AN: ...I might have a serious problem. I need help. Is there an AA for fanfiction?

Prologue

Glass is my Heart

Structural Analysis. It was the only spell his father would be willing to teach him so far. And the man had done such a lousy job at it, never fully telling him how to properly access his Magic Circuits and only going this far so Shirou would stop pestering him about magic. In fact, the man did this with such little vigor in hopes Shirou would give up with how difficult it was.

If only Kiritsugu understood what his son truly was.

In another world, Emiya Shirou would have been a normal boy blessed with a few Circuits (still never properly taught) who could turn his nerves into makeshift Circuits. He would be of flesh and blood, who struggled but never gave up. He would dive into his magic and what spells Kiritsugu would teach him with such discipline they would eventually become a magic that equaled legends.

But this wasn't that world. As there are an infinite number of worlds with an endless sort of possibilities, there also exist a few irregularities among them.

Shirou couldn't use Structural Analysis. Nor could he use any magic for that matter. He couldn't access any of his Circuits nor could he make new ones.

In this world, Shirou gave up on magic.

It unnerved Kiritsugu how quick the boy was to quitting after asking him for lessons. He had been adamant on learning thaumaturgy ever since Kiritsugu had told him what he was. Surely there must have been a reason for it.

Shirou… had never been what anyone would call a normal boy. He never played with the other children of the neighborhood. Taiga and her friend Otoko could rarely get a reaction out of him no matter how much they smothered him.

He never smiled. Nor did he frown. He never laughed nor did he cry. His expression was always blank, always watching, always observing. Kiritsugu would catch the boy trying to emulate him with his stalwart and pained expression. But it was clear in his eyes Shirou didn't understand any of it.

It was as though the boy hadn't a shred of human emotion within him.

Shirou always followed his father. Perhaps this was why he had asked for those magic lessons. He had wanted to imitate the man who adopted him.

As the years passed, as his body withered away to the point where he could no longer venture a plane ride to Germany let alone rescue his daughter from the Einzbern territory, he found himself spending more time with Shirou. And more, he realized, Shirou copied him in almost every way. From the way he sat, to how he drank his tea, to how he walked, even at the same moments to blink.

Of course, he told him he should try to be a bit more independent. Shirou's response was to only nod. Again, no words or emotion but simple acknowledgment.

His answer was to try to emulate Taiga and Otoko whenever they visited. Kiritsugu… put a stop to that immediately. No good could ever come out of such analytical replication of those two's habits.

"You're not using it right," Shirou said one day.

This had surprised Kiritsugu. As usual, the boy would stand in his shadow and observe him. Today was no different as Kiritsugu wasted away in the kitchen failing once again to make them dinner. He could have ordered takeout (as he always did) but Shirou had requested a home meal after being told some story by one of his classmates about family dinners. Kiritsugu thought to give it one more try, picked up the knife, and began to cut vegetables.

A mirthful smile crossed his lips, "I know. I wasn't very good at cutting. Would you like me to show you how to do it? Maybe you'll be better than me."

Standing on top of a chair, Shirou took the knife and listened to his father's instructions with the same focused observation as with anything else.

"No," the boy shook his head. "It's better if you do this."

Expertly, professionally, masterfully Shirou took a position and worked magic. His hands moved across the board with practiced ease.

"…Did Taiga teach you?" Kiritsugu asked.

Shirou shook his head.

"Otoko?"

Again, another shaking of the head.

Kiritsugu frowned. "How did you know how to do that?"

Shirou stared at the knife in his hand. His fingers curled around the grasp trying to find an adequate grip. "I… just do. This knife also needs to be sharpened. And if I were a little older I would have a better grip. What's the next step?"

Kiritsugu would have liked for Shirou to explain to him how he could dice vegetables at a professional level. He had obviously been working on it without him knowing to get to this point. Someone had to have taught him. But he let it slide and would reproach this matter for another time. He told his son the next step and watched him work.

Unfortunately, Shirou was at Kiritsugu's level with cookware and instruments not of the blade variety. His skills with a knife was astonishing but all other skills were amateurish.

In the end, they barely managed to make what could barely be passed as a bastardized version of curry with rice. It also wasn't very tasty.

