24—Abridged Too Far

As Tohsaka changes into her nightclothes, Taiasu and Archer remain outside her room, stationed like two sentinels. Silence persists for a few minutes until Archer's side-long gaze drops to the ground, where Taiasu stands opposite him beside the doorway. With his arms folded, he taps his finger against his arm.

Finally, he heaves out an impatient sigh.

"So, what are the other three?"

The silence isn't the problem. It never has been. Like trained snipers, Archers often have to spend long periods of time in still silence, so it's something he's quite comfortable with. What he's not is the niggling, irritating curiosity that's been digging around inside his head with no outlet. Ever since their discussion downstairs had been cut short by the late hour.

Besides that curiosity, there's also the tactical advantage of gaining this information, of which Taiasu is unaware or unconcerned, which Archer seeks to exploit. In the event his original suspicions prove correct, and it becomes necessary to cross blades again, having this advantage could prove key.

"Huh?" Taiasu, whose hands cushion his head from the wall, turns his head and raises his eyes to meet Archer's full frown. "Three what?"

"Those stones. You said you have five, right?" Investing himself in the discussion now, he turns to face Taiasu fully. "So, what are the other three?"

"Those? You wanted to hear about them?"

An anticipatory grin forms fully on his face, and his eyes light up, causing Archer's frown to deepen as he palms his entire face.

"Settle yourself, storyteller. I'm not interested in their entire history. I was just curious what the other three were."

This curt revelation sweeps the wind from beneath Taiasu's wings, tugging down the corners of his broad grin.

"Oh… Well, that's okay."

Shrugging it off, he reaches into his pack and pulls out two of the unsung three.

"This one's the Samurai's Soul Crystal,—" As he names it, Taiasu holds up the misshapen pentagonal prism carved from what looks like granite, or burnished steel, with the burning figure emblazoned in the center. "—and this one is the Dancer's Soul Crystal."

With that, he holds out the rose-gold colored, heart-shaped crystal stone. As he returns the heart-shaped stone, and before he can produce the final stone, the Bard's Soul Crystal, Archer scoffs incredulously. The obvious sound, clearly meant to be heard, catches Taiasu's attention, and he turns his head toward it to see Archer, arms folded and wearing a condescending smirk.

"Dancer's Soul Crystal?"

Some mixture of ignorance and amusement births his mocking tone and expression. Ignorance of any form of martial training that could be described as such, and amusement that such a thing could exist in any world. Taiasu mirrors Archer's arm-fold, though his tilted head and arched brow come, not from a place of mockery, but curiosity.

"Yeah, Dancer's Soul Crystal. What of it?"

Shaking his head, Archer again scoffs.

"Ridiculous. What practical—"

"It's called 'Kriegstanz'." Now understanding he's being subjected to mockery, Taiasu interjects sharply, scowling upward. "The people who taught it to me said it's so ancient, its origins can't even be traced."

Briefly, his form is enveloped in that light and wind, and when it's faded, he's fully dressed in green, and in his outstretched hand is a rather elegant looking weapon. A vorpal, metallic ring, inset with two sets of three red gemstones near the grip, and a second golden ring set in its center which, when the weapon is ready to be loosed, slides out in ornamental fashion, while remaining part of the weapon.

Clearly, a weapon designed with form in mind over function, yet its aesthetic appeal does not diminish its effectiveness.

"Much and more is involved than just flashy dance steps. Things like cleaving adversaries from afar with weapons just like these. Circumstances permitting, I'd demonstrate it for you, but the space here is far too small, and it would cause significant damage to the hallway."

With some surprise, Archer's eyes widen as they're drawn to the bladed ring that somehow feels 'aimed' at him. Quickly, he snuffs that candle out and re-assumes his wry smirk. Still, the weapon's form is quite pleasing, and despite himself, he soon becomes lost in etching its finer details into his memory.

"Ancient, huh?" He refolds his arms, which had since fallen slack at his sides. "Well, that still doesn't make it practical."

