Hey there!

It's been years since I published anything, but here we are. I personally blame the pandemic, but I'm lying to myself, since I've been reading quite a lot of fics these last few months.

This one in particular came from an idea I had recently about two of my favourite games and just wouldn't leave, so I just kinda dedicated one afternoon and here we are. I do have a couple of ideas about mechanics, but I'm not sure where it will go from here, so please let me know what you think! It's also my first crossover AND my first time in two different new fandoms, both more popular than my previous one (Toaru), so we'll see how that goes.

Disclaimer: I do not own F/GO nor P5 nor any of its characters. Cover image obtained from reddit, will be taken down if original creator asks.

Prologue

It was late in the evening. The sun had long since set, and only small street lamps illuminating small patches of the city persisted in their futile fight against the ever-encroaching darkness. It was, in other words, the perfect weather for a workout.

On that evening, one particular boy walked through the streets.

He was not carrying much, just a bag slung over his shoulder. His white shirt clung to his torso, and his black hair was matted with sweat, the result of the effort he had been putting into his routine. He was actually feeling quite comfortable thanks to the breeze caressing his heated body, but knew for experience that if he stayed outside for much longer he'd end up catching a cold, and so he hurried home.

He appeared, for any who were to casually look his way, an average youth.

A more keen observer would have noticed details that disagreed with that notion. Such an observer might have noticed the way the shirt clung to the developing muscles on his arms and chest, or perhaps the forming callouses in his hands that denoted familiarity with certain bladed weapons. A particularly exceptional observer might have even noted the faint traces of scars peeking out from under his sleeves and collar.

But such an individual was not present that evening, and so the boy appeared, for all intents and purposes, average.

The walk had been a simple and pleasant affair. But fate, it seemed, was not particularly kind to that youth, and so it conspired to destroy that simplicity with something that the boy was, unfortunately, quite familiar with: a cry for help.

"Just get in the car!"

"No! Stop it!"

The boys eyes widened minutely and he started jogging towards the arguing voices.

"How dare you cross me!"

"Stop it! Let me go!"

The woman's voice sounded more distressed than before, so the boy quickened his pace. The man's voice sounded slightly slurred, so he may have been a drunk man trying to get frisky with her without her consent.

"No!"

"Don't give me that shit…"

They were in sight now. Both the man and the woman were standing in front of a black luxury car, with one of its doors open. The darkness made it difficult to see clearly, but the man was bald, wore glasses, and by the way he was swaying, was obviously drunk. The woman's back was turned towards him, so he could not see her expression, but her body language told him everything he needed to know: tense shoulders, arms wrapped around the body, and head ducked to try and make herself as small as possible. He was almost upon them, but the rest of the conversation made him frown.

"Tch… What a waste of time. You think you're worth causing me trouble? Huh?"

"I-I'll call the police!" cried the woman, making an attempt to shake his form from on top of hers, but failing to displace the heavier man.

"Heh", scoffed the man, and he did not need to see clearly to make out the ugly sneer, "call them if you want. The police are my bitches. They're not gonna take you seriously."

That was not the tone of someone trying to bluff. That was the sound of someone utterly convinced of their superiority who enjoyed rubbing it in the face of others, and considering that he was harassing a woman in the middle of a public street without a care, there was a good chance he was speaking the truth and he was indeed someone of importance.

"But is that a good enough excuse not to act?" asked the voice of an archer in red.

"Excuse me, sir!" called loudly the boy, stepping forward and taking one of his arms. "Would you please let her go? She doesn't seem very comfortable with the situation, you see."

"Huh?" The older man turned to look, having trouble registering the fact that someone had, in fact, dared to call out to him. "Who are you? Get outta my face!" He tried to shake himself free, but to his surprise, the boy's hold on him was firmer than he thought.

"I insist," reiterated the boy, smiling pleasantly at him. The smile on his face was at odds with the strength of his grip, and with a tug he was able to pry off the man from the woman. Without letting go of him, he turned towards the car. "Sir, you do not seem to be sober enough to drive. Did you come with anyone else who can drive you home?"

"GET OFF ME!" shouted his captive, trying once again to shake himself loose. And failing. The boy's grip was akin to steel. "Who do you think I am? How dare you…?"

"Aww, nobody else?", interrupted the younger man, speaking over him with cheer and drowning the rest of the rant. "That's no good, were you planning to drive yourself? That's very dangerous! You could have an accident. It would be better if we called a taxi for you. Excuse me, miss." He addressed the woman for the first time. "Would you mind calling a taxi for this gentleman?"

She nodded shakily and tried to take out her phone, but her hands were trembling. The boy continued rambling, undeterred, ignoring all attempts of the older man to set himself free."Perhaps you will need to call a tow truck tomorrow morning, if you live far from this zone. Or if you have a friend you trust, you could lend them your keys." He tugged on the arm, making the man stumble, and pulled him closer to the open door. "Would you mind telling me where the safety is? We wouldn't want anyone to steal anything tonight."

