As I lay back on my bed, the faint hum of my computer still in the air, I let my mind drift over the CYOA I'd just filled out. The choices, the upgrades, the fantasy of stepping into the Nasuverse — it all played out in my head like a vivid daydream. I could almost feel the weight of Kanshou and Bakuya in my hands, the rush of mana through my veins. The thought of living as Shirou Emiya during the Fifth Holy Grail War — my favorite character, my favorite arc — was intoxicating. With those upgrades, survival wouldn't just be possible, it would be mine to command.
That warm, giddy anticipation shattered in an instant.
The bed beneath me hardened like stone, the familiar scent of my room replaced by the dry, metallic tang of dust. It clawed at my throat and filled my nose until I sneezed, the sound echoing faintly in the cramped space. My eyes snapped open to a dim, cluttered shed — blades scattered across workbenches, the air thick with the smell of oiled steel. My spine screamed in protest, each nerve alight with pain so sharp it blurred my vision. Confusion swelled into panic, and before I could even think to move, the heat in my body spiked, my thoughts dissolved into white noise, and the world went black.
When I came to, the pain had dulled to a deep ache, but the confusion remained — heavier now, tinged with dread. And then I saw her. Purple hair framing a face I knew too well from countless hours of anime and VN routes, her voice soft but urgent as she called me "Senpai."
It hit me like a lightning strike. Recognition. Context. And the cold realization of just how screwed I was.
I pushed myself up from the cold floor, forcing a smile to mask the storm inside. I thanked Sakura for waking me, and she blushed before retreating. Only then did I realize why — I was smiling without thinking, and in this face, Shirou's face, it carried a warmth I'd never had in my old life. Handsome, I thought distantly. At least I'd lucked out there.
The motions of the morning felt surreal, like I was wearing someone else's skin — because I was. Pulling on the Homurahara uniform, setting the table while Sakura cooked, the domestic normalcy clashed violently with the knowledge of what this world held in its shadows. When Taiga burst in, all energy and noise, I tested the waters with a teasing "nee-chan." Her stunned expression was priceless, a flicker of levity in an otherwise tense morning.
But beneath the banter, I was cataloguing everything — Sakura's silence, Taiga's reactions, the way Shirou's memories nudged me toward the right words and gestures. Every interaction was a balancing act between playing the part and not losing myself entirely.
The school day passed in a haze. I let Shirou's body run on autopilot, my mind elsewhere — on magic, on survival, on the ticking clock I could almost hear in the back of my skull. I refused repair requests, earning puzzled looks, but I needed time. Time to understand what I had, and what I could become.
By the time Sakura and I walked home, the quiet between us felt almost comforting. But the moment I saw Taiga's bike, I braced for the inevitable whining. It came right on cue, and I met it with light banter, grateful for the fragments of Shirou's memory that surfaced to guide me.
Dinner was a blur of small talk and subtle observation. I critiqued Sakura's cooking with just enough warmth to make her blush again, but my mind was already in the shed, already turning over the question of my circuits.
When the house was finally quiet, I sat cross‑legged on the summoning circle, the air cool and still around me. I reached inward, searching for the circuits, and when I found them, they were… beautiful. Luminous threads of potential, waiting. The trigger came to me unbidden — my darkest moment, the knife in my palm, the weight of despair. I didn't flinch from it. I embraced it.
The slice across my palm was sharp, clean. My eyes snapped open as energy roared through me, filling every limb, every bone. It was like finding a missing piece of myself I hadn't known was gone.
The structural analysis came next, almost instinctive — and the results made me laugh aloud. Forty circuits. Good quality. Better than Shirou had ever possessed. The merger had changed him — changed us. My aptitude layered over his, creating something new, something dangerous.
For the first time since waking here, I felt the fear loosen its grip. I had a chance.
The calendar told me it was 2002. Two years until the war. Two years to master Unlimited Blade Works. Two years until I would stand across from the Counter Guardian version of myself — and this time, I wouldn't be the one on the back foot.