Atem only wanted to grow a few vegetables.
Instead, he starts a home garden, covers Kaiba Manor in green curtains, turns Kaiba Corporation into an indoor farm, accidentally launches a global gardening movement, inspires bestselling observation journals, creates an international art phenomenon, and somehow introduces modern agriculture to the afterlife.
Meanwhile, Seto Kaiba insists that every success is the result of data, optimization, and proper environmental controls.
The world disagrees.
As broad beans conquer nations, museum exhibitions multiply, and Kaiba's cultivation notes become sacred texts in the Duat, the line between love and logic grows increasingly difficult to measure.
Or:
Atem plants a bean. The entire world follows.
This is a translation of an original work on Pixiv.
Original Title: 愛と理論 15 王、世界を耕す
Original Author: 葉人(@Hathor₋yuki)
Personal site: https://prideshipping.sakura.ne.jp
Surrounded by press, Atem answered quietly in the camera flashes.
"The motif of these paintings?"
"Plants I grew myself."
That single line moved the world again.
The following week, the social media trends read:
#TheKingsKitchenGarden
#GrowItAndDrawIt
#ObservationRecord
Across the world: balcony gardens, yard revivals, gardening supplies selling out everywhere.
Everyone had taken up a new way of living — drawing their own plants.
At Kaiba Corporation's logistics center, one product was literally flying off the shelves.
The Observation Record Notebook. Developed by Kaiba Corporation.
The cover bore gold-embossed lettering.
The pages faithfully reproduced the original format Atem had used first — columns for growth data, weather, and "what you felt."
Everything designed as a fusion of love and theory.
The developer's name, naturally: Kaiba Seto.
Several weeks later.
Seto appeared at a magazine's interview studio.
The reporter asked, visibly excited:
"How do you see this global boom, Mr. President?"
"It's not a boom. Humanity has simply reclaimed its interaction with nature."
"And your intention behind developing the Observation Record Notebook?"
"The conversion of emotion into data. Even sentiment, once quantified, can be translated into growth rate."
The reporter nodded, pointing to the notebook on the desk.
"If you wouldn't mind — could you draw something you've been growing?"
Seto frowned slightly and picked up the pen.
"A drawing?"
"Yes. Following the Royal Artist — we'd love to see the Presidential Artist."
Silence fell over the studio.
After a few seconds, Seto exhaled lightly and opened the notebook.
"The one who grew them was the king in question."
A smooth line traveled across white paper.
Within minutes, a remarkably precise sketch had appeared.
The cross-section of a tomato, the detail of leaf veins, the trajectory of roots — all laid out with systematic clarity.
The reporter caught their breath.
"…Mr. President, this is extraordinary."
"Of course. Observation is, in itself, the act of drawing."
The footage spread instantly.
The tag #PresidentialArtist was born, and technically precise illustration began to be recognized as an art genre in its own right.
On the way home, Seto looked out the company car window at the dusk and murmured:
"…It seems the world has started rolling in a troublesome direction again."
Atem smiled from the seat beside him.
"The world is something you cultivate, isn't it?"
Seto looked away.
"…At least keep the weeds out."
That was all he said.
A soft, dry laugh filled the car.
"Mr. President, requests are flooding in — they want an exhibition of your work next."
The head of PR delivered the report. Seto's eyebrow shifted, just slightly.
"…I am not an artist."
"Even so — they're asking for a Presidential Artist exhibition as a follow-up to the Royal Artist show. From inside and outside the company. And from overseas as well."
"Overseas… Do they have nothing better to do."
Seto lifted his eyes from the documents and exhaled.
Since the Royal Artist exhibition, Kaiba Corporation had come to be called a company fusing human emotion with theory — and as a result, the share price had risen and the media ran features on them every day.
But Seto himself had no interest in basking in that kind of heat.
"…Better to move first than let them do it unofficially."
Seto closed his organizer.
"Tell PR. I'll draw a limited number of originals for official merchandise. Frame it as 'lending them for exhibition.'"
"You'll draw them yourself, Mr. President?"
"That's what they're asking for, isn't it. Simpler than quantum computation."
A few days later.
On Seto's desk, several original drawings were laid out in order.
Every one of them drawn in Seto's characteristic precise lines — diagrams of "the correlation between plant structure and quantum vibration."
