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“So,” Vlad finally says, turning to Tamamo. “Are you going to ask me for my real name?”
“I’m not sure why I need to,” she answers without hesitation, meeting his eyes with a knowing smile. “After all, you real name is what you want it to be, is it not?”
(This is not the beginning, and this is not the end.)
---
When she first arrived, Tamamo refused to tell anyone her real name.
Only her master, the person who pulled her back out from nonexistence, could be graced with Tamamo-no-Mae wisping past their ear. (And the ghost of her breath has touched another master before, but though the name remains the same, nothing can replicate a first true love.) It’s not like they needed to hear it, anyway. They just need to know she is a Caster, and that would be the end of it. It wasn’t a matter of hiding identities so their weaknesses would be hidden as well-- they were all under one master, after all, so such a thing is moot point. No, it goes beyond that.
In contrast, Vlad never outright told anyone his class.
Most assumed they didn’t need to know. He just seemed like an absurdly strong Lancer with a penchant for blood. The spear in his hands and the name Vlad the Impaler forms a solid enough case for being a Lancer, even though his master knows better. But there are very, very big differences from when he first activated his Noble Phantasm and was force-fitted into the shoes of Dracula--
But he’s still far away from flaunting the name Dracula with no shame whatsover. He has no qualms about answering the question when asked, now-- yes, his heroic legend was tainted with vampiric tales, and yes, he is a vampire in his current form. Yet, every book their master has bought in order to study the legend of Dracula has ended up missing, destroyed or burnt. He resents being in this form, being a Berserker, but maybe the Mad Enhancement it gives him makes him care a little less about the whole ordeal, or at least, accept that there’s not much he can do about it.
Compared to his time as a Lancer, he deals remarkably well with having vampiric attributes forced onto him. But at the same time, while he has embraced his powers, he is still Vlad the Impaler, Prince of Wallachia, enemy of the Ottomans. He is not entirely Count Dracula, the man who shrivels in the sunlight and can transform into a bat. But he is also not entirely Vlad, who would lose his mind at the idea of becoming even a little bit more like the fantasized view of himself.
Such a dilemma is hard to articulate to anyone who hasn’t experienced anything similar. So Vlad never did. It’s not like he needed to.
That’s probably why Tamamo and Vlad ended up talking to each other more often, outside of complementing each other on the field of battle.
“Hm,” Tamamo begins, and this is the first thing she’s ever said to Vlad outside of shouting for support. “You seem like the type who has nothing to hide, yet you’re hiding something. That regal attitude can’t fool me.”
“You’re one to talk,” Vlad laughs, more amused at that claim than anything else. “And you would say you have nothing to hide yourself, do you, Caster?”
Tamamo, with only one tail and a pair of twitching ears, simply crosses her arms. “That’s no way to talk to a lady!”
“Hm, so you can vocalize your impression of me, but I can’t?”
“I want to talk to you to fix those very impressions,” Tamamo further explains. “Besides, I’ve never had a chance to talk to someone who lived out of Japan. Tell me, how was the western world like from when you lived? Is everyone truly ruled by Mongols?”
“You have a strange impression of the world.”
Tamamo begins to huff. “That’s an answer in itself, but please give me a straightforward explanation! Tell me about yourself, as a little ice-breaker. How’d you become a Heroic Spirit?”
Vlad needs to turn his head down to face her. His eyes are hollow outside of battle, but maybe Tamamo’s used to that kind of character.
“Very well,” he finally says, and a grand air surrounds him. Tamamo, who has lived in a palace said to house the descendants of God, knows instantly that he is a prince.
(After all, he is not Dracula.)
---
(And the first time she died-- the first time Tamamo died, it wasn’t like this. She refuses to use her Charm magic, refuses to ever seduce a man ever again with supernatural means, not an enemy or the Emperor.
Now she’s going to die because of it. Stheno makes it look so easy, but she can’t-- she can’t pull off Territory Creation, can’t use her Witchcraft, can’t do anything to save herself-- in her first life, she died because she loved the Emperor and charmed him into loving her too, but now, when she can’t will herself to use her most powerful ability, this is how it’ll end--
“Use Fox Wedding,” someone commands, and it’s not their master, who wouldn’t be able to say it fast enough.
Tamamo turns around and casts it.
“I thought you hated to use your Noble Phantasm,” she manages to say when Vlad decimates the enemy in one move, ending the fatal battle with a close but decisive victory.
Vlad turns around. “Who told you that?”
Tamamo opens her mouth. “...Frankenstein.”
And Vlad lets out a short laugh, almost out of obligation.)
---
Nero was a tyrant.
During his reign, he emptied the coffers of Rome. He poisoned his way to succession, beat his wife to death, forced a young boy to be castrated to marry him, and set devout Christians on fire to light the way through his imperial gardens like a lamp. But most damning of all is his ultimate betrayal to the Roman people-- beyond matricide, and beyond shameless luxury. To the people he claimed to love, he set their city on fire, destroying ten out of fourteen districts so there would be enough space to expand his own castle. And to look for a scapegoat, he turned to the Christians.
A man like that could never have their name and deeds lost to the annals of history. And yet, when Vlad has to look down to see eye-to-eye with a girl two heads shorter than him, he realizes that even the great Roman Emperor is not immune to the passage of time.
Centuries after Nero’s death, Persia still persisted in calling Rome the country of Nero for as long as it existed. Of course Vlad would learn of Nero’s name, even in his life more than a millennium later, during the great Western Schism as the great Italian Renaissance began. And Vlad, whose father devoted his life to the Order of the Dragon, protecting Christians in a still-tumultuous Eastern Europe? There are so, so many things he could say to Nero.
He could call her a beast, a monster, a demon, the Antichrist, because Nero’s name became synonymous with an undying evil even after her suicide, with imposters taking up that very same name over and over again. But instead, he stares down, eyes flitting over her dress, before going--
“...Where are your pants?”
Nero almost seems proud to be asked that question in such an incredulous, half-confused tone. “And why would I deprive the people of art?”
“Your skirt is see-through,” Vlad deadpans, though there’s something akin of amusement creeping into his voice.
“It is not see-through! That would give the impression that such an effort is unintentional!” Nero proudly slams her sword against the ground noisily, like an old man tapping his walking cane. “I am letting all see.”
There is no more time to speak, for Vlad to even introduce himself or hear Nero’s name from her own lips. Their master, with only so much energy every day, quickly ushers Nero away for post-summoning training, while Nero is left declaring I will return!, or something to that extent.
“So,” Tamamo begins, raising her hand up to tap Vlad on the shoulder. “What do you think of her? She has an Arts Noble Phantasm too, so we’ll most likely have to fight on the same team, no?”
“She is not what I expected her to be,” Vlad answers simply, and he refrains from letting a familiar name slip from his lips. Whore of Babylon remains tucked at the back of his mouth, tasting bitter, yet still made of nothing but air, as all words are.
Tamamo decides not to comment on that, instead pouting while crossing her arms. “I don’t like her already.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she said Hakuno was her previous master, but she was mine!” Tamamo huffs, and Vlad wonders how different it must be, to see Nero through eyes untinted with the words of legend. The only connection Tamamo has with Nero is a master that both of them once shared, not years of interlinked history, because whatever happened in Rome might’ve changed the Western world, but never reach the shores of Japan till centuries later. Tamamo would’ve never heard a single tale about Nero, as a beautiful girl called Mizukume who lived half the world away, in a Heian palace that knew of all the art the country had to offer, yet knew nothing about running that country in the first place.