"I'll leave that for you to judge if I ever get to show you what it's about."

Despite still being irritated with Archer's dismissive tone, Taiasu lowers the bladed ring to his side, where it clips in place, then hangs loose.

"So, what was the last one? The last stone?"

Archer gestures at Taiasu's side pack.

"Right. The last one's—!"

After reaching into his pack, he holds out the last, the Bard's Soul Crystal.

As he does, he realizes something.

Tohsaka's been calling this guy Archer, and he shot me with a bow…

Remembering that, some phantom pain surges through his shoulder, causing him to wince, and he rubs it gingerly. Being an echo of the past, the brief pain quickly subsides, and he refocuses on the crystal he holds aloft. Perhaps it's just to show off, or maybe to reveal some common thread between himself and the knight in red, who stands frowning down at him.

But something impels Taiasu to attune with it.

Archer's eyes widen in surprise. Despite having seen it at least once now, he still hadn't expected that.

Again.

As the light and the wind fade, Taiasu's form is revealed, still in his greens, only with a fearsome, elegant bow strapped to his back, and those bladed rings vanished from sight.

"That one's the Bard's Soul Crystal."

With a smirk that may betray a hint of smugness, Taiasu unstraps the bow from his back. A bow that now has Archer's full attention, for looking completely impractical, yet somehow fierce and intimidating.

"That's… Wait, Bard?" Still fixed on the bow, Archer voices his confusion. "I thought Bard's were about singing and stories. What's a bow got to do with that?"

"Hee-hee." Taiasu snickers, enjoying his reaction. "Well, you're correct in that Bard's do sing, but we got our start as archers. At least, that's what I was told."

Archer continues gazing at the bow, etching into his memory its every detail.

"I see… And that's quite a weapon." Keeping his arms folded, he nods appreciatively at it. "I'd expect it to breathe fire instead of firing arrows…"

Paying it his own proper respects, Taiasu looks down at it, nodding thoughtfully.

"No, it fires arrows just like yours did, but it doesn't actually look like this. Remember what I said about glamour prisms?"

About to shake his head, Archer pauses, then nods.

Right, the last thing he said. Some nonsense about his armor not actually looking like that. Wait, so—?

Arching his brow, he then gestures to the bow, and Taiasu nods knowingly.

"It only looks like that because of one of those." He re-straps the bow to his back, then folds his arms, leaning his shoulder into the wall before continuing. "This bow only looks like the Dreadwyrm Longbow."

"Dreadwyrm… Longbow?"

At this rather grandiose title, Archer's full brow lifts upward, and Taiasu nods again. The time required to explain how he came into possession of such a weapon would put them well past the sun's rise, as it would be a story stretching back five years, from the start of the seventh umbral calamity, which culminated in the fall of Dalamud, the lesser evening luminary, from the sky, and from it, the release of the Dreadwyrm, Bahamut, filled with boundless rage.

"It's a long story…" Taiasu mutters, again nodding thoughtfully, trying to figure the best way to make it short. "Five years ago, a furious dragon rained fire and destruction on my world. We all thought it was gone, but it turns out it wasn't, so myself and several of my friends had to journey deep into the world to finish the job."

Shaking his head, he breathes out a deep sigh before continuing.

"There's a lot more to it than that, like how we didn't even know that was the case right away. That Bahamut had survived, somehow." Frowning, he looks up at Archer. "But explaining it all—"

"So you got it from a dragon," Archer mutters, smirking. "That's all you have to say. Just say that, right?"

Again, Taiasu sighs, shaking his head sadly.

"That's the short of it, but… There's just so much more to it. But sure."

His frown deepens into something heavy and mournful.

"If you want to compress the end of the world, millennia of tragedy, the subjugation of an entire species, and the enslavement of a god into a single sentence, then fine. I got it from a dragon."

