Sub-Singularity: Malignant Isolation Demon Realm – Shinjuku.
The grand conspiracy woven by the evil Professor Moriarty had finally been crushed.
The oppressive, suffocating might of the Demon God Pillar Baal vanished completely, taking the dense black fog down with it.
Residual magical energy slowly settled amidst the concrete wreckage.
The ethereal figures of the summoned Heroes gradually faded into transparency, quietly awaiting the Rayshift signal to return to the Throne of Heroes.
Mash’s gentle voice filtered through Chaldea’s communication frequency, carrying a distinct softness and a heavy sigh of relief.
“Master, the Rayshift coordinates are calibrated and ready.
Are you ready to—” The communication signal suddenly crackled with a burst of static before falling completely silent.
Not a single echo lingered.
It wasn’t interference from magical instability.
Instead, a faint, playful, and undeniably cunning chuckle drifted through the quiet air, landing lightly in Fujimaru Ritsuka’s ears.
Without even needing to turn his head, he knew exactly whose handiwork this was.
Jalter stepped forward.
Her golden eyes locked onto Ritsuka, taking in his completely bewildered, stunned expression.
A flamboyant, slightly teasing curve lifted the corner of her mouth.
She lightly tapped the tip of his shoe with her boot.
Her tone carried an unquestionable petulance, drawing out the final syllable with deliberate flair.
“What’s with that dumbfounded, blank look on your face?
Did winning the battle make you stupid?” “Come on, get up quickly!
Chest out, head up, straighten your back for me.
Don’t sag like a deflated ball!
Hurry up!” Seeing Ritsuka dazedly obey and reluctantly adjust his posture, Jalter gave a slight nod, deeming his effort barely satisfactory.
The dark, corrosive magical energy surrounding her suddenly surged.
The rigid, jagged armor covering her body emitted a faint, crisp hum as mana flooded through the plating.
The sharp, metallic luster rapidly melted away, replaced by the soft, flowing texture of premium fabric.
In just a few breaths, the heavy armor stained with gunpowder and ash completely transformed into a sharply tailored black and purple evening gown.
The hem was adorned with fine silver-white patterns that swayed gently with the ambient magic, accentuating her striking features with a vibrant elegance entirely unsuited for a ruined battlefield.
She pivoted slightly, lifted the corner of her skirt with her fingertips, and offered Ritsuka a slight, theatrical bow.
Her movements mimicked high-society elegance with a deliberate flair, but unconcealed excitement danced wildly in her eyes.
Her tone was deliberately reserved, yet filled with an irresistible, burning warmth.
“Then, let’s dance a waltz, Master.” “Dance?” Ritsuka blinked, completely stunned.
His gaze darted between the smoking, messy crater of the battlefield around them and Jalter’s exquisite gown.
His mind flooded with question marks.
They had just finished a grueling battle to the death and were seconds away from Rayshifting back to Chaldea.
Why a dance?
“So dense.
I said dan~ce~.” Jalter stretched out the word, heavily emphasizing the final syllable.
Seeing his continued blank stare, she impatiently raised her voice, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“A ballroom dance!
A proper ballroom dance!
Don’t you even have this basic knowledge?” When Ritsuka still failed to react, she closed the distance and poked him hard in the forehead.
She rolled her eyes beautifully, her tone dripping with exasperation at his slowness.
She secretly grumbled to herself that this guy was always hopelessly dense when it came to moments like this.
“You should really try to remember!
Right before we confronted that secretive Lurker in Shinjuku and started fighting, you and that cold-blooded Foolish King danced in that brightly lit place!
Such a magnificent scene, you couldn’t have forgotten it already, could you?” Understanding finally dawned on Ritsuka’s face.
Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Jalter’s tone shifted abruptly.
Her previous teasing petulance vanished, instantly replaced by an aggressive, biting sharpness.
Her brow furrowed, and her crimson-gold eyes churned with intense competitive spirit.
Her fingers tightened their grip on her skirt, crushing the fabric.
“This is too unfair, isn’t it?!
Why?
Or perhaps you secretly favor her?
