Shirō placed the last dish on the table and sat down across from Rin, her expression bright with anticipation. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the room, and Rin hesitated, glancing at the plate in front of her as if it might explode.
"It's not poisonous," Rin muttered under her breath, taking a cautious bite.
Her eyes widened. Another bite. Then another.
"This is... soooo good!" Rin exclaimed, completely abandoning her scepticism as she dug in.
Shirō watched her with a sheepish smile, nibbling on her own portion. Across the table, Archer sat with his usual composed expression, but he'd also picked up a pair of chopsticks and decided to join the meal. He didn't need to eat, but watching Saber—well, this Saber—cook was an entirely new experience for him. The Saber he remembered was an eating machine, not someone who could whip up a gourmet meal.
"Is it good?" Shirō asked hesitantly, her gaze flickering between the two of them.
Rin didn't answer, too busy stuffing her face.
When the plates were finally empty, Rin sat back, satisfied but trying to maintain her usual cool demeanour. "Alright, Emiya-kun," she began, leaning forward with her arms crossed. "How strong are you compared to Archer?"
Shirō blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh..."
Rin raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you've never fought."
"Well," Shirō said sheepishly, scratching the back of her head. "I've never actually... seen him fight either."
Archer, unable to resist, spoke up. "Can you blow away a mountain?"
Rin whipped her head toward him, startled. "Wait, you can do that?"
Shirō shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her cheeks reddening. "...Uh, no. I think I might have enough strength to break a wooden log."
Rin stared at her, utterly dumbfounded. "You've got to be joking," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Alright, then. Emiya-kun, your Noble Phantasm?"
Shirō froze, her expression blank as her brain scrambled for an answer.
"...What's a Noble Phantasm?" she finally asked, her voice tinged with embarrassment.
Rin slammed her hand on the table, exasperated. "You're telling me you don't even know that?! Fine. Any magic skills? Anything at all?"
Shirō brightened a little. "Oh, I know fortification!"
Rin perked up slightly. "Finally, something!" She paused, frowning. "But isn't that... utterly useless?"
Shirō blinked. "...It is?"
Rin buried her face in her hands, muttering something about the end of the world. Archer, meanwhile, leaned back in his seat, a faint smile playing on his lips as he observed the chaos.
"You've got a long way to go, Saber," he said, his tone half-amused, half-resigned.
Rin leaned back in her chair, tapping her fingers against the table as she began explaining, "Alright, Emiya-kun—or Saber, whatever—you need to understand what a Noble Phantasm is. It's the trump card of every Servant. Think of it as the crystallisation of your legend, the ultimate attack or ability unique to you. It's what separates ordinary Servants from extraordinary ones."
Shirō blinked, her face blank. "So, it's like a super move in a video game?"
Rin's lips twitched, trying to hold back her irritation. "In the simplest terms... sure. But don't treat it lightly. A Noble Phantasm can turn the tide of battle, but the moment you use it, your identity as a Heroic Spirit might be revealed. That's why it's risky."
"Okay, got it," Shirō said, nodding as though she understood everything, though her slightly confused expression said otherwise. She turned to Archer. "What's your Noble Phantasm?"
Archer folded his arms, leaning back with a smug smirk. "Not telling."
Shirō frowned. "Why not?"
"Because it's none of your business," Archer replied, his tone flat but teasing enough to make Rin glare at him.
"Don't mind him," Rin huffed. "He likes to be dramatic." She turned back to Shirō, studying her carefully. "That fortification magecraft you mentioned earlier—where did you learn it?"
Shirō hesitated for a moment before answering softly, "It's something I learned from my late adoptive father. He taught me the basics."
"Oh." Rin's sharp expression softened briefly at the mention of Shirō's father. She quickly seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Anyway, since you've been able to change your clothes, you must've seen the marks on your body. What about the Command Seals?"
Shirō flushed, her gaze dropping to the table. "There aren't any," she admitted, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
Rin's eyebrows shot up. "What?! No Command Seals? Are you sure you're even a Servant?"