There's more than an edge of irritation in his tone as he glares up at Archer. Besides criminally glossing over entire libraries' worth of history, there's also the fact that it wasn't the only weapon he'd recovered from that encounter. Many times, he'd returned to that place, where he'd stood against the wrathful primal. A place which, like so many others, had become time-locked after his first visit.

Some visits were to test his abilities. Others were to pay respects, so that he might never forget the tragedy of Bahamut, or the sinister machinations of the long lost Allagan Empire, who enslaved him. And more times than he's comfortable admitting, his visits had been for the sake of vanity. To recover those weapons forged in the likeness of that tragic creature.

"Anyroad, I've already found bows far stronger than this one's likeness." His hard expression softens as he regards the bow on his back with a fond glance over his shoulder. "But I just liked this one's form so much, I kept it around. Simple as that."

Before Archer can reply, Tohsaka's door swings inward, revealing her standing on the other side, brushing out her hair. With the carpet having muffled her already soft footfalls, her appearance, at least for Taiasu, is sudden and unexpected.

"Ah—!"

Surprised, he stumbles back a step, then gawks up, surprised again to see what clothing she's wearing. For her part, Tohsaka's surprise by Taiasu's changed attire is lessened for having hesitated in opening the door to listen in on his discussion with Archer, from the point where Taiasu had pulled his bow, seemingly, from thin air.

"Come on boys, it's time for bed."

Before Taiasu can comment on her choice of dress, she's already ushering him inside. With his arms still folded, and frowning thoughtfully, Archer follows, then stations himself in the corner, seating himself in one of those soft chairs near the table.

As Tohsaka pulls back her bedspread, Taiasu works to fix his own, still laid out from before. It's not long before the bright yellow of Tohsaka's evening sleepwear again catches his attention, causing him both to grin and inwardly chuckle.

"Cats, huh?"

It's less the color of the attire, and more the pattern of stamped cat faces which adorn it at regular intervals which catch his interest. Cat faces all over her back, her arms, her legs, her—

Ah, shite—!

As his eyes finish tracing her legs from the floor, he has to divert them forcefully before they rest for too long on some place wholly improper.

"Yeah? So? I like cute things, and cats are cute." Absently, she replies as she finishes situating her bedding, then turns around, looking down at Taiasu as he finishes shaking the flash of red from his complexion. "All girls like cute things, right?"

"Sure, I guess. I'm more of a dog person, myself—wait—"

What she's just said, 'All girls', brings to mind something that happened earlier. Though not one to be petty, seeing an opportunity like this present itself feels like a gods-send, and too fine a chance to let pass.

"Tohsaka…" Slowly, Taiasu's lips curl in an impish grin. "You're a girl?"

In the room's corner, Archer cracks a chuckle, while Tohsaka's face quickly goes as red as the leather Taiasu usually wears. With no warning, she lunges down, seizing his head between her hands and hefting him upward. Dangling, flailing, Taiasu still can't help but laugh, both at her face, which twitches menacingly, threatening violence, and at his own light jest.

"Ah, fine, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'll stop!"

After squeezing ineffectively for a few seconds more, Tohsaka lets Taiasu, still giggling, drop like a potato sack to his bedspread, where his fall is cushioned by that and the soft carpet.

"Yeah, fine. I suppose I had that one coming…" she mutters, crawling into bed. "Archer, could you get the light, please? And keep your eyes on him while I'm sleeping. If he does anything untoward, just… kindly dissuade him."

Still smirking at that joke, Archer nods as he stands. Taiasu watches as he walks toward the door, then flips something on the wall down. Swift darkness accompanies the switch's click, and it takes his eyes a second to adjust. They track to from where the light had been coming to find it dim.

Huh… So I guess those things control the lights? Far more convenient than lanterns…

Yawning quietly, Taiasu stretches once more. Before retiring, he briefly disturbs the peace by attuning to the Monk's Soul Crystal, letting the bow vanish once more into his pack. As he stares down at the amber crystal, he's again reminded of something else.

