Alchemy Principles of Type-Moon World

"Really? I haven't seen such a straightforward magician in a long time." Aozaki Touko was stunned for a moment, with surprise and satisfaction in her eyes. "If that's the case, then I can go prepare the materials needed for the adjustment now."

"Please feel free to tell me what materials you need. I will try my best to prepare them for you." The black-haired girl waved her arms. It was obvious that she wanted to make an energetic movement, but she looked quite funny in her corpse-like shape.

"Big client!" Aozaki Touko was now certain of the black-haired girl's identity. Although she made a lot of money on a daily basis, the materials for the dolls and the gems that served as rune media were also quite expensive. Coupled with her habitual lavish spending, although she couldn't be said to be poor, she didn't have much money in her pocket.

"-It seems that the offer is still too low." She thought, and subconsciously took out the lighter to light the cigarette in her mouth, but now she silently put the lighter back into her pocket.

"I'll go prepare the list of materials first." Aozaki Touko stood up and put his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodbye." The black-haired girl watched her departing figure, her voice low and hoarse, with a hint of fatigue. Her gaze turned again to the doll-like blonde girl lying on the bed, and she gently stroked her hand.

She lowered her head, her stiff and lifeless face looking particularly weak in the soft morning light. The sunlight shone through the gaps in the curtains onto her face, casting a soft halo on her pale skin, and a forced smile played at the corners of her mouth.

"It will be fine, my Miss Sleeping Beauty." Her voice was soft and low, like a whisper in the night. "After all, we agreed that you are the sweet fruit that belongs only to me."

The black-haired girl's fingertips gently slid across the ends of her hair. Although it was dry and fragile, she always felt that it was still delicate and soft to the touch.

"I haven't eaten your appleseed yet," she said with a gentle smile.

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"Don't worry about the new songs. Sing these songs next time you go on stage." A man in a suit sat behind a large desk filled with various documents and music equipment. He handed a stack of papers to the thin young man in front of him who was wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

The office was filled with the rich aroma of coffee. The walls were covered with gold records and autographed photos of famous artists. Outside, neon lights flickered, the bustle of the city forming a stark contrast to the tranquility of the place. A thin young man stood by the window, sunlight filtering through the glass onto his slightly pale face. He took the stack of papers, a complex expression on his face.

"After a couple of days, the company will arrange a song for you. You can just practice and then go on stage without any problems." The man in the suit continued, his voice steady and confident, as if he had already foreseen the band's success.

"But this..." the young man muttered, his voice filled with resentment. His fingers kept rubbing against the stack of papers, his eyes wandering.

"Trust me, you will be famous." The man in the suit smiled, revealing a row of neat white teeth. "I promise to make you famous all over Texas within a year." His tone was full of temptation.

"But..." The young man frowned, flipping through the documents the man in the suit had handed him. Every page contained a meticulously arranged piece of music, none of which he had composed himself. "You promised us that you would produce an album of our music..."

"Of course, of course. Don't worry, I won't break the contract." The man in the suit smiled, stood up from his desk, and patted the young man on the shoulder. "But that will be after you become famous. Your music is too hard and the emotional expression is too exaggerated. Today's audiences won't like it."

The office light shone on the man in the suit, making his expression even more determined and unwavering. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the bustling city. He continued, "Once you've gained popularity, we'll organize your music and make it into an album." He turned, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "Then write, 'A great tribute to Cobain,'" How about that? I know you love Cobain."

“But didn’t you say at the time that it was because of our performance…” The young man tried to raise a question, but was interrupted by the man in the suit before he could finish his words.

"Yes, yes," the suited man waved his hand, his smile light and playful. "I really like your spirit. You seem rebellious, but you know exactly who you're rebelling against. That's why I chose you right away." He stood behind his desk. Sunlight filtered through the slits in the curtains, casting a warm glow on the carpet. There was still a few crumbs of coffee on the table. "Most guys your age are just rebelling for the sake of rebellion. They don't understand why they're doing it. You're a bunch of middle-class idiots, imitating so-called rebellion superficially, but you think it's cool, just like Cobain's pig-faced fans back then."

A sneer flashed in the suit's eyes, and the thin young man's cheeks flushed slightly, clearly dissatisfied with such a derogatory attitude. He rubbed his fingertips on the paper, trying to calm himself down.

