SwordSwoSword Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The silence didn’t answer.

The only sound was his own heartbeat, loud and relentless, as though mocking him.

For a long while, he simply sat there in the darkness, waiting for his breathing to settle, waiting for the trembling to stop.

But the memory lingered, sharp and heavy, refusing to fade.

Emiya sat there for a long while, staring at the faint cracks of moonlight across the tatami. Sleep would not come again.

He knew that the moment his body had jolted awake—the memory was lodged too deep, too raw. Any attempt to lie back down would only drag him into that same fire.

He glanced at the clock. The hands pointed to a time that made him sigh: a little past three in the morning.

‘Far too early to start the day, and yet far too late to hope for rest.’

His body ached for sleep, but his mind… his mind was restless, circling that dream like a vulture.

Eventually, with a quiet grunt, he stood.

The futon gave a faint rustle as he folded it back into place—old habits, discipline ingrained into him no matter the fatigue. Moving quietly so as not to wake anyone, he padded toward the kitchen.

The house was steeped in silence. Only the faint hum of the refrigerator broke it, joined by the creak of floorboards beneath his steps.

He turned on the dim light above the counter, its soft glow spreading like a pool of warmth in the otherwise dark home.

He busied his hands with routine: rice washed and set into the cooker, miso soup simmering gently, eggs beaten for tamagoyaki. The scent of broth and grilled fish soon began to fill the air, comforting in its mundanity.

There was no fire here, no screams, no dying promises.

Just the simple rhythm of cooking—a rhythm that had saved him more times than he could count, back when all he had left was the need to keep moving forward.

But as he stirred the miso, his thoughts betrayed him, circling back to the dream. The heat rising from the pot reminded him of the fire’s suffocating smoke.

The cracking sound of eggshells mirrored the sound of collapsing beams. He tried to shake it off, focus on the knife in his hand, on the precise cuts of green onion for garnish.

Yet the weight of Kiritsugu’s words still pressed heavy against his chest.

When he finished cooking, he quietly set the table for four. The others would wake later to a ready breakfast. For now, he simply poured himself tea, letting the steam curl against his face as he sat alone in silence.

But even tea could not soothe him. His gaze lingered on the faint reflection in the darkened window—his own, older, wearier than the boy who had once made an impossible vow.

Eventually, he rose again. The sky outside remained ink-black, but faint hints of dawn brushed the horizon.

He gathered a fresh uniform, moving to the bathroom. The hiss of the shower soon filled the small room, water cascading over his shoulders and back.

The warmth helped wash away the tension in his muscles, but not in his mind. Closing his eyes beneath the spray, the images returned unbidden: orange flames, Kiritsugu’s tired smile, that parting whisper.

He grit his teeth, water sliding down his face, unsure whether it was enough to drown out the heaviness that clung to him.

By the time he stepped out and dried himself, he already felt the pull of the coming day. School awaited. The others would wake soon, and he would need to wear his usual calm mask. But as he buttoned his shirt, that same question gnawed at him, quiet and merciless:

Why am I still dreaming of that night?

He adjusted his uniform, exhaled slowly, and faced the mirror. His reflection stared back—composed, sharp-eyed, unreadable. Yet behind it, he could still see the boy who once walked through fire.

The walk to school was quiet. Dawn had barely lifted when Emiya stepped out of the house, his satchel slung over his shoulder and the faint crispness of morning air clinging to his skin.

The streets were still half-asleep, shop shutters drawn, only the occasional hum of a passing truck breaking the silence.

He kept his pace steady, each step methodical, as though routine alone could anchor him away from the dream that still lingered at the edges of his thoughts.

By the time he arrived at the school gates, the place was practically deserted. He slipped inside, his shoes echoing softly down the hallways, and slid open the door to his classroom.

 The desks were neatly arranged, sunlight spilling in from tall windows, dust dancing lazily in the early light. He chose his seat near the window, sat down, and folded his arms on the desk, letting his gaze drift outside.

One by one, his classmates trickled in. The chatter grew, a rising tide of laughter, footsteps, greetings. Yet it all seemed far away to him.

He nodded politely when someone passed by and offered a casual “morning,” but the words felt automatic, hollow. His eyes lingered on the clouds drifting by instead, thoughts heavy and elsewhere.

When class began, Emiya forced himself into the rhythm of it.

The scratch of chalk against the blackboard, the shuffle of papers, the weight of a textbook beneath his hand—mundane anchors he could cling to.

He took neat notes, answered when called upon, kept his expression calm and focused. To any outsider, he looked like the model student. Inside, though, his thoughts churned, pressing against the mask he wore.

It wasn’t until the bell rang for lunch that he finally allowed himself space to breathe. He packed his things quickly, ignored the bustle of classmates forming groups, and made his way up the familiar stairwell to the rooftop.

