Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, SE.RA.PH, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
By the time Nero and I returned to our Private Room, the last bits of digital grit and dust from the Arena had already faded from our clothes.
Retrieving the Primary Trigger had taken longer than expected thanks to the increased size and complexity of the Third Chimeric Lunar Sea's labyrinth, but in the end, we'd secured it without facing any interference.
And that is exactly what bothers me.
The moment the door slid shut behind us, Nero stretched her arms and let out a pleased sigh while commenting, "A rewarding day, if an inelegant one. We claimed the Primary Trigger, and not a single ambush. I would call that a victory."
I correct her as I kicked off my shoes, "I'd call it suspicious, too suspicious."
She glances over her shoulder and asks, "Really now? Must everything be an ominous presage with you?"
I sink onto the couch and calmly reply, "When Julius B. Harwey is involved? When are we taking part in a Holy Grail War? Yes. Absolutely."
Nero materialises the lyre she'd been carrying around lately and plucks a few idle strings, "So you truly believed he would attempt a second attack today after failing the first one?"
I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and say, "I expected him to try a second, a third, a tenth. That's who he is. The man tried to kill me and successfully killed a bunch of other Masters shortly after breakfast. Julius is stubborn even by Master standards. His suddenly going quiet is… not right."
Nero plops beside me, curiosity gleaming in her eyes as she guesses, "But perhaps he realised that we were wary and ready after thwarting his first surprise attack."
I shake my head immediately and explain, "No. Julius isn't someone who stops. In the original timeline, he resisted deletion through sheer force of will alone. He didn't even have a body, yet he continued to chase Hakuno around SE.RA.PH to ensure Leo would win. He's the kind of person who would die twice if it meant giving his brother an extra inch of advantage."
Nero paused mid-pluck, "… That is disturbingly devoted."
I let my arms fall to my sides and say, "Exactly. Julius isn't the type to give up on a target. If he isn't attacking us, then he's attacking someone else."
Nero's expression turned thoughtful as she wondered out loud, "His brother's opponent?"
I nod and answer, "Most likely. Leo must have been matched against someone he and Julius consider extremely dangerous. It explains why Julius isn't wasting time on me... He's acting as Leo's shadow bodyguard."
Silence settles between us for a moment.
Then, Nero finally speaks, her voice much softer, "It must be exhausting, living with so much foreknowledge."
Hearing that, I smile wryly and admit, "Sometimes, but it keeps us alive, and it helps me prevent some awful tragedies from time to time."
She shifts closer, nudging my shoulder with her own while she proposes, "Then rest your mind for now. Tomorrow, we help Aletha. Tonight, let us decide our plans and sleep."
I smile despite the tension in my chest and agree, "Yeah. That sounds good."
Like that, we quickly finalise our strategy: Explore the campus, gather any clues about Ledram Vassago, maybe find something to help Aletha.
After that, Nero leans against me as we talk, warm and steady, and eventually, the long day catches up with both of us.
With lights off, the warm sheets covering my body, and Nero's quiet breathing, sleep pulls me under.
Morning arrives with its usual calm rhythm.
I wake first, blinking at the digital ceiling as the warm simulation-light begins its slow brightening cycle.
Nero stirs a moment later, stretching in a way that would be theatrical if she weren't half‑asleep while she mumbles something about pillows being unworthy of her imperial stature before promptly burying her face in one again.
I give her a gentle tap on the shoulder, "We've got things to do."
She groans but sits up, rubbing at her eyes, "Yes, yes. Aletha needs us; the Champion of Darkness lurks unseen, doom looms, all that. But five more seconds of rest would not end the world."
In the end, I simply agree, "Five."
She counts them out loud, all five.
Then she stands with a sudden burst of energy, as if the mere act of deciding she's awake restores her imperial dignity before she walks toward the bathroom without bothering to cover her naked body, and I casually follow after her like usual.
The temperature of the water is a touch too cold, a tiny system error I keep noticing, but Nero doesn't; she simply declared the temperature is perfect, making me wonder if what I'm experiencing isn't an error but a deliberate act of my partner.
