Saber stared across the ring at her relaxed opponent, the sharp, almost comforting feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins. Staring into those red eyes, she wondered if this was what it was like to measure up the Golden Boy across the ring.
Of course, there were differences. The Golden Boy's hair was immaculate, the product of two thousand dollar haircuts and a mass of products from all over the world. Arcueid Brunestud's hair though, while blond and attractive, probably saw a comb once a week, unless someone else did it for her. Their uniforms couldn't even be compared. The Golden Boy preferred a gold robe and trunks, occasionally embossed with the name of some lucky sponsor who had paid through the nose for the privilege, whereas Arc...
Actually, what the hell was she wearing?!
The difference between her conservative attire before the match and what she had on now could not be overstated. Whereas before she had worn a heavy white sweater, her arms were now bare, save a white cloth wrap over each bicep. That in itself was not too strange, except her sport's bra...well, it wasn't. Instead of a businesslike binding of the upper chest, the white chest wrap almost deliberately left the top of her bosom all but arrogantly exposed to the air. Between her breasts, the line plunged further still, displaying a more than generous amount of flesh, lined with a thin bar of gold that caught the light and eye. Further, it was clearly not fully secured, meaning that in the middle of strenuous activity, like, for example, boxing, there would be a lot of superfluous...motion.
Saber had once pretended she was male so that she might fight, but against that kind of view, maybe it was best she had no interest in girls! Past her exposed and toned stomach, the bottom was...somewhat...more reasonable: a set of blue and white shorts that were fairly standard except for an odd flared ruffle that poked out at each hip. The effect caused one to imagine a much longer skirt billowing around some very shapely legs.
...Put bluntly it looked less like a boxing uniform and more like the kind of swimsuit one wore to a beauty pageant if they only considered winning and gave no thought to modesty.
Her stance, however, was almost the same as that of Gilgamesh. The Original boxing style practiced by the Golden Boy was actually quite similar to that of the Ultimate One, yet they both had their unique characteristics.
...Of course, it went without saying that even for Saber, the similarity between Gilgamesh's style and that of Arcueid was something that made the match to come even more exciting. Arc was a warrior whose fighting power was close enough to that of Fred Ken Heracles that Shirou had felt she was a fitting style trainer, yet her ability level was closest to that of the Golden Boy. Put another way, she was like a living cheat code.
I can't wait...
For the first time since the disastrous match with the Hound Dog, Saber felt no shame, no humiliation. The sound of her fans jeering the loss, the look on Shirou's face, the knowledge that she really wasn't perfect, that she was, in fact, beatable...
...All these feelings faded into the ring like chains being broken one by one. Here was an enemy greater than any she had faced before.
This was what Saber's instincts, honed in battle, were screaming. To make a single mistake was to invite defeat. To not make a mistake was still to face defeat. The chances of victory against an enemy like that approached zero; such was her power level.
...Yet all the same, it also meant that in order to find that victory, Saber had to be able to let go. To just, for one blissful exchange of punches, a round, a match, be able to forget. To concentrate on nothing but the boxer she must defeat. If she had time for such an extemporaneous thought, she would have praised Emiya Shirou from the bottom of her heart for his strategy of securing an opponent like this.
Now, all she had to do was win.
Emiya Shirou tried not to audibly gulp. This might well have been the biggest gamble he had made in the tournament. Still, it wasn't about winning the tourney right now. Saber was not even thinking about Fred Ken Heracles. She didn't remember what was on the line, she wasn't about to fight for her dream, or her fans, or even for her pride.
That was the true reason Shirou had gambled on a style trainer like this. Saber's confidence had been shattered by the last match, but even so...
Her instincts were still strong and unbent. A fighter like this was the type to stimulate her to action. Arcueid was undeniably superior to the Hound Dog. In a fight between the two, she would win 100 times out of 100. The only time that might change was if the Heartthrob came into play. That punch was such a spoiler that even Arcueid might be defeated depending on her luck. Even with that in mind, Arc was still the stronger opponent. Meaning that Saber could wipe away the stigma of her last fight in this moment.
All she had to do was win.
When the bell rang to start the sparring match, neither Saber or Shirou had enough time to wonder whether she could.
...But when that same bell rang, if a change had come over Saber, there was one in the form of Arcueid Brunestud too. The flat-eyed look on the taller woman's face was devoid of emotion, devoid of distraction, devoid of mercy. If Saber was like a weapon when she focused, hard, cold, unwavering...
...then this new opponent was a force of nature personified. When Saber advanced behind careful upraised guards, she prepared to turn away the opening loose cross and step in, and...
