Archer the Sorcerer Chapter 6

Chapter 6: What We’re Fighting For

Even when the scenery was crowded with noise, all he heard was silence. Thinking about what had just happened a few hours ago was a lot for him to process.

Megumi sat alone in the corner of the hospital cafeteria, a cup of untouched coffee in front of him. The buzz of quiet conversations and the hum of kitchen equipment barely registered as he stared down at the table, eyes fixed on a spot that his mind couldn’t leave.

Images kept flashing through his head—the twisted form of Mother, the shattered whistle, the blood that had soaked Shirou’s clothes as he told Megumi to run. His fingers clenched into fists, the shame twisting in his gut like a knife. He could still hear Shirou’s voice, sharp and unyielding.

“Go!”

He should have argued harder. He should have stayed. Instead, he’d run, dragging the two terrified girls with him, leaving Shirou to face that monstrous creature alone. And even though the nurses had assured him that Shirou was recovering somewhere in this very hospital, the sight of him—ragged and injured, walking into that storm of Cursed Energy—was a memory that wouldn't fade.

Footsteps approached, a pair of white sneakers stopping just at his side.

“Hey, aren’t you too young to be drinking coffee?” Satoru’s familiar voice cut through his thoughts, casual yet with a pointed edge of reprimand. Megumi glanced up to find his teacher giving him a relaxed smile, though his eyes held a trace of concern. “And what’s with that sulking look, huh?”

Megumi let out a sigh, looking away. “I’m not sulking.”

“Really? Because this sure looks like it,” Satoru teased, grabbing a seat across from him. He leaned back, one elbow propped casually on the table. “Look, you don’t need to worry. Shirou’s a little scraped up, but he’s going to be fine. Stronger than he looks, that one.”

Megumi clenched his jaw, fighting the wave of guilt that rose up. “He told me to go,” he muttered, more to himself than to Satoru. “I should have fought harder, helped him…”

“Oh, so he fought against that Cursed Spirit alone, huh…” Satoru replied easily, picking up a plastic fork from the table and examining it with sudden interest. “I mean, it was a great call though. You made sure the other children got away safely, and he took care of the Cursed Spirit at the same time. That’s quality teamwork.”

Megumi’s eyes dropped even more after hearing how he left Shirou all alone. “I should’ve stayed… After I got them to safety, I sent my Shikigami to come back and assist him. He ordered me to go. At first, I thought I did what he said so that we could bring the girls away… but the more I think about it…”

Satoru then took a look at Megumi, more specifically, his hands.

They were trembling, slightly, which would mean only one thing…

“You were scared, weren’t you?” Satoru’s expression softened slightly, a rare glint of seriousness in his eyes.

No matter how gifted and mature Megumi was, Satoru could still see that he was just a six-year-old kid who had just experienced a near-death experience and also the first time he had gone up against a Grade 1 Cursed Spirit… something that would’ve killed a normal Sorcerer easily.

“That thing… smells like death, and Shirou didn’t even falter or be scared. He just kept on going…” Megumi said to Satoru while trying to make his hands stop trembling, balling them up into fists.

“Well, I could tell you that sometimes… leaving isn’t the same as abandoning someone, Megumi. Shirou told you to go because he knew it was the best way to keep you—and those kids—safe. If you’d stayed, things could be a lot worse than what it is now, trust me.”

Megumi swallowed, glancing down at his hands. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

“I know. Then let me tell you this then…” Satoru’s voice was gentle but firm, a strange kind of calm in his usual carefree tone.

“You feel like shit now because you felt helpless and scared. You think that you should’ve done this and that but overall, you didn’t do those things because… you’re too weak.”

Megumi’s brow furrowed, and broke through his somber expression. “Then… what should I do?”

“Get stronger,” Satoru replied, giving Megumi a pointed look. “This is the time where you see that you have to be strong so that not only you don’t feel helpless, scared and weak anymore… but also so that you can keep up with us.”

Megumi looked away, but he couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. For some reason, Satoru had a way of breaking through the dark fog that clouded his mind, shedding light on perspectives he hadn’t considered. He didn’t like admitting it, but Satoru’s words had made him feel a bit lighter.

