Chapter 26: The Crack
The door of the Matou mansion closed behind her with a dull, final sound, like the lid of a coffin sealing its occupant inside.
Sakura stood there, her back against the wood, listening to her heartbeat try to calm down after the run from the corner where Shirou had left her. The darkness of the entrance hall enveloped her like a familiar embrace, that embrace which didn't comfort but reminded her, with every pore of her skin, where she was and to whom she belonged.
But her mind… her mind was still out there, on the street, in the park, at the bakery.
She could still feel the weight of the cream bun in her hands, that first bite that had been sweeter than anything she had tasted in years. She could still hear Shirou's laugh when she admitted—with a shyness that embarrassed her—that, like him, her favorite color was the same as her hair color.
She had laughed. She, Sakura Matou, the girl who had forgotten how to do it, had laughed. For a moment, just a moment, she had been a normal person. A normal girl, on a normal date, with a normal boy.
'It's not a date,' She reprimanded herself, clenching her fists against her chest. 'It can't be a date. Not for me. Not with what I am. Not with what I'm going to do to him.'
But her heart didn't listen. Her heart kept beating to the rhythm of his voice, his smile, that way he looked at her as if she were something precious instead of something broken.
She remembered the moment they sat on the park bench, watching the sunset. Shirou had been talking about something, she didn't remember what, when he suddenly stopped and looked at her with that intensity of his that made her feel naked.
— Sakura,— he had said.— Can I ask you something?
She had nodded, her heart in her throat.
— Are you happy?
The question had hit her like a train. No one asked her that. No one cared about her happiness. Not even herself, who had buried that concept along with her childhood.
— I don't know,— she had replied, honestly.— I think… it's been a long time since I thought about that.
Shirou had nodded slowly, as if understanding something she hadn't said.
— Then,— he said, with a gentleness that hurt.— from now on, every time you're with me, I want you to think about it. Just for a moment. Are you happy now?
And she had looked at him, and she had felt the warmth of his presence, and she had noticed how the worms inside her quieted, and she had thought 'Yes. Yes, right now, in this instant, I am happy.'
But she didn't say it. She couldn't. Saying it would have been admitting that she deserved to be, and that was too great a heresy for her broken soul.
— I'll try,— she whispered instead.
And he had smiled, and that smile had been worth more than all the words in the world.
* * *
Sakura pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to feel that constant movement that was her perpetual companion. They were there, yes. Restless. Nervous. Crawling tirelessly inside her, as always in this house, as always in her life.
But a few hours ago, when she was with him…
'It wasn't the music. It was him.'
She remembered the moment Shirou had started playing the piano. The melody had been beautiful, yes, but unlike what she thought at first, it was when he turned and looked at her, when he smiled at her with that warmth that seemed impossible in such a cold world… the worms, which never stopped, which always crawled tirelessly inside her, had gone still. Truly motionless.
It wasn't an exaggeration, but a fact. During all the time she spent with Shirou, from that first moment in the music room to the farewell on the corner, the Crest Worms had been… paralyzed. As if they had forgotten their purpose. As if they had been hypnotized.
At first, in her naivety, she thought it was the music. That even those monstrous creatures could be soothed by the beauty of art. But as the day progressed, as they walked and talked and laughed, she began to notice something more.
When Shirou drew near, the worms retreated.
When his gaze settled on her, the worms shrank.
When his voice sounded soft and warm, the worms… "fell silent."
It wasn't a passive pause. It was an active withdrawal. As if they were trying to make themselves small, invisible, as if…
'As if they were afraid he might see them.'
The thought hit her with the force of a punch to the stomach. Sakura stood still, processing the idea with a mix of disbelief and a hope so fragile she barely dared to hold it.
'Afraid? My worms are afraid of Shirou? Of a twelve-year-old boy with a broken arm?'
But the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. The Crest Worms weren't stupid creatures. They were extensions of Zouken's will, yes, but they also had their own instincts. They knew how to recognize danger. They knew when to hide. And in the presence of Shirou Emiya, they hid.
'What are you really, Shirou?' She wondered, while a part of her, the one that still remembered what it was like to feel something other than pain, clung to that question like a castaway to a plank. 'What do you have that scares them so much?'
She didn't know. But for the first time, ignorance wasn't a condemnation. It was a possibility.
* * *
— Welcome home, dear Sakura.
The voice dragged Sakura back to reality with the violence of a whip crack. Zouken Matou was there, in the dimness of the hallway, leaning on his cane with that eerie smile that always made her blood run cold. The dying light of an oil lamp cast twisted shadows on his face, accentuating the deep wrinkles, the watery yellow eyes, that expression of an owner surveying his merchandise.
