The first thing Takeda did upon leaving the Central Duel Arena was find a quiet alley, lean against a wall, and have a small emotional breakdown.
It wasn't a dramatic breakdown—no screaming, no crying, no falling to his knees and cursing the heavens. It was more of a quiet, internal collapse, the kind where your body decides it's had enough of processing impossible events and just needs a moment to buffer like a video on a slow internet connection.
He had just dueled Yusei Fudo.
THE Yusei Fudo.
He had forced the legendary duelist to summon Shooting Quasar Dragon—a Level 12 Synchro Monster that was essentially a nuclear weapon in card form—in the first round of a preliminary tournament against a homeless guy with a dumpster deck.
He had created a fusion monster that didn't exist through sheer force of will and spite.
He had destroyed Shooting Quasar Dragon.
And then he had lost anyway, because of course he had, because that was apparently how his life worked now.
"Kuri?" the Kuriboh on his shoulder asked, its tone concerned.
"I'm fine," Takeda said, in the voice of someone who was absolutely not fine but had accepted that 'fine' was relative and his current state was the best he was going to get. "I'm just... processing. Give me a minute."
Take all the time you need, the voices of his deck said gently. That was an intense experience. Even for us.
"Even for you? You're cards. You exist on a different plane of reality or whatever. How was that intense for you?"
We felt what you felt. The desperation. The defiance. The absolute refusal to accept defeat even when defeat was inevitable. When you summoned Mokey Mokey King of Rage, we all felt it. We all contributed. It was... exhilarating.
"Exhilarating," Takeda repeated flatly. "I lost by seven thousand life points. That's not exhilarating. That's humiliating."
You made a protagonist respect you. In this world, that's worth more than most victories.
Takeda didn't have a response to that, so he just stood in the alley, breathing slowly, trying to convince his heart rate to return to something resembling normal.
After a few minutes, his brain finished buffering and resumed regular function.
"Okay," he said, pushing himself off the wall. "Okay. I'm eliminated from the tournament. I have no money, no food, and no immediate prospects. But I'm alive, I have a deck, and I apparently have the ability to create impossible monsters when I'm desperate enough. That's... something."
That is something, the voices agreed.
"So. First order of business: food. Second order of business: figure out what the hell happened during that duel. Third order of business: find somewhere to sleep that isn't a concrete sidewalk. Sound like a plan?"
It sounds like a list. Plans usually have more details.
"It's a work in progress."
Takeda started walking, heading away from the arena and back toward the less maintained parts of the city where people were less likely to look at his terrible clothes and broken duel disk with judgment.
As he walked, he found himself reaching into his deck box out of habit—a nervous tic, maybe, or just the need to confirm that his cards were still there after everything that had happened.
His fingers touched cardboard.
He pulled out the first card.
And stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk.
It was Mokey Mokey King of Rage.
The card that had manifested during his duel with Yusei. The fusion monster that shouldn't exist, that had been created from the impossible combination of Watapon and Mokey Mokey through sheer spite and the desperate refusal to lose.
It was real.
It was in his deck.
It hadn't disappeared when the duel ended.
"Kuri!" the Kuriboh exclaimed, floating down to look at the card with obvious excitement.
Takeda stared at the card, his brain once again struggling to process information that really shouldn't be possible.
The artwork showed exactly what he remembered from the duel—Mokey Mokey, but different. Its rectangular body had been transformed, sprouting wings of crystallized light and eyes that burned with inner fire. It looked like someone had taken the most apathetic monster in the game and given it a reason to be VERY upset about something.
The text read:
MOKEY MOKEY KING OF RAGE
Level 10 / LIGHT / Fairy / Fusion / Effect
ATK: ? / DEF: ?
"Mokey Mokey" + 1 or more monsters with different names
This card's ATK and DEF become equal to the total original ATK and DEF (respectively) of all monsters in both players' Graveyards x 100, plus 500 for each card in your opponent's Graveyard, plus 1000 for each Synchro, XYZ, Link, or Fusion Monster your opponent controls. If this card is destroyed by battle or card effect: Destroy all monsters on the field. You can only control 1 "Mokey Mokey King of Rage".
