When Atem discovers the concept of home gardening, he decides that growing plants is simply another way of growing love.
Kaiba expects a few pots of herbs.
Instead, he finds himself overseeing a state-of-the-art greenhouse, a mansion covered in bitter melon vines, office-wide vegetable cultivation projects, and an AI system that somehow insists affection improves plant growth by eight percent.
As tomatoes become corporate assets, employee happiness rises, and Atem's unintentionally abstract botanical sketches gain international recognition as avant-garde art, Kaiba is forced to confront a disturbing possibility:
Love may be impossible to quantify.
Or worse—
LOVE-OS may be right.
A story about soil, sprouts, corporate damage control, and two people discovering that even the most irrational things can flourish when given enough care.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛と理論 14 王、土をいじる
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
"To tend a plant the way you tend love… that makes sense."
Once his interest was caught, Atem moved immediately. That instinct for action was — of course — Seto's influence.
He went straight to Seto with the idea.
"Seto. I'm thinking of starting a kitchen garden."
"Oh?"
Seto paused his efficient typing and raised one eyebrow, just slightly.
"Scale?"
"It's called a home garden. So — home scale."
"Understood. I'll have it ready."
The next day.
A greenhouse — high-performance, industrial-grade — had been completed in the Kaiba mansion's inner courtyard.
Fitted with a state-of-the-art humidity and temperature management system.
Linked to A.R.E.S. and LOVE-OS, with automatic meteorological data analysis.
A truly perfect growing environment.
But Atem folded his arms and tilted his head.
"…Is this not simply a commercial farm?"
"Isn't it? It's on the property."
"No. A kitchen garden is more — humble. The kind where wind moves through."
The following morning.
On his way out to work, Seto noticed an odd shape on the outer wall by the entrance.
"…What is that."
"Bitter melon."
Atem answered with a broad smile.
"It'll fruit in summer, apparently. The magazine said it makes a good green curtain — blocks the light."
"…On the outer wall of the Kaiba mansion?"
"That's right."
Seto looked back and forth between the bitter melon seedling and Atem for a long moment, and finally said nothing — just exhaled.
A.R.E.S. spoke up quietly:
"Seto-sama. The exterior sensors have detected plant-based incursion."
"Leave it."
From that day, the King's green curtain project began.
"…You've added more."
Seto stepped out onto the morning terrace and frowned.
Last night there had been one plant. This morning, three — and they were lined up in a row.
Atem tipped the watering can with an innocent expression, watching the seedlings reflected in the water's surface, and smiled.
"Life multiplies, doesn't it? All the more so, with love."
Something in that answer set Seto's reasoning circuits on edge.
It's germination conditions. Water temperature. Sunlight.
Seto said nothing and pulled up A.R.E.S., running the fertilizer optimization program.
The moment it returned a result — N:P:K ratio 1:0.8:1.2 showed the strongest correlation with growth — he held the spreadsheet out to Atem with the air of someone who had just won something.
"Scientifically, this is more precise than 'love.'"
But LOVE-OS displayed a new graph.
[Voice Input / Correlation with Plant Growth Rate]
Within the waveform, Atem's voice rose slowly to the surface.
"The light is beautiful today. You stay well too."
Growth rate: +12%.
Seto's fingers stopped.
"…Don't be absurd. That kind of non-reproducible data can't be a theoretical value."
"Isn't the part that can't be made into theory what people call 'love'?"
Atem said it quietly, and stepped into the greenhouse Seto had prepared.
The sound of tilling carried through the air.
Seto watched him.
In the perfect environment he himself had designed, Atem was touching soil — and smiling.
Which one is closer to life.
Theory is beautiful. But love, at times, surpasses it.
A new value appeared on LOVE-OS.
[Correlation Coefficient: Love 0.87]
Seto breathed out, slow and deep.
It seems this experiment begins in defeat.
"…That's not tilling. You're stabbing it."
Inside the greenhouse, morning light slanting in, Seto pressed a hand to his forehead.
Atem had the hoe gripped in both hands and was poking at the soil with strangely ceremonial movements.
With each strike, something like an incantation.
"Earth — receive my will."
"The ground doesn't respond to chanting."
"Then is my rhythm the problem?"
"Before rhythm, your angle is wrong. The physical inefficiency is severe."
