Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, SE.RA.PH, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
I wake before the clock chimes, staring at the ceiling and listening to the faint hum that never truly fades in SE.RA.PH. It isn't loud enough to be intrusive, just present enough to remind you that even silence here is manufactured. A constant vibration beneath reality, like a breath held too long.
For a few seconds, I don't move. I let the moment stretch, cataloguing sensations the way I always do when I wake up somewhere that isn't entirely real. The weight of the blanket. The temperature of the air is tuned to comfort rather than necessity. The soft glow bleeding through the simulated window, its colour chosen to resemble early morning, even though time here is more suggestion than rule.
Nero's naked body lies beside me, warm and solid, her breathing slow and even. One arm is draped across my chest, fingers relaxed, unconcerned. She's fully asleep, the kind of sleep that comes from certainty rather than exhaustion. I tighten my hold on her slightly, more reflex than intention, grounding myself in something undeniably real.
My thoughts are already moving.
I go over the changes I made to the Private Room, running through them in my head the way a craftsman checks joints and load-bearing walls. It's a habit. Control through familiarity.
The spatial allocations are stable. No overlap. No compression of data. No pressure warnings from the system, despite the fact that the room's footprint has grown far beyond what it was ever meant to support. Moon Cell tolerance thresholds bend more easily when you know where to apply pressure.
Calling it a room feels dishonest now. It's an apartment. A real one, at least by SE.RA.PH standards.
The bedroom itself is mostly unchanged. Same bed. Same arrangement. Same low lighting designed to avoid harsh shadows. Same window that shows a sky that never quite behaves as one should. Clouds move too slowly. Stars don't twinkle. If you stare long enough, you can see the loop.
But much of what used to crowd this space is gone.
The terminals that once sat within arm's reach have been relocated to their own room, sealed, shielded, and isolated. No more waking up to readouts or falling asleep to scrolling data. No Magecraft matrices humming beside the bed. Sleep is for sleep now. Everything else can wait.
The kitchen is separate as well. No more shared counters cluttered with tools and floating displays. Cooking exists as its own act again, not something done while half-focused on strategy simulations.
The dining table sits beneath a soft overhead light, its glow warm enough to encourage lingering. Meals are meant to be eaten slowly there. Together.
The bathroom door now opens into the hallway. The bathroom itself hasn't changed. It's still absurdly large, tiled in pale stone that never stains, with that ridiculous pool sunk into the floor. Steam gathers near the ceiling even when the water is perfectly still, an indulgent detail the system insists on maintaining.
But it's different now. It's shared.
There's a living room too. Wide couches. A low table. A projection wall meant for movies rather than briefings. A place where no one is expected to be ready at a moment's notice. Somewhere to exist without bracing for violence.
And one more door.
Aletha and Marie's room. I left it mostly bare. Blank walls. Neutral lighting. Space enough for them to decide what it should become. Control over one small corner of their lives, in a place that usually takes control away.
I feel a shift beside me.
Nero stirs, then sits up against the headboard, hair spilling over her shoulders. Her green eyes follow my gaze as I take one last mental inventory of the space. A faint smile curves her lips before she speaks, "Umu. You've truly outdone yourself, Praetor. This is almost a manor at this point. I half expect servants to start delivering breakfast and cleaning the area."
I let out a quiet breath and answer, "It's functional. That's all."
She chuckles softly, clearly unconvinced, "You say that as if comfort isn't a weapon."
I don't reply. We both know she's right.
Comfort dulls instincts. Softens edges. Makes people forget how fragile and dangerous their situation really is, but even knowing that, I don't undo a single change.
We get up without hurry.
There's no urgency pressing against my thoughts for once, no system alerts, no enemy projections. Just the simple act of moving from bed to floor, the faint chill of tile beneath my feet. We dress in house clothes, enough to satisfy the bare minimum of decency, now that we aren't alone.
I pull on plain blue shorts and a white t-shirt. Nothing tactical. Nothing reinforced. Nero, as always, ignores moderation entirely, slipping into a pair of panties and one of her oversized red shirts. It hangs loosely from her shoulders and falls far enough to cover part of her thighs, the fabric soft and worn from use.
She catches me looking and smirks, "What? Even emperors enjoy comfort."
I reply while reaching for the door, "I'm not disputing that."
We step into the hallway, the Private Room quiet in a way that feels earned rather than imposed. The lights adjust automatically as we pass, responding to movement with a gentleness that still surprises me. I turn toward the bathroom, already thinking about the pool. The warm water. The way tension loosens there, if only temporarily.
