Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Tsukumihara Academy - 2030 AD
I wake up before the alarm, and for a moment, I briefly consider closing my eyes again to pretend that if I stay still long enough, the weight pressing down on my chest might loosen on its own, but it doesn't.
For a few seconds, I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the protections woven into the room while thinking, 'Today isn't like the other mornings. There's no match schedule to obsess over, no opponent assigned to a neat time slot. Today, the Holy Grail War resumes the way it was always threatening to.'
The protections humming through the walls are steady, layered, familiar. As I focus my attention on them, my mind continues to wander, 'I helped design half of them. I know exactly how much power they're drawing, how many contingencies are stacked behind the first failure. That knowledge should be comforting. Instead, it just reminds me that even a fortress is built because someone expects an attack.'
My gaze drifts across the ceiling, tracing faint seams where the light panels meet the reinforced frame, 'Everything is in order. Everything is ready. Which means there's nothing left to do but move.'
I take a slow breath in through my nose, hold it for three seconds, then let it out just as slowly. It's a habit I picked up long before the Grail War ever entered my life. From before I've even started this life. Back when, throughout preparation meant saving one more life, instead of worrying about your own survival.
Back when mornings didn't feel like a countdown.
Nero stirs beside me and opens her eyes almost at the same time I do.
She doesn't smile, but there's a familiar steadiness in her expression before she says softly, "So... the new stage is set. We will be the main actors of a new play."
I focus my attention on her face and reply, "Yeah. Today's the real thing. And we will repel whatever the Sakura Labyrinth will throw at us."
After that, we get up and start to go through our usual routine. Nothing fancy. Wash up. Get dressed. Small habits we refuse to abandon, even now, especially now, as they will keep us grounded.
The routine itself is almost meditative.
The sound of running water. The faint chill of the floor against bare feet. The weight of the fabric settles over my shoulders as I finish dressing. Each step follows the last without conscious thought, muscle memory guiding me forward.
Nero moves with the same quiet confidence beside me. There's no wasted motion in her actions. No hesitation. She looks exactly like someone who has walked into battlefields far worse than this and emerged victorious.
Watching her like this steadies me more than I want to admit.
We don't talk much during these moments. We don't need to. Words would just get in the way.
When I tighten the final strap and glance at my reflection, the person looking back at me doesn't seem tired. He looks resolved. Focused. Ready to face what is to come. That's good enough.
I take one last gaze at the mirror while thinking, 'If I let those simple, mundane acts slip, then the war has already started taking things from me, and I can't allow that.'
After that, we move toward the kitchen to have breakfast.
In the kitchen, Aletha and Marie are already there.
The kitchen smells faintly of toasted bread and strong tea. Obviously, Aletha's work is only something a Brit like her could enjoy, such bland dishes. Maire is standing close to an open window, letting in cool air that carries the distant sounds of the academy grounds waking up. Footsteps. Voices. Life is going on as if today were just another day.
Aletha's eyes flick to Nero first, then to me. She doesn't miss anything. The way my shoulders are set. The way Nero stands is just a fraction closer than usual.
Marie, on the other hand, tries very hard to look normal. Too hard. Her fingers drum lightly against the window's frame in an uneven rhythm, stopping the moment she realises she's doing it.
I catch her eye and give her a small nod, but there is no reassurance in the gesture, just acknowledgement.
She exhales quietly, like she's been holding her breath without noticing.
At this point, we casually greet them and start to prepare our breakfast while Nero takes her place at the table, waiting for me to serve her.
As I focus on cooking, the girls start to casually chat about the upcoming dive into the Sakura Labyrinth.
Aletha is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching us like she's committing our silhouettes to memory. Marie sits at the table, swinging her legs slightly, but the smile she gives us is tighter than usual.
As soon as I sit at the table with our dishes, Aletha says immediately, "Don't get reckless. Whatever the Labyrinth throws at you, don't show all your cards on day one. That's a recipe for disaster."
Marie nods vigorously, "Oui! Please don't go full dramatic hero already. Save that for later."