But Shirou never complained. He never complained about anything anyways. But he also wasn't glad for anything.

"This is a family dinner…?" he looked around the table, at the food, and at Kiritsugu.

The fading man shrugged. "I don't think it matters what's prepared. So long as you have a meal with those closest to you."

There was a bit of nostalgia as he recalled every instance he and his teacher sat together and ate. It was usually shit for food. Very rarely did they have anything good.

"I will learn how to cook," Shirou stated. It wasn't a request or a desire. It was a simple truth. He would learn how to do it whether he wanted to or not. Not a hobby… but something to pass the time.

Kiritsugu frowned at this. "Shirou, if you ever decide to do something, do it because you want to."

He was the biggest hypocrite to walk the planet after giving such advice. He had done horrible things all over the globe not because he wanted to but because he had to. And in the end it amounted to nothing. He lost everything and was left a rotting mess. His time was coming soon. He felt it in his bones.

Shirou frowned, matching Kiritsugu's. "I… need to learn how to cook. How to prepare food. I will make you and others food. People come together for a good meal, don't they? That's what my classmates were saying."

Kiritsugu relented. The boy had a point. The man wouldn't be around for much longer and he would need to fend for himself. Granted he made a deal with Fujimura Raiga to take care of Shirou, and it was decided Taiga would be his legal guardian when she became of age. Shirou would be taken care of but at some point he would grow up. He was still young and didn't need these skills so soon. But if it was what he wanted…

"I'll make some calls…" was all Kiritsugu said. They sat in silence after that, finishing their meal.

0-0-0

To be a hero. That had been Kiritsugu's wish and he had held it even after his passing.

There came a lapse when he died. It was to be expected. Though he didn't cry, Shirou was nearly catatonic when his father was no longer there. Taiga was always there to cheer him up… or at least try and fail to. She usually made herself sad, cry, and it was Shirou who repeated her words to elevate her mood. Sometimes Otoko would come with her, though now that they were entering college her visits were rare.

It wasn't that Shirou was sad. Yes, there was a void in his life after his father had passed on, but not at an emotional level. Shirou was always distant with the people around him. He simply couldn't understand them. Why did they smile? Why did they cry? Why did they struggle or cheer over events? He thought if he could emulate Kiritsugu he could understand.

But now his father, his mentor, and his role model was gone. Shirou didn't know what to do with himself and thus spent long periods of time alone, simply sitting or standing and doing nothing.

Of course, he went through the motions of his regular life when he had to. He worked on a clockwork schedule with hardly any frays in the planning. He went to school, he entertained Taiga and her friend when they showed up, he made meals for himself, and then he went to bed to repeat the cycle the next day. But there was too much time in between. And when he had these gaps with nothing to do, he did nothing.

He wouldn't breathe. He wouldn't blink. He would be as still as a statue as though he weren't a boy of flesh and blood.

To be a hero… He thought about Kiritsugu's last words. That speech about wanting to be a Hero of Justice.

"I will become a hero," Shirou had said.

And it was then Kiritsugu had given his sigh, smiling, and slipped into the forever sleep.

Shirou never knew what it meant to be a hero. To save people. He understood it meant doing good deeds and helping people out of bad situations. But as someone so detached from a sense of morality, he couldn't comprehend the line between good and evil. To be a hero, Kiritsugu had told him, is to desire people who are in danger.

It's what Kiritsugu wanted to be. He had accepted this notion and carried on with his dream until he physically couldn't.

One day, before the sun was setting, Shirou was on his way to the convenient store. Taiga and her friend were coming over again and Shirou would be making them a meal. They loved his cooking and he was captivated by their reactions. He observed them as he would with Kiritsugu and would repeat their gestures in front of the mirror after they left. It was the sole reason why he took up cooking— to bring people towards him and see how they interacted in a casual environment.

But, he lacked a very vital spice. Everything had to be perfect or the whole dish would be ruined. That single lack of spice would alter the taste. And that would alter their reactions. It would ruin his desired results and he would have to wait until the next time they showed up to try again. And Otoko was rarely showing up after she started to help her father run a bar in New Fuyuki.