Satoru leaned forward, his usual grin back in full force. “Now, enough of this depressing mood. I’m gonna check up on Shirou real quick and see what the fuss is all about…”

Megumi gave him an exasperated look. “Why? Is he still being treated.”

“Haha, nothing of the sort,” Satoru laughed, standing up and motioning for Megumi to see. “He’s all done… but it looks like he’s waiting on someone.”

Megumi paused, glancing up.

“Looks like he got himself a new crush, but I could’ve sworn he had a girlfriend…”

With that, Satoru walked out of the cafeteria and down the quiet halls of the hospital, while Megumi was left all alone with his dark and unsweetened coffee, pondering on all of the things that Satoru said to him.

-----

She used to never experience dreams, only nightmares.

Nightmares about her mother and father leaving her behind, while she was left all alone inside a huge castle with endless winter clouding her vision.

But then, she no longer had nightmares, for a new life had been given to her.

Illya’s first sensation upon waking was pain. It wasn’t sharp or unbearable, but a dull, all-encompassing ache that radiated through her small body.

She groaned softly, trying to move her limbs, but they felt heavy, like lead. The sterile smell of disinfectant tickled her nose, mingling with the faint scent of something metallic—blood, maybe?

Illya leaned back against the stiff hospital pillows, her crimson eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Memories of her past life began to unfurl in her mind like a tattered scroll, vivid and unrelenting.

She remembered the icy corridors of the Einzbern Castle, where she had grown up, groomed for a purpose she had never chosen. Her creators had shaped her entire existence, crafting her as a homunculus destined to serve as the vessel for the Holy Grail. It wasn’t childhood—there was no warmth, no laughter, no fleeting moments of joy. Her world had been a cold prison, both figuratively and literally.

The Fifth Holy Grail War had shattered the monotony of that existence. She remembered the summons, the battles, and the confrontation that led to her demise.

She remembered her faithful Servant, Berserker, fighting to protect her with all costs against that blonde intruder who had an unlimited supply of Noble Phantasms with him.

A battle between demigods, and Heracles didn’t become the victor.

She remembered their final moments together, his pained apology as he brought an end to her physical existence. Despite everything, he had treated her like a person, not just a tool. That memory was bittersweet, a rare moment of warmth in a life otherwise defined by sacrifice and loss.

And then she had died. The end had been cold, like slipping into an endless winter, but it had also been a release. She had thought it was over, that her story had ended in that broken world.

Thus her life had ended… and then a new one began.

Illya found herself here, alive and burdened with memories that didn’t belong in this new existence. She raised her hands, examining the small, childlike fingers that was tinier than the body she remembered.

And then she began to recall this new life.

This body wasn’t her original form—it belonged to a child who had lived a different life, a life far removed from the Holy Grail Wars.

She was no longer a Homunculus, but a normal child with no such thing .

She had been born to a loving couple in a normal town. They weren’t like the Einzberns—there had been no manipulation, no ulterior motives. They were ordinary people, with kind smiles and warm embraces.

They were not a family of Magi. She didn’t even have the ramifications of the artificial Magic Circuits all over her body anymore. She was just nothing but a normal girl in a normal body.

Her father had been a German expatriate who worked in Japan, and so was her mother, also a gentle woman who loved tending to their garden. Illya could still see their faces in her mind, their expressions soft with love as they doted on her.

They had called her “Illya” too. But no longer was her name “Illyasviel von Einzbern.”

For the first time, Illya had experienced what it meant to be a child. She had felt the simple joys of running through fields, the thrill of chasing butterflies, and the warmth of being tucked into bed with a kiss on her forehead.

The feeling of parental love was similar to what she had experienced with Mama and Kiritsugu, but her new ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’ were normal and far different.

She was no longer a Homunculus with a purpose, or a doll that was experimented, or a tool to be used in a war.

She was just a normal little girl, and after experiencing this newfound normal life, she had finally found happiness…

But happiness, as she had learned, was fleeting.

Her family moved to a new house, a two-story home inside a gated community with that quiet and relaxing scenery of suburban life.

It had been the worst decision she had ever seen in this life.

