Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
I keep my gaze fixed on the cherry blossom tree a few meters away from me.
It towers over the school grounds, impossibly large, its branches spreading wide like a canopy meant to shelter the entire academy.
Cherry blossoms drift lazily through the air, pale pink petals catching the light as they fall, carpeting the courtyard in soft colour. The sight is familiar and alien at the same time.
The bark is darker, rougher, and marked by age rather than digital perfection.
Thick roots break through the stone tiles beneath it, twisting and overlapping like veins forced to the surface.
The blossoms themselves glow faintly, not with artificial light, but with something closer to memory, as if the tree remembers every war fought beneath its branches.
I keep staring at the tree while thinking, 'This is no regular cherry blossom tree. It is without any doubt the Sakura Tree that works as a gate for the Sakura Labyrinth. But how is this possible?'
The longer I look at it, the more wrong it feels.
Not hostile. Not actively threatening. Just present in a way that refuses to be ignored.
I've seen some data constructs masquerading as different objects before. I've walked through simulated landscapes precise enough to fool even veteran magi. This isn't that. There's no sense of optimisation here. No clean symmetry. No invisible framework humming beneath the surface.
The tree simply exists.
That fact alone makes my skin prickle.
I can feel it faintly, like pressure behind my eyes. Not a magical pulse, not a digital signal, but something closer to a lingering emotion left in a room after a violent argument. Regret. Longing. Grief so abundant that it seems that it has had centuries to ferment.
A breeze passes through the courtyard. The petals shift, some lifting back into the air before settling again. For a split second, I swear they fall slower than gravity should allow, as if the world itself hesitates to let them touch the ground, almost making me unconsciously whisper the iconic lines: "... They say it's five centimetres per second. The speed of a falling cherry petal. Five centimetres per second."
My instincts whisper warnings faster than my conscious thoughts can keep up, 'This tree has witnessed too much. Wars, yes. But not only those who fought with weapons or magecraft. Conflicts of will. Of identity. Of people being ground down into roles they never chose, only to be discarded once they stopped being useful.'
This last thought is completely absurd, as I clearly know that this tree has been created just a few moments before Nero and I arrived here. It is one of the reasons why this tree feels abnormal.
The Moon Cell has always been ruthless, but it is also clinical. Efficient.
I tighten my fingers unconsciously, nails pressing into my palm while thinking, 'If this really is the Sakura Tree that I'm thinking of... The one that anchors the Labyrinth. Then it isn't just a gateway. It's a monument. A gravestone built so large that no one could ever forget what lies beneath it. And the fact that it's standing here, in plain sight, tells me one thing with uncomfortable clarity. Whatever rules once kept it contained no longer apply. Things have taken a truly unexpected turn.'
Then I tear my gaze away and focus back on the Tsukumihara Academy.
The structure is unmistakable, yet changed. The clean, modern lines of SE.RA.PH.'s version are gone, replaced with something older.
Wooden beams frame the walls. Sliding wooden doors sit where the more modern-looking ones once were. Metal lanterns with some old-looking models of light bulbs hang beneath the eaves, gently swaying despite the absence of wind.
The building looks like it was pulled straight out of the Meiji era and layered over the Moon Cell's framework like a skin.
I stare at it, my mind lagging behind my senses, before I notice Nero looking around with open curiosity, before she focuses on me and says, "So this is where we landed? You called this place the Far Side of the Moon Cell, right? I kinda like it. In some way, I feel much more... Free..."
Hearing her words, the previous realisation finally settles.
The Far Side of the Moon Cell.
For a few seconds, I don't move. My thoughts scatter, trying to reorganise themselves around this new reality.
This place exists beyond the Moon Cell's governance, beyond its correction protocols and authority. One could even think of it as a dumping ground for discarded possibilities. An archive for things that don't fit the Moon Cell's parameters.
Then another thought cuts through the haze, 'Aletha and Marie!'
I don't waste time questioning whether they made it, as they are way too powerful to be undone by whatever happened with the Black Noise.
So, I reach into my pocket and pull out a compact communicator, its surface etched with sigils layered over circuitry.