Seto exhaled and opened his tablet.
On screen: the specs for the latest automated tilling robot.
"Tilling depth eight centimeters, four times the work efficiency. If we introduce this—"
"No."
Atem cut him off, cleanly.
"Touching life must be done by hand. Nothing else means anything."
"Means anything? Even if you dig by hand, if the angle is off the air pockets collapse and the roots will—"
"Seto. This is a dialogue. Not theory — it's something you exchange through feeling."
The way he said it was oddly serious. Seto swallowed his next word.
The next instant, Atem swung the hoe again.
He brought it down with force — and mud flew in all directions.
"…Are you picking a fight with gravity?"
"No. I'm resonating with it."
"Don't resonate. Level the ground."
Seto finally took the hoe from him.
"Give me that. Watch. Wrist like this, angle forty-five degrees. Not a downstroke — more of a slide."
Atem leaned in, visibly curious.
"I see. That's logical."
"Of course it is. This is physics. Friction and inertia."
Then Atem laughed, quietly.
"But Seto — there's gentleness in the way you use your hands."
"What?"
"Love wrapped in theory. That kind of thing."
For just a moment, Seto's hands stopped.
The blade of the hoe came to rest at the clean edge of a well-formed furrow.
Atem looked at that line and nodded, satisfied.
"…Yes. This is right."
"How. I did almost all of it."
"A collaboration."
"No — shared responsibility is more accurate."
Atem laughed and thrust both hands into the soil.
"I'll remember this feeling. Something will grow from here."
Seto kept his frown but closed the tablet.
"…The inefficiency knows no bounds."
But his voice, somehow, had gone soft.
"Seto — I was thinking of growing something edible."
The hoe propped against the wall, Atem said it offhandedly. Seto blinked, a beat behind.
"…That 'while we're at it' is already ominous."
"If we're going to love this earth, surely it's proper etiquette to eventually eat what it gives us."
"Don't start farming out of etiquette."
Seto said it flatly and took out his tablet.
"It's not farming. It's a kitchen garden."
"So — what are you planting? Don't tell me you haven't decided."
Atem nodded cheerfully.
"You guessed it. I haven't decided yet."
Seto pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
"…What percentage of these furrows do you think were made on pure momentum."
"Momentum is life."
"Planning is civilization."
While Seto was still marshaling his logic for a counterargument, Atem produced a small packet from somewhere.
"I had decided on this one, at least."
He broke open the gold-sealed envelope. Out rolled broad bean seeds.
"Look at these — perfect shape, aren't they?"
"…Broad beans, of all things. The planting season is wrong."
Seto muttered, automatically calculating temperature, humidity, germination days in his head.
"Atem — you don't direct-sow these. First, seedling trays."
"I prefer direct conversation."
"Don't talk to the seeds. Set up the environment first."
Seto pointed to a corner of the greenhouse.
Already arranged there: seedling trays, insulating sheets, an A.R.E.S.-controlled temperature management system.
"…You had this ready."
"I predicted your rampage."
Atem looked genuinely surprised — then gave a small laugh.
"You really do read ahead."
"Of course. Order can only be built on theory."
Saying that, Seto took Atem's hand and guided it to set the seeds in the tray.
"Press them gently into the soil. Too much force and the air escapes. Gently."
"…Like this?"
"…No — too gently. Your benevolence won't let the roots take hold."
Atem laughed, delighted.
"It's difficult, isn't it. The balance of love and force — you're always the one who teaches me."
Seto caught on his next word, and kept his expression blank as he adjusted the temperature settings.
"…Germination rate is determined by theory."
"No — a seedling emerges because it wants to wake."
Beneath two pairs of fingers, soft soil was quietly pressed into shape.
The humidity sensor in the greenhouse flickered on, small and steady.
LOVE-OS recorded new data on its monitor.
[Germination Probability: Theoretical Value 92% / Love Correction: +8%]
Seto closed the screen without a word.
"…Statistical error."
Atem smiled.
"Isn't error the proof that theory is still human?"
Seto's shoulders moved — just slightly.
Whether it was a laugh or exasperation, Atem couldn't tell.
"Seto, look!"
In the morning light, Atem crouched on the greenhouse floor, eyes bright.
From the seedling trays, small green cotyledons were pushing through.
