"Hahaha..."
The sound bounced off the gore-slicked walls of the sanctum. It was a dry, rasping laugh, devoid of humor, born from the sheer absurdity of repetition.
I stood over the Caster, my chest heaving slightly. Not from exertion—The World did the heavy lifting—but from the mental weight of the loop.
"Hey, Gilles," I asked, tilting my head, the crimson light in my eyes casting long, bloody shadows across the room. "I lost count. How many is that?"
Gilles de Rais was slumped against the altar. He looked like a deflated balloon. His robes were tattered, his eyes were bloodshot and sunken, and he was clutching the empty Grail like a security blanket. He wasn't screaming anymore. He was past screaming. He was in the dull, grey comatose state of absolute despair.
"Twenty... three," he croaked, his voice barely a whisper. "Twenty-three... perfect... failures."
I nodded slowly. "Twenty-three. A prime number. Michael Jordan's number."
I adjusted my glasses."Good place to stop."
Gilles looked up, a flicker of pathetic hope in his bulbous eyes. "Stop...? You... you will cease?"
"Yeah," I said softly.
My smile returned. It wasn't the scary smile. It was just... a smile.
"ZaWarudo."
BVVVVV-TICK.
The grey world descended for the twenty-fourth time.
I walked up to him. I didn't summon the Stand. I didn't need to. The connection was open. The power was humming under my skin.
I reached out with my right hand. My fingers straightened into a knife-hand strike.
I thrust.
It was surgical. It was instant. It passed through skin, muscle, and bone like they were wet tissue paper.
I closed my fingers around the pulsing, frantic organ in his chest. I pulled.
"Time resumes."
TOK.
There was no scream. Gilles simply gasped, a wet, choking sound. He looked down.
There was a hole in his chest. A clean, precise tunnel. He looked up at me.
I was holding his heart. It was still beating in my palm, thump-thump, thump-thump, spraying a fine mist of blood onto my technician's uniform.
"Game over, Bluebeard," I whispered.
I squeezed.
SPLAT.
The heart burst like a ripe tomato.
Gilles de Rais didn't have time to process it. The light left his eyes instantly. He slumped forward, hitting the stone floor with a finality that echoed in the silence.
I stood there for a moment, my hand dripping, the corpse at my feet.
Then, the crimson in my eyes flickered. It pulsed once, twice, and then faded, receding back into the dark brown of my natural iris.
I blinked.
"Whoa..."
I stumbled back a step, grabbing a pillar for support. My head swam. The world felt... tilted.
"I feel... funky," I muttered, shaking my head like a dog trying to dry its ears. "Like I just drank six Espressos and then spun in a circle."
I looked at the room. It was a slaughterhouse. Blood everywhere. Twenty-three headless bodies. A Caster with a hole in his chest.
If Ritsuka saw this, he'd puke.
If Jeanne saw this, she'd lecture me.
"Right," I sighed, rubbing my face. "Cleanup on Aisle 4."
I raised my hand. The pink energy flared—warmer, softer than the gold, but dense with restorative power.
"CRAZY DIAMOND!"
She materialized instantly.
She didn't say a word. She just waited, rigid and attentive, her teal eyes fixed forward through her visor.
I pointed at the carnage. "Fix it. And bury the trash in the foundation. Make it look like nothing happened."
She gave a sharp, mechanical nod and went to work.
"DORARARA!"
It was a blur of pink precision. Crazy Diamond punched the floor. She punched the walls. She punched the corpse of Gilles de Rais.
The stone floor liquefied and reformed. The blood lifted from the surfaces, coagulating and vanishing into the cracks. The body of the Caster was swallowed by the granite itself, fused perfectly into the foundation of the castle, entombed in the very architecture of his failure.
In three seconds, the room was pristine. It looked like a generic, spooky dungeon. No blood. No bodies. Just cold stone.
Crazy Diamond finished her task. She spun on her heel, marched back to me, and snapped back into a rigid salute. Her breathing was steady, her discipline absolute.
I smiled. I reached out and patted the top of her smooth, pink helmet. "Good girl," I said warmly. I moved my hand down to cup her armored cheek, scratching slightly under the jawline. "You're so reliable, D."
The soldier facade crumbled instantly.
Crazy Diamond stiffened. She didn't speak—she couldn't—but her body language betrayed her. Her pink armor seemed to turn a shade darker, glowing with internal heat. Steam erupted from the vents in her shoulders with a sharp hiss. Her rigid posture collapsed into a trembling, pigeon-toed stance.
She covered her face with both hands, her fingers trembling against her helmet. She began to vibrate with intense, silent embarrassment, her armored knees knocking together. Even without a voice, the sheer volume of her "flustered soldier" energy was deafening.
