Mokuba.

Mokuba.

Seto drops Yuugi once he has what he wants, or what he doesn't want, really. The truth. The reality of the situation. He drops to a knee, his eyes wide and frantic, his lips don't move to answer Yuugi's question for so long that perhaps the other teen might come to the conclusion that he hadn't heard it at all.

He had.

But all he can think about is whether Mokuba could also do the same thing Yuugi could now, whether he could slice himself open and stitch back up, and whether he was put under the knife to fix the degenerates who lived and died here.

He finally mouths words, and they don't answer the question, they only convey the pain of failure.

He was here. He was here and I didn't help him. I.

I.

I can't help...my brother. My little brother. My brother. My brother, my brother, my brother...

It's probably for the best that this Yuugi didn't know him. What shame he would feel, knowing that Yuugi was right to pity him, and probably did.

He was pitiful. He was The Loser they dubbed him as after all.