"I confessed, and he praised my efforts! Woo!" Okita cheered. "But three meals of pickled radish and green juice?! No way! A month of toilet cleaning?! Use my speed to finish in half a day?! Late, and I get a mountain of radish?! Nooo! I'm sick of it! Waaah!"
"I'll help, Okita-san!" Jeanne said. "The glorious founding of Chaldea's Cultural Club! Here's a Quick T-shirt for you, and an Arts T-shirt for me!"
"You won't abandon me, Jeanne-san…?" Okita sniffled. "Thank you! I'll do it! If I can stay in Chaldea, this is nothing!"
"Thus, the radiant Toilet Cleaning Club was formed," Tamamo-no-Mae mused. "Pearls before swine? Nay, a saint in the latrine? Cat's baffled."
"—Sorry, I don't know how to deal with the King of Heroes," Siegfried muttered.
"Witnessing their justice-fueled team-up was like a fish before a cat's glass heart," Tamamo said. "Poof, gone. Cat's curling up now."
"⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ (These are the children's heroes…)"
"I give thanks to fate for reuniting us," Sanson said. "Truly, you and I are bound by deep destiny."
Shing. The executioner drew a honed blade.
"After all," he continued, "to execute the same person twice. To send you on death's journey twice."
A cold smile spread across the youth's face.
"Only we could be born under such a star, don't you think, White Lily Queen?"
His eyes burned with serene—mission-driven—resolve.
Once more, your neck.
Once more, your journey.
Once more—peace through this blade.
"…Not content with her death in life, you're eager to execute her again?" Amadeus muttered bitterly.
"Seems you're truly deranged, Charles-Henri Sanson."
Charles-Henri Sanson. An executioner from a lineage of executioners, who mourned the cruelty of death and invented the guillotine for a less painful end.
Marie Antoinette's neck—he took it himself.
"To have our bond judged by the lowest of men disgusts me," Sanson said.
Quiet fury smoldered in his voice.
"You called humanity filth. Ugly," he said, raising his sword slowly. "I disagree. Humanity is beautiful, noble."
"So an executioner honors life," he continued. "With respect, we sever heads amidst their pain."
"—You, scum who can't love humanity, have no right to stand by that queen!"
"I don't need your permission," Amadeus shot back. "I'd never leave Marie, no matter who asks."
"…I see," Sanson said, shaking his head. "Expecting more than ears from you was pointless."
"Don't bother with this vile stalker, Marie," Amadeus said, stepping before her. "It's fine."
"…He's—"
"He won't touch you," Amadeus said. "Not you, who should shine. —Ah."
A self-mocking smile crossed his face.
"I wish I'd told you this when you were alive."
If I'd been there, I'd have spared you that fate.
His words carried a maddening devotion.
"Leave this creep to me," Amadeus said. "Creep versus scum, the ultimate showdown."
"Amadeus…" Marie said. "Those words, they're your…"
"No regrets, Maria," he said. "Talking with you now? That's a win."
"—Unacceptable," Sanson said. "Your very conversation with her is an unbearable offense."
"Mutual feeling," Amadeus replied. "I loathe you too, gloomy pervert execution maniac."
"What did you say…?"
"Didn't hear me, ⬛⬛⬛⬛ jerk?" Amadeus taunted. "Ears clogged with ⬛⬛⬛? My bad—shouldn't expect taste from a neck-chopping freak."
Amadeus fired the opening salvo.
"You're beyond creepy," he said. "Every woman but Marie must point and laugh: 'Virgin Sanson, the neck-chopper! When's that guillotine between your legs getting some espoir? Self-chop, maybe?'"
Sanson lunged, blade swinging—Amadeus parried with his baton.
"Shut up—!"
"Listen up, Virgin Sanson," Amadeus said. "You don't know, do you? The sound of Marie's morning water, her chewing, her lively steps in shoes."
He swung his baton, firing sonic bullets.
"The sound of her chest flattening as she lies down at noon, her gasp at a sunset, her hummed tune in the shower, her peaceful snores."
Sanson slashed the bullets away, disgust clear on his face.
"—Don't defile my Maria, you pervert!"
"You call that defilement? That's why you're a virgin," Amadeus said. "It's Marie's sounds—her life's symphony. Dream of perfect women if you want, but the only girl who doesn't ⬛⬛⬛ is Chaldea's Director, right?"
"Shut up—! I'll cut that mouth off with your head!"
Blades clashed with batons.
"What do you know of her and me?!" Sanson roared. "She never forgot grace and love, even facing execution—! Being stepped on by her shoes was my pride—! How I cherished her neck, her nape—!"
"That's why you're a ⬛⬛⬛ jerk," Amadeus shot back. "Fantasizing, stripping Maria in your head for some espoir nonsense? I do it too! Her snores clear my mind—refreshing, exhilarating!"
"She was the white lily incarnate in her execution garb—!" Sanson said. "Beautiful, sublime! I met her eyes as her head rolled—! She smiled at me—! The ultimate experience—!"
"You ⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛ freak! Your taste is peak ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛!" Amadeus roared. "Go back to the Throne, drop your pants, and ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ to Imaginary Maria in your hideout!"
They clashed, locked in a stalemate.
"Marie, Marie, Marie, Marie!" Sanson shouted. "You're unneeded, unwanted! You're in the way, an eyesore!"
"Funny, same here!" Amadeus said. "Your deranged poems are an earsore, you tasteless creep!"
"Amadeus—!"
"Lick my rear, Sanson—!"
Then—
"Enough! Glory to the Lily Crown—!"
A glass warhorse, emblazoned with the French royal crest, charged in, blowing both men away.
"Gah—?!"
"Why me too—?!"
Clatter, clatter. The glass horse's hooves rang out.
"Eh? Heehee, isn't it obvious?"
The queen laughed radiantly.
"I was so embarrassed!" she said. "My face was burning! What if Master and the others heard? Trying to make me mad? Are you? Want another trampling, both of you?"
Radiantly, the queen laughed.
"Trying to make me mad?"
"…Ah, you're truly—" Sanson began.
"It's a misunderstanding…" Amadeus groaned. "I was serious…"
Both men collapsed.
"Let's start by smashing a sandbag—Hya!"
THWACK!
"My form's off…?" Jeanne mused. "Tuck the elbows, round the shoulders…"
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