The rooftop was quiet—just the whisper of wind brushing against the fence and the distant hum of the city below.

He sat down against the railing, unpacked his lunchbox, and opened it carefully. Steamed rice, rolled omelet, grilled fish, pickled vegetables. The same breakfast he’d cooked this morning, now neatly repurposed into a bento.

He ate slowly, the flavors grounding him, but his mind drifted anyway.

‘Takakura’s curse is gone now.’

That thought struck with a certain finality, and his chopsticks paused mid-air. The boy had been bound, terrified, vulnerable—yet now, freed. Momo too, awakened to her strange, raw abilities. For a moment, Emiya let himself believe in the quiet.

‘If their troubles are over, then maybe… it’s smooth sailing from here.’

He chuckled faintly, shaking his head.

‘As if fate would ever let it be that simple.’

Still, there was comfort in entertaining the idea. He leaned back slightly, gazing up at the pale blue sky, food half-forgotten in his hand.

Compared to the endless cycle of blood and battle in his former life, this—school, quiet mornings, silly rooftop lunches—was peace.

A retirement.

That’s what this life felt like. Not the perfect kind, not the sort wrapped in luxury or ease, but a retirement nonetheless.

He had fought as a Counter Guardian, a tool, a blade meant only to be drawn when humanity itself threatened to collapse.

He had been defined by conflict, bound by it, devoured by it.

And now… here he was. Eating tamagoyaki under a sleepy sun, surrounded by classmates who knew nothing of fire, curses, or endless battle.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, he thought:

‘Maybe this is what I bought with all that fighting. A small reprieve. A chance to just… exist.’

He exhaled slowly, eyes still on the sky, the lunchbox warming his hands. The wind tugged gently at his hair, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe in the quiet future he pictured.

Smooth sailing.

Even if he knew, deep down, it couldn’t last.

The afternoon dragged on in the way only school could—lectures, chalk squeaking on the board, and the faint hum of air-conditioning that never quite worked right.

Emiya buried himself in the lessons, his pen moving steadily across his notebook, more out of habit than interest. The earlier rooftop thoughts still lingered in the back of his head, like a ghost that wouldn’t quite leave.

By the time the third period wrapped up, the final bell came almost like a mercy. The room exploded with chatter, chairs scraping against the floor, students calling out plans for the evening.

Emiya stood up, packing his things into his satchel with neat efficiency. His one thought was simple: get home as quickly as possible.

A couple of classmates tried to catch him as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Hey, Emiya, wanna come hang out?”

“Emiya-kun, we’re grabbing something to eat, you should join—”

He offered the faintest of polite smiles but shook his head. “Sorry. Gotta get home.”

His tone was clipped, almost curt, though not unkind. Just firm enough to make clear there would be no persuasion.

He slipped into the hallway, weaving through the thinning crowd toward the exit. The sunlight streaming through the tall windows painted the corridor gold, making the polished floors gleam. It was quiet for a moment—until he noticed movement ahead.

Takakura, or Okarun, as his niece called him.

The boy was walking quickly, almost nervously, clutching his books to his chest. And just as he rounded a corner, he collided shoulder-first with someone coming from the opposite direction. A girl.

Her short pink hair caught the light, bobbing as she stumbled back. Emiya recognized her—one of his classmates. She blinked at Okarun, her mouth tightening into a smile.

“Oh—sorry!” Okarun blurted, his voice awkward, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He bent forward in a fluster, trying to make himself smaller.

“I’m so sorry!” the girl said cheerfully, blushing her face and looked at him squared on. Her tone carried more cheerfulness than the situation warranted, and Okarun only gave another clumsy bow while sporting a blush as well. “Are you okay?”

“Huh? No. Wait. I—I’m the one who’s sorry…”

The girl lingered, still attentively talking to him. “There’s a water bottle in my bag. Did it hurt you?”

“No—Not at all… Maybe because I’ve gotten tougher…” Okarun, while stammering, replied. Not making eye contact whatsoever.

Emiya could tell that he was nervous talking to the girl.

“I really am sorry~” the girl’s voice was getting warmer and warmer, and suddenly brushed Okarun’s hand with her own.

“Uh, um, no. I—It was my fault! Please pay no mind!!”

“You knoww, you're a really kind person~” it truly looked like the girl was blushingly flirting with Okarun, and it made the nerdy-looking kid to sport a furious blushi

‘Huh… I guess he’s a natural charmer. Perhaps that’s why Momo likes him. Never judge a book by its cover,’ Emiya was watching this entire conversation a few feet away, having his own train of thoughts.

Then, as she turned back to her group of friends waiting nearby, her lips curled into a smirk. Emiya’s sharp ears caught the shift in her voice—louder now, for others to hear.

