The conference room doors of Chaldea shut behind us with a cold, dry snap—formal, sterile, just like everything in this damned place. The echo spread down the overly bright white hallways, which looked more like a medical facility than an organization tasked with saving the fate of the world.
And there I was, Victor, with a smile on my face like nothing had happened, hands buried in the pockets of my worn brown trench coat that clashed beautifully with Chaldea's clean-cut aesthetic. Beside me, Markus walked with the same stiff, upright posture as always, like an old wolf pretending he still had the patience to deal with a wild pup. Spoiler: he didn't.
"I can't believe you actually said that to her…" Markus muttered, brows furrowed and jaw tight.
"Oh, come on, Markus." I rolled my eyes, sarcasm dripping from my voice like sweet poison. "I was just being honest. If Olga Marie doesn't want people to notice she looks like she just walked off a winter lingerie runway, maybe she shouldn't lean over the table like that while explaining the singularity."
Markus stopped. Just stopped. Crossed his arms and stared at me like he was one second away from drowning me in a magical containment tank.
"You interrupted the first meeting of our era. The first, Victor. Before you even knew what the hell a singularity was, before you understood a damn thing about being a Master here… you thought it was a good idea to hit on someone!"
"My name's Victor. That comes with the full package: honesty, charm, and spontaneous commentary." I shrugged with mock indifference. "Besides, that room was way too tense. Someone had to break the ice, and if no one else has the guts…"
"This is Chaldea. Not a nightclub," Markus growled and resumed walking, his steps now longer and heavier.
I followed, whistling softly, the sound of my shoes tapping against the clean vinyl floor like a mocking echo in this temple of seriousness.
Markus… Markus was way too old for this crap. Graying beard, visible scars on his hands, and eyes that had seen more Servants disintegrate than friends smile. The kind of guy still alive purely out of spite. They say he was one of the surviving magi from the fall of the First Pillar or something. I don't care. What matters is he's still here. And for some reason, he's still walking beside me.
"Dormitory?" I asked, more to break the silence than out of genuine interest.
"Hell, maybe. You just blew your shot at an official mission, Victor. You'll be lucky if they don't have you scrubbing the mana stabilizer with a toothbrush."
"Oh, come on, Markus. You know these idiots need people like me. They think numbers save the world, but sometimes it's the unpredictable that changes everything." I smirked, and he didn't even reply—just let out that usual annoyed huff.
We passed a pair of lab-coat-wearing staff. They looked at me with that perfect blend of disgust and curiosity, like I was a stray dog that wandered into a jewelry store. I winked just to annoy them.
Truth is, Chaldea can't stomach me. And I can't stand all this pomp. But in the end… they're going to need me. Because when the shit hits the fan, they'll realize singularities aren't solved with rituals and cute little formulas.
Sometimes, you need someone who breaks the rules.
And luckily—or unluckily—I'm great at that.
Ah… the taste of glory, just on the horizon.
It was almost sweet—like that first sip of cheap wine after a victory only you know is coming.
My steps dragged across Chaldea's cold, metallic halls, but my mind? It was dancing in another dimension.
I was chosen.
Not just some average Master—one of those nerds who ace the written exam and piss themselves in front of a real Servant.
No.
I was chosen by an entity. A cosmic, incomprehensible being that saw in me—in me—the kind of brilliance only protagonists have in the juiciest self-insert fanfics.
And you know what it did?
It granted me four wishes.
And I?
I used them with the kind of wisdom only the truly enlightened possess.
First: Naruto's body. Not the early one, of course. Adult Naruto. Infinite chakra, monster endurance, near-ridiculous regeneration. And the aesthetic? Hell yeah. I was now the blond of dreams. Marked face, sculpted physique, and that gaze of someone who's devoured the world and is ready for seconds.
Second: Gojo Satoru's powers. Yes. The man. The myth. The "strongest of all." Limitless, purple, blue, red, domain expansion—all of it in the palm of my hand. The power to deny any attack. To stop time with a blink. To stare down an A-rank mage and laugh in his face.
Third: Ryomen Sukuna's curses. Yeah, I was smart. Being invincible is fun… but what if I want to play? Sukuna isn't just destruction—he's domination. Pure terror. The runes, the curses, the slashes shaped like symbols tearing through space and time. That demonic king aura no one dares to challenge.
Fourth wish?
Ah… the most important one.
I wished for a Servant harem.
That's right. Laughing in fate's face. No more relying on luck or affinity. No more drooling through the glass at Artoria or pretending I wasn't checking out Tamamo's ass.
I was getting a harem.
Of course, it'd be gradual. The entity said it was "progressive," blah blah blah. So far, only old Markus came along. The guy's useful, but… gods, it's like walking next to a smoking coffin.
Three still to go.
Three chosen ones.
And honestly?
I hope the other two are women.
