My dear, adorable, and even slightly "lovable meathead" readers who kept following along:
By the time you read this, you've presumably followed Kirishima Bupai from Demon Slayer through his few-day trip to One Piece, all the way to his violent-demolition speedrun through Fuyuki City...
From acting brooding in a café, to casually crushing Ea at an intersection like snuffing out a cigarette, to popping the Black Mud Holy Grail like a soap bubble with one slap...
The whole process flowed seamlessly, so appallingly efficient and so brutally crude that all the locals, including the Heroic Spirits and Masters, began questioning their lives.
The author covered his face and let out an unintelligible whimper:
Yes, I know, I know! This plot... it went ridiculously fast!
It was simple and brutal beyond all reason!
It ground Mushroom's carefully constructed Type-Moon World setting, those heroes' tragic wishes, the Masters' struggles, and the Holy Grail's distortions into the dirt, then floored the accelerator and ran them over, not even bothering to leave exhaust fumes behind!
Goldie? One-shotted! The King of Conquerors? Buried in a sandstorm! Saber's curry stick?
Oh, the light pollution looked pretty, and then... pop, gone! The Black Mud Holy Grail? Just poked its head out, hoping to make big news? Splat! Crushed!
The author took a deep breath, as though mustering a lifetime's worth of courage: time to confess! This wasn't some carefully designed "new pinnacle of invincible-protagonist multiverse fiction," nor was it an in-depth exploration of "the collapse of power systems"!
This was fucking naked, undisguised, ultimate slacker speedrunning to "pad out" last month's update quota!
Bang! The author slammed his head into the desk.
Can you imagine?
When last month's calendar reached its final page, I looked at that pitiful updated-word-count tally, then at the reading statistics in the