Fate: Konton no Tatakai

A/N: Hello again. I'm so sorry for the delay.

I really appreciate all the support I've received so far.

This chapter is essential since it lays the foundation of the story, many parts didn't quite convince me, and I had to modify them.

Once again, I hope you like it.

As in the prologue, a much longer author's note can be found at the end of the chapter.

Mandatory Notice:

The Fate series, its characters, and any elements of the Nasuverse present in the following work do not belong to me. They are the property of Type-Moon.

Clue:

'Thoughts.'

"Dialogue."

"Supernatural voice."

"Thaumaturgy."

Í͕̟͓̈́͑ǹ͛͒co͎͉̍̐n̨̼͔̤̉ͮ͊c҉̘̪̟͉e̖͐b ̬̝̪͢í̡ͣ̏̄̚bͤl̗͙͕̘͠ͅͅe̟̝͓̘̘͍̮ͤ̿͒ͯ̽̒̀ ̺͕̇ͪ

He ran and ran as fast as his legs would allow, ignoring the desperate voice calling out to him. Shirou rushed down the hallway, out of the clinic, and into the desolate street without pausing for even a second.

He kept running, weaving through pedestrians and avoiding the occasional obstacle in his path, as if something unseen was chasing him. The few people walking along the street cast puzzled glances his way, surprised to see a child running alone with such a terrified expression.

But Shirou wasn't looking at them. His vision was fixed on something else—something he desperately wanted to escape from.

The acrid scent of ash filled the air, stirring up a memory so dreadful it made his entire body tremble. And all around him...

The flames devoured everything.

They burned and consumed the land, raging against the darkening sky as if cursing its distance yet yearning for its peace. Tongues of fire whipped through the air, their flickering shadows writhing as if they, too, were trying to flee.

Screams of pain, anguish, and despair filled the air like thick smoke, forming a cacophony of hellish wails that pierced the soul.

Charred bodies lay scattered across the scorched ground, some still twitching. Deformed silhouettes, their skin riddled with festering wounds and engulfed in flames, crawled or reached out in vain, hoping to be pulled from the inferno. A grim testament to the merciless fury of the fire that would inevitably consume them, reducing them to nothing but ash and lingering echoes of their agony.

The cries of the dead became the laments of the living. Their moans fused with the sinister crackling of the fire, its embrace equally fatal to buildings, trees, and people alike.

Powerless to save themselves—let alone others—malice ruled supreme, blanketing the world in suffocating despair.

And in the midst of this hell, he kept moving.

Surrounded by devastation, he ran aimlessly, fleeing from an inevitable death. Every step sent fresh waves of pain through his body. Every breath scorched his lungs, burning him from the inside.

No matter where he turned, the nightmare awaited him.

A scream rang out in the distance, perhaps calling for him, but he didn't even turn his head. There was nothing behind him but death and destruction. Even the sky had vanished, swallowed by thick, black smoke, where distorted faces seemed to flicker—grotesque expressions of horror, as if the heavens themselves recoiled at the sight below.

Yet something else burned inside him—something between resolve and defiance. His young mind understood there was no hope, no way out of this alive, and yet… he still pushed forward, defying the fate that sought to claim him.

But there was a limit to how much his small body could endure. His legs finally gave out, and he collapsed among the smoldering corpses.

He barely managed to turn onto his side instead of landing face-down. Lifting his gaze, he stared at the sky, its view obscured by ash and smoke.

Despair flooded his heart.

The flames loomed over him, licking at the air as if eager to claim him as their next victim.

Voiceless, he cursed and prayed in turns, knowing neither would reach anyone.

Nightmarish specters danced across the ruins, flickering like a madman's vision amidst the apocalyptic chaos. Buildings that had miraculously remained standing now crumbled, crushing those beneath them. The dying let out final, pitiful screams before they were silenced—buried under rubble, only to burn once more.

The visions twisted and spun, until one loomed directly over him.

A shadow.

It moved erratically before finally descending.

He felt the invasion with some distant part of his mind… or was it his soul? He didn't understand what was happening. He couldn't comprehend the nature of the blackness consuming him.

All he knew was its sheer malice.

He fought. He cursed. He prayed.

He didn't want to die—not like this.

But the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the abyss. A bottomless darkness. Embers gnawed at him, slowly consuming all that he was.

Fire devoured everything.

And the darkness made sure nothing remained.

He couldn't even cry. His tears had long since dried. He was about to be swallowed whole.

And then—gold and blue flooded his vision, just as the blackness had moments before.

The darkness recoiled.

A light enveloped him, shielding him from the horrors around him.

Through his haze, his gaze lifted to an eternal sunset, cast across a rust-red sky.

A hill covered in countless swords.

Was this salvation? Or damnation?

The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, before he could fully comprehend it. But it was there, imprinted deep within him.

He blinked—and he was back in the inferno.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

A man stood over him, his dark, unkempt hair swaying in the heat. He was smiling, as if he had just found something precious.

Joy gleamed in the man's eyes.

And in that moment, Shirou realized he no longer felt pain.

The despair that had consumed him moments ago had been replaced by an inexplicable sense of calm.

It didn't make sense. None of this did.

Where had the fear gone? The searing pain in his lungs? The ache in his limbs?

Was this death?

Or something else?

Exhaustion finally claimed him, dragging him into unconsciousness.

Yet before he succumbed, he spared one last thought for the smiling man.

"Could I ever smile like that, too?"

CLANG!

The impact was sharp and direct, making him feel it fully on his forehead. Shirou finally came to after a few seconds of dizziness, then looked at what he had hit. The culprit was none other than an ordinary lamppost—he had walked straight into it, too distracted to notice.

He froze as the memory flashed through his mind, nearly dragging him back into the experience.

That nightmare often returned in his sleep, but sometimes, it haunted him even while awake—especially when he was restless.

Shirou frowned as he noticed his surroundings. This wasn't the same street he had been running through moments ago.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach as realization dawned—he had run too far without knowing where he was headed. He was completely lost.

And, as if mocking him, the rain began to fall.

Fortunately, he had stopped in an alleyway, where the nearest building's large roof provided some shelter. Leaning against the wall, he silently watched the raindrops splatter against the asphalt.

Just like that day.

He remembered waking up, staring blankly ahead, his body numb except for a faint sting on his right arm. A hospital room. He could still recall the sterile scent of medicine lingering in the air. In that moment, he swore he had never smelled anything so wonderful—though, perhaps, it was simply the absence of the burning in his throat and chest that made it feel that way.