“Hey, did you just see that? That nerd had such a dumb look on his face!” the pink-haired girl said to her friends. “He’s totally head over heels for me. He must be crushing so hard right now.”

“Yeah,” one of her friends chimed in, giggling, “totally hopeless. You totally played him!”

“Well? Yeah. It’s fun making worthless trash get the hots for me! I mean, a guy like him would never talk to a girl, right?”

‘I stand corrected on the former. But not the latter: Never judge a book by its cover.’ Emiya’s view on his classmate was starting to be on the low side after hearing all this.

“And he’ll definitely never be touched by another girl as fine as me. So, I let him dream a little. That four-eyed nerd must have gotten a kick out of it too!”

Their laughter rang down the hall, sharp and mean in a way that carried. Emiya’s eyes narrowed, his steps slowing. His gaze flicked toward Okarun, who by now was barely out of sight. He hadn’t heard.

But someone else had.

Momo.

She stood just a little ways down the hall, her arms crossed, her expression dark. Emiya could tell from her narrowed eyes and stiff posture that she’d heard every word. Her cheeks puffed ever so slightly with restrained anger.

Then he noticed it—her fingertips twitching almost imperceptibly, a faint shimmer of psychic energy stirring in the air around her.

The bullies kept laughing, oblivious. Until, without warning, a dull metallic clank sounded above them.

A washbasin, of all things, came loose from its perch atop a tall cabinet and plummeted straight down.

He exhaled softly, shaking his head. ‘So much for smooth sailing.’

The washbasin creaked as it tilted from the edge of the cabinet, metal scraping against wood. Emiya’s eyes snapped upward, his instincts sharper than any normal high schooler’s.

Time seemed to slow in that instant.

The pink-haired girl never noticed. She was still laughing with her friends, her head tilted back, mouth half-open in another mocking remark about Okarun.

KLANG!

In a blur, Emiya moved. His hand shot out, catching the basin just as it dropped. The metallic clang he expected came—the weight settled neatly into his palm, the sound not even reduced to a muted thunk.

The girls around gasped, stepping back in shock. “Aira!!” “Are you okay?!”

The pink-haired girl spun, eyes wide. For a moment, she looked ready to shriek, but then she realized what had happened. Her face flushed crimson, the blush spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears.

“Y-you… saved me,” she stammered, her voice wobbling between embarrassment and awe. She gripped the strap of her schoolbag tightly, staring up at him like he had just pulled her from in front of a moving car.

“Th-thank you…”

Emiya’s expression was unreadable, calm as if catching falling debris was as natural as breathing. He shifted the basin to one hand and set it down gently against the wall.

“Just watch your surroundings,” he said evenly, brushing the matter aside as if it were nothing. He didn’t wait for her to recover or speak further. His attention was elsewhere.

Across the hall, Momo froze, her smug satisfaction evaporating the second she realized who had interfered.

Her lips parted slightly, and for once, she looked guilty instead of defiant. Okarun, standing a few steps behind her, glanced between the two of them in confusion.

Emiya’s eyes hardened. Without hesitation, he crossed the corridor in long, deliberate strides. Before either of them could react, he took Okarun gently by the arm and gestured firmly for Momo to follow.

“We need to talk,” Emiya said in a low voice that carried no room for argument.

Both of them exchanged nervous looks.

Momo hesitated, her jaw tightening as if she wanted to argue, but the weight in Emiya’s tone made her swallow her words. Okarun simply nodded, too stunned to do otherwise.

Without looking back at the pink-haired girl or the curious crowd that had begun to murmur, Emiya steered them down the hall, away from prying eyes, away from the scene. His grip was steady but not harsh—controlled, purposeful.

The three of them stopped beneath the shade of a tree outside the schoolyard, far enough that no lingering students could overhear. The air was cooler out here, quiet except for the occasional chatter from kids in the distance.

Emiya crossed his arms, his gaze fixed squarely on Momo. His voice was calm, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.

“You can’t do that again,” he said flatly. “Using your powers in public like that—what were you thinking?”

Momo bristled immediately, hands on her hips. “What was I thinking? I was thinking she deserved it! That jerk had it coming! If anyone deserves a washbasin to the head, it’s her!”

Emiya’s expression didn’t shift an inch. “That’s not the point. Your powers aren’t toys. They’re not pranks. You can’t just lash out because of some meager excuse. Words can be answered with words. You don’t fight carelessness with recklessness.”

Momo clicked her tongue and turned away with a huff.

“Easy for you to say when you swoop in all cool and collected! You think I’m just supposed to sit there and let people do whatever they want and talk shit like that!?”

“Yes,” Emiya said bluntly, his tone cutting through her defiance.

“Or rather—you confront her with your voice, not your powers. If you rely on your abilities for something so petty, what’s next? Do you curse anyone who cuts in line? Strike down a teacher who gives you detention?”

