Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Chaldea’s Shuraba

New Chaldea · Storm Border Control Room

The cool, sterile lights of the Storm Border’s command center cast a crisp white glow over the primary operation deck. Rows of holographic monitors hovered in the air, cascading with pale blue and silver data streams that hummed a quiet, rhythmic tune. Yet, the usually disciplined atmosphere of the bridge was rapidly deteriorating into a boiling cauldron of romantic tension.

Fujimaru Ritsuka leaned back against the main console, aggressively scratching the back of his head. His expression twisted into a knot of utter bewilderment. He shot a glance around the room, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“Wait, what? Did we just fast-forward?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Did the screen skip a whole chapter? Where’s my Miss Homeless of Christmas?”

Mash Kyrielight stood exactly half a step behind him. Her crisp Chaldea uniform accentuated her rigid, perfectly upright posture. She kept her hands neatly folded at her waist, a gentle, flawless smile painted across her lips. Her eyelashes fluttered downward, casting shadows over her amethyst eyes—eyes that were entirely devoid of warmth.

“So that is why the communication feed mysteriously cut out back then,” Mash chimed in. Her tone was light, airy, and yet, to Ritsuka’s finely tuned survival instincts, it carried the distinct, biting chill of a blizzard. “Dancing with Miss Jalter must have been quite the experience, Senpai.”

A phantom chill raced down Ritsuka’s back. He snapped to attention, frantically reaching out to pat Mash’s arm.

“It was just a dance, Mash! Strictly professional!” he backpedaled, his voice dripping with desperate soothing. “Don’t worry about it. We can dance together another day. How about a waltz?”

“Ahem.”

A delicate, distinctly flamboyant hum cut through the air. A sudden gust of wind carrying the heavy scent of divine authority swept past the crew as Tenochtitlan, the Rain God, materialized out of thin air right beside the command console.

She stretched her arms with languid elegance, her fingers lightly adjusting the ornate hair accessory at her temple. Her eyes gleamed with intense, unapologetic expectation. “I simply cannot pretend I didn’t hear that. Priest, I want a dance too… oh.”

Ritsuka’s shoulders slumped. He stared at the newly arrived Servant, his face the very picture of exhausted resignation. He waved his hands in rapid surrender. “Fine, fine, fine. We’ll dance. Everyone gets a turn, okay?”

“Eh?! Master is handing out dances and didn’t even invite me, your beloved?”

A soft, deeply aggrieved voice echoed from above. Fairy Knight Lancelot—Melusine—dropped gracefully from the upper rafters, landing lightly on Ritsuka’s opposite side. She gripped the edges of her skirt, her eyes glistening with unshed, pathetic tears. But a second later, her demeanor flipped. She lifted her chin, puffing out her chest with forced bravado.

“But since I am the strongest dragon, I refuse to cry over something so trivial.”

The moment the word ‘beloved’ left her lips, the shadows in the far corner of the control room writhed. The Chaldea Stalker Trio, having reached the absolute limits of their patience, stepped out from the darkness in perfect unison.

Kiyohime took the lead, her golden eyes narrowing into dangerous slits as she locked onto Melusine. She snapped her folding fan shut with a sharp crack. “Excuse me, you little homewrecking lizard, who exactly are you calling your beloved? The only one who has the right to dance with Master is me!”

Beside her, Hassan of Serenity shifted her weight nervously. Her eyes, barely visible beneath her skull mask and hood, shone with a fragile, desperate light. “I… I want to dance with Master too,” she whispered, her voice thin but piercingly clear.

“Everyone, halt!”

A commanding, thunderous voice shattered the bickering. Minamoto no Raikou strode forward, her elaborate, form-fitting armor emphasizing her overwhelming presence. Her brows were locked in a fierce scowl, her eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

“This behavior is a severe violation of public morals! Absolutely shameless!” Raikou declared, placing a hand on her hip. “As the Chairwoman of the Chaldea Shadows Public Morals Committee, I cannot sit idly by and watch this degeneracy!”

Yet, the moment the reprimand left her lips, her terrifying aura completely dissolved. A heavy blush dusted her cheeks as she took a quick, eager step toward Ritsuka. Her voice dropped several octaves, oozing with maternal sweetness. “Besides, for something as intimate as dancing… you should let Mother teach you, Master.”

“That is correct. Let Mother teach you how to dance, Ritsuka.”

A deeply resonant, total voice vibrated through the floorboards. Tiamat materialized from a swirl of ethereal light. Despite radiating the sheer, terrifying majesty of a Primordial Mother Goddess, her starry eyes held nothing but overflowing, doting affection. She locked her gaze onto Ritsuka, her tone melting into a puddle of absolute devotion, fully embracing her self-appointed role as the ultimate matriarch of Chaldea.

