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Chapter 1: Wedding Dress Mayhem
It was supposed to be a normal day in Chaldea.
The hum of the central systems filled the sterile halls, the usual chatter of staff and Servants echoing faintly. Nothing seemed out of place. At least, not until—
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The entire corridor shook with the force of an explosion. The walls rattled, ceiling lights flickered, and a plume of smoke billowed outward.
And from that smoke emerged a figure bolting at full speed down the hallway.
“Out of the way! Out of the way, please!” Ritsuka Fujimaru shouted, his voice cracking between desperation and humiliation.
He was not in his uniform. He was not in casual clothes. He was, to his eternal shame… in a flowing white wedding dress, lace trailing and veil fluttering like the wings of a fleeing dove.
His legs burned as he sprinted barefoot, the delicate shoes long since discarded. Behind him, the thunderous chorus of footsteps shook the floor—Servants, his Servants, barreling after him with unnatural speed and very unnatural intent.
“I CAN’T GET CAUGHT NOW!?” he screamed, twisting his head back. His heart nearly stopped.
Every single one of them had eyes shining with unholy determination.
“Beloved Master!” A voice like a war horn split the air. Lancer Artoria, hair whipping behind her, spear flashing like a star. “As the King of Britain, I demand a new queen! And it shall be you!”
Her emerald eyes gleamed, fixed solely on him.
“SILENCE, sister!” Another voice lashed through the air. Morgan appeared beside her, sharp as a blade, her robes swirling like a shadow. “You delude yourself. That man is mine. Dress or no, husband or king, I accept all that he is. Even his weakness, I shall cherish.”
“Wha—!?” Lancer Artoria faltered, nearly tripping at her sister’s boldness.
“Huuuh!? Morgan, you can’t just—!”
“Silence, PHH Sister.” Morgan’s glare could have frozen a dragon. “He belongs to me.”
“You wish!” A sultry voice chimed in, bouncing like laughter on the wind.
Tamamo-no-Mae emerged, holding the corner of her kimono to her lips, her eyes sparkling like stars in mischief. “As Master’s true wife, I’ll be the first to wed him! And, ufufufu~ I’ll even help with his make-up. A husband this adorable must be groomed properly, don’t you think? Mikon~!”
Her nose twitched, and a thin stream of blood trailed from one nostril. “Ah… too much stimulation, but still worth it~!”
“Why… why did this happen to me…?” Ritsuka groaned, nearly tripping over the hem of his own gown. His voice cracked into the empty air as he turned another corner, desperately hoping for salvation. “I was just… helping with costumes! How did it turn into this!?”
His memory flashed back—
Just an hour ago, he had been in a dressing room, quietly assisting Miss Crane. The elegant bird-headed designer had been experimenting with new disguises for upcoming missions. She had spoken of “a new look, a perfect ensemble, the pinnacle of elegance!”
At first, he thought nothing of it. Helping Crane wasn’t unusual; she often needed a model, and he had resigned himself to being the unfortunate body.
But then came the fateful words:
“Master, try this on. It is… for a role. A wedding. You will be the groom disguised as the bride—oh, the poetry of it!”
And before he knew it, Ritsuka was wrapped in satin and lace, staring in disbelief at the mirror.
“This is… no, this is ridiculous!”
“Nonsense. Perfection incarnate!” Miss Crane flared her wings. “Ah, you carry it so naturally! If you were to enter a chapel now, I would weep from sheer artistry!”
And that was when disaster struck.
Suzuka Gozen, fox ears twitching, tail swishing, had wandered in. Phone in hand.
“Oh ho? Oh ho ho ho?! What’s this, Master-chan cosplaying for me?!” she squealed, her phone already recording. “This is so going live! Hashtag: BlushingBrideMaster! Hashtag: MarryMeAlready!”
“Suzuka, wait—!”
Too late. The post spread like wildfire through Chaldea’s internal network. In moments, every Servant who so much as breathed in Ritsuka’s direction had seen it.
And now—
Now this nightmare parade chased him through the halls.
“I’m not even married! I don’t want to be married! Not like this!” Ritsuka cried, voice breaking.
From behind, a sharp clang rang out as another voice joined the chorus.
“Senpai!” Mash Kyrielight rounded the corner, her shield slamming against the floor as sparks flew. Her face flushed bright crimson. “P-please, wait! That dress… it—it really suits you…!”
“Not you too, Mash?!” Ritsuka nearly wept.
“Master!” Karna’s calm voice rang, as if carried on the wind itself. “If it is a wedding you desire, then as the son of Surya, I shall ensure it is glorious beyond all heavens.”
