Shirou opened the door to the student council room, joining the sole occupant at his table.

"Thank you again for fixing up the auditorium's lighting. I don't know how Homurahara will function without you," Issei said, sipping on a cup of tea.

"It was no problem." Shirou set his bag down on the floor. An overhead light had short-circuited recently, and Issei had asked him to take a look at it. Structural Analysis told him that a copper wire had frayed on the inside. He filled in the rest himself.

"Is this what you truly want?" Issei said suddenly.

Shirou took a seat. "What do you mean?" It wasn't like Issei to pry.

"The school's dearth of funds is not your responsibility. As a student, you shouldn't bear the brunt of our required labor." Issei spoke with the solemnity Shirou had long grown accustomed to.

"It's not that bad. The lighting only took around twenty minutes."

Issei's lips creased. "In the past week, you have assisted me with multiple repairs on behalf of the student council. This does not include answering requests from the art club, the chemistry club, and the culinary club. The time adds up."

"I help because I like helping. You know that."

"But you could be spending that time for yourself." Issei gave him an analytical stare. "I fear I may be overworking you. We have been friends for years, Emiya, but I have never seen you pursue any hobbies. Simply put, I am worried about you."

Issei's concerns had some validity to it. The only things he could call hobbies were cooking and cleaning, which…sounded really lame, even to Shirou. But they were enough for him. In the grand scheme of things, any surrounding interests weren't important compared to his goal. He would rather leave an interest unpursued than a dream unfulfilled.

"Hey, I'm using my time wisely," Shirou objected. "I thought you would understand, priest-in-training."

Issei sighed. "Perhaps I am being hypocritical. Still, I too have interests outside of my responsibilities. Just…do not feel obliged to put up with our requests, is all. If you are too busy to help, let me know and I will put an end to it immediately."

"It only takes a few minutes for me to repair things. That's it." Shirou nodded, relaxing into his seat.

Issei formed a prayer with his hand before opening his meal. "As long as you are aware."

Their conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence. Shirou was about to take his own food out when the door creaked open behind him.

Issei tensed, their earlier peace forgotten. His eyes narrowed and his posture stiffened, as if he was preparing for a fight.

"Tohsaka." He scowled. "Why are you here?"

Shirou turned around. Tohsaka stood by the door, a curious look on her face. He had never seen her in the student council room.

"Hello, Student Council president. You're certainly energetic today. I don't have business with you or any other member of the student council," she said evenly. She shifted her eyes away from Issei and towards him. "Just the Emiya that happens to be here."

"Hello, Tohsaka," Shirou said. "Issei, relax."

Issei ignored him. "You! What are you planning to do to Emiya?"

Tohsaka's eyebrows raised. "Nothing? I need to talk to him."

"And damage his spirit like you damaged our secretary?" Issei demanded.

"I'm not sure what you mean. The secretary wasn't doing his job correctly, so I advised him what to do." Tohsaka said, bemused. Her wavy hair shone under the school lighting.

"He retired from the student council!"

Huh. So that's why he quit. Shirou couldn't blame him. For better or for worse, if there was one thing more famous than Tohsaka's beauty, it was her candor.

"Then I did you a favor," she rebuked. "Your new secretary is better anyway, right?"

"Perhaps so, but I see you for your schemes," Issei growled.

"Tohsaka, what did you want to talk about?" Shirou interjected. While somewhat entertaining, Issei's suspicions would never ease up.

"Yesterday's lunch," she said, holding up a gray container. His bento.

Unsurprised, he nodded. "What about it?"

"I'll tell you later."

"You will tell us right here," Issei said.

"Sorry, Ryuudou, but this is a private matter. The student council should respect their student's privacy," Tohsaka said. She stepped to the door, directing her eyes at Shirou. "Are you coming?"

He stood up. "Issei, I'll see you later."

"Emiya, don't fall for it. You must not fall into the clutches of a witch! Emiya!"

"I think I'll be fine," he said. Shirou gave him a reassuring nod. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He ignored Issei's horrified expression and went off to follow Tohsaka.

Shirou exited the rooftop enclosure and was met with the gray taste of fresh air and habitual quietude.

