The corridors of Chaldea stretched before Griswald like the inside of a bleached bone. White walls. White ceiling. White floor tiles that squeaked beneath his standard-issue boots. Even the LED strips running along the baseboards cast a pale, clinical glow that seemed designed to leech color from everything it touched.
He'd always thought the place needed something. A splash of paint, maybe. Some potted plants, if anything could survive this far from actual sunlight. A mural. Graffiti, even. Anything to break the monotony of institutional sterility that permeated every corridor, every chamber, every goddamn corner of this Antarctic fortress.
Griswald pushed a strand of light blond hair away from his forehead. The messy layers never cooperated, falling back into his eyes within seconds. A familiar annoyance. One of many.
He understood the reasoning, of course. Professional environment. Scientific facility. UN-sanctioned organization with international oversight and all that bureaucratic nonsense. Antarctica itself didn't exactly lend itself to vibrant décor—nothing but ice and rock and howling winds for thousands of kilometers in every direction. And he worked in the med bay, for God's sake. White was practically mandatory there. Sterile surfaces. Clean lines. No distractions when you had someone bleeding out on your table.
But still.
The windows to his left offered the only reprieve from the colorless monotony. Thick reinforced glass, specially treated to withstand both the subzero temperatures outside and whatever magical catastrophes might occur within. Through them, Griswald could see the Antarctic landscape stretching toward a horizon that blurred between ice and sky. The dying light of the polar afternoon painted everything in shades of pale blue and grey—not exactly a riot of color, but at least it was something different. Something natural.
His reflection ghosted across the glass as he walked. Tall. Too tall, really, with a lanky frame that made him look like he'd been stretched during adolescence and never quite filled back in. His shoulders hunched forward in that perpetual slouch he'd developed years ago—a subconscious attempt to make himself smaller, less noticeable, easier to overlook. It worked. People's eyes slid right past him in meetings. Colleagues forgot his name between conversations. Even the automated doors seemed to hesitate before recognizing his presence.
Grey eyes blinked back at him from behind smudged glasses. Analytical eyes, his mother had called them once, in one of her rare moments of something approaching approval. Before she'd clarified that analysis was all well and good, but execution mattered more, and wouldn't it be nice if he could manage both?
His angular features gave him a permanent expression of vague concentration. Prominent nose. Thin lips that rarely curved into anything resembling a genuine smile. Not unpleasant to look at, exactly, but forgettable. The kind of face that blended into crowds. The kind of face that belonged to assistants and aides and people who submitted applications to the Clock Tower year after year and received politely worded rejections in return.
The Chaldea uniform fit him poorly. Standard issue, designed for someone with broader shoulders and more confidence. Beneath it, he wore practical clothing—muted colors, durable fabric, nothing that would stain noticeably when splashed with blood or other bodily fluids. His work demanded functionality over fashion. Healing magic was messy business.
Outside the window, a gust of wind sent a spray of snow crystals dancing across the ice. They caught the light for a moment, glittering like scattered diamonds before settling into the endless white expanse. Beautiful, in a desolate way. Griswald paused to watch.
The bounded fields surrounding the facility shimmered at the edge of visibility—a faint distortion in the air that marked the boundary between Chaldea's protected interior and the hostile world beyond. Powerful magic. Ancient wards layered over modern technology. All of it working in concert to hide this place from anyone who might come looking.
Not that anyone would. There was nothing here. Nothing for thousands of kilometers except ice and research stations and the occasional confused penguin.
Griswald resumed walking. His footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. Most of the staff were elsewhere—the command center, the cafeteria, the summoning chamber. The areas that mattered. The medical bay rarely saw visitors unless someone got hurt, and thankfully, injuries had been minimal lately.
Another window. Another view of frozen desolation. The mountains in the distance rose like jagged teeth against the pale sky, their peaks lost in a haze of blowing snow. Somewhere beneath all that ice, ley lines pulsed with magical energy—the lifeblood that powered Chaldea's most critical systems. The CHALDEAS chamber. The FATE summoning system. The sensors that monitored human history for anomalies and threats.
He caught his reflection again. Slouching. Always slouching. He straightened his spine deliberately, held the posture for three steps, then felt it crumble back into familiar curves.
Old habits.
The corridor branched ahead—left toward the residential quarters, right toward the archives and training facilities. Griswald took neither path, continuing straight toward a service elevator that would bring him down to the medical level. His shift started in twenty minutes. Plenty of time to grab a cup of that awful synthetic coffee from the break room dispenser and mentally prepare for another day of treating minor cuts, headaches, and the occasional magical burnout.
White walls surrounded him. White ceiling pressed down from above. White floor stretched endlessly ahead.
God, this place needed color.
Griswald turned the corner and nearly tripped over something small and fluffy.
He stumbled, caught himself against the wall with one hand, and looked down. A creature sat directly in the center of the corridor. Positioned with such deliberate precision that coincidence seemed impossible.
It resembled a cross between a squirrel and a rabbit—if someone had designed both animals to maximize cuteness and then combined them with reckless abandon. Primarily white fur covered its compact body, interrupted by pink-purple accents that colored its long ears, fluffy tail, and delicate paws. The tail alone was nearly as large as the rest of the creature, curling behind it in an elegant spiral that occasionally caught the overhead lights and seemed to shimmer with faint iridescence.
