s pretty sword After Spring

VII — wisdom

The place he lived in was called 駒王町 — Kuoh Town.

Granted, calling it a town felt a little misleading, in the same way it would feel misleading to call, say, California a town. While it was most certainly no Kyoto, Kuoh was a far cry from a small little village with nothing to its name.

Alas, — naming conventions are often nonsensical like that. And so it was a place called Kuoh Town.

And it was, apparently, a place ruled by devils.

Anastasia told him that the definition of 'ruler' could be rather loose as far as the Three Factions were concerned. Samiya likened it to a game of War — they were little more than names assigned to each and every territory, parallel to the actual people who lived there, unlikely to interfere directly with the lives of the people. Kuoh was a Devil territory, but it was still a human settlement first and foremost, and the actual ruling was done by and for the native species.

It just so happened that this place was under a Devil's jurisdiction, as far as everyone supernatural was concerned.

Of the previous overseer, a woman named Cleria Belial, Anastasia told him very little. She was a devil, she ruled Kuoh, she does that no longer, moving on. Apparently, they didn't know much about the current overseer yet either, apart from the riveting fact she was apparently related to someone who took upon themselves the name of Lucifer.

Not exactly creative as far as devils went, Shirou recalled thinking, but effective.

Information gathering, he came to appreciate, was a little harder when you and the people you wanted information on inhabited different worlds for the most part. Espionage wasn't exactly possible on the most common meaning of the word — They couldn't exactly tell an Exorcist to sneak his merry way into hell.

So they depended on the interrogation of captured strays to get their hands on information.

Unfortunately, due to the very nature of devil society, strays were the least likely to possess valuable information on the goings-on of hell. What little they did know had to be gathered by their master and then relayed to them on a date previous to their becoming a Stray, since, as a stray, it becomes difficult for them to form an actual information network.

They live much like animals, Anastasia told him, and Shirou wasn't 100% sure she spoke only of the devils who went Stray; there was an edge of disgust in her eyes and a layer of honey in her voice that he'd easily admit to finding off-putting in ways he was hard-pressed to put into words.

He almost wanted to argue against it — to ask if these were conscious beings one could reason with. But then his eyes scanned the empty hanging sleeve where her arm should be and his arguments were smothered immediately.

That they were dangerous he couldn't argue against, of course. He had plenty of signs to survive and tell the bloody tale.

Both the church and the fallen had a decently solid footing in Kuoh, as was standard for them. The factions lived in a semi-permanent stand-off, with no faction being able to make a solid move against another out of fear of leaving their flank open to the third, who is just as thirsty for their blood as they themselves are for that of the other two. Those power dynamics were the subject of some controversy within the church's rankings — in particular, those who chose exorcism as a vocation oftentimes found themselves more than a little displeased by the Church being forced to 'play nice' with devils and heretics.

It was, however, necessary — or so Anastasia told him, her eyes about as warm as a glacier. Shirou settled for being glad there was no unnecessary bloodshed going on.

Though she refused to give him any details, it seemed as if the Church had a decent amount of information on the previous ruler of Kuoh — enough to support their quasi-peaceful stand-off, as long as they didn't prowl too heavily on her territory.

Strays, she reminded him dutifully, were considered free game between all factions, and thus weren't really counted.

Their being in Kuoh was apparently a big reason behind the church's strong interest in him — not only had he access to a Sacred Gear, but he was able to use it to face a stray without any training and live to tell the tale. Even God's Miracles didn't usually operate like that, more often than not requiring some effort to even unlock — or so it went.

That, combined with the fact that he stood solidly within devil territory where he could, theoretically, be ensnared by the overseer or one of hers should her eyes come to lay upon him, was seen as something of a red flag. If they had their way, Shirou would've been about halfway to Europe before he could say "wait".

It was more than just resource management — He was also a potential flight risk.

Which brought up the question —

"How exactly would they have made me go?"

