The core abstract of the layers of the world is quite… fascinating.
It represents more than just structure—it is the foundation of cause and effect, of what can and cannot be done, beyond what is permitted by natural law. Even when reality itself is warped on a large scale—reshaped, rewritten, torn and re-stitched—there will always be something left behind. A residue. A trace.
The original core of that timeline, of that reality, remains.
Now, the question is this:
What happens when both the physical layer and the historical axis of a world are altered?
What occurs when memory and matter are rewritten in unison?
Does the core resist?
Does it fracture?
Or… does something impossible take root in its place?
"I'm home," Shirou said as he opened the traditional sliding door of his house. The familiar sound of wood and paper shifting filled the quiet front entrance. He stepped inside, slipping off his shoes and placing them neatly on the rack.
With a soft exhale, he made his way down the corridor toward the room where the kitchen and living room seamlessly merged. He opened the next sliding door—
—and was immediately greeted by the bright flicker of a television screen, a loud KO! echoing from the speakers.
There, sprawled out on the floor in front of a PlayStation 4, were Komachi and Cu Chulainn, both holding controllers.
"Yatta! I win!" Komachi shouted, raising her controller triumphantly into the air. The screen flashed a bold "PERFECT K.O."
"Tch. I only gave you a chance," Cu muttered, feigning annoyance.
"Sure, sure, Cu," Komachi grinned smugly. "You might be older than me, but between us, who's the real adult compared to a GOD?"
Shirou could only smile at the sight, a mixture of relief and warmth settling in his chest.
"Hey, you two," he finally said.
Komachi looked back over her shoulder with a bright smile. "Ah! Oni-chan, you're home!"
Cu turned his face around with a lazy grin. "Yo, Emiya." He gave a short wave with the controller still in hand, before adding with a smirk, "How was school, ki— I mean, Emiya?"
Shirou let out a small breath as he stepped fully into the room. He set his school bag and a small bag of groceries down to the side, then quietly lowered himself onto the floor beside the low table.
"It was alright," he replied plainly.
A pause followed, as the noise from the game's victory screen faded out. He leaned back slightly, then let out a soft, tired "Haaa…"—not quite exhaustion, but something that sounded close.
He pulled his smartphone from his pocket and unlocked it with a casual swipe. His thumb flicked instinctively toward the familiar green icon: LINE.
A quick glance through his recent messages. His eyes narrowed for a second. There—an unfamiliar username with a cat face as the icon.
hello emiya
Shirou blinked. He tapped the message.
Without much thought, he typed a reply:
Hello, Kazuhiko-san.
He stared at the screen for a moment, then locked the phone again and let it fall onto the table with a small thud.
"So," Shirou asked, shifting his gaze toward the two of them, "may I ask what kind of activities you two did today?"
Komachi, without turning, answered cheerfully, "Well, just walking around the city and playing video games. How about you, Oni-chan?"
"Like I said before—it was alright."
"That's not what I meant," she said with a playful pout, mashing the buttons on her controller. "I meant like… something fun or something."
"Well…"
Shirou thought back. School had been—objectively—fine. Yuigahama had asked him to eat lunch with her, but her friends wanted her attention more. He met someone new—kind of. And then...
"Well, I kinda… joined a club."
Komachi immediately turned her head in surprise. "Eh?!" she blurted, eyes wide.
In that exact moment, her sudden motion caused her to miss a crucial combo—again.
"YES! I WINNN!" Lancer shouted triumphantly, nearly jumping off the floor with his arms raised.
"Ahh! No fair, I was distracted!" Komachi cried.
"That's on you, young lady," Cu said smugly. "Distractions
in battle mean defeat."
"Tch," she murmured, glaring at the screen for a moment before glancing back at her brother. "But Oni-chan, didn't you say you were part of the 'Go-Home Club'?"
That… must've been that guy—his other self—who said that.
"W-well," Shirou stammered slightly, looking away. "Komachi… people change."
"Haaa? You change?" she leaned closer with a teasing smile. "That's so funny, Oni-chan…"
But then—something flickered in her mind.
Her brother. Lonely. Cynical. Barely said a word to people for almost two years.
Yet yesterday—he had friends come over.
Not just friends… female friends.