I pour myself a hot coffee and nod, "That's the plan. Today's for scouting. We'll keep a low profile. I'll create a few constructs and let them do the risky parts while we get a feel for how the Labyrinth and the other Masters actually behave."
Nero gives a satisfied hum, "That's wise. An empire survives by knowing the terrain, the enemy, and its own forces."
Breakfast is quiet, but the tense atmosphere that should be felt in such a moment is absent; in its place, there is something that feels more like restraint. When we're done, there's nothing left to do but wait. Noon feels impossibly far away.
After breakfast the minutes start to crawl.
Every glance at the clock feels like cheating, like acknowledging it will somehow make time move even slower. I focus instead on the taste of coffee, bitter and grounding, the warmth of the mug seeping into my hands.
Aletha leans back against the counter, arms crossed again, gaze distant. She's thinking five steps ahead, running scenarios she'll never voice because they won't help right now.
Marie fidgets, then stops. Fidgets again. Eventually she gives up and pushes her chair back slightly, as if ready to bolt at the first excuse.
None of us says it out loud, but we're all listening for something to go wrong, and when nothing does, the silence starts to feel heavier than noise ever could.
Then, Marie is the one who breaks the silence as she suddenly declares, "We are not going to just sit here and stare at the clock. We need a distraction."
A few minutes later, we're in the living room setting up Monopoly.
The board hits the table with more force than necessary.
Marie insists on being the banker, declaring it a matter of trust and responsibility. Aletha raises an eyebrow but doesn't argue. Nero accepts her starting money with imperial grace.
I already regret sitting down.
As the game unfolds, it becomes painfully clear that Nero isn't just being lucky; she's patient, calculated. She watches us the way a general watches troop movements, letting us make our mistakes while she quietly positions herself to benefit.
Every time she passes the Go, her smile grows just a little more smug and by the time Marie realises what's happening, it's far too late.
I land in jail for the fourth time in a row and just stare at the board in disbelief while muttering, "This feels personal..."
Nero's eyes gleam, "Fate often is."
Nero dominates from the very beginning. Perfect rolls. Strategic purchases. Ruthless trades. She builds an empire with terrifying efficiency, smiling the whole time serenely.
Marie is the first to go bankrupt, making her declare loudly while slumping back in her chair in defeat, "This game is rigged. Absolutely rigged. There is no way she can triumph with such impunity."
Nero tilts her head, "You would not have fallen so quickly had you exercised restraint. Spending without foresight is the downfall of many civilisations."
In response, Marie protests, "I was investing! In charm! In beauty! In the most expensive and sought-after locations!"
Nero shakes her head and says, "Umu! That's where you are wrong. You have to start small. Pick up a few key positions to build up your fortune. Then, when the time is right, you start to expand until everything is under your control."
Aletha snorts despite herself before she tries to comfort her friend, "Heh... At least, you didn't end up like Jayr, who ended up in jail at every single turn. I have to say, I have never seen such an unlucky streak before."
I make a point to look offended even if I also find the situation very funny, while Marie points a finger at Nero and declares, "Rematch. After you come back alive. I want to prove that my method is right! It is just your obscene luck that prevented it from shining as it should."
Hearing that, Nero chuckles and replies, "I accept. I would gladly prove you wrong, my friend. And maybe the next time, my Praetor will be able to do a little bit more than keep visiting the prison."
Despite myself, I laugh. The sound surprises me. It's real. Unforced. For a brief moment, the war feels distant. Abstract.
I cling to that feeling until the clock chimes, marking the end of this lively time with our friend and the beginning of the countdown to the start of the Holy Grail War.
The game lasted long enough.
Jayr, the Master of Saber, fades back into place, and with him comes that familiar weight in my chest.
Nero and I stand, gathering what we need while Aletha and Marie walk us to the door.
As we step out of the refitted Student Council Room, Aletha says again, quieter this time, "Be careful out there. You'll never know when whoever is behind these changes will make their move against you."
