Maintain elegance.
This was a Tohsaka family maxim passed down since the era of their ancestor, Tohsaka Nagato—meant to remind every later heir that no matter the circumstances, they must remain composed, calm, and dignified.
The current head of the Tohsaka family, Tohsaka Tokiomi, understood clearly that he was not a particularly gifted magus. His aptitude—within the broader world of magecraft—was firmly second-rate, even near the bottom. Long ago, even his father had hesitated over whether Tokiomi should truly inherit the family's path.
Even now, Tokiomi could remember that day vividly. He had been about ten years old when his father summoned him into the Tohsaka family's hidden chamber and asked him a question that would define his future.
"Tokiomi—are you prepared to inherit the Tohsaka family's magecraft? Or rather… do you truly want to inherit it?"
To the young Tokiomi, it seemed like an unnecessary question. He was the only child. If he did not inherit, then the Tohsaka legacy would vanish into history.
But at some point far in the future, he came to understand what his father had really meant.
His father wanted to give him the right to choose—so that whatever road he walked, he could do it without regret. Even if Tokiomi had refused back then, his father would not have been disappointed or angry. He would have smiled—and supported him.
That realization made Tokiomi oddly happy. He was fortunate to have been born into such a family. And it was precisely because he understood his father's intention—because he understood the weight on his shoulders—that he could grit his teeth and persevere on the path of magecraft with the poorest of talents, never once regretting it.
Years passed.
Even though hard work had earned him modest achievements, he never grew arrogant. Tokiomi had always known he was not a genius.
And yet, heaven still favored him.
Fate gifted him two daughters—two prodigies, treasures of the magecraft world. Tokiomi even felt they could be compared to the two sisters of the Aozaki family.
After all, any magus would know their names. Any student of the Clock Tower would admire their strength.
Back when Tokiomi studied at the Clock Tower, he had his own youthful season as well. He, like so many others, had once passionately discussed the fragments of legend left behind by Aozaki Touko and Aozaki Aoko—stories that ignited his own yearning for magecraft.
But as he aged, he came to accept a hard truth: no matter what he did, he could never reach that realm. The gap between him and true geniuses was a chasm.
He did not resent it.
But he did feel regret.
Regret that as a magus he could not glimpse the true endpoint of the Path.
So he placed his hopes in the next generation—sincerely believing his daughters could go farther than he ever could.
And yet, that very belief became another source of pain.
Because the Tohsaka crest could be passed down to only one person.
Two twin stars… and only one could inherit.
That reality tormented Tokiomi night after night.
It forced him to consider the future of the other daughter, and at first, the Matou family—also in Fuyuki—seemed the best option for adoption.
After all, the Matou heirs of this generation—Matou Kariya and Matou Byakuya—had both rejected magecraft. The Matou main line was held up by only one nearly-centenarian old magus: Matou Zouken. Many years ago, long before Tokiomi's daughters were even born, Zouken had publicly sought an heir.
At the time, it would have been perfect.
With the right timing, a daughter of Tokiomi's—overwhelmingly talented—would satisfy the Matou family's requirements. And in return, she could inherit the Matou magecraft legacy as well.
A deal that benefited both sides.
A true win-win.
But unfortunately…
Before Tokiomi's daughters were born, the Matou family found an heir elsewhere—someone with decent talent.
Tokiomi had met that child long ago. Not as brilliant as his own daughters, perhaps—but undeniably a genius by magecraft standards. And now, that child had become the Matou successor.
The missed timing left Tokiomi with lingering regret.
But what was done was done. However reluctant he felt, he still had to make arrangements.
And before he could even settle that, there was another, far more urgent matter in front of him—
The Holy Grail War.
To secure victory, Tokiomi had already made his resolve. He had sent his disciple, Kotomine Kirei, to investigate in secret and gather advantages for the coming conflict.
He hadn't seen Kirei today, but Tokiomi knew the man's temperament.
At this moment, Kirei was surely working diligently for him.
You've worked hard, Kirei.
Thinking of the disciple who labored endlessly on his behalf, Tokiomi's eyes softened with a trace of guilt.
Even if Kirei never complained, Tokiomi still felt remorse for having effectively forced him into supporting the Grail War.
I'll make it up to him later, Tokiomi decided.
——
——
"So, Father, you're not working today?"
Ritsuka's voice cut in suddenly.
"At this hour you're not in the church listening to prayers? Don't tell me you're skipping work."
Fuyuki City, inside a Chinese-style restaurant—
Ritsuka spoke from across the table.
The place was a Sichuan restaurant opened by a chef from the mainland. Compared to the light flavors of the Far East, most of the dishes here were spicy and heavy, and its most famous item was a terrifyingly extreme mapo tofu.
One of the few things in this world that even Ritsuka avoided.