I created this myself, designed to operate independently of SE.RA.PH.'s systems and the Moon Cell's framework and gave another one to Aletha. Even so, I'm not certain it will function here, as I was very careful with its range in order to avoid being flagged and to keep it secure enough.
Anyway, I activate it, and for a moment, there's only static, but then I hear my friend's voice as she asks, "Jayr?"
Hearing Aletha's voice, the tension in my chest eases immediately while I ask, "Are you safe? Is Marie with you?"
She replies without hesitation, "Yes. Marie and I are together."
Then she starts explaining, "We were still wandering around the main building when that strange black substance started consuming everything. Then after enduring a few tense moments in total darkness, we found ourselves here perfectly safe and fine..."
At this point, Marie adds brightly, "C'est magnifique! And I must say, this new décor has a certain nostalgic charm. I truly like it."
Aletha groans out loud before she asks, "Jayr, I heard the announcement that said that the Holy Grail War was sold off... What does that mean? What is going on here?"
I close my eyes briefly and exhale, feeling very relieved, before I do not answer her question and instead ask, "Where are you at the moment?"
Slightly confused but still trusting me, Aletha replies, "Second floor of the main building."
Hearing that, I say, "Good. Stay there. We'll be there shortly. I'd rather explain in person. In the current state, I do not trust the security of this communication device."
I end the transmission and turn toward the academy with Nero following me.
The moment we step inside, I realise just how wrong this place is or maybe simply how different.
Students wander the halls. Dozens of them. NPCs, unmistakably so, yet something about their movements feels… loose, free of restraints.
They aren't following preset paths or repeating idle animations. They talk to each other, argue, and complain.
I hear one of them mutter as he passes us, "I don't like this. They said we'd be safe. But this is nothing more than a different cage."
Then I notice another says, clutching her arm as if expecting it to glitch out, "This isn't how it's supposed to work."
Seeing such scenes, I slow my pace slightly, letting the crowd flow around us while I observe.
The students aren't just aware. They're reacting to this new reality.
A boy near the stairwell is arguing with what looks like a teacher, his voice sharp, his posture defensive in a way NPCs were never meant to replicate. Further down the hall, a group has gathered around a bulletin board, tearing down notices and replacing them with handwritten messages that range from crude jokes to outright panic.
None of this is being corrected.
No system message. No authority override. No forced calm.
The Moon Cell always believed that structure was mercy. That by limiting choices, it could limit suffering. What I'm seeing now is the aftermath of those limits being ripped away all at once.
Freedom without preparation is just another form of cruelty.
I catch my reflection in one of the classroom windows as we pass. For a moment, the glass warps subtly, my outline blurring before snapping back into place. A hiccup in local reality correction. Minor, but telling.
The Far Side isn't stable.
It's holding together through inertia alone, like a machine that keeps running because no one has told it to stop yet.
Nero notices it too. She glances at the window, then at me, her expression thoughtful rather than alarmed as she quietly says, "This realm lacks refinement. But it is more honest at least. There is no pretence of benevolence."
I huff out a humourless breath, "That might be worse. Honesty can be quite brutal and cruel at times."
Another distortion ripples through the air ahead of us. A staircase briefly appears longer than it should be, each step stretching just a fraction too far apart, before correcting itself as someone places a foot on it.
The world reacts when observed, which is bad. Very bad.
It means the Far Side is still deciding what it's allowed to be.
If that process finishes while we're inside it, there's no guarantee we'll like the conclusion.
As we keep walking, we continue to listen to the NPCs' chatter, making me ponder, 'Their voices carry fear. Awareness. They clearly know the truth. Who they are. What they are. Where they are.'
At the same time, Nero notices the same and murmurs, "They're now free of their previous constraints. How fascinating."
I nod slowly and say, "The Far Side isn't governed by SE.RA.PH.'s behavioural layers. Their scripts aren't being enforced."
Which means this place doesn't just reject control, it removes it completely, letting pure chaos roam free.
The interior of the academy reflects the same shift as the exterior. The polished vinyl and linoleum floors have been replaced with dark wood, worn smooth by imagined generations of footsteps.