The memory of that night was sharper than any blade. She had been playing in the garden, the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Her parents had been inside, laughing as they prepared dinner. It had been perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

The air had grown cold, unnaturally so. Shadows began to lengthen, twisting and coiling like living things. Illya had felt a chill crawl up her spine as the first flicker of dread settled in her chest.

And then it had appeared.

The creature—Mother, it had called itself—emerged from the darkness, its form a grotesque amalgamation of limbs and faces. Its many eyes had glowed with malice, and its voice had been a haunting chorus of whispers and screams.

Her parents had rushed outside at the sound of her screams. Her father had tried to protect her, standing between her and the abomination, but he had been no match. Illya’s mother had held her close, shielding her with trembling arms as the creature tore through their home.

“Run, Illya!” her mother had screamed, shoving her toward the woods. “Go!”

But she hadn’t been able to move. She had stood there, frozen in terror, as her parents were torn apart before her eyes. Their blood had stained the earth, the warm, vibrant colors of her life replaced with the cold, dark hues of death.

After that her happiness was gone.

How long was it she had been in captive? How long was she forced to be living with many girls her age only to be abused and being played ‘make-believe’ by a monster?

It felt like an eternity.

‘I knew it was too good to be true…’

Illya’s breath hitched as the memory overwhelmed her, her small hands clutching the blanket tightly.

Illya took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling within her. She didn’t have all the answers, not yet. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t alone.

And maybe, just maybe, she would find a way to hold onto the fleeting happiness she had lost so many times before.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her spiraling thoughts. The door creaked open, and a nurse peeked her head inside.

“You’re awake,” the nurse said with a warm smile. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Illya blinked, unsure how to respond. “I’m… fine,” she said softly, her voice hoarse from disuse.

“Good, good,” the nurse said, stepping inside and checking the machines by her bed. “You’re a lucky girl, you know that? When they brought you in, you were in pretty rough shape.”

“Who brought me here?” Illya asked, her voice stronger now.

The nurse paused, tilting her head as if trying to recall. “Don’t worry about the details. Many have searched for you and the others. For now, please just try to get better”

The nurse felt a pang of sadness and sympathy for the small child in front of her. Her family was gone, she had been gone and lost for probably a year or more, and was just rescued.

This little girl had no one… except for that small boy that was waiting in front of the room.

The nurse only knew small details, such as a group of volunteers searched for the missing and lost girls of “Furoda Hills”. She thought it had been a lost cause, but a miracle happened and they found them.

The little boy with white hair, who was waiting for hours outside of this room, was said to be one of the volunteers as well.

‘How cute…’ the nurse thought, while also thinking about the one that found this small, cute, and doll-like German little girl was a boy around her age as well.

Meanwhile, Illya had a different train of thought than the nurse who was checking up on her.

Her crimson eyes closed, and she let out a slow, shaky breath. She didn’t have the answers, not yet. But if there was one thing she was certain of, it was this:

She wasn’t going to let this second chance slip through her fingers. Whether it was fate, a cruel twist of destiny, or something else entirely, she was here now. Alive.

The rain outside continued to fall, but Illya’s heart felt… different.

‘This time, I’ll live. For myself. For you. For us.’

----

Illya.

Her name had been a whisper on his lips the moment he’d uncovered her frail, broken body beneath the wreckage. The familiarity had hit him like a blow to the chest, a tidal wave of memories he’d thought he had buried long ago.

Back when he was Shirou Emiya, just an ordinary boy trying to save everyone, Illya had been many things to him—a complicated mix of adversary, sister, and ultimately, someone he had failed. She had been a victim of the cruel machinations of the Holy Grail War, caught in a destiny she hadn’t chosen.

He remembered her smile, bittersweet and fleeting, as she had let go of her burdens at the end of the Fifth Holy Grail War. He’d never forgotten her crimson eyes, filled with sadness and longing, or the way she had whispered her last words, wishing for a life that could have been.

And then, as Heroic Spirit Emiya, the memories had persisted, but with a distance. He had been a Counter Guardian, removed from personal attachments, his existence dedicated to pruning timelines of catastrophe. Yet even in that cold, mechanical role, fragments of Illya’s face had appeared in his dreams, a haunting reminder of the life he’d lived and the people he’d left behind.

