Fate Stay Night – Unlimited Boob Works

Chapter 8

"Only Archers Should Play Cupid"

Kiritsugu checked his watch, noting the minute and the hour. The timing was important for any mission, but it had an unusual significance for his task today.

He checked again, just to be sure, then chuckled at the thought that he'd come all the way here from his native Japan – halfway around the world – only to observe a peculiarly Japanese custom.

Other countries had their customs too, of course. The idea of an "omiai", or formal meeting, was not, strictly speaking, a Japanese one. The Western aristocracies were equally interested in preserving their own power – especially the great Mage Families, where bloodline counted for everything. Arranged marriages were common – a carefully chosen match could advance a family's standing by as much as a century, while a poorly chosen one could result in a setback of several generations.

That was all fine and good, but Kirtitsugu wasn't here to meet with a daughter of the Einzbern house. He hadn't travelled all the way to the snowy forests of northern Germany to meet with a princess, or even an heiress. Today's meeting was with an Einzbern homunculus.

Out of all the magic of the great Mage Families, the Einzbern's was unique. The Tohsaka family rituals were very orderly and predictable. They used things like strengthening magic, setting up wards and domains, along with various other traditional spells. Remarkable for being unremarkable, it was exactly the sort of thing one would expect when dealing with wizards – though tremendously powerful, of course.

The Matou, on the other hand, or Zolgren as they had been known before leaving Russia, were depraved. That wasn't a value judgement on Kiritsugu's part – one whose business was assassination did not make value judgements – at least not on the same order as most so called normal people. The magic of the Matou family dealt with insects – worms – the creeping dark. Theirs was the unseen world of life, death, decomposition – and sexual perversion. They were of a damnable sort.

But the magic of the Einzbern family was centered around the homunculus. The idea was not original to them. Jewish folklore made mention of golems, while many cultures had references to automata, or mechanical beings. And then there were other, darker versions – zombies, voodoo, necromancy, and other forms of reanimation. But the Einzberns approached the subject with a peculiar singlemindedness.

All of their homunculi were clones, made in the image of one of their line's original founders, Justeaze von Einzbern, who had given her body as a Vessel for the Holy Grail centuries ago, when the ritual of the Holy Grail War had first been instituted.

If the creature sitting before him was any indication, then Justeaze must have been a woman of incomparable beauty. Her skin was milk white, poured out in a voluptuous generosity that even the muted lines of her coat could not conceal, for the room was insufferably cold, while her hair was a silvered blond, almost as pale as her skin, and coming down on either side of her face to well past her shoulders.

Only her eyes gave any hint that she was something other than a normal human. For instead of the green that was so common in that part of the world, or the blue that that Aryans coveted with their racial nonsense, or brown or black or grey, they were red – a deep red, almost crimson. It was a quirk common to the Einzbern homunculi, and at first it was a bit off putting, especially given the intensity of her gaze, but they looked so beautiful beneath her long, delicate lashes, that Kiritsugu found he could find no fault with them.

As he entered the room, she rose to introduce herself, curtseying formally.

"My name is Irisviel von Einzbern . . ."

Kiritsugu regarded his future wife from across the wooden table. It was certainly a strange place for a date. He'd seen her once before, at the Einzbern family castle. But for the site of their first formal meeting, the Einzberns had chosen not one of the many fortresses in their possession, nor a mansion or manor house, but instead one of their research facilities.

The interior was what could only be described as "Communist Block" – the walls, floor, and ceiling were all of concrete, heavily re-enforced and insulated. It had formerly been an East German military outpost, from the days when there still was an East Germany, back before the end of the Cold War. The building itself was even older, going back to the Second World War.

It was, for lack of a better term, a bunker, and judging from the window off to one side and the long wooden table between them, it had also been used for interrogations. The thought that the first date of their arranged marriage was taking place in an interrogation chamber made Kiritsugu laugh, but the room had its share of other, unpleasant implications. Who knew what horrors this table had seen? And the sight of several pock marked bullet holes blasted out of the concrete walls suggested it has also witnessed several summary executions.

What were the Einzberns thinking? They clearly venerated their ancestor. Justeaze was like a kind of saint to them, and all the homunculi were made in her image. When discussing the conditions for their support in the Holy Grail War, one of their terms had been that Kiritsugu must marry their "daughter". The ceremony was to take place in the Einzbern family castle, in a Sanctuary that overlaid the same crypt in which Justeaze herself was buried, and even though the whole affair was very small by aristocratic standards, and not accompanied by the usual pomp and fanfare, it was nonetheless both legally and ecclesiastically binding.

