Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
We return from the Sakura Labyrinth in silence.
The silence is thick, pressing against my ears, filled with everything none of us is saying. Our footsteps echo too clearly against the stone steps, each one sounding louder than it should in the aftermath of what we just left behind.
Then the sound becomes sharper as the stone steps turn into hard light ones as we keep advancing toward the exit.
The Sakura Labyrinth clings to the mind like one of those intricate puzzles that make you feel the urge to complete them.
Even as we climb, I can still feel the phantom resistance of its corridors, the way space bent just a little too willingly, like something eager to swallow intruders whole. My Spiral Cosmo hums faintly from the residual tension, as if it hasn't quite accepted that we're out yet.
Nero naturally notices it. She always does, as our bond is stronger than ever.
Her stride slows half a step to match mine, her presence warm and steady at my side. She doesn't speak, but the way her shoulder brushes against mine isn't accidental. It's grounding. Intentional.
I let out a slow breath I hadn't realised I was holding.
Behind us, the darkness seems to swallow every step we have already taken, leaving absolutely nothing behind, making me think, 'In this kind of suffocating atmosphere, even Marie, who is usually incapable of staying silent for long, would be subdued. It's very telling how oppressive this simple path that leads in and out of the Sakura Labyrinth is. I didn't feel this much when we entered. Is this another form of manipulation from the one behind the scenes? I can already imagine Aletha's distant expression when I tell her about it. Her eyes unfocused, no doubt replaying the structural data of the Labyrinth in her head, already thinking about optimisations and contingencies as I narrate what we've experienced. But well, that's one of the reasons why she is an incredible witch.'
When we finally reach the surface, the transition is almost abrupt.
Light filters through the branches of the Sakura Tree, petals drifting lazily in the artificial breeze, and all this makes me contemplate, 'The contrast is almost offensive. Beneath this serene canopy lies an entire battlefield, layered with murder, ambition, and desperation. The one behind this doesn't even try to hide the irony but instead prefers weaponising it.'
The next moment, the ground shakes once more as the partially exposed roots twist back into the ground like veins disappearing into flesh, and before long, the Sakura Tree is back to its original position as if nothing happened.
Watching this scene makes me almost let out a sigh while thinking, 'Even after spending time below, the sight of it still unsettles me. Knowing that beneath those roots stretches an entire battlefield makes the calm surface feel dishonest. But, well, this is the Holy Grail War...'
As the roots retract and the ground settles, I feel a familiar, unwelcome sensation crawl up my spine. The sense of being watched.
Not by the Moon Cell. Not by whoever is behind this. Not yet. This is broader. Impersonal. As if the system itself is taking note of our continued existence, marking us as active pieces on the board.
I roll my shoulders subtly, forcing my muscles to relax as I tell myself, 'Get used to it. This is what the Far Side is going to feel like.'
Then, as we step toward the main building, the air in front of us ripples for a brief moment before Sakura appears before us once again.
She stands exactly where she did a little earlier today. Same posture too, with her hands folded neatly in front of her, expression serene and unreadable.
As Nero slightly stiffens and raises her guard, I maintain my relaxed appearance, thinking, 'I'm starting to get annoyed at how effortlessly she manifests. No buildup. No warning. Just instant presence. This once again proves that the rules of this cruel game changed.'
Despite that, Sakura's presence is wrong in a way that's difficult to articulate.
It's not hostile or threatening in the conventional sense. If anything, she feels a little too accommodating. Like a perfectly prepared stage that exists solely to facilitate whatever tragedy is about to unfold.
As I'm thinking that, Sakura bows lightly and then calmly says, "The Holy Grail War will resume tomorrow. As a reminder. All active Masters are required to enter the Sakura Labyrinth at noon and remain within it for a minimum duration of seven hours."
I nod while Nero at my side relaxes her guarded stance, now openly visible with her arms crossed and a confident smile on her face.
Sakura continues, as if reading from an invisible script, "You retain complete authority over the internal order of your assigned three floors prior to the start of daily operations. You're also free to modify them however you like. But once the daily operation begins, every change becomes immutable until the end of the cycle."
