Chapter 33: Good Brothers

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Somewhere in the city.

At the end of a narrow, dimly lit alley stood a place that, despite being within the urban district, felt completely cut off from the outside world.

Only those who knew the correct way in could reach it.

A bar.

Soft lighting cast mottled shadows across the room. The air was thick with the mingled scents of alcohol and tobacco, along with another, murkier and heavier presence. An antique gramophone played an eerie melody, each note seeming to dissolve into the shadows that permeated every corner.

It was as though an invisible darkness had enveloped the entire space.

This was a gathering place for dark duelists.

Though it was hardly the only one. Dark duels were still little more than rumors among ordinary citizens—much like how Jaden in the first season of GX had once stubbornly trusted science and refused to accept that dark duels existed. But so many years had passed since the era of Duel Monsters that underground networks for dark dueling had now been established across the world.

Dark duelists were scattered everywhere, like assassins who could never see the light of day.

Many operated independently, accepting commissions through the underground network and carrying out assignments for money. There were also various related organizations.

Such a development had been inevitable. Dark duels were simply too convenient and too versatile, leaving conventional methods of assassination and espionage miles behind.

With nothing more than a card game, one could eliminate a target without firing a shot and without leaving a trace. If necessary, additional restrictions could be imposed when initiating the dark duel, reducing the victim to dust—literally scattering even the ashes into particles, leaving not the slightest evidence behind.

And assassination was far from all they could do. If one defeated a powerful figure or someone occupying a crucial position in a life-or-death card game, it was easy to pry any secret from their lips. One could even brainwash them into unquestioningly obeying, thereby influencing major affairs in the worlds of business and politics.

Of course, where there was a spear, there would be a shield. The rise of this dark profession had naturally drawn the attention of the upper classes, who had begun taking the threat seriously. These days, important figures either possessed exceptional dueling skills themselves or traveled with duel bodyguards.

The bar known as the Blood Moon was precisely such an organization—a gathering place for dark duelists.

The bartender was a woman with crimson eyes and an astonishing figure capable of commanding maximum attention. She was also entirely unreserved about generously displaying her remarkable gifts to her colleagues.

That was why, during meetings, their eyes spent ninety percent of the time fixed on her—even though she scarcely said a word.

A man in a suit slowly finished a drink at the bar, set down his glass, and said in a leisurely tone, “One of our comrades has departed this world.”

“Oh.”

“What a pity.”

“A terrible shame.”

The others voiced their condolences one after another, but not one of them looked away. The beautiful bartender swirled the glass in her hand with elegant, practiced movements. The liquor revolved inside the glass, and the motion of her arm set the rest of her body swaying as well, prompting a collective “Oh” from the audience.

The man in the suit frowned. “One of our brothers sacrificed himself, and you could at least pretend to care a little, couldn’t you?”

Someone pointed out, “But you’ve been staring over there the entire time you’ve been talking.”

The man in the suit pondered for two seconds, then replied with righteous conviction, “I can’t help it.”

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The bar immediately erupted in laughter, filling the room with merriment.

“But seriously, Onizuka was my good friend,” the man in the suit said solemnly. “We knew each other before we joined the organization. I... can’t pretend nothing happened.”

A man with parted hair beside him tried to console him. “Everyone in this line of work knows the rules. Win and you live; lose and you die. After so many duels, so many brushes with life and death... Sometimes you win, and sometimes you die. That’s simply how it is. Onizuka knew that long ago.”

“Besides,” another man nearby added, “do you even know who did it? Who in our line of work doesn’t have eight or ten enemies?”

“The night before Onizuka left headquarters, he was drinking with me. He said he’d heard a rumor—that the legendary duelist Dinosaur Ryuzaki was preparing to return to the scene.”

The man in the suit’s voice deepened.

“Onizuka was very interested. As fellow Dinosaur users, he’d often said he wanted to seek out Ryuzaki and test himself against him...”

“Good grief, that’s a legendary duelist,” said the man with parted hair. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through, Fujimoto? Onizuka was no weak duelist. If even he couldn’t win...”

“Onizuka never beat me, either.”

The man known as Fujimoto smiled faintly. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, then tilted his head forty-five degrees toward the ceiling beneath the curling smoke.

“There comes a time when every man has no choice but to step forward. Besides, we are duelists. If we remain content with the status quo and never dare challenge the strong, how are we supposed to improve?”

The man with parted hair narrowed his eyes at him. “If you’re so eager to improve, why don’t you go challenge Yugi Muto?”

Fujimoto, who had been striking a heroic pose, choked at once. After several seconds, he finally answered in a low voice.

“...Yugi Muto is simply too strong.”

After all, he meant challenging a powerful opponent in order to cross a peak and grow stronger—not throwing his life away.

Charging in when the odds of victory were known to be zero was nothing more than volunteering to be slaughtered.

Fujimoto let out a melancholy sigh and began reminiscing about the past.

“Onizuka and I were both abandoned by the dueling world. We met through underground duels... Back then, I promised him that if anything ever happened to him, I would take care of his wife and children.

“But I never imagined he would leave in such a hurry. He didn’t even leave behind any children—only a gentle and beautiful girlfriend for me to look after...”

Which meant that, when it came to providing him with descendants, he would have to personally figure something out on behalf of his brother, wouldn’t he?

The thought made him shake his head repeatedly and sigh over the hardships of life.

A burly man beside him patted his shoulder. “Big brother, don’t be so sad. If Brother Onizuka knows in the afterlife that he had such a dependable friend, he can pass on in peace.”

“You’re right.” Fujimoto patted the man’s hand and nodded.

Then, without warning, a chill ran down his spine.

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“Hm? Did you suddenly feel a cold breeze just now?”

The big man blinked blankly. “No.”

“Strange... Could Brother Onizuka be urging me to avenge him?”

Fujimoto raised his head toward the ceiling and spoke with solemn determination.

“Brother Onizuka, rest assured. I’ll soon track down that bastard Dinosaur Ryuzaki, drag his soul into the darkness, and avenge you!”

...

...

Elsewhere.

After suffering a crushing defeat at the Moonlight Cup, Dinosaur Ryuzaki’s comeback had ended in failure. He had once again withdrawn into seclusion and resumed his serious study of his deck.

He had originally emerged from seclusion brimming with confidence, convinced he was about to make a grand return. He had never expected to produce such a spectacular disaster instead. The king had failed to reclaim his throne and had wound up donating his life to a rookie who had barely set foot in the dueling world.

The rookie’s record before the tournament had been a complete blank slate, which meant that from now on, whenever the fellow appeared, everyone’s first reaction would surely be, “Holy crap, isn’t that the guy who crushed Ryuzaki?”

In other words, the farther that newcomer went and the more often he appeared in public, the more frequently Ryuzaki would be dragged out and mocked.

He had spent all those years in seclusion, only to fail at taking off. And not only had he failed—he had become a mere backdrop for someone else’s success.

Who could possibly tolerate that?

“Fujiki Yugen... Very well. I’ll remember you.”

Ryuzaki muttered coldly to himself.

He had no choice but to find an opportunity to demand a rematch.

Until he defeated that brat and reclaimed his victory, he would have to continue bearing this stain, watching the joke spread farther and farther.

Just as he was thinking this, his nose suddenly began to itch. He sneezed loudly.

“Achoo!”

“How strange. Why does it suddenly feel cold behind me?”

Ryuzaki rubbed his nose, utterly baffled.

Why did he suddenly feel as though someone had taken a personal interest in him?