Momo whipped back around, cheeks puffed with irritation. “You’re exaggerating! I’m not some kind of psycho! I just wanted to teach her a lesson, that’s all!”

“And that’s exactly what makes it dangerous,” Emiya shot back, his eyes narrowing.

“It starts small. A washbasin here, a scare there. But every time, you’ll justify it because the other person ‘deserved it.’ Before long, you won’t see the line you’ve crossed. And once you’re known as the girl who makes things float when she’s mad—”

“I know what I’m doing!” Momo snapped, stamping her foot like a frustrated child. “You act like I’m some ticking time bomb, but I can handle myself, thank you very much!”

Emiya exhaled through his nose, about to counter again, when—

“Uh—guys?” Okarun’s nervous voice cut between them.

Neither Emiya nor Momo looked his way, too caught up in their verbal sparring.

Momo jabbed her finger at Emiya’s chest. “And another thing, Unc—you don’t get to tell me how to use my powers like you’re some kind of—”

“—some kind of what?” Emiya asked, voice cooling even further, his brow arched.

Okarun raised his hands desperately. “HELLO? Bigger problem over here!”

Both pairs of eyes finally turned to him. He pointed at his lower half with an expression that was equal parts panic and bewilderment.

“The shaft’s back,” Okarun blurted, “but the balls are still gone!”

Silence.

Momo froze mid-sentence, her face twitching as the words sank in. Emiya blinked once, then again, as if trying to process the sheer absurdity of what he just heard.

“You… what?” Emiya asked, his voice dead flat.

Okarun flailed his arms, his face red as a beet. “I’m serious! I checked in the bathroom between classes—they’re STILL gone! But my shaft—my shaft’s back! What the hell is going on?!”

Momo’s lips trembled, halfway between laughter and horror. Emiya pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something inaudible before sighing like a man who had just realized the universe was conspiring against him.

“…Forget the washbasin,” Emiya said finally. “Looks like we have a different mess to deal with.”

Okarun stood there, frantic, his hands waving like a man about to announce the end of the world. “I’m telling you—it’s half back! Do you realize how horrifying that is?!”

Momo slapped her hands over her face, groaning. “Why are you saying this out loud?! What if someone hears you?! Oh my god, I cannot believe this is my life…”

Emiya, meanwhile, rubbed his temple, staring skyward as though silently begging whatever god was listening to strike him down.

“First thing after school, it’s arguments about psychic discipline. Now it’s… missing anatomy.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “…Retirement, huh? What a joke.”

Okarun stepped closer, gripping Emiya’s sleeve like a drowning man. “You don’t get it, Emiya-san! I’m incomplete! I’m like… like a cursed action figure missing the important parts!”

“Don’t say ‘important parts’ like that!” Momo shouted, cheeks blazing.

“I HAVE to say it!” Okarun yelled back. “This is a crisis!”

Finally, Emiya just turned on his heel and started walking away.

“Where are you going?!” Momo demanded.

“Home,” Emiya said without looking back. “If the world decides to fall apart because of your boyfriend’s balls, I’d rather deal with it there right now.”

Momo sputtered, “H-he’s NOT my boyfriend!” while Okarun shouted, “That’s not even the problem here!”

But Emiya was already striding off, muttering under his breath, “I survived hellfire, battled curses, and lived as a Counter Guardian… but apparently this is what breaks me.”

Behind him, the other two kept bickering, their voices echoing down the street.

It might have been a crisis—but to the former Heroic Spirit, it felt more like babysitting two idiots.

-------

The Ayase living room was lively in the most chaotic way possible.

Momo was doubled over on the tatami floor, tears in her eyes, clutching her stomach as she howled with laughter.

“Pfft—ha ha ha! I-I can’t—your face when you said it, Okarun! ‘My shaft is back but my balls are still gone!’ BWAHAHAHA!” She slapped the ground like she was trying to beat the life out of them.

“Ahahaha—oh my god, Okarun, I can’t—!” She rolled off onto the floor, clutching her stomach as she laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

Meanwhile, Okarun was sitting stiffly in the middle of the room, hunched over like a kid waiting for the executioner.

Okarun sat hunched forward on the tatami mat, face crimson and fists clenched, looking like he’d rather evaporate on the spot. “IT’S NOT THAT FUNNY! AYASE-SAN!”

“This is why I told ya to show me!”

Across from him, Seiko had her arms crossed and an expression so sharp it could’ve cut glass. ““You’re telling me you just now noticed they’re still gone?! They’re your damn balls!”

Okarun squeaked, “Well, my rod came back… and I was so relieved that I never noticed my balls…”

“BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Momo laughed even further after hearing it.

Seiko leaned forward, her glasses flashing in the light. “Your rod?! Listen, you. That’s some way of putting it! More like your pencil, you little twerp!!”

