Chapter 3: uncovering hidden powers

The underground clinic was quiet, the soft hum of medical equipment the only sound, aside from the occasional rustle of paper as Mikado worked through her pile of medical reports. Her desk, as usual, was organized down to the last detail, with neatly stacked files and pens arranged in perfect order. She was focused, her pen moving quickly across the page as she made notes, occasionally pausing to check the data on her screen or rearrange some paperwork.

Across the room, Shirou sat at a small table, flipping through a picture book. His mismatched eyes were locked on the bright illustrations, his mind processing the vivid images, trying to make sense of them in the way Mikado had been teaching him. His ability to understand things, especially when it came to images, had become sharper with time. He didn't fully grasp everything in the book, but his curiosity and growing comprehension made him more determined to figure out the world around him.

Mikado glanced up from her work, noticing how quiet Shirou was. For once, he was absorbed in something other than asking a barrage of questions.

"Shirou, could you pass me that scissor?" Mikado asked casually, not looking up from her desk. The scissor she referred to was within arm's reach but not directly in front of her.

Shirou's attention snapped to her voice. He blinked and looked at the desk where the scissor rested, slightly to the side of a pile of medical files. A furrow appeared on his brow as he studied it, and for a moment, he seemed unsure of how to respond. His gaze fixed on the scissor with intense concentration, as if trying to understand exactly what Mikado meant by "pass it to her."

His fingers twitched as his focus deepened. He wasn't thinking about how to pick it up or move his arm to grab it. Instead, his attention turned inward, processing the image of the scissor, the shape of it, the way it looked and how Mikado had used it before to cut papers. It was like his mind instinctively understood the object in its entirety—its form, its purpose. He didn't realize it, but his body was syncing with that understanding.

Then, suddenly, his hand began to glow. It was faint at first, a soft light beginning to emanate from his fingertips. Mikado didn't notice immediately, too caught up in her work to pay attention. But as Shirou's hand hovered in the air, the glowing light intensified, and something happened that made her pause.

Before her very eyes, a scissor—exactly like the one Mikado had asked for—appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. It hovered in the air for a brief, suspended moment, the light from Shirou's hand guiding it gently toward his table. The scissor hovered for just a second longer before it dropped with a soft clink, landing precisely in front of Shirou.

Mikado froze, her pen hovering above the paper as her mind registered what she had just witnessed. The sudden, unexpected appearance of the scissor left her momentarily speechless. She blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what had just occurred. Could she have imagined it? But no, there was no scissor on the table before—there was no mistaking it.

Shirou, still unaware of the weight of the situation, simply nodded with satisfaction. He got up and took the newly created scissor with him and went towards the desk to hand it to Mikado. "Here... go," he said with a small smile, his voice as innocent as ever.

Mikado blinked, her mind racing. She took the scissor, her fingers brushing against his as she accepted it. Her grip was firm but robotic, she tried to maintain a composed demeanor, but her mind was in a frenzy. She had seen it—Shirou had just created the scissor. But how? And why? She wasn't sure if this was a new ability of his or it was always there and she simply never detected it. She tried to keep her voice steady.

"Thanks, Shirou," Mikado said, her words coming out a little more clipped than usual. She placed the scissor back down on her desk, but she couldn't stop staring at it. Her mind was racing, trying to piece everything together.

Shirou, however, had already returned to his book, flipping the pages with rapt attention. He didn't seem at all fazed by what had just happened. It was as if it was a perfectly normal thing to have a object just appear out of thin air.

Mikado took a deep breath, forcing herself to regain her composure. She was trying to analyse the situation. Everything was most likely tied to Shirou's origin. Shirou's abilities were a mystery. He had shown signs of being different—he had an enhanced vision that allow him to count the number of pages in a closed book. He had an unusual connection with the environment too—but this? This was something completely new. Something she hadn't seen before. And the question now was whether this was all or there was more.

"Shirou…" she started, her voice softer than usual, "Do you... remember how you made the scissor appear?"