Yet in practically the same breath, they had been careful to specify that Irisviel was a "tool", intended to help him win the Holy Grail War. They'd even given him a tour of the facility before taking him to meet with her today, so that he would get to see how a homunculus was made.

"We name them all by day, according to alphabetical order", the attendant had explained as she showed him the various growing tanks and incubation tubes, her voice filled with a cheerful enthusiasm that was even more frightening than the interrogation room with its bullet holes.

"Irisviel was born on an 'I' day, so we named her Iris, along with her sisters Irina and Iulietta."

Kiritsugu nodded appreciatively at her explanation. No need to question or embarrass her. After all, she too was a homunculus herself.

And so it was that he found himself sitting across from this strange, beautiful creature on the other side of the table. She was a homunculus – a created being – the Einzbern's daughter – a tool – his wife.

It was difficult to say what any of those things might mean – much less what they all meant together – so he decided to start with something simpler.

"What's this?" she asked, as he slid a small package across the table.

"It's a gift. To commemorate our first meeting."

Irisviel studied the package curiously.

"For . . . me?"

A ridiculous question, since she was the only one there, but she had asked it in earnest, so he did not laugh at her.

"Go on, open it."

Carefully she picked the package up, and inspected it closely. It was long and rectangular, and impossibly thin, wrapped with metallic foil paper in a deep purple color that gave no hint as to its contents.

Her manner was so serious, he could not resist teasing her slightly.

"Aren't you curious what's inside?"

With the utmost delicacy, she took a slender finger, and loosed the tape at one end, lifting one corner, and then the other, then took hold of the box inside and started wiggling it. But it wouldn't budge.

"You don't have to be so careful", he said gently. "Half the fun of a present is opening it."

With his permission, she grabbed the corner and tore the paper across, making a neat, forty-five degree angle. A cut from a katana could not have been more precise. Even the tearing sound was exact and crisp.

The package thus freed, it slid out easily.

Looking, Irisviel could see a presentation box of heavy cardboard. It was matte purple in color, and had a rich, woven texture to it. Carefully she lifted the lid.

"Ohh . . ."

Inside was a pair of women's dress gloves.

They were made of sueded leather, very fine, in a deep, rich purple color, with a tuft of fur at the cuffs.

Puzzled, she looked at Kiritsugu questioningly.

"I remembered the first time we met, at the Einzbern Castle. You looked so cold . . ."

Irisviel looked down at the box with the gloves on the table.

"Go ahead – try them on."

Picking one up, she slipped it over her hand, admiring the way the line of tiny stitches wrapped perfectly around her slender fingers. There was no greed or avarice in her gaze, only a sense of wonder. Even in her limited experience of the world, she could tell that such a gift would have to be expensive. It was the kind of thing that one would give the daughter of an aristocratic house, or the heir to one of the great Mage familes – certainly not something one would give to a homunculus.

"Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful! And so warm . . ."

"There's really no point in you developing any singular attachment to me."

They were lying in bed, side by side. As she said it, Irisviel put her arm up over her head, in a manner that pulled at the blanket, threatening to expose her breast.

"I've got a thousand sisters, and each of us is exactly alike. I'm not even human – I'm just an artificial body with a collection of conditioned responses. How do you know that I'm really Iris? On that day that we met, how do you know that afterwards they didn't give you Iulietta, or Irina instead?"

"I would know the difference."

"Nonsense. We're identical. There is no difference."

"I would be able to tell."

"Oh? How?"

"An assassin's eyes are sharp. I met Iulia and Irina. On the same day I met you. Irina's nose was slightly smaller than yours –"

Irisviel pouted.

" – And as for Iulietta, your breasts are larger – "

At this, Irisviel's eyes went wide. Her face flushed red, and she rolled over, pulling the blanket around her.

"See, you're blushing!" Kiritsugu teased, threatening to pull the covers away.

"I'm embarrassed!" she said, pretending to be angry.

"That's not a conditioned response."

"It's probably only vestigial . . ."

Kiritsugu gathered her gently to him.

Irisviel cut her eyes to the side.

"Are you sure that it's okay for you to be with me like this? I'm a homunculus – a created being –"

"We're all just created beings . . ." he said, easing the blanket away. "It's just that for some of us the process is a little different."

"There are . . . those in the main family that would say that it is an abomination for you to lie with me – that it's blasphemy . . ."

"As if any of those bastards in the main house even have the right to use words like blasphemy . . ."

As the covers came away, her skin once more flushed red at their combined warmth.