Back then, he hadn't had time to look at the rooftop, with how preoccupied he was with Tohsaka. Now, he could get a proper view. To the side of the enclosure was a large heating unit, surprisingly silent even as temperatures dropped. He had never had to repair it. A small water tower overlooked the rest of the roof, supported by metal columns, which were in turn supported by metal struts between them. Enclosing the perimeter of the roof was a coated chain-link fence, structured on top of concrete parapets. The top of the fence was angled inward, likely to prevent students from scaling it.

He set foot on stone tiles specked in dirt.

Tohsaka stopped and turned to face him.

"Do you always eat here?" Shirou asked suddenly.

She put a hand on her hip. "Every day. Why?"

"Nothing, it's just… isolated," he said before could stop himself. The lunchroom was raucous, the classrooms were lively, and the student council room had Issei. Here, structures took the place of people.

"I prefer it this way." Tohsaka pursed her lips. "Anyway, I called you here to return your lunchbox."

She offered him his lunchbox and chopsticks. Letting her change the subject, Shirou took hold of them. It was just as heavy as when he gave it to her.

Shirou frowned. Did Tohsaka not eat his food? He glanced at her, disappointed.

"Open it," she said, gesturing towards the box. She had an expectant look on her face.

Perplexed, he wrestled the lid off, and a barrage of scents wafted through the air, spicy and savory. Braised beef, garlic hand-pulled noodles, green beans, and white rice filled the bento, neatly divided into sections. It was all freshly cooked, and the presentation was perfect.

"Amazing…" he said, the words falling from his lips automatically. From his own experience, Shirou could tell how hard she worked on it.

"Like what you see?" Tohsaka's satisfaction was palpable, with, if he wasn't mistaken, a smug smile on her face.

"Since when were you a Chinese chef?" he asked, astonished.

Her smile grew wider. "Don't think you're the only one who can cook," she said.

It's amazing, but… "When I said to return it, I only meant washed. You didn't have to do all this."

"Nonsense." She waved a hand, as if brushing away his concerns. "Do you take me for an ingrate?"

"Of course not, it's just…" Shirou's voice waned, as he carefully selected his words. "Although I'm flattered, I can't accept this from you."

He put the lid back on his lunchbox and offered it back to her.

Tohsaka's smile thinned. "Excuse me, Emiya, can you repeat what you just said? I seem to have misheard you."

"I can't accept this," he repeated.

Her brow twitched. "So it seems my hearing was correct all along. Care to explain why?"

"I gave you my food because I wanted to," he said. "Not because I wanted something in return."

Tohsaka's expression softened. "Regardless, I'm in your debt now. I can't accept that."

"Are you su-"

"Yes, I'm sure."

She won't budge, Shirou realized. Time to switch tactics.

Rummaging through his bag, he brought out the lunchbox he had brought to school today. "In that case, I'll give you this."

Tohsaka paused, then palmed her face. "I can't take your lunch again," she replied, exasperated. "That defeats the entire purpose. I'd be in your debt. Again."

"I can't eat both of these. And the food will go bad if I don't eat it now."

"Then put it in a fridge and eat it tomorrow," she countered.

"But it won't taste good if it isn't fresh. Just take it, Tohsaka."

She stared at him with her patented iciness, as if trying to intimidate him into relenting. He held her gaze, and for a moment, silence took hold, before she deflated with a sigh and a slump. "Has anyone told you how frustrating you can be?"

Despite her words, Shirou saw her lips quirk up the smallest smidge. He smiled. "Only a couple hundred times."

Tohsaka rolled her eyes before accepting his bento, their hands brushing together for the briefest second.

She made her way to the heating unit and sat down. Shirou turned to the door.

"Are you leaving?" she asked.

"Yeah. I thought you preferred eating by yourself." He didn't want to bother her.

"You can stay," she said quickly. Her cheeks were a little flushed. "I can make an exception. Just this once."

"Why?"

Tohsaka narrowed her eyes. "Don't get the wrong idea, I just want to see if my food tastes good."

Her reasoning contradicted her earlier confidence, but Shirou let it slide. Even though Tohsaka liked to keep her distance from people, everyone needed a companion once in a while. If she wanted to talk to someone, even if only once, he would happily help.

And he would never turn down an offer to spend time with Rin Tohsaka. Now he needed to not make a fool out of himself. At least, not anymore than I already did.

He found a spot along the parapet, within talking distance of Tohsaka, but far away enough to give her space.