"Hey, Tohsaka…?"

"Huh?" Rubbing her eyes, she rolls over, frowning, irritated at having just been about to fall asleep despite the light and the wind from a moment ago. "What is it?"

"Um… I need that thing back."

"Thing—Oh, that." Sighing, she produces the iridescent pearl from a pocket on her pajama bottoms, then tosses it down. "Thanks for…?"

Before she's finished thanking him for letting her use it, he's cupped his hands over it. A soft light glows from between his fingers, and when he opens his hands, there are now two, one of which he tosses back up. Deftly, despite her tired state, Tohsaka catches it, then blinks down at it.

"You can keep that one…" Again, he yawns, then flops down, slipping the pearl into his pack, and rolling over to face the wall, electing to sleep over the covers. "And thanks for dinner again… And the bed…"

And with those words said, slumber soon follows. Tohsaka blinks down at Taiasu's still form, breathing steadily, then at the small pearl now held in her hand.

Right… He said he could make another one. It was really that easy? I thought it'd take longer…

It's her last thought of consequence as she slips the pearl into her pocket, then rolls over, hugging her pillow and letting her eyes relax closed, trying to catch that missed train to slumberland.

Absently, Sakura stares down at the marble-like pearl rolling around in her hand as it glimmers in the ambient light pouring into the room through the windows near her bed. Her discussion with her sister has put her most worrisome concern to rest. She now knows where Taiasu is, and that he's in excellent hands.

Smiling, she breathes out a relieved sigh, then looks up to spot Shirou, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes closed, and his head nodding forward. Seeing his face, everything from that morning plays through her mind. How fearful she was for his well-being when she'd noticed the incomplete Command Spell formed on his hand, and how that fear turned to anxiety when it became clear her concern over it revealed to him the truth about her.

That, like him, she too, was a magus.

And the welcome relief that washed over her when this discovery changed nothing between them. And how it led to the here, and now, with his almost insistent invitation that she stay over at his place. The more she dwells on this, the more she feels herself drifting forward from the bed, as if a rogue astral body being pulled in by some grand gravitational force.

Slowly, almost unconsciously, her arm raises, and her outstretched hand reaches up, gently caressing the side of his face. Everything seems to happen both aligned with and contradictory to her will, like her body is answering her desire and moving on its own, with her only slightly aware of it.

But just as her face is within the distance of a single breath from his, his eyes flit open. And she comes around, seeing nothing but them, softly casting her own reflection back at her, until they close heavily, then snap back open, as if unsure of what they're seeing.

"Uh… Sakura? What'cha doin'?"

Quickly realizing the precarious situation she's placed herself in, she assumes the role of a jockey, flailing desperately at her mind as it serves as her race horse, trying to get her to the goal, where she hopes might be found some plausible reason for her mouth, her lips, to be separated from his by a single hand-span.

"Ah, um… You nodded off…" Quickly, and she hopes before he notices, she withdraws her hand, then almost flings herself back to the bed. Miraculously, her face maintains its calmer complexion. "I didn't want to startle you awake, so I was trying to… um…"

Words fail her. She knows the idea she wants to convey, but despite her mind spinning like a seamstress, it fails to produce anything that could effectively articulate to her thoughts.

"Gently rouse me?" Despite still being in a slight fugue, Shirou somehow completes her thought for her. "Sakura, I'm not so delicate that you can't call out or just hit me with a pillow or something."

Confused, and smiling sleepily, he stretches upward, impelled by the deep yawn he tries and fails to hold back. After another sip of water from his glass, he returns it to the desk, then gives Sakura his full attention.

"So, did you figure out what's happening with the little guy?"

"…"

Sakura doesn't answer right away, as her mind still reels, spins, and flails against the past few seconds. She's honestly unsure if she's relieved or disappointed that Shirou's eyes had opened just before.

If they hadn't, I'd surely have—!

