Becoming a Disciple
Early the next morning, Shirō received a message from Anbu, instructing him to report to the Hokage Building.
After saying goodbye to Miyue last night, he returned home peacefully. Nothing dramatic happened—such as arrogant Uchiha looking down on him, challenging him over Miyue, only to be defeated in some satisfying underdog moment.
No, reality wasn't so theatrical. In truth, things had been smooth. The great clans of Konoha didn't produce brainless hotheads as often as stories liked to portray. Children from those families were given elite education from a young age, raised with rules and pride but also with discipline and political awareness. The larger the clan, the stricter the standards.
So Shirō had never encountered such pointless provocation. Of course, perhaps this was also due to his so-called C-rank luck—certainly not the kind of protagonist's halo that attracted constant trouble. Without that halo, there was little reason for anyone to randomly pick a fight with him.
Amidst these wandering thoughts, Shirō arrived at the Hokage Building.
"Hokage-sama."
"Shirō, you've come." Hiruzen Sarutobi smiled faintly, setting aside the pipe he had been smoking. "The reason I called you here today is to tell you two things.
"First—Shirō, you've made notable contributions to the village in recent missions. Therefore, the village has decided to grant your Weimiya family a medicinal field in the southern district. Consider it part of your clan's property."
"Oh—and remember to register your family crest properly."
"This… Thank you, Hokage-sama!"
"Haha, there's no need to thank me. This is what you've earned. Besides, it's not just for you, but for your family's legacy."
Although Hiruzen framed it as a matter of heritage, in reality, this reward was entirely for Shirō. It was a generous gift. A medicinal field may not sound impressive, but for a shinobi clan, such resources were crucial.
And at present, the so-called Weimiya clan consisted of only Shirō himself. Still, because he explained his strange abilities as a family secret technique and had displayed genuine talent, the Hokage was willing to support him. Without that, such generosity would have been impossible.
For Shirō, this was an enormous gain.
"Second…" Hiruzen hesitated for a moment, then said, "It isn't appropriate for me to explain further. Instead, go to Training Ground 7. Sakumo will be waiting for you."
"Sakumo-sama?" Shirō's eyes widened slightly. "Understood. I'll take my leave, Hokage-sama."
As he walked through the village streets, Shirō frowned in thought. What business could Konoha's White Fang have with me? Could he be planning to recruit me into Anbu? After all, Sakumo had once served as Anbu commander.
But Shirō quickly shook his head. That didn't fit. While he possessed strength approaching a Tokubetsu Jōnin when fighting seriously, his achievements were still modest. Recruitment into Anbu seemed premature.
For a brief moment, he considered another possibility—that Sakumo might want to take him as a disciple—but he immediately dismissed the thought.
Impossible. Sakumo Hatake is one of the strongest shinobi in the entire village, a man who commands enough respect that even breaking mission protocol can be overlooked when he intervenes. How could someone like him possibly take interest in me?
But the truth was that Shirō's own perspective was skewed. He knew how much of his strength came from "borrowed" techniques through Projection and reinforcement, and thus assumed he wasn't particularly special. Others, however, saw only his rapid growth and unusual skills. That misunderstanding would soon change his path.
Before long, he arrived at Training Ground 7. Sure enough, Sakumo was already waiting.
"Sakumo-sama." Shirō bowed respectfully.
"Hmm." Sakumo studied him, then asked, "Did the Hokage tell you why I asked you here?"
"No. Hokage-sama said it would be more appropriate for you to explain."
"Very well. Then I'll be direct. Emiya Shirō—would you be willing to become my disciple?"
"…Huh? Disciple?" Shirō froze in shock. But after a heartbeat, he quickly straightened, voice firm: "I am willing, Master."
Sakumo's usually stern expression softened, the corners of his mouth curving into the faintest smile. "I imagine you're curious why I would take you in."
"Yes, Master. My talent shouldn't be considered that remarkable."
"Ha. Just as your captain mentioned—you lack confidence."
"You spoke with Captain Nakamura?"
"Of course. Before accepting a disciple, it's only right that I understand him."
"Oh."
"Let me tell you what I see." Sakumo's tone carried the weight of certainty. "First, your ninjutsu theory is solid—proven by your ability to reproduce and refine what you call your clan's secret skill. Second, your combat instincts and adaptability far surpass most of your peers. Third, your chakra reserves are considerable for your age."
"These three qualities alone are more than enough. Beyond that—you are respectful, and you carry yourself with sincerity. That is not common."
"…Would Captain Nakamura really say that I'm polite?" Shirō muttered.
"Haha, no. That was my own observation."
"Observation?"
"Yes. I watched you last night."
Shirō's eyes widened. "You were there, Master? The whole time?"
"Mm. A teacher must judge a potential disciple's character as well as his skills. You did well—but your vigilance is far too low. Even within the village, you should never let your guard drop completely."
"Yes, Master."
"Good. Keep that in mind. As for your training plan, I haven't finalized anything yet—I still need to understand you more deeply. However, Elder Mito did mention something important: your fundamentals are weak. Some of your movements lack proper flow. Is that true?"
"…Fundamentals."
Hearing it so plainly, Shirō finally understood his flaw. Most of his combat experience came from projected weapons and borrowed skills, filtered by the system to exclude the tedious grind of basic drills. The result was that his foundation—true muscle memory—remained underdeveloped.
No matter how much knowledge one possessed, without ingraining it into the body through endless repetition, the movements would never become instinct. There were no shortcuts. Fundamentals required sweat, time, and persistence.
And now, faced with his new master, Shirō had no choice but to confront that weakness.
"It seems you realize it now," Sakumo said quietly.
"Yes, Master. Thank you for pointing it out."
"Even without me, you would have discovered it eventually. But this way, we can correct it sooner. Now—come. Let's spar. I need to see your current level for myself."
"Yes, Master!"