Shirou glanced at her, his expression curious but still entirely unaware of the significance of his actions. "Make the scissor... appear?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly, clearly trying to process her question.

Mikado nodded, her eyes scanning his face. "Yes, when you reached for it... it just... appeared. Right in front of you."

Shirou blinked again, clearly not following her. "I... don't know," he said, shrugging slightly. "I just... wanted it. And then it was there."

"Can you be more specific?" Mikado pressed for a more specific answer. Shirou scratched the back of his head thinking a bit more.

"You wanted scissor... You wanted to cut paper. So... I made it." Shirou tried to use more words to explain, but with his current vocabulary this was the limit.

But for Mikado this was enough.

She felt a mixture of awe and understanding. His power—or whatever it was—seemed tied to his understanding of things. He could create objects, maybe only those that he had seen or understood in some capacity. That was the key. Shirou's mind had processed the scissor, had known exactly what it was, and because of that, the object had materialized. It wasn't magic, it wasn't telekinesis—it was something a bit more complex.

This was a breakthrough, a new piece of the puzzle. She needed to understand more, but she also needed to be careful. Shirou was still just a child, and whatever this ability was, it was still developing. She couldn't risk pushing him too hard, too quickly. There were dangers in unlocking powers without understanding their full scope.

For now, Mikado smiled gently, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "It's okay, Shirou. Don't worry about it," she said, her tone reassuring, though her mind was far from calm. "But let's... let's just be careful with it, alright?"

Shirou gave her a small, confused smile, nodding as he returned to his book. Mikado, however, couldn't take her eyes off the scissor on her desk. She was both thrilled and overwhelmed by the possibilities. Shirou's power was something she couldn't have anticipated, and now, it was time to figure out how to guide him through this strange and useful ability of his.

For now, though, she had to be patient. There was much more to learn, and Mikado was determined to uncover every piece of the puzzle—starting with Shirou's ability to create objects from his understanding.

The afternoon sun filtered through the small windows of Mikado's underground clinic, casting golden beams across the living room. Mikado sat cross-legged on the floor, a thoughtful look on her face as she arranged an assortment of objects on the low wooden table. Pens, a small toy car, a paperclip, and even a stray button she'd found in a drawer formed a peculiar lineup in front of her. Shirou sat across from her, his mismatched eyes darting curiously between the objects and her face.

"Alright, Shirou," Mikado began, folding her hands in her lap. "We're going to play a little game."

Shirou tilted his head. "Game?"

"Exactly," she replied, giving him an encouraging smile. "I want to see how well you can follow instructions. It's simple: I'll ask you to give me one of these objects, and you do what you did this morning and pass it to me."

Shirou nodded eagerly, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. He liked games, and he liked making Mikado proud. This seemed easy enough.

"Okay, first, hand me the toy car," Mikado said, pointing to the brightly colored plastic vehicle sitting on the table.

Shirou leaned forward, his brow furrowing as he focused on the toy car. He reached out, but instead of grabbing it, he stopped. His gaze intensified, as if he were studying every detail of the car—the wheels, the shiny paint, the slightly scuffed edges. Mikado noticed the same faint glow starting to emanate from his hand that she'd seen earlier that day.

And then, right before her eyes, the glow brightened, and something appeared in Shirou's hand. But it wasn't the toy car. It was a small wrench, dull silver with faint engravings along the handle.

Mikado's mouth fell open. "What...?"

Shirou blinked at the wrench in his hand, tilting his head like a confused puppy. "...Not right," he muttered, holding it up for Mikado to see. "I wanted car... Why?"

Mikado took the wrench from him, turning it over in her hands. It was solid, real—no different from any other wrench you'd find in a toolbox. Except it hadn't been on the table, or even in the room, a moment ago.

"Shirou," Mikado began carefully, her tone as calm as she could manage, "did you see this wrench before?"

Shirou nodded. "In toolbox... I think."

Of course, Mikado thought. He must've seen it once while she made some repairs around the clinic. But how did that translate into him summoning it out of thin air?

