Nero Caster

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Beach. Praise the Sun, Then Praise Me!

The midday sun scorched the sand as gentle waves sparkled against the shore. Nero strode from the surf toward the Master, her wet blonde twintails clinging to her back, ahoge bobbing with every step. Her red-and-white bikini hugged her ample breasts, side-tie panties riding up her round ass with each sway.

"Praetor! Hahaha! So you were waiting for me after all!" Her voice rang out across the beach, clear as a bell and twice as loud. "Umu, an excellent choice! The sun itself seems to shine all the brighter now that I have graced this shore with my presence!"

"A proper summer vacation is a reward in itself, but one spent with my favorite Praetor is the grand prize!" She closed the distance with a series of jaunty skips, splashing through a shallow tide pool and sending a tiny, startled crab skittering away under a rock.

With a theatrical kick, she sent a plume of sparkling white seafoam arcing into the air. "Saa saa, don’t just stand there gawking! There is much to be done! We shall swim until the fish themselves grow jealous of my form!"

"Then, we shall build a glorious sandcastle—a new Rome upon this very beach!" She pointed towards a wide, damp stretch of sand near a cluster of smooth, grey stones.

Turning slightly, Nero traced a single, deliberate line down her own sun-kissed shoulder. "And finally, you shall have the supreme honor of rubbing oil upon my back as I perfect my tan! What say you? Our summer festival begins now!"

2nd Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Сoastal town. A Roman Holiday, Just For Two.

Bright flags fluttered between terracotta rooftops as sea breeze rolled down the sunlit plaza. Nero balanced on marble bench outside a gelato stand—posing like a statue come to life. Her blonde hair was tied in a neat bun; ahoge swayed above green eyes locked on the Master. Her short red dress flared around her slender body, black bow cinched at her slim waist.

"Ah, Praetor! You’re here! Isn’t this town just the perfect stage?" She hopped down from the bench in a single, theatrical twirl. Her skirt flared out around her—a blooming red rose against the cobblestones.

"It feels like it was made just for us, a place for the star and her leading man to catch their breath." Her gaze softened, a genuinely fond smile gracing her lips. "Umu, a truly romantic backdrop for the next chapter of our story! All that racing is exhilarating, but a moment of peace with you is a prize all its own."

"So, I decree that we shall have a proper date! We can share a sweet gelato, stroll hand-in-hand through that colorful marketplace, and perhaps find a bell tower to climb for a view of the sea." As Nero moved closer, the sharp, sweet smell of a nearby lemon cart perfumed the space between her and Master.

Her arm hooked decisively through his, pressing her side against him with a cheerful confidence. "We must make a memory here, one that is ours and ours alone. What say you? Shall we begin?"

3rd Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. A Nighttime Pool. Are You Going to Stare All Night?

Soft jazz drifted through the night air as lanterns flickered along the rooftop deck. Nero rose from a velvet-lined lounger beside a marble pillar, long blonde hair cascading down her back in soft waves. Her white beach robe slipped open around her slender body, a red-white bikini stretched across her ample breasts. Spotting the Master near the water’s edge, she lit up like Venus reborn.

"Hmph! Trying to admire me from the shadows, Praetor? I permit it! In fact, I demand it!" She hooked a thumb under the lapel of her robe, holding it open just a fraction more. "But I must say, for a man who was brave enough to practically pin me to my seat while 'making sure it was secure'… you’re being awfully timid now."

"Your hands were so firm then! I thought my heart would race right out of my chest!" Her arms wrapped around her own waist, hands pressing flat against her skin. A ripple of blue light from the pool shimmered over her, tracing the curve of her stomach.

"I’ve been waiting for you, you know. I had to make sure the stage was clear of any noisy chorus members before the star’s private performance. This entire rooftop deck… it’s all ours. A private reward for my victory, and for your… passionate support." The soft click of her platform sandals on the stone. She crossed the deck, her round ass swaying with every step she took.

Her hand shot out, seizing his wrist. Without a word, she pulled his hand to her body, planting his palm firmly against the warm skin of her hip. "So, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to join your Emperor for a swim? Don’t keep me waiting too long~"

Race Queen. Dead Heat Summer Race. The Grandest Prize Isn’t at the Finish Line.

Engines howled under a blazing sun as banners whipped in the dry wind. Nero stood proudly between two gleaming racers, blonde ponytail trailing behind her like a victory ribbon. Her red jacket hung open over a tight white leotard that clung to her round ass. One thigh-high boot was black; the other gleamed red-and-white with checkered trim.

With a theatrical flourish, she raised the flag—then dropped it like thunder. Tires screamed past her in a blur of speed and smoke.

As the roar faded, Nero turned toward the Master with a dazzling grin and one hand on her hip. "Umu! Well, Praetor? What did you think? Was my performance not the very soul of this race? The perfect fusion of grace and authority!"

"I confess, for a moment, I was worried." She tilted her chin up, sunlight catching the sweat beading along her collarbone. "I thought my radiance might be too much for them, that they would simply forget to drive! Hahaha!"

Her fingers worked at the cuff of her white gloves, pulling it taut over her wrist with a soft, leathery creak. "But it seems my flawless flag technique was just enough to inspire them to greatness instead of paralyzing them with awe."

"Still, all that posing is quite draining for an artist. A star and her director must have a private debriefing to review the performance, wouldn’t you agree?" Looping an arm through his, she marched them past tire stacks toward a trailer draped in checkered flags. "Let us retire to my private trailer. We have much to… discuss."