Raising his chopsticks, Shirou tried each part of Tohsaka's cooking, from the beef, to the noodles, to the vegetable mix. Just like he expected, each and every bite was delicious. Tohsaka's food had a piquant kick to it, different from what he usually cooked. Shirou normally emphasized the ingredients themselve, forgoing pungent seasonings to extract the natural flavor of the raw ingredients to the utmost limit. A natural harmony.

But Tohsaka's cooking had flavors that were almost emphatic, with salts and herbs blending together. The beef filled to the brim with savory spice, yet tender enough to melt in his mouth. The noodles were an entire act on their own. He tasted soy sauce, oyster, garlic, and red pepper in the sauce enveloping them, mixed with scallions and green beans. Tohsaka's food was bold, exciting, like a chaotic symphony that overwhelmed the taste buds.

"Thought you'd like it," Tohsaka said, only a little smug.

"It's amazing," he answered, meaning every word. "Super spicy."

"Better than yours?" she goaded.

Shirou snorted. "I wouldn't say that. You haven't tried my food yet."

In fact, Tohsaka hadn't even opened his bento, instead choosing to watch him take one bite, then another, then another, with careful observation.

"It's… more interesting than I expected," she admitted. "Your reactions, that is."

"That's the best part. Watching people enjoy your work."

"I guess so. I suppose I'm new to that," she said. "Is that why you took up cooking?"

"Eh, not exactly. At first, I cooked because my old man was terrible at it." He shuddered, remembering how Kiritsugu somehow caused the kitchen to ignite the one time he was in it. "Nowadays though? It makes people happy. It's also cheaper than buying cafeteria food every day," he added.

"Like who? Your family?" Tohsaka leaned forward. She was asking far more questions than Shirou expected. He didn't dislike it.

"Fuji-n—Fujimura-sensei and Sakura. They're pretty much family."

"Oh, I've heard Fujimura-sensei mention you. But I didn't know you had a sister," she intoned, looking down at her food. She finally started eating, tearing through his omelets and greens with enthusiasm and grace. Her little sigh of satisfaction was music to his ears.

"Sakura isn't my sister," he explained. "She's an underclassman, and she comes to my house to help out."

"So you cook for them everyday?"

"For Fujimura-sensei, yes, but Sakura and I take turns in the kitchen. She's just as good as I am," he said proudly.

"I believe I might have seen her in the archery club," she said offhandedly. "Come to think of it, you were there too."

Shirou nodded, a little surprised. "I never knew you came by." He didn't think she knew he existed, but apparently she remembered him enough to comment. "Actually, I think Mitsuzuri might have mentioned you once. Something about being antagonized by an honor student?"

"I do not antagonize her!" Tohsaka sputtered, complexion turning pink. "We just…have a spirited way of conversing."

"Sorry, sorry, it's just that our captain always looked a little annoyed in the morning." Shirou forced down a smile. "Oh, but in a happy way, if that makes sense," he added.

Tohsaka looked like she wanted to retort, but instead turned back to her food, hair whipping in the air. "Well, as long as you understand."

For a few minutes, their conversation slipped into a lull as they enjoyed each other's food.

"I haven't seen you around the archery club recently," Tohsaka said, breaking the silence.

Ah. "I quit."

"You were rather skilled, no? Why quit?" She probably heard about his skills from Mitsuzuri.

"I have some other things to do instead," he said. Not the full truth, but enough. "Why aren't you in any clubs?"

Everyone in school wanted Tohsaka to join their club, but she staunchly rejected each and every offer, including the student council. It was one of the more famous tales surrounding her.

A thoughtful look formed on her face. "I suppose we share the same reason. There are more important things to do."

"Issei would probably disagree," he said. "Before you barged in, he was actually telling me about how I should join some clubs."

"The Student Council President would certainly prioritize school above all," she chuckled, leaning back against the heating unit. "How very typical of him."

"That reminds me, I've been meaning to ask him, but why do you guys always feud?"

Rin shrugged. "I have no clue myself. I may have accidentally called his home boring, but really, students don't care for temples nowadays."

Their chatter continued though the period, as they talked about everything and nothing, until the bell rang and they parted ways. This time, Shirou noted, Tohsaka had a small smile on her face as she waved a hand goodbye.

"See you later, Emiya."

The day passed with a satisfying peace, and the next day, lunchtime rolled around like it always did. Shirou was about to enter the student council room when he found a person blocking the way.