"Okay," she said, setting the wrench aside. "Let's try again. This time, focus only on the toy car. Don't think about anything else. Just pick it up for me."

Shirou nodded, determined to get it right. He leaned forward again, narrowing his eyes at the car. His hand began to glow once more, the light faint but steady. Mikado held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

And then... a spoon appeared in his hand.

Mikado's composure faltered, and she let out an incredulous laugh. "A spoon? Really?"

Shirou stared at the spoon in dismay. "I don't understand," he said, frustration creeping into his voice. "I... wasn't thinking about spoon!"

Mikado took the spoon from him, setting it down next to the wrench. She leaned back, crossing her arms as she studied him. Shirou's powers were clearly tied to his understanding of objects, but something about his focus—or lack thereof—was skewing the results.

"It's okay, Shirou," Mikado said gently. "You're doing fine. We're just figuring this out together."

He nodded reluctantly, though the furrow in his brow showed his frustration.

"Let's try something else," she said, picking up the paperclip and holding it up. "Can you give me this paperclip? Just this paperclip."

Shirou nodded again, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He stared at the paperclip in her hand, his expression serious. The glow returned to his fingers, brighter this time. Mikado leaned forward, her curiosity mounting.

This time, a paperclip did appear in his hand—sort of. It wasn't the simple metallic one Mikado was holding. It was an oversized, oddly shaped paperclip with a bright purple coating.

Shirou held it out to her, his face a mix of pride and confusion. "Close?"

Mikado couldn't help but laugh, a warm, genuine sound that made Shirou relax a little. She took the purple paperclip, twirling it between her fingers. "Close enough," she said with a grin.

"Why... always doing that?" Shirou asked, his voice tinged with both curiosity and exasperation.

"I think," Mikado began, her tone thoughtful, "your power is based on your understanding at the conceptual level. You can only make things you've seen and understood before." She raised the toy car to highlight her point. "You are not familiar with this toy and what is in it's inside, so you couldn't project it properly in your mind, leading it to make something that you were familiar with."

Shirou blinked at her, processing her words. "So... I made wrench... because I knew what it was? Spoon too?"

"Exactly," Mikado said, giving him an encouraging nod. "But it seems like you don't have full control yet. Your mind might be wandering to other things you've seen instead of staying focused on the task."

Shirou frowned, clearly not satisfied with his lack of control. "How can I... Do better?"

"Practice," Mikado replied simply. She reached over and ruffled his hair, earning a small, reluctant smile from him. "And patience. We'll figure it out together, okay?"

Shirou nodded, his mismatched eyes shining with determination. "Okay. Let's try again."

For the rest of the afternoon, they continued their "game," testing the limits of Shirou's abilities. He managed to create a variety of objects—some intentional, like a pen he'd seen earlier, and some completely random, like a tiny rubber duck that left both of them laughing.

By the end of the session, the table was covered with an eclectic collection of objects, and Shirou was visibly tired but proud of his progress. Mikado, meanwhile, felt a mix of awe and concern. Shirou's powers were incredible, but they also hinted at the depth of his mysterious past as an experiment.

As she cleaned up the living room that evening, Mikado glanced at Shirou, who was dozing off on the couch after his shower, a faint smile on his face. She couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she was determined to help him master his abilities—and to uncover the truth about his origins.

Then her gaze turned towards the wrench Shirou made early that day.

It was disappearing

Mikado's eyes widened in surprise at what happened."Shirou, did you do something?" She asked the most obvious responsible.

"What?" But Shirou didn't seem to know what he was called for.

"The wrench just disappeared." Mikado pointed out the obvious and Shirou too widened his eyes in response.

"Why?" He asked her as like she didn't asked him the same question.

Mikado thought abou it for a few minutes and came with a pretty plausible answer. "I guess your creations have a time limit." She said as a matter of fact. "Considering your power objectively, that is the most likely truth."

Shirou was perplexed for a bit, but nodded slowly as if it made sense for him too.

"I guess we'll just have to test it next time." Mikado said ending the conversation. "It's time to go to sleep."