"You did great," I laughed, giving her one last pat before dismissing her. "Take a break."
She faded away into pink motes, still steaming and shielding her face from view.
I shook my head. My soul is weird.
I walked over to where the Grail had rolled. I picked it up.
"Shiny cup," I muttered, tossing it in the air. "Let's go home."
I walked out of the castle.
The transition from the dark, oppressive corridor to the outside air was jarring. The sun was rising over Orleans. The smoke was clearing.
In the plaza, I saw them.
Ritsuka was sitting on a piece of rubble, being treated by Mash. Jeanne d'Arc—the real one—was leaning on her banner, looking exhausted but relieved. Emiya was scanning the horizon.
And standing next to Ritsuka was Siegfried.
"Min-jun!" Ritsuka spotted me, waving frantically. "You're alive!"
I waved back, holding up the Grail like a trophy. "Got the cup!"
"You got it?" Romani's voice crackled in my ear, loud and relieved. "Oh, thank goodness! We lost your vitals for a second there! The mana readings inside the castle spiked to something... weird. Are you okay?"
"I'm peachy, Doc," I said, putting on my best 'carefree mechanic' voice. "Just had to do some... aggressive negotiations."
Jeanne walked over, eyeing me closely. She looked for the darkness she had seen earlier. She looked for the void. I gave her a thumbs up and a goofy grin. "Fixed the plumbing. Clogged drain. Very messy."
She narrowed her eyes, sensing the lie, but seeing the Grail in my hand, she sighed."You are a strange man, Min-jun. But... thank you."
"Rayshift sequence initiating!" Olga Marie's voice barked over the comms. "We're pulling you out! Good work!"
Light began to engulf the Servants first.
Siegfried looked at me. His body was already beginning to dissolve into golden particles.
"I must return to the Throne," Siegfried said, bowing his head. "I was a rogue summoning, not bound to Chaldea. But... it was an honor, Master."
"You were the best tank a guy could ask for," I said, returning the bow. "See you around, Dragon Slayer."
Siegfried smiled—a real, gentle smile—and vanished.
Then, I felt a tug on my sleeve. "Master!" Jack was there, holding onto my leg. "We did it! Can we go home? I'm hungry!"
"Yeah, Jack," I said, patting her head. "We're going home."
"Anchin-sama!"
A distant wail echoed from the forest edge. Kiyohime. She was fading too, being a rogue Servant, but she was fighting it.
"Wait! Take me with you! I haven't packed! I haven't measured the drapes!"
"BYE!" I yelled, waving frantically as the blue particles swallowed me. "LOVE YOU! MEAN IT! DON'T CALL US, WE'LL CALL YOU!"
WOOSH.
"Coffin stabilization complete. Welcome back."
The hiss of the Rayshift coffins opening was the sweetest sound I had ever heard. I pushed the lid open and stumbled out onto the metal floor of the Chaldea command room.
Ritsuka crawled out of his pod next to me, groaning. "My back... sleeping in armor is the worst."
I stood up. I stretched. I checked my arms.
No dragon attached to my left.
Jack hopped out of my shadow, looking perfectly fine. "Home!" she cheered.
I was free.
"YES!"
I threw my head back. I threw my arms up. I leaned back into the deepest, most exaggerated pose of relief possible, spine arched, hands clawing at the heavens.
"JACKPOT!" I screamed, channeling pure Kazuma Satou energy. "I SURVIVED! NO BURNING! NO STALKING! NO BELLS!"
I did a little jig. I spun in a circle.
"I am a free man! I am a bachelor! I can sleep with my door unlocked!"
"Ahem."
The sharp sound of a throat clearing cut through my victory dance.
Olga Marie Animusphere stood on the command deck, arms crossed. She looked exhausted, but she was trying to maintain her icy Director persona. Mash was standing next to her, holding Fou who reappeared somehow.
"If you are quite finished making a spectacle of yourself, Technician Min-jun," Olga said.
"Director!" I saluted, straightening up. "Mission accomplished. Singularity orlean is history."
"Yes," Olga sighed, walking down the steps. She stopped in front of Ritsuka and me.
"You... performed adequately," she said, looking away. "The retrieval of the Grail was successful. The correction of the timeline is verified."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of glittering, rainbow-colored fragments. Saint Quartz.
"As per the standard operational rewards protocol," she muttered, shoving them into our hands.
She gave Ritsuka fifteen.
She gave me fifteen.
I looked at the quartz in my hand. Fifteen. Enough for a solid ritual.
I looked at Ritsuka. Ritsuka looked at me.
The exhaustion vanished from his eyes, replaced by the manic glint of a Master who needs firepower.
