At the hotel where Kenneth was staying, an arson attack broke out that night.
The arsonist, however, had pressed the alarm in advance, giving the guests enough time to evacuate.
"There's a fire downstairs."
Sola put down the phone from the hotel staff and turned toward Kenneth, who was lounging in an armchair watching TV footage of the mysterious gas-leak explosion at Fuyuki Bay a few days earlier.
"Arson, with a preemptive evacuation. It's probably Saber's Master, attacking to cure his Servant's left-hand wound.
"We ignore it. I've already laid twenty-four bounded fields on this floor and summoned dozens of wraiths and spirits to defend it. Let the attacker come and see whether he can break through the magical workshop fortress built by Kenneth El-Melloi.
"Lancer, go downstairs and prepare to engage. I will not permit you to fail this time!"
The slicked-back blond man spoke with absolute confidence. The tear-moled Servant beside him bowed.
"I will not disappoint you, my lord."
"Mr. Kenneth El-Melloi."
Out on the plaza in front of the hotel, staff were counting guests, worried someone might still be inside the burning building.
"That's me."
Only when the call was repeated a third time did a man answer. Seeing that he was Japanese, the staffer's expression turned a bit odd, as though to say, "So you're Kenneth El-Melloi, huh…," and he eyed the man skeptically.
"My wife Sola has already reached a safe place. There's no need to worry."
Kiritsugu Emiya answered without changing expression.
"All right."
Thinking to himself that this must be some local guy who had latched onto a rich foreign woman and taken a Western-sounding name, the staffer crossed off the names Kenneth El-Melloi and Sola-Ui Nuaba-Re on his list.
Kiritsugu seized the chance to glance at the clipboard and saw that most of the evacuees' names had already been crossed out. He stepped away from the crowd, pulled a folding cell phone from his pocket, and called his assistant Maiya Hisau.
From her, he confirmed that Kenneth on the top floor had not tried to escape. The magus killer then pressed the detonator.
There was never going to be any so‑called head-on duel of secret arts. Blowing up the entire building and letting it go into free fall to crush the enemy—that was the truly safe tactic.
"Even a Lord of the Clock Tower can't possibly survive a fall from 150 meters."
With that flag firmly planted, Mr. Magus Killer did not look back as he drove off.
The other would‑be attacker, who under normal circumstances would have been there, was absent—because he was currently escorting his teacher's younger daughter to her mother. In a secondary residence of the Zenjou family in the nearby town of Fukayori, he was handing the girl over to Aoi Zenjou.
"Ma'am, I've brought Miss Sakura. My task is complete. Please inform teacher."
"Thank you. I'll let Tokiomi know."
Aoi nodded and opened her arms for the daughter who ran into them.
"Mom, I missed you so much."
Though Father gave young Sakura a sense of safety, only a mother's arms held that particular gentle warmth.
"Sakura, I missed you too."
Aoi's eyes shone with motherly love as she hugged the girl and buried her face in Sakura's hair.
"And me, and me…"
Rin Tohsaka hopped excitedly at the side, wanting to be close to the sister she had not seen for half a month.
"Big sis~"
Once Aoi let her go, Sakura leapt onto Rin and hugged her tightly.
Mother reunited with daughter, and sisters embracing—it all looked very heartwarming. But Kirei knew this was really Tokiomi's way of having his wife encourage the girl who had fled the Matou house to face bravely her destiny as the Matou heir.
Compared to stern lectures, even that rigid "model magus" had a gentler side when it came to his daughter. It was truly surprising.
"Well then, ma'am, I won't intrude any longer. Please help Miss Sakura pull herself together. When that time comes, I'll come again."
This trivial task had been handed to him by his teacher, tying him up so thoroughly that he had no chance to properly keep track of the other Masters and Servants—especially that man named Kiritsugu Emiya. Suppressing his own strange dissatisfaction, Kirei left the Zenjou residence after saying this.
….
"Grandpa, Broly wants to study."
While Sakura was being delivered to the Zenjou family and about to be encouraged by her mother, at the Fujimura house a freshly bathed Broly was brought before Raiga Fujimura by Taiga, who spoke on the boy's behalf.
"Please, Grandpa Fujimura."
Broly copied the pleading posture Taiga had taught him in the bath, bowing and asking the old man for help.
"Study, huh. Yes, a child should get an education."
Raiga nodded. In the old days, swaggering around in the underworld had been good enough, but as times changed he had realized that even in the yakuza, the future belonged to those with enough schooling.
"Well then, Grandpa…"
Taiga started to speak, but Raiga cut her off.
"But is this child really ready for school?
"He's obviously very young. If he enrolls now, he'll be put in kindergarten.
"And what do you learn in kindergarten? It's basically just a place to play and make friends.
"Instead of sending him there, better to keep him in the Fujimura house.
"Let him be steeped in our atmosphere from childhood and grow into a fine, upstanding son of the Fujimura family."
The old man said this with a straight face.
"Grandpa, stop trying to lead him astray. There's no future in the yakuza."
Taiga slapped both palms on the table and roared at him.
"What do you mean 'no future'? That's just because none of you brats want to take over the family business."
Raiga slammed the table back, glaring. Sparks seemed to crackle between their eyes—a worn old tiger and his young tigress cub squaring off.
In the end, seeing that his granddaughter would not back down, Raiga relented—but set his own conditions.