And not just any women. I want a gothic loli with a tsundere personality, demonic eyes, and forbidden magic. I want an onee-san in tight clothes, mature, full of secrets and questionable intentions. I want a curvy brunette with wild curls and a heavy accent.
Chaldea better watch out.
Because this whole universe?
It's already my playground.
And soon, my harem will start to take shape.
Markus can judge me with those tired soldier eyes that've seen too much.
But when Artoria calls me "Master" with that British accent and that barely-contained smile, he'll understand:
This story isn't about saving the world.
It's about becoming its god.
The Chaldea cafeteria was a spacious yet cold place—both in temperature and atmosphere. A vast white hall, tables arranged in near-mathematical lines, metallic chairs that creaked at a glance. The high ceiling and embedded spotlights gave it a clinical feel, as if even eating there was a matter of protocol. The smell? A mix of bland vegetable soup and reheated coffee. Worse than hospital food.
Markus entered first, as he always did, with that methodical step of someone in no rush for anything. He walked like a man who expected no more surprises from the world, like someone who had seen too much—and perhaps enjoyed it less than he should have.
He grabbed the electronic menu attached to the side of the table and scanned it with irritating slowness, as if choosing between brown rice and pasta with white sauce was a life-or-death decision.
I rolled my eyes and slumped into the chair with a long, drawn-out sigh, almost a silent scream.
"This is ridiculous…" I muttered, drumming my fingers on the metallic surface of the table, impatient.
I didn't come here to sit around eating lab rice and listening to the old man ponder whether he prefers grilled chicken or an omelet. Damn it. I wished for power. Conquest. Adventure.
I didn't ask to live in a resort for frustrated scientists waiting for a notification to ping. Where's the damn singularity? Where are the demons? Where are the Servants? Where's the chaos?
My gaze turned to the large monitor at the back of the cafeteria, displaying updates on the foundation's status, the temporal flow of attack lines, and data on upcoming missions. Nothing new. Just graphs. Lines. Bureaucratic phrases that made my soul yawn.
"What do you want, Victor?" Markus asked, still staring at the damn menu.
"I want someone to send me to a war, I want a Servant on my lap, and maybe… a bit of blood on my hands," I replied, bored, without taking my eyes off the ceiling.
Markus gave me a look as if I'd asked to eat gunpowder with grenades for dessert.
"…So, rice and ground beef?"
I huffed and turned away, arms crossed. Is this it? The world gave me absolute power, three overpowered anime personalities, a body sculpted by otaku gods, and... I'm sitting in a cafeteria waiting for my "turn"?
The spoon hadn't even touched the plate, and I was already fed up.
Chaldea was silent. The loudest noise was the constant hum of the central air conditioning. The voices from neighboring tables were low, whispered, as if the magi themselves were afraid to awaken fate.
But me? I just wanted something to explode. Something to finally pull me out of this unbearable boredom and remind me that I am Victor.
The protagonist. The chosen one. The king without a throne—for now.
And inside, a smile escaped me. Because I knew... all this boredom? It was just the silence before the storm.
The metallic clatter of trays being placed on the table echoed softly but served as a small relief in the sea of boredom I was drowning in. The attendant barely exchanged words with us, her eyes empty and tired like everyone else's here—as if all had already accepted that living in Chaldea meant living in suspension. No rush, no emotion.
Markus politely thanked her, taking his meticulously divided portion: white rice, stewed meat, slightly wilted vegetables, and a glass of diluted juice. Standard fare for a forty-something magus with no palate. I, of course, got the same, because he ordered for me too. Always acting like a hungover dad on a random Sunday.
"Eat up, Victor. You're like this because your hormones are making your head hot. Everything for you has to turn into some lewd act or explosion."
"Oh, sure," I rolled my eyes as I dipped the spoon into the rice, "just because I have more life energy than these mummified folks here, I'm the wrong one. This place is dreadfully boring, Markus. And this food tastes like styrofoam seasoned with sadness."
He just sighed patiently while chewing with that ever-calm look. Damn old man. It was as if nothing truly fazed him.
"You were blessed with three absurd wishes. Be careful not to die of frustration before using them properly. Everything has its time."
"'Time,' 'wait,' 'patience'... Are you sure you're not a monk, Markus? Maybe you're a disguised Servant: Class Blade of Boredom."
He didn't even respond. Just gave that old, wise smirk that irritated me more than words. But screw it, he wasn't the one I was worried about.
As I chewed, the fork dancing between my fingers, my mind wandered. And then I remembered.
Ritsuka Fujimaru.
Or rather... his absence.
I scoured the databases. Read the files with attentive eyes. Nothing. No record. No history. No mention. Ritsuka didn't exist in this Chaldea.
The standard protagonist was erased. And that could only mean one thing: I am the hero of this mess.
I smiled. Slowly. Dropping the spoon.