But now, here she was, alive and tangible.

When he’d found her, crumpled under the weight of debris and fear, his heart had nearly stopped. Her fragile body had been marred with cuts and bruises, her clothes torn and soaked with dirt and blood. Her silver hair, a trademark of her lineage, had been matted and dull.

And yet, it was her voice that had gutted him.

“Please… help me…”

That small, broken plea had stripped away any detachment he might have clung to. The child before him wasn’t the Illya he had known—she was someone new, someone who had been through unspeakable horrors in a world that didn’t care.

The memory of her whispering the word “Berserker” in her unconscious state only deepened the ache. Did she remember? Had echoes of her past bled into this life as they had for him?

Killing “Mother” had been a battle unlike any he’d faced before in his newfound life. The twisted amalgamation of cursed energy, grief, and malice had been a walking nightmare, and he’d poured everything into his small and short body into defeating her.

But as he’d stood there in the aftermath, panting and bloodied, staring at the dissipating remains of the cursed spirit, it hadn’t felt like victory.

His gaze had shifted to the girl he had saved, and the only thing he could feel was a heavy, suffocating sense of failure.

He sat in the stiff plastic chair outside Illya's hospital room, his fingers laced together, his head bowed slightly as if in prayer.

The quiet hum of the hospital machinery and the distant chatter of nurses provided a strange sort of backdrop to his thoughts. It was in moments like these, in the stillness, that his mind drifted to the weight of everything that had brought him here.

The memory of carrying Illya through the dark forest was still fresh. She had been light as a feather, her breathing shallow and ragged. Every step he’d taken had been laced with a desperate determination to get her to safety.

The hospital staff had rushed to him the moment he’d staggered through the doors, the sight of a bloodied, battered boy carrying a barely conscious child shocking them into action.

Since then, he had spent every moment waiting outside her room, not knowing what he needed to do after.

Now, as he sat there, staring at the cold linoleum floor, Shirou’s thoughts spiraled deeper.

He couldn’t help but compare the girl in that hospital bed to the Illya of his past life. Both had been robbed of their innocence, forced to endure suffering they didn’t deserve. But this time, he had been there to save her—something he hadn’t managed before.

The sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie. He looked up to see Satoru Gojo striding down the hallway, his usual casual grin in place. His blindfolded eyes somehow seemed to radiate confidence, as if nothing in the world could touch him.

“Well, well, look who’s still sitting here like a statue,” Satoru said, his tone light but laced with curiosity. “You know, staring at the wall isn’t going to make her wake up any faster.”

He gave him a dry look but didn’t respond.

Satoru leaned against the wall beside him, crossing his arms. “You’ve been here all this time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low.

Satoru tilted his head, his grin fading slightly. “You really went all out back there, didn’t you? Taking down that cursed spirit alone… Not bad for a kid.”

The grip on his knees tightened. “It wasn’t enough.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his tone unusually serious. “You know as well as I do that blaming yourself won’t change anything. That thing was a Grade 1 spirit, nasty enough to give even seasoned sorcerers a run for their money. The fact that you not only survived but managed to rescue her? That’s impressive.”

“Impressive doesn’t mean anything to the people who died.”

For a moment, the hallway was silent, the weight of his little brother’s words hanging in the air.

Satoru eventually broke the silence, his voice softer this time. “Most of them don’t make it back. The fact that this girl is alive at all? It’s a miracle.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, and Satoru found himself glancing at the door to Illya’s room again… this time, he removed his sunglasses.

“She’s tough, you know,” Satoru said, as if reading his thoughts. “I can tell. She’ll pull through.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked his ‘big brother’ while thinking about why Satoru was looking at her with intent.

“Shirou, you’re asking like you don’t know who I am! I can see everything, you know this!” Satoru gleefully proclaimed. “I think she’s woken up now. Why don’t you go inside and meet your rescued princess? She might fall head over heels for you, y’know?”

“I’m not waiting here so that I can see her. I just want to see if there’s a family member that can pick her up as the rest of the girls that we found had some relatives or family members that was glad of the news,” he said to Satoru while thinking about what would happen to Illya after being rescued.

