Extra's Stories

Opening his eyes again, Fate found himself lying in Raven's room. His eyes narrowed toward the mirror in the room, and he saw his blue eyes reflected in it. Getting up, he looked at his reflection.

'Start.'

Invariable stats

Intelligence 10/10

Tenacity 10/10

Luck 10/10

Charisma 10/10

Resistance 9.6/10

Avalon: Active 55%

Curses/Blessing

-Fairy Queen Link-

"Tch."

Fate scowled as he projected Rule Breaker into his hand and jabbed it into his chest, attempting to sever his link with Morgan. The enchanted dagger flared with its usual dispelling energy—but no matter how many times he stabbed, slashed, or even tried to rip the bond apart, the link kept reappearing as if mocking his efforts.

His lips curled into a frown. "How annoying." He let out a long sigh before dismissing the dagger in a burst of light. There was no use fighting it now.

With a flick of his wrist, a fresh set of clothes materialized over his body, replacing the tattered remains of his previous attire. Without wasting another second, he turned on his heel and walked toward the exit.

As he stepped outside the room, his gaze landed on the Titans—partying.

Cyborg was laughing loudly, flipping a batch of French toast on a griddle. Starfire excitedly hovered beside him, holding up a bottle of gravy and peanut butter, much to Beast Boy's exaggerated horror. The green shapeshifter was waving a plate of tofu bacon in protest.

"C'mon, Star! You can't put peanut butter on French toast—it's sacrilege!"

"Nonsense, friend Beast Boy! On Tamaran, we combine the most delicious of flavors for maximum enjoyment!"

Fate smirked at the scene. They hadn't noticed him yet.

Good.

He turned to leave.

"Are you really going to leave without saying goodbye?"

A familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.

Fate didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Raven. And judging by the awkward silence, the rest of the Titans were failing miserably at hiding behind the corner, eavesdropping.

Slowly, he turned back, his gaze locking onto Raven's deep violet eyes.

"Well, I didn't want to ruin the mood," he said, his voice carrying its usual laid-back tone. "And I've already overstayed my welcome."

Raven frowned, her expression softening as she stepped closer. Without a word, she pulled out a Titans Communicator and then, to his surprise, held out the red gem containing Trigon as well.

"Don't say that," she said, her voice gentle yet firm. "You're always welcome here. Just... make sure to visit us again, okay?"

For a moment, Fate simply stared at her.

Then, with a small smirk, he took the communicator and the gem from her hand. "No promises, but sure. If I ever end up back here, I'll drop by."

Raven smiled—genuinely, warmly.

He gave her a final nod. "Anyway, take care. Adios."

Without another word, he activated [Realm Walker], his body distorting into a ray of shifting light before vanishing into another world.

As Fate emerged into a new world, a strange sensation washed over him—a connection.

Something… familiar.

But before he could dwell on it, his instincts flared.

Blades. Incoming.

His body reacted faster than his mind.

Install

In an instant, power surged through his body as he activated his Saber Class—Senji Muramasa. Molten steel burned at his fingertips, shaping into a blade as he swung, effortlessly parrying the incoming attack. Sparks scattered through the night as his weapon clashed against a pair of black daggers.

The attacker skidded back, light-footed despite the heavy black armor encasing her frame. She wore a metal leaf hat, her presence veiled in shadow—an assassin.

She narrowed her eyes. "A Servant? But how!? The Holy Grail War already has seven participants! There shouldn't be another!"

Fate barely heard her words. The moment their weapons clashed, the feeling intensified.

A connection.

Someone—behind him.

His eyes flickered to the side, his senses sharpening.

The assassin clicked her tongue. "Tch. Damn it…" She took a step back, then—vanished into spirit form. Gone.

Fate exhaled. His grip on his sword relaxed, though his mind churned with new information.

'A Holy Grail War…? Just perfect. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.'

With a slow turn, he finally faced the one who summoned him.

And he froze.

A high school girl.

She sat beneath the moonlight, bathed in silver glow. Her uniform—a blue sailor outfit secured by a red ribbon—ruffled slightly in the night breeze. Wide teal eyes stared back at him, filled with shock, wonder, and the lingering remnants of a summoning ritual. Her wheat-colored bangs framed her delicate face, and a single ahoge swayed gently over her forehead.

And there—on the back of her left hand—glowed a fresh Command Seal.

The red markings twisted into a spinning storm, pulsing with arcane energy.

Fate's breath hitched. This girl. This world.

Of all places… of all possible realities, he had landed here.

'What are the chances?'