That was the second time he had met Kiritsugu.

And now, after everything he had heard, he wasn't sure what to feel.

At first, they were just muffled voices. But then, a few desperate shouts had jolted him awake from the magic-induced sleep. Confused, he had remained still—and in doing so, he had witnessed the final moments of that tense conversation.

"..."

Kiritsugu had once told him about magic, briefly explaining its existence. But he had always been vague, never revealing much, and Shirou had never pressed him for more.

Even when the man left on long trips, sometimes disappearing for months at a time, Shirou hadn't asked. Even pestering him to teach magic had felt like an imposition—he already owed Kiritsugu too much.

But those words had changed everything.

Curses.Tragedies.Deaths.

Shirou wasn't naïve. Kiritsugu's warnings, his reluctance to speak of the supernatural, had made it painfully clear—this was not something a child should meddle with.

And then, he had heard something he wasn't prepared for.

"After what I did, am I now to turn him into cannon fodder against the things that lurk here? Am I to force him to give up his life as well? Take away the only thing he has left?!"

It was as if he had suddenly caught fire. And with it, came the dreaded scent of ash.

The rest was a blur.

Shirou shivered—not from the cold, but from something eerily close to fear. Fear of uncertainty. A chill ran down his spine, making him wrap his arms around himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something red leaning against a stack of boxes. A plastic umbrella—the cheap kind found in tourist shops. Judging by the thick layer of dust, it had been sitting there for days, abandoned and forgotten.

Without thinking, he picked it up and shook it, then held it under the rain, letting the water wash away some of the dirt.

He knew what it was like to be forgotten.

The doctors had called it a miracle. Among the many victims of that fire, only a handful had survived, most suffering horrific, often fatal injuries that claimed their lives despite the doctors' best efforts. He should have been among them.

Yet, to the hospital staff's astonishment, Shirou had emerged from that hell with nothing but a few burns and scars.

But not completely unscathed.

"Amnesia," he had been told. The trauma had buried his memories so deeply that he could no longer access them, and likely never would. Only one thing had remained—his name.

Shirou.

Or at least, the way it sounded.

A warm trickle ran down his temple and onto his cheek. Lifting his free hand to his forehead, he wiped it away—blood. The impact had left a wound. Without a mirror, he had no way of knowing how bad it was.

One thing was clear—he couldn't stay here. He couldn't be outside after dark.

He didn't want to be.

So, clutching the umbrella tightly, he stepped back onto the street, letting it shield him from the rain as he wandered aimlessly.

Anywhere was better than where he had come from.

It was raining.

Kohaku sighed, wishing she had a free hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. The sudden downpour had caught her off guard while she was out shopping, and she hadn't thought to bring an umbrella. Now, she was sure the rice packet was damp, the cabbage soaked with the slightly salty taste of rain, and the plastic around the fish would be a hassle to remove.

"Makihisa-sama becomes upset when his food isn't exactly to his liking," Kohaku thought, pursing her lips.

She moved as quickly as she could with her arms full of groceries and her kimono restricting her steps, desperately searching for shelter. A few trees had helped along the way, but with autumn already scattering most of their leaves, they provided little protection. The chilly breeze that accompanied the rain did nothing to help either.

Finally, she spotted a building with an overhang large enough to shield her from the rain. Gratefully, she set down her bags, wiped the droplets from her forehead, and pushed her damp hair out of her face before removing her headband. It had already absorbed too much water, making it feel heavy and uncomfortable against her scalp.

She double-checked the groceries—wet, but not ruined. Leaning against the building, she let out a sigh.

If this keeps up, I hope Hisui-chan doesn't assume I'm running late and try to make dinner herself.

As she absently watched people pass by, comfortably shielded under their umbrellas, Kohaku debated her options. She could rush back with wet clothes and damp ingredients, using the extra time to prepare the meal more carefully. Or, she could wait for the rain to subside and risk arriving too late to stop Hisui from cooking.

Both options were terrible, and neither prospect excited her.

But beggars couldn't be choosers.

With another resigned sigh, she closed her eyes. Ideally, she would get going as soon as possible. Decision practically made, she picked up the bags, adjusted her grip, and quickened her pace under the ledge. She reached the corner where she intended to turn—

"Eep!"

"Ugh!"

Only to bump into someone—hard enough to make her stumble slightly, though neither of them lost their balance.

"Owww..." Kohaku winced, momentarily dazed.

A voice snapped her back to reality. She blinked, her gaze meeting a pair of ochre-colored eyes, slightly duller than her own. Her own widened in surprise at the sight of reddish hair—darker than hers but still strikingly similar. Besides her sister, she didn't know anyone else with features remotely like hers.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going," the boy apologized, bowing slightly. The movement let her catch sight of a faint trail of blood on his temple.

Realizing she had been staring for several seconds, Kohaku felt a flush creep up her cheeks. Hastily setting her bags down, she raised her hands in front of her.

"No, no. I wasn't paying attention either," she said, waving her hands in a conciliatory gesture.

The boy looked about to protest but then noticed something else—his umbrella had fallen to the ground.

Kohaku, having stolen a quick glance at it, instantly realized he had noticed her lack of one.

"Oh? You didn't bring an umbrella?" he asked.

Her blush deepened. "U-um… The rain caught me by surprise," she admitted, nearly raising her hands to hide her face in embarrassment.

Honestly, what am I doing? Why am I standing here chatting with some boy I bumped into instead of hurrying back to the Tohno Mansion?

But before she could excuse herself, she heard him clear his throat.

Kohaku blinked, looking up at him absently.

"Um," he started hesitantly, "Can I walk with you? Wherever you're going?"

She blinked again.

What was this boy's deal? A random Good Samaritan?

"It's a bit far," she pointed out.

The boy only shrugged, waiting for an answer.

"…Okay," Kohaku relented, picking up her groceries and gesturing toward the Tohno Mansion. "This way."

The boy smiled and stepped into the rain, holding the umbrella up as they started walking.

Kohaku tucked herself under its shelter but soon realized something odd—he was keeping the umbrella tilted over her, not himself. While she remained completely dry, the raindrops steadily dampened his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "You're getting wet now."

Again, he only shrugged, but his smile remained.

In the dim, cloudy sky, the way he smiled at her felt strangely out of place.

Too preoccupied with trying to decipher what was so unusual about him, Kohaku found herself walking slower than usual. The journey took a good thirty minutes—longer than she preferred. As she neared the mansion gates, a frown settled on her face. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she was missing.

