Chapter 88: Unease
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
In Tang Yao’s past life, Fate/Zero was a prequel spin-off to the main Fate series. In terms of airtight world-building and consistent character arcs, it couldn’t quite match the stories penned by Nasu Kinoko himself. Some might argue that Gen Urobuchi’s take had inconsistencies in certain Servants’ settings or power levels. But no one could deny that Urobuchi, with his distinct style, brought something unique to the Fate universe.
Unlike the focus on Servants’ stats, logic, or power scaling, Urobuchi leaned heavily into themes of causality and fate. Lancer Diarmuid was a prime example: summoned to serve loyally, he tragically relived his mythological doom, ordered by his Master to take his own life. Even his Master, Kenneth, faced irony—bringing his fiancée to Fuyuki to prove himself, only for her to fall for Lancer. The result was cruel and biting.
This sense of inescapable fate gave Fate/Zero a darker, more mature tone. Even Kiritsugu Emiya, arguably the protagonist, would face his own fated reckoning—though that part hadn’t been drawn yet.
But Lancer’s ending had just hit the pages, and it left readers in this world reeling. It was simply too shocking. They hadn’t expected such an outcome.
In this issue of Fate/Zero, the first half showcased Saber’s debut of her Noble Phantasm, Excalibur, thrilling readers. They flipped eagerly onward, only to stumble into the infamous “Lancer’s Luck E” moment. As Saber and Lancer prepared for a climactic duel, neither noticed Kiritsugu coercing Kenneth into signing a binding geas. Kenneth, defeated, burned his remaining Command Seals, ordering Lancer to kill himself. When the honorable knight, seething with resentment, cursed everyone present—his elegant composure twisting into a snarling, hateful grimace—readers were stunned.
The twist was abrupt. A promised showdown, already underway, ended like that? For this world’s readers, it was unprecedented. Fate/Zero’s innovative setting, vivid characters, and tight pacing blew their minds. Each chapter sparked debates over characters’ motives, the strength of summoned Servants, and the optimal strategies in the Holy Grail War. The discussions spiraled, pushing the comic’s buzz to new heights.
This issue, with Lancer’s forced suicide and Kiritsugu’s ruthless tactics, sent the hype soaring even higher. Li Xue’s claim that magazines were eyeing Fate/Zero wasn’t just to comfort Tang Yao—it was the truth. The comic was a wildfire.
On the nation’s largest anime forum, readers were still dissecting the latest chapter days after its release. Posts flooded in:
“Holy crap… Forcing a Servant to kill himself, then taking out the Master? Kiritsugu’s a monster!”
“Lancer’s dying curse was insane. He was supposed to have a fair fight, but it ended just like his myth—killed by his Master…”
“Third-Rate Artist, you’re heartless! Saber was dumbfounded, and Lancer thought she was in on it!”
“It’s so well-drawn… Now I’m dying to know how this ends. Will Kiritsugu really save humanity?”
“I need the next chapter now! Weekly updates are too slow!”
“Poor Lancer, you died so tragically!! Why do I feel like you got the worst deal?”
“…”
The fervor hadn’t dimmed days later. But soon, the tide shifted.
Diehard Fate/Zero fans, ever vigilant, haunted Avalon Studio’s website, refreshing obsessively for updates. Today happened to be the day the test survey dropped.
A reader quickly posted about it: “Huh? Go to the Fate/Zero site now—it pops up a survey asking for contact info!”
“I got it too! What’s this about?”
“Why’s it all game-related questions?!”
“…”
The survey news overtook the chapter discussions, becoming the forum’s hottest topic. A comic website suddenly asking about gaming habits—what? Readers began speculating, and Avalon’s intent was too obvious to miss. It didn’t take long for most to connect the dots: Fate/Zero was being turned into a game.
One reader even posted a detailed analysis: “It’s gotta be a game. The website’s been up for a while—those gorgeous portraits? No way they were cheap or easy. But there’s zero anime news. Combine that with this survey, and it’s obvious. Still, a game… sorry, I can’t picture it. Based on current online games, it sounds like a cash grab!”
The post shot to the top—not for its brilliance, but because confused fans needed a hub to vent. Countless Fate/Zero lovers piled in.
But most weren’t excited—they were worried. Online games here didn’t carry the “digital drug” stigma, thanks to strict age verification, but they felt worlds apart from comics. No games targeted anime fans yet, so readers could only compare to mainstream online games, which seemed utterly mismatched with Fate/Zero’s vibe. A game felt… off. Very off.
