Kaiba takes the sleeve in hand, glaring at the mark on the sleeve. That...couldn't have been anyone's blood but his own, and he would have noticed if he had a cut, wouldn't he? He even checks, rolling his shirt sleeve up and looking for any imperfections on his skin.

Nothing. There wasn't anything there. Though...he rolls the sleeve back down, matching it to his jacket cuff. The material was a light blue, enough that if there was any bleed through it...it would be visible.

But there isn't. So whatever had gotten on his jacket wasn't enough to penetrate through it.

And it's not as if he'd taken his shirt off, right? Why would he do that?

"This doesn't make sense," he says, and there's something about the way he says it that feels off-balanced. Without an explanation...how can he reconcile this?

There's an uncomfortable twinge at his right shoulder, which he rubs out in annoyance. He knows why, of course. It's a complaint that's been there since he'd been bitten. Something, he assumes, that happened when he'd been attacked months ago.

Then...oddly, his anxiety melts away, and turns into a scowl.

"Dry cleaners...they did a poor job, and I must have never noticed."