"You're blushing again", he said, catching her chin as she tried to turn away, pulling her back to look into her eyes. "That's a human response. Brought on by the feelings of a human girl . . ."

Shiro sat bolt upright in his bed, thankful the dream had ended where it did, before he could see things he did not want to see.

And yet, he could not help also feeling a certain sense of disappointment.

"God, she's so warm!" he thought. "And so beautiful. She looks just like Illya . . ."

Then again, Irisviel was Illya's mother, so –

"I guess Illya looks like her . . ." he sighed, stretching his arms before falling back into bed. All of this bouncing back and forth through time was beginning to get to him.

"Last night it was dreams of Saber, and now Dad . . ."

Strangely enough, the dream of his Father felt older, even though Saber's memories were of much longer ago.

"Maybe it's because Saber and I are closer to the same age?"

It occurred to him he didn't really know how old Saber was, or how long she had reigned, or many other details of her life. And the only reason he could see his Father's memories was because of Illya.

"Ever since I traced her body, and used the power of the BladeWorks, we've shared the same dreams . . ."

For that matter, where was Illya?

"She'd usually be here right now . . ?"

Maybe she'd decided to get up for a moment?

"Oh no!" Shiro said, suddenly realizing. "The dream! Don't tell me she saw – "

No, even the thought was too embarrassing.

Shiro sighed again. Ever since the start of the Sixth Holy Grail War, and the revelation that their Father was a Berserker, Illya had been rather listless. Lately she had been downright droopy looking – not at all herself.

"I guess this War has been getting to all of us . . ."

But what to do about it? That was the question. If it was Saber, the answer would be easy, and would probably involve food. Rin could always be cheered up by giving her an opportunity to demonstrate how smart and capable she was. And Sakura liked doing things that were domestic. But Illya . . .

"I really don't even know what Illya likes . . ."

The thought made him feel terrible.

"There has to be something I can do! Think!"

During the last Grail War, Illya had approached him, and told him in no uncertain terms that she hated her Father for leaving her and her mother, and that she hated Shiro for getting to spend time with him. But her actions did not bear out her words.

"I came here to punish Dad for leaving me", she had explained, while munching on a sweet bean takoyaki pastry, "but I was too late, so now I'll have to make you suffer in his place!"

The cheerfulness in her tone made it hard to take her seriously. That, and it was hard to feel threatened by someone who had sweet bean paste on her cheek (in the end he'd had to wipe it with his own napkin.)

"We went to the park that day", he remembered. "We sat on a park bench, and I shared the pastries I'd bought with her – the ones I was SUPPOSED to be taking HOME!"

She'd certainly been doing a good job of making him suffer. Maybe her threat wasn't so empty after all.

"It was so cold that day . . ."

"I'm used to the cold", she had said.

"So I guess it doesn't bother you then?"

"Oh no, it bothers me. Just because I'm used to being cold, that doesn't mean that I like it."

And there was snow.

"Screw it! I'm taking Illya out for a while. Just the two of us. The damned Grail War can wait for a bit!"

After all, it had already been going on for over two centuries.

He felt rather proud of his decision. Just saying it made him feel better. But when he got to the hall . . .

"I'm going out", Rin said curtly, her voice in a bit of a huff.

"But – why?"

"We've been spending entirely too much time together, all cooped up in one place. If we don't keep up at least some semblance of our normal, everyday lives, people will get suspicious.

'Besides, I'd like to stop by home. There's a particular volume there I'd like to look up. I think it might have some information that would prove helpful."

"Saber – "

"She left."

"What do you mean, left?"

"She took off shortly after breakfast. She said she had something in town to take care of."

"Something in town? What could Saber possibly have to – Sakura?"

"Sorry, Sempai", Sakura said, emerging from the kitchen. She was wearing the new apron Shiro had gotten her (and which looked very good on her.) "But I'm going back to Matou House for a bit. Don't worry, I'll be back by tonight. And here, I saved you some breakfast –"

"Oh, thank you . . ." Shiro said, taking the bowl of rice from her absent mindedly. "Where's Illya?"

"She left too – "

"What do you mean!?"

"It was shortly after everyone had finished eating. She agreed with my plan, and said she had some things to take care of back at Castle Einzbern."

"What is going on here!?" Shiro shouted.

"What do you MEAN, what is going on!?" Rin shouted back.

"It's like, I sleep in for a few extra minutes, and suddenly everybody –"

"A few extra – do you have any idea what time it is!? If YOU weren't so busy being lazy, and sleeping until NOON, then you wouldn't have missed our discussion!"

"Noon! I did not sleep until . . ."

