Chapter 20: Stalking, Hair, and Intervention
"Doesn't Mr. Sisigou seem… really tense?"
Rethyia sipped her bubble tea, her eyes fixed on Kairi, who was standing a little ways down the cobblestone street. He was trying to look like a harmless tourist while subtly scanning the area and using a low-level suggestion spell on a pair of bored-looking police officers to encourage them to patrol elsewhere.
"That's because you're staring at him like he's a zoo exhibit," Cyd said, reaching over to pat Rethyia's head. "Relax. Try to blend in."
"Okay," Rethyia nodded, but her gaze kept drifting back to the bounty hunter. Her stare was open, curious, and utterly devoid of subterfuge.
Is this kid just a natural airhead? Cyd wondered, glancing at Kairi, who was visibly stiffening under the unwavering attention. For a man like Kairi, whose life depended on sensing hostility and observation, Rethyia's guileless gaze felt like a giant, neon target painted on his back by a well-meaning toddler.
"Hey, Rethyia," Cyd said, shifting on the park bench to sit closer to her, partly to block her line of sight and give Kairi some breathing room. "You're a high school student, right? When exactly did Jeanne… move in?"
"Mhm," Rethyia nodded, finally looking away from Kairi. "I was praying at my local church. I heard Jeanne's voice, a call for a vessel with a pure heart willing to fight for justice. So… I answered."
"You shouldn't have," Cyd said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "A Holy Grail War isn't a game. Every single person in it is fighting for their own selfish wish. I really wish you hadn't gotten pulled into this."
"I know. But I volunteered," Rethyia said softly, staring down at her tea, stirring the tapioca pearls with her straw. "I wanted to know… what this hidden world was really like. The one they don't teach us about in school."
"By the rules, ordinary people like you aren't supposed to get involved," Cyd sighed, giving her head another gentle pat. "But don't worry. If Jeanne bites the dust, I'll make sure you get out okay."
"Jeanne says, 'Why must I inevitably perish?'" Rethyia relayed with a small, wry smile.
"Hey, it's a Grail War. Every impossibility is on the table here," Cyd said, stretching his arms over the back of the bench. "No matter how great a hero was in life, they can still get taken out in one of these things."
"Even… you?" Rethyia asked, her voice hesitant.
"Relax, you don't have to be so formal with me." Cyd ruffled her hair, this time more playfully. "And yeah, sure. But I'll be fine. More importantly, I told you, I'll protect you."
"That's… really reassuring," Rethyia murmured, letting him mess up her hair without complaint. A faint, comfortable warmth spread through her.
"You seem to be having a nice time."
The voice came from directly behind Cyd, low and smooth. Atalanta stood there, her golden cat-eyes fixed on the scene, her expression unreadable.
"Ah! I'm sorry!" Rethyia jumped, nearly spilling her tea. She hastily bowed her head toward the Archer. In her flustered state, she suddenly remembered the legends—Atalanta was famously Cyd's wife.
"Sit," Atalanta said, pointing at the space Rethyia had just vacated in her panic.
"Y-yes, ma'am." Rethyia scurried back onto the bench, sitting ramrod straight. Atalanta's typically stoic face gave no clue as to whether she was angry or amused.
"Don't go around ruffling a girl's hair, you oaf," Atalanta said, shooting Cyd a glare that could curdle milk. She then stepped around the bench and began deftly undoing the simple braid Rethyia's hair had been in. Her movements were quick and practiced. "It's a mess."
"Oh, you really don't have to…" Rethyia stammered, embarrassed.
"It's fine. I used to do this for the children," Atalanta said, her voice softening almost imperceptibly. She pulled a simple wooden comb from a pouch at her belt and began gently working through the tangles Cyd had created. A small, serene smile touched her lips as she focused on the task.
Cyd watched, a soft, genuine chuckle escaping him.
"What's so funny?" Atalanta muttered without looking up.
"Nothing. Just thinking I made the right choice back then. This version of you is definitely the best one." He gave her a thumbs-up.
"Tch. Don't forget, I swore to hunt you to the ends of the earth. And beyond." Atalanta's tone was flat, but there was a familiar, long-suffering affection underneath it.
"Aw, c'mon. I'm a Heroic Spirit now. Doesn't that count as 'beyond'?" Cyd said, throwing his hands up in mock despair.
