The air inside the hangar retained a cold, immaculate atmosphere unique to precision industries, yet the air between the two people had subtly changed.
Steve's eyes glinted sharply—the awe that emerged when the first wave of shock had receded. Sion still looked at him, at the red iron giant called Sazabi, but the pure thirst for knowledge in the Atlas alchemist's eyes was now shrouded by a thick haze of alienation.
It wasn't hard to understand. Only minutes ago, Sion had summoned an unknown Caster—perhaps a familiar with whom she could communicate as an equal, perhaps even command tactically. But now, what stood before her was the Supreme Commander, someone who possessed unimaginable technology and could, if desired, annihilate terrestrial civilization with an army of machines. And so, unconsciously, she stepped back half a pace, finding herself in the position of one who is in awe rather than an equal.
Watching her slightly hesitant profile, complex emotions welled up in Steve's heart—a mixture of nostalgia, bitterness, and an indescribable sense of self-deprecation.
Theoretically, removing this barrier would be quite simple. As someone apt in both cosmic magecraft and Caster qualifications, he could—with a mere gesture—revert his soul to its origin, cast a simple memory-reversal spell, and directly project into her mind the experiences of two people from another parallel world—where they met, got to know each other, fell in love, and ultimately shared their lives together, like a holographic film.
If that switch were flipped, Sion would instantly understand everything. She would know he wasn't an unapproachable ruler from another dimension, but the husband who once covered her with his coat at midnight and, together in the large bed of a space station dorm, would look out at the starry sky beyond. It would be efficient, convenient, even romantic.
But he didn't want to do so—and found himself unable to.
If before him stood a person like Emiya Shirou, Tohsaka Rin, or a pure ally or comrade in arms like Artoria, he might have used his intellectual advantage to win trust without hesitation. But facing Sion—a reflection of the very woman who spent a lifetime as his wife—he found himself unable to press play button.
Because the Sion before him was not the Sion he once knew.
His wife, once a candidate for the 27 Dead Apostle Ancestors, had witnessed the cruelty of the Tsukihime world, was forcibly dragged back to the Fate timeline to spend her remaining days with him, and then passed away quietly at the end of that parallel world's history.
Now, before him stood a stranger with the same name, same appearance, and even a similar soul frequency—but still, a stranger.
And even now, was he truly Steve?
After all, being a Heroic Spirit—a servant—was an inherently tragic and complex concept: a crystallization of humanity's collective unconscious, fixed and shaped by Alaya, further colored and overwritten by the legends and beliefs of the future, until they became idols. Servants descending into this world were mere projections—containers that could be replaced or reset at any time. Even if incarnated with flesh and old memories, could that continuity truly count as real?
If a bolt of lightning in a swamp produced a being with precisely the same atomic structure, memories, personality—even hobbies and preferences—as you, would that really be you?
That's why Ozymandias, the Sun King was dissatisfied even when summoned. For a Pharaoh of such overpowering pride, to be summoned—fragmented, restricted, even distorted—and acknowledge that as his true self was an unbearable humiliation. He understood keenly that his real self might have been forgotten in the glories of the age of gods, or was perhaps reigning forever as king of the underworld. The shadow descending as a servant was only playing the part of Ramses II.
Steve, unlike that Pharaoh, was not quite so obsessive about spiritual purity; he didn't entirely reject this mode of existence. But if he were to turn this game into one where he forcibly shoehorned a woman with an independent mind into the role of his widow, or tried to make her fall for a ghost that never existed in her memories—he simply couldn't cross that line.
She had the right to make her own choices. Her life was her own—not a footnote in some parallel world's love story. He was never arrogant enough to think that, just because she was his wife in one world, every Sion in all parallel worlds should belong to him.
And then…
Steve's gaze shifted slightly. The wry smile that had been tinged with philosophical depth suddenly betrayed a very human expression—one tinged, even, with faint guilt.
Even if his counterpart was truly talented—fully able to grasp all truth by herself, and truly wished to reconcile and bridge the world—he found himself in a slightly awkward situation.
After all, he was reborn with selfish motives clear as day. His life had been up and down, but could still be considered happy and fulfilling. Yet, as a man with sound and unique aesthetics, he had always felt an irrepressible sense of regret within—that is, he harbored a nearly obsessive attraction to the Motherly young attribute!
Those petite, cute girls—a soft bud of a flower, radiating an enveloping maternal warmth—were both comforting to the eye and made people want to treasure them.
Having missed miracles in his past life for various reasons, now, walking his second life as a servant, should he remain dutifully shackled to those old vows?
No! Absolutely not!
On this matter, he had to side with Gawain, that Knight of the Round Table. Known as the Charming Prince, yet remarkably down-to-earth, Gawain once said, "Life is life; death is death."
A deeply profound truth indeed!
With a new existence, to seek fresh encounters and find one—or more—ideal partners befitting his experience, to be gently nurtured by a petite motherly figure… Surely, this was a benefit all Heroic Spirits should enjoy! This was not cheating—this…this was an exploration of possibilities! It's like a sticker!
Realizing this, Steve's philosophical gloom instantly turned into the resolve of a gentleman. He looked at the slightly reserved Sion before him and adjusted his expression, striving to appear not like some weird uncle plotting a dubious XP Project, but as the unfathomably wise and reliable Supreme Commander of the Federation.
He gave a small cough, finally breaking the heavy silence of the hangar. Turning his back on the enormous red machine, he reverted to his usual warm, inscrutable smile. Yet, if one looked closely this time…perhaps, deep in his eyes, a sliver of guilt could still be discerned.
"What's the matter, Master?"
"Are you staring at me because the paint job on this machine is too flamboyant? Or is it…?"
He leaned forward a little, asking with gentle encouragement,
"Is there anything else you want to confirm—about my Noble Phantasm as a Rider, or perhaps… my somewhat unusual origin story?"
"You can ask freely during our free time."
He had to steer the conversation away from serious topics like technological strategies. So long as feelings and past lives were not discussed, he was undefeatable.
…