The beautiful attendant was at home, washing the dishes. The place was spacious and cozy—different from the cold mansion or the oppressive apartments she had seen elsewhere. Here, one could feel human warmth, as if every object radiated comfort.
She whistled cheerfully as she worked. When she finished, she reached into her pocket and found something unexpected.
"Hmm... what's this?" she murmured.
She pulled out a small stone with a Yin and Yang symbol, accompanied by a letter.
"Ah, it must be another customer hitting on me... ugh!" she said with a slightly melancholy expression, twirling a strand of hair around her finger—a habit she had whenever she felt uncomfortable.
Opening the letter, she expected a love confession. Instead, the content only sparked doubt. She raised an eyebrow in confusion.
"What is this? Some kind of sick joke?" she questioned, her beautiful face clouded by perplexity.
She crumpled the paper and was about to toss it away, but she hesitated for a moment.
"It doesn't hurt to try..." she whispered, as if needing to convince herself that believing in a stone and a stranger's note wasn't complete idiocy.
She flopped onto the soft brown sofa, put on a serious face, and holding the crumpled paper, intoned the words:
"O being from another world, who possesses a will capable of bending the world to your ambition, I summon thee to fulfill the ambition you so desire, in exchange for acknowledging me as your Master... O Heroic Spirit."
When she finished, nothing happened. She let out a short sigh.
"Ha... I was so stupid to fall for that."
At that exact moment, as if the world itself were mocking her, a vibrant, blinding golden light took over the entire living room. The young woman closed her small green eyes against the intense glare. When the light dissipated and the shadows reclaimed the room, she opened her teary eyes.
Before her stood a middle-aged man, around forty-eight years old, with a thick mustache, a gentle expression, and an appearance so ordinary that she wondered if she had actually summoned a Heroic Spirit... or just some random uncle from down the street.
"U-um... sir, who are you? And where is my Servant?" she asked, confused, as if there had been a mistake in the ritual.
The man scratched his head awkwardly.
"Well... I am your Servant. I apologize, but I cannot reveal my true name for security reasons. And... as you can see, I am quite weak."
The girl frowned. Weak? That didn't match the legends of the heroes she knew.
'I could have sworn every Heroic Spirit was dazzling... like in the comics boys used to read,' she thought, observing the man who definitely didn't look capable of protecting her.
Taking her silence as permission to continue, he spoke with an awkward smile:
"You may call me Rider, miss. And... I'm sorry, but I don't think we'll be able to win this war."
The girl's heart sank at such a lack of confidence. Just imagining this "Grail War" sent a shiver down her spine.
"Sir... my name is Isabel," she said then, flashing a dazzling smile. Her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. "Don't worry. I'm sure we'll be fine. And if we run into other Servants and can't win... we can just give up. I'm sure they'll be kind enough to spare us."
Her voice carried an innocence so pure it could move even the most hardened heart. Isabel, with her joy and naivety, kept talking to Rider late into the night. It was the first time she had seen something so fantastical—at least, that's how it seemed.
However, at five in the morning, a deafening blast echoed through the city.
Meanwhile, in the underworld...
A grown man, with a scar running across his right eye, stared at a girl of about fifteen. She had shoulder-length brown hair and a hollow, almost apathetic gaze. Confusion was etched all over his face.
"Let me see if I got this straight... you're saying you're my Servant?" he asked, as if on the verge of a headache.
The girl nodded slowly and pointed to herself.
"Seol-ah... Berserker," she said, as if simply confirming her name and class.
The man ran a hand over his face, exhausted.
"How cruel... for this war to throw a troubled girl into the middle of all this. Though I can't really judge... considering everything I've done."
He watched her in silence. Bitter memories surfaced in his mind. People like her... he had seen many. Worse: in his "line of work," he had created and destroyed people like that. Addicts, broken souls, the disposable ones.
He sighed.
"Irony... now my life depends on someone like this. Me, of all people, who created so many monsters... Maybe karma really does exist."
At that very moment, a distant explosion shook the air, coming from an upscale neighborhood—the kind of place he would never set foot in without the risk of being arrested or killed.
Berserker turned her face toward the flash. Her eyes glowed unsteadily.
"I feel mana coming from there..." she whispered, pointing toward the site of the explosion.
The game had begun.