Tohsaka stood by the door, leaning against the wall with casual disinterest.

"Hi?" he asked.

She turned to face him. Her expression didn't change, but her eyes lit up.

"Emiya," she said. "Follow me."

Without waiting for his response, she walked to the stairwell. Shirou followed behind her, wary but not unwilling.

Once he had reached the rooftop, Tohsaka spun around.

"I'll have to admit, your cooking yesterday was quite good. Perhaps a match for mine," she admitted. "But this time," she said haughtily, dangling a black lunchbox between two fingers, "I have you beat."

Shirou widened his eyes. A challenge? "We'll see about that," he replied, as a grin crept over his face. "I won't lose that easily."

"You'll be regretting those words," she proclaimed, her own lips twitching.

"Should I eat here then?" he inquired, pointing to the tiles on the rooftop where he last sat.

"One last time." Tohsaka nodded, taking a seat. "I'll need to witness my victory. Besides, I'm still in your debt."

So much fire, he thought. Fiery as the food she makes.

Shirou smiled. He was beginning to like these new sides of Tohsaka.

Rin awoke to the insolent clammer of her alarm clock.

Stretching her arms wide, she struggled to shrug off the warmth of her blanket, before forcing herself up anyway.

She had to cook, after all.

Despite what she had said, one last time had become two, and two had become four, until a week had passed and eating together with Shirou Emiya had become a part of her everyday routine.

It took a while to adjust her schedule. She went to the grocery store more often, and stopped going to the cafeteria entirely. Despite her daily struggles, she had been waking up a little earlier, arriving with a bento box in hand instead of lunch money in her vest pocket. She would go to the rooftop, and some odd minutes later, Emiya would arrive, apologizing for being late because he had to help Issei fix some gadget for some club.

Rin didn't mind. It made their little getaways more discreet. She had asked him to keep their meetings a secret. It seemed to be working, considering how few rumors there were.

They would talk about their day, their classes, their homework, their plans after school. He would talk about daily life with Fujimura-sensei and Sakura. She would respond with open-ended questions, not ready to share anything yet, but eager to learn more about him. Every now and then, he would be a little snarky, and she would tease him back.

It was unremarkable. It was pointless. It was the best part of her day.

Rin smiled, still fighting the grogginess of the morning.

School was no longer a duty, but an event to look forward to. Emiya was a breath of fresh air. He was an interruption in her life, a break from being the perfect student, a person entirely unrelated to the magical world. He was so different, compared to her and her expectations of him. A mundane, stubborn boy who helped the people around him.

It made her shame all the worse when she realized this was who she had attacked.

She still wanted to apologize, to give him the full truth of her sin. But the truth would necessitate revealing the world of magecraft, and that knowledge would put him in danger.

But he has twenty-seven circuits…

And then there was Sakura. A fresh wave of guilt engulfed her. But Sakura never ate lunch with Emiya anyway. Surely it was okay for her to eat once a day with him, right? A meal between friends, barely more than an hour, a trifle compared to the daily breakfasts and dinners Sakura shared with Emiya.

Reaching her bathroom, she glared at her unkempt apparition in the mirror. Shaking her head, she fumbled through the vanity cabinet to locate her toothbrush. Finding it, she turned towards the mirror to brush her teeth and froze, mouth agape. Her toothbrush clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Splattered on the back of her right hand was an array of small, dark-red smudges. Gingerly, she pressed a trembling finger on it. It didn't hurt, so it wasn't a scrape or cut. With a bit more force, she wiped it with her thumb, but the shape remained persistent. It wasn't dried blood, or a stain, or anything like that.

Her blood ran cold.

Impossible.

No, even if it was partially formed, Rin knew what it was. How could she forget? Her father's hand bore a similar mark in its final form, the day he had left her forever.

A Command Seal.

She placed a steadying hand on her chest, as myriad emotions traveled up and down her spine.

Closing her eyes, she fixed her composure and straightened herself up, calm as winter morn. Raising her right hand to the mirror, she examined the red spots once more. Slowly, a determined, mirthless smile formed on her face.

The Holy Grail War was coming, and it was fifty years early.

The first thing Rin did was call Kirei and demand her father's will. He took the news with mild amusement before promising to deliver it to her personally.

