Just for Now

He said he wanted a week.

He said he would give me his answer.

But in the end, it didn’t work out that way.

Two years passed before the question came up again.

I never asked. He told me not to. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he just hoped I would. But I never forgot. Not for a single day.

If anything, I kept finding more and more things about him—things I needed to catch up on.

I promised not to ask about magic anymore, so I found other things about Gramps that were cool instead. I think sometimes I just… stared at him. A lot. Maybe too much. But he always noticed. And I think, deep down, he knew I hadn’t given up on it.

Over time, I started calling him “Gramps.” It fit. He looked the part, after all, and he sure acted like it.

Thinking about it now, two years went by fast.

A lot of things changed, and a lot of things stayed the same.

I was still in third grade, which was boring. I didn’t really talk to anyone at school, and it seemed like I was the only kid from back there. The white room—that place before the fire. I think there were others with me. But none of them were here.

Just me.

Fuji-nee came over a lot. Mostly to chase me with her shinai.

She always acted like she wanted to spar, but I knew better. She just really, really wanted to hit me. And, well, she was getting better at it.

She carried that shinai everywhere, like it was part of her arm or something. And to her dismay, people started calling her “The Tiger of Fuyuki.” She always got mad when she heard it, but honestly, she kind of deserved it.

I mean, look at her. She dresses like that, carries that shinai, yells at people all the time. I don’t know why she’s surprised.

She talks a lot. Even when I don’t feel like talking, she just keeps going. I think that’s why she feels like a big sister.

Though… maybe there’s another reason she sticks around. I have a hunch.

She once called the house, practically begging me to make her lunch and bring it all the way to school for her. I guess that’s normal.

Fuji-nee is weird. But I like that about her.

Life before this felt so far away that it might as well have belonged to someone else.

Even my birthday changed.

One day, in late fall, Fuji-nee asked me when I was turning eight. I didn’t have an answer.

A week later, she made one up.

She brought over her friends and threw me a birthday party. My first one. Or my eighth, depending on how you look at it.

I don’t think October twentieth was my real birthday. But Fuji-nee said it was, and she brought cake, so I guess that makes it true now.

She was adamant about it. She said my old birthday didn’t count anymore. That belonged to a different person.

I guess that’s fair.

Gramps wasn’t home a lot.

He never told me when he was leaving or when he’d be back.

One day, he was there. And then he wasn’t.

I didn’t ask where he went, because I knew he wouldn’t tell me.

But I still waited.

He once said he needed to brush up on his English for Fuji-nee’s tutoring.

That was the first excuse.

I think he was just having too much fun exploring the world.

Fuji-nee said he probably had a second family he wasn’t telling us about.

I don’t know about that.

But it was exciting.

He never brought souvenirs. Just stories.

And I listened to every word.

Because if I didn’t, maybe one day he’d stop telling them.

Fuji-nee and I both loved hearing about faraway places.

Maybe one day, I’d go where he went.

Maybe then, I’d understand.

He wasn’t always around. He was unreliable.

But I still think he was a great father.

I had Gramps and Fuji-nee.

School was just something I had to get through between seeing Fuji-nee and waiting for Gramps to come home.

Sometimes, I went back to the park.

I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe I was looking for something. A memory. A promise.

It was hazy… but I knew it was important.

Sometimes, I was back in the fire.

But sometimes, I got a break from it.

Sometimes, I saw a sword.

A golden, double-edged blade, glowing like a piece of the sun. It was covered in darkness, wrapped in black miasma. But it didn’t fade. If anything, in the darkness, it shone even brighter.

Sometimes, I had worse dreams.

Places I’d never been.

Voices speaking in garbled words, an old language I didn’t know. Someone was always hurt. They were alone. No one came to save them. Instead, people came to hurt them more. 

But no matter how terrible those dreams were, I didn’t mind them. Because anything was better than the red world.

Everything still felt new.

There was always something to see, something to learn.

I liked that.

It made time go faster.

Gramps had been gone for a long time.

The longest he’d ever left.

Then, one day, he was back.

No warning.

He looked… distant.

But I didn’t care. I was glad he was home.

I wanted to go with him one day.

He said I was too young. Said I needed to focus on school.

School was boring. I got into fights a lot. But I was strong.

Gramps taught me how to train. How to stay fit.

But still, the one thing I wanted most… the thing that had saved me… was the only thing I wasn’t allowed to learn.

In my dreams, I suffer. And sometimes, the only thing that keeps me going…

Is the hope that one day, I won’t have to.

The red world that awaits me in the black is one I have grown accustomed to, but never comfortable with.

I don’t see it, but I feel it. The fire is there, pressing against me from every direction. It is hot, so hot that I shouldn’t still be here. I shouldn’t have lived.

People died saving others. Some were pulled back into the inferno just as they reached safety. I don’t remember their faces. Only the sounds—the screams, the collapsing structures, the silence that swallowed everything.

I wasn’t meant to survive.

I wasn’t meant to be here.

Yet here I am.

The heat grows unbearable, burning away the edges of my thoughts until nothing remains but the fire itself. It’s just a dream. I know that. But it still burns. The fire wraps around me, and I feel like I’m melting. I cough, but there’s no air. No way out. My fingers dig into the ground, but even the dirt is burning. It doesn’t stop. It never stops.

Before I am reduced to ash, something presses against the flames.

A coolness. Not cold, but steady—resolute.

It wraps around me. An embrace.

I should be gone. I should be nothing but cinders carried away in the wind. But I remain whole. Something is holding me together.

What is it?

I open my eyes.

At first, I see nothing but flickering embers. Then, beyond them, a shape. White, like untouched snow. Red, like burning coals.

That woman.

I don’t know her name. I don’t know if she was real. But sometimes, in my deepest nightmares, she appears. A figure standing between me and the fire. Watching.

My throat tightens. The name forms on my lips before I can think.

“You-…”

I gasp. My fingers clutch the fabric of my blanket, but it does nothing to ground me. The fire isn’t real, I tell myself. Not now. Not anymore. That woman too is just a manifestation of that time, a strange hallucination made from that darkness.

But the dream always feels real.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes. My heartbeat is erratic, my breaths shallow. I already know there’s no point in trying to sleep again.

I step out of my room, moving by instinct. The light from the kitchen spills into the hallway, and I find him there, standing with his arms crossed, watching me.

“Anything the matter? Can’t get any sleep?”

His voice is quiet. Tired. Maybe he’s been awake this whole time.

“Yeah… I saw that dream again…”

He nods, just once. He never asks for details. Maybe he already knows.

I shift on my feet, rubbing my arm. My body still feels too small, too powerless.

“Hey gramps, the medicine you gave me this morning… Can I take some now?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Hm? It’s still rather too soon for that but… Fine, I guess. But what’s the occasion here? You always hated that medicine, didn’t you?”

I grimace at the thought. I do hate it.

“Of course I don’t like it. It’s bitter and it’s mushy and all… But gramps, you made that medicine with magic, didn’t you?”

His eyes soften, just slightly.

“Well, it’s magecraft to be specific. But yeah, somewhere along that line.”

That’s enough. I take the bottle from him, staring at the liquid inside. It’s disgusting, but it was made by him—with magic. That thought alone settles something inside me. Even if it’s something so small and simple, it’s proof that he’s here.

“When I think of it that way, it sort of calms me down. I get uneasy on nights like this…”

A sigh from him.

“I see… Can’t really blame you for that…”

I gulp the drink down. The bitterness spreads over my tongue, worse than I remember, but I don’t flinch.

“Gramps… How much longer should I take this medicine?”

“Well, once you are old enough to attend middle school you won’t be needing that anymore. Until then, bear with it, will you?”

“Ehhh?”

Middle school still feels so far away.

“The healing spell I used on you two years ago… Seems to be a little too strong for you. The danger still lurks within you, Shirou. Until you grow up and let your body put on some more antibodies, you will have to rely on this medicine.”

I frown. Even now, two years later, my body still isn’t strong enough. That thought makes my stomach twist.

“Hey gramps… Instead of this medicine… Why don’t you teach me the proper magics to protect myself?” He doesn’t react right away, but I press on. “If I can take care of myself, gramps, you too can relieve some burdens off your shoulders, right?”

If I could be strong enough, maybe I wouldn’t be a burden.

His response is immediate.

“No, I can’t allow that. It’s more troublesome to teach you magecraft than making that medicine.”

I grit my teeth.

“I also want to be able to do anything just like you, gramps!”

I don’t just want to be protected. I want to what he does.

He sighs, shaking his head.

“I know that sense of admiration within you as a child… Even I still remember that sensation… But you no longer need that…”

“Why!? I need that! ‘Cause I still can see that dream… Even though two years have passed… I still can’t get over it…” The words come spilling out. I can’t stop them. “Since you have trained me, I won’t lose to anyone in fights, and I’m not even afraid of my upperclassmen. But… once I see that dream… Even when I wake up, everyone still looks pale… I can’t stop trembling… I am really scared of seeing that dream again…” I clench my fists. “Even though you saved me, it felt pointless! So that is why… I need that confidence to prepare myself so everything will be fine if that happens again! If I become a magician like you, gramps, I… won’t just end up lying down, but I could have done a lot more!”

My breathing is heavy, my chest tight.

He looks at me for a long moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice is lower.

“Shirou… To be a magus, the very first resolve that you have to make is to accept the concept of death itself… That is not something that will help or support you…”

I freeze. Accept death? That… That doesn’t make sense.

“Gramps, you did tell me that before… I don’t quite understand, but…” But I don’t want to accept death. I want to fight it.

“Shirou… Heh… Well, let’s try if you can get to sleep again… I know you can’t calm down yet, but your body should be seeking some rest…”

I hesitate. I don’t want this conversation to end.

“But gramps…”

He cuts me off with a small smile.

“You still have school to attend to tomorrow, right? If you are late again, Taiga-chan will get upset, you know?”

I groan.

“Cheh… That’s true enough. Fine, I understand…”

I turn back towards my room. But the frustration lingers in my chest.

He doesn’t understand.

