3rd Person POV
[Sector 80: Inter-dimensional Portal Lab – A Few Days Later]
The device that held the pendant was Arto's design and Robin's refinement and Nami's complete reorganization of both.
This was how most things in Sector 80 had come to exist — Arto providing the foundational architecture from three thousand years of accumulated knowledge, Robin identifying the structural problems in the architecture and proposing corrections, and Nami arriving at the result of their collaboration and determining that it could be significantly improved if everyone stopped being sentimental about their original design choices and started thinking about efficiency.
The device sat at the sector's center.
A mounting arm of Arto's specific alloy — the one he had developed in Sector 2's early sessions, the material that interfaced cleanly with both standard mana channels and the Void energy signature the pendant produced — angled to present the closed eye pendant at precisely the orientation that produced the most stable output reading. Around it, Robin's diagnostic array: twelve receptor nodes positioned at the angles she had calculated would capture the pendant's full emission profile without interference from the sector's own mana infrastructure.
And around all of that, Nami's work.
Which was, as Nami's work tended to be, the part that made everything else useful. The INA had been rebuilt three times since the initial framework.
The first rebuild had incorporated the world boundary signature model — the standing wave approach that Robin had identified from Arto's Void observation data. The second had recalibrated the coordinate system around the pendant's vision radius rather than the detection machines' fixed range. The third, completed in the forty-eight hours since Arto had come back through the portal with a closed eye and a pendant against his collarbone, had been the most significant — the integration of the pendant's visual output as a live data source rather than a static measurement tool.
The pendant saw. Not with the comprehensive omniscience of something that had full access to the Void's extent — the eye was closed, the vision was limited, the reach was what it was and not more. But within its radius, the pendant produced a steady stream of world signature data that the INA received and processed and transformed, under Nami's hands, into something that had not previously existed.
A map. Not a static one. Not the kind of map that was drawn once and consulted thereafter. A living map, updating in real time as the pendant's vision registered new signatures and the INA calculated their positions relative to their own world at the center of the coordinate system.
Their world as the fixed point. The Sea of Worlds expanding outward from it in every direction the pendant could see. Nami was at the main display when Arto came into the sector on the third morning.
She had the specific posture of someone who had been working for a significant number of hours and had not noticed the passage of those hours because the work was absorbing enough that the passage of time had become irrelevant. The cocoa Grayfia had brought her was cold on the desk beside her. The tablet was supplemented by three additional display surfaces she had requisitioned from the sector's simulation power, each running a different analytical thread simultaneously.
She did not look up when he entered. "Forty-seven," she said.
He stopped. "Forty-seven worlds," she said, "within the pendant's current vision radius. Of those, thirty-one have sufficient signature stability for coordinate calculation. Of those thirty-one, nineteen have coordinates with a margin of error small enough for practical navigation." She scrolled through something on the primary display. "The remaining twelve are either at the edge of the vision radius where the signal degrades, or they have unusual signature profiles that require additional analysis before I trust the numbers."
He walked to the display.
Looked at the map. It was — smaller than the Sea of Worlds had looked from inside the Void, when he had floated in the dark and seen the tiny lights scattered in every direction. But that was the nature of limited vision. What he was seeing was not the extent of what was there. It was the extent of what the closed eye could currently reach.
Nineteen worlds with navigable coordinates. He thought about what that meant. About nineteen doors in a house that had previously had no doors at all. "Robin," he said. "She saw it this morning," Nami said. "She has already started on the signature analysis for the twelve edge cases. She says she will have preliminary assessments by tonight." A pause. "She also said, and I am quoting directly, that the coordinate precision on the nineteen navigable worlds is unexpectedly excellent for a first-pass system built around an eldritch dimensional anchor."
"She said eldritch," Nami confirmed. "I thought you should know she's warming up to the pendant." Arto looked at the map.
At the nineteen points of light arranged in the coordinate space around their world at the center. At the distances Nami had calculated, the trajectories she had plotted, the specific information about each world's position in the Void geometry that would allow — eventually, when the eye opened further, when the wormhole mechanics were sufficiently understood — navigation.
Travel. Home, he did not say. He thought it. "WAH," he said instead. Nami's posture changed slightly — the specific shift of someone moving from delivering a report to delivering something they are more invested in.
"World Analyzing Handler," she said. "The pendant's vision doesn't just see the world signature. The signature contains information — the world's physical scale, its mana density, its resource profile." She pulled up a separate display. "I built a processing layer that extracts that information from the raw signature data and organizes it into — this."
The display showed a world entry. Not a coordinate. A profile. Scale: estimated from the boundary signature's mass. Resource indicators: derived from the mana density reading's specific frequencies, which varied based on what the world contained. Core context: the baseline physical laws the world operated on, detectable from the signature's fundamental structure.
Some of the nineteen worlds were familiar in their profile — similar resource types to their own world, similar physical law signatures, the kind of worlds that would feel navigable to people accustomed to this one.
Some were not. Some of the resource indicators were things Nami had flagged with question marks because they did not correspond to any category in the framework she had built the processing layer from.Things we haven't known....Things we can use.
"The processing layer," Arto said. "Took me sixteen hours," Nami said. "Which is—" she checked, "—approximately 160 inside the sector. Given time dilation." She picked up the cold cocoa, looked at it, set it back down. "I may have lost track of time."
"Are you alright?"
"I am excellent," she said, with the specific quality of someone who had been working at the edge of their capability for an extended period and had found the edge to be considerably further out than they had expected. "I built a search engine for the multiverse. I am better than alright." She paused. "I do need sleep and a meal that isn't a protein bar and I would like to tell Gremory's botanical sector to please send more tangerines."
"I'll handle the tangerines," he said. "Thank you." She looked at the map. At the nineteen points of light. "Arto."
He looked at her. "We can see them," she said. "The worlds. We can see into them — just the basics, the WAH profile, not the specific content. But we can see that they exist and what they contain in broad terms." She paused. "That's not nothing."
"No," he said. "It's the beginning of everything." She looked at the map for a moment longer. At the coordinate space around their world as the center. At the distances that were enormous by any standard their world had for measuring distance, that were navigable by the specific mechanic of a man who had become the Embodiment of the Void and a woman who had built a multiversal navigation algorithm in six hours because she had a really motivating fear of becoming a widow.
"The features under development," she said. "World viewing — actually seeing into a world's surface rather than just its signature profile. The search engine — querying the map for worlds that match specific resource or physical law criteria." She pulled up her development log. "Detailed world context — the cultural and historical information that the signature alone can't provide." She paused. "These are not small features. They will take significant additional work."
"But they're possible," he said. "They're possible," she confirmed. "Because the foundational architecture is correct." She looked at him. "You gave me the Void. Robin gave me the framework. I built the house." She paused. "It's a good house."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Nami bragging about her acomplishments]
[Arto's mansion - Living Room]
The living room had settled into its evening configuration — the particular arrangement of people finding their preferred locations after dinner, the comfortable sprawl of a house that had finished its day and was in the process of not quite ending it yet.
Robin was in her armchair. She set down her book with the deliberate quality of someone who had been waiting for the correct moment to say something and had identified the moment as now. "The harem council has reached a decision," she said.
The room's various conversations stopped. This was the effect Robin produced when she used that specific register — not loud, not commanding, but carrying the particular weight of someone who had made a ruling and was delivering it rather than proposing it.
Nami, who had been reviewing something on her tablet with Kuroka draped across her lap in the standard configuration, looked up with the alert quality of someone whose name was about to be relevant.
"The INA and WAH represent a contribution of exceptional scale," Robin said. "A multiversal navigation algorithm built in six hours, recalibrated in two, and expanded within seventy-two hours into a world analysis system that has produced nineteen navigable coordinates and forty-seven mapped worlds from a closed eye's limited vision." She paused. "The harem council does not use the word masterpiece casually."
"It doesn't," Akeno agreed, with the serene smile of someone who had been on the council long enough to know Robin's standards. "Under the policy of exceptional contribution," Robin continued, "and under my authority as leader of this council, Nami receives the following: choice of sleeping position for one night, and one exclusive activity with Arto of her choosing, for a maximum span of one day." She looked at Nami directly. "The perk is valid for one month. The thirty-day cooldown begins upon first use."
