"And why are we going to the temple?" Fuji-nee asked again. "We could be at home, relaxing, after a long, stressful day."

"I told you, I have an errand to do there," Shirou said. "We'll be out before you know it."

"We'd better be," she whined, slouching her shoulders. "Jeez, forcing us to go to the temple right after school. What happened to the adorable little Shirou who always did what his older sister told him?"

Shirou rolled his eyes. "That Shirou never existed," he said. "And I'm not 'forcing' you to do anything. You chose to accompany me on your own," he reminded her.

"I had to! Or else you would get lost in the woods again and disappear for hours!"

"Right," Shirou sighed. Fuji-nee's nagging was penance, he supposed, for creating an explanation that was as flimsy as paper. The story was that he had taken an early walk, but in the dusk of dawn, he had gotten lost in the woods on the outskirts of Fuyuki. By the time the sun had risen, he was stranded amidst the trees, requiring hours to find his way home. It was a story born on the spur of the moment, each line hastily improvised from the previous.

Neither Fuji-nee nor Sakura were satisfied with his explanation. Both had refused to go to school without him, and they had used every resource at their disposal to search for him. To Sakura, that meant her hands and feet. To Fuji-nee, that meant the entire force of the yakuza. Fuji-nee had said that she would've turned the world upside down if she had too, and Shirou believed her.

When school had ended, he had meant to walk straight to Ryuudou temple, but Fuji-nee had refused to let him go. Instead, he was cooped up in the archery dojo, under Fuji-nee's supervision. He spent the period watching his former clubmates practice instead. Mitsuzuri urged him to suit up, while Sakura was just happy he was there. Even Shinji seemed concerned, needling him with questions like "Where the hell were you?" But once Shirou had asserted he was fine, Shinji turned to derision. "Then why are you still here? The club doesn't need you."

He was left in a predicament, where he needed to go to Caster, but couldn't leave Fuji-nee's sight. So, he decided to bring her with him.

Walking into Ryuudou Temple, Shirou visited the halls one-by-one, searching for Caster. He couldn't quite remember the hall he had entered last night, the night rain having obscured its appearance. But despite his efforts, it was she who found him first.

"Shirou," Caster greeted from afar. She wore a fond smile on her face. "I've been waiting for your arrival."

Exiting a nearby hall, she walked towards him with a sprightly gait, in contrast to her slow, pained bearing from the prior night. She had changed out of her robes and cloak. Taking their place was a modern, fashionable outfit, with a tan, buttoned skirt that reached her ankles, a lacy black top, and a dark denim jacket. It was modest, yet charming. Elegant and enticing. It fit her well. If Shirou didn't know better, he would have guessed she was a young housewife, rather than a magus of legend. Her pointed ears had also become more rounded and human-like in appearance. She must have covered it with a glamour, one that he couldn't see through. In public, Caster would certainly turn heads, but not out of intrigue, but as a beautiful foreigner.

"Caster," Shirou said. "Sorry that I'm late."

"Your apology is accepted," she said graciously, then entered the hall she had just left from, the invitation clear.

Shirou began to follow, but Fuji-nee stepped between them. "And who might this be?"

Caster halted, then turned around, her smile frosted. "I could ask the same."

"I am Shirou's guardian," Fuji-nee announced. She pointed a thumb at her own chest, and poised her other hand on her hip. "I protect him from suspicious characters."

"Is that so?" Caster raised a brow, suitably unimpressed. She made a dismissive gesture with her fingers. "Well, carry on. I have business with the boy."

"Anything you need with Shirou can be directed towards me first."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Caster said. "I'll need to be alone with him, as our business is…" She paused, as if finding her words. "Of the private sort, one that does not permit prying ears."

Caster then swiveled her gaze towards him, and she pursed her lips.

Fuji-nee's expression contorted with horror. "D-did you get seduced by this adult woman, Shirou? Is that what happened? Did she invite you to her room late at night and you couldn't resist because you're a stupid teenage boy who doesn't know better? Did this old hag make you come an-"

Fuji-nee fell silent mid-sentence, then pivoted, walking outside the temple hall without a word. Her movements were wooden and unnatural, lacking any of her martial grace.

Anger trickled down his back. Shirou turned towards Caster.

"Old hag," she muttered, eyes ablaze. "How dare she?"

Shirou's fingernails dug into his palm. "What did you just do?" he demanded. If she hurt Fuji-nee…

"Ah." Caster's expression softened. "Do not fret. It is but a simple hypnosis. Your guardian now has no memory of the past few minutes, and is compelled to explore the other parts of this temple. There are no other effects."