(But in that way, perhaps the two of them hold something in common.)
With his mind far, far removed from what he’s actually doing, Vlad instinctively reaches out to pat Tamamo on the head, as if that would pacify her growling. Instead, her face falls into something of an annoyed glare as she twitches her fox ears. “What are you doing? I don’t need to become even shorter compared to you!”
“Hmm,” Vlad mutters, still without thinking. “You are… even shorter than you look.”
“You--!”
---
(“So, when does the legend stop, and the person begin?”
“That is a fallacy,” Nero declares. “You are assuming that the masses will ever care about the person over the legend they leave!”)
---
(Carmilla tilts her head down for once, not even bearing to look at her master. “I mean, nobody told me! Nobody ever told me this was all a mistake! That's why I ended up like this! Ah, my true name is... Elizabeth Bathory!”
But real names are lost to history, while nicknames like the Blood Countess, like Dracula-- they last forever.)
---
Elizabeth Bathory is an unbearable brat.
Tamamo thought that once, in another life, and still believes in it. The two of her (why are there two of her, did their master really have to summon a Caster version over Halloween, truly) take good care of their appearance, and nothing else after that. She can’t even sing that well, anyway, so it’s not like she’s that stunning as an idol.
In all honesty, if their master didn’t pay her so much attention, Tamamo wouldn’t even care. ”You need to work with her, she’s an offensive Caster,” Tamamo repeats mockingly, sticking out her tongue in defiance. “If you want her to be strong, just summon her as a Berserker! Why, oh why do I have to deal with her? An entitled girl with nothing to her name but a rotten heart, who can’t even accept what she’s done!”
("Why? Why?" Elizabeth doesn’t even have the energy left to claw at the locked door. "I didn't do anything bad.")
("I wasn't trying to fool anyone,” Tamamo mutters into the moonlight, blood dripping down her heels. “I'll leave now, so please just forget all about me.")
(But there is no one left to hear the words of the person that the legend has left behind.)
So Tamamo thinks it should be a pleasant surprise, when their master switches up their squads. Tamamo might be facing up against Dragons, and Riders like those are a death sentence without proper support. Vlad and Kintoki will stay at the back, coming in to sweep whatever remains of the enemy out existence if so needs be. Nero will be the first reserve, hopefully wiping out preliminary waves with her far-reaching Noble Phantasm. Tamamo thinks she might be accompanied by Stheno at first, but there’s a new Assassin their master has summoned who needs more experience on the field.
When Tamamo is paired up with Carmilla, who hates Elizabeth just as much as she does, Tamamo expects to get along with her. She doesn’t know much about European legend, but their master did say Carmilla was ‘similar to Vlad’, so there shouldn’t have been much of a problem.
It takes all of ten battles for Tamamo to turn to Carmilla and declare, “You are a monster.”
“What?” Carmilla holds down her staff for a moment. “Is that how you normally treat allies?”
“It is true, you are a noblewoman. As a courtesan to the Emperor, I should know how to bow to the blue-blooded,” Tamamo continues, illustrating her point by dancing around saying it straight. “But since I am a fox casted from the court, there is nothing to hold me back now. You are nothing but a beast, taking pleasure in the pain of your victims! You know you are doing wrong, and have casted away the shackles of ignorance, yet you do not stop!”
The sudden confrontation makes Carmilla grip her staff tightly enough for the knuckles in her hand to turn white. “And what gives you the right to say any of this?” She almost sounds calm at first, till her voice cracks at the end, and magic begins to gather at the tip of her weapon. “I am a bureaucrat, but you are nothing but a fox! I am a monster, you say, but how else could I have ended up when nobody tried to stop me, not until the very end?”
Kintoki looks from the left to the right with alarm, not quite sure what to do. “Uh, ladies, now’s not the--”
“If you truly had the pride of a bureaucrat, you would still change now! You would still change, even after your first life! To say you have already come to an end is an excuse!” Tamamo turns away with a huff. “You are a wicked woman who pursues nothing but her own self-interest. No, I do not wish to fight alongside you! I demand to be put in another team! Even one with Elizabeth Bathory!”
“And you think the idiotic girl that shares my name is any better than me?”
“You don’t deserve any name,” Tamamo spits, “other than Carmilla.”
Vlad slams his lance down on the ground between them.
The strength of a Berserker is nothing to sneer at, and though Kintoki is technically the one with more muscles amongst them, he is nowhere near as forceful as one who has sat upon a throne. ”Enough,” Vlad commands, and the entire field falls quiet. “Our master says we shall sort this out at Chaldea Gate.”
“Huh, so they aren’t going to fight?” Nero passes over her honeyed popcorn to Kintoki instead, who immediately gets entranced by how golden they all look. Unlike most cinema outlets, the Emperor of Rome is very generous with her servings of syrup on popcorn. (Why did she bring it out here, though, and who was holding it while she was fighting?!) “...I miss old gladiator battles. And I’ve never seen one between two beautiful girls!”
“We’re returning to Chaldea Gate,” Vlad continues, conspicuously pointing his lance towards Nero’s direction. Her eyes widen, but she refuses to falter, or look like she’s sweating nervously. “Right, master?”
Their master nods very quickly.
---
Tamamo spots Elizabeth on the way to her room, and instead of sticking her tongue back out at her, she gives her a look that lies somewhere between pity and anger.
It’s an awkward walk back, as she splits away from her teammates, and she only sees Vlad after dragging her feet for a while. “Ah, it’s you. Sorry about that, I--”
“You don’t have to speak to me.”
Tamamo stops in her tracks. “Hm? What?”
Vlad doesn’t turn around to look at her, only opens up the door next to him. “So,” he mutters, taking one step into the room. “You, too, see me that way.”
“--Vlad?” The door closes behind him. “What do you mean by that? Come out here and explain yourself! Don’t sulk inside like a child!’
For a moment, all the lethargy in her body leaves as she pounds on the door. Vlad is straightforward, almost obstinate and obtrusive in his opinions, so for him to hide away-- it has to be something serious. “Fine, if you’re going to be that way, I’ll just ask master to force the door open.”
When she still gets no response, she stomps on feet on the ground thrice, before turning her nose up.
“Honestly, all you men are hopeless!”
“Hey, that’s not so nice…”
Tamamo turns around on her heels. “Oh, it’s you, Kintoki. What is it?”
---
(When she first arrived, Tamamo refused to tell anyone her real name.
But maybe Tamamo isn’t her real name in the first place.)
---
Kintoki is the most reasonable person in the entirety of Chaldea Gate.
After the first time they met, on the streets of London with nothing but bravado to back them up as they faced up a Grand Caster, Kintoki’s wisened up. As in, to what Tamamo is like, not in other aspects. But that’s more than Tamamo could ask for. He doesn’t come too close or pats her hard enough in the back to make her fall over. He doesn’t approach Tamamo’s fluffy tails while armed, so the fur won’t stick to his very electrical sword from static and need to be pried off hair by hair.
If only Tesla didn’t think it was hilarious. A great example of scientific principles, or something. Tamamo later asked their master to summon her Lancer tail as a Servant as soon as possible.
