The day after Artoria's soul returned to Avalon, Steve was enveloped in a vast, indescribable emptiness, heavy as deep-sea pressure. He did not mourn the abdication of the Knight King. Rather, it was an ending filled with the beauty of tragedy, a perfect final act, and as the orchestrator, he ought to feel satisfied.
And yet, that's the problem—once the grand drama ended and all the players found their places, he was left as the laziest and most bored character on the stage.
He tried living like an ordinary person.
Turning on the TV, he found a loud, meaningless variety show playing. The hosts and their guests laughed exaggeratedly at tasteless jokes. Steve watched expressionlessly for three minutes before switching it off.
He absentmindedly fetched an ancient magical tome from the Atlas Institute—a book containing the secrets of alchemy—yet found the words and incantations within utterly uninteresting.
Standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment, he looked down at the bustling city of Fuyuki and its hurried, struggling residents. Their warmth and humanity, however, were separated from him by something utterly impassable—a transparent pane of glass.
He was used to this feeling. It always arrived after accomplishing some great goal—the so-called Sage Time: a poisonous blend of satisfaction, exhaustion, and a deep, biting emptiness. A special kind of melancholy.
"So peaceful...almost unbearably so," he muttered to himself.
After spending the entire morning sitting on the sofa, Steve could take the maddening peace no longer. He changed into casual clothes and headed to the Ahnenerbe Café, located in Shinto. This legendary café, said to be a nexus connecting countless parallel worlds, was one of the rare places that made him feel extraordinary.
Pushing open the wooden door marked "Open," a sharp chime rang from the bell overhead. He was welcomed and led to a window-side seat by a strange, catlike waitress in a standard maid outfit, though she was quite short.
He ordered a black coffee—no sugar, no milk—and sat quietly, gazing outside. The afternoon sun was warm and gentle, stretching long shadows across the sidewalk. He wasn't really waiting for anyone, but it felt as if he were waiting for something—anything to break this suffocating peace.
The opportunity soon came. Steve just barely sensed a flicker of light, and when he looked again, there was already someone quietly seated at the table across from him.
It was an elegant old man, finely dressed and leaning on a staff adorned with lavish gemstones. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, a mischievous smile on his lips—a look of perpetual amusement, as if he had been sitting there all along, seeing through everything.
"Well, if it isn't our savior, enjoying his peaceful retirement after safely orchestrating the perfect conclusion to 1500 years of British family drama?"
The Second Magician, Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg—otherwise known as the Old Man of the Jewels—began, his signature tone laced with teasing. "So, after wrapping up such a disaster last month—a catastrophe on par with turning the Fourth Holy Grail War into a farce a decade ago—you're here reminiscing in a place like this instead of savoring your achievements at home?"
"But..."
He picked up the tea that had appeared beside him, taking a sip. "The ending really was beautiful—worthy of a toast over coffee."
Steve picked up his own cup, but his expression was clouded by a deep-seated melancholy totally at odds with the laid-back afternoon. He sighed—a sigh so heavy that it seemed to drop the air temperature several degrees.
"Peace...yes, peace." His voice was almost despondent. "But, Zelretch, don't you think that in a play, when the playwright crafts the perfect ending—when every actor is redeemed and all regrets resolved—it's the scriptwriter himself who becomes the most bored and worthless person in the world?"
"I've been on vacation for ten years, but... This one feels much too long."
Zelretch almost spat out his tea at the Versailles-level of this lamentation, shooting Steve a look as if he were a rare, protected animal. He couldn't help but complain, "Ha! I've lived for centuries, witnessed countless worlds rise and fall, but it's the first time I've heard of someone suffering because peace is unbearable. You really are a born troublemaker, aren't you? Couldn't go without causing mischief for even a day! Are you addicted to chaos?"
"No, you misunderstand."
Steve shook his head, the seriousness in his expression deepening. In those dark eyes was even a faint, devout light, as if searching for some ultimate truth.
"I don't like trouble. I simply...seek peace of mind. But no matter how perfect and peaceful this world appears, it's missing something I truly need. Without it, I can never attain genuine, lasting peace."
Zelretch's jeer faded, replaced by the curiosity unique to a first-rate magician. He leaned forward, clearly intrigued.
"Oh? For someone who can swat away ORT like a fly, what could possibly make you feel uneasy? I'm very curious—what is this essential thing missing from your peaceful world?"
Steve set down his coffee, straightened his collar, and sat upright. Rather than answering immediately, he fell silent, as if assembling the most precise words to explain the ultimate truth of the universe. In that moment, all the background noise in the café—the street sounds outside—seemed to vanish. Only the magus across the table endured in Steve's world, awaiting his answer.
At last, he spoke. His expression was grave, tone solemn, carrying the weight of something akin to a new, earth-shattering Magic.
"A woman who could be my mother."
Zelretch nodded, the concept apparently making sense.
"And if she were a young girl, all the better."
Now Zelretch's face was turning increasingly odd.
"In other words..."
Steve declared, as if delivering a final judgment, "someone who can unconditionally accept me, dote on me, and merge with me as both mother and lover. Someone who can ultimately fuse with my body and soul!"
...
For a moment, time itself seemed to freeze under the Second Magic. Zelretch's expression was utterly petrified. His usual easy, playful smile crumbled away, bit by bit, until only a blank, expressionless void remained.
The hand holding his teacup hung motionless in midair, as if he'd forgotten how to breathe. His gaze, accustomed to seeing through infinite parallel worlds and ceaseless cycles of causality, was now locked onto Steve, filled with unprecedented confusion and a storm of illogical turmoil.
Maternal? Young? Lover?
These seemingly unrelated words forcibly combined, forming the ultimate concept of chaos—something utterly beyond his understanding.
What...what is this? Is this a new magic theory? An alien being from the Lostbelt?
Or...could it be the ultimate distortion, born from the unfathomable depths of this man's soul—a place not even a kaleidoscope could reflect?
Clink.
The spoon Zelretch had meant to use for his tea fell silently from his hand and plopped into the cup, causing a tiny, insignificant ripple.
Yet Zelretch's face showed no reaction. It was as if he had become a statue, frozen in that instant.
On that peaceful afternoon, the Second Magician who could manipulate possibility and observe infinite parallel worlds, finally encountered an absolute possibility that even his Kaleidoscope couldn't comprehend.
PS: Lol