Shirou nodded again but this time his mind was thinking something else.

The clinic was quiet, with only the soft hum of equipment echoing in the stillness of the night. Mikado had retired to her bedroom, confident that Shirou was fast asleep after a day of revelations about his abilities. She had spent hours piecing together clues about his powers, but even she hadn't anticipated how much more there was to uncover.

In her room, Mikado lay on her bed, flipping through a digital notebook filled with notes on Shirou's health and unusual abilities. The glow of the screen illuminated her furrowed brow as she contemplated his mysterious origins.

Suddenly, a faint, crackling noise broke the silence, followed by an abrupt surge of energy that rippled through the air. Mikado sat up, her heart racing. What now? She hurried to her office, where she found Shirou standing in the dim light, his mismatched eyes unfocused, and his hand faintly glowing.

The remnants of a half-formed object—a distorted attempt at replicating her laptop—shimmered in the air before disintegrating. Shirou swayed on his feet, his breath shallow and uneven.

"Shirou!" Mikado rushed to his side, catching him just as he staggered.

"I… I tried…" he murmured weakly, his voice barely audible.

Mikado didn't need to hear more. Supporting him with one arm, she guided him to the specialized scanner in her lab. Her fingers flew over the controls as the machine's light swept over his body, revealing an intricate network of nano-machines embedded deep within his biological systems.

Her breath caught as she stared at the results. "Nano-machines… That's how you've been creating things," she whispered. The glowing network of microscopic machines pulsed faintly on the screen, their energy reserves critically low.

Shirou, slumped against the scanner, opened his eyes slightly. "What… machines?"

"They're inside you," Mikado explained gently. "They let you create objects, but every time you use them, they drain your energy. Right now, you're completely depleted."

Her voice softened. "You need to recharge, Shirou. Otherwise, it could be dangerous."

She hurriedly prepared the specialized energy chamber, her hands moving with a mix of urgency and precision. It had been designed for synthetic patients but would work for Shirou's unique physiology.

As she adjusted the settings, she glanced at him. His pale face, framed by his tousled red and white hair, looked impossibly young and fragile. Despite the immense power within him, he seemed so vulnerable.

"This might feel strange," Mikado said as she helped him into the chamber. "But it'll help."

The soft hum of the machine filled the room as a gentle glow surrounded Shirou. His body visibly relaxed, his breathing evening out as the nano-machines absorbed the energy. Mikado watched the monitors intently, monitoring the recharge process while silently vowing to learn everything she could about his condition.

When the cycle was complete, Mikado opened the chamber and gently helped Shirou out. He looked brighter, his mismatched eyes clearer, but his body still sagged with exhaustion.

"How do you feel?" she asked, crouching to meet his gaze.

"Better," Shirou whispered. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he added, "Tired."

Mikado smiled softly, brushing his hair back. "That's normal. Your body went through a lot tonight."

"Your nano machines, probably recharges while you rest or sleep too, if I have to guess." She added as She thought about it logically.

As they left the lab, Shirou clung to her arm, his steps unsteady. Mikado guided him to his room, but when they reached the door, he froze, his grip tightening.

"What's wrong?" she asked, crouching again to meet his eyes.

"I… don't want... sleep alone," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mikado sighed, her expression softening. After everything he had been through that night, how could she say no? "Alright," she said gently. "Come on."

She led him to her room instead, pulling back the covers on her bed. Shirou climbed in hesitantly, curling up on one side as Mikado slid in beside him.

"...Is this okay?" he asked softly, his mismatched eyes looking up at her.

Mikado smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "It's fine. You need rest, and if this helps, I don't mind."

Shirou nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. He shifted closer, his head resting lightly against her arm. "Mikado… thank you."

"For what?" she asked, her voice light.

"For helping me," he murmured, his voice already drowsy.

Mikado's chest tightened at the sincerity in his words. She leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "Always, Shirou."

As his breathing slowed and evened out, Mikado stared at the ceiling, her thoughts swirling. The discovery of Shirou's nano-machines had answered some questions but raised so many more. Who had put them there? What was their purpose? And how could she help him manage such immense power without endangering himself?