Shoji screens line the walls, some slightly torn, revealing glimpses of classrooms beyond. Chalkboards replace holographic panels, their surfaces smudged with half-erased writing in different hands.
Despite everything, the layout is still somewhat familiar.
Staircases located in the same area. Corridors having the same length. The same sense of space.
I'm grateful for that.
We make our way upstairs, navigating through the crowd until we reach the second floor.
Aletha and Marie are waiting near the railing. Aletha looks tense but composed. Marie, as usual, seems delighted by everything.
As soon as they spot us, Marie waves her hand while Aletha smiles wryly before saying softly, "This place is dreadful. And at the same time fascinating."
I calmly reply, "Agreed."
Then, without saying a word, we move together into the nearest empty classroom.
I seal the room the moment the door slides shut.
The click is soft, almost polite, but the effect ripples outward immediately. The sliding panels no longer merely occupy space; they define it. The classroom becomes a closed system, its boundaries sharpened and reinforced against intrusion, both physical and conceptual.
Aletha doesn't wait for instructions. She moves on instinct, she pulls out her CAD-wand and starts tracing sigils in the air as faint geometric afterimages bloom and fade around the tip. Her magic anchors itself to the room's corners first, invisible lines snapping into place as she establishes a containment lattice.
At the same time, I work in parallel.
Sound dampening comes first. Not simple silence, but controlled absorption. Noise that tries to escape is folded inward, broken down into harmless static and dispersed. If someone shouts outside, it won't reach us. If we raise our voices, the room will swallow the excess.
Next comes spatial isolation.
I feel the walls thicken as I adjust the local coordinate stability, nudging the classroom a fraction of a degree out of phase with the surrounding structure. It's still here. Still accessible. But any attempt to observe or intrude from the outside will encounter resistance, like trying to press a hand through dense gel.
Anti-surveillance layers follow; this is the most delicate and at the same time important part.
I weave countermeasures against thaumaturgical scrying and digital intrusion simultaneously, forcing two fundamentally different systems to overlap without interfering. Ordinary sensors will see nothing but an empty room. More advanced systems will receive contradictory data, subtle enough to encourage dismissal rather than suspicion.
Aletha pauses briefly, glancing at me and asks, "You're compensating for recursive observation?"
I continue to work while replying, "I have to. This place is a bit unstable and reacts when it's watched."
She grimaces, "I noticed."
We finish almost at the same time, the last strands of layered protections settling into place like cooling metal.
Nero has been silent throughout, standing near the centre of the room with her arms crossed, crimson eyes moving slowly from wall to wall. She isn't watching us. She's watching the space between things.
When she finally speaks, it's with quiet certainty as she declares, "The wards are functional. But they are not invisible."
Aletha stiffens slightly, "Define 'not invisible.'"
Nero turns her head just enough to look at her and explains, "They exist too cleanly. This realm does not favour refinement. Anything too precise will attract attention."
I frown and ask, "From whom?"
Nero answers simply, "From whatever is controlling this place."
She steps closer to the chalkboard, lifting a hand. For a moment, I think she's about to touch it, but instead she lets her fingers hover a few centimetres away. The air ripples faintly, reacting to her presence.
Then she continues, "This academy remembers being observed. It remembers being managed. Controlled. Even rejected. Your wards are well-made, but they carry the scent of intention."
Marie raises an eyebrow and asks, "And that is undesirable?"
Nero lowers her hand, "In a world built from discarded data, intention is provocation."
I consider that, then adjust one of the layers, deliberately introducing a controlled imperfection. A small inconsistency. Something that looks less like a barrier and more like neglect.
The pressure in the room eases almost immediately.
Nero nods once. Approval.
Aletha exhales, "I hate that this works."
Making me admit, "So do I. But until we learn more about how this place works, we have to compromise a bit."
Nero's gaze shifts back to the door, her posture relaxing just a fraction as she comments, "For now, we are uninteresting. That is the optimal state."
She pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Do not assume it will last."
Only then do we breathe before Aletha turns to me and immediately repeats her questions, "Alright. Where are we? And what just happened?"