Or maybe—maybe he understands too much.

---

Sigh…

Just when I thought time would help him forget, it has done the opposite. Instead of fading into the past, the fire in his dreams only grows sharper in his mind. He’s getting more conscious of it, letting it burrow deeper into him.

He’s impatient.

It’s not just strength he’s after. If it were just that, I wouldn’t be so concerned. But no—he’s not trying to become strong for the sake of it.

He wants a weapon.

A means to push back against the ghosts of that night. Against his own helplessness. He thinks that if he had been stronger, he could have done something. That if he gains enough power, he’ll never have to face that kind of terror again.

To think… he’s haunted by the image of death at such a young age.

Heh… The irony of it all.

I spent my life trying to keep him away from this path, and yet he’s walking toward it on his own.

What am I supposed to do?

I cannot let Shirou learn magecraft. That path leads to nothing but sorrow. Magecraft is not a power that can bring happiness to anyone. It’s something I know far too well.

And yet… I understand his desire.

More than anyone, I understand the need for assurance—the desperate wish to hold onto your life with your own hands, to never feel helpless again. That drive, that certainty, is one of the most important traits required to practice magecraft. But it’s also the most dangerous.

Because while accepting death… the will to live is just as important. And Shirou doesn’t understand that yet.

What should I do now…?

A day later.

“Phew! Thank you!”

Taiga steps back, lowering her shinai with a bright grin, her breath still a little ragged from our sparring session.

“Whoa, you got stronger, Taiga-chan. You can’t call that level that of a high-schooler anymore!”

She beams at the praise, still wiping sweat from her brow.

“Oh, not at all! There’s still a long way ahead of me! I still have a lot of flaws here and there, and that is why I never stop training myself every day!”

That kind of mindset… it reminds me of someone. But she’s different from Shirou. She wants to grow stronger for herself, not because she’s running from something.

“Oh, for real? You’ve already reached such a high level that I see no point in you keeping me as a training partner. You won’t gain anything from sparring with someone like me anymore, do you?”

She pouts at that.

“Hmm… Kiritsugu, you always seem like you’re spacing out, but from the way I see it, you seem to be hiding something that I don’t possess somehow. And hence, the reason why I asked you for a sparring session is because you never cease to amaze me with new discoveries within every single second of our spar! I’m learning something new every time!”

I chuckle.

“Heh, I find it scary instead when you put it that way. A man who just got dropped out of life like me would only be a bad example, wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, nonono! No such thing at all… is what I’d like to say but… I see… So, Kiritsugu, you really are aware of your depravity in the eyes of society, huh?”

Her words are teasing, but they cut deeper than she probably intended. Yes, I am aware. I’ve known for a long time.

“Heh, you possess everything that I held dear. So there’s nothing for you to learn from me, to be honest.”

She puffs her cheeks in mock frustration.

“Muuuuuu! Something that Kiritsugu possessed!? Was it your memories of your youthful exes during your younger days!? If that’s so, I really don’t mind reliving your memories with them—!”

I can’t help but laugh at that.

“Hahahahaha… I guess above all things, your youthfulness shines the most.”

“Huh? You let it slide just like that? I intended for that to be a joke though~”

“What? That was a joke? Well, I’m aware that I reek like an old gramps. Heck, even Shirou treats me like a grandpa.”

“Wha—!? I may only be a girl here, but as one from the Fujimuras, we take responsibility for every word that comes out of our mouths! Ayyyyy, don’t worry about it! This Fujimura Taiga is willing to give you some help in regards to the experience and the status quo or anything of a lively and active high-sch ool girl here! So, come at me! I can even spell out the best trending hair-rinse in the Oricon Chart, you know!?”

She’s as lively as ever. It’s almost exhausting to keep up with her.

“Hahahaha, you sure know how to take care of people, huh? So do you find yourself advising your juniors often?”

She nods proudly.

“Hmm… now that I think about it… You could say this is my act of virtue! I was dubbed the Counsellor-of-all-trades in Homurahara actually… Hmm… Do you think I should start charging for the advice I give?”

“You shouldn’t label a price on an act of virtue, okay? Hm… But well… Maybe I do have one dilemma that only a young person like you would understand.”

I stand up, stretching slightly.

“Taiga-chan. Wanna go for tea when you’re free? Of course, only when you’re free enough to entertain this old-man-in-his-mid-age.”

After that we settled down in the kitchen and drank cold tea.

“Waaaahhh… This beautiful sunlight… This deep bitter fragrance… And that soothing water cane… PERFECT!! This kind of moment is way too perfect!!”

I watch her as she savors the moment, all her tension gone.

“This teapot… was actually made by Shirou… I wonder just how that boy got so good in the kitchen.”

He’s always been meticulous about things. Even his cooking shows it.

“Isn’t that fine? All those people that accuse him of having a girly hobby are simply not aware of the change in trends. High school girls these days actually harbor a secret urge for a butler kind of guy! Please don’t assume all girls love to cook! Sooner or later, the era of ‘King’ is coming soon and Shirou will definitely have no problem in looking for a wife!”

I let out a small chuckle.

“Well, truth to be told, that actually helped me a lot though. The fact that he’s taking on the cooking in my stead…”

“Yes! It’s always good to find one’s specialty! I think he’s too desperate sometimes but… But it doesn’t change the fact that it really did save us from troubles! But now that we think about it, how did he become so good in cooking? What exactly is the difference between me and Shirou? Patience? Our strive for perfection? Or the fact that he properly tastes his own food? What’s the ABC of cooking anyway?”

I hesitate before speaking again.

“By the way, Taiga-chan. Not really to continue our topic… But can you think of this as a game and try answering a few of my questions? Just like how you give advice to your juniors and friends.”

She raises an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Oh, you’re being shy again this time~ Or maybe you’re trying to test my debating skills here? Ayyyyy, fine! Come at me!”

I take a sip of my tea, then exhale.

“Hmm… Ok then. Let’s say… there’s a boy who wanted you to teach him the way of Kendo. Not because he likes Kendo or extracurricular activities, but because he simply wanted to get stronger. His only motivation was strength.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she leans forward.

I sip my tea, watching as Taiga stretches after our sparring session. The sun is warm, the air light. Moments like these are rare—quiet, untouched by the weight of the past. But even in these peaceful moments, my mind never truly rests.

Shirou’s words from the night before still linger. He is restless, impatient. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he speaks. He’s searching for something—something I don’t want him to find. And yet, I know that denying him answers outright won’t be enough. A child like him, so filled with determination, won’t stop just because I tell him no. He will seek out strength, one way or another.

Perhaps Taiga can help me untangle this dilemma.

“Hmmm… That is not a rare case, to be honest. There are quite a lot of freshmen that tried to enter our club with that kind of motive.”

Good. That means she understands the type.

“And here’s the twist…” I continue, choosing my words carefully. “There’s a real katana within his reach at home. The administration is so loose that he can take it out just about any time. If you carelessly teach him Kendo, he might just use that katana and hurt somebody one day. So what do you think?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she crosses her arms, tapping her fingers against them.

“Hmmmmm… So this kind of question is only based on situations where options like ‘locking up the katana in a locker’ or ‘throwing away the katana’ are not allowed, right? It’s just an instance to see how I would respond as an advisor or a Kendo club member, right?”

“Yup. Exactly. You absorbed it real quick, eh?”

“Ohohohoho, it’s quite hard to do it if you already compliment me before I have even started.” She grins, but her mind is already working through the scenario. “Ahem, let’s see… An insolent pupil who harbors an ulterior motive in pursuing the path of swords but with a really sincere and pure wish to get stronger… Can’t say I don’t know how he feels. Hmm… Even if I reject him, he might just pursue online lessons or even resort to even worse methods… Hmmm. Welp, I guess I’ll just teach him Kendo first!”

I blink. That was an unexpected answer.

“Hmm?”

“BUT!!” She suddenly slams her hands down on the table. “Only the swings! And I will never allow him to learn any footwork or do any sparring at all! Nothing but only swinging! I will make him swing ten sets of hundreds, even during rainy days, windy days, EVERY DAY BEFORE AND AFTER HE SLEEPS!”

A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it.

“Is that… even Kendo?”

“Nope.” She smirks, leaning back. “I will just teach him some nonsensical essence of Kendo. PAM PAM! I will only make him focus on swinging shoulders and tell him to imagine swinging towards a grandma’s shoulder, massaging her, and I will teach him the worst way to handle a shinai where it’d fall off every time, even when he swings seriously.”

I exhale, understanding what she’s doing now.

“Ahah… I see what you did there.”

“If we make him practice so much nonsense, no joy but only misery, plus zero signs of getting stronger… so long as he’s not a massive idiot, he’d definitely give up. And I bet he’d say something like ‘Kendo is useless.’ Then that’d make him understand that swords will never bring him any good and—case closed.”

I nod slowly. It’s an interesting approach. Rather than deny him outright, she would drown him in an experience so tedious and fruitless that he would abandon it himself.

“But then…” she continues, “if he starts thinking like ‘If a sword can’t do it, then I’ll go for guns’ and goes astray, then that’d be outside the concern of a Kendo practitioner. Then I’d have to look at the case from the perspective of Fuyuki’s justice, but that’d beat the purpose of this question, wouldn’t it?”

“Hmm. True that.” I take another sip of my tea, letting her words settle. “To be honest, that was a really unexpected answer… Which means that you’d ‘deceive’ him, huh?”

“Plus, it is fraudulent of that kid to pursue the path of swords for the sole purpose of getting stronger. It is a deception to let him realize his own mistake, a very sincere lie.”

I stare at her for a moment, considering her words.

“Taiga-chan… If… Just as an example—what if that boy actually believed in every single word you said, and yet you don’t want to betray his trust? In that case, would you still use the same method?”

Her expression darkens just a little, but she doesn’t hesitate.

“Though it pains my heart, in order to steer him off his misconceptions, we’d have to let him walk through the wrong path and let him foresee the answer of the path he has taken. I think that is the shortest way for him to clear his misconceptions. Plus, you don’t really find any pupils that’d just listen to your lectures or naggings by heart.”