Before Shirō could respond, she said, "Never mind. Tell me about any encounters if you've had with other Masters or Servants. Anything at all."
"Well," Shirō began, her expression growing serious, "there was this girl... Illyasviel von Einzbern. She kept calling me 'Big Brother.'"
Rin stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "Illyasviel von Einzbern? You met her?"
"Yes. She attacked me with Berserker."
Rin's hands slammed onto the table. "Berserker?! You fought a Berserker?!"
Shirō raised her hands defensively. "No, no! I didn't fight him. I dodged. And then... I ran away."
Rin groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Of course you did."
Clearing her throat, she composed herself and sat upright. "Alright, Emiya-kun, how about this? You become my Servant."
"Wait, what?" Shirō blinked, stunned.
"I'm serious," Rin said, smirking. "I'm a great Master. Ask Archer."
Archer scoffed, his smirk widening. "Great Master? Please. You're unfeminine, a tsundere, a softy—"
"MOOUU! ARCHER!" Rin shouted, her face bright red as she threw a glare at him that could melt steel. Archer merely shrugged, clearly enjoying himself.
Turning back to Shirō with a forced smile, Rin asked again, "So, Emiya-kun? What do you say?"
Shirō shook her head, her expression resolute. "I'm an independent citizen of Japan! I'm not going to—"
"Fine!" Rin groaned, throwing up her hands. "How about this instead? Let's make a pact. No fighting each other until the war ends, and I get the Grail. Deal?"
Shirō tilted her head, considering. "What's in it for me?"
"I'll mentor you," Archer said smoothly, leaning forward. "Your powers, your Noble Phantasm, everything. And Rin and I can protect you from other Masters and Servants until you're strong enough to stand on your own."
Rin crossed her arms. "So? Do you accept?"
Shirō hesitated, her gaze flickering between Rin and Archer. "Will I be able to help others?"
Rin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yeah, I think so."
Shirō smiled softly. "Then... I accept."
The family dojo was eerily quiet as Shirō stood in the middle, wooden sword in hand, her palms clammy with sweat. Archer, standing across from her, twirled his twin blades lazily, their sharp edges catching the dim light. Despite his casual demeanor, the weight of his presence was suffocating.
"What do you mean we're fighting?!" Shirō demanded, her voice a mix of confusion and rising panic. She tightened her grip on the wooden sword, though it felt pitifully inadequate compared to the deadly steel in Archer's hands.
Archer tilted his head, smirking. "Simple. You're a Saber-class Servant, aren't you? Let's see what you've got."
"But—this is insane! What if I get hurt?"
"Then you'll learn not to hold back," Archer replied coolly, stepping forward. His movements were deliberate, calculated, and even without attacking, he exuded a predatory air. "Besides, I'm holding back. You won't die… probably."
Shirō's heart pounded in her chest as Archer suddenly dashed toward her, faster than her eyes could properly track. The first strike came low, one of his blades aimed at her legs. She barely managed to block it with her wooden sword, the force of the impact sending a painful jolt up her arms.
"Too slow," Archer said, spinning on his heel and bringing the second blade down from above. Shirō stumbled backward, raising her sword in a desperate attempt to parry. The clash of wood against metal echoed through the dojo, her weapon groaning under the strain.
"This isn't fair!" Shirō shouted, jumping back to gain some distance. Her breaths came in short gasps, her arms already trembling. "You're using real swords, and I'm—"
"You think your enemies in the Holy Grail War are going to play fair?" Archer cut her off, lunging forward again. His movements were fluid and relentless, a dance of death that left her scrambling to keep up. Each strike was precise, designed to probe her defenses and exploit her weaknesses.
Shirō swung her wooden sword in a wide arc, aiming to create some breathing room. Archer sidestepped effortlessly, his twin blades a blur as they deflected her clumsy attack. "Come on, Saber," he taunted. "Is this really all you've got? I've seen more fight in an apprentice magus."