He walks to one of the more airy hallways of Chaldea Gate with Tamamo, and buys a can of Pokka Green Tea™ from the vending machine. “You know,” Tamamo begins, taking the canned drink “The machine can just be opened without paying money. We could ask our master for the key. It’s not like anyone checks it nowadays, just restocks without looking.”
Kintoki looks confused for a moment, as if he never considered that. “But who’s gonna pay for the drink?” He then shakes his head. “Hey, hey, I’m swimming in gold! I don’t need to steal.”
“It’s barely stealing, when it’s only a bit more than a dollar…” But Tamamo knows she’s fighting a losing battle. Kintoki can’t be convinced to do bad, and that’s why she likes talking to him.
No matter how stupid others might think him be, his intentions are pure. If someone doesn’t have the integrity to say that, then they have nothing.
(Tamamo has nothing.)
He brushes the bench before Tamamo sits down, making sure there isn’t any dirt left behind, and proceeds to wipe said dirt onto his pants with his hands. Well… she appreciates the gesture, so she takes a seat next to him, taking a sip of the fake pseudo-tea.
“Right, so… Carmilla,” Kintoki begins. He isn’t the best at this sort of thing. “Why’re you so mad at her?”
“Because she’s a horrible person. All those Elizabeths are irredeemable,” Tamamo deadpans, taking another big sip.
Kintoki tries to put his thoughts into words. He’s a man almost twice of Tamamo’s size, taking up two thirds of the bench alone, and yet, in such a state, he seems innocently child-like. The type that you know could never do you harm. Which is why Tamamo decides to spare him some mercy and take the words out of his own mouth. “You’re confused at why I hate Carmilla even more than the little Lancer and Caster girl. Correct?”
“Yeah!” Kintoki brightens up immediately. It’s too easy to make him happy. “Like, is something wrong? Did she insult ya out of earshot or something? I mean…”
“Oh, it’s so sweet of you to be trying to talk to me about this. I know how uncomfortable fights between ladies make you feel,” Tamamo replies, casually avoiding the point. “I mean, if this was a man, you’d already be punching him, but since Carmilla is still a lady, despite being a Blood Countess and all that…”
Kintoki looks away for a moment, breathing errr between his teeth. “...Ya know, if it’s something personal, you don’t have to tell me. Just wanted to see if I could help.”
Oh, so he is getting better at reading Tamamo’s words.
Still, she dances around the main issue, instead bringing up another. “Don’t you worry about me! I’m not so weak that I’ll break down and start crying because of an argument, you know. But Vlad’s gone and locked himself inside his room, and he refuses to talk to me. I’m sure my spat must’ve set something off in him, and I can guess what… but we need to drag him out of there before we can solve anything.”
“Oh!” Kintoki starts grinning from ear to ear. “Leave that to me!”
Tamamo hopes that their master won’t get mad for more collateral damage in the name of friendship.
---
Nero gets to Vlad first.
Surprisingly, her Highness is incredibly invested in the well-being of her team. So, when she realizes they’ve all splintered off to god-knows-where, her first stop is to find the guy who first greeted her when she was summoned. Tamamo’s lowkey condescending to her, after all, and Kintoki keeps trying to lend her his own jacket ‘as extra armor’, as if it wasn’t some shy attempt to protect her modesty.
“Vlaaad!” Nero quickly clears her throat. “...Voivode of Wallachia! I request an audience at one!”
She stands firm behind his door. There’s no answer. She jangles on the doorknob. Still none.
“...Voivode?”
No response.
“THE EMPEROR OF ROME WISHES TO REQUEST AN AUDIENCE!”
Silence.
Nero bites her lip, before stomping on the ground. “Can you hear me? I specifically came to visit you first! I know you’re in there, the door’s locked, so open up! Huff… uuu… open up…”
Once she starts crying, Vlad quickly undoes the locks and opens the door.
Even if his expression even more sullenly dark than ever, Nero pipes up immediately, smiling from ear to ear. “There you are! Took you long enough!”
Vlad holds back a sigh, opening the door wider. “What could you possibly want to talk to me about?”
“Well, your Empress has noticed your plight,” Nero declares. “...You were sulking all the way here.”
“I see,” Vlad answers simply, deciding to let her in. As much as he’d like to be alone, being alone with his thoughts isn’t going to help in the long run. “Did Tamamo tell you to visit me?”
“Hm? No, of course not! I won’t be ordered around by her!” She seems almost offended, turning her nose up. “...I don’t hate her, though. Don’t get me wrong! We’re harsh rivals, but nothing close to how Tamamo barked at Carmilla today. What happened?”
Nero pulls out a chair and seats herself without waiting for Vlad to get it for her. It kind of feels like she’s interrogating him. “...Shouldn’t this be a question that only Tamamo can answer?”
“Don’t you two know each other well? Master said you’ve both been here from the start,” Nero retorts. “The fight threatens the harmony of Chaldea Gate! And you must know it too, otherwise you wouldn’t be sulking like this!”
“I have no interest in petty conflicts.”
“That’s a foolish answer,” Nero replies. “With or without a country to rule, petty conflicts like there always escalate when placed in the hands of the powerful.”
Vlad looks up, knowing that Nero is right about that. And he needs to remind herself again, that this girl in red is Nero, the tyrant who set Rome on fire. “So,” Nero continues. “As all my Roman citizens, everyone in Chaldea Gate must coexis--”
“I am not a Roman citizen,” Vlad barks, and it’s said a little more harshly than he originally intended. Even if it’s an claim made out of habit, he won’t have it thrust upon him. Nero seems taken aback, train of thought derailed. “I have no such amicable connections, blood or otherwise, to whatever the Ottomans have touched.”
(Constantinople fell when Vlad has barely turned twenty, and things only got worse from then on.)
“Ottomans?” Nero is, understandably, confused. “I don’t… no, that’s not the matter! Roman citizen or not, tell me what is the cause of this problem!”
Nero obviously isn’t leaving.
So Vlad simply decides to answer.
“Tamamo thinks Carmilla is a monster…” He shakes his head. “It must be from the deeds she’s committed in her life.”
“Umu,” Nero nods affirmatively. “Are you sulking here, then, because you think you have been responsible for similar deeds?”
Guess she’s not too thick-headed at all. “I accept what I have done before, but I am not like the Blood Countess,” Vlad replies. “I am the Voivode of Wallachia.”
And Nero, a millennium too old to ever have heard of Dracula, much less connect it to Vlad’s name, asks-- “What else could you possibly have been?”
Vlad replies, “The same as what you could’ve been.”
---
(“What else could you possibly have been?”
“Have you been asking everyone that, Caster?” Vlad stares back at Tamamo, who only smiles innocently. “I heard you got into a fight with the Demon Archer.”
Tamamo sticks her tongue out in defiance. “It was barely a tussle, nothing more! Besides, she wasn’t even angry. It was Okita, actually.”
“I wonder how you manage to offend so many,” Vlad says. There’s one thing in common between all those three, though. “You are all from Japan, correct? You would think countrymen would get along together.”
Tamamo tilts her head to the side. “Well, to be specific, they both hailed from times of civil war, so there’s that. Oda Nobunaga the warlord and Okita Souji the swordsman. ‘Getting along with countrymen’ is not their forte.”
Vlad laughs, before flitting his eyes back down to Tamamo. “And did you come from a similar time?”
