"Excuse me for intruding," Yuigahama says as she steps carefully into the Emiya residence. Her voice is polite, but a little shaky—like someone trying not to overstep.
It's her first time entering this kind of house.
More importantly… it's the first time she's stepped into his house. The home of the boy she can't quite stop thinking about.
She follows quietly behind him, stepping in rhythm with the creak of the wooden floor.
"Komachi, we've got a guest," the boy calls out toward the kitchen, where his sister is busy helping herself to another serving of chicken soup.
"Alright, oni—"
She turns, bowl in hand.
Then pauses.
Blink one. Blink two.
There's a girl standing beside her brother. A real one. Breathing, three-dimensional, not from a dating sim.
"Oni-chan... actually has a friend?" she blurts out before her brain can hit the brakes.
"Classmate, to be exact," Shirou replies, playing along with whatever delusion his little sister is cooking up. That response comes too naturally—it isn't just his mind speaking, but the habits etched into this body's soul.
"Ah... h-hello," Yuigahama says, offering a nervous wave, caught somewhere between shy and hopeful.
Komachi narrows her eyes with the precision of a sister evaluating her brother's entire romantic future in one glance.
"Ah, Onee-chan wants some?" Komachi says innocently, stretching both arms out with a bowl of steaming chicken soup toward Yuigahama like she's offering tribute to a goddess.
Tick.A dull tek echoes in the room as Shirou lightly flicks his sister's forehead—a reflex, as natural as breathing.
"Don't hand over the bowl you were already eating from," he scolds with a sigh. "I'll serve a new one for her."
Shirou take a generous scoop of chicken soup into a fresh bowl, the aroma of slow-cooked broth and spices wafting through the air. He follows it with a portion of rice—fluffy, perfectly rinsed—and places both onto a tray with good care.
Yuigahama stands awkwardly by the doorway to the living room, fidgeting as if uncertain whether she's allowed to breathe, let alone move.
Shirou brings the tray over and sets it down at the kotatsu. Komachi is already seated, happily digging into her second helping without a shred of restraint.
"Sit down, Yui," he says, calm and casual. "Hope you enjoy it."
"Ah—! Right!" she snaps out of her daze, cheeks flushing as she steps forward to join them, heart beating for reasons that have nothing to do with hunger.
Shirou sits down beside the table once more, picking up where he left off with his meal—calmly, as if the world hasn't shifted slightly just by adding another presence to the room.
Yuigahama takes a seat next to him, her movements tentative, almost ceremonial. Her eyes hover over the bowl in front of her, quietly inspecting it. The steam rises gently, carrying with it the warm, savory aroma of long-simmered chicken and spices.
And then it hits her.
Her stomach reacts before her thoughts can catch up.
"…Then, itadakimasu," she murmurs, her voice soft, but laced with anticipation.
She lifts the bowl with both hands—carefully, almost reverently—then brings it to her lips.
A soft slurp.
Then stillness.
"W–Wow…" she whispers, eyes widening.
The flavor blooms on her tongue—rich, deep, layered with warmth and care. It's not flashy or overly complex. But it's honest, in a way that pierces straight through comfort and settles deep in the heart. She can't remember the last time something homemade struck her like this. Even her mother's cooking… doesn't quite hold up in comparison.
Across the table, Shirou watches her with quiet interest.
"How is it?" he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Yuigahama looks down at the bowl, then back up—flustered, cheeks tinged pink."I-It's good… really good," she replies, stammering just slightly.
The warmth in her hands doesn't just come from the soup.
Then, with quiet determination, she begins to eat properly—alternating between spoonfuls of soup and mouthfuls of rice.
The chicken is tender—falling apart with just the lightest pressure of her chopsticks. Every bite melts into the next, soaked in warmth, rich with umami.
She keeps eating. Slowly, reverently.
As if each mouthful is an apology.
As if she has sinned—and this is her penance.
They continue to eat while the TV murmurs news in the background.
"Oh! It's Ingenium!" Komachi shouts in excitement.
On the television, a man clad in sleek armor is being interviewed in a brightly lit studio, cameras capturing every angle.
"Oh, isn't he that Rank 30 Hero?" Yui asks, leaning forward slightly.
"Today, we have with us the Rank 30 Pro Hero from the famous Iida family—Turbo Hero: Ingenium!"
Applause erupts from the audience.
"Thank you very much for having me, Hana-san," says Ingenium with a courteous bow.
"You're very welcome, Ingenium-san," the host replies with a smile. "Now, many of your fans—especially those on the internet—have been buzzing about something... They want to know what really happened that night with a certain blur-haired individual the web's been calling 'the Blue Hedgehog of Shibuya.' Rumor has it he managed to outspeed you. Is that true?"
Ingenium hears the question. His face actually lights up."Yep, sadly I got outsped. The guy's really fast!"
(He must be a really popular guy...) Shirou thinks, watching the man in armor address the crowd with ease. (Though… why are they calling him a "Hero"? With rankings, even?)
He turns slightly and asks his sister, "Komachi, who is he?"
Komachi nearly drops her chopsticks. "You don't know Ingenium? I've been his fan for three years now! Oni-chan, are you serious right now?!"
(Was I supposed to know him?) he wonders.Something tugs at the edge of his mind—fragmented impressions, residual emotions stored in the body he now inhabits. He tries to reach for them. Names, faces, sounds. But everything slips through like smoke in his hands.
"Ehmm… well, I don't remember anything," he admits with an awkward scratch of his cheek.
"Minus one point!"
"Urgh!!"Shirou flinches slightly. He doesn't know why, but those words actually make his chest sting a little.
The interview continues on the television.
"He's so fast, possibly even faster than a jet. But here's the weird part—he doesn't make any sound. No sonic boom. No air distortion. For a moment, I genuinely thought he had two Quirks or something."
Quirk.That word echoes in Shirou's mind.
A power system that exists in nearly 80% of the country's population—and close to 30% of the entire world. Its range is absurd. Some are as mundane as increased stamina. Others outright deny the laws of physics.
"Huh..."Shirou exhaled softly.
This was getting interesting.
Though the Kiritsugu of this world never taught him magecraft—and this version of Shirou never asked—the fire still happened. That alone proved something.
If the Holy Grail War occurred, then magecraft must logically exist as well.
(I wonder how magi operate in this world...)
His thoughts were interrupted by the ongoing interview.
"Interesting... did you manage to catch the person's appearance?"
"No, not vividly. But I recall... he wore blue armor, had blue hair tied in a ponytail, and held a red spear in his hand."
"Ouhh—oehh—eohhh!"Shirou choked, coughing up his food in shock.
"Emiyachi?" Yuigahama leaned toward him, concerned.
"Oni-chan?" Komachi blinked.
(I feel like that description... matches someone I know.)Shirou narrowed his eyes slightly, but quickly looked away.
He didn't want to think about it.
Not now.
The image of blue armor. A red spear. A ponytail whipping in the wind.
No. That couldn't be—
He scooped another mouthful of rice to drown the thought.