The silver moon hung high in the sky, its light spilling down like a thin gauze draped over the land.
This was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city—worn down, broken, its floor layered in dust, its walls scarred with rust. Under normal circumstances, no one would willingly come to such a place.
The warehouse ceiling had a gaping hole. Through it, moonlight poured in, so that from within, one could see the stars and the night beyond.
Everything inside was decayed, ruined.
Except for one thing.
Directly beneath the opening where the moonlight struck, there stood a leather sofa.
Upon it sat a silver-haired girl in a military uniform, her fist propped under her chin. She lounged lazily, saying nothing, her gaze fixed on the star-sown sky above.
The slight unfocus in her eyes made it clear she was not admiring the view, but lost in thought—remembering something from the past.
"…Since you've come all this way, why are you in such a hurry to leave?"
The stillness shattered, like the reflection on a lake disturbed by a thrown stone.
The military girl's quiet words rippled through the air.
"My apologies. It's the first time I've seen you with such a fragile look. I thought it best not to disturb you, and was planning to slip away quietly."
The voice came from behind her, from within the shadows untouched by moonlight.
Heavy combat boots crunched on the dusty floor. A figure stepped slowly out from the darkness.
A broad, solid frame. A rugged face framed by a beard. Tactical goggles. Dark brown hair streaked with white. A thick, dark military coat.
In short—a middle-aged man with a certain rough-edged charm.
"Do I… look fragile now?"
Without turning, the military princess's voice hovered between self-talk and a genuine question.
"Yes. Like a dandelion trembling in the wind—could scatter apart at any moment."
The reflection on his goggles hid the man's eyes; his tone was calm, emotion unreadable.
"Are such heavy burdens truly resting on those slender shoulders of yours?"
After a moment of silence, the princess spoke again.
"Yes. The enemy we face is that terrifying. With my current strength, I cannot stand against them. That is why I need your help."
Her left hand slowly curled into a fist. She looked down at it, her voice steady.
"Though that Selesia-dono refused my invitation, I believe that once she learns the truth of this world's existence, she will join us. She too is one who shelters the weak—we will have much in common."
"To save this world… and to save your world."
She stretched her hand toward the distant moon, as if to seize it, to hold it in her palm.
In her mind, two figures from the park earlier flickered into view.
Beneath the brim of her cap, her eyes sharpened.
"Yes… I will save you… I will save you."
---
A new day began.
With the first blush of sunrise, with the chorus of morning birds, and with Shimazaki Yuna dragging Van Gogh out of a room littered with chaos.
"How is it that after just one night, your room's this messy again? And all those oil paintings piled up so there's not even a place to sit… Van Gogh, don't tell me you stayed up all night painting again?"
"Eheheh… sorry… because Van Gogh only has four paintings left… yes, aside from painting… Van Gogh has nothing… no, wait… there is something… these hands… once held something… a treasure? Eheheh… painting is so fun…"
As she spoke, her eyes would drift, unfocused. The words she uttered were contradictory, tangled—leaving an eerie chill in their wake.
But Yuna seemed utterly unfazed, as if used to it. She only frowned, tidying Van Gogh's messy hair and clothes stained with paint, muttering in mild annoyance.
"That doesn't mean you can skip sleeping. If you want to paint, I can paint with you during the day."
"Eheheh… painting time with Yuna… teaching painting… painting together… happy, happy, so very happy… the brush moves like magic…"
The blue in Van Gogh's eyes faded, replaced more and more by pink—the look of someone brimming with manic energy.
But then, in the next second, her head drooped in sudden loss.
"…But lately… you've been drawing manga… busy… working… and you need your rest… Van Gogh… can't make Yuna work harder…"
"Eh? H-how could that be?" Yuna blinked, then hurried to explain, to reassure her.
"I really like painting with you, Van Gogh. It's not trouble at all. I'd be more than happy to paint together."
"But…"
"Eh? R-really? Painting… with someone like Van Gogh… you like it… eheheh…"
A smile bloomed once more on Van Gogh's face. The pink deepened in her eyes as she looked straight at Yuna.
"Yuna… you're really so kind…"
...
Breakfast was Yuna's responsibility.
In their not-very-spacious rental apartment, the two enjoyed a peaceful morning meal.
Van Gogh wasn't picky.
Even a simple ham sandwich and milk, she ate with heartfelt gratitude, as if moved to her core.
"Eheheh… amazing… food can be not only to sustain life, to replenish the body's energy… but this delicious… I want to meet whoever invented such food… to thank them face-to-face… eheheh…"
"After breakfast, let's go to Sunshine City to buy some paint."
Wearing a gentle smile, Yuna suggested, "The oil paints for your work are nearly gone, Van Gogh. If we want to keep painting together, they won't last. And we can restock the fridge, maybe pick up anything else we need."
"Uh? Ehh? We're… going far? To such a crowded place?"
Van Gogh's body stiffened. Her expression turned uneasy.
"Van Gogh doesn't want to go… but… without paint, I can't paint… can't paint with Yuna… ahhh… what should Van Gogh do… Professor Moreau…"
"I'm not particularly fond of going to those kinds of crowded places either… there's something in those gazes that makes me uncomfortable… but Van Gogh, you really should go out more, get some sunlight. You've been holed up in your room far too long. Lately, the only time you've stepped out was the night before last when you walked with me."
Shimazaki Yuna's brows drew together slightly as she spoke.
"Sorry… Van Gogh is just that kind of gloomy person… like mugwort swaying in the Mistral wind… eheheh… Van Gogh and tall grass… tall and… Van Gogh joke…"
Van Gogh's eyes shifted away, her head lowering so she didn't have to meet Yuna's gaze.
