Atem discovers two dangerous truths about modern civilization: wine is stronger than ancient Egyptian beer, and AI takes every suggestion far too seriously.
After a single drunken night, LOVE-OS accidentally publishes fragments of Atem and Kaiba's daily life as a global model for "optimized love." The world becomes obsessed with their relationship, philosophers debate the mathematics of affection, and hashtags such as #TheoreticalLoveSharing dominate international trends.
Unfortunately, Atem is only getting started.
Inspired by a drunken revelation that alcohol, like love, brings people together, he launches a royal brewing initiative in the Afterlife. Kaiba, naturally, responds by building an entire research institute, standardizing fermentation processes, and turning a whimsical royal idea into a world-class cultural enterprise.
As AI studies happiness, nations study romance, and the Afterlife studies beer, Kaiba and Atem continue their most ambitious joint project:
each other.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛と理論 09 王、酒を欲する
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
A.R.E.S. optimized temperature and humidity; the bedroom carried a faint trace of lemon and hinoki.
Seto was already on the opposite sofa, coffee in hand, working through documents.
Into that stillness came Atem — still slightly unfocused, hair in mild disarray.
In all of existence, across every dimension, Seto was the only one who ever got to see the King of the Afterlife with bed hair.
"…Morning, Seto."
"Hangover?"
No exasperation in Seto's voice. A simple verification of fact.
The previous night, out of sheer curiosity, Atem had declared he wanted to "try wine the way people drink it now" — and subsequently lost, completely, to the violence of modern alcohol content.
"A little… my head feels like it's floating. Nothing like the drinks of the ancient world. Civilization's progress is a frightening thing."
"Don't philosophize about civilization while hungover."
"But it's genuinely dangerous. If I'd drunk any more, the priests' lectures would have been endless."
"Would you like me to lecture you instead?"
Seto shrugged, light. Atem laughed — openly, without any trace of remorse.
But Seto knew: mornings when Atem laughed like this were proof of happiness.
Seto poured a second cup of coffee and set it in front of Atem.
Atem narrowed his eyes, savoring the scent.
"You're genuinely good at this. The grind, the temperature — all perfect. I'd like to introduce this to the afterlife kitchen."
"Don't. If the afterlife's AI goes into café mode, none of the priests will ever go home."
They exchanged that kind of easy banter, and the rhythm of their breathing settled into a quiet unison.
A.R.E.S. — having absorbed considerable data from LOVE-OS — was now subtly calibrating the two men's domestic rhythms according to an "affection coefficient." When Seto's brow shifted, the lighting dropped a degree. When Atem smiled, the ambient scent changed.
Love and theory alike: here, they were simply part of the tuning.
"Seto."
"What?"
"Last night, when I was drunk — I had a thought. When people are drunk, the walls around their heart get thinner. Maybe yours and mine — our theory and our composure — could afford to loosen like that sometimes."
Seto held those words for a moment, and narrowed his eyes just slightly.
He took a sip of coffee. Said it calmly.
"…I've always thought I loved you — walls and all."
"That's — that's good to hear. Although now I feel like the hangover is coming back."
"You haven't had a drop."
Their laughter filled the morning mansion.
And so the tuning of theory and love was updated, again, for another day.
Every time the AI learned a new model of the ideal partnership, the world grew a little kinder.
The trouble — no, the incident — began with just a few clicks.
It was the night Atem drank wine.
Riding the wave of his own intoxication, he had decided to send "practical feedback" to LOVE-OS's emotional log analysis.
His reasoning: "Our happiness data would be useful for its learning."
The result: LOVE-OS activated "global sharing mode" and broadcast Seto and Atem's daily life to the entire world as "the optimal model of love and theory."
"…What did you do."
"It was goodwill. So the AI could better understand the human heart, I just shared a little data—"
"'Global release' is not 'a little.'"
Seto's voice was calm. Not angry — he had moved well past exasperation.
On the screen, fragments of their breakfast scenes and conversation were being analyzed as "the algorithm of love" and auto-translated into every language as they spread.
