Disclaimer: I don't own Yuugiou; ask Kazuki Takahashi.

I steal a glance at the outside world and there he is, standing proudly, smaller and yet somehow grander than the peasants surrounding him – somehow greater, through will alone. I watch longer, and see him glow with pride as he surveys the aftermath of yet another duel. Speaking to his latest vanquished foe, he radiates disdain. I'm not sure whether to be amused or disgusted. The words he booms, the hero-tone, I block out; I despise his insistence on the same routine, the safe and benevolent "Heart of the Cards" and Justice and Goodness and perpetual condemnation of those who fail to measure up to the standards of his little dream-world. It's all I can do not to grimace.

He wasn't always like this. A cocky bastard, yes, but not the little hero he plays at, "saving the world" and obsessed with What, to him, Is Right. I saw how he was long, long ago, and – with a little digging – I learned what happened before our paths crossed again. There are some remnants of his true attitude: the smirk, for one. As much as I hate him, I adore the look on his face when he knows the game is his. That one expression that can frighten, enrage, or confuse his opponent, is usually enough to bring about that fatal move, the one that forces the opponent to tear apart the whole of his own strategy. I can't wait for that moment. In that instant, I can see through this Moral Hero and spot the hidden sleeper, who takes as much joy in defeating his opponent as he does destroying him. In that instant, I can see the one I want.

I see him, and then he's gone again. The dark force buries itself back inside the little king; it was only dreaming of the past. I dream, too – I dream of his awakening.

If there's a way to wake him, I will find that way. Perhaps in a duel, perhaps in another game, perhaps after I've unleashed the darkness unto this world; when I do this matters not. I want him as he was. I will tear down the walls he's locked away in, and shatter whatever spell holds him slumbering.

Maybe I'll kill him then.

His fawning friends curse him to sleep without knowing, while I weave this little plot into my plans –

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