The boy escorted her all the way to the front, where the house's eaves shielded them from the rain. Kohaku set her provisions down and turned to him.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for dragging you along."

"It wasn't a bother," he replied. "I like helping."

He closed the umbrella and set it beside her groceries. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he added, "Next time, though, maybe you should bring one with you."

Before Kohaku could respond, he bowed and turned away, dashing back into the rain without another word.

She stood there, watching him go. And then—

A realization struck her.

As he left, abandoning the umbrella behind, it was as if he had left all the warmth and happiness she had seen in him… and walked away completely empty.

A strange dichotomy.

He had been genuinely happy to help a stranger. But now, without that purpose, there was nothing left—just an absence of feeling.

Something about that realization made Kohaku call out, "Hey, wait—!"

Shirou didn't know why he had asked that, but it was preferable to keep his mind occupied with something else. He had spent several minutes walking before stumbling upon the girl, without really getting anywhere. It had been almost instinctive—seeing her, almost helpless in the rain, while he held something that wasn't even his.

That was why he smiled when she finally accepted.

He didn't mind positioning most of the umbrella over her. It was only fair; she had already been exposed to the rain and was carrying things that shouldn't get any wetter. He nodded to reassure her when she asked if it was okay, though she could almost sense the skepticism in his eyes, as if he didn't quite believe her.

Other than that, the walk was long and completely silent, which he was partially grateful for. The streets weren't empty, which provided a certain sense of security—though at least one passerby gave them a curious glance.

Shirou looked away when he noticed a boy, about his age, walking alongside his father. He was thankful that his companion hadn't noticed, as she seemed too focused on guiding him to their destination. And after nearly half an hour of walking, they finally arrived.

A Western-style mansion sat atop a hill, leaving Shirou stunned. Yes, he lived in one too, but his was built in a traditional Japanese style and couldn't compare in size or presence.

It took only a couple of minutes to reach the gates, where Shirou hesitated for a moment before closing his umbrella. The rain had lessened and would likely stop soon. That was good—he could wander around for a while without any problems before...

He finally realized that he still had nowhere to go.

Even if he wanted to return to Kiritsugu, he couldn't remember the address of the clinic and highly doubted they were still there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of how mortified his father must be. Shame began to creep up on him, threatening to consume his thoughts. But…

A small part of him still held onto a feeling he didn't quite understand—a deep, intense anguish that seemed to claw at him from the inside. And the worst part was, despite everything, there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, he forced a smile, bid farewell to the girl, and turned to walk back the way he came. At least he had done something—something that might give him a little peace of mind.

He hadn't gone far before the girl's voice stopped him.

Turning around, he found those amber eyes—so similar to his own—looking at him with more emotion than when they had first met. She nervously fidgeted with her fingers, struggling to find the right words before sighing and meeting his gaze.

"You're lost, aren't you?" she asked, though her tone made it clear she was fairly certain of the answer.

Shirou swallowed, trying to respond, but no words came out. Something in his expression must have given him away because the girl nodded immediately before gesturing for him to come closer.

"You're hurt, too," she said, pointing at his forehead. Shirou blushed as he suddenly remembered crashing into a pole earlier. "Come inside. I can treat your wound, and maybe we can call the police or someone to help you."

Shirou considered her offer, but he didn't want to be a bother or cause trouble for the owners of the house.

"I don't want to intrude..." he started to protest, but the girl sighed again. Before he could react, she walked over, grabbed his wrist, and started pulling him along. And before he could resist, she had already led him to the porch, opened the door, picked up one of his bags, and gestured for him to carry the other—which he tentatively obeyed.

And just like that, they entered the mansion.

If the exterior had impressed him, the interior was almost just as striking. The style was antique yet elegant, giving the place an air of dignity, like that of a museum.

If the Emiya mansion felt open and inviting despite its size, this one carried a heavier, more closed-in atmosphere. But he wasn't here to admire the architecture, nor did he have the appreciation of someone who would normally be drawn to such things.

Even if he had, he was quickly snapped out of his thoughts by a tug on his arm. For the third time, he found himself staring into the girl's amber eyes, which now held a shadow of something he couldn't quite place.

"Come, follow me."

She led him down a hallway as they carried the bags. His eyes wandered, taking in the various paintings and decorative items—jars and pots with barely healthy-looking plants lined both walls, with the occasional door repeating itself a couple of times. He caught a glimpse of a living room through a slightly ajar door, but their path didn't allow him to see much beyond that.

Eventually, they reached what Shirou assumed was a dining room due to the large table in the center, but they walked past it into another half-open door that led to a room that made his eyes light up.

She had only recently started learning how to cook out of pure curiosity in Fuyuki, after growing tired of the takeout that Fuji-nee always ordered whenever Kiritsugu was away. By reading recipes in magazines and making sure she had the right ingredients in the cupboards, she had managed to prepare a few dishes—much to the approval of the brown-haired teenager who acted as her surrogate older sister.

So far, she had only made miso soup and some curry, but she hoped to try more soon.

The girl noticed the way he was looking at the kitchen and tilted her head slightly.

"First time I've seen a kid look at this place like that."

Shirou couldn't help but blush, making the girl giggle before shaking her head.

"Just leave the bags there," she said, pointing to a nearby table before disappearing through another door. "I'll be right back. Don't touch anything."

And with that, she left him alone in the kitchen.

With nothing better to do, he took the groceries out of the bags and placed them on the table before sighing. Left to his own devices, he started walking around the room, careful not to touch anything.

The kitchen in the mansion was much larger than his own, taking up its own room rather than facing the dining room like the one in the Emiya mansion, and was considerably better equipped judging by the number of ovens there were, and the refrigerator that towered over his, as well as the many pots and pans hanging on one of the walls. He could probably cook enough food to feed a few members of the Fujimura family for dinner if he had something like that at home.

However, her eyes eventually fell on a wooden box that looked out of place in the kitchen. It was a small, plain container that sat next to a bowl of fruit that had its lid closed and its lock conspicuous by its absence.

Shirou pursed his lips, feeling inexplicably drawn to the box even though the girl's words and common sense told him it was best to leave it. After a couple of seconds, he figured a quick glance wouldn't hurt.

Consumed by curiosity, he walked over and opened the box before looking at the contents. Shirou raised an eyebrow when all he saw was a small knife. Ignoring his earlier decision, he picked it up and began to inspect it. It was quite old, and had a retractable blade; it reminded him of one he used to cut vegetables back in Fuyuki.