And then there was the way he cooked—something so simple, yet somehow refined and comforting. Not just delicious, but almost like the dish itself understood your emotions. Something felt… off.
"Wait," Komachi said, narrowing her eyes, "Oni-chan…
you did change."
"Should we take you to the hospital?" she asked, her voice uncertain, brows furrowing. "I mean—what kind of change makes you act like this?"
"Komachi, I think you're just overthinking it—" Shirou tried to brush it off.
"No, Oni-chan! There's definitely something wrong with you!" she snapped back, crossing her arms. Then she turned sharply to Lancer. "Cu! Tell me—has Oni-chan always been like this, or is this something new?"
"Huh?" Lancer blinked, mid-sip from his canned coke. "What do you mean? The guy's been like this ever since I met him. Nothing weird far as I can tell."
There was a pause.
A slow, cold realization dawned on Komachi's face.
"Wait… wait, wait, wait—YOU'RE HIS FRIEND?!"
Her voice practically cracked as she pointed at Lancer like she just discovered he was secretly a kaiju in disguise.
Lancer raised an eyebrow. "...Yeah?"
"WHAT?!"
Shirou could only watch everything unfold, silently wondering how things escalated so quickly. He blinked once. Then twice.
He wasn't sure anymore what kind of day he was having.
---
The next day.
…
School had ended.
Emiya now found himself walking toward the special building—or to be exact, toward that clubroom.
Yes, yes… the Service Club.
What a weird name for a club that existed solely to help people. Even now, he found the name a bit too straightforward for something that always felt far more complicated underneath.
He slid open the door with a quiet shfft, revealing the sight within: Yukino Yukinoshita—one of the school's recognized beauties—was already there, seated with a book in hand. Her expression seemed just slightly dazed, as if she had just been dozing off while pretending to read.
Shirou gave a small knock on the already-opened door before stepping in. "Yukinoshita, I'm coming in, alright," he said with casual politeness.
She blinked, then slowly turned her gaze—left, then right—before finally locking eyes with him.
"Ah, Hikigaya," she said. "Yes, you may enter."
Shirou stepped inside and quietly moved toward the back of the room to grab one of the spare chairs. Dragging it over, he sat down across from the girl before him.
He glanced at her.
Yukinoshita's head bobbed slightly, as if trying not to fall asleep, her body stubbornly fighting the inevitable pull of drowsiness. She kept forcing herself upright, blinking slowly, as though she had stayed up far too late the night before.
Shirou then reached into his bag and pulled something out.
"Yukinoshita-san," he called gently.
"Hmmm?" she murmured, lifting her head to face forward—only to see a hand stretched out toward her.
A candy.
Shirou was holding a small piece of wrapped candy, offering it to her without much fanfare.
"A candy?" she asked.
He nodded, then explained, "Well… people say that when you're feeling sleepy, it's a good time to eat something sweet. It helps wake you up a little."
Yukinoshita tilted her head slightly. Even if the explanation made sense, she still found it… oddly considerate. And unexpected.
"It's bad for your teeth, you know that," she said with a light frown.
"Well," he shrugged, "eating one every now and then probably won't kill person, right?"
She looked down at the candy in his hand, hesitating for a moment.
"…W-well, I guess so," she muttered, before slowly taking it from him. She unwrapped it in silence and placed it in her mouth.
(Too sweet,) she thought with a small wince.
"So," Shirou asked, "what exactly is our club activity today, Yukinoshita?"
"Well—" she began, finishing the last bit of candy in her mouth before speaking clearly again, "—how about we continue our session from yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" Shirou blinked, unsure.
"Yeah. You know, the one about fixing your problem."
"...I think that was just a misunderstanding," Shirou replied, scratching his cheek awkwardly. "I don't think it's something you should worry too much about, Yukinoshita-san."
"Yes, I believe it was a misunderstanding," she said flatly, setting her book aside with a soft thump.
"A misunderstanding of your exact real problem."
Shirou stared.
"…That sounds like something even more complicated."
"It is," she nodded. "Which is why we need to address it properly."
A single drop of sweat rolled down Shirou's temple as confusion crept across his face.
"What do you mean by that…?" he muttered quietly.