The next thing she did was finish brushing her teeth. Then, she fixed her hair, changed out of her pajamas, and whipped up a quick and easy lunch.

The final thing she did was go to school. She would never let a silly reason like the symbol of a once-in-a-lifetime war ruin her attendance!

Reaching homeroom, she avoided conversation, briefly greeting her classmates before reaching her seat. Drowning out the chatter around her, she tuned out the world around her, still focused on her next steps.

Before her stood an infinite number of decisions, each of which bloomed and sprouted into their own branching paths, a vast forest of choice that chronicled her destiny. But every single branch converged into one of two fates: victory or defeat.

There were too many variables to account for. A surefire victory would never exist. But Rin could strategize for every possibility, and stave away enough bad outcomes to obtain the greatest chance of victory.

Her father had died even with years of preparation on his side, a powerful network, and decades of experience. Rin hadn't even graduated high school, nor was she in any way prepared.

None of that mattered. She had a goal, and she would see it through. I have to.

Winter break was in a few weeks. Ten days of freedom from school. The perfect time to bring her plans into fruition.

The uneasy feeling was back, and it was stronger than ever.

Chopping up some carrots, Shirou tried to ignore the fog in his head. For some weeks now, the feeling was nothing more than a buzzing fly swirling around his head: annoying, persistent, but ultimately insignificant. But it crept through his thoughts like ivy up a wall, until his brain was flooded with haziness and smog.

Something is wrong.

Shirou scowled. Cooking while distracted would spoil the meal. Refocusing his attention, he dumped the carrots into the broth, where it joined chunks of beef and potatoes amidst a host of herbs and spices.

Pulling off his apron, he walked to the table, taking a seat across from Sakura and Fuji-nee.

"Is the food done yet?" Fuji-nee asked, a desperate lilt in her voice.

"Not yet," he replied. He had been preparing this stew for over an hour, and it would take a few more minutes to complete. "Wait a little longer."

Fuji-nee slumped on the table. "But it's been forever…"

"Fujimura-sensei, you arrived fifteen minutes ago," Sakura said helpfully.

"But normally I only wait five minutes!" Fuji-nee whined.

"Proper stew takes a little longer to cook," Shirou said. "The wait will be worth it."

"It better be," she muttered, turning back to the TV.

"I like senpai's stew," Sakura said. "It's hearty and easy to eat."

Easy to eat and easy to cook, Shirou thought. It didn't require much attention to watch a pot simmer, and it always tasted great. A good meal to cook for someone who couldn't focus.

Shirou grimaced. He didn't want to cook stew for the rest of his life.

Something is wrong. Something is wrong…

"Shirou? Are you feeling alright? You look off," Fuji-nee said, staring at his face.

She was far more perceptive than she appeared.

"Have you ever had the feeling something was off?" he blurted out. He hoped they wouldn't think he was being too weird.

Sakura turned away from the TV. "Like deja vu?" She said, carefully enunciating the French expression one syllable at a time.

"Not exactly. It's more like…the feeling that something is missing, or that you might be forgetting something important."

Sakura made a thoughtful expression. "Every now and then. But I've gotten used to it," she said softly. "Are you missing something, senpai?"

"I don't know. That's what makes it so strange."

"Maybe you're sick again?" Sakura asked. "You have been busy lately…"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Don't be such a wimp." Fuji-nee barged in, turning off the TV. "You're at that age where you get weird feelings and your thoughts get all screwy. You just have to face them head on!" She karate-chopped the air, then repeated the motion with her other arm. "Hi-yah!"

"'Weird feelings at my age…'" Shirou muttered. "You make it sound like something else entirely."

"Puberty?" Sakura smiled. "Does senpai have 'weird feelings' because of puberty?"

"Little Shirou's finally growing up! I knew this would happen eventually," Fuji-nee exclaimed. She mimed wiping tears from her eyes.

"That's not what's happening…." Shirou sighed. "You give terrible advice, Fuji-nee."

"How disobedient. You should follow my every word! Unlike you, I'm never worried about anything." His legal guardian nodded, satisfied with herself.

"Nothing at all?" he asked.

"Nope!" she declared. "Everything always works out!"

Despite himself, Shirou smiled. Fuji-nee always knew how to cheer him up.