...well, the next second was a confused mixture of pain, a blur of color, and the view of Emiya's Shirou's dismayed face all jumbled together.
Moments later, when sensations returned, she felt two relatively familiar touches on her body, one in particular which she hated: the feeling of her back on her canvas. The other, very normal one was the pressure of Emiya Shirou's hands on her shoulders.
...That said, Shirou wasn't usually doing so to barely keep her limp body from falling bonelessly out of the ring. As the ringing pain in her arms from defending brought her woozy mind to focus, she realized what had happened. Though she had read and guarded the attack, she hadn't really taken account for what had happened earlier in the day. Even light blows from the fearsome warrior had been enough to floor high-competition-level fighters. However, Saber had assumed that properly prepared she would be more capable of defending and responding.
The outcome of that assumption had resulted in her guard being shattered and, without the quick intervention of Emiya Shirou, she would have almost certainly been sent spinning right out of the ring.
What kind of person was she?!
...and wow, this was gonna be fun!
"You all right?" Shirou called worriedly behind her.
Saber's mouthguard prevented her from responding, so she tapped her gloves together instead, a universal boxer-to-manager sign that said "I am still in this match!"
Then she charged.
Shirou watched as Saber whipped forward, an almost audible crack in the air as she re-engaged. Her opponent stood eager and waiting.
...Eager? No, that wasn't it. A description like that would be fitting for the energetic girl they had met outside the ring, but this woman? She wasn't eager, nor was she angry, joyous, or even afraid. This was a merciless warrior who fought because she was the best. To challenge her was an insult to the natural order.
Call it confidence, call it self-assurance, but that was truly the aura of the red-eyed warrior.
When Saber's fist, powered with the momentum of her charge, struck like a bolt of lightning, Arc was there with a single upraised fist. A simple guard, but more than sufficient to counter the full weight of Saber's body. It seemed the defense of Ultimate One was at least as good as its offense. Planting her left foot, Arc returned fire with a series of mammoth blows, each more than enough to lay a powerful fighter out.
But this time, Saber was not there. Recovering instantly from her attacks she bounced back, light on her feet. Whenever a bone-crushing blow was launched, Saber gave ground easily, using the ring in place of her fists to protect herself.
When Saber checked her retreat and advance, she was holding a new position, one she rarely her made use of. Shoulder roll guard. Occasionally called in slang term "Philly Shell," easily recognizable by the classic low-held fist by the stomach and main hand held high, near the dominant eye. A counter punch type strategy that required near perfect precision; by rolling as a punch went by, a fighter could let it graze them and then respond with a lethal counter.
But such a strategy would never work against Arc! Even getting grazed by one of those monster punches would bruise if not break ribs!
Shirou gripped the cloth rope of the arena guard and prepared to call her back...but the words died on his lips. As she circled and spun around Arc, Saber deliberately caught Shirou's eye. She had a level of focus and determination gleaming in her emerald eyes Shirou had been missing for a while.
She was trying something, taking a heavy risk.
Practically speaking, it was stupid of her to risk injury by adopting a high cost, high return strategy, but this wasn't just about training. This was about letting Saber remember the woman she was.
"...Keep off the ropes!" Shirou called instead. "Don't let her take the ring away from you!"
...And don't let me down, girl, Shirou mentally added.
Saber bobbed and weaved, looking for the right moment. She heard Shirou behind her, and felt a smile stretch against her mouthguard. That was basic, general advice, good to keep in mind of course, but that wasn't really the message conveyed or received. He wasn't going to call the fight. He trusted her.
Now to see what that trust was worth.
Saber deliberately stepped slightly out of her own range, which loosened Arcueid's form as she could chamber longer attacks with less fear of retaliation. Saber ghosted backwards, letting a harsh, loose uppercut go by, and then danced forward as if to counter. When Arcueid, without yielding even an inch of earth, prepared a lethal hook, Saber finally saw her chance. Saber deliberately leaned much further back the was traditional, putting the attacking arm in front of her, then stabbed down with her dominant hand at her eye.
With all the force she could get out of her upper body, Saber moved Arc's hand maybe an inch. Just barely to the point where the larger woman grudgingly had to take a tiny stutter step to catch her balance and rechamber.
...And that was enough. The beauty of the shoulder roll wasn't just in its defensive capabilities. To a skilled fighter, the low hand could be used as viciously as a hidden blade. It was easy to dismiss as a purely defensive tool because the angle made low punches unwieldy, but allowed for skilled parries at the mid section; yet that concealed one minor role the hand placement allowed. If the body was twisted, simply by rechambering the right fist, there was a small zone on the opponent's midsection that could be struck with all the force of a haymaker. With a crack of leather on flesh, Saber crashed into Arcueid with enough force to break through rebar reinforced concrete.