Takeda read the effect three times to make sure he understood it correctly.
The more monsters in both graveyards, the stronger it got. If his opponent had a big graveyard, even better. If his opponent controlled Extra Deck monsters, it got a significant power boost. And if it was destroyed—by anything, battle or effect—it would take everything else with it.
It was a card designed for comebacks.
It was a card designed for people who were losing.
It was a card designed for people who had nothing left to lose and wanted to make sure that if they went down, they took everyone with them.
It was, in other words, the perfect card for Takeda.
"This is actually good," Takeda said slowly, still staring at the card. "This is... this might actually be useful."
We told you, the voices said, sounding smug. When you fight with true spite, we can create things that shouldn't exist. Mokey Mokey King of Rage is yours now. A permanent addition to your Extra Deck. A reminder of what you're capable of when you refuse to give up.
"But I can't just summon it whenever I want, right? I still need Mokey Mokey as a fusion material. And at least one other monster with a different name. And Polymerization."
Yes. It requires setup. It requires you to have Mokey Mokey in your hand or on the field. It requires you to have other monsters to fuse with it. And ideally, it requires a well-stocked graveyard—yours or your opponent's—to maximize its power.
"So it's a late-game card. A desperation play. Something to bring out when things are going badly and I need a comeback."
Exactly. It's not a card you build your strategy around. It's a card that saves you when your strategy fails.
Takeda carefully slid Mokey Mokey King of Rage into his Extra Deck, next to Fusionist and Darkfire Dragon and all the other fusion monsters he technically couldn't summon through normal means.
"How many of these can I make?" he asked. "These impossible fusions. Is there a limit?"
We don't know. We've never had a duelist like you before. The previous owner of this deck gave up long before reaching this level of desperation. You're... new territory.
"Great. I'm an experiment."
A successful experiment. So far.
Takeda snorted and kept walking.
Food, as it turned out, was slightly easier to acquire than he'd expected.
Not because he suddenly developed skills or found money or had any kind of legitimate success. No, food was easier to acquire because this world apparently had a robust culture of competitive eating tied to card games, and one of the preliminary tournament venues had been hosting a "Duel and Dine" event where participants could earn food vouchers by winning matches.
The event was over by the time Takeda found it, but the cleanup crew was disposing of leftover catering, and Takeda had become something of an expert at being in the right place at the right time when food was being thrown away.
He emerged from behind the venue with two slightly squashed sandwiches, a bag of chips that had been opened and then resealed with tape, and a bottle of water that was only half-empty.
"Feast of kings," he muttered, sitting down on a bench to eat.
"Kuri!" the Kuriboh agreed enthusiastically, somehow managing to consume chip crumbs despite not having a visible mouth.
The dumpsters in this area are known for quality discards, the voices noted. The tournament venues dispose of merchandise samples regularly. Cards, accessories, promotional items. It might be worth investigating.
Takeda paused mid-bite.
"You're telling me there might be cards in these dumpsters?"
We're telling you that this world generates a lot of waste, and much of that waste has value to people in your situation.
Takeda finished his sandwich in record time, grabbed the chips and water for later, and started investigating the back alleys of the tournament district.
The first few dumpsters were disappointing—mostly food waste, promotional posters, and broken holographic display components that might have been valuable if Takeda had any idea how to repair or sell them.
The fourth dumpster was behind a shop that sold "vintage and retro Duel Monsters merchandise," according to the faded sign above its back door.
Takeda opened the lid.
And found treasure.
Well, "treasure" was a strong word. "Slightly better garbage than usual" was more accurate. But compared to what he'd been working with, it was practically a gold mine.
There were cards.
Dozens of cards.
Most of them were commons, the kind of basic cards that experienced duelists threw away by the handful because they weren't worth the space in a binder. But among the commons, scattered like diamonds in a coal mine, were cards that Takeda had never seen before.
Cards that looked... different.
