Aletha POV - Nasuverse, Moon, SE.RA.PH, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
I leave the rooftop with the faint tension still sitting between my shoulders, the kind that never quite goes away once you learn how many monsters can wear friendly faces.
Jayr's warning echoes in my mind as I descend the stairs, boots clicking softly against the polished floors of Tsukumihara Academy, 'Don't underestimate her. Don't underestimate him and any of his allies.'
I trust Jayr more than most; that alone is enough to make his words dig in deep. Still, trust doesn't stop unease from settling under my skin.
The Academy's hallways stretch out before me, bright and orderly, almost aggressively normal, too clean, too calm, a place that pretends it isn't sitting on top of a digital battlefield where people get erased for good, and all that makes my mind wander some more, 'Ledram Vassago. The name rolls around in my head as I keep walking; it feels heavy, deliberate, not the sort of name someone ordinary stumbles into. The Champion of Darkness, even now, the title prickles at my senses.'
My fingers flex at my side, a reflex I don't bother correcting while my Chaos Magic stirs in response, a restless pressure humming just beneath my skin like it's paying attention to the same thoughts I am, but soon I force it down, keeping it tight and quiet while thinking, 'This isn't the place for leaks. Tsukumihara has eyes everywhere, and Ledram isn't the only Champion I have to worry about.'
By the time I reach the third floor, my path is already decided.
Class 3-C looks exactly like every other classroom from the outside, plain doors, neutral panelling, nothing that would draw attention, and that's the point, as the entrance to my Private Room hides behind it, waiting for my terminal's signature like a locked box pretending it's empty.
I press my hand to the panel, making the doors slide open without a sound, and I step inside, glancing back once before it seals shut.
The moment it does, the pressure eases, not gone, but lighter, like finally setting down a bag you didn't realise was digging into your shoulder.
I breathe out slowly and roll my shoulders and mutter, "Well, that was… enlightening."
The next moment, warmth blooms in the room, soft and elegant, like sunlight filtered through silk curtains, and it arrives with a familiar presence and an even more familiar voice, "My dear Aletha."
My Servant steps into being as if she's always been there, the space simply remembering to include her.
She is a young woman with fair skin, white hair, and bright blue eyes, wearing a distinctive red and black outfit; atop her head sits a large, stylized headpiece resembling a flower or hat with red and black detailing, she is dressed in a form-fitting red dress with sharp, geometric patterns and black trim, complemented by white thigh-high leggings adorned with silver accents, she also wears red gloves on her left hand, which she raises delicately near her face.
Her expression is pleasant, with a subtle smile that suggests confidence and warmth.
Long, white ribbons or streamers flow from her headpiece, giving her an ethereal quality.
She raises her gloved hand near her face, smiling like she's just caught me sneaking a dessert before dinner.
Radiant, graceful, impossible to mistake for anything but a queen, even here.
She is a Rider class Servant and her true name is Marie Antoinette, yes, that Marie Antoinette.
(Image Here - Marie Antoinette)
The Queen of France of the 18th Century whose genealogy is related to the House of Habsburg.
The queen consort of Louis XVI, an ephemeral lady born between Holy Roman Emperor Francis I, a person originating from the House of Lorraine as its Duke, and Maria Theresa, who is a descendant of the great aristocratic German household, the House of Habsburg, Marie was born and raised as an existence that symbolizes the "rule of nobility" of the European world, and during a chaotic period of human history where the right of monarchy was no longer absolute, she lost her life in a changing world.
Still, Marie is endowed with the greatest body and good looks as a result of her being born to become a beautiful monarch who will be loved. Her attire is based on the concept of an "Idol Queen".
Marie Antoinette steps fully into being, her expression gentle, her curious eyes studying me with familiar fondness.
She looks exactly as she always did, radiant, graceful, impossibly beautiful. A queen even in this digital reality.
And now she's here, dressed like an idol queen, beauty and charisma turned up to eleven.