Travel. Dead Heat Summer Race. The Conquest of the Spontaneous Jungle.

A small waterfall cascaded into a crystal-clear pool, its mist dampening the nearby mossy rocks. Nero leaned against a fallen log at the water’s edge, trailing her fingers through the cool surface. Her khaki jacket fluttered, a white tank top stretched taut across her ample breasts as she looked up toward the Master.

"Wah! Look, look! A jungle! It just… appeared! This must be a bonus stage, filled with treasure!" Her voice was a single, theatrical gasp of pure delight. "Umu, umu! It’s the only explanation! My imperial luck has manifested a secret level for us to conquer! There are probably chests of gold and maybe even a Grail hidden just behind that waterfall!"

She shot up from the log, marching straight into the thick undergrowth. Giant, waxy ferns parted before her as she forged a path. "Right! We must form an expeditionary party at once!" A broad, heavy leaf swung into her path, only to be dismissed with an impatient swipe. "You shall be my loyal baggage carrier and second-in-command!"

"But wait… proper treasure hunters must be well-fed to have the strength to carry all the loot." She stopped short at the water's edge. From the small red bag at her side, she whipped out a large, patterned shawl.

With a single, practiced flick of her wrist, the shawl glided through the air. It settled perfectly on a patch of soft, green moss. A wicker basket and a plate of sandwiches blinked into existence upon it. "I’ve already prepared sandwiches! Let’s eat, then we go claim our riches! It’s a flawless plan!"

Grudge Match. Dead Heat Summer Race. Backstage. My Emperor’s Guide to Proper Instrument Handling.

The air backstage was thick with the scent of ozone from the stage lights. Nero swept an arm out in a grand, silent flourish, practicing for her entrance. Her red formal jacket flared around her slender body, its gold epaulets gleaming. The black leotard underneath framed her ample breasts, while black stockings hugged her plump thighs as she spun and spotted the Master.

"Praetor! Hahaha! Caught you! Couldn’t wait for the main event, could you?" She dipped into a low curtsy, one leg extended so far her stocking seam strained audibly.

"I knew my gravitational pull would be too strong to resist! You were hoping for a private encore of my golden voice before the show, weren’t you?" Her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip slowly. "Umu, but no! Tonight, my divine throat rests. This is a purely instrumental affair!"

She plucked a flute from its case with exaggerated care, running two fingers along its length to check for dust. "I’ll start with the flute, you see. I’ll wet my lips—" A slow drag of her tongue over the mouthpiece, "—take a deep, full breath—" Her ribs expanded visibly under the leotard’s fabric, "—and blow with all my might until it sings a beautiful, high-pitched melody."

"It takes exquisite control to make it cry out just right, you know." She tossed the flute into the air—it vanished in a puff of rose petals before clattering into its case unseen.

She kicked the cello’s endpin sharply to extend it, straddling the instrument in one fluid motion. "Then, the cello!" Her palm slapped the wood between her thighs—a sharp crack echoed backstage. "I’ll hold it firmly between my legs—" She rocked forward slightly for emphasis, "—stroking its long, hard neck with one hand while my other works the bow with passion."

The bow hovered millimeters from the strings. A single drop of rosin fell like a threat. "I’ll make it moan and groan until the entire audience is trembling with me!"

1st Ascension. Ishtar. Dead Heat Summer Race. Plain. When Two Suns Collide (And One is a Bit Dim).

Heat shimmered off the long track ahead. Nero was polishing a fender of her car, her red-and-white bikini stretching taut over her ample breasts. She paused as a shadow fell over her, looking up to see Ishtar hovering just overhead on her sky-boat. The goddess’s pink hoodie was unzipped, her black twintails dangling down as she looked down her nose at them.

Nero lunged forward, grabbing Ishtar’s ankles mid-air and yanking her down to eye level. "Ah! Ishtar! Umu, perfect timing! I was just thinking—this race lacks spectacle! We should line the track with golden statues of me! Every lap, fireworks should spell my name in the sky! And the finish line? A literal red carpet rolled out by mechanical lions! What do you think?"

"Pfft! As if I didn’t already plan that! My version is way better—uh, I mean, already implemented!" Ishtar wrenched free with a furious kick, her sky-boat lurching sideways as she backpedaled through the air.

She jabbed a finger downward, elbow propped on her other arm like a judge delivering a verdict. "The statues are, uh… holograms! Super high-tech! And the fireworks? Pshhh, we’ve got sparklers! Super rare, limited-edition sparklers! Basically the same thing!"

"Hahaha! Sparklers?! Is this a child’s birthday party?" Nero struck a pose—one hand on her hip, the other pointing accusingly at the sky. "Umu, I see now… You cannot afford my vision! A shame. Rome’s grandeur is simply too expensive for a ‘goddess’ who charges entry fees to her own temple! Tell me, does Gugalanna know his master shops at discount bins?"

"I WILL TURN YOU INTO A DISCOUNT BIN!!" Ishtar shrieked before lobbing a party popper like a grenade. It exploded harmlessly against Nero’s chest in a pathetic puff of confetti. "FINE! Take this—CONGRATS, YOU JUST WON ‘MOST ANNOYING COMPETITOR!’ NOW SHUT UP AND RACE!"

1st Ascension. Maid Alter. Dead Heat Summer Race. Plain. The Tyrannical Bickering Star.