"Ha. You expect me to believe that?" Atalanta retorted, finishing the braid with a final, neat tie.
Rethyia blinked, her mind snagging on the exchange. Believe what? That he's a Heroic Spirit? But he is one… Isn't he? There was an implication in Atalanta's words, a hint of a shared secret, that left her deeply confused.
She glanced sideways at Cyd, studying his profile. He looked like a Servant. He felt like one, with that faint spiritual pressure. But…
"Hm?" Cyd caught her look and tilted his head.
"N-nothing! It's nothing," Rethyia said quickly, forcing a smile.
"There." Atalanta stepped back, admiring her handiwork. The braid was neat and even, a vast improvement over the previous state.
"Thank you," Rethyia said, touched. A legendary Greek heroine had just done her hair. It was surreal.
"Just tidying up." Atalanta's demeanor shifted back to business. She turned her full attention to Cyd. "I found it."
"Knew you would. You're the best." Cyd's lazy posture vanished, replaced by a sharp focus.
"Hah. Easier than tracking a boar in mud." A hunter's pride gleamed in Atalanta's eyes.
"Found… what?" Rethyia asked, looking between them.
"Right. Rethyia, time to switch. Call Jeanne back up," Cyd said, snapping his fingers. "We've located the Black Faction's Assassin."
"Understood!" Rethyia closed her eyes. When they opened again, the clear, firm gaze of Jeanne d'Arc looked out. Her posture straightened, the weight of her duty settling back onto her shoulders.
"Knock knock. You awake in there?" Cyd tapped Jeanne's forehead lightly.
"I am quite awake, thank you," Jeanne said, swatting his hand away with a frown.
"Good. Let's move." Cyd stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. "As for Kairi… eh, it's broad daylight. Nothing's gonna jump him yet. Let him wander. He knows the plan."
He caught Kairi's eye from across the square and made a quick, subtle hand gesture—stand down, observe. Kairi gave a curt nod, crushed his cigarette under his heel, and shoved his hands in his pockets, ambling off in the direction Mordred had gone, presumably to find her before she spent his entire life savings on fried food.
"A heads-up," Atalanta said as they moved away from the public square, her voice low. "The Black Assassin's setup is… odd."
"A regular woman and a child, right?" Cyd said, examining his nails. "I caught a glimpse of them earlier. Didn't think they'd cause this much of a scene."
"A regular person?" Jeanne's brow furrowed. "That shouldn't be possible. Only a magus can supply the mana to maintain a Servant contract."
"Theoretically, anyone who forms a contract can participate. It just usually ends badly for the non-magus," Cyd explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "It also explains why Assassin's been hunting magi. Desperate times."
"To replenish mana," Jeanne concluded, her expression darkening with disgust. "Such acts are not the deeds of a hero."
"Well, the Master is letting it happen, which makes her complicit. The Master's probably got a few screws loose herself," Cyd said, cracking his knuckles. His eyes scanned the side streets and alleys as they walked, a predator's gaze. Then he stopped, his attention locking onto a narrow, grimy alley a block over. A woman with long, green hair was being shoved against the brick wall by three young men who practically had 'thug' stamped on their foreheads. "Ah. And speak of the devil. There's our Master."
In the alley, the lead thug, a scrawny guy with badly dyed blond hair, licked his lips as he crowded the green-haired woman against the damp wall. "Been watchin' you," he sneered, his voice a nasal whine. "Walkin' around all alone. You're one of those working girls, ain't ya?"
"I… I'm not…" the woman stammered, her eyes wide with a fear that seemed genuine, but somehow… flat. Like a performance.
"Ahem. Hey. Over here. Yeah, you."
The voice cut through the alley's tension. All three thugs and the woman turned. Cyd stood at the alley's entrance, hands in his pockets, a relaxed smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes.
"The hell do you want, pretty boy?" the blond thug snarled, pulling a cheap switchblade from his jacket pocket. The blade snicked open. "Get lost if you know what's good for you."
"See, here's the thing," Cyd said, rolling his shoulders. The casual motion made the tendons in his neck pop. "I've got a friend back there who's a real stickler for rules and protecting the innocent. If I let her in here, she'd give a long, boring lecture about morality that would just waste everyone's time."
He took a step into the alley. The thugs tensed.
"So consider this a mercy. I'm saving your lives." Cyd's smile turned sharp. "The medicine might taste a little bitter, though. Try not to scream too much."