Momo howled even louder, slapping the floor. “Pfft—! Don’t say pencil—HAHAHA!”

Okarun’s ears were practically steaming. “Like you would know!”

From the kitchen doorway, Emiya leaned against the frame with his arms crossed, a look of profound weariness etched on his face. “…Why did I come here.”

Seiko spun toward him, jabbing a finger in Okarun’s direction. “Shirou!! You’re supposed to be the reliable one. How could you just let this boy parade around not realizing he’s still ball-less?!”

Emiya’s eyebrow twitched. “What exactly was I supposed to do? Follow him to the bathroom and sneak a peek?”

That sent Momo into another fit of laughter so violent she kicked the coffee table by accident.

“IT’S NOT FUNNY!” Okarun wailed, burying his face in his hands.

Seiko sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Unbelievable… now we have missing balls. This house used to be normal.”

“Was it ever?” Emiya deadpanned.

The only answer was Momo’s shrieking laughter echoing through the whole house while Okarun begged for divine intervention.

Seiko started to stand up, exhaling in a long sigh.

“So be it. Better let me have a peek.”

“Huh?! You want to look at it?!” Okarun cried, spinning toward her with wild eyes. “This is my manhood on the line!”

“I’m not going to look at your wiener, birdbrain!!”

Momo wheezed harder, practically rolling off the couch. “GYAHHAHAHGAHAGHA!!”

Seiko flicked her cigarette into the ashtray, fixing Okarun with the sort of glare that could silence even a raging Yokai.

“I’m gonna have a look inside you!” Out of nowhere, Seiko brought out a mirror, holding it with her left hand.

Okarun wilted, a bit shocked sheepishly while sitting straight. “?!”

As Seiko looked over attentively Okarun while holding onto the mirror, Momo finally stopped her fit of laughter and joined her grandmother, whereas Emiya only looked on while still resting his back on the kitchen door.

“Momo! Go get me a doll— any will do!” Seiko stopped her attentive-looking on Okarun and commanded her granddaughter. “And water in a washbowl.”

“There’s still something… inside of him!”

After a minute, the materials were prepared.

Steam rose faintly from the washbowl as Okarun sat perched on a chair in the middle of the living room, his trouser legs rolled up and his bare feet soaking awkwardly in the warm water.

His posture was stiff, like a man awaiting trial, eyes darting around as if divine judgment were about to descend at any moment.

Behind him, Seiko loomed with a paper fan so large it looked like she’d stolen it from a kabuki stage. She flicked it open with a dramatic fwoosh, her cigarette clinging to the corner of her lips.

“Right. Let’s get started.”

Across from him, Momo crouched on the tatami with uncharacteristic seriousness, carefully setting a porcelain cat figurine on a small coffee table like it was some kind of holy relic. She pressed a talisman squarely onto its body.

“You’ve put the talisman on the doll.” Seiko confirmed her granddaughter’s action.

“That’s… that’s just a souvenir cat from the market.”

Momo puffed out her cheeks. “Don’t underestimate Nyango-sensei!” She smacked the figurine once on the head for emphasis, nearly knocking it over.

Emiya, still leaning against the kitchen doorway, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “This feels less like an exorcism and more like an episode of late-night comedy TV.”

“Shut it, Shirou,” Seiko said, snapping her fan shut and pointing it like a blade. “You’ll thank me when this kid isn’t wandering around ball-less for the rest of his life.”

Momo couldn’t hold it anymore—her lips trembled, and then she burst out laughing again, nearly falling onto the cat figurine. “BAHAHAHA—grandmaaa, don’t say it like that!”

Okarun wailed, throwing his hands into the air. “STOP LAUGHING, DAMMIT!”

Seiko raised her fan dramatically over his head, the cigarette glowing like a holy beacon. “Silence! The ritual begins!”

From the doorway, Emiya muttered, “This better be done quickly.”

“You…” Seiko prepared herself…

“LITTLE DUMDUMM!!!”

WHACK

And then Seiko brought the fan down on Okarun’s head with a WHACK so loud the cat figurine rattled on the tatami.

The sound of the paper fan crashing onto Okarun’s head echoed through the Ayase house, blending with Momo’s small laughter.

“Eh?!! What the heck was that?!” Okarun could only be confused by the action.

“Do not speak. Do not move, you rotten tangerine,” Seiko vehemently said while preparing herself for another go.

“Hold on a sec! This isn’t some TV drama!”

Seiko didn’t listen to Okarun’s objection and started to give him another hit with the gigantic paper fan. “The kanji for “person” is a pictograph of poles supporting each other, isn’t it?!”

“You’re just pranking me! And Kinpachi-sensei isn’t even the one who calls people ‘rotten tangerines”!”