I look at our clearly worried friend and reply with firm conviction in my tone, "We will."
Outside, the schoolyard feels different. The air itself seems to hold its breath.
Students move at the edges of the courtyard, aware of what's about to unfold beneath their feet, scared but still curious enough to watch from a distance.
The Sakura Tree dominates the space, its blossoms drifting lazily in the air. It stands as it always has, deceptively beautiful and serene, petals catching the light as they fall.
I've seen it transform before, but that doesn't make watching it happen again any easier.
When the tremor hits, it's subtle at first. A vibration through the soles of my boots. Then the sound follows. Wood creaking. Stone grinding. Roots tearing free with slow, inevitable force.
The opening yawns beneath the tree like a wound. Revealing a dark opening beneath a closed by the usual bostwick gate.
The entrance to the Sakura Labyrinth.
The next moment, I feel the Labyrinth awaken as the bostwick gate parts with a squeaking sound, metal folding back to allow us passage.
Nero and I exchange a look. No words between. None is needed as we understand each other with a simple glance.
Then, we step inside the oppressive darkness as the hard light stairs form beneath our feet, glowing faintly in the darkness as we descend.
The deeper we go, the darker it becomes, then the glow fades, and the hard-light steps turn into stone.
The air grows heavy, old, like we're walking into something that has been waiting a very long time.
At last, we emerge onto our chosen floor. The one created in the image of the Sanctuary.
The moment my feet touch the stone, a quiet sense of rightness settles over me.
This place is without a shadow of a doubt mine.
Every pillar, every staircase, every proportion comes straight from a memory I know by heart. The Sanctuary isn't an imitation or a replica. It's a reconstruction, shaped by recall and emotion rather than blueprints. I don't need to look around to know what's behind me or above me. I already remember it.
White stone stretches outward in clean, deliberate lines. Pillars rise with the same quiet dignity I first felt standing among them long ago. Wide, almost endless staircases rise and fall in symmetrical order. The air is still, neither warm nor cold, carrying that faint, intangible sense of reverence that no amount of data or geometry could ever properly reproduce.
I exhale slowly.
This was one of the first places that taught me what it meant to stand before something greater than myself. Not in fear, but in respect. In resolve. To fight for what is right and protect not just who we care for, but everyone else.
I let myself breathe for a moment, appreciating the very familiar surroundings while casually commenting, "Familiarity is a weapon, too. And this is a place that is perfectly imprinted in my heart. Not a single piece of dust will escape my notice."
Nero steps forward, her gaze sweeping across the chamber. She doesn't question the design. She understands instinctively what this place represents.
Then, after a few moments of appreciation, she says at last, "No matter how many times I see it. This is a strong choice. A battlefield shaped by your conviction."
I nod once, "Every detail here matters to me. That makes it harder to corrupt. And easier to notice when something doesn't belong."
Her smile sharpens just a fraction, "Then any intruder will be committing sacrilege."
I smile back and say, "Exactly."
Suddenly, a mechanical voice echoes through the space.
[Final preparations advised.]
In response to that announcement, I pull up my interface immediately to check the maps of our territory.
With a single glance, I instantly take notice of the most critical information. Two entry points.
One ascending staircase, linking to what used to be our first floor. One descending, connected to the deepest layer we're standing on now.
Nero closes in, leans over to take a closer look and crosses her arms while commenting, "As expected. We're between two unknowns."
I take another look at the layout of our floor, already imagining the needed changes while muttering, "Hopefully, not for long."
At the same time, I work fast. The interface responds instantly, layers of translucent schematics unfolding in my mind.
I merge the first and second floor layouts into a single structure with scaling difficulty. Shift pathways to accommodate the new layout. Distances stretch to allow enough breathing space to keep the pressure constant. Remove overlapping kill zones.
This is the part I enjoy more than I probably should.
Every adjustment is a statement. A declaration that anyone who comes this way will do so on my terms. That they will be tired, uncertain, and exposed by the time they reach us.