"You didn't need to do that," he said, voice brittled stiff. "You could have asked her to leave."

Caster shook her head, a quick negative to each suggestion. "She knows too much. You called me Caster in front of her. Enemy Masters could dig through her mind and find my Class and location from her. By erasing her memory, I'm protecting her. And do you truly believe that woman would have left with a simple request?"

Shirou gritted his teeth. She had logical reasoning, but he detested it. "Don't do that again."

"It is of little concern. A trifling matter."

"It's not," he snapped. "Do not do that again."

Caster's face turned dangerously blank. "Then do not give me a reason to," she warned. "Your lack of vigilance forced my hand."

Their exchange had ended with that. Erected between them was a barrier, one of stilted air and uncomfortable quiet that he was hesitant to cross. Perhaps Shirou had reacted poorly, but he could not bring himself to apologize. Not for defending his family. The silence stretched into minutes.

Caster was an enigma. Jovial was she in her murder of the magi. Yet she had saved his life, along with the lives of all the children imprisoned by Atrum. For him, she had nearly paid the ultimate price.

"Do you still need my blood?" Shirou said abruptly, then bemoaned his lack of tact. Who starts a conversation like that?

She considered. "I do."

"Let's get started," he said. He rolled up his sleeve, then scoured for a jagged edge to use against his skin. But Caster was a step ahead, and a clean cut formed on his palm, blood trickling out a few moments later.

Taking his hand, Caster ran her tongue along the cut, lapping up the flowing blood. The feeling was soft, warm, and wet. It affected him more than he'd like to admit. Simultaneously, her eyes locked onto his, the clearest blue. She was gauging his reaction, his breathing, the minute changes in his mien.

Minutes passed. Shirou's head spun. He wasn't sure if it was from the blood loss or from the strange new sensation.

At last, she stopped, but didn't pull away from his hand.

When she didn't continue, Shirou spoke. "Caster? You can take more if you need it."

"Don't be so hasty to offer your blood. Every time you do, you are in danger of falling into a coma. If I wasn't so prudent last night, you would be in a coma, or even worse."

Shirou shook, remembering how he had collapsed like a twig in the wind. "Do you have enough mana now?"

"No. Not if I desire to prepare sufficiently for the War," she said.

"Then is there a more efficient way of doing this? A faster way?" He wasn't sure if he could handle redoing this sequence of events whenever he visited Caster.

"This is by far the easiest," she whispered into his skin, sending tingles over his nerves. "Unless you intend to offer your semen?" she asked suddenly.

"W-what?" Shirou stuttered. "No!"

He felt her exhale into his palm. "Are you sure? Semen is packed with magical energy, and it's harmless to extract. Rather, I'm told the feeling is quite pleasurable."

"O-of course not!"

"I see," she giggled. "If you ever change your mind, please let me know."

"I won't!" he exclaimed.

Caster made a noise in his hand. WIthout warning, she began licking his blood anew, shivering his nerves once more.

This time, she parted from his palm completely, then wiped the edge of her mouth with her thumb. It was the same motion a person might make after drinking water from a fountain, and some liquid had gotten on their lip.

She then healed more of his wounds, relieving some of his heavier aches, but leaving the lesser ones intact. Finally, she replenished the enchantment on the necklace she had given him, strengthening the glamour.

Her tasks complete, she shied away, granting Shirou space, contemplating something silently. When he did not leave, Caster raised a question. "What is it you seek?"

Shirou met her eyes. "I want to learn magecraft from you," he said.

Caster smiled, and it was the first genuine smile from her since he had arrived. "I thought you'd never ask."

From there, Shirou followed her into a room in the hallway that he had not seen before. It was traditional, with a tatami mat, sliding doors, and a desk and futon. With no decorations of any kind, the room was utterly unused. A guest room.

Caster beckoned for him to sit, and expression hardened. "I shall be blunt with you: the magecraft of this age disgusts me. It is a symptom of a festering wound this planet carries."