I watch her for a second longer than necessary while thinking, 'I still don't understand how I, a British pure-blood Witch from the Harry Potter Universe, have any kind of connection with Marie Antoinette, a French Queen from the eighteenth century... Maybe it's the Black or Lestrange blood lurking somewhere in my family tree. At this point, most pure-blood lines are basically one big, messy family anyway. Maybe it is because of my hookup with Fleur during my 4th year at Hogwarts. Oh well, whatever the reason, I've stopped questioning it too hard... Even if she is French, she is hot, and that's enough.'
While thinking that, I smile despite myself and say, "You waited until we were back inside. Thanks."
Marie Antoinette tilts her head, ribbons swaying, and says, "Of course! Privacy is important for serious brooding. And you were definitely brooding."
I cross the room and drop onto the edge of the bed, boots hitting the floor with a dull thump as I mutter, "You have no idea."
Marie Antoinette joins me, sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her posture is perfect, but her expression is light, almost playful, while she asks, "Then tell me. What do you think about what we just learned?"
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face before I say, "Honestly... I don't know what to think about. Sure, I had already prepared myself for the possibility that our next opponent was likely going to be the Champion of Darkness, and I had already prepared for a tough fight. But, for some reason, I was also sure of the fact that our opponent was going to be a cruel and sadistic individual, even a completely evil one. Something like the Champion of Power..."
Marie Antoinette hums softly, tapping one finger against her glove as if considering a tune while commenting, "Mmm. Dark and dreadful, twirling an imaginary moustache, yes?"
I nod and admit, "That was the mental image I had, yeah."
She smiles, bright and almost mischievous as she comments, "How disappointing for your expectations."
Hearing that, I almost sigh, but hold myself back and continue, "That's the problem. Jayr says he's a good person. And I believe him."
Marie Antoinette's expression turns thoughtful, though her eyes remain warm, "A Champion of Darkness who is kind. How very inconvenient."
I nod and explain, "Our Blessings don't just give us power. They shape us. Nudge us closer to the concepts they represent. And when I think of Darkness, moral nuance isn't exactly the first thing that comes to mind."
She leans closer, smiling knowingly, "Neither is Chaos, my dear. And yet, here you are. Very responsible. Most of the time."
In response to that, I bark out a laugh while admitting, "Fair enough."
Leaning back, I stare at the ceiling and let my thoughts spill out, "Jayr suggested we find something of his. Anything. An object. A relic. Something Rani can work her Magecraft on."
Marie Antoinette nods enthusiastically, "Oh! I love a good scavenger hunt. Knowledge is safety, after all. And secrets are simply knowledge waiting to be unwrapped."
Then, as if summoned by my words, my portable terminal chimes sharply.
I blink and pull it out of my pocket, watching the message that has appeared on the glowing display.
[The second cypher key has been generated on the second floor.]
My heartbeat kicks up instantly as I murmur, "…Well, that's interesting."
Marie Antoinette claps her hands once, delighted while she exclaims, "Oh! The Arena, yes?"
I'm already back on my feet, quickly putting back my boots while saying, "Yeah. And the best chance we've had so far to finally run into him."
With a shared look of understanding, we move as one and head for the door. Naturally, Marie Antoinette takes her Spirit Form to hide.
The hallway outside Class 3-C feels different the moment we step into it, as if the Academy itself knows where we're headed.
The air is the same temperature, the lights just as bright, yet something hums beneath it all, anticipation, fear, maybe both.
We fall into an easy stride, Marie Antoinette, invisible to all but me, practically gliding beside me.
Her ribbons trail behind her like lazy comets, occasionally brushing the lockers.
She hums under her breath, light and cheerful, the sound completely at odds with the knot tightening in my stomach, making me note, "You're humming."
She beams and replies in a voice that only I can hear, "Of course! This is exciting. A mysterious Champion, a dramatic Arena reveal, possibly life-threatening danger. It's all very theatrical."
I glance at her and dryly comment, "You really know how to sell the impending doom."
Waving her hand, she says, "Oh, don't be like that. If we must face danger, we might as well do it with good posture and a pleasant mood."