And Arc didn't even so much as grunt in pain.
Instead of hearing the sound of her breath whoosh out of her, or feeling her fold over the arm or even, in the best case, watching with joy as her opponent went straight to the canvas, Saber's fist was stopped dead in its tracks by an almost majestic six pack, and that was where it stayed. Instead of the glory of winning a match, all Saber felt after her glorious attack was the sudden spike of adrenaline that was sent along with the feeling of her instincts screaming at her to move, now!
She didn't really have an escape. The counter blow was coming from above, but she had dipped low to maximize her attack power, meaning Saber could not really see where the attack was coming from.
...But her opponent had been a bit off balance from left side. With nothing but that hint and her instincts to guide her, Saber threw herself to her right, counting on her opponent to settle her weight on her right heel and levy a hook into her rib cage. It certainly wasn't the most graceful dodge, just bodily hurling herself off the left foot as far and fast as she could.
It was enough, barely. Saber felt the wind of the blow crossing her body as she barely dived past. When she was able to recover, she found with relief Arcueid had not charged, as Saber had worried she might. Instead, while Saber stared across the ring as her opponent, Arc slowly twisted her upper body from one side to the other, stretching out and testing her midsection.
...Incidentally, these motions caused a series of very eye-catching bounces around her...upper chest area. Apparently satisfied with the results, Arcueid settled back into a fighting stance and began to slowly stalk towards her.
After all that had happened - the effort to get both in, and nothing short of essentially a lucky break to escape - that was the fruit of Saber's efforts. Arc was completely fine.
I...put everything I had into that punch! Saber thought, surprise momentarily overwhelming her fighting instincts. She gave ground to recuperate, chancing a glance over at Shirou.
"Get it now?" he called easily. Damn the man. He must have known what would happen, or at least guessed, and let her try anyway, just so she would fully understand the power that she was up against; so she would truly grasp what it meant to face the Fred Ken Heracles.
"Go for points!" Shirou called without rancor.
Yeah, that was right. Saber had gotten lost in the joy of battle, but one couldn't beat the Godhand by knocking Heracles out, but through the judges. That meant dancing, playing his game. The way to defeat him was to hit him a thousand times before he hit you once. And indeed, that also seemed to be the only way to beat the force of nature known as Arcueid Brunestud.
So Saber waded in, jabs flying.
When the bell rang, Saber sat in her corner, struggling to breath constructively. When the body requires oxygen it makes one suck wind in endlessly, but it was far better to ignore that instinct and consciously take long slow breaths that drew the air into the bottom of the lungs.
Spitting out a mouthful of water, Saber couldn't help but glance across at her opponent. "She is amazing..." Saber said unwillingly.
"You ain't seeing nothing yet," Shirou said, hiding a smile as he put down the water bottle. "Just get ready for the next round," he added idly.
"...What?" Saber exclaimed, taking a shocked look at Shirou. Usually for training rounds, especially the first one, they broke to go over first impressions. Belatedly, Saber forced herself to sit up a little differently. She had allowed herself to relax a little to much if she was going to have another bout.
"Well yeah, if you don't, you won't get a chance to see her special ability!" Shirou said with a wink, starting to rub Saber's shoulders.
Actually that reminded her. Arc was originally from the area; not exactly the same place, but close enough. That meant she might have learned one of the strange abilities that cropped up around here.
"Some special punch...?" Saber hazarded a guess, thinking of some ultimate strike.
"Nah, what would she need that for, every punch from her is like that. What you have to look out for is called Counter Force."
Saber craned her head around to eye her manager warily. She had learned enough about the KoB tourney that she knew the more esoteric the name was, the more exceptional the technique. Blood Writer's aura, for example, was dangerous, but comparatively weak, and thus it was without a full name. On the flip side, Gouging Fist of the War Goddess, while ineffective against Saber, was an attack that threatened even the Golden Boy, hence the respect its name conveyed. Whatever this Counter Force ability was, it must be extraordinary.
"So what am I up against?" Saber asked, all business.
"She...how do I put this. She gets into the zone. She isn't like you; for her, strong opponents aren't a pleasure but are a challenge. She fights to prove she is the best. Whenever she gets into a good fight, she just keeps getting better, and it shows most after each round. The longer a fight goes on, the more she will improve; the stronger her enemy, the faster this occurs. Hence the name, Counter force. You are powerful, Saber, the best fighter I know. I am sure she will be just as amazing."
"What kind of person...?" Saber trailed off in wonder.
"You have to beat her on points. You will never knock her out, but her ability will get stronger every round as her focus improves. By the way, this training is going for four rounds. Tomorrow, we are going eight. Oh, and there is one other thing you should know."