So even if she leads him astray, it is with the belief that he will eventually find the truth himself.

“So that’d mean all the time and passion he had invested into that nonsensical Kendo will be nothing but a waste of time… huh?”

She shrugs.

“Yes, it’s fine that way. Just think of that as a tuition fee—Oooooh, I mean, wasting your time is what they meant by youth after all.”

I can’t help but laugh again.

“Heh, I see. But… What if… that boy still didn’t know of the mistake until the end? What would you do?”

She pauses, tilting her head. Then, she smiles.

“If that is so, then that’d be yet again, a very amazing thing to witness. I think I might praise him instead.”

That catches my attention.

“Why would you say so?”

“Because that’d mean that the boy had invested all his time and passion on some nonsense and saw through it till the end, right? That’d mean what he has been practicing is no longer nonsense, but rather, he has mastered a whole new path different from Kendo. That boy will become a charismatic figure who developed a swinging technique that tests one’s undying will.”

I lean back, genuinely impressed.

She grins.

“If he has become such a figure, then it’d be rather strange for him to even think of hurting someone else. I’m pretty sure he won’t harbor any ill feelings towards his master who taught him such ‘nonsense.’ Everything will be fine in the end!”

“Hmph… Taiga-chan, you sure are amazing. You really are something.”

“Heheheheheh, awwwww, stop it, you! I’m the type that’d fly sky-high if you compliment me too much! If I get any more carried away at this rate, I might just get a teaching license, ya know!? What’d you do if that happens!?”

I smile slightly, shaking my head.

Maybe… just maybe, this was the answer I was looking for.

---

Fuji-nee slams her hands on the table, dramatically sighing.

“Nggghhh, this is so good~~~”

I watch her shovel down another bite, already halfway through her third bowl.

“Fuji-nee, you sure eat a lot… You’re not worried about getting fat?”

She chokes on her rice, pounding her chest.

“Pffftttt—My training is not that soft that I gotta worry about body fat!” She jabs her chopsticks at me. “If you really wanna make me fat, you’re gonna have to give me three more servings of these!”

She crosses her arms, nodding to herself, like she just said something really wise.

“And don’t call me fat! Someone might die here. Call me something cuter, like—Miss Piggy~ or something.”

I blink.

“No thanks.”

She pouts, but I ignore her, pointing at the extra food on the table.

“I knew this was gonna happen, so I made more. If it’s just me and Gramps, we’d have enough leftovers for breakfast.”

Fuji-nee leans back, patting her stomach like she just won a battle.

“Oh, Shirou. Once you hit your growing phase, you won’t be saying that again.” She grins, flexing her arm. “This immense appetite of mine is just the prelude to my second phase—my dynamic, perfect body in the near future!”

I give her a look.

“I’ll start making meals with less fat then. So eat all you want, but it won’t help.”

She gasps like I just betrayed her.

Before she can whine about it, Gramps clears his throat.

“Shirou… Does that mean we’re going to have more… Japanese meals in the future?”

I nod.

“Yeah. Plus, Gramps, you get full really fast these days. Isn’t it better to have smaller servings with higher nutrition?”

He looks a little guilty, scratching his cheek.

“But, uh… don’t you think it’s fine to have, like… hamburgers once in a while?”

I sigh.

“Gramps. You’re old. Can’t you do something about that childish tongue of yours? What did you eat to grow up like this?”

He laughs awkwardly, looking away.

Fuji-nee, ever the bad influence, slams the table again.

“Now, now, Kiritsugu-san! I’ll stand by your side when it comes to junk food, so no worries~! Seems like the Bon Festival Dance will have lots of Doner Kebabs, you know~?”

I shoot her a glare.

“Hey, Miss Piggy, stop spoiling my Gramps.”

She gasps, clutching her chest.

“Muuhhh, Shirou~! Onee-chan thinks there’s something wrong with the hierarchy on this dining table~!”

The clock chimes.

Fuji-nee sighs happily.

“Phew, that was a good meal. I’m satisfied~~”

Gramps stands, stretching.

“The bath should be ready by now. Taiga-chan, want to go first?”

“Ohh~? Then I’ll help myself!” She jumps to her feet. “Phew~ what a dream house you have here, Kiritsugu-san! Bath, bath, bath~!”

She disappears down the hall, already humming to herself.

Gramps turns to me.

“Shirou. When Taiga goes home, come to the dojo for a bit. I need to talk to you.”

I straighten.

“Eh? O-okay.”

The sky is dark when I step outside. The air is cool, the stars distant.

Gramps stands in the dojo, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable.

I swallow, my heart picking up.

“Hey, Gramps… are you really going to teach me magecraft!?”

“Yeah.”

Just like that. No hesitation.

I feel my stomach twist—not in fear, but something close to excitement.

“Shirou…” He exhales. “I’ll only teach you what I can. But it won’t be what you expect. You’ll probably be disappointed. If you get tired of it, don’t force yourself to continue, okay?”

I shake my head, gripping my hands into fists.

“It’s fine! I just want to be able to do what you can, Gramps!”

He watches me carefully, his face unreadable.

“Listen, Shirou. Learning magecraft means stepping away from common sense. We die when the time comes. We kill when we have to. That is our nature.”

A shiver runs down my spine.

“We don’t live among the living—we live by death.”

His voice is steady, his eyes dull like burned-out embers.

“Magecraft destroys you from the inside. There’s no other way around it.”

I bite my lip, but I don’t back down.

“What I’m going to teach you will only bring you conflict. And so—never use it in front of others. And take this practice seriously.”

I nod.

“Good.” He lets out a breath. “Even though I just said all that, those aren’t the important parts.”

I blink.

“If the situation calls for it, break those rules.”

I stare at him.

“W-what do you mean by that?”

His gaze is firm.

“The most important thing about magecraft is… you must never use it for your own sake.”

He steps forward, voice softer, but heavier.

“You can only use it for others.”

Something in my chest tightens.

“With that, Shirou… you may learn magecraft. But you will never become a magus.”

I process his words, rolling them in my head.

“I see… it sounds complicated, but… I think I get it.”

I glance up at him, feeling my throat tighten.

“I never wanted to be a magus. I just wanted to learn from you, Gramps.”

A ghost of a smile crosses his lips.

“Good.”

He steps back, his voice slipping into something more instructional.

“Let’s start with the basics—the creation of your Magic Circuit. First, we make a path to allow mana to flow through your body. Unlike your nerves, you weren’t born with this. You’ll have to force it open.”

I frown.

“So… I have to change my body?”

“More than that.” His gaze sharpens. “You have to remake it. You need to see your entire body in your mind. Every organ, every limb, even your nails and hair. You must hold that image with perfect concentration.”

I exhale.

“That sounds… hard.”

He chuckles.

“Of course. Because you’re turning your body into a tool for magecraft. You have to surpass yourself. Break through your limits.”

His words feel heavy.

“This is a battle against yourself, Shirou.”

I steel myself, nodding.

“If it’s like that, I won’t lose. I’ll try my best.”

He studies me for a long moment, then nods.

“Then you need a switch.”

I tilt my head.

“A switch?”

“A trigger. Something that raises your concentration to the maximum. Just like flipping a button.”

I try to think of something, but nothing comes to mind.

“It has to be a word that only means something to you. A spell, but not one meant for anyone else. A word that brings out your will.”

I press my lips together.

“A word…?”

I think harder.

Nothing.

I scratch my head.

“It still didn’t come to me somehow.”

Gramps sighs, crossing his arms.

“No need to rush. Just keep thinking about it.”

I nod.

I glance at my hands, then at the dojo floor.

“Trace…?”

He blinks.

“Hmm?”

“To trace… like copying something?”

He chuckles.

“Yeah. I suppose so.”

I clench my hands.

“To push a button… to flip a switch… To trace myself…”

I look up, eyes sharpening.

“Yeah… ‘Trace’… huh?”

---

The two months after that first night blurred together into something like a new normal—a cycle of training, exhaustion, and stubborn, aching progress. Mornings started with fighting and running drills with Gramps, getting used to dodging and moving under pressure. Days were spent helping Taiga with her kendo, which mostly meant being her moving target. Nights ended with making dinner for the three of us, the only thing I could confidently say I was good at from the start.

I was learning. Not fast, but learning.

Fuji-nee’s attacks? I could avoid them for about six seconds now, which was twice as long as when we started. She didn’t go easy on me, either. She was seriously skilled, to the point where some of the older students at her dojo refused to spar with her. Cooking? I had unilaterally surpassed both her and Gramps, but that was saying nothing because they were hopeless from the start.

But magecraft…

Magecraft was different. Magecraft was a wall I kept smashing into.

It’s done by using a circuit inside yourself to transform mana into a spell. But that was easier said than done. I could make the circuit, but keeping it stable? Holding it together? That was another story.

It was like trying to balance a house of cards on your fingertip while holding your breath.

And then there was the pain.

Activating a circuit felt like pouring fire into my nerves, like my body wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Every time I tried, I felt like I was being electrocuted from the inside out.

Kiritsugu never seemed to have this problem. He didn’t show me much magic at all, but the few times he did, he never looked like he was struggling. Apparently, a Magic Crest makes things easier.

I don’t have one.

I don’t know what a Magic Crest really is, except that it gets passed down through blood. And since Kiritsugu isn’t really my father, that means this road is the only one I have.

So I keep going. Outside of training, the habit starts bleeding into everything else.

At school, I start taking things apart—pens, watches, the metal rulers in my pencil case. Anything I can break down and understand. Every object has an inner structure. A blueprint. A set of rules.

The spell Gramps told me to focus on is Reinforcement—the ability to make things stronger, more durable. He said it’s the most useful thing I could learn.

But trying to reinforce something is like trying to break a brick wall with my bare hands. Every attempt is the same. Failure. Collapse. Nausea. Pain. 

And yet, every morning, I try again.

This morning is no different.

The air is already heavy with the heat of summer, the cicadas screaming in the background like they’re pushing me forward. Sweat sticks to the back of my neck as I hold my breath, trying to block everything out.