Nero watches in silence, her expression thoughtful, and eventually she says, "These floors are a reflection of you."
I pause for a moment and ask, "That obvious?"
She nods once, "Prepared. Almost paranoid. And very, very unforgiving to those who overextend themselves."
I take that as a compliment.
Once I'm done, I create a perfect copy.
After that, I reordered the sequence of floors. The Sanctuary floor shifts position, sliding neatly between the two buffer zones. The descending access is cut off, rerouted through layers meant to slow, weaken, and warn.
Nero keeps watching before she says with approval in her tone, "Umu... This is way better. It gives us time to observe and study possible invaders before actually confronting them."
Some time later, after I've completed all the changes, the mechanical voice speaks again, louder now.
[Live or die by the sword.]
[What power do you hold in your hands… dancing flames, decaying Earth, withered oceans.]
It's the signal that the Holy Grail War has begun once more.
Following that announcement, I don't hesitate. I urge my Spiral Cosmo and materialise a dozen small scouting constructs at my side.
Naturally, I wouldn't miss the chance to pull off a Gundam reference and create these constructs in the shape of the Sazabi's Funnels.
They are small enough to hide and nimbly evade all kinds of obstacles. They can stream everything their camera captures directly into my mind in real time, which, by the way, allows me to manually control them if needed. And they have one last nasty surprise. Just like regular Funnels, these can fire an energy beam powerful enough to easily take out an unguarded opponent.
Sure, they are going to be mostly useless against a Servant, but against an unaware Master and regular Enemy Programs, they are absolutely deadly.
Considering their complexity, it takes me a few minutes to fully materialise these Funnels, but once they are complete, I don't waste any time and send them away toward both entry points, silent, deadly, and fast.
While we wait for the Funnels to reach their destination, Nero glances around and casually asks, "How many floors do you think there are?"
Without even thinking too much about it, I answer, "At least forty-eight. Sixteen Masters minimum. Three floors each."
She whistles softly, "An entire world of places to die."
Soon, the Funnels reports that they have crossed the staircases leading to the other Masters' areas and have reached their destinations.
I immediately sign to Nero and focus my intent on them, allowing the images they are capturing to reach my mind.
The territory beyond the ascending staircase unfolds into a forest that feels deliberately compressed, as if space itself has been tightened to keep everything within reach of a hidden observer.
Tall trees crowd close together, their trunks straight and narrow, bark darkened by age and damp. Their canopies interlock high above, forming a dense lattice of branches and leaves that filters the light into thin, broken shafts. Visibility never extends very far. Ten meters at best before foliage, shadow, or terrain interrupts the line of sight.
The ground is uneven, layered with roots, fallen leaves, and soft earth that would swallow careless footsteps whole. Narrow paths wind between the trees, not cleared so much as allowed, like animal trails that exist only because something keeps using them. Every step off those paths feels like a mistake waiting to happen.
Then I notice the traps.
They aren't flashy. No glowing sigils. No obvious kill zones. Just subtle distortions in the terrain. A patch of leaves that sits too neatly. A branch bent at an unnatural angle. Shallow pits masked with care, lined with sharpened stakes or tension-triggered mechanisms that would maim rather than kill outright.
This isn't a forest designed to overwhelm intruders with force.
It's designed to harass, to bleed them slowly. To exhaust their patience and confidence. To make them second-guess every step, every sound, every shadow that shifts just a fraction too late.
What stands out the most is the silence.
No wind through the branches. No distant animal calls. Even the ambient noise feels suppressed, as if the forest itself is holding its breath. Whoever built this wanted to control information as much as movement.
There are vantage points, too. High branches are reinforced just enough to support the weight. Natural-looking outcroppings that offer clear lines of fire down the paths. Places where a patient could wait for hours without being seen.
I pull back slightly, a frown forming as I murmur while sharing the images to Nero through our bond, "This one's disciplined. Minimal theatrics. Maximum efficiency."
Nero nods, eyes narrowing, "This is clearly a hunter's domain."