You’re willing to dance with that arrogant, narcissistic Foolish King, but you won’t even share one dance with me, a Country Girl?” The exasperation practically overflowed from her words.
A faint, visible aura of resentful darkness drifted around her shoulders.
Anyone with eyes could tell she was deliberately throwing a tantrum, yet she maintained the flawless appearance of someone deeply, tragically wronged.
Ritsuka dared not provoke her further.
He quickly waved his hands in a placating gesture, secretly lamenting that this particular Dragon Witch held grudges like no one else.
It was just one dance with Saber Alter, yet she had remembered it all this time and insisted on settling the score now.
Dealing with her jealousy was honestly more troublesome than defeating a Demon God Pillar.
Yet, he couldn’t refute her, knowing full well that arguing would only summon a localized firestorm.
Seeing Ritsuka yield and try to appease her, the dangerous sharpness in Jalter’s eyes receded slightly.
However, she maintained her haughty air, tilting her chin up.
Her tone remained dictatorial, but she quietly loosened her death grip on her skirt.
Her fingertips unconsciously tapped against her thigh, betraying a barely perceptible, nervous anticipation.
“Hmph, you’ll dance now?
It would have been better if you did this sooner.
Then hurry up, what’s with the dawdling?
Remember, you have to lead this time, lead!
Don’t just stand there like a block of wood waiting for me to guide you.
You’ll be the one embarrassed, so don’t expect me to cover for you!” Though her words were dismissive, her body was entirely honest.
She bent her knees slightly and held her hand suspended in the air between them, adopting the flawless starting posture for a ballroom dance.
Her golden eyes locked tightly onto Ritsuka, her fierce tsundere expression failing to mask the sparkling expectation underneath.
She secretly grumbled to herself.
What a dense fellow.
If she hadn’t taken the initiative to demand this, she probably wouldn’t get to dance with him in this lifetime.
Compared to that bragging Foolish King, her own dancing skills were clearly a hundred times better.
She would make sure he realized that.
“Honestly, you are too insensitive.
Your limbs are stiff like this…” Jalter awkwardly turned her face away, but her fingertips firmly grasped Ritsuka’s wrist.
Her previously assertive tone inexplicably gained a touch of uncomfortable hesitation.
As their dance steps began and their bodies unconsciously drew near, she trembled slightly, as if scalded by his body heat.
A heavy blush instantly spread across her earlobes, dyeing her pale cheeks a captivating crimson.
Her voice abruptly pitched up in flustered reproach.
“Hey, aren’t we too close?
Behave yourself!
Don’t sniff around, and definitely don’t try to smell me, you pervert!” She lowered her eyelashes, entirely unwilling to meet Ritsuka’s eyes.
Her long lashes trembled nervously.
All her previous flamboyance and sharpness evaporated, leaving only a flustered, overwhelming shyness.
“Dancing…
is dancing supposed to be like this?
So close…” she muttered quietly.
Her tone brimmed with uncertainty.
Without waiting for Ritsuka to reply, she seemed to brace herself.
She tightened her jaw and mumbled, “Hmph…
I get it, I get it.
This Saintess won’t lose her nerve.” She proactively closed the remaining distance.
Although her footwork wasn’t entirely practiced, it was much steadier than before.
As she turned, her skirt gently lifted, the dark purple fabric brushing the ruined concrete and creating subtle, elegant ripples in the air.
When the unspoken song ended, Jalter slowly withdrew her hand and instinctively stepped back half a pace.
The blush on her face hadn’t completely faded, but her golden eyes shone with undisguised satisfaction.
A proud, haughty curve lifted the corner of her mouth.
“Good, now I’m equal to that person.
She deserves to hog the spotlight; now I have a moment to dance with you.” Ritsuka couldn’t help but curve his eyes, a deep hint of amusement lingering in his gaze.
Jalter caught sight of his expression out of the corner of her eye.
She immediately frowned, shooting him a deliberately fierce glare, though her cheeks secretly grew warmer again.
“What is it?
Why that smug look?
What bad ideas are you brewing?
If you keep smiling like that, watch out or I’ll summon flames and burn you right here.
Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you won the battle.” Her words were severe, but her tone lacked any real killing intent, carrying instead a hint of coquettish complaint.
