#daybitgudako

The rest of Chaldea doesn’t understand why Daybit defers to her leadership. Ritsuka herself is suspicious of his sincerity. But as the singularities unfold and the Lostbelt threat begins to stir once more, an unshakable bond forms—not through fate, but through day-by-day presence. Through belief. Through proximity. Through shared experience.

In trying to surpass her, Daybit begins to understand her. And through her, he begins to understand himself again.

The Pygmalion Effect

The heart of the story lies in the psychological concept known as the Pygmalion effect: when someone believes in you so completely, you begin to rise to meet their expectations. Ritsuka, who starts the story uncertain and insecure, begins to grow into her role because Daybit believes in her without question. That belief changes her. And, over time, it begins to change him too.

This story isn’t just about one person sculpting another. It's about two people who become better versions of themselves through mutual belief. Ritsuka sees through Daybit’s inhuman detachment (in typical Riri's fashion. What's a Cloudcuckoolander Daybit compared to literal BEAST Draco?). She recognizes his pain and loneliness, which even Daybit himself fails to vocalize. In doing so, she returns his gaze with her own belief—that he isn’t beyond saving, that he’s still human underneath.

The Shape of a Life: Daybit, Riri, and the Slow Return to Humanity

One of the most grounding elements of Pygmalion is the day-to-day life that quietly unfolds between Daybit, Ritsuka, and Mash. After the decision is made to support Riri, Daybit quite literally never leaves her side. He insists it’s necessary to observe her constantly in order to surpass her—he must be there at every moment to record her strengths, catalog her missteps, and understand her entirely.

And so, Daybit eats when Riri eats. Trains when she trains. Reads mission reports at her side. They review battle data together, share coffee across the table, and discuss Servant summoning strategies long into the night. Eventually, sleeping arrangements become shared, too—not from romantic initiative, but because Riri falls asleep at her desk too often and Daybit refuses to leave her unattended. In his words: “It is vital to track the frequency and condition of her REM cycles.”

Mash, ever loyal, is often close by. In many ways, this strange trio becomes a unit—Chaldea’s emotional core. Riri becomes something of a pseudo big sister to both of them, despite Daybit technically being her senpai. Where he brings raw analytical ability and bizarre alien foresight, she brings warmth and trust and an instinctive grasp of people.

What starts as Daybit’s obsessive campaign to study and “surpass” her becomes something else entirely. Through Riri’s routines—meals, laughter, arguments, fatigue, quiet joy—he begins to feel again. He starts noticing things: how good coffee tastes after a long mission. How soothing Riri’s voice is when she’s humming without realizing it. How Mash smiles a little more easily when the three of them are together.

Without meaning to, Daybit begins to experience what he lost: a sense of family. And while he would never use that word himself, it takes root in the quiet spaces between battles—in the walk to the cafeteria, the silence before sleep, the shared glance across a crowded control room. For someone so thoroughly estranged from humanity, routine becomes a lifeline. Intimacy, even platonic, becomes a catalyst.

Riri doesn’t notice at first. She simply enjoys the company and tries to take care of both of them. But slowly, through a hundred unnoticed moments, she becomes the center of a new constellation—a small, strange, but fiercely devoted family. In essence, Riri becomes a lens through which Daybit can perceive his own humanity again.

The Alien Within: Daybit and the Question of Intimacy

There’s a specific narrative I want to explore through Daybit, inspired in part by Phoenix by Osamu Tezuka (and its later reinterpretation in Saya no Uta) and my own interpretation of Daybit as a character (which I probably should write out one of these days). It’s the idea of a person whose perception of humanity has been fundamentally altered—someone who no longer sees other people as people. Someone for whom connection becomes foreign and unsettling.

Daybit, in this story, doesn’t simply struggle with love or intimacy; he doesn’t even process it in the same way anymore. He’s so alienated from humanity—emotionally, psychologically, even spiritually—that human urges and instincts don’t quite register as real to him. When he looks at others, he doesn’t see potential partners. He sees something akin to how we might view another species.

It’s not that he can’t form bonds. It’s that he doesn’t expect to or even thinks he needs to. But then, into that distorted landscape, walks Riri.

He doesn’t initially see her as a woman or even a person, but as an anomaly. A perplexing variable that he cannot simulate, cannot solve, like how she even bested him in the canon Lostbelt 7. Slowly, through observation and prolonged proximity, she becomes the exception to his estrangement. Not through any deliberate seduction, but through sheer presence—through being human in a way he had forgotten was possible.

In intimate moments, he doesn’t perceive her body as a biological object. Instead, he processes it through alien metaphor: as glass, as sand, as something granular and collapsing yet beautiful in its impermanence. His approach to sexuality is less instinctual and more cognitive—curious, reverent, disoriented. And it’s through this lens that he begins to re-approach what it means to be human at all.

Ensemble Cast and Ripple Effects

In this timeline, the Crypters begin to survive. Daybit’s interference changes the game. The grand sacrificial ritual behind the Lostbelts starts to unravel. More of Team A wakes up and sees what’s become of Chaldea—and of Daybit.

Many assume he’s running the show, only to be surprised when they realize it’s Ritsuka in charge, and that Daybit defers to her completely.

