[On the light screen, amidst the shifting light and shadows, a graceful figure was first projected.
Her chestnut hair cascaded down like a waterfall, accentuating her delicate and soft features.
The woman held a staff steadily in her left hand, its shaft resting lightly against her side, while her right hand carefully cradled a piece of artwork.]
[Her fingertips lightly touched the edge of the painting.
Her delicate brows furrowed slightly, and her glass-like eyes were filled with confusion and perplexity.
Her red lips parted, releasing a soft sigh tinged with bewilderment, yet her overall demeanor remained composed and calm.]
[‘—How could…
this be.’]
[She tightened her grip on the staff in her left hand, brought the artwork in her right hand slightly closer, and fixed her gaze intently on the painting.
Her voice carried a slight tremor, the tail end of her words somewhat drifting, yet her expression did not lose its composure.
‘Impossible…
Although it should clearly be impossible, the appearance in this painting is undoubtedly [me], isn’t it?’]
[The woman shook her head slightly.
Her left hand gave the staff a light tap, while the fingertips of her right hand traced the edge of the canvas.
The confusion between her brows deepened, taking on a more scrutinizing gravity.
Her tone lowered, carrying a hesitant certainty, her mental state still calm and unruffled.
‘…No, that’s not right.
Although this depicts [my] appearance, the essence is completely different.
This is not the true [me].’]
[Her gaze sharpened.
Her left hand, holding the staff, remained motionless and steady, while her right hand slowly unfurled the painting.
Her eyes meticulously scanned every brushstroke.
Her frown tightened further, and her tone held a subtle complexity, seemingly a mix of disdain and being moved, yet her expression maintained its calm self-possession throughout.]
[‘Even though the technique looks utterly crude and clumsy, every stroke is wrapped in a scorching passion.
It is precisely this reckless passion that forcibly twisted this painting to resemble [me]…!’]
[She suddenly let out a light laugh, the laughter carrying a hint of something chilling.
Her eyebrows raised slightly.
Her left hand still held the staff firmly, while her right hand lifted the painting a bit.
Her tone gained a note of solemn wariness, the calmness now tinged with gravity.
‘One could even say: this kind of reckless passion is truly fearsome.’]
[The woman raised her hand and rubbed her temple with the fingertips of her empty side.
Her left hand remained firmly gripping the staff, her right hand steadily supporting the artwork without letting go.
It was as if she was somewhat exasperated by this overly fervent emotion.
Her voice was full of vivid disgust and blunt analogy, her intonation rising a few notches, yet her expression remained as placid as ever.]
[‘It feels like being in the scorching heat of midsummer under a blazing sun, wrapped in several layers of heavy coats, with the room’s heater cranked to the max, while gulping down piping hot udon noodles and rushing headlong into a steamy school campus!’]
In the fourth war world, within a simple but well-equipped room of a rural farmhouse, a light screen materialized out of thin air.
Waver stood in the room.
Hearing this, he first froze, then gestured with his hands, his face full of bewildered and speechless expression.
‘…What kind of strange and absurd analogy is that!?’ He took two steps forward, his eyes scanning the light screen back and forth, his brow furrowed.
His tone took on a note of urgent inquiry.’Speaking of which, shouldn’t there be a character introduction first?
Who exactly is this woman who suddenly appeared?’
‘Boy, you’re too noisy.
Don’t chatter and disturb my viewing of the screen.’ Iskandar the King of Conquerors was sitting on a wooden stool in the room, one hand on his hip, the other casually raised.
He curled his fingers and promptly flicked a crisp, sharp knock on Waver’s forehead.
The force was so great it sent the slender Master flying backward, slamming him hard against the simple wooden wall.
Waver, clutching his painfully throbbing forehead, scrambled to sit up, coughing and flushing red.
He glared at Iskandar and growled angrily, ‘Cough~ Damn it, Rider, can’t you use a little less force!?
You nearly shattered my forehead!’
Iskandar paid no heed to his complaints and growls.
His broad frame sat solidly.
His originally somewhat casual gaze was now completely fixed on the light screen in mid-air, his eyes profound.
