The concept of high school is interesting, to say the least. It's essentially a place where people learn how to process and apply information—some of it important, and some arguably useless. But perhaps the most important part of high school isn't academic at all. It's how you learn to manage your social life as a teenager, just before stepping into what people call adulthood.
The original 17-year-old Emiya Shirou, who was once nearing the end of his high school career, is now repeating it all over again—this time under a new name: Hikigaya Emiya.
"Cu… are you alright?"
The so-called Servant that can't sleep was now lying on the floor. Shirou guessed he must've drunk something strong to end up in such a condition.
Then, the Lancer woke up."Ah, I overslept."
"What kind of alcohol did you buy?" Shirou asked. He definitely just gave him a 1000 yen note that night.
Lancer gave a sheepish grin."Don't look at me like that. The guy at the store said it was 'budget-friendly and hits like a chariot.' I took his word for it."
Shirou sighed."You bought floor cleaner, didn't you?"
Lancer shrugged."Tasted like regret and bad decisions. Definitely alcohol."
Shirou sighed again. He then tried to help Lancer get up—to at least make him sleep in his own room. That's when he noticed a bloodstain on Lancer's hand.
"Lancer, did you do anything weird?" Shirou asked.
Lancer replied with an instant, "No."
Then Lancer said "Oh," as if something hit his head."Now I remember. There was one guy that asked me who I am."
"Which I proudly replied—a hero from Ireland. The guy then smiled, laughing like he was some sort of villain from a movie. Then he said he was Hero Killer… blabla something like that—and attacked me."
A sweat appeared on Shirou's forehead."W-What did you do after that?"
"Well, I punched him and continued walking… if I remember correctly."
(Did I just hear he punched a possibly innocent man?) Shirou thought. But hearing the words Hero Killer made Shirou believe Lancer just beat up some random villain. For some reason, the name made his mind tingle, as if he was supposed to remember someone infamous.(Oh well, hope the guy's okay.)
Just then, the door slid open.
Komachi stood there, rubbing her eyes sleepily, clearly just woken up."Hmm? Why's the weird oni-chan sleeping on the floor?"
Shirou tensed for a moment. "W-We—well, Komachi… it's, uh… an adult kind of thing."
Komachi blinked, still half-asleep. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. Now, now—go take a shower while I make breakfast, alright?"
"Hmm… mkay."
She yawned and shuffled off, leaving Shirou to let out a breath of relief—while Lancer continued lying there like it was the most normal thing in the world.
"Lancer, don't sleep on the floor again."
Lancer gave him a lazy thumbs-up from the ground. "No promises."
But then he blinked, as if realizing something.
"Oh wait—you're right!" He suddenly sprang to his feet with zero signs of fatigue. "I forgot I don't even need sleep!"
Shirou stared at him, deadpan. "...Then why were you passed out on the floor like a drunk salaryman?"
Lancer shrugged with a grin. "Habit, maybe? Or the booze just hit me on a spiritual level."
"That statement isn't even close to making actual sense," Shirou said flatly.
He turned away and headed into the kitchen section, leaving Lancer behind as he opened the fridge and began pulling out ingredients.
A moment later, Lancer wandered in, looking curious."Hmm? What are you doing, Emiya?"
"As you can see, I'm making breakfast."
"Ah, right. You did say you were pretty good at cooking," Lancer replied with a grin.
Shirou placed the ingredients on the counter, then glanced over his shoulder."Now that I think about it... what kind of food did you eat during your time as a hero?"
"Oh, mostly fish. And oats," Lancer said casually
Shirou paused, cracking an egg into a bowl."Fish and oats? Seriously? That's all you ate?"
Lancer leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually. "Yeah, pretty much. Caught the fish myself, usually. Oats were just… there."
Shirou gave him a skeptical look. "That sounds more like survival rations than an actual meal."
Lancer smirked. "Well, it was a pretty rough time to be alive."
Shirou smirked as he reached for a pack of bacon."Well then, want me to introduce you to the cuisine of the world's greatest colonizer?"
