Fourth Holy Grail War, Fuyuki City, Tohsaka Residence Magecraft Workshop Deep beneath the Tohsaka estate, faint blue magic circuits snaked along the cold stone walls of the underground workshop.
A soft, luminescent white glow pulsed slowly through the complex lines, casting the expansive room in a shifting dance of light and shadow.
Ancient Mystic Codes sat neatly displayed on sandalwood shelves lining the walls, while the heavy air carried the distinct, metallic scent of refined Ether mixed with crushed gemstone dust.
Tokiomi Tohsaka stood perfectly upright in the center of the workshop, dressed in a crisp, deep blue kimono.
One hand rested behind his back, the other lightly pinching the fabric of his sleeve.
A slight crease formed between his brows.
His narrow eyes were fixed on the mysterious light screen suspended in the air, his gaze carrying a mixture of intense scrutiny and subtle surprise.
He watched the Jeanne d’Arc Alter displayed on the screen, noting the clear tremor in her expression.
His lips parted slightly as he spoke with the measured, habitual calm of a seasoned magus.
“Has that Saint, a being supposedly consumed by hatred and vengeance, truly been reduced to this?
To be so thoroughly shaken by the simple actions of a single person…
it is genuinely astonishing.” He leaned forward a fraction of an inch, his eyes locking onto the two figures conversing on the broadcast.
“However…
what exactly is this matter they keep referring to?” He searched their brief exchange, hoping to extract a hidden clue from the cryptic dialogue.
Beside him, Gilgamesh lounged against the backrest of a magnificent golden throne.
The opulent seat floated effortlessly in the air on one side of the workshop, its gilded, complex patterns shimmering under the magical lighting, radiating the absolute nobility of the King of Heroes.
He propped his cheek against his knuckles, his crimson eyes half-lidded in amusement.
His gaze swept carelessly across the glowing screen, yet a playful, dangerous curve formed on his lips.
His fingers tapped a slow, rhythmic beat against the armrest, the crisp sound echoing through the quiet room.
A spark of genuine interest hid beneath his nonchalant exterior.
He let out a low, cold scoff, his voice dripping with innate arrogance and a rare trace of recognition.
“Hmph…
amusing.
That Master possesses quite the talent.” Reaching out, he lifted a golden chalice from a side table and took a slow sip of the divine nectar within, the amusement in his crimson eyes sharpening.
In the darkest corner of the workshop, Kirei Kotomine stood in complete silence.
His head was bowed, the heavy black fabric of his priest’s robes making his already pale complexion look entirely bloodless.
His hands were folded neatly in front of him in a picture of respectful solemnity, but his lowered eyelids concealed a surging, chaotic pleasure.
His fingertips curled inward.
A twisted, uncontrollable joy swelled in his chest, making his breathing hitch.
‘To see the Saint abandon her dark obsession and plummet into a vortex of raw emotion, looking so unsightly and entirely lost…
this is the ultimate pleasure.’A dark thrill raced through his veins.’That irrepressible shaking is more captivating than any grand magecraft.
It is truly too entertaining.’ Fifth Holy Grail War, Fuyuki City, Tohsaka Residence Living Room Warm morning sunlight spilled through the carved floor-to-ceiling windows of the Tohsaka living room, painting the polished wooden floorboards with bright, scattered spots of light.
The space was elegantly furnished, featuring an exquisite dark leather sofa and a matching tea table.
A celadon tea set sat on the table, wisps of fragrant steam rising from the freshly poured cups.
Rin Tohsaka, dressed in her signature red school uniform, suddenly froze.
Her fingers tightened around her teacup, the warm liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
Her green eyes widened to their absolute limits, her face a portrait of utter shock.
The dignified, reserved mask she had worn just moments prior completely shattered.
She subconsciously straightened her back, her free hand flying up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear in a flustered rush.
“Eh?