“Make a guess,” Tamamo replies.)
(And Vlad can make a guess about what Nero would have become, if she was shoehorned to fit the notoriety of her legend, just like himself. If Nero’s myths were just as prevalent in the world as Dracula-- no, it doesn’t need to be. Many know of Nero, and for every one person who called her a ruler, a hundred more say tyrant instead.
Nero was a tyrant.
Imagine a raging dictator, smelling of wine, dressed in clothes lined with gold and pearls. Imagine someone with an insatiable lust for pleasure, compulsive in cruelty and excessive in luxury. Imagine the Nero which history remembers, the Nero which is wrong but is all that most people know, the Whore of Babylon who set Rome ablaze.
And then imagine, how much stronger Nero would’ve been, if she was summoned that way. For each one person who doubts the authenticity of these harsh legends, a hundred more simply take them as fact. History is as removed from fact as it is from time-- yet, it is the memories that endure through the passage of time that are sent to the Throne of Heroes, imprinting on the soul that died milleniums ago.
Nero’s Noble Phantasm could have been the Great Fire of Rome. It would be a Noble Phantasm stronger than almost any other, encompassing the destruction of one of the major capitals in the world for its time. It would have been borne of greed, of nobility and of supreme excess, not unlike the Voivode of Wallachia impaling men on spears till crows picked their bones dry.
Vlad was a monster.
Nero could’ve been just like Vlad.)
(And Tamamo, the fox courtesan who meant no harm yet killed hundreds in one burst-- in the case she is summoned as an evil spirit instead of a Heroic one, she would undergo a transformation into a monster so strong, so horrifying, so fueled by the legend of Tamamo-no-Mae that she would be able to defeat hundreds more heroes in one breath.
Her notoriety is not unlike Dracula’s. It is no joke that she has been classified as one of Japan’s three greatest evil youkai.
But somehow, through some twist of fate, someone summoned her as the person Mizukume wanted to be. A beautiful, witty fox girl that wanted nothing but love. And somehow-- through some ridiculous throw of the dice, some lucky roll that was beyond anyone’s greatest expectation-- she has appeared to another master at Chaldea gate, again in this form, in her earnesty and purity.
Tamamo was a demon.
Tamamo could’ve been just like Vlad. They all could’ve been--)
(But Kintoki, Kintoki has always been a hero.)
---
“Yo! Fran!” Kintoki waves to Frankenstein on the way to Vlad’s room, and she looks up, giving him a grunt in return. There are flowers in her hands, pink roses all wrapped into a veil-- their master has been busy, chasing down chocolate servants to get everyone’s sweets back, but they haven’t neglected their first female Berserker, or forgotten the flowers she likes to pick.
This time, at least, she doesn’t rip them to pieces anymore. That’s progress.
(Frankenstein’s monster is always wearing a wedding dress, because she is always seeking a mate, someone just like a her. A monster. She doesn’t quite realize she is surrounded by them.)
Tamamo gives Frankenstein another glance, realized she hasn’t done so ever since this place got so crowded. “You know, I could never understand what she was saying,” Tamamo admits out of nowhere. “I only guess from her grunts and hand signals. She seemed to know Vlad, and that was the reason I even noticed her. How do you talk to her so fluidly?”
“Eh? It’s easy,” Kintoki replies. “You just gotta hear her tone and watch how her mouth is moving! Look at her golden smile!”
“You have more patience than me, my dear.”
Tamamo almost sounds sarcastic, but sometimes, Kintoki’s overwhelming goodness is a bit much to handle. “You tend to be terrible with women, and yet, you seem to handle the Bersekers without a hitch. Even that Berserker tail of mine. Is it a Berserker thing? A shared language from Mad Enhancement?”
“...Er, no,” Kintoki answers, not really sure what to say. “I just knew someone like that a long time ago, I guess.”
“Oh, this sounds interesting,” Tamamo purrs, and Kintoki begins to sweat nervously. Being interrogated with Tamamo isn’t a walk in the park. “Who was it? Was it someone I know? Oh, Kiyohime’s been good friends with me since we were penpals, I’ll ask--”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Kintoki tries to collect his thoughts. “Shuten-doji. She was… Shuten-doji.”
Tamamo knows that name.
(Emperor Sutoku, the predecessor to Emperor Konoe who she served, became a powerful daitengu out of resentment. Tamamo-no-Mae, a fox spirit born into a girl named Mizukume, was chased out of court for suspicion of having caused the Emperor’s illness and killed hundreds in retaliation. And then there is Shuten-doji, a mythical demon of great power who aimed for the capital, but was thankfully stopped in time by the clever plan by Minamoto no Raiko and a few of his finest men.
One of them was Sakata Kintoki.
Sutoku, Tamamo, and Shuten-doji-- together, they make the three greatest evil youkai Japan has ever seen.)
“I’ve spoken to her,” Tamamo answers simply, and Kintoki already knew that. “I didn’t think you were the cunning type, but now that you mention it, you are very good with people, Kintoki. I suppose it would be easy to know how to trick them, especially if you needed to.”
Kintoki stops dead in his tracks.
Tamamo realizes she must’ve said something wrong. “Kintoki? What’s the matter?”
“No, nothing,” he mutters. “You’re right. I did that.”
She looks up. “...Oh! You’re crying! You’re actually crying!”
“No! I’m not crying!” Kintoki immediately begins sniffling and wiping at his face. No matter how big his shades are, they can’t hide tears. “I-I’m fine! Peachy! I’m golden!”
“I’m so sorry,” Tamamo suddenly apologizes, pulling out a handkerchief. In this state, Kintoki almost feels like her son, as she reaches out to dab his face. “I didn’t mean to make my poor Kintoki cry.”
The plan to go to Vlad’s room is abandoned for a moment, and Tamamo forces Kintoki to sit down. “Just because you want to help others doesn’t mean you have to forgo any help yourself. The only time I’ve seen you cry is when I yelled at you for messing up my tail, so this must be serious. Tell me, then, what’s the matter?”
Kintoki sneezes into the handkerchief. ...Right, it’s okay, he can keep it, he doesn’t need to return it. “...I… you’re right! I tricked her! What am I doing here?!”
Tamamo gives Kintoki a hard pat on the back. “What do you mean by that?”
“B-being a Heroic spirit and all that… how can I call myself that when I used trickery to get to her?!”
“Because history remembered you as a hero. That’s more than most of us can ask for.”
“But I’m not one!” Kintoki chokes, closer to another spout of tears than he’d like to admit. “Not for that, never for that, you know! It’s wrong!”
“Even if you say that-- you are summoned off your heroic legends. You are a hero now. You have a place here,” Tamamo declares steely. That’s enough to silence Kintoki’s doubt-- for the moment, anyway. “I’m sorry I brought it up specifically. I just… never thought you would’ve been able to do that, when I met you the first time.”
Tamamo continues patting Kintoki’s back, almost awkwardly. As stated, Kintoki is twice of Tamamo’s size. After a while more of sniffling, he manages to say:
“Snniff… what else do you know about Shuten-doji…?”
It’s a dangerous question, but it’s one that Tamamo decides to answer truthfully. “Well, in all honesty, I never knew her too well. We are simply linked by our shared notoriety. I’ve heard that she is the king of ogres, a ruthless monster who had her eyes set on the capital.”