Saber stared wordlessly, her mind swimming.
Shirou leaned close to Saber's ear as if to impart a deep secret or great truth.
"You are better. I guarantee it. You're going to win, and I am gonna help you. That's just what it means to be a manager!
"...You sure?" Saber said quietly. It was perhaps the only time she had ever really admitted straight out her doubts following Kotomine Kirei's blows to her spirit.
"That's why it's her." Shirou nodded to her opponent. Arc was getting a mouthful of water from another member of Shirou's stable who had been appointed as her round manager. Across the way, Arc caught their eyes and stared. Saber now knew that she was preparing herself mentally, and would come out an even more impossible enemy next round. The more tired she became, the more powerful her opponent would grow.
And yet..this was the enemy Shirou had prepared for her when she was at her worst. This was the enemy he believed she could win. She may not be smart, but she knew what another loss would mean — what Shirou would think it would mean. He was certainly right.
...Yet here was what she needed to beat the Godhand, to win a bout against Fred Ken Heracles. If she wanted to beat the Hound Dog, to beat Kirei...and to justify a level of faith that in the depths of Saber's mind, she had wondered whether it was unfounded...then this was where it started.
In that case...
"So...are you ready, Saber?"
Saber nodded to herself, raising her hand.
"Are you ready, Shirou?" Saber returned, accepting his bumped fist on her glove.
And the bell for the next round started.
Emiya Shirou couldn't deny he was worried. In a way, his actions had mirrored those of his boxer. Just as she had risked a great deal on a quick all-out punch, it was a hard choice that he had made at the beginning of the week. The other style trainer had not been up to Saber's ability level. Using this Nero person would have been a more gradual buildup to remind Saber of who she was, by preparing for the Godhand. But Shirou had decided to go bold; a warrior of this caliber called all of Saber's insecurities to a head right then and there. It was like drawing poison to the surface of a wound: on one hand, it allowed you to correct the problem quickly...yet done wrong, and the poison would course through the system, killing the victim.
But he believed in her, and she in him. He had done everything he could for Saber. Now it was all up to her.
He watched as Saber closed in, then retreated, trying to draw out a counter blow, but her opponent instead pressed forward, trying to reach infighting zone where her strength would become overwhelming. Saber avoided to the side, jabbing ineffectually. When Arc pressed, Saber gave ground, attacking from the side or from range. It robbed her blows of power, but it added precious fragments of a second for her to avoid the red-eyed attacker's merciless strikes.
Shirou couldn't tear his eyes from the fight. It sounded like a war zone: Saber's fists rapping consistently, yet lightly against Arcueid's upper guard or face, Arc's counter blows raining down like whistling bombs whizzing blissfully by the sad group in the foxhole, who pray to not be struck and killed in a single disastrous moment.
As they moved back and forth, Shirou caught a flash of controlled anxiety in Saber's green eyes to pair with the look of utterly focused, emotionless determination on that of her red-eyed foe.
That was not a bad thing; fear itself was not the enemy. A healthy dose of fear would keep a warrior wary and alert, which Saber displayed admirably when she flitted to the side of a long extended straight Arc sent towards her midsection. Saber blurred forward...and then immediately ducked under Arc's followup cross. Arc had been trying to feint an opening, but Saber hadn't been fooled, and it was Arcueid who had to momentarily stop to wall herself away behind her gloves as Saber wrapped a combination off, leather to leather.
Saber wasn't winning, but she certainly wasn't losing either, and her performance would impress the judges.
So I guess this is what they call a good fight? Shirou mused, stopping, for just a moment, his work as a manager and taking the chance even for a brief second to enjoy a boxing match between two high-level, equally matched fighters.
Saber had long since gotten used to having to account for these "special skills" in the King of Boxers tournament, so the fact that someone as powerful as this Arcueid had a super move was at that point no surprise. At her corner, it had been worrisome to think of facing her opponent stronger than last round, let alone ever increasing for four or even eight rounds. However, having exchanged a few blows, Saber now knew "worrisome" was not the right word.
Arcueid Brunestud was absolutely terrifying.
The difference between this round and the last was so great it was like facing a completely different boxer; like the difference between an explosion and a focused laser, both of the same yield. One was all elemental power: dangerous, yet uncontrolled, most of the lethality scattering harmlessly into the air; the other took all of that strength and focused it onto a single point, ensuring complete annihilation.