She looked up at the sky.
The surrounding magical energy was growing increasingly thin.
Her figure began to flicker, turning somewhat transparent.
The vibrant agility from moments ago was replaced by an ethereal, fading quality.
Her tone calmed down, carrying a touch of quiet resignation.
“Mhm, that should be about it.
Being able to dance this one piece is enough to satisfy me.
I’m about to disappear too; the pull of the Spiritron Transfer has arrived.” Jalter paused.
She opened her mouth as if countless words wished to spill out, but she swallowed them back down, leaving only silence.
Her golden eyes fixed firmly on Ritsuka, holding a heavy reluctance that she stubbornly refused to voice.
After a moment of silence, she lifted her chin again.
Her tone regained some of its usual assertiveness, though her eyes held a rare, deep seriousness.
“Then, farewell, Master.
Before we meet again, I will go practice diligently.
Next time we dance, I will definitely be more perfect than this time.” “So you also need to—” She wanted to instruct him.
To tell him to take care of himself.
To tell him not to be so dense when they met next time.
But just as the words began to form, fine golden particles began to swirl violently around her body.
Her form grew completely transparent amidst the cluster of light.
Her voice cut off abruptly, turning into scattered specks of mana that drifted away with the wind.
She vanished completely into the ruins of Shinjuku, leaving only her unfinished words scattered in the breeze.
Fourth Holy Grail War – Shinjuku City, Shadow of an Alley Gilles de Rais stood with his body slightly stooped.
His cloudy, bulging eyes were glued tightly to the light screen projecting in the sky, shining with an astonishing, terrifying brightness.
His face twisted into a mask of almost devout obsession and satisfaction.
His mouth upturned in an uncontrollable, wide grin, and his voice trembled violently from extreme excitement.
“Oh, oh, Jeanne, the inverted Jeanne, the most perfect Saintly Maiden in my heart!
To see you in this state is truly magnificent!” Hot tears uncontrollably rolled from the corners of his eyes, tracing wet paths down his pale cheeks.
The perpetual sinister malice that usually surrounded the Caster completely receded.
It was replaced by a terrifying clarity born of ultimate satisfaction, as if the sight of the Dragon Witch blushing had completely purified his twisted soul.
Even his breathing became tremulous and devout.
Uryu Ryunosuke stood beside Bluebeard, tilting his head.
He blinked his bewildered eyes, his face full of surprised confusion.
He instinctively scratched his hair and muttered softly, “Huh!?
Old Man Bluebeard is getting this excited?” His gaze flickered toward the screen, watching Jalter dance with the Master.
He inwardly complained.
But this Jalter, isn’t she dancing with someone else?
The words reached his lips but were swallowed back down.
He pursed his lips, a fleeting shadow of timidity crossing his eyes.
Even a serial killer like him understood that if he angered Old Man Bluebeard right now, no one would accompany him to realize his ‘artistic pursuits’.
He could only stand obediently on the side, watching the unrestrained Caster weep with joy.
Gilles de Rais seemed to have eyes in the back of his head, accurately perceiving Ryunosuke’s inner thoughts.
He suddenly turned his head.
The obsession on his face hadn’t faded, but a fanatical prejudice now burned in his eyes.
He waved his hand dismissively at his Master, his tone filled with utter intoxication and madness.
“It’s fine, Ryunosuke.
I am already satisfied just seeing the Saintly Maiden, especially the Saintly Maiden’s fallen state entangled by human emotion!” He suddenly raised both arms to the sky.
His chest heaved violently, and his voice abruptly soared into a cracked, ecstatic shout, screaming like a true madman.
“Wonderful!
Kami-sama exists!
He has answered my expectations!
Oh, oh, oh!
Thank you!
Kami-sama!!” Ryunosuke looked at the maniacal Bluebeard.
His face held no surprise, only a numb calm.
He pulled at his lips, silently adding in his mind:…As long as you’re happy.
Magecraft Workshop – Sealed Chamber Kayneth El-Melloi Archibald stood in the center of his workshop, residual magical fluctuations still lingering around his pristine suit.