As she speaks, my attention splits in two.
One part listens carefully, cataloguing every rule, every implication, every loophole that might exist beneath her calm delivery. The other watches her closely, searching for cracks in the mask, but there are none.
Then she adds, "In addition to that, you have no influence over the placement of your floor set within the Sakura Labyrinth."
I narrow my eyes slightly at that while thinking, 'We already knew that something like this was going to happen. But the real question is, who decides the placement? And why?'
Meanwhile, Sakura tilts her head, just a fraction before she continues to explain, "The Sakura Labyrinth is not linear. It doesn't follow the rules of reality, but those of the imaginary space."
Her eyes don't linger. Her tone doesn't waver. She delivers revelations about spatial impossibilities and inevitable bloodshed with the same detachment someone might use to comment on the weather.
She gestures toward the cherry blossom tree behind us and says, "It is structured like an immense tree. Its roots spiral downward endlessly, eventually connecting to numerous specular, inverted structures that mirror the original. All standing layered in the same place, but never touching one another. And the one you use as an entrance is only one of those many mirrors of the original."
When she explains the Labyrinth's structure, I feel a faint chill settle in my chest.
And as she speaks, I can almost picture it. Roots twisting and overlapping, descending through layers of space until they touch something upside-down, chaotic, and wrong.
Imaginary space. Inverted reflections. Multiple trunks exist in the same location without ever touching. It's elegant. And horrifying at the same time.
This isn't just a dungeon but a system designed to force a collision. To compress fate until conflict becomes unavoidable. Even avoidance becomes a choice with consequences. Deadly consequences.
While that image forms in my mind, Sakura continues, "The assigned territories of each Master are located somewhere along these roots. Some are close to the inverted structures. Others deeper. Some… very close to the original trunk."
At this point, Nero realises what Sakura is implying and says slowly, "And that means, we could be attacked from both directions."
Nero's observation about attacks from both directions hits harder than she probably intends. I catch the slight tightening of her jaw afterwards, the way her fingers flex once before she stills them again.
She's already running possible scenarios, searching for the best way to take advantage and survive this kind of situation, and so am I.
The idea of simultaneous pressure from above and below is tactically sound from a cruelty standpoint. It prevents stagnation. Forces engagement. Prevents Masters from turning their floors into untouchable fortresses.
Whoever redesigned this War understands the best way to weaponise escalation.
At the same time, hearing that, I almost click my tongue in annoyance while thinking, 'Damn it! With this, the original setting for the "first" and "second" becomes pointless... Well, not really. I just have to merge them together from two floors with the same scaling difficulty. And in any case, in the rare instance where I'm "lucky" enough to end up in the situation where I have to worry about attacks from only one direction, I can still use the original floor structure. But that's going to be highly unlikely...'
Then, Sakura replies without hesitation, "Yes. Depending on placement, it is very likely that a Master may be invaded by those positioned above and below simultaneously. Only the Masters closest to either 'trunks' have to worry about attacks from only one direction."
When Sakura mentions that placement recalculates daily, I almost laugh. Almost. While thinking, 'Sure... Randomness is only a comforting lie. True randomness is rare. Especially in systems like this. Especially when the stakes are this high. Someone benefits from unpredictability. And someone always benefits more than others.'
While I'm thinking that, Sakura adds, "However, placement is recalculated daily. A highly unfavourable position only needs to be endured for one cycle."
I meet Sakura's gaze when she says the word endured.
Endured. That word almost stings me. As if whoever planned this has already devised how everything is going to end.
For a split second, I think I see something there, but it is not emotion nor malice, it is expectation.
Then she's gone. Sakura's form flickers and vanishes, leaving behind the rustle of falling petals.
The petals drift down slowly, absurdly gentle, settling against the academy grounds as if nothing monumental had just declared.
Nero exhales through her nose, "She really knows how to make an exit."
I reply quietly, "That wasn't for us. That was for the system. Whoever is behind this is using Sakura to bypass some of the limitations imposed by the Moon Cell. This makes them dangerous, very dangerous."