Large violet orbs dominated the small face. They studied him with an awareness that felt unsettlingly knowing.
Griswald had encountered this particular being before. Everyone in Chaldea had. Fou, they called it—a name derived from the sounds it made, since the creature communicated through vocalizations that resembled nothing so much as repeatedly stating its own designation. The staff treated it as a mascot of sorts. A good luck charm. An inexplicably present companion that appeared and disappeared throughout the facility with no apparent pattern or purpose.
Some of the researchers had tried to study it. The attempts hadn't gone well. Fou had a habit of bypassing security systems and magical barriers that should have been impenetrable, and its teeth—hidden behind that deceptively cute face—were surprisingly sharp. Several lab technicians had learned that lesson the hard way.
"Fou."
The creature's ears twitched. It made the sound again, more insistent this time, and something in those violet eyes sharpened.
"I don't—" Griswald pushed his glasses up his nose. "I don't speak whatever language that is. Sorry."
Fou's ears flattened briefly. Annoyance? Frustration? Hard to tell with a face designed for maximum adorability. The fur around its neck bristled slightly.
Then the creature turned and bolted down the corridor.
Fast. Impossibly fast. A blur of white and pink that covered ten meters in the space between heartbeats. Griswald blinked, and Fou had already stopped, looking back over one small shoulder with those knowing eyes.
Waiting.
The message couldn't have been clearer if the creature had spoken aloud.
"You want me to follow you," Griswald said. Not a question.
"Fou."
He hesitated. His shift started in—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes now. The coffee he'd been planning to grab seemed increasingly unlikely. And following mysterious magical creatures through the corridors of a secret Antarctic facility ranked fairly low on his list of sensible decisions.
But those eyes. That intensity. The way Fou's tail had begun to twitch with what looked almost like urgency.
Griswald sighed. "Fine. Lead the way."
The creature bounded forward again. Griswald followed at a jog, his longer legs struggling to match Fou's darting pace. Left turn. Right turn. Down a corridor he rarely used. Past doors marked with designations he didn't recognize. The facility was vast—far larger than most staff members ever explored—and Fou navigated it with the confidence of someone who knew every inch.
They descended a stairwell. Emerged into another white corridor, this one lined with windows that looked out over an internal courtyard filled with dormant machinery. Griswald's breath came faster now, not from exertion but from growing unease. Something was wrong. Fou's behavior, the route they were taking, the increasing urgency in the creature's movements—
He saw her.
Lying in the middle of the hallway. Collapsed. Motionless.
A girl. Young—around his age, maybe slightly younger. Athletic build visible even in her prone position. Her hair spread across the white floor like spilled fire—vibrant orange-red strands that provided the only real color Griswald had seen in hours. A side ponytail had come partially undone, leaving locks scattered across her face and neck.
She wore a Chaldea master's uniform but he dose not remember seeing her before. One arm was outstretched, fingers curled loosely against the floor. The other lay across her stomach.
Medical training kicked in before conscious thought. Griswald dropped to his knees beside her, fingers already reaching for her neck to check her pulse. Her skin was warm. Good sign. Heartbeat present—steady, strong, regular rhythm beneath his fingertips. Breathing appeared normal, chest rising and falling in slow, even intervals.
He studied her face. Expressively featured, with the kind of bone structure that probably concealed emotions poorly during waking hours. Closed eyelids flickered occasionally—dreaming, perhaps, or struggling toward consciousness. Her lips were slightly parted, and up close he could see the faint remnants of what might have been determination still lingering in the set of her jaw.
"Can you hear me?" He kept his voice calm. Professional. The tone he used with patients. "If you can hear me, try to move your fingers."
No response.
Fou settled beside the girl's head, violet eyes fixed on Griswald with unmistakable expectation.
Griswald's hands moved with practiced efficiency. He tilted her head back slightly, checking her airway. Clear. No obstruction. He lifted one eyelid gently, examining the pupil's response to light—the amber iris contracted appropriately, which ruled out several concerning possibilities.
"Pupil response normal," he murmured to himself, falling into the habit of verbal notation that years in the med bay had instilled. "No visible trauma. No signs of magical burnout on the skin."
He pressed two fingers against her wrist this time, counting the pulse rate properly. Sixty-two beats per minute. Healthy. Athletic, even. Whatever had caused her collapse, it wasn't cardiovascular distress.
Fou watched from beside her head, tail twitching.
Griswald leaned closer, checking her breathing more carefully. His face hovered perhaps twenty centimeters from hers as he listened for any irregularities—wheezing, rattling, the wet sounds that might indicate fluid in the lungs. Nothing. Just soft, steady breaths that carried a faint warmth against his cheek.
Her eyelids fluttered.
He didn't notice immediately, focused on cataloging symptoms. No fever when he touched her forehead. No clammy skin suggesting shock. Perhaps exhaustion? Mana depletion? The FATE summoning system demanded enormous energy from Masters, and if she'd been—
Amber eyes snapped open.
They focused on his face. His face that was currently far too close to hers. His face that belonged to a stranger looming over her unconscious body in a deserted corridor.
Several things happened very quickly.
Her expression cycled through confusion, recognition of the situation, and fury in approximately half a second. Her body tensed. Her right hand—the one that had been lying across her stomach—curled into a fist.