The floor of his shed was a familiar sight. On one side, a jumble of knick-knacks that Shirou had gathered or created were placed across the giant plastic tarp that lay across the concrete. Broken appliances, like washing machines, heaters, and TVs that he was planning to repair. Next to them, his tools were neatly organized by size and purpose.

On the other side, components were haphazardly scattered. Rusty gears were mixed among pipes, rods, screws, and plates, all of varying material. Steel, iron, copper, tin, aluminum, any metal and their alloy.

Shirou gently took a seat, getting as comfortable as possible. The plastic tarp crinkled under his weight.

Some part of him was screaming, but he wasn't sure what was actually wrong. Alternatively, he could be going insane. Either way, he was tired of it.

Shirou needed to analyze himself. His first instinct was Structural Analysis. If he used it on himself, it would tell him everything he needed to know. But Structural Analysis only worked on tools or machinery, non-living things. Anything with a pulse was off-limits.

Perhaps the issue was perception. Can I perceive myself as a machine? He glanced at his hand. A hand had a specific purpose, composed of many different pieces. It was powered by energy, and commands were sent through electronic pulses.

Concentrating, he stared at every part of his hand. His skin, fingerprints, fingernails, knuckles all the creases in his palm. Underneath, there was blood and bone, ligaments and muscle, connected by the nervous system.

His concentration broke, and Shirou winced, exhaling. His head throbbed like it was going to rupture from the inside out. Shuddering, he closed his eyes.

If he couldn't understand his hand, there was no way he could understand his own intangible mind.

But Shirou had other options.

"Trace, on."

The aria felt especially useful today, easing his mind through the self-hypnosis. The headache faded into a dull series of thuds.

With renewed concentration, Shirou formed a Magic Circuit out of a nerve. Following his nightly procedure, he flooded his Od through the circuit, as if he was attempting his usual Reinforcement.

This time, his goal was different.

Magical energy flowed through the circuit. Shirou didn't let it go, containing it within his body.

Heat pervaded his core. He was sweating now, his breathing heavy.

If Shirou really was going insane, then there was nothing he could do. But if he was under the influence of something, then he could test it through a different method.

Directing the magical energy up his spine, he siphoned a small portion of it to his skull. With utmost vigilance, he threaded the energy into his brain, careful not to overload himself.

The energy met something and dissipated instantly.

Shirou paused. He tried again, using a bit more energy. Once again, it dissipated the moment it hit a certain part of his brain.

Shirou would have frowned if it didn't feel like he was on fire.

Reinforcement could be applied to anything, even organs like the eyes. Though difficult, he had reinforced his body parts before, by wrapping them in magical energy. The brain shouldn't have been any different.

Something is wrong.

Now, he had found the source of it. Only magecraft could nullify magical energy. But he hadn't the knowledge or the skill to even begin to counteract it.

Sifting through his memories, he tried to find something that could help from the sparse lessons Kiritsugu had given him. There was only one that came to mind, the very last lesson Shirou had ever received.

It was when he was eleven years old, during a cold winter afternoon. Kiritsugu had been sitting in the dining room at the table, and Shirou had approached him, a piece of paper in his hands.

Sketched in it on a complex magic circle of shapes, intersecting lines, and all sorts of sigils. It made him dizzy to even try to understand it.

"What does this do?" Shirou asked, showing him the paper.

Kiritsugu glanced at it, then turned to him. "Where did you find that?"

"I found it in your briefcase," he answered. "From your last trip overseas."

For a long moment, Kiritsugu was silent. "You shouldn't look through my things like that."

"It's been weeks and you still haven't unpacked! I had to wash your suits. They were smelly." Shirou made a bleh noise.

Kiritsugu let out a tired chuckle, ruffling his hair. He was always tired during those years. "I guess you're right," he said. "I'll tell you when you get older."

"You say that every time," Shirou scowled. "What if I'm faced with this spell and I don't know what to do?"

Kiritsugu considered his question for a moment before shrugging. "You make a good point," he relented.

"So what is it?" he demanded, yearning to know. Despite how often Shirou asked, his adoptive father always refused to reveal anything about his trips, so any information Shirou could glean was a treasure.

Taking the drawing from him, Kiritsugu beckoned Shirou to sit by his side. "This is a formula for a Bounded Field. A powerful one. If this was around our home, we could hide our house and no one would ever be able to find it, unless they were a very, very skilled magus."