He looked back. The drunkard's face was red in anger, so he continued without skipping a beat before he had the chance to explode.

"This is quite a luxurious model! I'm not really into cars, myself, but I do have a couple friends who are, and let me say, yours looks quite nice. Aha, there we go." Pressing the safety switch, he heard the telltale kching indicating that the car was secured, so he pulled back and closed the door. "There. Now we don't have to worry about the car. Miss! How are we doing with that taxi?"

Not quite good, was the answer. The woman, ignored until that point, was trying to unlock the screen on her phone, but couldn't steady her pulse enough to do so. It seemed the scare hadn't passed yet. The youth frowned, but his attention was grabbed by a new sound: police sirens in the distance.

"Pay attention", chided the centaur gently, but firmly. "The situation in the battlefield is ever-changing. Always be mindful of your surroundings."

This was a problem, contemplated the boy as two uniformed men got down from the car and started walking towards them. From his earlier boasts, the situation could turn very ugly very fast if the drunk man still in his hold got his bearings. What to do?

"When in doubt, attack." Instructed the stern voice of the read-headed spearman. "He who seizes the initiative is one step closer to victory."

With a quick turn of his hips and a tug, the boy slung the arm in his grip over his neck and immediately called out.

"Officers!" Shouted the boy before they had the chance to say anything. "Oh, thank god you're here. It's my friend," he said, shooting a look at the bald man. "I fear he has drunk a bit too much tonight. But as you can see, I'm too young to drive, so there was nobody that could bring him home. I didn't know what to do."

"You." seethed the bald man, his anger giving way to rage. "Don't think you will -URKH!"

"Oh, dear." Exclaimed the boy in concern, surreptitiously removing his elbow from the older man's stomach. "That did not sound good at all. Are you sure you are alright? Maybe it would be better if you rested for a bit? Officers," he said, moving closer to the police car and starting to force the older man into the backseat, "would you mind bringing him to a quite place where he can relax for a bit, and maybe sleep the worst of it? Oh, and," he made a show to peer at the empty shadows at both sides of the street and lowering his voice, "do please try to keep this incident on the down low. You know how he can get."

The older of the two, who hadn't had the chance to say anything yet, took a closer look at the man that was now being manhandled into correctly fastening his seatbelt by a boy that appeared 30 years his junior and did a double take, confirming the boys suspicions that the earlier boasts were not merely smoke and bluffs. The police officer nodded at him, and he smiled, closing the door of the car.

"Thank you very much for your assistance, officers!" called the boy.

"It's nothing, just doing our duty." Answered the younger one. "We will take care of him until he can go home on his own, don't worry."

"I'm relieved. Have a good night!"

With a curt nod, both men got into the car and departed without further fanfare. The boy sighed, and turned to look at the woman.

She had her back against the wall. Her phone was still in her hands, gripped so tight it was a wonder cracks hadn't appeared on the screen. The police had ignored her because he had made himself the center of attention immediately and she hadn't made a sound, but she was the real cause of concern. The rapid and shallow breathing, the sweating, the trembling... The boy could easily recognize the signs of the beginning of a panic attack.

He had experienced some himself, after all.

"C'mon", he said softly, massaging her fingers until she let go of the phone. Taking his sweater from his bag, he passed it over her shoulders as a makeshift blanket, and gently coaxed her to walk.

Later, with a hot cup of cocoa from a 24h-open convenience store, and after the worst of the shock had worn off, the woman finally managed to regain a measure of calm. Perhaps it was because he was a stranger, perhaps because he had helped, or perhaps the situation got to her, but she felt safe enough to open up to him. And so, she explained.

How she was working in the government as an administrator for the United Future Party.

How she had been approached by a high-ranking member and asked to falsify accounts so that they may "appropriate" some of the donations from the public, in exchange for bonus payments.

How she had hesitated but ultimately accepted because refusing meant being fired and she needed the money for the treatment of her younger sister.

How she had begin to be invited to after-work gatherings of party members under one of the representatives sphere of influence.

How that same representative, Masayoshi Shido, the head of her new faction, had come to the club today.

And finally, how she had been forced to wheather hours of unwanted attention with a forced smile from a man that clearly saw her as nothing more than an ass and a pair of tits.

"He made it very clear," she explained, voice exhausted, "that I had no choice to refuse. If I said anything, he could declare the misappropriation of funds as my fault, and nobody would believe my word over his. I'd lose my job, my income, and any chance of my sister surviving five more years." She took a long sip of cocoa, set the cup aside and slowly buried her face into her hands. "I can't keep doing this anymore. I can't. I can't..."

There was nothing the boy could do, except offer a comforting hand on her shoulder as her tears finally started to fall.

In the end, the boy asked for her phone and called a taxi for her. His own phone had been left at home, as he hadn't wanted to risk damaging it by accident while exercising.