Her hand flourished upward, pointing to the ceiling, and her gaze shifted to reverie. "In my life, the night sky was the eternal canvas of the gods, swathed with stars, ruptured with vibrant colors from the heavens themselves. But now the stars have disappeared, the lights stolen from the sky and placed in homes. I find this an apt analogy to the utter decay of magecraft of the present day. Then, mana filled the air like leaves in a forest, opaque and endless. To weave mana was as natural as drawing breath. You could invoke the powers of the gods' domain with a simple spoken sentence. But just like the stars in the sky, the mana in this world has diluted to a mockery of my time. This dirty, polluted society that blotted out the stars…

"Still, I must admit. Humanity has advanced far enough that the gods are no longer necessary. Technology is astounding. The brilliant stars above were our unity across the seas; now, it is screens and cables. Though I do not need to eat, the food I've tried tastes better as well," she added, an afterthought.

"But this does not apply to magecraft. Magic Circuits are humanity's abomination. Families cultivate their Circuits for generations, yet fail to mirror even a fraction of the gods' strength."

Shirou raised his hand, interrupting her monologue. "What do you mean by 'generations'? I thought mages had to make new circuits to even attempt magecraft," he said.

Caster gave him a stunned look. "You cannot be serious."

"What do you mean? Isn't that standard?" he asked.

She raised a hand to her temple, grimacing. "Where did you learn magecraft?"

"My father. He taught me everything I know." But not everything he knew.

She shook her head, sighing deeply. "Your father was trying to kill you," she said plainly. "That, or he was a buffoon of the highest degree. Given how you turned out, I'm not sure which theory is more likely."

Shirou felt a twinge of indignation. "Kiritsugu was a good father. He would never want me to be hurt."

"And what did he teach you?" Caster questioned, disbelief evident in her tone.

"He said that magecraft begins by creating a Circuit from a nerve. No exceptions," he stated.

Caster winced. "That's completely incorrect. A magus of this age will possess Magic Circuits from birth. They do not need to fashion one out of their nerves to begin. They would switch their preexisting ones on and off."

Shirou chewed it over. "My circuits have been with me since I was born?"

She looked at Shirou as if he were a particularly slow child. "Yes. Yes they were. Shirou, you used your Magic Circuits to their full extent. What did you think you were doing?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I only recently discovered them, after I was attacked by a magus in the middle of the night, and I wasn't even sure if they were circuits. Actually, do you know anything about that?"

Caster denied it. "I have never seen you before yesterday, nor do I believe that man and his entourage have seen you either. If they had, you would be dead," she said.

He frowned. "Then the one who attacked me was a different magus. One who isn't related to Atrum."

He then explained his motivation for his nightly roams of Fuyuki, as well as how he had activated his Magic Circuits, and the events leading up to meeting her.

"I have to keep searching for the magus," he finished.

"It's far too dangerous. I cannot allow it," Caster said. "Remember the enemy Servant? If he sees you, he will kill you, and there will be no one to stop him."

"I know. But I can't sit around and do nothing. The magus could attack someone else. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Of course you would," she sighed. "Which is why I will train you first. It is only when you can protect yourself that you can protect others."

Shirou accepted without a second thought. He had finally found a magecraft teacher after Kiritsugu, after years of yearning for guidance. And to learn from an actual hero, recognized in history, was the cherry on top, one step closer to his dream. "Where do I begin?"

"A willing student learns the most," she approved. "I've seen over a dozen magi since I was summoned to this world. But none have impressed me. Anything they could do, I could do better, I thought. That is, until I met you."

Shirou paused, then disagreed. "I can only do the basics. Reinforcement and Projection. Nothing special."

"You are unaware of your own gifts, it seems. Tell me, how long do your projections last?"

"Permanently, unless they take too much damage," he said. "Isn't that normal?"

Caster widened her eyes, then laughed. "You sweet child. Of course not. Which is why we will begin with Projection. I have curated a list of items for you. Project each of them for me."

Reaching into her pocket, Caster handed him a piece of paper. Shirou glanced over it, then looked at Caster with suspicion. "Isn't this just your shopping list?"

Caster placed a hand over her mouth, brow raised as if she was appalled. "What ever could you mean?"

"'An apron, a cutting board, measuring cups, an electronic scale, baking trays, bowls, a kitchen knife…" Shirou read, trailing off. "If you want cooking supplies, I have plenty to spare."

"It's experimenting," she insisted. "I am testing shapes, material, and purpose. By pinpointing your strengths and weaknesses, we can further understand your skill set and adjust your training accordingly. Thus, we experiment with different materials, shapes, and sizes. Now, project the first item."

Shirou frowned, but did as she ordered. Switching on his Magic Circuits, he materialized a black apron in his hand. Caster snatched it, feeling the fabric, twisting it in her hands, and stretching the cloth.