The room absorbed this. Nami stared at Robin. Then she was up. Kuroka, deposited unceremoniously onto the sofa cushion, made the specific sound of a cat that has been relocated without consultation and has opinions about it.
Nami crossed the room in four steps and dropped into the seat to Arto's right with the decisive motion of someone claiming something they have been waiting to claim for a significant amount of time and intend to occupy completely. "Finally," she said.
Arto looked at her. She was already turned toward him with the expression she wore when she had been planning something and was about to present the plan, which was the expression of someone who had been holding a very good hand and had been waiting an appropriate amount of time before laying it on the table.
"I have been thinking," she said, "about the casino." The room's attention sharpened.
"Hear me out," Nami said. She was already sitting straighter, the tablet appearing in her hand with the automatic reflex of someone whose thinking was externalized through screens. "We have two things that no casino in any world has encountered simultaneously at the same table." She held up one finger. "Your ability to process information at the speed and precision Robin operates at — pattern recognition, probability calculation, real-time adjustment of strategy based on incoming data." Another finger. "My sensitivity to numbers. The way I see indexes and probability distributions the way most people see text — not calculated, just visible, like reading something printed in the air."
"You want to go bankrupt a casino?" Rias asked. "I want to go win at a casino," Nami said, with the specific patience of someone correcting a distinction that matters. "Legally. Without magic. Without any form of cheating." She looked at Arto. "With his mechanical intelligence and my calculation ability, we don't need to cheat. We already know what other players are holding before the cards are dealt, from tells and probability alone. We already know what the house has before the round is finished, from the same sources." A pause. "We just play the math."
Arto looked at her. "You have been planning this for some time," he said. "I have been planning this since the moment I have INA on papers," she said. "I watched you read that entire room — the silent deals, the shill bidding, the King House dynamics — in real time. And I thought: that man at a card table would be extraordinary." She paused. "And then I built a multiversal navigation algorithm and earned the right to find out."
The room was quiet for a moment. Then Rias said: "Prove it." Nami reached into the space beside the sofa cushion — the specific reach of someone who had placed something there in advance — and produced a deck of cards. Not the gesture of someone who had decided to do this now. The preparation of someone who had known this moment was coming and had positioned the materials accordingly.
She held the deck out and fanned it face-up toward Arto. "Look," she said. He looked. Four seconds. The full deck, all fifty-two cards, their positions in the fan visible and then not visible as she closed the fan and began to shuffle.
The shuffle was professional — not the casual overhand shuffle of someone moving cards around, the riffle shuffle of someone who had spent considerable time learning to shuffle correctly, the kind that produced a genuinely randomized sequence rather than a locally disrupted one.
She shuffled four times. The room watched. "Where," she said, "is the Queen of Hearts?" The room held its breath. "Third from the bottom," Arto said. Nami looked at the deck. She counted from the bottom. Held up the third card. Queen of Hearts. The silence lasted approximately two seconds.
Then it dissolved into the sound of several people reacting simultaneously — Rias making a sound that was not quite a word, Akeno's quiet laugh, Koneko's ears going forward with the alert quality they took when something had registered as genuinely surprising.
Kuroka, still on the sofa cushion where she had been deposited, tilted her head. "Again," Rias said. Nami shuffled. "Jack of Spades," Rias said, before Nami could ask. Nami held up the card. Jack of Spades. "How?" Akeno said.
"He watched the shuffle," Nami said. "Four riffle shuffles starting from a known position. His processing speed is sufficient to track every card through the sequence and maintain the updated map in real time." She paused. "Most people can track two or three cards through a single riffle shuffle if they focus specifically on those cards. He tracked all fifty-two through four shuffles simultaneously." She looked at Arto. "Without trying, I assume."
"It's not different from tracking spell sequences in combat," he said. "The information density is lower." Nami pointed at him. "That. That is exactly what I am working with." She stood. "Wait here." She returned from her room in forty seconds. Carrying a roulette model.
Not a full table — a compact version, the wheel and the ball and the numbered track, sufficient for demonstration at living room scale. She set it on the central table with the care of someone placing a piece of evidence.
"Grayfia," she said. Grayfia, who had been observing the proceedings from her usual position with the composed attention of someone watching something that was producing data worth watching, looked at her. "Spin it," Nami said. "As hard as you want. Any variation you want in the spin."
Grayfia looked at the roulette model. Then at Nami. Then, with the particular quality of someone who had decided that participating was more interesting than observing, she reached out and spun the wheel. Clean, precise — Grayfia did nothing without precision — and sent the ball in the opposite direction with a flick of her finger.
The wheel spun...The ball rattled. Nami watched it. Not the way most people watched a roulette wheel — not tracking the ball's current position or hoping for an outcome. The specific quality of someone who was not watching the ball at all but was reading the initial conditions: the wheel's rotational velocity, the ball's entry velocity, the angle of the track, the specific acoustic signature of the ball's contact with the track surface.
Her lips moved slightly.
Not words — numbers. The specific micro-articulation of someone running a calculation that was almost entirely automatic, that lived below the level of deliberate thought, that arrived the way reading arrived for a fluent reader — not decoded, simply received.
"Twenty-three," she said. The ball settled. Twenty-three. The room was very quiet. Rias looked at the wheel. At the ball. At Nami. "No," she said. "Yes," Nami said. "That's—" Rias stopped. "Spin it again. I want to try something."
"Go ahead," Nami said. "Anything. Magic, telekinesis, a precisely calculated flick — anything you want to do to the wheel or the ball. I can calculate any initial condition you introduce."
Rias looked at her. "You're serious."
"I see the indexes," Nami said. "Rotational velocity. Angular momentum. Track friction coefficient. Ball mass and diameter. The physical constants are the physical constants — they don't change. What looks random is only random because most people don't have the processing speed to calculate the outcome from the initial conditions in the available time." She paused. "I do. Any physicist could do what I'm doing. They would just need considerably more time and better instruments."
Rias picked up the ball. She looked at it. She looked at Nami with the expression of someone who has been presented with a demonstration of a capability they intellectually understood was possible and is only now receiving the full emotional impact of what possible means in practice.
She put the ball back in the wheel.
She spun it herself, adding a deliberate push of her demonic energy to the wheel's rotation — not to cheat exactly, but to introduce a variable she had introduced herself, a variable that a calculation built from physical constants should not account for.
The wheel spun with the additional energy. The ball rattled differently — faster, the track contact more frequent. Nami watched for two seconds. "Seven," she said. The ball settled. Seven. "How," Rias said. Not the same how as before — the how of someone who has received a second demonstration and has moved from surprise into genuine inquiry.
"Your demonic energy changed the rotational velocity by a calculable amount," Nami said. "The specific output of your demonic energy push is not random — it has a consistent profile. I've been watching you use your power for months. I know what your energy output looks like and what it does to physical systems." She paused. "So you introduced a new variable and I updated the calculation." She shrugged. "It's still physics."
"It's still physics," Koneko repeated quietly, in the tone of someone filing a sentence for future use.
Albedo was looking at Nami with the expression she used when she encountered competence operating at a level she found genuinely impressive — not flattering, but respectful. The respect of one professional for another. "The casino," Albedo said. "You would not need to cheat."
"We would not need to cheat," Nami confirmed. "We would not need magic. We would not need any advantage that was not present in our own processing speed and mathematical sensitivity." She looked at Arto. "We would walk in as two ordinary people with no equipment, no magic active, nothing the casino could detect or exclude us for, and we would win at a rate that the house's probability models would classify as statistical variance for longer than they should before they realized it wasn't variance."
"How long," Robin said. "Depends on the casino's monitoring protocols," Nami said. "High-end establishments with sophisticated pattern recognition — two hours before they start watching us specifically. Mid-tier establishments — four to six hours before anything triggers." She paused. "We would, of course, move before anything triggered."
"Of course," Robin said. "This is extremely illegal in most jurisdictions," Rias said. "We would be breaking no rules," Nami said. "We would simply be playing games of chance with an unusually thorough understanding of the physics involved." A pause. "The house has every mathematical advantage built into its structure. We would be correcting an imbalance."