Just then Shiro caught sight of the clock. From the position of the minute hand, he could see that it was almost twelve-thirty.

"Just how long was that dream . . ?"

"WHAT dream?"

"Oh, nothing –"

"You'd better not have been thinking anything perverted!"

"It – wasn't like that . . ." Shiro said. Try as he might, he wasn't able to get anything more from her, and so he had no choice but to sit down, and eat his rice, feeling rather strange and alone in his own kitchen.

"Don't bother waiting up."

Hearing Rin's tone of dismissal while standing on his own doorstep was almost more than he could bear.

"Don't worry, Sempai", Sakura called reassuringly. "We'll lock up!"

Rin watched him go, then emitted a small growl, aimed at no one in particular, as she stalked back into the house. She made a quick survey of the kitchen, where the bowls and plates from that morning's breakfast stood propped at one end of the counter to finish drying. She checked the stove to make sure everything was off. The sight of Sakura's purple apron and Shiro's blue one hanging on the same hook together filled her with depression.

"Sigh . . . Come on Sakura, let's go."

She had assumed by Sakura's comment about locking the door that she meant putting on the bottom lock so that it would latch when she pulled it behind them, but . . .

"You mean you have a key!?"

Rin stared incredulously as Sakura inserted the key into the lock, and turned it. Something about the familiarity of her hands upon the handle made her angry.

"Hai! Sempai said he got tired of coming home and finding me waiting on the door step – he said I looked like a little lost kitten – so he had one made for me.

'It's my most prized possession!" Sakura said gleefully, holding it up. The key sparkled, its bare metal shining from daily use.

Rin wanted to punch her.

Only Sakura's cheerfulness saved her from bodily harm. Instead, Rin, sighed, and resigned herself to another day.

"So, Tohsaka-sempai, where do you think we should look tonight?"

"Just Rin will do", Rin said, still scowling, but unable to resist warming at least slightly at Sakura's deference.

"Oh, okay Rin-sempai!"

"Just Rin . . ."

"You didn't tell them anything about last night – not about Shinji or the Archery Captain or that Ryudo boy," Rider said, once the two of them had parted ways, and Rin was safely out of earshot.

Sakura smiled, sadly but sweetly, staring in the direction Rin had gone, already feeling the mask leave her face.

"No", she said, touching her cheek, then looking down at her fingers, as if she expected to see something on them. "There was no need. It will all come out soon enough. I just want Shiro to be happy – as happy as he can – for as long as he can. At this rate, I suppose it won't be long now . . ."

After being quickly and rather rudely shoved out of his own door, Shiro spent several moments pacing back and forth along the street. He was not at all happy about being unceremoniously tossed out of his own house, but in some ways, it was more convenient this way. After all, he had his own errand to run.

Shiro had never considered himself to be wise in the ways of the world, and he certainly didn't understand the unspoken, unwritten rules that governed the ways of women. But even he had the dim inklings of an idea that if he was going to take Illya out on a proper date, then his usual blue and white sweatshirt would not be up to the task.

"That won't do at all!" he could just hear Rin saying.

It seemed simple enough. But once he found himself standing in front of one of the more fashionable mall boutiques, he was not so sure.

The front of the store was lined with a rack of t-shirts, some in solid colors, some in prints, but that all seemed much too casual. The same went for the sweatshirts and hoodies.

"I'd like to dress up at least a *little* bit", he thought.

At the other end of the spectrum was a stand of men's dress shirts, each in its own little bag, all pressed and folded, and held impeccably in place by no fewer than 17 pins (he'd counted, taking a moment to trace one of them while the attendant was on the other side of the store.) But that seemed much too formal, like something he should wear with a coat and tie.

The only remaining option was a rack off to the left that held a mixture of name brand labels, some button downs, and some pullovers. These SEEMED like the right kind of thing – not too casual but not too dressy either – but he'd already gone through them twice, and none of them felt quite right.

"It's hopeless", he sighed, letting his eyes wander to the front of the store where he saw the one thing he felt remotely comfortable with – a two toned blue and white long sleeve jersey, with set in sleeves, that looked exactly like a more expensive version of the one he was already wearing.

Shiro sighed again.

"Maybe if I went with a different color –"

That was when he was interrupted by a voice behind him.

"Ahem – if it was me, I would say you should probably go with the red one."

"Oh", Shiro said absent mindedly. Looking down, he could see that his hand had stopped on a button down shirt that was a shade of red somewhere between scarlet and crimson. It looked exactly like the sort of thing someone else he knew might wear.