I shake my head, but a smile sneaks through anyway.
As we move closer to the stairwell leading down to the Arena level, the foot traffic thickens.
Masters emerge from side corridors, some alone, some with Servants close at hand.
I recognise a few faces, others look new, or maybe they've just managed to avoid my notice until now.
The emotions are written all over them.
A nervous-looking boy clutches his terminal like a lifeline, eyes darting at every shadow.
A woman with dark circles under her eyes walks stiffly, jaw set. I even sense the presence of her Servant, who is standing half a step ahead like a shield.
A pair of Masters whisper urgently to each other, their voices too low to catch, but their fear loud enough without words.
And then there are the determined ones with shoulders squared and hard expressions.
People who have already decided what they're willing to do to survive.
Marie Antoinette leans toward me, whispering conspiratorially, "My, my. Such serious faces. It's like walking into a very grim masquerade."
In response, I lightly mutter, "Try not to announce that too loudly. Some of them might take offence."
She giggles, actually giggles, and presses a finger to her lips, "Shh. Queen's secret."
We reach the broad corridor that leads directly to the Arena entrance.
The architecture shifts very subtly here; the clean school aesthetic gives way to smoother surfaces, curved walls, and faintly glowing lines embedded in the floor as if the system ruling this place wants you to know you're crossing a boundary.
A few Masters hesitate near the entrance, staring at the massive door as if it might bite them.
I slow, rolling my shoulders once more as Chaos Magic stirs again, eager now, responding to the proximity of the battlefield; However, I keep it leashed, but it's harder this time.
The Arena always does this to me, like stepping onto a stage where the universe expects a performance.
Marie Antoinette notices, too, of course she does.
She slips her hand into mine without ceremony, squeezing lightly while saying, "Easy, Aletha. No need to glare at the floor. It hasn't done anything wrong."
In response, I say automatically, "I'm not glaring."
She raises an eyebrow, smile playful before saying, "You are absolutely glaring."
I exhale and admit, "I just don't like walking in blind."
She replies brightly, "Nonsense. You're walking in with me. That makes it much less blind and significantly more fabulous."
I snort, earning another delighted laugh from her.
The door to the Arena slides open with a soft, ominous hiss as cold digital air spills out, brushing against my skin like water just before it freezes.
The conversations around us die instantly, even the most confident Masters fall silent.
Beyond the threshold, the Arena waits, and without wasting any time, we step inside, the door sealing behind us with finality.
The noise of the Academy vanishes, replaced by a deep, ambient hum that vibrates through my bones as we are transferred to the second floor.
The Arena unfolds the same way it always did, transparent walls and floors that stretch into the distance, layered corridors suspended in an endless, underwater-blue void.
Light refracts through invisible surfaces, bending in ways that hurt to look at if you stare too long.
It's beautiful, in the same way a predator can be beautiful when you know it's already watching you.
Marie Antoinette inhales appreciatively, "Oh, it really never gets old. So dramatic. So unforgiving."
I smile wryly and say, "That's one way to describe it."
Ahead of us, the corridors of the second floor await. Somewhere in that maze, the newly generated Secondary Trigger pulses quietly.
And somewhere, possibly closer than I'd like, walks the Champion of Darkness.
I tighten my grip on my wand-CAD and glance at Marie Antoinette. She's smiling, eyes bright, posture relaxed as if we're about to attend a festival instead of a potential death match, so I ask, "Ready?"
She twirls slightly in place, skirts and ribbons fluttering, and replies, "Always. Let's go steal a key and make a memorable entrance."
We don't make it ten steps into the first corridor before the Arena reacts.
The ambient hum deepens, vibrating through the transparent floor beneath our boots.
Light ripples along the walls like a disturbed pond, and then the Enemy Programs phase into existence ahead of us, three at first, then five, then more, materialising with mechanical precision from branching corridors.
They move wrong.
Too synchronised, too deliberate, not the chaotic flailing of lesser programs we cleared earlier in the week.
These ones advance in clean lines, spacing themselves out, covering angles.