A dry chuckle nearly escaped his lips. The irony wasn't lost on him.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her.

At the girl who had, in a way, brought him into the world of Visual Novels.

A rare wave of nostalgia settled over him.

Slowly, he exhaled. His blade dissipated into nothingness, his clothes shifting back to normal. Then, with deliberate calm, he spoke.

"Servant, Changer."

His voice carried a steady, almost solemn tone.

Then, meeting her wide-eyed gaze, he asked:

"I ask of you…"

A pause.

A small, knowing smirk touched his lips.

"'Artoria Pendragon'… are you my Master?"

Earlier that day

For most people, an ordinary life is something easily taken for granted. But for a select few—it's a privilege.

Under the bright blue sky, a high school girl sprinted down a narrow street in the Fuyuki area.

She wore a blue sailor uniform, neatly secured with a red ribbon, and a matching skirt that ended mid-thigh. Her deep teal eyes reflected the fading daylight, framed by wheat-colored bangs and a stubborn ahoge that swayed with each hurried step.

She wasn't just an ordinary girl.

But right now? She desperately wanted to be.

She sighed, slowing to a stop as she rounded a corner—only to come face-to-face with a group of delinquents loitering near her home.

Her breath hitched.

'Okay, okay. Play it cool.' She reminded herself, straightening her posture. This was different. She was trying to change. She stepped forward, raising a hand in greeting.

"Hey—"

"I-It's the Lion of Fuyuki!"

The entire group froze at the sight of her. A girl near the front stumbled, tripping over herself in panic before her friends scrambled to pull her back to her feet. A few already looked seconds away from bolting.

Arturia's expression stiffened.

Her hand instinctively drifted toward the wrapped katana she carried against her shoulder—a habit she'd developed as a dedicated member of Homurahara's kendo club.

"Oi." Her voice came out a little sharper than intended, her irritation seeping through.

"What's this 'Lion of Fuyuki' nonsense? I'm just an ordinary girl, right?"

There was an almost hopeful edge to her words. She could feel the dampness of her own clammy palms as she gripped the hilt of her sword.

But the only response she got was silence.

Then—one of the delinquents, a boy she vaguely remembered, pointed a trembling finger at her.

He was the same guy who'd once tried to pick a fight with her. Unfortunately for him, she had mistaken it for a challenge rather than a threat—and proceeded to systematically annihilate him.

She never saw him again after that.

Until now.

"Run! She's playing mind games!"

Pure chaos erupted.

The group shoved and trampled over each other, scrambling to escape as if she were a wild beast about to pounce.

Arturia reached a desperate hand toward them. "No, wait! Whhhyy!?"

Naturally, no one listened.

Passing bystanders gawked at the scene. A few schoolgirls standing nearby watched in awe, eyes sparkling with admiration.

"How manly…" one of them whispered.

Arturia froze.

Her heart sank.

'Manly? No. No, no—NOT AGAIN!'

The words hit her like a sword to the gut. Her lips pursed, brows crinkling as a wave of existential dread settled over her.

She wanted to curl up in a corner and wilt.

Her name was Arturia Pendragon, daughter of Gawain, and sister to Lancelot, Kay, and her younger brother Bedivere.

She was serious. Too serious.

She tackled all challenges as if facing a sworn enemy, which often put her at odds with Kay, whose playful antics drove her insane.

But more than anything—she had come to a painful realization.

She was seen as more of a "man" than a girl.

And it wasn't just the rumors or the ridiculous nickname. Lancelot—ever the sensible one—had once pulled her aside and gently pointed it out.

"At this rate, Arturia… You're going to scare away any future husband."

She had scoffed at the time. But now, standing there, watching a group of delinquents run for their lives, hearing random girls call her 'manly'—

She felt like she was losing a battle she didn't even know she was fighting.

Because in the eyes of Fuyuki City—

She wasn't a high school girl.

She was the Lion of Fuyuki.

A "manly man" who never backed down from a challenge.

A girl whose soft, delicate beauty vanished the moment she picked up a sword.

Covering her face with her hands, Artoria slumped her shoulders.

"I have to get to school." She mumbled weakly, her voice muffled by her palms.

Was it really too much to ask for a normal life?

Just an ordinary girl—going to an ordinary school—leading an ordinary day. Was that truly so impossible?

The world, apparently, thought so.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and pushed forward, shaking off the lingering embarrassment from earlier.

She was just a simple girl who enjoyed sword practice. What was so extreme about that?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

With that small reassurance, she resumed her path toward Homurahara Academy, ignoring the lingering stares of onlookers still buzzing about the earlier scene.