“That’s wrong,” Kintoki answers simply, and he sounds disappointed even if he was already expecting it.
“Then tell me the right one,” Tamamo says, and it’s a command.
---
(“Make a guess…” Vlad closes his eyes, before smirking. “No, you didn’t come from a time of war. You are too innocent.”
Tamamo raises an eyebrow. “Me? Innocent?”
“You are not naive, even if you pretend to be. But you are still idealistic, almost simple-minded,” Vlad continues, and Tamamo tries not to look offended. “Don’t take me the wrong way. However, you do not seem to be a Heroic Spirit of a warrior or a general. You are much more of a follower than a leader. You complain and have occasional words of wisdom, but you never seem to try changing things, or convincing our master to. Not to mention, you are a Caster. You are more likely to be an artist than a warlord.”
“I didn’t know you had such a low opinion of me.”
Vlad just laughs. “No, you are simply a spectacularly normal person. I do not think you are the type to have a grand tale behind you, especially in a war, though I could always be wrong.”
Tamamo looks away. “I suppose you’re right. No, I haven’t conquered any countries, or seen war. ...But don’t think for a second I am completely innocent.”
“I never did,” Vlad replies. “But if you can ask me questions, then I can as well. How did you end up in a fight with Okita and Nobunaga?”
“Ah, that,” Tamamo mutters, still averting her gaze. “Well, you see…”)
---
Okita has a routine. Nobunaga does not.
She wakes up on the morning, right on the dot of 8am. Okita gets dressed, grabs her sword, and starts training. If she’s sent on an emergency battle, she’ll be warmed-up and ready. Even if she isn’t, that doesn’t quite matter, because she can get ready at any time.
Nobunaga tries to disrupt this routine as much as she can. ‘Predictability is a fault’, or something to that extent. And she listens to her own advice-- sometimes, Nobunaga joins her, brewing tea and blowing on it gently before handing the cup to Okita so she wouldn’t ‘upset her delicate stomach on something too hot’. And sometimes, she hides bombs beneath the floorboards, just to see if Okita could survive it.
It’s hard being friends with Oda Nobunaga. (Correction: They are not friends. Okita will never acknowledge it. Maybe.)
But today, the Fool of Owari is late. This isn’t alarming in itself, but there is one thing Nobunaga does, and that is: she is never late for appointments. She is a diplomat and sometimes makes promises she can’t keep, yes, but she tries her best to keep up to Okita’s schedule if she'd given her word for it. And Okita, who doesn’t appreciate having her time wasted, can already feel her coffee getting cold.
She doesn’t even like coffee. It was just the only drink Nobunaga would agree to.
There’s something they need to discuss, about their new teammates, and they need to sort out any past grudges from their last Holy Grail War once and for all-- but for now, Okita waits. And waits.
Even when she gets tired of waiting, she still sits in one spot, not looking for Nobunaga on her own. She probably thinks this is funny, making her wait. Hah, if only Nobunaga knows how patient she is.
(Patiently waiting to recover, for the time to return to the muddy battlefields, for the rainy season to end. She only realizes too late that she is to die there, with nothing to do but count the raindrops.)
“Have you been showed up?”
Caster, that fox girl with ears too big, invites herself to the table. Okita sees no reason to chase her away. “Ah… perhaps. Have you seen a short girl with a musket? The Demon Archer?”
It’s still weird to refer to Heroic Spirits by their real names, so Okita refrains from it. At least, Caster hasn’t told anyone hers yet, so Okita doesn’t need to think about it.
Crossing her legs, Caster takes the teapot, and grimaces when Okita tells her it doesn’t have tea. “Nobu? No, I haven’t. Was I supposed to?”
“She should be here by now,” Okita says, and she sounds more worried than she means to. “Where do you think she might’ve gone?”
“You know that’s an impossible question with a girl like her,” Caster deadpans, tail swishing. “She’s always out and about. How about you go look for her, instead? Perhaps she’s forgotten.”
Okita hesitates. “Ah, right…”
It’s true. She should go looking for Nobunaga. But while training is fine, because she can control herself and limit her exertion, a wild goose chase might blow too much out of her for no good reason. Besides, Nobunaga wouldn’t forget an appointment with her dear friend (or: mortal enemy) Okita Souji, right?
Caster picks up on her hesitation with a noticeable twitch of her fox ears and a smile on her face. Her ears are too big. “What’s the matter?”
“You…” Whatever, she’d told everyone her name already. They should know. “My weak constitution might act up. I’d rather stay put.”
Caster nods understandably. Okita continues, trying to regain some lost dignity-- “Ah, but it’s not so bad! If I get a bout of it in battle, I tend to get critical hits more often the strike after that. It’s my body’s way of making for it.”
“So your illness could make you stronger,” Caster nods, and it sounds just as weird out loud as it is in Okita’s mind. “Wait, Okita. Why does your tuberculosis make you stronger?”
“Ah?” Okita tilts her head to the side, before looking to the floor while trying to think. “I’m not sure, myself… maybe it’s because people remember my skill in life because I was sicker than the rest.”
That’s the harsh truth. Every desperate strike after a hissing pain in her chest flares to life, boiling up her throat and dripping down her lips, the taste of blood is not too different from the metal of a sword stuck in her mouth-- it’s like poetic representation. Of how history remembers Okita Souji’s struggle, waiting for the rain to end, for the hospital to dismiss him, for his comrades to come meet him so they can fight, together, till the end.
But Okita doesn’t really want to think about that.
Caster’s eyes widen, as if she remembers something important upon hearing Okita’s answer. “Oh, I see,” she hums, fingers tapping onto the table. “Our skills are based off our legends, after all.”
Okita leans closer, as if curious. “And what legends do you have, Caster?” It’s almost a stupid question to ask, knowing that Caster doesn’t even dare give up her name. Why give up her legacy? That’s practically a dead ringer for any historical figure.
But, to Okita’s surprise, the fox girl smiles before raising her head. “Well, you may have been able to guess, I come from the Land of the Rising Sun as well! I am skilled in the arts of magic and mystery. In fact, I am surrounded in it! So, it should be no surprise that the humans in my time, afraid of what they do not understand, would hunt me down.”
It’s heavily abbreviated, and Okita knows enough to realize Caster might be an unreliable narrator. Yet, she continues listening. “Hunt you down…?”
“Mm. It’s just as nice as it sounds. One day, I was living on, fine and dandy, and the next, they were chasing me through the fields! I’d never harmed a fly, and yet, they blamed me for their calamities.”
“That sounds horrible,” Okita says, and she does mean it. “And they chased you down, just like that?”
Caster sighs, before shrugging. “But, as someone who fought in a futile war, I suppose you can understand what I mean, Okita.”
Wait-- stop.
Okita’s mouth hangs open, words dying in her throat. “...Futile?” She says it softly enough for Tamamo not to hear her. “Ah, what do you know about it? Did you live to see the end of the Edo era?”
“No, but this isn’t my first Holy Grail War either,” Caster continues. “All wars, in the end, are fought with more zest than they are worth. In your case, as with mine, people are scared of change.”
Okita doesn’t look down, this time, and Caster realizes she’s staring at her, and decides not to continue. So, Okita continues for her, mouth lined straight into neither a frown nor a smile-- “I didn’t realize loyalty to the Shogunate would be interpreted as fear in the future.”