That confusion sparks speculation. Is Ritsuka a product of mage-breeding experiments? A genetically engineered super-Master? The Crypters can’t believe someone as unremarkable as her could be that good—so they start looking for hidden reasons.

Only Beryl, strangely enough, sees the truth. He knows love when he sees it.

And so begins a chain reaction. The rest of the Crypters start to bond, to grow, even to form their own ill-fated or awkward relationships. Chaldea becomes a strange sort of found family—one with plenty of dysfunction, plenty of arguments, but also moments of warmth and honesty. There's even a light parody thread running through it: "nature documentary"-style commentary on the "mating habits" of socially inept magi.

The Conspiracy: Who—or What—is Riri?

As Daybit continues to defer to Riri and the Crypters begin to rejoin Chaldea, something unexpected happens. Whispers begin to circulate. Because to them, Riri shouldn’t be possible. In canon, Riri's success was chalked up to as nothing more than a fluke and the result of her hiding behind Mash by the Crypters (except Wodime but he didn't exactly share that with the class). But in this timeline, Daybit's presence and continual deference to Riri in battle and in decision making as a Master throws that assumption out the window. Mash's deference can be reasoned away because she was just a fancy homunculus to the mages. But Daybit is considered Wodime's peer. There's absolutely no way Daybit would defer to some unknown neophyte without a reason.

The Crypters know Chaldea. They were the elite. Team A was handpicked by Marisbury himself. And yet here’s this complete outsider—a supposed “average” Master candidate who somehow survived the destruction of Chaldea, succeeded where no one else could, and has Daybit of all people in her orbit, treating her like the sun around which he orbits.

They start to wonder: is she really just a lucky survivor?

A theory takes root. That Ritsuka Fujimaru was never just a random candidate. That she may have been the final product of an off-book genetic engineering project—Marisbury’s last, hidden card. A counterpoint to Mash Kyrielight: whereas Mash was engineered to contain a Heroic Spirit, perhaps Riri was designed to command them. A Master refined at the genetic level, optimized for survival, summoning, and leadership.

The fact that she and Mash are inseparable only fuels the theory. Were they meant to function as a paired unit? A living singularity and its anchor? It makes a certain kind of sense because Mash while she was working with Team A never displayed this level of power, initiative, and agency. She couldn't even manifest her servant power in a controlled manner. But if she's essentially a lock just waiting for the key to unlock her true potential, then Riri's presence and their combined success make a lot of sense. And now, with Marisbury gone, has Daybit—forever the outsider among mages—stepped in to claim the prize before anyone else realized what she was?

Even if the theory is false, it spreads fast. It’s easier for the Crypters to believe in a conspiracy than in a miracle.

An Unconventional Romance

Their relationship is not straightforward. For the longest time, Daybit sees Ritsuka not as a love interest, but as a rival—his greatest adversary. He meticulously documents her successes and her failures, determined to surpass her. His “affection” manifests as an obsessive need to learn from her and record everything she does, including moments as mundane as her falling asleep on the command room desk.

He’s oblivious to the fact that this has long since become something deeper. The Chaldea staff eventually catches on, of course. Some even tries to intervene in an attempt to help the poor, socially inept young man with his massive crush... to no avail. Daybit insists that everything he does is so that he can surpass her one day. What? This journal he keeps to record everything about her, even down to her nap time and favorite food and all the little stumbles she makes? Clearly, these are useful data points and potential blackmail materials to be used to devastating effect. There’s even a betting pool on when—or if—he’ll realize it himself. And naturally, there’s comedic potential here: Daybit sabotaging Valentine’s Day to intercept chocolates meant for Ritsuka, criticizing Servants like Dantes for being “untrustworthy,” and insisting on spending every waking hour “calibrating” with her for “operational efficiency.”

Finale: Conflict and Clarity

Hah! Well, I can't put too many details here because I don't want to spoil the plot, but it will involve an alternate Lostbelt 7. This is where it starts for Daybit (and Riri), and this is where it will end. This is the stage of their showdown... and their first big argument (break up! In typical romantic plot!)

It will be explosive! Action! Speed! Car chase! Guns galore in typical American action romance fashion! The young couple meet in battle to resolve their differences! All that jazz!

The Ending: A Declaration

The ending is, in a sense, Daybit's proposal to Riri, in the usual Daybit's fashion. He tells Ritsuka that she is, and always has been, his greatest adversary. That he wants to surpass her. That he will be there at every stumble, and rise beyond every triumph.

It’s a confession in his own language.

And Ritsuka, with tears and laughter and maybe a few swears, throws it right back at him. Yes, she's going to be his rival! Now and forever! Provided he doesn't mess up again! And no he won't surpass her anytime soon, because she's going to try her damnedest to keep the lead on him.

A Story About Belief

At its core, Pygmalion Gazes at the Stars is a story about how belief transforms people—how seeing someone clearly, and choosing to believe in them, can be the most powerful form of love. It’s about alienation and reconnection. Found family. Quiet moments at the edge of the universe.

It’s not just Daybit sculpting Ritsuka into the savior of humanity. It’s also Ritsuka remaking Daybit into someone who, for the first time in a very long time, looks up at the stars and doesn’t feel so alone.