Disclaimer: The creator of Yu-Gi-Oh! is Kazuki Takahashi. Not I.
Warning 1: Thou shall not steal. Plagiarism is a dastardly deed. Thank you.
Warning 2: No beta reader. Apologies for everything wrong in this short story. This one-shot follows the English dub of the anime and the Americanized names.
Warning 3: Hopefully, the interaction between Yami Bakura and Ryou Bakura is not totally bogus. Sadly, the "mechanics" of the Millennium ring probably does not follow the series.
Timeline: Perhaps AU?
'words' - thoughts
Maneuvers En Masse
By Jan J. (P.J.P.), Little Sister's Keepress
8: 31 a.m.
Ryou Bakura collapsed on the floor of the men's washroom and panted. The lucid form of Yami Bakura hovered over him.
"You are so pathetic!" the spirit sneered. "Who are you trying to protect? You know that I can seize control over your body anytime and anywhere. You are so weak!"
Ryou shakily look up. "But I was in class. I didn't want to completely disrupt Professor Miedo's lecture!"
Yami Bakura's eyes glinted dangerously. "Ah, yes. The good old professor," he hissed. "Why did you not inform me that he knows about the Millennium items?"
"What?" Ryou whispered. His deer-like eyes widened in confusion.
"The Millennium items, you fool!" snapped Yami Bakura. "Do not try to act innocent. Your professor was droning on about the power that can be derived from the energy beam that shoots out of each item."
"But he wasn't!" Ryou feebly protested. His mind raced back to the morning's earlier events.
"And so the source's beam zaps the bodies and fragmentation occurs as a result of the high instability," Professor Miedo excitedly explained to the assembly of drowsy students.
Pausing in his lecture, the instructor eagerly awaited for the signs of comprehension to grace their faces. He sighed when snores stampeded over his senses. Some day he would compose a rock song about the academic subject. That should wake them up. Unfortunately, he couldn't imagine himself as the ultimate rock musician.
In the front row, Ryou was diligently finishing his notes on the morning's lesson. The pearly-haired pupil was just about to cross the final t and dot the final i when a tingling sensation enveloped his chest. Under his shirt, the Millennium ring was erratically glowing.
'Oh, dear," thought Ryou. Swiftly, the teenager placed his books and papers into his backpack as he desperately dashed away from his desk.
"Excuse me, Professor!" he cried out when he reached the classroom's exit. "I do apologize!"
Professor Miedo stared at Ryou's madly retreating back. At least one of his students was not slumbering away.
The teacher's countenance brightened.
'Perhaps Mr. Bakura is going to the school's library right now to do further research on the topic in my lecture!'
The spirit glared menacingly into his light's panicked eyes. "Do not lie to me!" the thief threatened.
"I am not!" Ryou exclaimed. "Please, you must believe me. Professor Miedo was definitely not talking about the Millennium items. He doesn't even know that they exist."
The thief snorted in disbelief at his vessel's words.
"He was lecturing about molecular ions!" proclaimed the teenager as he moved to lean against the wall.
Yami Bakura froze. He then began to pace in mid-air and swear at the professor.
'Good Lord.' Ryou shrank against the wall. 'I hope he doesn't actually execute any of those curses.'
Suddenly, the distraught youth found his face centimeters away from his irate yami's darkened pupils.
"Mortal," the ancient Egyptian coaxingly said, "are these molecular icons made of gold?" He smiled chillingly.
The Briton faltered. 'Molecular icons?'
"Are they powerful?" Yami Bakura continued. "Powerful enough to take down that insufferable Pharaoh?"
Ryou gulped. Why did he have to be possessed by an obsessive tomb robber?
Yami Bakura smirked triumphantly at the object in his grasp. It was finally his. He scoffed at the "Check Out" sign. A thief king did not check out. From his sanctuary by the shelves, a thief king would instead rip off the laminated bar code number from the cover jacket and stuff the dismembered good into his—well, his host's—backpack.
The librarian glanced oddly at the white-haired student who had just hastily made his way from the non-fiction section. She had never seen a person grin so bizarrely—particularly at a book entitled Mass Spectrometry.
She frowned thoughtfully. Then again, there were always the chemistry instructors.