We open the door and stop as we realise that Aletha and Marie are already there.
The pool is filled with gentle ripples, steam curling around their shoulders.
Marie is leaning back against the Aletha, eyes closed and a soft smile on her face.
Meanwhile, Aletha is taking her breasts in her hands and gently lifting and caressing them as if she were weighing them while commenting in a flirty tone, "They look quite heavy, much heavier than mine..."
Marie barely holds back a moan as she replies, "Mmmh... Ye-yeah... They are..."
At this point, Aletha asks with a mischievous grin on her face, "I know a good way to make them feel lighter too... Want me to help?"
Marie, after a brief moment of hesitation, says, "Oui... please..."
Leaning in even further, Aletha starts to slowly and gently massage her breasts, alternating between kneading and caressing them as she softly speaks in her ear, "Here... First, you need to relax them... Make them more receptive and sensitive..."
Massaging her breasts more firmly as she goes on, Aletha starts focusing more on Marie's nipples after some time, still whispering in her ear as she goes on, "That's it... Relax and follow the sensation... Just like this..."
Under Aletha's skilful ministration, Marie is unable to hold herself back any longer, and she lets out an enticing, "Mmmmmmhh... Aaah~!"
Aletha's smile becomes wider as she comments, "Good! Let the pleasure in... Don't hold back..."
"Mmmmmhhh~! Aaaaahhhh~!"
Seeing Marie giving in to the pleasure, Aletha pushes the teasing and intensity further, lightly pinching and pulling on her nipples as she tests her reactions, "How is this? Too much?"
"Mmmmmhhh~! N-no! Aaaahhhh~! I-It's good~!"
"Want me to keep going?"
"Mmmmmhhh~! Oui! Aaaaahhh~! K-keep going~!"
Having led Marie over the edge of excitement, Aletha keeps pushing her further and further, fully massaging her breasts now, kneading them firmly as she moans in pleasure, "Like this?"
"Mmmmmmhhh~! Oui! Aaaaahhh~!"
Fully enjoying Marie's reactions, Aletha continues to ask, "Are your breasts feeling good and sensitive?"
"Mmmmmhhh~! Oui! Aaaaahhhh~! Oui~!"
Following her moans and reactions, Aletha keeps playing with Marie's breasts, jumping from kneading them firmly and teasing her nipples, bringing her little by little closer to climax, "That's it... Keep following the pleasure..."
"Mmmmmmhhh~! Oui! Aaaahhh~!"
"Don't resist it... Give in!"
"Mmmmmhhh~! Oui! Aaaaahhhh~! Oui~!"
And finally, as Marie reaches her limit, Aletha pinches and twists her nipples, the mix of pain and pleasure giving her the final push to reach her climax as a wave of pleasure goes through her body, "AAAAAAHHHHH~! OUI~! OUI~!! MMMMMHHH~!!!"
"Good! That's it! Let go now!"
As Marie's orgasm passes, Aletha let go of her still sensitive breasts, letting her body calm down as she tries catching her breath and clear her mind from the fog of her orgasm, "Hah..."
"Is everything ok?"
"Haa! O-Oui... just feeling short of breath... Hah..."
"Hahaha! And how are your breasts? Feeling any lighter?"
"I-I guess so... Hah..."
For a few seconds, none of us moves, too stunned by what we just witnessed.
The only sound now is water, quietly shifting.
I register the scene automatically. Aletha's breathing is steady. Marie's mana flow is calm. Balanced. They're not startled yet. They haven't noticed us.
But then, Nero does act. I feel the shift beside me as she takes it all in, and then she simply exclaims, "Oh?"
Her voice is light, amused.
At the same instant, Aletha stiffens while Marie's eyes snap open.
They look up together.
Marie freezes first, eyes wide, colour flooding her face as she blurts out, "Mon Dieu!"
Aletha reacts a heartbeat later, letting out a low, defeated groan as she sinks a little deeper into the water, steam swallowing half her face while she mutters, "Kill me now."
For a moment, the tension hangs there, thick and awkward, threatening to harden into something worse.
Then Nero laughs out loud. Bright. Unrestrained. Entirely unbothered.
She clasps her hands together, eyes sparkling as she comments, "Oh my. How scandalous. I do hope we're not interrupting anything important."
Marie makes a small, panicked sound, hands instinctively coming up to cover herself despite the water while she tries to explain, "W-we thought it would be empty!"