Then I exhale slowly and turn toward the academy while saying, "Well... that was informative as always. Come on. Let's see what Aletha and Marie have done while we were away."
Inside the building, I activate my communicator as we walk, "Hello there. This is Jayr. We just returned from the Sakura Labyrinth."
Aletha answers almost immediately and says, "Hey, Jayr. Hope you had fun building your personal dungeon. Maire and I found a good spot. It's on the third floor. You should come."
Hearing that, I reply, "We're on our way." Before I casually cut off the communicator and head toward the staircase with Nero by my side.
As the communicator goes silent, I slip it away and start toward the staircase. Nero falls into step beside me, her presence as effortless as ever, though I can feel her attention shifting outward.
The academy reacts to movement, but not in its usual mechanical way; it feels more emotional.
A few NPC students linger near the walls of the corridor, pretending to be occupied with nothing in particular. One flips through the same page of a book again and again without reading it. Another sits on a bench, elbows on knees, staring at the floor as if expecting it to give him answers.
When they notice us approaching, the reactions vary.
Some straighten, eyes sharpening with something close to hope. Others recoil slightly, as if we're a reminder of something they'd rather not acknowledge.
A girl near the stairwell looks directly at Nero, her gaze lingering longer than is polite. Her brow furrows, lips parting as if she wants to speak. In the end, she doesn't. She just watches us pass, fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her bag.
Nero murmurs quietly, not turning her head, "She can tell."
I ask, "That you're a Servant?"
She calmly corrects me by saying, "That I don't belong to this place. Not the way they do."
I glance back briefly. The girl is still watching, her expression unreadable.
After a brief moment, I say, "Some of them are starting to sense the difference. Even without the SE.RA.PH feeding them context and telling them what to do."
Nero hums thoughtfully, "Awareness without understanding. That's a special kind of torment."
The staircase spirals upward, clean and well-lit, untouched by age or wear. A group of NPCs stands clustered near the base, arguing in hushed tones. Their words blur together as we pass, fragments slipping through.
"... looped again ..."
"... no exit nodes ..."
"... why can't we find a way out...?"
One of them notices me listening and stops mid-sentence. Our eyes meet.
He swallows before he asks, "Are you... one of the administrators?"
I don't stop walking, but I answer honestly, "No."
That seems to deflate him more than if I had ignored him. He nods faintly, as if confirming something he already suspected, and turns back to the others without another word.
We continue upward.
The second floor is quieter. Fewer NPCs linger here, and those who do tend to keep to themselves. The silence presses in, broken only by the soft echo of our footsteps and the distant hum of the Moon Cell's background processes.
Nero glances at me sideways, "You're not planning to tell them anything, are you?"
I shake my head, "There's nothing I could say that would help. Not without lying."
She exhales slowly, "Kindness through omission."
I reply, "Or cruelty through honesty. I haven't decided which this counts as. The only way I can help them is by surviving until the end and winning. Only then, I'll be able to do something about their situation."
We reach the landing that leads to the third floor. From here, the academy feels more inert. Less watched. Less crowded. It's easier to breathe.
As we ascend the final steps, Nero speaks again, her tone lighter, but not dismissive, "At least they're not hostile. Or worse, self-destructive."
In response to that, I say, "Not yet. Fear hasn't turned into anger. That usually takes time. And when that anger fades, the only thing that remains is resignation and desperation."
Hearing that, Nero asks, despite already knowing the answer, "And once it does?"
I pause for half a step before answering, "Then this place will get a lot louder. And before that happens, we have to give them hope. Hope for a better solution."
The third-floor corridor opens before us, mercifully empty. Whatever tension had followed us upward doesn't disappear, but it loosens its grip, retreating just enough to let us move freely again.
Ahead, I can already sense the faint traces of the layered magic Aletha's been working on while we were away. Familiar. Structured. Safe. For now.
I straighten slightly and keep walking, knowing that Marie is waiting for us.
When we reach the third floor, Marie is already waiting near the stairwell. She waves enthusiastically when she sees us, as she says, "Coucou! Over here!"
Then, as we approach her, she immediately turns and starts walking.
