The office was quiet in that strange way it only ever was after the end of a world.
Papers littered the desk, half-drained coffee cups marked the passage of time, and the hum of a computer monitor filled the silence like the heartbeat of a dying Servant.
Nasu Kinoko leaned back in his chair, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen. The file name read:
fgo_final_script_ver_FINAL_FINAL_really_final_v12.docx
He sighed. “It’s done. Really done this time.”
From the opposite desk, Takeuchi Takashi didn’t look up from his tablet. “You said that three times during Lostbelt 7.”
Nasu shot him a look. “This time, I mean it. Humanity is safe. Chaldea can rest. No more singularities, no more rewriting history…”
Takeuchi finally looked up, the dark circles under his eyes almost artistic. “Until the next gacha event?”
“Limited Servant rerun doesn’t count as worldbuilding,” Nasu muttered defensively.
Takeuchi stretched, his back cracking audibly. “You realize you just made people cry over a talking lion and a cup of coffee again, right?”
“That’s called thematic closure,” Nasu said proudly. “Also, it was a metaphor for existential burnout.”
“Uh-huh,” Takeuchi said, sketching lazily. “You’re a genius and a sadist.”
“Coming from the man who drew seventy different Saberfaces, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
They both laughed—tiredly, softly. The kind of laugh shared by two people who have seen the abyss together and decided to make it an event banner.
Outside, the Tokyo night pressed against the window. Somewhere, the city lights looked like Command Seals scattered across a dark sky.
Takeuchi leaned back in his chair, finally putting down his pen. “You know, it’s weird. For the first time in years, we don’t have another chapter to chase.”
Nasu looked thoughtful. “Yeah. Maybe… we can rest for a bit.”
A long silence followed.
Then Takeuchi smirked. “Or we start on the next project.”
Nasu groaned, faceplanting into the desk. “Takeuchi, please. Let me have one day where the universe doesn’t need saving.”
But Takeuchi was already sketching again, the sound of his pen gliding over the tablet. “What do you think—Fate/Grand Odyssey has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Nasu peeked up from his arms. “You’re unstoppable.”
“I learned from the best,” Takeuchi replied with a grin.
And so, in the dim glow of the monitors, amid coffee stains and empty convenience-store bento boxes, the gods of TYPE-MOON began plotting the next apocalypse—just another hard day in the office.