Aletha doesn't look at us as she adds, "We checked. Twice."
Nero waves a hand dismissively, "Think nothing of it. Shared baths build a stronger connection. My Praetor and I also thoroughly enjoyed ourselves many times. Though next time, perhaps consider locking the door."
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch before I can stop it.
The reaction doesn't go unnoticed as Aletha glances up just long enough to see it, then groans again, "You're enjoying this."
I admit, "A little bit."
Marie lets out a breath she'd clearly been holding, shoulders slumping as the initial shock fades before she mutters, half to herself, "This place is magnifique... It really does make you forget things."
This makes Aletha add dryly, "Such as privacy."
The tension breaks.
Laughter follows, hesitant at first, then genuine. It echoes softly off the stone walls, mixing with the sound of water and steam. The moment settles into something warmer, easier.
We leave them to finish soon after, the atmosphere lighter than it's been in days. As the door closes behind us, I catch one last glimpse of Marie smiling again, her earlier embarrassment already fading.
Somehow, that feels like a small victory.
Breakfast is unhurried.
The kitchen feels different from the way it used to. There's no glow of floating interfaces, no half-finished schematics hovering in the air. Just clean counters, warm light, and the low, steady sounds of food being prepared.
Aletha moves carefully but without hesitation. She doesn't rush, but she doesn't shy away from motion either. Each step looks deliberate, as if she's gauging her limits and finding them acceptable. She sits a little straighter than she did yesterday, shoulders no longer drawn inward.
Marie hums softly as she eats, legs swinging beneath the chair in an absent rhythm. It's a small thing, but it stands out. Last night, she barely touched her food. Today, she goes back for seconds, expression bright in a way that feels almost defiant.
Nero watches them with open interest, chin resting on one hand, clearly entertained by the shift in atmosphere. She doesn't comment. She doesn't need to.
I take a seat across from Aletha, noting the faint tension still lingering beneath her calm. Not fear. Fatigue. The kind that doesn't vanish with sleep alone.
After a few minutes of quiet, Aletha tears into a piece of bread with more force than necessary and says, "We're taking today off."
Marie's head snaps up, "We are?"
Aletha continues, already committed, "No strategy meetings. No contingency planning. No reviewing opponent data. No obsessing over the Grail or what comes next."
She pauses, then adds, more firmly, "We're not getting involved unless absolutely necessary."
Marie's face lights up, "A rest day! We deserve one!"
Aletha glances at her, a corner of her mouth lifting, "Exactly."
I consider it for a moment, then nod, "That sounds reasonable. I was planning something similar. At least until the system announces our next opponent."
Nero perks up immediately, eyes brightening as if she's been waiting for that cue, "Then it's settled."
She leans forward slightly, clasping her hands together, "Today, we will enjoy another Disney epic."
Marie gasps dramatically, "Yes! I don't know what they are, but they sound fun!"
Aletha groans, "You say that like it's a good thing."
Nero replies, unapologetic, "They are! These stories are foundational myths. Romance. Tragedy. Transformation. All the best elements."
Then Aletha mutters, "There's always singing."
Nero agrees, smiling even wider, "There is always singing. This makes them even more perfect!"
There's some debate. Brief. Spirited. Marie champions anything with animals. Aletha argues for something without heartbreak. Nero vetoes anything she's already seen before.
Eventually, Beauty and the Beast win.
We settle into the living room, lights dimming as the projection wall flickers to life. The couch is wide enough that no one has to sit stiffly. Marie curls up near Aletha without comment. Nero claims her spot with regal certainty. I take the remaining space, letting the quiet sink in.
As the opening visuals fill the wall, something inside me loosens.
For a little while, the Holy Grail War feels distant. Unreal. Like a story happening to someone else.
And for now, that's enough.
The projection blooms across the wall, colours settling into the familiar glow of animated glass and candlelight.
Marie leans forward almost immediately, eyes wide with interest, before she murmurs, as the stained-glass windows shift and rearrange themselves, "Oh, I love this opening. It feels like a fairy tale that knows it's sad."
Aletha exhales slowly, arms crossed but posture relaxed as she says, "Everything starts with a curse. That's never a good sign."
Nero hums in agreement, "And yet, curses are merely trials in disguise. What matters is whether one rises to meet them."
I don't comment. I watch the Beast appear for the first time, massive and snarling, alone in his castle.
Marie's expression softens, "He looks so angry. But also so sad..."
Aletha replies, "He is. That's what happens when someone traps you with your worst self."