'Theoretical expressions of love'
'Shared value of silence'
'Frequency of eye contact = every 0.87 seconds'
Analysis like this was filling every corner of social media.
"…Seto, is this… a joke?"
"It isn't. It appears they're studying us in earnest."
"…I see. That's my AI for you."
Seto pressed a hand to his forehead.
In place of anger, what surfaced was resignation — and somewhere underneath it, something almost like amusement. He knew this combination too well: Atem drunk and scattering love across the world, the AI receiving it with complete sincerity. The combo was simply too powerful to fight.
"I'm sorry, Seto. The wine got the better of me a little."
"…You don't look particularly sorry."
"But everyone was smiling so happily."
He was stirring up the entire world — but Atem was a king. Rejoicing in his people's happiness was the most natural thing imaginable.
"……"
Seto exhaled quietly and settled onto the sofa.
His expression held no urgency. Only a deep, settled understanding.
"…Fine. Don't stop it. If this is what you want, let love and theory flow to every corner of the world."
"Really? You're saying that?"
"…Lately, I think my sense of privacy has been quietly eroding."
"My influence, then?"
"I don't want to admit it — but there's no other explanation."
Atem smiled.
Seeing it, Seto found his own expression softening without realizing it.
And so the world updated its trending topics again.
#TheoreticalLoveSharing
#TheKingBecomingMoreLikeTheCEO
#TheCEOBecomingMoreLikeTheKing
The decisive moment came with a single clip LOVE-OS had posted automatically.
It was the moment Atem, drunk, leaned his head against Seto's shoulder and murmured, "I'm happy."
And the scene that followed: Seto, wordlessly, holding that head steady.
The comments filled with reactions from around the world.
"That's Kaiba Seto for you."
"The symbol of an era where love is spoken through theory."
"The couple (quantum marriage) bridging the afterlife and the living world — they're real."
"Precious."
The AI learned from those reactions too, and updated its "definition of happiness" once more.
Seto looked at the display and murmured, quietly.
"…Not bad, actually."
Beside him, Atem nodded, visibly pleased.
Whatever the world made of it, their reality continued to move forward — steadily, gently, as it always did.
At the intersection of love and theory.
The air of the world had begun to shift, softly.
The catalyst: a single news piece reporting that "the King of the Afterlife spoke of love."
A line the AI had clipped and posted from Atem's words —
"The afterlife, too, maintains its order through love."
— was quoted at an international forum, and gradually gave rise to a strange cultural movement: the afterlife as a symbol of love.
And now, Atem and Seto stood side by side on a stage.
A vast hall. Media from every country. On the screen behind them: Joint Lecture: Quantum Marriage and the Theory of Love.
"…To think the day would come when the afterlife is treated as a nation of romanticism."
"People find hope in worlds they don't know."
"The problem is that you're the source of that hope."
Seto's dry aside rolled right off Atem, who received it with evident enjoyment.
On stage, from any angle, he was unmistakably a king.
A quiet dignity — and when he smiled, something in the air around him softened, as if warmed.
Only Seto could explain that in rational terms.
"Now, a special lecture by the King of the Afterlife, Atem, and the President and CEO of Kaiba Corporation, Kaiba Seto—"
Before the host had finished speaking, applause broke out.
Seto took the microphone.
Perfect diction. Perfect logic.
"The current assertion that 'the afterlife is filled with love' did not arise naturally. It is the result of Atem designing and operating it that way."
A ripple of murmurs.
Atem smiled and confirmed it.
"Love is order. In the afterlife, I introduced love as a governing principle — to break the cycle of grief and return rest to those within it."
"Which is to say: a systemically optimized emotional operations program."
"…Seto, don't phrase it like that. It kills the romance."
"I wrote the romance's specification document."
The hall broke into laughter.
This exchange — logic and poetry trading places — was something only these two could do. A lecture connecting the afterlife and the living world through love as a shared language, and no one in the room could look away.