He'd discovered the restaurant long ago while setting up familiars across the city. Because it was tucked away in a remote spot, it rarely had customers.
But one day, passing by, Ritsuka had spotted a figure through the window—someone who caught his attention.
So, to verify certain guesses and deductions, he had entered, tested the food, and quietly made a few simple arrangements of his own.
And today, as expected, he found the man again—sitting alone in a secluded corner, dressed in black: a young priest.
They had met here many times now—almost four or five times every month.
With the attitude of first meeting is chance, second meeting is familiarity, third meeting is friendship, Ritsuka casually carried his serving of boiled beef slices in chili oil to the table, sat down opposite the priest as if greeting an old friend, and asked that question.
"It's you, Matou Ritsuka."
The priest, equally unsurprised, lifted his eyes without expression and replied evenly.
"The church is being watched by my father. And it's lunch break."
"I see… so priests get lunch breaks too."
Ritsuka nodded, looking enlightened, and simply remained seated opposite him.
Kotomine Kirei showed no reaction to the overly familiar approach. In fact, he shifted slightly to make room, as if this had become routine.
When they first met, Kirei had been startled that Ritsuka would speak to him at all. As the caretaker of Fuyuki's church, he knew of Ritsuka's existence and had initially been cautious—wondering whether there was some plot.
But over time, he realized Ritsuka never asked about "another world." He only complained about mundane life, or posed philosophical questions, treating him as nothing more than a priest—someone to confess to, or someone to listen.
Gradually, Kirei became used to it.
Listening to confessions and guiding others were part of his duties anyway. And in the back-and-forth, a strange kind of tacit understanding formed between them.
Even if, each time they met, Ritsuka always took the opportunity to curse Matou Zouken's ancestors for eighteen generations.
Which made Kirei wonder—
Was the Matou family's way of "getting along" always this bizarre?
"Still mapo tofu today, Kotomine Kirei?"
Ritsuka frowned as he looked at the dish in front of Kirei—red like lava.
He truly couldn't imagine what kind of ironclad taste buds could handle it.
"Yes," Kirei answered without lifting his head. "Because it tastes good."
He continued eating the vivid red dish.
That wasn't disrespect—it was simply his personality. For Kotomine Kirei, the fact that he bothered answering at all already counted as acknowledging you. Even after knowing each other this long, he never tried to start conversations on his own.
Ritsuka, guided by memory and the investigations of recent years, had already mapped out Kirei's nature.
A religious fanatic. An ascetic. An Executor.
A man with remarkable combat strength—elite even among the Church—capable of purging heretics and monsters. An abnormality in the shape of a man.
And yet, from what Ritsuka remembered—
Kirei was also a lost man.
A betrayer.
A survivor of the Fourth Holy Grail War.
And the way he survived had been soaked in blood and treachery.
There were reasons, of course—layers and circumstances.
But once Ritsuka understood some of those deeper truths, he began deliberately maintaining contact, planting small possibilities for "change," hoping to win a measure of support when the war arrived.
"By the way… Kotomine Kirei. How long have we known each other?"
Seeing that Kirei wasn't going to say much, Ritsuka proactively pushed a new topic.
"If you mean since our first meeting," Kirei replied, still not looking up, "about two years."
"Yeah. Two years."
Ritsuka nodded, propping his cheek in his hand as he watched him.
"So there are still things I can't figure out. Mind answering?"
"..."
Kirei didn't particularly want to. He kept eating his lunch.
"Don't ignore me."
Ritsuka adjusted tactics smoothly.
"Father Kotomine—technically I'm a believer too, you know. According to the Bible's teachings, a priest has a duty to answer a believer's doubts, right?"
"..."
Hearing Ritsuka spout nonsense with a perfectly serious face, Kirei nearly wanted to ask what kind of believer he even counted as.
But then Ritsuka produced a cross and a Bible.
Kirei paused.
Because those were items he'd distributed in bulk during missionary work across Fuyuki—only for most people to throw them away like trash. He hadn't expected Ritsuka to keep a set.
So he could only look at him, silent for a beat, then sigh inwardly and relent.
"Speak."
"Really? Great! I knew you would."
Ritsuka's eyes lit up—and then his tone flipped sharply.
"So, Kotomine Kirei… what is it you've always been lost about? What kind of experiences made you choose the life you live now? Every time I see you, I end up wondering."
"What?"
Kirei looked genuinely surprised.
He realized Ritsuka wasn't trying to pray, nor was he merely teasing.
He was probing for information.
"Relax. I know you," Ritsuka said lightly, each word crisp. "We've known each other a long time."
He began listing facts as if reading a menu.
"You were born in December 1967 in the Holy Land. After your birth you completed pilgrimage and baptism with your father. You joined the Church, performed well, and were promoted from monk to priest ahead of schedule. Later, by merit of your strength, you became an Executor."