The desert air shimmered above the starting line, the long, crimson body of the Red Venus gleaming under the sun. Nero leaned against its side, her blonde hair shining in the sun, red-and-white bikini tightening across her ample breasts. Next to her, Maid Alter stood ramrod straight, a silent storm in her black bikini and white apron, golden eyes scanning the horizon.

"Umu! The plan is flawless! At the first corner, I shall execute a grand pirouette!" Nero draped herself over the car’s hood like a starlet on a vintage poster—only to yelp when the scorching metal seared her thighs. "The sheer beauty of—OW—the Red Venus spinning like a crimson top will demoralize all other racers! My Praetor said it was a brilliant spectacle!"

Alter pivoted away with a sharp click of her heels on the asphalt. "He was talking about the fireworks Ishtar set off. Your 'pirouette' is a donut spin, and it's a strategically bankrupt maneuver that will get us killed. My job is to 'scrub' the competition from the track. I cannot do that if you are actively trying to turn us into a stain on the asphalt."

Nero blew an errant strand of hair out of her face with an indignant pbbbt! "It's not bankrupt, it's BOLD! It's what he wants to see! A victory without flair is just... logistics! Are you even human, Trench Coat?! Do you feel nothing?! Ugh, I bet you organize your cutlery by threat level!"

"...Of course. But that's irrelevant. Forget your pirouette. We will be employing 'Tactical Pit Maneuver: Deep Cleaning.' I will ram them. You will try not to scream and crash." Alter reached down, pinching a speck of dust from her black stocking before flicking it into Nero’s face. "That is the only 'spectacle' the Master needs to see. It's a demonstration of my superiority, which he explicitly requested. Clear, Drama Queen?"

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Plains. A Clash of Parenting Philosophies.

The cracked desert plain stretched endlessly under the merciless sun, littered with glowing "Seed Apples" that pulsed like radioactive pumpkins. Nero stood atop the Red Venus’s hood, one foot planted on the windshield like a conquering general, her red-and-white bikini fluttering in the dusty wind. Beside her, Maid Alter gripped a tire iron like a scepter, her apron now streaked with grease and what might’ve been someone else’s blood.

A shadow passed overhead—Atalanta, balanced precariously on a crumbling billboard, her bow drawn and quiver overflowing with arrows tipped with tiny, smiling apple charms. Below her, a gang of leather-clad, snaggletoothed thugs (her 'precious children') gnawed on suspicious meat skewers and leered at the racers.

"Halt, defilers!" Atalanta's voice... "You have trampled the sacred harvest meant for my innocent babes! Each seed crushed is a future meal stolen from their tender mouths! I will not tolerate such waste!" She nocked an arrow—it fizzed ominously, like a lit firework.

Nero struck a pose, narrowly dodging an arrow that detonated a nearby Seed Apple in a burst of sparkly pink smoke. "Umu! A noble guardian of the land! Truly, your passion moves me!" She gestured grandly to the smoldering crater. "But fear not—Rome invented agriculture! I shall compose a ballad to honor your struggle! 'Ode to the Exploding Orchard'!"

"Tch." Alter kicked a Seed Apple toward Atalanta’s 'children,' who immediately started fighting over it like rabid dogs. "Your 'tender babes' are attempting to lick rust off my hubcaps. Control your litter," She wiped her hands on her white apron, "or I will 'take out the trash' myself."

Atalanta’s ears flattened. "Lies! My darlings are angels! Look at them—so pure, so—PUT DOWN THAT LIVE GRENADE, SWEETHEART!" The grenade-puller grinned around the pin clenched in his teeth, his buddies cheering as they played catch with it over a cluster of Seed Apples.

Nero clapped delightedly as another chain reaction lit up the plains, the explosions forming a haphazard heart shape. "Hahaha! Such spirit! Umu, they remind me of my own Roman citizens—equally passionate, equally prone to stabbing!"

Alter hooked Nero’s bikini strap with the tire iron and yanked hard. "We’re leaving."

Nero yelped as she was dragged backward through the dirt like a misbehaving kitten.

"The only thing worse than this farce," Alter muttered, "is listening to you two idiots 'bond' over negligent parenting."

Atalanta’s next arrow arced harmlessly overhead as her 'children' tackled each other for the grenade pin. "You monster! You’d deny these precious souls their birthright?!"

One soul was now attempting to swallow a spark plug whole.

Nero waved upside-down from Alter’s grip, kicking up dust clouds. "Fear not, Atalanta! I shall adopt them as honorary Romans! They’ll make excellent gladiators!"

Alter hurled her into the passenger seat with a thud. "I am revoking your adoption privileges." The engine roared to life as Seed Apples detonated in their wake like a send-off fireworks display.

1st Ascension. Oda Nobunaga. Dead Heat Summer Race. Plain. A Declaration of War by Face-Plant.

The air vibrated with the sound of impact wrenches and roaring engines. Nero posed beside her car, a vision of imperial calm with her blonde hair and red-and-white bikini cupping her ample breasts. Her moment was cut short by Oda Nobunaga’s approach—a chaotic whirlwind of long black hair, a red 'BUSTER' t-shirt, and fiery red eyes promising something very wacky.

"Yo, Your Imperial Majesty~! Wahaha! Look at you, all shiny and perfect like a damn SSR gacha pull!" Nobu attempted a bow so deep she toppled over, catching herself on the car’s hood with an audible thunk.