"Listen," the man in the suit continued, "you are smart enough, unlike those idiots, so you should be able to understand-"

"—Kurt Cobain has been dead for five years." The man in the suit glanced out the window, as if reminiscing about the past. "Yes, he was able to use his name to interpret an entire musical genre, and he was able to use his name to lead rock and roll in the United States and even the world, but his name was all he had."

He walked to the window and looked out at the busy street. The constant flow of traffic, the honking of horns and the roar of engines were particularly noisy on this afternoon.

"He certainly changed the path of American music's popularity, but it only took a slight detour. American rock music stopped at that idol, who was regarded as a saint by his fans, and then bypassed him to continue its pace of popularity and mass adoption. Grunge and 'Nevermind' were just short-lived miracles."

The thin young man's eyes became more determined, and his fists clenched slightly, obviously dissatisfied with the suit man's opinion.

"In the 1980s," the man in the suit continued, seemingly oblivious to the young man's dissatisfaction. "Rock music began to cater to the tastes of the masses, with glam metal and pop rock becoming mainstream. And now, five years after Kurt Cobain's death, pop rock has regained its mainstream status."

"Cobain is not Jimi," he turned around, his deep eyes staring into the young man's eyes quietly, "He can't have such a profound influence on rock as Jimi, and you are not Cobain. You can't drive the pop rock that has returned to the right track back out of the mainstream position now—"

"—The hippie spirit is long dead. Cobain in the '90s was the hippie's final rock swan song." The man in the suit said coldly and ruthlessly, "Even when those pig-like fans cheered for 'Smells Like Teen Spirit', Cobain was already dead. Pop music has returned to his throne, and there's nothing you can do about it now."

The thin young man's cheeks flushed red, and a strong desire to refute surged in his heart, but the next sentence of the man in the suit interrupted his thoughts.

"Listen," the man in the suit said, his tone becoming more threatening. "The 1st century will be dominated by pop music. If you want your music to be heard by more people, you must create more music. "Wait a minute, Wu Shan, you are a Sannin."

"Seize this last chance, before the millennium arrives, before the next wave arrives, before the king of popularity completely dominates the mainstream—"

"—Run, run desperately, don't think too much, I'm your agent, we're on the same side, I'll do my best to help you."

"Trust my instincts. Future fans will chew over and over again on the same assembly-line songs with the same chord progression, cheering on the carefully packaged personas created by their management companies." A sly glance flickered in his eyes. "The rock music you love will no longer be accepted by the public. It might even become fragmented."

"Their elements will be torn apart and forcibly pieced together in a pop song and called rock, even though the whole song is not understood by the singer at all and does not carry any of the musician's emotions."

"But they will become mainstream. The unknown don't deserve interpretation, and the right to interpret rock will eventually fall into their pockets."

He approached the young man and whispered, "You don't want the world to become like this, right? Run, run before the millennium arrives, gather as many fans as possible, and increase your fame as much as possible—"

"—Then, after the millennium, go fight against the vision I describe and become the next Cobain." The man in the suit's voice was full of incitement. "Trust my intuition. I can assure you that the world I describe will come true after the millennium. And you, go ahead and run."

"Yes, by then, whether you're crushed by the tide of time, or the tide stops before you like Cobain did, it won't concern me." The man in the suit suddenly changed his tone, becoming cold and direct, precisely controlling the young man's emotions. "What I want is simple. Before you become famous, I'll make plans for you, and after you become famous, I'll squeeze money out of you."

"I just need you to become famous. I'll be your father. After you become famous, I won't interfere with any of your choices except for the share of the profits."

"You're smart, all of you. You know what you're rebelling against, so you should understand what I'm saying." The man in the suit made a gesture to end the conversation. "Now, turn around, leave here, and hand the plan to your companions."

"Take your first step, young man, and then run, run to the front of the tide of the times before it arrives." His voice was low and full of urging, "Before the millennium arrives, you will be popular all over Texas, and then all over North America—"

"—Now, run."

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There is about one chapter of introduction, and then we can enter the servant summoning part. In fact, I still refer to the structure of FZ novels (big shush)

Although I have a rough outline, I still feel a little nervous and stuck when developing the introduction. Sigh.

