Jayr POV - Nasuverse, Moon, Far Side, Sakura Labyrinth - 2030 AD
I wake up slowly, and for a moment, I don't move. I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the quiet settle around me.
Nero is lying beside me, and I can feel the warmth of her naked body even before I turn my head.
When I do, I find her already awake, green eyes calmly resting on me, and there's no surprise in them, only awareness.
She knows what I'm thinking, of course, she does. Our bond grew to the point that our thoughts hold no secrets from each other.
After a brief moment of silence, she softly says, "… You're thinking about it too."
I let out a small breath and admit, "Yeah."
There's no need to say more; we both understand that yesterday changed a lot of things.
Eight Masters were eliminated in not even a single day, but just seven hours. Ledram was defeated by me, Biol, another Champion, is also likely to be gone at the hands of one of the two remaining Champions, and above all that, there is also BB.
Now that we've seen her, heard her, felt the extent of what she can do, it's impossible to pretend this is still the normal rhythm of a Holy Grail War. This is the endgame.
I let the silent understanding between us linger a moment longer before I murmur, "For better or worse, today probably decides everything."
Nero watches me for a second longer, then she smiles in her usual confident, bright, and unshaken manner before she declares, "Umu! Then there is nothing to fear. We are ready to grasp what is in front of us!"
I blink, then let out a quiet chuckle, "It is that simple, huh?"
She sits up, stretching slightly before she says, "Of course! If the stage has been set, then all that remains is for us to perform. And when we do..."
Her smile sharpens, pride shining through, "We shall claim the final victory and bask in our destined glory under a shower of applause at the conclusion of the final act!"
Watching her, I can't help but think, 'There it is, that positive confidence, that incontestable certainty. As always, it's contagious.'
At this point, I say, pushing myself up, "Yes... Let's do that."
After that, we leave the comfort of the bed and move through our usual routine.
A relaxing shower follows, steam slowly filling the space as the tension from earlier begins to loosen its grip.
The water runs warm and steady, cascading over my skin, washing away the last remnants of sleep and the weight of what's ahead, at least for now. For a while, neither of us speaks. There's no need to.
Nero stands close, entirely at ease, as if this moment exists outside of everything else.
I close my eyes briefly, letting the sound of the water settle my thoughts, but even then, they don't fully stop. Plans, possibilities, outcomes, all of it continues to move just beneath the surface.
Then I open one eye slightly as Nero tilts her head, studying me with a knowing look as she lets out an, "Hmm."
Then she says, "... You're thinking again."
I exhale quietly, "A little."
But she corrects immediately, "Too much!"
Before I can respond, she steps closer, placing a hand lightly against my chest, her expression shifting into something more deliberate, "This will not do."
I raise an eyebrow, "Oh?"
Nero straightens, lifting her chin slightly, already slipping into that unmistakable theatrical presence as she declares, "You will sing with me."
I blink and ask, "... What?"
Then she clarifies, as if that explains everything, "A duet. A proper one. Something grand."
There's a brief pause before I ask, "... Now?"
She nods without any hesitation, "Now."
I let out a small breath, halfway between a sigh and a laugh, "Nero..."
She cuts in, already turning slightly, one hand extending outward as if presenting an invisible stage, "No excuses. If your mind insists on wandering, then we shall give it something worthy of its attention, my Preator."
She doesn't wait for agreement, she simply begins, "♪I can show you the woooorld...♪"
The first note comes out loud. Confident and completely off.
I freeze for a fraction of a second, then slowly turn my head toward her.
Nero, entirely unaware, continues with full conviction, her voice carrying through the steam-filled space with absolute certainty and absolutely no accuracy, "♪Shiiining, shimmeriiing, spleeendid...♪"
"... Nero."
"Tell me, Praetor, now when did you last let your heart decide..."
"... You're off-key."
She stops, just for a moment, then looks at me, mildly offended and says, "Impossible."
I hold back a smile and say, "It's very possible."
