[Sub-Singularity: Malignant Isolation Demon Realm – Shinjuku.
The conspiracy of the evil Professor Moriarty has finally been crushed, and the oppressive might of Demon God Pillar Baal has completely vanished with the dissipating black fog.]
[The residual magical energy slowly settled amidst the wreckage, and the figures of the Heroes gradually faded into transparency, all awaiting the signal for Rayshift to return to the Throne of Heroes.
Mash’s gentle voice came through Chaldea’s communication frequency, carrying a hint of relief and softness.]
[“Master, the Rayshift coordinates are calibrated and ready.
Are you ready to—”]
[The communication signal suddenly crackled a few times before falling completely silent, without any lingering echo.
It wasn’t interference from magical instability; instead, a faint, playful, and cunning chuckle could be discerned, lightly falling into Fujimaru Ritsuka’s ears.
Without needing to think, he knew whose handiwork this was.]
[Jeanne Alter stepped forward, her golden eyes landing on Fujimaru Ritsuka, taking in his completely bewildered and stunned expression.
A flamboyant, yet slightly teasing, curve lifted the corner of her mouth.]
[She first lightly tapped the tip of Fujimaru Ritsuka’s shoe with her foot, her tone carrying an unquestionable petulance, drawing out the final syllable deliberately: “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 Fujimaru Ritsuka dazedly obey and reluctantly adjust his posture, Jeanne Alter nodded slightly, considering it barely satisfactory.]
[The dark black magical energy surrounding her suddenly surged.
The rigid armor covering her body emitted a faint, crisp hum as the magic flowed through it.
The sharp luster of the metal faded, replaced by the texture of smooth fabric.]
[In just a few breaths, the armor stained with gunpowder completely transformed into a sharply tailored black and purple evening gown.
The hem was adorned with fine silver-white patterns that gently swayed with the slight movement of the magic, accentuating her already striking features with a vibrancy unsuited for a battlefield.]
[She pivoted slightly, lifted the corner of her skirt, and gave Fujimaru Ritsuka a slight bow.
Her movements mimicked elegance with a deliberate flair, but unconcealed excitement danced in her eyes.
Her tone, however, was deliberately reserved yet filled with an irresistible warmth: “Then, let’s dance a waltz, Master.”]
[“Dance?” Fujimaru Ritsuka was completely stunned, his gaze darting between the messy battlefield around them and Jeanne Alter’s exquisite gown, his mind filled with question marks—they had just finished a battle, were about to Rayshift back to Chaldea, so why suddenly dance?]
[“So dense, I said dan~ce~” Jeanne Alter stretched out her words, deliberately emphasizing the final syllable.
Seeing his continued blank look, she impatiently raised her voice, emphasizing with gestures: “A ballroom dance!
A proper ballroom dance!
Don’t you even have this basic knowledge?”]
[When Fujimaru Ritsuka still didn’t react, she stepped forward, poked his forehead, her tone conveying a sense of exasperation at his slowness, accompanied by a beautiful eye-roll.
She secretly grumbled that this guy was always hopelessly slow 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?”
[Upon hearing this, Fujimaru Ritsuka finally understood.
Just as he was about to say something, Jeanne Alter’s tone shifted abruptly.
Her previous teasing petulance was instantly replaced by an aggressive sharpness.
Her brow furrowed slightly, and her crimson eyes churned with competitive spirit.
Even the fingers gripping her skirt tightened slightly.]
“This is too unfair, isn’t it?!
Why?
Or perhaps you secretly favor her?
You’re willing to dance with that arrogant and narcissistic Foolish King, but you won’t even dance one dance with me, a Country Girl?”
[The exasperation practically overflowed from her words, and a faint aura of resentful darkness drifted around her.
Any discerning person could tell she was deliberately throwing a tantrum, yet she maintained the appearance of someone deeply wronged.]
[Fujimaru Ritsuka dared not provoke her and could only quickly wave his hands in appeasement, secretly complaining that this ancestor truly held grudges.
It was just one dance, yet she remembered it until now and insisted on arguing about it.
It was more troublesome than defeating a Demon God Pillar—yet he couldn’t refute it, because engaging with this topic might stir up even more trouble.]
[Seeing Fujimaru Ritsuka yield and try to placate her, the sharpness in Jeanne Alter’s eyes slightly receded.
However, she still maintained a certain air, slightly tilting her chin up.
Her tone remained one that tolerated no delay, but she quietly loosened the grip on her skirt, her fingertips unconsciously tapping the fabric, hiding a barely perceptible 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 honest; she slightly bent her knees and held her hand suspended in front of her, adopting the starting posture for a ballroom dance.
Her golden eyes locked tightly onto Fujimaru Ritsuka, her tsundere expression wrapped in sparkling expectation.]
[She secretly grumbled to herself: What a dense fellow.
If this Saint hadn’t taken the initiative to ask, I probably wouldn’t get to dance with you in this lifetime.
Compared to that bragging Foolish King, my dancing skills are clearly a hundred times better.
I’ll make sure you see it later.]
“Honestly, you are too insensitive.
Your limbs are stiff like this…” Jeanne Alter 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.