The above is a new book by a new author. Please vote and give feedback. Thank you!

————————The most beautiful thing is that it is a dream.

Recommend this book: "Capturing Aura at the Beginning"

A fanfiction of the buried Fulilian, with the original heroine. If you are interested, you can go and have a look.

Volume 2: The Kyoto Holy Grail War Without a Nagging Message: . Prelude

"Dear Marie Lefèvre, hello!" The girl spread out her manuscript paper at her desk, pen in hand, and gently wrote the opening greeting. Her desk was covered with several thick books and magazines, and on the wall hung several of her hand-drawn landscape sketches. Outside, the early autumn sun streamed through the old wooden windows, softly illuminating every corner of the room and adding a touch of warmth. A pot of green radish grew quietly on the corner of the table, its leaves glistening in the sunlight, a vibrant look.

The girl had long, dark hair, tied loosely in a ponytail. Her face was fair, delicate, and scholarly. Her eyes, though obscured by a pair of thin-framed glasses, seemed even more lively. She wore a simple white shirt and dark blue jeans, a rather unassuming outfit.

She smiled as she wrote the letter, as if she could already see the surprise of her pen pal in France when he received the letter.

"I'm going to Japan soon to participate in something called the 'Holy Grail War,'" she wrote, then suddenly stopped and scratched her head in annoyance. She stood up and walked to the bookshelf, pulling out a thick French dictionary from among the rows of books. The pages were a little yellowed from constant use, but still neat. She flipped through the dictionary, searching for the right word.

"I may not be able to continue writing to you in the future," she continued writing on the manuscript paper. "I tried to register with the email address you mentioned last time. Although it is indeed very convenient, the phone bill is very expensive, so I'll continue to write to you this time."

She bit the pen cap, tilted her head, and pondered for a moment at her desk before writing, "And I also prefer the traces left by ink on paper. There's an idiom in China called 'seeing words is like seeing the person', which probably captures this feeling..."

A dull knock suddenly sounded, especially distinct in the silence of the room. She put down her pen, stood up, and went to open the door. Standing there was a middle-aged man, perhaps in his fifties or sixties, wearing a worn gray jacket. He looked at her with a broad smile. He was carrying an old-fashioned suitcase that seemed rather heavy.

"Ruoyu, are you writing to your pen pal again?" the man said softly, reaching out to touch the girl's hair. "That's good. Young people should communicate more with the outside world."

"Teacher Zhang, why are you here?" the girl asked in confusion. "I thought we weren't leaving until next week, were we?"

"Didn't you complain that you weren't good at practical combat?" Teacher Zhang smiled mysteriously and picked up the suitcase from behind him. "So I prepared a little extra for you."

The suitcase gleamed in the sunlight, looking like an ordinary box. Teacher Zhang patted her shoulder and said earnestly, "This is just a small activity to broaden your horizons. I won't force you to win. These things are just to ensure you don't get too embarrassed if you encounter danger."

"What's inside?" The girl looked at the suitcase curiously, her mind full of doubts.

"Don't rush to open it now," Teacher Zhang said with a smile, "you can study it carefully later."

"Thank you, teacher. I will win this event!" the girl replied. Then, changing her tone, she asked the male teacher with a bit of urgency, "Teacher, you said before that my participation in this event will be considered an internship, right?"

"Well, the Spiral Museum is responsible for arranging your internship when you are about to graduate from a regular university," Teacher Zhang said. "The Spiral Museum will issue you an internship certificate."

"Well...Teacher, look, with this schedule, I still have an elective course to complete..."

"You'll get both credits and GPA, but don't forget to write a regular journal entry when you get there and submit it when you return." Teacher Zhang patted the girl's head again and instructed, "This event is just a vacation. Just treat it as a chance to see the world. Don't dwell on winning or losing. Competition comes first, friendship comes second. Remember this, don't take it too seriously."

"Take your time writing the letter. I'm leaving now."

"Great! I knew you were the best!" the girl cheered excitedly, her eyes sparkling. She hugged the old man tightly, picked up her suitcase, and practically skipped back to her desk. Teacher Zhang smiled, raised her hand, gently closed the door, and then turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the hallway.

