The Chaldea Control Room was bathed in the rhythmic, pulsing strobe of the emergency alarm.
Pale blue emergency lights cut through the sterile white overheads, casting long, erratic shadows across the neatly arranged metal consoles.
Cascading streams of diagnostic data jumped rapidly across the main holographic displays, filling the room with a tense, suffocating pressure.
Mash Kyrielight leaned over the central terminal, her brow furrowed in deep concentration.
She looked up, her lilac eyes tracking the automatic doors, and spoke with an urgency she could not hide.
“Doctor, has some abnormal situation occurred?” Dr.
Roman practically slid through the entryway, panting softly, his footsteps heavy with the haste of his arrival.
A thin sheen of sweat caught the harsh light of the monitors.
He raised a hand, casually brushing a stray lock of orange hair from his forehead.
“Sorry I’m late!
What’s this emergency alarm about!?” Confusion instantly clouded Mash’s eyes.
Her posture stiffened, the furrow in her brow deepening as a flash of genuine astonishment crossed her face.
“The Doctor just arrived too?
Then…
that wasn’t the alarm sounded by you?” Roman spread his hands, his shoulders slumping in absolute helplessness.
He tapped the edge of the nearest console with his index finger, exhaling a long, exhausted breath.
“If it were me, we’d already be fixing it.
I was halfway to the Chaldea Furnace for a routine adjustment when the sirens went off.” Mash’s lips parted slightly.
She swept her gaze over the silent, bewildered technicians standing by their stations before looking back at the head of the medical department.
She froze in place, her voice trailing off.
“Then this emergency alarm is actually—” A sharp crackle of static cut through the Control Room’s public communication frequency.
The distinct, melodic hum of a channel being forcibly tuned followed.
“Ah…
testing, testing!” Leonardo Da Vinci’s brisk, theatrical voice echoed from the overhead speakers, instantly shattering the heavy atmosphere.
“Due to the sheer urgency of the situation, I have commandeered the internal communications.” The massive primary screen in the center of the main console flickered to life.
Da Vinci’s pristine virtual avatar slowly materialized.
She stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other waving with the casual flair of a stage performer.
Her posture was entirely relaxed, yet it carried an underlying current of unquestionable efficiency.
“A notice to all Servants who smile and forgive Master Fujimaru Ritsuka for his ridiculous behavior: please empty your heads and gather at the Workshop.” She tilted her head, a wicked, mischievous glint flashing in her eyes.
Her tone carried an undisguised, deliberate lilt, the end of her sentence rising playfully.
“Of course, please bring the weapons you are most proud of.
Only Romanie is excluded.
Because he’ll be far too naggy, his entry is strictly prohibited.” In the Fifth Holy Grail War timeline, within the quiet halls of the Emiya residence, Shirou leaned against the wooden window frame.
Hearing the broadcast from the light screen, he raised an eyebrow.
A faint, knowing smile touched his lips.
“It seems she’s really afraid of this Doctor Roman’s nagging…” On the screen, Da Vinci’s virtual image snapped her fingers.
Her cadence suddenly accelerated, carrying a breathless urgency that brooked no delay.
“Limit of one minute!
Alright, start!” The feed abruptly cut.
Inside Chaldea, the smile vanished from Emiya’s face.
He frowned, crossing his arms over his red mantle, and raised a hand to roughly scratch the back of his head.
“Hey, hey, what on earth happened?” Beside him, Doctor Roman massaged his throat, his brows drooping downward in utter defeat.
He let out a long sigh of resigned compromise.
“…It looks like a problem that can’t be spoken of publicly.
Anyway, let’s go take a look first.” The scene shifted smoothly to Da Vinci’s Magecraft Workshop.
The air inside smelled of ozone, melting copper, and ancient parchment.
Various ingenious, half-finished inventions were scattered across every available surface.
complex clockwork gears and exposed Magic Circuits intertwined, emitting faint, pulsing glimmers of arcane light.
Da Vinci bounced on her tiptoes in front of the central workbench.
Hearing the heavy metal doors slide open, she stopped immediately.
A brilliant smile blossomed across her face, her voice brimming with excitement.
“Ah, you’re here, you’re here!
As expected of Ritsuka!” Her gaze first landed on Mash, and she nodded approvingly.
But as her eyes swept past Ritsuka to scan the corridor behind them, her smile faltered.
A flash of genuine surprise widened her eyes.
“I believed that my dear little Mash would definitely come too!
But the accompanying Servant…
eh, only Emiya?” She cupped her chin with one hand, tilting her head slightly.
She pouted, her tone dripping with exaggerated regret and a touch of petty resentment.
“I thought I could bait at least seven meddlesome Servants into showing up…” In the Fourth Holy Grail War timeline, Waver Velvet sat amidst a cluttered pile of occult tomes in his room.
His eye twitched violently, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline.
“Seven…
do you want to start a Holy Grail War inside your own workshop?” Back in the Workshop, Emiya leaned against a towering brass support pillar, his arms crossed.
His expression remained entirely deadpan, offering a matter-of-fact explanation with a trace of deep weariness in his eyes.
“As long as they know the emergency alarm was sent from Da Vinci’s Workshop, I doubt a single Heroic Spirit in this facility would be willing to walk into the blast radius.” He straightened up slightly, offering a casual shrug.
“I just happened to be discussing cafeteria logistics with Ritsuka, so I accompanied him here.” In the Fifth Holy Grail War timeline, Tohsaka Rin crossed her arms, her twintails swaying as she shot a sly, sidelong glance.
Her eyes curved into crescents, her voice dripping with playful mischief.
“My, my.
Isn’t this just because he’s worried about them?
Mama Emiya really is so gentle.” Beside her, Archer kept his eyes half-closed.
His jaw locked.
A dangerous, low-pressure aura leaked from his form as he grumbled internally.
‘Tsk.
I actually let this woman get the upper hand…
Just wait, Rin.
I don’t believe you don’t have any weaknesses.’ On the screen, Da Vinci dramatically drooped her shoulders, putting on a pitiful, wounded expression.
“Eh?
Am I really that unpopular?” Footsteps echoed from the open doorway.
Roman strolled in slowly, his hands buried deep in his lab coat pockets, a wry, teasing grin plastered across his face.
“Of course not.
You should reflect on your usual attitude.
Everyone even thinks Nikola Tesla understands the human heart better than you do.” At the phrase ‘understands the human heart’, the Sabers of both the Fourth and Fifth timelines froze.
Artoria Pendragon’s breath hitched.
Her hands, resting quietly at her sides, slowly curled into tight fists.
Her emerald eyes lowered, the light within them dimming as the phantom echo of Sir Tristan’s parting words—’The King does not understand the human heart’—resurfaced with agonizing clarity, tearing at old, unhealed wounds.
Da Vinci whipped her head toward the door.
The theatrical grievance vanished from her face, instantly replaced by genuine exasperation.
“Whoa, Romanie!
Why are you here?
Didn’t I explicitly tell you not to come!” Roman stopped, the grin fading from his face into a look of absolute exasperation.
“When you announce a ban over the public comms, anyone would get curious!” He closed the distance, his brow furrowing as he forced a stern, authoritative glare.
“Seriously, what did you mess up this time?
Even a coward like me gets angry occasionally, you know.” In the Fourth Holy Grail War timeline, Gilgamesh lounged upon his velvet sofa, swirling a goblet of crimson wine.
His golden-red eyes narrowed in amusement.
A rare, genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, stripping away his usual overwhelming arrogance.
“Heh.
You actually call yourself a coward?
Truly interesting.” For once, the King of Heroes found a mortal intriguing enough to spare them the title of mongrel.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?