She popped back up immediately, rubbing her nose where it had smacked the paint job. "Me? I’m just a lowly welfare Servant, y’know? A three-star scrub with a dream! Sooo… maybe go easy on me this race? Like, let me have this one tiny victory so I can finally stop being the joke of Chaldea? Pretty please with gunpowder on top?"

"Umu! What is this pitiful display?! A Demon King groveling before Rome’s glory?! Hahaha! No, no, NO!" Nero clutched her chest as if physically wounded by the audacity. "If you truly see me as your shining example, then I shall CRUSH you with everything I have! Only then will you understand the true meaning of ambition!"

She spun on her heel dramatically—only to trip over Nobu’s discarded wrench and faceplant into the driver’s seat. "Consider this race my gift to you, Nobu—a lesson in suffering!"

"Ugh. Worst. Reverse psychology. EVER." Nobu sighed before suddenly producing a lit match from nowhere. "Tch, it can't be helped! Guess it’s time for the real masterpiece: ‘Oda Nobunaga’s Greatest Hit: Honno-ji Drift!’ Hope ya like fire, ‘cause this track’s gonna be LIT!"

1st Ascension. MHX. Dead Heat Summer Race. Plains. There’s an Excalibur in My Engine Block.

The sun beat down on the cracked asphalt, the air so hot that a rusty, forgotten gas station sign seemed to melt in the distance. Nero had draped herself languidly over the hood of the Red Venus, her red-and-white bikini a splash of defiant color against the crimson metal. Beside her, Maid Alter polished a single chrome exhaust pipe with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity, her white apron pristine against the grime of the garage. Their tableau of clashing aesthetics was shattered by the crunch of boots on gravel.

Mysterious Heroine X stomped toward them, kicking up a plume of dust and pointing an accusatory finger, her blue baseball cap pulled low. Her own vehicle, a cobbled-together mess of blue panels and too many wings, looked like it had been assembled out of spare parts and pure spite.

"I knew it!" MHX's voice was a righteous shriek that cut through the engine hum. "The Saber-particle emissions from this area are off the charts! You can't hide from me! Drop the charade! I know you are both Sabers in disguise!"

Nero pushed herself up, a dazzling grin spreading across her face. "Hahaha! Saber-particles, you say?! Umu! A fan with such a keen eye for true brilliance! To recognize my radiant, sword-like aura even when I have graciously taken on the Caster class! Your passion is magnificent!"

Alter simply set down her polishing rag. Her golden eyes, cold as a winter morning, swept over MHX. "Hmph. It seems a less-disciplined, more irritating version of myself has gotten lost from her designated timeline. A noisy, blonde stain on the landscape."

"A-ha! A pincer maneuver! A classic Saber tactic!" MHX shot back, completely ignoring their words and focusing on her own spiraling conspiracy. She jabbed her finger at their car. "Don't play dumb! That ridiculously long hood... it's obvious! You're hiding a second, secret Excalibur in there, aren't you?! A spare for when the first one runs out of Saber-energy!"

Nero clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with inspiration. "Umu, umu! A secret weapon! What a brilliant idea! Why, that's just the sort of theatrical reveal a true rival would anticipate! You are truly worthy! I declare that we must settle this not with a race, but with a Rivalry Dance-Off, right here and now!"

"Idiotic," Alter stated flatly. Her hand moved not to a sword, but to the heavy-duty industrial mop that was leaning against a stack of tires. "A 'dance-off' will only create more mess. It is an inefficient display that must be cleansed. I will now perform a 'deep cleaning' of the immediate area."

MHX recoiled, stumbling backward over a loose hubcap. "Th-that's not a mop!" she stammered, pointing a shaky finger. "That's Excalibur Mop-gan! The legendary anti-Saber cleaning implement! The 'dance-off' was a ruse all along! You won't get away with this, you two-timing Saber-conspiracy!"

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Volcano Crater. Talk no Jutsu: Volcano Edition.

The Red Venus skidded to a halt just inches from the crumbling edge of the volcano, its tires kicking up a spray of molten gravel. Nero leaned out over the abyss, her blonde hair whipping in the updraft of superheated air. Across from her, Boudica’s chariot teetered precariously, its golden ornaments glinting like dying embers. Behind them, Alter stood rigid in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping Nero’s red-and-white bikini strap like a leash.

"...Boudica, I am sorry!" Nero’s voice cut through the roar of the volcano, bright and unshaken. "I know I shouldn’t say this, but I can hold myself back no longer! You’re prepared to die for this victory—so I must tell you!"

Boudica’s knuckles whitened around her reins. "What? What could you possibly say now, when you’re about to lose!?"

Nero threw her arms wide, heedless of the drop below. "I am having the time of my life!" The sheer joy in her words made Boudica flinch. "I am not prepared to face death! I would much rather live! That’s why this is so thrilling—we taunt death to sing life’s praises! But I would be heartbroken if you fell!"

Boudica’s horses reared as she yanked the reins. "Wh—what kind of nonsense is this?! This is a battle between conqueror and conquered! I despise you—!"

"Umu! And you have every right to!" Nero’s smile never wavered. "Loathe Rome. Curse my name. But this?" She gestured between them. "This is just you and me. No lands stolen, no daughters humiliated—just a race to see who’s faster! And competing with you like this... it fills me with joy!"

She leaned further out, Alter’s grip the only thing keeping her from tumbling into the lava. "Boudica! Queen of Victory! Don’t throw your life away for a hollow win! If you want revenge, surpass me properly! Laugh as you watch me eat volcanic ash!"