“I don’t desire it!!”
“Cease, all of you!” Nobunaga’s booming laughter followed, rifle slung across her shoulder as her grin grew wild. “This is a battlefield, and I shall conquer it! He who dons the dress shall be my bride! Gyahahaha!”
Ritsuka stumbled, gasping, every muscle in his body screaming as the dress tangled around his legs. The sound of pursuit grew louder. The hall stretched endlessly before him.
“Someone… please… save me!”
But there was no salvation. Only the mad chase, the clashing declarations, and the inevitable doom of a Master who should have simply said no to Miss Crane’s “perfect design.”
And yet—deep inside, Ritsuka swore he heard Da Vinci’s faint voice echoing from the intercom.
“Fufufu. Well, this is certainly entertaining. Carry on, everyone~.”
The chaos only grew louder. Ritsuka was certain his lungs were about to collapse under the strain. He turned down another corridor, only to slam chest-first into something soft, warm, and very much alive.
“Oh my, Senpai~.”
The voice was sing-song, teasing, laced with that unmistakable brand of smugness. Ritsuka froze, trembling, as he looked up.
Standing there, her violet hair glowing faintly, eyes glimmering with mischief like the deepest abyss of cyberspace… was BB.
“Wh-what are you doing here, BB?!” Ritsuka stammered, backing up instinctively.
“Now, now.” BB’s lips curled into a sweet smile that promised nothing but trouble. “Poor Senpai, running around in such an adorable wedding dress… hounded by all those desperate girls. My, my, what a scandal~. Luckily for you, your Kouhai, BB is here to save the day.”
Before Ritsuka could even protest, BB snapped her fingers. In an instant, the walls around them flickered, reality glitching and bending. In a blink, they were inside a private room, far away from the riotous chase.
“Haaah… finally safe—” Ritsuka began to sigh in relief.
But then—fwip!
Something landed squarely on his head. A wig. Long, flowing, silky black hair cascading down his shoulders.
“…Eh?” Ritsuka looked like a dog that suddenly met a new person.
“Oh, don’t give me that look.” BB leaned in, giggling, her breath brushing against his ear. “Every bride needs the proper finish, you know. You’re so much prettier like this, Senpai~. Let BB take care of everything… fufu, we’ll have plenty of fun. Just the two of us.”
Her hands reached forward, gently cupping his face, her thumb brushing dangerously close to his lips.
Ritsuka’s heart nearly stopped. “W-Wait, BB! Don’t! This is completely—”
The door slammed open.
“Hands off him. BB” The voice was firm, calm, yet burning with quiet authority.
BB froze. Her eyes narrowed. “…Oh? And who might you be, barging into my event?”
There, framed in the doorway, was a girl with long brown hair, clad in her school uniform. Cold determination glinted in her eyes. She stepped forward with no hesitation.
“BB Stop what you are doing," she said simply, her gaze fixed solely on Ritsuka. “And I’m here to take him.”
“Hakunon-Senpai!?” BB’s smile faltered. “My, my, I didn’t expect you to interfere. B-but even for you S-Senpai this one’s mine right now. Can’t you see? We were just about to—”
“I said…” Hakunon’s voice dropped to steel, and before BB could blink, she lunged forward.
With a swiftness that startled even Ritsuka, Hakunon scooped him clean off the floor. One arm under his back, the other behind his knees—he was effortlessly lifted, carried bridal-style.
Ritsuka blinked furiously, face going crimson. “H-Hakunon?!”
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, her tone gentler now. “I’ll protect you.”
“W-Wait, Wait, Wait?!” BB panicked, glitch energy sparking behind her. “That’s against the rules! I am more than willing to share with you Sen–”
But Hakunon was already turning, already sprinting. Her grip tightened around Ritsuka as she bolted through the door, down the hall, her shoes pounding against the floor.
“W-wait, wait, wait! Hakunon, what’s going on?!” Ritsuka cried, bouncing in her arms as the halls blurred by. “Where are you even taking me?!”
“To safety,” she replied without hesitation, her voice unwavering. “My room.”
“EHHHHHHHHHHH?!”
Behind them, BB’s saddened voice echoed down the corridor.
“Senpai—! You can’t just—! I had plans for him!”
Her panicked nature yelled out what the current predicament looked like. “But he's still in that wedding dress, after all. How long until the others find you, So let's share Hakunon-Senpai?”
Ritsuka paled. Hakunon’s grip only tightened as she sprinted faster, her expression set in unwavering determination.
And so, the Master of Chaldea found himself carried off like a bride in his own wedding dress, his fate uncertain, but his savior resolute.