"That is a very creative framing," Akeno said warmly. "Thank you," Nami said. Arto had been quiet through most of this. He was looking at Nami with the expression of someone who had listened to the full presentation and had arrived at the conclusion that the presentation was correct and the plan was sound and that the evening had taken an interesting turn.
"Which casino?" he said. Nami's expression achieved the specific quality it achieved when she had gotten exactly what she came for and was choosing not to announce this. "I have a list," she said. "Ranked by payout potential against detection risk. I've been refining it for six months." She paused. "I'll show you later. But that's not the problem right now because....."
"The casino trip," she said, "is on hold." Kuroka blinked. "Eh? Already bored of it?" Nami grins"I said I earned the right to use it," Nami replied calmly. "I didn't say I'd waste it immediately."
That phrasing alone was enough to shift the room. This wasn't delay—it was prioritization. Robin's eyes sharpened slightly. "You have something else."
"I do," Nami said. She tapped her tablet once. The projector behind them dimmed slightly as a new interface unfolded across the central display—clean, structured, unmistakably corporate.
"Abyssgard Financial Management," she announced. The name settled into the room with weight. "I'm officially launching it."
A brief silence followed—not confusion, but recalibration. Then Rias leaned back, a slow smile forming. "You've already started."
"Of course I have," Nami said. "Gremory's human-realm corporations are already lined up. Preliminary agreements are done. They've been waiting for infrastructure and leadership." A small pause. "Now they have both."
Akeno's smile deepened. "Ara… how many are we talking about?"
"Enough to justify a network," Nami replied. "Not enough to attract attention before we're ready." Grayfia nodded once—approval, clean and precise. "The Underworld side?" she asked.
"Ready," Nami said immediately. "Financial experts from Gremory domain have been briefed, screened, and assigned. Cross-realm coordination protocols are already drafted. We're just waiting on the human side—government recognition, licensing, compliance seals." She exhaled lightly. "Paperwork."
Kuroka groaned. "The most dangerous enemy of all."
"It is," Nami said flatly. "Because it's the only one we can't bypass." Robin's gaze moved across the interface. "Recruitment?" Nami smiled slightly. "I published the job descriptions."
That alone drew a reaction from Akeno. "Oh my."
"They're precise," Nami continued. "Performance thresholds, cognitive benchmarks, behavioral expectations. No ambiguity." A beat. "I don't hire mediocrity. Not in analysis, not in operations—" her eyes flicked briefly toward Kuroka, "—not even in cleaning staff."
Kuroka raised her hands. "Hey, I clean perfectly when I feel like it." "That's exactly the problem," Nami said. A quiet ripple of amusement passed through the room, but the core of it remained serious. Rias tilted her head. "Office?"
"Already secured," Nami said. "City adjacent to Kuoh. Discreet location, high accessibility. Infrastructure installed." She tapped again, and a series of images appeared—sleek workspaces, layered security systems, integrated magical circuits running like veins beneath polished surfaces. "Gremory R&D handled the implementation."
That earned a small nod from Rias. "They don't do things halfway." "No," Nami agreed. "They don't."
Her expression shifted then—just slightly. Softer, but more personal. "And the best part," she added, glancing—briefly, deliberately—at Arto, "is the network."
The display changed again. Not physical infrastructure this time—but something deeper. Flow diagrams. Mana channels. Stabilized currents. "ManaNet," Nami said.
The word carried a quiet kind of pride. "Stable mana flow, industrial-scale regulation via Stabilizer. Fully isolated. No external access points. No physical or magical intrusion vectors." She folded her arms. "Unhackable."
Koneko's ears twitched. "Faster too." "Twenty percent over fiber," Nami confirmed. "Latency reduction across realms. Data integrity at one hundred percent." A small pause. "Your contribution," she added, looking at Arto again, "is appreciated."
Robin observed the exchange, then returned her attention to the system. "And the model?" Nami's expression sharpened again—back to business. "Layered profit streams," she said. "Primary revenue through financial management and optimization. Secondary through advisory and restructuring. Long-term through controlled investment channels." She gestured, and the projection shifted into a network map—companies, flows, loops.
"Everything remains legal," she continued. "Aggressively optimized, but legal. Tax reduction strategies within regulatory limits. No evasion. No laundering."
Akeno smiled faintly. "How virtuous." "How sustainable," Nami corrected.
She tapped again. The network deepened—hidden layers beneath visible ones. "Proxy investment channels handle capital cycling. Clan funds move through structured paths into human corporations, generate returns, and re-enter clean. Documented. Justified. Untouchable."
Grayfia's eyes narrowed slightly—not in disapproval, but in recognition. "Efficient," she said. "It gets better," Nami adds Robin's eyes lifted a fraction. "It usually does with you."
Nami turned the display outward. The clean internal network map shifted—expanded—threads extending beyond the initial corporate cluster into new, incoming lines. "These," she said, "are inbound requests."
Rias blinked. "Already?" "I didn't send anything out," Nami replied. "No outreach. No marketing. No announcements beyond the required filings." A small pause. "They found us anyway."
Grayfia stepped closer, examining the flow. "Independent corporations."
"Yes," Nami said. "They've noticed a new entity managing multiple high-performing companies simultaneously. Capital efficiency spikes. Risk reduction patterns. Stable growth curves." She tapped once. "We marketed ourselves by existing."
Akeno let out a soft laugh. "Ara… how elegant." "Predictable," Robin corrected. "Competence attracts attention. Scalable competence attracts requests." Kuroka grinned. "So they're lining up to give us their money?"
"To let us manage it," Nami said. "Which is better." The display filtered. One name remained. "Odeum HEA," Nami said. The room's attention focused—not because of the name itself, but because of the way Nami said it.
"Entertainment corporation," she continued. "Rapid growth. Strong talent pipeline. Exceptional production metrics." The projection shifted—stage designs, lighting systems, crowd simulations, performance layouts.
"And," Nami added, almost casually, "home to a rising superstar." A new image appeared. A young woman on stage—light, motion, presence. "Astra Yao." There was a beat.
Then—Every eye in the room turned in perfect synchronization toward Kiba, who had suddenly developed a profound and immediate interest in the ceiling. "…the structural integrity of this room is quite impressive," he said, as if presenting a thesis.
Kuroka was on him instantly. "Nyaa~ Kiba-chan, you've been hiding things from us?" Akeno's smile turned dangerous in the softest way. "Ara ara… is this why you've been 'training' with headphones recently?"
"I don't know what you mean," Kiba said, with the exact tone of someone who knew precisely what they meant. Rias leaned back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying this. "Astra Yao."
Kiba remained focused on the ceiling. "She has… strong stage presence."
"Strong," Kuroka echoed, delighted. "Not 'exceptional,' not 'captivating,' just strong?" Akeno tilted her head. "How restrained."
Kiba closed his eyes briefly, as if calculating the least damaging path through this conversation and finding none. Nami, meanwhile, did not look at him at all, which was, in its own way, worse. "She's good," Nami said simply. "Very good. But that's not why I'm interested."
That pulled the attention back. She expanded the projection—breaking down Odeum HEA's internal structure. "Talent management is solid," she said. "Above average. But their real strength is here."
The display zoomed into stage architecture—modular platforms, dynamic lighting rigs, adaptive sound systems.
"Stage design and operation," Nami said. "Precision timing, environmental control, audience manipulation through sensory layering." Her eyes sharpened slightly. "They're probably the best in the industry."
Robin's gaze followed the data. "And you see an entry point." "I see a bridge," Nami corrected. She turned slightly toward Arto now. "Magic-tech doesn't enter the human world as 'technology,'" she said. "It enters as experience."
A small pause. "Concerts. Performances. Live events." The projection shifted—stage lights bending, structures adapting, effects amplifying beyond conventional limits… but only slightly. Just enough to feel extraordinary.
"Enhance what already exists," Nami continued. "Improve precision. Increase spectacle. Reduce failure rates. Make everything better—but not incomprehensible." Koneko nodded slowly. "Humans accept what feels like improvement."