A beautiful, cold world where geometry and life intersect.
Several weeks after that.
An exhibition appeared suddenly across art scenes around the world.
Presidential Artist — Quantum Marriage Original Works Exhibition
Unofficial, of course.
But the quality of the display was flawless — AI commentary spoke at length about "the quantum state of love" and "interference through observation" — and visitors lined up day after day.
Atem watched the news and laughed.
"Seto, you're astonishing the world again."
"Not me. Some people with too much time on their hands did it without asking."
"But you drew them."
"The outcome was predictable."
Seto glanced at the visitor count and revenue data on the display, and closed the terminal.
"…The numbers aren't bad. No reason not to leave it alone."
Atem smiled and said:
"Love spilled from the hand that drew theory."
Seto gave a small laugh.
"A matter of pen pressure."
But his voice was somewhere soft.
Outside the window, the night breeze stirred quietly.
The sound of the green curtain's leaves carried through — distant, in a familiar rhythm.
An interview venue.
Several weeks after the success of the King's exhibition.
On the stage, Atem smiled gently and answered with ease.
"Of the plants you grew, which left the strongest impression?"
"The broad bean."
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because it was the first plant I grew from the soil up. Though the tilling, the watering, the daily management — almost all of that was Seto."
That single sentence stirred the room.
Press flashes fired all at once, and articles were running within seconds.
By the next morning, headlines filled the news sites:
Kaiba CEO — Leading Authority on Plant Cultivation
That evening. At Kaiba Corporation headquarters.
"…Explain yourself."
"I only stated the facts."
"I taught you how to till. The soil management system I introduced on a trial basis gave you instructions through the AI. Which means — you grew them."
"Without Seto's hands, the plants wouldn't have been at ease."
"Don't make claims without scientific basis."
"The basis for love is the same, isn't it?"
"Don't mix logic with emotion."
Banter and static-charged air collided.
Seto worked at his terminal, frowning just slightly.
"…Because of what you said, thirty-six interview requests have come in from agricultural publications."
"An honor."
"A nuisance."
Atem gave a small laugh and propped his elbow on Seto's desk.
"But Seto. The world moved again. Your hands tilled the soil of the world."
"…Keep the verbal cultivation to a minimum."
In the middle of all this, a new inquiry arrived from a publisher.
They wanted to turn Atem's observation notebook into a book — exactly as it was.
"Exactly as it is won't work. Half the observation records are personal essays."
"That's what readers want."
"What readers want is accurate data."
In the end, a compromise was adopted.
Illustrations and commentary: Atem. Annotations and footnotes: Seto.
The night of the production meeting, the two of them sat side by side leafing through the notebook.
"This entry — 'today the wind was gentle' — gets cut."
"Wind is part of the environment."
"The wind is outside the greenhouse. It can't be quantified."
"Feeling things is also a form of observation."
"You're the only one who calls that observation."
Each time Seto struck a key, Atem's pen moved across the page.
On one side of each spread: precise data. On the other: sketches carrying a distinctive, drifting quality.
Reason and sensibility, coexisting.
In that moment, the two notebooks together were something like a dialogue made visible.
The completed King's Observation Record Notebook sold out on the first day of release, as a matter of course.
The copies that vanished from bookstore shelves were reprinted almost immediately.
At the press interview, a reporter asked:
"What's the significance of the broad bean seeds included as a bonus?"
Atem laughed. Seto looked away, just slightly.
"Knowledge is a seed waiting to sprout. But what grows the sprout is love."
"…To add a note: the seeds are untreated, early-maturing variety, ninety-seven percent germination rate."
Laughter and applause from the room.
Both answers, in their own way, were right for the world.
The afterlife. The King's chamber.
White sand drifted through the air; stillness filled the windless space.
A priest came running in.
"Your Majesty!!!!!"
"…What is it. What has you so out of breath. Calm down."
"I cannot calm down! The King's Observation Record Notebook has arrived — in the afterlife!!"
"Ah, yes. So it has."
Atem rested his chin on the armrest of the throne and smiled, unhurried.
"And?"
"The priests — in their reverence — have declared, 'We shall begin cultivation in accordance with the King's teachings!'"
"Cultivation…?"