Hakuno’s sprint carried Ritsuka deep into Chaldea’s halls, his veil fluttering wildly as he clung to her shoulder. His heart thundered in his chest: part fear, part embarrassment, and part sheer disbelief.
But before they could reach her room, a shining brilliance suddenly burst forth. Rose petals scattered in the air, and the radiant sound of fanfare echoed down the corridor. And Hakunon dropped Ritsuka on his Butt.
“Umu! Halt this instant!”
The hall blazed with gold and crimson as she appeared—Nero Claudius, adorned in her shimmering bridal regalia. Her presence lit up the hallway like a stage, her expression filled with both pride and burning resolve.
“Nero?! Not you too—” Ritsuka groaned.
Hakuno slowed, caught between wariness and disbelief, as Nero stepped forward.
“Beloved Praetor!” Nero’s voice rang like a triumphant aria. “As fate decrees, I am here to claim you. Yet! It is most improper for me to be denied the gown, while you… wear it in my stead. Such injustice cannot stand!”
With a flourish, she extended her hands. The lace and satin of Ritsuka’s dress glowed, dissolving in streams of light. In its place, the groom's attire appeared upon him, finely tailored and dignified.
Ritsuka blinked down at himself, slack-jawed. “H-how…?!”
“Umu! Now it is as it should be,” Nero declared proudly, her bridal dress glittering as she spread her arms wide. “For I shall stand at your side as the bride, resplendent in glory, while you, my Praetor, shine as the groom! This is history! This is love! This is Nero’s victory!”
Ritsuka’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. Hakuno herself could only gape in stunned silence.
But then—
“OBJECTION!”
The shout cracked like thunder. The air turned dark, oppressive, as black flames licked the walls. From the shadows stormed Jeanne d’Arc Alter, clad in black, her eyes blazing with fury.
Her flag slammed into the floor, sparks flying. “Over my dead body will this farce continue!”
“What— Jalter?!” Ritsuka staggered back.
“Don’t act so surprised, Master,” Jeanne Alter hissed, her gaze locking onto him. “These harpies will only tear you apart. But me? I’ll keep you safe. Until this madness dies down, you’re coming with me.”
And before anyone could react, she swept forward, grasped Ritsuka’s arm, and yanked him against her. He barely had time to yelp before she pulled him behind her, glaring daggers at Nero and Hakuno both.
“W-wait! Jalter, don’t just—!” Ritsuka flailed helplessly, half-dragged by her iron grip.
Nero gasped, pointing an accusing finger. “Tyrant! You would steal my Praetor on our wedding day?!”
“Wedding day, my foot!” Jeanne Alter snarled. “If anyone here’s his bride, it’s me!”
“Now wait just a—”
CRASH!
The wall to their right exploded. Dust and debris scattered as three new figures stepped into the ruined hall, their eyes locked with singular, terrifying purpose.
Kiyohime, her fan already glowing with flames.
Minamoto-no-Raikou, her massive blade gleaming.
And Serenity, silent but with her daggers ready.
“Master~!” Kiyohime’s voice dripped with mania. “You thought you could hide, didn’t you? I shall never allow it!”
“Fufufu…” Raikou’s smile was gentle, almost motherly, yet her aura radiated sheer menace. “You need not struggle, my dear child. Mother shall hold you forever.”
“…Stay with me… Master…” Serenity whispered, her words soft and broken, but her killing intent unmistakable.
Jeanne Alter gritted her teeth, pulling Ritsuka tighter behind her. “Tch—damn stalkers! If it’s a fight you want, then come and get him!”
“WAIT, STOP—!!” Ritsuka cried out, but it was far too late.
Steel clashed against steel. Fire and venom filled the air. Nero’s petals scattered as she joined the chaos. Hakuno drew back, shielding herself from the whirlwind of sparks and bloodlust.
The chaos behind him still rang in his ears, voices shouting, blades clashing, the oppressive heat of burning prana filling the corridors of Chaldea.
And in the madness, Ritsuka slipped free.
He ran.
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. His legs moved on instinct, a desperate rhythm that echoed his racing heart. Each step was driven by sheer panic, his body demanding only one thing: distance.
Through corridor after corridor, past the sterile white walls of Chaldea that now felt suffocating, he ran. Servants turned their heads as he passed, their gazes curious, puzzled, even amused. But none stopped him. None dared intervene in a fight that was clearly beyond ordinary quarrels. Instead they join in chasing after him and fighting for him.