Her frustration boiled over. "I'm not used to this!" she yelled, charging at him with everything she had. She swung wildly, her strikes fueled more by desperation than skill. Archer met her head-on, his blades moving like extensions of his body. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed her, sending the wooden sword clattering to the floor.
Before she could react, he pressed one of his blades to her throat, his smirk widening. "Dead," he said simply.
Shirō froze, her chest heaving. She felt the cold steel against her skin, and for a moment, the reality of her situation sank in. If this had been a real fight, she would have been killed in an instant.
Archer stepped back, lowering his blades. "Pathetic," he said, though his tone was devoid of malice. "You're not fighting like a Saber. You're fighting like a scared girl swinging a stick."
"I 'am' a scared girl swinging a stick!" Shirō snapped, glaring at him. "I told you I'm not cut out for this!"
"Then get cut out for it," Archer shot back. "You're in a war, Saber. If you don't find your strength, you'll die. And not just you—people around you will get hurt because you're too weak to protect them."
Shirō clenched her fists, anger and shame warring within her. She didn't ask for this, didn't want to be a part of this madness. But Archer's words struck a chord. She thought of the dream she'd had—the blood, the corpses, the swords sticking out of the ground. Was that her fate if she didn't learn to fight?
Archer seemed to sense her turmoil. He sheathed his blades, his expression softening slightly. "Listen, Saber. You've got potential, but potential means nothing if you don't use it. This war doesn't care about your excuses. Either you fight, or you die."
Shirō picked up her wooden sword, her hands trembling. "I… I'll try," she said quietly, more to herself than to him.
"Trying isn't good enough," Archer said, turning to leave. "But it's a start. We'll pick this up again tomorrow. And next time, don't hold back."
As Shirō scrubbed the last plate clean, Archer leaned casually against the kitchen counter, watching her with an air of mild curiosity. "So," he said, his voice calm but probing, "if you were to win the Grail, what would your wish be?"
Shirō paused, the damp plate in her hands catching the light. She frowned thoughtfully. "Probably… to go back to my old self," she admitted, her voice quiet. She set the plate aside and picked up another, her hands moving mechanically. "But… more than that, I'd want to know the truth about the incident from ten years ago."
Archer raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance. "Incident? What incident?"
Shirō glanced at him, her expression a mix of curiosity and melancholy. "The Fuyuki Fire. Ten years ago, a huge fire broke out in this city, and so many people died. I… I was one of the survivors." She hesitated, the memory clearly painful. "But I don't remember much about it. Just flames everywhere, screams… and someone pulling me out of the wreckage. I want to know why it happened. What caused it?"
"I see…" Archer muttered, his tone carefully neutral. Inside, however, he felt a pang of guilt. Of course, he knew what she was talking about. After all, he had been there. His past self—now standing before him as Saber—had witnessed it all firsthand. But this wasn't the time to reveal that.
Shirō looked at him curiously. "What about you, Archer? Do you have a wish?"
He smirked, leaning back against the counter. "Nope. I died peacefully, with all my dreams fulfilled. No regrets whatsoever."
"Oh." Shirō's lips curved into a small smile. "That's… really nice. I'm glad."
Archer chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're way too kind for your own good, Saber."
Shirō tilted her head, puzzled by his comment, but said nothing.
After a moment of silence, Archer's smirk grew a little wider. "By the way, you should know that Rin's a tsundere."
Shirō blinked. "A… tsundere?"
"Yeah, you know, all tough and bossy on the outside, but deep down, she's just a softy with a crush," Archer explained, a teasing edge to his tone. "If you want her to take you seriously—or, heck, maybe even grant you a wish—you'd better impress her. Who knows? She might actually like you enough to make it happen."
Shirō's cheeks flushed slightly. "R-really? You think so?"
Archer shrugged, his grin mischievous. "I'm just saying, it wouldn't hurt to try."
Shirō looked away, focusing on drying the dishes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips. "I'll… think about it."
Archer chuckled again, folding his arms. "You do that, Saber. You do that."
TBC