"Impressive," she said, seemingly pleased. Taking off her jacket, Caster slipped the strap of the apron around her pale, bare neck, then tied a knot around her back with the two cloth strips hanging on either side of the apron. "What do you think?"

Shirou gave her a skeptical look. "Is this relevant to the study?"

"Of course. I've evaluated its quality, material, structure, and texture."

"And now you're evaluating how it feels to wear," he said sarcastically.

Caster gave him an unfair, mischievous smile. "Now you're beginning to understand. How do I look?"

"It…suits you?" he said, not prepared to answer. For some reason, Caster beamed. Shirou's heart beat a little faster.

"Good. Tell me about the apron."

"It's made of pure cotton, cut, stitched, pressed, and dyed black," he recited, using his knowledge gained from his Structural Analysis, then referenced his own memory. "I bought it at the supermarket a few years ago, and I've used it daily ever since."

Caster paused, wonder written on her face. "This is your apron?"

"Yes. I wasn't lying when I said I had cooking supplies."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," she said.

They went down the list. Shirou projected a bamboo cutting board that was forty-five by twenty-five by two centimeters in dimension. It was nicked with thin white cuts formed over years of use. Stainless steel measuring cups were next, denoted with varying volumes in the milliliters, followed by an electronic scale used to measure dry ingredients with precision. An aluminum baking tray was next, marked with a few persistent stains that refused to wash away, then some porcelain bowls and plates. Given that they were all sourced straight from his kitchen, they were easy to project.

It was the kitchen knife that caused him to stop.

"The blade of the knife was made with stainless steel. The grip was made from plastic. I've used it for years, and…" He froze.

"Shirou?" Caster asked. "Is there something wrong?"

He stared at the sudden wealth of information in his hand. "I used this knife to cut fish and vegetables this morning, and the night before I used it to slice chicken and carrots, and the night before that was pork. I'm only scratching the surface right now, but if I dig deeper, I know I can recall every instance I've used this knife, exactly how I swung it, and all the times I've sharpened it. Even the things I cut it with, I can remember," he murmured. "I don't know why I know that."

When it came to other objects, hypothesizing the basic structure was a prerequisite. He needed to know this information in order for the projection to succeed. But when it came to the knife, it wasn't a hypothesis, he simply knew. And he knew everything, as if he was the knife itself. If he quested for more, he could learn its entire history, effortlessly.

"That raises questions," Caster said, listening carefully. "You did not have this reaction with the other objects."

"No," he confirmed.

"Then it must be something with the knife itself. Something about it must make it special to you."

Shirou nodded. "I think so too. Do you have any ideas?"

"Yes," she said. "But we'll have to continue trying different things."

Under her direction, he projected a fork, then a spoon, then a butter knife in rapid succession.

"I can't tell you the history of the fork or the spoon. But I can with the butter knife," he said, after completion.

Caster's brow furrowed. "So the phenomenon relates to knives, but not other utensils. Are there any differences you notice between them?"

"It was… easier for me to project the butter knife. It felt more natural, and it cost less magical energy than the other projections."

"I see. Project a wooden knife."

Shirou tried, then frowned. "I can't," he answered. "I've never seen a wooden knife before."

"So you can't project things you haven't seen before. Fair enough," she said. "Last night, you projected a wooden sword. Try that instead."

With a thought, the shinai formed in his hand. "This one is like the knives. I know the history of it, and every fight it was ever involved in."

Caster was silent, pondering the new revelation.

"Well," she mused at last. "This has become very, very interesting."

A week had passed since then. Caster had claimed that his Origin, Element, or both, were related to blades or weaponry in some way. It was the only explanation for why he could see the history of knives and wooden swords, but not other objects of similar composition.

Though enlightening, that knowledge didn't help him in the bigger picture. They had discovered that Kiritsugu was correct in his ineptitude for other types of magecraft. In due time, he could learn the basics of magecraft, but they had both concluded that it wasn't worth the effort. Against an experienced magus, a rudimentary hypnosis would be useless.

Instead, they honed his strengths.

Caster had created a number of blade-shaped Mystic Codes for him to Trace. Some were combat-related, like a knife that ignited in flames when infused with mana, or a knife that sharpened in response to magical energy. Others were not, which included a knife that produced a purple mist from its tip, or a knife that glowed in the dark.

She had also created some normal Mystic Codes, but those were more expensive for him to recreate, and they faded from memory quicker than the blade-related ones.

None of them would grant him the strength to fight a Servant, but they would be more than sufficient against another human. That thought was enough to put his mind at ease. If he were ever to fight another Atrum, he would be more prepared.