His tuxedo, charred at the sleeves, torn at the chest, clung awkwardly to his sweat-soaked body. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his breath came in ragged bursts. He felt like a man chased by death itself.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his stumbling feet carried him into a familiar space.
The workshop.
The moment he crossed the threshold, a different atmosphere embraced him. The air here smelled of paint and varnish, the faint tang of oil, and strangely comforting the warm bitterness of freshly ground coffee. Papers were scattered over the workbenches, alongside strange contraptions that pulsed faintly with mana.
And seated at the center of it all, as though nothing in the world could disturb her calm, was Leonardo da Vinci.
She raised her head from the device she had been tinkering with, her smile already in place, serene and maddeningly knowing. A porcelain cup of cappuccino rested in her hand, steam curling upward like a painter’s brushstroke.
“Ah, dear Ritsuka-kun,” she greeted, her tone as light as if she were welcoming him home from a walk, not a battlefield. “You look as though you’ve just returned from the end of the world. Sit, sit. Let that weary body of yours rest.”
Ritsuka’s strength gave out all at once. He collapsed into the nearest chair, his head dropping heavily onto the desk with a dull thud. His chest heaved, his lungs dragging in air as though it were a luxury he had almost lost.
Da Vinci, with her characteristic elegance, rose from her seat and set another steaming cup before him. Her voice was smooth, amused, a ripple of calm against the storm inside his chest.
“Cappuccino,” she said, gesturing with a flourish as though she were unveiling a masterpiece. “Extra foam. You look like you need it.”
Ritsuka raised his head just enough to meet her eyes. His gaze was hollow, wide with lingering panic. His hair hung messily in his face, his tuxedo still half-burned from the chaos he’d fled.
“What…” His voice came out cracked, hoarse. “…What in the world is going on with Chaldea?!”
Da Vinci chuckled softly, lifting her cup to her lips. The sound was both musical and infuriatingly calm, as if she were amused at the very concept of panic.
“Fufufu… Love, my dear Ritsuka,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “The purest and most dangerous treasure of them all. Wars are waged over it. Kingdoms fall. And in this place? Well, it seems to have claimed the hearts of Servants alike.”
Ritsuka groaned at her, incredulous. “......And it's that love everyone wants me.”
She sipped her cappuccino delicately, then tilted her head in mock innocence. “ Of course.”
He almost dropped his cup. “Wait—don’t tell me… are you trying to get in on this too?”
Her smile widened, impish and radiant. “Why yes, naturally. I’m a woman of profound taste, after all. But don’t worry…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “…my interest is purely artistic. I simply want to draw you naked.”
Ritsuka choked on his drink. “W-wha—?! That’s not any better!”
Da Vinci giggled, setting her cup aside. “Oh, but it is. Imagine it: the great Ritsuka Fujimaru immortalized in line and color, a study of mortal beauty captured by the hand of genius. Truly, it would be my magnum opus.”
Ritsuka buried his face in his hands. “This place is insane…”
“Insane?” She tapped her chin as if considering. “Perhaps. But there’s a certain madness in all true art, is there not?”
Her words were strangely soothing, carrying on that warm, confident tone. The heat in his chest began to ease, and the exhaustion of the day pressed heavier on his shoulders. He didn’t even notice how warm the cup in his hands felt, or how sweet the foam tasted compared to her usual bitter blends.
His eyelids drooped. The room tilted. A wave of drowsiness washed over him, and his body gave in before his mind could protest.
“…You spiked this, didn’t you?” he murmured, his words slurring as his head slumped forward onto the desk.
Da Vinci smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “Guilty as charged. But only with the gentlest of concoctions, I assure you. Just sleep, dear Ritsuka. You’ve carried too much weight already.”
She rose, her robes swaying, and with surprising tenderness lifted him from the chair. His body, limp and heavy with exhaustion, rested easily against her. She laid him down upon the workshop’s couch, adjusting the cushions so that his head found a comfortable place to rest.
Then, standing over him, she gazed down with a painter’s reverence.
“Now then,” she whispered, her tone soft yet brimming with delight. “It is my turn to show you my love, dear Ritsuka. To capture your form, your essence… and perhaps, to keep you here by my side just a little longer.”
She returned to her bench, sketchbook in hand, and with a flourish of her pen began her work.
The workshop filled not with the echoes of chaos, but with the quiet scratch of graphite and the steady, sleeping breath of Chaldea’s last Master.
As She continued drawing she thought why not and decided to draw her and Ritsuka in their naked form that day.
Rumors have it that when Ritsuka woke up he had a lipstick kiss on his neck and a Da Vinci that was smiling almost all day looking at something.