But upon arriving at the convenient store, there was a group of men harassing a girl around the corner. He wouldn't have noticed had he been a few steps too slow. They had pulled her off the street and dragged her out of sight. He was the only one around and the clerk inside wasn't paying attention outside. Nor was anyone else for the other businesses aware.

To be a hero...

It wasn't a sense of justice that guided him. It was simply the will to become something akin to the man who gave him purpose. Shirou went around the store to intervene.

The girl was one of his classmates, he realized. Mitsuzuri Ayako, he recalled and rarely ever spoke to her. She was more than likely coming home from cram school when the group of teenage boys took her. They were young, just a few years older than he, and dressed in somewhat similar clothing liken to a gang. Coming from one imitation artist, he could make out they were trying to look like some street gang but didn't have the courage nor the organization to pull it off.

They were arguing whether she was 'girly' enough for them. There was something of a despute and the group of four were arguing whether they should let her go or not. Meanwhile they continued to pin her arms together with what could be assumed as the leader of the group branding a cardboard cutter to her face. Ayako got the message and stopped squirming.

"You're using that wrong," he said aloud as his eyes observed the leader. Mostly the way he moved, how he expressed himself, and his face. He barely glimpsed at the tool.

Oh, of course he was using it against its intended purpose. But that wasn't what Shirou was talking about. The grip was wrong, there was too much of the blade extended and it would snap if trying to put enough pressure on it, and he had the slant of the blade pointed in the wrong direction. All wrong. His handling on a simple instrument was terrible. Shirou knew better methods on how to cut Ayako with the tool.

Although he would never be able to explain how he knew this. He simply did.

They turned to him. Ayako's eyes flashed wide open. They were begging at him to go get help.

Alas, he couldn't understand the hidden meaning behind her gaze. He only understood she was terrified and couldn't see anything further.

"The fuck?" said one of them.

"Kid, get lost," said the one with the cutter. "See this? I'll cut you."

"Yosuke, he's already seen us," said another. "We can't just let him go."

"What do you want me to do then? I told you to keep an eye out on— Hey! Don't get any closer!"

Shirou was already a single pace away by the time the leader noticed his advance. He pointed the cutter to his face but Shirou didn't pause. He glimpsed at the instrument for the briefest of moments before his eyes went back to the deviant.

"You use it like this," he said.

His hand moved, gripping the wrist of the teenage boy and jerking it fast and hard enough for the fingers to unclasp. The instrument fell out of his grip before he could realize what happened and landed into Shirou's other hand. The edge was retracted a few centimeters, the correct side was flipped, and he had a grip on it to use as a weapon appropriately.

It had happened in the span of a second. And with one more second, he brought his arm around and dragged it across the teenager's face. It was a shallow cut but one that would still leave a scar. The boy wailed in pain, stumbled back, and cupped his face into his hands.

The others let go of Ayako out of shock. She realized she was free, kneeing the nearest of the assailants in the groin, and took off running and shouting for help.

A fist met Shirou's face. His head bucked to the side from the blow. But no blood came. There was no mark on his face.

The one who threw the fist was gripping his hand and grinding his teeth in pain. His knuckles were bleeding as though he had attempted to strike a brick wall with all his might.

Shirou would have raised the instrument in his hand and delivered the next blow.

But there was a loud bang. The cutter fell out of his grip as he stumbled back. Some great force struck him in the chest and sent him to the ground.

The one whose face he cut had a gun. He had a deranged look in his eyes that suddenly washed away as soon as he realized what he had done. The hatred had changed to dread and fear in but an instant.

"Oh… God…" his voice was shaky as the gun fumbled out of his grip.

None of his friends were saying anything either as they watched Shirou lay sprawled on the floor. Shirou only moved to place his hand on his chest, retract it, and looked at the blood staining his fingertips.

The voices were becoming white noise. He couldn't make out what they were saying, only that they were in a frenzy and shouting with another.

Eventually, he couldn't differentiate who it was doing the shouting as everything became one monotone pitch. The world was becoming a myriad of colors with a dark shadow creeping around his vision.

So this is what death feels like, he mused. He wasn't afraid of it. He was indifferent towards it. It felt no different from when he was alive.

He shut his eyes and accepted the forever sleep. Inwardly, as a last thought, he pondered if he would meet up with Kiritsugu. It would be… nice, to be able to observe him up close again.