Anastasia offered him a few moments of silence in response, pondering her words and how they'd impact him while making sure to be as clinical as possible. It was interesting to see how she differed from her usual demeanour when her exorcist training was in full effect.

"They don't think they have to." Was her answer, short and clipped. When his brows furrowed slightly in confusion, she relented — continuing an explanation Shirou wasn't sure he wanted to hear. "As far as the Church is concerned, anyone who is under my care is loyal to me and thus loyal to the Holy Church. I'm sure they have some method of persuasion ready should the need arise for it, but as a rule, they believe you are either completely willing to follow their instructions or, if unwilling, that unwillingness would be a result of nerves and hesitation as opposed to a simple refusal to cooperate with their desires."

— Basically,

According to the higher-ups in the Holy Church, Shirou was an unofficial member of their Faction before he even knew who they were.

Now that he had proved himself potentially valuable, they looked at him not as a resource to be acquired —

But as one already in their possession, in need of utilization, transportation, deliberation and preparation.

'Resource management indeed.

"I can't say I get how that relates to my getting into Kuoh Academy? And why exactly would I have to wait for it, even? As far as I know, they do house Elementary School students with the grades to back it up."

It was really no wonder that he knew such things — Kuoh Academy was, as its namesake implied, the pride and joy of Kuoh Town's educational system. With its odd, escalator-style grading style, the prodigious Academy was able to effectively house students from every grade with little need for entrance exams, as long as their score was average.

Though Shirou wasn't exactly academically-inclined as far as his personality went, someone like him who even got to skip a grade — which wasn't traditionally done in Japan to begin with — had obviously looked into options for higher education.

Alas, Kuoh Academy was also an expensive institution.

Someone like him, with nothing to his name, hadn't exactly the resources to put into their fees to begin with, and he wasn't 100% sure they offered scholarships. Even if they did, Shirou was no genius — His moving up a grade was done more due to his maturity than any overwhelming ability in what was taught to him.

It was, without doubt, a good opportunity, and it was one he was sure to take advantage of. But there was obviously something going on behind the scenes.

Anastasia, however, did.

"To put it bluntly — we suspect it is being used as the new overseer's base of operations, and you are not publicly associated with the church. You're not yet prepared to be near them, so you won't be enrolled yet. However —"

But he cut her off.

"I'll be a sleeper agent." He uttered incredulously. "You're placing me there in case there's something going on, to feed you information and potentially take action."

Anastasia softly exhaled through her nose, nodding her head as she used her hand to trail fingers through the soft metal of the cross she wore around her neck.

"Mhm." She hummed an assent. "It was the best way I found to simultaneously please my higher-ups and keep you here. As a sleeper agent, there is a chance you'll never be called upon — a chance you'll get to live your life normally. And, should the opposite be true, you will be doing Heaven's service through well-prepared hands."

. . .

The worst part?

She believed it, truly and deeply. To her, this was an act of kindness — an opportunity. She regretted it in the same way a general might regret recruiting an unwilling soldier, an attitude so far from her usual, quasi-motherly demeanour that Shirou had a hard time reconciling the two.

'What of the value of free will?' He found himself thinking, restlessly tapping his fingers on the wooden chair he sat on. 'Is this really all my consent is worth to you?'

There were things you didn't ask, however. Things you wouldn't want souring.

Sometimes, not knowing was better than the alternative. Because this was no stranger — this was Anastasia, a woman willing to lose her arm to spare his life.

And she looked at him with love even as she placed him in the line of fire.

"I see. And until then?" His question was carefully measured.

Finally, finally, her cold mask was broken — split by a small smile that looked out of place.

"Until then," Anastasia spoke, her words the very definition of calm. "We make sure you are ready."

To their side, still in silence, the girl called Inahomi Samiya spared the two of them a worried emerald gaze. Her fingers sunk into the fabric of her jacket, knuckles whitening as her hand began to quiver. Still, she remained silent.