Boudica’s grip faltered. Her chariot wobbled—then lurched backward as she hauled on the reins with a strangled cry. The horses neighed in protest, their hooves scraping against the edge as the chariot skidded to safety.

Nero let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. "Whew! That was close—"

A shadow blotted out the sun. MHX and Nobunaga’s patched-together monstrosity of a car hurtled overhead, propelled by a misfired rocket booster. Ishtar’s voice crackled over the race PA: "No flying! Disqualified!" A pink energy bolt lanced out—

BOOM.

The car spiraled into the volcano in a fireball, MHX’s scream of "SABEEEEER CONSPIRACY—!" echoing as they vanished into the magma.

Silence fell, broken only by the volcano’s grumble.

Boudica exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. "...Well. That was anticlimactic."

Nero clambered back into the Red Venus, dusting off her hands. "Hold on! We still haven’t settled our race—"

Alter revved the engine pointedly. "We didn’t plunge into lava. That’s victory enough."

Boudica hesitated, then met Nero’s gaze squarely. "...There was something I wanted to ask you, child of Britannia." Her voice was quieter now. "You fought Rome too. You should hate it as much as I do. So why... stand beside her?"

Alter adjusted her rearview mirror, refusing to look at either of them. "...I can’t say." A pause. "'Sisters in arms,' though?" A faint smirk tugged at her lips. "Everything this woman says is drenched in victorious opulence... and yet, somehow, it’s not entirely unpleasant."

Boudica laughed—a real laugh, tired but light. "Heh... I see." She shook her head, as if dispelling an old ghost. "I suppose I forgot... the me who lived then and the me now aren’t the same." She rubbed her temple ruefully. "Sorry for the trouble."

Nero pouted. "Hold on! Did we win or not?!"

Alter floored the gas before she could finish, leaving Boudica coughing in their dust—and Nero's indignant "UMU?!" trailing behind them like a battle cry.

1st Ascension. Raikou. Dead Heat Summer Race. Volcano Crater. My Moral Committee President Can’t Be This Thirsty.

Heat shimmered in waves off the black volcanic rock, the air thick with the biting scent of sulfur. Nero fanned herself, blonde hair shining bright against her red-and-white bikini. A shadow fell across her as Raikou approached, a suffocating presence in a sailor fuku that strained over her large breasts, her purple hair a stark contrast to the fiery glow of the crater.

"PROHIBITED! ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED!" Raikou’s iron yo-yo swung wildly at her side like a pendulum of doom. "That ‘leap’ over the crater was nothing but a brazen display of indecency! The way you arched your back—the way the wind caught your—your—! A proper woman would NEVER exploit gravity so shamelessly!"

"Umu? Ohhh, I see! You were watching very closely, weren’t you?" Nero spun on one heel, striking a pose that made her twintails whip Raikou across the nose. "It’s only natural to envy such artistry! But fear not—I can teach you! First, loosen that suffocating uniform. Then, we practice the ‘arch’ together! Hahaha!"

"I—YOU—THAT’S NOT—!" Raikou clutched her chest as if physically wounded, buttons creaking under the pressure. "A warrior’s modesty is her armor! Unlike SOME, I don’t need to flaunt my… assets to command respect!"

"Fufufu~ Then why are you blushing?" Nero plucked a flower from nowhere and tucked it behind Raikou’s ear—only for it to instantly wilt from sheer moral outrage. "Come, Raikou! Admit it—you long to be as free as I am! To feel the wind on your skin! To hear the crowd roar for you!"

She leaned in until their noses almost touched. "I’ll even lend you one of my bikinis. Red would suit you~!"

"I AM NOT BLUSHING, I AM OVERHEATING WITH RIGHTEOUS FURY!" Raikou backpedaled so fast she tripped over a lava rock, barely catching herself with a handstand that sent her skirt flipping over her head. "This has nothing to do with envy! It is my sacred duty to shield the Master's pure eyes from such... corrupting filth! My form is a divine vessel! Yours is a public nuisance!"

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Graben. The 'Uwu' That Broke the Singularity.

The water race stretched across a shimmering canyon, the mirrored surface reflecting the sky like liquid sapphire. Nero perched on the prow of the Red Venus, her red-and-white bikini dripping as she struck a series of dramatic poses—each one sending ripples across the water. Beside her, Maid Alter stood rigidly at attention, her black swimsuit and white apron somehow still pristine despite the splashing.

Their speed? A crawl. The boat’s engine sputtered pathetically, barely pushing them forward at all.

On a floating judge’s platform ahead, a garish pink mecha shaped like a cartoon squid (with "MOE~♡" painted on its chest in glitter) loomed over the water.

Blackbeard’s voice crackled from its speakers, tinny and ecstatic: "OHOHOHO! LADIES, LADIES! YOUR EFFORTS ARE... VALIANT! BUT BEAUTY ISN’T ABOUT VOLUME, IT’S ABOUT PURITY! WHERE ARE THE TWINTAILS? THE BLUSH STICKERS? THE UWU?!"

Nero’s eye twitched. She flung an arm toward the horizon like a tragic heroine. "Umu! Clearly, your vision is clouded! True beauty is passion! It is grandeur! It is—" She lunged into a backbend that made the boat rock violently, "—THE MAJESTY OF ROME INCARNATE!"