"That figures – wait!" he said, whirling to see a familiar shape standing behind him.

"Rider?"

At least it *looked* like Rider.

Except it didn't.

The girl in front of him was wearing a short black dress. Black stockings covered her thighs, down to where they disappeared into a pair of elegant leather boots. Her arms, instead of her usual gloves, were wrapped in a pair of black arm warmers that were knitted with a cable pattern, like a sweater, very warm and cozy looking. Everything about her was very refined and sophisticated looking.

But there could be no doubt that this was Rider. She even had a black ribbon over her eyes, in place of her mask. Somehow it did not look out of place on her, but instead seemed rather fashionable, as if this was the beginning of a trend, and everyone would be wearing them before the end of the year.

"Rider?" Shiro repeated again, staring incredulously, but there could be no doubt that this was in fact Sakura's Rider class Servant. "What are you doing here?"

At being questioned, Rider straightened her back and stood formally, then made a small bow.

"Mistress sent me out shopping, and she said I could have whatever time was left as my own, so –"

Shiro's eyes travelled down to a shopping bag that dangled from Rider's fingers. It bore the name and logo of a well known bookseller that had one of their anchor stores here in the mall. The contents were wrapped in a second black bag that masked their identity, which of course only served to make them that much more interesting.

"Probably some secret tomes on magic and stuff", Shiro thought.

"So what are YOU doing here?" Rider asked, apparently eager to shift attention away from the contents of the bag.

"Oh! Uh – well – you see . . ."

"You look like you're out shopping for a date."

"Ugh!"

Her jab having landed, Rider wasted no time in going for a knockout blow.

". . . Yeah."

Shiro confessed, deciding it was best to be honest. By now he had taken the red shirt off the rack and was clinging to it defensively, the hanger still dangling lifelessly from its neck.

"Well, aren't you going to try it on?"

"Wha - !?"

Shiro stared, but Rider showed no signs of leaving. Instead she crossed her arms, and stared right back at him. He could almost feel her red eyes beneath the ribbon, threatening to burn right through it and bore holes into him, or else turn him to stone.

Clearly a woman's advice in such matters was not to be taken lightly.

"Man, how do I get myself into these things?" Shiro asked after he'd closed the fitting room door and slipped off his shirt. He paused for a moment to regard his muscular form in the mirror.

Then again, Rider did appear to have excellent taste.

"Maybe she can help me figure out what to wear", he thought as he emerged from the dressing area.

"It looks . . . good on you."

Or so she said.

But he could tell from the tone of her voice that she was only saying it to be polite.

"I don't know . . ." Shiro echoed cautiously. "It's too bright."

He tried looking at himself in the three sided mirror from one side, and then the other, and then straight on, but no matter how he turned, it just didn't look quite right.

"I was kind of thinking of something a little more . . . purple?"

"OHHH !"

Shiro had no idea what he'd said, but it obviously had some secret meaning to Rider, whose whole being seemed to light up at the word. Under her mask he was certain that her red eyes must be gleaming.

"Well if THAT'S the case – "

"Rider, wait!"

But it was no use. Rider had already grabbed his hand and made a beeline for one of the clearance racks. Shiro had seen it before and specifically avoided it, thinking the large red sign that proclaimed, "UP TO 90% OFF!" too embarrassing, but Rider apparently felt no such hesitation, and dove right in.

Most of the things on the rack looked like they had good reason to be there, being odd patterns or colors, or else in sizes so ridiculously large or small that no normal person could ever wear them. Rider flipped each to the side, pronouncing her judgment mercilessly.

"Nope – nope – too tacky – too loud – too . . . hideous! Merciful heaven no!"

The offending garment that had provoked this last comment was a shirt printed in a black and yellow hounds tooth pattern so busy and so garish that just looking at it gave Shiro a headache.

"What about this?" Rider asked, holding up a lavender dress shirt.

"Nah – too pale."

"How about this?" she offered, pulling out a silk shirt in a shade that looked like it could only be suitable for a stuffed dinosaur.

"Now you're messing with me!"

Rider smiled wryly.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know – something darker I guess? Maybe more like – this . . ?"

Trailing off, his hand had stopped on a shirt that was very dark, almost black. In the shadows, it had a smoky, charcoal color, but when he held it up, he could see hints and traces of iris running throughout.

"Tyrian Purple", he remembered hearing Merlin say, in one of Saber's dreams. "The old Imperial color. The actual shade is lost to us, but the Romans described it as having the appearance of old, dark clotted blood. An ugly description for something so beautiful, but it was highly prized, both for its expense, and for the fact that it would not fade – its color only deepened over time."

