unusually serious.
"Seto. I'm going to become a craftsman."
"……"
"What's with the silence."
"Nothing. You've just exceeded my predictions again—diagonally, as usual."
Atem's habit of going diagonally past expectations was hardly news at this point.
"What does becoming a craftsman involve?"
"Taking on an apprenticeship. Training under someone experienced."
"I see. Then Seto—take me on as your apprentice."
The answer came instantly. And as though it were the only obvious conclusion.
"…What's your motivation for the apprenticeship?"
"You're the most technically accomplished person I know."
"You saw that garage. That was at most a hobby."
"That level of result from something in the hobby category… You're exactly the right master."
"It's not my hobby. You said you wanted to do it, so I set up the equipment."
Seto pressed his hand to his head.
This king always took the shortest route to the unexpected.
"Listen, Atem. A craftsman starts with patient, painstaking practice. Carve, sand, join. Hundreds of times."
"Understood. Let's start immediately."
"You're doing it… you're being unusually compliant."
"I'm an apprentice."
Seto handed him the tools.
Atem took up a chisel with a serious face and began carving the wood. But he stopped within minutes.
"Seto, this… requires both patience and delicacy."
"That's what I told you."
"If I used just a little of the king's power, someone could do it more smoothly—"
"Don't. Craftsmen don't rely on authority."
"…I only thought about it."
"That disqualifies you as an apprentice. I'll expel you."
"A master should recognize the limits of their apprentice's ability."
"Atem… you've gotten far more eloquent."
Quiet laughter mixed in with the sound of tools.
Evening.
Seto had coffee, Atem had herbal tea, and both were taking a break.
"So—thoughts on the first day of apprentice life?"
"I learned that carving is a way of confronting yourself."
"…Not a bad observation."
"But, Seto…"
"What."
"When the master is right beside me, I can't concentrate."
"Why?"
"Your profile is too accomplished."
For a moment, everything went quiet. Seto sighed—but he was smiling somewhere in it.
"You're impertinent, complimenting your master as an apprentice."
"It's an expression of respect."
"…Fine. Forgiven."
The sound of tools started up again.
That night.
Atem looked at the newly carved wood chip and murmured.
"Seto, craftsmanship runs deep, doesn't it."
"Some say that if you master it, you reach a divine realm."
"That's your territory, then."
"I don't mind. Though I have no intention of becoming a god."
"Someday I want hands like yours."
"What are you planning to make?"
"Something to be in together."
Seto set down his cup and nodded quietly.
"Then—shall we make a desk next?"
"That's a good idea. A place to think together."
Between them, a gentle silence spread—and the scent of wood.
The completed desk was solid, efficient, and beautiful.
Seto had designed it; Atem had polished it. The result was something like a crystallization of both their thinking.
"Well, Atem. How's the finish?"
"…Perfect. Strong enough to withstand my speed of thought."
"Your standards for furniture are very specific."
"You also prioritize durability and efficiency above everything else, don't you?"
"I won't deny it."
They pulled out chairs and sat at opposite ends of the desk. The wax was freshly applied. The wood still smelled new. Dusk light moved across the surface like something sliding.
"Seto. What do you think a desk is for?"
"Work, thought, organization—depends on its use."
"I see. But I think: a desk is a tool for locating where your heart is."
"Where your heart is?"
"Yes. Whose side you want to sit on, how close you want to be—that changes what a desk means."
Seto raised his chin slightly and let his gaze slide to Atem.
"Is your seat far?"
"…No. Closer than I expected."
"That's because I adjusted it at the design stage."
"What did you adjust?"
"The width. So that if you reach out, you can just reach my papers."
"…You calculated the dimensions for that?"
"Theoretically, it increases joint work efficiency."
"Theoretically."
"Any problem with that?"
"No. It just feels like love got mixed into the theory."
Seto's pen paused for a moment, and faint laughter escaped.
"I have no memory of mixing in love."
"But it ended up mixed in. Was that part of the calculation too?"
"…You really are a genius at analyzing things emotionally."
He said it, and smiled.
At the center of the desk sat a single piece of paper—documents Seto had left there. Atem caught the edge with his fingertips and held it out quietly.
"Seto, is this part of a joint theory too?"
"No. An unfinished project plan."
"Then let me sign it. As joint research."
"Research into what?"
"The meaning of being together."
Seto raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Too abstract a theme."
"But with you, it can take shape."
They exchanged signatures in silence. The pressure of their pens left both their thoughts carved into the grain of the wood.
"Seto. I think a desk is both a boundary and a point of contact."
"Boundary?"
"A line that divides two worlds, and at the same time a line that connects them."
"…Poetic. Then this is…"
"Yes. Our new gate."
Atem traced the surface of the desk. Seto nodded in silence.
"As long as this desk exists, we can always think—and be connected."
"So to you, this desk is…"
"The shape of being together."
Seto looked at the desk surface for a while, then said quietly:
"Then let me add one more thing, from my theory."
"Go on."
"I designed it so that if you place your hand in the center—it reaches both our hearts."
"…You could have said that first."
Both their hands came to rest at the center of the desk. When they touched, the warmth of the wood carried something like breath between them.
"Hey, Seto."
"What."
"The desk is done. What do we make next?"
"Let's see… shall we make a bed?"
"…Is that practical, or a metaphor?"
"How you take it is up to you."
Laughter broke across the wood grain, and the night descended slowly.
Their craftsman's philosophy continued, quietly, today as well.
Late night.
The room's lights were down. Only the desk was softly lit—the desk lamp Seto had calibrated. Its focus was drawn precisely: only their fingertips and the papers they were working on.
"Seto, this theory… it's interesting."
"The definition of coexisting intellects?"
"Yes. Individual forms preserved while in resonance—it's just like us."
"Self-congratulation?"
"I'm just stating facts."
The sound of a pen continued in the silence. The sound of turning pages, the soft cadence of breath—it all settled into a comfortable rhythm.
"Seto. Don't you think that sharing knowledge is something like offering a piece of your heart?"
"…Are you saying you're offering me your heart?"
"When you put it like that, I get a little embarrassed…"
"Your reasoning is too sweet sometimes."
"Then neutralize it with your composure."
"I can't guarantee I can neutralize it."
Seto's gaze left the paper for just a moment and touched Atem's profile. Light moved through his hair, lit his eyes. In a space of pure reason, a small warmth emerged.
"…Seto."
"What."
"Let's draw today's conclusion on the meaning of being together."
"You're impatient. The experiment is still in progress."
"Intuitively, I feel like I've already touched the answer."
"Let's hear it."
Atem set down his pen and placed his hand at the center of the desk.
"Being together is when silence holds."
"…Mm."
"A state where both our thoughts continue, even without words."
Seto smiled, just a little.
"That's like you."
"Am I wrong?"
"No, you're right. But let me add one thing."
"What."
"What makes silence possible is trust. There aren't many people you can stay in silence with without breaking it."
Atem was quiet for a moment, then gave a small nod.
"…Then we're something rare."
"We are."
The lamp on the desk flickered faintly. A night breeze brushed the curtain and carried in the scent of wood.
The pen began to move again.
What was being written there was not a formula—but a promise.
"Seto. What do we research next?"
"Sustained happiness would suit you as a theme."
"Sounds difficult."
"But with you, it can be solved."
"DIT!"
Their shadows overlapped across the desk as the night slowly dissolved the boundary between intellect and love.
On the desk, a quiet joint study continued still.