At the end of the corridor, a dim light reflected on the wall, emitting a faint glow. A gaunt old man in a black Mao suit, carrying an enamel pot, his face wrinkled like the bark of the old tree outside the window. His worn cloth shoes creaked softly with every step. Although the corridor was quite dim, the old man's eyes were unusually sharp in the low light. He spotted Teacher Zhang emerging from the student dormitory.

"Xiao Zhang," the old man hurried forward, his face full of confusion and anger, his voice thick with dialect, "Why did you let Ruoyu go to Japan to participate in an event that has no reputation at all?"

Teacher Zhang frowned slightly, his eyes wide open, and retorted, "The Mountain Court asked me to send someone to participate in this ceremony, and they said it would be best to find a young person."

"I was thinking, isn't Ruoyu interested in these foreign things? I see people from all over the place at this event, so I thought it would be good to let her see the world."

"Are you blind?" the withered old man's face darkened even more, his tone tinged with anger. "The information said someone died before Qiqi. Didn't you see that?"

"I've almost given her all my little fortune!" Teacher Zhang curled his lips. "The Mountain Court also said they'll be watching. Unless Kyoto blows up, she won't be in any danger. It's not dangerous at all. At most, she'll suffer a little."

"Fuck that immortal boss! How many of those old bastards in the Mountain Court are trustworthy?" The skinny old man was so angry that his face turned red, and the enamel pot in his hand trembled slightly. "Book me a plane ticket, I want to go too!"

"Why don't you go!" Teacher Zhang immediately became furious and slapped the old man on the shoulder. "If you go, will you still be considered a little girl participating in the event? If you don't just destroy the entire event and grab the prizes, what's the point of participating in it?"

"Stop using your age as an excuse to bully me. If you keep causing trouble, I'll send you to some remote place in Southeast Asia," Teacher Zhang said. "There's a riot going on over there, and I'm shorthanded."

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"Tokyo's sky has never belonged to the people of Tokyo." A young man in a black coat said in an empty classroom at the University of Tokyo. "The Yokota airspace is like a shadow over Tokyo. We have countless reasons to claim that it does not affect our lives, but what is undeniable is that—"

"--Its actual control does not belong to Japan, but to the United States."

"The Plaza Accord has a stranglehold on the Japanese economy. They're determined to maintain the dollar's value despite knowing it's depreciating," the young man said. "The foolish Liberal Democratic Party has monopolized the prime ministership, yet they don't have an effective monetary policy to control the overheating economy."

"If we don't do something, we're going to have no future."

"I'll give you an eight for that grand narrative speech at the beginning. It's just a shame that the thought of a magic ritual following it makes me want to laugh," the young man next to him scoffed. "You're not planning on relying on this Holy Grail War to make a wish, are you? Gambling your future on something so illusory, Suzuki? I never thought you were such an idiot. By the way, your total score is 100."

"Huh? I'm not that stupid."

"Listen, I've looked into this so-called Holy Grail War," Suzuki said. "It was originally a secret ritual in Fuyuki City. It involved seven magicians summoning historical figures to fight. They were called Servants, or something like that. I think that's it."

"'Should that be the case?' Ha, what are you going to do? Are you going to use your servants?" the young man asked.

"Yes, Servants are basically beings far superior to ordinary magicians, and Kyoto is the center of Japan's mysteries." Suzuki explained, "We must make full preparations for the future."

"What do you mean?"

"Use the Servants to find a way to seize the divine body enshrined by the Ashikaga family as our bargaining chip and trump card." Suzuki looked at the young man in front of him who was trying hard to suppress his laughter, "What are you laughing at? I'm serious."

"So your plan is to summon a Servant, then rush into their house and snatch away the divine body they enshrine? Aren't you a little... naive?"

"So I contacted another contestant, a Kyoto University student from the Fujiwara family, a native Kyoto family," Suzuki explained. "They planned to use this opportunity to undermine the Abe family's position, and in the process, they would need to merge with the other two families."

"Are you crazy?" The young man found the words more and more ridiculous. "Are you serious about cooperating with those idiots?"

"I'm not going to cooperate completely..."

"So, you're going to do this right under their noses? Are you familiar with Kyoto? What gave you the courage? Is it that Servant you've never seen before?"

"install……"

"I told you not to mention my last name." The young man smiled and pulled Suzuki's collar. "Are you really too naive?"