"What about Fuji-nee? Would she be able to find our house?"

"No. Even if she remembered the exact location, she would never be able to find it. No matter how hard she tried." The last sentence had a bitter, resentful note to it, like a fruit that had spoiled. Shirou didn't like imagining Fuji-nee struggling to find their home.

"Did you break into this one?" Shirou asked. Back then, he believed his old man could do anything.

To Shirou's surprise, Kiritsugu shook his head. "In the past, I would have been able to, but I've lost a lot of skill over the years."

"Then…when you were young, what would you have done?"

Kiritsugu's gaze became muddy. "I would have set up cameras and watched the location isolated by the Bounded Field, hiding for hours to study it. Once I've gathered sufficient information, I would find the weakest point of the Bounded Field and break in with magecraft."

Hiding for hours? That sounded boring. "What type of magecraft?"

"It's too complicated for you right now," he said. "I spent most of my life developing it. I'll tell you once you can reinforce things consistently."

Kiritsugu had a tiny smile on his face, clear amusement in his voice.

Shirou pouted. "So unfair."

He was about to go to the shed to practice when Kiritsugu spoke up again.

"There is another way to break it," he said. "One that I would never use."

"Because it's too dangerous?" Shirou asked.

He smiled. "Because it's too expensive."

"Expensive? But we have so much money…"

"Expensive in terms of mana cost. In exchange, all you need is mana. Just like how any Mystery will falter against a greater Mystery, if you had enough mana, you could destroy almost any spell in the world with a single attack. No subtlety required," Kiritsugu answered.

"Brute force?" Shirou said. He smacked his fist into his palm.

"Exactly. This method is crude, inefficient, and completely wasteful. Like using a tsunami to knock over a sand castle. No magus worth their salt would ever advise you to use it."

Shirou nodded in understanding. "Like a Fuji-nee method!"

Kiritsugu had laughed at that, and Shirou smiled too, but the laughter segued into wheezes and coughs that shook Kiritsugu's whole body. Shirou quickly patted his back.

"Regardless," Kiritsugu said, after the fit had abated. He stared at the formula for a moment, before ripping it into shreds. "I hope you will never have to face this level of magecraft in your life."

Kiritsugu had never gone on another trip after that. He exchanged his suits for yukatas, his leather shoes for geta. He would eat less and less, and he would spend his time at home, with Fuji-nee and Shirou, gracing them with small smiles and faint words. He would stare into the horizon for hours on end, towards the setting sun, mesmerized, yearning for something he could never attain. He was as tranquil as a firefly, as gentle as a ripple in a pond, as quiet as the starry sky.

Shirou hadn't realized it then, but those were the days that marked the beginning of his father's end.

Kiritsugu was gone now, but every lesson he had taught was engraved in Shirou's memory. Now, he would use his very last teaching. The Fuji-nee method.

With steady determination, Shirou repeatedly gathered bits of magical energy, and tested different spots on his brain. Every time the energy dissipated, he mentally labeled it, gradually creating a map of all the blind spots in his brain. This area was the dead zone, the space where his brain was affected by whatever magecraft was inflicted on him.

Gasping, Shirou amassed the remaining magical energy from his circuit. His head burned from the inside out. Sweat flooded his face.

Clenching his fist, he slammed the energy on the dead zone in one fell swoop, willing it to shatter.

With the remaining energy, he carefully probed his brain once more. Once it hit the dead zone, it dissipated immediately. The spell was still intact.

Gritting his teeth, Shirou repeated the process, attacking like a battering ram to a castle door, until the spell in his mind cracked.

The dam broke. A deluge of memories burst into his head, freed from their magical cage. He took a deep breath, letting the circuit fade. He has no energy left.

A sound like a gunshot came from behind.

Shirou got up with a start.

He felt something hit his back with a sickening splatter and he tumbled to the ground.

Shirou clutched at his back, shaking desperately, straining, heaving, as his body convulsed. He remembered losing all sensation in his limbs before he felt every symptom of a heavy cold and more. He shivered. I'm hyperventilating. He forced himself to calm down.

Slowly, his body stopped shaking and he let his arms fall to the ground. It was phantom pain, nothing corporeal.

But the experience revealed what was missing.

This was no mere bullet.

Someone had attacked him with magecraft, and he couldn't do a thing.

Shirou would not let that happen again.