The morning light spilled through my window, warm and golden, but it wasn't what woke me. I woke because I wanted to — because I had a plan now, and the resolve to see it through. The heaviness that had been clinging to me for weeks felt… lighter. Not gone, but manageable. Today was another step toward saving Sakura from Zouken's grasp.
I slid the door open and padded into the hallway. The faint sizzle of oil and the savory scent of grilled fish drifted from the kitchen. When I stepped inside, Sakura was there, her back to me, moving with quiet efficiency.
"Good morning, Sakura. How was your sleep?"
She glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly. "It was great, senpai. I had a fantastic time at the movie theatre."
That smile — genuine, unguarded — was worth more than I could say. "I'm glad," I said, returning it. The smell in the air made me tilt my head. "Is that… salmon?"
"Yes, senpai," she said, turning back to the stove. "I thought some protein other than eggs would be nice. You've been growing a lot lately."
I chuckled. "Thank you, Sakura. I'm glad the work I've been putting in hasn't gone unnoticed." I hesitated, then added, "Although… I know we glossed over it yesterday, but how did you know I was the Steel‑Eyed Raven?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she finished cooking, plated the salmon, and set it on the table. We sat. I was halfway through my egg on rice when she finally spoke.
"Like I said yesterday," she began, her voice calm but deliberate, "I noticed this weight in your eyes and shoulders. You've always had it, but lately it was… heavier. You looked perpetually tired. On days when the Steel‑Eyed Raven made the news for a massacre, you moved like you were hiding an injury. Or like you'd pushed yourself too far."
As she spoke, I realized why she could see through me so easily. She'd lived it. She'd learned to hide pain, exhaustion, and fear under a mask — training forced on her in the Matou household. She recognized the signs because they were her own.
"I see," I said quietly. "Well… I'm glad."
She blinked. "Huh?"
"Now I don't have to try so hard to hide it. I can stop lying to at least one person about who I am and what I do. That… brings more peace of mind than you know."
"That's just like you, senpai," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Not worried about the secret — worried about the lies."
"Yeah, that's me." I set my chopsticks down. "Though… you should probably know I'm a magus."
She froze for a heartbeat, then resumed eating, her expression perfectly composed. "A magus? What's that, senpai?"
Her performance was flawless — wide‑eyed curiosity, just enough confusion in her tone. If I didn't already know the truth, I'd have believed her.
"A magus is someone who can use magic," I explained. "People like me have been born throughout history with the ability to make miracles happen. Things you'd never believe."
I painted it in broad, almost romantic strokes, dropping names like King Arthur, Merlin, Solomon, Raikou, Nobunaga. I wanted her to hear the grandeur in it, even if I knew her own experiences had soured her view.
"That sounds so cool, senpai," she said, masking her distaste perfectly. "Can you do miracles like that?"
"Not anymore," I admitted. "As time's gone on, science has explained away a lot of what we could do. The only things I can manage are making myself stronger… and creating weapons."
"That's a shame," she said, then tilted her head. "Although… weapons and super strength? Is that why the news says the Steel‑Eyed Raven can punch through walls, is bulletproof, kill men in one shot, and vanish without a trace?"
I grinned. "Yeah. That's your cool senpai doing all that amazing work."
She gave me a skeptical look. "Prove it."
So I did. I projected a dozen weapons into the air around me, their steel glinting in the morning light, then led her into the backyard and drove my fist into the ground. The earth cracked, a shallow crater left in my wake.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, the mask slipped — replaced by genuine awe. "That was amazing, senpai. Thank you for telling me… and letting me into your world."
"You're welcome, Sakura."
We got ready for school. On the way, I told her I'd be busy with Tohsaka today. She nodded, but the flicker of disapproval in her eyes was quick and sharp. Another thing to fix, once Zouken was gone — the rift between her and Rin.
At school, the hours passed in the usual blur. When lunch came, I made my way to the rooftop. The chain‑link fence rattled faintly in the breeze as I sat down. Tohsaka arrived a few minutes later, her hair catching the sunlight. I handed her the lunch I'd made, and we ate side by side, talking about nothing in particular.
When we finished, I took a breath. "Tohsaka?"
"Yes, Emiya?"
"I'm going to tell you something, and you have to swear you won't get mad."
Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you about to tell me? It better not be a love confession, or we're done being friends."
I smirked faintly. "Don't worry. I'd like us to stay friends. This is… something else."
"Then tell me."
"Swear you won't be mad."
She sighed. "Fine. I swear on my name I won't be mad."
"Thank you. Tohsaka… I'm a magus." I let my hair bleach to white, my eyes shift to steel.
She stared, her hand trembling, an almost imperceptible twitch in her eye. I could see the calculations behind her gaze — replaying every conversation, every shared moment, wondering if it had all been a lie.
"Tohsaka, are you still with me?" I asked.
Her voice was cold. "Yes, Emiya. I'm just wondering what your angle is. Wondering if every interaction was a ploy. If the food you gave me was drugged. If you've been playing me from the start." Her next words were quieter, shakier. "Was it even true… what you told me about the fire?"
I met her eyes. "Tohsaka, everything we've talked about, every moment we've shared — it was genuine. I never had ill intentions toward you. I'm sorry if this hurts you."
She didn't answer, so I went on. "I remember waking up to fire and destruction. A hole in the sky pouring black mud onto the ground."
The warmth drained from my voice as the memories took hold. "I remember walking forward, past people calling for help, knowing I couldn't save them. Feeling names and faces slip away into the flames. I remember waking in a bed I didn't know, walking down a hallway I didn't know, greeting a faceless mother and father before the fire took them too."
I stopped, letting the silence settle. The hollowness receded, replaced by the faint hum of the present. I turned to leave — and felt her hand on my arm.
"I believe you, Shirou," she said. "The way you looked when you described it… you can't fake that. The pain, the sadness, the emptiness — it was real."
I managed a tired smile. "Thank you, Tohsaka."
Something in her expression softened. Whatever else had changed between us, I knew we'd taken a step closer that day.