The woman who'd saved her life and the boy whom she cherished as a brother were locked in a tense exchange of words, one with a zealot's kindness and another devoid of trust. Compared to their gentle smiles in the morning, these people looked like complete strangers. Still, she was silent.

It was like witnessing something beautiful beginning to break. Still, she was silent.

She was silent, she was fearful — But Inahomi Samiya was a Magician by trade and talent both. So, in her silence, she watched.

And she planned.

Meeting Hyōdō's parents was…

Eventful, to put it mildly.

Miki and Gorou Hyōdō were both honest, hard-working folks who cared for their son with everything they had and more — but it soon became clear they were more than aware of Issei's particularities, a fact made quite obvious by Miki's very, very obvious struggle of relief VS doubt.

— He supposed it made sense to be suspicious but did he really look the type who'd go to someone's house to look at pornography?

It eventually settled in relief. Strong relief. As in, a teary-eyed and quivering smile type of relief. Apparently, she was quite content that her son had made such an 'upstanding' friend. Shirou wasn't exactly sure how to feel about that.

He also vaguely wondered what kinds of people Issei had been hanging out with to begin with. Really. There had to be something behind that comment, and he was a little scared to find out what.

To his credit, Issei didn't let it bother him at all — which, to be fair, did a good job of solidifying Shirou's opinion of the slightly older boy.

Hyōdō Issei was a weird boy with unique aspirations. The kind of aspirations you wouldn't really believe could be found in a real human being until you saw it… or, rather, the type no one would really believe and have the confidence to actually say it out loud.

— Really.

'Harem—King' wasn't quite what Shirou had expected from the dreams of a boy who was around his age, but it was becoming clear that expecting anything normal from the force of nature called Hyōdō Issei was a surefire way to get disappointed. Everything about the boy seemed to be odd… and involve breasts in some way.

He was, with no doubts, a huge pervert. And not a subtle one, either.

But he was also a kind person. The type who'd help others when needed. His personality was strong, but he wasn't unkind.

Issei was also more than a little lonely.

Because, even though Hyōdō Issei and Kōsetsu Shirou were very, very different people —

There was no way to miss the gleam of pleased surprise in the boy's eyes when Shirou agreed to his plans. He claimed, perhaps rightfully, that he didn't care if others rejected him for being a pervert… sorry, for his, ah, 'aspirations'.

It might even be true — but that didn't mean he didn't care about rejection, period.

In many ways, Shirou couldn't really relate. His issues were of a different kind, a little less pressing and a little more pungent, like chains around his ankles instead of a muzzle around his neck. His were the type of problems that whisper as you mingle, not the type that stops you from doing so altogether.

But it worked out in the end — because Shirou also felt a little lonely at times.

And that's how the boy named Kōsetsu ended up sitting in Hyōdō Issei's bed while Dragon Ball Z played on the TV on the opposite wall. Issei, having clearly watched it at least twice over, was more than happy to explain (in surprisingly candid detail) everything Shirou didn't quite understand, such as "why can the cockroach man do that". When asked "why is he a cockroach man", Issei remained suspiciously quiet, however.

— It was actually more enjoyable than he'd expected.

Not the show, per se — it was a cool show, just not exactly Shirou's style. The animation looked good and the storyline, while simple, was surprisingly engaging for a show that spends that much time pitting characters against one another, but Shirou felt like he'd enjoy something with more focus on character a little more.

Watching it with Issei, however, was really quite fun.

"Ooo!"

He pumped his fist up in clear excitement, eyes lit up as they both gazed at the screen in awe. Dragon Ball Z seemed to quite like careless destruction as a way to showcase high skill… and, to be perfectly honest, Shirou wasn't exactly complaining.

… Don't look at him like that. He's 13 — He's allowed to enjoy things like this from time to time.

Issei didn't spare the explosion a second thought, instead turning to him with the biggest grin on his lips.