“Eh? Is this guy really that popular?”

Fairy Knight Tristan—Baobhan Sith—stood off to the side, leaning her weight on one leg with her arms tightly crossed. She tilted her head, her ruby eyes wide with genuine, unadulterated confusion. She stared at the escalating turf war, completely baffled by the sheer scale of the chaos.

Beside her, Fairy Knight Gawain—Barghest—maintained a posture of absolute military perfection. Her back was straight, her arms folded, and her face carved from stone. To anyone looking, the surrounding noise was entirely beneath her notice.

Internally, however, a violent storm was raging. Her armored fingers twitched, curling inward. ‘Dancing… how wonderful. If only Master would share just one dance with me. Just one would be enough.’

A few paces away, Morgan, the Fairy Queen, leaned elegantly against a structural pillar. Her magnificent dark robes spilled across the floor. A deep crease formed between her brows, and her red lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.

“Tch. My husband’s charm is truly a nuisance,” she muttered, her voice dripping with a potent mix of aristocratic pride and bitter jealousy. She paused, her eyes narrowing as a cold calculation flashed through them. “I should build a grand hotel in a secluded Singularity. I need to take my husband on a private vacation. Somewhere quiet.”

Crouched behind a nearby server rack, Artoria Caster pressed her back against the metal, her pointy ears twitching as she eavesdropped on the Queen’s declaration. Her cheeks puffed out like an angry squirrel, and she pulled her hat down over her face.

‘She actually wants to go on a private vacation with Ritsuka?’Castoria grumbled internally, gripping her staff tightly.’Hmph! Don’t even think about it! I’m definitely going to beat her to it and make a promise with Master first!’

“No, seriously… is it really okay for all of you to argue about this right in front of the guy?”

Jeanne d’Arc Alter stood on the fringes of the mob, watching the absolute trainwreck of female Servants fighting over a single teenager. Her mouth hung slightly open in utter disbelief. She slapped a hand over her face, dragging it down with a heavy, exhausted sigh.

But as her golden eyes flicked back toward the massive holographic screen—which was currently looping the footage of her intimate ballroom dance—her pale face ignited into a brilliant, burning crimson. Her cool, tsundere facade instantly shattered.

She grabbed her head with both hands, curling her shoulders inward as she let out a strangled, high-pitched noise of pure agony.

“Damn it! This stupid screen actually broadcasted exactly what I did and how I felt! What’s the difference between this and a public execution?! Ahhh!” The Dragon Witch whined, her current state of absolute mortification a stark contrast to her usual arrogant swagger.

Across the room, Lady Avalon leaned casually against a railing, lazily spinning a translucent crystal ball on her fingertips. A wicked, highly entertained smirk played at the corners of her lips.

“Oh my, what a spectacular show,” the Pretender-class Merlin purred, her eyes curving into delighted crescents. “A true Shuraba. Keep it up, girls. Fight for your love.”

Even as she cheered them on, her mind was already spinning a web of treacherous plans. ‘I’ll just slip into Master’s dreams tonight. We can have a lovely, quiet dance all to ourselves.’

At the back of the room, Da Vinci Lily and Sion Eltnam Sokaris stood shoulder-to-shoulder, casually sipping from juice pouches. They made zero effort to hide their amusement, their eyes darting between the bickering Servants and Ritsuka’s panicked face, occasionally exchanging knowing, highly entertained glances.

Meanwhile, the actual Chaldea staff—Gordolf Musik, Captain Nemo, Meuniere, and the bridge operators—had realized the extreme danger of the situation. Moving with practiced, silent synchronization, they abandoned their posts and slipped out the blast doors, desperate to escape the blast radius of this terrifying, senseless storm of affection.

The volume in the control room continued to rise. The Servants’ voices overlapped, growing sharper and more demanding. The atmosphere was pulled taut, ready to snap at any second.

Ritsuka took a deep, steadying breath. A sudden, invisible aura of absolute determination erupted from his body. It was the manifestation of his ultimate survival skill: Iron Will EX.

He stepped forward, planting his feet firmly on the deck. He threw his arm out, pointing a commanding finger toward the ceiling, and roared over the noise.

“Stop arguing! Everyone gets a turn! Nobody will be left out!”

He didn’t give them a single second to process the promise. He immediately pivoted, thrusting his finger violently toward the glowing monitor.

“Now! Let’s continue watching the broadcast! Look, a new story is already starting!”

His words spilled out in a rushed, desperate torrent. He poured every ounce of his remaining energy into diverting the collective wrath of Chaldea’s most dangerous women, praying to any god listening that the screen would save him.

As if answering his plea, the static on the giant holographic display cleared. Fresh, glowing text slowly materialized across the screen, reflecting in the wide eyes of everyone in the room:

【A Parting Date in Tokyo】