"Pervert!"
The punch caught him directly in the solar plexus.
Air evacuated his lungs in a single explosive wheeze. Pain bloomed through his midsection—sharp, immediate, and far stronger than he would have expected from someone who'd been unconscious moments ago. His glasses flew off as he toppled backward, landing hard on the white floor with a graceless thud that echoed through the empty corridor.
Griswald curled around his wounded stomach, gasping. Stars danced at the edges of his vision. His diaphragm spasmed, refusing to cooperate with his desperate attempts to inhale.
"Fou!"
The creature's cry sounded almost indignant. As if Fou took personal offense at this treatment of the person it had led here specifically to help.
The girl scrambled backward, putting distance between them. Her orange-red hair whipped around her face as she moved, that half-undone ponytail bouncing chaotically. She'd pushed herself into a defensive crouch, fists raised, amber eyes blazing with a mixture of lingering confusion and righteous anger.
"Who the hell—what were you—" She sputtered, still not fully coherent. "Why was your face that close to my face?!"
Griswald tried to respond. What emerged was a pathetic wheeze followed by a sound that might charitably be called a groan.
"Senpai!"
The voice came from behind him. Female. Worried. Achingly familiar in a way that cut through even the haze of abdominal agony.
Footsteps. Quick ones. The rhythmic slap of boots against tile as someone jogged toward the scene.
Griswald managed to roll onto his back, still clutching his stomach. His vision swam without his glasses, blurring the corridor into a smear of white and light. But even through the distortion, he recognized the figure approaching.
Lilac hair caught the sterile light as Mash Kyrielight rushed toward him. Short strands framed her face, bouncing with each hurried step, while her striking lavender eyes widened with concern behind rectangular glasses that sat slightly askew on her nose. Her fair skin looked almost luminous against the grey hoodie she wore—casual attire that somehow suited her better than any formal uniform could.
The hoodie hung open over a black shirt layered beneath a white-collar combination, a red tie bearing the Chaldea insignia visible at her throat. Her black skirt swished against dark tights as she dropped to her knees beside him. Brown shoes scuffed against the white floor.
"Senpai!" Her voice pitched higher with worry. "What happened? Are you injured?"
Griswald opened his mouth. Another wheeze escaped. His diaphragm still refused to cooperate, cramping in protest against the unexpected violence it had suffered. He gestured vaguely toward the orange-haired girl, then toward his own midsection, then back again—a pathetic pantomime that conveyed absolutely nothing useful.
Mash's hands hovered over him, uncertain where to touch. Her athletic build tensed with protective energy, shoulders squaring as if preparing for combat despite the obvious absence of any threat.
"Breathe," she instructed, and her palm pressed gently against his chest. Warmth radiated through his uniform. "Slowly. In through your nose."
He tried. Failed. Tried again. A thin stream of air finally squeezed past the spasming muscles.
"Found—" The word came out strangled. "Found her—corridor—"
"The girl?" Mash's gaze flicked toward Ritsuka, then back to him. No hostility in that glance. Just assessment. Cataloging.
"Unconscious." Griswald forced the word out between shallow gasps. "Checked—vitals—"
Understanding dawned in Mash's lavender eyes. Her expression softened from alarm into something gentler. Something almost fond.
"You were giving medical attention," she said. Not a question. A statement of absolute certainty.
He nodded weakly.
"Oh." The voice came from above him. Different. Embarrassed. "Oh, shit."
Footsteps approached. Softer this time. Hesitant. The blur of orange-red hair entered his peripheral vision as Ritsuka crouched beside Mash, her earlier defensive posture completely abandoned.
"Hey." She leaned closer. "Hey, are you—did I break something? I didn't mean to actually hurt you, I just—you were right there when I woke up and I panicked and—"
"Senpai has a tendency to prioritize patient welfare over personal safety," Mash said quietly. Her fingers found his glasses on the floor nearby. She cleaned them against her hoodie before carefully sliding them back onto his face. The world sharpened into focus. "He probably didn't consider how his proximity might appear."
Griswald blinked up at the two faces hovering over him. Mash's gentle concern. Ritsuka's mortified guilt. Fou had positioned itself between them, violet eyes watching the scene with what appeared to be smug satisfaction.
"Breathing," he managed. "Getting—easier."
"Can you sit up?" Mash's hand moved to support his shoulder.
He attempted it. His abdominal muscles screamed in protest but cooperated enough to get him vertical. Mash's grip remained steady, her palm warm against his back through the uniform fabric.
The girl sat back on her heels, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Up close, with his glasses restored, Griswald could see the remnants of confusion still clouding those amber eyes. Whatever had caused her collapse, she clearly didn't remember how she'd ended up on the floor.
"I'm sorry," she said. The words tumbled out fast, tripping over each other. "Really sorry. I just—waking up with someone's face that close, I reacted before thinking. You were obviously trying to help—"
"It's fine." His voice came out raspy but functional. "Good punch. Solid form."
She stared at him. "Did you just compliment the technique I used to assault you?"
"Medical observation." He attempted something approaching a smile. It probably looked more like a grimace. "Strong core engagement. Proper weight transfer. Whoever trained you knew what they were doing."
