Bang!
The office door of Genji Asuka was thrown open violently as two men strode in. They wore long suits lined with colorful ukiyo-e patterns—one was a tall, muscular brute; the other, colder and more refined, wore thin-rimmed glasses.
"Good morning, young master—!"
Their loud greeting boomed through the morning air like a slap to the face, enough to jolt anyone still dozing in the building wide awake.
Asuka's eyes snapped open instantly. He didn't even look at them directly, just lowered his gaze. His father, Tachibana Masamune, always said he had a pair of terrifying eyes—just one look could feel like being stung by a scorpion. The reason they called him "young master" was because everyone in the clan knew he was the adopted son of the family patriarch.
"Yasha, Karasu—did you find the guy's info?"
Yasha and Karasu were the codenames of the two men before him, his direct subordinates. Asuka had handpicked them when he first joined the Enforcement Bureau. Together with a third not present, Yabuki Kage, they formed his personal and trusted triad.
"Of course, young master. We worked overtime all night for this!" Karasu said, handing over a thick file.
"Yeah, yeah," Yasha chimed in with a goofy grin. "By the time I drove back from the field investigation, it was already 4 AM! Have you ever seen Tokyo at 4 AM, young master?!"
The two laughed boisterously, trying to mock Japan's notorious overtime culture—even the underworld wasn't spared. But Asuka, ever serious, didn't follow along.
"I haven't seen it," he replied. "I was already meditating here at 3 AM."
He opened the sealed file casually. He was used to their antics. Before joining him, Yasha was just a street thug, and Karasu was a slightly more refined loan shark—just enough education to strategize, but not much more.
He didn't expect them to become gentlemen overnight. As long as they didn't start cracking dirty jokes in front of him, it was good enough.
Flipping through the first few pages, Asuka instinctively reached for his cigarette pack—but it was empty. With a sigh, he tapped his fingers on the table and asked:
"Is this everything on Emiya Shirou?"
He knew their education levels weren't suited for compiling reports, so Karasu handled the archives, and Yasha took care of external fieldwork.
The two men exchanged awkward glances. Finally, Karasu stepped forward.
"Report: we've managed to trace most of his life in Japan, but the origin of his lineage is unclear."
"Let me read it myself first…"
Asuka flipped a few more pages, then frowned.
"Wait, what the hell is this? 'Culinary prodigy'... 'Archery club ace'... 'Practiced high jump for a time after his father died'… who the hell told you to dig up this stuff!?"
He slammed the table.
"I asked for his developmental history as a mixed-blood! Not his high school extracurriculars!"
"A man who made a name for himself slaying gods in Shenzhou couldn't have gained that power overnight. There must be signs of awakening or growth. The stronger the bloodline, the more visible the signs!"
Yasha and Karasu glanced at each other again, this time with even stranger looks.
Yasha raised a hand. "Actually, young master… we didn't find any signs. But if you want to see something weird, maybe check out the part about his dad…"
"I saw it. His father was a bounty hunter from the 'Hunter Network', mostly took assassin jobs. He passed on his killing techniques to Shirou, then died from internal injuries... So Shirou inherited the trade and started taking gigs online after high school."
Asuka frowned. "That doesn't add up. If his father died from injuries, that suggests he was a weakling—either barely a mixed-blood or a pure human. But Shirou shows a powerful bloodline. That makes no sense."
In this world, powerful bloodlines tend to be passed through established families. High-level parents produce high-potential children. It's why elite families grow stronger over generations while wild mixed-bloods like Yasha and Karasu barely awaken, if at all.
If Shirou was so powerful, there was no way his biological father was ordinary.
Karasu speculated, "Maybe that wasn't his real father?"
Asuka flipped to the next page. "This 'foster father' is quite mysterious. You noted he wasn't native—used a fake name, came from Southeast Asia. Anything more specific?"
The two shrugged.
Yasha said, "That's really all we've got. Our influence only goes so far in Japan. Overseas... it's like fishing a needle out of the ocean. And even then, the Southeast Asia story might be fake too."
"Then forget it. Drop the matter," Asuka said.
The two visibly relaxed. Their assignment—tracking down Shirou's origins—was over.
They left the office grinning like college kids on summer break, gleefully chatting in the hallway about hot spring mixed baths in Hokkaido and partying with girls in Kabukichō. Their vulgar laughter echoed down the halls.
Asuka sighed and shook his head. But the question still haunted him:
Just where did Emiya Shirou come from?
———
Morning sunlight streamed through thin clouds, casting golden rays on the dark grey tiled roof. A gentle breeze played with the wind chimes under the eaves.
Shirou stood beneath the overhang, sweeping the courtyard. Nono stepped out, yawning as she slid open the wooden door. She combed her red hair lazily.
"Say, Shirou, have you always lived alone?"
"No. My father used to live with me. He passed away long ago."
"Ah, sorry," she said, not pressing further. Her own situation was similar.
She walked barefoot across the wooden walkway with soft thuds. If the floor had been marble instead of wood, the morning light would probably have revealed much more of what lay under her short skirt...
After all, they had cleaned until nearly dawn. The place was spotless.
Melusine? Fast asleep the whole time—didn't lift a finger.
"What's for breakfast?" Nono changed the topic. She'd never really eaten local food here. Rice and grilled fish for breakfast? Seaweed miso soup and natto? Weird.
"I've already started boiling porridge," Shirou replied, sweeping dust into a pan. "We'll head to the street later for crab buns, shrimp-pork buns, and fried dough sticks. Want dumplings, pan-fried buns, or siu mai?"
Nono paused mid-brush. "Wait… aren't we in Japan? Didn't we leave China?"
Shirou blinked. "Yeah? What's the problem?"
"This is Japan, right?"
"It is. I said we'll go to Chinatown."
Yokohama's Chinatown was Japan's biggest. Unlike most "Chinese-style" dishes adapted to Japanese taste, this one preserved many traditional styles—including places like Heichinrou, serving authentic Cantonese cuisine since the 1600s.
"Fine, I'll come with you," Nono said, walking back into the house. As she undid her robe, Shirou shouted, "Don't throw your clothes on the floor!"
But she'd already kicked off her pants, flashing her long white legs.
"I'm getting dressed! And don't forget to bring something back for your little assistant Xia Mi!"
Neither of them bothered saving food for Melusine. That dragon would sleep until noon anyway.
(End of Chapter)
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