After the quick shower, which we take more out of habit than necessity, breakfast follows in the same steady routine, simple food, but Nero insists on trying to make it feel like a proper Roman morning meal.
She hums as she eats, plucking at invisible melodies between bites.
While we get dressed, I talk through the plan again, "We'll start with the first floor. Check the usual spots, then work our way up. If Vassago's left any trace, we'll find it."
Meanwhile, Nero tries three different outfits in under a minute, each one accompanied by a royal commentary about why the previous one was "insufficiently radiant for public duties." I let her cycle through the wardrobe until she snapped her fingers and finally settled on her usual red attire.
She studies herself in the mirror, adjusting the red ribbon in her hair with surprising care.
Nero smooths the sleeves of her outfit, then tilts her head, "And if he's left nothing?"
I reply, "Then we pay closer attention to what others overlook. People slip more than clues do."
She nods at that, satisfied, "Then let us see what this day brings."
After that, once everything is ready, I open the door, and then we step into the hallway of the 1st floor of the Tsukumihara Academy.
As we step into the hallway, Nero slips into her Spirit Form with the easy familiarity of someone shrugging on a cloak. I take a breath before closing the door behind us.
The air outside feels colder, though that might just be the tension of the Third Selection sinking into the walls.
The first floor looks normal at a glance, but the mood is off. Students move like they're walking through a dream they're terrified of waking from.
Conversations stay short, clipped, whispered only when needed, even the Servants keep closer to their Masters than usual, eyes drifting toward every open doorway.
I can't blame them, with numbers thinning every day, everyone expects the next confrontation to fall on their head.
Nero's voice brushes into my mind, light but edged, [Their fear weighs on the halls.]
In response, I comment, [They've all seen too much already.]
We start our rounds, the storage rooms, classrooms, the cafeteria, the usual places where someone trying to stay unnoticed might linger, but we find nothing.
Just worn faces and tired silhouettes, a few tense looks thrown my way, but most avoid eye contact altogether.
Near the chemistry room, a lone Master nearly drops his portable terminal when he notices me, and his Servant, a Lancer class with sharp eyes, steps between us in less than a heartbeat, but as I raise my hands, the guy just mutters an apology and hurried off.
The climb to the second floor doesn't feel much different; a few Masters linger near the notice board, pretending to study the day's announcements.
Meanwhile, the only noticeable event is that the walls on this floor keep flickering between two different textures, clean tile and rusted metal, as if SE.RA.PH can't decide what the floor plan is supposed to be.
Even Nero pauses at one point, brushing her fingers through a patch of static that distorts her hand before snapping back, but it is clear that whatever this is has nothing to do with the Champion of Darkness, as I can clearly feel the presence of a Master's Codecast.
Servants stand guard like statues; it all feels too careful, too orderly. Vassago isn't a ghost. Someone this dangerous leaves ripples.
But the water stays still.
When we reach the third floor, I notice the shift immediately; the air carries a static edge, like the moment before a storm, even Nero's Spirit Form stirs faintly at my side.
Hakuno stands ahead of us, frozen mid‑step, his eyes lock onto a flickering shape at the far end of the hallway.
I follow his gaze.
A man, or the impression of one, his outline glitches around the edges, as if the system can't decide whether he's supposed to be here.
His clothing is crisp, professional, clinical, glasses, blank expression, the kind of man you'd pass in a hospital without a second thought.
But I know exactly who he is. Twice H. Pieceman.
The history flashes through my head before I can stop it, not just the facts; his story isn't something you memorise, it's something that haunts you once you learn of it.
A war child, a genius, a man who tried to save lives until the world gave him nothing in return.
Twice H. Pieceman was born in 1970, and there was a war in his birthplace in the 70s, a clash of ethnic groups arranged by major powers as a war by proxy.
He was a war orphan and was later adopted by foster parents. Later in life, he became a prominent scientist in advanced neurosurgery and pioneered digital hacking, thought to be the first Spiritron‑hacker.