Mash made a small sound. Almost a laugh. She covered it quickly, but Griswald caught the way her lips twitched upward before she schooled her expression back to neutral concern.
"So." Griswald pressed a hand against his still-aching stomach. "Who are you, exactly?"
The orange-haired girl blinked. Then laughed—a short, surprised sound.
"Right. Introductions. Probably should have started there instead of with my fist." She extended her hand. "Ritsuka Fujimaru. New Master candidate. Arrived yesterday."
He took it. Her grip was firm.
"Griswald Von Garmisch. Medical staff." He released her hand. "I handle the minor injuries. Cuts, burns, magical exhaustion. That sort of thing."
"And apparently rescue unconscious strangers in corridors."
"Apparently."
Mash shifted beside him, her shoulder brushing against his arm. The contact was brief. Accidental, perhaps. But warm.
"I'm Mash Kyrielight." Her voice carried that familiar quiet tone—soft but steady. "I work closely with Senpai in various capacities around Chaldea."
Ritsuka's amber eyes flickered between them. Calculating. Measuring the distance—or lack thereof—between their bodies.
"Fou!" The creature inserted itself into the conversation, hopping onto Ritsuka's knee.
"And that's Fou," Griswald added dryly. "Our self-appointed welcoming committee."
Ritsuka's entire demeanor transformed the moment Fou settled onto her knee. The wariness that had lingered in her posture melted away. Her amber eyes went wide and soft.
"Oh my god." She cupped her hands around the small creature, lifting it closer to her face. "Look at you. Look at your little ears."
Fou's ears twitched. The creature made no move to escape—unusual, given how quickly it typically fled from unwanted attention.
"You're so fluffy." Ritsuka's voice had climbed an octave. She ran one finger along the pink-purple accent coloring Fou's left ear. "Like a cloud. A tiny, perfect cloud with eyes."
"Fou." The sound came out almost smug.
"Yes. Yes, you are." She scratched beneath the creature's chin. Fou's eyes half-closed in obvious pleasure. "Who's the most handsome little thing in this entire frozen hellscape? You are. You absolutely are."
Griswald exchanged a glance with Mash. Her lips pressed together, suppressing something as they never saw fou warm up to someone this quickly.
"He led me to you," Griswald offered. "When you collapsed."
Ritsuka paused her ministrations. Fou made a small noise of protest.
"Really?" She looked down at the creature with renewed appreciation. "You found help for me?"
"Fou!"
"My hero." She pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"You collapsed in the corridor," he continued, focusing back on that fact. "Fou found you. Led me here. No visible injuries, stable vitals, pupil response normal. Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness?"
Ritsuka's cheeks flushed a shade that nearly matched her hair. She looked away, suddenly fascinated by a completely unremarkable section of white wall.
"I, um." She cleared her throat. "I wasn't actually unconscious. Not in the medical emergency sense."
Griswald blinked. His hand still pressed against his tender stomach. "What?"
"I was napping."
The word hung in the sterile corridor air. Napping. He'd been punched in the solar plexus because someone had been napping.
"Napping," he repeated flatly.
"Look, I only got here a few hours ago." Ritsuka's words came faster now, defensive and embarrassed in equal measure. "The orientation took forever, and then there was all this paperwork, and someone showed me to my quarters but I got turned around trying to find the cafeteria and these corridors all look exactly the same—"
"They do," Griswald admitted. His own first weeks at Chaldea had involved more wrong turns than he cared to remember.
"—and I was exhausted and my legs just kind of gave out and this spot seemed as good as any other so I just..." She gestured vaguely at the floor. "Sat down. Closed my eyes for a second."
"For a second," Mash echoed. Her tone carried a gentleness that somehow made the words sound more reproachful than any sharp criticism could. "Fujimaru-san, you were unconscious in a service corridor. Anyone could have found you."
"Someone did find me." Ritsuka glanced at Griswald. Guilt flickered across her features again. "And I punched him."
"Fou found you," Mash corrected. "Senpai was simply following."
The creature in question preened at the acknowledgment. Its fluffy tail swished against the white tiles with unmistakable satisfaction.
"Still." Mash's lavender eyes held steady on Ritsuka's face. "You cannot simply sleep wherever exhaustion overtakes you. Chaldea has proper facilities. Beds. Blankets. Climate control designed for human comfort rather than equipment preservation."
"I know, I know." Ritsuka held up both hands in surrender. "It won't happen again. Promise."
"The residential quarters are clearly marked on the facility maps provided during orientation."
"The maps are confusing."
"They follow standard architectural notation."
"Standard for who? Minotaurs?" Ritsuka threw her hands up. "Everything looks the same. Every corridor. Every door. I swear I passed that exact potted plant three times and I'm not even sure this place has potted plants."
"It doesn't," Griswald said.
Both women turned to look at him but he did not elaborate.
Mash's expression softened slightly at the exchange. Her hand remained on Griswald's shoulder, a warm anchor that he'd somehow stopped noticing until this moment. When had she moved closer?
"Can you stand, Senpai?" she asked.
He tested his abdominal muscles. They protested but held. "Think so."
She helped him up with careful efficiency, her grip firm without being forceful. Griswald found his footing and only swayed slightly. The pain in his stomach had faded from sharp agony to dull ache—manageable. Probably wouldn't even bruise.