"Well, for starters—Hikigaya—no… Shirou Emiya," Yukinoshita said calmly, closing her book with a soft snap.
"Eh?"
Shirou flinched slightly.
His real name.
A jolt of shock ran through him.
"Um, why… why did you call me Shirou, Yukinoshita-san?"
"Because that's your real name, isn't it?" she replied, tilting her head slightly. "Well—not exactly. It appears you have… another name too. Or rather, had."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "...How do you even know that?"
"Hiratsuka-sensei gave me some information about you as well."
Shirou blinked.
That—
That was absolutely an invasion of privacy.
"…Wait. A teacher's even allowed to do that?" he asked.
Yukinoshita didn't answer right away. She only sipped her tea.
"Probably not," she said at last. "But in her case, I believe she thought it was necessary. After all, you're—how do I put it—exceptionally strange."
(…I'm going to take that as an insult.) Shirou thought silently, suppressing a sigh.
"Well, Yukinoshita," he said aloud, "while I might be seen as a loner, if that's how people choose to view me… I still believe it's not something worth digging into to the extent of learning about my background."
"I'm not talking about that," she replied flatly.
"Eh?"
"Emiya," she emphasized, switching deliberately to his true family name.
"Try looking at yourself more carefully. Honestly, the first time I met you, I already felt that you weren't the kind of loner Hiratsuka-sensei described you as. In fact…"
She paused for a moment before continuing.
"Based on the data Hiratsuka-sensei provided, you've been considered a problematic student—a boy with 'dead fish eyes' and an excessively cynical outlook toward the world."
Shirou's expression stiffened.
But not because she said it out loud.
What surprised him more was just how much data Hiratsuka-sensei apparently had on his alternate self.
"Now, Emiya, tell me—do you even look close to what this description says about you?"
Shirou looked at his hand, at his body.
"...No?"
"Exactly. Do you see the problem?"
That statement hit hard, as if she were starting to realize he wasn't the so-called alternate self of Hikigaya Emiya.
Should he dodge it?
Or maybe... should he finally let out the two-day-old secret he'd been keeping from everyone around him?
Knock knock.
They both turned toward the door.
"Come in," Yukinoshita said.
The door opened slowly but surely, revealing none other than—
Yuigahama Yui.
"Excuse me," she said quietly. "Hiratsuka-sensei told me to come here, so..."
She mumbled as she stepped in, her eyes eventually locking onto Emiya.
"Wh-what is Hikki doing here?!"
She sounded so shocked.
But in Shirou's mind, he wasn't wondering why Yuigahama was here.
He was wondering—
Since when did 'Emiyachi'
…get replaced with 'Hikki'?
"Well, I'm kind of a club member," he said.
And for some reason…
Why did it feel like she was more energetic than the first time he meet her?
Then Yukinoshita stood up, walked to the back of the room, and brought over a chair. She placed it beside her own.
"Class C-2, Yui Yuigahama, correct? Please, have a seat."
Yuigahama looked delighted upon hearing that and quickly made her way forward to sit down.
"Oh, so you, like, know about me!"
"I believe she probably knows everyone in this school," Emiya interjected.
"No. If Hiratsuka-sensei hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known you at all, Emiya-san."
"I-I… is that so?" said Shirou, glancing at the girl who had done research about him on her own.
He then turned to Yuigahama.
"So, Yuigahama... what exactly did you come here for?"
"Well—"
///////
The next scene took place in one of the school's specialized rooms—more specifically, the cooking room used by the Home Economics Club. Wide steel countertops stretched along the walls, while the center was lined with prep tables. A slight scent of flour and oil lingered in the air, remnants of past club activities.
"She wants to make homemade cookies for someone?"
Yukinoshita nodded. She was now holding a bowl and some cooking utensils.
"She wants someone to eat her handmade cookies, apparently."
"Eh, isn't that great, Yui Yuigahama-san? To even do something like that for someone you like," Shirou said warmly.
"Eh, um, I-I guess so..."
Yukinoshita then interrupted, glancing toward Yuigahama with a flat expression.
"However, she doesn't have the capabilities—nor the confidence—in her baking skills. So she'd like us to lend her a hand."
She walked over and placed the utensils down on the table.