"Yes! They said 'let there be a garden of peace in the afterlife' — and started making a field!"
"…That sounds peaceful enough. Nothing to panic over."
"But! They saw 'the formula in the footnotes' — and everyone began copying it!!"
Atem stopped thinking for a moment.
The footnotes.
Meaning: the part Seto wrote.
"'The soil composition for maximizing synthesis efficiency'…?"
"Yes! Believing it to be 'a divine formula in the King's words,' they all began chanting it together — and the entire afterlife is now brightening!!"
Atem pressed a hand to his forehead.
"He got us… His rationality has finally brought vitality to the world beyond death."
Meanwhile, in the living world. Kaiba Corporation, the president's office.
Seto stared at a report and drank his coffee in silence.
The AI secretary stated, matter-of-fact:
"There is unidentified data access on the afterlife-side server. Source: the realm beyond."
"…That would be you again, Atem."
At that instant, the communication terminal rang.
"Seto! Because of your footnotes, the afterlife is turning green!"
"Good to hear."
"It's green everywhere! My afterlife, mind you!"
"That's proof the environmental controls are functioning. Efficient."
"Too efficient!"
Atem's voice faded slightly in the distance, and from behind him came the murmur of priests.
"Your Majesty! The crops have grown too much — the storehouse is glowing!"
"The potatoes are luminescent!!"
"Seto!"
"…I did say so. The numerical precision is perfect."
Atem exhaled deeply.
"…Just how far do you intend to move the world."
"You're the last one who gets to say that. Afterlife soil improvement is an unintended side effect."
"Don't let side effects change the geology!"
Seto ran a finger lightly across the terminal and smiled.
"Well. The afterlife agricultural zone has now been established. Even the underworld becomes a market."
"Are you seriously planning to bring the concept of economic activity into the afterlife again."
"A manager always puts structure in order. …The basics of structural governance."
Atem shrugged and laughed, barely.
"So the end of love and theory is the prosperity of the afterlife."
"Prosperity has no need for emotion."
"But without hands that touch the soil, seeds won't sprout."
"…There you go, being poetic again."
"It's a fact. Next time, you till by hand too."
"That's your job. Come back when you can make a proper furrow."
At that moment, a voice rang out from the afterlife:
"Your Majesty! Next — teach us 'Seto-sama's compost formula'!"
"…You're becoming a religious figure, Seto."
"Don't lump me in with you."
Atem laughed quietly and murmured:
"What sprouted in the afterlife wasn't only life."
"What do you mean?"
"Love — dwelling in theory."
Seto went silent for just a moment, and looked away.
"…You always manage to land the ending somehow."
"I'm a king."
And in the afterlife, today too, the potatoes glow.
The afterlife. The great temple.
Blue-white vines crept across the ceiling, and the earth that had once been dry sand was now filled, lush and green.
In the hands of the priests gathered there: a single volume.
The King's Observation Record Notebook.
But what they were reading aloud was not the main text.
The footnotes.
Meaning: Seto's annotations.
"'Adjust the N:P:K ratio according to the growth stage of the crop'…! What profound reason!"
"'Excess moisture will rot the roots' — this is a warning for the soul as well!"
"'Trust the numbers' — this is an oracle!!"
The annotations, read aloud alongside prayers.
The priests' voices had become something like a chant.
Seto watched the scene over a remote feed, and pressed a hand to his forehead, expression unchanged.
"…Settle down. That is not scripture. It is a nutrient management manual."
A.R.E.S. supplemented, without inflection:
"On-site reports indicate that the 'Kaiba Method of Cultivation' is becoming established as a form of faith."
"Don't go founding religions on your own. One of those is more than enough — and that one is Atem."
Seto closed the terminal and exhaled, long.
Before his eyes, the green curtain at the Kaiba mansion swayed in the breeze.
Vines dancing in the wind. Light filtering through.
"…Atem turned the house green. The afterlife going green because of me is well within the margin of error."
Just then, a light voice came from behind him.
"That's a bit much to call a margin of error, when the color of the world has changed."
He turned. Atem was tracing a finger along the green curtain.
The light through the leaves caught in his crimson eyes.
"Look, Seto. The living world and the afterlife alike are now filled with green."
