[3rd POV]
"Hey! Santa, wake up!"
Jeanne felt her body being shaken side to side. Her eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, only to see Nobunaga raising her foot, ready to kick her.
"What a shame… you woke up," Nobunaga sighed, lowering her foot as Jeanne sat up, panting, feeling something wet running down her face.
Jeanne placed her hand on her chest, trying to catch her breath. Finally, a deep gasp filled her lungs, bringing her instant relief.
"I'm fine," Jeanne said, forcing a small smile.
"Wow, you're a terrible liar. At least wipe the tears off your face before trying to fool someone." Nobunaga rolled her eyes. She had trouble liking the saint, considering Jeanne had devoted her entire life to a god. Still, compared to Buddhists, she actually preferred this kind of religious person.
Hearing the Servant's words, Jeanne instinctively touched her face, surprised to realize she was crying.
I'm… crying!?
How long has it been since I last cried!?
Not even when I was burned alive!
These thoughts raced through her mind. Apparently, her Master's memories had affected her far more than she expected.
Nobunaga, watching Jeanne wipe her tears, brought her hand to her chin. "Hmm… you went through the 'dream cycle,' didn't you?"
Jeanne blinked, a bit surprised, but then slowly nodded in confirmation.
"You… saw the Master's memories too?" she asked, finishing drying her tears.
The image of Altair throwing his own future away was still fresh in her mind. He was born into misery and endured everything in silence… until his own personality could no longer handle it.
"Yeah, but your reaction is way too dramatic," Nobunaga raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms.
"Dramatic?! Years of his life were thrown away!" Jeanne raised her voice, clearly upset.
"Hah! That's why I don't get along with people like you," Nobunaga scratched her head. "Yeah, all his effort went down the drain. He got expelled from school and sent to juvenile detention after smashing another teenager's skull. But that was his choice. No one forced him to beat someone's head until it cracked open," Nobunaga said bluntly, noticing Jeanne's sharp gaze. She sighed. "That being said, I don't think the Master was wrong. It was a foolish action, but in my eyes, he simply paid them back in kind." She shrugged.
Jeanne's expression softened. She was heartbroken to see how her Master's life had been ruined, and although she disagreed with violence, she understood that sometimes it was necessary—even if her Master had gone a bit too far.
But after living through her Master's memories as if they were her own… she couldn't bring herself to disagree with him.
Taking a deep breath, she steadied her emotions. "I'm better now."
"Well, your reaction was way calmer than the man-slayer's. She wanted to hunt them all down," Nobunaga smirked, turning to leave. But before she could, Jeanne's voice stopped her.
"Nobunaga… do you know where the Master is?" she asked, hesitant, but Jeanne felt a growing anxiety to see him.
"He's training with that man-slayer," Nobunaga replied, disappearing soon after.
•••
A silver gleam sliced through the air in a perfect arc. A metallic clang echoed as the blade was intercepted by a stone staff, sending sparks flying.
The boy with hair as black as the night pulled the staff back, spinning it once before thrusting it straight toward Okita's head.
However, just before the strike could connect, she ducked, dodging it by mere millimeters. In the same instant, her katana cut through the air in a low sweeping slash.
Altair leaped back, his feet sliding smoothly across the ground as Okita raised her katana, positioning it vertically in front of her face. The blade caught the light—and in the blink of an eye, she vanished from his sight.
Trusting his instincts, Altair tilted his head to the side just in time, the katana grazing past his cheek, slicing the skin with surgical precision. A thin line of blood trickled down, dripping onto the ground like liquid rubies.
Okita stepped firmly, pivoting toward her Master's direction, thrusting her blade forward.
Altair mirrored the movement with his staff.
The katana stopped just centimeters from his throat, while the tip of his staff pointed directly at Okita's stomach.
