The negotiation went smoothly—probably because Olga Marie was too busy trying to cover up her earlier blunder. Her attitude had improved considerably, at least. The main takeaway? She wanted Lord El-Melloi II to play the troublemaker, stir up some chaos among the other buyers, and ruin their chances of obtaining a Rainbow-class Mystic Eye.
Simple enough.
But in the middle of all this, an unwelcome topic reared its head—one that soured El-Melloi II's mood.
Servants summoned in the Holy Grail War retained no memories of their past summonings.
"…Of course." El-Melloi II swirled his glass, the ice clinking softly. His gaze lingered on the liquid as if seeking answers in its depths. "No one knows that better than me."
"Even so, you won't give up, will you?" Cyd slid into the seat beside him, a drink identical to El-Melloi II's appearing in front of him as if by magic.
El-Melloi II let out a small chuckle. "Give up? Why would I? Memories don't matter. As long as I remember him, that's enough. He's still the same—still the king who races ahead of the world. He only ever looks forward. And as his vassal, I'll chase after him with everything I have. He doesn't need to stop for me. I'll stand by his side regardless. Even if that day never…"
"…Comes?" Cyd swirled his drink, then casually slid an envelope onto the table. "You know, this road you're on—it's not exactly straight."
El-Melloi II frowned and opened the letter. His expression stiffened as he read the words inside.
"A challenge, huh?" Cyd smirked.
"You read it?" El-Melloi II raised an eyebrow.
"No, but let's be honest—what else would it be?" Cyd flicked the side of his glass, watching the ripples dance on the surface of his drink. His smirk deepened. "You're going, aren't you?"
El-Melloi II slipped the letter into his pocket without a word.
Of course he was going.
That king—his king—had never backed down, not even against Gilgamesh himself. If El-Melloi II couldn't even stand up to some petty thief, he might as well give up on ever catching up to that distant figure.
"Master?" Gray hesitated in the doorway, concern evident in her voice.
"It's fine, Gray," El-Melloi II reassured her, raising his glass slightly.
"…If you say so." Gray clutched her chest, exhaling in relief. She'd been worried—worried that the person her teacher longed for wouldn't even remember him. That was a loneliness too cruel to bear.
But seeing his usual expression, unwavering as ever, she let herself relax—if only a little.
El-Melloi II exhaled, eyes fixed on his glass. The liquor shimmered in the dim light, and for a fleeting moment, he saw his younger self reflected there. No—he wasn't just seeing things. That person, that past, still clung to him.
No matter how futile it was, no matter how impossible, he still held onto it.
Trying to grasp the past was like trying to catch water in your hands—the harder you squeezed, the faster it slipped away. But at least it was better than doing nothing, better than watching helplessly as it all faded.
Gray's concern? A little premature.
Cyd downed his drink in one go, ice clinking against the empty glass. He grinned. "No worries. After all, I'm here—"
And then everything went to hell.
Cyd's smirk vanished as he stared at the corpse on the floor. The body of a woman—headless, blood pooling around her like a grotesque work of art. There were no signs of struggle. It was clean. Precise.
A single strike.
Whoever did this had killed a Future Sight Mystic Eye user before she even realized she was in danger. That alone narrowed down the list of suspects considerably.
"You did it!"
A tear-streaked girl pointed a trembling finger—right at Cyd.
…Huh.
Cyd casually stepped aside, revealing the man standing behind him—Caleb, a Church Executor. According to El-Melloi II, this guy could wipe out every magus in this place in a single night without breaking a sweat. Whether he'd actually do it was another story, but the fact remained—he absolutely could.
Clearly, the girl had just pointed at random and gotten unlucky.
Then her finger adjusted.
And landed back on Cyd.
…Oh, come on.
"Theresa said she couldn't see your future," Olga Marie snapped, her hand rising as black energy crackled in her palm. "You killed her!"
Ah. A magical bullet?
So her reasoning was: If I can't predict you, you must be the killer.
What a reckless, chaotic little girl.
Cyd sighed and lifted his hand. A simple flick of his fingers. The moment her magic bullet touched him—it shattered like fragile glass.
Caleb's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Get some sleep."
Olga Marie was too agitated, too irrational to be reasoned with. Which was why Cyd, with an apologetic shrug, simply knocked her out with a precise chop to the neck.
He caught her before she hit the ground, then glanced at the gathering crowd. "Any of you know how to perform an autopsy?"
Caleb stepped forward. "I'll handle it."
"Great. Thanks." Cyd hoisted Olga Marie onto his shoulder, completely unfazed. "Guess I'll leave the crime scene to you guys."
As he passed El-Melloi II, he muttered, "This just got messy."
El-Melloi II narrowed his eyes. A murder among magi wasn't unusual. But this wasn't just any murder—this was the Mystic Eye train. The victim had Future Sight. And her head was gone.
This was the start of something bigger.
"The hell are you so merciful for?"
Cyd stopped.
He wasn't the only one who'd left the room.
"Even when you're falsely accused and attacked, you refuse to hurt a grieving child." The voice was laced with amusement. "They call you the Pure White Hero, don't they?"
A woman approached—Asagami Fujino, smiling gently.
Cyd rolled his eyes. "I just knocked out a crying kid with a karate chop. If you're expecting some grand heroic speech, you're out of luck."
Fujino's smile stiffened.
"…Also, 'Pure White Hero?' Never heard of him." Cyd walked past her without a second glance.
Back in El-Melloi II's room, he laid Olga Marie down on the sofa with surprising gentleness.
"What a pain in the ass kid," he muttered, settling into the chair across from her. "Arrogant, stubborn, and fragile all at once. That kind of brat is nothing but trouble, don't you think?"
"You mean that stray cat you picked up?"
Arms wrapped around Cyd's neck from behind, silky purple hair draping over his shoulder.
"She's been nothing but trouble for us," the woman whispered. "And yet, you've never once complained. So this time…"
A groan cut her off.
Olga Marie stirred, blinking groggily. She winced, rubbing her sore neck.
"…You're going to save her too, aren't you?"
Cyd sighed. "I'm no hero."
"Just a kind-hearted fool?"
"…Something like that."
Olga Marie sat up, still rubbing her neck. "Where…?"
"El-Melloi II's room," Cyd answered, reclining against the sofa. "We need to talk. And put down the magic bullet—unless you really want a crick in your neck."
Olga Marie clenched her jaw but lowered her hand. "I know you're not the killer. It's just…"
"You hate how powerless you feel," Cyd finished for her. He shrugged. "Your family's in danger, and all you can do is watch."
"Theresa isn't—" Olga Marie started to protest, but the reflection in Cyd's eyes—the reflection of her own helplessness—made her bite her tongue. She clutched her arm. "…She was my family."
"…It's okay to be weak sometimes."
Cyd ruffled her hair, much to her indignation.
"You don't have to carry everything alone."
She slapped his hand away, cheeks burning. "Idiot—just let go already!"
But she didn't push him away as hard as she could have.
And for now—that was enough.