I tighten my grip on the piece of scrap metal in my hands. I need to make it stronger. Not imagine it… force it.

I close my eyes.

This time, I’m going to do it.

This time, I’ll prove it.

I’ll reinforce it successfully.

I breathe in.

Pain. Heat. Fire in my limbs, burning in my bones.

I grit my teeth, pushing through it. My mind narrows in on the object in my hands, its shape, its density, its weaknesses—everything that makes it what it is.

Nothing.

The spell collapses.

I barely manage to pull my breath in before the familiar nausea rolls through me. My fingers twitch, the metal cool and unchanged in my grip. My heart pounds in frustration.

Again.

I shift my stance, adjusting my grip. I know I can do this. I just have to push harder.

The cicadas drone outside, an endless backdrop to the stillness of the dojo. The heat has settled into my bones by now, the sweat drying on my skin as I stretch out my hands and roll my shoulders back. My breathing evens, steady and slow.

Clear your mind.

I focus. Ignore the humidity pressing down on me. Ignore the faint ache in my muscles. Ignore the last remnants of failure sitting in my stomach like a stone. The only thing that matters is what’s inside me.

“Trace, on.”

The words come as instinct now. Like flipping a switch.

Or pulling a trigger.

It’s not just a phrase. It’s something more. A command. A declaration.

I feel the change immediately.

Normally, the human body isn’t meant to hold circuits for magic. There are no natural lines, no innate paths for mana to travel. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.

It just means I have to force it.

I feel it sink in—a steel rod slamming down my spine, red-hot and searing. A burning wire connecting to my nerves, branching out through my limbs, unwanted, unnatural.

It’s always like this.

It’s always wrong.

But I grit my teeth and keep pushing forward, blocking out the pain, forcing my body to hold together until the iron finally settles.

I exhale slowly. The circuit is open.

Now comes the real battle.

“Composition, analyze.”

Before me sits a metal pipe.

It’s simple. Reinforcement magic—the process of strengthening an object by filling in its weaknesses.

I have to get this right.

I’ve been at this for months, and my failure rate is still nearly 100 percent.

Not this time.

I shut out my surroundings, focusing entirely on the pipe in front of me. I let my mind sink into it, like I’m peeling it apart layer by layer. Its structure. Its weight. Its density. Its purpose.

Everything that makes it what it is. But then, something changes.

I hesitate. Just for a moment.

The spell wavers, but I don’t let go.

What… am I actually looking at?

Until now, I’ve been treating this process as a breakdown of physical structure. Material, composition, durability. But that’s not enough.

It’s not enough to see what’s there.

I have to understand why it’s there.

Not just what it is, but what it was meant to be.

I don’t know why, but the thought roots itself deep. It settles into my mind like a new piece of a puzzle I never knew was missing.

What defines an object?

Is it the material? The shape? The purpose someone assigned to it?

A pipe is just a pipe, but what about something wih a more clear purpose?

…A sword? Somehow that thought makes my mind work much easier.

A sword is just a sharpened piece of metal. But is it a sword if no one wields it? If no one uses it?

A kendo stick. A wooden blade meant to train, to strike, but not to kill. If someone sharpened it, turned it into a real weapons, is it still the same thing?

If I reinforce this metal pipe, am I strengthening what it is, or am I turning it into something else entirely? It lacks the same singular purpose as sword.

I don’t have an answer.

But for the first time, I think to ask.

I stare at the pipe, my mind running deeper than before.

“Judging the concept of creation.”

The thought forms before I can stop it.

The concept behind an object.

Not just what I see, but what it was meant to be.

My vision sharpens.

I feel something shift inside me.

It’s not like before. It’s not the usual strain of forcing magic through a body that wasn’t meant to have it. It’s not even the pain of failure that I’ve come to expect, the sharp backlash that usually follows when I get something wrong.

It’s something else.

Something deeper.

A realization I can’t quite put into words.

I exhale, grounding myself, my fingers tightening slightly around the pipe. The structure of it, the way it should be strengthened—I should be focusing on that. That’s what I was trying to do.

And yet, my mind lingers on the thought that wasn’t there before.

What is this pipe supposed to be?

What defines it?

A pipe is a pipe. It doesn’t have a will. It doesn’t have an identity. It was made to carry something—to act as a conduit, to be part of something bigger. But by itself, it’s nothing but scrap metal.

If I reinforce it, I make it better at being what it already is. 

But what if I change it?

What if I reshape it into something else?

What if I make something that wasn’t there before?

The thought makes my heart hammer in my chest.

The iron rod in my spine pulses.

I don’t think—I just move.

My magic surges, but this time, it’s not the same feeling as before.

It’s not pouring energy into something.

It’s building something from nothing.

The shift happens before I can fully comprehend it—a flicker in the air, a distortion, like the moment before heat bends light.

Then…

I see it. Something I can understand.

The kendo stick.

Not in my hands, but in my mind. A perfect replica. Every detail of the one Fuji-nee swings at me nearly every day—every scratch, every grain in the wood, the way it feels just a little heavier near the hilt from being gripped too tightly too often.

It’s there. I know it’s there.

I just have to reach out and—

And then—something goes wrong.

A surge, like something too much flooding through me all at once. My vision tilts, the dojo seems to pull away, stretching impossibly far and then snapping back into place in an instant.

The air cracks.

I feel it, more than see it. Like the world itself recoiling from what I just tried to do. A jagged, electric snap rolls through my body, and suddenly, I can’t hold on.

I stagger, the pressure unbearable—like something is clawing its way out of me, dragging itself free from my veins.

The magic overflows.

The kendo stick shatters before it can even fully form—splintering apart into formless light, breaking in every direction. And then the pain starts. A backlash—something I didn’t expect, something that rips through me like a snapping wire.

I gasp as my entire body locks up, my nerves catching fire from the inside out. My lungs refuse to work, like all the air’s been punched out of me in one brutal strike. My legs give out before I even realize it, my knees hitting the dojo floor so hard the impact barely registers against the rolling waves of pain.

My circuit collapses into itself like a drain detailing into my body.

The power doesn’t just fade. It doesn’t leave gently. It’s ripped away, dragging through my nerves like barbed wire being pulled out of my skin.

I feel something recoil in me.

Something rejecting me.

Like the world itself is telling me no.

I collapse, my hands catching on the wood, trembling so hard I can barely keep myself upright. My vision is blurred, black spots flickering at the edges. My entire body aches, a deep, unnatural pain—like something fundamental in me has just been burned out.

I failed.

I can’t even hold the magic. I can’t even control it. It’s too much. It’s beyond me.

For a moment, I just sit there, panting, feeling small. Like I’ve been crushed under something too big for me to fight.

I should stop.

I should leave this alone.

I should just accept it, right?

I squeeze my eyes shut.

No.

That’s not the answer.

It can’t be the answer.

I dig my fingers into the floor, forcing my body to move. My arms shake as I push myself up, my muscles screaming in protest, but I refuse to stop.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been knocked down.

This isn’t the first time the world has told me no.

So what if my body rejects it? So what if I failed this time?

I’ll just do it again.

And again.

And again.

Because I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if I fail a thousand times.

If I just keep going, if I just keep pushing forward, then one day—

One day, I’ll reach it.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead, my breath still shaky, my limbs still burning.

And then I sit back up.

I try again.

---

Later, when I was alone, I went through the process again.

I didn’t activate my circuit. I didn’t even try to use magic. I just sat with a simple brown bowl and thought.

Nothing fancy like a light bulb or a pipe. Just something basic. Something meant to hold something inside itself.

Gramps warned me not to push too hard. That I should just be careful and do it just once per day.

I was, but I needed to understand.

At school, the other kids started calling me “janitor” because I was always looking at things, always examining whatever I could get my hands on. It didn’t bother me. I didn’t care about their nicknames. I only cared about figuring this out.

Gramps always said you have to know how something works before you can properly strengthen it. But he never really explained how to do that.

So I started breaking it down.

Step by step.

‘Judging the concept of creation.’
A simple brown bowl. It exists to hold something. That’s what it’s made for.

‘Hypothesizing the basic structure.’
Smooth edges. Curved surface. Simple shape. Nothing complicated.

I ran my fingers over the bowl, but I didn’t need to. The blueprint was in my head now. I could see into it.

And I felt it. The call.

The instinct.

The words were already in my mouth before I could stop them.

“Trace, on.”

Heat burned through my nerves. The pain settled in, familiar now, almost natural.

The circuit actualized, and my body locked up as the process completed.

Copy.
Copy.
Copy.

The air shifted—and a second brown bowl appeared in my other hand.

I stared at it, disbelief settling in my gut.

I did it again. I seemed almost easy compared to the usual process with a real object.

A bowl.

A useless, empty bowl.

I failed.

No—this was worse than failure.

Is this what I am? My limit with magecraft leads me here? A bowl-maker?

I set the new one beside the original. They looked the same. Felt the same. But—they weren’t.

The original had weight. Purpose. Existence.

The copy felt… hollow. There was more missing.

I picked it up, testing it between my fingers. Nothing felt off. But I knew something was missing.

It wasn’t good enough.

If I couldn’t make it useful, then maybe I was wasting my time. 

Maybe it would be better to focus all my energy on Reinforcement instead.

Some time later, after I had become somewhat decent at copying bowls, I went to Gramps.

“I see… So this must be projection, I am surprised this is what you ended up with.”

“I dont really know how it sort of just happened? Is it a good magic?”

“I’m more impressed you found something at all. But, well, no, it’s not something so useful. I myself never even learned it because it’s not something most magi use much in their lifetime. It’s the sort of thing that’s fairly redundant since you can just make the real thing for better results.”

I sighed sadly.

“Isn’t there some use for projection, Gramps? I made bowls… They didn’t break immediately this time.”

“Not unless you want to sell these bowls at the market. Do you want magic to become a bowl salesman?” He looked at my row of identical bowls and chuckled a little.

“Well… definitely no!” If I could improve my projection method, then maybe I could also improve the quality of the object? “But maybe I could start moving myself up to bigger things?”