Caster had also finished healing his wounds, but she was resolute that he continue wearing the necklace he had given her. "The glamour is useless now, but concealing your magical energy is vital. You cannot allow other Servants to sense that you are a magus."

In thanks, Shirou had made her a number of dishes, such as omurice and udon, which she had enjoyed greatly. At her request, he cooked for her live, which quickly segued into personal lessons.

"So, to make tempura batter, you need to first keep the ingredients as cold as possible," he explained confidently. "After combining the ingredients, you have to be careful not to overmix it, or else the texture will be affected by the gluten."

"Like this?" she asked nervously. Heeding his advice, she wielded her whisk with reluctance, stirring steadily but slowly, attending the bowl of batter as if it was about to explode. Her hand, gripping the whisk, trembled, and her mouth thinned with concentration.

Shirou smiled. "You can be a little faster," he encouraged. "I'll tell you when it's ready. Even if you make a mistake, it will still taste great."

The batter ready, he showed her how to dip shrimp inside of it. Once fully enveloped, he carefully lowered it into a pot of boiling oil, where they witnessed a bubbly crust form around the shrimp. Waiting until it was golden-brown, he removed the now completed dish from the pot and placed it on a plate, ready to serve.

Caster listened to him with a starry look. She even had a pen and paper, jotting down notes as he spoke.

"And that's how you make tempura shrimp," he said. "Do you want to give it a try?"

Nodding, Caster perfectly covered the shrimp in batter. But when she brought it over the pot, the shrimp shook in mid-air, dribbling batter along the stovetop. He would have to clean that up later. Caster clearly wasn't accustomed to using chopsticks yet, but Shirou was worried about a different issue.

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and corrected her grip on the chopsticks. Stabilized, he gently lowered her hand until it hovered a finger's width above the pot's edge. "Be careful. Don't drop the shrimp from too high, or else it will splash oil and batter everywhere. Not only will that make a mess, but you might also get burned by the oil."

"Yes," she said after a quick pause. Her eyes veered to their joined hands, then to his face, asking a silent question.

Shirou let go as if he was touching a hot iron poker. "Sorry about that," he said swiftly. "I was worried you would hurt yourself."

"I never said you had to stop," she replied, lips quirking up. Faster than he anticipated, Caster seized his hand and placed it over her own, still holding the chopsticks. "Your instruction is appreciated. Do not be so unfriendly."

Their days proceeded in peace, trading lesson for lesson. Caster absorbed information like a sponge. She took to cooking like a rabbit to running. Shirou's own rate of growth felt miniscule in comparison. He learned his limitations better, and he had more tools in his arsenal, but he wasn't sure if he was truly improving as a magus.

"Patience," Caster had said. "Your Magic Circuits will develop over the years, and you will find yourself with greater capabilities."

But not soon enough, Shirou thought.

He was cooking breakfast with Sakura on a weekday, before morning clubs began. Like Fuji-nee, Sakura had become apprehensive with his schedule, urging him to go home as early as possible after school. But unlike Fuji-nee, Sakura lacked the freedom and authority to enforce her requests, so she instead had to make do with pouts and flailing arms. It was almost more effective than Fuji-nee's antics.

They were making miso soup, omlet, grilled fish, and steamed rice, with some vegetables on the side. A light and easy meal to get the day started.

"Another person fell into a coma," Fuji-nee said, lazily watching the news. She lounged casually on the cushion, propped up by her hands behind her. "That makes four in the past week."

"That many?" Sakura asked from Shirou's side.

"Yeah. Must be some kind of new disease," she said. "The doctors are saying that everyone will recover, though, so it's not that bad."

Shirou had a sinking suspicion in his heart. One that he didn't want to dignify. He buried the thought in his mind, focusing on the task at hand. He set out the morning dishes on the table, to Fuji-nee's delight.

Morning clubs and classes elapsed in routine, and in a rare occurrence, Shirou forwent lunch with Tohsaka to find Issei, sitting in the student council room by himself.

"You're going to eat lunch here today, Emiya? A pleasant surprise," Issei said.

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something," Shirou said.

"Oh? What is it?

He wasn't sure how to broach the subject, then decided there was no good way to do it. "Issei, have you been missing anything lately? Like, for example, a set of clothing."
Issei paused, then nodded suspiciously. "I have, actually. Around a week ago, I noticed a shirt, a pair of pants, and a pair of shoes missing. How did you know?"