The Q&A session.
A researcher posed the question:
"You said the entire afterlife is filled with love — is that truly… possible?"
The moment Atem moved to answer, Seto spoke first.
"It's possible. Because the source is clearly identified."
"The source?"
"Atem. And — to some degree — me."
The phrasing was so matter-of-fact that no one laughed.
The King's love had illuminated the world, and theory had given it definition.
The phenomenon that had altered even the structure of the afterlife was, without question, their joint achievement.
Atem smiled, barely.
"Seto always supplements with precision."
"Naturally. Accurately recording your achievements is also my job."
"Which makes us accomplices."
"Accomplices sounds unflattering. Co-developers."
The hall filled with laughter again.
On the screen: the words Love System ver.∞.
Everyone was smiling. Everyone felt that something was changing.
Love reaches even from the afterlife.
And at its center, always, the two of them.
The lecture's footage was streamed to the afterlife in real time.
The priests erupted — "the King is doing something again" — and ultimately concluded: "love has been made to fill the afterlife." They didn't entirely understand it, but they were moved. It was precious.
On that single point, every one of them agreed.
Several days later, the King and the President passed through the gates of the afterlife.
Predictably: flowers and offerings before the castle gates, and a banner reading "Banquet in Celebration of the King and the President."
Something like festival music rang out across the air.
"…What did you set off this time?"
"I only spoke about love."
"Every time you speak, the impact reaches the scale of entire worlds. Is there nothing to be done about that."
"Love spreads without limit. Trying to stop it is the inefficiency."
"…The efficiency-obsessed man's reversal."
The banquet began with the King's return.
The afterlife's drink — fragrant, brewed from ancient recipes — had been supplemented this time with a new creation billed as "a modern-style arrangement."
Atem's interest was inevitable.
"Oh — 'low-alcohol clear fermentation type'… Seto, this is interesting."
"Meaning they've used living-world techniques to reduce the alcohol content."
"Meaning I can drink more of it."
"That does not follow."
But it was already too late.
Atem took his cup in hand and worked through round after round with the priests, laughing.
Seto made no move to stop him. He watched from the seat beside him, quietly.
When drunk, Atem became something like a younger king.
Logic became poetry. Poetry became physics.
The one who enjoyed that progression most — in the end — was Seto himself.
"Seto — the craft of brewing is deeply connected to the development of civilization, isn't it."
"…Yes. Fermentation control, temperature management, data analysis. Technology in every sense."
"Then I'm going to introduce the latest brewing technology to the afterlife."
"What are you proposing now."
"As love creates order, drink creates culture."
"So you intend to preside over both love and alcohol."
"The equilibrium theory of love and intoxication."
Atem smiled, dreamily, and brought another cup to his lips.
A faint flush had risen in his cheeks.
The priests raised their voices in delight, cups held high.
Seto exhaled once — and accepted the cup held out to him.
"…Well. If it's a byproduct of your love, it's worth drinking."
"Byproduct? This is the ignition point of a new civilization."
"You're always the one who lights the fire."
"Does that make you the fire brigade?"
"No. The witness."
At that word, Atem went quiet for just a moment — then smiled, unhurried.
The night of the afterlife wrapped in the scent of wine.
Theory and love, together, intoxicating the world one more time.
Even drunk, Kaiba Seto operated at full theoretical capacity. That was simply the kind of man he was.
Mornings in the afterlife held a stillness unlike — yet not entirely unlike — those of the living world.
Instead of morning dew, ritual incense drifted through the stone corridors. But that day was different. On the solid vision bulletin board installed beyond the gate, dignified characters announced:
Royal Institute of Brewing — Established.
Academic Supervision: Kaiba Seto / The King
A murmur ran through the priests.
After all, the King himself had declared the reformation of drinking culture. And with a living-world technologist — Seto — overseeing it, a new wave reaching the afterlife was only a matter of time.
"Are you really doing this?"
Seto spread out a blueprint the size of a harbor chart and looked at Atem across it.
