The next few months passed quietly.
For Touko Aozaki, that alone was suspicious.
In that time, she learned several things about the Fujimaru twins.
First—both of them were frighteningly good in a fight.
Hand-to-hand. Blades. Balance. Footwork. None of it matched what a normal five-year-old should be capable of.
Gudako favored her fists.
Touko had once watched her plant her feet, channel Sun Magecraft through her body, reinforce her arm—and punch a tree.
The trunk cracked.
Gudako shook her hand, grinned, and asked if that was supposed to happen.
Ritsuka, on the other hand, preferred weapons.
When asked to do the same exercise, he didn't punch.
He picked up a training knife.
Sun Magecraft flowed—quiet, controlled—and the blade flashed once.
The tree didn't crack.
It was cleanly cut.
Touko stared at the stump for a long second.
She added another note to her ever-growing mental list.
There were patterns too.
Their Magecraft was strongest during the day.
Weaker at night.
That much made sense.
But noon?
Noon was different.
At noon, their output didn't just increase—it stabilized. Like the sun overhead wasn't fueling them, but aligning with them.
Touko didn't like that.
She liked it even less when Ritsuka noticed it first.
"Sensei," he said one afternoon, sitting in the grass with his wooden sword across his lap.
Touko glanced at him. "What."
"Our control gets easier at noon," he said. "Not stronger. Just… smoother."
Gudako tilted her head. "Yeah. Like the sun's not yelling at me."
Touko pinched the bridge of her nose.
Five. Years. Old.
She exhaled slowly. "You two realize this isn't normal, right?"
Gudako beamed. "You say that a lot."
Ritsuka only smiled politely.
That smile bothered her the most.
Later that evening, Touko sat alone, notebook open, tea untouched.
She hadn't written anything down.
Because writing this would mean admitting it.
These kids weren't just using Sun Magecraft.
They were listening to it.
And Ritsuka—
Touko tapped her pen against the page.
He never overextended.
Never wasted energy.
Never panicked.
He fought like someone who already knew what mistakes looked like.
Touko leaned back in her chair.
"…Just what kind of life did you have," she muttered, "before I met you?"
Somewhere outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky.
And Ritsuka Fujimaru adjusted his grip on the sword—
already planning how to get stronger tomorrow.
Gudako, on the other hand, was fire.
She learned fast, but she burned faster. She pushed her magecraft until her hands shook, then pushed some more. Touko once watched her punch a tree using Sun Magecraft and Reinforcement.
The tree cracked.
Gudako grinned.
Ritsuka tried next.
He didn't punch.
He drew a short knife, focused his magecraft into the edge, and sliced once.
The cut was clean. Too clean.
Touko stared at the tree.
Then at Ritsuka.
'Of course you'd do it like that,' she thought.
Another note went into her notebook.
—Gudako: explosive output.
—Ritsuka: precision-focused.
She also noticed something stranger.
Their magecraft peaked during the day. It weakened at night. And at noon—
Touko paused, pen hovering.
Noon was different.
Not stronger. Not weaker.
Sharper.
---
Ritsuka never overextended.
He never wasted energy. Never panicked when something went wrong. If his spell failed, he simply stopped and tried again.
Gudako did the opposite.
She failed loudly.
But she learned from it.
Each mistake made her faster. Smarter. More controlled than before. Watching her was like watching a storm slowly learn how to aim.
Touko hated how impressed she was.
---
It took her three months to realize something else.
She didn't know the father's name.
Touko froze one afternoon, tea halfway to her lips.
"…Wait."
Tomiko blinked. "Hmm?"
Touko lowered the cup slowly. "I've been here for months."
"Yes?"
"I teach your children. I eat at your table. I sleep under your roof."
Tomiko tilted her head. "Yes?"
Touko's eye twitched.
"…What is your husband's name?"
There was a pause.
Then Tomiko laughed. "Oh. It's Masaru."
Touko nodded once.
"Right."
She took a long sip of tea.
'Unbelievable,' she thought.
'I've fought the Clock Tower. I've cheated death. And I forgot to learn my employer's name.'
From the yard, Gudako's voice echoed.
"RITSUKA! LOOK! I DID IT AGAIN!"
Touko sighed and stood up.
"Of course you did," she muttered, walking outside.
Later that night, she updated her notes.
Strongest output during daytime
Weakest at night
Noon is abnormal
Ritsuka favors precision
Gudako favors force
She paused, pen hovering.