But before giving it back, he made sure to memorize her number. He also added a new contact with his own number, "In case you need to talk.", he explained.

When he finally came back home, his family had begun to grow worried, so he made sure to explain the incident. He kept a bit vague the details on how he handled the drunk man, but otherwise left nothing out.

His father was outraged, and asked if there was any way to bring such blatant extortion to the authorities.

He answered with a bitter smile that the extortioners seemed to be the authorities in this case.

His mother worried for him, and wondered whether there would be repercussions.

He answered he hoped not.

His sister asked him if he had at least kicked the motherfucker in the nuts. She also inquired whether the woman was hot, and called him a sly dog for getting her number in her moment of weakness.

He punched her in the arm. Not hard enough to leave a bruise, but enough to sting.

He kind of regretted not kicking his jewels, too, a bit.

That night, before he went to bed, the boy picked up his phone and made a request in a soft voice. By next day, the woman would find that her bank account had received an anonymous transfer, enough to cover her sister's fees for a few months.

It wasn't as if he was exactly hurting for money.

He went to sleep hoping that her worries were alleviated and the incident would end there.

It didn't.

The notification from the court came without warning. He had to be present at the hearing (a hearing, not a trial) two days from now, far faster than any other civilian case usually was.

There was no case. Him and his family were told the ascertained truth that happened that night: he was a violent assaulter, who out of nowhere attacked a respectable gentleman who was escorting his friend from a party, mangling his arm and elbowing his torso, before proceeding to try to force himself on said friend. The gentleman's identity was not stated at his request, as he was someone of importance who could not afford to have a scandal of that magnitude weighing his career. The incident had been luckily halted before it could grow worse by the timely arrival of two valiant policemen who were informed of the commotion, causing the suspect to flee.

The evidence was irrefutable. There were medical exams detailing the gentleman's injuries, including a cracked wrist and fractured ribs. Now he was really starting to regret not kicking his nuts in, so at least they'd had some evidence that wasn't blatantly falsified. Also, the two policemen had testified as witnesses.

The woman had too.

His father had been outraged, mumbling all manner of expletives under his breath all the way back. His sister had cracked her knuckles and declared that said gentleman better pray to every god to ever exist to never meet her, because if he did then it wouldn't be only his wrist and ribs that would end up fractured. The mood affected even his usually even-tempered mother, who quietly seethed in the shotgun seat until home was in sight.

After arriving, his family sat around the kitchen table. He took out his phone, switched to speaker mode, and called her number. His family deserved to know too.

Nobody answered, but the call was rejected instead of lost, so he called again. The first three times yielded no result. It wasn't until the fourth that she picked up, and then all he could hear was "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry..."

It was because of the doctor, she explained between sobs. She had tried to use the money to leave the job, but an acquaintance from the parties she had attended had been sent to explain things to her. Her sister's illness was very rare, and not much research had been done on it. Years ago, one of the physicians had made a medical mistake, and now the Medical Chief of Staff of the same hospital was the only one with a chance to save her. Said hospital happened to receive generous donations by the United Future Party, which gave them considerable pull over who their Chief of Staff attended to. The acquaintance then asked if she understood.

She told them everything. She declared what they told her to declare, signed where they told her to sign, and even gave them his number, that they used to identify him. She even told them of the money, money that they had then requested as a show of good faith, as the Party, in a show of solidarity, had decided to take charge of her sister's treatment fees from then on, as they were already familiar with her physician.

Her parents, ignorant of the situation, had been overjoyed, and thanked her in tears, as they now had hope that thanks to the work of the elder sister the younger might live to grow old.

She apologized again and again and again, sobbing all the while, while he attempted to console her, assuring her that he bore her no grudge and that it wasn't her fault. His own family remained quiet, uncharacteristically somber.

Three days later, they received more news. Apparently, there was a chance he would not need to go to juvie if he underwent a period of probation of one year. Youths who committed such violent assaults were usually sent directly to the reformatory, but thanks to the kindness of the unnamed gentleman, he had been given the chance to avoid that fate, read the note.

Her sister spit against the ground. He agreed with the sentiment.

After searching for solutions, his father was contacted by an old acquaintance of his that introduced him to a certain mister Sakura, who was willing to take him in. He also managed to enroll him in a school near the area where he'd be living, Shujin Academy.

When it was time to leave, his father hugged him and reminded him to stay in contact. His mother kissed his forehead and made him promise to eat well and to be courteous to Sakura-san. And his sister looked him in the eye and declared that he'd better text her daily this time around, or so help her.

And so, Ritsuka Fujimaru, former Master of Chaldea and Savior of Humanity twice over, departed to Tokyo for the next year.

One virtual cookie for whoever can tell the name of the ill younger sister without checking ;) Next chapter is mostly thought out, but no promises when it'll come out.

See ya!