"Exactly," Nami said. "Not what feels impossible." Kuroka tilted her head. "So no dragons flying over the stage?"
"Not unless the audience already thinks it's a hologram," Nami replied. Akeno laughed softly. "Ara… controlled wonder." Grayfia's gaze moved to Arto. "It would expand influence."
Rias added, "And normalize magic-tech presence—without exposing it." All eyes shifted to him. Arto had been quiet through most of it.
He stepped closer to the projection, studying the layered design of the stage systems, the subtle integration points Nami had outlined. "I don't disagree," he said.
Nami didn't react—but the corner of her mouth shifted slightly. "But," he continued, "limits." He adjusted the projection—dialing back certain effects, highlighting thresholds.
"Human perception has tolerance boundaries," he said. "Push too far, and it stops being innovation." A brief pause. "It becomes anomaly." Robin nodded once. "And anomalies attract investigation."
"Exactly," Arto said. He looked at Nami directly now. "No visible violations of known physics beyond what can be rationalized as advanced stage technology," he said. "No persistent phenomena that can't be replicated by conventional means. No energy signatures detectable outside controlled ranges."
Akeno smiled faintly. "In other words—don't make it too magical." "Make it believable," Arto corrected. Nami held his gaze for a second. Then she nodded. "Understood."
The room had just settled into that efficient, post-decision rhythm when Nami's tablet lit up. She glanced at it, paused, then exhaled slightly—just enough to register. "Excuse me," she said, stepping aside as she answered. "Yes… I see."
Her eyes narrowed. "You what?" Silence followed from the other end. Nami closed her eyes briefly, then continued, voice colder, sharper. "No. You don't 'take a look' at a system you don't understand. You follow protocol." Another pause. "I'll send someone. Not a team. One person. Immediately." She ended the call and stood still for half a second before turning back. "Change of plans."
That was enough. The room refocused instantly. "Problem?" Rias asked. "Manageable," Nami replied, which meant someone else had made it a problem and she was about to fix it. Her eyes went straight to Arto. "I need you to go somewhere. Spain. Isla del Sol. Near Vigrid."
The name tightened the air. "Close to Heaven," Akeno noted softly. "So we can't go," Koneko said. "Correct," Nami replied. "Devils are not welcome there." Kuroka sighed. "Rude." Nami ignored that. "Only three of us can enter cleanly. Arto. Me. Robin." "Unavailable," Robin said without looking up. "Yes," Nami confirmed, which left only one option.
Arto tilted his head slightly. "What happened?" "Balder," Nami said. "CEO of Ithavoll Group. He's been pushing for ManaNet integration." She folded her arms. "One of his teams decided to 'analyze' the core system mid-installation." A brief pause. "The failsafe triggered." "Oh," Kuroka muttered. "All contractors expelled," Grayfia added. "Immediately," Nami confirmed. "System lockdown. Installation halted." Akeno smiled faintly. "How unfortunate."
"Predictable," Nami said. "I told them not to touch anything beyond interface permissions." She glanced at Arto. "He called. Apologized. Paid in full. Asked for another team." "And you said no," Rias said. "I said I'm sending someone who won't waste my time," Nami corrected. Her gaze locked onto Arto. "You built ManaNet. You understand every layer. You can bypass the failsafe and finish the integration faster than any team." A small pause. "It's efficient."
Arto considered her, then said, "No." The room stilled—not shocked, just immediate. Nami's eyes narrowed. "Explain." "I'll do it," he said calmly, "but not for free." Kuroka grinned. "Ohhh, here we go." Akeno's smile deepened. "Negotiations." Nami didn't look away. "What do you want?"
Arto leaned back slightly. "I want to travel. Alone." That landed. "It's been over six months," he continued. "I haven't left Japan. Different world, different structure. I want to see it." Robin murmured, "Reasonable." Nami stayed silent for a moment, calculating. "After the job," Arto added. "No assignments. No interruptions."
"You're asking for operational freedom," she said. "I'm asking for time," he replied. A beat passed. Then Nami exhaled quietly. "You'll get it," she said. Kuroka blinked. "That was fast." "But," Nami added, and that changed everything. "You return within thirty days. My perk doesn't wait indefinitely. The date I earned has a limit." Akeno covered her smile. Rias shook her head, amused. Arto considered it once, then nodded. "Agreed."
Nami reached into her tablet and pulled out an ID card—already prepared, of course. She handed it to him. "Your identity." Arto looked down. Alexander Alijah — Senior Technician, Gremory R&D Division. A faint pause. "…A.A.," he said. Nami's lips curved slightly. "I thought you'd like it."
Kuroka leaned in. "Fancy." Akeno tilted her head. "Very fitting." Grayfia added, "Appropriate clearance." Rias smirked. "Try not to enjoy being normal too much." Arto turned the card once between his fingers, then looked back at Nami. "I'll fix your network."
"I know," she said. A brief pause, then softer, "And when you're done—don't forget to come back."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto packing his backpack for his trip]
The next morning, Arto departed for Europe—Spain, specifically, where Vigrid lay. Teleportation, for once, was not an option. The layered barriers set by national governments—anti-assault frameworks, detection grids, and enough magical countermeasures to discourage even organized supernatural forces—made direct insertion inefficient at best and reckless at worst. Thorough. Effective. And, from Arto's perspective, deeply inconvenient.
Fortunately, inconvenience was a solvable problem. He was rich.
Between his own work and Nami's aggressively competent investments, first-class travel was less a luxury and more a default setting. Under the alias Aruto Abyga, a perfectly ordinary Japanese citizen on paper, he held a valid passport—and with it, visa-free access to Spain. The bureaucratic path, while slower than teleportation, was clean, legal, and, importantly, invisible.
Language, however, was another matter. "Take this," Robin had said before his departure, handing him a simple white face mask. Unremarkable—until it wasn't.
A small, stylized mouth—hers—rested faintly against the surface. "For translation," she added calmly. "And… other functions." Arto looked at it. Then at her. "…Other."
Robin smiled, that quiet, knowing expression she wore when she had already decided something was reasonable. "Situational." A brief pause. Then she leaned in and kissed him lightly, as if demonstrating a feature. "See?" she said.
Arto considered the mask for a moment longer, then accepted it without further comment.
He tucked the ID—Alexander Alijah, Senior Technician, Gremory R&D Division—into his backpack, adjusted the strap, and stepped toward the door. The others had gathered, not formally, but with that natural gravity people develop around departures. "I'll be back," he said.
"Within thirty days," Nami replied immediately. Arto glanced at her. "Within thirty days." That seemed to satisfy her. Kuroka waved lazily. "Bring souvenirs~" Koneko gave a small nod. "Safe trip."
Nami leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded in thought. Then, without looking away from her tablet, she asked, "Will this affect his attendance?"
Robin, seated in her usual place, turned a page before answering. "No." Nami glanced at her.
"His academic performance is… excessive," Robin continued. "A few weeks' absence won't register as a concern." A small pause. "I've confirmed it with the faculty."
There was a subtle shift in tone there—less heard, more known. Rias raised an eyebrow. "You checked?"
"I am a teacher," Robin said simply. Akeno smiled faintly. "A very thorough one." Rias leaned back, stretching slightly. "Well, that's one consequence handled." Her expression shifted into something more amused. "The boys, on the other hand…"
Kuroka perked up. "Oh?" "They're going to celebrate," Rias said. Koneko nodded once. "Relief." Akeno giggled softly. "Ara… freedom from Aruto Abyga's shadow."
Nami didn't look up, but the corner of her mouth moved just slightly. "They've been competing against an impossible standard," Rias continued. "Perfect grades, perfect behavior, perfect presence." She smirked. "Now he's gone."
Kuroka grinned. "So they'll rush in like starving wolves?" "More like desperate strategists," Robin corrected. "They will interpret his absence as opportunity." Akeno's eyes gleamed. "Confessions, invitations, sudden bursts of courage…"
"Chaotic," Koneko said. "Very," Rias agreed. "They'll try to fill the gap."
Nami laughed softly, finally looking up. "I can already imagine it. Valentine's Day arriving early—in late December." She tapped her tablet idly. "Couple spots fully booked, café revenues spiking, flower shops running out of stock. Boys burning through every last drop of courage, recklessness, and poorly rehearsed poetry just to ask someone out before their time runs out." A small pause, her smile sharpening. "Because they know the clock is ticking."