'These two don't need the same tools.'
---
"Gear?" Tomiko asked, peeking at the notebook.
Touko nodded. "Catalysts. Focus tools. Something to help balance them."
She glanced at the calendar.
"…Christmas is coming up."
Tomiko's eyes lit up. "Oh, that's perfect."
Touko froze.
"…You're serious?"
"Of course," Tomiko said. "They'll love it."
Touko leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
"I really did take the weirdest job."
---
Outside, Ritsuka sat on the porch steps, watching the sky.
The sun dipped lower, painting the clouds orange.
Gudako flopped down beside him.
"Hey. You think we'll get presents?"
Ritsuka smiled faintly.
'Oh,' he thought.
'You have no idea.'
What Gudako didn't know was that her brother was already thinking about Christmas.
About something that happened every year.
Flashback
(Or flash-forward. Regression made time feel messy.)
It was another Christmas in Chaldea.
Lights hung across the halls, soft and warm. Decorations filled every corner, each one different, each one chosen with care. Christmas trees stood in separate areas, each styled to match whoever had decorated it.
Ritsuka sat quietly with a mug of hot cocoa in his hands.
He watched the child Servants run around, laughing, chasing one another through the halls. For a moment, everything felt peaceful.
Then he heard a familiar song.
One that played every year.
"Hashire sori yo, kaze no you ni,
Tsukimihara wo, padoru padoru!"
He smiled without thinking.
Of course.
Footsteps approached.
A girl stopped in front of him.
She had light blonde hair, tied into a complex bun at the back, braids framing it neatly. Her vivid green eyes stood out against the white of her outfit—snow-white fabric shaped like a bride's dress, yet designed more like restraints than decoration.
[Insert image of Nero Bride.]
Ritsuka raised a hand in greeting.
"Oh. It's you, Bride."
Out of all the Servants—no, operators, as he preferred to call them—Nero confused him the most.
Normal Nero and Nero Bride were almost identical. Same face. Same voice. Same presence.
And yet, they weren't the same person.
Even Da Vinci had admitted it was strange.
Nero Bride looked at him proudly.
"Merry Christmas, Umu… Husband."
She lifted a sprig of mistletoe above his head.
"Are you ready to receive your gift?"
Ritsuka chuckled.
"Yeah. I am."
She smiled.
She leaned closer, just enough that he could smell something sweet—vanilla, maybe, mixed with winter air.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she tapped his forehead lightly.
"Umu. Don't misunderstand."
She lowered the mistletoe but didn't step back.
"This is not a reward."
Ritsuka raised an eyebrow.
"Then what is it?"
Nero Bride placed a hand over her chest, posture straight, eyes sharp and sincere.
"It is a vow."
She met his gaze without hesitation.
"Another year you survived. Another year you carried everyone forward."
Ritsuka looked away.
She always does this, he thought. She always sees more than she should.
"You're exaggerating," he said.
She shook her head.
"I am stating fact."
Then, softer—
"And so, as your partner… I will remain at your side."
Silence settled between them.
The music continued in the background. Laughter echoed down the halls. Somewhere, someone knocked over an ornament and cursed loudly.
Chaldea was alive.
Ritsuka took a slow breath.
"Then stay," he said. "Just… don't make it heavy."
Nero Bride smiled again—this one gentler, warmer.
"Umu. I can do that."
She sat beside him.
Not too close.
Not too far.
And for a while, they simply watched the snow fall outside the window.
They then leaned in and kiss
Chu~❤️~Slurp~💖~Chu
End of Flashback
Ritsuka blinked.
The warmth vanished, replaced by winter air and the quiet hum of the Fujimaru household.
Gudako was staring at him.
"You okay, Brother?"
He exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Just thinking."
He closed his eyes for a second longer than necessary.
'…I already miss Chaldea.'
Outside, snow began to fall.
Touko watched the twins from the porch, arms crossed, cigarette unlit between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed—not at Gudako, who was laughing, but at Ritsuka.
The boy wasn't acting like a prodigy.
He was acting like someone remembering.
Touko clicked her tongue softly.
"…This family really is trouble."
Behind her, Tomiko smiled, completely unaware.
Back in the Void.
Yang Guifei was curled in midair, hands over her face, crying with zero dignity.
"Oh come on—of all times!" she wailed. "He just had to remember Chaldea now?!"
