After bidding farewell to the red-armed archer busily preparing tonight's special feast, Steve didn't immediately go to see Illya, as the archer half-expected. Instead, he returned alone to his private lounge in New Chaldea.
The furniture in the room was sparse. Other than essentials, the only item that stood out was a small notebook lying casually on the table—his strategic plan.
Steve sat back in a high-backed chair, idly drumming his fingers on the tabletop. The dusky evening glow from the simulated window lit half his features, casting him in a blend of light and shadow.
"Impulse is a devil…" he sighed, picking up the notebook and opening to the first page.
Five names were clearly written there—the five as he once labeled his people of destiny.
Yet, after regaining composure and reviewing the list with the astonishing wisdom capable of calculating humanity's future, Steve began to spot fatal flaws in what he first thought perfect.
First up was Stheno.
His gaze lingered on the name, the image of the languid, playful, long-haired purple-haired goddess drifting to mind.
"She's the eldest of the Gorgon sisters, bearing the best Idol, and in the ancient days of the Type-Moon world, she witnessed the earth goddess crushed by the white giant Cephalus…
In terms of status and divinity, she's surely qualified to be a mother."
But—
Steve shook his head, drawing a red X over her name.
"Ultimately, her essence is idol—an existence born from the concept of the perfect older sister."
Her attitude toward men was always about omination, manipulation, or doting like one would on a pet.
"That sort of emotion, delicate though it may be, lacks the grounding of the earth."
"What I want is a mother whose arms I could bury my face in and cry, an older sister who would accept my weaknesses unconditionally—not a sister who'd pat my head and laugh, 'Ara-ara, what a worthless child. Still, he's my little toy, so what can you do?'"
"These are distinctions thinner than a hair, they become uncrossable chasms."
Next name: Illyasviel von Einzbern.
The way she strained to reach a book in the library was adorable, and her magical girl purity and tenacity genuinely moved him.
Yet, after thinking calmly about what would happen if he intervened in her life, a personally painful memory surfaced.
"…In that peaceful parallel world, I tried to raise Caren."
"I gave her affection and guidance, hoping she'd grow into my vision of the perfect woman… But how did that turn out?"
Steve pressed his forehead, letting out a groan.
"In the end, she treated me like—no, worse than—a father… She relied on me like the ultimate other, but warped into obsessive dependence."
"This is exactly like Kesparah from the Gundam set! She too acted the same—clearly seeking a father's love, but projecting it onto Char, and it all twisted into unhealthy obsession."
If he now approached Illya with the halo of savior and mature male appeal, she'd inevitably see him not as a child needing care, but rather a trustworthy uncle or big brother.
If Steve actively tried to engage her maternal instinct, he'd probably be warned off by the magical Ruby staff instantly.
"But I don't want to be anyone's father or brother. I want to be the son!"
Crying out in frustration, Steve scrubbed away Illya's name with a shaking hand. He never wanted to taste the bitterness of being a passive father-figure again.
Next on the list was Wu Zetian.
"Wu Zetian, assassin of the sleepless city…"
Steve gazed at the name, suddenly grave.
He'd always been drawn to the aura of a strict mother, thinking perhaps being dominated by authority could fill his inner void. Yet, reason told him it was playing with fire.
"In all human history, and in the records of the Type-Moon world, this empress committed a heroic feat that could never be erased: she strangled her own child to cement her power."
She might argue it was for grander reasons, but for Steve, this was a minefield among minefields.
"What I'm seeking is maternal love, not the tiger devours its cub. A woman who regrets nothing even after killing her own child…that's way too much for me."
"I may be arrogant, but I am no masochist, nor do I share Nobukatsu's twisted belief that dying by your beloved's hand is bliss. I'm looking for a safe, warm port in a storm, not a powder keg ready to explode."
Fail. Absolutely not.
Next: Chacha.
"Lady Chacha…the Sun God's beloved."
Dressed in dazzling kimono, strong of will yet tragic of fate, this girl was once Steve's most promising dark horse.
She openly doted on her son—her fierce, possibly mad love marked her as the ultimate mother.
But an insurmountable contradiction lay here.
"Her motherly love had a target: Toyotomi Hideyori."
Steve's finger drummed so hard on the table it left a dent.
"Her heart was full only of her child; that was the source of her tragedy, and her existence."
"Even if I tried my best and won her over, I'd always be a substitute, a second son—never the one who filled the place Hideyori held in her heart."
Steve prided himself on his strong possessive nature.
"I don't want to be just another one—I want to be the only one. I want that motherly woman to see only me, hold only me as her sole child, only love, only world."
"To fight for love with a ghost? No, I don't fight for unwinnable prizes."
Crossed out.
At last, only Helena Blavatsky remained.
"Helena…"
Steve looked at the name, a medley of longing, fear, nostalgia, and resistance in his face.
Helena was, by all logic, perfect: a girl's appearance, a grandmother's heart, endless curiosity, loving nature. Truly a Madonna statue sculpted for him.
But—
"That hairstyle… those eyes… and sometimes, that all-seeing aura…"
He couldn't suppress the image of another woman, one with pink cropped hair, piercing glare, and always clad in black, like the Axis of Gundam UC—Haman Karn.
Helena's hair was pale purple, and her disposition much gentler… yet, under certain lighting, when scolding Edison, she gave such déjà vu as to trigger Steve's PTSD.
"No… That would never work."
He pressed his chest, feeling its dull ache.
"If I showed affection and she suddenly made that Haman face or said, 'How vulgar,' I'd die on the spot."
"Or worse, I'd panic so badly I'd end up summoning the Sazabi and fleeing back to space…"
Even knowing rationally that Helena wasn't Haman, Steve's instincts blocked him from taking the final step.
"Fine…"
He closed the now-blank notebook and tossed it deep into his drawer.
Total defeat.
New Chaldea's first attempt at a rational, systematic bride search had failed utterly.
"Seems there's no place for me in this era of Chaldea…"
He stood, walked to the window, and gazed at the steady, artificial aurora outside, sadness welling in his chest.
But as despair threatened to claim him—
—A sudden flash of inspiration hit.
Just because Chaldea didn't have what he sought now, didn't mean it wouldn't in the future.
From his knowledge bank (the collected visions of FGO's coming events), he knew of the ultimate mother yet to emerge.
She was the Mesopotamian goddess of creation, mother of all things, the primordial sea.
Once defeated as a symbol of humanity's evil, she would one day revive in an astonishing new form—
Tiamat (Larva).
After fighting other Beasts and sealing her power to protect humanity, she would become diminutive—140 centimeters, proud yet boundlessly loving, the very embodiment of a Motherly Loli.
"Yes! That's it!"
Steve's eyes lit up, as if he'd found a beacon in the dark.
"Now there's a real mother—in every sense, body and concept alike!"
"And in that loli form, she's the very standard-bearer."
"Most importantly—her love for her children is absolute and unconditional. She would fight the world itself for them."
"And…she doesn't have Haman's hair! She's never killed her own children! She'd never treat me like her father!"
He paced the room, red cape fluttering behind him.
"That's decided… My target isn't any ordinary person now—it's the Star God of the Future!"
"To welcome the coming of the ultimate mother, I'll endure, I'll hide, and live out my days here in Chaldea as 'just a passing, utterly normal, highly-skilled support staff.'"
With this realization, Steve's anxieties and irritations melted away.
"All right. Now I've only got a half hour till dinner. No need to rush. Let's go to the cafeteria—no way am I missing Red A's special dish."
He straightened his collar, slipped on his trademark sunglasses, pushed open the door, and strode briskly out.
Even alone at dinner, as long as there's a Mother in his heart, anywhere could be home.