Without Ritsuka... the small and delightful Mash Kyrielight was completely... unprotected.
The idea floated through my mind like a perfume. Mash. That forced shyness. The robotic formality. The canned sweetness.
"Senpai, senpai!"—I could almost hear it.
She was beautiful, of course. Those lilac eyes, the hair covering her face, the thighs clad in tight black stockings, and the shield larger than her. A tank waifu. But that childish and submissive behavior was... a bit of a turn-off. Too pure. Too... glass doll.
But... nothing that a more intimate coexistence couldn't change.
Victor Kyrios, the protagonist with Naruto's body, Sukuna and Gojo's powers, and an infinite slot in the harem, was just beginning his journey.
And Mash?
Well...
She just didn't know it yet.
I slammed the cutlery down, the sound of the tray hitting the metallic table echoing loudly in the nearly empty cafeteria. I didn't even wait for the food to settle in my stomach—screw it. I didn't come to this damn world to sit around chewing tasteless puree while the rest of the world spun outside. Not when I had bigger things to do… and bigger women to conquer.
I jumped up, wiped my mouth with the sleeve of Chaldea's white coat, not caring about stains or etiquette. This ridiculous lab coat was just another laboratory costume—a cosplay of no utility. But on me? It looked good. Everything did.
"Just try not to commit a crime while I'm gone," I heard Markus grumble without even lifting his eyes from his food.
I rolled my eyes, as always. That old man had a gift for killing my vibe.
"Relax, Dad. I'm just making a social visit…"
I walked off with firm steps, hands in my pockets and a crooked smile on my face. The automatic doors slid open with that irritating psshhhht, revealing yet another one of those cold, white, overly clean corridors. Chaldea looked like a space hospital with an inflated ego — but I kind of liked it. It was like walking through a luxury sci-fi setting.
And somewhere in those halls, she would be.
Mash Kyrielight.
Just thinking about her gave me that warmth in my gut. Lilac hair, doll-like eyes, that reserved, almost flavorless demeanor… But that was just the surface. I knew it. It was only a matter of time before she realized the man standing in front of her. There was no Ritsuka Fujimaru in this world. No senpai, no "Oh, I'll protect humanity"—just me. The chosen one. The protagonist.
And she was going to be mine.
Sooner or later.
I walked. Walked like hell.
Corridor after corridor, automatic door after automatic door, the same cold white tones, the same panels glowing with bluish light. Every corner of Chaldea looked the same as the last, like I was stuck in a loop of clinical labs, with no end in sight. I went to the training room—nothing. Went to the equipment depot—just found a weirdo crouched assembling a drone, looking at me like I was a lunatic. I even checked the infirmary—shit. Still no Mash.
I came back to the cafeteria with a bitter taste in my mouth, the kind of anger that starts in your gut and climbs up, burning your throat. I looked around expecting to see Markus still fussing with his bland rice… and he wasn't even there anymore. Great. Perfect. First mission in this new world and I'm already getting ghosted by fate itself.
I leaned against a pillar in the side corridor, the artificial lights casting a thin shadow over the sterile floor. I let out a deep sigh, running my palm over my face. Damn it, why? Why does everyone in that shitty game run into Mash like she's a default NPC, and I—me, the protagonist with anime powers—am walking around like a goddamn idiot looking for her?
"This is bullshit," I muttered through my teeth.
I turned on my heel, huffing. Enough. I might have Gojo's eyes, Naruto's body, Sukuna's cursed strength… but none of that helped me locate a single girl in a building with internal GPS? What a joke. I felt like a caged animal, a starving lion forced to pace in circles while the world laughed.
"Fuck all of this."
Storming toward the dorm, nearly kicking the walls in frustration, I could feel my pulse throbbing in my ears. Inside my room, I was going to explode. Curse everything and everyone. Throw the pillow against the wall, punch the bed if needed. I'm not just some random loser dumped into this world. I was chosen. I have four damn wishes! Where the hell is my harem? Where's the heroine of my story?
These bastards will see. They'll all see.
The door slid open with a soft mechanical hiss, and Chaldea's cold, lifeless room unfolded before me like a modern tomb. There was nothing special in there—a standard bed, desk, wall-mounted monitor, built-in closet, and the constant hum of the ventilation systems. Everything in this damn place felt like a hospital. But I didn't care. The moment I stepped in, I threw myself onto the bed with a dry thud, sinking into the mattress as stiff as stone. The dingy white ceiling stared back at me, and for the first time since I arrived, I felt the weight of boredom crash down like an anvil on my chest.
"What the hell am I going to do when I drop into that F-class singularity…?" I murmured, arms folded behind my head.