(Because that’s what the Shinsengumi gave up their lives for, trying to protect the Shogunate. Even as Japan was thrown in an era of change as it moved towards the Meiji Era, restoring the Emperor’s place as the rightful ruler, for the first time in almost five hundred years.)
Caster, who either doesn’t know when to stop or doesn’t want to, says:
“Well, such blind loyalty is what doomed the both of us.”
That’s when Okita draws her sword and thrusts it across the table.
There are very, very few things that make her lose her composure so completely. Only so many situations can force her sword arm, and Caster, with her quick tongue and penchant for telling the truth (not the truth, she won’t accept it), has fallen right into one those situations. “Don’t you dare,” Okita hisses, and the metal of her blade is pressed against the skin on Caster’s chin, making her tilt her head up in surprise.
The teapot is shattered on the floor, and it smells of coffee everywhere.
Maybe that’s the cue the world needed to send Oda Nobunaga forward, grin on her face and gun over her shoulder. “A warrior’s pride can never be questioned, I see! Put your sword down, though. That’s no way to treat an ally.”
Caster barely gulps as Okita steps away, pulling her arm back before fluidly sheathing her sword. “...There you are, Nobu,” Okita greets, and there’s a hint of relief in her voice she doesn’t want to make too obvious. “Where were you?”
“Oh,” Nobunaga smirks, and she takes her gun off her shoulder into her hands instead. The tanegashima she holds, a Japanese matchlock of Portuguese origin, used to haunt the enemies of Nobunaga in their sleep. These guns are made of her spiritual power, not as valuable and hand-crafted as the ones her footmen used to wield, but she takes great care in handling this particular one, bringing it up to her eye level and pressing it against her shoulder.
Caster knows enough to realize Nobunaga is aiming at her.
“I was going fox-hunting,” she hums, and Caster barely dodges out of the way as a bullet bounces off the table.
Naturally, she immediately reaches for her ofudas to prepare her Arts attack, raising her arms to call forth her magical mirror. ”Stop, stop! Didn’t you just tell Okita you shouldn’t treat a guest like this?! Don’t tell me you’re joining forces with that Robin Hood to skin me for my fur!” She gives Okita a look, only to realize Okita seems just as confused as she is.
“Listen girl,” Nobunaga begins, and and there’s some rare flash of seriousness in her expression as her grin wavers. “I’m a warlord, but I’m also a diplomat. I’ve shared a table with the strongest men in Japan. I’ve had almost half of them pull a sword out on me. I’ve had people joining my dinners with the intention of killing me, and every single one of my guests have had something to hide.”
Caster stands her ground, mirror barrelling through the hallway and meeting her hands before flying around her. Nobunaga isn’t threatened. “But no one’s had something as big as their own name to keep a secret. So, you’ll be glad to know, Tamamo-no-Mae, that you’re a special exception.”
Caster-- no, Tamamo chokes, freezing in shock. “Wait! How did you--”
“Haha! From my brilliant deductions! Really, though, you make it pretty obvious,” Nobunaga admits. Okita takes a while to recognize that name, but when she does, she immediately backs away from her, pulling her sword out again.
“Tamamo-no-Mae…? Do you mean, the evil fox spirit who seduced the Heian court, and inflicted Emperor Konoe with a grave illness that killed him when he was seventeen?” She takes another step back. “Whose actions eventually caused the Hogen Rebellion, and then the Genpei War?”
Nobunaga blinks. “What useful exposition. I didn’t know you were so good at history, Okita!”
“Enough of this!” Tamamo calls out her ofuda, ready to defend if any of the two make another move. “So what about it? I did nothing to wrong you two, unless you count unintentional offense as something worth shooting me over!”
“I’ve shot people over less,” Nobunaga admits. “Youkai, I have the upper hand in any fight between us. I’ve had an upper hand the moment I stepped into this room. So if you’re planning anything against our master, you’ll learn what anti-divine really means.”
Tamamo grits her teeth. “Why would I ever do anything like that?”
“--Right. I see now,” Okita suddenly says, taking a stance. “We share one single master. Unlike other wars, there’s no reason to hide our names. We need to know each other’s weaknesses to fight together. So, to intentionally refuse to say your name… it’s a bit suspicious.”
“A bit,” Nobunaga repeats with a grin.
Tamamo clicks her tongue. “You have a reputation just as bad as my own, if not worse. You have no right to speak, Demon Archer!”
“But I didn’t find any need to hide my name,” Nobunaga answers simply. “You’re a smart girl, Tamamo. You should understand! You’re a powerful servant, reaching up to Okita’s skill under this master of ours, and you’ve got a whole legend about killing the one person you were supposed to serve. You intentionally hid your name, knowing there were others with even worse tales, yet choosing to mask your own. Now, what does that sound like to us?”
Tamamo flicks her arm and smacks an ofuda against Nobunaga’s face, making it explode.
Okita springs to action immediately, knocking Tamamo to the ground with the blunt end of her sword. Casters are physically weak, so it isn’t a challenge to send her sprawling with a yelp, and Okita quickly changes focus. “Nobu!”
“Ow, ow,” Nobunaga whines, before touching the new mark on her face and laughing. “Bahaha! Did my accusation hit too close to home?”
“I would never raise a hand against our master,” Tamamo spits, pushing herself up to her knees. Okita whips around, about to restrain her, but Nobunaga places a hand on her shoulder with a kind of gentleness Okita did not expect her to have.
Nobunaga really is a diplomat, in the end, and she coaxes Okita to step away by moving forward herself, completely unarmed. Okita’s sword arm tenses at Tamamo gets up, and her feet are ready to spring into a run at any time, but she never needs to.
“Alright,” Nobunaga smirks. “I’ll believe you.”
--Ah?”
“If you tell me why you had to hide your name in the first place,” Nobunaga continues.
Tamamo’s glare softens, and she knows-- they all knew-- that this isn’t a question she can answer, not right now. “You would think it as a horrible reason, for you are someone who sees no value in sentiment or humanity,” Tamamo answers after a while.
“Ouch, I’m hurt,” Nobunaga hums. “And are you any different from me?”
“Yes.”
“Is it better to be any different?”
Tamamo has nothing to say.
Nobunaga steps back, putting a hand on Okita’s shoulder. It’s a lot different than her gentle pat before, and Okita immediately tenses up uncomfortably, consciously stopping herself from shrugging Nobunaga’s hand off. “I’m going to let you off, since you didn’t try to kill us outright, and because I know you’re a relatively good girl. You’re actually pretty boring. But the both of us are never going to be seen as heroes like Okita here. Why not embrace your darker legends? Maybe you’d be a better class than a Caster, for one.”
“I would never,” Tamamo hisses. “That would mean giving up who I am.”
“This has gone on long enough,” Okita mutters, before finally pushing Nobunaga away. The shorter girl actually stumbles a bit. “Nobu might want to let you go, but you’re not going anywhere. I’m bringing you straight to master. If you have nothing to hide, we can talk things out then, yes?”
Tamamo narrows her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You see, I promised to meet up with my teammate right after this. It’d be rude if I simply didn’t turn up.”
Okita grips the handle of her sword. “I’m sure they’d understand. If only you’d just said your name earlier--”
And suddenly, Frankenstein breaks the floor.