Seiko then stopped and looked at Momo. “Momo. Did you see anything just then?”

Okarun looked at her as well. “?!”

“I did!” Momo looked straight on Okarun. More specifically, the aura inside him.

“When you struck Okarun… his aura turned blue for a moment,” Momo explained what she saw and Emiya raised his eyebrow after hearing it.

“Awl~right. Momo, gimme a hand,” Seiko commanded. “The instant you see his aura turn blue, yank it outta him.”

Momo blinked, tilting her head like she hadn’t quite heard right. “Uh… hold on a sec. Pull it out? What do you mean, pull it out? It’s not like I can just… grab someone’s aura like it’s a weed in the yard.”

Seiko snapped her fan shut with a ‘clack’ and jabbed it toward Okarun’s chest. “That’s because it ain’t his aura. Kid’s aura is prolly like sunshine with indigestion.”

“HEY!” Okarun protested, pointing at himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Quiet, rotten tangerine,” Seiko barked, flicking ash into the tray without even looking at him. “The one that flashed blue? That’s foreign. Since it doesn’t belong to him, you oughta be able to tug it out like a bad tooth.”

Seiko grinned, her cigarette dangling precariously as smoke curled upward. “Think of it like yanking gum outta someone’s hair. Only this gum happens to be aura.”

Emiya finally sighed from the doorway, arms crossed. “You make it sound so simple.”

Momo snorted into her sleeve, her shoulders shaking, but then she grew serious again and looked at her grandma. “Okay… so if I see that blue aura again, I just… focus, grab it, and pull?”

“Exactly.” Seiko puffed a cloud of smoke like a sage giving final instructions. “Don’t think. Just act. The more you hesitate, the more it’ll wriggle away. Like fish guts on a hook.”

“…Gross.” Momo made a face, but she nodded anyway.

Emiya exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is reckless.”

“Reckless gets results, Shirou-boy,” Seiko fired back with a smirk. “Besides, if it works, you’ll owe me a thank-you dinner. I’m thinkin’ sukiyaki.”

Okarun slumped in the chair, eyes wide with despair. “Why do I feel like I’m about to die in the stupidest way possible…?”

Seiko raised the fan high again, eyes gleaming. “Round two begins!”

“WAIT, YOU’RE JUST GONNA KEEP HITTING ME?!” Okarun screamed.

“Hold him steady, Momo!”

The 'WHACK’ resounded once more, echoing through the Ayase household.

This time, Momo’s eyes widened—because yes, there it was again. That faint, flickering aura of cold, ghostly blue rising from Okarun’s chest like smoke from a dying fire.

She gasped. “Grandma! I see it!”

“Then don’t waste time, girl!” Seiko barked. “Grab it and yank it clean out!”

Momo then tried to pull the foreign aura out using her psychic powers. In the process of ‘yanking it out’, Okarun’s body was slightly pulled toward her direction as well.

Okarun then fell face forward to the floor, no longer in his sitting position.

“Huh?! I felt it just now! But once I got it out of him, it disappeared!” Momo looked at her hands and started to panic. “Grandma, this is bad! It may have gotten away!”

“Relax,” Seiko told her granddaughter while looking at the porcelain cat quite in a focus. The others also followed her.

The talisman on the cat figurine started to darken, and after it darkened wholly….

PWOING

The cat figurine ran like the wind.

Momo was shocked, as it was able to move and ran like it had stolen something. “Aaahhh!!”

“Stop, you!” Seiko tried to hit it with her gigantic paper fan, but it jumped and got away.

The porcelain cat bolted across the tatami like a rocket, its stubby ceramic paws clattering wildly against the floor.

Seiko swung her fan and missed by a hair’s breadth, the gust nearly blowing out her own cigarette.

Momo scrambled after it on hands and knees, shrieking like someone who had just seen a bug sprint under the couch.

But by the time anyone blinked, Emiya was already standing across the room with one hand clamped firmly around one of the figurine’s limbs.

The room froze.

“…That was fast,” Okarun muttered from the floor, face smushed into the tatami. “Like… really fast. Did Emiya-san just teleport?!”

Emiya lifted the squirming figurine into the air with one arm like it weighed nothing. “Got it.”

The porcelain cat immediately thrashed in his grip, its glossy painted eyes somehow glaring.

“Unhand me, you big dumb musclehead!! I’ll murder yer damn assess! LET ME GOOO!!”

Okarun and Momo screamed in unison:

“IT TALKS?!!”

The cat twisted its head backward like something out of a horror flick, hissing at them.

“Course I talk, you flea-bitten brats!! Show some respect!!”

Momo’s jaw dropped. “So like, what the hell is this thing?”

Okarun clutched his head in disbelief. “I wonder…”

Seiko’s cigarette almost fell out of her mouth. Her eyes focusing on it with recognition. “Now that surprised me.”

