[As the light screen has finished broadcasting a character’s primary MasterLove storyline, it is now upgrading…
Upgrade complete.
Functions have been expanded.
Please explore the new features at your own discretion.] The moment the mechanical voice faded, the previously static light screen shimmered.
Streams of data cascaded across the glass.
It flickered twice, as if compiling a massive archive, before settling into a crisp, stable display.
A single line of prompt text hung quietly in the air, exuding a casual, almost smug aura.
Inside the lounge of New Chaldea, the sudden shift shattered the lazy afternoon lull.
Tomoe Gozen sat curled on a plush sofa, her thumbs flying across a simulated game controller in a blur of practiced motion.
Flanking her shoulder-to-shoulder were the three Valkyrie sisters, all mirroring her exact posture.
Their eyes were glued to the television monitor, a scattering of half-empty snack bags littering the cushions between them.
They mashed buttons with laser-focused intensity.
It wasn’t until the ambient glow of the light screen shifted that the four gamers finally looked up.
A spark of genuine excitement lit up Tomoe’s crimson eyes.
“Wow, it even has a Level Up system?
How interesting,” she mused, her tone lifting.
Her thumb subconsciously tapped the pause button on her controller.
The Valkyries traded glances between the mysterious broadcast and their paused game, their curiosity thoroughly piqued.
Ortlinde paused her thumb, blinking in wonder.
“It operates exactly like a video game.
Phased content updates.” Hildr offered a soft, agreeable nod.
Thrúd loosened her white-knuckled grip on her controller, her gaze locking onto the glowing text with quiet anticipation.
[The light screen flared to life.
Swirling streams of golden data parted to reveal a crisp, cinematic image—a night sky choked with dense, drifting snowflakes.
Cold moonlight spilled over a sea of white clouds.
A heavy wooden sleigh, propelled by pure magical energy, carved a path straight through the howling blizzard.] [At the front of the sleigh, Fujimaru Ritsuka clung to the wooden railing.
He was stuffed into a plush, red-and-white reindeer onesie, complete with a ridiculous antler headband strapped securely to his skull.
The fluffy collar brushed against his wind-chilled, flushed cheeks, but his eyes were bright, crinkled in vivid, breathless laughter.] [Standing tall beside him was Artoria Santa Alter.
She wore a pure black Santa Claus dress, its silver-white fur trim catching the moonlight as it whipped in the freezing wind.
Her dark hood was pulled low, half-shadowing her features.
Yet, her normally piercing golden eyes held a faint, almost imperceptible softness.] [She anchored herself to the sleigh’s handrail with one gauntleted hand.
Her other arm was wrapped protectively around a massive, bulging sack of presents.
Her posture remained as rigid and upright as a knight at attention, yet the warmth of the holiday clung to her.
Together, Master and Servant rode the sleigh across the sky, leaving a brilliant trail of starlight in their wake.] [The broadcast abruptly froze, framing Artoria Santa Alter in mid-air.
Pale golden data streams orbited her figure before snapping into neat lines of text, laying out her profile for the multiverse to see.] [Artoria Santa Alter: The Christmas manifestation of the Altered King of Knights, Artoria Pendragon.
In a bid to reverse her terrifying image in the eyes of children, she has taken up the mantle of their greatest ally—Santa Claus.
Her massive sack is stuffed with toys she spent an entire year carefully selecting.] [Currently, she has reverse-summoned Fujimaru Ritsuka to serve as her Master and loyal reindeer, dragging her sleigh to deliver gifts to the masses.
It is currently the seventh night of their journey.] [A bright, flashing prompt suddenly hijacked the bottom of the screen: ML RADAR INDICATES: IT IS ML.] Down in the main hall of New Chaldea, a wave of murmurs rippled through the gathered Servants.
Fujimaru Ritsuka stared blankly at his giant reindeer onesie for a solid three seconds.
Recognition flashed in his eyes—this was a memory, a bizarre holiday shift he had personally survived.
He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a dry chuckle at the Servant profile.
“So the big update just adds character bios?
Not bad, I guess.” Then the flashing radar prompt assaulted his vision.
Ritsuka dragged a hand down his face, groaning into his palm.
“Did we really need that last line?
It feels a bit redundant…” [Light Screen System Note: This broadcast exists to compile MasterLove.
Equipping an ML identification radar is perfectly logical.] Across the multiverse, within the Emiya Residence of the Fifth Holy Grail War, Shirou stepped out of the kitchen.
He held a glass of freshly warmed milk, but as his eyes caught the glowing screen hovering in the living room, his boots planted firmly into the floorboards.
He stared, completely forgetting the heat seeping into his palm.
He drifted closer to the window, his amber eyes scanning the dark-clad Santa on the screen.
He frowned, his thumb absently rubbing the smooth glass.
“That Artoria Santa Alter…
she looks exactly like Saber,” Shirou muttered, bewildered.
“Her face, her build, they’re identical.
But it feels like something is missing.” She lacked the gentle, noble dignity of his Servant.
Instead, this woman radiated a sharp, lethal edge—an edge that clashed absurdly with the festive fur-trimmed dress and the giant bag of toys.