“Look Shirou, you’re in… fourth grade, you know your math, right?”

“I’m still technically in third grade, Gramps.”

“Well, okay but that’s not the point. You can make many bowls but so can any factory. Something made with ‘Projection’ is not worth it if you just have the real thing. Even in a fight. Comparing a ‘Projected’ sword made with ten Magical energy and a ‘Strengthened’ real sword with five Magical energy, the ‘strengthened’ one is still far stronger. You only need to work on something that’s already there, so strengthening is more efficient. Also Projection is unstable; would you want to use a bowl which could break at any moment, spilling your food everywhere?” 

“Yeah…” I nod, turning the projected bowl over in my hands before setting it down beside me. Just another piece of junk for the shed, I guess.

Kiritsugu watches, his expression unreadable. “It’s an interesting skill, Shirou, but it’s not something that goes anywhere.”

I don’t respond. I already know that. I can’t waste time on something that won”t lead me to what I need.

He exhales, glancing at the clock. “That’s enough for today. I need to teach Taiga for a bit.”

I hesitate for a moment, then shift the conversation. “About that, Gramps. Fuji-nee was complaining. She said you only speak English to her, and it’s too hard to follow.”

“How else is she going to learn then? She can’t have her hand held all the time.”

“Yeah, I know that but I just thought you should know.”

“ …Hmm, maybe you should join us then. I’m sure she’ll shape up once she sees you start catching up to her.” 

Me? I don’t know…

“Well… I’m already busy with Magic. I don’t have to, do I?” 

“No, it’s alright, just a little suggestion. You’ll be learning it at school soon regardless.” Gramps rarely offered anything like this; I think he really just wanted to get me to handle Taiga for him.

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. However, I feel a tug pushing me to just do it. Kiritsugu hadn’t gone on a trip since he started training me. I was happy, but… something about it felt strange. Sometimes he looked away with a sad face as if something was lost and can’t be found. “Well… okay! I’ll do it.”

“Really? Changing your mind so quickly?”

“I think maybe it’s better to start now rather than later. I’m not really a good student, but I would like to travel one day. Besides, Taiga needs all the help she can get.” 

“That sounds alright, just come and learn from time to time.” 

Kiritsugu seemed relaxed sitting and drinking his tea. He usually needed a nap after training cause he uses all his energy playing around.

“Well, I’m going to go on a walk.” 

“Just don’t go anywhere dangerous.”

“Okay! See ya!” 

I went back to my room, changed into clothes that weren’t completely sweated in, and started walking out into heat. 

Was it stranger that I wasn’t afraid of walking across the city completely alone, or the fact that Kiritsugu didn’t seem to worry about it? The only reason I know that it’s abnormal is that Fuji-nee freaks out if I’m not home early enough. Though I think that has more to do with her hunger than worry. 

I walked past the bus today and just kept walking. It was a bright blue beautiful day and I just kept walking and walking and walking until I ended up where I didn’t want to be, but where I ended up sometimes nevertheless.

---

The air still smells wrong here. Like rust and burnt leaves, no matter the season. The fire was two years ago, but the smoke never really left. Not here. Not me.

The park had changed in the past two years. The construction was finally finished, but no one really came here. 

I had heard from some kids at school that the workers kept finding things in the rubble—remains. Ever since then, the other kids avoided this place. But I still found myself here often from time to time.

Few families passed through. No children played here. It was the largest park in Fuyuki, yet it felt hollow.

Something about the air felt too still.

I don’t know why I came today. I don’t think I ever come here willingly—it’s just something my body does on its own. My feet take me here before I even think about it.

I always assumed it was what the old me wanted. But this time, I realize that’s not it at all.

The empty landscape, like a wasteland, is punctured by an odd presence. 

She’s sitting there. Cross-legged. White-haired. Smiling like it’s her first instinct. Like she was waiting.

‘Hey, isn’t that weird?’ It’s like from back then.

For a moment, everything in me stops. My breath. My thoughts. I don’t blink. I can’t.

The sun shines in the sky, yet her hair doesn’t seem to catch its light the way it should. She blends into the background like a smear of the wrong pigment on a canvas meant for something beautiful.

Black. 

There is darkness there that threatens anyone that looks on it. A void that if you fall into you won’t escape it ever.

This isn’t right. A nightmare is supposed to be when you are dreaming.

That’s her.

That woman…

I blink once. Twice. She doesn’t disappear. The air stays broken.

I swallow, my throat dry. The name slips out before I can stop it, like an old injury reopening. “Iri…”

She tilts her head at an angle too precise to be natural, like a doll testing its range of motion. “You remember,” she echoes, not as a question, but like confirming something. “That’s good.”

I step forward, hesitating. The words leave my lips before I can stop them, “you- you’re real…?”

A light chuckle escapes her lips. “Wouldn’t it be far stranger if I weren’t?”

Her fingers hover on the wood—mimicking touch but never quite making contact. The bench doesn’t move. She doesn’t cast a shadow.

Something in me recoils. My eyes hurt just trying to understand this sight.

I don’t move.

She leans forward slightly, resting her chin on one hand, elbow propped up on her knee. The motion is too fluid, too exact. Like a doll testing its joints.

“You took your time.”

My stomach twists. Something about the way she says it makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.

I finally step closer, but I don’t sit. “I…I thought… that wasn’t real. That day. You weren’t real.”

“Oh dear. Do promises mean so little to you now? You were so earnest back then.”

A promise.

Two years ago. I barely remember it. But there was a bench. A voice like winter light. A woman with snow-white hair. I thought it was a dream, a fevered hallucination left behind in the ashes. But I remember now. Not her words—but how they made me feel.

I remember being afraid. But underneath that fear… there was something else. A pull.

“I don’t…” I can’t put this into words.

She narrows her eyes, her expression unreadable. “No matter. You are here now. Two years gave plenty of time for some introspection.” Something prickles at the edges of my mind. There’s something off about this. Something I should be noticing. But before I can think too hard about it, she speaks again. “So. Shirou.” Her tone turns sharp, precise. “Why do you think he waited to teach you magecraft? Was it guilt? Or fear?”

The question catches me off guard.

“H-how do you know that?” My voice comes out too thin, too weak. I hate that.

She exhales, tilting her head with an unsettling slowness. The motion is too fluid, too exact—like a doll testing its joints.

“Hah. Let’s skip the whole surprised part. We did that already.” Her voice is laced with amusement, but there’s no warmth in it. No real emotion. “Let’s just say that I know many things, Shirou. More importantly, tell me what Kiritsugu has been up to recently. What happened before he agreed to help? Tell me, Shirou, and I’ll tell you things in return.”

I take a breath, trying to steady the pressure building in my chest.

“You’re a magus, aren’t you?”

That gets her attention. Her smile doesn’t falter, but something in her eyes narrows.

“If it makes it easier to think that,” she says slowly, “then do so.” She leans back slightly, gaze never leaving mine. “It’s about half right.”

A prickle runs up my spine. I don’t like how she says that.

I shift my weight. Swallow. “I… I don’t know. He was on a long trip, and then he just… decided to.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, her smile deepens.

“Yes… He did, didn’t he?”

Her crimson gaze lingers on me, something dark coiling behind her eyes. Not quite malice. Not quite pity. Something deeper. The hair on my arms stands on end. Her gaze sharpens—not like an expression changing, but like something adjusting itself to a clearer form, as if she’s fine-tuning her sight to peel away some unseen layer.

“And what happened on this trip?”

I shift uncomfortably. Something in her tone makes me want to take a step back.

“He never told… said.”

A slip of the tongue. A nervous tic. I don’t know why I suddenly feel like I’m in danger.

Her smile fades slightly—not disappointment, not frustration, but something more unreadable. “I see. So he’s really said nothing then.”

For some reason, that reaction makes me uneasy. Yet… there’s a flicker of something there, something more human than before. A crack in the perfect mask.

Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

“You should look after him more. He’s not the strong man he once was.” Her voice is steady, almost scolding. 

The wind barely stirred, but the air pressed down on me, thick and suffocating.

I shifted, crossing my arms, trying to smother the strange unease coiling in my chest. “Gramps doesn’t need me to look after him! He’s… he’s fine! I mean, he’s strong…!”

Her crimson gaze didn’t waver.

“Doesn’t he?”

Something in my stomach twisted, but I refused to look away. “What are you trying to say?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her chin against her knuckles. “You admire him. But you see it now, don’t you? The places where he isn’t enough. The places where he’s failing.”

I clenched my fists. “That’s not true at all. He—he’s not failing. He’s just… tired.”

Her gaze was sharp. “And you think you can help him?”

I hesitated.

“Well then,” she continued smoothly, “do you still want to take me up on my offer?”

I swallowed. “To… teach me Magic? That is…”

She smiled. “You don’t have to look so nervous. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

I hesitated. “I already have Gramps.”

Her head tilted, a movement too smooth, too controlled. “You trust Kiritsugu’s words so blindly?”

I stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Do you trust everything Kiritsugu tells you without question?”

I frowned. “He’s never lied to me before.”

She exhaled softly, tilting her head, her expression unreadable. “That is not the same thing. Everything he says could be true, but if he leaves out the entire truth, then everything he says is no different than a lie. Besides, he is a third-rate magus who can’t give you real power.”

“Well… That doesn’t matter, because I am learning to be a magic-user, not a magus. It’s not about power, Ill just use to help others.”

She looked at me very coldly, without any emotion. 

“I see. Is that how it is?” I felt malevolence come into the air like never before. This place, back then, had the same feeling. It took all I had not to run just from that.

Though maybe it was the fear that froze me in place.

The wind stirred slightly, but it didn’t help the suffocating weight pressing down on the park.

Her smile widened, slow and deliberate, like something stretching into place rather than an expression forming naturally. “Tell me, Shirou, have you ever seen a bird with broken wings?”

I frowned. “What does that—”

“No matter how much it flaps, no matter how strong its will, it will never rise. The sky isn’t something you reach through hope alone.” She tilted her head, watching me carefully. “But some birds refuse to accept that. They hop, they run, they leap from branches, dreaming that one day, they will soar.” Her voice dropped, quiet and smooth. “But the ground doesn’t care for dreamers.”

