Ever since his training was transferred from his father's hands to his mother's, the boy's life had become carefree and untroubled. Sometimes, even he couldn't help sighing to himself: So it's true what they say—indulgent mothers really do raise spoiled sons.
Though his days were pleasant and easy, his "dream" of going outside had still never come true. More than once, he wondered if he was actually under house arrest. Could he be some noble heir, kept as a political hostage to be sent off to another country? But come on—he was just a kid. Did they really need to keep such a tight watch on him?
Or maybe… maybe they had already realized that although he looked like a child, his mind carried the intelligence of an adult.
He had tried to sneak out more than once, but he never succeeded. Every gate was guarded, and even the seemingly deserted walls had eyes—if he so much as tried to climb one, someone would suddenly appear out of nowhere to block him.
At one point, the boy even suspected he wasn't in ordinary ancient history at all, but in some kind of ninja world.
Eventually, he stopped overthinking. If I can't leave, then I won't. It's not like they can keep me locked up forever. When I grow up, I'll find out the truth anyway.
With that mindset, he resigned himself to this idle life—until one night.
"Shirō! Come here for a moment." His father returned home, face unusually grim.
Yes, Emiya Shirō. That infamous, fateful name. When the boy first learned it, he had been thrilled beyond belief. But his excitement quickly faded when he realized the era was all wrong—there wasn't a single trace of modern civilization here.
And thinking carefully: the Shirō he remembered had been adopted. The name only came after he was taken in. But in his case, he was born with it. His father's surname wasn't even Emiya. Which meant—it was nothing but a cruel coincidence.
Damn it, even my name is trolling me. He had once dreamed of becoming a magus, but now he was forced to swing a cold steel blade. And everyone knew: those who lived by the sword died by the sword. He had no interest in becoming some tragic swordsman. Since he was born into a noble family, why not sink into decadence instead?
Besides, he figured that with his knowledge far beyond the times, carving out a future would be easy. Even if he never became a warrior, he could always succeed as a scholar or bureaucrat.
Back to the present: his father's expression was dead serious—so serious that Shirō felt nervous. Even when he had been caught drinking before, his father had never looked this grim.
"Father… is something wrong?" he asked cautiously.
"Rest early tonight. Tomorrow, you're coming out with me," his father said flatly.
"Huh?! We're finally going out?! That's amazing!" Shirō leapt for joy. He had waited so long for this day, it felt like a dream come true.
"Don't get too excited. Tomorrow you stick close to me. Don't run around, don't speak carelessly. Do exactly as you're told," his father cut in sharply.
"…So… where exactly are we going?" Shirō quickly sensed something was off.
"Tomorrow is the young lady's coming-of-age ceremony. You must be cautious in both words and deeds. Any misstep could bring ruin to our family."
Now Shirō understood why his father was so grave. He didn't know who this "young lady" was, but from hearing his parents talk over the years, he had a vague idea. Their family was noble, yes—but only minor nobility. Above them stood the great noble houses. The so-called young lady belonged to one of those. In other words, compared to Shirō, she was a princess.
And everyone knew: serving royalty was like serving a tiger. The slightest misstep in etiquette could mean disaster.
"I'd… rather not go," Shirō muttered, shaking his head. What mattered more—his dream, or his life? There would be other chances to sneak outside later. He knew his priorities.
"You must. It's tradition. As the next head of the Emiya family, this is also your pledge of loyalty to the young lady," his father said.
So it was an oath of fealty. That meant skipping wasn't an option.
"…Fine. I'll just keep my mouth shut, then," Shirō said weakly.
"Don't scare the boy so much—it's not that bad," his mother interjected gently.
"Huh?!" Shirō blinked in surprise.
"What do you mean 'scaring him'? Am I not speaking the truth?" his father retorted.
"Don't listen to him," his mother told Shirō. "It's not nearly that troublesome. There are plenty of small families like ours. Just stay low-key and we'll pass unnoticed."
"Whew… that's a relief," Shirō sighed.
That night, he was so nervous he couldn't sleep. By dawn, dark circles shadowed his eyes.
"Hurry up, we're leaving!" his father barked.
"Alright, alright!" His mother shoved a neatly dressed Shirō out the door.
He glanced at his father's black kimono with a frown. Why did it look so familiar? He had no way of knowing—while his father wore casual clothes at home, this black formal garb was what he wore daily at "work."
"What are you staring at? Let's go!" His father tugged him along.
Shirō shrugged. Probably just déjà vu.
Outside, he looked around with wide-eyed curiosity—only to notice that nearly everyone else wore the same black robes as his father. A funeral? No, today's a celebration. Maybe this is just the clan's uniform? But then why am I in these colorful clothes instead of black? Not qualified?
Puzzled, he followed his father with the crowd until they arrived at a large bridge—or what looked like one. People knelt in rows along both sides beneath it. Obviously, the young lady would appear above.
His father knelt too. Shirō hesitated, but before he could decide, his father said quietly,
"You're still young. You don't need to kneel." (In the original story, even Soi Fon did not kneel here.)
"Mm." Shirō nodded. One bows only to God, to the world we live in, and to the ones who gave us life(TL: change the wording so it won't sound like chi*ese). Maybe also to a wife at the wedding altar. But to kneel to some noble girl? Not happening. At worst, I can tell myself I'm just practicing early for marriage vows.
Soon, the crowd fell utterly silent.
"She's here," everyone thought at once.
Shirō craned his neck. The moment a figure appeared, his eyes locked instinctively on the person at the center. His jaw dropped, his eyes went wide.
"Yoruichi?! Mmff-"
Luckily, his father's hand clamped over his mouth before the words slipped out.
Coincidence? Maybe she only looked the same?
But Shirō couldn't tear his gaze away from the poised, commanding figure above. His mind spun in circles.
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150 P.S = 1 Extra Chapter