“Grandma?” Momo asked, half-confused, half-curious.

“This is…” Seiko said, her tone dropping lower, dramatic as hell. She jabbed her fan toward the wriggling figurine.

“Turbo Granny.”

The living room went silent for a solid two beats.

And then—

“EEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHH?!?!?!”

Momo and Okarun’s synchronized screech nearly shook the ceiling beams.

“Huh!? But we defeated Turbo Granny!” Momo flailed, pointing at the porcelain figure. “We sent her to the afterlife, didn’t we?!”

The figurine jerked violently in Emiya’s hand. “As if youngsters like you could take me down. Never look down on your elders!”

“Kinda cute though, isn’t it?” Momo pointed out the talking cat figurine.

“I just told you not to look down on yer elders, damn it!”

Emiya calmly adjusted his grip, holding it at arm’s length as it dangled and kicked. His expression was as unreadable as ever, voice flat. “You’re surprisingly loud for a cat-shaped paperweight.”

Turbo Granny screeched, her voice echoing unnaturally in the small space. “WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PAPERWEIGHT, YOU BRICK-FACED UNSEASONABLY-TANNED PRETTY BOY?!”

Turbo Granny cackled in Emiya’s grip, her laugh a distorted rattle that didn’t fit her kitty-cat form.

“The instant I was torched by this white-haired boy’s attack, I assumed an astral form and was able to swim through the flames. In desperation, I took refuge in the glasses boy’s body.”

Turbo Granny explained how she was able to survive. “Since I was at death’s door, once inside him, all signs of life appeared gone. I stayed hidden inside waiting for my power to recover…”

“…and when that time came, I would murder you all.”

Momo crossed her arms after hearing that. “You still wanna go? You lost, hag. Deal with it.”

“No, I didn’t!! As if a dumbass like you could beat me!” Turbo Granny said this while still being held down by the man who defeated her.

The cat figurine then looked at him. “You in particular are really gonna get it! Right now I’m simply recuperating. Once I’ve got my power back, I’m gonna beat ya like a drum!”

Emiya, who had been hearing all of this from Turbo Granny, let her go. The cat doll was shocked a little and then laid down in the tatami floor.

“You do realize the situation you’re in, right?” Emiya looked down on Turbo Granny. “We’re the ones with the power here. Think about what you’re saying.”

Okarun then grabbed another talisman and showed it to Turbo Granny’s face. “Yeah! Now gimme my balls back! My damn balls! You’ve got nowhere to run!”

Turbo Granny only smiled.

“You’d best stop fantasizing about ever defeating me. If I die…”

The tension started to rise.

“…You’ll never get them back. Not ever.”

This shocked not only Okarun, but also Momo who was beside him. The fact that Turbo Granny was holding his balls’ hostage made them very wary.

Indeed, holding his balls’ hostage.

“You morons finally see the big picture? I’m the only one with any power, you little turds!” Turbo Granny started to gloat and relax, laying down like she was resting on a beach in the process.

“Anyway, boy,” she then pointed to Okarun. “Go grab a knife and murder these three. Then I’ll give yer balls back.”

“Why, you!” Okarun was furious after hearing Turbo Granny’s commands. The others started to frown.

“Not gonna do it?! You’ve gotta do whatever I tell you to! Now hurry up and do it!”

“GUUUHH!”

Okarun started to tense up, and everyone else started to get wary. The one who was wary the most was none other than the former Counter Guardian there, who was instinctively readying himself to summon Kanshou to the palm of his hand.

Okarun started to transform…

His hair turned white, his body started to grow muscle, and his face started to muster a red marking.

Okarun just transformed into his Turbo Granny-powered self. Growing a huge black collar on his uniform.

“This is stressing me out, you know,” he started to talk differently, but it looked like the signs of him still keeping his insanity, “I’m so bummed~”

This just got more confusing, for Momo and Emiya, particularly.

“Huh?! What the?! We drove Turbo Granny out of you! How come you transformed?!” Momo confusingly asked the transformed Okarun.

“Madness!! How can this be?!” Even Turbo Granny was shocked by this, clearly not something that she had planned.

With that, Emiya felt his wariness lowering, sensing something was amiss but not from the evil Yokai’s plan.

Seiko, who had been puffing calmly on her cigarette the entire time, exhaled a plume of smoke and finally spoke up.

“…This adds up.”

Everyone turned to her like she’d just dropped an atomic bomb in the room.

“What adds up?!” Momo demanded.

“The fan,” Seiko said, tapping the folded paper fan against her palm. Her voice was calm, but her eyes narrowed with focus. “That’s not just any old toy, you know. Its purpose is to drive evil spirits out of vessels.”