Shiro had no idea if the shirt he was holding qualified as Tyrian Purple, and if Merlin's words were to be believed, no one else had known either for many centuries, but this was the kind of thing the wizard's description had made him think of.

"I don't know . . ." Shiro said, his confidence fading.

But the effect on Rider was pronounced.

"Ohh!"

She called, taking it from him.

"It's BEAUTIFUL . . . and so soft!" she said, holding it up to her face, and snuggling into it. "It's like Egyptian cotton – so and light and warm!"

"I don't know if it's really me though – "

"You should try it on!" she cut him off, shoving the shirt against his chest and herding him towards the dressing room.

"I don't know . . ." Shiro called from the other side of the door. He'd never owned anything like this, and he wondered for a moment if it was even okay for someone like him to own things like this. The cloth was very fine, and as Rider had said, very lightweight, with a magnificent softness to it that even silk would have been hard pressed to match.

"I mean, what would I even WEAR it with? I guess it could go with a pair of dress pants – "

For an answer, Rider flopped a pair of designer jeans over the side of the stall.

"Urk!" Shiro choked when he saw the price.

"Relax! They're on sale."

"But I feel weird", he continued, after he emerged. The jeans were also soft and a bit stretchy. They were in a very dark navy, almost black, that complimented the dark purple of the shirt nicely.

"I mean, spending money on me – this is supposed to be about her – "

"Oh, trust me, this is all about her", Rider said, putting her hand to her chin as she eyed her work.

"But I feel so vain."

"It's not being vain to give a damn about your own appearance. And the fact that you're putting in so much effort is a compliment – it says that you value the time that you're' going to spend with her."

"I guess that makes sense – " Shiro said, trying to grasp this new logic. "So – uh – how do I look?"

Rider eyed him critically, then struck.

"Untucked!" she scolded grabbing his shirt tails, and yanking them out of his waistband.

"Ahh!"

"And never button the top button!" she said, unbuttoning the top TWO buttons, and spreading the shirt open so that it exposed the top of his chest.

"Argh!"

Having Rider's swift fingers move around his waist and chest made Shiro uncomfortable in a variety of ways. She was so lithe and sultry to begin with, when she actually touched him, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

Vainly he looked around for help, but the store attendant had wisely deduced that Rider was doing a much better job than she could, and made herself scarce.

"Hmm, we'll have to get you some shoes – that could get a bit expensive – and a nice belt – "

"What's the point? The shirt would cover it any way – "

"Oh, you'll see", Rider said with a shove, pushing him off towards the cash register.

"They had belts there too, you know", Shiro protested as Rider drug him into another fashion boutique. "We could've just gotten everything in one store . . ."

"You can't get everything in one place!"

"Why not?"

Rider scoffed.

"A well dressed man of the world must have many things, both new and old, and from many places!"

"Well dressed man of the world . . ?" Shiro asked. But Rider gave him no time to think about it.

With her help, he picked out a dress belt of black leather with a nice buckle.

"But it won't even show", Shiro protested again.

For an answer, Rider seized the hem of his shirt, and undid the lowermost button.

"Yikes!"

The sensation of her fingers around his waist was almost more than he could bear.

It seemed like an awful lot of trouble for something so small, but when he looked at the way the shiny silver peeked out in the mirror, he had to admit it was a nice effect.

"Now for the shoes – "

"I thought I could just wear my tennies – "

"Absolutely not!"

At Rider's insistence, he picked out a pair black loafers. They were also made of leather, and had slick fronts without any laces, utterly devoid of any kind of design or ornamentation. They were very lightweight, and to Shiro's mind a bit flimsy looking – not at all the kind of thing a Hero of Justice should wear – but they met with Rider's seal of approval.

Next, they visited an accessory shop, where Rider had him pick out a necklace. He found one with a pendant that had a yin yang design in black and silver that reminded him of the hilts of Archer's paired swords, which he thought looked kind of cool.

Lastly, he picked a bracelet. This one piece was the only thing that had been Shiro's idea. He'd seen it at a corner stand, and it cost all of 200 yen, being nothing more than a woven strip of black leather with a little silver medallion. But it matched the pendant, so even Rider had to admit it was a nice touch.

"Ahh . . . going to the market is always the same, in any time or place . . ." she sighed, holding out her arms and making a small twirl. This sense of whimsy was not at all usual for her, but strangely Shiro found that it did not seem out of place.

"So – uh – how do I look . . ?"

He held the shopping bag that contained his old clothes up, draping it over his shoulder, and smiled nervously.

