Fate/Hijacked
Chapter 10
The sun had barely risen, casting a soft golden light across the Emiya estate, when Shirou asked Sakura to refrain from visiting his home for a while. It wasn't a conversation he had wanted to have, but with the complexities of the Holy Grail War growing by the day, it seemed like the safest option for her. Shirou couldn't bear the thought of her getting caught up in the danger that lurked around every corner. He stood just outside the front door of his home, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his brow furrowed in thought.
Sakura Matou stood before him, her hands clasped in front of her, her usual serene expression tinged with something deeper—an emotion she was trying her best to conceal. Her long violet hair swayed slightly in the breeze, and her eyes, though soft and kind, held a sadness that tugged at Shirou's heart.
"Sakura," Shirou began, his voice low and filled with regret, "I need to ask you something…" He paused, the weight of his words threatening to pull him under. Sakura tilted her head slightly, her gentle smile never fading, though Shirou could see the concern building in her eyes.
"Yes, Senpai?" she asked quietly, her tone as warm as ever.
Shirou took a deep breath, steeling himself. "For a while… I think it's best if you don't come over."
For a fleeting moment, Sakura's expression faltered. The slight widening of her eyes, the almost imperceptible downturn of her lips—it was all there, though only for a second before she masked it with her usual soft countenance. The girl looked at him with her usual gentle smile, though her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. "I understand, Senpai. I'll stay away for now… but please, be careful."
Sakura lingered for a moment longer, her violet eyes searching his face as if memorizing it, before she turned to leave. Shirou watched her walk away, her figure slowly disappearing down the path that led away from his home. The morning light painted everything in soft hues of gold and amber, but all Shirou could feel was the heaviness in his chest.
Shirou nodded, watching her leave with a heavy heart. He felt a mix of guilt and relief as he closed the door behind her. Keeping her at arm's length was the right thing to do, he knew that, but it didn't make it any easier. Sakura had been his friend for so long, and this distance felt unnatural.
That morning, the house was unusually quiet, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.
He moved into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to focus on something mundane to take his mind off the conversation. Maybe making breakfast would help clear his head.
But as he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by an unexpected sight.
Archer, of all people, stood by the stove, a frying pan in hand, the smell of sizzling food filling the air. Shirou blinked in confusion, his brain struggling to process the scene before him. The stoic, sharp-tongued Servant was cooking breakfast. And not just cooking—judging by the tantalizing aroma, he was cooking well. For some odd reason, he even seemed as though he somehow belonged in the kitchen, as if that were his true domain...
"Archer?" Shirou finally managed, his voice laced with disbelief.
Archer glanced over his shoulder, his expression as composed as ever, though a hint of smugness danced in his eyes. "What? Surprised?"
Shirou stared at him, unsure how to respond. "What… what are you doing?"
Archer scoffed, turning back to the stove as he expertly flipped whatever was in the pan. "Cooking, obviously. What does it look like?"
"Yeah, but… why?" Shirou asked, still baffled.
Archer's lips curled into a smirk. "Because I can. And, frankly, because someone in this house needs to know how to prepare a proper meal."
Shirou bristled at the implied insult but couldn't argue. He knew his cooking was decent—he had been taking care of himself for years—but the scent wafting from Archer's pan was undeniably more refined than anything he'd ever made. Begrudgingly, Shirou had to admit that Archer had some serious skill in the kitchen.
"Sit," Archer commanded, nodding toward the table. "It's almost ready."
Still somewhat dazed, Shirou did as he was told, sliding into a chair at the dining table. Rin was already seated across from him, idly flipping through a book. She glanced up when she heard Shirou enter, rolling her eyes at his expression.
"Don't look so shocked," a bleary eyed Rin said dryly, whilst nursing a mug of fragrant coffee. "Archer's annoyingly good at a lot of things."
"Apparently," Shirou muttered, still watching as Archer moved with the grace and precision of someone who had mastered far more than just battle.
A few moments later, Archer set a plate in front of Shirou with a flourish, the scent of the food filling his nostrils. The meal was simple but exquisitely prepared—perfectly scrambled eggs, crisp toast, and grilled vegetables, all plated with a care and attention to detail that made Shirou's own cooking seem amateurish by comparison.
"This is…" Shirou began, glancing down at his plate and then back up at Archer, who stood off to the side with his arms crossed, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"Better than you expected, isn't it?" Archer said, his voice filled with self-satisfaction. "It's fine, you can admit it. I'm well aware of my culinary prowess."