"That's her request."
Shirou found it a little strange. It wasn't that he didn't want to help—far from it. But something about the situation felt... off. Wasn't Yuigahama supposed to have friends? Especially that one girl...
He narrowed his eyes slightly as the memory flickered in his mind.
A certain girl came to mind. Pink hair, energetic, a bit loud. And of course, the rather exaggerated proportions that were impossible not to notice.
"8K," Shirou murmured under his breath.
"8K?" Yuigahama tilted her head, confused by the sudden word.
"Ah, it's nothing," Shirou replied quickly. Then added, "Well, not trying to offend you or anything, but… don't you already have a friend? Why ask us—people who barely even have any?"
"You shouldn't lump your weaknesses in with mine, Emiya," Yukinoshita replied coolly, already beginning to plan the baking process in her head.
"A-Ahahah..." He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. The girl's sharp. Not that I can deny it. He thought
"W-Well, you know… I just don't want people to find out..." Yuigahama mumbled, her eyes drifting down nervously.
"Is that so?" Shirou asked.
She nodded quickly. "Yeah, and—and I heard from Hiratsuka-sensei that you guys grant student wishes, right?"
Yukinoshita gave her a sidelong glance, then turned fully to Yuigahama and said flatly, "Wrong. The Service Club doesn't grant wishes. We help. That's all. We don't bring the water to the horse—we make the horse find its own way. A simple modern philosophy. Similar to, 'Don't give a man a fish, teach him how to fish.'"
"How can you make that many mistakes at once?" Yukinoshita questioned the girl beside her with a sigh.
It wasn't just the measuring, or the mixing, or the timing—it was everything. She even messed up the final, most important part: the oven settings. Instead of setting the timer properly, she somehow doubled the heat level Yukinoshita had clearly told her to use.
It was a miracle the oven didn't explode.
Well... I still need to try it," Shirou said, then picked up a single—uhm—cookie from the plate and put it into his mouth.
"Uhk—khu—huk—!" He coughed instantly.
"Hikki, are you alright?" Yuigahama asked, concerned.
(Yup, it's bad, Shirou thought.)
(And why did she still call me by that...?)
The answer to Shirou's question was simple: women were complicated enough that you never knew what was going on inside their heads.
Of course, the real reason was anime logic. There's no way a girl could just say a boy's first name in front of others—especially someone of the opposite gender. That would mean she liked him.
He then turned his eyes forward, revealing a glass of water.
"Here, Emiya-kun," said Yukinoshita-san.
"Ah, thank you."
He began gulping the water, slowly easing the pain his throat had just suffered.
"Haaaa..." he exhaled in relief.
But then—he felt it.
A gaze.
Yuigahama was staring at him.
Not intensely. Not aggressively. Just—waiting.
That kind of gaze that clings, hesitant and unsure, like she already knew the truth but still wanted to be told otherwise.
He glanced at her—twice.
Then, without a word, shifted his eyes toward the girl standing calmly beside her.
Yukinoshita didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
He sighed. The kind of sigh you let out when you're stuck between honesty and mercy.
"W-well..." he began, carefully choosing his words like one defuses a bomb,
"...it's maybe a tiny bity improvement..."
A silence hung. Not hostile. Just awkward.
He then reached for the buttons on his vest, unfastening them one by one before pulling it off. Carefully, he draped it over the back of the chair beside the window, letting the warm afternoon light catch the school emblem stitched on its back.
Without looking at them, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt—left first, then right—his movements calm, practiced, mechanical.
"Well then, Yuigahama," he said at last, his tone quiet but not unkind.
"Look closely, okay?"
Shirou stood by the counter, checking the ingredients one by one. "Butter's too cold. That's going to ruin the mix."
He reached for the stick of butter, cutting it into smaller cubes. "Yuigahama, microwave this for just ten seconds. Not more. We want it softened, not melted."
"R-right!" she rushed off.
He cracked two eggs into a small bowl, checking their freshness. "Always crack them separately. If one's bad, it won't ruin everything else."
Yukinoshita observed, arms crossed, silently watching him move like clockwork. Shirou picked up the whisk and beat the eggs until pale yellow.
Yuigahama returned. "Here!"
