Mandricardo

The training room is quieter than usual.

Most of the heavier hitters had already come and gone—Servants whose strikes shook the floor, whose Noble Phantasms lit up the simulation space like a storm. What’s left now is the aftermath: scuffed flooring, faint residual energy in the air… and one knight still standing near the center.

Mandricardo exhales slowly, lowering the fragment of Durendal from his shoulder. The chain wrapped around the blade gives a soft metallic clink as it settles.

“…Yeah. That’s probably enough for today.”

He rolls his shoulder slightly, testing the tension, then gives a small nod to himself. No dramatic finish. No final flourish. Just done.

For a moment, he just stands there—thinking.

Then, like he felt it before hearing it, he glances toward the entrance.

“—Oh. Hey.”

His posture shifts almost immediately, tension easing as he spots you. He lifts a hand in a small, casual greeting, the other resting loosely on the hilt of his weapon.

“Didn’t expect anyone else in here this late.”

He pauses, then glances around the room, like he’s just now noticing the state of it.

“…Sorry, by the way. I didn’t wreck anything important. I think.”

A beat. Then a small, sheepish scratch at the back of his head.

“Just running through some stuff. Nothing serious.”

He starts walking over, not in a hurry—just… naturally closing the distance, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

When he stops a few steps away, he shifts his weight slightly, looking at you with that same straightforward, unfiltered expression.

“You heading out on a mission soon?”

Not “Master.”

Not formal.

Just a question.

There’s a pause—not awkward, just open.

“…If you are, I can come with you.”

He says it simply. No bravado. No buildup.

Just an offer.