She glanced down at Shirou, who had shifted in his sleep, his face serene and his small hand clutching the edge of her blanket. For now, she pushed her worries aside. He was safe, and that was all that mattered.

As the night stretched on, Mikado found herself drifting off, lulled by the rhythmic sound of Shirou's breathing. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she promised herself that she would face them together with him. For now, they both needed rest.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Mikado's clinic, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. Shirou stirred under the blankets, blinking his mismatched eyes as he slowly came to consciousness. For the first time in days, he felt… rested. His body no longer ached, and the foggy heaviness that had clung to his mind since the previous night's energy surge had lifted.

"Mikado?" he called softly, sitting up and glancing around.

The door to the room opened, and Mikado entered, holding a small tray with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of toast. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said with a smile. "Feeling better?"

Shirou nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Much better. I'm not… tired anymore."

"Good." Mikado set the tray on a nearby table and took a seat next to him. "I thought we could ease into the day with some breakfast and, later, a little practice."

"Practice?" Shirou tilted his head curiously.

"Yes," Mikado said, her voice calm but purposeful. "Last night, we learned a lot about your abilities. You've got these amazing nano-machines inside you that let you create objects. But right now, it's like trying to steer a ship without a rudder. We need to give you control, so you don't overdo it and end up hurting yourself."

Shirou's expression shifted, a mix of uncertainty and determination. "You think... I can learn to control?"

Mikado reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder. "I don't just think so, Shirou—I know so. But it'll take some effort. Are you up for it?"

He nodded firmly, his golden and silver eyes glinting with resolve. "I do my best."

After breakfast, Mikado led Shirou into the living room, where she'd arranged a few everyday objects on the coffee table: a pen, a spoon, a paperclip, and a small notebook.

"Alright," she began, picking up the spoon and holding it out to Shirou. "I want you to focus on this. Look at it closely—its shape, its size, every detail. Then close your eyes and try to picture it in your mind."

Shirou took the spoon from her, turning it over in his hands as he studied it. He frowned slightly, concentrating hard before finally closing his eyes.

"Now," Mikado continued, her tone patient, "I want you to imagine the spoon appearing in your hand. Don't rush it—just focus on the image and let your nano-machines do the rest."

Shirou furrowed his brow, his hands trembling slightly as he concentrated. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, faintly, his left hand began to glow.

Mikado leaned forward, holding her breath.

With a faint shimmer, the spoon began to materialize, pixel by pixel, until it hovered briefly in the air before landing in Shirou's palm.

"I… I did it!" Shirou exclaimed, his mismatched eyes wide with astonishment.

Mikado clapped her hands together, her smile beaming. "You absolutely did! That was incredible, Shirou."

He stared at the spoon in his hand, as if trying to confirm it was real. "It's... same as the other one. How did I…?"

"It's your nano-machines," Mikado explained. "They're like little builders working inside you, using your energy to replicate objects you understand. The clearer your mental image, the easier it will be to create something."

Shirou's confidence seemed to grow as he handed the spoon to Mikado, a small, proud smile on his face. "What is next?"

Over the next hour, Mikado guided Shirou through several exercises, gradually increasing the complexity of the objects he attempted to create. He successfully replicated the pen, a paperclip, and even the notebook, though the latter left him visibly winded.

"You're doing great," Mikado said, handing him a glass of water and watching him carefully. "But let's take a short break. Remember, every time you create something, it uses up a bit of your energy. Pushing too hard could leave you drained, like last night."

Shirou sipped the water, nodding. "Okay. A little tired, but not like before."

"That's good, but I need you to listen to your body, alright? No more overdoing it." Mikado's tone was firm, though her eyes were warm.

He grinned sheepishly. "I'll... be careful."

Mikado leaned back on the couch, watching Shirou as he absentmindedly spun the replicated pen between his fingers. She couldn't help but marvel at how quickly he was adapting to something so extraordinary. His powers, though still raw, showed immense potential.