"If he really wants to learn, then he should go straight to elementary school. And since you don't want him in the yakuza and still expect support from this family, then you'll have to make him prove his talent and worth in academics. I want you to guarantee that his grades stay at a good level. Can you do that?"
"No problem."
Taiga thumped her chest. Broly seemed pretty bright; she chose to trust his ability to learn.
"And if there is a problem and you try to weasel out of it?"
Raiga asked suddenly.
"Impossible."
Taiga dismissed the idea at once. But faced with her grandfather's look of "You've backed out of things before," her voice weakened. "Then what do you say?"
"It's not that hard. When the time comes, I'll step down. All you'll have to do is take over the family and become the new head of the Fujimura Group."
Raiga smiled as he said it, but his words revealed the knife.
"Only if you accept this condition will the Fujimura family sponsor the boy."
"Grandpa, that's dirty."
"There's no helping it. Your father refuses the inheritance, and you look like you don't want it either. So, will you agree? If not, we keep the kid here and raise him ourselves."
Taiga glanced back at the clarity in Broly's eyes and decided she could not let this child be dragged down by Fujimura's yakuza ways. She slapped the table again.
"Fine, Grandpa. I accept."
"Bring me the phone. I'll call the principal at Fukayori Town's No. 1 Elementary and have them take a transfer student."
Getting a child with no official registration into school was troublesome for ordinary people, but for the local power that was the Fujimura Group in Fuyuki, it was just a phone call.
That said, the yakuza identity could cause misunderstandings, so the local Fuyuki schools would not be very keen. But if they picked a school in a nearby town and kept things low‑key, enrollment would not be a problem.
"Boss, do you really think the young lady will keep that promise?"
After Taiga left with Broly, the scar‑faced man asked.
"It's the first time I've seen her care that much about someone."
"She's just kind-hearted. Probably just pities the kid."
"As long as she keeps pitying him, she'll keep her promise and inherit the family business."
"And if the kid turns out to be really good at studying?"
The scar‑faced man pressed, implying a question: should they interfere with the boy's schooling?
"If he is, then he can help prepare for washing the Fujimura Group clean."
"Huh?"
"My granddaughter was right about one thing—there's no future in the yakuza."
"You're not optimistic about the business either, Boss?"
"It's not optimism or pessimism. It's just the way the times are going."
Raiga sighed. He had seen the underworld at its peak and could now feel how far it had fallen.
"And if the kid's not good at studying?"
The scar‑faced man asked again.
"Even if the world is leaving us behind, where there is light, there will always be shadow. The Fujimura Group will continue to exist in that shadow, even if diminished. We won't vanish so easily. I trust my granddaughter's ability.
"As for the boy, whether he becomes 'good' or 'bad,' as long as he's capable, he can be a support to Taiga—just like you."
"Boss, that's wise. I'll help train the boy's loyalty to the Fujimura family and to the young lady."
Broly knew nothing of Raiga's plans and expectations for him. All he knew was that, with his time in this world one day shorter, he now had the identity of a transfer student at Fukayori Town's No. 1 Elementary School.
….
"Broly, you have to study hard. If you don't understand something, ask the teacher."
The next morning, at parting, Taiga gave him these instructions.
She herself was in her middle school uniform.
It was Monday, a school day.
The scar-faced man drove Broly to Fukayori No. 1 Elementary. All the way, he preached about how good the young lady had been to him and how Broly should be grateful, work hard, and repay her kindness.
At first, Broly listened and nodded. After all, even a meal's worth of kindness should be repaid a hundredfold. But as the speech went on and on, repeating itself like a mantra, he began to yawn. The endless repetition was like hypnosis, making him sleepy.
….
"So this is the child?"
The principal of Fukayori No. 1 looked Broly over when the scar-faced man brought him in, then told the teacher he had summoned ahead of time, "Mr. Kimura, take him to be tested and see what grade he fits."
The results were no surprise. Testing revealed a completely illiterate child. Broly was placed in first grade.
Within half a day, though, the teachers were at their wits' end.
"Principal, this child asks too many questions. I said 1+1=2, and he asked me why 1+1 equals 2. How am I supposed to answer that?"
"Same here. The boy is bright—smarter than the other kids—but he just asks too many questions. An entire class period becomes him asking and me answering. If his questions had meaning, fine, but some of them are totally pointless—just a kid's obsessive nitpicking."
By the end of the morning's four periods, four different teachers had come to complain. It was not that they lacked patience, but that Broly's performance as an in‑class question machine was too much. It was seriously affecting their teaching of the other children.
"It's normal for kids to be curious. Didn't you tell him not to ask meaningless questions?"
"We did. It didn't work. He said his big sister told him before he came that whenever he doesn't understand something, he should ask the teacher.
"He clings to that. If he doesn't understand, he asks. Even if you punish him by making him stand, he just keeps asking like he can't read the room at all."
"What's worse, I tried smacking his palm with a switch to make him stop. The kid obeyed and held out his hand. But no matter how I hit him, he just kept asking with no change in expression. I've taught children for years and never seen one like this."
There was one thing she did not say: that being stared at by that boy frightened her a little.
It was not that he ever looked resentful. On the contrary, he was too calm—so calm she could not tell what he was thinking, and that unknown beneath the calm made her uneasy.
It sounded vague, but that was how it felt. After just one class, these first-grade teachers already found this transfer student very hard to handle.