Shirou groaned silently. So he had worn Issei's clothing that day. Shirou brought out the bundle of clothes from his bag and set it in front of Issei. He had washed it the night before. "I found this in the school's lost-and-found. I'm not sure how it ended up there, but it had your name on it."

"Impossible," Issei gasped. "I looked all over the temple! How could it have ended up by the school?"

"I'm not sure," he lied. "But I wanted to give it to you."

Issei stared at him, then sighed. "If it were anyone else, I would be having doubts. But since it is you, Emiya, I shall trust your veracity."

Shirou felt a sudden pang of guilt, and chuckled nervously. "Thanks, Issei," he said, then blatantly changed the subject. "I actually did have another question for you, now that I think about it."

He shrugged. "Ask away."

"I think I saw a strange foreign woman in Ryuudou temple recently. Have you seen her too?" He was curious how Caster lived with the other monks. On the first night, Caster had concealed herself from sight, but now Shirou often found her walking among the residents of the temple like one of their own.

Issei nodded. "I believe I know who you are talking about, Emiya."

"Really?" Shirou asked. "The woman with blue hair?"

"Yes. She recently arrived at the temple with nowhere else to go. Though she appears evil on the outside, she is quite kind, I believe, and sh-"

Issei slumped on the table with a quiet thud.

"Issei? Are you alright?" Shirou asked, suddenly concerned.

With slow, deliberate jerks, Issei rose to his feet, the picture of calm. Shirou tensed. The sclera of his eyes bled crimson, and his iris was the same shade.

"So it was you, Shirou. I was wondering who it might be," Issei said. It was Issei's voice, but also not his voice at the same time. It was low and grindy and dull. There wasn't a trace of the inflection he normally spoke with, no concern or kindness. The sound induced a queasy feeling in Shirou's chest, like looking at a dead body.

"What the hell is this?" Shirou whispered. He switched his circuits on, but he had no idea what to do. He didn't want to fight Issei.

Issei smiled uncannily. "Relax. It is me. Caster."

Shirou stopped. "What?" he breathed, unable to believe it.

"Remember when you said my name in front of your guardian? This is my precaution against that. If someone inquires about my existence to a resident of the temple, my order is triggered, and control is granted to me. If it's someone I dislike, well," Issei's body said, reaching into his uniform and flashing a long, sharp knife. "I can take care of them immediately."

I made her that knife. Shirou felt heat beneath his skin, like the raging fires of a forge. "Let him go," he commanded, quivering. "And everyone else you've done this to."

Issei's body stiffened. "And why would I do that? I need to ensure my safety."

Anger flared. "Issei had nothing to do with this. He doesn't know anything about the War or magecraft or anything like that at all. Let him go right now!"

"I shall not," Issei's body said. "My life is a fragile existence, one that I will not squander with risks."

"Ryuudou Temple welcomed you in with open arms, and this is how you repay their kindness? How could you?"

Issei's face distorted. "I repaid them by not draining them into husks! I could have used them, enslaved them in a thousand different ways for my own designs, yet I merely inserted a scant three orders into their soul. Is that not showing kindness?"

Shirou remembers Caster's warning on offering blood. The buried suspicion erupted like a great volcano. "It was you," he realized, horrified. "You sent those people into comas. It was always you."

"Yes, it was me," Issei's mouth said. "Those people didn't need it anyway. If I want to win this war, I need mana, and your blood is not sufficient."

Shirou slammed his fist on the table, unable to restrain himself any longer. "The whole reason I want to fight is to protect. If you hurt innocent people in the process, then what was the whole point of this?" he demanded.

"When I have cared about innocent people?" Caster challenged. "Do not project your beliefs onto me, you idealistic fool."

"This is why they call you a witch!" Shirou screamed, pouring out of him like molten iron. He regretted the words the instant they left his throat.

Issei's eyes widened slowly, his expression a mess of hurt, eyes and mouth frozen. Slowly, pain shifted into anger, and his lips curled until his teeth were bared.

"We will be having words," Caster muttered darkly, freighted with venom. And just like that, Issei returned to normal, his sclera white and his expression normal.

"-e has been a perfect guest, and we will continue to provide accommodation for her during her hour of need. Emiya? Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Shirou took a deep breath, cooling his flushed skin.

"It's nothing, Issei. Don't worry about it," he said numbly. He finished his lunch in silence, barely able to speak, and the rest of the school day slipped by. Shirou was unable to concentrate on a single lecture.

Ryuudou Temple awaited.

A/N: Still a better father than Tokiomi.