An invitation for a date?” She blinked at the screen, a dazed look crossing her features.
A faint pink hue dusted her cheeks, and her voice softened into a delicate murmur.
“Hmm…
I suppose that is a little bit romantic.” The softness vanished a second later.
Her face fell, her eyebrows snapping together in frustration.
She slammed her teacup down and planted both hands firmly on her hips, her voice rising in pitch.
“But why are there so many unanswered questions in there?
What exactly is this matter?
And who is Marie?
And those guys, Salieri and Kagekiyo…
Argh!
I do not get it at all!” She stomped her foot against the wooden floor, her annoyance boiling over.
The cryptic dialogue on the screen felt like a completely foreign language designed specifically to mock her.
Nearby, Archer leaned casually against the back of the leather sofa, his posture tall and unyielding.
His crimson eyes remained entirely calm, a steady, imposing aura radiating from his form.
His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the broadcast.
The lazy, cynical expression he usually wore was entirely gone, replaced by the sharp precision of a seasoned hunter.
His index finger tapped lightly against his bicep as his mind rapidly processed the clues.
‘If the names Fujimaru Ritsuka and Jeanne Alter mentioned are all Servants…
Kagekiyo…
does that refer to Taira no Kagekiyo, the one who harbored a deep, undying grudge against the Genji Clan?
Salieri…
the musician who supposedly murdered Mozart out of sheer jealousy?’His eyes narrowed slightly.’Then Marie is…
Mary Anning, the famous fossil dealer?
Or perhaps Marie Antoinette, the ill-fated Queen of France sent to the guillotine?’ None of these historical figures seemed to share a direct connection.
What common thread bound them to the Dragon Witch?
Why refer to it as their business?
He lowered his gaze, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, certain that a massive, unseen variable was at play.
New Chaldea, Storm Border Control Room The cold white lights of the Storm Border’s control room burned brightly overhead.
Rows of precision instruments and monitors flashed with complex data streams, accompanied by the constant, rhythmic clicking of the crew operating the consoles.
In the center of the room, the large holographic projection screen displayed the cross-temporal broadcast with crystal clarity.
Fujimaru Ritsuka stood before the main console, leaning his weight against the cold metal surface.
A heavy frown creased his forehead.
The cheerful, easygoing smile he normally wore had faded into an expression of deep contemplation.
He stared at the dialogue scrolling across the screen, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the desk.
“What is that matter?
The common point between them all is Avenger…
the Extra Class.
Does this have something to do with my Avengers?” He fell silent for a long moment.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze, staring directly at his own shadow cast upon the metal floor.
The shadow appeared unnaturally dense, pooling like a bottomless abyss of dark ink.
A knowing, quiet smile curled the corners of his lips.
“Aren’t you going to say something, my…
accomplice?” Only the hum of the control room machinery answered him.
The dark shadow remained perfectly still, offering no sound, no movement, not even a ripple of acknowledgment.
Ritsuka shrugged lightly, his expression calm, though a clear understanding flashed in his eyes.
“As I thought.
This whole situation has something to do with you.
Fine, do as you wish.” He turned his attention away from the floor, looking toward the side of the room.
Jeanne Alter stood there, her entire body rigid.
Her normally pale, aggressive face was flushed a brilliant, burning red.
If emotions were visible, a dense cluster of frantic question marks and exclamation points would be hovering right above her head.
Her usual sharp, fierce aura had completely evaporated, leaving behind nothing but pure, unadulterated panic.
A teasing light danced in Ritsuka’s eyes.
He took a step toward her, a playful smirk on his face.
“Oh, how cute, Alter.
To actually act so—” “Argh!
Shut up, you absolute jerk!” Before he could finish the sentence, Jeanne Alter reacted like a cat whose tail had just been stomped on.
Her hair practically stood on end.
Her cheeks burned so brightly they looked ready to bleed.