Kuroka's grin widened. "Nyahaha~ a seasonal event triggered by Aruto's disappearance."
"Limited-time only," Nami added dryly. "Ends when the final boss returns."
Akeno covered her mouth, amused. "Ara~ so you're saying… our darling is doing the boys a favor by disappearing? Really, we can't have those girls endlessly daydreaming about someone they'll never have. It's unhealthy."
Rias tilted her head. "You say that like you're concerned for them." "I am," Akeno said sweetly. "In a general, distant, entirely non-interfering way." Koneko nodded. "They need realistic targets."
"Preferably ones who exist within reach," Nami added. Robin closed her book this time, fully engaging. "Indeed. This is an optimal correction period." Her tone was thoughtful, analytical even. "Unattainable fixation replaced by accessible alternatives. Emotional redistribution follows."
Akeno glanced at her. "That's a very clinical way to describe teenage romance."
"It is still a pattern," Robin replied calmly. Then, after a brief pause, "I may incorporate romantic narratives into my lessons. Subtle reinforcement."
Rias raised an eyebrow. "You're going to guide them?"
"I am a history teacher," Robin said. "Human behavior is part of the curriculum." Kuroka rolled onto her back, laughing. "Nyahaha~ sensei is matchmaking now." "Not matchmaking," Robin corrected. "Encouraging probability."
Nami leaned back, satisfied. "Good. Let them have their moment." Her gaze flicked briefly toward the empty space where Arto would usually be. "They'll need it."
[Plane]
Settling into the quiet isolation of his first-class suite, Arto placed his bag to the side and leaned back into the seat, the ambient hum of the aircraft already forming a steady backdrop. The space was comfortable—intentionally so—but his attention had already shifted elsewhere.
Work. He pulled up the latest reports on ManaNet's integration at Ithavoll Group's headquarters, the interface reflecting clean, structured data streams—until it didn't.
The fault lines were obvious to him. "The stability layer…" he murmured under his breath.
The Stabilizer-controlled flow—the very foundation that kept mana transmission smooth, predictable, and immune to fluctuation—had been tampered with. Not destroyed, but disturbed. Enough to trigger the failsafe and shut everything down before real damage could propagate.
His gaze shifted to the second affected segment. "Transition phase."
Mana signal to electrical signal—bridge conversion for external connectivity. The most sensitive junction in the entire system. The point where two fundamentally different paradigms were forced to cooperate without tearing each other apart.
Someone had tried to look inside. Arto exhaled quietly. "Curiosity," he said flatly. "Expensive." He scrolled further. No corruption in the reverse pathway. Electrical to mana conversion remained intact.
That… saved a lot of time. If that layer had been compromised, he would have had to audit every connected system individually—trace contamination, recalibrate interfaces, rebuild trust chains across the network.
Instead—"A localized reset," he concluded. "Reinforce the stabilizer field. Reconstruct the transition bridge. Reapply access restrictions."
He leaned back, letting the screen dim as his thoughts shifted from diagnosis to execution...Isla del Sol...Vigrid.
He mapped it mentally—entry, assessment, reconstruction, verification. Minimal interaction, maximum control. Avoid unnecessary exposure. Finish the job.
Travel. New variables. New structures. A world he hadn't examined yet—not as a system to build or control, but as something to simply… observe.
His gaze drifted upward, settling on the ceiling of the cabin without really seeing it. For the first time in months, there wasn't an immediate next step already locking into place behind the current one.
Just—Space. "Sir?" The voice cut in gently. Arto blinked once, refocusing. A flight attendant stood nearby, posture professional, expression polite.
"We'll be taking off shortly. Please fasten your seatbelt." He nodded once. "Understood." The screen in front of him powered down completely as he secured the belt with a quiet click.
Outside, the aircraft began its slow movement toward the runway. Inside, the hum deepened. Arto leaned back again, eyes half-lidded—not sleeping, not fully awake either. Running through the plan one last time, not because he needed to, but because that was simply how his mind worked.
Stabilizer recalibration...Transition phase reconstruction...Failsafe reset...System integrity verification.
Then—Something else.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Arto listening to something via headphones that is exuding numbers, graphs and formulas]
Once the plane stabilized at cruising altitude, the low hum of the engines settling into a steady, almost hypnotic rhythm, Arto unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. The plan was already done—mapped, structured, optimized down to the smallest variable. There was nothing left to refine.
He stepped out of his private suite and walked the aisle, hands loosely in his pockets, gaze drifting without focus. The cabin was quiet in a very particular way—not silence, but a collection of isolated bubbles. A man asleep with his head tilted slightly too far back. Another typing rapidly on a laptop, numbers reflected faintly in his glasses. A woman speaking softly into her phone in a language Arto didn't understand, her tone precise, controlled—business, most likely.
Everyone here was occupied.
Arto watched for a few seconds longer, then moved on. He didn't need Robin to translate—didn't need to know the content to understand the pattern. Wealth had a rhythm. Efficiency had a posture.
And none of it involved idle conversation with strangers. He returned to his suite. Closed the door. And just like that, the quiet became… heavier.
Arto stood there for a moment, then exhaled softly and sat back down. His fingers tapped once against the armrest—not impatient, just… aware.
This was the part he didn't like. Stillness without voices. He reached for his phone, plugged in his headphones, and paused for half a second before unlocking it.
Inside—audio files.
Carefully recorded. Categorized, even if only in his own memory. Fragments of home. Conversations. Arguments. Debates that spiraled from academic theory into personal jabs and back again. Economic breakdowns from Nami, historical tangents from Robin, quiet observations from Koneko, teasing from Akeno, interruptions from Kuroka, Rias asserting control when things drifted too far.
To Arto—It was music. He had listened to Robin a lot lately. Her voice had a certain quality—measured, smooth, carrying thought like a current. Easy to follow. Easy to… stay with.
But today—He scrolled...Nami. The file name flickered briefly before playback began.
"…No, you're still thinking in isolated systems," Nami's voice came through immediately—clear, sharp, alive with that familiar edge of impatience directed at someone who hadn't caught up yet. "INA doesn't just map worlds. It predicts pathways between them. That's the entire point."
A faint rustle—someone shifting, maybe.
"You're treating coordinates as destinations," she continued. "They're not. They're nodes. What matters is the relationship between them."
A pause. Then, slightly quieter—but more intense. "If you understand the relationships, you don't just travel. You navigate."
Arto leaned back, eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth softening just slightly. "…and WAH?" another voice asked—he couldn't quite place who.
"Support function," Nami replied immediately. "But not secondary. It analyzes world composition—energy density, structural stability, environmental variables. INA tells you where you can go. WAH tells you whether you should."
A small scoff. "And before anyone asks—yes, I've already integrated predictive risk modeling. No, you don't get to see the full framework yet." A faint laugh in the background—Akeno, most likely.
"Because," Nami continued, unmistakably smug now, "if I handed you everything at once, you'd break it."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by chibi Rias reading a broadcast for Arto]
The plane had touched down smoothly at Madrid-Barajas Airport. Arto felt the long hours in his bones as he stood up, stretching his arms overhead with a quiet groan. Thirteen hours of flight, even in first class, left a lingering stiffness. He removed the headphones, the last echoes of Nami's excited voice about the INA still ringing faintly in his mind. Five recordings had played while he drifted in and out of sleep — a small comfort that had made the journey feel less lonely.
He grabbed his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and stepped out of the private suite into the aisle.
That was when he saw her.
She was standing just outside her own suite, adjusting the strap of a sleek handbag. Long raven hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing a face that hit Arto like a quiet thunderbolt. Beautiful wasn't enough — it was the kind of beauty that felt deliberate, almost weaponized. Sharp gray eyes peered through delicate butterfly-themed glasses, clever and assessing. A small beauty mark sat perfectly on her chin, drawing the eye to lips that carried a faint, perpetual smirk of immense confidence.