She narrows her eyes slightly, "Then you will correct it. That is the purpose of a duet."
I stare at her for a second longer, then I sigh and resign myself to this fate, "... Fine."
I step in beside her, running a hand back through my damp hair before picking up the melody properly this time, adjusting the pitch, grounding it.
At first, she follows, then she drifts very badly.
By the third line, she's confidently somewhere else entirely, singing with full power and zero alignment to the actual tune, and I feel reality itself starting to break.
"... Nero."
She replies immediately, as if I'm the problem, "Focus."
I let out a quiet laugh despite myself, shaking my head as I keep going, adjusting instinctively, compensating where I can, letting the structure hold even as she veers off course.
Somehow, it works, not perfectly, not even close, but it works.
Her voice is bright, full of energy and intent, completely unconcerned with technical correctness. Mine fills the gaps, keeps the melody intact, turns what should be a mess into something oddly cohesive.
Before long, I stop thinking about it.
The tension fades.
The noise in my head quiets.
For those few minutes, there's nothing else. No Sakura Labyrinth. No Champions. No endgame waiting ahead.
Just this.
By the time we reach the end, Nero finishes with absolute confidence, holding the last note far longer than necessary and missing it entirely before she declares, "... Umu! Flawless."
I let out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh, "... That's one way to describe it." While thinking, 'I'm pretty sure that somewhere in the Omniverse, the Concept of Music just decided to end itself to stop suffering.'
She turns to me, completely serious, "You see? Your mind is clear now."
I pause, then realise that it is true.
I shake my head lightly, a faint smile lingering, "... I hate that this worked."
She replies without hesitation, "Umu! Of course it worked, I am exceptional."
I mutter, "At many things..."
She ignores that completely.
From there, we move on to getting dressed. Nothing rushed, nothing forced, just the same steady rhythm as always.
But now, my thoughts are quieter, more centred, and I'm ready for what is to come.
By the time we step into the kitchen, my thoughts are clearer, the lingering tension settling into something structured, something I can work with.
Soon, I start preparing breakfast for everyone, choosing something simple on the surface, but precise in execution.
I begin with the dough, which I had set to rest earlier. As I uncover it, I press my fingers lightly into its surface, checking elasticity, humidity, and temperature. Everything responds exactly as expected. With controlled movements, I roll it out into a thin sheet, even to the millimetre, before layering it with butter.
Not just any butter. The ratio, the distribution, and the temperature of each variable are accounted for as I fold and laminate the dough. The layers build upon each other, dozens of them, delicate and uniform. Under normal circumstances, this would take time and repeated rests, but with my control, every fold settles instantly into the ideal structure without compromising the texture.
Beside me, Nero watches, leaning lightly against the counter before she says, her tone amused, but attentive, "Umu... the sacred ritual begins."
I don't look up as I continue folding, "You say that every time."
She replies without hesitation, "Because every time, it is worthy of observation. To turn something so simple into something so refined... it is a masterful performance."
I allow myself a faint smile at that, but keep working.
Once the lamination is complete, I cut the dough into precise triangles, each identical, then begin shaping them into cornetti. The motion is smooth, practised, each roll tight enough to hold structure, loose enough to allow expansion.
Then come the fillings.
Using a piping bag, I inject crema pasticciera into several of them, the custard thick, glossy, perfectly balanced between sweetness and weight, infused with a clean note of vanilla. Another batch receives apricot jam, Aletha's favourite, carefully measured so it won't leak during baking, its bright acidity preserved.
For others, I prepare a chocolate cream, dense and deep, with just enough bitterness to anchor its richness. The final few are filled with white chocolate cream, smoother, softer, designed to contrast rather than overwhelm.
Nero steps closer at that point, her gaze shifting between each variation as she observes, "You ensure variety, even now."
I simply reply, "Everyone has preferences."
Nero smirks and comments, "And you intend to satisfy them all."
I nod and keep working while saying, "That's the idea."