"What bargaining chips do you have on the table? A Servant? And then what? You're going to reveal your plans to one of them? What are you doing?" The young man's questions bombarded Suzuki like a barrage of questions, but he received no response. "Did you lose your mind arguing with those idiots a few days ago and put your chips on these people?"

"Do you think they will support you? No, they are just nostalgic for the empire that should have died long ago. Do you think they share the same ideas as you? No, they are just admiring the strong. Their eyes have never been on the future. They have always been immersed in the wrong era of the past—"

"--It seems they'll support you because the current Japan doesn't meet their expectations, understand? What they're looking for is the past, not the future. You can't tell the difference, yet you just barge in and fawn over to them. You're ridiculous."

"But we truly lacked the power to resist these things. The nascent left-wing movement was stifled by the United States," Suzuki argued. "The backbone of literature was also broken. We haven't been able to produce many works with grand narratives, and we don't even have a mass base..."

"The foundation needs to be developed, it can't be created by just shouting a few slogans. What's the point of you getting the divine body? Are you going to stir up some kind of religion for me?"

"Then how long do we have to wait?!" Suzuki's suppressed emotions burst out, "The millennium is approaching, and it seems that a brand new century is about to begin--"

"—but all we can see is a bleak future. According to you, we can only wait like this, and will you be satisfied when we have nothing left?"

"Have you forgotten all about Japan's problems just because you studied abroad for a few years?" Suzuki yelled at the young man. "What? Are you trying to become Japan's Otto Braun?"

"Ever since the financial crisis two years ago, Japan has been mired in chronic deflation. A society with low desires won't resist until it's pushed to the last possible moment," the young man explained coldly. "It's you who can't see the situation clearly, right?"

"Just wait. The decline of the dollar's status is inevitable in the future. When that happens, the United States, unable to safeguard its own status, will naturally hold the knife to our necks. This is the limitation of capitalism—"

"—When our economic arteries are once again slashed open, Japan, having drunk its blood, will naturally present opportunities to support our development. Now is not the right time at all," the young man said to Suzuki, word by word. "Don't treat our efforts as if they were just playing house. When we encounter a little trouble, you think we're at our wit's end. Do you truly understand past precedents around the world? Do you think they were all miracles born out of disregard for objective laws?"

"Human agency isn't a fucking universal wishing machine, you idiot."

"The evil roots of the Japanese nation are still deeply buried in your heart. What's the difference between you and those beasts who shouted about gambling on the fate of the nation decades ago?" The young man sneered. "Or are you and I destined to repeat the same mistakes, forgetting the blood on our hands and the blood that flowed from our bodies, forgetting the pain we caused and suffered in the past, and continuing to immerse ourselves in this spiral of history?"

"Oh, I forgot. You and I aren't from the same generation, so naturally, you can't feel these things," the young man sneered. "As long as you deliberately ignore the past, remember history one-sidedly, or even distort it, and use the pain of history to fuel current fanaticism, you'll naturally attract a large number of fools who don't know pain."

"The pain of the past has been washed away by time. Unable to face history correctly, you and I will eventually be plunged into the next round of frenzy, like an inescapable Möbius strip. Fanaticism can mask pain and paralyze reality," the young man said. "And for you, fanaticism can make you ignore the laws of development and make you lose your mind."

"Remember this: without a mass base, you and I can't represent anyone. You and I are unworthy of representing anyone. If you attempt to ignore the laws of development and fight against the strong with an egg, I look forward to overturning your case in the media decades from now."

"But if we don't do anything, who will know about this? If my efforts can help more people..."

"You want to become a shooting star, to exchange your blood for awakening," the young man sneered. "The elders saw the situation clearly and understood that the darkness before dawn needs a shooting star to pierce it. But you are different. You can't see clearly. You will become the last wail before night falls. I won't stop you, because your actions may indeed awaken some people—"

"—But to be honest, you'll just be a firefly in the dark night, a fleeting flash. I still hope you can cherish your life. Even if it means sacrificing yourself, you should make the sacrifice when it's time to light yourself up."

"...What should we do now?" Suzuki asked after a long silence.

"How much information did you reveal to that person in Kyoto? And how much information did they reveal to you?"