Just thinking about it got my heart racing. The idea of finally being on a real battlefield, smelling gunpowder and thick mana in the air… Damn, that's what I made my wishes for. To fight. To stand out. To be the alpha in this broken world. And of course, to crush every enemy in my path—including that beautiful bitch Saber Alter. Her image invaded my mind, cold, powerful, those yellow eyes glowing like a beast's. Oh, I'd defeat her. Make her kneel. And in the end, she'd be in my arms as part of my personal empire. A fanfic? Maybe. But now, this was my life. Screw anyone who doubted it.
But of course… nothing was that simple. Because apparently, I had to wait. Wait for the other "chosen ones" to show up. That's right. Me—with Naruto's body, Gojo's power, and Sukuna's control—had to sit on my ass like a chump while they completed the bingo card of special incarnations.
"Shit," I growled, turning on my side and punching the pillow in anger. "At least let them be hot…"
Yeah, if I had to form this so-called "group," then it would be on my terms. Girls. Beautiful. Interesting. And submissive. I had plans. Plans to build more than just fame or recognition—I wanted the world in my hands. And if I had to share it with someone, they'd better be women worthy of entering my harem with honor. Gods, just don't send me another grumpy old man like Markus…
I shut my eyes tight, trying to push the irritation away. Sleep. That was it. At least time would pass. I couldn't lose my mind now, not at the start. When it all truly begins, I'll be the one on top. The protagonist. The king.
I took a deep breath. The silence wrapped around the room like a heavy blanket, and slowly, I began to sink into it. Tomorrow, maybe, the gears would start turning. And when they did… no one would stop me.
...
The door shut behind me with a dry click, muting the noise from Chaldea's outer wing. I took a few silent steps across the cold, pristine corridor floor that led back to the conference room. That place always felt too sterile to me—like any trace of personality had been scrubbed away and tossed out, just like the rest of humanity that was about to vanish. Ironic. Almost comical, if you had the right kind of morbid sense of humor.
I walked without hurry. I already knew what I'd find inside: Animusphere's voice echoing in that impatient, arrogant tone, incomprehensible data flashing across the monitors, and the anxious eyes of technicians and pseudo-magi struggling to understand what the hell they were doing. As if any of them truly grasped the weight of the words "saving humanity."
When I entered the room, the meeting was mid-presentation. Olga Marie was standing, gesturing with a blend of forced authority and barely contained irritation. There were graphs, projections, technical data on the F Singularity, distorted timelines, spiritual convergences, blah blah blah. I quietly took a seat at the back, arms crossed. No one noticed I'd returned—or if they did, they pretended not to. Better that way.
I watched everything with the detachment of a spectator at a cheap theater. Not that I doubted the gravity of the situation—the collapse of humanity's foundation, timelines falling apart, singularities tearing into the fabric of time... it was all real. The urgency was real. But that didn't mean I cared. At least not in the way they wanted me to.
I didn't come to Chaldea out of altruism. Not for patriotism, or heroism. I came because I was chosen—or maybe tossed here—by that thing. Entity. Whatever it was. Four wishes were granted to me. And I used them with logic, not emotion. I'm not like Victor—that hormone-fueled animal who only thinks about fighting, shouting, and building a harem with every digital girl he sees.
Me? I prefer to observe. Understand. See how everything fits together.
"As you all know, the F Singularity emerged in Fuyuki, Japan. Humanity's foundation begins to crumble from that point..." Olga's voice was clear, but muffled to me. More like background noise, like the buzz of an old lightbulb.
My hands rested, fingers interlaced in my lap. My eyes followed what was being projected, but my mind was far ahead. I thought about the nature of these singularities. About the rules. The patterns. About what that entity expected from us. The game was set. The pieces were being moved. And humanity? Maybe it was just the board for forces that didn't even understand the word compassion.
I sighed. Long. Silent. Internal.
It wasn't like I cared about being the hero of this story.
But if the world was going to collapse, then at least let me be on top... watching it all from above. Observing the end.
Either way, a faint smile crept across the corners of my lips.
Being one of the chosen... well, that could only mean one thing: the cycle was finally closing. That entity didn't give me those wishes by accident, and I didn't accept them out of pride or ambition. I accepted them because there was a debt. A silent promise, old as the weight of my own conscience. I owed something—or rather, he owed something. And I was the collector fate had finally given the green light to act.
Even here, seated among pseudo-magi and idealists, surrounded by advanced technology and fiery speeches about saving the world, my mind never drifted far from him. That man. That damned man. His eyes still haunted my quietest nights, like a lingering specter, judging me. As if he knew I still wasn't worthy. As if he was waiting for the moment I'd finally be strong enough to confront him. To demand back everything he took. To rip that superior look off his face with my own hands.
Yes. I was chosen. And that... that is perfect.
Having to endure Victor and the rest of the crew yet to arrive? A small price to pay. Let them come with their ridiculous dreams of power, their lust for glory and harems. They're nothing but pieces—some useful, some annoying. But all necessary. Because in the end... the board was set, and I was merely waiting for the game to begin.