“She’s a little tricky, this one…” Satoru said. “Her parents were German expatriates. I talked with the authorities and such and they said they would contact Social Services first and also the German Embassy, see if she has any living relatives. But like I said, I think she’ll be fine.”

After hearing what Satoru said, his heart felt a bit at ease with knowing that Illya would be treated right.

“Should we go inside together? Perhaps, you’ll need someone to chaperone, hehe,” Satoru teased his little brother while ruffling his hair. “Don’t you already have a girlfriend? You’re starting off a little young to be a player here, you little snot.”

One thing to know about this situation was that Shirou Gojo was really, really not in the mood for his big brother’s antics.

He then swatted off Satoru’s hand from his head, and then started to stand up from his sitting position.

“Enough of this. I just wanted to know her situation after she’s treated. Now that we know she’ll be fine, we don’t need to meet her at all,” his voice was stern and low, not reflecting the age of his body at all.

“Well, suit yourself. Come on, let’s meet Megumi at the cafeteria,” Satoru said to Shirou, who was starting to walk ahead of him.

With his little brother walking ahead of him, Satoru looked back at the room that they didn’t enter, his Six Eyes were scanning it like a hawk, focusing with intent.

With that done, Satoru put on his sunglasses back, smirking a little in the process.

He knew for certain, that this situation wouldn’t be the last time they saw her… because he kept looking at her… or to be more exact, her Cursed Energy level.

‘Damn, her potential rivals that of Megumi’s…’

---

The moon hung low in the sky, its silver light spilling over the quiet grounds of the Gojo compound as he walked through the gates alone.

Satoru had left him, citing the need to report back to Jujutsu High headquarters about the mission. Shirou hadn’t protested—there was nothing he could do to speed up Illya’s recovery, and if he stayed outside her room much longer, he’d only stew in his own guilt and frustration.

He needed to focus.

The compound was quiet as always, though its vast size gave it an eeriness that he couldn’t quite ignore. It was a haven for Satoru’s clan, but it was also a place with history—generations of sorcerers had trained here, fought here, and left their marks on its grounds. Shirou’s footsteps echoed faintly as he passed the main house and moved toward the training hall, his mind already shifting to what lay ahead.

The last event had sharpened something inside him.

For a long time, he’d resisted the idea of fully dedicating himself to being a sorcerer. It wasn’t because he lacked the ability—if anything, his natural aptitude and his Counter Guardian experience gave him an edge that even seasoned sorcerers envied. But the life of a sorcerer wasn’t one he’d wanted to embrace. He had lived through lifetimes of combat, sacrifice, and regret.

When he had been Shirou Emiya, he had chased the ideal of being a hero, of saving everyone. When he became Heroic Spirit Emiya, that ideal had been stripped away, replaced with the grim reality of compromise and cold calculations.

But now, in this body, in this life, something had shifted.

The memory of Illya’s small, battered form under the rubble haunted him. Her whispered cries for help, the broken look in her eyes—it was more than he could bear.

He had saved her this time. But what about the others? How many more children had suffered under the weight of curses, victims of forces they didn’t understand and couldn’t fight?

He couldn’t save everyone. He had learned that lesson the hard way. But this time, he must save them... if not, someone like Illya would not even have a life at all.

That thought carried him as he entered the dungeon beneath the training hall, and he could feel the faint hum of cursed energy pulsing through the corridors ahead.

His smaller, younger body wasn’t ideal for combat yet, but he was determined to push its limits. If he wanted to protect Illya, Megumi, and anyone else who needed him, he had to get stronger.

The first cursed spirit appeared as soon as he stepped into the corridor.

It was a low-level curse, its amorphous form writhing as it lunged at him. Shirou didn’t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, he activated his projection magecraft, and Kanshou and Bakuya materialized in his hands.

The twin swords felt familiar, like extensions of himself. He moved fluidly, dodging the curse’s attack and slicing through its form in one clean motion. The spirit let out a shriek before dissolving into nothingness, leaving behind only the faint residue of cursed energy.

“That was too easy,” he muttered, his voice echoing in the empty corridor.

He pressed on.

A humanoid curse with elongated limbs and glowing red eyes emerged from the shadows, its movements jerky and unnatural. It let out a guttural roar, lunging at him with claws extended.