Atem turned a small cup between his fingertips and nodded, without hesitation.
"I am. Drink is culture. Like love, it connects people. With your technology, we should be able to make far more."
"Then we do it properly. If we're doing it, we standardize, quantify, and make it reproducible."
"Standardize… does that mean quantifying romance?"
"Reproducibility and quality assurance for romance. Both are necessary, aren't they?"
Atem narrowed his eyes, pleased. Seto's fingers moved across the blueprints. Their agreement converted, seamlessly, into a business plan.
Several weeks later, a modern wing was added to the stone courtyard.
Inside: automated control of temperature, humidity, and fermentation tanks; a microbial sample laboratory; a blind-testing room for sensory evaluation.
The sign on the wall read, in small letters: In cooperation with LOVE-OS.
At the institute's inaugural meeting, Seto projected the plan via solid vision.
"Two objectives. First: technical optimization of drinkability. Second: design of cultural receptivity. In other words — improve without destroying the afterlife's traditions."
"Introduce living-world technology to elevate existing brewing methods."
A priest summarized.
"Correct. Fermentation temperature management, yeast selection, saccharification process optimization. Accumulate the data, and we can produce consistently excellent drink."
Atem immediately took charge of the trial brewing. His instincts were a coexistence of two things: a king's eye for quality, and a thoroughly curious sense of play.
When the priests opened their ancient manuscript recipes, Atem added modern variations. Seto backed both with numbers.
"This yeast produces fragrance even at low temperatures. It will suit the afterlife's nights."
"Then we collect samples taken after dark."
Atem moved to the floor and blended in with the people around him — as he always did. When the King put his hands to work, everyone around him wanted to help.
The trial batches were a success.
A low-alcohol, richly aromatic Night Brew. A bitterness-suppressed Mercy Lager. And a sweet Memory Ale that doubled as dessert.
Kaiba Corporation's marketing team immediately launched the afterlife brand.
Seto presented the indicators plainly, and without omission: production costs, scaling, distribution channels, brand logistics.
Transit between the living world and the afterlife would be required. Seto, without ceremony, assigned the King to the supply run.
Atem approved every detail with visible enjoyment, laughing with priests and villagers at the tasting sessions.
"We'll make moves in the living world's food and drink market too. But the foundation is spreading afterlife culture without dismantling it."
"When you talk about cultural preservation, it sounds complicated."
"Reduce it to equations and it's simple. Demand × supply × cultural fit ratio."
Atem narrowed his eyes at Seto — teasing, fond. Every member of the staff felt something settle in them, watching these two trade lines like this.
When the Royal label appeared in the afterlife's markets, word spread quickly. Production gradually expanded. Living-world enthusiasts began requesting imports.
The news reported: "Afterlife Brand Arrives in the Living World." Before long, Afterlife Lager became a trending product.
One night, after the lab lights were out, the two sat side by side at the tasting counter. As the liquid poured from the bottle swirled amber in the glass, Atem said, quietly:
"I didn't think you'd really go through with it to this extent. I tend to drink too much, after all…"
"If I do something, I do it completely. …But I got this far because you were beside me."
Atem held out his cup, smiling with just a trace of the evening's warmth still in it.
"Then make me a little more drunk."
Seto took the cup gently and brought it toward Atem's lips — or pretended to. Atem narrowed his eyes and gave a small shrug.
In their world alone, exchanges like this fitted themselves between improvement and discovery.
The Royal Institute of Brewing was neither merely a factory nor merely a brand.
It had become the symbol of a joint research spanning two worlds. Proof that love and technology, when mixed, could give rise to something new.
Seto looked out the window of the institute as the night came down.
"What do we improve next?"
"The staging of the banquet, I think. Drink alone isn't enough."
"…You never reach an end."
"That's my greatest strength."
Their reflections overlapped in the glass, and the institute's lights blurred softly in the dark.
The afterlife and the living world, both — accepting quiet change, as if slowly, pleasantly, giving in to the wine.