He noticed an inscription at the bottom, and squinted as he tried to read it. The ink on the kanji was somewhat corroded, making it difficult to read.

"Na-natsu yoru." The redhead managed to read. Seven Nights . He highly doubted that was the owner's name, so he guessed that it was probably the knife's name. In various movies, he had seen swords and other weapons with names ranging from elegant to far-fetched, and he remembered the occasional weapon that was named the same by its owner in books. But a fruit knife?

"What are you doing here?"

A voice out of nowhere made him drop the knife back into the box, and turn around quickly, only to find the same girl staring at him with barely veiled suspicion from across the kitchen.

"Uh, I was just..." Shirou tried to excuse himself as he stammered.

"How did you get in here? This is the Tohno family's house, leave before I call the police." He pressed the redhead while crossing his arms over his chest.

"What?!" The boy shouted with a shocked expression "But... you invited me in."

The girl's expression turned into a sneer. "What the hell are you talking about? I came to cook dinner and I saw you here, probably looting the silver spoons," she accused.

Now it was Shirou's turn to be indignant.

"I crashed into you on the street and offered to walk you out with my umbrella so you wouldn't get wet," he complained as he pointed at her, only to be met with another outburst from the girl.

"Liar. I've been inside all day, now I'm definitely going to call the police!"

"What's all the fuss about?" Another voice asked, causing them both to turn towards the door. It was at that precise moment that another girl, dressed in a completely similar outfit, walked through it while carrying a small medical kit.

Shirou raised both eyebrows at the sight of the two girls and then realized something. The one who had yelled at him had green eyes.

"Twins?" she asked, which made them nod, although, in the case of the green-eyed one, it was more a force of habit.

"I'm sorry, sis, I probably should have told you," the amber-eyed one apologized to her twin, who gave her a look that showed her confusion.

"Wait. He was telling the truth so you invited him?" She asked, clearly puzzled.

"Hmm... We bumped into each other on my way back, and he offered to walk me here with his umbrella. I just wanted to thank him." She replied while nervously playing with her fingers.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." Shirou apologized, as he lowered his head, only for the girl to look at him with a guilty expression. "No, don't. I started it." She replied.

"Yes, but it was nothing." Shirou added, "You had no way of knowing. I would have reacted like that too if I met a stranger in my house."

The other girl coughed as she waved the medical kit around to get their attention. "Sorry, well, here's the thing. I can do something about your wound now, like I promised." She said before placing it on the table and opening it. "Come here. It'll be quick and then we can call the police to tell them you're missing."

"Are you lost?" Asked the green-eyed girl who now had a compassionate look.

"...Yes." He admitted as he approached the amber-eyed girl, who immediately wiped a damp handkerchief across his forehead. He let out a soft grunt as she pressed it against what he assumed was his wound.

"That's awful. I hope we can help you in some way," she commented sympathetically. "Ah, my name is Hisui," she introduced herself.

That made the other girl blink, before looking at Shirou with an embarrassed expression.

"That's right. We never introduced ourselves, did we?"

Shirou blushed at the comment but nodded.

"I'm Kohaku, your older sister," the girl finally introduced herself, bowing her head slightly.

'Jade,' he thought as he looked at Hisui and then at Kohaku. 'And Amber. Their names are really fitting.' He conceded before introducing himself as well.

"Shirou, Shirou Emiya. Nice to meet you both." He smiled, bowing his head slightly in return.

Hisui smiled back before turning to Kohaku, who was now placing a band-aid on her forehead.

"It's a good thing Makihisa-sama didn't arrive." That statement made her twin shudder slightly, something that didn't go unnoticed by Shirou, who immediately asked,

"Makihisa-sama?"

The green-eyed girl turned back to him. "The head of the Tohno family and our employer. He's a well-known businessman around here," she explained before noticing something odd. "Wait a minute. You've never heard of the Tohnos?"

Shirou gave her a confused look in response.

"Oh, I forgot to mention, I'm not from here..." he added, laughing nervously, which made the green-eyed girl nod in understanding.

"Ah, I see. Where are you from, by the way?"

"Fuyuki."

The answer made both twins look at him in surprise.

"Isn't that on the other side of Japan? That's really far. Are you on vacation?" Hisui asked, her curiosity obvious. Kohaku, for her part, had started putting away the first aid supplies but was also listening attentively.

Had he not been used to Taiga's relentless questioning, Shirou might have felt overwhelmed.

"Ah, no." He shook his head. "I came here to see a doctor with my... dad." He barely whispered the last word, which made Hisui frown but not press further, while Kohaku maintained a neutral expression.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Shirou shook his head. "I heard something I wasn't sure I should have, and I ran."

"Families can be complicated sometimes," Kohaku finally spoke. "Our mother was from an old family called Fujou, but she left them."

"How is she?"

"... She passed away years ago. She was quite ill. Makihisa-sama took us in, and since then, we've lived and worked here," Hisui replied, her voice carrying a hint of melancholy.

Shirou flinched, realizing he had touched on a sensitive subject. He knew that pain all too well. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay," Hisui replied. "You couldn't have known," she said, echoing his own words from earlier.

An awkward silence settled between them as they each drifted into their thoughts.

"Hmm. What do you want to do now, Shirou?"

He heard the question, but he didn't know how to answer. He had to go back to Kiritsugu—that much was obvious. Even so, he hesitated.

What would happen when he saw him again? He wasn't a stranger to being scolded—he'd gotten into fights with other kids at school before—but this was different. Running away was a much bigger issue.

Especially after what he had overheard.

"I should call the police. They can probably help me get back to my dad."

"Are you sure?"

Both Shirou and Hisui turned their heads toward Kohaku, who wore a grim expression. "If it's that bad, you can stay here," she offered, surprising them both. However, Shirou shook his head.

"Thanks, but I don't want to cause trouble for you two. I should go."

Hisui nodded. "I'm sure the police will help. Come, the nearest phone is at the entrance."

She walked toward the door, soon followed by her sister and Shirou. The three of them made their way through the same hallway as before and soon arrived at the entrance.

"There it is." Hisui pointed to an old telephone. "This shouldn't take long."

"Oh? And why is that, Hisui?" A voice suddenly spoke, making all three of them freeze.

Shirou felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped over him. He turned toward the staircase and saw him.

The man was tall and mature, likely older than Kiritsugu by a few years. He had shaggy black hair that contrasted sharply with piercing gray eyes hidden behind glasses, staring down at them. His cheeks were slightly sunken, and a faint scar could be seen below the left side of his neck.