So it was with Arcueid. Where before her attacks had been overwhelming strikes, but something that could be juked and weaved around, now she was weaving more complete combinations. Even if Saber slid aside one deadly attack, the followup movement would interrupt the counter blow. And indeed, since Arc was so immensely powerful that Saber had to dodge her blows, not merely block them, Saber was finding much less opportunity to work inside for her preferred jab combinations, since that usually required a skilled block or parry to open up the opponent's stance.
But every time Saber tried, a pair of burning red eyes followed her. When Saber managed to cut inside just after a fierce uppercut ripped past her left ear, she retaliated by dipping low and looking to set up a three-part combination starting from her right hand. But the blows didn't come close to connecting as Arc got her left hand in the way of the first one, and prepped a retaliating hook with her right that was sent crashing towards Saber's cheek with the speed and deadliness of a sniper bullet.
She is reading my movements, Saber realized. Arc knew Saber preferred the jab combinations; even though she had been a step off balance after a missed power blow, she had read Saber and recognized the attack before it had come, leading to a lethal counter. That was the ability level of the warrior whose power had no limits. Speed, power, endurance, all of these were improving moment by moment, creating an unstoppable combatant.
And yet...
I can read her movements too...!
Changing direction mid-strike was a very difficult maneuver; orthodox boxing movements were the way they were for a reason. But by the same token, at the top level of combat it was possible to incorporate strategies that differed from the standard style for no other reason than creating an attack different from what an opponent had expected. Which was why even Arc was not ready for Saber to halt her punch in mid-execution by leaping entirely over the attack, both feet completely leaving the ground as she did everything she could to clear her head from a strike that certainly would have rendered her senseless.
The movement left Saber unguarded for a moment. Naturally, a body in midair will be vulnerable until it reconnects with the ground; if Arcueid had been able to instantly follow up, Saber might well have faced a blow even fiercer than the one she had so riskily avoided. However, Arc fumbled her step for a moment, having to regain her footing after the blow she was sure would land clean hit air.
When Saber's feet met canvas, she took the opportunity to step aside and land that same three-part combination to Arc's hip that she had feinted earlier, then bounced outside.
A gambit to open up her opponent, a weak spot that she couldn't mitigate, and two separate lethal counterattack moments that could have ended the fight in a single swing; all of these the emerald-eyed woman had risked just for a couple of jab points. And of course, now that Arc had seen the stratagem, it could not be repeated.
And Arcueid's power would only increase after this.
For the first time, Saber honestly thanked the Hound Dog with every fiber of her being. What a fight she now had! She did not know what would have happened if Hound Dog had been soundly defeated, but she was sure this would not have been it. His victory had been essentially a lucky punch, but now, against Arcueid?
...Against Arcueid every single exchange of blows left Saber fighting for her life.
When Arcueid charged in, she gave ground. Arc's style did not include many jabs: jabs came from the chest, so she had trouble getting her full power into the blow. Instead, she preferred long looping hooks and crosses, across-the-body attacks that curved in like a beast's claws. In no way could Saber allow herself to be drawn into one of those series of blows. Any single strike could - and would - knock her out of the fight. Ever more that that, being struck by a combination might well take her out of the tournament and into intensive care.
And she loved it. When the time seemed right, Saber stepped inside and peppered a two-part jab set off Arc's arm. It was difficult to get Arcueid to guard, since she tended to trade blows instead, counting, quite reasonably, on her overwhelming firepower to make up the difference. But Saber had noted that if she attacked after Arc threw a left hook, sometimes Arc would choose to give ground and rechamber. Since the red eyed warrior guarded, Saber would not receive points for the attack, and she still had to duck aside a fierce uppercut on the way out.
A charge inside, a lethal blow to avoid, and that time Saber had not been able to score at all. Indeed, with every second Arc got better and better.
But Saber was gonna get better too. If she could have a fight like this, then why wouldn't she keep improving? A warrior grew in skill when she met opponents that could defeat her; the more powerful, the better.
If Saber couldn't lose a match, then...
...why, then wouldn't boxing get really boring?
That was such a horrifying thought it distracted Saber almost long enough for her to miss Arcueid trying to cut inside behind a hard straight, and she pushed her reverie aside to focus on the fight once more.
But it was in that moment Saber vowed that she would prove it was better to be a fighter who could improve little by little after every fight through hard work and experience, than one who boosted their power a great deal in a single fight by way of a technique that ended at the end of a match
It was at that very moment, when a titanic shift that rocked the entire Emiya gym occurred.
But that shift did not occur in the ring. No, it was just that the equivalent of a strategically launched cruise missile had snuck up on him while he was distracted. And the way she introduced herself, left no doubts to the new face who had entered the scene.
"Oniiiiiii-chan!" Shirou heard the warning moments before the impact hit. Thankfully he was growing accustomed to this so as to know to tense his side and legs just enough to take the impact of his little sister barreling into him.