And when I finally fulfill my duty... maybe then it'll stop staring at me.
The shadow that's been watching since the day it all began. That thing still testing me. Evaluating.
Let it watch all it wants.
I'm ready.
Olga's voice snapped me out of my thoughts like an obsidian blade.
"Markus, what are you still doing here? I clearly remember having expelled you along with that... other Master."
I slowly raised my eyes to her, unhurried, expressionless. Her tone carried irritation—maybe even a bit of disdain. Understandable, considering what Victor had pulled. But it wasn't directed at me. And I wasn't the kind of man who let guilt be shared unjustly.
I crossed my arms, posture straight like I was at a funeral—or a war negotiation. Then I spoke. My voice came out firm, controlled, sharp as ice.
"I'm here because I want to do my job properly." I paused just enough to let the words sink in before continuing. "I'm not interested in offending anyone, nor in playing conqueror with anyone here. I go into battles to win and come out alive, not to flirt with my superior officer."
Olga looked like she was holding back a gesture of impatience, but I went on before she could interrupt:
— "Victor is Victor. I'm not his babysitter. If he wants to play stud while humanity teeters on the edge of collapse? That's his problem. I'm too old to get involved in that kind of childishness. What matters to me is entering Singularity F, doing what needs to be done, and getting out. And if that means sitting through the briefing, then here I am."
I kept my gaze steady on her—not defiant, just transparent. Cold. Unshakable.
For a moment, silence reigned in the room. The other Masters glanced at each other, some frowning, others clearly relieved they weren't in her position—or mine. Olga stared at me as if searching for a crack in my facade, a trace of irony or sarcasm.
But there was none. Only weariness. And purpose.
Olga sighed heavily, as if the full weight of Chaldea's bureaucracy had settled on her shoulders in that very moment. She crossed her arms, looked away briefly, then met my gaze again.
— "Very well, Markus. I'll turn a blind eye... this time. But don't get used to it. There won't be a second chance."
I nodded once—no emotion, no need for unnecessary words. Her authority meant little to me—not out of arrogance, but because I'd lived long enough to know that empty orders and threats are the food of fragile egos. I would respect her command because duty demanded it. But her approval? I didn't want it, nor was I looking for it.
— "Understood." My voice came out low, almost lifeless, like dry wind sweeping over ancient graves.
She returned to the front of the central table, reorganized a few holographic documents with a swift gesture, and raised her voice for everyone present:
— "Masters, the meeting is over. Proceed immediately to the teleport chamber. Final adjustments have been completed and Singularity F is stable... for now."
A low murmur stirred among the other Masters. Some looked nervous. Others, excited at the idea of adventure. Many didn't grasp the true weight of the mission—they still thought they were in a game where victory was all that mattered. I knew better.
I stood from the chair, joints cracking softly as I moved. Adjusting my dark coat, I took one last look at the young, hopeful faces around me. They didn't yet know that on the other side of the portal, hope was a luxury. And illusions were traps.
I walked toward the hallway without looking back. My destination wasn't in that room. It lay on the other side of the singularity. Where my past waited... along with a debt that would one day be paid in blood and silence.
I left the conference room without hurry, but with eyes sharp as a blade buried in raw flesh. The white corridor ahead of me stretched like a surgical tube—sterile, cold... and boring. The whole place reeked of that clinical atmosphere, that damn spotless perfection that made me think of everything except home. And still, the thought forming in my mind disgusted me more than the mission itself: I had to go fetch Victor.
I sighed with resignation. The irony wasn't lost on me. We were on the verge of diving into the world's downfall, and here I was, stuck dragging a damned dog in heat to the goddamned teleport chamber. Because of course, he was probably wandering the halls, sniffing around some girl like an animal driven purely by instinct... and I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what he was.
Victor didn't think. He reacted. A mixture of inflated ego and a libido that bordered on pathological—he was like a teenager who believed the world existed to feed his desire. A narcissistic idiot who thought the universe owed him a harem just because he got lucky enough to be chosen by some deranged entity. A dog. An animal with no idea where to channel his energy besides between the legs of whoever was most convenient.
And me, of course, I was the one stuck putting the leash back on.
— "If only he had a shred of composure..." I muttered, striding decisively through Chaldea's corridors. "But no, of course not. That would be asking too much."
I could already picture it: him lying in bed, maybe hugging his pillow, daydreaming about Mash, Saber Alter, or whatever other name could get the blood rushing to his head... the lower one, naturally.
The most irritating part of all this? I knew Victor had power. He really had received absurd gifts from that entity. Naruto's body, Sukuna's and Gojo's powers? If he used even a tenth of that intelligently, he'd be an unmatched force in the singularities. But no—he preferred to use every drop of his potential chasing skirts and feeding his ego.
