Fate Grand Order: Broadcasting Master Love — Chapter 53

Chapter 53: Jalter’s Resummoning

The light screen flickered, broadcasting the ongoing chaos within the Louvre’s grand exhibition hall. Hearing Brunhilde’s manic, borderline-delirious declaration of affection, Jalter’s pale face instantly flushed the color of a ripe tomato. Her golden eyes widened, practically spewing hellfire.

Without a single word of warning, she raised her heavy leather boot and brought it down on Brunhilde, who was already slumped against the marble floor. Thud. Thud. Thud. The heavy impacts echoed through the gallery as Jalter ruthlessly kicked the fallen Valkyrie, each strike packed with genuine, furious force.

“I! Told! You!” Jalter roared, punctuating every single word with another vicious stomp. “I! Don’t! Want! This! Kind! Of! Love!”

Rolling across the polished stone, Brunhilde didn’t seem to register a single ounce of pain. Her pristine white and blue hair fanned out in a messy halo across her face. Instead of crying out, a sickly, euphoric smile curled her lips.

“Ah… this pain…” Brunhilde gasped, her voice trembling with twisted delight. “This impact… this is love… it is Sister’s love…”

Standing off to the side, Emiya watched the utterly ridiculous spectacle unfold. A muscle in his jaw jumped. He raised a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose as a heavy sigh escaped him.

“That actually makes some sense…” he muttered under his breath, his dry tone laced with a helpless sort of amusement.

The Fifth Holy Grail War timeline.

Tohsaka Rin paused, her porcelain teacup hovering just an inch from her lips. She slowly turned her head toward the expressionless Archer leaning against the parlor wall. Her brilliant blue eyes narrowed into a sharp, scrutinizing glare.

“So,” Rin began, her voice dripping with genuine bewilderment. “Where exactly is the sense in that, Archer?”

Archer offered no reply. He kept his amber eyes lowered, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the gentle snowfall drifting past the windowpane. He looked entirely serene, radiating an aura of absolute refusal to engage.

Only the tight line of his pursed lips and the microscopic twitch of his eyebrow betrayed his internal suffering.

‘Why don’t you go ask the idiot on the screen who looks exactly like me?’ he complained bitterly to himself.

Back on the broadcast, Jalter’s one-sided assault finally ground to a halt. She leaned heavily against a carved marble pillar, bending at the waist as she gasped for air. Her chest heaved beneath her dark armor, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead.

“Huff… huff…” She swallowed hard, her voice carrying the raspy edge of pure exhaustion. “Alright. Whatever. Let’s just… ignore this lunatic for now.”

Cast aside amidst the dust and shattered display glass, Brunhilde lay sprawled on her back. Her chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged pants. Yet, despite the beating, her striking purple eyes remained glued to Jalter, burning with an intense, unsettling devotion.

New Chaldea, Servant Lounge.

The six Valkyrie sisters sat in agonizing silence, forced to watch their eldest sister’s complete and utter loss of composure broadcast to the entire facility. The sheer second-hand embarrassment was suffocating.

Moving in perfect, synchronized unison, they all turned their heads away from the monitor. A few buried their faces in their hands, while others suddenly found the complex clasps of their armor absolutely fascinating. Even the tips of their ears burned with a deep, humiliating crimson. It was a tragedy they simply could not bear to witness.

On the light screen, Fujimaru Ritsuka let out a massive breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Relief washed over his tense features as he nodded vigorously at Jalter’s proposal.

“Let’s do that,” he agreed without a second thought.

Catching her breath at last, Jalter pushed herself off the pillar and stood tall. She casually swiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her gauntlet. As her golden gaze shifted to Ritsuka’s group, the furious flush faded, replaced by her signature, mocking sneer.

“Hmph,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with nonchalant arrogance. “Although I knew you pests would sniff this place out eventually, you arrived far earlier than I expected.”

She took a slow, measured step forward, her eyes raking over the Master of Chaldea. A playful, dangerous tease laced the end of her words. “Your sense of smell is as sharp as a stray dog’s, as always. Isn’t it, Fujimaru Ritsuka?”

Mash took a small, protective step forward, placing herself just ahead of Ritsuka. Her grip on her massive cross-shield tightened, the metal groaning softly under her strength. Her pinkish-purple eyes locked onto the dark saint, swirling with complex emotions.

“It has been a long time since Orléans, Jeanne d’Arc Alter,” Mash greeted, her voice gentle yet unwavering.

Emiya stepped up beside the shielder. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, a sharp, analytical gleam flashing through his amber eyes as he scrutinized the Avenger.

“You should have already been eliminated,” he stated flatly, his calm tone masking a current of genuine confusion.

“Ha!”

Jalter threw her head back and laughed, a sharp, bitter sound as if Emiya had just told the funniest joke in human history. She scoffed, her golden eyes flashing with untamed, rebellious fire.

“No matter how twisted the means of my creation were,” she declared, her voice ringing with disdainful pride, “as long as the concept of ‘me’ was established, it can never be completely erased.”

New Chaldea, Jeanne-face Servant Activity Room.

The original Jeanne d’Arc shifted uncomfortably in her seat, a faint blush warming her cheeks. Jalter’s very existence was rooted in her own momentary weakness—the fleeting, desperate wish for salvation that had bloomed in her heart when she saw Fujimaru Ritsuka rushing to save her before her execution.

In that split second, she had faltered. Her dark side had manifested, abandoning the righteous path of martyrdom to selfishly crave survival. And from that selfish desire, Jalter was born.

Yet, as Jeanne watched the arrogant, fiery Avenger on the screen, a soft smile touched her lips. Having Jalter in this world… it really didn’t seem like a bad thing at all.

Hearing the dark saint’s rebellious declaration, Emiya blinked in surprise. The tension bled from his shoulders, replaced by a quiet, helpless sigh. He raised a hand, tapping his index finger against his temple as a look of deep understanding settled over his features.

“Right,” he conceded softly. “As long as it is an existence born into this world, even if it is destroyed and fades away… the absolute fact that it was once born cannot be undone.”

Jalter arched an eyebrow. The unmasked mockery returned to her golden eyes in full force. Crossing her arms beneath her chest, she leaned back against the ruined pillar. Her heavy boot shifted, crushing a stray shard of glass into fine powder with a sharp crunch.

“As expected of a Faker,” she drawled, her tone light but laced with venomous banter.

Emiya completely ignored the jab. He simply took another step forward, his gaze locked onto her as his mind worked through the tactical impossibility of her presence.

“But that alone shouldn’t be enough,” he countered, his brow knitting together. “The one who made the wish and desired your appearance was Gilles de Rais. The one who granted his twisted wish was the Holy Grail.”

He paused, his finger tapping a slow rhythm against his temple. “The Holy Grail of that Singularity has been recovered. Gilles de Rais has been defeated. Without an anchor or a power source, the possibility of you being summoned again should be absolute zero.”

“Ah ha ha ha! Yes! Exactly! You’re completely right!”

Jalter burst into loud, uproarious laughter, though the sound held no joy. An inexplicable, hollow melancholy bled through the cracks of her amusement.

Slowly, the laughter died in her throat. Her expression darkened into a bitter, annoyed scowl. Her brows pulled tight, and when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with a raw, self-deprecating edge.

“The possibility of me being summoned again is practically nonexistent. Because nobody needs me! And the only hero in this entire miserable world who actually needed me… is already dead!”