And now, with this thought, her face burns like the setting sun. But for the light being so dim in the room, Shirou can't notice. All he does notice is that it's taking her longer than it should to answer his simple question.

"Sakura?"

So he repeats himself, startling her and drawing her out again.

"Ah, yes? Sorry, I was—"

"Distracted? Are you alright?"

He can't see the red in her complexion, but the forced smile she puts on comes through clearly, and seems almost natural in the room's low light.

"Y-Yes, fine!"

A lie which would have been more convincing coming from the mouth of a stammering politician.

"Sorry, what did you ask me before?"

Shirou sighs, shaking his head, and conceding there's nothing to be gained in asking her 'what's wrong', since he knows she likely won't share it.

"About Taiasu. Did you find out what's happening with him?"

Still stuck in that moment from a few seconds ago, Sakura vigorously shakes her own head, trying to free herself and straighten her thoughts before answering Shirou's question.

"Ah, right. Yes…" She coughs to clear her throat, then reaches for her glass and takes a sip to quench her parched lips, mouth, and throat. "Yes, I'd just finished finding out with this…"

Somehow, despite the minor excitement of the past few minutes, the pearl has remained in her other hand, and she holds it up, pinched between her thumb and forefinger, to show, while with her other hand, she sets the half-empty glass of water back on the desk next to Shirou's. While Shirou stares at the pearl, waiting for Sakura to elaborate, she thumbs through her mind, trying to remember the simple reasoning her sister had suggested to prevent her from saying too much.

What was it…? Right—!

Recalling, she draws in a steadying breath.

"I finished figuring it out just before I tried waking you up," she says, now returning the pearl to her skirt pocket. "So now that I know, I'm not worried about it. But he won't be back tonight."

Shirou nods along thoughtfully, too tired or unconcerned to ask the obvious question—if not here, then where—but not tired enough to miss the implications, which strike with the force and precision of any arrow he'd ever loosed from a bow, back when that was a thing he still did. And that thought brings his subtle nod to an abrupt halt, slowly widening his eyes with concern.

"Wait… So he won't be back tonight?"

Now relaxed, the moments before Shirou woke up fading into memory, Sakura smiles and nods. Her confirmation only serves to heighten Shirou's anxiety.

"Then… we're alone here, tonight?"

Again, Sakura nods, but she only gets halfway through before hers also comes to a sharp halt. Of course, she knows it's not the case, as her Servant, who has been quietly observing their rather banal social interaction, finding the entire thing needlessly complicated, makes an imperceptible third wheel.

But Senpai doesn't know that…

Realizing this, her face again takes on a shade of red. Silently, they both sit, Shirou thrumming his fingers on the desk anxiously, and Sakura trying to tie her own into knots in her lap, for what feels like entirely too long before Shirou finally stands from his seat. After grabbing the two glasses, he walks, rather stiffly, toward the still-open door, stopping just outside.

"So… Sakura… Before I forget, that girl… Shizuka? I'm not sure what happened, but she wanted me to tell you she's sorry about what she said during dinner…"

Holding both glasses awkwardly, he lets his free hand rest on the door's handle as he stares into the hall. Whatever her response to his statement is, he doesn't see it, unable or unwilling to turn his head, even to look at her with this sudden realization burning in the forefront of his mind.

"I'll see you tomorrow…"

Awkwardly, he mutters his last goodnight for the evening.

'Sakura…'

Time stops as, before Shirou can start working the door closed with his elbow, Sakura's Servant, sensing the torrent of thoughts and feelings flooding her, speaks into her mind, and she tenses up on her bed.

'Rider? What's—?'

'Would you prefer I allow you some privacy?'

The offer is painfully tempting, for so many reasons, yet her reflexive reaction is to decline the generous gesture. For whatever reason, when she'd asked Shirou earlier why he was letting her stay, he gave a denial so transparently false even she could see through it.

But it was still a denial.