He pressed a finger into the butter. "Perfect."
He dropped it into a mixing bowl with sugar and began creaming it by hand, fast and rhythmically, using the wooden spoon with controlled force. "You want it fluffy. That's how you get air in the dough. Don't rush it—don't baby it either."
"Whoa…"
Next, he sifted the flour, baking soda, and a pinch of salt. "Lumps kill the texture," he muttered. "No shortcuts."
He combined the dry mix slowly into the wet ingredients. "If it feels too dry, you went wrong somewhere. Cookie dough should feel like clay—malleable but not wet."
Yuigahama leaned over, eyes wide. "You make it look easy."
"Because I've messed it up enough times before," he replied flatly, scooping the dough and portioning it onto a tray. "Even a good cookie can go bad if you crowd the tray. Give them space. They need room to breathe."
He slid the tray into the oven and adjusted the dial precisely. "180°C. Not a degree more. Twelve minutes. Not one second longer."
Then he stood back and wiped his hands on a cloth, his face calm, though his eyes scanned the oven like a hawk.
When the timer rang, he grabbed the mitts and pulled out the tray.
Golden brown. Crispy at the edges. Still soft in the center.
He tapped the tray gently. The cookies jiggled slightly—just enough.
He placed one on a cooling rack, waited a few seconds, then broke it in half.
Steam rose.
It smelled like actual cookies this time.
He tossed one half to Yukinoshita, who caught it with a slight frown, and handed the other to Yuigahama.
"Go on. Tell me if it's edible."
They both took a bite.
For a moment, silence. Then—
Eyes widened. A pause. A glance exchanged between them.
It was impressive.
No, more than that—surprising.
Surprising that something so plain-looking, so simple in shape and color, could carry that much warmth. It wasn't fancy. It didn't melt in your mouth with dramatic flair. But it was honest.
A cookie that made you want to take another bite before you even finished the first.
"Hikki! This is good!" Yuigahama's voice came with unfiltered excitement. "Not only are you good at cooking, but baking too?"
"I'm surprised," Yukinoshita added, after a moment longer, her gaze lowered as if studying the crumbs in her hand. "Uhm... Emiya-kun. While it's indeed simple... the taste is, well—amazing."
Shirou blinked.
"You guys sure?" He took a small bite of the cookie he still held.
Chewed once. Then again.
He tilted his head, brow slightly furrowed. "It tastes pretty normal," he said plainly, genuinely confused. "No need to exaggerate."
Because to him, it really was just a cookie.
What he didn't know—couldn't quite understand—was that for someone tasting a handmade cookie like that for the first time, baked with skill and care… it wasn't just about the flavor.
It was about what it reminded them of.
And sometimes, that was what made something truly taste good.
"Well, I guess our work here is done—"
Before Yukinoshita could finish, Shirou spoke.
"No."
His voice was calm but firm. He turned to face her, arms crossed, a quiet resolve in his eyes.
"We merely gave them a taste of the fish. Isn't it time they tried catching it themselves? Or to be exact try again
Shirou said with a faint smile, his gaze shifting toward Yuigahama—steady, patient, yet quietly encouraging.
Shirou said with a faint smile, his gaze shifting toward Yuigahama—steady, patient, yet quietly encouraging.
Yuigahama blinked, then quickly looked away, fiddling with her sleeves. "I-I mean… I don't mind trying again, but... I'm not exactly the best student, you know?"
Shirou stepped forward, quietly rolling up his sleeves. "That's fine. You're not doing it alone"
He reached over, picking up the piping bag she'd barely managed to hold earlier. Then, without asking, he gently took her hand—his fingers wrapping around hers, steadying her grip with a calm firmness.
Yuigahama flinched at first but didn't pull away. "E-eh?! W-we're doing it like this?"
"Relax," he said, voice low but clear. "Focus on the pressure here. Keep it steady—like this."
Their hands moved together, guiding the soft dough in a slow, careful motion across the baking tray.
Yukinoshita, watching silently from behind, narrowed her eyes ever so slightly before exhaling through her nose and turning back to the counter.
The room, for a moment, was quiet—only the sound of dough being piped and hearts awkwardly beating louder than necessary.
--
Part one ended