Something in my stomach twisted.

“The hawk does not hesitate when it hunts. The world does not wait for the broken to catch up.” She leaned forward, eyes sharp, voice soft. “Tell me, little bird—do you think your stubbornness will change that?”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not some bird.”

Then, softly, almost pityingly—

“You’re right,” she says. “You’re in a far worse spot. You don’t seem to realized that just yet though.” Her voice lingers in the air like a cold wind before a storm. “A bird at least has wings, even if they are broken. It was meant to fly, meant to rise. But you?” She exhales, shaking her head. “You weren’t even built for the sky. You are something trapped between—too heavy to soar, too stubborn to crawl, chasing something you don’t even understand. Your the worm even the wingless bird sees as its prey.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “That’s not true.”

Her smile widens. “Isn’t it?” Her gaze sharpens, the false warmth in her smile vanishing like mist under the sun. “You talk about using magic for others. How quaint. How meaningless.”

My breath hitches. “It’s not meaningless. If I can help people—”

“You won’t,” she cuts in, her voice as sharp as a blade. “Because magic isn’t something given. It’s something taken. Ripped from the world, refined, and hoarded.”

I shake my head, but she doesn’t stop.

“You think you can learn just enough to be useful? Just enough to help?” A soft laugh escapes her lips, but there’s nothing kind in it. “Do you have any idea what it takes to reach power that matters? A first-generation magus has no shortcuts. No inherited wisdom, no Crest to give them the accumulated power of generations past. What takes others a single incantation will take you decades to understand, and even then, you will still be inferior. You will still be nothing in the eyes of those who have walked this path for centuries if not more.”

I swallow hard, my hands shaking slightly. The scent of smoke clings to the back of my throat. It’s like I never left that night. I blink—and for just a moment—I swear the sky goes red again. My feet remember ash. My lungs remember screaming. 

That’s the kind of aura I can’t back down from.

My knees feel weak. Not from her words—but from something deeper. That night comes back in pieces: the sound of things breaking, the heat pressing into my skin, the ash in the air like falling snow. I told myself I would never freeze again. But here I am, trying to remember how to breathe. 

“Then I’ll work harder,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I don’t need shortcuts. I just need to keep going—”

“Keep going where? You don’t even see the road you’re on, do you? There are only two ways for a magic user to exist.”

I hesitate.

She doesn’t.

“You start as a magus, clawing your way to power, sacrificing everything that makes you human just to fall down to the lowest rung when you see what you have to sacrifice to go farther.” Her eyes are merciless. “Or you start with ideals, so pure and strong, and are smart enough to gain power. Yet in doing so, you become a magus in all but name. Because no human can hold that kind of power without keeping it for themselves.”

She leans back slightly, watching me. Studying me.

“The only way to start as a magic user and end as one is to stay weak and never amount to anything. That way, you will never have to confront the truths of this world. I guess that is what Kiritsugu has in mind for you. A nice path, I am sure, but is that okay for you?”

I clench my fists. “There has to be another way.”

Her gaze flickers—not in doubt, not in anger, but like something unexpected just crawled into her thoughts. Then, slowly, she exhales, lips curling in something close to amusement.

“A way where you take magic, but never own it?” Her voice is soft, considering. “Where you wield power, but never let it change you? Where you stand in a world of monsters and never become one yourself?”

I don’t move. I don’t even blink.

“Tell me, Shirou.” Her tone is light, but the weight behind it presses down on me like iron. “What do you think magic is?” I open my mouth—but hesitate.

“…”

 “A tool?” I nod instinctively. Her smile widens. “How convenient. A tool,” she repeats, the words slow, deliberate. “A tool that can heal, a tool that can kill. A tool that turns men into gods, a tool that carves history into its wielder’s name.” She steps forward, not enough to touch me, but enough that I can feel the space between us shrink. “A tool that, once taken, can never be put down. Because no man can wield power without being changed by it. No man can look upon magic and see it as just a tool forever.”

I swallow, my throat dry.

“Magic is not a thing you borrow. It is something you become. No wonder it took so long for him to agree to teach you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

I shake my head. “That’s not—”

“Not true?” Her voice is soft, almost indulgent. 

I grit my teeth, trying to hold my ground. She speaks like she already knows the answer—like she’s just waiting for me to catch up.

But I don’t know the answer. Not yet.

“You keep talking like I’m lying,” I say, forcing the words out. “Like I don’t know what I want. But I do.”

She raises a brow. “Do you?”

“Of course!” I snap. “I—I just want to learn magic!”

Her smile is slow, sharp. “And for what?”

I open my mouth—then stop.

For what?

I—

To help people. That’s obvious. To be able to do something when no one else can.

But the words won’t come out.

Why?

Her expression softens, but it isn’t kind. It’s like watching someone indulge a child’s mistake before correcting them.

“You haven’t decided yet, have you?” she says, tilting her head. “You want something, but you haven’t put it into words. Haven’t faced it.” Her eyes narrow, just slightly. “Because if you did, you might not like the answer.”

I swallow hard.

“I—I don’t care what you think,” I force out. “I’ll figure it out myself.”

She hums. “Maybe you will.”

I clench my fists, forcing myself to stand firm. “Then what about you?” I ask. “You keep talking like you know everything,” I say, and I hate the way my voice trembles. “But you don’t. You don’t know him. You don’t know me. What do you want?”

This time, her smile is different

“Something from you,” she says simply.

The straightforwardness of it catches me off guard. I don’t know why I expected her to dodge the question, but the certainty in her voice makes my stomach twist.

“What?” I ask, hesitating.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “That’s for you to understand in time.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re just—”

“Lying?” she cuts in smoothly. “Deceiving you? No, Shirou. I’ve been more honest than you have. I know what I want. But you?” Her eyes glint. “You can’t even say it yet.”

I shake my head, stepping back. My breath feels too shallow. I can’t keep up with her, can’t untangle the weight of her words before she’s already moving ahead. “You talk like you know everything—but you don’t know him.”

“I know what he gave up to keep you alive. That’s more than you can say.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what he gave up. I never asked.

“I-I’m going to tell Kiritsugu!”

My hands are balled into fists, but they feel small. Powerless.

The words tumble out like they’re bigger than me. Like if I say them loud enough, everything will stop.

I wait for her to flinch.

She doesn’t.

She tilts her head, just a little.  

“That’s it? Gonna run home and tattle?”

My cheeks burn. I want to yell. I want to punch her. But I don’t. Because I don’t know if she’s wrong.

She watches me for a long moment, as if weighing whether I’m worth the breath it would take to respond.

Then, softly—like a knife pressing through cloth—she speaks.

“He’s looking for something, you know.”

My breath catches. “What…?”

Her smile widens, just slightly. “Kiritsugu. He’s searching. He’s been searching for a long, long time.”

“Searching for what?”

“Stories go step by step, Shirou. And you’re still on page one.” Her tone is patient—but in that cruel, condescending way adults use when they’re done pretending a child understands. “Besides… I’d rather not break your little mind all at once.”

She steps forward. Just one step.

But the air shifts—like gravity’s turned sideways, and the whole world is leaning toward her. The shadows stretch long. I feel it in my gut, like vertigo from a place my feet can’t reach.

Her voice is a whisper, but it cuts clean: “With time, you might even look up at me… just like you look at him.”

No.

Never.

I don’t answer.
I don’t run.
That’s all I can do. My fists are shaking, my throat is dry, but I hold my ground. I feel it’s so important not to run from this. I can cry and shake, but running would be the end of me.

She watches me for a long time. Longer than before. And for the first time… her smile falters.

“…You’re still here?” she murmurs, and for just a moment, her face isn’t cold or knowing. It’s confused. Like she doesn’t understand why she’s here either. There’s something else in her voice now. Curiosity, maybe. Disbelief. “You really are stubborn, Shirou. Even now, even after all this—you can still stand here and look at me without turning away.”

I swallow, my throat raw. The fear doesn’t leave, but I keep standing.

“…How do you know my name?”

She pauses. The shadows don’t shift this time. For once, she doesn’t smile right away.

Instead, her expression softens—only slightly. Her voice, when it comes, is quiet. Almost human.

“It would only be natural,” she says, “for me to know the name of Kiritsugu’s new child.”

The cicadas have stopped again. The wind holds its breath.

I don’t understand what she means. Not fully. But something in my chest tightens at the way she says it—not cruel, not mocking. Just… sad.  And then the moment passes. The curve returns to her lips—too smooth, too perfect.

“Run along now, little bird. There is nothing left here for you but the dark.”

I step back.

This time, she doesn’t vanish. I keep looking back, but there is no end to her. She is there and she is real.

And she is waiting.

I make it to the edge of the park before the world remembers how to move again. Sound returns in pieces—the hum of traffic, the whine of cicadas, the heavy press of heat. But behind me, the silence lingers.

I don’t look back.

I step onto the pavement, into the city again.

The cicadas are crying. The heat presses down on me. But the air—

The air still smells wrong.

Like rust.

Like burnt leaves.

The fire was two years ago. But it’s not fading.

That smell is getting stronger.

Somewhere behind me, a bench waits empty. But I know she’s still sitting there.

---

I felt too ill after all that to think of walking all the way back, so I went and took the bus.

The sunset turns the ocean to fire as we cross the big red bridge. It glows—too bright, too alive. The water stretches out forever, so big it feels like you could walk right off the edge of the world and never reach the bottom. But beyond it, there’s a whole world. A place full of people, of cities, of things I can’t even imagine. All the places Gramps has been.

I wonder if the people there have problems like mine. Probably not.

I know Gramps told me magic is a world where normal rules don’t count, but I never really believed him. Not until now. Not until her.

Her words worm into my head.

“It would only be natural for me to know the name of Kiritsugu’s new child.”

I grit my teeth, shoving the memory away as I walk. The sky is darker now, the sunset bleeding out into deep purples and grays. The streets are familiar, but my mind is still far away.