And now I had to deal with it. Because no matter how much the world crumbles... there's always someone who has to go retrieve the damned wild card in the equation. And today, by luck or misfortune, that someone was me.
Chaldea's corridors seemed to stretch on forever as I walked, each step echoing through the sterile, silent architecture. The cold lights buzzed softly overhead, casting pale shadows on the white walls, and everything seemed designed to amplify my impatience. I passed control rooms, auxiliary halls, the occasional technician who barely looked at me—each too absorbed in their tasks to notice the grumpy old man hunting down a reckless idiot.
Nothing. No sign of the bastard.
Each hallway crossed, each room glimpsed confirmed what I already suspected: Victor was doing nothing useful. Not in the labs, not in the training areas, not even the library. Of course not. That would be asking too much of someone whose top priority was rating the quality of every pair of hips he passed by.
Frustration settled like a tight knot at the base of my neck. I took a deep breath and muttered to myself, as if trying to exorcise the impatience:
— "Where the hell did you run off to, you damn animal...?"
That's when the obvious hit me. His room. Where else would he be if not in his comfort zone, far from responsibility, probably drowning in some pathetic fantasy of conquest or hollow glory?
I changed my route with determined steps, crossing the corridors until I reached the dormitory wing. Each door was identical, marked by a number and a small screen displaying the occupant's name. When I reached Victor's room, I didn't even need to check the ID.
From inside, a faint, muffled snore already gave away what awaited me.
I tapped the panel on the door — it slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing the interior of the room. Simple, functional… and there he was. Sprawled on the bed like a dog thrown into the middle of a summer heatwave, one arm dangling off the mattress, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The sheets were crumpled, and on the nightstand lay a tablet still lit, showing a frozen screen of some pin-up image of a Servant.
Typical.
The expression on his face was serene, almost satisfied, as if he were dreaming of some imaginary conquest or carnal feast with characters he never even deserved to speak the names of. A short, dry laugh escaped my throat. It was unbelievable.
I crossed my arms, watching him for a few seconds before grumbling, deep:
— "Victor."
Nothing.
I stepped closer, now with the voice of the last authority I had left — like a worn-out father waking up his problematic son who missed the bus.
— "Wake up, you bastard. We're heading to Singularity F. Or would you rather miss the grand parade of women just because you're too tired from jerking off in your dreams?"
The provocation was intentional. Maybe it was the only language that animal understood.
— "My harem of Saber Faces…"
The words slipped from Victor's lips in a dreamy whisper, dragged out between lazy, unconscious breaths. The tone was so deeply satisfied, so cheesy and vulgar, it made my spine crawl — and not in a good way. For a second, I thought I'd misheard. That my mind was playing a cruel trick on me.
But no. He had actually said that.
I stood there, in the doorway, staring at that aberration of a human being, his head buried in the pillow with a dumb smile on his face, probably clinging to some indecent mental image involving Artoria, Nero, or however many alternate versions of the same sword-wielding medieval princess. His hands even twitched slightly in his sleep, as if caressing something. Or someone.
I brought my hand to my face, pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. The headache began to manifest right there, in the temple. An irritating, growing throb, as if the universe were punishing me for being sober and lucid in that moment. I sighed so heavily the walls must've felt the weight of it.
— "No. There's no way I'm hearing this shit," I murmured, my voice dragging like a lament. "No way a guy like this was chosen."
God, how I wanted to wrap my hands around that brat's throat and squeeze until the only thing leaving his mouth was eternal silence. And then… dump the body in some remote farm, feed it to the pigs, let nature do the dirty work. Those animals would make better use of his carcass than the world ever had.
But of course, I couldn't. I just couldn't.
Because if Victor died… I'd go with him. Just like the other chosen ones. Damn connection, damn stupid interdependence rule between pillars. Like we were parts of the same infernal engine, linked by this bullshit system nobody even explained properly. A greater plan that forced me to coexist with a horny, narcissistic, and absurdly lucky teenager.
— "Fucking connection," I growled through my teeth, running a hand through my graying hair. "Fucking world, fucking mission…"
I looked down again. Victor let out another stupid sigh, murmuring something unintelligible about "bath calendars" and "bikini Mordred."
I'm going to die of shame before I die in the field.
I approached the bed, eyes cold as steel. Time to wake the bastard up by force. If I was going to hell, he was going awake.
I took a deep breath. So deep my lungs seemed ready to give up. The kind of sigh not born of fatigue, but of absolute resignation. I slowly raised my hand, like a dramatic actor about to reenact the death of a Greek hero — or a dignified man who had the misfortune of sharing reality with a hormonal idiot.
— "Fucking hell," I muttered softly, almost a lament. "This is what I've become… a babysitter for a wanker in an isekai."
