100 Ways To Love Your Child

Chapter 1- The Pamphlet

Disclaimer: I own not Yugioh, nor anything else mentioned unless it's coffee.

Yugi Mouto snuggled deep into his blankets, sleeping peacefully. The sun, just up, was kept at bay by his bedroom shutters. His shadowy bedroom was a horrible mess: clothes were strewn across the floor; his school bag lay upside-down in a corner with books slipping out of it. His dresser drawers were half open, socks hanging out of them, and the trash can was overflowing with crumpled drawing paper. The only neat thing was his desk. A photo album filled with pictures of his best friends, his dueling deck, a cup of pens and pencils, and a sketchbook full of duel monsters were all arranged neatly. The room a mess, yes, but comfortable. Serene. His. Nothing would disturb the sanctity of his-

BANG BANG BANG "Yugi!" His grandpa opened the door. "Get up Yugi, or you'll be late for school! Don't make me drag you down the stairs like I did last week!" He started to close the door, then stopped. "And clean your room! It's a pigsty in here and you're not leaving till it's clean. Now get up!" With that, he slammed the door shut and tromped down the stairs.

"Good morning, Grandpa," Yugi mumbled, sitting groggily up. He instinctively reached over to his bedpost and slipped the Millennium Puzzle around his neck. "Morning Yami," he yawned. He got up and stretched, and his darker half appeared beside him in spirit form.

"Seep well?" Yami asked.

Yugi smacked at the taste of morning and trudged out of his room to the bathroom. "Well, I was sleeping well until Gramps barged in and started screaming." He sighed, squeezing his usual mint toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "I don't know what's gotten into him lately. Have you noticed how grumpy and gloomy he's been?" Yugi started scrubbing his teeth vigorously.

"Yes, I have noticed," Yami said. "Underneath the anger he seems distracted, almost worried."

"Ergeed? Ow n u ell?" Yugi gurgled, pasty foam dripping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

"Rinse, spit, then speak," Yami said patiently.

Yugi followed his directions, then wiped the toothpaste off his chin with a washcloth. "Worried? How can you tell?" he repeated.

Yami shrugged "I can see it in his eyes." he said simply.

"You always could read people like that," Yugi said. "But what on earth could he possibly be worried about?" He walked back into his room, found his school uniform stuffed under his desk, and started getting dressed. "I mean, business with the shop is fine, I'm fine, he's --" Yugi stopped in the middle of pulling his pants up, and his big eyes got even bigger. "Oh no, Yami, you don't think he's sick? What if he's got some kind of cancer…what if he's dying?" Yugi sat on his bed with his pants still around his knees. Spirit Yami sat next to him and put a comforting, ethereal hand on his smaller half's shoulder.

"I'm sure we're just making a pyramid out of an anthill. It's probably nothing, really," he said comfortingly.

Yugi smiled up at his other half. "You're probably right. Thanks, Yami."

BANG Yugi's door flew open, and his grandpa stood glaring. "Why aren't you downstairs yet?" His eyes widened suspiciously, and he started at Yugi. "What were you doing with such a big smile and your pants down?"

Yugi turned bright red and leaped to his feet, yanking his pants up. "Nothing, Gramps! Just getting dressed and cleaning up!" His grandfather hesitated, then said with a little less force, "Well, hurry up and finish cleaning." He shut the door.

Little Yugi frowned. "Why did Grampa have such a funny look on his face when he saw me?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. In the back of his mind, Yami snickered. Yugi remained clueless and hurried to clean his room. Once he had finished shoving books into his bag, carefully placing his dueling deck in his special belt and tucking his sketchbook under his arm, he left his room and trotted down the stairs into the kitchen. He drank a quick glass of orange juice -- his grandpa never fixed him breakfast anymore -- and skipped out the door with a simple "Bye Gramps."

As soon as the door slammed, Mr. Mouto heaved a great sigh. Things just didn't seem right anymore. He felt like he didn't know what to do with his grandson; he felt they were drifting apart. He didn't really mean to yell at Yugi so much lately, it's just that all his frustration and insecurity came out as anger and…no matter. After today, things should start looking up.

Forty-five minutes later, while Yugi was in his first period study hall, his grandpa was in a family counselor's waiting room. He folded and unfolded is hands nervously. Yes, it was a family counselor, but he wanted to talk to the counselor alone before he decided to bring Yugi here. He had future appointments scheduled for every Monday just after school. A counselor had to help.

The lady at the desk peered over her inch-thick glasses. "Are you…Mr. Mootoo?"

"Mouto," he corrected her. "That's me."

"Right then, Mr. Mushu," she croaked, still peering over her glasses. "The counselor, Ms. Frodd, will be with you in perhaps half an hour."

"Mouto. And what on earth is taking her so long?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Marlow, but she isn't here right now."

"Mouto. Mou-to! And where is she?"

Peer. "She's seeing her therapist. Just have patience, Mr. Myrtle."

Maybe counseling wasn't the answer. He slumped back in his chair, when he spied a pile of pamphlets. A sign above them said "Take One," and one of the pamphlets' titles sparked his interest. He flipped it open. It was short. It was simple. It was the perfect solution to his problems with Yugi! "These are magnificent! Excuse me ma'am," he addressed the googly-eyed, croaky receptionist, "Do you use these ideas in any specific order?"

She peered at the contents of the pamphlet. "Well, Mr. Moocow," she croaked. "I suggest you do them all in whatever order you feel necessary."

Grandfather of dueling champ didn't even bother to correct her. "Thanks! Do me a favor and cancel all my future appointments. I've already found a solution!" He raced out of the office waving the pamphlet over his head. On the way, he bumped into a young woman. She eyed him as he rushed gleefully out, and approached the receptionist.

"So who was that?" she asked.

"A Mr. Mouto," came the reply.

"Did he--?"


Ms. Frodd smiled calmly. "We'll be seeing him again soon enough."