Probably.
Ritsuka scrambled to her feet as well, brushing imaginary dust from her uniform. Her movements carried an athletic grace that seemed almost unconscious. Trained reflexes. The kind that came from years of physical activity rather than weeks of crash courses.
Griswald studied her while pretending to adjust his glasses. New arrival. Only a few hours at the facility. Exhausted enough to collapse in a random corridor despite what should have been nothing more than travel fatigue and orientation tedium.
The bounded fields.
The thought surfaced from somewhere in his medical training. Chaldea's defensive barriers weren't just physical—they incorporated layers of magical protection that most people never consciously perceived. But perception and effect weren't the same thing. The wards pressed against anyone who entered, subtle but constant, testing for threats and anomalies. Regular staff acclimated over days or weeks. Some never fully adjusted, reporting persistent headaches or fatigue that never quite resolved.
Someone with magical potential—someone brought in specifically for the FATE summoning program—might feel that pressure more acutely. The barriers would recognize her circuits, prod at them, evaluate her compatibility with the facility's systems. An exhausting process even for those who understood what was happening.
And she wouldn't know. Orientation covered emergency procedures and cafeteria hours. Not the metaphysical weight of ancient wards settling into your bones.
Or it could just be jet lag. Antarctica didn't exactly align with any convenient time zone, and the journey here involved enough transport changes to scramble anyone's internal clock.
"How are you feeling now?" he asked. "Any headache? Pressure behind your eyes? Ringing in your ears?"
Ritsuka tilted her head. "No? I mean, I was tired, but that's just—wait." Her amber eyes narrowed slightly. "Is this a medical thing? Are you diagnosing me right now?"
"Observing," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"Senpai works in the medical bay," Mash offered. "His concern is professional."
"Jet lag," he said. "It affects people differently. Some adapt quickly. Others need time."
"Huh." She seemed to accept this. "Yeah, I guess the flight was pretty brutal. Multiple connections. Lost track of what day it was somewhere over the Pacific."
"The facility's lighting doesn't help. Constant artificial illumination disrupts circadian rhythms." He gestured at the white corridor surrounding them. "No natural day-night cycle. Your body doesn't know when to sleep."
"So I'm not crazy for passing out in a hallway?"
"You're not crazy. But you should probably find an actual bed next time."
Fou made a sound that might have been agreement.
Mash's posture shifted beside him. A subtle tension crept into her shoulders, and her lavender eyes widened behind those rectangular frames.
"The briefing." The words came out half-strangled. "Senpai, the briefing."
Griswald frowned. "What briefing?"
"Director Olga Marie called an assembly." Mash's hand flew to her mouth. "All Master candidates. Mandatory attendance. It started—" She checked her watch and made a small, distressed sound. "It started five minutes ago."
Ritsuka's face drained of color. The flush of embarrassment vanished, replaced by something closer to horror.
"Oh no." She grabbed fistfuls of her own hair. "Oh no, no, no. My first day. My literal first day and I'm late to a mandatory meeting because I fell asleep in a hallway."
"The command center is on the other side of the facility," Mash said. Her voice had taken on that particular quality of forced calm that Griswald recognized from crisis situations. "If you run—"
"Running. Yes. Running is happening." Ritsuka spun on her heel, then immediately spun back. "Which way is the command center?"
Mash pointed down the corridor. "Left at the junction, then follow the blue floor markers until you reach the central elevator bank. Take it up three levels. The assembly hall is directly ahead when the doors open."
"Left. Blue markers. Elevator. Three levels. Got it." Ritsuka bounced on her heels, clearly ready to sprint. "Thank you. Both of you. And sorry again about the—" She mimed a punch. "—thing."
"Wait."
The word left Griswald's mouth before he'd consciously decided to speak. Ritsuka froze mid-turn.
He reached into the inner pocket of his uniform jacket. Standard medical kit. Every staff member in his department carried one—a habit drilled into them during training. His fingers found the small plastic container by touch, identifying it from the shape and weight before he even pulled it free.
"Here." He pressed two white tablets into her palm. "Mild stimulant. Should help you stay alert for the next few hours."
Ritsuka stared at the pills. Then at him. Then back at the pills.
"You just... carry these around?"
"Medical staff." He shrugged. "We carry a lot of things."
"Is this even safe? You don't know my medical history. What if I'm allergic?"
"Are you allergic to caffeine?"
"No."
"Then you'll be fine. It's essentially concentrated coffee in tablet form. Standard issue for overnight shifts." He closed her fingers around the medication. "Take them with water if you can find some. Dry-swallowing works but leaves a bitter aftertaste."
"Thank you." The words carried genuine warmth. A small smile curved her lips—the first real one he'd seen from her. "Griswald, right? I'll remember that."
"Just doing my job."
"Your job is patching up idiots who punch their rescuers." She pocketed the tablets. "This is extra credit."
Before he could respond, she was gone. Orange-red hair streamed behind her as she sprinted down the corridor, boots pounding against white tiles with impressive speed. She hit the junction without slowing, took the left turn at full tilt, and vanished from sight.
Silence settled over the hallway. The fluorescent hum of overhead lights. The distant whisper of climate control systems. Nothing else.