The heavy grimoire he had been holding suddenly crunched in his grip, the ancient pages crinkling under the immense pressure.
His brow furrowed deeply.
His eyes filled with disbelief and shock, immediately followed by extreme dissatisfaction and aristocratic contempt.
“What!?
A Servant and Master dancing together?
And the Servant is leading?
What kind of joke is this!” His voice echoed sharply off the stone walls, every word carrying the ingrained arrogance of a Clock Tower Lord.
His gaze fixed intently on the crystal ball reflecting the broadcast, his chest heaving.
“Is this Master truly a magus?
He doesn’t possess even a shred of the pride a magus should have!” He violently raised his hand and smashed the grimoire onto the ground with a dull thud, roaring out loud.
The magical aura around him became chaotic, whipping the air into a frenzy due to his rage.
Sola-Ui Nuada-Re Sophia-Ri stood beside a velvet sofa in the corner of the workshop.
Upon hearing his outburst, her delicate eyebrows immediately knitted together.
Her face showed undisguised displeasure.
She took a step forward, her voice cutting through the air with a hint of cold anger.
“Kayneth, what do you mean!?
Love between a Servant and a Master is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?
What are you angry about!?” Her gaze was sharp, carrying an irrefutable firmness.
She showed absolutely no fear of the enraged Lord.
When Kayneth met Sola’s displeased eyes, the surging anger that had just boiled over was instantly extinguished, as if doused by a bucket of ice water.
The chaotic magical energy surrounding him retracted immediately.
His tense body stiffened, and the harsh reprimand ready on his lips was swallowed back down his throat.
His brows remained tightly furrowed, but he could no longer muster a single ounce of anger toward his fiancée.
He reluctantly looked away, his eyes filled with unwillingness and frustration, completely suppressing his temper.
Concealed Building – Dark Rooftop Emiya Kiritsugu hid alone in the deep shadows of the rooftop.
His posture was low and upright, like a leopard lurking in the brush.
One hand was tucked deeply into his trench coat pocket; the other rested lightly on the cold metal railing, his fingertips slightly curled.
He lowered his eyes, his gaze piercing through the gap in the railing, firmly locked onto the two figures dancing in the distant sky projection.
A trace of faint surprise flickered across his normally dead, placid black eyes before turning into deep, calculating inquiry.
His lips parted slightly.
His voice was suppressed to an extremely low whisper, carrying a hint of imperceptible doubt.
“I didn’t expect that vengeful Saintess to have such an ordinary side.
To be capable of eliciting such an expression from a Witch whose heart supposedly holds only hatred and revenge…
Fujimaru Ritsuka…
who exactly is this person?” The aura around the Magus Killer remained cold and gloomy.
Only the intense inquiry in his eyes betrayed the unrest in his heart.
Einzbern – Fuyuki Castle Hall Irisviel von Einzbern stood quietly in the grand hall carpeted with luxurious velvet, dressed in her pristine white winter attire.
Her gaze was fixed on the beautiful scene reflected in the Einzbern crystal ball.
Her clear crimson eyes filled with envy and softness.
A faint smile played on her lips, and she sighed with a hint of girlish naivety and imperceptible loss.
“Mmm…
A Servant dancing with a Master, how beautiful.
Kiritsugu never danced with me like that before…” She gently twisted the hem of her skirt, her eyes full of the wistful yearning of a young girl in love.
The image of Kiritsugu involuntarily surfaced in her mind, and her tone carried a touch of slight, adorable grievance.
Far away on his cold rooftop, Kiritsugu seemed to share a sympathetic connection, silently thinking a helpless rebuttal in his heart: Don’t make things difficult for me.
Beside Irisviel, the King of Knights stood tall and straight in her silver-white armor, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of the invisible sword at her waist.
Artoria Pendragon’s normally calm, placid emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the smiling, dancing Jalter on the screen.
Her sharp ears caught the casual mention of the title “Foolish King,” causing her brows to furrow almost imperceptibly.
A hint of deep confusion flashed in her eyes.
She secretly pondered the title, feeling that it was inexplicably familiar, as if it shared some dark, indescribable connection with her very being.
The steady, knightly aura around her rippled with an almost undetectable tremor.