I shake my head. 

I must be losing my mind…

I shake my head. I must be losing it. Maybe I need a doctor more than a lecture from Kiritsugu. But…

Even if he’s keeping secrets, that’s okay. He’s still teaching me magecraft. That has to mean something. That has to mean there’s nothing worse hiding behind it.

I watch the sun sink lower into the water, my fingers gripping the edge of my jacket.

I just… I just want to help. If there’s something wrong, if there’s something hurting him, then I wish—

I wish I could do something for him.

Of course I am powerless though, ugh… This is hard.

That woman makes me feel irritated and it is hard to focus. I take a few deep breaths.

The bus drops me off at the intersection that splits Miyama. Home isn’t too far now.

As I walk home, I see a girl in a red sweater heading the other way.

She walks with purpose, like she knows exactly where she’s going. Like nothing could stop her.

I slow down without thinking.

She’s alone. That’s strange. Most kids our age have someone waiting for them. But she doesn’t hesitate.

She walks like someone who knows exactly where she’s going. Like nothing in the world could stop her. For some reason, that certainty pulls at me. I don’t know her. But maybe I should.

I admire her from a distance.

She keeps walking, but then—she stops.

Her head tilts slightly, like she’s noticed something.

I freeze.

Did she feel me looking at her?

Her gaze flicks toward me. Sharp, but not surprised.

A strange feeling creeps up my spine.

She looks at me, but not just at me. Like she’s noticing something else.

Something off.

I shift awkwardly and raise a hand in a small wave.

She doesn’t wave back.

Instead, she flicks her hair, then turns and keeps walking.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

She seemed… strong. I could use that right about now.

I don’t know her. But maybe I could.

Maybe one day.

---

Entering the kitchen and putting my apron on, I immediately start checking the ingredients for the evening.

As usual, the cupboards have exactly the amount that will get us through the next two days. That is because Gramps is the grocery shopper. I’m too young to go on my own, and Fuji-nee would just get all the wrong ingredients, thinking she’s a genius.

So it falls on Kiritsugu, and whenever he’s gone, I go with Taiga. He always buys a little less than what I would as if he were trying to get the exact amount needed until next time. He’s efficient like that, I suppose. However, he does take his time. The few times I went with him, I understood why. Lots of women his age always want to stop and talk with Gramps; neither of us know why.

Add to that the fact that he checks each ingredient like it was poisoned, and you spend two hours shopping for ten items. My solution has been to send him out after the mother’s rush hour and give him a time limit as if it were a mission. Funnily enough, that works splendidly.

The scent of bonito fills the kitchen, blending with the light tang of soy sauce. The noodles are just about ready—perfect timing.

Gramps got everything I asked for; I’m a proud son this day.

He’s probably out right now, and Taiga will be here shortly from the kendo club. This meal is her reward for being undefeated; we’ve been doting on her pretty hard recently.

I once thought that I could handle her because she was a girl, but I was wrong. She was much closer to being a real tiger than she was a human girl. And yet, she complains that she can’t get a boyfriend. She was the granddaughter of the local Yakuza boss, and her only talents were being a terror with a shinai and lazing about. Due to her mascot status, anyone who would want to be her boyfriend would have to go through the entire town first, asking for permission. She hates her nickname yet plays into it so much it can’t possibly be accidental. So I won’t sympathize.

As I am in the middle of preparing dinner, Gramps arrives first.

I pause, fingers tightening slightly around the knife handle.

Now. I should tell him now.

Irisviel—
That woman—
That presence in the park.

She knows too much. About magic. About Kiritsugu. About me.

She shouldn’t exist in common sense.

The words rise to my throat. If I just open my mouth, if I just say it… 

But the moment I turn to him, the thought freezes in my chest.

“What’s that smell, Shirou? There’s a good aroma coming from the kitchen.”

His voice is normal. Steady. The same as always.

It makes what I’ve seen feel even more unreal.

“I’m making that recipe I found, as I told you.”

My own voice betrays nothing. It shouldn’t. He’s tired. He’s thinner than before. Would telling him just make it worse?

“It’s probably the bonito,” I add quickly. “It smells a little fishy in a good way.”

Gramps hums, stepping further in. He doesn’t suspect anything.

I should still tell him.

I will tell him.

After dinner.

“I see,” he says, glancing toward the stove. “Try to finish as she arrives. You know that Taiga-chan can’t handle having to smell her food for too long.”

There have been times she tried to rush the cooking process and messed everything up. She learned her lesson after getting burnt food for dinner two nights in a row.

“Leave it to me!” I force my focus back to the task at hand. I follow the same internal rhythm as always, letting the familiar steps of cooking steady me. The soba is boiling, and at the same time, I carefully mix the flour, eggs, and water to make the tempura batter.

Right on cue, she bursts in, just as I finish.

“I’m here!” The door slams open, and Taiga whirls inside like a typhoon, bouncing off the walls. “How’s it looking, Shirou?”

“I’m just about ready. I timed it for your arrival.”

She beams, hands on her hips. “Oh, you sweet boy! Onee-san is very happy with you!” She nearly leaps into the kitchen, only for Gramps to catch her wrist mid-motion.

“Taiga, remember the rule. Shirou is the only one allowed in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, but—!”

“No exceptions.” My voice is firm. In this one thing, I must be a tyrant.

“Ughhh, fine.” She sags dramatically onto the tatami, like she’s been struck down.

She chatters nonstop about her upcoming match while I fry the tempura and finish cooking the soba. By the time I bring out the dishes, the conversation has already gone from her kendo skills to what TV shows are ruining the art of sword fighting.

New Year’s food in the middle of summer. It doesn’t make sense, but I like it that way. Cooking is something I’m proud of. 

I arrange the bowls in front of us, setting down the plates carefully.

“Itadakimasu!” we say in unison.

Well, two of us were much louder than the third.

Taiga gets three shrimp.
Gramps gets two.
I leave one for myself.

*”Shirou! You’re—” Taiga pauses between mouthfuls—a growing boy! You can’t just leave yourself with one!”

I watch her steal a bite of tempura from her own plate mid-sentence.

“I’m fine,” I say, already predicting the next argument. “You always steal from my plate anyway, so I just figured I’d give you extra in advance.”

“Are you saying I’m fat, Shirou!?”

“No, I’m not saying that.”

“Taiga-chan’s right, Shirou.” Gramps, who has been eating quietly, suddenly pushes one of his pieces onto my plate. “You’re a growing boy. Take mine.”

“Are you sure, Gramps?”

“It’s fine. I’m not that hungry today.”

He says it so casually, but I notice it. He’s been eating less than usual. He’s thinner.

Taiga pouts like a child who’s been forgotten in a game. “Fine, I’ll let it go this time. But only because I still got the most!”

“You always get the most,” I mumble.

She either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to.

As we eat, Taiga suddenly perks up, pointing her chopsticks at me.

“Oh yeah! Shirou, I swear I saw you on the bus earlier. Isn’t that weird?”

Crap.

I laugh a little too quickly. “That’s because I was on the bus. You know I like to walk across the city sometimes… haha.”

I’ve been going out every day recently.

“Oh! Then I should go with you again sometime, just like the old days!”

Good. Shift the conversation.

But Gramps isn’t as easy to distract.

“Where do you end up on these walks, Shirou?”

The question stops me cold.

I hesitate just a second too long.

“Oh, err, I like to see the big buildings… in the city.”

Gramps doesn’t respond right away. He just watches me. Long enough that I feel my own excuse unraveling under his stare.

Then, finally:

“…I see. Just be careful, alright?”

I nod quickly, pretending that I don’t notice how long he looked at me.

I didn’t lie.

I just… didn’t tell the full truth.

Luckily, Taiga saves me, as always, when I don’t know what to say.

“It’s alright, Shirou, as long as you stay in sight of the older students and take the bus home. Besides, this is Fuyuki! There are no bad people here!”

“Yeah… no bad people…” I laugh awkwardly.

I force down the memory of a woman with snow-white hair and crimson eyes.

“Maybe I’ll join you on these walks,” Taiga teases. “Just in case you’re sneaking off to see some secret girlfriend or something.”

“As if. And Fuji-nee, if I recall, last time you tried to walk with me, you got tired halfway and begged me to carry you the rest of the way.”

Taiga slams her chopsticks onto the table, scandalized.

“H-Hey! You make it sound like I was being lazy or something!”

“You were,” I reply flatly.

She gasps, clutching her chest like I just stabbed her. “Shirou! I was merely conserving my strength! As a master martial artist, I have to strategically manage my stamina!”

“Strategically?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes! A warrior must know when to expend energy and when to preserve it! And besides—” She leans forward, eyes narrowing—”A gentleman would have carried me without complaining!”

I stare at her.

“Fuji-nee, you tried to ride on my back while I was carrying the groceries.”

She waves me off. “Details, details!”

Gramps, who has been quietly drinking his tea, finally speaks. “Taiga, I do recall Shirou nearly collapsing when he got home that day.”

She flails dramatically before crossing her arms, pouting. “Fine. If Shirou won’t carry me next time, I’ll just have to train until I can carry him instead!”

That’s the scariest thing I’ve heard all week.

“Please don’t,” I say immediately.

She just grins. “Too late! Next time we train, you’re the practice dummy!”

I sigh, accepting my fate.

Kiritsugu just chuckles, sipping his tea.

“Remember Shirou, tigers are meant for short-term sprinting, not long-term walking,” Gramps said matter of factly as if we were speaking of a zoo animal. Before I let her recognize that he had secretly called her tiger, the forbidden word, I quickly changed the subject.

“Anyway, I was thinking I should make some friends at school.”

Across the table, Taiga pauses mid-bite, narrows her eyes, and slowly lowers her chopsticks.

“Hah? What, am I not enough for you?” She crosses her arms dramatically, leaning forward.

“That’s not—”

“Shirou, you wound me! First, you sneak off on secret city adventures, and now you’re replacing me?” She gasps, clutching her chest like I just told her I was moving away forever. Then, suddenly, she leans in close, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Wait. Is this really about a girl?”