A blush instantly spread across her earlobes, dyeing her cheeks a captivating crimson.
Her voice abruptly rose with 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, unwilling to meet Ritsuka’s eyes.
Her long lashes trembled nervously.
All her previous flamboyance and sharpness vanished, leaving only a flustered shyness.
She muttered quietly: “Dancing…
is dancing supposed to be like this?
So close…”]
Her tone was full of uncertainty.
Without waiting for Ritsuka to reply, she seemed to brace herself, tightening her jaw, and mumbled, “Hmph…
I get it, I get it.
This Saintess won’t lose her nerve.”
Saying this, she proactively closed the distance slightly.
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 ground and creating subtle ripples.
When the song ended, Jeanne Alter slowly withdrew her hand and instinctively stepped back half a pace.
The blush on her face hadn’t completely faded, but her golden eyes were filled with undisguised satisfaction.
A proud yet haughty curve lifted the corner of her mouth, and she snorted, her tone clearly triumphant: “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 upon seeing her like this, a hint of amusement lingering in their depths.
Jeanne Alter caught sight of his expression out of the corner of her eye, immediately frowned, shot him a deliberately fierce glare, but 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 threat, carrying instead a hint of coquettish complaint.
She looked up at the sky.
The surrounding magical energy was growing increasingly thin, and her figure was beginning to look somewhat transparent.
The vibrancy and agility from moments ago were replaced by an ethereal quality, and her tone calmed down, carrying a touch of 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.”
Jeanne Alter paused, opening her mouth as if countless words wished to be spoken, but she swallowed them back down, leaving only silence.
Her golden eyes were fixed firmly on Ritsuka, holding a hint of reluctance that was hard to detect, yet she stubbornly refused to show any of it.
After a moment of silence, she lifted her chin again, her tone regaining some of its usual assertiveness, though her golden eyes held a degree of 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 about something, tell him to take care of himself, 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 around her body.
Her form grew more transparent amidst the cluster of particles, her voice cutting off abruptly, finally turning into scattered specks of light that drifted away with the wind, completely vanishing into the winds of Shinjuku, leaving only her unfinished words scattered in the breeze.
Fourth Holy Grail War – Shinjuku City, Shadow of an Alley
Gilles de Rais’s body was slightly stooped, his pair of cloudy eyes glued tightly to Jeanne Alter, shining astonishingly bright.
His face was covered in almost devout obsession and satisfaction, his mouth upturned in an uncontrollable, wide grin, and his voice trembled slightly due to 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!” Before the words finished, hot tears uncontrollably rolled from the corners of his eyes, tracing paths down his cheeks.
The perpetual sinister malice surrounding him completely receded, replaced instead by a clarity born of ultimate satisfaction, as if the sight before him had completely purified him, even his breathing becoming tremulous and devout.
Uryu Ryunosuke stood beside Bluebeard, tilting his head and blinking 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 Jeanne Alter, who was dancing with the Master, and he inwardly complained: But this Jeanne Alter, isn’t she dancing with someone else?
The words reached his lips but were swallowed back down.
He pursed his lips, and a fleeting shadow of timidity crossed his eyes.
After all, even he understood, despite his dullness, that if he angered Old Man Bluebeard, no one would accompany him to realize those so-called ‘artistic pursuits’ anymore.
He would only be able to stand obediently on the side, watching the agitated and unrestrained Bluebeard.
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 had appeared in his eyes.
He waved his hand dismissively at Ryunosuke, 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 emotion!” As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly raised both arms, his chest heaving violently, his voice abruptly soaring, filled with a cracked ecstasy and devout shouting, like a madman: “Wonderful!
Kami-sama exists!
He has answered my expectations!
Oh, oh, oh!
Thank you!
Kami-sama!!”
Uryu Ryunosuke looked at the maniacal Bluebeard.
His face held no surprise, only numb calm.
He pulled at his lips, silently adding in his mind:…As long as you’re happy.
A familiar helplessness was hidden in his eyes, and he quietly remained where he was, allowing the other to vent his emotions.
Magecraft Workshop – Sealed Chamber
Kayneth stood in the center of the workshop, residual magical fluctuations still lingering around him.
The grimoire he had been holding suddenly clenched tightly in his hand, the pages crinkling from the pressure.
His brow furrowed deeply, his eyes filled with disbelief and shock, which was immediately followed by extreme dissatisfaction and contempt.
“What!?
A Servant and Master dancing together?
And the Servant is leading?
What kind of joke is this!” His voice suddenly rose, every word carrying the arrogance ingrained in the bone of a Clock Tower Lord.
His gaze was fixed intently on the crystal ball reflecting the scene before him, his chest heaving violently.
“Is this Master truly a magus?
He doesn’t possess even a shred of the pride a magus should have!” As the words fell, 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 due to his rage.
Sola stood beside a sofa in the corner of the workshop.
Upon hearing this, her delicate eyebrows immediately knitted together, her face showing undisguised displeasure.
She took a step forward and questioned with a hint of 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, showing no fear of the enraged Kayneth.
When Kayneth met Sola’s displeased eyes, the surging anger that had just risen was instantly extinguished as if doused by a bucket of cold water.