His most notable achievement was discovering a cure for the disease known as Amnesia Syndrome.
In 1999, Twice was called to a city in the Far East to treat victims of the disease, and he was killed in a bioterrorist attack.
But this wasn't the end. His data was recorded by the Moon Cell Automaton and became part of the system. After serving in multiple Holy Grail Wars as an NPC, the constant exposure to human Masters combined with his hacking talent eventually made his data self‑aware.
Once self‑aware, Twice became a Master and summoned Tamano‑no‑Mae. He fought in countless wars but never won, eventually losing his Servant. He prayed for salvation until a Saver‑class Servant responded, not out of agreement with his ideals but compassion for his soul.
When he reached the Moon Cell's core, he found that, as an NPC, he couldn't enter without being deleted as invalid data.
From there, he redesigned the Holy Grail War to its current system and asked every victorious Master to wish for the perpetuation of war. All refused and were killed by him and the Saver.
As all that flashes through my mind, I watch while thinking, 'It seems his shadow lingers in this timeline too… A ghost who refused to fade, a Spiritron Hacker so skilled he clawed his way into awareness. And here, in SE.RA.PH, an echo of him lingers once more.'
Nero whispers, [He seems… hollow.] Which makes me reply, [He isn't truly here. Just a memory that refuses to stay still.]
Leo moves up beside Hakuno, hands behind his back, posture perfectly controlled as always.
He studies the flickering figure with the calm of someone inspecting a painting and says, "A cyber ghost, I see."
Hakuno jolts slightly, realising he'd been staring too long, he turns toward Leo, who explains, his voice steadying as he speaks, "There are several trillion memories stored in the SE.RA.PH. In that way, it resembles the primordial sea. Just as life evolved there, data can evolve here. That pseudo‑lifeform must have been generated from information evolving in the SE.RA.PH. It's merely an echo. It's harmless data, don't worry about it."
I don't care too much about their discussion; I'm focused on something else.
A presence, subtle, sharp, hidden almost perfectly to the point that Most Masters would've sensed nothing and most Servants would've felt a slight disturbance at best, but I feel it clearly. Julius B. Harwey.
He stands meters behind Leo, cloaked in magecraft so refined it would fool almost anyone.
His eyes never move from Leo and Hakuno; his entire posture radiates intent, not aggression, but vigilance sharp enough to cut, ready to strike at the first sign of danger to the point that he willingly chose to ignore my presence.
Nero's whisper brushes the back of my mind through our bond, [He sure watches over him like a wolf.]
To which I answer, [He thinks Leo's in danger. Which means Leo's opponent isn't just strong. They're something else entirely. Julius' whole focus is on protecting his brother.]
Then, Nero notes, [And it seems that we are not even aware of whoever their opponent is...]
I exhale slowly and say in a grave tone, [No. Which means they're hiding well... Or worse, they have been specifically hiding themselves from us and those like us. Both possibilities may lead to the same conclusion. Leo's opponent is likely a Champion.]
While we reach that conclusion, Hakuno eventually moves again, stepping forward as Twice's ghost fades into digital static.
Leo follows with princely grace, unaware, or pretending to be unaware, of the man shadowing him.
Julius disappears with them, slipping out of view like a knife vanishing into its sheath.
The hallway feels emptier once they're gone.
Julius's presence lingers in my mind even after he fades from sight; that tight, sharpened aura of his tells me more than any spoken warning could.
He's coiled like a spring behind Leo, ready to intervene the moment the world tips even slightly out of balance.
I've fought people like him, men who carry duty like a blade, men who don't hesitate.
Then, Nero murmurs through our bond, her voice low and dry, [He sure dotes on his brother beyond reason.]
To that, I explain, [It's not just devotion. It's instinct. Julius doesn't see Leo as someone to protect. He sees him as someone who must survive, no matter what.]
At that, Nero huffs softly, [A man ruled by duty makes for a grim life.]
I smile wryly and say, [Maybe. But he's dangerous because he believes he's already dead. People like that don't fear consequences.]