Shirou's face twisted in reluctant acknowledgment. "Yeah, alright. It's good."
Archer's smirk widened. "Good? Please, don't insult me with such faint praise. This is the work of an artisan."
Rin, already seated at the table, rolled her eyes. "We get it, Archer. You can cook. Now can we move on?"
Archer shrugged but didn't say anything further, though the smug expression never left his face. Shirou, meanwhile, could only silently grumble. It was bad enough that Archer was a skilled fighter—now he had to deal with the man out-cooking him too?
Once they had all finished eating, Rin called for a meeting to discuss their next course of action. Shirou, still lost in his thoughts, followed Pretender, Rin and Archer into the living room, where they settled in for their discussion. Rin paced back and forth in front of them, her usual sharp focus etched into her features.
"Caster is still our biggest threat at the moment," Rin began. "And if we're going to take her down, we'll need more firepower. We can't rely on a head-on attack alone, not when she's holed up in Ryuudouji Temple, right on top of a leyline, with Assassin backing her up. She's no doubt fortified her position too."
Shirou listened attentively, nodding in agreement. Caster was bound to be a dangerous adversary, and they couldn't afford to underestimate her.
Rin continued, "I've been thinking… what if we seek an alliance with Illyasviel and Berserker? With Berserker's unparalleled raw strength and insane toughness, we could stand a better chance in mounting an offense against Caster."
Shirou's brow furrowed. "An alliance with Illya? After everything that's happened?"
"It's risky, yes," Rin admitted, "but it might be our best shot. Illya has Berserker, and we've all seen what he's capable of. If we can get her on our side, Caster wouldn't stand a chance."
Archer, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, added his own thoughts. "We also need to keep in mind that Soichirou Kuzuki is Caster's Master. He's not just some ordinary schoolteacher. There's something off about him, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's far more dangerous than he appears."
Shirou frowned at the mention of Kuzuki. While he respected the man as a teacher, he had sensed something strange about him even before learning of his connection to Caster, but Archer's words now only confirmed it. They were dealing with more than just Caster, they had to account for her Master as well. They couldn't afford to ignore Kuzuki in their plans.
The discussion continued for some time, with the group weighing the pros and cons of approaching Illya. In the end, they decided to proceed with caution, though no final decision was made just yet.
As the morning wore on, the meeting eventually wrapped up, with Rin retreating to her room to study and Archer disappearing to who knew where. Shirou, left alone, decided to head outside to clear his head. The weight of the day's events and their potential future plans, particularly the upcoming meeting with Illya, pressed down on him. He needed a moment of peace. Perhaps he could practice his magecraft more to help take his mind off things and relax himself.
He stepped into the backyard, the soft breeze rustling the leaves of the trees that lined the estate. The sky was a brilliant blue, unmarred by clouds, and the sun shone brightly overhead. Despite the turmoil within him, the tranquillity of the scene brought a small measure of calm to Shirou's mind.
As he walked aimlessly across the grass, he heard a familiar voice behind him. "Shirou~"
He turned to see Lady Avalon, her figure radiant as ever. Her long, flowing gown shimmered in the sunlight, and her white hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves. Today, she seemed particularly cheerful, her smile warm and playful as she approached him, her hands cradling something delicate.
"Shirou," she said, her tone playful yet carrying a hint of excitement, "I've got something special for you."
Shirou raised an eyebrow. "Special?"
She presented him with a unique flower, its petals a vibrant blend of her own colours—soft purples and luminous whites. The flower was shaped almost like a goblet, and its delicate beauty was mesmerizing. Shirou had never seen anything like it.
"What is this?" he asked, taking the flower gently from her hands.
Lady Avalon beamed with pride. "It's something I've been working on for a few days now. I made it using my magecraft, and it's essentially a Mystic Code. The nectar inside is imbued with a specialized mana that will hopefully give you a bit of a boost and help with your development as a magus. Mostly by helping to fix up your atrophied magic circuits."
Shirou blinked in surprise. "You made this… for me?"
"Of course, darling," she said with a wink. "Now, drink up."
Still unsure but trusting her judgment, Shirou carefully brought the flower to his lips and drank the nectar. It was sweet, with a strange but pleasant warmth that spread through his body as he swallowed. He could feel the mana coursing through him, and though he couldn't fully explain it, he knew that it was already enhancing his abilities Boosting his available reserves by mending his previously neglected circuits, allowing them to carry more prana more efficiently.