"Da Vinci's shop?" Ritsuka whispered.
"Da Vinci's shop," I confirmed.
"SUMMONING!"
"GAMBLE, GAMBLE, GAMBLE!!!"
We both screamed it in unison. We turned on our heels and bolted for the door, leaving dust clouds in our wake.
"Priorities!" I yelled over my shoulder. "I need a Saber! A real one! Someone who shoots beams!"
"I just need someone strong!" Ritsuka hollered, sprinting alongside me. "Anyone! Please be a Heroic Spirit!"
We vanished into the corridor, the automatic doors hissing shut behind us. In the command room, silence fell.
Olga Marie stood there, her hand still half-raised. She blinked. She lowered her hand. She looked at the empty space where we had just been.
"I..." she muttered, her voice small. "I was going to say... good job."
She clicked her tongue, crossing her arms tightly across her chest, a flush rising on her cheeks. "Tch. Idiots. Running off to summon random spirits. They didn't even... they didn't even stop to..."
She trailed off. She kicked the floor lightly with her boot.
"I expected a hug, at least," she whispered to the floor, the Tsundere mask cracking. "We almost died. I guided them. A 'thank you, Director' would have been nice."
Soft footsteps approached her.
Olga looked up.
Mash was standing there. The Shielder looked at the Director with soft, understanding eyes. She held Fou in one arm, and opened the other arm slightly.
"Director," Mash said gently. "If... if Senpai and Min-jun are too busy... I can offer a hug?"
Olga stiffened. Her face turned crimson. "I—I don't need—I am the Director of Chaldea! I do not require physical reassurance from a Demi-Servant!"
Mash didn't move. She just waited, smiling patiently.
Olga looked at the door where we had run off. She looked at the empty command room. She looked at Mash.
The tension slowly drained out of her shoulders. She let out a long, shuddering sigh.
"Fine," Olga grumbled, her voice barely audible.
- - - - - -
"Alright, Ritsuka!" I yelled, slapping him on the back hard enough to leave a handprint. "You're up first! Show me your Luck!"
Ritsuka stepped forward, his hand trembling as he clutched his three Saint Quartz saving his other twelve for tomorrow for good dopamine. He looked like a man about to put his life savings on a single roulette number.
"Please," Ritsuka whispered to the swirling blue lights of the summoning circle. "I need a carry. I need a Saber. I need... hope."
He threw the quartz.
The machine roared. The rings spun. Light flooded the room, blinding us all.
"Silver... Caster!" Dr. Roman announced over the intercom.
The light faded. Standing in the circle was not a mighty wizard or a divine spirit.
It was a small, blue-haired boy with a tablet, glasses, and a voice deeper than the Mariana Trench.
"Hmph," the boy scoffed, adjusting his glasses. "So, you are the Master? You look like you haven't read a book in your life. Don't expect me to fight. I write. I criticize. And I demand a comfortable workspace."
Ritsuka stared, his soul leaving his body. "A... child?"
"I am Hans Christian Andersen," the boy announced, crossing his arms. "Third-rate Servant. And you appear to be a third-rate Master. We're a match made in mediocrity."
Ritsuka fell to his knees, clutching his chest. "I wanted a 5-star... I wanted a beam-sword..."
"Life is full of disappointments," Andersen deadpanned, tapping away on his tablet. "Get used to it. Now, show me to the library before I write a tragedy about your fashion sense."
I patted Ritsuka's shoulder as he wept. "Hey, chin up. He's the best support unit you could ask for. Seriously. You struck gold, you just don't know it yet."
"He called me mediocre," Ritsuka whimpered.
"It's his love language. Now, move over."
I stepped up to the circle.
I cracked my knuckles. I adjusted my glasses. I held three Saint Quartz in my hand.
"Alright," I whispered.
I tossed the quartz.
The FATE system didn't just roar; it screamed. The light wasn't blue or gold. It was a strange, flickering mix of absolute black and searing cherry-blossom pink. The mana density in the room spiked so hard the glass observation windows rattled.
"Warning!" Romani shouted, his voice cracking. "Abnormal Spirit Origin detected! The Class container is... undefined! It's not matching the seven standard classes! What is this?!"
Olga Marie pressed her face against the glass. "That's impossible! Is it a glitch?!"
The light exploded.
When it cleared, a figure stood in the center of the circle.
She wore a sleek, form-fitting black bodysuit encased in dark, plated armor that hugged her torso and legs. A tattered, crimson scarf was wrapped thick around her neck, trailing behind her like a bloody banner. Her hair was a stark white, messy and short, framing a face of tanned skin. In her hand, she gripped the handle of a massive, impossibly long nodachi—Rengoku—that radiated heat.
