At this moment, Cyd let out a long sigh—not quite giving up, but clearly lost in thought.
The boar's head was supposed to represent Atalanta's berserk state. If he could just get rid of it, she'd stop this whole self-destructive spree. And if he didn't act fast, she was going to blow herself up for real.
But now, the boar's head was gone. Was it because the transformation had ended, or had she fully shifted into her berserker form and couldn't be stopped?
Jeanne sat nearby, clutching her flag, looking completely lost—like a loyal golden retriever abandoned by its owner. She had no clue what she was supposed to be doing anymore, and the more Atalanta rambled on, the more Jeanne felt like something was off.
"Wait, this isn't a rampage at all! You're confessing in your half-dazed state!"
From a certain perspective, Atalanta had succeeded in keeping Cyd immobilized. It wasn't her fault if things had gone off the rails. Jeanne, however, was quietly observing... but she couldn't take it anymore.
Covering her face with both hands, Jeanne groaned. Here she was, the unworldly saint, who had never experienced love, paired with a pure-hearted girl raised on prayers and innocence. Faced with Atalanta's raw, animalistic confession, they both just blushed and peeked through their fingers, too flustered to do anything else.
"Ata... why don't you calm down a little?" Cyd hesitated, raising his hand to pat Atalanta's head. When she didn't react, still burying her face in his chest, he sighed with relief and started stroking her hair gently. "When I come back, I'll sit here and listen to all your complaints. I promise."
"You... you won't leave again this time, will you?" Atalanta lifted her head slightly, clutching his shirt like a newborn kitten, terrified he'd vanish.
"Of course not," Cyd said softly, hugging her. "It's time I kept my promise."
Jeanne, sitting not far away, let out a long, resigned sigh. She knew what she had to do now—make the tough decision. To face the potential threat to humanity, she would have to stop these heroes, despite the possibility that they might be right. At the very least, she couldn't insult their convictions by wavering.
Taking a deep breath, Jeanne stood tall, planting her flag firmly in the ground and spreading her arms wide to block the path to the Grail.
"I won't let you pass," she declared, her voice firm. "But I won't fight you either!"
"Yeah, yeah, no fighting, got it," Cyd muttered with a slight grin, bending down and effortlessly throwing Jeanne over his shoulder like she was a stubborn dog refusing to go home.
"Wait! Hold on! My resolve!" Jeanne flailed, legs kicking in the air as she tried to grab onto something—anything—to hold onto her rapidly crumbling determination.
With a casual "pop," Atalanta yanked the flag out of the ground and handed it to Jeanne.
Now silent, Jeanne clutched the flag, feeling utterly defeated. These two weren't even taking her seriously. The worst part was, she couldn't refute any of it.
"Ugh…" Jeanne hung her head. Why had she even bothered coming to this Grail War?
"Stop making that sad puppy sound," Cyd teased as he carried her towards the Grail, not bothering to rush. "You said you wouldn't resist, remember?"
"That's not the point!" Jeanne muttered, biting her lip. "I finally mustered up the courage to face you... to challenge your wish. And now you're just brushing me off!"
"I'm taking this very seriously... while brushing you off," Cyd sighed. "Look, don't overthink it. You're not that kind of character. Stick to your beliefs, even if other people think they're wrong. As long as you can convince yourself, that's all that matters."
"But…" Jeanne's voice grew softer. "I can't even convince myself…"
"Then don't sweat it. We're human, Jeanne. We have thoughts and feelings—we're not machines, bound to follow rules perfectly. Even machines malfunction sometimes, so what's wrong with us making mistakes?" Cyd smiled, his eyes softening. "Forgive yourself. We're imperfect, but that's okay. We can't deny ourselves before seeing the outcome. Not only that, but we move forward believing we're right. Trust your convictions."
Jeanne let out a quiet sigh. "You're just telling me not to use my Noble Phantasm to destroy the Grail, aren't you?"
"You caught me," Cyd chuckled, tilting his head. "But hey, I believe in my conviction too. I'm coming back for sure. After all, there's someone who cried in my arms."
"I did not!" Atalanta's face turned crimson, her bow already drawn with the arrow aimed right at Cyd's head.
"Now, now," Cyd raised his hands in mock surrender, "I'm serious. You've been through a lot."
"Yep, she's won," Jeanne muttered with a sigh.
"Smack!"
"Who asked for your commentary?" Atalanta's face burned redder as she gave Jeanne's rear a swift slap.
"Ow! What was that for?!" Jeanne yelped, tears welling up as she rubbed the sore spot.
"All right, all right, enough of that," Cyd said wearily.
"Life really is something else," Shakespeare mused, kicking open the door to his study. He plopped down into his chair, flipping open a blank notebook, and grabbed his pen, scribbling furiously.
"A coin may only have two sides, but the endless possibilities it holds in the air... success or failure, such simple outcomes. Yet, the journey—ah, the journey is where the magic lies. Whether it's a mighty hurricane that blows away all obstacles or a gentle breeze that only stirs the heart, either can change the coin's trajectory."
Shakespeare leaned back, finishing the final word with a flourish. "You may think you control the outcome, thinking yourself the hurricane. But never underestimate the breeze that flips the coin just as it lands."
He glanced out the window, smiling at the starry night sky. "And who would've thought, the one who fancied himself a hurricane... became the breeze."
Lying under that same starry sky, Amakusa Shirou closed his eyes, resting his head in Semiramis' lap. Funny, he'd never quite figured out how she managed to get his head there while he slept without waking him.
She always did it like a child, gently moving his head to her lap, watching his face intently, then sighing in relief before she smugly waited for him to wake up.
Such a simple thing... and yet he'd only just now noticed.
How slow could he be?