The day had only just begun, and she had no time to waste.

The large, traditional structure of Homurahara Academy loomed ahead, its distinct architecture standing as a pillar of history and discipline in the city of Fuyuki. Students were already pouring through the gates, chatting, yawning, and groaning about another school day.

Artoria, however, kept a brisk pace, avoiding any unnecessary interactions. Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag as she walked through the campus, her eyes flicking from student to student.

Some whispered as she passed, others gave her respectful nods, and a few first-years stared in awe.

She had long since learned to ignore it.

"Morning, Artoria!"

A cheerful voice broke through her thoughts, forcing her to stop.

Standing before her was Taiga Fujimura, her English teacher and unofficial club supervisor. The woman's carefree expression and infectious energy made her one of the most beloved figures in the school.

Artoria exhaled. "Good morning, Fujimura-sensei."

Taiga grinned. "Not scaring any students today, are you?"

Artoria twitched. "…No."

The older woman chuckled, patting her shoulder before heading off to terrorize some unsuspecting students about unfinished homework.

Ignoring the light snickers of students who overheard, Artoria made her way inside.

Stepping into the classroom, Artoria immediately felt the weight of her reputation settle over her.

The moment she entered, several students flinched, some sat up straighter, and a few averted their gazes entirely. She sighed.

The seat near the window in the third row was hers. She set her bag down, removed her textbook and notebook, and waited for class to begin.

Her teacher—an elderly man with a deep appreciation for poetry and prose—strode into the room, beginning the lesson.

Today's topic was Shakespearean Tragedies.

Artoria listened attentively, scribbling down meticulous notes, but every so often, her mind drifted.

Hamlet. Macbeth. Othello.

Tragic figures bound by duty, ambition, and fate.

Her hand tightened slightly around her pen.

Did she relate to them? Maybe a little. But unlike them, she refused to be doomed by expectations.

When the bell rang, signaling lunch, Artoria quickly packed her things.

She already knew how this would go.

While other students gathered in groups, laughing and chatting, she found her way to her usual spot—a quiet area on the rooftop where few dared to go.

Unwrapping her bento, she calmly ate her meal, appreciating the solitude.

It wasn't that she disliked company… It was just that most students either feared her or treated her like some kind of mythical warrior.

"Manly…"

She nearly choked on a rice ball.

Damn it.

Pushing away the annoying memory, she focused back on her food, mentally preparing for the rest of the day.

The sound of wooden swords clashing echoed through the Kendo Dojo. The scent of sweat and polished wood filled the air.

Artoria stood in the center, her form impeccable, her focus unwavering.

Her opponent—a third-year boy known for his strength—was panting heavily, struggling to keep up.

With a final, decisive strike, Artoria disarmed him, sending his shinai flying across the room.

The room fell into silence.

Then—cheers erupted.

"She's insane…"

"She didn't even break a sweat!"

"As expected of the Lion of Fuyuki…"

Artoria sighed, rubbing her temple.

She wasn't trying to show off. She was just doing her best.

As the club wrapped up for the evening, she grabbed her towel and water bottle, wiping away the light sheen of sweat.

The sun was already setting, casting an orange glow over the dojo.

She exhaled. Another long day was over.

Leaving the school grounds, Artoria walked through the now empty streets, her steps slow and measured.

Tomorrow would be the same. The whispers, the admiration, the distance between her and others…

But still—she would keep moving forward.

Because, no matter what the world thought of her—

She was just Artoria.

And that was enough.

The sun had already set by the time Artoria made her way home. The once golden hues of the evening sky had given way to the deep blues of twilight, casting long shadows along the streets.

She would have arrived much sooner—if not for the small group of delinquents who thought numbers would give them an advantage over the so-called 'Lion of Fuyuki.'

Unfortunate for them.

Rather than being intimidated, Artoria welcomed the challenge. Excitement burned in her veins, and before they even realized what was happening, she had already gone all out on them.

One by one, they fell—knocked down, disarmed, or sent scrambling for safety.

By the end of it, the group was in full retreat, tails between their legs as they fled into the night, leaving her standing victorious.

Artoria dusted off her uniform, cracking her neck. "Hmph. A waste of time."

With that brief distraction over, she resumed her walk.

However, just as she neared her house, something made her pause mid-step.

A sound—sharp, rhythmic, and unmistakable.

The clang of metal against metal.

A fight.

Not some street brawl. This was different—smoother, faster, precise.

Her teal eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued.