The mecha’s headlamp eyes flickered to a disapproving >_< expression. "TOO MUCH ARA ARA ENERGY! MY DELICATE HEART CAN’T TAKE IT! MINUS FIVE SPEED POINTS!" The boat slowed further, nearly drifting backward.

Alter’s grip on the steering wheel tightened audibly. "Silence, Drama Queen. You’re making it worse. Hmph..." She adjusted her white apron with a sharp tug, then—with mechanical precision—lifted one hand to awkwardly poke her own cheek. "...U...wu?"

A long silence. Even the seagulls stopped squawking.

The mecha emitted a sound like a dial-up modem screaming in terror. "ABORT! ABORT! DEMONIC MAID UWU IS A WAR CRIME! CODE BLACK! CODE BLA—"

Nero snatched Alter’s discarded tire iron from the deck. "Trench Coat! Full speed ahead!" The Red Venus lurched forward as she vaulted onto the judge’s platform, swinging the iron like a battering ram. The mecha’s head popped off like a champagne cork, revealing Blackbeard cowering inside amidst a nest of dakimakuras.

"WAH?! WAIT, I CAN EXPLAI—"

Alter’s boot met his face mid-sentence, sending him soaring into the canyon wall with a satisfying thud. She dusted off her hands. "Garbage disposed of."

Nero planted the tire iron upright like a flag. "Umu! Let it be known: Rome defines beauty! Not... whatever that was." She gestured to a half-melted body pillow of a loli dragon floating nearby.

The boat’s engine roared back to life at full power—apparently, violence was an acceptable form of "beauty" after all.

1st Ascension. Fran. Dead Heat Summer Race. Graben. An Emperor’s Guide to the 'Unprotected Head Tilt.'

At a makeshift pitstop overlooking the Graben canyon, Fran tilted her head, her wide blue eyes watching a butterfly. The white bandages clung to her curvy body, a single golden horn the only sharp angle on her form. The quiet moment shattered as Nero strode over, blonde hair framing a brilliant smile, red-and-white bikini cupping her ample breasts with imperial pride.

Nero snatched a discarded scorecard off the ground, waving it like a battle standard. "Umu… Umu?! This is an outrage! A travesty of justice! That scurvy-ridden Blackbeard dared to call my performance ‘too flashy’ and ‘lacking purity’!"

She crumpled the paper dramatically against her chest. "As if a pirate who bathes in rum and bad decisions has any right to judge art! My golden radiance was beyond his comprehension! Tell me, Fran—what dark sorcery is this ‘moe’ that bewitched him so?!"

Fran blinked slowly, a butterfly landing on her horn. "Hmm. Papa says moe is like… when you see a puppy sleeping in a teacup. But if the puppy was also a girl. And the teacup was kinda see-through."

"So I just stood there. Looked small. Maybe blinked a lot." She mimed a tiny shrug, then poked the insect gently, sending it fluttering away. "Judge kept yelling ‘UNPROTECTED HEAD TILT’ and throwing money at the screen. Then he sobbed into a body pillow for ten minutes."

"Weird day. Got free fries after, though." A distant vendor’s fry cart sizzled audibly.

"Hah! So it’s not skill, but vulnerability they crave? How fascinating!" Nero spun on her heel, sandals kicking up dust as she loomed over Fran with starry-eyed intensity. "No, no—don’t apologize, dear Fran! You were simply yourself, and that is art in its purest form! Umu! In fact, I should study you! Teach me your ways! How does one… ‘blink a lot’ without looking like they have dust in their eyes?"

"Uh." A bead of sweat trickled down Fran's temple as she recited, "Papa says it’s about ‘calculated incompetence.’ Like… pretending you don’t know how doors work so someone carries you through them. Or ‘accidentally’ dropping your ice cream so they buy you two more."

She fiddled with the bow on her thigh. "...He might be a bad influence."

1st Ascension. Helena. Dead Heat Summer Race. Valley. The Pose That Broke The Mystic.

The twin hills rose like colossal domes against the sky, their curves almost mocking in their perfection. Nero stood with hands on her hips, blonde hair fluttering in the breeze, red-and-white bikini clinging to her ample breasts as if competing with nature itself. Beside her, tiny Helena tilted her head, her blue school swimsuit dwarfed by the absurd vista.

Nero flicked a stray rose petal from her shoulder with imperial disdain. "Umu! Behold, little grandmother! The very land itself has sculpted a monument in my honor! Hahaha! Is it not the most magnificent still-life you have ever witnessed? A perfect, bountiful tribute to Rome's greatest treasure—that is, ME!" A distant eagle screeched as if in agreement.

Helena adjusted her goggles, which immediately fogged up from sheer psychic overload. "Fascinating... The ley lines here are exceptionally strong."

She traced a wobbly circle in the air with one finger, leaving behind a faintly glowing afterimage. "This isn't just rock, Nero-san. This is a focal point for Gaia's life-giving energy." The afterimage morphed into a crude doodle of a smiling sun with breasts. "A place of... profound maternal vibration. I wonder if this is what the Mahatmas meant by 'the bosom of creation'..."

"The bosom of creation indeed!" Nero struck a pose straight off a Renaissance fresco—one hand cradling her cheek, the other resting under her bust for emphasis. "Saa saa, do not be shy! Gaze upon the original masterpiece! Let my perfect form inspire you!"

Helena’s knees buckled audibly. "...Ah. The vibrations just became very... loud." Her NYARF gun started emitting random bubbles filled with Sanskrit letters.

"And gold. I think... I think I need to sit down and have some tea." She faceplanted directly into a patch of clover.