I take a brief moment to reorganise my thoughts before I say, "I'm not completely sure of what happened. But I do know where we are. This is the Far Side of the Moon Cell."
Then I explain what I know, "The Far Side of the Moon is an imaginary space known as the trash bin that is used for storing malicious information and imaginary numbers. Sealed off as 'Not For Use' information, it is a higher dimension where the light within the photon crystals is jumbled. It is the 'exterior of the world', and can be called the 'Garden of the Fallen' built from imaginary numbers in contrast to the Near Side being a cell where the 'light of heavenly fire' is imprisoned."
As I speak, I watch their expressions shift from confusion to understanding.
At this point, I turn for a moment toward one of the windows, watching the scenery outside, catching a glimpse of the Sakura Tree before I turn back and continue, "Nothing else should be able to exist here because it is the territory of nil, and intelligent life forms should not be allowed or be able to exist here. It is also not within normal time, allowing for a series of communications over eighteen days from Earth to take less than a microsecond within the timeframe of the Moon Cell."
At the end of my explanation, Aletha murmurs, "A trash bin with infinite capacity that has somehow turned into a livable space... So this is where we ended up."
I smile wryly and correct here, "More than ended up, I think it is more precise to say that we were sent here. There's a clear difference between the two."
For a moment, none of us speaks.
The wards hum softly, layered vibrations settling into a fragile equilibrium. I lean against one of the desks, listening not with my ears but with every other sense I've learned to trust.
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
Then Marie breaks the silence first, strolling toward the window and peering out with open fascination as she says, "It's curious. This place feels less artificial than SE.RA.PH., yet far more constrained in some other ways. Like a dream that knows it shouldn't exist."
Aletha shoots her a look, "You find that comforting?"
Marie smiles faintly, "Comforting? No. But definitely more honest."
Nero crosses her arms, gaze unfocused as if she's examining something only she can see, "This academy is a reflection, not a reconstruction. Someone has taken a memory and forced it to persist."
I straighten at that and say, "Forced memories tend to rot. Especially when they're denied resolution."
Aletha exhales slowly, rubbing her temples, "So we're in a decaying archive, surrounded by self-aware NPCs, under the jurisdiction of an unknown variable that's gone off-script."
I smile wryly and say, "That's one way to put it."
Curious Aletha asks, "And the other?"
I meet her eyes, "We're inside the aftermath of a failed experiment. And whatever's running this place is improvising and has malicious intentions."
No one likes that answer.
Then Aletha asks, "What about the Holy Grail War? Has it been cancelled?"
I shake my head and reply, "That's highly unlikely. Remember that this particular Holy Grail War has been 'sponsored' by the Concepts themselves. No matter what kind of power or authority is now running this place. They won't be able to bypass that kind of absolute protection. The most they may be able to do is change the structure a bit without touching the core."
At this point, another flicker passes through the room, subtle enough that Marie doesn't notice it. The chalkboard behind me briefly displays a line of text in distorted characters before quickly fixing itself.
Aletha notices and stiffens before she mutters in a grave tone, "Jayr."
I grew tense and said, "I saw it."
The Far Side is listening.
And then, before anyone can respond, there's a knock at the door.
The sound is heard only once, and it is quickly followed by a female voice that asks in a polite and controlled tone, "May I come in?"
The voice sends a chill down my spine as my mind instantly recognises it, and at the same time, it makes a dreadful connection with our current situation.
While going through that revelation, I hold steady, maintaining my calm and say quietly, "It's Sakura."
Aletha meets my gaze. We exchange a look. Then I lower the wards, unlock the door, and invite her, "It's open now. You can come in."
The next moment, the door slides open and Sakura steps inside, dressed in a navy sailor uniform with small white socks and a short-length lab coat, basically a vintage version of the Tsukumihara Academy female uniform. Her expression is serene.
She bows slightly before she says in a calm tone, "I'm here to inform you that the Holy Grail War has been recalibrated and has now entered a new phase that still abides by the core parameters imposed."
We listen in silence, recognising the usual flavour of a scripted speech.
As Sakura speaks, Nero does not look at her.
At least, not directly.
