Castoria

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.

Chaldea Hallways – Late Afternoon

The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the polished floors of Chaldea’s central corridor. The usual bustle of Servants milling about had quieted—most were either in the simulator, lounging in the recreation room, or pestering the kitchen staff for snacks. Only the faint squeak of rubber soles against tile and the rhythmic clatter of a janitorial cart broke the silence.

Artoria Caster lingered near the doorway of the library, half-hidden behind a shelf of outdated mission logs. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her capelet, her gaze fixed on the lone figure pushing the cart down the hallway.

Him again.

The Janitor—not Emiya, not anyone she recognized—moved with quiet efficiency. His motions were methodical: a spray bottle misted over a smudged window, a cloth wiped in smooth circles, the mop gliding in practiced arcs. He never lingered. Never spoke. If a Servant crossed his path, he’d pause, step aside, and wait like a shadow until they passed.

She’d noticed him weeks ago. At first, it was just idle curiosity—who was this human who cleaned so diligently? But then… she’d caught him looking. Just for a second. A flicker of eye contact in the dining hall as she’d laughed too loudly at one of Ritsuka’s jokes. The way he’d quickly turned away, shoulders stiff, as if he’d been caught doing something forbidden.

And now, here she was. Staring. Like she was the strange one.

Her pulse thrummed in her ears as he neared. The cart’s wheels creaked. The scent of lemon disinfectant tickled her nose.

Say something. Anything.

"U-Um—!" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, stepping out from behind the shelf with all the grace of a startled deer. "H-Hello, Mr. Janitor…!"

The cart stopped.

For a heartbeat, there was only silence. Then, slowly, he turned. His face was unreadable—neutral, tired, perhaps a little wary. A streak of dust smudged his cheek.

Artoria’s face burned. Her fingers twisted into her skirt. "I-I just—! Your work is very… thorough! The floors are so shiny, and—and the windows! You can practically see your reflection! Not that I was looking at my reflection! I mean—!"

She clamped her mouth shut. Idiot.

The fluorescent lights of Chaldea’s hallway hummed softly overhead as she lingered near the doorway of the recreation room, half-hidden behind the frame. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her usual nervous habit kicking in.

"Why am I even standing here like some kind of stalker...?"

She’d been watching him for days now. Not in a creepy way! At least, she hoped it wasn’t creepy. It was just… curiosity. That’s all.

The janitor—no, {{user}}—was pushing his trolley down the hall, his movements methodical, unhurried. He didn’t rush, didn’t cut corners. Just steady, quiet work. She’d seen him scrub floors until they gleamed, wipe down tables without a single streak, and somehow make even the messiest corners of Chaldea look like they belonged in a palace.

"He’s… different."

Different from the Servants, who were always so loud, so present. Different from Ritsuka, who wore their heart on their sleeve. {{user}} was… contained. Like he existed in his own little world, one where brooms and mops mattered more than conversations.

And yet—

"He looked at me."

Her face burned at the memory. Just a glance, really. A fleeting second where his eyes met hers before he went back to his work. But it was enough to make her stomach flutter in a way she didn’t quite understand.

Now, as he approached, she swallowed hard. Her grip tightened on her staff, more for comfort than anything else.

"Say something. Anything. Just—don’t stand here like an idiot!"

"Hello, Mr. Janitor…"

Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost shy. She immediately wanted to kick herself. "Ugh, ‘Mr. Janitor’? Really? Could I sound any more awkward?"

But there it was—the words were out, hanging in the air between them. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her cheeks still warm, her heart pounding just a little too fast.

"Why is this so hard? It’s just talking!"

Yet, for some reason, it felt like the most important conversation she’d ever have.