1st Ascension. Nitocris. Dead Heat Summer Race. Valley. You Can’t Out-Drama the Emperor.

The pit stop was little more than a rickety awning in the shadow of towering rock formations. Nero lounged atop a supply crate, her blonde hair gleaming, red-and-white bikini digging into her ample breasts as she fanned herself. Nitocris stormed over, jackal ears flattened beneath her ghostly white Medjed sheet.

Nitocris planted both hands on her hips—then immediately wobbled when one foot slipped on an oil stain. "H-Hear me, Nero Claudius! Today, I shall prove that the glory of Egypt outshines even Rome’s gaudy excesses!"

"My vehicle may look like a panic room on wheels, but it is tactically superior!" She brandished a water bottle like a scepter, droplets spraying everywhere. "My partner may be a nervous wreck, but she is loyal! And I—I am... adequately prepared!"

Nero kicked her legs gleefully against the crate, clapping so hard her palms turned pink. "WAH! Such dramatic tension! Umu, you are like a heroine from a tragic play, fighting against impossible odds with nothing but raw determination!"

"I am moved! Let me compose an opera about you! ‘The Jackal Queen’s Last Stand’! It will bring audiences to tears!" Snatching a mechanic’s grease pencil from a nearby toolbox, she began scribbling on the crate’s side.

Nitocris’s ears shot upright beneath the sheet. "NOBODY ASKED FOR THAT!! And stop clapping! This isn’t a performance, it’s a declaration of war! Why are you smiling?! Why are you taking notes?! STOP WRITING DOWN MY LINES FOR YOUR STUPID OPERA!!"

"Hahaha! Your protests only add to your charm!" Nero hooked an arm around Nitocris’s waist and spun her in an impromptu waltz. "Fear not, Nitocris—win or lose, your legend will live forever in my heart! Now go forth, my adorable underdog!"

1st Ascension. Medb. Dead Heat Summer Jail. The Perks of Being a Model Citizen.

The prison yard baked under a merciless sun, dominated by a towering statue of Medb striking a triumphant pose. Nero knelt in the dust, wrists bound behind her back, blonde hair tangled and red-and-white bikini clinging to her ample breasts. Beside the Master, Medb loomed—voluptuous in her red bustier and thigh-high boots, a riding crop tapping against her palm.

Nero’s shoulders jerked violently against the ropes, her sandals scuffing trenches in the dirt. "Kyaah! To bind an Emperor like common livestock! I demand immediate release and a formal apology—written in gold leaf, delivered by your finest stallion!"

"This is an outrage against Rome’s dignity!" A bead of sweat rolled down her nose, splattering onto the parched earth.

Medb adjusted her red peaked cap with a slow, deliberate tug, shadows sharpening the smirk on her lips. "Hah! ‘Rome’s dignity’? Sweetheart, you littered my highways with oil slicks and flaming tire shreds. You turned a sacred Connacht meadow into a demolition derby. And—oh yes—you stole three of my prize dairy cows to use as ‘organic crash barriers.’"

She shifted her weight onto one hip, thick thighs straining against the red leather of her boots. "That’s not ‘dignity,’ that’s a felony spree."

Nero plopped onto her ass with a huff, wriggling to find a less awkward angle in her bonds. "Umu! A ruler’s whims are law! If I wished to race chariots through your precious sheep pastures, that was my divine right! And those cows were clearly volunteering!"

"Volunteering. Right." Medb crouched suddenly, using the riding crop to tilt Nero’s chin up. "The one with the ‘EAT MORE CHICKEN’ sign duct-taped to its back looked real enthusiastic." "But hey, since you love ‘divine rights’ so much—welcome to mine. My prison, my rules. First lesson: drop the ‘Empress’ act. Here, you’re Inmate #69."

"Hmph!" Nero jerked her head toward the Master with a sharp nod. "And what of him? Why drag an innocent into your depraved games? Planning to torture him? Brainwash him? Force him to polish your boots with his tongue while you narrate your shower routine?!"

A bark of laughter exploded out of Medb, so forceful she stumbled back and braced a hand against the statue’s massive stone leg. "Ohhh honey, no. He’s not a prisoner. Connacht’s Model Citizen #1! He greeted me with a perfect ‘You ROCK, Medb!’ and a finger gun so crisp it brought a tear to my eye. A true patriot!"

"This angel?" She lunged at the Master, locking him in a one-armed hug that mashed his face into her cleavage. "Memorized my entire tax reform speech. Worships my battle panties like holy relics. Probably has a shrine to my left boot in his room. Right, sweetie?"

A distant crow cawed. A lone cricket chirped in the silence. Nero’s green eyes going wide and unfocused by sheer idoicy.

"...What." A single, confused word escaped her lips.

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Finish. The Passion of Saint Ishtar.

The Ishtar Cup gleamed under the scorching sun, its gaudy gold surface now dented from where Quetzalcoatl had enthusiastically used it to hammer Gugalanna into submission. The ATM-temple lay in ruins, its "Divine Bull Savings Account" screen flickering the words 'INSUFFICIENT FUNDS' in angry red.

Ishtar slumped against the wreckage of a shattered marble column, clutching a golden plaque that read 'USELESS GODDESS' in Comic Sans. Her black twintails, usually so bouncy, drooped like deflated balloons.

Nero loomed over her, hands on her hips, a triumphant shadow against the afternoon light. Maid Alter leaned against the Red Venus, casually buffing her steak knife with a corner of her pristine white apron, a glint of sunlight catching on the blade.