"Joo have not come to vizit!" Illyasviel von Einzbern admonished Shirou, even as she happily hugged him.
"Hey you" Shirou tried to act friendly without taking his eyes off the ring.
Within, Arc and Saber had maneuvered into a dangerously close range. Saber seemed like she was on fire; Shirou's blood had run cold seeing some of the risks she was repeatedly taking, often for some very small returns.
But he knew that was the way she was going to have to fight to beat the boxer managed by the warm little figure currently snuggled into his waist.
In truth, Shirou was beginning to note some of the differences between Arcueid Brunestud and Fred Ken Heracles, which he decided he would need to go over with Saber later to make sure she understood them. Where the Godhand charged forward, using his ludicrously powerful stomach to control his momentum, Arc planted her feet firmly She could advance, but she would do so in the form of a hard stalk that left her heels planted. It was her legs that gave rise to her unbelievable power.
In a sense, she was Saber plus one in that regard. Saber too would create a power punch by planting her feet and then charging a strike through, but she did so infrequently; such attacks were but one small part of a larger arsenal. Arcueid however had focused all of her ability on such massive strikes. One might consider the danger of overspecializing, but on the other hand, through it a simple girl was as powerful - perhaps even more so - than the Godhand himself.
If Saber was the raging sky, delivering lightning bolts in between gusts of wind, then this new enemy was the quiet earth, patient as the slow plod of the tectonic plates in their inexorable journey, soaking up everything the sky could take with a smile, secure in the knowledge that when the storm abated, the earth's power would still hold firm. By planting her feet, absorbing power through the ground beneath her and using it to careful, deadly effect —was this the truly strongest opponent?
Shirou was not Arcueid Brunestud's master; to him, she was an enemy that must be defeated. But even he knew...
She was glorious.
"It iz a good plan, onii-chan, but it vont verk. Zis free agent joo have hired..." Illya interrupted his reverie. "she iz good, but either Zaber or her, or even with Zaber undt her togezer, zis vill not matter. Mein Heracles iz definitely zee stronkest!"
Shirou had to tear his mind away from the fight to process. Free agent? What? What was she talking about?
Illya caught the perplexed look Shirou was giving her and paused in confusion.
"Joo..." Ilya seemed to have trouble collecting her thoughts. "I mean...ven I heard joo hired zees woman, I vas thinkink...VELL ZEN VAT IZ SHE DOINK HERE?" Illya finally exploded angrily, throwing up her hands.
Shirou was still having trouble trying to figure out what she was talking about. Though perhaps he could be forgiven for being slow since he was still paying attention to the match as well.
"She iz fightink Zaber, zo..." Illya muttered to herself thinking. After a second, her childish face lit up and she snapped her fingers loudly. "Oh! I get eet, joo are uzink her as a style trainer! Of course, she is so stronk!" Illya said almost triumphantly, as if the idea had been hers in the first place.
Finally Shirou caught up, or at least he thought so. Wrenching at last his eyes away from the match, he turned to his little sister in surprise.
"Wait...you thought I had hired a new boxer? You thought...I was gonna replace Saber?!" Shirou exclaimed in surprise and disbelief.
Illya actually quailed under his hard-eyed look.
"It...made zense, onii-chan," the white-haired girl defended herself quickly.
"Not if you know me," Shirou said turning back to the fight. "You wouldn't change out your Heracles, right?"
"Off courze not!" Illya huffed indignantly "After all, he is zee stronkest zere iz!"
"Right." Shirou said simply, turning back to the match.
It took Illya a minute to puzzle out his meaning. At first it seemed like he was simply agreeing with her, but that didn't answer the question he had raised. No, what he meant was that he felt the same way. Even if a fighter came along that seemed more powerful, he would not replace his own. Because to Emiya Shirou, Saber was the strongest.
Unforgivable! Illyasviel knuckled a small hand and punched her older brother in the hip. "Do not get cocky, onii-chan!" she chided him, sounding surprisingly serious. "Zee stronkest vould not have lost against zee Hound Dog."
Ouch! That hurt. But the fact that Illya had gone right for the jugular like that suggested she might actually be worried. Or maybe...maybe it was that she simply didn't understand.
"Illya." Shirou said, once more turning his sherry colored eyes to meet his sister's. "Strength isn't always about never falling. Sometimes..."
Shirou turned to the still raging fight, now rapidly approaching the end of the second round, when Arcueid would once again become even more extraordinary, even more unbeatable.
"Sometimes," Shirou continued, "true strength is about getting back up."