Her outfit was simple yet devastating: a tailored black and crimson dress that hugged every curve with elegant precision — narrow waist, graceful hips, the kind of silhouette that made the air feel thinner.
Arto froze.
For several long seconds he simply stared, stunned in a way he hadn't been in centuries. The noise of the plane, the other passengers, the announcements — everything faded. Only her remained.
The woman noticed his gaze. Her smirk deepened, just a fraction, and she tilted her head.
"Are you alright?" she asked, voice smooth and teasing, carrying a refined English accent that somehow made the question sound like both concern and playful challenge. "Or am I shining a bit too brightly this afternoon?"
The words snapped Arto back to reality. He blinked, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, and quickly straightened into the old knightly posture that still lived in his muscles — shoulders squared, chin lifted, a small respectful bow of the head.
"Forgive me," he said, voice low and steady despite the sudden rush of warmth in his chest. "I… lost my manners for a moment. Please, go ahead."
She smiled — slow, knowing, and genuinely amused.
"It's been a long time since I've seen a knight in modern clothing," she replied, stepping fully out of her suite. The movement revealed her full height — around 175 cm without the elegant heels, making her nearly as tall as Robin. The dress shifted with her, accentuating every line without being overt.
Arto followed a respectful step behind as they moved toward the exit. His eyes, traitorous as they were, kept drifting to the gentle sway of her hips. He thought he had grown immune to that particular trick — Rias and Akeno had weaponized it against him countless times. But something about this woman was different. It wasn't just the movement. It was the confidence behind it, the quiet power, the way she carried herself like the world was a stage and she had already memorized all the lines.
He forced his gaze forward, focusing on the back of her head instead.
[Madrid-Barajas Airport - Terminal]
By the time they stepped off the plane and into the airport, Arto had already told himself—firmly—that he was not looking.
He was not. Not at the sway, not at the rhythm, not at anything remotely resembling what Kuroka would immediately label as "pervert behavior."
It was something else. His gaze had shifted lower—not lingering, not indulgent, but focused...Her heels, there was something… off.
Not visibly obvious to a normal observer, but to Arto—someone who had built systems, layered mechanics, and hidden functions into objects far subtler than this—it stood out immediately. The structure wasn't purely aesthetic. The heel had reinforcement lines, micro-segmentation along the base, and a faint discontinuity where the material should have been seamless.
A slot? No—A mounting point. His eyes narrowed slightly. "…attachment system, designed for quick deployment." he thought.
His mind ran through possibilities. Blade? Too inefficient. Tool? Unlikely. Then—Firearm. A very specific kind of firearm. Compact. Modular. Possibly mana-assisted or hybrid.
He paused internally. "…why?" Why would someone integrate a weapon system into heels? Was it balance? Concealment? Style? Or— Was he overanalyzing after listening to Nami explain mechanical frameworks for hours?
That was also possible. Unfortunately—The process of thinking did not look like thinking. From the outside, it looked like a man silently following a woman while staring very intently at her legs.
For an extended period. Across multiple camera angles, through security corridors, down the terminal. By the time they reached the lounge, the situation had… escalated. "Sir."
Arto blinked. Two security personnel stood in front of him, posture firm, expressions already leaning toward conclusion rather than inquiry. "We've received a report," one of them said. "You've been following this lady for some time."
Arto processed that, then processed his own behavior. Then—"…understandable," he concluded internally. "This is a public space," the second guard added, sharper. "We're going to need an explanation."
"I—" he started. And stopped. Because technically, he had been following her. And technically, he had been staring. And technically, there were now multiple camera feeds confirming both. "…this is inefficient," he thought.
Before he could attempt a second, equally doomed explanation— A voice cut in. "Oh, he's with me." All three turned. The woman stood there, perfectly composed, as if this entire situation had been nothing more than a minor scheduling delay.
The guards shifted slightly. "Ma'am, are you aware—"
"Yes," she said smoothly. "Quite aware." A small smile. "He's not stalking me." A pause. Then—"He's my catwalk instructor." Arto turned his head slowly.
The guards blinked. "…your what?" one of them asked. "My instructor," she repeated, as if clarifying something obvious. "I have a runway shoot in Madrid. He's evaluating my posture, gait, and balance." She gestured lightly toward her heels. "Very particular about details."
All eyes turned to Arto. There were moments in life where decisions had to be made quickly. This was one of them.
Arto straightened as if a switch had flipped. "Yes," he said calmly. The guards hesitated.
Arto stepped forward slightly, his gaze shifting—not to her legs this time, but to her overall posture. His tone changed—measured, precise, carrying just enough authority to sound intentional.
"Her stride is consistent," he said. "But the weight distribution is slightly forward-biased due to heel structure." A small pause. "It affects the line during directional turns."
The guards looked at each other. Arto continued. "The hip alignment is correct, but the transition between steps lacks full extension. It reduces visual continuity from a frontal perspective."
"Runway pacing," Arto added, as if concluding a lecture, "requires controlled projection, not just balance. She's improving."
Then—"…right," one of the guards said slowly. The tension deflated. Not completely. But enough. "Alright," the first one said. "Just… be mindful in public spaces."
"Of course," the woman replied smoothly. The guards left. A brief pause followed.
Then—"…catwalk instructor?" Arto said quietly. The woman turned to him, that same amused glint in her eyes. "You adapted quickly," she said. "You created the scenario," he replied.
A soft laugh. "True." She took a step closer—not invading space, but close enough to lower her voice slightly. "And for the record," she added, "you were absolutely staring at my heels."
Arto didn't deny it. "They're modified," he said. For the first time, the amusement shifted into something sharper. "…most people don't notice that," she said. "I'm not most people," Arto replied.
A brief silence. Then her smile returned—but different now. Less teasing. More… interested. "Well," she said, turning slightly toward the lounge interior, "since you're already playing the role…"
A glance over her shoulder. "Walk with me, instructor." A beat. "And try to keep your analysis a little less… incriminating."
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto wondering why he was looking at those legs]
[Madrid-Majras Airport - VIP Lounge]
The VIP lounge was quiet and elegant, a world apart from the bustling terminal outside. Soft lighting, comfortable leather armchairs, and a large window overlooking the runways. Alexander (Arto) guided the woman to a secluded corner table, pulling out her chair with the same old knightly courtesy that still lived in his muscles.
Once they were both seated, he bowed his head slightly, voice low and sincere. "I must apologize again for my behavior earlier. It was inappropriate. I became… overly curious about the mechanical design of your heels. I should not have stared like that."
The woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. Her gray eyes sparkled with amusement behind the butterfly glasses as she studied him.
"Oh, I know your eyes didn't stop at my heels," she said, her refined English accent wrapping around each word like velvet. "They traveled quite a bit higher. All the way up my legs… and lingered on my hips. You were that weak for me, weren't you? There's no doubt something was… tingling."
Alexander felt heat rise to his face. He bowed his head again, deeper this time. "If there is anything I can do to compensate for my lack of control, please name it. I will do whatever is necessary to make amends."
She tilted her head, the small beauty mark on her chin catching the light as that confident smirk deepened. An idea clearly formed behind her eyes.
Alexander seized the moment before the silence stretched too long.
"Actually… I noticed the mechanical mounting system on your heels. It looks designed to attach something — like a firearm. If that is what you need, you don't have to look any further. As an apology, I will craft you a set of custom firearms that fit those heels perfectly. Beautiful, precise, and matched to the mechanism. I don't know why you need that capability, but if it pleases you and earns your forgiveness, I will make them before I continue on my own trip."
The woman's smirk turned into a slow, intrigued smile. "You can truly do that? Here, in an airport lounge?"
Alexander met her gaze steadily. "Yes. I can. And I will make you the most beautiful, functional set of guns you have ever seen."
She studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing his certainty.
"Very well. My purpose in Spain was partly to find someone capable of crafting custom firearms that integrate with these heels. Impress me… and I may grant you the forgiveness you've been craving."
Alexander gave a small, respectful nod. "Then I will not disappoint. but before I start, may I make a request?" The woman lean closer, tilting her head in a seductive angle "Oh, pay tell~What else do you even want beyond this sight?"