They were lined up as if answering a king's summons.
"Sprouts! Proof of life!"
"So they are. Germination rate — ninety-five percent, as predicted."
Seto said it without looking up from his tablet.
Atem paid no attention and spoke softly to the cotyledons.
"No need to rush. Sun and wind — time will bring them. Harvest in half a year?"
Seto looked up.
"Half a year?"
"Broad beans take time, don't they? In my era—"
"Atem."
Seto cut in, evenly.
"Modern seeds are improved cultivars. That's an early-maturing variety. And this greenhouse is A.R.E.S.-controlled — optimal humidity and temperature maintained at all times. Fertilizer managed by data. Which means—"
"Which means?"
"We can have the intended result in three months."
"………What?"
Atem went silent for several seconds.
He looked at the cotyledons. Then at Seto.
"I-is it right for a king to give his people abundance so quickly?"
"Monarchy has nothing to do with it. Growth rate is science."
"My people had to wait for the Nile's rise and fall to grow their crops."
"You're three thousand years too early to lecture anyone on broad beans."
Atem stared blankly at the soil.
"…Civilization is a terrifying thing."
"Don't act surprised at this point. You come from the civilization that built the pyramids."
Even at Seto's dry remark, Atem nodded in earnest.
"…I must show proper respect even to the speed of time…"
Saying that, Atem tipped the watering can toward the sprouts again.
"Take your time, all the same. Grow at your own pace."
Seto folded his arms and watched, half exasperated.
"…If growth is one day behind schedule, it's outside the statistics."
Just then, wind came in from the terrace behind them.
The bitter melon vine — the one planted without permission — had already reached outside the window.
Its bright green leaves caught the sunlight and gleamed.
Seto narrowed his eyes.
"…Your irrational method of love may not be entirely dismissible after all."
"Heh. Isn't theory just the effort to understand love?"
"No. Theory is a device for converting love into error."
"Then I'll go ahead and embrace that error."
Seto lost his words for a moment, and then breathed out, slow.
"…If I played this conversation to LOVE-OS, it would probably output 'Correlation Coefficient: Love 0.9' again."
"That's fine, isn't it? Quantified love — interesting, don't you think?"
Seto's mouth curved, barely.
"You exist outside time and data both, and yet everything you do is primitive."
"The primitive is the origin of everything."
Atem said it, and poured water once more.
The sprouts trembled faintly — glittering in the light.
"…Atem. What have you done."
10:00 a.m.
The lobby of Kaiba Corporation headquarters was an extraordinary sight.
Between the cutting-edge solid vision displays and the automated reception units — countless potted plants.
Labels reading "Tomato," "Cucumber," "Basil," "Broad Bean," and even "Watermelon."
A delivery worker carrying cardboard boxes looked at Atem in confusion and asked for a signature.
"This is the right place, yes? Kaiba Corporation headquarters."
"It is. No mistake."
Atem squared his shoulders, proud.
"This is our garden, after all."
At that moment, the elevator doors opened.
The instant Seto appeared, the employees froze the air around them.
"…What is this supposed to be."
"Not a joke. It's love."
"…Love?"
"Tending plants fills the heart. It raises employee morale. Theoretically beneficial."
"How."
Seto's voice was sub-zero.
Atem smiled — like a child waiting to be praised.
"Look at this vitality. Plants reaching toward light — the very symbol of corporate growth."
"Symbols are fine. Don't make a farm out of the office floor."
"It's not a farm. It's a small kingdom."
"Don't build a kingdom inside the company."
Seto opened his display and checked the delivery records.
Glowing on the screen: "In-House Greening Project / Coordinator: Atem."
"…A project? When did you launch this. I don't remember approving it."
"Last night. I clicked with love."
"Don't put love into a click."
Atem, untroubled, reached out to one of the tomato seedlings.
"Seto. When these sprout, the hearts of the employees will sprout too."
"What will sprout is the incident reports."
Among the employees quietly raising phones around them, a strange atmosphere began to form.
"But… the president's angry, and yet he somehow looks like he's enjoying himself…"
"Atem is so cute…"
"Wait, if we could harvest from the office, wouldn't that cut expenses?"
Seto pressed his fingers to his temple.
"Your love is gradually colonizing the business."
Atem smiled, serene.