"I told you this episode rocked!" He pointed at the screen with a thumb and an everlasting smile, cheering as the young protagonist — a boy named after rice, strangely enough — rose from the ground. "I can get why you thought the Frieza stuff was weird, but I dare you to tell me this isn't awesome."

Shirou chuckled, raising his arms in silent amusement. He was right, though much of Shirou's enjoyment of the evening came from Issei's outlandish reactions to everything that happened on-screen; the boy was clearly passionate about it.

"You're right."

His eyes wandered slightly to the open window.

The skies outside were tinted orange as the sun relinquished its position as a lighting source to the rising moon and returned to its abode below the horizon. Though relatively clear, there were still a few drifting clouds that took on the warm tones of the sunset, precluding the darkness that would take over once the moon stood as sole queen of the sky. Already he could see some stars in the distance, though hard to outline in the bright lights.

Issei seemed to have followed his gaze, and he noticed the boy's shoulders sag slightly as they both came to the same realization: he'd have to leave soon enough. After all, despite his insistence, Samiya and Anastasia both were adamant that he be home before dark, considering he was still 'recovering'. Shirou was pretty sure they just wanted to keep him within arm's reach after his last nightly rendezvous had ended as it had.

"It's pretty late, huh?" Hyōdō uttered, rising from his spot and stretching his arms over his head. "I think we got through a lot of the cool stuff, but you haven't seen the end of the fight yet…"

— Mostly because fights in this show last hours on end, Shirou thought to himself, but didn't say anything. He did find them cool, so complaining about it would just make him something of a hypocrite.

Still — It was strange.

He'd never really sat down to just… enjoy something with a friend like this.

But he'd enjoyed it.

"We can just watch the rest later." he replied with an easy-going smile, gathering what few things he'd brought with him in a small school bag. He paused — realized how rude it was to invite himself over like that. "If that's okay with you, I mean…"

"I — Yeah, it's okay! I bet you 5 bucks your jaw will drop by the end of the fight."

Bold words, but his demeanour was a little less bold and a little more friendly. He flashed his new friend a thankful smile, preparing to walk down the stairs and —

"Did you hear that? He's coming back!"

A conspiratorial and victorious whisper-shout spoken in a feminine voice. His eyes whipped to the closed door where the whispers had come from almost immediately, eyebrows furrowed in incredulous confusion. Had he hallucinated that?

Issei wasn't as easily deterred. He marched to the door and pulled it open in one swift move, revealing two very flustered parents who had apparently pressed their ears to the door.

Oh.

So he wasn't hallucinating that — they were all just clinically insane.

Issei's embarrassed frustration was clear to see in the way his eyes widened and his face reddened.

"I — What are you doing?!"

Taking a step back with two arms up in surrender, Hyōdō's parents both tried to disguise their own embarrassment.

"I, ah —" Miki Hyōdō stuttered out words for a moment. "We were just making sure you weren't showing Shirou-kun anything unsightly! It's been so long since you brought a friend that's not a creep home, so…"

As expected, Issei's rage wasn't that easily assuaged. For a few moments, he looked at the boy with the auburn hair and the image of someone else flashed — of a woman with short caramel hair and a shinai strapped to her back. They both looked equally comically enraged.

"As if I'd do that!" He shouted, slamming the door and turning his back. "I can't believe this…"

. . .

Hyōdō paused, blinking slowly to himself. His eyes rose to meet Shirou's golden own in such an uncannily slow speed that the boy with the snowy locks was half-sure he'd somehow been possessed.

Then a lecherous grin broke out in the boy's lips and Shirou realized —

This was no possession.

It was worse.

"Hey, Kōsetsu, do you wanna look at —"

"No. Bye."

It'd only been a matter of time, he supposed.

— A breathless gasp escaped his lips.

It was to be expected — after all, there was no way he could just take a hit like that and remain silent. The force of the wooden sword's blow was enough to send him skidding through the wooden floor of the dojo, undoubtedly leaving an ugly bruise on his stomach where he'd been hit.