My fingers closed into a fist, and for a moment I wondered if it was morally defensible to punch someone while they slept. I decided it was. Very. And then I brought my fist down.
The thud was solid. A muffled thwack that echoed like classical music to my ears. Victor jolted, eyes wide, mouth open, as if waking from an erotic dream straight into Vietnam.
— "WAKE THE FUCK UP, VICTOR!" I bellowed, my throat burning with rage. "AND STOP JERKING OFF IN YOUR WET DREAMS, YOU DEGENERATE!"
He groaned like a puppy kicked off the bed, hands covering his face, completely disoriented. It gave me a mixture of disgust and relief. He was still breathing — unfortunately.
— "Get your ass out of that bed now, before I throw you out the fifth-floor window and tell Olga you tried flying to the Saber Faces' harem!"
Yeah, I was pissed. Pissed like never before. I wasn't dragged into this world just to deal with a narcissist with the libido of a rabbit. We were about to be thrown into a corrupted timeline, possibly facing creatures that could deform a man's mind… and he was sleeping, dreaming about tits.
If I could, I'd bury this kid today. But I couldn't. Because if he died, I died too. Spiritual connection, soul bond, contract with an entity — all that bullshit. The irony of depending on this imbecile's survival was so bitter I could taste rust in my mouth.
I sighed again.
"Get dressed, you idiot. Singularity F is waiting for you. And unfortunately, so am I."
I turned slowly, as if even my body was tired of sharing the same air as him. I took a few steps toward the bedroom door, but before leaving, I stopped at the threshold, my hand resting on the frame as if it were the only thing keeping me from crossing into a less deplorable reality. I turned my face over my shoulder and shot Victor a cold look—sharp as a freshly honed dagger.
"Oh, and one more thing, you walking jerk-off machine..."
My voice came out dry, controlled, almost low—the kind of tone that precedes a real threat.
"If you don't get your sorry ass ready and drag that carcass of yours to the teleportation room, I swear on my bound soul I won't hesitate to annihilate every single Servant you summon."
My eyes locked onto his, still puffy with sleep and pain. I wanted him to understand—to feel the seriousness in my words as if they carried actual weight.
"I don't care if it's Saber, Lancer, or some alternate bikini-clad version of Jeanne D'Arc. I'll tear them apart. One by one. With a surgeon's precision and an executioner's coldness."
I exhaled lightly through my nose, the kind of breath that follows after stating an uncomfortable truth, and finished:
"So move your ass before I decide to hand you over to Olga as an apology gift... whole or in pieces, I don't care."
And then I left. Without looking back. The sound of the door closing behind me was like music: brief, sharp, and necessary.
Each step I took through Chaldea's cold corridors felt like a hammer striking the last bit of patience I had left—which, frankly, wasn't much. The echo of my boots resonated off the white, sterile walls like a war drum, and I could barely control the grinding of my clenched jaw. I wasn't walking. I was marching. With anger, with disdain, and with a growing urge to send everything to hell.
The cold LED lights cut through the silent atmosphere like blades. Around me, technicians and other Masters avoided eye contact, sensing the weight of my presence—or maybe they just didn't want to cross paths with a man whose expression was carved from stone and whose eyes seemed to spit molten lead. The negativity I radiated could probably be measured in degrees Celsius.
Goddamn... I was chosen. Me, Markus. Not to babysit some horny teenager with an anime complex, but to fulfill a mission. A duty. A debt that's haunted me for too long, embedded in my soul like a curse. And now I'm here, surrounded by idiots thrown onto this board like it's some kind of dating sim with armored waifus.
I wondered if Olga and the others had any idea of the trash they accepted for this mission. With every corridor I crossed, the urge to turn around and return with Victor's head under my arm grew stronger—but no, not now. First, the mission. Then the reckoning.
I approached the teleportation chamber like a thunderclap made flesh. If that machine didn't tear me apart on the way, maybe the Singularity would get lucky... Because if it's up to me, I'll leave it with what I came for—even if I have to trample allies or Servants to get it.
The ground trembled beneath my feet with sudden and brutal force, as if an invisible giant had punched Chaldea's foundations. I barely had time to react—the blast followed immediately after, muffled and guttural, and then the entire world lost balance.
I was thrown against the wall like a rag doll, my back scraping the cold metal before sliding to the floor. A sharp ringing settled in my ears, muffling everything for a few seconds, like sound had been sucked from existence. The corridor, once lit in that sterile, clinical white, flickered once, twice—and then plunged into a deep, pulsing crimson. It was as if blood had dripped into the lights.
My breathing was heavy, and my hand scrambled for support against the trembling floor. The metallic taste of rage in my mouth now mixed with dust and the sour bite of fear. Then I heard footsteps—rushed, familiar—echoing down the hall, striking the metal with youthful panic.
