Walking down the street, I'm still shaking a bit. But it's gradually letting go — yes, it was scary, but more from the consequences. Okay, now I need to wait out the night — tomorrow at 7 I have a train. And I need to dry off, I don't want to get sick. Yes, that's what I'll do.
On the plus side, the club was not far from the station, about a 10-minute walk, which is good. I look around — no one on the street, just me wandering around at night in the rain like an idiot.
I return to the station, choose a seat in the farthest corner, take off my raincoat and go to the vending machine for coffee and a bun. Fortunately, I'm not alone at the station — lots of people are dozing half-asleep on the benches.
Already sitting with coffee in hand, I realize I wanted too much — a gun! Yeah, right! The world apparently decided I got too cocky and screwed me over… maybe for the best. I doubt I could hide it properly, and I don't know how to shoot anyway.
That's if we forget about ammo — which would definitely run out. Well, how many spare magazines would that black guy have had? 2–3? Plus one in the pistol. 7 rounds per magazine — that's 21–28 shots. That wouldn't even be enough for basic accuracy training! So maybe it's for the best, fewer problems.
I look at the clock — almost 2 a.m., need to hold out another five hours until the train, then I'll sleep there. Fortunately, it's only a day's ride, and the whole route from Akito to Fukuoka takes 3 days. Ugh, better not remind myself how much effort and nerves it took to convince my parents not to come pick me up and that I can go alone. Yeah, well, it was worth it in some way.
Two months later.
Here I am again in Fukuoka, this time direct and again alone. I've earned a certain amount of trust, and probably only the first time was scary to let me go somewhere alone. Heh, this time even Taiga-sensei isn't meeting me. That feeling when you realize the people around you are slowly starting to ignore you, as in "he's not little anymore, he can handle it himself." Well, that's for the best.
Hah, I'm 12, look maybe 14. And studying with 16-year-olds in 11th grade. Or rather, will be studying. If you look at it from the outside, I'm one big anomaly and stand out at school. True, I no longer try to shine in studies, justifying it by saying the material got harder. And the effect of unusualness is gradually fading, which is good. I shouldn't stand out.
Two weeks later.
Standing at the lineup, looking at the first-y… ahem, I mean the 10th-graders. I have a reason for this: Shirou Emiya has transferred to the high school. And now I'm looking for the rest of the future Masters. I already checked the parallel classes earlier — more precisely, the school journals to find out who's there.
And Rin Tohsaka wasn't there. At the same time, I casually asked Shirou for Sakura's last name — Matou, that was needed to find her brother. But he wasn't in the parallel class either. Then I assumed they're all the same age. And waited until this moment. Hmm, the guy next to Shirou is probably that "someone" Matou.
I scan the crowd and see a girl in a red coat thrown over her school uniform with two pigtails on the sides. And there's Rin Tohsaka — yeah, yeah, how could we not stand out among the trash? After all, we're such a great magus, and everyone else isn't.
Nine months later.
The end of the year is coming soon, and I decided to talk to my parents about me moving out and living alone, even if in a tiny room. As an argument, I said it's valuable experience, because next is only university, or wherever they want me to go. And I need experience. I think I convinced them, and it was even easy. It was harder with Taiga-sensei, but I managed to convince her too. Everything is going surprisingly well, which is suspicious.
Four months later.
New school year, last grade of high school. And my temporary studio apartment in a panel building. As they say, you get what you ask for. Yeah, seems they took me too literally. But whatever, I basically only need it to sleep, though after living in private houses it's really uncomfortable. And the ceilings here are somehow low. After grumbling a bit more, I sat by the window and looked at the city — 2003, autumn, more precisely October, evening, cloudless dry weather. The time has come — it's time to get to work.
All these years I wasn't just going to school, but along the way scouting neighbors in private houses and already picked out a couple of victims. Lonely people or childless couples, no pets and not too high fences. But I decided to start with something simpler — old people, who mostly fit the description anyway.
I threw on a hooded cloak, tucked my trusty knife into rubber boots and the stun gun, put my "flag" in a special bag. Of course, it's a little scary to go out into the night — you never know who will be the victim tonight. But I hope it won't be me. And yes, today will be my second murder. Since that time in Okinawa, I haven't touched anyone else, not out of fear. But because there was no need. With these thoughts, I went out on the job.
An hour later, around one in the morning.
Here's the target, no light in the house — an old lady lives alone here. No one on the street, so I lean on a trash can and climb over the fence. Calmly walk across the yard to the house — no point sneaking, it would only look more suspicious if someone noticed. The paper door so popular with locals — in my opinion, it's flimsy, but in this case exactly what I need, heh, and not even locked. Honestly, they treat security here with very big allowances. Of course, I heard that in Russia some people don't lock their apartment doors, but I assume such individuals exist.
Slowly I go to the stairs to the second floor — in principle, even if she wakes up, it won't change anything. I go up the stairs and listen, following the snoring I enter the room. Ugh, how simple — I take out the stun gun and zap her a couple of times, hope she doesn't croak. I take out the tube and spread the flag on the floor, drag the body onto the flag and cut the wrists.
Well, now the most important part — the speech! Ahem. "Oh great Holy Grail! Grant me a Servant, as sacrifice I offer this life!"
Short and to the point. And yes, I'm not an orator, but I'll prepare a speech for each time. I wait a minute — nothing. Okay, take two — I slit the old lady's throat, maybe it's because she's still alive? "Oh great Holy Grail! Grant me a Servant, as sacrifice I offer this life!"
And again nothing. Not even a weak glow from the circle. Ugh. I drag the old lady off the flag and go to the bathroom — no one to be shy in front of anymore, I'll rinse the flag, and plug the drains in the bathtub and sink, let everything flood here — of course not a fire, but less obvious and at least some traces will be washed away. I think that's enough, and no need to draw attention with a fire. I have one more target today, and time is short.
Three months later.
January, cold, but surprisingly no snow. It's already 2004, and I still haven't managed to summon a Servant. Which worries me. I won't even mention the number of ritual murders — the count has gone into the thirties. In fact, I stopped counting after the 12th. And I have to get really creative — just killing someone in the house isn't enough, and I can't do it often — paranoia whispers that the cops have been looking for me for a long time. So to increase the number of victims, besides killing the homeowner I started ordering delivery too — after all, +1 person. True, it doesn't always go cleanly, but the stun gun hasn't let me down yet.
To avoid repetition and not fall into a possible ambush, I have to keep a very floating schedule. I'm also worried that there's not a word about the murders in the news. So following my paranoia, I only go out in the city on business during rain, looking for homeless people in alleys. In a way, I even justify myself that I have my own style — a kind of "water man." There was a sandman, right? Not the Spider-Man one, I think there was such a thing or it was an urban legend? The point is he strangled people in their sleep, I think.
Distracting myself with various thoughts like that, I reach the next victim, zap the body with the stun gun — I almost don't care who it is anymore. I drag it off the bed, put it on the flag and immediately slit the throat.
"Just fucking give me a Servant already!" — This was more a cry from the soul than an incantation.
I wait a minute and again nothing. Damn it.
Voice from behind. "Well, not bad. So you're my Master?"