Ducking under its swipe, countering with a precise slash from Kanshou. The curse screeched, its arm severed at the elbow, but it didn’t retreat. Instead, it grew more ferocious, its attacks faster and more erratic.

He gritted his teeth, focusing on his breathing. He reinforced his body with magic, feeling the surge of energy strengthen his muscles and sharpen his reflexes. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance between them, driving Bakuya into the curse’s chest.

The spirit let out one final, agonized wail before disintegrating.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath.

He could feel the strain on his body, the toll of constant combat. His smaller frame wasn’t as resilient as he was used to, and the repeated use of projection and reinforcement magecraft was starting to wear on him.

He summoned Black Keys, the ethereal blades hovering around him like a protective barrier. The keys shot out in rapid succession, piercing through the curses and pinning them to the walls.

But for every curse he defeated, another seemed to emerge from the shadows.

“This is what I wanted,” he muttered to himself, gripping his swords tightly. “If I don’t…”

He fought on, his movements a blend of calculated precision and raw instinct. Each swing of his blades, each burst of magical energy, was a step closer to honing his skills, to becoming the fighter he needed to be.

Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the blood from a shallow cut on his forehead. His breathing was ragged, his limbs heavy.

And yet, when the final cursed spirit appeared—a towering, grotesque beast with multiple heads and a serpentine body—he didn’t falter.

The fight was brutal. The curse was relentless, its attacks coming from all directions. Shirou relied on every ounce of his training, every memory of battles fought and won.

He reinforced his blades, pouring as much energy as he could muster into them. With a roar, he launched himself at the creature, slicing through its heads one by one until it collapsed in a heap of dissolving darkness.

---

The journey back to the surface was slow, every step a reminder of the strain he had put on himself. By the time he reached the compound’s main hall, the first light of dawn was creeping over the horizon.

He collapsed onto the tatami mat, staring up at the wooden beams above him.

“I have to do this,” he whispered to himself. “I have too...”

He thought about Illya and how that it was better for him not to meet her at all. It was better for her to continue her life as a normal and mundane girl without worrying about these types of matter.

Matters of Cursed Spirits, of Sorcerers, and of him… they should never creep into her life ever again, he thought.

Illya had been given a second chance in life, a second chance to find a warm and small share of happiness, but then a Cursed Spirit had taken it from her.

A promise kept into his mind that he would keep her safe… and also keeping a distance from her life.

With that promise etched into his heart, he let himself drift into an uneasy sleep, knowing that this was only the beginning of the path he had chosen.

---

The diner was alive with noise—clinking plates, the murmur of conversation, and the occasional laughter of children enjoying their meals. Satoru Gojo sat at a corner booth, his sunglasses perched lazily on his nose as he stirred a milkshake with his straw. He glanced at the clock on the wall, noting that it was five minutes past the time they’d agreed to meet.

"Still as punctual as ever," he muttered with a smirk.

Before he could finish his thought, the door chimed as it swung open, and a boy with snowy white hair stepped inside.

At 12 years old, Shirou had grown taller, his features sharper but still boyish. He carried himself with a quiet confidence, his movements precise and deliberate. Yet, despite his serious demeanor, he still had an aura of youthfulness due to his age that Satoru couldn't help but notice.

"There he is," Satoru called, waving him over with a grin. "The little prodigy himself. Took you long enough."

Shirou approached the table, his expression unreadable as he slid into the seat across from Satoru. "You told me to meet you here. I didn’t realize we were on a timer."

"Relax, kiddo," Satoru said, pushing a menu toward him. "Order whatever you want. My treat."

Shirou glanced at the menu but didn’t immediately pick it up. "You said you had something important to talk about."

Satoru leaned back, resting his arm on the booth's backrest. "I do, but first, let’s eat. You’ve been training nonstop for years. Bet you’re starving."

As they waited for their food, Satoru studied his younger brother, letting his mind wander back to the past four years.

After the mission to save the missing children, Shirou had thrown himself into training with a single-minded determination that even Satoru found impressive—and concerning. The boy’s dedication to honing his skills as a sorcerer bordered on obsession, and while his growth was undeniable, it came at a cost.

