(Bonus Chapter = 100 Power Stones!)
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The Chaldea cafeteria was nearly empty in the early hours of the morning. The silence, broken only by the clinking of liquid against porcelain and the occasional crackle of wood in the oven, seemed to echo like an uncomfortable memory.
Sitting alone, Oda Nobunaga rested her elbow on the table, holding the small sake bottle with a steady hand, but her eyes were distant. With each sip, her expression didn't soften; instead, it hardened, as if every drop pulled her back to the dream she had experienced.
A dream that didn't seem like a figment of her imagination, but rather a memory that wasn't hers. She saw it—the past he never told her about. The suffering he kept buried deep in his soul, locked behind the casual gaze he always showed the world. Nobunaga pressed her lips together, recalling the images: the filthy house, the smoke, the men, the mother...
She knew it wasn't something he would choose to share with anyone. What kind of man would speak of being broken as a child, of losing even the flame that kept him alive? Yet, Nobunaga now knew. She had seen it with her own eyes, the events that shaped him.
She downed her cup in one gulp, slamming it onto the table.
The sound echoed through the empty cafeteria.
"Damned fate…" she muttered, her voice low and laden with anger.
Nobunaga wasn't the type to be easily moved. For her, life had always been about war, blood, and power. But now, thinking of him—her Master, the man who had even managed to conquer her heart—the anger wasn't for his past, but for the fact that he had been forced to survive such an unworthy hell after everything he had done for humanity.
After all he did for humans, did he deserve this?
She took a deep breath, adjusting her posture. Her eyes narrowed, serious.
"You'll never be alone again, idiot…" she said, almost as if speaking to herself. "If the world dares to hurt you again, I'll burn it all down myself…"
The memory of her silent promise echoed in her chest. Nobunaga didn't need to say it out loud to him. Not yet. But she carried a firm resolve within her: she would protect that man, no matter the cost.
She picked up the sake bottle again, but this time, instead of drinking, she just held it.
Suddenly, the soft sound of footsteps pulled her out of her spiral of thoughts.
The cafeteria door opened quietly, and in walked Musashi Miyamoto. Unlike her usual carefree swordsman demeanor, she now wore simple modern clothes—a loose pair of sweatpants and a light blouse, the kind of comfortable outfit for sleeping. But her expression was far from relaxed. She was pale, serious, as if she had seen the same specter haunting Nobunaga's mind.
The two locked eyes in silence for a few seconds. No words were needed to recognize what they were both thinking.
Musashi was the first to break the silence, her voice soft but heavy:
"…So, you too?"
Nobunaga snorted, looking away for a moment and slamming the sake bottle on the table, irritated.
"Unfortunately… yes."
Musashi approached slowly, pulling out a chair and sitting across from Nobunaga. For a few moments, neither said anything. They simply shared the silence, their thoughts turned to what they had witnessed through that dream that wasn't theirs.
Nobunaga poured more sake into two cups, sliding one toward Musashi without looking directly at her. The swordswoman accepted, raised the cup, and drank it in one quick gulp, letting the liquid warm her throat before letting out a long sigh.
"Our Master…" she began, resting the empty cup on the table, her eyes fixed on the white wood. "He's truly incredible, isn't he? To go through all that… to survive what none of us could endure… and still smile. Still act so carefree, as if nothing happened…"
Nobunaga closed her eyes for a moment, biting her lower lip. Then she replied in a hoarse voice, filled with a mix of admiration and fury.
"Incredible and stupid." She tapped her finger on the cup, her gaze now fixed on Musashi. "If it were me, I'd have killed all those disgusting men and burned that filthy house down. I'd never trust anyone after that, that's for sure. But not him. He smiles, laughs, fights for everyone… even after enduring such injustice…"
Musashi gave a melancholic but genuine smile.
"It doesn't surprise me that he changed after everything he went through in relation to people. The Master believes he's just doing what's right, but compared to before, when he had that kindness… in his eyes, now it seems a bit empty. Not that I see a problem with that. To me, he's still the same." Her eyes, though tired, held a glint of tenderness.
Silence settled between them again, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the silence of two women who, despite being so different—a fiery general and a wandering swordswoman—now shared the same "heart."
Nobunaga raised her cup and tilted it slightly toward Musashi.
"Then so be it. Let's fight for him. Until the end…"
Musashi raised her own cup, smiling faintly with her characteristic lightness, though her eyes still showed the impact.
"Until the end."
Their cups clinked softly, the metallic sound echoing through the empty cafeteria.
Suddenly, firm but hesitant footsteps came from the corridor. Nobunaga and Musashi raised their eyes simultaneously.
