On the light screen, amidst the shifting glow of projected shadows, a graceful figure materialized.
Chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders like a silken waterfall, perfectly framing her delicate, soft features.
The woman held a mechanical staff loosely in her left hand, letting its long shaft rest lightly against her side, while her right hand carefully cradled a framed canvas.
Her fingertips traced the rough edge of the painting.
A slight furrow formed between her elegant brows, and her glass-like eyes clouded with genuine perplexity.
Her red lips parted, releasing a soft sigh tinged with bewilderment, yet her posture retained an airy, unbothered composure.
“How could…
this be.” She tightened her grip on the staff, bringing the artwork slightly closer to the light.
Her gaze locked onto the canvas, dissecting every detail.
A faint tremor touched her voice, the end of her sentence drifting into the quiet air.
“Impossible…
Although it should clearly be impossible, the appearance in this painting is undoubtedly me, isn’t it?” The woman shook her head.
She tapped the base of her staff lightly against the floor, her right hand still tracing the painted surface.
The confusion etching her features deepened into a scrutinizing gravity.
When she spoke again, her tone dropped, carrying a hesitant certainty.
“…No, that is not right.
Although this depicts my appearance, the essence is completely different.
This is not the true me.” Her gaze sharpened into a piercing glare.
Keeping her staff perfectly still, she slowly angled the painting to catch the light, her eyes carefully scanning the chaotic brushstrokes.
The frown tightened.
A subtle complexity washed over her face—a strange mixture of artistic disdain and reluctant awe.
“Even though the technique looks utterly crude and clumsy, every stroke is wrapped in a scorching passion.
It is precisely this reckless, burning emotion that forcibly twisted this painting to resemble me…!” A sudden, airy laugh escaped her lips, carrying a chilling edge that contrasted with her beautiful features.
She raised her eyebrows, lifting the painting slightly higher.
Her tone gained a note of solemn wariness.
“One could even say: this kind of reckless passion is truly fearsome.” Raising her empty hand, the woman rubbed her temple, looking thoroughly exasperated by the sheer weight of the emotion radiating from the canvas.
Her voice pitched up a few notches, dripping with vivid disgust as she formulated a blunt analogy.
“It feels exactly like standing under the blazing midsummer sun, wrapped in several layers of heavy winter coats, with a space heater cranked to the absolute maximum, all while gulping down a bowl of piping hot udon noodles and sprinting headlong into a steamy school campus!” In the Fourth Holy Grail War timeline, within the simple but well-equipped room of a rural farmhouse, the light screen hovered in mid-air.
Waver Velvet stood frozen in the center of the room.
His hands flew up in a frantic, confused gesture, his jaw dropping open.
“What kind of strange, absurd analogy is that!?” He took two steps toward the projection, his eyes scanning the glowing surface as his brow knotted together.
“Speaking of which, shouldn’t there be a character introduction first?
Who exactly is this woman?” “Boy, you are far too noisy.
Stop your chattering and let me watch.” Iskandar, the King of Conquerors, sat heavily on a wooden stool nearby.
With one hand resting on his hip, he casually raised the other.
He curled his massive fingers and delivered a crisp, sharp flick directly to Waver’s forehead.
The sheer physical force of the Servant sent the slender Master flying backward.
Waver slammed hard against the simple wooden wall, sliding down to the floor.
Clutching his throbbing forehead, Waver scrambled into a sitting position, coughing as his face flushed a brilliant red.
He glared up at the towering man.
“Damn it, Rider!
Can’t you hold back a little!?
You nearly shattered my skull!” Iskandar paid zero attention to the furious growls.
His broad frame leaned forward, his casual demeanor entirely gone.
His deep gaze remained locked on the floating screen, the air around him growing heavy with intense, captivated focus.
On the screen, the woman brushed aside a stray lock of chestnut hair falling against her cheek, steadying the artwork once more.
Her eyes turned sharp, the corner of her mouth lifting into a curve of pure obsession.
Her voice rang out clear and resounding, carrying a hint of self-mocking boldness.
“Ask me how I can understand this?
It is because I have always been a pervert—or rather, I have always been hopelessly obsessed with beauty!” She tilted her staff slightly and waved her right hand in a dismissive gesture, instantly tossing aside her dramatic confession.
Her demeanor shifted back to a casual, carefree lightness.
“Ah, well, let us not worry about that for now.” The very next second, a strange smile stretched across her face as she cursed.
“Damn it!
Who on earth committed such a heinous act, turning a painting into this state!” She stamped her foot lightly against the ground.
A flicker of genuine panic flashed through her glass-like eyes as she remembered a looming threat.
“I cannot just stand by and watch any longer.
If things continue like this, if it really develops into a situation where Romani nags at me endlessly, that would be truly terrible!” In the Fifth Holy Grail War timeline, inside the quiet living room of the Emiya Residence, Shirou stood watching the floating projection.
He lowered his gaze, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he analyzed her words.
“Just afraid of being nagged?” Shirou muttered softly.
“It seems in her eyes, this matter isn’t all that serious after all.” He looked back up at the woman on the screen, tilting his head.
“Or perhaps, the Romani she mentioned is just an exceptionally talkative person?” On the screen, the woman’s expression instantly hardened.
The earlier hint of panic vanished, replaced by an aura of absolute, unquestionable authority.
Her posture straightened, and her voice dropped into a grave register, each word carrying heavy gravity.
“This is no trivial matter.
This is definitely a heaven-shattering problem that could lead to the complete collapse of human order, enough to give birth to a new Singularity-level catastrophe!” The serene confidence on Shirou’s face shattered.
The sheer speed at which the screen contradicted his assumption left a burning heat creeping up his neck.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, looking away from the glowing projection before hesitantly peeking back.
The awkward silence in the living room stretched on.
After a long, painful pause, Shirou finally managed to squeeze out a single, strained breath.
“…So that’s how it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, thoroughly flustered by his own hasty judgment.
The woman on the screen suddenly raised her staff, pointing its mechanical tip toward the sky.
She thrust her palm forward, issuing a commanding declaration into the void.
Her voice pitched high with obvious urgency.
“Alright, emergency alert!
All personnel, assemble immediately!” As her command echoed out, the fluctuating light screen finally stabilized.
The long-overdue introduction text slowly unfolded across the projection, framing the beautiful woman in crisp, glowing letters.
[Leonardo da Vinci, the Universal Man.
One of the handful of top-tier geniuses deeply inscribed in the annals of human history.] [Historical records state he was a peerlessly handsome youth and an exceptionally elegant young man.
However, the actual manifestation situation is as you see now—she has materialized in this form, taking the appearance of her world-famous painting, the Mona Lisa.] A final line of pale, crystal-clear text appeared at the bottom of the screen: [The ML Radar indicates: An alternative MasterLove.
Not worldly romantic love, but a pure and deep affection for Fujimaru Ritsuka, akin to that of a teacher guiding a beloved student.] [Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?