Sakura felt her throat close up. Her mind, which moments ago had been flying free, remembering the warmth of the day, was trapped again in the cage of her body. Zouken's words were like needles: precise, painful, inevitable.
— How did your… mission go?— he asked, savoring each word like a delicacy, as if the simple act of asking was a form of torture.
— I… I spent time with him,— she managed to articulate, in a voice that was barely a whisper. Her hands, instinctively, clasped in front of her, the protective gesture she had perfected over the years.
— I see. And?
— And… nothing more. We just talked. Walked. Ate something.
Zouken approached slowly, his cane marking the rhythm on the floorboards. Tock. Tock. Tock. Each strike was a countdown, a reminder that time in this house didn't belong to the living, but to the dead who refused to leave.
— Just talked?— he repeated, with a tone of cruel amusement.— Just walked? Just ate?— He stopped in front of her, so close that Sakura could smell his rancid breath, that mix of rot and something older, something that had ceased to be human centuries ago.— It seems my little granddaughter is enjoying her mission a bit too much.
— No… it's not that…
— No?— Zouken's bony hand rose and caressed Sakura's cheek with a false tenderness that churned her stomach. His fingers, cold as the grave, traced the outline of her jaw with deliberate slowness.— Because in your eyes I see something different today. Something I don't like. Could it be that my submissive puppet is developing feelings for her target?
Sakura wanted to deny it. She wanted to scream that no, that she never, that she didn't deserve, that she couldn't, that she was a dirty, broken girl, unworthy of something as pure as what she had felt today. But the words wouldn't come. Because deep down, in that place that still dared to feel despite everything, she knew it was true.
Shirou Emiya had shown her in a single day more warmth than her entire family in years. He had offered her a cream bun and a smile and a "Are you happy?" that resonated in her chest like a bell. And that… that was dangerous. For him. For her. For everyone.
Zouken laughed, a dry, crackling sound like dead leaves blown by the wind. The sound bounced off the walls of the entrance hall, multiplying, mocking her.
— It doesn't matter,— he said, withdrawing his hand and turning his back on her.— In fact, it's better this way. The more he trusts you, the easier it will be when the time comes.
He walked toward the interior of the mansion, his hunched silhouette outlined against the dimness. But before disappearing completely, he turned one last time. His yellow eyes glowed in the darkness like an insect's.
— Keep it up, dear. Get close to him. Make yourself indispensable. Learn his fears, his dreams, his weaknesses. And when I give the word…— His smile widened grotesquely, showing black gums and yellowish teeth.— You'll break his heart. It'll be good training for what comes after.
He moved away down the hallway, leaving Sakura trembling at the entrance. The echo of his footsteps and the tapping of his cane slowly faded, absorbed by the darkness of the mansion.
Tock. Tock. Tock.
Silence.
* * *
Sakura stood motionless for a long time. She didn't know how long. Time in this house meant nothing; it was a concept belonging to the outside world. Here, only waiting existed. The eternal, interminable wait.
But as his hunched figure disappeared into the darkness, Sakura felt something she hadn't felt in years: a small, tiny, almost imperceptible crack in the absolute control Zouken exerted over her.
He didn't know.
He didn't know the worms had quieted. He didn't know that, for a moment, she had stopped being a receptacle of pain and suffering and had simply been… Sakura.
Zouken controlled everything. Or so he believed. He knew her every movement, her every thought, every beat of her enslaved heart. But he couldn't feel what his own Crest Worms felt. He couldn't know that, in the presence of Shirou Emiya, those creatures shrank in fear like wolves before a much larger predator.
* * *
Her room greeted her with its familiar smell of dampness and solitude. Sakura collapsed onto the bed, not even bothering to change her clothes. The ceiling, cracked and stained with moisture, was her only companion on the endless nights.
But tonight was different.
She brought a hand to her chest, right where she felt the constant movement of the Crest Worms. They were restless. Agitated. As they always were. But as she remembered the day, the conversations, Shirou's face… the worms slowed their pace, almost… cautious.
'Fear,' She thought. 'They're afraid. And if they're afraid…'
If they, who were extensions of Zouken's will, were afraid of Shirou… then perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in that boy that could stand up to her grandfather. Something that could protect her. Something that could…
'No. Don't think that. You can't think that. You don't have the right.'
Guilt hit her with the force of a wave. How dare she think of hope? How dare she imagine a better future, when that same future meant Shirou's destruction? Because Zouken wouldn't stop. He never stopped. And when the moment came, she would be the instrument of his downfall.
A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another. And another.