It might have made for a great statement...if it hadn't caused Illya to burst out laughing, bent over and holding her stomach.
"Oh, onii-chan!" she chortled, mirth filling her face. "Zat vas...so cool! But joo vill feel silly after our match, zis iz true!"
"You think? Then would you like to place a wager on the fight?" Shirou shot back, looking fired up.
"Zee stakes?" Illya said, instantly becoming deadly serious.
"If you win," Shirou returned, "I'll wear that leash of yours with no complaints. One year and one day; a fairy like you should appreciate that deal, right? I'll do whatever you like, and apologize every day, if you want."
"Ten jears!" Illya said, looking joyful. "Zee leash comes off in one jeer, but zee other nine joo vill be mein butler, ja?"
"Fine." Shirou said, without even seeming to think it over. "And if I win..." he continued, raising a finger, but Illya cut him off.
"Jes, jes, I know, joo vant me to pay zees gym's debts. I vas vunderink ven joo vould ask. Very vell, I agree..."
"That's not it at all!" Shirou exclaimed in surprise, looking at Illya as if he truly did not understand how she had reached that conclusion.
"Saber and I can handle that, I don't want your money, lil' sister. No, if I win...then you'll have to keep coming for dinner." Shirou finished, a twinkle in his eye.
It was perhaps not surprising that the red-eyed girl was caught speechless, her cute elfin mouth hanging open slightly.
"The way I see it," Shirou explained, "is you and I have never had a chance to get to know each other. Of course, that will change if you win, but what if I win? Don't go back to Germany right away, stick around and cheer me on. And when you do go...I am sure there are still things you need to d but...let me write you a letter, give you a call now and then. There isn't any way to change the past, but I can be your brother now. ...If you'll let me." Shirou said, patting Illyasviel's head.
It would be difficult to describe all the expressions that crossed Illya's face in that moment. Disbelief surely. Also joy. But it was something else, the lingering remnants of a pain that had been eleven years building up. The complete feeling of abandonment that caused a little girl that should have been busy with school and friends to pick up and leave behind everything she had known, chasing after revenge.
...Or at least, that was what she thought she had been after. But Shirou was willing to literally bet that she had been searching for something else too. Hadn't her actions thus far proved it? When the moment broke, Shirou couldn't see what Illya's face revealed...because she was pressing it to his side. Well, he couldn't see her, but her shuddering body and the wetness he could feel building on his shirt where her face was pressed in told him all he needed to know.
The bell rang, calling an end to the second round. Instead of disengaging, Shirou waved over another one of his trainees to Saber's corner. She shot him a confused look that quickly melted into understanding.
That was another one he owed Saber for, Shirou thought gratefully.
"So... now vat do vee do now? Illya said, when her shaking subsided.
"Well..." Shirou shrugged. That was always a harder question to answer than it probably should have been. Figuring out the first step to get from where you are to where you want to be always sounded easier than it was.
"Well," Shirou repeated, "we are having stew tonight..."
It probably went without saying that the meal preparations were a little awkward. It didn't matter how cute Illyasviel normally was; no eleven year old girl looks great with her nose running and her complexion blotchy. She was the type who looked best with a carefree smile on her face, after all. Meanwhile Saber and Arcueid argued amiably while Shirou prepared. Because Saber had avoided an incapacitating blow, Shirou's "referee" who had monitored the match had tentatively given her an edge on points. However Arcueid, with reason, believed she should be considered the victor due to Saber being knocked down in the first round. It did not seem like there was any real animosity in the argument, just two fighters egging each other on, so Shirou did not interfere.
Instead, Shirou had put out a tray of tea cakes to sate the group before the meal, since he had decided at the last second that the stew hadn't simmered enough, delaying dinner.
Shirou had chosen the night's seafood stew as a neutral, comforting dish. If the fight had gone poorly for Saber, he would have forgone most last minute spices and added rice on the side, for a simple, relaxing dish that could settle an upset stomach soured by frustration. If, however, it had gone well - which it had - he could add some last-second spices in and serve with a sugary dessert that would stimulate the palate and induce productive conversation. For the dessert, there was no contest. Another jar of candied orange peels, that one having been concealed in Shirou's closet inside a shoe box. Elaborate for a sweets' hiding place, but it was the only way he could keep some goodies away from Taiga's nose.
As for the stew itself, Shirou liked the recipe because a lot of preparations could be done beforehand, and also because he had gotten used to unannounced guests. Between Rin, Illya, Ayako, and of course Taiga, Shirou had to balance his reflexive desire - almost obsession - to not waste food with the possibility of several hungry mouths coming in at the last second. For a nice seafood stew, as long as he had a good supply of shrimps, prawns, tuna, and scallops, he simply had to chop up the right amount, lightly scored for taste and add noodles and sprouts to suit the amount of patrons. That simply, dinner was served.