Then we decide to store away all the information we've gathered for later and resume our search.
We move on, there's nothing left in the hallway except the echo of Twice's fading form and the faint hum of the system correcting the data he disrupted.
For the next several hours, we roam the Academy again, the repetition gnaws at us both.
The classrooms blur together, same desks, same cracked tile textures under the holographic lighting.
A few Masters glance our way and quickly look away again, afraid to draw attention.
Two more Masters who argue in low voices near a stairwell, but stop the moment they notice me, as no one wants trouble, not during the Third Selection.
The pressure of it hangs over everyone like static.
By noon, Nero's patience has burned down to embers, making her snap, [He hides like a coward. If he wishes to fight, he should stand proudly in the open!]
I crack a smile at her anger and, chuckling, I say, [Champions usually aren't that considerate.]
She sounds offended on a personal level as she declares, [Then he ought to be taught manners.]
At this point, I remind her gently. [We're not here for that. He's Aletha's opponent, not ours.]
She groans loud enough that two passing students look around in confusion, even though they can't see her while she complains through our bond with all the melodrama of a diva denied her stage, [You deny me every opportunity for theatrics.]
I smirk and send back a wink while saying, [Someone has to.]
By early afternoon, we reach the limit of wandering, the campus is empty of clues, and the Champion of Darkness remains a ghost.
So I decided to change the plan.
I focus my thoughts so she knows I'm serious, [Alright! If he won't come to us, we wait where he must appear.]
Nero brightens as she guesses, [The Arena?]
I nod while exclaiming, [Exactly. He needs the Triggers and all the data on his opponent that he can gather by fighting the Enemy Programs. He'll show up eventually.]
She stays silent for a beat, then declares, [It is boring.]
I feel a bit of fear as I agree, [Yes.]
She then adds, [And tedious.]
Again, the fear of a possible retaliation increases as I agree with her once more, [Also yes.]
She continues, [And undignified.]
Making me try to ease her into the idea, [A little.]
She sighs like she's being personally wronged, before she concludes, [But effective.]
Feeling a little relieved, I say, [That's why we're doing it.]
With that, I don't waste any time and draw the Spiral Cosmo around us, shaping the concealment with threads so precise that not even the Moon Cell catches on.
The air bends around us as we've slipped between the cracks of reality.
Nero floats beside me in Spirit Form, restless but silent as we position ourselves near the Arena entrance and wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
Waiting becomes its own battle, the hallway cycles through simulated afternoon light.
Twice, Nero gets excited only for a random NPC student to pass through the corridor, arms full of books, making the disappointment radiate off her like heat.
At one point, a Lancer strides past, his spear trailing faint sparks along the floor before He pauses, looking straight at my concealed position, then frowns and keeps walking away as his likely E-class Luck almost got him killed by a very annoyed and bored Nero.
Then Nero mutters, "If this continues, I shall write a decree banning waiting as a concept."
To that I answer, "I'm pretty sure that's not enforceable... On top of that, the Concept of Waiting may take it wrong and force you to wait for an eternity."
This simple thought makes Nero shudder and stop her complaining, at least for a few minutes.
The hum of the system dims as fewer students pass by while Nero mutters Roman curses under her breath every few minutes, each more creative than the last.
Then, finally, something changes that catches my attention.
A shift in the air. A brush of power touches the edge of my senses, a faint darkness, deep and regal.
It's like the gentle sweep of wings made of shadow, dark, deep, almost velvety in its weight.
Not hostile, not violent, just powerful. Undeniably powerful. Immense.
A moment later, a young man rounds the corner. He is a Master, and he is approaching the end of the hallway with the clear intent of heading toward the Arena's entrance.
He is my age, maybe a bit older. Tall, lean, the kind of build that speaks of training rather than brute strength.
His dark hair is wild and spiked, his eyes red, not feral, not glowing, but steady. The red of confidence and control.
He walks with easy confidence, hands loose at his sides.
His aura blankets the hallway, not like a threat, but like a night sky stretching overhead.