Void Shiki had one arm around her shoulders, holding her in place with the patience of someone who had seen universes end over far smaller mistakes.
"Yang. No," she said calmly. "You cannot go to him. Not now. Any direct interference will fracture the timeline even more."
Yang sniffed. "But he's sad."
"Yes," Void Shiki replied flatly. "So is half of existence."
Oei floated nearby, legs crossed, brush resting on her shoulder. She let out a long sigh.
"So… hypothetically," she said, "are we ever getting something for our Husband in Christmas?"
Void Shiki looked at her.
"…You really shouldn't phrase it like that."
Abigail drifted closer, her feet never touching anything, her expression thoughtful rather than childish.
"That depends," she said softly. "If a gift does not alter causality… and if it aligns with what would happen… then it may pass unnoticed."
Yang lifted her head, eyes sparkling immediately. "So you're saying there's a chance?"
"I am saying," Abigail continued, "that small things are allowed. Emotions. Symbols. Comfort."
Oei tilted her head. "So no summoning ourselves into his living room."
"No," Void Shiki said instantly.
"…What about dreams?" Yang asked.
Void Shiki paused.
"…Dreams," she admitted, "are… flexible."
Yang's flames flickered happily.
Back on Earth.
Ritsuka opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
No alarms.
No Rayshift countdown.
No Da Vinci arguing with Sion in the background.
Just home.
He let out a slow breath.
'Pull yourself together,' he thought. 'You chose this.'
Even if it hadn't been his choice.
From the hallway, Gudako peeked in, her hair messy, eyes bright.
"You spacing out again?" she asked.
Ritsuka glanced at her and gave a small smile. "Something like that."
She shrugged and flopped onto the bed beside him. "Christmas soon. Wonder what we'll get."
Ritsuka looked away.
'Yeah,' he thought. 'I wonder.'
Somewhere far beyond time, something listened.
And smiled.
Ritsuka drifted before he realized he had fallen asleep.
There was no bed. No room.
Just snow.
Soft, slow, endless.
Chaldea's halls stretched around him, half-formed—walls fading into light, decorations flickering like memories that couldn't decide if they were real. Christmas lights blinked in and out, some colors wrong, others too bright.
He exhaled.
Warm breath. Cold air.
'So… this is how it comes back.'
Footsteps crunched behind him.
Not hurried. Not heavy.
Familiar.
"Umu."
He turned.
Nero Bride stood there, just as he remembered—snow-white dress, golden trims, green eyes too sharp to be a dream and yet too gentle to be real. The mistletoe hung loosely from her fingers, swaying even though there was no wind.
"You look tired, Husband."
Ritsuka laughed softly. "That's not fair. You don't get to say that anymore."
She tilted her head. "Yet you are here."
He opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.
Because she was right.
The dream didn't feel like memory. It felt like invitation.
Around them, shadows moved. Laughter echoed. Kid Servants ran past, their faces blurred but their joy intact. Someone knocked over a box of ornaments. Someone else shouted. Someone sang off-key.
Normal.
Painfully normal.
"I thought I was done," Ritsuka said quietly. "I lost it."
Nero Bride stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell snow and metal and something warm underneath. She didn't touch him.
"You didn't," she said. "But memories do not obey orders."
The mistletoe rose again.
"Still," she added, voice softer, "Christmas is cruel like that."
Ritsuka looked at it. Then at her. 'If this is a dream…'
He leaned forward.
The moment their lips almost touched—
The world cracked.
Snow froze midair. Lights shattered into glass-like fragments. Chaldea folded inward like a collapsing stage set.
Nero Bride smiled sadly.
"Wake up," she whispered. "You are needed elsewhere now."
"Wait—"
Her hand touched his chest.
Ritsuka jolted awake.
Cold sweat. Fast breath.
The ceiling of the Fujimaru house stared back at him—plain, quiet, real.
Gudako shifted in her sleep nearby, muttering something incoherent.
Ritsuka covered his eyes with his arm. 'Damn it.'
His heart still ached.
Not regret.
Not longing.
Just… missing something that no longer existed.
Somewhere far beyond time, in the Void—
Nero Bride flickered.
Her form fractured like glass under pressure, splitting cleanly into three figures as the dream finally collapsed.
Void Shiki stood at the center, calm as ever, eyes spinning with layered meanings that refused to settle.