Guided by instinct, she turned toward the source of the noise. Moving carefully, she approached the nearest corner, poking her head out just enough to get a look.

And what she saw made her breath hitch.

A battle.

A battle unlike anything she had ever seen before.

A woman with flowing dark blue hair, clad in pristine white, moved with lethal grace, her blade flashing like silver lightning. Her opponent, a figure in black armor wielding twin daggers, was equally relentless, vanishing and reappearing in blurs too fast for Artoria's eyes to track.

When their weapons clashed, the shockwaves alone sent gusts of wind tearing through the area, kicking up dust and debris. The raw force behind their strikes was inhuman.

No.

They weren't human.

Artoria's breath hitched, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her mind screamed at her to move. To get away from whatever unnatural battle this was.

This has nothing to do with me.

She took a cautious step back, her heart hammering in her chest.

Then—

Clink.

The sound of an empty can rattling across the ground might as well have been a gunshot.

The battle ceased instantly.

Two sets of eyes—one piercingly cold, the other unreadable—snapped toward her.

Her body locked up, a shiver running down her spine as her instincts shrieked in alarm.

"Oh no."

For once, she had no desire to fight.

She had no pride left to uphold.

No stubbornness to keep her rooted.

The dark-armored warrior's glare felt like a death sentence.

Artoria turned and ran.

"Hey! Get back here!" a woman's voice called out, but she didn't care. She wouldn't turn back—not when her very soul was warning her that to do so meant death.

The streets blurred around her as she sprinted for home. Her chest burned, her legs screamed, but she pushed forward, desperate to reach the safety of her house.

Then—

THUNK.

A black sword embedded itself in the ground right in front of her doorstep.

She skidded to a stop, eyes wide, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

The blade was mere inches from where she would have stepped. If she had been even a fraction of a second faster…

Her fingers trembled as she backed away. The weight of death loomed over her like an executioner's axe.

'Move. Move!'

Out of sheer desperation, she veered toward the shed, wrenching the door open and throwing herself inside. She collapsed against the far wall, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

The silence was suffocating.

Then—

"Nowhere to run, blondie."

The voice was close.

Too close.

A presence loomed just outside, sending cold dread pooling in her stomach.

Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms as she tried to steady her breath. She had never felt fear like this before.

'I don't want to die.'

Her mind raced through the possibilities—her family, her life, her future. She had never even confessed to her crush. She hadn't finished high school.

She wasn't ready.

'Someone… please… save me.'

Across the vastness of the multiverse, a signal was sent.

And someone answered.

With a sudden flare of white sparks, the very air seemed to bend and warp as a figure materialized between her and the black-armored warrior.

A man, his long dark magenta coat billowing around him, stood firm like an immovable wall.

Install

His form shifted.

The long dark coat that had first appeared on him vanished in a shimmer of light, replaced by loose, flowing white robes. His chest was bare, revealing a body sculpted from sheer power and experience, his muscles tensed like coiled steel beneath the moonlight.

Heavy baggy pants covered his legs, tucked into metal-plated boots that barely made a sound as he stepped forward. His left hand held a white kimono, the fabric billowing wildly in the wind.

Then—

A katana materialized in his right hand.

There was no delay. No hesitation.

With a single, effortless swing, a sudden gust of force erupted from his blade, tearing through the air like a hurricane. The black-armored warrior was flung back as if struck by an invisible hammer, her feet skidding violently against the ground as she barely managed to recover.

Artoria's breath hitched.

Her focus locked onto the sword in his hand, the gleaming steel reflecting the moonlight with an almost hypnotic glow.

Yet, despite herself, her gaze lowered.

She swallowed.

His torso—his strength—was impossible to ignore.

Broad shoulders. Chiseled abs. Every inch of his frame exuded raw power, the kind that didn't come from simply being strong but from a life forged in battle.

Then, as if the scene had been nothing more than an illusion, his clothing shifted once more.

In an instant, the white robes and battle-worn form vanished, replaced by his former attire. The air calmed, the tension in the atmosphere lifting just slightly.

Only then did he turn to face her.

His icy blue eyes bore into hers—not with coldness, not with intimidation, but with a warmth that caught her completely off guard.

A soft smile tugged at his lips.

Then he spoke.

"Servant, Changer."

His voice was deep, steady—comforting, even.

He stood there, looking down at her with a gaze so piercingly intense that it sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

"I ask of you…"

The words felt heavy. Like they carried something far greater than she could yet understand.

Then, with unwavering certainty, he finished:

"Are you my Master?"