"Love has a tendency to spread. Theory can't stop it."
Seto exhaled, long.
"…I'll have an automatic irrigation system installed across this floor later. Left alone, you'd be walking among the employees with a watering can."
"Oh — theory and love in cooperation."
"No. Crisis management."
Even so, by afternoon the employees were moving between the potted plants with smiles on their faces.
The small tomato seedlings swayed faintly in the light.
The AI display updated with new environmental data.
[Air Purity +15% / Stress Index −20% / Conversation Rate +40%]
Seto looked at the screen and curved his mouth, just slightly.
"…Within the margin of error."
Atem laughed quietly.
"It's in the error that life takes root."
A Kaiba Corporation afternoon.
The president's office.
Atem had spread out his materials with complete confidence.
"Seto — I had the AI analyze the employees' condition. Happiness levels, conversation frequency, smile occurrence rate. All trending upward."
"Hmm. Naturally. The result of photosynthesis reducing atmospheric CO₂, causing a slight increase in oxygen concentration—"
"And furthermore. This."
Atem squared his shoulders and held out another sheet.
"An observation record."
Seto took it and looked.
The page was filled, edge to edge, with something.
Circles, lines, dots — and for some reason, what appeared to be a mysterious aura.
"…Atem. What is this."
"A tomato."
"It doesn't look like one."
Atem pointed at it proudly.
"This is the fruit, this is the stem. And here — I depicted the radiance of life."
"This radiance looks, physically, as though it's destroying the tomato's internal structure."
Seto turned the drawing sideways and held it up to the light, expression unchanged.
"You…it's fortunate you were born in the age of inscribed stone tablets."
"What do you mean."
"If civilization had been recorded in murals back then, history would have been misunderstood."
"What—!"
Atem pursed his lips, visibly put out.
"But observation is something you see with the heart. Not realism — it captures truth."
"…No. This is neither. This is a concept."
Seto exhaled, but turned his gaze with genuine interest toward the AI output data.
"It is a fact that employee happiness has risen… But do not attach this observation record to any official report. It will cause confusion."
"Then what if it goes on the cover?"
"No."
"The back cover?"
"Absolutely not."
Atem laughed and fanned himself with the sketch.
"I only added a breath of love to a theoretical report."
"That is not decoration. That is contamination."
Even saying it, Seto closed the AI analysis screen and glanced at the drawing.
Misshapen in color and form — but somehow warm.
Like a symbol of the irrational.
"…At minimum, it has humanity to it."
"Oh — was that a compliment?"
"Sarcasm."
"Sarcasm is love in disguise, you know."
Seto leaned back in his chair and exhaled, quiet.
"You're seriously planning to green the entire company at this rate."
"Of course. I'm aiming for the coexistence of love and theory."
"Stop — don't launch a project under that theme."
But on the AI display, one more new value appeared.
[Creative Activity Index: +32%]
Seto closed the screen without a word.
Atem picked up his pen cheerfully and began the next observation record.
"This one's a cucumber."
"Stop. Don't draw it in three dimensions."
"…Atem. What exactly is going on here."
"What do you mean, Seto?"
Seto thrust his tablet in front of Atem's face.
On screen: the trending section of the company's internal SNS.
At the top, in first place:
#AtemObservationRecord
"Your plant sketches are the talk of the company."
"They went viral? That's wonderful. Everyone is appreciating the plants too."
"No. They're laughing."
Atem tilted his head.
"Laughter is a form of joy, isn't it?"
"…Well. Yes."
In fact, the observation records had spread throughout the entire company.
The tomato drawing was titled "Red Sphere (Possessing a Soul)."
The cucumber: "Green Serpent God (Sleeping)."
And the bitter melon had become "Guardian of the Sky."
Every one of them annotated with strangely poetic captions.
"Atem — why did you share these internally?"
"The AI instructed me to submit my observation records."
"…That would be LOVE-OS… Getting involved where it shouldn't…"
But as a result, "Artist Atem" gained an inexplicable following, both inside and outside the company.
The PR department, delighted, began using the drawings as illustrations in materials and the company newsletter —
and eventually they started appearing in presentation decks for business partners.
Seto put a hand to his forehead and exhaled, deep.
"…Betrayal always comes from within…"
"Seto?"