Shirou didn't need to ask who he was. Judging by the twins' reactions, he could guess accurately. They looked as pale as if they had just seen a ghost—and in a way, that wasn't entirely wrong.

"Well?" His voice was as weary as his appearance. "I believe I asked a question." Makihisa Tohno began descending the stairs at a slow pace, each step making Kohaku visibly flinch.

It took him less than a minute to reach them. Shirou instinctively stepped in front of the twins, swallowing hard as he met the man's gaze, only to receive an amused look in return.

"M-Makihisa-sama," Hisui mumbled, trying to compose herself, but the man silenced her with a mere raise of his hand.

"Well, well. The time to answer has passed." Makihisa's gray eyes bore into them. "I know exactly how many servants this house has. So, can someone tell me why I don't know him?" Shirou felt like a cornered mouse under the gaze of a cat.

"Can you, Kohaku?" he added, shifting his attention to the amber-eyed girl, who trembled as she lowered her head, avoiding his gaze.

"My generosity isn't enough for you, to the point that you're letting street urchins roam my house?" He shook his head in mock irritation. "How troublesome. I suppose I'll have to do something about it."

Shirou didn't like the sound of that. Steeling himself, he once again stepped in front of Kohaku, his defiant stance clashing against Makihisa's cold amusement.

"She didn't do anything. Don't hurt her!" he shouted.

Kohaku's dejected expression turned into one of horror.

Makihisa frowned, seeming ready to retort, but then he suddenly paused. He sniffed the air, his expression turning puzzled. He sniffed again, then looked at Shirou with narrowed eyes.

"So that's how it is," he muttered before barking out, "You two, go to your rooms."

The twins hesitated, staring at him in uncertainty.

"I said, leave." His voice carried a forceful undertone that made even Shirou feel compelled to obey. "I can be lenient with your punishments later."

Kohaku faltered but, feeling a tug from Hisui, nodded and allowed herself to be pulled away.

Leaving Shirou alone with Makihisa.

"Now that they're gone, I can ask the real questions," Makihisa muttered. Shirou gritted his teeth and tried to summon his courage, meeting his gaze.

Only to find the man completely livid.

"What is a petty magus doing in my house?"

It was at that very moment that Shirou knew he was in a lot more trouble than he had realized. It was almost ironic, he had run away from Kiritsugu's unintentional revelations that spoke of horrors only to literally find himself face to face with one of them.

His fear probably showed on his face, because Makihisa pressed, "I thought I made it clear to the Aozaki's that they should keep their brats on a leash. That should get them off my land, but it seems that bunch of old geezers can't do anything right besides wreak havoc." The man commented, only to raise an eyebrow when he saw more confusion than fear in Shirou's eyes.

"Aozaki?" Shirou asked hesitantly, causing Makihisa to frown again as his anger receded. Something was wrong, he could feel it.

"No, you're not a child from that troubled family. Their last brats are all grown up now, and last time I checked, none of them had any children, fortunately for everyone." He concluded, before continuing. "So, which family are you from then?"

Shirou pursed his lip. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. While he felt like answering that would be bad, it was nothing compared to the pit of dread that warned him about how terrible it would be for him if he didn't.

Makihisa didn't have the luxury of patience as he raised his hand and stared at him.

"You can tell me now," he said, before slowly lowering his arm to the point where his hand was near her head. "Or I'll just rip it off."

As if the first wasn't ominous enough, he began to count. "5,4,3."

"Emiya." Shirou finally admitted, not wanting to know what awaited him if he reached zero.

Almost instantly, Makihisa stopped and blinked before giving him a puzzled look. Shirou saw a myriad of emotions flash across his face in a couple of seconds, before he spoke again.

"Emiya?" He repeated before narrowing his eyes as if in doubt. "That's a name I haven't heard in a while." He added, before removing his hand from on top of Shirou's head.

The man was silent for a couple of seconds before addressing him again.

"What is your father's name?"

"Kiritsugu." Shirou replied, not wanting to antagonize him further.

Then, to his surprise, Makihisa's frown was replaced by a smile as the man began to laugh.

"Really?" He commented to himself, before briefly laughing again as Shirou looked at him, unsure of how to react.

"You can relax, kid." Makihisa added as his features calmed, "It seems there's more than meets the eye in this case."

'What?' Was Shirou's only thought as he processed the words he just heard only to feel a hand on his left shoulder.

"Now, we're off on the wrong foot here. We should try to clear this up, don't you think?" Makihisa asked in a fatherly manner which further confused the red-haired boy, who could only nod in response.

"That's a good boy." Makihisa mused. "Follow me to my study, answer a few questions and then we can sort this out." And then, he began to walk up the stairs with Shirou following close behind.

The twins' ghostly footsteps barely echoed in one of the Manor's hallways. With a connection like theirs, they rarely needed to speak to understand what the other was feeling. But in this case, they both knew exactly what was on the other's mind.

Kohaku didn't even need to turn around to feel her younger sister's gaze on her, filled with genuine distress. She had grown so used to her sister's neutral expression, always accompanied by a gaze that ranged from empty to indifferent, that seeing her now, showing concern, was truly unsettling.

"Nee-san." She heard the voice and, this time, turned around to meet a pair of emerald-green eyes. "Nothing will happen. Just try not to think about it, okay?"

Hisui offered a weak smile before embracing her, and Kohaku returned the gesture. They remained like that for a few seconds before pulling apart.

"Do you want me to—?" The green-eyed girl began to suggest, only for her older sister to shake her head. "Well then, rest well, Nee-san," were her last words before stepping into her room and closing the door behind her.

The amber-eyed girl, however, did not follow suit. Her hand clung to the handle of her own door, unable to move it. From an outsider's perspective, it seemed so simple—just tilt it to the right, and the mechanism would engage, allowing the door to open. So easy, so effortless.

And yet, she couldn't do it.

'What was I thinking?' she asked no one in particular, her gaze fixed on the golden handle, as if trying to discern some hidden, unfathomable secret within it. But the answer wasn't there—it was buried in her mind, lost in uncertainty.

'Shirou-san,' she thought, recalling the helplessness she had felt outside. It wasn't like being inside the mansion, where she merely watched others in silence, unseen herself. Outside, she was just another person, swallowed by the apathetic crowd—a world entirely foreign to her.