There was no doubt of it — even as she was, Anastasia both out skilled and overpowered him.

Shirou jumped to his feet, struggling slightly to remain upright. His grip on the wooden reproductions of Kanshou and Bakuya tightened until the wood in their handle dug into his skin.

This was undoubtedly training, but to call it practice isn't exactly right.

Were it not for the fact that their weapons were blunt and made out of wood, that would have definitely wounded him. Even then, the force behind the blow alone was absurd, and a small trail of blood seeped from the impact.

Still — she stood there impassively.

Her posture was straight and her shoulders were tense. Her feet were properly positioned, and her breathing was steady and calm. Even as one of her sleeves blew gently with the passing breeze, there was no other word to describe Anastasia's visage than 'threatening'.

The fact that she was using her off-hand didn't matter. The fact that her weapons wouldn't kill him didn't matter.

And yet — as he rose from his knees to look up at a monster of a woman wielding a sword, he couldn't help but feel nostalgic. (He could only hope he didn't die this time.)

Kōsetsu Shirou met her impassive gaze with narrowed eyes of molten gold. The familiar humming of azure called to him under his skin, beckoning him to press the trigger and fight freely.

He didn't. After all, that was one of the rules —

No Magecraft — sorry, 'Sacred Gear' — allowed. This was a test of pure skill; one of the many characteristics of Anastasia's frankly unholy training. Every Friday, after spending the week practising his form and techniques, he would spar with her with no special skills.

And he would lose. And he would rise, and train, and try again.

At this point, he'd gotten used to it. After all —

"It's already been a year, hasn't it?"

Her words were spoken lightly, but her eyes were still keen. She twirled the wooden sword with deft fingers around her wrist, mindlessly playing with its weight as she waited for him to make another move.

Shirou returned to his stance — one of many that had been beaten into him by merciless training. Dual Wielding was seen as something of a joke between serious swordsmen, he came to learn, but he was something of an exception for reasons he wasn't even sure he could comprehend.

As it was — part of the nature of his strange powers was to tap into the skills of the weapons he had copied. But, at least for now, he couldn't do so passively; it took special effort to delve into the 'memory' of a blade.

And when he did, it was hard to stop. The barrier between 'him' and the raging storms that laid deeper within was too easy to break at times, and when he did, the repercussions were heavy.

Therefore, at least to Samiya, the solution was simple —

She just had to beat the basics of every single type of blade into him, while still focusing most of their efforts on the two styles he was likely to depend on the most: That of dual-wielding falchions and her own.

However — even with his talents and ceaseless dedication, a year was far from what was necessary to reach her level in terms of pure skill.

"You're right. Time sure flies when you're having fun, huh?"

Sarcasm.

You wouldn't think him a fan of it, but it came to him with surprising ease. It rarely worked on a woman as composed as his surrogate mother/trainer, but it was a hard habit to break out of. Even without delving into the seas of ash within his mind, he found that aspects of it flowed into him infrequently.

It was easy to understand where it came from, however. After all, Anastasia was a slave driver of never before seen proportions. She trained him like the Church had trained her — mercilessly.

Physical Conditioning, she called it. He supposed it was fair, but her enthusiasm could get overwhelming.

Ah.

He was overthinking it again. That wouldn't do.

Focus.

Focus, Shirou.

After all —

He didn't have time to be thinking. All he had to do was focus on defeating the enemy.

… No.

Kōsetsu stepped forward.

The biggest lesson to be learned as a swordsman was that of 'prediction' — because, realistically, a clash between swordsmen wouldn't last more than a few moves. In the future, his Magecraft might be able to give him a cheat in that regard.

But he didn't have access to that yet.

What he did have was a keen mind. Because it was a fact —

Emiya Shirou didn't need to use Magecraft to understand a sword.