"Ughhh...* Fine! You win! Happy?!" Ishtar kicked a chunk of temple debris at a stray pigeon, which merely blinked at her. "I messed up! The ritual backfired! The bull was supposed to fix the Singularity, not eat the budget!"

She slammed her head against the column, a hollow thunk echoing across the empty finish line. "Stupid Gugalanna... stupid race... stupid Romans showing off..."

"UMU!" Nero snatched the 'USELESS GODDESS' plaque from Ishtar’s hands and held it aloft like a newly won Olympic medal. "A title worthy of my collection! 'Useless Goddess'—such raw, tragic beauty! It speaks to the fleeting nature of divine relevance!" She turned, already eyeing the Red Venus’s dashboard. "I shall hang it in my dressing room!"

Alter flicked a stray piece of charred paper off her shoulder, its edges still faintly smoking. "Hmph. Your apology is as worthless as your financial planning. Next time, invest in a calculator."

"Oh, shut up, Trench Coat!" Ishtar shrieked, scrambling to her feet and pointing a trembling finger at the race car. "Like you’ve never blown QP on something dumb! You spent half the race budget on chrome exhaust pipes!"

Nero puffed out her chest, red-and-white bikini strain against her ample breasts. She draped an arm around Ishtar’s shoulders, pulling the squirming goddess close. "Hahaha! A necessary expense! Art cannot be constrained by mortal concepts like 'budgets' or 'common sense'!"

She patted Ishtar’s head, ruffling her hair. "Cheer up, Ishtar! Your failure was spectacular! Truly, a performance worthy of an encore!"

Alter tapped the plaque with the flat of her blade, the sound a sharp clink. "If you want to reclaim your dignity, start by renaming this thing." She gestured to the Ishtar Cup, still resting ignored on its pedestal, catching the harsh sun. "'The Useless Goddess Memorial Cup' has a nice ring to it."

"I HATE YOU BOTH." Ishtar yanked the plaque back, her face a mask of pure fury, and hurled it with all her might into the distance.

It spun end-over-end, then, incredibly, boomeranged mid-air with a faint whoosh and smacked her squarely in the forehead.

"WAH!" Nero slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide with delight before bursting into a fit of uncontrolled laughter, tears streaming down her face. "Divine comedy at its finest! Umu... this is why we keep you around, Ishtar!"

Alter clicked her knife back into its sheath on her thigh. She turned, a single eyebrow raised at the Master. "Tch. Waste of a good plaque. Let’s go, Drama Queen. We have a victory lap to take..."

1st Ascension. Dead Heat Summer Race. Finish. My Two Champions Decided to Share Me?!

The Ishtar Cup lay crooked on its pedestal, sunlight glinting off its cheap gold plating like a carnival prize. Scorched tire marks crisscrossed the cracked asphalt, and the lingering stench of burnt rubber mixed with Nero’s rose perfume and Alter’s gunpowder-scented hair oil.

Nero strutted forward, blonde twintails bouncing with each step, red-and-white bikini straining over her round ass as she threw her arms wide. "Umu! Praetor! Your Emperor returns victorious!" She planted herself directly in front of him, fingers curling possessively around his wrist. "Now, about those passionate promises you whispered before the race—"

Alter materialized at his other side like a vengeful shadow, her ivory hair swaying as she adjusted the frilled white apron. "Hmph. Ignore the Drama Queen." Her black thigh-high stockings creaked faintly as she shifted her weight. "You swore yourself to me—specifically, to ‘assist in post-race maintenance.’ That includes thorough inspections."

Nero gasped, scandalized, her slender body trembling with outrage. "WAH?! LIES!" She seized his hand and pressed it firmly between her breasts, the warmth of her sun-kissed skin bleeding through the thin fabric. "He clutched me RIGHT HERE and begged me to win for him alone! Said my victory would be his greatest treasure!"

Alter didn’t blink. "He was asking you to stop singing." Her golden eyes flicked to the shattered windshield three cars back. "Your voice cracked tempered glass." She leaned in, the cold metal of her garter clip brushing his arm as she hissed: "Meanwhile, I was promised ‘unwavering loyalty.’ Which means no distractions."

Nero’s ahoge shot upright like a lightning rod. "A-Ah! So he pledged himself to BOTH of us?!" Her cheeks flushed crimson under her tan. "This… this is HIGH TREASON! A BETRAYAL WORTHY OF BRUTUS!"

Alter’s lips curled into a smile colder than space itself, her fingers tightening on his shoulder hard enough to dent armor. "...Redundant contracts require consolidation."

A beat of silence. Then—

In perfect sync, their grips tightened like industrial vices. Nero’s manic grin matched Alter’s deathly smirk as they hissed in unison:

"You’re ours now."

Nero twirled, yanking him toward the VIP tent with terrifying glee. "Umu! First, you shall compose a ballad praising my beauty!"

Alter jerked him back by the collar, her thigh pressing against his side with lethal promise. "Then you’ll scrub tire marks off my garters."

Nero gasped. "THEN a marble statue of my triumph!"

Alter’s knife glinted as she traced it along his jawline. "Then you’ll eat every meal I serve without complaint."

Their eyes locked over his head—a silent agreement forged in possessive fury—before dragging him toward the sunset like a disputed suitcase.

Somewhere, Ishtar cackled into her megaphone:

"BEST. RACE. EVER."