A brief pause, then she adds, quieter but no less certain, "How very like you."
I place the prepared cornetti onto the tray, spacing them with exact care before sliding them into the oven. The temperature is already stabilised, and heat is circulating evenly. As they begin to bake, the transformation is immediate.
The butter melts into the layers, steam forms, the dough rises, and each cornetto expands into a light, structured form. The scent follows soon after, rich, warm, unmistakably buttery with a sweetness that settles into the air without becoming heavy.
While they bake, I move on.
Fresh fruit, already selected, is processed next. I cut and press it by hand, but with a level of precision that extracts only what I want, no bitterness, no excess pulp. The juice that collects is vibrant, clean, layered in flavour depending on the blend, and balanced down to the smallest detail.
Then, the coffee.
I grind the beans fresh, adjusting the fineness with minute control before brewing. The extraction is exact, with pressure, timing, and temperature all aligned. The result is strong, dark, but smooth, without harshness, the aroma rising immediately, grounding the entire space.
Behind me, Nero inhales softly before she says, "Even before tasting it, one can tell. This will be excellent."
I let out a quiet breath, somewhere between a sigh and a small laugh, "I'd hope so."
When the cornetti are ready, I take them out at the precise moment the layers have fully developed, golden without crossing into overbaked. I let them rest just long enough before finishing them with a light dusting of powdered sugar, the fine white coating settling evenly over their surface.
Simple, at a glance, but nothing about it is careless.
As I set everything in place, I feel it clearly, the steady rhythm of each action, each decision, each movement.
The familiar motions steady my mind further.
Not long after, I hear the door slide open and feel Rani walk in.
She doesn't greet us immediately; instead, she moves to the side, arms folded, eyes already distant.
She is clearly thinking, analysing who knows what before she begins without preamble, "About yesterday. That entity... BB."
I glance at her while continuing to cook and ask, "What about her?"
Her tone is as calm as ever when she says, "I've been reviewing everything we observed. Her method of intrusion, her control over the environment, her ability to bypass what should be absolute protections..."
She pauses before she admits, "... I cannot determine her limits."
That doesn't surprise me at all. BB is a truly frightening opponent within the Moon Cell's structure; even so, I keep Rani engaged by asking, "Nothing?"
She calmly replies, "Nothing concrete. Every model I construct breaks under insufficient data. She operates outside expected parameters."
Despite her calm tone and appearance, I can still feel a hint of frustration in her, which is a good sign as it means that she is still slowly becoming more "human."
Before I can respond, the door opens again, and Marie Antoinette steps in, cheerful as always, followed by Aletha.
Then, Marie Antoinette lightly says, "Well, that sounds troubling already."
Aletha leans against the wall, arms crossed and comments, "Figures. Someone messing with the system from the inside isn't going to be easy to pin down."
She looks at me, and after a moment she adds, "Still, BB isn't the only problem."
I agree with a nod before I calmly say, "Kang Yaling... and Age Svenson." While also thinking, 'Or at least... who we think is Age. I still have the feeling that something is off about this.'
The air grows a little heavier at that, but before the conversation can go further, more footsteps approach.
Shortly after, Ledram walks in, followed by his Peerage.
The room fills quickly after that, and despite everything, the atmosphere becomes more lively.
Not carefree, but not tense either, more like something in between, like everyone's aware of what's coming, but choosing not to let it weigh them down just yet.
Soon, I finish giving the final touch to the breakfast I prepared, and we start eating together.
There's some light conversation, a bit of banter here and there, but it never strays too far from the underlying truth.
This might be the last quiet moment we get, the famous calm before the storm moment.
Once breakfast is over, the mood shifts.
We move to the living area, and the discussion turns to what really matters.
Aletha starts by saying, "Let's be honest. At this point, normal Masters don't matter anymore."
No one argues with her stance; it is undeniable.
Then, she continues, "Whoever's left, they're either hiding, preparing for a battle against impossible odds, or... they're about to get crushed between Champions."