Power rolls off him in steady waves; if I weren't so tuned to this kind of thing, I might've missed it entirely, but to me, it's clear: he's strong enough to distort the air.
He isn't dangerous because he wants to be. He's dangerous because he simply is.
I'm sure of it. That's him. He is the Champion of Darkness.
And he is a Devil, but not a monster; his true nature almost surprises me.
Beneath all that overwhelming power, I feel something else through my God of Justice senses. He isn't evil.
There's no cruelty, no malice, not even ambition; his soul feels warm, steady, controlled.
Like someone who could destroy a mountain but would rather sit beneath it and watch the sunrise.
A good man wrapped in the shadows of Darkness.
The next moment, the one walking beside him catches my attention, and her presence makes my stomach drop.
A woman with platinum-blonde hair gathered loosely behind her. Pale skin that shimmers faintly like moonlit snow. Blue eyes, calm as winter lakes.
Elsa of Arendelle.
A Queen of ice. A being whose limit is only her fear of her own power.
Her presence is a cold clarity, quiet, serene.
I don't know how he met her. How he earned her loyalty and maybe even her love, but her steps fall in sync with his, not because she follows but because they move together with practised ease like someone who trusts him completely.
Her expression is soft, her guard lowered in a way I rarely see in anyone inside SE.RA.PH.
Nero inhales sharply in my mind, [This aura... I can recognise anywhere... She is a queen… And a mighty one at that.]
I'm almost stunned by her presence as I say, [This changes things.]
The Champion and the Snow Queen walk side by side, unaware of our hidden eyes as they approach the Arena doors.
Aletha's opponent is no brute; he is no monster; he is more akin to a force of nature.
And the woman beside him only makes him more formidable, and there may be many more of equal valour or even stronger by his side.
While realising that, I remain hidden, watching silently as he and Elsa walk through the Arena entrance.
The Arena doors slide open for them with a soft chime, the system recognising their eligibility.
From my hiding place, I don't move, I barely breathe as their steps echo faintly as they descend the short ramp into the main chamber.
Only once they're fully inside do I let out a controlled breath.
Nero drifts closer, her Spirit Form brushing the edge of my perception as she asks, [You felt it too, didn't you?]
I answer, [Hard not to. He's not masking his aura. It's just… contained. Like he's holding most of it back without even thinking about it.]
Then Nero asks, [And the queen?]
I hesitate for a moment, then add, [Her presence is quieter, but not weaker. She feels… limitless. Still growing. That's the part that worries me.]
Nero hums thoughtfully, [A Champion paired with a Queen whose power knows no ceiling. Aletha's battle will not be simple.]
I stay still for another few moments, watching the empty doorway they passed through.
Their footsteps fade into the distance, swallowed by the Arena's deeper chambers, where they suddenly disappear as they are transferred to their instance of the Arena's labyrinth.
Only then do I release the Spiral Cosmo veil, letting it dissolve into the air; the hallway seems brighter without it.
Then I murmur to myself, "This complicates everything."
Nero materialises beside me in a soft shimmer of light, her arms crossed, her expression tight but composed, "Do you think Aletha has any idea what awaits her?"
Without any hesitation, I admit. "Not yet. But she will. And we'll help her prepare."
Nero nods once, sharp and sure, "Then our next step is clear. We gather everything we can. No Champion of Darkness will undo what we've built."
Her confidence steadies me more than I expect; it anchors the weight of the moment, pulling my thoughts away from the swirl of what-ifs.
We turn back down the hallway together. The Academy feels quieter now, the system humming in a low, steady rhythm.
Almost as if SE.RA.PH itself recognised the power that just walked through its domain.
As we head toward the exit, Nero tilts her head and says lightly, "You know, for a man shrouded in Darkness, he walks as someone unburdened."
I smile wryly and reply. "Yeah. That might be the most dangerous part."
We continue down the corridor, footsteps soft against the polished digital floor, and I can't shake the lingering impression of that steady red gaze, or the snow-quiet calm of the queen beside him.