The door opened again, revealing Bedivere. He wore simple casual clothes, but his pale expression and the way he clutched his fist to his chest betrayed his turmoil. For a moment, he stood still at the entrance, as if doubting he had the strength to cross the threshold.
His eyes met theirs.
The silence was answer enough.
Without needing to ask, Bedivere took a deep breath and approached, pulling a chair to join them. He sat slowly, his metal hand resting on the table while his flesh hand held the cup Nobunaga, without ceremony, had already poured for him.
He accepted, took a restrained sip, and murmured:
"So… I wasn't the only one."
Musashi, still with that melancholic smile, tilted her head.
"No. And maybe… none of us are."
Nobunaga snorted, leaning back in her chair, twirling the cup between her fingers as if trying to avoid showing too much.
"Hmph. This might very well mean everyone in this damned fortress had the same dream."
Bedivere closed his eyes and spoke.
"Seeing that… what was taken from him in childhood… strangely reminded me of my own past, of the promise I broke and the life I saw slip away before my eyes." His fist trembled slightly on the table. "Obviously, what he went through was a thousand times worse than anything I endured to fulfill the promise I made to my king… I wonder, did he forget? Did he force himself to forget to move forward?"
Musashi rested her chin on her hand, observing him calmly.
"Our Master doesn't smile because he forgot, Bedivere. He smiles because… he chose not to let the past dictate everything. Maybe that's what makes him so hard to understand…"
Nobunaga sighed loudly, downing her drink in one gulp.
"Or maybe he's just an idiot who doesn't know how to value his own suffering…" She slammed the cup on the table.
For a moment, none of the three spoke. They simply stayed together, each lost in their own thoughts.
Bedivere then raised his cup, his metal hand glinting under the dim cafeteria light.
"I saw you ladies toasting… I'd like to do the same. I'm not much for drinking, but after everything I saw, I need one…"
Musashi gave a faint smile and raised her cup.
"Hm. I don't mind sharing this burden. After all, drinking with company is always better."
Nobunaga, reluctantly, raised her own cup, her eyes still sparking with anger, but her voice firm:
"So be it…"
The three clinked their cups in silence.
The door opened again. It wasn't just one pair of footsteps this time—there were two.
Nobunaga, Musashi, and Bedivere raised their eyes simultaneously.
Déjà vu?
Medusa entered first, also wearing casual sleepwear and magical glasses to suppress her Mystic Eyes, but with a more guarded expression than usual. Beside her, Medea walked stiffly, her eyes blazing with fury. The witch of Colchis seemed like a blade ready to be unsheathed to kill anyone in her path.
Medea said nothing upon arriving. She merely cast a sharp glance at the three already seated, as if searching for someone to blame. Medusa, on the other hand, stayed a step behind, but it was impossible not to notice her expression—cold to those who didn't know her, but laden with something vulnerable to those who could see.
A heavy silence settled.
Medea was the one to break it, her voice low but dripping with venom:
"So… you all saw it too."
No one answered immediately. There was no need. Nobunaga merely raised an eyebrow, grabbed the sake bottle, and, with a strange, almost defiant smile, slid two cups toward them.
"Sit. The house is buying."
Medusa pulled out a chair and sat calmly, as if the weight of the night demanded economy even in her movements. Medea, on the other hand, threw herself into the chair with force, her jaw tense. She grabbed the cup without a word of thanks and downed it in one go, the sharp clink of the glass hitting the table betraying her anger.
Musashi was the first to speak, trying to lighten the mood:
"Looks like the cafeteria has become… hm, how should I put it? A refuge for broken hearts."
Nobunaga snorted.
"More like a den of cursed people."
Bedivere, serious, tilted his head slightly.
"Whatever the name, we're here for the same reason…"
Medusa drank in silence, her eyes fixed on the liquid in her cup. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper:
"No one should have to endure something like that. Especially not him…"
Medea clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white.
"Endure?" She spat the word like poison. "No. That shouldn't even have happened. A man like him… reduced to ashes when he was still a child. If I had been there… they would've begged for death before even touching him…"
The silence that followed was thick, until Nobunaga let out a bitter laugh.
"Heh. And here I thought I was the only one ready to burn the world for him."
Medea shot her a quick glance, filled with both fury and complicity.
Medusa sighed, her soft tone hiding much more than it revealed.
"I think it's unfair that this happened after he did so much to save humanity…"
Bedivere raised his gaze, a grave glint in his eyes.
"We were just talking about that. Fate always seems to demand more from those who deserve it least…"
Musashi twirled her cup between her fingers, thoughtful.