Lady Avalon watched him with a dainty hand partially concealing a satisfied smile. "Oh my... Good boy. Partaking so boldly from my special flower."
Shirou nearly choked on the last drop, his face turning red as he processed her words. "W-What?!"
She giggled, clearly enjoying his reaction. "Oh, don't look so scandalized. I mean, it's true, isn't it?"
Before Shirou could muster a coherent response, they both heard a sharp voice from behind them.
"What did you just say?!"
They turned to see Rin standing there, arms crossed and an irritated scowl on her face. She had clearly overheard the conversation and was not pleased.
"You've got to be kidding me," Rin muttered, her eyes taking in the sight of the flower in Shirou's hands, then narrowing at Lady Avalon. "You're shameless."
Lady Avalon's smile didn't falter in the slightest. "Jealous, Tohsaka?"
"Jealous?!" Rin sputtered, her cheeks flushing. "As if I'd ever—! No, this is just… Ugh, never mind!"
Rin stormed off in a huff, leaving Shirou standing there, utterly confused. Lady Avalon, on the other hand, simply chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"She's adorable when she's flustered," the Pretender said, her tone light and amused.
Shirou groaned, rubbing his temples. "This day just keeps getting weirder…"
Omake
Throne of Heroes: Artoria's Wrath, Part 10
Back in the Throne of Heroes, Artoria Pendragon was fuming. Again.
"Again with the inappropriate, incessant flirting!" she muttered, pacing back and forth in frustration. "What is wrong with that half-succubus?!"
The moment Artoria had witnessed the "flower incident," she had nearly lost her composure entirely. That shameless woman was getting bolder by the day, and now she was even making suggestive jokes under the pretence of helping Shirou develop as a magus?
"It's bad enough that she hijacked the summoning in the first place," Artoria fumed, clenching her fists. "But now she's… she's giving him obscene Mystic Codes and making those kinds of remarks?!"
Artoria sat down heavily in a chair, her frustration mounting. "What's next? What else is she going to 'help' him with? How far is she willing to go?"
Nearby, the gathered Knights of the Round watched in varying degrees of concern and amusement.
Mordred, lounging in a corner, couldn't contain her laughter any longer. "Oh, come on! This is hilarious! Your so-proclaimed 'sheath', getting caught up in some fae-succubus nonsense. King Arthur," she said with a cheeky grin, "maybe you should take notes if you actually want to get his attention."
If looks could kill, Mordred would have been atomized by her father's glare.
"Stay silent, Mordred," Artoria growled, her composure slipping further. "You have no idea what this means. This—this affront—must be addressed!"
Bedivere, who had been silent up until now, offered his own thoughts. "My king," he said gently, "perhaps this is simply her way of assisting him in the war. Sir Shirou is largely untrained, and the mana from the flower was expressly for the purpose of bolstering his abilities…"
But Artoria wasn't listening anymore. "This cannot stand. A Servant's duty is to properly protect and aid their Master , not confuse them with underhanded flirtations and mystic trickery!"
Percival, optimistic and kind-hearted as ever, chimed in with his usual naivete. "But… Lady Avalon seems kind, does she not? Surely, she has Shirou's best interests at heart!"
Artoria's eyes darkened as she turned to Percival. "Kind?" she repeated, her voice now ice-cold. "She's feeding him honeyed poison. Not in a literal sense, but in how she manipulates him with her words and actions. Shirou deserves better than to be a plaything for that insufferable half-succubus."
Merlin's irritatingly amused voice spoke up, carried through from his imprisonment in Avalon. "Why, I had no idea that Proto-Merlin was so… forward. But you must admit, watching her work is delightful, isn't it? You were always so reserved, so disciplined. Lady Avalon's free spirit is rather refreshing in her interactions with Shirou."
Artoria's grip on Excalibur tightened. "Refreshing?" she echoed, voice trembling with outrage. "That witch will ruin him!"
At that, Tristan sighed melodramatically from his corner, strumming his harp. "Alas, my king, it is a tale as old as time. The heart is easily swayed by beauty and sweet words. But fear not, for Sir Shirou's love for justice will see him through this… trial."
"Love for justice?" Mordred snorted. "The only thing Shirou's gonna get out of this is a whole lotta love for her coochie. She's bedding him every chance she can get."
Artoria made up her mind. She turned to the assembled knights, her eyes blazing with determination. "I must return to Shirou's side," she declared, her voice resolute. "Only I can protect him from the likes of that sorceress."