Rider touched her finger to her chin, eyeing him critically.

"Not half bad. If you showed up to a party dressed like THAT, even *I* might stop to talk to you – IF I didn't already know what a hopeless DORK you are!" she teased.

Shiro beamed good naturedly.

"Gee, thanks! Next time you want to give me a compliment, how about you take that chain weapon thing of yours and just jab me with it instead? It would be faster, and it would probably hurt a whole lot less."

Rider laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Sheesh", Shiro sighed, running his fingers over his hair. "I feel like I'm dressed up for an audition for a boy band . . ."

"If you showed up like THAT, they'd probably hire you."

"Nah – I can't sing or play any instruments – "

"I doubt that has much to do with that sort of thing."

"You know, deep down, Rider is actually a really nice person . . ." Shiro thought to himself, still staring at the place he had seen her standing and waving.

He had changed out of his new clothes, and was relieved to be back in his old blue and white shirt and jeans again.

"You should wear the shoes once or twice to break them in", she had advised. "But don't let her see them! And absolutely no wearing anything else! You don't want to spoil the surprise!"

"Yes m'am!"

"Hmph!" she added triumphantly, under her breath, after she had walked away. "Now don't let Mistress say I've never done anything for her before!"

Shiro sighed.

"I wonder how she knew I was going out on a date with Illya?"

Everything that Rider had picked was very nice, and he didn't doubt the wisdom of her judgment. It was just that it was very tiring, being someone else. He looked down at his new alternate identity in the bag.

"Hero of Justice, huh? Man! How am I going to keep up a whole day of this? I could barely get through two hours!"

He didn't have long to think about it.

As he crossed the threshold into one of the mall's side corridors, he felt a pulse go through him. It was so sudden and so jarring, it nearly made him vomit.

"A Servant?"

Before he could turn and look, he felt a presence behind him. And then he heard a familiar voice in his ear.

"Good evening, Shiro Emiya. My Master would like to speak with you . . ."

"This is bad – I"ll call an ambulance – "

"No!" Shinji groaned, clutching the lapel of his jacket with fierce resistance. "No authorities. No police . . . no ambulance . . . nothing. That's part of the rules – "

"At least let me call your Grandfather – "

"NO!" Shinji shouted, his insistence becoming desperation. "He's the last person I'd want to know!"

Issei stared at him, perplexed, but Shinji continued to insist.

"It'll be fine. I can walk. It's not that far, and – UWAH!"

Shinji tried to take a step, and pitched forward. Issei caught him, and draped his arm around his shoulder.

"Like this", he said, taking a step, and waiting for Shinji to hop after him. With this limping, three legged gait, they set off down the sidewalk.

They made it as far the corner before they had to stop and rest.

"This is never going to work", Issei thought.

Mitsuzuri's apartment was just on the other side of the neighborhood, but at the rate they were going, it would be morning and they still wouldn't be back to the Matou house. He was still thinking about what to do when the ground started to shake all around them.

"Ah!" he shouted, recoiling at the sight of the bony figures as they emerged. "Caster's golems . . ."

Their sudden appearance startled him, and for a moment he berated himself for being so judgmental of Shinji earlier. Even knowing what they were, up close like this, they were still terrifying.

Issei regarded the bony creatures apprehensively. His last conversation with Caster had been an argument, and the battle against the Servant Shinji referred to as Rider had not gone well. But the golems appeared to hold no grudge on either account. They took one look at Issei, and then at Shinji, whom they picked up, draping either of his arms around their bony shoulders. And then they set off.

They made it two more blocks like this, going as fast as they could, practically dragging Shinji along in between them, but their progress was still slow. In the end, they picked him up, and laid him across one of their shields, and carried him.

At first, Issei was sure they would be seen, going along like this, a band of twelve golems, four of them carrying Shinji, who laid on his back, and called out "Oh! Ohh!" at every step, leaving Issei to do his best to keep up.

But as they travelled, a band of fog came, and travelled with them. It clung like a cloak around his shoulders, following him, down the street, across to the other side, and then along the sidewalk, so that if anyone had looked, all they would have seen was a cloud of mist drifting along the roadway.

"Another of her tricks", he thought, wondering at the nature of his companions. They'd been no match for Rider, but in a group like this, they certainly seemed formidable. Their actions were well ordered and coordinated. But their shapes were ghastly. They were skeletal in form, but not human. They bore extra spikes and sharp protrusions that had no counterpart to a human appearance, while other human features were altogether missing. In the end, they were monsters. But Issei was glad to have them with him all the same. Especially with Rider around.