"Maybe that's why he brings us together. Warriors, kings, assassins, witches, monsters… all here, drinking for the same person." She smiled faintly, but without her usual lightness. "It's almost beautiful, if you ignore the tragic part…"
Nobunaga refilled everyone's cups, the strange smile still on her lips.
"Enough talk. Let's drink…"
Medea raised her cup, her eyes gleaming with restrained fury.
"Let it burn…"
Medusa raised hers too, but in silence, her gaze cold as stone.
Bedivere followed with solemnity, and Musashi, as always, with a melancholic smile.
Their cups clinked.
…
The walls of Kazuya's room shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted lamps. The magically expanded space felt more like a small palace than a simple dormitory: dark wooden panels with golden inscriptions reflected a warm, calming light, the oriental rug on the floor absorbed footsteps, and the monumental bed, flanked by navy-blue silk curtains embroidered with runes, seemed to invite absolute rest. A sofa in front of the magical screen, still with the video game on standby, added a cozy, homely touch to the place.
But the atmosphere was anything but comfortable…
Ishtar stood, arms crossed, pacing back and forth in front of the bed, her expression tense—not with pride, but with anger. Her ruby-red eyes, usually arrogant and full of spark, now wavered between frustration and pain.
"How can he just… smile?" she muttered, her voice trembling with indignation.
"That idiot…! He went through that, lived that hell, and still acts like… and worse, he didn't tell us anything!" She stopped abruptly, her fists clenched.
Seated on the sofa, Ereshkigal kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes, brimming with tears, stared into the void. Unlike her sister, she didn't move, but her pain was almost tangible, a weight sinking her into the cushions.
"He didn't want us to see…" she murmured, her voice low but firm. "It wasn't meant for us. He didn't want us to carry that kind of memory of him…"
Ishtar snorted, spinning on her heels to face her sister.
"And you think I'm going to pretend I didn't see?!" The goddess of war raised her voice, but it trembled. "I'll never forget those images. That child… him…!" She bit her lips, taking a step back as if the weight of the memories had struck her. "I can't stand the thought that someone dared…!"
Ereshkigal took a deep breath, trying to stay calm.
"Neither can I. But… he survived. And he chose to live for others, even when no one lived for him. It's cruel, but it's also what makes him… him."
For a moment, silence settled, filled only by the distant sound of wind passing through the runes on the window.
Ishtar looked away, biting her nail with poorly disguised anger.
"I wish I could rip that past out of him by force. I wish I could change it…" Her voice faltered, more fragile than she usually allowed. "But I can't."
Ereshkigal finally raised her eyes to her sister, and there was something rare there—not the usual timid shadow, but a cold, heavy determination.
"We can't change what happened. But we can make sure he's never hurt like that again." She clenched her fists in her lap. "Not by the world. Not by fate."
Ishtar stared at her, surprised by the intensity in her sister's gaze.
"Hmph… so you too." Her smile was sad, but there was a genuine fire behind it. "Looks like all of us, each in our own way, came to the same decision."
Ereshkigal merely nodded, the tears held back in her eyes glinting.
They both looked at the monumental bed, still untouched, the navy-blue silk curtains framing the empty space.
Ishtar murmured, almost like a confession to the silent room: "I thought he'd be here. That's why I ran. I wanted to see with my own eyes if he was okay."
"Me too," Ereshkigal added, her voice almost fading. "But… he's not."
Ishtar slumped onto the sofa beside her sister, sighing deeply.
"That idiot should at least have warned us…" she said in a sour tone, but her gaze revealed something else: fear. "I don't like not knowing where he is after seeing… that."
Kazuya had only mentioned to Mashu and Da Vinci where he was going, and they had already tried contacting their Master through their mental connection, but he was likely sleeping or too busy to respond.
Ereshkigal turned her gaze to the runes softly glowing on the curtains.
"Then… we stay here. Until he comes back." Her voice was firm, almost solemn. "At least we can do that."
Ishtar blinked, surprised, before giving a tired but genuine smile.
"Hah… you sound like the older sister talking like that." She leaned her head on Ereshkigal's shoulder, exhausted. "Fine. We stay."
The door to the room burst open suddenly, nearly torn off its hinges by the force of the movement.
Tamamo no Mae rushed in, her long hair disheveled, her fluffy tail trembling with nervous intensity. Her wide eyes carried the desperation of someone who had run without thinking twice. She still wore the light kimono she slept in, poorly adjusted, betraying that she had left her quarters in a hurry, unable to contain her agitation.
Upon looking up, she found Ishtar and Ereshkigal side by side on the sofa, their faces weary but resolute. The shock froze Tamamo for a moment. The silence that formed was heavy, almost suffocating.