Ritsuka recited everything about Kirei at a steady pace.
But these were not important secrets—just material written in records. For someone like Ritsuka, who had been in contact for years, such things were easy to find. Kirei was surprised, but not shocked.
Then Ritsuka brought up the one topic that mattered—
"So what is your wish?"
"If you didn't have one, you wouldn't be participating in the Holy Grail War, would you?"
"...How do you know that?"
For the first time, Kirei's calm gaze shifted.
His teacher's arrangement was that he would participate in the Grail War in secret, summon Assassin, and provide covert support. He had taken steps to conceal it.
And yet, it had been seen through.
Kirei was genuinely caught off guard.
But when he heard Ritsuka's explanation, that surprise eased.
"Do you want to know why, Kotomine Kirei?"
"…Tell me," Kirei said, nodding.
"Fine. I'll tell you."
Ritsuka pointed at Kirei's gloves, his tone carrying a faint teasing edge.
"In the middle of summer you wear gloves that thick. Doesn't it get stifling?"
"Even if you're trying to hide Command Spells, you should at least show a little common sense."
"You can fool ordinary people easily, but you can't fool me."
"Because I'm a participant in this Grail War too."
As he spoke, he raised his own hand.
On the back of it, three vivid crimson lines gleamed.
"..."
Kirei stared, momentarily frozen.
Then he glanced down at his own white gloves and realized his disguise really had been… crude.
The gloves were enchanted by Tokiomi—meant to conceal and prevent prying, arranged specifically to keep him from being exposed.
And yet the gloves themselves were the most suspicious detail.
That irony was enough to let anyone attentive see through it.
Having received a clear answer, Kirei studied Ritsuka closely.
Because after years of acquaintance—and investigation—Kirei also knew much about him.
A magecraft prodigy adopted by the Matou family.
But even more than his talent, it was Ritsuka's strange temperament and unusually broad knowledge that intrigued Kirei.
No matter how he looked at him, Ritsuka resembled the same type as Kirei's father and teacher—people who had found their life's goal long ago, carved a road for themselves, and believed in it absolutely.
Unlike Kirei.
They did not waver. They did not stray. They walked onward even through setbacks.
From a magecraft perspective, they were people who had already recognized the nature of their Origin.
It was exactly the sort of existence Kirei envied—and yet could not truly coexist with.
He could not see his own ideal.
He could not understand the emptiness and pain that plagued him.
Perhaps that was why, when his father and teacher could not answer him, he had allowed Ritsuka to continue approaching.
Perhaps, somewhere in Kirei himself, he was hoping Ritsuka might offer a different kind of answer.
"By the way," Ritsuka's voice pulled him back to the present, "you still haven't answered me."
"What's your wish, Kotomine Kirei?"
"My wish…"
Kirei thought for a while, then gently shook his head.
"I don't know. I've never felt it. Perhaps… I have never had a wish at all."
"No wish? That's impossible."
Ritsuka laughed—softly, knowingly.
"The Grail only chooses magi who have a wish."
"I'm the Matou heir, and I only gained my Command Spells a little over a year ago."
"So when were you chosen?"
"Before me? Or even at the very start of the ritual?"
"If so, that only proves your wish is strong enough."
Of course, Ritsuka understood Kirei.
Outwardly disciplined and orderly, but inwardly hollow.
He claimed he had no wish, yet in truth he desperately sought the existence of a wish—and craving the very act of wishing was itself a wish.
That was why the Grail had chosen him so early.
But Ritsuka didn't say it too bluntly.
He simply guided Kirei with words, leaving him to interpret and reflect.
He only needed to plant a mark in Kirei's heart.
Some things couldn't be rushed.
If you pushed too hard, cracks appeared—too many openings.
Better to proceed slowly.
A seed was enough.
"So that's what it is…?"
Kirei lowered his head, thinking seriously.
"But then why don't I understand why the Grail chose me?"
In truth, he had asked himself this before. Two years ago—perhaps right as the ritual began to turn—his three Command Spells had appeared almost the moment he arrived in Fuyuki.
He had been confused, and he had consulted both his father and his teacher.
Neither could give him a precise answer.
That lack of an answer was part of what kept him trapped in confusion to this very day.
He had buried the question through sheer willpower.
But now that Ritsuka had brought it up again, the question surfaced—and demanded to be faced.
A faint desire to find the cause flickered in Kirei's eyes.
"Probably because deep inside you," Ritsuka said simply, "there's a wish you haven't even seen clearly yourself."
"A wish…"
For the first time, Kirei heard a response that felt so accurate.
He was surprised—because the answer he couldn't obtain from his teacher, he could obtain here, from Ritsuka.
It was still vague.
But his intuition told him Ritsuka wasn't lying.