Griswald became acutely aware of Mash's presence beside him. The warmth of her shoulder nearly brushing his arm. The faint scent of something floral—shampoo, maybe, or the detergent used on Chaldea's linens. He'd noticed it before, during her regular check-ups in the medical bay. Never commented on it. Never let himself dwell.
Fou sat between them, violet eyes moving from one to the other with an expression that seemed almost expectant.
"That was kind of you, Senpai."
He glanced at her. The corridor lighting caught her lilac hair, turning it almost silver at certain angles. Her lavender eyes held that soft quality they always did when they were alone—a gentleness she rarely showed around others.
"Just medicine." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Nothing special."
"Just medicine," Mash repeated. Something flickered across her features—amusement, perhaps, or that particular brand of gentle exasperation she reserved specifically for his deflections.
Fou trotted ahead of them, fluffy tail swishing against the white tiles. The creature moved with that uncanny grace Griswald had observed before—never quite running, never quite walking, but something in between that covered ground with deceptive efficiency.
The corridor stretched before them. White walls. White ceiling. White floor. Same as every other corridor in this frozen labyrinth. But somehow, with Mash beside him, the monotony felt less oppressive.
"How are you feeling?" The question left his mouth before he could second-guess it. Professional concern. That's all it was. "Any issues I should know about?"
Mash's stride hitched almost imperceptibly. A fraction of a second's hesitation that most people would never notice.
Griswald noticed.
"I'm fine, Senpai." Her voice carried that measured quality she used when deflecting. Calm. Reassuring. Entirely too practiced. "No concerns to report."
He let the silence stretch between them. Three steps. Four. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead.
"Your appointment with Dr. Roman," he said carefully. "Yesterday morning. Everything went well?"
Another micro-hesitation. Her fingers brushed against the hem of her hoodie—a nervous gesture she probably didn't realize she had.
"Routine examination." She kept her gaze fixed ahead. "Nothing unusual."
Routine. The word rang hollow in the sterile corridor air.
Griswald had worked in Chaldea's medical bay for nearly two years now. He'd seen the appointment logs. The scheduling system flagged frequent visitors automatically—a precaution designed to identify potential chronic conditions or unreported injuries. Mash Kyrielight's name appeared with unsettling regularity.
Weekly check-ups. Sometimes more. Always with Dr. Roman specifically. Always marked as confidential in the system, the details locked behind clearance levels that exceeded his modest access.
He'd asked once. Early in his tenure, before he'd learned the unspoken rules governing certain topics. Roman had smiled that easy smile of his, made some joke about patient confidentiality, and smoothly redirected the conversation toward the latest episode of some idol show Griswald had never heard of.
The message was clear. Don't dig.
Something was wrong. Had been wrong since before he arrived. And everyone who knew the truth had apparently agreed to keep it from him.
"The mission briefing," Mash said, breaking the silence. Her tone had shifted—lighter now, steering them toward safer waters. "Director Animusphere seemed particularly intense during the preliminary announcements."
Griswald accepted the subject change. Pushing would accomplish nothing except making her uncomfortable.
"She's always intense." He adjusted his glasses. "I'm fairly certain she emerged from the womb demanding quarterly reports and threatening budget cuts."
A soft sound escaped Mash. Almost a laugh. She covered it quickly, but he caught the way her lips curved upward before she schooled her expression.
"The first rayshift is soon," she continued. "Assuming all systems check out during the final calibration."
Her word settled into his chest with unexpected weight.
He'd known, of course. Everyone knew. The countdown had been running for weeks, displayed on monitors throughout the facility in bold red numerals that ticked steadily toward zero. Chaldea's first official mission. The culmination of years of research, development, and astronomical funding.
But knowing and feeling were different things.
"The medical bay's been preparing." He kept his voice neutral. "Dr. Roman has me stocking emergency supplies. Enough to handle anything from minor burns to complete magical circuit failure."
"You'll be busy."
"Very." He glanced at her. "You too, I imagine."
Mash nodded. The motion sent her lilac hair swaying against her cheeks. "The Director has assigned me to support operations. I'll be on standby throughout the rayshift, ready to deploy if the A team encounters difficulties."
Support operations. A polite way of saying she'd be waiting. Watching. Hoping she wouldn't be needed while simultaneously preparing for the worst.
Griswald understood that particular brand of anxious anticipation. His entire career had been built on it.
"Nervous?" he asked.
The question hung between them. Too personal, perhaps. Too direct for the careful dance they usually performed around each other's vulnerabilities.
Mash was quiet for several steps. Her lavender eyes fixed on some middle distance ahead, seeing something beyond the white walls and fluorescent lights.
"Yes," she admitted finally. The word came out soft. Almost fragile. "Is that strange? I've trained for this. Prepared. But now that it's actually happening..."
"It's not strange." He shoved his hands into his uniform pockets. "Anyone who isn't nervous probably isn't taking it seriously enough."
"Are you nervous, Senpai?"
The question caught him off guard. He considered lying—offering some reassuring platitude about professional confidence and adequate preparation. The kind of thing a proper medical officer should say.
But this was Mash. And she'd given him honesty.
"Terrified," he said. "Absolutely terrified."
She looked at him then. Really looked, with those lavender eyes that always seemed to see more than he intended to show. Something passed between them—understanding, perhaps. Recognition of shared fears that neither could fully articulate.