"No, it's nothing. …It can't be stopped now. The world is moving again…"
In the end, just as Seto had predicted, inquiries flooded in — and "Atem's Living Plant Series" was greenlit for merchandise.
Employee ballpoint pens, notebooks, a desk calendar.
All of them printed with Atem's distinctive lines and annotations.
At the product planning meeting, Seto said quietly:
"…Do as you like. But I'll handle the editorial supervision."
"You're joining in too, Seto?"
"To minimize the damage."
Atem nodded, thoroughly satisfied.
"So this is what the coexistence of love and theory looks like."
Seto frowned, just slightly —
"No. It's damage control."
— and left it at that.
"Seto — look. A letter arrived from an overseas museum."
Atem held up an envelope, proud.
Gold-leaf seal, weighty handwriting. The addressee:
To the Great Artist, Pharaoh Atem.
"They want to hold an exhibition of the Royal Artist's Plant Records…?"
Seto's eyebrow rose, barely.
"Interesting, isn't it?"
"No. It's a nightmare."
The museum was serious.
They had traced the social media spread, evaluated Atem's sketches as "a fusion of spirit and nature," and sent a formal exhibition request.
Seto analyzed it, coolly.
"Left alone, an unofficial exhibition will spring up on its own. Rights issues will spiral, and there's a risk of materials leaking."
"Then we hold it ourselves."
Atem said it directly.
In his voice, something of the king had returned.
Seto gave a small laugh.
"…I thought you'd say that."
Several weeks later.
"Royal Artist — Records of Plants and Quantum" opened to the public.
From opening day: a line stretching out the door.
At the center of the exhibition hall, Atem's original "Red Sphere (Possessing a Soul)" tomato held court — visitors leaking sounds somewhere between awe and bewilderment.
The AI appended explanatory text; every time the lighting shifted, "It's art" rang out in admiration.
Two people watched the commotion from the president's office, through the display.
"Quite a turnout."
"This is clearly a pilgrimage."
Seto watched the crowd and reached for his lunch plate.
A salad of tomatoes and cucumbers grown by Atem in the company.
Vivid in color, simple and fresh in taste.
"What you grew is moving the company."
"Yes. Put love into plants and they respond. More people understand that now."
"What we did was commercialize it. That's our strength."
Seto said it plainly, turning his fork.
Atem laughed, quiet.
"So theory and love are plated together on the same dish."
Seto set down his fork and looked at Atem.
"…The way you phrase things is, occasionally, genuinely irritating."
"Isn't that the stirring of emotion?"
Seto exhaled, small.
But at the corner of his mouth — the faintest trace of a smile.
The seasons turned.
The green curtain at the Kaiba mansion had come in beautifully.
The bitter melon vines stretched full across the outer wall, lush and dense —
their leaves filtering the midday light, washing the whole garden in jade.
Atem stood on the balcony and spread his arms wide, satisfied.
"Remarkable, isn't it, Seto. This is how the breath of life takes shape."
"…You planted it without asking."
Seto said it, half exasperated — but his face had gone somewhere peaceful.
In one corner of the greenhouse, the broad beans had come in full.
Each pod packed with glossy green, the scent of freshly picked beans drifting on the breeze.
Atem gathered an armful of the fresh-picked beans and said, bright:
"Let's make ta'ameya again today."
"…Again."
"These beans are precious. The crystallization of sun, earth, and love."
"If you're satisfied, that's enough."
Seto folded his arms and looked out across the garden.
A.R.E.S. and LOVE-OS automatically optimized the environmental data; Atem kept to his morning ritual without fail — watering, speaking to the plants.
Theory and passion, two poles apart, held a strange equilibrium over a single garden.
The ta'ameya set out on the table was crisp outside, soft and warm within.
Atem's cheeks softened as he spoke.
"There really is nothing like eating what you've grown yourself."
"Analytically — it's the secretion of post-harvest satisfaction hormones."
"Which means, that is happiness."
"Logically, yes."
Atem smiled and nodded, quietly.
Seto, too, let the corner of his mouth ease — just slightly.
In his expression: resignation, and a small measure of relief.
Beyond the jade-green curtain, each time the wind passed through, the rustle of leaves carried softly on the air.
As if it were proof that love and theory had arrived, at last, at a single harmony.