The three locked eyes. None needed to explain. The glint in their eyes, the pallor, the held breath—they had all seen the same thing.
Tamamo was the first to break the silence, her voice choked, almost a sob: "You… you saw it too?"
Ishtar slowly uncrossed her arms, sighing, her anger mixed with exhaustion.
"Yeah. Looks like this nightmare decided to spare no one."
Ereshkigal looked at Tamamo with a soft but firm gaze. "You ran here too… because you wanted to make sure he was okay, didn't you?"
Tamamo pressed her lips together, her trembling hand on her chest as if trying to calm her racing heart. Her teary eyes glimmered under the room's light.
"I… I couldn't stay still after that. Seeing what he went through… that hell… how could a child…!" Her voice broke, and she had to swallow hard to continue. "I thought… I thought I'd lost him."
Ishtar looked away, biting her nail again, visibly uncomfortable with her own vulnerability. "He should be here. Lying in bed, sleeping, as if nothing happened. But of course, he's not. That idiot always has to complicate things."
Tamamo took a deep breath, and the desperation in her eyes slowly gave way to determined fury. Her tail stopped trembling, standing upright and firm. "I don't care what it takes… I'll never let anyone dare to hurt him like that again. Not the whole world, not even the gods."
Ereshkigal nodded silently, and Ishtar, in turn, gave a tired but sincere half-smile.
"Then we're three," Ishtar said, crossing her arms again, but this time the gesture felt less defensive and more like an affirmation.
Suddenly, the door opened again. The first to enter was Jeanne d'Arc. But it wasn't the firm, serene saint everyone was used to seeing. Her steps were unsteady, and her hands trembled as they clutched the hem of her sleepwear. Her blue eyes, usually full of light, were now red and brimming with tears, as if she had been crying since the moment she woke from the dream.
Behind her, Jalter entered silently, her expression restrained, but her clenched fists betrayed her latent anger. Her presence was like a flame ready to spread, yet even she seemed at a loss for words in the face of her "sister's" condition.
Seeing Ishtar, Ereshkigal, and Tamamo gathered, Jeanne stopped at the threshold. For a moment, it seemed she might collapse right there, her breathing faltering, her gaze lost.
"He…" Her voice came out choked, almost a whisper. "He shouldn't have had to bear that alone…"
Ishtar, who had kept her expression hard until then, widened her eyes at seeing Jeanne so shaken. She couldn't recall ever seeing the saint waver like that.
Ereshkigal stood immediately, going to Jeanne and holding her by the shoulders before she could fall. Her voice was firm but full of tenderness: "It's over, Jeanne. We're here now."
But the Frenchwoman merely shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
"No… it's not over. Because it's not a dream. He really lived that. He really…" Her voice broke, and she bent forward, as if each word were a blade piercing her chest. "My heart… it hurts… it hurts like it was me…"
Jalter closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to keep from shouting. She approached Jeanne and grabbed her arm, with more firmness than gentleness. "Enough. If you break down now, it won't help anything. The bastard's still alive, isn't he? So swallow those tears, or at least turn them into anger. Because I swear I'll make the whole world pay if anyone dares touch him again."
Jeanne raised her tearful eyes to the corrupted version of herself. And for the first time, there was no repulsion or fear in her gaze. Only silent gratitude.
Tamamo turned her face away, clutching her tail to her body to contain her emotions.
"Looks like… we're more than three now."
Ishtar snorted, crossing her arms, but not hiding the seriousness in her tone.
"And it'll keep growing. Every time one of us remembers that, another decides it won't happen again."
Ereshkigal helped Jeanne sit on the sofa, while Jalter remained standing beside her, like a fierce guardian. The saint took deep breaths, trying to compose herself, but the tears still fell.
"I… I always believed suffering gave strength. But seeing that…" She clutched her chest, her voice choked. "It wasn't strength. It was cruelty. It was injustice. And yet… he doesn't blame us, doesn't blame anyone…"
Jalter interrupted, her teeth gritted, fury vibrating in every syllable. "Then I'll blame. If he won't hate the world, I'll hate it for him. If he won't punish those who caused it, I'll punish them. That's what I exist for."
Silence spread through the room.
________________
Hello, everyone!
Today I want to open my heart to you and also share a very special piece of news.
Many of you have been following me for some time now, reading my stories, commenting, supporting, and cheering with each new chapter. Writing has always been more than just a hobby for me, since I dream of becoming a professional writer.
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---
Synopsis – The Vampire Diaries: I'm Sukuna?!
He believed his life would end the moment he was hit by a truck, returning home after years of military missions in Africa.
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Between the darkness and a strange voice that offered him a wheel of fate, Ryan awoke in a new body.
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---
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