When Guinevere returned, she found Artoria standing alert by the table, rather than continuing to make chocolate.
"What's going on, Artoria? Why have you stopped?" Guinevere asked in confusion—and saw Artoria look up at her with tearful eyes.
"What did you and Nokknarei talk about out there?"
"Not much—she's curious about the outside world, so I just explained a bit…"
"You even told her you came from the outside world? You haven't even told me that yet!" Artoria sprang to her feet.
"…Ah."
Guinevere patted her forehead. In the last simulation he'd already confessed that fact to Artoria, and in this loop he'd forgotten. Fortunately, he thought fast:
"But I didn't bring it up—I only admitted it because she guessed. When did you even realize I was from another world?"
He deftly kicked the ball back into her court.
"Um…" Artoria swallowed, then found her riposte.
"If Nokknarei could guess, it stands to reason I could too! But you never told me what the outside world was like! How could you tell her first?"
"But you never asked!" Guinevere shrugged.
Artoria fell silent. True enough… pressing the point would be petty. After a moment's thought, she decided on brute force:
"Guinevere, after spending time with Nokknarei, what do you think of her?"
"Hm… I guess because she's a queen, she's kind of mercurial—one moment cheerful, the next she flies into a rage, with no warning. Hard to predict. But she's entertaining—she jokes a lot."
Guinevere considered. Mercurial, unpredictable, humorous… Odd descriptors for a queen, sounding more like a comic sidekick. Artoria pressed on:
"Do you feel anything… special about her? Any… unique attraction?"
"Huh?" Guinevere blinked, then chuckled and flicked Artoria's forehead.
"What are you thinking? Of course not—she's my rival!"
"And what about me?"
—Wow, that was a direct hit. Guinevere was stunned.
"…Why ask that now?"
Yet Artoria merely stared, then broke into a sly grin.
"…Heh."
She didn't need an answer—her faerie-eye had already read Guinevere's honest thoughts. A mischievous smile spread across her face.
"What's so funny?!" Guinevere laughed despite herself, pinching Artoria's cheek. Soft, squishy—like stroking a kitten.
"All right, enough giggling—back to chocolate." Guinevere gripped Artoria's shoulders and steered her toward the table.
"You promised to stall Nokknarei while I snuck away—yet your progress seems minimal. Get to work, or tomorrow I'll be the one laboring in Nokknarei's chocolate factory!"
"Oh, right!" Artoria snapped to attention.
"Rest assured—your future happiness is my duty to protect!" Her bright eyes sparkled as she mimed kneading dough.
"I'll make sure that after you save the world, Guinevere, you never have to work again—just lie in bed all day, living off sweet treats. Just you wait!"
"…Well, that sounds… nice enough." Guinevere shook her head, smiling wryly.
"Then I'll look forward to it!" Artoria cheered.
…
Outside the kitchen door, a lone silhouette paused.
"This won't do, Artoria."
"Cheating with faerie-eye? Have some limits."
After a long moment, the figure whispered and continued on.
…
[You prepared chocolates through the night. Though you lacked pastry expertise, you served faithfully as Artoria's assistant; she handled the key work.]
[You couldn't shake an ominous feeling, yet you trusted Artoria.]
[At noon on the second day, the final round of the Valentine Mab Competition began in Edinburgh Cathedral's grand hall, stocked with mountains of ingredients.]
[As you and Nokknarei took the stage, your chocolates were unveiled.]
[Artoria's baking was superb, but in the face of Nokknarei's towering, sculpture-like chocolate creation, yours paled in comparison.]
"Attention to the Moon Kitchen! Watch Lady Nokknarei's calm, flawless technique—her hand never falters, her movements perfect."
"I visited early this morning; she proclaimed, 'I do not craft mere confections, but art that captivates the heart!'"
"Indeed—what a design. Those in the first two tiers can't see it; next time splurge for the VIP seats!"
Listening to the demon-judge Karen's commentary, Guinevere reflected.
"So many spectators… I wasn't told this was so popular. But it makes sense—it's a competition. Artoria, no worries—"
He turned to gauge Artoria—but stopped dead at what he saw.
At the same moment, Karen's gaze shifted to the Star Kitchen.
"Now let us observe the performance of the Prophesied Child, Lady Artoria… Is she insane?!"
Quickly clearing her throat:
"Um—this could be a groundbreaking new chocolate technique. Please enjoy…"
"Let's run now while we still can," Oberon whispered from the second-floor gallery. Though he couldn't see the stage, Karen's commentary had given it away—he knew his protégé's penchant for wild stunts.
"Is that… appropriate?" Percival hesitated. "The verdict isn't in yet."
"No, you don't understand." Oberon's expression was inscrutable, fear flickering beneath it.
"If we don't leave now, it'll be too late."
Alas, their exit was too late.
"All right—cooking time is over! Submit your creations!"
[With Karen's declaration, the chocolate-making ceased.]
[Nokknarei presented first: a nineteen-tiered chocolate model of Edinburgh Castle, lavishly painted.]