But it was not yet his time.

When next he woke, he was lying flat on a bed. It was a familiar sight as a similar happening was one of his earliest memories. He was in a hospital bed with an IV punctured into his arm, staring up at the florescent lights buzzing over him. The sterile stench of illness and medicine permeated his senses.

He wasn't alone in the room. The girl he had saved, Ayako, was sleeping at his left in a chair with her head resting at his bedside. To his right was a couch, to which Taiga and Otoko slept leaning against the other.

Upon staring at the television screen in front of his bed, which had been conveniently tuned to a news broadcast, he was able to see the time. It was ten in the evening… the following day. He had been asleep for nearly thirty hours.

He didn't make a sound in the slightest but something in the room made Taiga stir from her slumber. She peeped one eye open, yawned, adjusted her seating, and fell back asleep.

But, suddenly, both eyes shot wide open. She had caught him staring at her right before.

"S-S-S-S-S-S-SHIRRROOOOOOUUUUUUU!" she shouted, loud enough to wake the dead.

Everyone else in the room jolted by her antics.

Taiga, almost literally, leapt from the couch straight towards his bed. She threw her arms around him, embraced him despite his apparent injuries, and sobbed as heavily as she could… which was how she normally cried. Everything she did was eccentric.

"You stupid fool!" she cried and squeezed him harder. "We… We thought the worst happened! The doc said you'd be out for days! Stupid Shirou! Don't scare your Fuji-nee like this ever agaaaaaaiiiiinnnnnn! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

This was… an entirely new reaction he never seen before. He didn't know what to make of it.

Otoko came and pried Taiga off of him, which was an incredible feat of itself. But… the girl took her turn to embrace him, sob, and scold him for being the damnest of fools. He let her say her piece while ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest.

Their noise brought the wrath of the nurse. Which then triggered a chain of events such as calling in the doctor to run a few tests now that Shirou was conscious, the police to question him when he felt ready to answer, and more tests to run. The doctor explained he was incredulously lucky. The bullet had missed everything vital. But he should have been out cold for a few days to a few weeks at worst; having him wake up but a few hours after the surgery was a miracle.

All the while, Ayako never left his side. She explained to him she begged her parents to let her stay the night here and Taiga promised to take care of her. She thanked him, over and over again which would have annoyed anyone. But Shirou wasn't stirred in the slightest.

The following day, Raiga had paid him a visit. The old man explained Shirou's 'trash' had been 'taken out'.

…Trash days were on Mondays. Today was Thursday. He didn't understand what Raiga was talking about. But if Raiga said it was something he didn't need to worry about then so much the better.

0-0-0

He was confused when Ayako followed him around school once he returned to his normal routine. She worshiped him and others teased her for it, to which she became flustered and denied any romantic interest. He enjoyed having her around simply because she was another person he could observe up close. Her reactions were different from Taiga and Otoko despite being the same genders. Perhaps it had something to do with age? Or that Ayako had different tastes?

Ayako tried to introduce him to a few of her friends. He acted polite (at least as far as how Taiga instructed him… but, then again, it was Taiga who taught him etiquette). But he wasn't the most social of people and conversations were quick to end. It irritated Ayako and she wanted him to be a little more outgoing.

He was still learning. One day, he promised, he could be as flamboyant as everyone else. Hopefully not as eccentric as Taiga but something that's more socially acceptable.

He met Tohsaka Rin through Ayako. Rin was certainly a character. He could read right through her so easily. Her charming, sweet personality was entirely fake. A front. But he couldn't understand why and so chose to observe her rather than call her out on it.

Unfortunately, Rin didn't deem him interesting enough to be a part of her circle of friends. Merely someone she had heard about, who rescued one of her best friends, and had been curious about. They couldn't build a relationship on that alone, no matter how hard Ayako tried to glue them together.

"You're not using that right," he said one day.

Ayako's concentration fell as soon as he said this. Her brow twitched. She invited him to watch her archery practice in an attempt to get his interest and maybe have him join. More members meant more budget and therefore better equipment. He was only supposed to watch, as he always did with anything else, until he delivered a critical blow to her pride with her words.

"Would you like to try?" she said with a forced grin.