A few steps away, Artoria stared at her doppelgänger.
Seeing her own face framed by a black-and-red holiday hood, radiating such a heavy, imposing aura, sent a jolt through her system.
Her spine went rigid.
Her knuckles turned white as she instinctively gripped the invisible scabbard at her waist.
Her emerald eyes swam with conflicting emotions—shock, deep curiosity, and deep bewilderment.
“So that is…
my reversed self,” she murmured.
To see her corrupted aspect playing the role of a jolly gift-giver was a reality she had never once simulated in her mind.
In the timeline of the Fourth Holy Grail War, within the grand hall of the Einzbern’s temporary Round Table Manor, Irisviel von Einzbern practically vibrated with delight.
She stood beside her summoned Saber, her crimson eyes sparkling as she watched the broadcast.
She reached out, gently tugging at Artoria’s armored sleeve.
“Oh, Saber, look!
That Artoria Santa Alter is your corrupted form!
That black Santa outfit is absolutely adorable.
The contrast with your usual stoic knight routine is just wonderful.” Irisviel beamed, her gaze glued to the screen, thoroughly entertained by the sheer novelty of it all.
Artoria followed her Master’s gaze, staring hard at the dark figure.
The bewilderment on her face only deepened.
Her hand, resting at her side, slowly curled into a fist.
“To actually become Santa Claus…
my Altered self,” she whispered, her voice laced with utter disbelief.
The concept of a corrupted, ruthless tyrant spending an entire year carefully wrapping presents for children completely shattered her understanding of the word “Alter.” [The broadcast shifted, the camera panning smoothly across the sleigh to focus on Fujimaru Ritsuka.
Pale golden data streams wrapped around him, generating his own profile.] [Fujimaru Ritsuka: The Last Master of Humanity.
He traverses various Singularities to repair the incinerated Human Order, a drifter of the correct history.
At this moment, he is merely a novice Master who has resolved over a dozen Singularities.
Currently, he is executing his duties superbly as Artoria Santa Alter’s loyal reindeer.] [The ML Radar flashed once more: HE IS THE MASTER WHO IS LOVED.] Back in New Chaldea, Ritsuka stared at the flashing radar text, then at his own grinning, antler-wearing face on the monitor.
His expression froze.
A dry, helpless laugh escaped his throat as he buried his face in his hands.
“This ML radar is going to make me look like a complete narcissist to the rest of the multiverse,” he groaned.
But as the words left his mouth, a specific phrase from the profile caught his attention.
The embarrassed flush faded from his cheeks.
He lowered his hands, his brows pulling together.
“‘A drifter of the correct history’…” he muttered, rubbing his chin.
He stared at the floor tiles, chasing a ghost of a thought.
“Why does that sound so familiar?
I feel like…
someone called me that before.” He dug through his memories, but the harder he pushed, the more the context slipped away.
The voice, the time, the place—all of it remained buried beneath the sheer volume of his chaotic journey, leaving behind only a frustrating, phantom sense of déjà vu.
In the Fourth War timeline, Emiya Kiritsugu lingered in the deep shadows of the manor.
He stared at Ritsuka’s profile, his normally dead, calculating eyes narrowing with sharp intensity.
He shoved his hands into his trench coat pockets, his jaw locked tight.
“Finally,” he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Some actual intelligence on this boy.” His mind immediately began dissecting the text.
The Last Master of Humanity.
Did that imply all other magi were dead?
Or simply that the system of summoning had collapsed entirely after his tenure?
The implications of an ‘incinerated Human Order’ painted a bleak, apocalyptic picture that darkened Kiritsugu’s expression.
Then his eyes caught the next line.
Merely a novice Master who has resolved over a dozen Singularities.
Kiritsugu exhaled a slow, harsh breath.
A flash of deep shock pierced his stoic facade.
To save the world over a dozen times, to face down apocalyptic anomalies back-to-back, and to have the broadcast dismiss it with the word merely—the sheer, crushing weight of that boy’s burden was staggering.
Far away, within the gas-lit study of the Clock Tower.
Waver Velvet—now Lord El-Melloi II, having long shed the naive boy who fought in Fuyuki—stood rigid behind his massive oak desk.
He glared at the glowing screen suspended among his bookshelves, a deep crease forming between his brows.
He kept one hand tucked behind his back while the fingers of his right hand drummed a rapid, restless rhythm against the polished wood.
“‘A drifter of the correct history’…” Waver muttered, his deep voice thick with academic frustration.
“Does that imply Fujimaru Ritsuka is a temporal anomaly?
A lone survivor anchored to an incinerated Human Order?
Or does it mean this ‘incinerated’ timeline is a deviation from the correct Pan-Human History entirely?” He chewed on his cigar, running the variables through his brilliant mind.
But the data was simply too sparse.
The mechanics of Singularities and global incineration were outside the bounds of modern Clock Tower theory.
Finally, the drumming of his fingers ceased.
Waver let out a long, heavy sigh, smoke curling into the dim light.
He was left with nothing but a mountain of terrifying questions.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?