On this floor, the Tsukumihara Academy feels hollow in a way I've never experienced before.
The corridors are populated, the lights are on, and the ambient systems hum softly as they always have. Yet everything feels slightly out of sync, like a stage set that continues running long after the audience has left.
We pass some NPC students.
They walk in loose, uncertain patterns, some alone, others in small clusters. Their movements lack the crisp precision of normal Moon Cell routines. No perfect schedules. No clean behavioural loops. Instead, there's hesitation. Wandering. Hands fidgeting. Eyes darting toward us and then away again. After weeks of getting used to that, it seems almost unnatural seeing them like this.
One thing is clear. They know, not everything, not the full picture, but enough.
Some stare openly, their expressions caught somewhere between curiosity and fear. Others avert their gaze, shoulders hunched, as if acknowledging us might invite attention they can't afford.
Marie slows her pace slightly, her usual brightness dimmed as she watches them pass. One girl stops near a window, pressing her palm against the glass, staring out at nothing in particular. Another NPC mutters under his breath as we walk by, words too fragmented to fully make out.
"... can't connect to overseer..."
"... system error..."
"... not supposed to be like this..."
The Far Side of the Moon Cell doesn't bother with subtlety. It takes discarded things and lets them rot just enough to become self-aware.
Nero's jaw tightens as she comments, "Their behavioural limiters are gone. Or corroded. Probably by prolonged exposure to imaginary number space."
Marie asks quietly, "Meaning?"
I answer in Nero's place, "Meaning they're people enough to suffer. But not enough to escape this hell."
That earns a few lingering looks from nearby NPCs. Whether they understand the words or just the tone, I can't tell.
Nero folds her arms, her expression unusually sober, "A gilded cage still counts as a cage."
Hearing that, I take a quick look at our surroundings while thinking, 'The academy itself seems to agree. The walls are too pristine. Too unchanging. No wear accumulates, no matter how long the time passes. The environment doesn't decay, even as the minds inside it fray. This place isn't meant to be lived in. It's meant to store. Corrupted data. Discarded simulations. Malicious constructs. Servants too powerful to let loose. Imaginary numbers with nowhere else to go. And now, us.'
As we continue, I become aware of the silence between footsteps. Not the absence of sound, but the absence of purpose. No morning announcements. No structured classes. No guiding narrative to push these NPCs forward.
Freedom without direction. It's cruel in its own way.
One NPC gathers the courage to speak as we pass, "Are... are you real? Alive..."
I stop. The question hangs in the air, fragile and dangerous.
I turn just enough to meet his eyes, "Yes."
That single word seems to hit him harder than any lie could have. His face twists, relief and despair colliding, before he nods quickly and retreats back into the crowd.
Marie exhales shakily once we're out of earshot, "I don't like this place."
I say, "No one does. That's why it exists. It was designed this way... It's cruel, but effective."
We reach the stairwell soon after, the hum of the academy growing fainter as we move away from the central areas. The higher floors are quieter. Less populated. Fewer wandering souls.
Better for us, but the feeling lingers.
This isn't a battlefield filled with enemies but a graveyard that hasn't realised it's dead yet.
She leads us into the left wing of the building, an area noticeably quieter than the rest of the building.
The halls here are narrower, the doors more uniform. Offices. Storage rooms. Archives.
It takes me a few moments to recognise where we're heading before we stop. The Student Council Room.
Marie opens the door with a flourish, "Welcome to our new home!"
The moment I step inside, I feel it. Layers of protection hum softly against my senses. Spatial anchoring. Environmental stabilization. Magical insulation tuned to Aletha's chaos signature. And beneath it all, something familiar.
The room isn't the Student Council Room anymore. It's our Private Room.
Perfectly replicated. The layout, the lighting, the proportions. Even the subtle ambient hum is there. For a moment, it's disorienting enough that my breath catches.
Aletha stands near one of the walls, her CAD-wand raised, adjusting something only she can see as she says without turning, "It's not done yet. Some of the tolerances are off. And we still have to complete a few more details."
Already stepping forward, I reply automatically, "You're doing great."