"As I thought, Van Gogh shouldn't go out… having someone like me around will only trouble you, right, Yuna? I'll just wait for you at home… alone… and slowly wither away… like a sunflower abandoned by the sun… heheh… eheheh…"
She drifted off into her own spiral of self-loathing.
Yuna, however, only shook her head.
"Van Gogh isn't a burden at all. Van Gogh is my best friend. And right now, I'm going to take my best friend out with me, and show you off to everyone."
Her eyes curved like crescent moons as she gave Van Gogh a warm smile.
"I'm sure none of them have a friend as wonderful as you."
Van Gogh's eyes widened in surprise, staring blankly at Yuna.
After a long silence, she spoke—halting, a little flustered.
"A… a good friend… and even praised… eheheh… so happy… Van Gogh will try her best!"
...
In the bustling Ikebukuro district of Tokyo stood a historic complex—Sunshine City—renowned as a masterpiece of 20th-century Japan and a rising tourist hotspot.
On either side of Sunshine 60 Tower were the thirty-seven floors of the Prince Hotel, offering comfortable accommodations for travelers. The Cultural Center on the twelfth floor served as a hub for art and cultural events, while the ninth-floor International Import Center gathered products from across the globe—a shopping paradise. Connecting these buildings was a shopping street with over two hundred stores, offering an abundance of experiences for residents and visitors alike.
Taking the train, Yuna and Van Gogh arrived here. Their first task was to find the map board.
"Even though it's not my first time coming here, it's still easy to get lost without a map. So Van Gogh, don't stray from my side."
Standing before the map, Yuna checked their current position, found their destination, noted where other maps were located, then turned her gaze to Van Gogh.
"Is there anything you want to buy? Like art supplies, clothes, toiletries… since you keep getting paint all over your clothes."
Van Gogh didn't answer her question. Instead, she raised her hand, pointing somewhere, eyes lighting up.
"Yuna, look, isn't that Selesia, the heroine from Elemental Symphony of Vogelchevalier?"
Following the direction of Van Gogh's finger, Yuna looked over, and her expression turned to surprise.
"You're right… what an accurate cosplay. Must have cost quite a bit. Is there some anime event going on in the mall lately?"
Sensing something, Meteora turned her head, spotting Van Gogh and Yuna, along with a growing number of curious onlookers drawn by the commotion.
"Selesia, this isn't the right place for our discussion. Let's find somewhere we won't be interrupted."
She glanced toward Selesia—and the nervous, slightly balding, glasses-wearing man standing before her—then toward Mizushino Sōta, who was with them.
---
Not long after, the four of them had left the crowded observation area and settled into a quieter café.
"The information we have has already been presented to you in as simple and concise a form as possible. Do you have any other questions, Creator-san?"
While waiting for their coffee, Meteora had explained the current situation and their goal to the man across from her—Matsubara Takashi, the author of Vogelchevalier.
And Matsubara's mind had… crashed.
Decades of worldview had been dealt a near-destructive blow. Though a novelist, he had long since outgrown the age of fantasy—becoming a sad adult resigned to reality. He knew well that novels were novels, reality was reality.
And yet, today, someone had told him… that the heroine of his own novel had stepped into the real world.
"No—no matter how you put it, this is absurd… This joke isn't funny at all!"
Mizushino Sōta gave the bewildered Matsubara a long, understanding look. He knew exactly how the man felt—after all, it was only because he had personally witnessed Selesia battling a woman in a military uniform that night that he'd been forced to accept this reality.
His gaze shifted to Meteora.
Like Selesia, Meteora was also a fictional character.
An NPC from the open-world RPG Recollection of Avalken, serving as the curator of the Art Treasury in the Library of Providence at the edge of the game's final plateau.
Sōta had once played the game, but it had been so long that he hadn't recognized her immediately when they first met.
That night, after the military princess had withdrawn, Meteora had found Sōta and Selesia. With nowhere else to go, the two had temporarily stayed at Sōta's home, deciding to act together.
They wanted to learn the military princess's identity and motives. They wanted the truth of this world. They wanted to find a way back to their own worlds.
And it was then that Selesia had suddenly taken an interest in meeting her Creator.
So Meteora had arranged the meeting.
But even now, the conversation was struggling to progress.
Even with Selesia's sword drawn, Matsubara's subconscious still resisted accepting this shattering truth.
That impasse, however, was soon broken.
"Ah! Found you!"
Just from the voice alone, one could tell—it belonged to a lively, innocent, adorable girl.
Pink twin-tails. A white school uniform from some unknown school.
Hands on her hips, she pointed at Meteora and the others. Perhaps she thought she was projecting authority—but to outsiders, it looked more like she was pretending to be stern, making her all the more cute.
Everyone stared blankly at the pink-haired girl who had suddenly intruded, everyone except Sōta.
The moment he recognized her face, his eyes widened in shock.
"You're… the Magical Slayer, Mamika Kirameki?"
---
[Van Gogh / Clytie Van Gogh / ■■■■]
Class: Foreigner
Level: 90
Skills: Imaginary Number Arts B+, Hete Gele Huis A+, Channel Marker Soul EX
Class Skills: Existence Outside the Domain A, Insanity C, Item Construction B, Divinity B+, Curse of Sunflower A
Parameters: Strength E, Endurance B, Agility C, Mana A, Luck D, Noble Phantasm A+
Noble Phantasm: De Sterrennacht EX
---
T/N: sigh never trust a woman...