Marie tilts her head, studying them with open curiosity, "Oh. They're pretending again."
I mutter while already raising my wand-CAD, "That's putting it lightly."
One of the humanoid figures steps forward, and the familiar shape resolves in its hands.
A rifle.
Seeing that, I groan out loud, "Blimey! You have got to be kidding me!"
Marie Antoinette gasps, dramatic and utterly unhelpful, "Again? Really? How unoriginal."
The Enemy Program doesn't hesitate, the rifle bucks, and the sound cracks through the corridor, sharp and artificial.
I drop into a crouch as bullets scream past where my head was a moment ago, sparks flying as they ricochet off the transparent walls.
At this point, I snap, snarling in frustration, "This is the fricking third time!"
Marie glances at me mid-motion, still smiling while playfully asking, "Third?"
I twist, flicking my wand, making Chaos Magic coils outward, warping space just enough to deflect the next volley into the floor while explaining, "First, it was Anne and Mary. Then Saint Martha's Master, who decided firearms were a perfectly acceptable substitute for his lousy skill as a Spiritron Hacker, or whatever they call a Wizard here. And now this!?"
Another Program raises its weapon, making me exclaim, full of righteous fury, "Oh no, you don't."
I spin the wand-CAD sharply, and in response, crimson light flares, and the space around the rifle folds inward like wet paper.
Metal screams as the weapon collapses in on itself, the Enemy Program staggering as if confused by the sudden betrayal of physics.
At the same time, I shout while blasting it apart with a follow-up surge of Chaos Magic, "Am I cursed? Because I'm starting to feel cursed. Why does everyone want to shoot me?"
Marie Antoinette claps her hands once, eyes sparkling in amusement, "Goodness gracious! If you are, my dear Master, it's a very rude curse. Truly lacking imagination."
She steps forward, skirts swaying, posture relaxed like she's walking onto a stage while her presence flares, radiant and unmistakable.
Then, she says sweetly, "Allow me."
She lifts her hand, fingers splayed, and pink light blossoms outward in a brilliant beam.
It cuts cleanly through two Enemy Programs, dissolving them into cascading fragments of data.
Marie Antoinette pivots gracefully, ribbons trailing, and sends another burst spiralling down the corridor.
After that, she adds, almost pouting, "Honestly, if they're going to copy humans, they could at least copy something elegant. Swords. Lances. Dramatic speeches. Enchanting songs."
In response to that, I say, ducking behind a corner as another volley tears through the air, "Please don't encourage them."
We move together, pushing forward in short, controlled bursts. I disrupt, Marie Antoinette eradicates.
Chaos Magic bends trajectories, twists timing, creates just enough opening for her to strike with overwhelming precision.
Enemy Programs fall apart around us, their imitations no match for the real thing.
As we advance, the patterns become clearer, flanking manoeuvres, suppression fire, retreats meant to draw us in.
All this makes me mutter, "They're learning."
Marie hums thoughtfully, "Mmm. Yes. Someone has been teaching them manners. Very strict manners. They remind me of soldiers."
That thought settles unpleasantly in my chest.
We clear another corridor, then another, and the floor beneath us shifts subtly, indicating progress deeper into the second level.
My breathing stays steady, but my senses are stretched thin, Chaos Magic buzzing eagerly with every new threat.
At one point, an Enemy Program lunges too close, I don't even think, I slam my palm forward, raw Chaos Magic detonating outward.
As a result of my outburst, the corridor distorts, space rippling violently as the Enemy Program disintegrates mid-step.
Marie Antoinette watches the afterimage fade and laughs softly, "Oh, that never stops being impressive. Terrifying, but impressive."
I smile faintly and say, "I'll take that as a compliment."
She smiled back, her smile as radiant as her whole presence, "Absolutely. High praise from a queen."
Despite everything, I laugh, the sound feels strange in the Arena, but welcome.
We round a final bend, and the space ahead opens up.
The corridors widen into a broad chamber, the ceiling arching high above us.
At its centre, suspended in midair, the Secondary Trigger pulses gently, light radiating outward in slow, steady waves.