Oei staggered a step, clutching the edges of her sleeves. "…Why," she groaned, "was I the outfit?"
Yang Guifei rubbed her temples, visibly exhausted. "Do you know how hard it is to act like Nero without actually being Nero? My cadence was off the whole time."
Void Shiki exhaled slowly. "You both did fine. The emotional imprint held. That was the important part."
Yang glanced sideways. "You say that, but he almost kissed us, and I wanted that."
Oei pointed immediately. "See? Occupational hazard. I told you this role was dangerous."
Void Shiki's lips curved, just slightly. "He needed closure. Or something close enough that his mind would accept it."
She looked into the void where Ritsuka's presence had faded.
"Memories anchored to warmth return first," Shiki continued. "Christmas. Chaldea. Nero Bride. That combination was inevitable."
Yang crossed her arms. "Still feels unfair. He wakes up hurting and we just… watch."
"We always watch," Oei muttered. Then she paused. "Though I admit, the mistletoe was a nice touch."
Void Shiki nodded. "Because it wasn't a lie."
The Void rippled faintly, reacting to her words.
"He hasn't lost Chaldea," Shiki said. "He's carrying it. That's worse—and better."
Yang sighed, her earlier dramatics fading. "So what now? We just wait for the next holiday trauma?"
"For now," Shiki replied.
She turned away, robes dissolving into nothing as she walked.
"When the time is right," she added calmly, "he'll remember more."
Oei groaned. "Great. Future us problem."
Yang looked back once more, toward the fading thread of Ritsuka's dream.
"…Merry Christmas," she said softly.
Back in the Fujimaru household, Christmas morning passed quietly.
The twins sat on the floor, wrapping paper scattered everywhere. A new DS lay between them, already smudged with fingerprints. Toys were stacked to one side. Normal things. Safe things.
Gudako was already playing, legs crossed, tongue slightly out as she focused.
"Hey, Ritsuka, look! This game lets you fight dragons."
Ritsuka glanced at the screen.
"Figures."
He smiled, but his eyes drifted to the window.
Sunlight poured in—bright, warm, almost heavy. He could feel it on his skin. The familiar pull in his chest stirred, mana responding without him asking.
'Morning,' he thought.
'Of course.'
Tomiko watched him from the kitchen doorway, arms folded, expression soft but sharp in the way only a mother's could be.
"You're spacing out again," she said.
Ritsuka blinked. "Sorry."
Before she could reply, the front door opened.
Touko stepped in, carrying two long boxes wrapped in plain brown paper. No ribbon. No decoration. Very her.
"Alright," she said, dropping them onto the table with a dull thud. "These are technically gifts. Don't get excited."
Gudako's head snapped up. "Gifts?!"
Touko glanced at her. "Lower your expectations."
She slid one box toward Gudako, the other toward Ritsuka.
"Open them."
Gudako tore into hers immediately.
Inside was a pair of reinforced gloves—black fabric threaded with faint golden lines that pulsed once when she touched them.
Her eyes widened. "Whoa."
Touko nodded. "Limiter-type gear. Helps you regulate output. You push too hard, they push back."
Gudako frowned. "So… they stop me from blowing things up?"
"Yes," Touko said flatly. "You're welcome."
Ritsuka opened his box more carefully.
Inside was a thin bracelet, almost plain at first glance. Bronze-colored, warm to the touch. When he slipped it on, the world seemed to… settle.
Mana flow smoothed out. Clean. Quiet.
Touko watched closely. "That one doesn't boost you. It focuses you. Converts excess mana into stability instead of output."
Ritsuka looked at his wrist.
'Control over power,' he thought.
'She noticed.'
"…Thank you," he said.
Touko paused. Just for a second.
Then she looked away. "Don't read into it."
Gudako punched the air experimentally. The gloves glowed—and stopped her short.
She stared at her fist. "Hey! It stopped me!"
Touko smirked. "Exactly."
Ritsuka leaned back, letting the sunlight hit his face.
No alarms.
No singularities.
No world ending.
Just Christmas morning.
Still—
Somewhere deep inside, something stirred.
Not urgency.
Expectation.
He closed his eyes.
'This time,' he thought, 'I'll be ready before it starts.'
Outside, clouds drifted lazily across the winter sky.
One of them, briefly, almost looked like a crown.
To be continued
Hope people like this ch and give me power stones and enjoy and marry Christmas, also give images for Touko Gifts