"Markus?!" Victor's voice rang out, shrill—more from shock than actual concern, I'd bet. "What the hell was that?!"
He appeared in front of me, hair disheveled, chest heaving. His eyes scanned the surroundings with that typical restlessness of someone who never thinks before acting. His shirt was wrinkled, clearly thrown on in a rush. Of course.
I didn't respond right away. I got to my knees, brushing dirt off my gloves, and only then looked up at him. The red light cast harsh shadows across Victor's face, amplifying the exaggerated panic he wore. But deep in his eyes, one thing was clear: even that idiot could tell this wasn't just a false alarm or an electrical glitch.
Chaldea was under attack.
And that... that changed everything.
My hands were still trembling, but instinct drove me now. I didn't even look at Victor when he opened his mouth—willful ignorance is a skill I'd honed over the years. Silently, muscles tensed, I moved down the corridors bathed in that nauseating crimson light. With every step, the smell of smoke and scorched metal grew stronger, and my stomach twisted—not from fear, but from anticipation. Something had happened. Something not even Olga or the techno-mages in that damn control room had foreseen.
I reached the heavy door to the teleportation room, the surrounding structure creaking with a deep, constant groan. Like a wounded beast on the verge of collapse. I planted both hands on the steel, braced my feet, and pushed hard. The handle cracked and the door groaned open, like I had just ripped open the gates to a personal hell.
And that's exactly what I saw.
The smell hit me first—burnt flesh, dust, plasma still crackling in suspended sparks. The room, once Chaldea's most advanced, had become a metallic graveyard. The inner walls had collapsed, ceiling panels crushed consoles and… people. Masters. Too young, too arrogant, too confident in protocols and automated systems. Twisted bodies among the rubble, hands outstretched as if they had tried to grasp salvation seconds before the collapse. The floor was stained a dark, viscous red.
But my eyes locked onto the center of the room. Amid the chaos, partially buried under beams and debris, lay a motionless figure. Part of the ceiling had crushed her with cruel precision, leaving only her upper half exposed. It was a girl—wine-colored hair, eyes half-closed and a trembling eyelid. Her left hand still gripped the handle of that strange weapon she always carried—that ridiculous shield.
I didn't recognize her at first. But the desperate scream beside me nearly deafened me.
"MASH!!!"
Victor ran like a wounded animal, his erratic steps kicking shards of glass and metal. The sound of his voice dissipated, swallowed by the heavy silence of destruction. He dropped to his knees beside her, trembling hands trying to clear the wreckage as if digging through his own soul. Her name escaped his lips again and again, as if repeating it could stop the inevitable.
I didn't move.
I just stared. At the carnage, at Victor's despair, at the girl's lifeless gaze, at the total destruction of our only operational hope for transportation to the Singularities. The world might've been falling apart, but all I could think was: we're out of time.
And worse: this wasn't an accident.
My thoughts were abruptly cut off.
A mechanical, soulless voice echoed through the corridor's sound system—cold, metallic, almost mocking in its neutral tone:
"A contract between Master and Servant has been established. Teleportation to the Singularity initiated."
For a moment, everything stopped. Even Victor froze, fingers still digging into the concrete around the girl. My eyes locked onto the lights, now flashing with greater intensity, as if some ancient force had awoken within the damaged systems.
A contract...? With who? Mash was half-buried. The other Masters—dead. And Victor... that insatiable bastard... he wouldn't have formed a contract in the middle of this chaos. Would he?
I slowly turned to him, and even before I could ask, I saw it—an idiotic glint of satisfaction in his eyes, mingled with shock. He knew something. Or had felt it. His connection to the spiritual plane must have activated—that warm presence some describe when forming a pact.
And then... a new light filled the room. A golden beam, cutting through dust and blood with an almost divine glow. The air shimmered, and I felt it... true magic.
My jaw clenched.
Shit. Someone just got thrown in.
And that could only mean one thing:
Another chosen had arrived.
Everything around me began to vibrate.
First, the sound—a low hum that seemed to come from inside my skull, like space itself was groaning. Then the sensation: an electric shiver climbed my spine, racing through every nerve with a sharp urgency that made me grit my teeth. My feet left the ground. Literally.
The weight of my body vanished. Dissolved. As if I were being ripped from reality by invisible threads that once tethered me to this world. A white light surged like a blast, consuming everything—the ruined ceiling, the blood, the rubble, even the half-buried form of the girl.
There was no sound. No floor. No more Chaldea.
Only blinding whiteness... and that familiar void. I already knew. I knew exactly what was waiting for me on the other side.
Singularity F.
A corrupted replica of Fuyuki City, where the flame of history had been tampered with, where heroic spirits went mad, and where the very order of the world shattered into fragments of war and suffering.
And that's where I was going.
The weak die there. The foolish, too.
But me... I have a score to settle.
And hell is a damn good place to start.