“What? No!”

“Awww, no need to be shy! You can talk to Onee-san about these things!”

“That’s… not what I meant!” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I just mean… I should be more open to other people. I mean, I do get along with everyone else at school really.”

Taiga tilts her head, her playful look dropping slightly.

“Why do you think that, Shirou?”

I hesitate. “I… I don’t know. I don’t really have any real friends. I get along with everyone, but maybe I should find closer friends.”

Her lips purse together, and for once, she actually seems to consider my words.

Then—

“I’m not your friend?”

I freeze.

Her eyes shimmer suspiciously, her lip trembling ever so slightly.

“I—It’s just that… you’re my big sister, not my friend.”

That seems to do the trick. Immediately, she straightens, crossing her arms smugly. “Oh, that makes sense, Shirou.”

Then, just as quickly, her grin turns devilish.

“Do you know what that means, though? It means that no matter what, you’ll never be able to tell me to stop coming over. You can’t deny family, can you?” She leans back triumphantly. “So fine. I’ll allow you to make friends—as long as I have the final say on if they get to come over for your birthday.”

“You act like you’re my guardian or something.”

“I basically am!”

The actual guardian at the table had remained silent the whole time.

But now, with the conversation finally shifting into quiet, Kiritsugu speaks.

“That sounds good, Shirou. Your birthday, huh…”

His voice is unreadable, like he’s considering something.

“What is it, Emiya-san?” Taiga tilts her head, looking at him curiously.

Kiritsugu exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that… I’ll be leaving on another trip to Europe in October. I won’t be home for a little while.”

Taiga stiffens. Her usual easygoing energy drops.

“Wait—you’re leaving? But Shirou’s birthday—”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it.” His tone is apologetic, but not uncertain. “I’ll try, but…”

He trails off.

The lively warmth of the conversation cools.

“That’s… not good, you know?” Taiga’s voice is quieter now.

“It’s fine.” I shrug. Too quickly. “We don’t even know when my real birthday is anyway.”

The words leave my mouth too bluntly, too cold. I didn’t mean them that way.

But Kiritsugu’s gaze flickers to mine.

And for a second, I think he might say something.

Kiritsugu stands, his chair scraping softly against the floor. His movements are slow, deliberate, but I notice the way his fingers tense slightly when he grips the edge of the table. He exhales, not quite a sigh, just a breath with a little too much weight behind it.

“I should rest.”

But his voice doesn’t match his words. He’s looking at me—not absentmindedly, not distracted like he sometimes gets. No, this is different. There’s something deeper behind his tired expression, something heavy he isn’t saying.

And I realize, suddenly, that he wants to be here.

He wants to stay. He wants to be the father I need, the one who makes it to birthdays, who doesn’t disappear on long trips, who can just sit here and eat a meal with us every night like any normal family.

But that’s not who Kiritsugu is, is it?

Because he has to leave.

Not because he doesn’t care, but because he does.

There’s something missing for him. Something he still hasn’t found after all this time. I can see it now, see the weight that hangs on his shoulders, the ghost of something I can’t quite name.

And at that moment, I know.

Irisviel was telling the truth.

I don’t understand all of it, but she was right about one thing.

Kiritsugu wants something more than anything in the world.

And it’s not here.

“Fine…” Taiga finally relents, still pouting but moving past it. “But it will be a fun party no matter what!”

I force a smile.

Yeah. I’ll make sure of that.

Even if Gramps isn’t here, I’ll make sure things stay normal.

Because if he has to go, if he has to keep chasing something out there in the world…

Then at the very least, I want him to have something to come back to.

All of us finished with our plates; Gramps quickly gathered them up and excused himself.

“Sorry, can you two clean up?”

“Sure…” Fuji-nee saluted and sat right back down as she did her job of supervising me as I cleaned up.

“Good night, Shirou.” The glint in his eye was a soft apology for leaving me to face the wrath of the tiger of Fuyuki alone.

He turned to Taiga.

“Good night Fujimura.”

“Oyasumi!” I called out, leaving us alone in the kitchen.

Taiga picked at her teeth to re-live the flavor as I did all the actual cleaning.

We were the only ones here.

Which meant, inevitably, Fuji-nee was about to say something ridiculous.

“Shirou, you’re a boy, right?”

I blink, my mind still half-caught in the memory of the park.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Last I checked.”

“Great! So tell me, how do I get a boyfriend?”

There it is.

I sigh, drying my hands. “Fuji-nee…”

She groans, flopping onto the kitchen table like a cat in distress. “Ugh, all my friends are in relationships, but nobody has asked me out! I don’t get it, Shirou! Every time I see a cute boy, I make sure he knows I’m the strongest in my club!”

I blink.

“…You don’t think that might be the problem?”

She lifts her head, frowning. “How is it a problem? Isn’t strength attractive?”

“Well… maybe not when it’s followed by a flying roundhouse kick.”

Fuji-nee flinches. “What!? But I was just showing them my form!”

“And they probably saw their life flash before their eyes.”

“Waaah! What do I do, Shirou!?” She grabs my shoulders, shaking me slightly, her expression devastated. “Am I going to be alone forever!?”

“Listen…” I try to choose my words carefully. “Why don’t you act… more like a girl?”

“But I am a girl?” She sounds genuinely confused.

You act like a tiger, though.

“Yes, but maybe all the boys see you more like a tiger and less like someone they can take on a date.”

Her eye twitches.

“Don’t. Call. Me. Tiger!”

I knew it was coming, but I had to say it anyway. She lunges at me, grabbing me in a chokehold, but at least this time, there’s no biting.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll tell you the secret!” I tap out quickly.

She stops. “Tell me. How do I make them see me as a girl?”

Think fast, Shirou.

“Umm… how about… wearing a dress or something?”

She recoils like I suggested ritual sacrifice. “A dress? Warriors don’t wear dresses!”

“That’s wrong, Fuji-nee. I read that Celtic warrior women wore battle dresses.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “…Really?”

I nod solemnly. “Yup. Historically accurate.”

“Hmm… That might be it, then…” She rubs her chin in deep contemplation. “In fact, that’s a great idea! I’m going to get Grandpa to make me a battle dress! Just you wait!”

Wait—wait—wait—how did we get here!?

And why did she have to tackle me to the floor to come to this conclusion?

“That sounds great, Fuji-nee,” I groan, pinned beneath her weight. “So why don’t you let me up now?”

She releases me, standing with renewed determination. “Fine… But you know, it’s too bad you’re my little brother.”

I freeze, instantly on high alert. “W-what do you mean?”

She sighs dramatically, flipping her hair. “Every time I meet a guy, I just compare him to you, and they always fall short. They can’t cook for me, they can’t dodge my shinai for more than ten seconds, and they don’t appreciate a well-placed tackle!”

“…That last one isn’t normal, Fuji-nee.”

She waves me off. “Details, details. The point is, it’s a big problem.”

I stare at her, feeling a dull realization settle in.

She is completely, utterly oblivious.

The truth is, Fuji-nee probably does have admirers. I’ve seen the way some of the guys at her dojo look at her. But she’s so busy comparing everyone to an impossible standard that she doesn’t even notice when people actually like her.

I have a sinking feeling it’s going to be a very long time before Fuji-nee finds that “special someone.”

Hang in there, Onee-san. I’ll be here for you until then.

“Well, I should be off now. I have a match tomorrow. Thanks for the idea!”

And just as quickly as she arrived, she leaps out the door.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “No problem, Fuji-nee…”

She didn’t bring up anything from earlier.

I think she was trying to distract me.

It’s okay, Fuji-nee. You don’t have to be such a worrywart.

---

The hallway is quiet.

The only sound is the faint ticking of the clock in the living room, muffled behind closed doors.

I stand outside Gramps’s room, my hand hovering near the door.

I should tell him. The words are right there. But the moment I open my mouth, something stops me.

“If you truly want to save people, then shouldn’t you start by saving him?”

My fingers curl into fists. I should say it. I should ask.

Then I hear it—his breathing, just beyond the door. Steady, but tired.

“Shirou?”

My throat locks up.

He’s already been eating less. His hands looked thinner at dinner. And when he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I swallow the words back down.

“I saw a girl today.”

Not a lie. But not the truth.

“Hmm… That’s good, Shirou.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me.

Maybe I’ll tell him another day.

“Yeah… she was wearing a red sweater. She looked really confident. Like she knew exactly where she was going.” There is a magus in this town! A creepy woman in that place who smells of burning smoke and knows things she shouldn’t! I should have said that. Instead, I just say, “She seemed kinda cool.”

There’s another pause, then—

“That’s good, Shirou.” His voice sounds lighter, almost amused. “It’s good you’re starting to notice girls.”

I blink. “What? No—it’s not like that!”

His chuckle is barely audible. “Mm. If you say so.”

I scowl at the floor. “It’s not.”

There’s a short pause. I should go. But the words come out before I can stop them.

“…Do magi ever hide in normal towns?”

Kiritsugu doesn’t answer right away. Just a small shift in his breathing, barely a second too long.

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice unreadable. “But it’s rare. Why?”

I hesitate. “I was just wondering… I mean, there are no magi in this town, right?”

Kiritsugu’s eyes flick toward me. Calm. Thoughtful.

“Not openly,” he says. “But magi don’t like being found. That’s kind of the point.”

I nod, trying not to let my thoughts show.

“You should get some sleep. Really, Shirou, you dont have to worry about anything like that. Just focus on school, okay?”

“I will. Goodnight, Gramps.”

“Goodnight, Shirou.”

I leave before I can change my mind.

The next few days, Kiritsugu is a little off. Tired. Quiet.
But slowly, he starts to look better again.

He eats more. He lingers at the table longer during breakfast. His smiles aren’t so hollow.
Little things. But I notice.

The worry in my chest begins to loosen—just a bit.

If he’s getting better, then…

Maybe I don’t have to say anything yet.

Maybe telling him would only make it worse.

I shake my head, trying to clear the thought.

It’s fine.

I’ll keep it to myself.

Just for now.