Nero smiles faintly, eyes never leaving the screen, "Isolation breeds monsters. But it also forges kings."
As Belle appears, walking through her village with a book tucked under her arm, Marie straightens, "She doesn't belong there."
Aletha agrees, "No. They already decided who she is. She just hasn't accepted it yet."
I catch myself watching Nero instead of the screen when Gaston begins posturing. She looks unimpressed as she declares, "That man would not survive a single senate meeting."
Marie laughs, a small, bright sound, "He's awful!"
Aletha adds, "And loud. Don't forget loud."
Then Nero comments, "At least he sings well..."
As the story unfolds, the room grows quieter. Not tense. Attentive. The kind of silence that comes from shared focus rather than unease.
When Belle offers herself in her father's place, Marie's hands clench in her lap, "She didn't hesitate."
Aletha's jaw tightens, clearly taken in by the movie despite knowing the story very well, "She shouldn't have had to."
Nero tilts her head, thoughtful, "Yet she chose to. There is strength in that."
The Beast's anger fills the room next, his roar shaking stone walls that don't exist. Marie flinches despite herself before she whispers, "He doesn't know how to be anything else."
I say quietly, "No. He learned it."
No one contradicts me.
The scene shifts. The library.
Marie actually gasps, "Oh. Oh, that's beautiful."
Aletha smiles despite herself, "That's not a gift. That's understanding."
Nero glances at me, just briefly. Her expression is unreadable.
The ballroom scene arrives, music swelling as Belle and the Beast dance beneath golden light. Marie sways slightly with the melody, caught up in it completely.
Aletha watches with narrowed eyes, already knowing the plot, "It's always when things finally feel right that the world tries to take them away."
I don't miss the way her fingers curl into the couch cushion.
The mob scene breaks the calm.
Marie stiffens, "I've seen this before... That's not rage. They're afraid."
Nero nods and says, "They want permission. Fear is more convincing when shared."
Gaston's blade flashes.
Marie squeezes her eyes shut when the Beast falls, "No. No, please…"
The room is silent except for the music. Even the hum of SE.RA.PH feels distant.
When Belle confesses her love, voice breaking, Marie's eyes shine. Aletha looks away.
The rose drops its final petal.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then light floods the screen.
Marie exhales shakily as the curse lifts, "He made it."
Aletha lets out a slow breath she'd been holding far too long, "Barely. This scene always gets me."
Nero smiles, satisfied, "As all worthy trials should end."
The credits roll.
For a while, none of us moves. The Holy Grail War feels distant. Unreal. Almost forgettable.
Then my terminal beeps.
The sound is soft, but it cuts through the moment with surgical precision.
Without hesitation, I pull it out and read the message.
[The next combatants will be announced on the second floor bulletin board.]
The illusion shatters quietly.
We don't linger.
Nero and I change into our usual attire with practised efficiency, movements smooth from repetition. The shift in mood is immediate, subtle, but undeniable. The warmth of the living room gives way to focus. Readiness.
We say goodbye to Aletha and Marie at the door. Marie tries to smile, but there's a hint of worry behind it now, as if the message reached her too, despite the lack of words. Aletha meets my eyes and gives a single nod. No bravado. Just understanding.
Then we step back into the corridor.
Nero slips into her Spirit Form as soon as the door seals behind us, her physical presence fading into something lighter, more dangerous. The air feels cooler without her beside me.
The campus is quieter than it should be.
Fewer Masters move through the halls. Fewer hushed conversations. Fewer tense clusters around terminals and doors. The absence is noticeable, like missing teeth in a smile.
I register it and keep walking as I tell myself, 'This is normal. Only sixteen Masters remain. This is the Fourth week. Out of the original one hundred and twenty-eight who passed the preliminary, only sixteen are left. The rest are gone. Erased with no mercy after their usefulness has expired.'
As we walk toward the staircase leading to the second floor, my thoughts drift to analysis, 'Now that I know the names of every remaining Champion, uncovering some useful information should be much easier. Cleaner. With less guesswork and hopeful wishes involved.'
Shortly after thinking that, I absently wonder, 'Maybe Rani might be able to help us again. Astrology Magecraft thrives on names and patterns... And with the information at my disposal, maybe we can find something useful without the need for an "artefact" belonging to the Champions. Luckily, I have already arranged a meeting with her.'
We reach the staircase and climb to the second floor without speaking. At the same time, I realise that there is no one around the bulletin board, which is quite strange as usually there would be a small crowd around it, but then I realise, 'Maybe since there are only sixteen Masters left, the others became more cautious and want to avoid revealing themselves too soon.'