It was against the rules for outsiders to participate without proper guidance, gear, and the required instruction through training camps. But the instructor wasn't there and so Ayako thought she could get away with this much. She told him how to hold the bow, how to grip the arrow and string together, and the seven steps of archery.

"No," he said. "This is how you do it."

She watched as he drew the arrow back, his eyes gazing in his usual blank stare at the target in the distance, with his posture… perfect.

He released, letting the arrow soar through the air and land perfectly direct center of the target.

She, as well as everyone else remaining for practice, were completely blown away by his performance.

Whys and Hows didn't matter. Ayako gripped his shoulders, spun him around to fully face her, and demanded of him, "Shirou! You're joining the Archery Club!"

"I am…?" he blinked while tilting his head, the first of emotion she had ever seen of him.

"Yes! You are! C-Can you do that again?!"

"…I can," he said with a slow nod.

When she released him, he repeated the same performance.

She had only seen one arrow impale another through cartoons, never before in real life.

0-0-0

Through the Archery Club he met the siblings Matou Shinji and Sakura. Shinji was a playboy, in the briefest of sense. He was the star of the Archery Club who would have been captain if he didn't 'politely' decline the position with Ayako taking the mantle. Still, all the girls flocked to him while he bragged on tall tales. He was smart, talented, and good looking.

Shirou liked him most for his personality. It was, in a moral sense, terrible. He treated others as garbage, never admitted to mistakes and instead blamed others, and believed he was above everyone else. This was another subject for studying to Shirou. He never came across someone like this before.

Sakura, on the other hand, was the polar opposite. She was quiet, timid, and apologetic about almost everything even if it was clearly not her fault or if she had nothing to do with any happenstance. She mostly kept to herself, only spoke when spoken to, and was rarely approached. Though, according to Ayako, there have been repeated attempts by everyone to get the girl out of her shell.

He found Sakura… curious. If he could further define this feeling within him, he might just call her… relatable. Yes. Relatable was a good word for it. She was, in the strangest of ways, just like him.

Their eyes met after he had been staring at her. She looked away but he continued on.

It was fortunate when, one day, the two of them were tasked with cleaning up the dojo after practice. She didn't say a word to him other than when necessary. But he on the other hand…

"I don't understand," he finally said.

"…Don't understand… what?" she questioned back.

"You," he said with the same blank voice he always had. "I don't understand you."

"…I'm sorry?" she apologized more out of habit than sincerity.

He stared at her, examining her reaction to his outburst. Her expression didn't change in the slightest. It almost unnerved him how similar they truly were. She was putting up a front just as much as he was. Everything she did was to fool those around her into believing she was just as normal as everyone else. But, within her core, behind that mask she put up, there wasn't anything.

There was also a difference between them. His inner self was abyssal because he had always been that way for as long as he could recall. Perhaps even before the fire. But Sakura? While there was nothing within her core she could recall a time in which emotions mattered to her. There was a deep scar on her soul.

And there was the difference. Sakura had a soul. Shirou, more than likely, did not.

Still, he continued to observe her as the days went on. He went to her when he could. Sometimes never saying a word to her but simply being by her. She would look at him curiously but never say anything against it. Others teased them, as most middle school kids do, but it never bothered either of them.

Ayako was peeved. Shirou was showing more interest in Sakura than her.

It was also what probably pushed Shinji. Shirou was stealing his limelight. Shinji had been the star of the Archery Club until Shirou showed up. And most of the girls were starting to talk about him more than Shinji. And now Shirou was up to something Shinji didn't understand in an attempt to swoon Sakura to his circle.

It was why Shinji, when no one was looking, fiddled with Shirou's bow.

The following day, Shirou went through his normal motions. He checked his equipment, strung his bow, and went through the phases for practice.

His mind told him how to make the arrow fly to reach its intended target. However, it told him nothing about the bow.

The bow snapped in two as soon as the string was pulled to its fullest. Wood and plastic shattered in his grip.

"Shirou!" Ayako had cried out.

"Sempai!" he heard Sakura gasp.

He was bleeding, that much was obvious. After a moment he evaluated his condition and found a large splinter of wood was lodged into his shoulder. It hindered the movements from his arm and a fair amount of blood was staining his uniform.