"Whose fault that is, is quite clear."
"Fault? No. This is a collaboration."
"Don't make it a joint work without asking."
"A fusion of love and theory."
"Stop misusing scientific terminology."
Atem gave a quiet laugh and moved to the window.
"But Seto. The annotations you wrote became scripture. Theory guides people's hearts. …Isn't that something remarkable?"
"I wrote an operating manual for agricultural AI."
"And it's being called an oracle. Modesty doesn't suit you."
"That's not modesty. That's a damage report."
Even so, something like a smile crept into Seto's voice.
"Well. The afterlife going green has at least yielded useful data for real-world environmental models."
"The result: the world is nourished."
"You never change, do you. …Being too positive has never bothered you at all."
"I'm a king."
A quiet wind moved between the two of them.
The leaves stirred, as if the same breeze were blowing through the distant afterlife as well.
Atem said, with satisfaction:
"Green is the proof of love blooming on the foundation of theory."
"…What kind of metaphor is that."
"Like the footnotes you wrote — the truth lies behind the main text."
"……"
Seto was silent for just a moment.
Then, quietly:
"…Your main text was worth reading, I'll grant you that."
Atem grinned.
"Shall we build a bookshop in the afterlife next?"
"Don't. The distribution network will collapse."
Outside the window, the rustling of leaves rang out like laughter.
In the living world and the afterlife alike, amid the green, love and theory had taken root.
News program feature title:
"The Broad Bean Revolution" Sweeps the World — It All Started with One Observation Record Notebook
On screen: broad beans growing lush and green in fields across every country.
Rooftops in cities, research facilities in deserts, even orbital plant experiment modules — all of them planted with a variety being called the "Atem strain."
The commentator spoke with visible excitement:
"This movement traces back to the King's Observation Record Notebook. In particular, the sections where Atem repeatedly stated that 'the broad bean is a great thing'—"
Watching that footage from the Kaiba Corporation president's office:
"You've noticed."
Seto murmured quietly.
Atem tilted his head beside him, puzzled.
"Noticed what?"
"That you were promoting broad beans with unusual intensity. It was only a matter of time before someone in the world caught on."
"You say that as if it's strange not to notice?"
"It is."
Atem laughed, pleased.
"Then civilization has finally matured. The world has caught up with the broad bean."
"Arrogance at this level is almost an art form."
A few days later, the trends read:
#AtemsFavoriteFood
#TaAmeyaChallenge
#TodaysBroadBean
A green flood on a global scale.
Cooking videos: broad bean soup, broad bean pizza, broad bean tart.
And in households across every country: Atem-style ta'ameya.
An interviewer asked:
"Mr. President — why do you think ta'ameya has spread this far?"
Seto answered without changing his expression.
"The reason is simple. The king in question ate it."
"…That's all?"
"That's more than enough."
Evening.
On the terrace of the Kaiba mansion, Atem and Seto sat side by side having dinner.
On the plate: ta'ameya, fried crisp and fragrant.
The green curtain swayed in the breeze, casting soft shadows.
Atem set down his chopsticks and looked up at the sky.
"Seto. Right now, these beans are growing all over the world. This sight… could it be an offering to me?"
Seto considered it for just a moment, and answered, evenly:
"No."
"Then what is it."
"…No. It isn't. But it is."
Whatever he did moved the world — and at this point, Atem had taken on something like the quality of an idol. He simply had that many people who loved him.
Atem narrowed his eyes and smiled.
"A vague theory."
"When love enters the equation, theory wavers."
"And in the wavering — life."
Silence.
Insects called somewhere in the distance, and the scent of fried beans drifted on the air.
Seto murmured, quietly:
"Really… one word from you, and the world moves again."
"I didn't mean to move it. I only said I liked them."
"That 'I like them' is moving the economy."
"Then that's fine. A collaboration of love and theory."
Seto smiled, faintly rueful.
"…Offering or market, either will do. The result is that the world is nourished."
Atem nodded and closed his words, quietly:
"The green spread. By human hands, and human hearts."
The wind swept through, moving softly between the two of them.
Somewhere in the distant city, and in the fields of the afterlife — the sound of ta'ameya frying rose from every place at once.
And today, as always, the world prospers quietly — a joint work of the King and the President.