Ledram nods slightly, "And given the pace, I'd say today is the final day. As soon as most of the regular Masters are gone. The Champions will be the only ones left, and the space within the Sakura Labyrinth will shrink until they clash whenever they want to or not."
Hearing that, I nod and say, "Agreed."
A brief silence follows, but then Aletha looks around and speaks again, "Then here's a thought. We all move into your Soulbound Territory."
I raise an eyebrow as she continues, "That way, we stay out of BB's reach as much as possible, and if something happens, we can jump in to help."
It's a reasonable idea, and in a normal situation it would work, but I shake my head and say, "It won't work."
That gets everyone's attention, and soon, I explain, "The Holy Grail War might be getting tampered with, but it's still backed by the Concepts. And that means some rules are absolute."
I glance at Ledram, then at my Digimon partners, before I continue, "Things that are part of a Champion's power? Those are fine. They're considered part of the whole system."
Then I look back at Aletha and conclude, "But outside allies stepping in freely? That crosses the line, and it won't be allowed."
Rani nods slightly as she comments, "Interference beyond defined parameters would likely trigger correction."
I cross my arms and say, "Exactly. Even BB, with her obscene control over the Moon Cell, can't override those rules. There is very strong proof of that in the current Holy Grail War, because even if it has changed drastically with many rules discarded or altered, its true essence is still uncompromised."
Hearing that, Aletha exhales through her nose and says, "So we stay out of it."
In response, I clarify, "You can stay inside my Soulbound Territory. That's safe. But fighting directly? Not unless the system allows it."
After I said that, there was a brief pause as Aletha and everyone else digested my words, then she shrugged and said, "Fine. Your call."
No one else objects, and we decide to end the discussion and take advantage of these last moments of peace to relax and adjust our state of mind in preparation for the upcoming storm.
The last hour passes quietly, but not in silence.
The space settles into a strange, fragile calm, the kind that only exists when everyone knows it won't last.
Some people relax in their own way. Others train, not out of necessity, but out of habit, like they wouldn't know what to do with themselves otherwise.
Near one side of the room, Oda Nobunaga stands with her rifle resting over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips as she exchanges sharp, rapid blows with Nero. The clash isn't serious, not truly, but neither of them is holding back completely.
Nobunaga taunts, her tone laced with amusement, "Is that all, Emperor? I expected more from Rome's finest."
Nero scoffs, stepping in with a precise strike that forces Nobunaga back half a step, "Umu! Do not mistake elegance for weakness. I simply choose not to overwhelm you too quickly."
Their eyes meet, both smiling, both entirely unwilling to concede even an inch.
A few meters away, Mirko stretches before launching into a series of explosive kicks, each one cracking through the air with controlled force. Chun-Li mirrors her pace nearby, her movements fluid, disciplined, every strike landing with clean precision.
They don't speak much, but the rhythm between them is clear, a silent understanding built through shared strength.
Closer to the centre, Elsa sits with her hands resting lightly in her lap, frost forming and dissolving in delicate patterns across her fingers as she focuses. Beside her, Tsubaki speaks quietly, the two of them engaged in a calm, steady conversation that feels grounding just to overhear in fragments.
Not far from them, Reika watches, thoughtful, observant, as if still measuring herself against everything around her, but no longer lost within it.
On one of the couches, Aika sprawls without restraint, very clearly not training, occasionally throwing out comments that earn her mixed reactions from the Sailor Guardians gathered nearby.
Despite that, the Sailor Guardians themselves remain composed. Venus chats lightly with Jupiter and Mars, while Mercury sits with a small device in hand, likely reviewing data even now. Uranus and Neptune stay close, quiet but attentive, while Pluto stands slightly apart, as if watching over everything at once.
Marie Antoinette's laughter rises softly from another corner, warm and effortless as she speaks with Aletha, the two sharing a moment that feels almost removed from the tension hanging over the rest of us.