The damage should have been more. His face should have been torn to shreds and the splinter should have been deeper. It should have impaled him and reached out the other end instead of getting stuck between the muscles.

He was taken immediately for medical treatment. It wasn't serious but the doctor still restricted him from partaking in club activities for a while. They even bound him in a brace to not aggravate his shoulder. Of course, and no one knew this, but his wound was gone within the next few days.

Sakura apologized on behalf of Shinji, who absolutely refused to admit he did anything. Whether Sakura's guilt was genuine or not he couldn't tell. But she was there to take responsibility and be his other hand while his shoulder was, supposedly, healing.

She even followed him home and helped him cook. There was something… stirring within him at the sight of Sakura inside his kitchen. Like a rash growing within his core that he couldn't scratch. Watching her play with his knives… he couldn't explain this feeling.

"You're not using that right," he said. He surprised himself with the sound of his own voice. It was tense and sounded aggravated.

Sakura looked flustered as she too had been caught off guard by his tone. It was the first emotion she had witness come from him. "S-Sempai, I cook at home. I know what I'm doing."

"No," he argued and approached her. He put his hands over hers, adjusted the placement of her fingers and hands, and guided her movements. "You use it like this."

He started slow just to show her how to properly use his knives. While, yes, what she was doing was experienced and she knew what she was doing, her method would make him need to sharpen his knives more frequently than necessary.

"S-Sempai! Your arm!"

He realized he had broken through his brace just so he could use his shoulder. He looked at it, then at her. "Oh. That. It's fine. I'm not as hurt as people think."

"B-But…" she tried to say something but couldn't find the words.

He shrugged, mimicking the same gesture Kiritsugu would use on similar situations. "Don't worry about it. Now look, I'll show you how to make the rest."

She wanted to argue further but he guided her through the kitchen. The cooking lessons Kiritsugu had put him through while he was still around paying off in more ways than Shirou could have imagined. He told Sakura how to use the other appliances and was able to follow through at her own pace. She was skilled in the kitchen, having to make meals for her brother and grandfather, she said.

In the end, they sat together and made curry with rice. Something else stirred within Shirou. He couldn't name the sensation but there was something within him upon sitting at the table with this particular dish. The memory of Kiritsugu flashed before it faded to the back of his mind as quickly as it came.

"Hey, Sakura-chan," he spoke up in a slow voice. Again, another tone that surprised him, as it did with her. She blinked and stared at him with her doll-like vacant eyes. "Wanna come over again? I can… show you how to make other things."

He didn't know why he asked this. When it was just the two of them Sakura didn't behave like how she did with everyone else. Flustered on occasion, sure, but as blank and lifeless as he would be. They were two isolated creatures who were simply in the same room together. He asked her anyways to be like this again with him.

He was asking for her company.

"I… will ask Grandfather," she said with a voice between hope and fear.

It was as much as he could ask of her.

But come the following day, Sakura told him her grandfather didn't simply consent to it but encouraged it. Sakura had been surprised by it as well and let it slip how she couldn't fathom the old man's reasons.

It didn't matter. He had what he wanted. Sakura would come every so often after school with him and he would teach her the practice of the kitchen. It became a party whenever Taiga showed up, especially with Otoko in tow.

It became a handful when Ayako started to invite herself. But Shirou didn't mind… much. He discovered people interact differently with other people. He was witnessing new expressions but they kept coming at a variety he could hardly keep up.

Regardless, after things quieted down and everyone returned to their homes, Shirou would stand in front of the mirror and replicate their expressions.

0-0-0

It was during summer vacation when it happened.

Shirou was sitting by himself, simply sitting, when the bounded field around his house triggered. This barrier his father had left was designed to alert him when someone with ill intent was within the vicinity. However, it only applied to those of the supernatural kind.

It meant someone with a handsome store of prana was coming with the intent to do him harm.

Calling the police would do next to nothing, especially if this invader was of the moonlight world. The police would either be driven off by hypnotic mysteries or would be slaughtered with minimal effort. Kiritsugu had warned Shirou about probable events and had told him what to do in the case this happened. There was an underground bunker hidden under one of the matts with a tunnel that would lead elsewhere.