"Well, since I am performing personal handcraft for this gorgeous lady, is it too much to wonder to know my audience's name?" he says smoothly as he tilts his head the same way she does, looking straight into her eyes.
"Such charm, Mr Modern Knight~You could have just asked~" she purrs sweetly, but it doesn't seem to intrigue the craftman as he answers "Where is the fun in that, my lady? What's earned is always more precious, and I do believe your name holds such value, because I've taken too much of your beauty for my eyes for free"
"Mm," she hummed softly, leaning back again, crossing her legs with that same deliberate elegance. "You do have a way with words, Mr. Modern Knight."
Her fingers traced lightly along the armrest, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world to decide."Very well," she continued at last, her voice smooth, controlled. "Since you insist on earning it…"
A small pause. "Impress me, then I will tell you my name. But first, yours?" Alexander stays silent for a moment before responding "You will have to earn it too, my lady, like I said, what's earned is always more precious."
"Earn?" She asks with curiosity. He leans deeper into her, closing the distance between them "By giving me honest reaction for what I made, because I do aim to please you, and leave a mark of myself in your beautiful display, my lady"
The woman's lips curved into a slow, genuinely intrigued smile. The beauty mark on her chin seemed to accentuate the playful challenge in her expression. "You're bold, Mr. Modern Knight. I like that."
She extended her hand across the table, not for a handshake, but with the palm up — an invitation. "Then impress me. And perhaps… I'll let you earn my name."
Alexander took her hand gently, bowing his head once more over it in that old, knightly fashion. "I accept the challenge, my lady."
He released her hand with careful respect, already mentally sketching the first lines of the custom firearms he would craft to match her heels — elegant, deadly, and perfectly balanced for a woman who clearly knew how to wield both beauty and danger.
He knelt gracefully before the woman, his posture still carrying that old knightly discipline.
"May I?" he asked quietly, voice respectful. "Please place your heel on my knee so I can examine the mounting mechanism and determine the exact size and fit for the firearms."
The woman — Bayonetta — studied him for a brief moment, her gray eyes sparkling with amusement and curiosity behind the butterfly glasses. Then, with deliberate elegance, she lifted one leg and rested the heel of her shoe lightly on his knee.
Arto's scarred hands moved with careful precision. His fingers traced the mechanical mounting points, feeling the reinforced rails, the quick-release slots, the balance of weight distribution. He noted every detail — the angle needed for a natural draw, the stability required during movement, the way the heel needed to remain comfortable for long periods of walking or even running.
Sensing a slight clankiness in the internal mechanism — a minor friction that could affect smoothness — he reached into his kit and pulled out a small vial of mechanical oil Nami had specially formulated. It carried a faint, elegant rose scent.
"With your permission," he murmured.
She gave a small nod, watching him with that confident, teasing smirk.
Arto applied the oil sparingly, working it into the moving parts with gentle, practiced motions. The mechanism quieted immediately, moving with buttery smoothness.
He repeated the process on the other heel, his touch respectful and focused the entire time.
Once both heels were examined, lubricated, and measured, he released her foot with the same careful courtesy, then reached into his kit again and pulled out a small block of high-quality modeling clay.
"Please hold this and squeeze it until the grip feels perfectly comfortable in your hand," he said, offering the clay. "This will be the mold for the gun handles. I want them to feel like an extension of you."
Bayonetta took the clay, her fingers wrapping around it with natural grace. She squeezed once, twice, adjusting her grip until it felt right, then handed the molded shape back to him.
Arto nodded in approval and set to work on the small, portable crafting station he always carried — a compact set of tools that could produce surprisingly fine work in tight spaces.
At that exact moment, the lounge's background music shifted. Soft, haunting strings filled the air — the classic folk melody of "Scarborough Fair."
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme…
The lyrics and melody sparked an idea in Arto's mind. A small, private smile touched his scarred lips as he began shaping the metal components with precise, steady hands.
Twenty minutes later, the work was complete.
Arto stood and presented the finished set to her with both hands — four elegant, deadly handguns, perfectly balanced and designed to integrate seamlessly with the mechanical mounting points on her heels.
"Scarborough Fair," he said quietly, voice carrying a touch of pride. "Consisting of four ingredients: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme. Each one crafted to complement the other, beautiful yet functional, precise yet graceful. They will draw and fire smoothly from your heels, with balanced recoil and elegant lines that match your style."
Bayonetta accepted the set, her gray eyes widening slightly as she examined the craftsmanship. The guns were exquisite — sleek black and crimson accents, perfectly weighted, the grips molded exactly to her hand from the clay impression. She slid one into the mounting point on her heel with a soft, satisfying click. It fit like it had always belonged there.
She took a few experimental steps, drew the gun in one fluid motion, and fired a test shot (safely into the reinforced practice target the lounge provided for high-end clients who traveled with protection).
The movement was deathly graceful — exactly as she moved in combat.
Bayonetta turned back to him, the confident smirk on her lips softening into something more genuine, more impressed. "You kept your word," she said, voice low and appreciative. "These are… magnificent. Better than I imagined."
She slid the guns back into their heel mounts and extended her hand once more — this time not for a handshake, but palm up, an open gesture. "As promised… my name is Bayonetta."
Arto took her hand gently, bowing his head over it in that old, knightly fashion. "And mine is Alexander Alijah,"
At the exact same instant, both spoke: "Liar." Their voices overlapped perfectly — one word, two mouths, the same quiet certainty.
Neither looked away. The synchronization continued, seamless and almost playful, as if they had rehearsed it for years instead of meeting minutes ago. "How did you know it was not my true name?" One question. Two voices. Perfectly timed.
"A man—" "A woman—" Again, in unison: "…has his/her own way of spotting a liar…"
The words hung between them like a shared secret. Bayonetta's smirk deepened, the small beauty mark on her chin accentuating the curve of her lips. Her gray eyes sparkled with genuine delight behind the butterfly glasses.
Bayonetta's smirk deepened, the small beauty mark on her chin accentuating the curve of her lips. Her gray eyes sparkled with genuine delight behind the butterfly glasses. "Well, well… it seems we both have excellent instincts, Alexander. But I do believe I delievered you my honesty..."
Arto's masked face mirrored her amusement, the blue flame in his eyes flickering with quiet respect and something warmer. "And I did deliver you my dedication..."
"...Yet you lied to me..." they speak at the same time again. "...but I never said it would be my real name..." they used the same excuse.
The words hung between them like a shared secret, both acknowledging the game and refusing to break character. Bayonetta let out a soft, melodic laugh — low and genuine, the sound wrapping around them like warm silk.
"You are a dangerous man, Alexander. Dangerous in ways that have nothing to do with the beautiful guns you just crafted for my heels."
Arto inclined his head, a small, respectful smile tugging at the corner of his scarred mouth. "And you, Bayonetta, are a dangerous woman. The kind who makes a man forget he has a train to catch… and a job waiting for him. But I meant my word when I said I wanted to leave a mark in you beautiful display. And I think a little mystery would be enough to keep me in your mind....until the day we meet again, and earn the right to know each other's true names"
With that said, he picks up his backpack and gets out of the longue. Before he leaves, he turns back to Bayonetta "My best regard to your eternal beauty, my lady" he leaves and the door closes
Arto inclined his head, a small, respectful smile tugging at the corner of his scarred mouth.
"And you, Bayonetta, are a dangerous woman. The kind who makes a man forget he has a train to catch… and a job waiting for him. But I meant my word when I said I wanted to leave a mark in your beautiful display. And I think a little mystery would be enough to keep me in your mind… until the day we meet again, and earn the right to know each other's true names."
With that, he picked up his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and turned toward the exit. Before he left, he glanced back one last time. "My best regards to your eternal beauty, my lady."
The door closed softly behind him.
Bayonetta remained seated for a moment longer, one finger tracing the rim of her untouched glass. The smirk on her lips lingered, softer now, more thoughtful.
"Alexander Alijah," she murmured to the empty air, tasting the false name like fine wine. "Or whoever you really are… you certainly know how to make an exit."
She stood gracefully, smoothing the front of her elegant dress, and walked toward her own gate — heels clicking with that same confident rhythm, the new Scarborough Fair guns hidden but perfectly balanced at her feet.