More technological. More futuristic. With effects that referenced things like "Link Arrows" and "co-linking" and "Cyberse-Type monsters."
"What are these?" Takeda asked, pulling out a handful and examining them.
Cards from a different era, the voices said, and there was something strange in their tone. Something almost like surprise. Cards from the VRAINS timeline. The era of Link Summoning and digital consciousness.
"The VRAINS timeline?"
This world is a fusion of multiple timelines, multiple eras, multiple versions of Duel Monsters history. The tournament you entered allows 'All Eras,' which means cards and strategies from any timeline are legal. These cards... they're from an era that specialized in Link Monsters and digital dueling.
"Can I use them?"
Some of them. Link Monsters require a different type of Extra Deck summoning that you don't have the infrastructure for—your duel disk doesn't support Link Zones properly. But the main deck monsters and spells... those might be compatible.
Takeda started sorting through his find with increasing excitement.
The first usable card was called Linkslayer.
LINKSLAYER
Level 5 / EARTH / Cyberse / Effect
ATK: 2000 / DEF: 600
If this card is in your hand: You can discard up to 2 other cards, then Special Summon this card, and if you do, this card loses 500 ATK for each card discarded. You can only use this effect of "Linkslayer" once per turn. Once per turn: You can target 1 Spell/Trap on the field; destroy it.
Two thousand attack points. Special Summon capability. Spell and Trap destruction. This was leagues beyond anything in his current deck.
"Why would anyone throw this away?"
The Cyberse archetype requires specific support to function optimally. A single Linkslayer without its associated cards is considered subpar by competitive standards. But for you...
"For me, it's the best monster I own."
The next card was Cyberse Gadget.
CYBERSE GADGET
Level 4 / LIGHT / Cyberse / Effect
ATK: 1400 / DEF: 300
When this card is Normal Summoned: You can target 1 Level 2 or lower monster in your GY; Special Summon it in Defense Position, but negate its effects. If this card is sent from the field to the GY: You can Special Summon 1 "Gadget Token" (Cyberse/LIGHT/Level 2/ATK 0/DEF 0). You can only use each effect of "Cyberse Gadget" once per turn.
Graveyard revival. Token generation. Actual synergy with his strategy of having lots of weak monsters.
"This is amazing. This is actually amazing."
He kept digging.
Backup Secretary.
BACKUP SECRETARY
Level 3 / LIGHT / Cyberse / Effect
ATK: 1200 / DEF: 800
If you control a Cyberse monster, you can Special Summon this card (from your hand). You can only Special Summon "Backup Secretary" once per turn this way.
Free Special Summons. More monsters on the field. More bodies to fuse or tribute or just throw at the opponent.
Balancer Lord.
BALANCER LORD
Level 4 / LIGHT / Cyberse / Effect
ATK: 1700 / DEF: 1200
If this card is Normal Summoned: You can pay 1000 LP; Special Summon 1 Level 4 or lower Cyberse monster from your hand. If a Cyberse monster(s) you control would be destroyed by battle or card effect, you can banish this card from your GY instead.
Swarming capability AND graveyard protection. This was actual strategy. This was actual synergy.
Flame Bufferlo.
FLAME BUFFERLO
Level 3 / FIRE / Cyberse / Effect
ATK: 1400 / DEF: 200
If this card is Normal Summoned: You can discard 1 Cyberse monster; draw 2 cards. If this card on the field is destroyed by battle or card effect: You can add 1 Level 3 or lower Cyberse monster from your Deck to your hand. You can only use each effect of "Flame Bufferlo" once per turn.
Draw power. Search capability. Takeda was practically drooling.
And then, at the bottom of the pile, he found something that made him stop and stare.
CYNET FUSION
Spell Card
Fusion Summon 1 Cyberse Fusion Monster from your Extra Deck, using monsters from your hand and/or field as Fusion Material. If you control 2 or more Link Monsters, you can also use monster(s) in your GY as Fusion Material. You can banish this card from your GY, then target 1 Cyberse Fusion Monster you control that was destroyed this turn; Special Summon it. You can only use each effect of "Cynet Fusion" once per turn.