Fifth Holy Grail War – Fuyuki City, Tohsaka Residence, Living Room Tohsaka Rin leaned against the armrest of her exquisite velvet sofa, idly turning a magic gem that emitted a faint red glow between her fingers.
Her gaze was fixed intently on the light screen displaying the scene.
Her emerald eyes instantly widened into perfect circles, her face filling with shock and disbelief.
Her previously languid posture vanished as she shot up straight.
“Eh!?
They’re dancing right away?
I thought they’d need more time to build up their feelings.
Did they skip the process entirely?” She frowned slightly, subconsciously looking to her side, hoping to get a response, but the living room remained silent.
The Archer beside her, who had been leaning against the corridor pillar with his arms crossed and an aloof, cynical expression, suddenly froze.
His crimson eyes widened slightly.
The gaze he had been casually sweeping across the screen moments before now locked firmly onto several figures that had flashed by at the very beginning of the Shinjuku broadcast.
His attention was completely captivated by one specific person among the Chaldean forces.
His brow furrowed deeply.
His tone shifted from initial confusion to a heavy complaint tinged with absolute disgust.
“That black-skinned Servant with short white hair is…?
I actually sense a rotten, numb aura from him.
But what’s with those dual blades that look so much like Kanshou and Bakuya?
That’s such poor taste!” His aura remained cool, but the intense disgust in his eyes betrayed exactly how much the sight of his Altered self bothered him.
Emiya Residence – Courtyard Corridor Emiya Shirou stood under the wooden corridor, holding a freshly brewed pot of hot tea.
His fingertips gripped the warm ceramic, and his gaze was fixed on the faint image projected in the distant sky over Fuyuki.
His clear eyes filled with wholesome confusion.
He pursed his lips slightly, murmuring to himself with a touch of helplessness.
“Dancing with the Master?
Is that what Servants are like?” His gaze involuntarily flickered to the side, landing on Artoria, who was standing quietly in the courtyard with an upright posture, before he quickly looked away in embarrassment.
Saber wore her casual clothes, yet it was impossible to hide the steady knightly demeanor that radiated from her.
She rested one hand lightly by her side, calmly observing Jalter in the scene above, completely unconcerned by Shirou’s fleeting glance.
Her emerald eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowing.
A hint of confusion flashed in her eyes, bringing forth the exact same doubt her past self had experienced during the Fourth Holy Grail War.
She felt that the title mentioned by Jalter was extraordinarily familiar, but she couldn’t grasp the reason for a moment.
The aura around her became slightly more solemn as she pondered the mystery of the “Foolish King.” Matou Residence – Dark Inner Room Matou Sakura sat quietly on the low couch near the window in the inner room.
The faint moonlight from outside happened to fall on her slightly pale face.
Her hands were gently folded over her lap as she gazed at the sparse lights flickering in the void outside the window.
Her eyes were full of soft longing, a faint, somewhat shy smile playing on her lips.
Her voice was as light as a breeze.
“Dancing, that’s so nice.
If I could, I would also like to dance with Senpai…” Her tone held an imperceptible hope and caution, and even the heavy, oppressive aura of the Matou household seemed to soften slightly around her.
In the dark corner not far away, Matou Zouken was hunched over a worn-out rattan chair, his skeletal fingers tightly gripping the armrests.
His originally cloudy eyes suddenly constricted, staring fixedly at the black-skinned, white-haired Servant in the light projection.
His decaying face filled with shock and deep suspicion.
He let out a raspy sigh of disbelief.
“That black-skinned Servant…
I actually feel a trace of familiarity from him, just like when I was young—” His withered lips trembled slightly.
A hint of recollection surfaced in his cloudy eyes, as if he were sinking into a distant, centuries-old past.
But as soon as this recollection began, he let out a sudden, muffled groan.
He clutched his bald head with both hands.
His stooped body curled up violently, extreme pain twisting his features.
Veins bulged hideously on his forehead.
“Damn it, I can’t recall anymore, my body—!” His agonizing roar echoed in the dark room, his words full of torment, as if the crest worms swarming inside his rotting shell were becoming restless and violent due to this forced recollection.