Place yourself in the enemy's place. Anastasia only has one arm. Trying to block an attack would be disadvantageous to her, because she cannot use her other arm to stabilize the blade. In a contest of pure strength, even if she was physically stronger than him, she would lose — because he was able to put more weight behind his attacks.

It was simple physics.

Therefore, she had to rely on skilful parrying and redirection.

— His form blurred. He kicked off the wooden floor with all his strength, sending a small burst throughout the Dojo. Though he was much faster, she followed his movements effortlessly.

He's in the air — swinging the yin-sword Bakuya downwards in a hit that, if unblocked, would hit the centre of her head. The yang-sword Kanhou is held back in a reverse grip.

— His attack is parried.

Even if those speeds were high for this unboosted him, she could match them without much difficulty. If he could use Reinforcement, it'd be a different story, but that would be beside the point.

Her work, as usual, is masterful. Anastasia angles her sword perfectly, hitting just below the centredishevelled of Bakuya's weight to rip the sword from his grip.

He lets it go and lets it lead him. The wooden falchion is batted aside with such force that it ends up embedded into the wood walls that surround them.

However —

"...!"

The sound of a violent impact can be heard.

Twisting his body while still in the air, Shirou uses the momentum he gained from her counter to spin his way into an aggressive kick at her face.

It's barely enough to draw blood. As it is, she only steps back with the force of the impact, giving him the time to land on his feet and strike with the Kanshou he held in a reverse grip. If his fit hit her, it'd be a punch. If the blade hit her, it'd be worse. Because of the blade's pointing outwards and being held in the hand opposite to her sword, parrying would be difficult.

Unfortunately,

That would only be the case if they were equals.

She parries the attack while moving so quickly he could hardly follow it. He jumps with the force, sliding through the polished wood until he's just close enough to the walls to pull the stuck Bakuya back to his hands. Though carefully made to have the same balance, these wooden copies feel odd in his hands.

It was strange.

Though they were both human, Anastasia was absurdly fast. It was hard to believe someone could get to this level with training alone — but it was apparently the truth.

She was fast — ridiculously so.

And that Devil had made her look slow in comparison.

His eyes narrowed once again. He thought of the blood-soaked snows of that night in vain.

He thought of a promise he'd made to himself — and this time, he wouldn't break his word.

But still, it was a little disheartening —

Kōsetsu Shirou still had a lot to learn.

So he swallowed his words and stepped back into the ruthless fight. This time, maybe —

"Your friend came over and asked for you."

Samiya's words broke him out of his stupor. With a soft groan, he looked at her from his comfortable spot at his bed. She sat on her own at the opposite end of the room, mindlessly tapping into the cellphone she held as she looked at him with half-lidded emerald eyes.

Her hair was dishevelled and her clothes were wrinkled — because of reasons, she hadn't been sleeping well recently, as evidenced by the dark circles under her eyes. Even still, Samiya made sure to care for him after his sparring session with Anastasia, and Shirou loved her all the more for it.

"Issei, you mean?"

She paused to shoot him an unimpressed look.

"You… don't really have any other friends, do you?"

… She was right. But he still felt a little self-conscious now that she pointed it out like that.

Shirou was now 14, and his life had changed quite a lot in the last year or so. He'd like to think it was all for the better, but that wasn't really true.

He missed it, sometimes — the peaceful sensation he somehow felt as if he'd lost. Though their training had quickly become routine, Anastasia imposed upon him the importance of being skilled in the same way it had been imposed into her, and that was by reminding him that lives might someday depend on them.

Shirou was no Exorcist. He didn't even agree with the Church for the most part —

But he refused to risk failing when it truly mattered. In that way, it worked as she'd wanted it to.

But between Kyūdo, training with Anastasia, studying, hanging out with Issei and preparing for his transfer into Kuoh, he sometimes missed the time he'd had to breathe. There was an urgency that now followed him like melancholy did, where before he'd simply sometimes sit down and simmer in confusion.

