Chapter Text
Manjoume didn’t know how but. This was Judai’s fault. When things went this stupidly, impossibly wrong it must somehow be Judai’s fault. A conclusion based on several instances of near death, a couple of stints in the Spirit World, and Yubel—enough said.
Apparently, he had time traveled. Either that or he was in a state of perpetual hallucination.
Still, he was Manjoume Thunder. He ate the impossible for breakfast and waved at it as it passed him by with his coat flared dramatically behind him. He’d stared down Shadow Riders without flinching and stood in front of jeering crowds full of thousands. He’d conversed with Yubel in his kitchen about rival duelists while holding a stupidly expensive latte and ignoring too sharp fangs, Judai passed out on his couch after saving the world for the nth time. Hell, he’d even been forced to act as a judge for an Ojama dance competition—something which could be classified as a crime against humanity.
Manjoume didn’t believe in impossible.
His too young face stared back at him in the mirror, his small hands gripping the edge of the counter with enough force to hurt. The scars on his hands were gone too. The ones he’d earned in North Academy climbing glaciers with ice cutting into his palms as the cold numbed any pain.
Fuck.
Fuck.
At this rate he’d have to go through puberty a second time. Manjoume was going to kill Judai.
3 o’clock in the morning, Manjoume concluded, was too early to be having an existential crisis without any sort of caffeine on hand.
Which was how he ended up bumping into no less than seven pieces of furniture and breaking three stupidly expensive vases while trying to navigate through a mansion in minimal lighting and only a vague recollection of the layout. Mansions were stupid, he decided with conviction after turning down the wrong hall for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Cursing under his breath Manjoume opened the nearest door to be greeted with a ballroom. Manjoume slammed the door shut with more vitriol than it probably deserved. And if the racket woke up his brothers? Even better.
Manjoume really hated time travel.
Running a hand through his hair and feeling decidedly harassed Manjoume instinctively reached for his deck. Except it wasn’t his deck. Not really.
It was cold and distant in a way the Ojamas and other Low Attack cards had never been with him. It was a deck put together by his brothers rather than him. This deck had the distant roar of dragons and power itching to be used. It was a deck built for destroying an opponent with overwhelming force. Manjoume could appreciate that.
But it wasn’t the warm hum of chattering spirits that welcomed him home. It wasn’t the gratingly high pitched voices of the Ojamas chattering his ear off about the dumbest things. It wasn’t a deck of ragtag misfits that he’d built from scratch using every painful loss and experience to build upon.
It was too quiet. And he missed his coat.
He really, really hated time travel.
Nursing his second cup of coffee Manjoume idly stared at the white marble countertop he was leaning against. The kitchen, like everything else in this stupid mansion, was stupidly big and stupidly expensive. Filled with all the latest appliances and larger than any kitchen needed to be, everything was almost clinically clean. Manjoume supposed most people would feel nostalgic after finding themselves in their childhood home after twelve years of being away.
He was not one of those people.
Part of it might’ve had to do with the fact he was more concerned with figuring out what the hell he was supposed to do now. Time travel hadn’t exactly been on his agenda. And frankly the thought of having to restart everything he’d worked for from scratch sounded exhausting. Not to mention a pain in the ass.
Manjoume also wasn’t sure what he was supposed to, well, do now. Play along with the original timeline like nothing had changed? It wasn’t like things had ended too badly. If one ignored Ryo being hospitalized and Judai becoming a homeless wanderer with PTSD, Yubel lurking just out of sight.
... So maybe there was some room for improvement.
But Manjoume hardly thought anything he did would be enough to change things. Both of those circumstances had been outside of his control. Plus, Yubel had been a good influence on Judai in the long run, their terrifying nature and the weird relationship between the two aside.
(Sometimes Manjoume still felt like screaming in frustration when he thought about how all the hell they’d gone through could have been avoided if Yubel had just talked to Judai instead of setting up a ridiculously complicated plot.)
Though Manjoume could maybe, conceivably, be less of an ass to people this time around.
Yeah, he could hardly believe his own thoughts either.
Besides what did he have to lose at this point except for the potential stability and safety of the world if he fucked up? No pressure or anything.
Manjoume turned to pour his third cup of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
“Is there a reason why we found three broken vases on our way here?” Shouji accused blandly when both his brothers stepped into the dining room at—Manjoume eyed the clock on the wall—5:00 AM.
For it being so disgustingly early his brothers looked disgustingly put together. Already they were dressed in expensive suits that looked freshly ironed and not a hair out of place.
Manjoume deeply resented their collected appearance after having spent the last hour having an existential crisis, contemplating all the various ways he could potentially end the world before deciding that he didn’t give a fuck. Common sense and timeline preservation were for lesser mortals, he’d decided.
Still, Manjoume didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked like a complete wreck.
His brothers looked like successful—if sleazy—businessmen. Manjoume probably looked like the poster boy for moody teens everywhere as he scowled at them from over his orange juice. (Four cups of coffee would have been excessive, even for him.) Shouji met his scowl with an unimpressed eyebrow. Chosaku just looked irritated. Manjoume could almost see him running the cost of replacing those vases through his head.
“Maybe they just had enough of seeing your faces and decided to break?” Manjoume offered, unrepentantly snarky.
Chosaku snorted. “Oh sure,” he sneered, “it wasn’t just that you knocked them over?”
If the last few hours of Manjoume’s life hadn’t involved bullshit time travel and he actually, you know, cared he might have felt guilty. As it was: “I was doing you guys a favor. Those things were ugly as hell. Who even needs that many vases anyway?”
Manjoume steadily ignored the fact he’d knocked them over on accident. He had a reputation as an asshole to build and it would require hard work and constant maintenance. Now was as good a time as any to start.
Shouji let out a deep, audible sigh that rang with frustration and bone deep disappointment in him. Hopefully his brothers would get used to that feeling soon.
Chosaku was more vocal about his distaste—being the loud mouthed idiot that he was. “You’re such a brat.”
Manjoume drank his orange juice with all the dignity of a king on his thrown. “Thank you,” he said, like Chosaku had payed him a compliment of the highest order.
Chosaku looked to be developing a permanent scowl in his presence. How delightful.
“Just don’t fuck up at Duel Academy,” he finally bit out. “We need you at the top of the dueling world for our plan to succeed.”
Oh, right. That. The plan Manjoume was thoughtfully neglecting to tell them would never happen. Had his brothers always been such idiots? Manjoume actually felt ashamed for ever having looked up to them when he was younger.
“Speaking of which,” Manjoume started casually. “I was thinking about paying a visit to North Academy.”
Shouji furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “What for?”
Manjoume looked at his brother like he was a complete idiot. “I thought you guys were supposed to be successful businessmen,” he said mockingly. “I’m going to scout out the competition. Obviously.”
The real reason, of course, was to retrieve Ojama Yellow but Manjoume was thoughtfully neglecting to inform them about that particular horror too. See, wasn’t he nice?
Shouji’s scowl faded to a more thoughtful frown. “That’s not a bad idea.” He sounded vaguely scheming as he said it.
“I know. I’m full of them,” Manjoume told him imperiously.
Chosaku took then to mutter, “More like full of shit,” and Manjoume flipped him off. It was probably for the best that neither of his brothers had noticed it as they began plotting together.
Manjoume took another sip of his orange juice just to hide the satisfied smirk on his face.