So whatever his reason, whatever his feelings, and however much sweet whisperings in her mind would cause her to hope they align with hers, all she can go on is what he's said. To take his words at face value. At least, until he gives voice to his true feelings. Of course, she could as well, and knows this all too well. But reasons Rider astutely spoke of earlier that day in the schoolyard, that she feels herself unworthy of such attention, inhibit her. She doesn't have the fortitude to do so.

Not yet.

'It's kind of you to offer, Rider, but no.'

As she turns down the offer, her heart aggravatingly twists in her chest.

'I don't know what he's thinking. I have a feeling, but… I'm too afraid it could just be wishful thinking on my part. I… I want to wait. At least until I'm more certain. But thank you, Rider.'

All she receives from her Servant in response is a solemn affirmative sensation, and time resumes its normal flow for their brief discussion concluding. Awkwardly, for a glass being in each hand, Shirou somehow manages his elbow between the door and the wall, and pushes it until it latches closed.

On the bed, and still in her school wear, Sakura falls on her back, then stares at the room's ceiling.

Heaving a deep and anxious sigh, she brings her arm up over her forehead, hiding the ceiling and the rest of the room from view. The subtle motion causes something in her vest to jab into her, causing her to wince more from surprise than discomfort, and she reaches in, pulling from it that red feather she's received quite a few times.

Lowering her arm, she stares at it now, letting the light from the moon and the stars coming from outside wash over it, causing it to shimmer as she spins it between her fingers. Strange, that a seemingly mundane piece of plumage could repeatedly bring her such warmth and calming comfort, regardless of how striking it is in appearance, and what memories have quickly been fastened to it.

As she stares at it, her wordless thoughts and feelings flow through the channel between her and her Servant, who maintains her stoic vigil over her Master, letting her senses sweep the environs to find anyone, or anything, that might mean them harm.

But it proves difficult, with those distracting feelings pouring into her, vying for her focus. She could dampen the connection, if she chose, but part of her, the least pragmatic part, hesitates, finding enjoyment in living vicariously through it.

Yet, as Rider feels out the feather, having sensed it now a few times, it's not Shirou's face forming in her thoughts, but that of the feather's original owner.

The strange, small man.

And the more she dwells on him, spurred on by Sakura's warm feelings toward Shirou confusing her own, the more fascinated with him she finds herself.

Gorgeous…?

Silently, she chuckles, recalling how that word had fallen from his mouth with all the grace and tact of a brick being hurled through a window. Her lips curl in a smile as she remembers more. Though she finds it strange that she's thinking of him at all, given their few and infrequent interactions, it still feels more proper than the alternative of letting herself dwell on the target of Sakura's affection, for whom Sakura's own feelings pour into her like an open faucet.

And he certainly has his own praiseworthy qualities.

Despite his reckless behavior, inviting another Master into this residence, it was clear by his contrite explanation from that morning that he acted without malice.

In fact… Despite my having little to draw from, by everything I've seen from him, he seems to act for the wellbeing of others… Wasn't it so, when—?

Briefly, she recalls their fraught first encounter, where she'd believed him an enemy, and how he'd turned toward Sakura as she entered her room, pleading with her to flee.

Was it out of concern for her welfare? Then, the harp and song… And this morning, when he left of his own accord. Again, for her sake. And his promise to return… What was it he said…?

The last few seconds before he'd again vanished play through her mind, when Sakura had asked if he'd be coming back.

He just grinned that silly grin… Then…

His voice echoes in her mind.

'Of course I am! I love you guys!'

A simple declaration of warm, friendly affection. Hearing his voice in her head, almost like he's there again, Rider's soft smile broadens as her heart gives a single, hard thump in her chest. This time, impelled by her own feelings, and not those of her Master.

At least, she thinks.

He seems sweet and sincere… And then there's…

Despite being overwhelmingly powerful, Servants share more in common with their human Masters than they do with other familiars. One such common thread is in their personal preferences, and in this, Rider proves no exception.

