"Hiratsuka-sensei, may I know where exactly we're going?" Shirou asked.
"You'll know when we arrive," she replied casually.
They walked up the stairs, then down a quiet hallway, until they stopped in front of a door. The room had no sign, no nameplate—almost as if it had never been used for anything official. Without knocking, Hiratsuka-sensei slid the door open. Shirou followed her in.
The room was mostly hollow, save for the chairs and tables that had been pushed to the back and left to collect dust. There was a stillness in the air, as if the space had been forgotten by time.
Then, a single sakura leaf fluttered in through the open window, landing gently on the floor beside a girl.
She sat quietly in a chair without a desk, dressed in the uniform of Shibu-Shibu Private High School. Her long, distinct black hair framed her face as she read a book by the window, completely absorbed. She didn't glance up while fully locked on the book in her hand.
Shirou, standing at the doorway, couldn't deny it. Even for a high schooler, her beauty was striking. It wasn't loud or showy, but something refined—quiet, elegant, and undeniable.
The girl finally turned her head, a calm 45-degree tilt that brought her gaze straight ahead. Her attention shifted from the book to the door, where she now noticed the two figures entering the room. Without changing her posture, she addressed them with a voice that was quiet yet clear. "Hello, Hiratsuka-sensei. I believe I asked you to knock before entering?" Her tone carried no real emotion, but it wasn't completely flat either—just distant, as if she'd long since grown used to speaking without expecting much in return.
"Even when I bother to knock, you never care to answer," Hiratsuka replied, exhaling with a familiar weariness.
"That's because you always come in before I have a chance to respond," the girl countered dryly, her gaze briefly flicking toward Shirou, as if just now noticing the unfamiliar presence beside the teacher.
"And? Who is this person?" the girl asked, lowering her book slightly as she focused her gaze on the unfamiliar boy standing beside Hiratsuka.
(I don't like her gaze…) thought Shirou. There was something in her eyes—something that felt like quiet judgment. Not hostility, not disdain, but a cold, evaluating look that rubbed him the wrong way. He knew it didn't really make sense, but the feeling lingered anyway.
"He said he wants to join your club," Hiratsuka said bluntly.
"Eh?" Shirou instinctively turned his head toward his teacher, clearly caught off guard. What club? he wanted to ask, but the words never left his mouth. Then, realizing the awkward silence and his lack of introduction, he straightened up and said, "Ah, right. Hikigaya Emiya, Class 2-C."
Shirou turned his gaze back to his teacher, attempting to clarify the misunderstanding.
"Sensei, I believe I never said I wanted to join any club."
"And I believe I asked for a proper essay," she replied without missing a beat.
Ah. So that's what this was about.
Now it made sense.
His presence in this room wasn't just random. It was, undeniably, a direct consequence of that essay. With all due respect, even he could admit—if he were the teacher, he might've assumed it was written by a terrorist. Who would've thought his alternate self was this bad?
"Refusal, objection, protest, or any possible forms will not be accepted," Hiratsuka said, glancing at him with a sharp eye before turning back to the girl by the window. "Anyway, as you can probably tell at a glance, his personality is as rotten as his eyes."
The girl didn't answer immediately. Instead, she looked at Shirou—twice—before finally speaking.
"…Are you sure you're talking about the same person?"
Her voice wasn't sarcastic, nor particularly warm either. Just observant.
The boy standing before her looked… normal. Clean. His posture relaxed, his expression indifferent. And truthfully—
He was handsome.
Too handsome, in fact, for someone that nobody ever talked about.
"Huh? What do you mean? Just look at this guy—" Hiratsuka-sensei raised an eyebrow, squinting at him as if he were something strange… almost alien. "Wait a minute, did you get eye surgery or something?"
"Huh? What do you mean, Sensei?" Shirou asked, genuinely confused by her question.
"...Nothing," she replied flatly. Then, almost too low to hear, she muttered under her breath, "Weren't this guy's eyes supposed to look like dead fish eyes? That's what he's supposed to have, right?"
"Ahem." Hiratsuka-sensei cleared her throat with a cough. "Anyway, his personality is the main reason he's such a lonely and pitiful creature."
(She's got quite the sharp tongue, doesn't she?) Shirou thought to himself, unable to deny the accuracy of the attack.
"Fix his rebellious, loner-prone behavior in this club. That is my request." Hiratsuka-sensei stated, as if delivering a final verdict in court.
The girl, before saying anything, looked back at Emiya. She flipped her book upside down, still open, and placed it on her lap.
"Alright. I see nothing wrong with it," she said, not even attempting to argue.
"Wow, Yukinoshita, you didn't even try to put up a fight. Did the guy catch your interest or something?"
"Well, I can't exactly refuse a request from you. That is my reason," Yukinoshita replied, her voice composed—yet her gaze briefly flickered toward Shirou, carrying something unreadable hidden beneath.
"I see," Hiratsuka-sensei said with a smile.
"Well then, I'm counting on you."She waved casually while walking toward the exit of the room.
miya watched as his teacher exited the room. Once the sliding door shut behind her, he shifted his gaze toward Yukinoshita.
"Eh, so your name is Yukinoshita, huh?"