A fusion spell specifically for Cyberse monsters.
And it could fuse using monsters from the graveyard if certain conditions were met.
Takeda didn't have any Cyberse Fusion Monsters. He didn't have any Link Monsters. He had no idea if this card would even work with his duel disk.
But he had Polymerization.
And he had spite.
And he had already proven that when those two things combined with desperation, the rules became more like suggestions.
"I want to try something," Takeda said, his voice taking on that slightly manic edge that came with having a terrible idea and being unable to resist it.
What kind of something?
"This fusion spell says it can only summon Cyberse Fusion Monsters. But I don't have any Cyberse Fusion Monsters. But I DO have the ability to create fusion monsters that shouldn't exist through sheer willpower and spite."
You're not suggesting...
"If I have enough Cyberse monsters, and I have this fusion spell, and I really really REALLY want to fuse them into something powerful... what happens?"
The voices were silent for a moment.
Then, slowly, they responded.
We don't know. The normal rules say nothing would happen. The spell would fail because there's no valid fusion target. But you're not normal. You've already proven that. And these cards... they're alive too, in their own way. They want to be used. They want to contribute.
"So it might work."
It MIGHT work. Or it might do nothing. Or it might cause your duel disk to explode. We genuinely don't know.
"I'll save it for emergencies, then."
That seems wise.
Takeda gathered up all the usable cards he'd found—Linkslayer, Cyberse Gadget, Backup Secretary, Balancer Lord, Flame Bufferlo, Cynet Fusion, and a handful of other Cyberse commons that might prove useful—and carefully added them to his deck.
His deck was growing.
It was still chaotic, still mismatched, still composed of cards from multiple eras and archetypes that had no business being together. But it was growing stronger. More versatile. More capable of dealing with whatever threats came his way.
"How many cards am I at now?" Takeda asked, shuffling through his deck.
Forty-seven. You'll need to cut some to reach a tournament-legal forty.
"Cut some? These are all useful! Well, most of them. Okay, some of them. Look, I need options."
Having too many options leads to inconsistency. A focused deck draws what it needs. A bloated deck draws random garbage and hopes for the best.
"My entire strategy is drawing random garbage and hoping for the best."
...Fair point.
Takeda decided to worry about deck construction later and focus on finding a place to practice.
The tournament district had public dueling facilities—open arenas where anyone could play for free, provided they didn't mind an audience. Most of them were crowded during tournament hours, but now that the preliminary rounds were over for the day, things had quieted down.
He found an empty practice arena on the outskirts of the district—a small, beat-up facility with flickering holographic projectors and benches that had seen better days. The kind of place where serious duelists never went, which made it perfect for someone like Takeda who couldn't afford to be seen making mistakes by anyone important.
The Kuriboh settled on one of the benches while Takeda took position in the practice ring.
"Okay," he said, pulling out his deck and shuffling. "Let's see how these new cards work. Simulation mode... activate?"
His duel disk made a sound that was somewhere between confirmation and complaint, but the holographic projectors flickered to life, creating the outline of an opposing field.
What kind of opponent do you want to simulate?
"I don't know. Generic? Medium difficulty?"
We can't create opponents. We're cards, not an AI system. Your duel disk would need to be connected to the central network for simulation mode, and yours... isn't.
"Of course it isn't." Takeda sighed. "Then what am I supposed to practice against?"
We could simulate draw sequences. Practice opening hands and combos. Work on your resource management.
"That sounds boring."
Improvement is often boring. That's why so few people bother.
Takeda grumbled but started drawing practice hands anyway.
The first hand was: Linkslayer, Mokey Mokey, Sakuretsu Armor, Petit Dragon, Pot of Greed.
"Okay. Not terrible. If I go first, I can set Sakuretsu Armor and summon... Mokey Mokey? To bait an attack? Then use Pot of Greed to draw two more cards and hope for something better?"
That's a defensive opening. Reactive rather than proactive. You're leaving the initiative to your opponent.