There isn’t any warning. She almost seems to fly out from nowhere, leaping through the hallway and smashing the table between them. Okita screams, jumping up into the air out of surprise. Nobunaga catches her, but loses her footing and falls to the ground with an omph as Okita ends up sitting on her chest.
Tamamo kind of just stares.
Frankenstein, in all her Berserker glory, grunts an urgh before flicking her weapon, and the electric sparks wear off. “...No,” she manages to say, but it’s obvious that it takes a significant amount of effort for even that. “Mas...ter. Don’t… li...ke. Fight. ...Don’t.”
Okita tries fumbling for her sword, but the shock might’ve knocked a bit more air out of her than she’d liked, and she covers her mouth instead before coughing into it. Immediately realizing the turn this situation has taken, Nobunaga shoves Okita off her, getting up onto her feet and grabbing Okita’s sword before forcibly unsheathing it herself. “Got it, got it. It was just a friendly demonstration. Okita here just doesn’t know when to quit, see?”
The Saber wants to retort, but ends up gasping for air instead. Even Tamamo feels a tiny bit of pity, dropping her arms down to her sides and tucking her ofudas back into her clothes. Nobunaga pats her on the back, before putting Okita’s arm around her shoulders to help lift her up. Okita looks visibly surprised by this-- Nobunaga never does what’s expected of her.
As they get out of there, Frankenstein finally turns to Tamamo, and that’s when Tamamo realizes she hasn’t quite thanked her yet. “...Thank you, I suppose,” she says. Frankenstein doesn’t care enough to nitpick on how it sounds half-sincere. “They were really driving me up the wall!”
Frankenstein nods out of politeness, almost bobbing her head like a doll. But talking isn’t what she’s here for. “Vuh… lad.”
“Hm?” Tamamo’s ears perk up.
“See… you,” she says, and she frowns while trying to force the words out. “Sent… me. Go… see.”
“Oh, yes, I’m supposed to meet Vlad,” Tamamo says. Frankenstein’s body immediately slackens with relief when Tamamo understands her. “You are… Fran, correct?”
Not exactly, but Frankenstein just nods along. “Did you know Vlad from before?” Again, another nod, though a little more hesitant this time-- memories of previous summonings are misty, like a dream, but they always remain somewhere in their minds. Tamamo continues on. “We need to talk about battle strategies! We’re going to be facing much stronger enemies soon, and the master wants to put Kaleidoscope on him so he’d be able to pull off his Noble Phantasm much more quickly. We must plan around that.”
And then, Frankenstein tenses up all over again, though mostly out of surprise. “Mm… huuhm?”
“Ah…” Tamamo blinks. “What? What did you say?”
“...Hate.”
“...What?”
“He, he!” Frankenstein waves her weapon around a little too wildly as she’s trying to gesture, and Tamamo takes a very big step back. “Hates! ...It.”
Tamamo looks very, very confused, but tries to parse out Frankenstein’s meaning anyway. “He… hates it? Hates… his Noble Phantasm?”
Frankenstein nods even more violently than before, slightly pleased that she managed to get her meaning across once again. “Mmmm.” (After all, she remembers the Lancer of Black, not Vlad the Berserker.)
“Even if it’s rumored to be very powerful? A valuable skill?”
“Mmhm.”
“...Well,” Tamamo mutters, “I can understand that feeling.”
(And maybe, Tamamo’s Witchcraft EX would be able to do much, much more than simply sap away power if she willed it to-- but she can’t. She’s used her powers of mental influence before, chipping her way into power, into the lap of the Heian Emperor.
She will never do it again.)
---
(“...They thought I would hurt our master,” Tamamo decides to admit to Vlad. “Because they figured out my real name.”
Vlad’s smile widens in interest. “Should I be worried?”
“No, I’m not planning anything,” Tamamo huffs. “Honestly!”
“This was meant to be a meeting of strategy. Yet, when you walked into the room, you immediately asked me if I had any secrets to hide,” Vlad says. “Someone told you something.”
Tamamo shakes her head. “Nothing incriminating, I assure you.”
“You say that as if you’d actually tell me if someone did.”
“Of course I would! You are my teammate, though you threaten to suck blood rather often,” Tamamo says. “Like I said, from the very beginning: You seem like the type who has nothing to hide, yet you’re hiding something. So, I asked you: what else could you ever have been? Other than the Prince of Wallachia.”
Vlad doesn’t laugh this time. “You have your answer right there.”
“Huh?”
“The Prince of Wallachia did not suck anyone’s blood,” Vlad admits. And Tamamo blinks, utterly confused without the context of Dracula in her mind-- and she isn’t able to get an answer. “That is all. If there’s no more to discuss, I will take my leave.”
Tamamo momentarily wonders if she’s asked something wrong, before realizing such a reaction meant she must’ve asked something right, and hit the nail on the head when it comes to Vlad, who speaks of his kingdom and the battles he’s fought, yet does not talk about himself. “Wait!” Tamamo thrusts her arm out, not waiting for Vlad to turn around and face her.
“My real name,” Tamamo suddenly declares. “My real name is Tamamo-no-Mae. But you-- no, everyone can call me Tamamo. I will tell everyone this. Everyone can know my real name!”
And Vlad, upon noticing that name means absolutely nothing to him, almost lets the word Dracula fall from his lips, because it will mean nothing to Tamamo. He thinks on this, for longer than he thinks on most things, because leaders know when to make snap decisions and when to delay for time.
He does neither of these, simply standing in place, before deciding to leave it up to Tamamo.
“So,” Vlad finally says, turning to Tamamo. “Are you going to ask me for my real name?”
This is not the beginning, not for either of them. But this is not the end, and Tamamo knows enough to realize that Vlad has a reason to hide a name that does not go hand-in-hand with the Voivode of Wallachia.
“I’m not sure why I need to,” she answers without hesitation, meeting his eyes with a knowing smile. “After all, you real name is what you want it to be, is it not?”
“You…” Vlad pauses. “You give yourself different treatment than everyone else.”
“Of course! I should give myself preferential treatment,” Tamamo tries to joke.
“You really are innocent.”
Tamamo sticks her tongue out out, though there’s something of a smile on her face now, like a weight’s been lifted off her chest. “After hearing my name, most people call me a monster, you know?”)
---
(Shuten-doji was an innocent monster, beautiful beyond comprehension, and cruel beyond measure. She was made to murder, destined to rampage across the land, guided by the invisible hand of fate. She-- they, all of them, even those who revel in it-- they did not deserve to have history twist them in such a way, but there is truth every legend. They are all innocent, yet still monsters.
Kintoki doesn’t see how he’s any different from that.)
---
“The same as I could’ve been…?” Nero thinks on that, for a moment, before her eyes widen. “You could have become an Emperor, but you lost the fight on the way there?!”
“No,” Vlad answers, but he’s amused with how Nero thinks. Or exasperated. It’s somewhere in between.
Nero wants to question further, but the sound of the door being wrenched open stops her. Vlad knows exactly where this is going, and his face falls into one of a very tired man as the door gets ripped off its hinges.
”It was unlocked,” he sighs to Kintoki, and he doesn’t have the energy to raise his voice.
“Sorry about that! I only realized halfway,” Kintoki apologizes. “I’ll put it back myself, like the last one!”
As Kintoki gently deposits the torn-off door on the side, Nero’s eyes seem to sparkle with something. “You! Kintoki, right?”