I can't help but agree with that statement. This floor gives that exact feeling.
I linger on the forest feed longer than necessary, cataloguing details. The way the traps are concealed. The deliberate spacing. This isn't the work of a panicked amateur.
Whoever built this knows what they're doing.
Then I shift my focus to the other feed, and the contrast is immediate.
Where the forest constricts, this territory looms.
A sprawling mountain range dominates the space, its peaks jagged and uneven, rising sharply into a hazy sky that obscures their true height. The stone is pale grey, streaked with darker veins, fractured in ways that suggest age and constant erosion. These mountains weren't shaped gently. They were broken into their current form.
Narrow paths snake along cliff faces, carved directly into the rock. Some are wide enough for two people to pass. Others barely allow a single misstep-free footfall. There are no guardrails. No safety measures. Just sheer drops plunging into mist-filled ravines below.
The layout feels intentional, almost ceremonial.
Stone staircases appear where the terrain shouldn't logically allow them, worn smooth by imagined centuries of use. Terraces jut out from the mountainsides, flat and open, like stages meant for confrontation. From each one, multiple routes branch off, rising higher or descending deeper, forcing anyone traversing them to constantly choose between progress and vulnerability.
Verticality dominates everything.
Ambush points are everywhere. Overhangs. Broken pillars. Natural arches that conceal movement until it's too late. From above, gravity itself becomes a weapon. From below, every ascent feels like an invitation to be struck down.
Unlike the forest, this place doesn't bother hiding its danger, but it almost seems like advertising it.
The wind howls constantly, whipping through passes and between peaks, carrying grit and the faint scent of stone dust. Footing is unreliable, and long stretches of exposed path offer no cover at all. Anyone crossing them would be visible from half a dozen angles at once.
And yet, there's a strange order to it.
The paths converge, avoiding forming an intricate maze, almost like seeking simplicity itself. Slowly, inexorably, toward higher ground. Toward a central peak that dominates the skyline, broader and more imposing than the rest.
A seat of power.
I lean back slightly, jaw tightening while I again share the images with Nero and say, "This one favours movement. Speed. Precision. Absolute confidence in close quarters."
Nero studies the feed, her expression unreadable, "A place where hesitation is punished."
I reply, "Yeah. And where overconfidence might be, too.
The mountain territory is even worse. Vertical combat favours Servants. Ambush points are everywhere. One wrong step and you're dead before you realise you were in danger.
I pull back from the feeds and let out a sigh before commenting, "These two aren't careless. And they're not afraid to kill early."
Nero's gaze sharpens, "Then neither should we be. If they come at us with ill intentions, we will respond in kind."
I nod in agreement while thinking, 'Both look fairly dangerous in their own ways, but this is still way too little to have a clear idea of who our neighbours actually are.'
I'm still analysing every image sent by the Funnels when the voice returns.
[Elimination confirmed. Master Raphael Gold has been eliminated.]
Silence follows.
The name echoes in my head longer than it should.
Raphael Gold.
I didn't know him very well, but he was my previous opponent before the rules changed. I've only met him once in the Arena. His Servant, Paracelsus von Hohenheim, seemed quite cautious and competent. But despite that, they have already been taken out. Eliminated. This means they are dead, or something close enough that the distinction stops mattering.
The Holy Grail War has a way of turning names into statistics.
I close my eyes briefly, then straighten and say, "Funnels stay active. No unnecessary risks. If someone else wants to make the next move, let them."
Nero places a hand on her sword, not drawing it, just acknowledging its presence before she says again, softer this time, "The stage is set."
And somewhere in the depths of the Sakura Labyrinth, something answers.
I keep my focus on the Funnels and exhale slowly while thinking, 'The first casualty of the new Holy Grail War.'
At the same time, Nero's expression hardens as she comments, "It has truly begun."
In response, I say quietly, "Yeah. And it's not going to slow down for anyone. In fact, it may speed up even more."
I once again pull up the interface and look toward the entry points.
Day one has only just started.