[Timeskip: Brought to you by Arto imagining Bayonetta shooting Scarborough Fair with her heels]
The taxi pulled up smoothly near the airport exit. Arto stepped forward as Robin's voice — speaking through the small white mask he wore — flowed out in fluent, natural Spanish. "Buenos días. ¿Podría llevarme a la estación de tren que va hacia Vigrid, por favor? (Good morning. Could you take me to the train station for Vigrid, please?)"
The driver, a middle-aged man with a friendly face and a neatly trimmed mustache, smiled and opened the rear door for him. "¡Claro que sí! Suba, señor.(Of course! Come on in, sir.)"
Arto slid into the back seat, settling his backpack beside him. The driver closed the door, got behind the wheel, and the car pulled smoothly into traffic.
Robin continued translating in real time through the mask, her voice calm and clear in Arto's ear while she handled the conversation: "¿Va a Vigrid? Es un pueblo bastante aislado, ¿sabe? Solo hay un tren al día que entra y sale. Muy pocos pasajeros normalmente. ¿Negocios o placer? (Are you going to Vigrid? It's quite a remote village, you know. There's only one train a day that goes in and out. Very few passengers usually. Business or pleasure?)"
Arto listened carefully, absorbing the rhythm and pronunciation of the Spanish words. This was exactly what he had hoped for — a chance to learn by immersion while Robin acted as his bridge. He stayed mostly silent, letting Robin handle the responses while he focused on the sounds, the cadence, the natural flow of the language.
Robin replied on his behalf, keeping the tone polite and curious: "Un poco de ambos. Trabajo primero, pero también quiero conocer un poco el país. He oído que Vigrid es un lugar especial, ¿verdad? (A bit of both. Work comes first, but I also want to get to know the country a little. I've heard Vigrid is a special place, right?)"
The driver — who introduced himself as Carlos — warmed up immediately, chatting openly as the car merged onto the highway. "¡Sí, es un pueblo curioso! Muy tranquilo, rodeado de montañas y bosques antiguos. La gente de por allí es reservada, pero buena gente. Yo nací cerca, así que conozco bien la zona. ¿Es su primera vez en España? (Yes, it's a curious village! Very peaceful, surrounded by mountains and ancient forests. The people there are reserved, but good people. I was born nearby, so I know the area well. Is this your first time in Spain?)"
Robin translated smoothly while Arto listened and repeated the words silently in his mind, committing the pronunciation to memory. The conversation flowed easily. Carlos talked about the weather, the food, the hidden gems tourists usually missed.
He mentioned that Vigrid had a strange, almost timeless feel — old stone buildings, narrow streets, and a sense that the modern world hadn't fully arrived yet. The train station was small and quiet, with only one departure and arrival per day. Most visitors came for the surrounding nature or the old abbey ruins on the hill.
Arto found himself genuinely interested, especially when Carlos spoke about the isolation of Vigrid and how the town seemed to guard its own secrets.
Robin's voice remained steady in his ear, translating every detail while also slipping in small notes for him: "His accent is Castilian. Notice how he rolls the 'r' slightly differently from Latin American Spanish. Useful to recognize regional variations."
Arto nodded subtly, eyes on the passing landscape, letting the new language wash over him.
Carlos eventually asked, curious but friendly: "¿Y qué le trae exactamente a Vigrid, si no es indiscreción? No solemos tener muchos visitantes extranjeros por negocios.(And what exactly brings you to Vigrid, if you don't mind me asking? We don't usually have many foreign visitors for business.)"
Robin answered for him smoothly: "Trabajo técnico para una empresa. Nada demasiado emocionante, pero necesario. Aunque aprovecharé para conocer un poco el lugar. (I do technical work for a company. Nothing too exciting, but necessary. Although I'll take the opportunity to get to know the place a bit.)"
The driver chuckled.
"Bueno, si necesita recomendaciones de sitios tranquilos o buena comida, avíseme. Vigrid tiene sus encantos ocultos.(Well, if you need recommendations for quiet places or good food, let me know. Vigrid has its hidden charms.)" The ride continued comfortably. Arto stayed quiet, listening, learning, occasionally repeating phrases under his breath when Robin translated something particularly useful.
By the time the taxi pulled up at the small train station serving Vigrid, Arto had already picked up several practical phrases, the rhythm of Carlos's speech, and a better sense of the region.
He paid the fare generously, adding a tip with a polite "Gracias, Carlos. Ha sido un placer.(Thank you, Carlos. It's been a pleasure.)"
Carlos smiled broadly. "¡Igualmente! Que tenga un buen viaje. Y si vuelve por aquí, avíseme. ¡Buena suerte en Vigrid! (Likewise! Have a good trip. And if you come back this way, let me know. Good luck in Vigrid!)"
As the taxi drove off, Arto stood for a moment outside the modest station, backpack on his shoulder, breathing in the fresh Spanish air.
Robin's voice returned softly through the mask. "You did well. Your pronunciation is already improving. I'll keep translating as needed for the train and in Vigrid."
[Train to Vigrid]
The train compartment was quiet, the soft rocking motion and the rhythmic clack of wheels on rails creating a soothing backdrop. Arto had just settled into his seat, backpack stowed above, when the door slid open with a gentle hiss.
Bayonetta stepped in.
The same raven hair, the same confident stride, the same elegant black-and-crimson dress that hugged her figure with effortless grace. The new Scarborough Fair guns were hidden in her heels, but Arto could sense their presence — perfectly balanced, ready.
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the air in the compartment seemed to thicken.
Bayonetta's lips curved into that familiar, teasing smirk. She strode forward without hesitation and took the seat directly opposite him, crossing her legs with deliberate elegance. The faint, captivating scent she carried — something dark, floral, and dangerously alluring — drifted across the small space, making Arto's heightened senses twitch despite his best efforts.
Arto used every ounce of the three-thousand-year-old composure he had forged in blood and fire to keep his face neutral. He refused to let his gaze drop. He refused to let the wolf inside him react too strongly to her presence.
But it was difficult...Very difficult...Bayonetta leaned back comfortably, resting one arm along the windowsill, studying him openly now that the white mask was gone.
"Well, well… Alexander Alijah," she purred, her refined English accent wrapping around his false name like silk. "It seems our paths are determined to cross today. Same train. Same destination — Vigrid. What a delightful coincidence."
She tilted her head, gray eyes sparkling behind the butterfly glasses as she took in his full face for the first time — the scars visible where his partial glamour didn't completely hide them, the sharp lines of his jaw, the quiet intensity in his blue eyes.
"You clean up rather well without the mask," she continued, voice light but laced with genuine curiosity. "Though I must admit… those scars give you quite the battle-hardened look for a craftsman. One might wonder how a man who builds such beautiful firearms ended up with a face that looks like it's seen more wars than most soldiers."
Arto met her gaze steadily, keeping his voice calm and measured, though his pulse had quickened despite his efforts.
"Life has a way of leaving marks on all of us, Miss Bayonetta. Some are just more visible than others." He allowed a small, respectful nod. "And yes… it does seem the universe has a sense of humor today. Vigrid, then?"
Bayonetta's smirk widened, clearly enjoying the game. "Vigrid indeed. Business, I assume? Or are you simply following me now?"
Arto's mouth twitched with the faintest hint of a smile. "Business first. Though I must admit, the company on this journey has become… unexpectedly pleasant."
Bayonetta laughed softly — low, melodic, dangerous in its charm. "Careful, Mr. Alijah. Flattery from a man who just built me custom heel-mounted guns could be taken the wrong way… or exactly the right way."
She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, eyes never leaving his. "Tell me, craftsman… do you always offer to build deadly gifts for women you've only just met in airport lounges? Or am I a special case?"
Arto held her gaze, the blue flame in his eyes steady despite the way her scent and presence tugged at every heightened sense he possessed.
"You struck me as someone who appreciates fine craftsmanship… and someone who can handle dangerous things without fear. I simply wanted to make amends for my earlier lapse in manners. Nothing more."
Bayonetta's smile turned knowing. "Liar," she whispered, echoing their earlier synchronized game. Arto's lips curved in return. "Perhaps. But a polite one."