"So that's a Servant . . ."

He shuddered at the thought. But then again, Caster and Lancer were Servants too.

"I'm surrounded by monsters", he concluded. It was not at all comforting. "How does Shiro live like this?"

When they reached the Matou Estate, the golems dumped Shinji unceremoniously to the ground.

"Argh!"

"Are you going to be alright?"

"Ahh . . . I'll be fine . . ." Shinji groaned as he crawled across the lawn until he reached the fence. Taking hold of its iron bars, he used them to help pull himself to his feet, then limped his way past the front, and around towards a side door of the house.

Issei stared after him doubtfully, but he had his own problems to consider. By now the troop of golems had disbanded, melting back into the earth, and the cloud of mist had disappeared, wafting away into a gentle night breeze.

"Shinji said it was against the rules to involve the authorities . . ."

There were no trains at this hour, and he didn't have the money for a taxi. And he certainly wasn't going to call his parents.

The road to Ryudo Temple stretched off into the distance.

Slowly, Issei made his way along with a lumbering gait. Now that he no longer had Shinji to think of, he became painfully aware of his own injuries. He was pretty sure that at least one of his ribs was broken, and he also seemed to have slipped one of the discs in his spine. He walked, holding his left side with his right hand, the interval of his steps punctuated by gasping.

He had never thought of Fuyuki City as being very large, and the neighborhood of Miyama in particular had always seemed small and quaint. But tonight it felt impossibly vast.

"If a Servant finds me out here like this, I'm done for."

But there was no use worrying about that now.

Overhead, the winter stars twinkled, obscured only by the occasional wafting cloud from his own breath. The night air was cold, and he could feel his joints stiffening. Already the tips of his fingers had grown numb. He didn't have any gloves with him, and the thought of moving his arms to put his hands into his pockets was nearly enough to make him scream, so instead he soldiered on with his plodding gait.

He made his way past the shopping district, and by the school. Presently the temple steps came into view.

He'd climbed those stone steps at least once practically every day of his life, sometimes several times, even sprinting up them if he was in a hurry. But now the series of carved stone slabs that made their way up the side of the mountain might as well have reached all the way to heaven.

There was no way he would be able to climb them in the normal manner, but there was nothing else he could do, so he made his way over, and put his right foot on the first step. Pressing down, he was able to lift himself up, dragging his left leg along after him.

"Hnhh . . ."

One step – two steps –

The process was agonizingly slow, and put terrible pressure on his knee, whose ligaments felt after just a few moments like they were going to pop off, but by being careful he was able to make steady progress.

Slowly the midway landing came into view.

At the sight of him, Lancer saluted with his spear.

"Ho, ho, lad! You're a sorry sight! But I'm glad to see you all the same."

Issei smiled weakly.

"You know, there's a saying among my people, that a youth must feel his teeth crack and his bones break three times in battle 'ere he be truly ready for the war. Look on the bright side! That's one down – only two more to go!"

Issei glared, but there was something in Lancer's smile that was so cheerful he found he could not be angry with him.

"In his own way, he's just trying to help, I suppose."

Slowly, one limping step at a time, he left the landing behind. But the real test was still ahead.

He had already decided – having purposed in his heart – that no matter what she said or did, he would not be angry. If she yelled at him, he would not protest. If she screamed, he would not argue. If she struck him, he would not flinch. Even if she moved to kill him – for she had already killed at least one Master before, or so she'd said – even then, he would not resist, or do anything to stop her.

Slowly, the top of the stairs came into view.

He could see the outline of her hood. Her eyes were hidden beneath her veil. Below them, the line of her mouth was sharp, drawn straight across, so that it betrayed nothing of her mood.

With one last tottering step, he reached the top of the platform. Feeling his legs give out, he lurched forward.

"Damn it!" he cursed inwardly. "Why does my strength have to fail now!?"

Caster reached out her hand. Looking down, Issei half expected to see a dagger in it.

But instead she knelt, and caught him in her arms.

"I'm . . . sorry . . . "

"There, there", she said softly, using her gloved had to move the hair out of his bruised face. "It looks like someone's had quite a night."

"I should have listened to you – I'm . . . so sorry . . ."

"That's enough. You're stronger than he was. A fool, to be sure, but much stronger than he ever was. At least you try to do things for yourself. Here – "

And with this, she put her hand to his side, where it emitted a faint glow.

"Urgh!" he grimaced, both hearing and feeling a loud "CRUNCH!" as his ribs set, straightening themselves before knitting back together.

"That's enough for one night. Go on and rest. Tomorrow will be a big day . . ."