Crazy Britain:They’re All Raising Me

When Ffwanxi had finished settling everything and stepped out of New Darlington alongside Guinevere, it was already the next morning.

Crossing the city gate, Guinevere couldn't help but exhale deeply. In that moment, it felt like the first time he'd ever cleared the simulation—a sensation of having left one world behind and entered another.

But it was hardly surprising. Even though in the simulations he'd sped through an entire life's worth of experiences in mere hours, the events of this single real day had been so surreal.

Just a day ago, he'd been an ordinary guard in Salisbury. In the span of twenty‑four hours, he'd accidentally fallen in love online with his virtual wife, quit his job and met her in person, been kidnapped by Ffwanxi—then, fast‑forward, he'd "conquered" his kidnapper in the simulation, recruited her to his party, and survived a battlefield‑style confrontation worthy of a demonic arena. Talk about a plot twist fit for a novel.

Before his crossing, Guinevere's life had been so routine that he often mixed up yesterday and the day before. But what had happened in just one day—glancing back, it already seemed like ages ago that he first discovered his "cheat code." He'd even fought his first real, life‑or‑death battle in the waking world—something far more serious than a friendly spar.

And his opponent? Faerie knight Lancelot herself—one of the realm's greatest champions. Facing her as his debut match was like a new recruit storming into the demon‑lord's fortress unarmed. A sure death sentence.

Yet at the moment Ffwanxi was about to be slain, he hadn't thought—his mind had gone blank, and he'd moved before he knew it. When he came to, he was standing before her, chest pierced by a blade. If not for his Chainsaw Noble Phantasm—upgraded to stack Autumn's charge and just barely filled—he'd have died right there. Even now, he shivered at the memory.

Still...

Guinevere lowered his gaze to his palm.

Though he didn't feel a sudden surge in strength, surviving that duel against Lancelot—bolstered by Ffwanxi's support—meant he'd undeniably grown stronger.

But not enough.

He clenched his fist. This small measure of power was still too little. He had to become stronger. He refused to endure that agony and terror of a pierced heart again.

—Yet, on second thought...

He relaxed his hand and pressed it to his chest, pondering.

—Could anyone keep fighting after their heart was pierced? In the simulations, a mortal wound to the heart had always rendered enemies instantly incapacitated by blood loss.

But he was different. After Lancelot's blade struck him, he didn't collapse. Somehow he'd found the strength to pull the ring and transform.

Could it be his Devil constitution granted him enhanced vitality even untransformed?

After a moment's thought and finding no answer, he dropped the matter. No use now—he wasn't about to stab himself to test it. In any case, whether his life had truly increased or not, he'd cling to survival.

Overall, the day's events matched his expectations for a life after crossing—absurd, exhilarating, terrifying. Only one pity remained: he'd spent ages packing his belongings, only for Ffwanxi to knock him out and whisk him away. In the chaos, he hadn't managed to retrieve any luggage—he was left with only what he wore. Or so he thought.

Reaching into his pocket, Guinevere fingered two hard objects. He drew them out and laid them in his palm—but his brow furrowed at the sight.

First was a metal badge stamped with a strange emblem, its chaotic scribbles still repulsive at a glance. Fresh bloodstains—likely from his duel with Lancelot—dappled its surface.

"This thing... well, I'll keep it. Can't hurt."

He wiped the stains away with his sleeve.

Yet—

"Was this badge always so clean?" he wondered. After wiping, he noticed fewer rust flecks and scratches than before. Odd—could it be a blood‑bound sigil? But he'd tried bleeding onto it before, and nothing happened.

Resolving to test, he bit his finger and let drops of blood fall onto the rusted areas—then watched closely.

Nothing.

Guinevere wiped away the blood. No change. Perhaps the trigger wasn't just bleeding, or required some other condition. He rubbed his chin, but found no answers.

—Either I'm imagining it's newer, or the rust simply wore off during the fight... But if that were so, then bleeding on it earlier was pointless.