Abandoning all pretense, she closed the distance between them in three frantic strides and clamped her gloved hand directly over Ritsuka’s mouth.
The force behind the gesture was rough, driven by pure bashful arrogance, but the tips of her ears and the back of her neck were flushed a deep, glowing pink.
Near the main terminal, Da Vinci Lily rested her chin in her palm.
Her other hand flew across a holographic keyboard, pulling up cascading streams of Servant Spirit Origin data.
Her golden eyes narrowed in thought.
“Could it be…
yes, it has to be that, doesn’t it?
The Avenger class.” Sion Eltnam Sokaris stood right beside her, her fingers dancing lightly over her own interface.
Her expression remained perfectly composed, but a spark of realization lit up her eyes.
She nodded slowly.
“It certainly appears so.
Avenger.” The two geniuses exchanged a brief look, both silently confirming the grim reality they had just deduced.
Behind them, the new director, Gordolf Musik, stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips.
His head swiveled back and forth, looking from the giant light screen to the whispering geniuses, then over to Ritsuka and the flustered Dragon Witch.
His mustache bristled with agitation, his face scrunching into a mask of total confusion.
“No, hold on a minute!
What are you all talking about?
Why am I the only one who does not understand?
What is all this nonsense about Avengers?” A second later, his eyes bulged.
He gasped, his voice jumping an octave in sudden, belated realization.
“Wait!
Avenger?
Oh!
Oh, oh, oh, I think I get it now!” He nodded furiously to himself, looking entirely ridiculous.
In the quietest corner of the room, Lady Avalon stood bathed in a faint, ethereal light.
Her expression was serene and gentle, the look of a magus who had already read the final page of the story.
She looked over the assembled crew, her voice soft but carrying an absolute, unquestionable weight.
“That is correct.
It is the Extra Class.
This appears to be a trial mandated by the Human Order itself.
After all, they were used far too heavily…” Her gentle words dropped like a stone into a quiet pond, instantly enlightening the veteran staff in the room.
Tepeu stood off to the side, leaning heavily against his ritual tool.
He watched the interaction between Ritsuka and Jeanne Alter with a highly complex expression.
He let out a long, slow sigh.
“To have the Priest proactively offer an invitation for a date…
it is truly an enviable position…
is it not?” A deep, unspeakable melancholy colored his quiet words.
Across the room, Kiyohime stood perfectly still in her beautiful kimono.
Her eyes, usually swirling with pure, unhinged devotion, were now clouded with a dark, dangerous gloom.
She stared at the on-screen Jeanne Alter, then shifted her gaze to the real Ritsuka.
A smile stretched across her lips—a smile that looked sweet but dripped with pure, venomous resentment.
“As expected of my Master.
To make that crazy woman act so utterly pathetic.” She practically spat the word pathetic, her mind flashing back to the times the Dragon Witch had insulted her.
A brief flash of sadistic pleasure crossed her eyes, but the air around her immediately plummeted in temperature.
“However…
for Master to proactively invite that violent woman on a date…
Kiyohime’s heart is currently burning with a tiny bit of rage.” Her fingers curled inward, her manicured nails digging painfully into her own palms.
Hidden in the shadows near the doorway, Morgan observed the chaos in silence.
Her magnificent black and blue dress made her cold, majestic temperament feel even more oppressive.
She said nothing, her narrow, icy eyes locked onto Ritsuka.
A storm of possessive emotion churned behind her gaze.
Her long fingers tapped a slow, calculating rhythm against her palm.
She had already made her decision.
When the summer season and Valentine’s Day finally arrived, she would absolutely keep her husband locked firmly by her side.
She would squeeze every ounce of his time and attention, ensuring none of these other pests ever got an opportunity.
‘Your Majesty…’A stealthy, telepathic thought echoed faintly from the ceiling rafters, carrying a distinctly cheeky tone.’Master and I will be sure to enjoy all the wonderful things you prepare first.
Hehe.’ [Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?