MMMS 100

As punishment for running his mouth in front of Her Majesty, Ryuuto had been given a new job—unofficial fashion advisor of Camelot.

Which, apparently, meant sitting on the edge of Artoria’s bed while she held up dresses for him like this was some kind of royal sleepover.

"Which one do you think suits me better, Master?" she asked, holding up two outfits—one in each hand.

In her left: a sleek black gown with a cool, mature look. In her right: a sky-blue off-shoulder dress that leaned more... dangerously sexy.

“…?”

Wait. These looked familiar.

"I borrowed them while Morgan wasn’t around," Artoria said, way too casually.

Like swiping from your sister’s closet was just part of the morning routine.

She didn’t even look guilty. Of course she didn’t. When a little sister borrows something, it’s not stealing. It’s borrowing. Everyone knows that.

He sighed. This is exactly why Morgan wants to kill you.

"They’re both good,” he said. “Honestly, Lancer looks good in anything. It depends on who’s wearing it.”

She blinked, then glanced down—her face just a little too pink to ignore. She cleared her throat. “Master, please be serious. I’m not asking for flattery... I want you to pick.”

The one with less fabric, obviously, he thought.

"What?" Her eyes narrowed. Sharp.

"Nothing! I didn’t say anything—!"

God, that instinct of hers was terrifying.

He scrambled for a recovery. "How about… you try both on? It’s hard to judge when you’re just holding them."

"That was my plan anyway. Master, would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I need to change."

"Sure thing." he stepped out and waited just outside her door.

The castle was quiet at night. No one passing by, no footsteps in the halls—just silence, and the softest rustle of fabric brushing against skin behind him.

His imagination didn’t stand a chance.

Artoria, alone in that room, slipping into one of those dresses...

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Don’t think about it. Just stand here. Be normal.

And then—finally—the door cracked open.

"Um… Master…"

Only her face peeked out, framed by a lock of blonde hair that had slipped out of place. She looked hesitant, her brows drawn together in a rare, vulnerable way.

"What’s wrong?"

Her eyes dipped away for a second. Blushing faintly, she mumbled, “The zipper in the back won’t go up. Could you… help me with it?”

…

Ever since Ryuuto and Irisviel returned from their night out, Morgan had been in a foul mood.

The moment they stepped through the front doors—hand in hand, no less—Morgan came to a conclusion. Something had definitely happened between them.

"Tch..." She bit her thumb, tongue clicking in irritation.

She’d disliked this so-called Irisviel from the start. Most people probably saw her as a noble young lady—refined, polite, maybe even a little sweet.

But not Morgan.

Arthur might fall for that. Even that soft-hearted Master might be fooled. But not her.

She didn’t have proof, but she was sure of it.

Irisviel was rotten on the inside.

From her spot on the living room couch, Morgan noticed Irisviel sneaking glances her way.

"Is something the matter, little miss Einzbern?" she asked without looking up from her book.

"Ah… um, not really, hehe… You really like reading, don’t you, Caster?"

"The Grail’s knowledge of the modern world isn’t nearly enough," Morgan replied smoothly, eyes still scanning the page.

"I see… That’s really impressive," Irisviel said, her tone full of admiration.

Morgan finally looked up. "If you have something to say, just say it."

"…!!!"

Irisviel froze for a second. Then, cheeks blooming pink, she spoke in a tiny voice, "Actually… I’m Lord Ryuuto’s woman now. Last night, the two of us…"

"?"

The room went still. Only the fireplace crackled, its flames throwing flickering shadows across the stone walls.

Morgan’s mind raced. Why is she telling me this?

But Irisviel wasn’t scheming. She didn’t mean to provoke. She was just... happy.

Still a child in many ways, still glowing from her night with Ryuuto—she simply wanted to share that joy with someone they both knew. That was all.

But Morgan didn’t know that.

And even if she had… it wouldn’t have made her feel any better.

"I see. Congratulations," Morgan said flatly.

Wait…That was strange. Shouldn’t she have snapped back? Thrown some barbed insult? Why does my chest feel so tight? Her breath caught. Something squeezed in her chest, sharp and sudden. Ryuuto’s face flashed through her mind—his words, his warmth, the way he’d looked at her.

Over and over.

She barely registered that Irisviel was still talking, voice full of joy. Morgan didn’t hear a word of it.

By the time she came back to herself, her forehead was damp with cold sweat.

"Are you alright, Caster?" Irisviel’s brow furrowed in concern. "You don’t look so well."

"I… probably didn’t sleep well last night."

"Really? Hehe… I didn’t sleep well either." Irisviel giggled, fingers brushing her reddened cheeks. "Even though Lord Ryuuto barely slept, he was still so energetic this morning..."

"…"

Morgan stood abruptly.

"I need to go."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and left.

…

"What is it?"

Artoria peeked out from behind the door, visibly flustered. "The zipper... I can’t get it up in the back..."

"...Eh?" Ryuuto blinked, staring at her flushed expression—until she muttered:

"It’s kind of a shock... I thought I’d be about the same size as my sister."

She looked down, lips pressing into a small frown. Something about it—how her confidence wavered over something so trivial—made his chest tighten.

He couldn’t just leave her like that.

"Um… Lancer. Want me to help with it?" he asked, careful with his tone.

There wasn’t a hint of perversion in his voice.

Even if he had a well-earned reputation as a degenerate, after getting emotionally and physically tag-teamed by Irisviel, Maiya, and Aoi in one day, his tank was running on fumes. Libido-wise, he was practically in monk mode.

"Master… you’re offering to zip me up?" she hesitated.

"I mean—if it’s weird, just forget I said anything." He raised his hands—

—but then she quickly said, "But… it’s not every day I get to wear something from Morgan’s wardrobe. It’d be a waste not to. So... yes, please."

The door creaked open a little wider.

"It might be... um, hard on the eyes. Please don’t mind it."

He stepped in—and stopped.

Artoria stood with her back turned, the dress draped loosely over her shoulders. Pale skin glowed under the candlelight. The zipper hung low, exposing the elegant line of her back.

There was nothing indecent about it.

It felt like looking at a marble statue—pure, composed, quietly divine.

"...Master, please don’t stare so much."

"O-Oh. Sorry!"