I join her, reinforcing the structure with my own systems while also infusing my Spiral Cosmo to further stabilise everything. My wards slide into place around hers, not overwriting, but complementing. Where her magic flexes and adapts, my constructs stabilise and define. Together, the space feels especially solid. Even more so, considering that this is the highly unstable Far Side of the Moon Cell.
Overall, the end product is much safer than anything else we could possibly find in this place, a perfect home away from home.
By the time we're done, the room is no longer just a copy. It's something new. A shared refuge, anchored by multiple wills.
Once the final adjustments are complete, we stand there in silence again. But this time, it's different. This silence is earned.
The room hums softly around us, alive with layered enchantments and overlapping intent. It feels safe. Or as close to safe as anything can be in this kind of place.
Marie is the first to break the stillness.
She spins slowly in place, arms slightly outstretched, taking it all in, "It really feels like home. I really missed our Private Room!"
Her voice is quiet. Almost reverent.
That simple statement hits harder than I expected.
Nero chuckles softly, "Careful. If you say that too loudly, whoever is controlling this might take offence."
Aletha finally lowers her CAD-wand, exhaustion catching up to her now that the work is done. She sinks into one of the chairs with a long sigh, "Even if it's temporary, having a stable anchor matters. Psychologically and strategically."
I agree and say, "She's right. Morale is a valuable resource. People often forget that."
Nero raises an eyebrow, "Since when do you sound like a proper commander?"
I shrug, "Since I started worrying about everyone making it through tomorrow."
Her smile softens just a bit.
Eventually, we drift toward the kitchen.
I pull out the ingredients from my Soulbound Territory and start preparing dinner out of habit. The motions help ground me. Nero leans against the counter, watching. Marie sits at the table, swinging her legs slightly. Aletha takes a seat, finally allowing herself to relax.
The kitchen becomes a point of convergence. Familiar routines reassert themselves. The act of cooking, of preparing something mundane and necessary, feels almost rebellious in the face of what's coming.
Marie chats lightly, slowly regaining her usual warmth. Aletha listens more than she speaks, occasionally offering precise observations. Nero provides commentary, half-joking, half-serious, her insights sharp beneath the humour.
For a while, it feels almost normal, almost.
Then the conversation drifts back to Sakura's explanation and what she revealed earlier.
At the end of my quick recap, Aletha starts by saying, "The shifting placement bothers me. It makes long-term planning unreliable."
Nero nods and replies, "True. But it also means no one can be permanently unlucky. Or permanently safe. It encourages adaptability over perfection."
At this point, I comment, "That is so if this so-called 'random assignment' is going to actually be really random. Something that I think is highly unlikely..."
Marie then hums, "Are you implying that...?"
Before Marie can continue, Aletha cuts her off and says, "That's right. It is very possible that whoever changed the rules of the Holy Grail War will continue to manipulate all the possible variables to accomplish whatever objective they have... For sure, this Holy Grail War isn't going to be a fair one."
Marie let out a sigh before she asked, "So we shouldn't try to make the perfect plan?"
In response, I say, plating the food, "No. We should make flexible ones."
We continue to talk about strategy as we eat.
Avoid overcommitting on the first day. Prioritise survival over kills. Use scouting constructs instead of personal exposure whenever possible. Retreat to the home ground is acceptable. Never underestimate the enemy. Overconfidence is going to be lethal.
At some point, Aletha adds, "If you're positioned badly, it is better to hold your position. Delay as much as possible. Force engagements on your terms."
This is followed by Nero, who smiles faintly and says, "And if we're positioned well, we should observe our opponents. Learn who they are and how they act. We should avoid direct conflict as much as possible. We don't want to reveal our hand too soon."
Like that, we continue to talk until Marie raises her glass and says, "To surviving the first day."
We all echo it.
Later, as the lights dim and everyone heads to rest, I linger for a moment longer, standing in the replicated living room while thinking, 'Tomorrow, the Holy Grail War resumes. Not as a tournament. But as a true war among the Masters and their Servants. And I intend to survive until the end and come out at the top.'