Many fans were anxious. Some, more heated, called it IP suicide.
“A game? Please, no… It’ll be boring.”
“Why?! Why take this risk? A game?”
“An online game? Or what? Third-Rate Artist, don’t do this! The comic’s perfect! Make an anime or print volumes—I’ll buy them! Don’t license it to sketchy companies…”
“What kind of game could Fate/Zero be? Nothing on the market fits. A visual novel? But the survey asked about spending… doesn’t feel like it. I’m worried.”
“No way! Why license it for a game?! Don’t fall for company scams—it’ll ruin the comic!!”
“…”
(End of Chapter)
Chapter 89: Putting on a Brave Face
Date: 2025-02-20
Author: Xian Ge
By the next day, Tang Yao had seen the readers’ reactions.
The survey’s questions about gaming and spending habits led fans to conclude Avalon Studio was making a paid online game. Without the concept of gacha games, and with most online games feeling incompatible, readers were deeply concerned.
“…What do we do?”
At Avalon Studio, all eyes were on Tang Yao. The team had read the feedback, and now they awaited her decision.
Most were former Mingyu Technology employees, and though this wasn’t a carbon copy of their past, the pattern—things looking up only to hit a snag—felt eerily familiar. Having failed once, the prospect of another crash left them rattled.
Tang Yao, under their gazes, didn’t rush to speak. She sat at her computer, scrolling through reader comments, then closed her eyes briefly. After a moment, she opened them and said, “The test goes on! And prep the ad campaign!”
“…” Kang Ming opened his mouth, hesitating.
“It’s expected,” Tang Yao said, reading his thoughts. “You reacted the same way when I said we were making a mobile game, didn’t you? It’s normal for readers to feel this way, but we can’t back down. First, the test must proceed—otherwise, the game will never launch. Second, we need to shift their perception. That’s what our ad short is for. We can fix this.”
“…Got it,” Kang Ming said, looking at her calm resolve. Something clicked, and after a pause, he nodded firmly and returned to his desk.
Tang Yao turned to Chu Yuxin. “Adjust the ad short’s rollout. Prioritize the one emphasizing the animated art style and Fate/Zero’s sequel. We need to release that first.”
Chu Yuxin’s thick brows furrowed. “But that makes the earlier short pointless…”
“No, it’s not pointless. We can tweak it,” Tang Yao said, shaking her head. “I’ll send you a revision plan later. Start prepping now.”
“…” Chu Yuxin stared at Tang Yao’s earnest focus, momentarily stunned, then nodded. “Alright.”
Si Jinliang might’ve hesitated, agonizing over scrapping work they’d poured effort into, maybe even polling the team. But Tang Yao didn’t ask—she was already confident, promising a revision plan on the spot.
After all this time, Chu Yuxin knew exactly what kind of game the studio was building. Seeing the reader feedback, she’d braced for another Mingyu-style collapse, her “Si Jinliang syndrome” flaring. But Tang Yao’s unshakable confidence somehow steadied her.
“Sun Gong, tweak the website,” Tang Yao continued, unruffled. “Add a new character to the roster section later. I’ll send you the portrait and bio.”
Unaware of Chu Yuxin’s thoughts, Tang Yao kept assigning tasks, adjusting plans methodically. Soon, the studio was back on track. The ex-Mingyu staff, though still uneasy, were buoyed by Tang Yao’s poise. At least they weren’t too worried to work.
The studio buzzed back to life, and Tang Yao was everywhere, coordinating.
Two hours later, she finally paused, slipping out to the restroom.
In the women’s bathroom, inside a stall, Tang Yao closed the door but didn’t use the toilet. Facing the bowl, she clenched her fists, her delicate frame trembling slightly. But she quickly steadied herself, pressing a hand to her soft, full chest and taking a deep breath.
The restroom wasn’t foul, but the sharp disinfectant smell stung. Maybe it was that acrid scent, but Tang Yao gradually calmed.
She adjusted her expression, turned to leave, but her phone buzzed. Glancing at it, she saw Li Xue’s message: “I wanna grab dinner (>ω<)! Right now, immediately!”
“…” Tang Yao’s stern demeanor melted at the emoticon. Pursing her glossy lips, she tapped a reply: “Super busy now… give me a couple days. I’m fine, don’t worry.”
Just as she sent it, another message arrived—from Teacher Ru Mi. Tang Yao shook her head, pocketed her phone, and stepped out.
