Breakfast at the Emiya household had always been a lively affair, and today was no different. The smell of freshly cooked rice, miso soup, and grilled fish filled the air as Fujiwara Taiga and Matou Sakura sat at the dining table, eating with enthusiasm. Saber—who was, in reality, Shirō—sat across from them, watching them with a mixture of amusement and apprehension.
"Ahh, Saber-chan, you really are a lifesaver!" Fujiwara Taiga exclaimed between bites. "Your cooking tastes exactly like Shirō's!"
Sakura nodded, her expression soft but tinged with something melancholic. "It really does... It reminds me of him." She placed her chopsticks down for a moment, staring at her food. "I wonder when he'll be back..."
Fujiwara sighed dramatically, resting her chin in her hand. "Right? It's been too long! That idiot just disappeared! I swear, when I see him again, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Running off without saying a word? So irresponsible!"
Shirō inhaled sharply, her grip tightening around her own chopsticks. She had known this conversation would happen sooner or later, but actually hearing them say it… it made something twist painfully inside her. She wasn't coming back. She couldn't come back. Not as they knew her.
Enough was enough.
She put down her bowl, her expression serious. "Shirō's not coming back."
The casual morning atmosphere froze.
Sakura and Fujiwara both looked at her, puzzled.
"Huh?" Fujiwara blinked. "What do you mean?"
Shirō took a deep breath. She had thought about how to say this for days, but nothing could truly prepare her for it. "Because… I am Shirō."
Silence.
Then, laughter.
"G-Good one, Saber-chan," Fujiwara snorted, slapping the table. "Wow, you almost had me there! Saying you're Shirō… That's hilarious!"
Sakura giggled softly, shaking her head. "You shouldn't joke about things like that, Saber-san. Taiga-sensei and I are really worried about him."
Shirō had expected this reaction, but it still stung. She looked down at her hands—hands that no longer resembled the ones she used to have. Smaller, more delicate, and lacking the callouses that years of hard work had left behind.
"I'm not joking." She met their gazes, her voice firm. "I am Shirō. I don't know how, but I woke up one day looking like this."
Fujiwara and Sakura exchanged glances before bursting into laughter again.
Shirō clenched her fists. "I'm serious!"
"But that doesn't make any sense!" Fujiwara wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're Saber! Shirō's a boy! You don't just wake up one day as a different person!"
Sakura tilted her head slightly, smiling gently. "It's a funny thought, but there's no way that's true. Shirō never said anything about something like this."
Of course, they wouldn't believe her. She had prepared for this, but hearing them outright dismiss it made frustration bubble inside her. Fine. If words wouldn't work, she would prove it.
She took a deep breath and said something only Shirō Emiya would know.
At first, there was no reaction. Fujiwara and Sakura still looked skeptical. Then, their expressions shifted. Confusion, disbelief, and something close to fear.
"...Wait." Fujiwara's face paled. "How do you know that?"
Sakura, too, seemed frozen in place. Her lips parted slightly, and she stared at Shirō as if seeing her for the first time.
Shirō pressed forward, bringing up more moments—personal things. Stories and details only the three of them should know.
By the time she finished, Fujiwara had gone completely silent, her chopsticks forgotten in her hand. Sakura looked down, her fingers gripping the fabric of her skirt.
"...Wow." Fujiwara let out a breathless chuckle, but it wasn't amused. "Shirō… really shared that much with you?"
Shirō stared at them. Then, with unwavering certainty, she repeated, "Because I am Shirō."