"I'm glad," she said quietly. "That you'll be here. When we come back."
When. Not if. He appreciated the optimism, even if he couldn't quite share it.
"Where else would I be?" He managed something approximating a smile. "Someone has to patch everyone up afterward. Can't trust just anyone with that responsibility."
Fou made a sound ahead of them. Agreement or mockery—impossible to tell.
The corridor opened into a small atrium—one of the few spaces in Chaldea that broke from the oppressive uniformity of white walls and sterile lighting. A circular skylight dominated the ceiling, though "skylight" felt generous given that it looked out onto nothing but reinforced concrete and maintenance tunnels. Still, the architects had tried. Artificial light panels behind frosted glass simulated something approaching natural illumination, casting the space in softer tones that almost felt warm.
Griswald slowed his pace. Mash matched him without comment, falling into step beside him as they crossed the atrium toward the far corridor.
"The new candidates," she said. "What did you think of them? The ones who arrived yesterday."
He considered the question. The intake process had brought him into contact with several of the fresh faces—standard medical screenings, baseline measurements, the usual bureaucratic requirements that preceded any official Chaldea assignment.
"Mixed bag." He shrugged. "Some seem competent. Others..." He trailed off diplomatically.
"Others?"
"Let's just say I'm glad the medical bay is well-stocked."
Mash's lips twitched. "That bad?"
"Master candidates is not something that can be taught. It just something that your born with" Griswald fiddled with his glasses. "They took who they could find but sadly not everyone can be Wodime.
"Oh dear."
Fou trotted ahead of them, pausing at the entrance to the next corridor. The creature's ears swiveled, tracking something beyond Griswald's perception. A moment later, it bounded forward and disappeared around the corner.
"Fujimaru-san seemed different," Mash offered. "More... grounded, perhaps?"
"I am not an expert but I don't remember the last name and their are only a few old family from the east that stay in contact with the Clock Tower. So she is most likely a first generation magus or perhaps…"
"Mash! Griswald!"
The voice echoed through the corridor ahead, warm and melodious in a way that immediately drew attention. Griswald looked up to find a tall figure approaching them with measured, deliberate strides.
Lev Lainur cut an impressive silhouette against the white corridor walls. Impeccable posture projected quiet authority with every step, the kind of confident bearing that came from years of knowing exactly where one stood in any given hierarchy. His green suit was meticulously tailored, the fabric catching the fluorescent light in ways that suggested expense and careful maintenance. Gold accents adorned the lapels and cuffs—subtle touches that hinted at something beneath the professional exterior.
Dark curly hair framed a face that seemed perpetually composed, as if he'd long ago mastered the art of controlling every micro-expression. Behind them, penetrating dark eyes assessed the corridor and its occupants with a swift, analytical sweep.
A slight smile curved his lips.
"I thought I might find you both in this section." Lev's voice carried that same melodious quality that was quite pleasant. "The observation deck, perhaps? Or simply enjoying a constitutional through our lovely subterranean corridors?"
"Professor Lainur." Mash straightened slightly, her posture shifting into something more formal. "We were just returning from the residential wing."
"Ah." Lev's gaze flickered to Griswald, then back to Mash. The assessment was brief but thorough. "No urgent matters, I hope?"
"Nothing critical," Griswald said. "One of the new candidates had a minor episode. Exhaustion from travel."
"The rayshift preparations have everyone on edge. Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances."
Fou emerged from around the corner, trotting back toward them with that uncanny speed the creature always displayed. It settled beside Mash's feet, violet eyes fixed on Lev with an intensity that seemed almost watchful.
"Mash." Lev turned his attention fully to her now, that perpetual smile still in place. "I'm glad I found you. The Director requires your presence in the control room. Final system checks before the deployment, I believe."
Something flickered across Mash's features. Too fast to identify. Gone before Griswald could properly register it.
"Of course." She nodded, her expression smoothing into professional neutrality. "I'll head there immediately."
"Excellent." Lev stepped aside, gesturing down the corridor with fluid grace. "She's in something of a mood today, I should warn you. The calibration readings weren't quite what she hoped for this morning."
"I understand." Mash glanced at Griswald, and for a moment her lavender eyes held something he couldn't quite read. "I'll see you later, Senpai. Thank you for... earlier."
"Just doing my job," he said. The words felt inadequate somehow.
Mash smiled—a small, genuine expression that softened her features. Then she turned and walked away, Fou bounding along at her heels. Her grey hoodie swayed with each step, the red Chaldea tie visible against the black fabric beneath.
Griswald watched her go until she disappeared around the corner.
"She's quite dedicated, isn't she?"
He turned to find Lev observing him with that same measured smile. The Professor's coal like eyes held a quality Griswald had never quite been able to name.
"Mash takes her responsibilities seriously," Griswald said.
"Indeed she does." Lev's gaze lingered on the empty corridor for a moment longer before returning to Griswald his eyes now shut. "Speaking of responsibilities—you haven't happened to see our esteemed Dr. Roman recently, have you?"
The question carried a weight that suggested more than casual curiosity.
"No." Griswald shook his head. "I was supposed to check in with him before my shift, but I got... sidetracked."
"The new candidate's episode?"