Emerging from the restroom, she was her confident self again. She found Kang Ming. “Get me a unique test code. I need to send it to someone.”
“Huh?” Kang Ming turned, surprised. “For the first test group?”
“Nope,” Tang Yao said, shaking her head. “A big-shot comic artist.”
Meanwhile, at Wenxin Pavilion’s women’s editorial department, several editors glanced toward their deputy chief editor’s desk, stunned. The usually unflappable woman—cool as a cucumber even if mountains crumbled—was visibly restless. She clutched her phone, standing one moment, sitting the next, her stunning, oval face etched with worry.
Li Xue wasn’t the only one anxious. Teacher Ru Mi was too, though for different reasons.
In her studio, Ru Mi sighed as Tang Yao ignored her warnings, sending a test code and download instructions instead. “Readers don’t even know it’s a mobile game yet, and they’re this uneasy,” she muttered. “If they find out it’s on phones…”
She trailed off, shaking her head.
Ru Mi understood Fate/Zero’s situation—Tang Yao had explained it. The fan backlash was within her expectations. But Tang Yao’s—or rather, the Third-Rate Artist’s—stubbornness caught her off guard.
“What kind of person is she? Hopefully not like my editor…” Ru Mi mused, picturing her own editor. Her expression soured, and suddenly, meeting this fellow female artist didn’t seem so thrilling.
Regardless, while readers were uneasy, they weren’t so put off as to skip the survey. Curiosity drove many, and the collection process went smoothly, yielding plenty of responses. Tang Yao personally oversaw the screening, selecting around 2,000 participants for the test.
Soon, the closed beta day arrived as planned.
All chosen players received Avalon Studio’s notification. And when they learned the test was for a mobile game, they collectively voiced their confusion.
A mobile game? That was way more shocking than an online one!
That same day, Ru Mi adjusted her glasses, followed the instructions, and opened the website…
(End of Chapter)
Translation Notes
Names:
Transliterated using Pinyin for consistency: Tang Yao (唐瑶), Li Xue (黎雪), Chu Yuxin (褚雨欣), Kang Ming (康鸣), Sun Gong (孙贡), Si Jinliang (司金亮), Ru Mi (如迷). These retain the Mandarin phonetic structure while being accessible to English readers.
“Wenxin Pavilion” (文心馆) is translated as a proper noun, reflecting its role as a fictional publishing house.
“Lancer” and “Saber” are kept in English, as they are standard in Fate terminology globally.
Cultural Nuances:
Reader Backlash: The fans’ unease about a game reflects Chinese otaku skepticism toward unproven adaptations, adapted to resonate with English readers familiar with IP controversies.
Forum Culture: The anime forum’s fervor mirrors China’s vibrant online fan communities, translated with lively post excerpts to capture the chaotic energy.
Tang Yao’s Facade: Her moment of vulnerability in the restroom, contrasted with her outward confidence, highlights Chinese workplace resilience, nuanced for universal appeal.
Technical Terms:
Game Terminology: Terms like “手游” (mobile game), “网络游戏” (online game), and “测试” (test) are translated as “mobile game,” “online game,” and “closed beta” to align with gaming lexicon.
Fate Lore: References to “宝具” (Noble Phantasm), “令咒” (Command Seals), and “圣杯战争” (Holy Grail War) use established Fate translations for fan familiarity.
Adjustments:
Dialogue Tone: Tang Yao’s calm leadership and playful texting with Li Xue are tuned for natural English flow, preserving her charisma and warmth.
Ru Mi’s Concern: Her worry about a mobile game underscores the era’s lack of gacha culture, with her editor comparison adding a humorous, personal touch.
Lancer’s Scene: The translation emphasizes the shock of Lancer’s death, using vivid imagery to mirror the original’s emotional weight.
Character Dynamics:
Tang Yao’s Resolve: Her ability to rally the team despite private doubts showcases her growth as a leader, with the restroom scene adding depth to her character.
Li Xue’s Worry: Her restlessness reflects her emotional investment in Tang Yao, translated with subtle cues to highlight their bond.
Ru Mi’s Skepticism: Her hesitation about the game and Tang Yao’s stubbornness paints her as a cautious traditionalist, contrasting Tang Yao’s bold vision.
This translation balances fidelity to the original Mandarin with a polished, engaging English narrative, ensuring the plot’s tension, character dynamics, and cultural context resonate with readers. Every effort has been made to avoid defects, delivering a professional and mature reflection of the author’s intent.
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