Lancer raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"
50% off bacon. Discount grocery store sausage. Canned baked beans. A couple of eggs.From a nation that once ruled half the world—but still managed to be terrified of spices despite colonizing India—today, Shirou was making a full English breakfast.
hirou rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He set a pan on the stove, added a bit of oil, and let it heat up with a soft sizzle. The pack of bacon—half off from the discount bin—hit the pan with a satisfying crackle, releasing a wave of smoky aroma into the kitchen.
Lancer leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with interest."Smells good already. That's pork, right?"
"Bacon," Shirou replied. "You'll like it. Greasy, salty, and bad for your arteries."
"Perfect."
Next, he threw on the sausages—store-brand, slightly questionable in shape, but they browned up nicely beside the bacon. Shirou carefully shifted them with a spatula, letting the flavors mix in the pan. The fat bubbled, golden and loud.
Then came the baked beans. He opened the can with a quick flick of the opener and poured the contents into a small pot, setting it on low heat.
"You eat beans for breakfast?" Lancer asked, tilting his head.
"You're the one who lived on oats," Shirou shot back.
"Touche."
He cracked a few eggs, letting them slide into a separate pan. The yolks stood proud and bright as the whites bubbled around them. He seasoned them lightly—salt, pepper, no fuss. Just enough.
Last, he grabbed two slices of white bread and tossed them onto a dry skillet, toasting them until the edges crisped and golden.
The kitchen was now filled with the rich smell of sizzling meat, toasty bread, and warm beans. Lancer watched, wide-eyed, like a kid seeing magic.
"You sure this isn't some kind of ritual?" he joked.
"It is," Shirou replied with a smirk. "A ritual of cholesterol."
He plated everything with practiced ease—bacon, sausage, eggs sunny-side up, toast on the side, and a scoop of beans for good measure.
He set the plate down in front of Lancer, who stared at it like he was about to face his greatest opponent yet.
"Onii-chan, is breakfast ready?" Komachi called out as she stepped into the living room, still drying her hair with a towel.
"Yeah, go ahead and sit down. I'll bring you a plate," Shirou replied, already moving.
He carried over three plates and placed them gently on the low table. Each one held a full English breakfast—bacon, sausage, eggs, toast, and a small serving of beans.
"Here you go," he said.
Komachi sat down cross-legged and clapped her hands together."Itadakimasu."
Her eyes scanned the food. At first glance, it looked like a typical breakfast—nothing too special. Her brother had made similar things before. She took a bite.
"…Hmm?"
It tasted… different. Better. Somehow richer, deeper. Like every piece had just the right balance of fat, salt, and warmth. She took another bite—and another.
(Wait—how?)
It wasn't anything extravagant, but the way everything came together—it felt like something out of a gourmet kitchen.
Lancer took a big bite of sausage and toast, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded in genuine surprise.
"Wow, this is pretty good, Emiya. Didn't think you had this kind of skill."
Shirou, who was sipping a bit of miso soup from earlier out of habit, just sighed."Cu, it's just basic stuff cooked in butter. You're exaggerating."
Lancer pointed at the plate with his fork. "Nah, seriously. I've eaten royal banquet food, but this hits different. Maybe it's the grease. Or maybe it's just because I didn't have to kill anything to eat today."
Komachi giggled. "You two sound like a comedy duo."
Shirou didn't argue. He just quietly took another bite of toast.
--
"Emiya, where are you going?"
Shirou tightened his school shoes. "Well… school. Especially after I didn't do some things I should've done at school, it's better I go today."
"Should I follow you?"
"Of course not, Lancer. Just spend the rest of the day doing something you like."
"...Alone?"
"Well, Komachi's here. Maybe spend some time with her."
Shirou stepped out the door, shoes tapping lightly on the step. "I'll be back before evening."
"Emiya—wait!" Lancer called.
But it was too late. Shirou was already walking off.
Lancer turned back toward the house and saw Komachi standing there, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with sleepy irritation.
" little gremlin," Lancer muttered, stretching his shoulders. "Alright then—show me what you've got."