When Shirou glanced back to the dining room, Saber caught his eye. Without making a spectacle of it, she put down her teacup and went to check on him. Shirou noticed a twinge of dissatisfaction marring her usual look of anticipation when it came to dinner.
"Yeah, I'm sorry." Shirou said without preamble, bowing his head formally.
Saber was obviously annoyed because he had someone else look after her. Training bout or not, it had surely left a bad taste in her mouth as much as it had in his.
"May I hear your reason?" she asked formally.
Shirou nodded, and tried to explain.
"A fight isn't over until you run out of time, or you give up. That's why we are still in this. When you...you know..." Saber's fall from grace was a lingering sore spot, but she nodded for him to continue.
"After the fight with Hound Dog, it was the same thing." Shirou hurried on. "Sometimes it's simply about getting back on your feet."
"And your sister?" Saber asked, trying to fit the pieces together.
"I can't take back the past. I wasn't even the one to go search for her; she found me. That's something the older brother should have done. But I haven't given up yet. I may be late, but that's still how I feel. Sooo...I made a little wager!"
"On what?" Saber questioned, blinking.
Shirou just smiled at her.
Saber shook her head, muttering, "Of course." After a moment, she added hesitantly. "What are the terms?"
"Easy enough," Shirou responded. "I get the leash, or she doesn't give up either."
"...That's what I thought." Saber sighed. Occasionally, Shirou was even more impetuous than people accused her of being. And it had been obvious for quite some time he had a huge blind spot where Illyasviel von Einzbern was concerned.
"Hey," Shirou interrupted her thoughts. "It's easy to make a bet that you can't lose!"
Saber tried to suppress an answering grin, with limited success. Well, there was always that.
...It wasn't till much later that night that Saber realized that when Shirou had said that, the thought of losing against Fred Ken Heracles hadn't even crossed her mind.
Dinner was a rambunctious affair. It was an open question on who had the most trouble not talking with their mouth full, Arcueid Brunestud or Illyasviel von Einzbern. Around a mouthful of shrimp, Arc was going over the fight with Saber. The dichotomy between the almost klutzy, easygoing woman outside the ring and the focused monster inside it was still a little disconcerting.
"Y'know," Arcueid chewed out, "you're pretty good at bouncing back, but this guy of yours...what's his name?"
"Heracles," Illya grumbled loudly. She seemed to be recovering from her emotional state, if only a little at a time. Notably, she had been looking everywhere else except at Emiya Shirou when he had dished up her plate.
"Sure, whatever!" Arc went on, waving a too-full cup of tea around dangerously. "Anyway, this Herakules, isn't he supposed to have freakishly long arms? Maybe you should practice more infighting tomorrow."
Emiya and Saber both blinked. That...was actually a really good point. Though their strength was the same, the reach difference needed to be taken into account, or else Saber might get used to being able to bounce outside of attacks she actually would not be able to.
And somehow the manager and fighter pair had missed it. If there was one thing to be said about Arc, she really knew fighting.
Illya caught the moment of chagrin and stuck her tongue out.
Instead of following up though, she turned back to Arc. "By zee vey, Arukayd," Illya pronounced the name haltingly. "Vat is vith zat outvit? Joo look like a stripper!"
And that was the precise moment Shirou and Saber both spat out mouthfuls of tea. Luckily nobody was hit by the sudden deluge.
It was true, though. Although she had changed out of it after showering, it was hard to forget that when boxing, Arcueid had a lot on display and a great deal of...bounce in her step.
"Oh, freedom of movement!" Arc laughed easily, reaching for a western-style hard roll to dip in her soup.
"See, it used to be that I wrapped up like you see most women do, but one day my manager came up and said he had a new uniform for me, custom-made. He doesn't get me gifts that often so I was really happy!"
Arcueid smiled at what must have been a cherished memory.
"Anyway, I mentioned I seemed to be looser at the top, but he told me that just shows how much easier it is to move in! It makes my shoulders hurt a little sometimes, but you know I always win so he must be right! Wasn't that sweet of him?"
Apparently finished, Arc helped herself to another steaming bowl.
Shirou, Saber, and even Illya all shared a glance. While it was true Arc was winning, none believed that was because of the uniform; she was simply that powerful. Her manager likely knew that too. So whoever the manager was, he was apparently the type to get his fighter to wear something that left little to the imagination, for reasons other than what he had claimed.
...Since he was a guy, he probably just enjoyed the view.
That of course begged the question...
Just what kind of man was her manager, anyway?!