But Shirou didn't run. He didn't have the opportunity to in any case.

He was sitting on the front porch staring out into the garden when the bounded field triggered. And there, entering through the gates, was the invader.

He was a tall man of slim build. Short cropped hair and of Japanese accent. He was dressed in a pressed suit and carried a case on his back.

Their eyes met. There was no chance to run now.

"This is the Emiya estate?" questioned the stranger.

Shirou nodded once.

"Where is Emiya Kiritsugu?"

"Dead," answered Shirou. "Almost a year now."

They stared. He observed Shirou just as Shirou observed him. Neither moved. Neither blinked. They soaked in the other and read their expressions with unwavering focus.

"You are not lying," the man finally said. "This… is unfortunate. You are… Emiya Shirou then?"

Shirou nodded again. There was no point in lying if this man could tell. Not that Shirou was good at lying anyways. He had yet to figure out the concept of lying and how to get away with it. He tried once. He had been caught immediately.

The man frowned. He raised a hand to grip the strap of the case over his shoulder. "I feared the worst. You will come with me child. I am sorry. But I swear, on my honor, I will see to it no harm will befall on you by my benefactors."

Shirou's eyes shifted over to the strap on the man's shoulder, which then led to the case at his back…

…Which then led towards the contents of the case.

Shirou's eyes glazed over as something was pulled from the back of his mind. As if this certain something had been there all along and he was recalling it. A memory, if one will.

A series of things processed in his consciousness.

"You're not using that right," he said while this information continued to cross his mind.

The man's frown deepened. His eyes narrowed not in irritation but in understanding. He knew what Shirou was implying.

Shirou hopped off the porch and planted two feet firmly on the soft grass. He brought his hands together.

A sword was in his grip as though it had always been there. A katana with a white hilt and a blade nearly as long as he was tall.

Its name was Fuyu no Kishi. It was a blade forged out of mundane metals through a mundane process. It was not blessed with divine rites, reinforced through alchemy, enchanted by thaumaturgy— it was simply a mortal blade forged through pedestrian methods. It was a commoner's blade.

It was the blade of Shisharo Kaname, the man standing before Shirou. A blade forged as an insult to the bastard child of the head of the family's affair. A blade that had been with him since he could walk. A blade Kaname had been intimate with and knew just as much as he knew himself. They were not two separate things, nor were they two beings melded into one. They simply were.

As a mundane instrument, it could not replicate Kaname's mysteries. Those, unfortunately, would forever belong to Kaname and Kaname alone. But the blade had recorded every experience shared with the magic swordsman. Every stroke, every kill, every battle.

Every skill. Every technique.

The blade in Shirou's hands was not the same blade sealed within Kaname's case. It was no replica, no forgery, no Fake. It was its own existence that shared similarities.

This Fuyu no Kishi was not the blade of Shisharo Kaname. It was the blade of Emiya Shirou. And, unlike its relative, this one was perfected. There was no flaw in its design.

Shirou knew this blade just as well as Kaname knew his. No. Shirou knew this blade more.

And just with the techniques recorded into the blade, Shirou understood them. How, he will never know. But he knew where Kaname went wrong. Yes, years of battles had sharpened Kaname's techniques to godly levels. And yet… Shirou, who had never wielded a sword before in his life, could transcend this man's abilities.

"You're not supposed to be like this!" gasped Kaname. He looked more confused than surprised. "Alaya… why didn't you tell me?!"

Kaname wasted no movements as he released and unsheathed his own sword in one swift stroke. His eyes were wide and crazed. This was no longer a kidnapping. His eyes told Shirou otherwise.

He had the look of a man who was about to fend off the devil for his life.

Because that was exactly what was happening. Shirou didn't know why he understood this. He could taste Kaname's fear as though it were a literal thing. A whisper of his own voice was telling him in the back of his mind how to approach this man. What method was the best method to kill him. What he would need to prepare for to defend himself.

He found himself debating which technique to use first. And he knew, somehow, which one would kill Kaname the fastest and with the utmost efficiency.

It was as though someone was standing over his shoulder, guiding him, just as Kiritsugu had when he was still around…

"This is how you use it…" said Shirou.

The little boy came at the aged killer with speed, strength, and ferocity that hadn't been there before.