He stowed the badge with a rueful sigh, then looked at the other object. Stored in a different pocket, it gleamed brightly under the sun, free of blood.

He hesitated, mind racing—when suddenly a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Everything all right? You look lost in thought."

Startled, Guinevere jumped—Artoria had tapped him so quietly he'd barely noticed.

"Hehe, did I scare you? You're awfully jumpy..." she chided lightly, nudgeding his arm.

She'd come simply to give him the reward she'd earned in the last simulation—a forbidden magic trinket forged by accident in her lab, meant for Guinevere but never used. Now that it was in her hands, at least her effort hadn't been in vain.

But before she could speak, she saw what he held.

"Huh? This is—" Artoria covered her mouth in surprise. "Lord Eckert's hairpin... how do you have it?"

She recognized it instantly. In the previous two simulations, that exquisite hairpin—crafted by Eckert—had served as their token of affection. Yet that had come much later in their journey. Why did Guinevere possess it now?

"Ah... this?" He scratched his head, forcing an explanation. "I bought this in Salisbury..."

"But weren't we kidnapped and knocked out as soon as we met, then brought straight to New Darlington?" Artoria frowned. "When did you have time to buy it?"

"Well, of course I bought it before I met you," Guinevere stammered.

"Before you met me?" Artoria's brow creased. "What do you mean? Why would you buy that hairpin before knowing me? Did you have someone else in mind?"

His face twitched.

That was a problem—he couldn't admit he had an emulator. If Artoria realized he had simulation memory, next year's anniversary of his birth might be his last.

—Unknown to him, though, once tested and confirmed he lacked simulation memories, Artoria mentally filed away "Guinevere owns an emulator" as false. So she naturally sought another explanation.

Thinking quickly, Guinevere blurted,

"Where's the logic in assuming I bought it for you? I never said it was for you. Why assume anyone I bought a hairpin is a girl?"

"Eh?" Artoria blinked. "Then what—for yourself?"

He fitted it into his hair and said loftily,

"Of course I can wear it myself."

Artoria froze. Guinevere watched a loading circle spin in her eyes—then freeze. After several seconds she whispered:

"Y‑you..."

She widened her eyes in disbelief.

"You have a cross‑dressing fetish?!"

Such quirks weren't unknown—some high‑born faerie nobles in Camelot favored dressing as the opposite sex, giving rise to the legendary "male adonis" phenomenon. But Guinevere?

"T‑that's not it!" He panicked. "I just thought it was a lovely hairpin, so I bought it!"

"Says you," Artoria said skeptically. "With a guard's salary, that pin cost half a month's pay! You don't spend that much on a random trinket."

Her keen observation and his flustered denial only confirmed her suspicion.

Could it be… after all their pillow talk in the simulations, she'd never noticed this side of him? No wonder she'd always picked outfits perfectly—but experience, perhaps.

Then again… in the third simulation, when he was a blacksmith, didn't Guinevere spend hours alone in the workshop?

"...Enough."

Though startled, Artoria drew a deep breath and quelled her shock. After all, if female knights could wear armor, why couldn't a man wear a hairpin?

And considering that in human‑history she'd once donned men's clothing herself, she could accept it.

"It's all right, Guinevere. You don't need to hide or worry."

She patted his shoulder and sighed.

"It's okay. I understand. I won't despise you."

"If you like, you may wear whatever you wish... I don't mind even dressing as a man to match you."

Yes—this was the epitome of grace, maturity, and tolerance.

Could Ffwanxi do the same?

Artoria beamed at her own words.

"You—" Guinevere wanted to shout. "What do you understand? I don't get it."

"Please, stop that runaway imagination of yours!" Guinevere grabbed her arm.

"I'm not into cross‑dressing!"

"Mm, I understand," Artoria nodded gently.

"Even if you don't want to admit it, that's fine—I'll just pretend I never knew."

For a moment, Guinevere thought admitting his emulator might not be the worst thing.

But he didn't say it. He merely watched Artoria's kind smile—and thought, Somehow, I still can't figure her out.