For a heartbeat, the Arena is silent.
Then footsteps echo from the opposite side of the room.
I freeze, instinct screaming.
Marie's smile softens, posture shifting subtly from playful to poised before she murmurs, "Ah, I believe this is our cue."
From the shadows, a figure steps forward.
Time seems to stretch the moment he enters the chamber.
Not in any dramatic, system-induced way, no alarms, no sudden musical cue.
Just a subtle tightening of the air, like the Arena itself is holding its breath.
I don't move, not because I'm frozen, but because every instinct I have is screaming at me to observe first.
Chaos Magic coils close to my core, unusually restrained, like a predator that has decided to watch instead of pounce.
Soon, a man steps into the light at an unhurried pace.
Jayr hadn't exaggerated. He's around our age, maybe a month or two at most, considering that he was the second in our group to be assigned to a Concept and reincarnated.
Tall and lean, with the kind of build that speaks of training done out of discipline rather than desperation.
His dark hair is wild, but not careless; his red eyes aren't feral or glowing, they're steady, alert, very aware of everything in the room.
He wears a lazy, almost amused smile, as if he's walked in on an awkward meeting instead of a potentially deadly battle.
Then his presence settles over the chamber.
It's Darkness, unmistakably so, but not the kind that presses down or claws at your nerves.
It spreads like a night sky, vast and controlled. The kind of Darkness that clings to him, not like a stain, but like a cloak he's worn long enough to forget it was ever heavy.
That's him, our next opponent, Ledram Vassago, the Champion of Darkness.
He is not what I expected.
That alone throws me off.
I've felt Dark-aligned beings before; most of them radiate hunger, cruelty, or something sharp enough to draw blood just by standing too close.
Ledram doesn't; his aura is cool, calm, almost grounding, in a way that makes my Chaos Magic hesitate rather than surge.
Beside him, another presence unfolds.
A woman steps into view, positioning herself slightly behind and to his side.
Not a Servant, and not Elsa, thank Merlin, her life signature is different, coiled tight, restrained. She is likely yet another member of his Peerage.
Dangerous in the way a sheathed blade is dangerous.
She's beautiful in a sharp, striking way, with tan skin and intense green eyes that lock onto me immediately.
Long brown hair falls over the shoulders of a black jacket, silver hoop earrings catching the light when she moves.
Her posture is relaxed, but there's tension beneath it, a promise of sudden violence if needed.
(Image Here - Sara Pezzini)
Her gaze flicks briefly to Marie Antoinette, then back to me.
I don't like how focused she feels.
Marie Antoinette, meanwhile, studies Ledram openly, head tilted, curiosity bright in her eyes.
After a beat, she leans closer to me and whispers far too cheerfully for the situation, "Oh dear. He's handsome. That's going to complicate things, isn't it?"
I almost choke, "Rider."
In response, she whispers back, entirely unapologetic, "What? I'm simply observing. Very thoroughly."
Despite myself, a sliver of tension bleeds away, only a little.
Ledram stops a few meters from the Secondary Trigger, deliberately leaving it untouched.
That choice feels intentional; his hands remain loose at his sides, no weapons drawn, no aggressive stance, no immediate hostility.
My grip tightens on my wand-CAD anyway.
This is the closest we've been to our next opponent since the preparation period began, and the strangest part is that I don't feel dread.
Instead, there's a low hum of anticipation, like standing at the edge of a conversation that might change the entire shape of this war.
Darkness and Chaos face each other across the chamber, neither rushing to strike.
For a heartbeat, I wonder if the Arena is just as confused as I am.
Then Ledram finally opens his mouth.
He raises his hands slowly, palms open, fingers spread just enough to be obvious.
The gesture is calm, deliberate, not surrender, but reassurance.
At this point, he says, "Easy." His voice is even, carrying easily through the chamber without effort, "I'm not here to ambush you."
I don't lower my wand.
Marie Antoinette, on the other hand, leans slightly forward, eyes bright with interest, as if he's just introduced himself at a party rather than in the middle of a kill-or-be-killed Arena.