Sara Connor and Sara Pezzini remain closer to Ledram, the three of them exchanging low words, their focus sharper, more grounded in what's to come.
Ledram himself leans back with a relaxed posture that doesn't quite hide the awareness in his eyes. Every now and then, his gaze drifts across the room, checking on everyone in a way that feels almost instinctive.
Through all of it, nothing feels forced.
No one is pretending this is normal, but no one is letting that break them either.
As for me, I spend part of it doing nothing at all.
I sit back and simply watch, letting the scene unfold without interfering, without analysing, without planning my next move.
Just being there. Surrounded by people who, not long ago, were strangers, rivals, enemies even. Now something else.
The calm settles slowly, not erasing what's coming, but making space for it and for a little while, that's enough.
But eventually noon arrives, and with it, the time to once more dive into the Sakura Labyrinth arrives too.
One by one, the others move into my Soulbound Territory.
After all his Peerage walks into my Soulbound Territory, Ledram grins and says, "Try not to end it too quickly. I'd like to see a good show."
Nero scoffs beside me, "As if we would do anything less."
Then, Aletha stops in front of me before stepping in and simply says, "Don't lose."
I smirk, "Wasn't planning to."
For a brief moment, Aletha looks at me, then she smiles and extends her hand, making a golden shimmering light appear in her palm as she solemnly declares, "I, Aletha Longbottom, the Champion of Chaos, willingly surrender my Blessing to Jayr Pucci, the Champion of Culture."
In response, her Blessing flares before it instantly enters my body, merging with my Blessing, swelling the power within me until it roars like a star as I immediately sense all my abilities improving, especially my Knowledge Acquisition Written, which reaches the Max level, making its range equal to the size of my Soulbound Territory.
Talking about the Soulbound Territory, it is now growing exponentially until it reaches a size comparable to a small galaxy.
Before I can say anything, Aletha smiles and says, "You don't have to thank me. Just win."
With that, Aletha steps into the portal, leaving only Nero and me in our Private Room.
Shortly after that, we step out of the Private Room, walk through the school building, reach the courtyard, and stop in front of the Sakura Tree.
The Sakura Tree dominates the space, its blossoms drifting lazily in the air. It stands as it always has, deceptively beautiful and serene, petals catching the light as they fall.
I've seen it transform a few times already, but that doesn't make watching it happen again any less impactful.
When the tremor hits, it's subtle at first. A vibration through the soles of my boots. Then the sound follows. Wood creaking. Stone grinding. Roots tearing free with slow, inevitable force.
The opening yawns beneath the tree like a wound. Revealing a dark opening beneath a closed by the usual bostwick gate.
The entrance to the Sakura Labyrinth.
The next moment, I feel the Labyrinth awaken as the bostwick gate parts with a squeaking sound, metal folding back to allow us passage.
Nero and I exchange a look. No words between. None is needed as we understand each other with a simple glance.
Then, we step inside the oppressive darkness as the hard light stairs form beneath our feet, glowing faintly in the darkness as we descend.
A familiar sensation wraps around us as we enter the Sakura Labyrinth once more.
The deeper we go, the darker it becomes, then the glow fades, and the hard-light steps turn into stone.
The air grows heavy, old, like we're walking into something that has been waiting a very long time.
At last, we emerge onto our chosen floor. The one created in the image of the Sanctuary.
We don't even have the time to adjust as the mechanical voice of the Sakura Labyrinth echoes through the space.
[Final preparations advised.]
In response to that announcement, I pull up my interface immediately to check the maps of our territory.
I scan it quickly and instantly take notice of the most critical information, making me mutter out loud, "... Only one path."
Nero glances at the display and asks, "Meaning?"
I calmly reply, "Considering the position of the stairs, we're near the top of the Sakura Labyrinth. Which means that there is only one direction our enemies can come from."
That simplifies things by quite a bit, but it also makes them more suspicious, 'This is a very favourable position. It is quite strange that we, of all the Masters still active, ended up here. Especially considering BB's control over the Moon Cell and Sakura Labyrinth. So... Where is the trap?'