So, wanting to inch closer to the truth, he asked whether Ritsuka knew what that wish was.
Ritsuka did not answer.
He only told Kirei that he had to find it himself.
No one else could do it for him.
Kirei felt regret at the lack of a definitive answer—
But after this conversation, his impression of Ritsuka shifted significantly.
He began to believe Ritsuka must possess eyes unlike anyone else's—eyes that could see things even the person themselves could not perceive.
And so, the taciturn Kotomine Kirei spoke first for once, asking a question of his own.
"If, as you say, everyone chosen by the Grail has a wish…"
"Then Matou Ritsuka—what is your wish?"
"My wish…"
Ritsuka smiled faintly, then answered in an even tone.
"To obtain true freedom."
"And to pursue my own happiness."
"If circumstances allow… I also want to meet that relative from my memories one more time."
Before the words had even fully settled, a scene carved into his past life surged up inside him.
In a haze, he seemed to see again that lively figure with orange hair, and a fine sparkle of longing rose in his eyes.
"Happiness…"
Kirei repeated the word under his breath.
He still didn't fully understand.
But he nodded anyway.
On the surface he remained calm, yet his thoughts were already churned into disorder by Ritsuka's words.
He lowered his gaze to the Command Spells on his hand, and the fog returned to his eyes.
Though the Church had long since judged Fuyuki's Grail to be a heretical imitation—something that contained neither the Lord's glory nor any miracle—Kirei still felt that being chosen must carry some meaning.
Some guidance of fate.
Some sign from God.
Perhaps this was a revelation offered to a lost lamb.
He opened his mouth to ask more—
But Ritsuka had already finished his boiled beef, rose politely, and straightened.
"Meal's over. Goodbye, Kotomine Kirei. I have things to do."
Kirei's question caught in his throat.
He could only respond stiffly.
"…All right. Goodbye, Matou Ritsuka."
"Then I'll see you in the Holy Grail War, Father Kotomine."
Ritsuka waved, then turned and left.
Watching his back recede, Kirei's inner conflict intensified. He turned the idea of "wish" over and over in his mind, yet still found no clarity.
In the end, he sighed.
He left money for the meal and departed the restaurant.
Now, as usual, he had to go to the Tohsaka residence—
To report to Tokiomi on his training progress, and on the intelligence he had gathered.
…
…
Meanwhile, not far from the restaurant, Ritsuka gave a soft whistle.
In the next instant, moths—along with even smaller insects—emerged from dark corners around him.
Under his command, they scattered into the city in all directions.
Wherever there were dense concentrations of magical energy, wherever there were hidden corners—city streets, suburbs, underground—they left their traces.
This was one of Ritsuka's most important preparations—something he had invested tremendous effort into.
During his time in the Matou household, he had not chosen the family's most lethal insect familiars.
Instead, he fused modern magecraft fundamentals with simple insect-familiars, using sheer quantity to construct a covert information network—one comparable to the Aozaki family's great barrier in Misaki City.
And today, he finally activated the massive network he had prepared for so long.
With this, he would seize an information advantage in the coming Grail War.
And with that advantage, he could draft and adjust far more plans.
Because he understood this deeply:
In a Holy Grail War, information was just as decisive as force.
"Good. This side is basically ready."
Ritsuka murmured, brows knitting slightly as he thought.
"So now all that's left… is the Age of Gods catalyst the old worm mentioned."
He frowned and considered seriously.
"Where the hell did that guy go? Not a single trace."
"Don't tell me he actually went to Israel to dig up Solomon's grave."
…Whatever.
Ritsuka didn't care.
Zouken's absence was good for him, too—it gave him more room to move.
And Ritsuka had never been the type to place his hopes on Matou Zouken.
Even if the old man failed to bring back a relic, Ritsuka would prepare a second option in advance.
He remembered that in Zouken's library there were manuscripts—handwritten works—from von Hohenheim Paracelsus and Leonardo da Vinci.
They weren't the Age of Gods magi Ritsuka wanted most—
But they were still among the greatest magi of the Renaissance.
If he were forced to use those as catalysts, it would still be an excellent choice.
He could even picture it already:
Those two wise figures—who had once forged deep friendship with Marisbury Zolgen—being summoned and coming face-to-face with what the old worm had become.
What expressions would they show?
Would they, as old friends, feel sorrow—seeing a former righteous companion fall so far?
Or would they enact a righteous execution on the spot—
Declaring that Matou Zouken could no longer be permitted to live in a world that still held hope?
It was…
Strangely worth looking forward to.
At the thought, the corner of Ritsuka's mouth curled unconsciously into a faint arc.
"Old worm," he murmured, voice low and sharp.
"You'd better get it done."
"Otherwise… don't blame me for putting on one hell of a show."
Join here to read ahead.
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