The knights exchanged uneasy glances. Lancelot sighed, realizing that any attempt to dissuade her would be in vain.
Merlin, with a knowing grin, whispered to himself, "Ah, I do love a good rivalry."
Omake 2: The Nameless Chef arrives in Chaldea
It was another peaceful day in Chaldea—well, as peaceful as things could get when you were managing an organization filled with heroic spirits from across history, timelines, and myth. Fujimaru Ritsuka, the last Master of humanity, had barely survived his latest ordeal in a singularity when a fresh summons was issued. The summoning circle flared to life as a new Servant materialized in the centre of the chamber.
Light shimmered and coalesced into the figure of a young man dressed in an apron, a simple chef's knife at his side. His red hair and casual smile immediately drew attention, but there was something strange about the presence he exuded. Rather than the fierce determination of a warrior or the powerful aura of a mage, the room was suddenly filled with the comforting scent of grilled fish and freshly baked bread.
Fujimaru blinked in confusion, checking his summoning device to confirm what class had been summoned. "Caster...?" he muttered.
The newly summoned Servant straightened his apron and smiled warmly. "Caster, yes. But I'm more known as... the Nameless Chef. You've summoned me in my culinary prime, Master. Let's just say, my skills with blades have evolved to... sharper uses."
The Master scratched his head in confusion. "Nameless Chef? What happened to swords and magecraft?"
The Nameless Chef chuckled, giving a wink. "I found that feeding people was far more rewarding than cutting them down. Now, who's hungry?"
Before Fujimaru could respond, there was a commotion at the entrance to the summoning chamber. Several figures rushed in, their faces filled with excitement. It was a small army of Artorias: Saber, Lancer, Saber Alter, Lancer Alter, and even Ruler. All of them locked their eyes onto the Nameless Chef, joy radiating from each one of them.
"S-Shirou!?" Saber (Artoria Pendragon) gasped, her normally stern and regal demeanour breaking into a radiant smile. "Is it really you?"
The other Artorias practically crowded around him. Saber Alter crossed her arms, attempting to look indifferent, but there was a faint flush of excitement in her cheeks. Lancer Artoria was the first to step forward, a mixture of disbelief and hope in her eyes. "Shirou, you've come to Chaldea at last?"
Ruler Artoria, more composed but equally hopeful, added, "To see you here... it's like a dream come true. We've waited so long."
The Nameless Chef blinked in utter confusion, taking a step back from the enthusiastic knights surrounding him. "Um... I think there's been a mistake. I don't know any of you."
The room fell silent.
Saber's smile faltered as confusion began to take over her expression. "Shirou, it's me, Artoria Pendragon. Saber, from the Fifth Holy Grail War."
Lancer Artoria leaned in, her eyes searching his face for recognition. "You... don't remember? Not any of us?"
Saber Alter's hands twitched, her dark aura flaring up slightly. "Shirou... don't mess with me," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "This isn't funny."
The Nameless Chef looked genuinely perplexed. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong guy. I never participated in a Holy Grail War with... any of you. My Servant was... Pretender. Lady Avalon."
Silence crashed over the room as the Artorias processed the information. Saber, her expression now devastated, took a step back, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lady... Avalon? Not me?"
Lancer Alter's eyes twitched, her spear materializing in her hand as she attempted to mask her wounded pride. "Lady Avalon? What nonsense is this?"
Saber Alter muttered something incomprehensible, her grip on her sword tightening as a dark mist swirled around her. She turned away, crossing her arms tightly in an attempt to save face. "Tch. How pathetic..."
Ruler Artoria cleared her throat, attempting to regain some composure. Although her bunny ears were visibly drooped. "We seem to have... encountered a unique variant of Shirou. One that... never summoned any of us."
Fujimaru, who had been watching the scene with growing dread, could feel the pressure in the room mounting to dangerous levels. He waved his hands frantically, trying to diffuse the tension. "W-Wait! I'm sure we can figure this out! Everyone, please calm down!"
Saber, visibly heartbroken but trying to be dignified, forced a strained smile. "Of course... my apologies for any misunderstanding." She took a deep breath. "Perhaps we can discuss this another time."
One by one, the Artorias began to retreat, each bearing the weight of disappointment. Even Saber Alter, who tried to hide her feelings, looked visibly deflated as she glared daggers at the ground.
Once the room cleared, Fujimaru let out a long sigh of relief. He turned to the Nameless Chef. "Well, that was... intense."