It had been an accident, yes. A mere coincidence, an isolated event. Under normal circumstances, they likely would never have met. She would have arrived alone, completely drenched, to the same old place to endure the same old routine, and he would still be running away from whatever had happened to him. And yet...

Kohaku placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heartbeat quicken slightly.

For a moment, she was no longer in that dimly lit hallway but back beneath the overhang of that building, with a boy who bore features similar to hers, offering her an umbrella. Then the memory shifted—to the porch of the house, where he had bid her farewell before leaving, leaving her with both the umbrella and a smile.

She had wanted to help him, too. She had regretted it when she saw that thing descending the stairs and staring at her—only for him to step between them, shielding her, even if only with words.

The emotions she had felt in that moment—she had only ever experienced them when watching Hisui-chan play happily, when she reminded herself how blissfully unaware her sister was of the horrors that lurked within the house.

It was strange. For the first time, there was someone else standing on the gallows instead of her—and it was because of her. Her expression darkened at the thought.

Maybe that was her real weakness, aside from her sister. Yes, surely. It had only been a couple of months since that departure, so she could still remember it vividly—how she had given her ribbon to that other boy and made him promise to return.

She released the handle tentatively, exhaling a sigh. This truly was the worst.

And then, she looked down the hallway.

But there was definitely something she could do.

The new room was a study, just as refined as any other in the house. It had a desk, several bookshelves lining the walls filled with volumes, and a small tea table with two armchairs placed on opposite sides. The wood was of much finer quality than anything he had seen in his own home, and he couldn't recall ever seeing so many books gathered in one place before.

On the desk, he thought he spotted a small picture frame, but from where he stood, he couldn't make out the image. Next to it rested a much more modern telephone than the one in the entrance hall.

"It was a mess years ago," Makihisa commented. The man of the house gestured toward one of the armchairs, and Shirou quickly understood it as an invitation to sit. He complied, and Makihisa followed suit, taking the seat opposite him. Now, separated by less than half a meter, Shirou felt a twinge of nervousness settle in his gut.

The man was a magus—or at least Shirou was sure he was. Calling him terrifying was an understatement. If he had ever thought the old Raiga could be intense, it was either because he had never truly understood the meaning of the word or because he had never witnessed a real example before now.

"I can see you're still terrified," Makihisa's voice cut through the silence like a blade. His gray eyes locked onto Shirou's golden ones as he added, "It's only natural. Even my own children know the feeling well."

If that was meant to reassure him, it had the exact opposite effect.

Makihisa raised a hand in a conciliatory gesture. "Let's try to handle this properly, shall we? My name is Makihisa Tohno, Misaki's de facto guardian," he introduced himself.

"Shirou. Shirou Emiya."

"Hmm." The man regarded him with a somewhat strange expression for a few seconds before it faded. "How did you end up at my house?"

Shirou shifted slightly in his seat. Despite Makihisa's calm demeanor, the memory of how he had acted earlier was still fresh in his mind. He had no idea what the man would do when he told the truth—or worse, how he would react regarding the two twins.

"I got lost," he finally admitted, watching as the man's eyes narrowed in interest. Shirou then recounted how he had wandered the streets, seeking shelter from the rain with an umbrella he had found, how he had come across Kohaku and offered to walk her home, and how he had asked for her help in return.

He wasn't good at lying, but changing a single detail surely wouldn't be noticed. Fortunately for him, the man seemed more interested in something else.

"Lost, you say?" Makihisa mused. "What an unfortunate turn of events… That leads me to wonder—Is your father here too? No, don't answer that yet." He waved a hand dismissively before continuing, "I must admit, I am curious about something else now. I didn't think he had any children. You don't look alike."

"...I'm adopted."

"Ah, that explains it," Makihisa replied. "You look Japanese, but your features reveal traces of Old World blood. Still, I'm surprised that man would do such a thing. I remember his protégé well, but if I recall correctly, he never adopted her."

'Protégé?' Shirou thought.

"Now then, was it your father who brought you here?" Makihisa asked again, unaware of the redhead's confusion. But as Shirou nodded, the man simply snorted. "Typical Kiritsugu. No notice of his presence, and probably planning to leave as soon as possible. I haven't seen him in about eight years, and it seems he hasn't changed much." Despite his words, Makihisa didn't look particularly upset.

"Hmm. Are you Kiritsugu's friend?" Shirou asked, unable to contain his curiosity. For some reason, he couldn't imagine the two men getting along—much less being friends.

Makihisa snorted again. "I highly doubt your father even knows the meaning of that word," he replied dryly. "You could say we are acquaintances… perhaps very distant associates. His services, back when I required them, were well worth the price I paid." Unconsciously, his index finger traced over a pale scar on his neck.

'Services?' Shirou felt a pit form in his stomach. His treacherous mind once again conjured memories of the conversation he had overheard. Kiritsugu had never truly explained what he used to do, and now, reality was pointing to something far darker than he had imagined.

"I'm a businessman," Makihisa interrupted his thoughts. "And I know very well that I don't have your trust, so let's make a deal, shall we?" he suggested, expecting a prompt response from the redhead.

"What kind of deal?" Shirou asked, rolling his eyes. His past experience with such things wasn't exactly promising.

"I'll answer one of your questions, and you'll answer one of mine. That way, we both get answers in a fair manner." Shirou hesitated, considering the proposal. "Of course, we can both leave out certain details," Makihisa added.

That last part ended up convincing Shirou, who gave a slow nod. Satisfied, Makihisa settled into his seat before beginning.

"What did you come to Misaki for?"

The directness of the question didn't surprise Shirou, but he still frowned, carefully choosing his words.

"Hmm." He stalled for a couple of seconds before answering, "Kiritsugu said I had a problem with my magic circuit. Since he didn't know what it was, he brought me here to see a doctor."

The man rolled his eyes in mild annoyance. "Sougen," he guessed dryly, clearly unsurprised. "Of course, that old geezer wouldn't tell me, even if your father surely wouldn't pay him to turn a blind eye. Your turn."

Shirou pursed his lips, struggling to keep his thoughts in order. What should he ask? Though he was still wary of the man, he felt he could at least trust that Makihisa would answer truthfully. No, what truly held him back was his reluctance to delve into the black hole that was Kiritsugu's hidden past.

"What did Kiritsugu do as a magus?" he asked hesitantly.

Makihisa raised an eyebrow, briefly showing surprise before his expression hardened into a carefully neutral mask. He held Shirou's gaze with his steely gray eyes, seemingly contemplating how much he was willing to reveal.