Her gaze drifts instead to the edges of the room, to the corners where light softens, and shadows gather just a fraction too heavily. She listens with her head slightly tilted, as though weighing not the words themselves, but the shape they cast.
I've seen her listen like this before.
It's how she studies an opponent whose strength is uncertain.
Sakura's voice is calm, perfectly modulated. Every syllable lands with rehearsed clarity, a delivery optimised to inform without provoking emotion. The tone of an administrator. A caretaker.
Nero's fingers tighten around her crossed arms.
When Sakura mentions the removal of elimination matches, Nero's lips curve faintly. Not a smile. Something closer to recognition.
Sakura continues, "There will be no further scheduled elimination matches and lengthy preparation periods. The conflict will proceed as it was always meant to. An intense battle royale. The last Master standing will be declared the winner."
Nero exhales through her nose, slow and measured.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Her posture hasn't changed, but there's tension there now, coiled and patient.
She gestures toward the window, where the Sakura Tree looms in the distance and explains, "The battlefield is now the Sakura Labyrinth. Each active Master will be assigned a set of three floors. These floor are their home ground. The Masters can decorate and organise these floors however they like, set their own defences and traps to gain as much advantage as possible. However, be warned that these floors are not protected by sanctuary privileges."
Nero's fingers flex before she murmurs quietly, the words not quite meant to interrupt, but not entirely meant to be unheard either, "How very nostalgic."
Marie blinks, glancing at her. Aletha stiffens.
However, Sakura tilts her head and continues as if nothing was said, "On top of that, all remaining Masters have been assigned their own isolated instance of Tsukumihara Academy for rest and recovery."
At this point, I ask, "And the conditions?"
Sakura calmly replies, "Each Master must enter the Sakura Labyrinth once per day. They can only leave after surviving 7 hours. Failure to do so will result in immediate disqualification and erasure."
Nero straightens slightly when Sakura explains the daily entry requirement, her expression hardening by degrees. By the time the seven-hour survival condition is mentioned, something colder has settled into her gaze.
Not anger, but appraisal.
This is not a game to her. It never was. But now she's begun categorising it properly.
Meanwhile, Marie blinks and comments, "How thrilling."
Then, Aletha scowls and asks, "What if two Masters survive seven hours but never meet anyone?"
Sakura says simply, "That's impossible. The Sakura Labyrinth is randomly reshuffled every day. Sooner or later, inactivity becomes indistinguishable from vulnerability. And if it doesn't happen, their territory will start to overlap. Take note that today, you are free to visit your assigned layer of the Sakura Labyrinth to decorate it however you wish without worrying about any invasions from other Masters. Tomorrow, the Holy Grail War will resume."
After that, she bows once more and says, "Good luck."
Then she leaves, closing the door behind her.
No one moves for several seconds.
The door remains shut, the last echo of Sakura's presence lingering like a scent that refuses to fade.
Aletha is the first to speak, her voice low, "An enforced daily descent. Seven hours minimum. No sanctuary."
I calmly add, "And a battlefield designed to erase hesitation."
Marie tilts her head, expression unusually subdued, "It's elegant, in a cruel way. Those who hesitate will exhaust themselves preparing. Those who rush will die early. Only those who adapt will last."
Nero's gaze sharpens, "This is not a war designed to test heroism. It is meant to grind down identity."
I nod.
The Labyrinth isn't just terrain. It's pressure. A constant demand to act, to choose, to risk. There will be no safe strategies, no long-term planning without confrontation.
Someone wants survivors, not victors.
I glance toward the window again. The Sakura Tree stands unmoving, petals continuing their endless descent.
A timer disguised as scenery before I slowly say, "We need to assume that this reshuffling isn't random in the way we understand it. Patterns will emerge. The Labyrinth will learn from us. And whatever is controlling this place will manipulate it to achieve its own objectives."
Aletha clenches her fist, "Then we make sure it learns the wrong lessons."
A thin smile crosses my face as I say, "Exactly."
The silence she leaves behind is heavy as everyone realises that this isn't a tournament anymore.
It's pure survival.
And whatever is controlling this place no longer cares about fairness, only efficiency.