But potential wasn't without its risks.

"Shirou," she said gently, drawing his attention. "Do you understand why it's important to control your abilities?"

He nodded slowly. "So I don't get tired... like last night?"

"Partly," Mikado agreed. "But also because your powers could be dangerous if used recklessly. Imagine what might happen if you accidentally created something harmful, or if you tried to make something too big and it drained all your energy at once."

Shirou's expression grew serious, the weight of her words sinking in. "I don't want to hurt," he said quietly.

"And you won't," Mikado assured him, her voice steady. "That's why we're doing this—to make sure you stay safe and in control. You've got an amazing gift, Shirou, but with it comes responsibility."

He nodded again, more resolutely this time. "I'll keep practice. I promise."

As the morning gave way to afternoon, Mikado decided to test Shirou's limits a little further. She placed a small, broken radio on the table in front of him.

"This one's trickier," she said. "It's not just about replicating what you see—you need to understand how it works inside and out."

Shirou studied the radio intently, his brow furrowing in concentration. "I'll try," he said, his voice tinged with determination.

He closed his eyes, his hands beginning to glow faintly. For several moments, nothing happened. Then, with a sudden burst of light, a fully intact radio appeared on the table beside the broken one.

Mikado's eyes widened in surprise. "You… you fixed it?"

Shirou opened his eyes, blinking at the radio. "I think so," he said hesitantly.

Mikado picked up the new radio, turning it over in her hands. It was flawless, indistinguishable from a brand-new model. When she switched it on, music immediately filled the room.

"Shirou," she said, her voice filled with awe, "this is incredible. You didn't just create a copy—you improved it."

A shy smile spread across his face. "I just… thought about how it should work and tried to make it better."

Mikado laughed softly, shaking her head in disbelief. "You really are something else, you know that?"

Shirou's cheeks flushed with pride, and for the first time, he seemed to believe it.

As the day came to a close, Mikado watched Shirou from across the room, her thoughts racing. His progress in such a short time was astounding, but it also underscored just how much she didn't know about the extent of his abilities—or their origins.

One thing was certain: she would do everything in her power to help Shirou master his power. Together, they would uncover the full potential of his gift and ensure that he could use it safely and responsibly.

"Shirou," she called, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

She smiled warmly. "I'm proud of you."

His eyes lit up, and in that moment. They still had a long road ahead, but with Shirou's determination and her guidance, she knew they could face whatever challenges came their way.

The next morning started off innocently enough. Mikado was sipping her coffee, scrolling through a holographic tablet filled with medical reports, while Shirou sat cross-legged on the floor, intently trying to conjure a second pen to match the one he'd created earlier.

"Focus, Shirou," Mikado said, her tone half encouraging, half teasing. "You're not going to intimidate the pen into appearing by glaring at it."

Shirou shot her a look. "I'm not glaring—I'm concentrating."

"Well, concentrate harder. That pen isn't going to summon itself."

With a dramatic sigh, Shirou closed his mismatched eyes and furrowed his brows. A faint glow emanated from his hand, and then, with a pop, an object materialized.

Mikado leaned over to inspect it. "Shirou… is that a fork?"

Shirou groaned, flopping onto his back. "Why... always became a fork?!"

Mikado chuckled, setting her tablet aside and kneeling next to him. "Maybe your nano-machines are hungry? Or you've got some subconscious obsession with cutlery?"

He gave her a deadpan look. "I don't even like forks. Spoons are better."

"Blasphemy," Mikado teased, poking his forehead. "Forks are essential for eating spaghetti. Now, come on. Up. Let's try again."

As the morning wore on, Shirou's frustration grew. Each attempt to create a pen resulted in increasingly bizarre items: a pair of chopsticks, a rubber duck, a sock (just one), and, inexplicably, a tiny top hat.

Mikado had taken to sipping her coffee to hide her smirk. "You know, if nothing else, you could start a side business selling random knick-knacks. 'Shirou's Surprises: One-of-a-Kind Creations.'"