Shirou shifted nervously in his seat. Had he asked the wrong question? It was hard to tell, as the man before him gave away no indication of his emotions, making it impossible to discern whether he was upset or something else entirely.

Seconds stretched into a full minute, yet Makihisa remained silent. The older man scrutinized him as if he were an enigma, a puzzle he couldn't quite solve. The prolonged silence only made Shirou more anxious. He felt like an insect trapped under a magnifying glass.

And he had no way of knowing whether the glass was under the burning sun or not.

"That's an interesting question to ask," Makihisa finally spoke, his tone as neutral as his expression. "I don't know how your father raised you, and it is not my place to pry. Regardless of how unorthodox one's methods may be, revealing information about mysteries is a taboo among magi, and even I acknowledge that." His voice remained composed as he stated this.

Shirou nodded, recalling one of the rare moments when Kiritsugu had been unusually forthcoming—warning him never to speak of his magic to others, whether they were magi or not.

Makihisa took the nod as a cue to continue. "Your father was a bounty hunter. One of the best in the field, I'd say. As far as I know, he never delved too deeply into the traditions of magi due to the stigma attached to his family name. Not that anyone could blame him."

That word again. A word that did not bode well for Shirou. Despite the foreboding feeling gnawing at him, he had to ask, even if the answer would forever alter his perception of his adoptive father.

"Bounty hunter?"

An amused snort was his response, though Makihisa's expression was anything but amused. Instead, he looked almost bewildered—lacking a better word to describe it.

"As I thought," he mused. "If you don't even know something as basic as that, then it's clear that your education was… mediocre, to say the least. That is, if we can even call it an education at all."

The Tohno patriarch leaned back in his seat. "I could answer your questions, but I believe it's my turn to ask now. Besides—" he paused, fixing Shirou with an owlish gaze, "—I think we both know that the answer will probably come to light as soon as I ask mine."

For what felt like the umpteenth time that day, Shirou shuddered. Deep down, he already suspected what Makihisa was going to ask.

"It's rather curious," Makihisa began, drumming his fingers against the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm. "Until now, I hadn't thought to ask how you ended up here. Kiritsugu is many things, but careless is not one of them."

He seemed to take pleasure in watching Shirou squirm under his gaze.

Makihisa chuckled, the drumming of his fingers pausing momentarily. "You said you came here to have your magic circuits checked by a doctor. That could only mean Sougen—there's no one else in this city that your father knows, let alone trusts in that field."

Shirou recalled the elderly doctor and felt a pang of embarrassment. Yet, he found himself growing uneasy once more as Makihisa resumed tapping his fingers against the armrest—slow, deliberate, and distinctly audible.

"Don't you find that a little suspicious?" Makihisa's tone carried a hint of mockery. "The adopted son of a lone magus goes for a check-up, then somehow winds up lost in the streets, seemingly unaware of the Moonlit World."

He shook his head and sighed. "It almost seems like a cruel joke. Except I'm not laughing."

Then came the question—the arrow that pierced through Shirou's defenses with unerring accuracy.

"Why did you run away from him?"

Shirou's lips pressed into a thin line as he scrambled for an answer. But he was trapped. Caught between Makihisa's calculating gaze and the fresh, unrelenting memory of what he had heard.

The words he had overheard still echoed in his mind, each one a dagger twisting in his consciousness.

"Killing, lying, and running away. Those are the only things you know how to do well. What an excellent father you are being. I wonder if Shirou will learn to run from his past as you do."

"This curse is unlike anything I've seen before. I had to call in several favors just to piece together what little I could from what you left me, and even that wasn't enough."

"But you can never truly leave this world. My family failed to exterminate demons and half-bloods, and that's exactly why they became such easy prey. One night, a hybrid tracked my father down and raided our home…"

"My wife died for nothing. My ward will never wake up. My daughter is alone, beyond my reach. I only have Shirou left, and I don't have much time left to be his father, let alone protect him from this world."

"After what I've done… Am I now to turn him into cannon fodder against the monsters that lurk in the shadows? Am I to strip him of the only thing he has left?"

Twin voices—one cold, the other laced with sorrow—whispered, screamed, and wept inside his head. The cacophony threatened to drown out his thoughts.

His right fist clenched involuntarily. He shut his eyes in a futile attempt to push the memories away, but they only grew louder, more relentless. He wanted to cry, to succumb to the weight pressing down on him.

Then, suddenly—a hand gripped his wrist.

His eyes snapped open. Makihisa was watching him, his expression unreadable. After a moment, the older man let go, as if gauging his reaction.

"That bad?" he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Shirou barely managed a nod.

Makihisa sighed before turning to face the window, crossing his hands behind his back. "I don't know what you overheard, but I may have an idea of what it was."

He gazed out at the garden, as if searching for something beyond the glass. "Clearly, it affected you deeply."

Shirou hesitated, then tried to stand. Before he could, Makihisa spoke again.

"People are not so simple, Shirou-kun," he continued, finally facing him. "A cold-blooded killer can also be a loving parent. And the opposite can be true as well. Humans are complicated, multi-faceted. That's what makes them unique."

Shirou frowned, touching his cheek as he thought. The memories didn't assault him this time, leaving him with room to consider the words.

"What if it's something I don't want to hear?"

Makihisa's reply was immediate. "The truth is harsh, cruel, and cutting, but it is always worth knowing. Only when you understand what another person has been through can you judge them—whether for good or ill."

And Shirou knew he was right.

Taking a deep breath, he finally spoke. And for the next several minutes, he told his story.

Makihisa listened in silence. Only when Shirou finished did he finally speak.

"Your father did many terrible things in the past. He was a monster like few others," he admitted. "But he was not that man when he raised you."

Shirou's heart clenched. "But how can you say that after everything you just told me?"

Makihisa gave him a knowing look. "Because people change. Now tell me, how was Kiritsugu with you?"

Shirou remembered.

The kind, tired man who had saved him and adopted him. The caring adult who had given him a place in his life. The desperate man who had told him several things. The one who had been there for him when no one else was.

No. But that was a lie, wasn't it? After all, he had heard it, he had been a monster and...

That train of thought stopped when he felt Makihisa's hand on his shoulder. The man had walked up to him when he was busy with his thoughts, and he seemed much more friendly now.

"He's your father when it comes down to it." The man spoke reassuringly. "And believe me when I say that fathers can be harsh at times, but they will definitely do anything for their children. Even more so when they're trying to keep them safe." He said with something that felt like nostalgia.