While thinking that, I work fast. The interface responds instantly, layers of translucent schematics unfolding in my mind as I rearrange the order of the floors.
The Sanctuary is at the top, while the buffer floors are below. A clean defensive structure.
Some time later, after I've completed all the changes, the mechanical voice of the Sakur Labyrinth speaks again, louder now.
[Live or die by the sword.]
[What power do you hold in your hands… dancing flames, decaying Earth, withered oceans.]
It's the signal that the Holy Grail War has resumed.
Following that announcement, I don't hesitate. I urge my Spiral Cosmo and materialise a dozen small Funnels at my side.
Under my command, they spread out, then descend through the only available path while I also materialise a screen to watch the feed with Nero.
At first, I just watch as they emerge from the stairs leading to the next set of floors.
Then, I frown as I watch the feed and mutter, "… This is…"
On the screen, the Funnels' feed reveals the layout and structure of the floor.
At first glance, it resembles a subway system. But the longer I look, the more wrong it feels.
The tunnels stretch out in every direction, forming a vast underground network, but there's no sense of order to it. Paths intersect at impossible angles, platforms sit where they shouldn't, and the perspective itself seems to shift depending on the angle of the feed.
It's like the idea of a subway, rather than an actual one.
The tracks are the first thing that stands out. They are wooden.
Rough, aged planks lay where steel rails should be, some splintered, some warped, all of them slightly uneven, as if they were built by something that understood function, but not precision. They run endlessly through the tunnels, disappearing into darkness that the Funnels' light struggles to fully pierce.
Chains hang from above in irregular intervals, some swaying slightly despite the complete absence of wind. Metal bars emerge from walls and floors at unnatural angles, forming incomplete cages and barriers that serve no clear purpose.
A prison, or at least, something that wants to be one.
Then there are the figures.
Black silhouettes, vaguely humanoid, scattered throughout the tunnels and platforms. Their forms are unstable, edges flickering like they're not fully anchored to reality. Each one wears a mask, different shapes, different expressions, some blank, others twisted into exaggerated emotion.
They don't move much, but they watch.
Even through the feed, I can feel it. The moment a Funnel lingers too long, a few of them turn in unison, their masked faces snapping toward it with unnatural precision.
And then there are the distortions. Certain sections of the floor are clearly different.
The walls there are fractured, not physically, but conceptually. Red cracks spread across surfaces in branching, fractal patterns, like veins or broken glass layered over reality itself. They pulse faintly, rhythmically, as if something is breathing beneath the structure.
Actual veins run along some of the surfaces, embedded into the walls, thick and organic, carrying a dim crimson light through them. They contract and expand slowly, alive in a way that doesn't belong in a place like this.
The deeper the Funnels go, the worse it becomes.
The space tightens. The distortions increase. The presence grows heavier.
I narrow my eyes slightly as I watch, my mind already processing, comparing, aligning, 'That layout. Those distortions. That oppressive, almost psychological weight pressing through even a remote feed.'
A memory surfaces, uninvited but undeniable, not something I saw here.
Something I experienced before, in my previous life.
The realisation doesn't hit all at once, but it builds, piece by piece, detail by detail, until it becomes impossible to ignore, making me mutter, "... No way."
The words leave me under my breath as the final connection locks into place, "... The Mementos."
The name lingers, heavier than it should be.
I exhale slowly, my gaze sharpening as I continue watching the feed, now with full understanding of what I'm seeing.
This isn't just a floor created by a distorted mind with the intent of destabilising those who dare to invade it; it's the recreation of a cognitive space.
A manifestation of something deeper, something collective, something alive, and if that's the case, then this isn't random.
It's hers.
My grip tightens slightly as the conclusion settles in, no longer rushed, no longer uncertain, as I come to the only possible conclusion, "... So this is your territory."
A brief pause.
Then, quieter, more certain, "Champion of Life... Kang Yaling."