"What am I supposed to do with this hand? Linkslayer needs me to discard cards to Special Summon it, and the only thing worth discarding is Petit Dragon."
Then discard Petit Dragon and Special Summon Linkslayer. 1500 ATK after the discard penalty, but still on the field. Then set Sakuretsu Armor. Then, on your next turn, if you draw a Cyberse monster, you might be able to start building advantage.
"That feels wasteful. Throwing away Petit Dragon for a single summon."
Petit Dragon has 600 ATK and no effect. It's practically worthless in most situations. Trading it for a monster with more attack points and an effect is not wasteful—it's efficient.
Takeda shuffled and drew again.
Second hand: Cyberse Gadget, Skull Servant, Dark Hole, Watapon, Giant Soldier of Stone.
"Better. If I summon Cyberse Gadget and it resolves, I can revive a Level 2 or lower monster from my graveyard. But I don't have anything in my graveyard yet because this is turn one."
Cyberse Gadget's revival effect is for later in the game. On turn one, you summon it for its 1400 ATK and the Gadget Token generation when it's sent to the graveyard. It's investment in future value.
"So I summon Cyberse Gadget, set something—probably not Dark Hole, I want to save that—set Giant Soldier of Stone in defense, end turn?"
That's two summons. You can only Normal Summon once per turn.
"Right. Right. I forgot." Takeda rubbed his temples. "Okay. Summon Cyberse Gadget. Set... one card. Dark Hole or Giant Soldier of Stone?"
If you set Giant Soldier of Stone, you have a defensive wall and you keep Dark Hole for emergencies. If you set Dark Hole and draw into trouble, you can clear the field but you've lost your defensive option. It depends on what you expect your opponent to do.
"I don't KNOW what my opponent will do! That's the problem!"
Then consider probability. Most aggressive decks will attack on their first turn if able. A face-down monster forces them to commit before they know what they're hitting. High-defense walls punish over-eager attackers. Dark Hole punishes field commitment but can be negated or countered by experienced players.
Takeda groaned. "This is so much more complicated than it looks. How does anyone do this? How did YUSEI do this? He made it look effortless."
Yusei Fudo has been dueling his entire life. He has experience, training, and the power of a dragon god backing him up. You've been doing this for two days and you're learning everything through trial and error. The fact that you managed to force him to summon Shooting Quasar Dragon is actually remarkable.
"It doesn't FEEL remarkable. It feels like I got lucky and then immediately got crushed."
Luck is a resource. You seem to have a lot of it. Learning to leverage luck into consistent performance is a skill worth developing.
Takeda shuffled and drew a third practice hand.
Third hand: Mokey Mokey, Polymerization, Backup Secretary, Scapegoat, Balancer Lord.
His eyes widened.
"Wait. Wait wait wait. Mokey Mokey plus Polymerization. If I have any other monster on the field, I can fuse them into Mokey Mokey King of Rage."
Correct.
"So if I summon Balancer Lord, pay 1000 LP to Special Summon Backup Secretary from my hand, I have two monsters on the field. Then I activate Polymerization, fuse Mokey Mokey from my hand with Backup Secretary..."
You would need to use Mokey Mokey as a material, and the fusion also requires Mokey Mokey. The card says "Mokey Mokey + 1 or more monsters with different names." You can fuse from hand.
"So I fuse Mokey Mokey from my hand with Backup Secretary on my field. I summon Mokey Mokey King of Rage. Its ATK is based on monsters in both graveyards... which would be just Backup Secretary at this point. So... 1200 ATK base times 100 equals 120? Plus 800 DEF times 100... that doesn't seem right."
You're calculating wrong. It's the total original ATK and DEF multiplied by 100. Backup Secretary has 1200 ATK and 800 DEF originally. That's 2000 total stats. Times 100 is... actually, that formula doesn't make sense either. Let us reconsider the card text.
Takeda pulled out Mokey Mokey King of Rage and reread it carefully.
This card's ATK and DEF become equal to the total original ATK and DEF (respectively) of all monsters in both players' Graveyards x 100...