"...What are you saying? You didn't know me?"
"Kinda. What class are you from, anyway?"
"I believe I don't need to disclose such information, Mr. hikigaya"
While she gave no reaction on the outside, her inner thoughts stirred in quiet confusion.
—How could someone not know her?
Yukinoshita Yukino. The girl practically every student in the school knew by name, face, or rumor. And yet, the boy standing in front of her asked her class like she was just... anyone.
"Hahaha, you're not wrong about that," Shirou said, a light chuckle escaping his lips. He tried to keep things casual, though he could feel her sharp gaze dissecting every word he spoke.
"Yukino Yukinoshita," the girl responded plainly, flipping her book shut with a soft thump as if signaling that the conversation now held her full attention.
"Huh?"
"That's my full name. In case you were genuinely asking." Her tone didn't sound annoyed—just matter-of-fact, but somehow laced with quiet pride. Or perhaps expectation. she then open her book again
"I see... Noted, Yukinoshita-san," he replied with a faint smile, genuinely trying to be polite, even if the formality came across as slightly awkward.
To most, it would have ended there. But beneath that short exchange was something unspoken. Yukino's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary. Not with affection or distrust—more like curiosity. There was something about him that didn't align with the image she had in her head. Something off. Something unfamiliar in the most frustrating way.
"Mr. Hikigaya, I believe it would be better if you actually sat down?" Yukinoshita said, her voice calm but edged with that usual precision of hers.
"Ah, right. sorry." Shirou replied, a bit sheepish.
He quickly moved to the back of the room, grabbed one of the spare chairs, and brought it forward. He placed it across from Yukinoshita—close enough to be part of the conversation, but not so near as to seem presumptuous. A respectful distance, like an invisible line drawn between two people who hadn't yet decided whether they were friend or foe.
Shirou looked around the clubroom—left, right, up, down. He scanned the entire space as if searching for something hidden in plain sight.
"Do you want to say something?"
"Ah, right! Can I know... what exactly is this club about?"
"Try guessing."
(Hmm... she's reading a book, but Hiratsuka-sensei said something about helping with 'my' personality...)
"...Therapy club?"
She blinked. "I'm surprised. That's actually quite close."
She stood up from her seat, her motions fluid and deliberate, then began walking—graceful, poised.
"Those who are blessed," she said as she approached, "give to those who are less fortunate out of the goodness of their hearts."
Her steps echoed lightly on the floor.
"People call this community service." She stopped just in front of him. "To reach out and help those who are in need—that's what this club does."
Now standing before Emiya, arms crossed in quiet confidence, she exuded a composed elegance. It came naturally—almost effortlessly—as expected from the youngest daughter of the Yukinoshita family.
A gust of wind passed through the open window, brushing against her long dark hair, causing it to sway gently like silk.
"Welcome to the Service Club," she said, her tone calm but resolute."We welcome you."
"I've received a request—thus, I will fulfill it."
Her gaze locked onto Shirou's, unwavering and sharp.
"Be grateful... for I shall correct the very foundation of your personality."
Shirou blinked.
Should I... thank her for that? he wondered.
emiya pov.
"That's great… I guess," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "So… do we just start now, or…?"
"I believe so," Yukinoshita replied, closing her book with precision. "As they say—the sooner it's done, the better."
She stood with a certain elegance, arms crossed. Then she looked at me—not with disdain, but analysis.
"Hiratsuka-sensei mentioned you tend to keep to yourself. That you're something of a loner."
She let the words hang, watching for a reaction.
"Can I ask why? Think carefully. What might've caused that?"
I hesitated.
She asked why. Why I kept to myself. Why I stayed distant.
Maybe I could've made something up. Maybe I could've blamed it on this "Hikigaya" life—on the cracks I didn't remember, or the moments that didn't belong to me.
But the truth slipped out before I could catch it.
"...Maybe I just thought it was easier not to get close," I said.
The words were quiet, but they hung in the air.
"Easier to keep people at a distance. To stop something before it starts."
I looked down, fingers curling faintly.
"Because once people care about you... once they start to rely on you…"
I swallowed.
"...If you're gone, they're the ones who get left behind."
There was a weight in my chest. Familiar. Old.
"...And if that's the outcome... wouldn't it be better if I was never there at all?"
Silence.
A long one.
I kept my eyes on the window. The glass reflected nothing but light—soft and colorless, like the kind that comes just before rain. Outside, the branches swayed gently, a motion I could focus on. Something safe. Detached.
I didn't want to look at her.
Didn't want to see her reaction.
Because understanding meant seeing through the cracks. Understanding meant touching a part of him that should've stayed buried.
Understanding my past and my self... would only hurt someone else.
It's better this way. Better to hide it beneath the name of Hikigaya Emiya.
He exhaled slowly.
"…Sorry," he muttered, just under his breath. "I didn't mean to say all that."
Then he smiled.
Not because he felt better. Not because anything had changed.
But because it was easier that way.
Yukinoshita hadn't moved. Her posture hadn't changed, but her gaze had locked upward—focused on something beyond the ceiling, or maybe within her own thoughts.
She was still. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... absorbing.
It wasn't the kind of silence that begged to be filled.
It was the kind that came when words failed.