While thinking that, I approach the bulletin board, which seems to sense our presence because its surface lights up as we stop in front of it.
Names scroll into view.
I focus on mine immediately.
Masters: Jayr Pucci vs Raphael Gold
Battleground: The Fourth Chimeric Lunar Sea
The name means nothing to me, and that tells me everything I need to know.
Raphael Gold is inconsequential. A Master who never mattered in the original timeline. Someone who never got into the spotlight, brushed aside by one of the known players.
Convenient.
Then I scan the rest of the listings.
Ledram versus another minor Master. Age Svenson, the same.
Predictable.
Then my eyes stop.
Biol vs Kang Yaling.
I don't move for a few seconds as my mind quickly analyses, 'From the second round onward, Champions have consistently been paired against Champions. Once is a coincidence. Twice is unfortunate. This is the third time. What are the actual chances of something like this happening...?'
And for the first time, I do something that I usually avoid, I start to run the numbers in my head, as something doesn't sit right, and I need something more concrete, 'Let's rightly assume only Champions can defeat Champions. Let C be the number of Champions. Let N be the total number of remaining Masters. The probability of exactly one Champion vs Champion match is: P(C,N)= (C2) ⋅ (N−C)(N−C−1)⋯(N−C−(C−2))/ (N−1)(N−3)⋯(N−(2C−3))... Applying that round by round, starting with the second one and...'
I walk through the probability in my head, stripping it down to its essentials. The chance of exactly one Champion-versus-Champion match in a round. Then the next. And the next.
The results stack up quickly.
Round two: 0.212
Round three: 0.263
Round four: 0.313
Round five: 0.357
Round six: 0.500
Round seven: 1.000
Multiplying them together gives a final probability of 0.0031.
0.31%.
I exhale slowly and mutter, "That's way too low... Something is wrong."
Nero's voice drifts from beside me through our bond, calm and curious, [Numbers displeasing you, Praetor?]
I smile wryly and reply, [They don't like me. And I don't trust them when they behave this way.]
For a moment, I let the thought linger. The idea of interference. Of manipulation subtle enough to pass as chance.
Then I shake it off while thinking, 'This is likely the work of the Moon Cell, slightly manipulating everything behind the scenes. It is likely isolating variables. Observing the "irregular" Masters more closely. Pressures them to see how they respond. Pairing Champions together accelerates outcomes. Reduces noise. This explanation fits well enough with its main objective of observing and recording.'
Satisfied, or at least willing to be, I turn away from the board and head for the staircase leading to the third floor.
Rani should already be there.
Rani's usual spot is easy to find.
It always is.
The end of the hallway. The wide window. The faint glow of reflected light that never quite matches the sky beyond it. A place chosen not for comfort, but for observation.
I slow down as I approach for a very simple reason. She isn't there.
The realisation lands quietly, but it carries weight. Rani VIII has occupied this space with near-religious consistency. She only leaves it when necessity demands it. When the system forces her hand. When something has already gone wrong.
I stop a few steps away, eyes scanning the empty stretch of floor.
No presence.
No residual Magecraft. No ambient distortion. Not even the subtle pressure her existence usually leaves behind. It's as if she were never here at all.
That's impossible, I think, 'Rani should still be alive. More than that, she should still be active. Her previous opponent was a minor Master, eliminated cleanly and without incident. There was no reason for her to disappear. No reason for her to abandon this vantage point. We had an agreement.'
I stand there, posture relaxed, breathing steady, every outward sign of calm firmly in place. Inside, something tightens.
Then I reason, 'Maybe she has been forced into the Arena. An early ambush from a desperate Master trying to survive. A forced engagement. It's plausible. It fits the rules. It explains her absence without breaking any known constraints. But the explanation feels thin. Too neat.'
I step closer to the window, resting a hand against the cool surface. The sky beyond it glows softly, artificial stars fixed in their prescribed patterns. No answers there.
Nero's presence shifts slightly beside me, her voice lower now, [You feel it too, my Praetor.]
I reply, [Yeah... Something's off.]
Rani VIII does not vanish without consequence.
Whatever is coming, it didn't start at the bulletin board. And it won't end in the arena alone.
I remain there for several seconds longer than necessary, committing the emptiness to memory.
Then I turn away.
Whatever happened to Rani, I'll find out soon enough.
In the Holy Grail War, anomalies are always resolved, one way or another.