Altair let out a small smile. "Your speed really is something else…"
Before he could finish the sentence, Okita had already sheathed her sword with a smooth, practiced motion. She pulled a white cloth from her kimono and extended it toward Altair's face. With gentle hands, she wiped away the blood trickling from his cheek.
"Forgive me, Master," she said softly, tending to the wound with delicate care.
"Don't worry. It was just a sparring match," Altair replied with a wry smile at his Servant's exaggerated concern. "By the way… what's that movement technique called?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"It's called [Reduced Earth]. It's a technique that, as I mentioned before, shortens the distance between me and my target. But ironically, it's not purely about speed. It's a combination of several factors: footwork, defensive movements, breathing control, and exploiting blind spots. In short… it's a little complicated."
The more Okita explained, the more fascinated Altair became. He had always loved learning new things since he was a child.
A Servant normally couldn't learn new skills, but Altair was far from a normal Servant. In fact, even calling him a Demi-Servant was questionable.
"Could you… teach me?" Altair asked, slightly hesitant. After all, it was a personal technique, and most people were reluctant to share something they'd spent their whole life perfecting.
"Of course," Okita answered immediately, lowering the cloth from Altair's face.
He blinked, surprised. "Really?"
"Of course. This blade belongs to you, Master. You may use me however you wish," she said, blinking innocently.
Altair's eyes widened at her bold statement. "You shouldn't say stuff like that," he scolded, flicking her forehead lightly.
"Why not?" she tilted her head in confusion, rubbing the spot where she got flicked.
"You're a cute girl. Saying things like that can… really affect men."
"I'm… cute?" This time it was Okita who blinked, utterly bewildered.
"That's obvious," Altair said with a grin, looking at the small, clueless girl.
Okita lowered her eyes, staring at her own hands. She blinked again, puzzled as to why there were… butterflies in her stomach.
But before she could process that strange feeling, Jeanne suddenly appeared from between the trees, leaves tangled in her hair.
"Master!" she called out, walking straight toward him.
"Good morning…"
Jeanne pulled Altair into a hug, pressing him against her chest. Altair, completely confused, found his face buried between them. Jeanne's scent surrounded him—a soft, comforting aroma of white lilies and incense, filling him with peace.
Altair felt his muscles relax involuntarily. Her fragrance seemed to calm his mind, dissolving the tension he carried.
Jeanne gently stroked his hair, her warm hand resting against his neck. "It's okay now," she whispered, her tone full of tenderness.
What's happening!?
Altair, his face buried in those soft cushions, blinked in confusion. He lifted his head slightly. "Not that I'm complaining, but… why?"
Jeanne, feeling him move against her chest, her teary red eyes looking at him, couldn't help but blush.
He's… really cute.
That thought passed through her mind.
"...Nothing." She pulled her hand back, deciding not to mention anything about his past. She just wanted to hold her Master and let him know everything would be alright.
"Okay," Altair replied, still confused, but eventually smiled, while Okita kept staring at her hands, ignoring the saintly Servant entirely.
After that strange situation, the three of them returned to camp, where Mash, Ritsuka, Artoria, and Nobunaga were waiting.
"Mademoiselle Jeanne, what's the plan for today?" Mash asked the Ruler.
"If it's alright with Master, we should cut through the forest and head toward Orléans. As we discussed yesterday, it'll be difficult to approach the city directly. So, we should try to gather information from the surrounding settlements. The closest one is La Charité. If no one objects, I suggest we head there first," Jeanne offered. She glanced at her Master, seeking his approval, though she felt slightly embarrassed looking directly into his eyes.
"That sounds like a good plan," he replied, placing his hands behind his head with a relaxed posture, wearing a small smile.
Jeanne looked at her Master, the Altair from her memories. Someone so stoic, someone who hardly ever seemed to experience happiness. Clenching her fists, she made a silent vow to herself: I won't let him become that joyless child ever again. She would make her Master happy—completely ignoring the fact that this was supposed to be just a temporary contract.
••• ••• •••
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