The chaotic magical energy surrounding him retracted immediately, his tense body stiffened, and the reprimand ready on his lips was swallowed back.
His brows remained tightly furrowed, but he could no longer muster any anger.
He reluctantly looked away, his eyes filled with unwillingness and frustration, having completely suppressed his temper.
Concealed Building – Dark Rooftop
Emiya Kiritsugu was hidden alone in the shadows of the rooftop, his figure upright yet low, like a lurking leopard.
One hand was tucked into his trench coat pocket, the other rested on the rooftop railing, his fingertips slightly curled.
He lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze piercing through the gap in the railing, firmly locked onto the two figures dancing in the sky far away.
A trace of faint surprise flickered across his normally placid black eyes before turning into deep inquiry.
His lips parted slightly, his voice suppressed to an extremely low level, carrying a hint of imperceptible contemplation and doubt: “I didn’t expect that vengeful Saintess to have such an ordinary side, capable of eliciting such an expression from that Witch whose heart holds only hatred and revenge.
Fujimaru Ritsuka…
who exactly is this person?”
The aura around him remained cold and gloomy; only the inquiry in his eyes betrayed the unrest in his heart at that moment.
Einzbern – Fuyuki Castle Hall
Irisviel stood quietly in the hall carpeted with luxurious velvet, dressed in pristine winter attire.
Her gaze was fixed on the beautiful scene reflected in the crystal ball.
Her clear eyes were filled with envy and softness, a faint smile playing 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 yearning of a young girl in love.
The image of Emiya Kiritsugu involuntarily surfaced in her mind, and her tone carried a touch of slight grievance.
Emiya Kiritsugu, far away, seemed to have a sympathetic connection, silently thinking a helpless rebuttal in his heart: Don’t make things difficult for me.
Beside her, the King of Knights Artoria stood tall and straight in her silver-white armor, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at her waist.
Her normally calm, placid emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at the smiling, dancing Jeanne Alter in the scene.
Her ears caught the casual mention of the “Foolish King,” causing her brows to furrow almost imperceptibly.
A hint of confusion and bewilderment flashed in her eyes as she secretly pondered, feeling that the title was inexplicably familiar, as if it shared some ineffable connection with her.
The steady aura around her rippled with an almost undetectable tremor due to this slight confusion.
Fifth Holy Grail War – Fuyuki City, Tohsaka Residence, Living Room
Tohsaka Rin was leaning against the armrest of the sofa upholstered in exquisite velvet, idly turning a magic gem that emitted a red glow in her hand.
Her gaze was fixed intently on the light screen displaying the scene before her.
Her emerald eyes instantly widened round, her face filled with shock and a degree of disbelief.
Her previously languid posture suddenly straightened, and she exclaimed in astonishment.
“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 surroundings were silent with no one answering.
The Archer (Red) beside her, who had been leaning against the corridor pillar with his arms crossed and an aloof, indifferent 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 flashed by at the very beginning of the scene, his attention completely captivated by one person among them.
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, his tone shifting from initial confusion to a complaint tinged with 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 inquiry and disgust in his eyes betrayed how much he cared at that moment.
(You’ll say it has taste when it’s in your hands~)
Emiya Residence – Courtyard Corridor
Emiya Shirou stood under the corridor, holding a freshly brewed pot of hot tea.
His fingertips gripped the warm teacup, and his gaze was fixed on the faint image projected in the distant sky.
His clear eyes were filled with confusion and perplexity, his mouth slightly pursed, murmuring to himself with a touch of helplessness.
“Dancing with the Master?
Is that what Servants are like?” As he finished speaking, 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.
The Saber (Artoria with the ahoge) was wearing casual clothes, yet it was impossible to hide the steady knightly demeanor around her.
She rested one hand lightly by her side, calmly observing Jeanne Alter in the scene ahead, completely unconcerned by Shirou’s fleeting glance just now.
Her emerald eyes narrowed slightly, her brow furrowed.
A hint of confusion and bewilderment flashed in her eyes, bringing forth the same doubt she had during the Fourth Holy Grail War.
She felt that the words mentioned by Jeanne Alter were extraordinarily familiar but couldn’t grasp the reason for a moment, and the aura around her became slightly more solemn due to this confusion.
Matou Residence – Dark Inner Room
Matou Sakura sat quietly on the low couch near the window in the inner room.
The faint light 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, a murmur filled with yearning.
“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 aura around her softened slightly.
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 face was filled with shock and suspicion, and he sighed with a tone of disbelief.
“That black-skinned Servant…
I actually feel a trace of familiarity from him, just like when I was young—” As he spoke, his withered lips trembled slightly, and a hint of recollection surfaced in his cloudy eyes, as if he were sinking into a distant past.
But as soon as this recollection began, he let out a sudden muffled groan, clutching his head with both hands.
His stooped body curled up violently, extreme pain appearing on his face, veins bulging on his forehead.
His voice was filled with agonizing roars and unwillingness: “Damn it, I can’t recall anymore, my body—!” His words were full of torment, as if the swarms inside him were becoming restless due to this forced recollection.