"Oh. OH. It's not times 100. It's... the total ATK of all graveyard monsters times 100 for ATK, and total DEF times 100 for DEF? That would make it... 1200 x 100 = 120,000 ATK?"
That seems excessive.
"The card manifested from pure spite. Excessive seems appropriate."
Actually, upon reflection, we believe the effect means something different. The "x 100" likely refers to 100 points per monster, not multiplying the actual stats. So with one monster in the graveyard, it would be 100 ATK base, plus bonuses for opponent's graveyard and Extra Deck monsters.
"That's much less impressive."
But more balanced. And the effect that destroys all monsters when it's destroyed is the real power. It's a deterrent. Your opponent has to think carefully about whether destroying it is worth losing their entire board.
Takeda put the card back and continued practicing.
He practiced for hours.
He drew hand after hand, talking through possible plays with the voices of his deck, trying to understand the interactions between his old cards and his new Cyberse additions. Some combinations worked well—Cyberse Gadget's graveyard revival paired nicely with his flip-effect monsters. Others were awkward—Linkslayer's discard cost conflicted with his limited hand resources.
The sun moved across the sky. The shadows lengthened. Other duelists occasionally passed by the practice arena, glanced at Takeda muttering to himself and his cards, and wisely chose to practice elsewhere.
The Kuriboh alternated between watching supportively and napping on the bench.
And through it all, Takeda didn't notice the figure watching from the shadows at the edge of the arena.
Yusei Fudo had finished his tournament bracket hours ago—had won, of course, because Yusei Fudo always won when it mattered. He'd been about to head home when something had made him pause.
A feeling.
A pull.
The same intuition that had guided him through countless impossible situations, the connection to something greater than himself that had started with a mark on his arm and had grown into something far more profound.
He'd followed that feeling to this run-down practice arena on the outskirts of the district.
And he'd found Takeda.
The homeless duelist with the impossible deck. The charity case who'd forced Yusei to summon his ultimate monster in round one. The nobody who'd created a fusion monster from pure spite and nearly turned the entire duel around.
Yusei watched as Takeda drew practice hands, muttering strategies to himself, occasionally arguing with what appeared to be his own cards. The Kuriboh on his shoulder would chirp in agreement or disagreement. Sometimes Takeda would nod as if receiving advice from an invisible source.
He was talking to his deck.
And his deck was talking back.
Yusei knew what that meant. He'd seen it before, in Jack, in Crow, in duelists throughout history who had formed bonds with their cards that went beyond the normal duelist-deck relationship. Duel Spirits. The souls of the monsters, reaching out to their partners.
But there was something different about this one.
Something chaotic.
Something that felt like... luck? Fate? The universe bending itself around a single point?
Yusei couldn't explain it. He'd faced ancient evils and dimension-hopping threats and mechanical gods trying to destroy the world. He'd learned to recognize when something important was happening, even if he couldn't identify exactly what.
This felt important.
Takeda was shuffling his deck again, preparing for another practice hand, when the Kuriboh suddenly perked up.
"Kuri!" it said, pointing toward the shadows where Yusei stood.
Takeda looked up, squinting into the fading light.
Their eyes met.
Takeda froze.
Yusei didn't move.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Yusei simply nodded—a small, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment—and turned to leave.
"Wait—" Takeda started.
But Yusei was already gone, vanishing into the evening crowd with the ease of someone who was very good at not being followed when he didn't want to be.
Takeda stared at the space where the legendary duelist had been standing.
"Did... did Yusei Fudo just watch me practice?"
It appears so, the voices confirmed.
"Why? Why would he do that? Doesn't he have better things to do? Important protagonist things? World-saving activities?"
Perhaps he sees something in you. Perhaps he's curious about the duelist who created an impossible fusion and nearly defeated his ultimate monster. Perhaps he's just passing by and wanted to see how you were progressing.
"He didn't say anything."
Some things don't need words. He acknowledged you. He recognized your effort. In a world where dueling is everything, that's significant.