Even the aura around him seemed to grow heavier, clearly utterly captivated by the content on the screen.
[On the screen, the woman’s left hand remained holding the staff.
She raised her right hand and brushed aside the chestnut hair falling by her cheek with her fingertips, then steadied the artwork again.
Her eyes suddenly turned sharp, a corner of her mouth lifting in a curve tinged with obsession.
Her tone was frank yet carried a hint of self-mocking boldness, each word clear and resounding.
The calmness was tinged with decisiveness.
‘Ask me how I can understand this?
It’s because I’ve always been a pervert, or rather, I’ve always been hopelessly obsessed!’]
[She tilted the staff in her left hand slightly, and with her right hand, she angled the painting a bit to the side, waving her hand dismissively as if suddenly tossing aside her earlier words about her own obsession.
Her tone became a bit lighter, carrying a casual, carefree air, her demeanor still composed and calm.
‘Ah, well, let’s not worry about that for now.’]
[The next second, however, she showed an inexplicable smile and cursed: ‘Damn it~!
Who on earth committed such a heinous act, turning the painting into this state!’]
[The woman stamped her foot lightly.
Her left hand gave the staff a slight tap beside her, her right hand still steadily supporting the artwork.
Her expression grew more serious, yet it couldn’t hide the underlying composure.
The posture of her hands unchanged, her tone gained a sense of urgency.
A flicker of barely noticeable panic flashed in her eyes, clearly having remembered something troublesome.
‘I can’t just stand by and watch any longer.
If things continue like this, if it really develops into a situation where Romani would nag at me endlessly, that would be truly terrible!’]
In the Fifth Holy Grail War world, inside the Emiya Residence, a light screen floated in the empty space of the living room.
Emiya Shirou stood quietly in place.
Hearing this, he first lowered his gaze slightly and muttered softly with a calm expression, his tone full of puzzled contemplation.
‘…Just afraid of being nagged endlessly?
It seems in her eyes, this matter isn’t all that serious after all.’
He slightly raised his eyes, his gaze falling on the woman on the light screen.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, and his tone held a note of curious doubt.
‘Or perhaps, the Romani she mentioned is truly an exceptionally talkative person?’
[On the screen, the woman’s expression suddenly turned serious.
Her left hand held the staff steadily, her right hand supporting the painting, her posture straight.
The earlier hint of panic completely vanished, replaced by utter solemnity.
Her tone was grave, each word carrying undeniable gravity.
The calmness was tinged with unquestionable seriousness.
‘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 calm on Emiya Shirou’s face instantly froze.
His earlier speculations were completely off the mark, leaving only an expression full of embarrassment and the awkwardness of having been thoroughly slapped in the face.
He subconsciously pressed his lips together, slightly averted his gaze, then quickly looked back at the screen.
His expression held a touch of flustered chagrin.
His earlier doubts completely dissipated, leaving only speechlessness.
After a long pause, he finally managed to squeeze out a low sentence: ‘!!…So that’s how it is.’ He looked utterly at a loss, flustered by his own previous hasty judgment.
[The woman suddenly raised the staff in her left hand, its tip pointing slightly upward.
Her right hand still protectively cradled the painting.
She raised her palm forward as if issuing a command into the void.
Her tone was high-pitched and urgent, filled with an undeniable sense of urgency, yet her demeanor still maintained a degree of calm self-possession.
‘Alright, emergency alert!!
All personnel, assemble immediately~!’]
[As her words fell, the light screen, which had been fluctuating until now, finally stabilized.
The long-overdue introduction screen slowly unfolded, the characters clearly projected within the light and shadow.]
[Leonardo da Vinci, the Universal Man, is 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 a Peerless Beauty (feng hua jue dai – exceptionally elegant and talented) beautiful young man.
However, the actual manifestation situation is as you see now — he has materialized in this form, taking the appearance of his world-famous painting, the mona lisa.’]
[A line of pale text then appeared, crystal clear: The ml radar indicates, an alternative ml, not worldly romantic love, but a pure and profound affection for Fujimaru Ritsuka, like that of a teacher for a student.]
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”