Then, Ledram continues, "I'm just looking for the Secondary Trigger. And since the system won't let anyone back out without deleting them…"
He shrugs lightly before adding, "I figured it would be better to settle this fairly. During the Elimination Battle."
His gaze flicks briefly to the Secondary Trigger hovering between us, then back to me. He still doesn't move toward it.
That restraint matters.
I study him in silence, letting my senses stretch. His darkness doesn't spike, no surge of aggression, no attempt to probe or pressure, just steady presence and watchful patience.
Finally, I lower my wand a fraction, not much, but enough to acknowledge the conversation without committing to it.
At this point, I say evenly, "I'm Aletha Longbottom. Champion of Chaos."
For the first time, his expression cracks.
His eyes widen just slightly before he exhales and mutters, "Oh… crap."
Marie Antoinette covers her mouth with one gloved hand, delighted, "Oh! He knows your reputation. How exciting."
I shoot her a look while chiding her, "Not helping."
She smiles innocently, "I disagree."
Ledram rubs the back of his neck, letting out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, "Yeah. That tracks. Of course, it'd be you. When I first saw the surname 'Longbottom', I already had the hunch that my opponent could likely be another Champion."
I look back at him, snort, and say, "Yeah... I went through something similar when I saw your surname, too. The Vassago name is just way too significant to be used so carelessly in this world. This is why I knew who you are. Ledram Vassago. Champion of Darkness."
The title hangs between us, heavy but unspokenly acknowledged.
Marie Antoinette steps forward, then, skirts swaying, posture perfect and regal, she inclines her head just enough to be polite without bowing before she says brightly, "Unfortunately, in such a situation, I can't introduce myself with my true name. However, you can call me Rider. A pleasure to meet you under such dramatic circumstances. Truly, the lighting alone is magnificent."
The woman beside Ledram stiffens almost imperceptibly.
Ledram blinks, clearly unprepared for that introduction, then chuckles, "Right. Of course. Because why wouldn't Chaos come with a carefree and bubbly Servant?"
At that, Marie Antoinette beams, "I do try to travel in style."
I glance at the woman standing with him and ask in a probing way, "And your companion?"
In response, Ledram says without hesitation, "She's Sara Pezzini. My lover and part of my Peerage."
Sara doesn't speak, she just watches me, eyes sharp and assessing, like she's measuring the distance between us and cataloguing all the ways it could close.
I nod once, accepting the information.
Ledram shifts his weight slightly, still careful not to advance before he says, his tone turning more serious, "Look. I don't want to kill you. Or anyone else here, if I can help it. But the system doesn't give us many choices."
I dryly reply, "That's an understatement."
Marie Antoinette clasps her hands together, expression thoughtful but still light, "It does seem dreadfully rude, forcing everyone into such unpleasant decisions. In my day, executions at least had ceremony. Even then, they were quite unpleasant."
Sara's eyebrow twitches.
Ledram coughs, clearly fighting a smile, "Right. So. My proposal is simple. We don't fight here. We don't sabotage each other beforehand. When the Elimination Battle comes, we face each other directly. No tricks. No ambushes."
I consider him carefully, 'This could be a lie. A setup. A long con. But everything about his posture, his aura, the way he's left the Trigger untouched, suggests sincerity. Or at the very least, a personal code.'
Chaos stirs, curious rather than alarmed, then, I say slowly, "You realise that agreeing to that puts you at a disadvantage. I could take the Trigger and walk away."
He nods, "Yeah. I know."
Marie Antoinette gasps softly, "How sporting."
Then, I add after a beat, "I won't. Not like that."
Relief flickers across his face before he reins it in, "Then… thank you. Until now, all my opponents were all the unsavoury kind. I feel nice to experience something different for a change."
The Arena hums around us, uncaring, waiting.
For the first time since this war began, I don't feel like I'm staring at a monster.
I feel like I'm facing a rival.
And that realisation sends a thrill of anticipation through me that I hadn't expected at all.