She opened her eyes. They were grey, empty, and devoid of light.She looked at me. She blinked slowly, sleepily.
"I am Majin Okita Souji," she intoned, her voice cool and detached. "I have answered your summon and manifested. Until this body's Spirit Origin shatters to pieces... I will battle alongside you."
Silence filled the room. "Majin?" Olga muttered. "What kind of Heroic Spirit is that? And 'shatters'? Is she unstable?"
I didn't answer Olga. I was staring at the Servant.
She was a Counter Guardian. A weapon made by the World to clean up a mess and then disappear. Her Spirit Origin was designed to burn out. She was a bomb with a timer. "Until it shatters, huh?" I said softly.
Okita Alter tilted her head, her expression blank.
"Yes. My existence is temporary. I am a force of the Counter Force. Once my purpose is fulfilled, or my mana is spent, I will fade. That is the contract."
I saw the hollowness in her eyes. The acceptance that she wasn't a person, just a bullet to be fired.
No.
I refused.
"I don't like that contract," I said.
Okita Alter blinked. "Master?" I clenched my right fist.
"CRAZYDIAMOND!"
"TUSK!"
The room erupted. "Min-jun! What are you doing?!" Ritsuka yelled.
Pink energy surged from my left. Golden energy spiraled from my right. My two Stands manifested, overlapping, their powers fusing in a way they never had before.
Crazy Diamond's restoration. Tusk's infinite rotation. I wasn't going to fight her. I was going to fix her.
"Fixing..." I muttered, my eyes glowing crimson. "...plus Evolution."
I drew my fist back. The golden spiral spun around Crazy Diamond's arm, creating a vortex of wind that shredded the floor tiles. The sound was like a jet engine.
"Master?" Okita Alter's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine confusion breaking her stoic mask. She reached for her sword. "Hostility detected? No... this pressure..."
I didn't explain. I launched myself forward.
"GIGA..."
I closed the distance in a split second.
"...DRILL..."
I drove my fist—wreathed in pink and gold energy—directly into her exposed stomach.
"...BREAAAAAAAK!!!"
BOOOOM
The impact was cataclysmic. It wasn't an attack to hurt. It was an injection. I was punching the concept of "Permanence" directly into her Spirit Origin. I was using the Spin to anchor her existence to this timeline and Crazy Diamond to rewrite the structural flaws in her Saint Graph that caused her to fade.
"Gah?!"
Okita Alter's eyes went wide. The air was sucked out of the room.
- - - - - - -
The shouting of Olga Marie died instantly. The floor, the walls, the summoning circle—all gone.
I was standing in an infinite, white void.
There was no up, no down. Just blinding, sterile whiteness.
But I wasn't alone.Floating in front of me was a shape. It wasn't a silhouette or a fractal this time.
It was distinct. It was a woman. Or rather, a feminine entity composed entirely of shifting liquid gold. She was enormous, her form towering over me, radiating an aura of ancient, bureaucratic divinity. She had no face, only smooth, featureless gold where a visage should be, yet I could feel her gaze. It was heavy. It was the weight of every hero who had ever died for a cause.
"The throne?!" I muttered exasperated thinking this is impossible but...I don't know much about this world anyway
"Interference detected," the Entity spoke.
Her voice wasn't robotic. It was smooth, echoing, and terrifyingly calm. It sounded like a choir of one.
"You attempt to alter the definition of a Guardian," she continued, drifting closer. "The entity designated 'Okita Souji Alter' is a temporary asset. She is designed to fade. You are attempting to weld her to reality."
"Yeah," I said, standing tall in the void. I adjusted my glasses, which were the only thing with color in this world besides myself. "That's the plan. I'm keeping her. Warranty voided."
"This violates the Law of Equivalent Exchange," the Entity said, her golden hand gesturing vaguely. "To grant permanence to a Phantom requires a massive expenditure of energy and data. Her Saint Graph is hollow. To fill it requires a source."
The Entity leaned down, her featureless face inches from mine.
"What do you offer, Foreigner?"
I stepped forward. I spread my arms.
"Take my life," I said without hesitation. "Cut my lifespan in half. Take my mana. Take my luck. I don't care. Just make her real. Make her remember."
The Entity remained silent for a moment. The liquid gold of her body rippled.
"Your life is already forfeit to the Grand Order," she stated dismissively. "Your mana is insufficient. Your luck is... statistically anomalous, but intangible."
"Then what?!" I shouted. "What do you want? I have a Grail! I have—"
"Genetic data," she interrupted.
I froze. "What?"
The void was silent. Just me and the cosmic manifestation of humanity's will.
She extended a golden hand toward me.
"I'll take your sperm, in exchange i will accept your demand."