A new balance for what was effectively a new life — and though he gladly reaped the rewards of it, there was a cost he hadn't really the option to refuse.

— in his dreams,

Emiya Shirou would look at everything he knew, and at everything he didn't, and he would wonder.

Would things have been different with her if he'd been this prepared?

Would he still be able to taste their names on his lips without the touch of copper if he'd won? Would it have cost him as much? Would he have gained as much back?

He didn't know.

He couldn't know, because those questions came without the context needed to answer them.

Somewhere out there was a life he had lost at the feet of a rotten utopia, and he had yet to find a way to reach the answers it might give him — they were likewise lost in the pools of blood he'd bled by the side of the girl clad in black, guarded by her image in the fires of his soul.

"I'll call Issei later," he told Samiya softly, looking up as he stretched an outstretched hand, flexing fingers and turning to stare at his peach-coloured skin. If he focused for long enough, he could almost see waves of dancing crimson fabric blowing in the wind next to it — but it was an almost, still beyond him in every way that mattered.

She hummed a silent agreement, affixing him with watchful eyes.

. . .

"Hey, lil' bro."

Something was off.

She sounded… unsure. Saddened, confused, insecure. There was something bitter in her voice that sent a pang of warning through his chest, and he turned to look at her inquisitively.

"Is everything okay, nee-san?"

As usual — a small smile broke as he said it.

Samiya was a really strong girl —independent and brave in ways he sometimes felt he could never really be. But she was also simple in that she was easy to please; Samiya loved fiercely and with all she had, but she also craved it in return.

Both he and Anastasia had seen it, and they'd both made sure to give back as they could. That was how the three of them had gotten close, in a way.

Calling her 'nee-san' was small — almost insignificant, really. But she always looked a smidge happier when he did it, and so he made sure to do it often. Because it was true, and she sometimes needed reminding.

Her expression soon fell, though.

"You know I'm moving out soon, right?"

— Yes.

After all, Inahomi Samiya had already turned 18 a good while ago — she was in fact closer to 19, now. By all accounts, she should already have moved out; the only reason she had not was probably Shirou himself.

He knew that.

Shirou knew all of that.

He just tried not to think about it all too much.

"...Yeah. I… I'm going to miss you."

That was an understatement, and they both knew that. Even still, she nodded in silence, clutching at the fabric of her jacket like she sometimes did when nervous.

Was she upset? He supposed she would be. He'd long since promised to visit her at least every week, but compared to their life as it was now, that would feel like nothing. As children of the orphanage, they'd grown close in ways most didn't.

Then —

"I'm moving out soon," she repeated, a little more clearly this time, and sat up to look at him. There was a spark in her eyes where he had seen none before. "And I want you to come live with me. I'll adopt you myself, if I need."

Kōsetsu Shirou looked at the one who had shaped him as he was, and found himself completely and utterly wordless.

A.N:

Told you. Well, it took me a little more than 24 hours, I think, but I posted that one at about 4 am and ended up falling asleep at unfortunate times. Still, I think this counts. (Please tell me it counts I feel guilty).

Please do leave your thoughts below — I'm curious to know what you all think and where you think I am going next.

This is a slower story, as I am sure you have all noticed. That is true for many reasons, but one of them is this — I'd like you all to love and know these characters like I do. By showing you different sides of people you both know and don't know, I hope to make you care for them more than as cardboard cutouts in an action show.

As for some specific comments — worry not. This is, as the summary might tell you, a story about Shirou. It would feel like a disservice not to make Issei important, however, so if you expect Shirou to simply replace mister Harem King in every important event, you don't know me very well quite yet.

I hope to make you like him, too. I myself quite enjoy their dynamics.

As a little celebratory sidenote, I will be carefully reading every comment, so if you've any suggestions for anything, feel free to say them — whether it's for characters or power-ups or whatever else.

That beings said, I think it's pretty obvious this isn't exactly an action-only story, so...