Tokiomi Tohsaka looked at Sakura Tohsaka.
Sakura lowered her head, avoiding her father's gaze.
If Jeanne Lily hadn't pointed it out, Tokiomi would never have realized how deeply he had misunderstood his daughter.
[Wanting to become Santa Claus].
This was indeed something Sakura, the little girl, had been talking about incessantly and working toward recently.
But Tokiomi had never deeply considered why Sakura wanted to become Santa Claus.
He had simply attributed it to Jeanne Lily, the Santa Claus figure, rescuing her from the Matou family, and the immense appeal of the [Santa Claus] role to a child.
Of course, his reasoning wasn't wrong... those explanations held some truth.
But from start to finish, Tokiomi had never grasped the core of this wish:
What was it that drove Sakura Tohsaka, this young girl, to want to become Santa Claus, and for what purpose?
"Here, take a look."
The little saint at the referee's stand handed Tokiomi a small note.
The five-year-old girl, unable to write fluently, had used the simplest words she knew to form two short sentences:
"Daddy, hug."
"I, don't, leave."
...
It was a profoundly emotional embrace.
Filled with guilt, apology, resolve, and affection.
For the first time since she could remember, Sakura, held so tightly by her father, began to cry.
At first, it was soft, silent sobbing. But the cries grew louder, the tears more abundant, unstoppable.
... Expecting a child to suppress their emotions was clearly an impossible task.
Yet, in this setting, no one would say a word.
Though most onlookers couldn't fully grasp what had transpired between this father and daughter, the raw, pure outpouring of emotion inevitably stirred their hearts.
Among all the onlookers, Irisviel, as a "mother," was undoubtedly the one who could best understand Tokiomi's feelings.
"So, that child's wish was to be held by her father and cry?"
"If that's the case, I want to be held by Illya and cry in her arms too."
"Ew, no way!"
Faced with Irisviel's half-joking wish, Illya quickly shook her head, her delicate, adorable face showing clear disdain.
... She had no idea what was coming.
... Good, Illya, stay just like that.
Irisviel looked at her quirky daughter, silently offering her blessings in her heart.
...
The father and daughter stepped down.
The competition continued.
Next up were Kayneth and Waver, teacher and student.
Kayneth knew what his student wanted most... his approval.
More precisely, approval from the Clock Tower, from all magi. Approval of his talent as a "magus"... even though his natural aptitude was so poor it was barely distinguishable from an ordinary person's.
But, regrettably...
"Mr. Waver Velvet, that is not something I can give you."
"It is something you must strive for and prove through your own life."
"You need to understand that the path of a magus is always solitary and rarely acknowledged. Even those closest to you... lovers, friends, family... can never fully understand your pursuit of the magical path."
"Only you can validate yourself."
It was a stern lecture from the teacher, delivered with commanding presence.
Even Alaric, an onlooker, couldn't help but shrink back at these words.
... While [Director Kayneth] was indeed a meme-worthy nickname, there was no denying that, in the realm of academic research, Kayneth's demeanor was strikingly similar to that of a strict headmaster.
Faced with Kayneth's lecture, the young magus kept his head down, adopting the obedient posture of "accepting his teacher's guidance."
Did he truly take these words to heart?
Kayneth shook his head... he knew this student all too well.
Outwardly weak, with a personality that was cowardly most of the time. But when it came to the "magical path," he was genuinely stubborn and resilient.
"You're graduating soon, aren't you?"
"After your graduation, I will arrange for you to apply for a lecturer position at the Clock Tower."
"What you achieve from there is up to you."
Kayneth spoke lightly.
Arranging a lecturer position was a trivial matter for the head of the El-Melloi family.
Yet the young magus snapped his head up, his eyes shimmering with a mix of shock, joy, and a touch of confusion.
"Yes, Professor!"
...
Another pair stepped down.
Next up were Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
As expected, faced with the flatbread made by Enkidu... a dish only the lowliest slaves would eat, mixed with sawdust and ash... the proud Golden King threw it back in Enkidu's face.
But Enkidu didn't mind, picking up the flatbread and eating it heartily in its entirety.
It was a silent admonition.
Enkidu, representing the [Wisdom of the People], urged Gilgamesh, the king, to care for the common folk... but alas, the current Gilgamesh was manifested as an Archer.
The so-called [Chuunibyou Gil], in his most arrogant and disdainful phase, looked down even on lofty gods, let alone the lowliest commoners.
The two parted on bad terms.
... Yet, in a sense, this was perhaps what Gilgamesh desired.
They weren't friends in the ordinary sense, needing no tearful reunions to reconnect.
A single glance to confirm the familiar soul within, followed by an all-out, unreserved clash, was enough.
"In a way, it's an enviable friendship."
"And now, it's our turn."
Alaric thought as he stepped onto the platform.
The blonde ahoge knight stood opposite him, her beautiful face expressionless.
What was she thinking?
Suddenly, Alaric felt he must be a fool.
To think that he, of all beings, would try to guess a woman's thoughts... what a ridiculous notion!
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