Takeda looked down at his deck.
His chaotic, mismatched, impossible deck that somehow contained living spirits and spite-fueled fusion monsters and cards from at least three different timelines.
"I'm not going to let him down," Takeda said quietly.
Let him down?
"He watched me practice. He acknowledged me. That means something. Even if I'm terrible, even if I lose every duel I fight from now on, I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to keep improving. I'm going to become someone worthy of that acknowledgment."
That's unexpectedly profound.
"Shut up. I'm having a moment."
"Kuri," the Kuriboh said approvingly.
Takeda shuffled his deck one more time and drew a new practice hand.
He had work to do.
He had a reputation to build.
He had a legendary duelist's silent approval to live up to.
And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he had the faint suspicion that his life was about to get much, much more complicated.
But that was a problem for Future Takeda.
Present Takeda had combos to learn.
The sun had fully set by the time Takeda finally stopped practicing.
His hands ached from constant shuffling. His brain ached from trying to remember dozens of card interactions and possible strategies. His stomach ached from hunger, despite the sandwiches he'd eaten earlier.
But he felt... good.
Not great. Not confident. But good.
Better than he'd felt since waking up in this world.
"Okay," he said, gathering his cards and sliding them back into his deck box. "Time to find somewhere to sleep. Any suggestions?"
There's a park three blocks north with benches that are relatively dry and not typically occupied by other homeless individuals at this hour.
"You've really mapped out the homelessness survival options in this city, haven't you?"
We've been in this deck a long time. We've learned to adapt to our circumstances.
Takeda started walking toward the park, the Kuriboh floating beside him.
The streets were quieter now, the tournament crowds having dispersed. A few late-night duelists still wandered about, their duel disks glowing softly in the darkness, but most of the city was settling down for the night.
As Takeda walked, he found himself thinking about the day's events.
He'd entered a tournament. He'd been matched against a legendary protagonist in round one. He'd summoned an impossible fusion monster, destroyed his opponent's ultimate creature, and then lost anyway. He'd been eliminated, gone dumpster diving, found cards from another timeline, practiced for hours, and been silently acknowledged by one of the greatest duelists in history.
Not bad for day three of his new life.
Terrible by any objective standard, but not bad by the extremely low bar he'd set for himself.
The park was exactly where the voices had said it would be—a small green space between buildings, with a few trees, a non-functional fountain, and several benches that looked like they hadn't been maintained since the original Duel Monsters anime aired.
Takeda selected the least uncomfortable-looking bench, brushed off some leaves, and lay down.
The Kuriboh curled up on his chest, providing warmth and a vague sense of companionship.
The stars overhead were still unfamiliar, still arranged in patterns he didn't recognize.
But for the first time since arriving in this world, Takeda felt like maybe—just maybe—he was starting to figure things out.
He had a deck.
He had a strategy. Sort of.
He had goals. Vague ones, admittedly, but goals nonetheless.
And he had spite.
So much spite.
Rest, the voices murmured. Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to grow. Another opportunity to make the impossible possible.
"Romantic of you."
We're learning from you. You have a talent for dramatic internal monologue.
"Thanks. I've been practicing."
Sleep. Dream of victory. And remember: no matter how bad things seem, you created a monster from pure spite and destroyed a cosmic dragon god with it. That's not nothing.
"That's definitely not nothing," Takeda agreed sleepily.
The Kuriboh made a soft, contented sound.
The park was quiet.
The city hummed with distant life.
And Takeda, homeless duelist, spite-fueled fusion summoner, and accidental point of interest for a legendary protagonist, drifted off to sleep.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
New duels.
New opportunities to fail spectacularly and somehow turn that failure into something resembling progress.
But that was Future Takeda's problem.
Present Takeda was tired.
Present Takeda had earned rest.
And so, surrounded by his living deck and his loyal Kuriboh, Takeda slept.
And in his dreams, Mokey Mokey King of Rage roared its silent, rectangular fury at a universe that had tried to break him and failed.
Not bad.
Not bad at all.