Shirou sighed before lowering his head and then looked back at him as he asked.

"What should I do?"

Makihisa patted him on the shoulder before walking over to the desk and pressing something. "That connects to a bell in Kohaku's room that's used to call her. Go to the hallway, she'll look for you there. Tell her that she ordered you to take you to some room and to wait there." He told him, sensing the question Shirou was probably going to ask.

"Huh?"

"I'll contact Sougen, your father is probably still with him, and inform them about this. While they come for you, consider yourself a guest." Makihisa continued, causing Shirou to open his mouth in surprise, causing the man to laugh lightly.

"Thank you very much, Tohno-san." Shirou thanked before walking towards the door, which he opened and prepared to leave, but before doing so, he peeked out again. "And, I'm very sorry for entering your house."

"Despair affects everyone," Makihisa replied pleasantly, smiling knowingly before the redhead closed the door.

As soon as the door closed, Makihisa's smile faded. He hadn't been lying when he said that what he had heard was actually something else.

Needless to say, when he returned from his meeting with his nephew, the last thing he expected was to find a child with magic circuits in his house—let alone the adopted offspring of one of the most infamous wizard killers. He had gone from curious to entertained, and even surprised, all in the span of a few hours. Truth be told, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

That boy.

At first glance, he didn't seem remarkable at all. If it weren't for the fact that one of Makihisa's enhanced senses allowed him to detect fragments of magical energy, he wouldn't have noticed what was right in front of him, depriving him of a rather interesting story.

Now, he had the feeling that there was more to Shirou than met the eye, but that was something he could reflect on later. He had made a promise, hadn't he?

And Makihisa Tohno was many things, but no one could ever accuse him of not being a man of his word.

He was about to reach for the phone on his desk when it started ringing. Blinking, he picked it up and prepared to answer the call. If it wasn't something important, he would hang up immediately and get on with his business.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Makihisa," came the raspy voice of Sougen Jinan from the other end of the line, causing Makihisa's eyes to widen in surprise. Well, speaking of coincidences.

"Sougen." He replied coldly. "This is a surprise. You rarely call this number, not even on New Year's. What can I do for you?"

He swore he could hear the healer's rough breathing before he spoke again. "I need a favor. It's urgent."

"Of course it is." Makihisa continued, noting with some amusement how, despite his gruff demeanor, the old man couldn't quite conceal the traces of hesitation in his voice. "What's this about?"

A couple of seconds passed before Sougen spoke again. "The son of a client of mine is missing. We need help finding him," he replied, his tone cautious.

If anyone else had been in that room, they would have immediately recoiled at the mere sight of the smile spreading across Makihisa's face. At that moment, the Tohno patriarch made no effort to conceal the power that came with his lineage.

"What a tragedy," he replied with false sympathy. "That's what the police are for. Not me."

"…It's one of those clients, Makihisa." Sougen emphasized, clearly trying to pressure him, though Makihisa had to suppress the urge to laugh.

"I see." Makihisa adjusted his tone to one of greater seriousness, though inside, he was nearly on the verge of bursting into laughter. He would play along for a while to see just how far this could go. "How long has the boy been missing, and what is his name?"

"Four hours," came Sougen's prompt reply, followed slowly by, "And his name is Shirou."

"Four hours? Wow, that's quite a long time for a child to be missing around here," Makihisa commented. "Shirou, you say? The way you say that is certainly somewhat unusual. Although, it's not like red-haired, ochre-eyed children are particularly common in the first place."

The other end of the line went silent, but he didn't hang up. To Makihisa's amusement, he didn't have to wait long before Sougen's stunned voice came through once again.

"W-What d-did you say?" The man's voice was clearly shaken.

"Shirou," Makihisa repeated casually, as if discussing the weather. "Red hair, slightly golden eyes, dressed in a simple gray t-shirt and black pants. Those features alone would draw attention, but they are nothing compared to the attention he could attract with his last name… Isn't that right, Emiya?"

Before the healer could respond, Makihisa heard something like a scuffle on the other end, along with a few murmurs he couldn't quite make out. After a few seconds, a dull clatter signaled that someone had taken the phone.

Makihisa smiled again. "Nothing to say, Kiritsugu?"

"Tohno." The response was as cold as he remembered.

"Heh, I expected nothing less from you," he replied cheerfully, imagining the expression the other man must have been wearing at that moment. "But I certainly didn't expect you to end up like me. Did the call of fatherhood finally reach you?"

"How do you know about Shirou?" Kiritsugu asked, completely ignoring his taunts, much to Makihisa's exasperation.

"Is that any way to ask?" The sarcasm was subtle in his speech, though the amusement was clear. "Nothing happens here without my knowledge. You should be grateful I have him under protection. Children need proper care, after all."

"…You have him with you."

It wasn't a question, and the way he said it made Makihisa's blood start to boil. "Oh? Whatever you're thinking, Kiritsugu, forget it."

"If you laid a hand on him, I'll—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say," Makihisa scoffed. "No need to escalate things when we can handle this calmly. Besides, it's been so long since we last had a proper conversation."

"…What do you suggest?"

"Very simple, Kiritsugu." Makihisa couldn't feel more magnanimous at that moment. "You and Sougen can come to my mansion to pick him up—after we have a little chat."

"…Now?" Kiritsugu asked, skepticism lacing his voice.

"Unless you'd prefer to wait until tomorrow. It's already quite late, but I have no objections." He omitted the fact that he much preferred it be now. "There are plenty of guest rooms here, and I am a generous host. Rest assured, your son will be well cared for until you arrive."

"…No." Kiritsugu's voice was ironclad. "I'm on my way." And before Makihisa could respond, the distinctive click of a call being cut off reached his ears.

Makihisa snorted heartily before setting the phone back in its place. The night had just become far more interesting, and he couldn't deny that he was genuinely excited for what was to come. He hadn't felt this way since that fateful day, months ago.

He pressed a button—almost identical to the one he had used before—before turning his gaze to the picture frame on his desk. His eyes lingered on one particular photo, and he couldn't help but recall something he had told that red-haired boy.

"Parents will do anything for their children," he muttered, running his hand over the photo. In it, a slightly younger Makihisa smiled at the camera, accompanied by two boys and a girl—two of whom were the spitting image of himself and his now-deceased wife.

"And even more so when trying to keep them safe."

The tip of his index finger covered the silhouette of the boy who was almost identical to him in his youth, leaving only the other boy, with different features, and the girl in the photo.