And in one unusual way, Taiasu ticks off a rather strange box in her preferences column.

He's just so… small… And adorable…

Slowly, she shakes her head, trying to break from the mental web into which she's weaved herself.

I should not be dwelling on things like this. My purpose is to defend Sakura from the other Masters, and to vanquish the other Servants.

Still, as she turns her unseeing gaze toward Sakura, watching her place the feather on the desk before standing and stretching, a wistful sigh slips free from between her lips.

Shirou pulls himself into his unfurled futon. From that morning, traces of Illya's scent, like winter flowers, fade into memory as he draws in a breath, unconsciously trying to capture what little remains. His body still burns, not from the end of his conversation with Sakura, but from his brief practice session in the shed.

Everything had gone better than ever. The strange firing mechanism in his head worked flawlessly, allowing him to 'strengthen' one small hexagonal nut successfully. Not the most practical application of the talent, given that the nut would now be useless, as it would surely damage any tool used to tighten it.

Smiling inwardly, Shirou pulls the blanket of his futon over himself. As if that hadn't been enough, he'd had enough time left after that to exercise his other seemingly useless talent of projecting his magical energy, creating a similar, solid hexagonal nut. Another useless facsimile, which would surely shatter and disintegrate the second anyone tried to use it. Yet, on recalling whom it is he has to thank for this night's success, his smile turns ephemeral, fading and falling into a small frown.

I wish I'd thought to get Illya's phone number. I'd sure like to thank her for last night. And find out when she'll be back, so we can figure out this Servant business.

Thinking about the girl, he recalls what she'd told him yesterday. Her terrible dream, and her even worse past that triggered it.

But jeez, she bears it well. Or maybe all her playful teasing is just a façade…? Whatever the case, I guess I should be glad we're not blood-related, or that would be just too weird. But life is complicated enough. I really don't want to complicate it anymore. Can't we just have a normal brother-sister relationship?

Somehow, this feels like wishful thinking. Illya's behavior toward him falls into territory that seems far warmer than the natural feelings of affection a sister should have for a brother. But just thinking that, his frown softens, relaxing into a neutral line as his thoughts are pulled elsewhere.

That girl… Fuji-nee just started looking after her. That surprised the hell out of me. Maybe I've been underestimating her all this time…? I mean, the way she is toward Sakura is… So I guess it's possible…

Thinking of his junior, his thoughts shift toward a room on the opposite side of the sprawling residence, wherein she rests (he hopes), after he'd spent a good portion of the evening conversing with her, being told a rather unbelievable story.

Recalling that, his mouth curls into an incredulous smirk.

Definitely the strangest guest I've ever had. I can't believe it. I mean, we fed someone from another world? That's gotta be one for the history books. I hope he liked it. And it explains a lot. His weird clothes… Wait, those weird crystals from yesterday. He seemed hesitant to talk about them. Could that be why? Hey, hold on…

Something clicks in his head, turning his slight smirk into a disbelieving frown.

If he's from another world, how come he speaks perfect Japanese?

With that final thought bouncing around in his mind, his eyes slip closed as he turns his head on his pillow. Despite thinking otherwise, with Sakura, who unknowingly holds the key to his heart, staying under the same roof, restful sleep comes rather easily.

Much to his surprise.

The Day Ends.

Afterword

Thus ends the second day of events in this crossover/retelling. I realize that there has been something of a deluge of chapters uploaded over this week. The reason for that is because they've been ready for... well, months, and there hadn't really been a valid reason for them to sit around and collect dust as they have been. Another, more pressing reason, is that the next day's sequence of events are well under way, and I'm sort of eager to begin uploading them as well.

That starts next Saturday. At present, there are 16 chapters I feel ready for review, revision, and a few coats of shiny polish before they can be thrown to the wolves. Which is what I intend to do with my time over this next week.

And the next chapter to fall is quite a long one.

Cheers.