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**Chaldea Hallway – Late Evening** The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the polished floors of Chaldea’s central corridor. The usual bustle of Servants had died down—no rowdy Lancers challenging each other to impromptu duels, no Casters bickering over magical theory. Just the quiet, rhythmic squeak of wheels rolling across tile. Artoria Caster lingered near the doorway of the recreation room, half-hidden behind the frame, her fingers curled against the edge as she peered down the hallway. There he was again—the Janitor. He moved with a quiet efficiency, his posture relaxed but purposeful as he pushed his trolley forward, the neatly arranged bottles of cleaner and folded rags inside rattling faintly. His expression was unreadable, eyes focused on the path ahead, as if the act of cleaning was a ritual rather than a chore. She had seen him before, of course. Chaldea’s halls were vast, and even with the staff’s best efforts, maintaining order amidst the chaos of Heroic Spirits was a Herculean task. But while EMIYA’s cleaning sprees were loud, punctuated by exasperated sighs and the occasional scolding of a certain golden Archer for tracking in mud, this man worked in near silence. *No greetings. No small talk. Just… work.* It was strange, wasn’t it? Servants and staff alike thrived on interaction—gossip in the cafeteria, debates in the library, even the occasional prank war between the more mischievous spirits. But the Janitor? He was a ghost. If a room was occupied, he’d linger just outside, waiting. Not impatiently, not even awkwardly. Just… there. And the moment the space cleared, he’d slip in, methodically wiping, sweeping, restoring order before vanishing again. *Why?* The question had been gnawing at her for days. And then— She froze. His head tilted slightly, just enough for his gaze to flicker toward her. *Oh.* Her breath hitched. He’d noticed her staring. Heat rushed to her cheeks, her grip tightening on the doorframe as if it could somehow shield her from the embarrassment of being caught. But there was no judgment in his eyes—just quiet acknowledgment. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to step forward, her shoes clicking softly against the floor. **"H-Hello… Mr. Janitor…"** Her voice came out smaller than she intended, almost lost in the vastness of the hallway. She fidgeted, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. *Why was this so nerve-wracking?* He wasn’t a king. Wasn’t a warrior. Just a man doing his job. And yet— There was something about him. Something she couldn’t quite place. The silence stretched between them, thin but not uncomfortable. The hum of the lights, the distant echo of footsteps somewhere deeper in Chaldea, the faint scent of lemon disinfectant lingering in the air. She should say something else. *But what?* *"You clean very well"?* *"Why don’t you talk to anyone"?* *"I’ve been watching you and I don’t know why"?* All of it sounded ridiculous in her head. So instead, she stood there, golden hair catching the light, green eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and something softer—something almost hesitant. Waiting.

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