"Among other things."
Lev sighed. The sound emerged with theatrical precision, perfectly calibrated to convey exasperated fondness rather than genuine frustration.
Griswald found himself sighing as well. The reaction was involuntary—a shared acknowledgment of a familiar problem.
"Let me guess," he said. "He's not answering his communicator."
"Three messages." Lev held up the appropriate number of fingers. "Each more urgent than the last. All met with resounding silence."
"He's probably watching those idol videos again."
"During final rayshift preparations." Lev's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "How very Roman of him."
"Have you tried the break room on sublevel three? He likes the vending machine there."
"First place I checked." Lev gave what almost sounded like a groan but the blue blood in him quash it before it got out. "Empty. Though someone had clearly been there recently—the coffee dispenser was still warm."
"The observation deck?"
"Abandoned."
"His quarters?"
"Was not their."
Griswald ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "He could be anywhere. You know how he is. The man has a sixth sense for avoiding work."
"A seventh sense, perhaps." Lev's tone carried dry amusement. "The sixth is presumably occupied with detecting when someone might ask him to do something productive."
Despite himself, Griswald felt his lips twitch. Roman's ability to vanish precisely when needed had become something of a running joke among the medical staff. The man could be in the middle of a conversation and simply... evaporate the moment responsibility loomed.
"If I see him," Griswald offered, "I'll let him know you're looking."
"I would appreciate that." Lev inclined his head—a graceful gesture that somehow conveyed both gratitude and dismissal. "Though knowing Roman, he'll reappear the moment the crisis has passed, cheerful as ever and completely oblivious to the chaos his absence caused."
"That does sound like him."
"It does, doesn't it?" Lev's dark eyes open to hold Griswald's for a moment longer than strictly necessary. Something flickered in their depths. "Well, if you do see him can you tell him to report to the command center as well. No matter his conduct he is still the head of the medical team and our dear director wanted to make sure he was their with the rest of the department head when the master go into the coffins."
Lev Lainur was properly the only person on the continent who could put the word dear, any where near Director Animusohere's name with losing life or limb to her wrath. "I will let him know the next time I see him Professor."
Professor Lainur shoulders relaxed at that. "Thank you Griswald that takes a lot off my shoulders." He breathed out. "Well I won't keep you from your duties any longer. The medical bay must be quite busy with preparations."
"It is." Griswald straightened slightly, suddenly aware of how much time had passed since he'd left the residential wing. "My shift started... actually, I should probably go."
"Of course." Lev stepped aside with that same fluid grace, clearing the path forward. "Do give my regards to the good doctor if you find him before I do."
"I will."
Griswald turned to leave, already calculating the fastest route to the medical bay. His shift was—he checked his watch—fifteen minutes overdue. Not catastrophic, but enough to earn him a disapproving look from whoever had been covering.
"Griswald."
Lev's voice stopped him mid-step. The Professor hadn't moved from his position in the corridor, but something in his tone had shifted. Heavier. More deliberate.
"One more thing." Lev's dark eyes remained closed, that perpetual slight smile still in place. "During the rayshift —it would be prudent for you to remain in the medical bay throughout the procedure."
Griswald turned back. "I was planning to observe from the—"
"The observation deck, yes." Lev waved a hand in dismissal. "Everyone wants to witness history being made. Understandable. But consider the practical realities."
The Professor's posture remained relaxed, almost casual. Yet something in his bearing commanded attention in a way that made refusal feel discourteous.
"The rayshift is an unprecedented operation," Lev continued. "We've run simulations. Tested components individually. Verified every system a hundred times over. But simulation and reality are different beasts entirely. If something goes wrong—and I'm not suggesting it will, mind you, but if—the medical bay will need to be operational immediately."
Griswald's stomach tightened. The ache from Ritsuka's punch had faded to background noise, but this new tension settled deeper. "You're expecting casualties?"
"I'm expecting nothing." Lev's smile didn't waver. "I'm simply... preparing for possibilities. The Masters will be entering the coffins and while their physical bodies will remain here while their consciousness projects across time and space. The strain on their systems could be considerable."
"Magical circuit stress," Griswald said slowly. "Mana depletion. Potential feedback if the connection destabilizes."
"Precisely." Lev inclined his head in approval. "You understand the risks. Which is why I'd feel considerably more comfortable knowing our medical staff—or at least one competent member of it—was prepared rather than gawking at monitors with everyone else."
The logic was sound. Annoyingly sound. Griswald had been looking forward to watching the rayshift, to seeing the culmination of everything Chaldea had been building toward. But Lev was right. If something went wrong, minutes could mean the difference between recovery and permanent damage.
"I'll stay in the bay," he said. "Make sure everything's ready."
"Excellent." Something flickered across Lev's features—satisfaction, perhaps, or relief. Gone too quickly to analyze. "I knew I could count on your professionalism. So few people truly understand the importance of preparation over spectacle."
"Just doing my job."
"Indeed you are." Lev's dark eyes opened briefly, fixing Griswald with that penetrating gaze. "Indeed you are."
The Professor turned and strode away down the corridor, his green suit catching the fluorescent light with each measured step. Gold accents glinted at his cuffs. His posture remained impeccable until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. Griswald now stood alone in the white corridor. The fluorescent hum filled the silence.