The Nameless Chef scratched his head, still baffled. "What was that all about?"
"Long story," Fujimaru sighed. "Trust me, you don't want to get into it."
Just as the tension started to dissipate, they made their way out of the summoning chamber and towards the cafeteria, at the new Caster's request. He wanted to see what Chaldea was equipped with. The doors to the cafeteria swung open. From the kitchen, a familiar figure stepped into view: Archer, known to most as the heroic spirit Emiya, but in this moment, known only as Chaldea's resident culinary genius.
The moment their eyes met, a thick, electric tension filled the air. The Nameless Chef and Archer stared at each other, sizing one another up. Archer crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in cautious respect.
"You..." Archer said, voice low and firm. "I've heard of you. The so-called Nameless Chef. A wandering cook who many have claimed to has perfected the culinary arts."
The Nameless Chef returned the stare, his tone equally respectful but challenging. "Archer. So you're the one who's been holding down the fort here, huh? Not bad... but I didn't come here to play second fiddle in the kitchen."
Fujimaru felt another wave of dread rising. "Oh no..."
Archer smirked, folding his arms. "Hmph. You talk big. But can you back it up? There's only room for one top chef in Chaldea. Show me the heights you've reached... Shirou."
The Nameless Chef's eyes narrowed in determination. "Shirou? Nah, you've got it wrong. I'm Caster now—The Nameless Chef. But sure, I'll prove what I've got."
As if on cue, the kitchen suddenly transformed. Flames roared from the stoves, and an array of fresh ingredients appeared on the counters. The Nameless Chef stepped forward, partially summoning forth Unlimited Kitchen Woks, his personal Reality Marble. In an instant, legendary kitchen utensils shimmered into existence around him—Excalibur as a glowing knife, Gáe Bolg as a perfect skewer, and even Kanshou and Bakuya as dual frying pans.
Archer, unfazed, summoned his own cooking gear—a sleek, black apron materializing over his red jacket as his own mystic utensils appeared in his hands, including his signature all-purpose chef's knife that had sliced through countless ingredients with precision unmatched by any other.
The two men stood in the kitchen, their rivalry clear but respectful. There was no malice, only a shared passion that burned brighter than any fire.
"Let's do this," the Nameless Chef said, his grip tightening around the hilt of his Excalibur knife.
Archer gave a small, confident grin. "Don't hold back."
And with that, the culinary duel of the ages began.
Flames burst from the stovetops as both men moved with precision, slicing, dicing, frying, and grilling at a speed that left Fujimaru—along with the other gathered Servants—awestruck. Ingredients flew through the air, caught and seared in pans before being masterfully plated. The sound of sizzling meats and the fragrant aroma of spices filled the air, drawing in curious onlookers from across Chaldea.
As the first dishes were presented, Servants crowded around, watching with bated breath as each plate was set on the table. Both Emiya and the Nameless Chef were cooking on a level that transcended mere technique—it was a battle of philosophy, of pride, of mastery.
When the final dishes were presented, the room fell silent. Fujimaru, having been elected as the judge, tentatively lifted his chopsticks. He hesitated. Then he took a bite of the Nameless Chef's dish—a stunning Teriyaki Fusion Platter with a glaze so rich it almost sang. A blend of teriyaki flavours with a side of aromatic jasmine rice and fresh vegetables, finished with a drizzle of sesame oil. His eyes widened in pure bliss, his mind feeling as though he had ascended into a higher realm. "This... this is unbelievable!"
Then he turned to Emiya's entry—a meticulously crafted dish of grilled steak served with garlic mashed potatoes and sautéed asparagus, garnished elegantly with a sprig of rosemary. Steak à la Emiya. A classic with a twist, complimented with a sauce so smooth it felt like tasting the essence of mana itself. "This... this is...!" Fujimaru gasped. He couldn't even finish the sentence.
It was an extremely tough choice, but in the end, Fujimaru declared the Nameless Chef as the victor. However, this battle had transcended ordinary notions of victory or defeat, leaving both chefs with newfound respect for one another. As the crowd began to disperse, full and satisfied, Archer nodded to the Nameless Chef.
"Not bad," Archer admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "For someone who's never properly wielded a sword in the Holy Grail War... you've definitely reached your own heights."
The Nameless Chef smiled, removing his apron. "Thanks. But this is just the beginning. Saving the Human Order is no small feat, and we can't expect the Servants or Master to perform at their best if their bellies aren't satisfied."