Satoru had watched Shirou push his body and mind to their limits, often going without rest or relaxation. He was meticulous in his training, his eyes always fixed on the goal of becoming stronger, better, faster.

But somewhere along the way, Satoru realized, Shirou had missed out on something essential: his childhood.

The boy who sat before him now was skilled beyond his years, capable of facing curses that even seasoned sorcerers struggled with. But he was also too serious, too focused, and too burdened for someone his age.

Satoru couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He’d seen the same drive in himself when he was younger, the same relentless pursuit of strength. But he’d had moments of levity, a chance to be a kid, even if only for brief periods.

Shirou, on the other hand, had never given himself that chance.

Their food arrived, snapping Satoru out of his thoughts. He watched as Shirou methodically picked up his fork and began eating, his movements efficient and precise, as though even this mundane task was part of his training.

"You know," Satoru began, leaning forward, "you’re working way too hard."

Shirou raised an eyebrow, not pausing in his eating. "That’s rich, coming from you."

"Touché," Satoru said with a laugh. "But seriously, you’re 12. You should be out there, causing trouble, pulling pranks, and doing whatever kids your age do these days. Not spending every waking moment fighting curses and training in the dungeon."

Shirou set his fork down, his gaze steady. "You’re the one who said I needed to be strong if I wanted to keep up with you. I’m just following through."

Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I did say that. But there’s a balance, Shirou. You’re not just a sorcerer. You’re a kid. You deserve to have a life outside of this crazy world."

Shirou’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe, or uncertainty.

"What are you getting at?" he asked.

"I’m saying it’s time for a change," Satoru replied. "You’re going to start middle school."

Shirou blinked, clearly taken aback. "Middle school?"

"Yep," Satoru said, popping the 'p.' "You’re going to live with Megumi and Tsumiki for a while. Go to school, make friends, do normal kid stuff. You can still train with Megumi."

Shirou frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "You can’t be serious. I have responsibilities. There’s no time for—"

"Stop," Satoru interrupted, holding up a hand. "You’ve been carrying those ‘responsibilities’ on your shoulders for far too long. Trust me, the world won’t end if you take a step back. Besides, Megumi could use some company. He’s been complaining about how boring his life is without a sparring partner."

Shirou hesitated, his hands resting on the table. "This doesn’t make sense. Why now?"

"Why not?” Satoru said, his tone softer now, "Hey, I never went to middle school. Always got tutors and such and that was boring as shit. Besides, rather than paying for babysitters or someone to check up on Megumi and Tsumiki, why not just make you live there instead, right? And you kinda need friends your age.

Shirou’s lips twitched as though he wanted to argue, but he stayed silent.

Satoru leaned back, crossing his arms. "Look, I’m not saying you have to give up be lazy or something. But taking a break, living a normal life for a bit—that’s not a bad thing. It’ll give you a fresh perspective. Maybe even make you stronger in the long run."

Shirou stared at his plate for a moment, his expression had a look of disdain. Finally, he looked up, meeting Satoru’s gaze. "Is it for me or so that you can decrease your budget looking out for Megumi and Tsumiki"

Satoru smiled, his usual cockiness tempered by genuine warmth. "Hey that’s why they said “Two birds, one stone.” And don’t worry, I’ll check up on you three from time to time.”

There was a long pause as Shirou considered his words.

"I can’t say no to this, can I?”

Satoru grinned, clapping his hands together. "That’s the spirit! Trust me, you’re going to thank me for this someday. Now after this, start packing your things, alright?"

As they finished their meal and left the diner, Satoru couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief.

“Why should I thank you for kicking me out of the house?” his little brother talked with sass, not intending to play around Satoru’s tune.

“Hey, it’s better for you to start learning about living independently as well. I mean, we have servants and all the likes in the house. I don’t want you to grow up to be a spoiled brat y’know?”

Shirou’s path was still uncertain, but at least now, he’d have the chance to explore something beyond the weight of his responsibilities. And who knew? Maybe he’d find that being a kid wasn’t so bad after all.

As they parted ways, Satoru watched his little brother walk off, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, kid," he murmured to himself. "I just hope you don’t forget to enjoy the ride."