She gestured toward Okarun with her fan. “When we drove Turbo Granny out, what we forced loose was her consciousness. But if she’d been clinging onto him that desperately, her spiritual power wouldn’t have let go so easily. It stayed lodged inside his body.”

Everyone froze.

Seiko flicked ash from her cigarette, her voice smooth as a verdict.

“That kitty over there—” she nodded at the furious figurine still stomping its porcelain paws, “—is nothing but her consciousness. All her real strength, the spiritual core that made her terrifying in the first place, is still in the kid.”

Emiya, arms folded, gave her a flat look. “So all she’s got now is a mouth… trapped in a cat figurine.”

“Incidentally, I’m the only one who can put your consciousness back the way it was…” Seiko started to explain coldly.

Turbo Granny froze, her jaw slack for once.

“Now I believe you called this here Kinpachi a moron a minute ago, didn’t you?”

Turbo Granny’s cat visage started to sweat coldly… something that was weird as she had a body of a porcelain figurine.

“…You little dum-dum cat-turd rotten tangerine.”

In an instant, Seiko stated to beat the cat figurine up with he gigantic paper fan.

BAMBAMBAM

“I’m so sorry, sensei!!!!” Turbo Granny cried as she was receiving her punishment from Seiko.

“I’m not your sensei, blockhead!!!” Seiko didn’t forgive her at all.

“Phew Now that’s how you do it, Seiko-chann” Okarun, still in his transformed state, commented on the beatdown.

After that comment, he transformed back to his normal state. Glasses, scrawny, and nerdy-looking once again.

“Ah! You’re back to normal!” Momo expressed while looking at his returned state. “That was wild! How did you transform?”

“Uhh, I don’t know…” Okarun looked at his body while answering. “I got real angry and thought, ‘I’m not letting her get away with this’ and then I changed…”

Emiya looked at Okarun and heard just what it was that triggered the activation of Turbo Granny’s powers. Thinking that it was a reactive one, not a deliberate action.

“You dum-dum!! You rotten orange! Rotten tangerine!”

TWACKTWACKTWACK

“That’s enough already, Seiko,” Emiya said, stepping in with his usual flat tone. His eyes flicked toward the trembling figurine. “She’s useless even without the beating.”

Seiko gave a sharp hmph, snapping the fan closed but still glaring at the little cat like she was ready to pounce again.

“Grandma, seriously, cut it out,” Momo added, tugging on Seiko’s sleeve. “You’re gonna break her into actual shards one of these days.”

“...That’s the point,” Seiko muttered under her breath, but relented.

Momo crouched down in front of Turbo Granny, who was rolling around dramatically, clutching her porcelain sides as if she’d been mortally wounded.

“Hey,” Momo said softly, “you’re sly and annoying and—yeah—you’re a creepy cat-turd… but I don’t think I can hate you that much.”

Momo’s voice grew gentler, though her cheeks puffed in mild frustration. “Back when we saw those bound spirits—the young girls in the tunnel—you… actually felt sorry for them, didn’t you? You felt sympathy towards them.”

The room fell quiet for a beat. Turbo Granny scratched the back of her porcelain head sheepishly, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I did too,” Momo continued. “So instead of fighting all the time, why don’t we just… be nice to each other for once? That way, maybe things won’t be so complicated. And…”

She crossed her arms and leaned closer, narrowing her eyes, “…while we’re at it, you can give Okarun’s balls back.”

Okarun, who had been awkwardly adjusting his glasses and trying not to look too embarrassed, immediately shot upright. “YES, PLEASE. That part’s important!”

Turbo Granny folded her little porcelain arms and sniffed. “Hmph! Fine, fine!”

Okarun’s eyes lit up, tears practically welling.

Momo triumphantly stood up as well. “Sweet! That settles it! Okay, now give them back!”

“Don’t have ‘em”

Turbo Granny declared lazily, puffing up her tiny chest while still laying down on the floor

Everyone’s stomachs dropped at once.

Turbo Granny leaned back, scratching her porcelain chin. “Yeah, the boy’s balls? I kinda lost them.”

The room went silent.

“…You what?” Emiya’s voice was so flat it could’ve been mistaken for the sound of a guillotine dropping.

Seiko’s shadow loomed large as she slowly unfurled her paper fan.

“You’ve got five seconds to remember where you put his balls.”

“WAIT, WAIT, I’M THINKIN’!!” Turbo Granny yowled, scrambling across the tatami like a cat fleeing bathwater.

“Grandma!” Momo shouted—though she was clearly trying to hold her anger.

“Beat her, Seiko-san!!” Okarun cried, fists clenched, tears streaming down his face.

Even Emiya joined in, voice cutting sharp as steel. “Seiko. Do it.”

BAMBAMBAM!!!

Turbo Granny’s shrieks echoed through the house like a siren as porcelain dust puffed into the air with every strike.