“Eh?” Kintoki blinks, though it’s not obvious with his shades on. “Right, that’s me! Sakata Kintoki, the golden boy!”
“A perfect title! You have monstrous strength, but also a hidden kindness. You would be perfect as my gladiator,” Nero declares. “The winner of bloodless victories! The best-fought battles are the ones with wits as well as brawn!”
Tamamo steps forward, patting Kintoki on the shoulder as she shoves him back a little, away from Nero. “Excuse me, but please don’t try to recruit Kintoki into your violent brawls. Besides, you won’t find much about him in terms of wits.”
Kintoki, not catching onto the insult to his intelligence, just interrupts the both of them. “Wait! But we’re here for you, Vlad!”
“Oh, just like me, then. Umu!” Nero turns to Vlad, about to say something grand, when Tamamo steps in front of her and cuts her off.
“You asked me, a long time ago, if I was going to ask you for your real name,” Tamamo hums. “But of course, I would never. Not when I haven’t given you my real name.”
Vlad narrows his eyes. “What do you--”
“My real name was Mizukume,” Tamamo finally says. “I was never called Tamamo-no-Mae in my life. I was given that name by storytellers in the future, wanting to spread the story of an evil fox spirit, who killed hundreds at a time and brought the end of an era. Would you call me a monster?”
Vlad almost answers such titles are meaningless, but he knows perfectly well he doesn’t truly think so. “No, I would not.”
“Then why would you ever assume I think of you as a monster, Vlad?”
Tamamo’s voice becomes unexpectedly gentle, and she takes on a regal style of speech, very old and very, very nostalgic-- to someone like Kintoki, at least. “You try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, and that you’ve embraced it completely. This isn’t my first Grail War, and neither is it yours. Frankenstein might not be completely wrong when she said you hated your Noble Phantasm. I know how it’s like to have your life twisted beyond recognition.”
She continues, refusing to take a seat. “It’s true, I hid my name for a while. I wasn’t very good at it, though, which is how the Demon Archer found out so quickly… but think of it this way. Tamamo is the only name people would recognize me by, and the only name which gives me my powers. Yet, it represents all I did wrong in my short life. That name, to me-- it is the same as Dracula to you.”
Vlad doesn’t cringe when he hears that name. Not quite. But he interrupts. “Then, do you want me to call you Mizukume instead?”
“No, no. Honestly, Mizukume brings up too many memories, and Caster feels too impersonal. Tamamo is my best bet,” Tamamo replies. “But you… you have a name you can be proud of. The name you already go by. Stick to it. Accept the powers your legend gives you, but if you never give up who you actually are, then you will never become that person. You will always remain Vlad the Third, Prince of Wallachia. Nothing more, and definitely nothing less. Do not even think you are like Carmilla, who has given herself up to her legend! You are more than that!”
Tamamo suddenly slams the tables, taken up by her passionate declaration. “Never, ever, ever do you have to give your identity up! You never need to become anything you are not! You can use your Noble Phantasm, and you can be force-fitted into your legend, but not forever! Capisce?”
There’s silence, for a moment.
Then, Nero claps.
“Sniff-- what a speech!” For a moment, Tamamo thinks Nero might be making fun of her, before she realizes there are genuine tears forming at her eyes. “You… you’ve put it well! Umu!”
“Are you crying?” She looks up at Kintoki. “You’re both crying! Again, Kintoki!”
“Buhuhuh!” Kintoki lets out some kind of mangled laugh-sob. Tamamo’s ears twitch in irritation. “It’s so emotional! I can’t take it!”
“You’re saying that as if you’re watching a drama on television… stop crying, the both of you!”
No one has time to look at Vlad, but he puts on a grin anyway, because it’s what he feels like doing.
---
Before they return to their rooms, Tamamo gives Kintoki another tap of the shoulder, pulling him aside. “What I said about Vlad and myself-- it applies to Shuten-doji too,” Tamamo hums. “She is not like Nobu, who accepted her monstrous reputation in life, or like Carmilla, who accepts it now. As long as she fights it, she will be the one you love.”
Present tense, not past.
Kintoki doesn’t say something for a moment, because there’s still a bit of hesitation. This is his greatest weakness, after all. “Wait, but… if master ever summons her like Carmilla--”
“Shuten-doji will never be summoned like her,” Tamamo snaps. “Elizabeth Bathory was always a brat, through and through. Anyone would be eons better than her.”
Kintoki stares at Tamamo, then finally grins from ear to ear. “Alright, alright, alright! You’re the best, Tamamooo!”
“Wait, stop, don’t hug me so tight-- urk--!”
---
Okita invites Tamamo to tea. She actually prepares tea this time.
Tamamo was, understandably, very reluctant to accept the invitation. But after Frankenstein has somehow fixed the table (Berserkers wreck things, but they’re very responsible with clean-up), Okita’s taken it upon herself to call Tamamo to a meeting, sliding a note under her door.
But, in the end, she came to the meeting. Bringing no bodyguards either, like a sign of trust. (In reality, she just didn’t want the table to get wrecked again if it came to that.)
“I must apologize for my behavior on our previous meeting,” Okita opens off with, pouring Tamamo a cup. It’s real green tea, not the stuff from a vending machine. Tamamo could cry with joy. “I had planned to discuss something important with Nobu, and I was already on edge. When she threw out that theory… I acted out on my instincts.”
“It’s alright. I understand,” Tamamo hums. “By the graciousness of Tamamo-no-Mae, you have been forgiven! Now, if only that Demon Archer apologized too.”
Okita sighs. “I invited her along, but she declined. She said she wanted to look up… more modern gun models. Things like… ayy-kay-fourty-seven? I think she’s just trying to make excuses not to speak to me. Which is a pain, since we have much to discuss.”
“Hm… if she’s trying to avoid you…” Tamamo’s face brightens. “I know! When Frankenstein leaped in on our last encounter, the shock almost knocked you down to your knees. Perhaps, upon seeing you in danger at the hands of someone who is not her, she felt a pang of distress? Something emotional, beyond her comprehension? A feeling that the Demon King would’ve never thought to feel?”
“...Are you implying what I think you are?!” Okita shakes her head. “No, nothing like that! And besides, we’re both girls!”
“Oh, that’s never stopped me before!”
Tamamo winks.
Okita narrows her eyes.
“I don’t want to know. Let’s stop talking about this,” Okita deadpans.
“How disappointing… oh, but I do have an interesting story to tell. Something nice over tea,” Tamamo suggests. “Have you ever heard of Shuten-doji?”
Okita nods. “One of the three great--”
“No, no! Throw that notion right out the window! Here, I will tell you the true and exclusive version of the tale, never heard before!” Tamamo raises her head grandly. “After all, who else is more credible than a youkai who lived around the same time herself? Tamamo will be the storyteller now. Forget everything you’ve heard before, and keep an open mind!”
(Kintoki is the protector of the innocent, and the enemy of evil. But when the one who loves fell in between those two, he couldn’t even protect her legend from being tainted, and he has regretted it to this day. One day, if their master summons her-- if only just for a second, he wants to see her again.
Tamamo will do her part to make sure the Shuten-doji their master summons is the one Kintoki remembers.)
“Once upon a time,” Tamamo begins, “there was a beautiful young girl, daughter of Yamata-no-Orochi. She was born with fangs and incredible strength. From birth, she was an innocent monster.”