"Very funny," Shirou muttered, holding up the top hat. "What should I do with this?"

"Put it on and perform a magic show?" Mikado suggested, snickering.

Despite his irritation, Shirou couldn't help but crack a small smile. "If I know how to make rabbits... I'll do it."

Later that day, after a particularly grueling practice session, Shirou slumped onto the couch, exhaustion evident in his mismatched eyes.

"Mikado," he began hesitantly, "do you think… I'll be normal?"

Mikado, who had been jotting down notes on his progress, paused and set her pen down. "Normal? That's a tricky word, Shirou. What do you mean by it?"

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Normal like... the kids in the books. They are not weird. They don't have glowing hands. They don't create… stuff like me." He gestured to the miniature replica of Mikado's coffee mug that he'd accidentally summoned earlier.

Mikado thought briefly about what book Shirou read that gave him this idea, and soon enough she recalled a book about an unusual kid wanting to fit in the classroom at school.

Mikado picked up the tiny mug, inspecting it with mock seriousness. "To be fair, this is pretty adorable. You might be on to something here."

"Mikado," Shirou said, his tone exasperated.

"Okay, okay," she relented, setting the mug down and sitting next to him. "Shirou, you're not normal, and that's okay. Honestly, normal is overrated. Who wants to be normal when you can be extraordinary?"

He looked at her, skeptical. "Extraordinary?" He picked up one of the previous failures turned to forks. "This is extraordinary?" He asked sceptical.

"True," Mikado conceded, her lips twitching into a grin. "But you're learning. And more importantly, you're trying. That counts for a lot."

"But... what if I... Make forks all the time?" Shirou asked, his voice small.

Mikado reached out, ruffling his red-and-white hair. "Then we'll keep practicing until you won'. Powers or no powers, Shirou, you're still you. And that's more than enough."

Shirou's vulnerability seemed to bring out a softer side of Mikado, one she wasn't entirely accustomed to. She'd always been pragmatic, professional, and focused on her work. But with Shirou, it was different.

That night, as she cleaned up the living room, she caught herself smiling at the sight of his various "creations" scattered across the table: the tiny top hat, the single sock, the rubber duck. Each item was a reminder of his determination—and his occasional missteps.

"Mikado?"

She turned to see Shirou standing in the doorway, clutching the miniature coffee mug. "What's up, kiddo?"

He hesitated, then held out the mug. "For you."

Shirou handed what was in his hands shyly. "You like coffee right?"

Mikado stared at the tiny mug, her heart unexpectedly squeezing. "Thanks, Shirou. It's… perfect."

He smiled shyly, scratching the back of his head. "It... Will disappear, but…"

"But it's thoughtful," Mikado finished, taking the mug and giving him a warm smile. "And that makes it special."

As the days passed, Mikado noticed how much Shirou was beginning to rely on her—not just for guidance with his powers, but for emotional support too.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, Shirou turned to her, his expression serious. "Mikado... am I a nuisance?"

The question caught her off guard. "Nuisance? No, Shirou. Why would you think that?"

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I'm messing things up... Always, and you're always fixing them. I just… don't want to be a burden."

Mikado leaned over, tilting his chin up so he'd look at her. "Listen to me, Shirou. You are not a burden. Yes, you're a handful sometimes, but that's part of the deal when you're raising a genius-slash-chaos-machine."

"Raising?" Shirou repeated, blinking.

"Well, yeah," Mikado said with a shrug. "I mean, I've kind of adopted you at this point, haven't I?"

Shirou's eyes widened. "You… adopted me?"

"Not officially," Mikado clarified quickly, holding up her hands. "But unofficially? Yeah, you're stuck with me, kid."

Shirou's face lit up, a grin spreading from ear to ear. "I'm okay with that."

"Good," Mikado said, ruffling his hair again. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Despite the chaos, the misunderstandings, and the occasional accidental creation of a random household object, Mikado realized something: Shirou was warming his way into her heart. He wasn't just a patient or a project. He was something like… family.

And if that meant spending her days dodging forks and rubber ducks, well, so be it.