"As expected of Lady Nokknarei—regal, masterful, an opulent masterpiece!"
"Perfect for crushing rivals, though rather… hefty to carry home."
Even Karen broke a sweat estimating its weight. Nokknarei merely beamed.
"Hah, flattery won't win the day—but credit is due to my excellent assistant, Eiken."
Her joy manifested magic: heart-shaped motes drifting around her.
"Thank you! Next, the Star Kitchen's entry from Lady Artoria…"
Guinevere's heart sank.
Glancing from Nokknarei's grand castle to Artoria's humble heart-shaped chocolate cake, Guinevere pondered taking up arms.
"Fortunately, the faeries didn't confiscate our weapons. Even without the Flame Sword, my stats and Noble Phantasm are enough—perhaps a direct strike on Queen Nokknarei's face… It might work."
As Guinevere readied an "upturn table" move, every faerie in the hall turned to stare at her in shock.
"What?!"
"Why—?"
She froze—had she telegraphed violence?
Suddenly Karen sprinted toward Guinevere. Instinctively, she drew her sword—only to hear Karen's booming voice:
"Everyone—I share your excitement! But as judge and emcee, I must be brave enough to announce the result!"
"Sleek, resilient, heartwarming in form—Nice Valentine! A brand-new chocolate design is born!"
Thunderous cheers rocked the hall. Guinevere's head rang.
"Now, Lady Artoria—please share your inspiration. Why this shape? It's the northern faerie symbol for 'Prove your strength!' Are you a genius?"
"Huh?" Guinevere's eyes widened. "Wait—do they not have heart-shaped chocolate here?!"
Artoria, momentarily bewildered, quickly recovered—gleaming with pride:
"Oh, no—it's just what Guinevere taught me. It's called a 'heart' shape because it's simple to make yet easy to pour emotion into."
"Easy to pour emotion… what a golden insight! As a chocolate faerie, I'm ashamed I almost forgot the most important ingredient: feeling!"
Karen's spirits soared.
"From a flavor standpoint, Lady Nokknarei's is superior, but for heartfelt sentiment, Lady Artoria wins."
"So—the Star Kitchen prevails! Lady Artoria is the victor!"
"Huh?" Guinevere tapped her brow.
[Though the process was bizarre, you and Artoria won the chocolate contest.]
"See, Oberon—Artoria won!" Percival cheered.
"Truly." Rhadra nodded. "She linked that shape to chocolate perfectly!"
Yet Oberon's face was haunted with despair:
"No—you're all mistaken. It's too late."
"What do you mean?" Rhadra sniffed, puzzled.
"But didn't you hear the heartbeat sounds?" Percival suddenly alerted them.
…
"What a stirring duel! Now, Guinevere, why did you draw your sword just now?"
Karen, having recovered her attention from Artoria's cake, peered at Guinevere in wonder.
"Ah…um…" Guinevere's brow glistened with sweat.
"By the way, Artoria—your chocolate is… thumping. Is that a pre-set mechanism?"
At that moment, Nokknarei strode forward.
"Just to be safe—this won't explode, will it?" she asked.
"It—won't. Even Artoria wouldn't mix gunpowder instead of sugar—"
Seizing the diversion, Guinevere replied.
Artoria, brimming with confidence, interjected:
"No—I tested it. It's filled only with delicious ingredients."
"Delicious ingredients? What did you put in?" Nokknarei pressed.
"Everything." Artoria said matter-of-factly.
"Everything?" Nokknarei blinked.
"All the ingredients provided," Artoria smiled.
"I see…" Karen leaned in. "Earlier, as Guinevere was cleaning pots, Lady Artoria used a suspicious spell to toss every ingredient into the mix—aha, so that's why Guinevere drew her sword?"
"Huh?" Guinevere stared blankly.
Then—swoosh—a beam of light shot from the heart-shaped chocolate, striking Karen.
"See? This chocolate has been infused with immense magic. The ingredients fused into a new life-form."
Guinevere thought she saw Instant Death flash above Karen's head.
"Yes—as you see, the World-Breaking Chocolate [Calamity] is born."
Karen collapsed, dead on the spot.
"What on earth?!"
Guinevere, still petrified by the Valentine's Day surrealism, watched as Nokknarei exploded in fury:
"Artoria, what were you thinking?! You can't just mix everything at once! You're one of those who'd say 'Stew ten minutes on low? Let's blast it two minutes on high!'?!"
Artoria nodded vigorously.
Another beam shot from the chocolate, headed straight for Nokknarei—until Guinevere reacted. She lunged forward, blade drawn, and struck the beam aside. It sailed off, striking some unfortunate faerie in the crowd with a shriek.
"No choice—we must destroy that chocolate!" Guinevere shouted.
"Be gentle! It still tastes good!" Artoria wailed.
But Guinevere had no time. She called toward the stands:
"Oberon! Percival! Rhadra—help me!"
Yet as she looked back, she saw Oberon slumped clutching his chest, Percival and Rhadra panicked around him.
"…I told you so…"
Oberon gasped, then slumped lifeless.
Oberon fell.