Dragging his leaden feet, Fujimaru Ritsuka trudged the familiar path to his home.
For six years he'd taken this route, knew every tree and brick by heart.
But tonight, these familiar scenes filled him with a strange sense of alienation.
His mind told him this was his hometown, his birthplace and nursery,
but his soul screamed that this peaceful world was the everyday life he'd lost ages ago and desperately longed to regain.
Conflicted by this relentless cognitive dissonance, he was left in a state of constant confusion and emotional fracture.
He took out his key and unlocked the door. With a click, warmth flooded out—the orange glow of home, the rich aroma of miso soup, wrapping around him.
That scent...
It was the scent of family.
After humanity burned, after endless sleepless nights wandering the interstellar sea and the Lostbelts, he'd dreamed again and again of the past and its smells.
But this was no fake family like in the Ordeal Call.
This—this was his real, childhood home. Warm and true.
"...I'm home,"
he managed, almost too softly to be heard.
"Welcome back, Ritsuka."
A gentle voice from the kitchen.
"Long day, huh? Go wash up—dinner's almost ready!"
A middle-aged woman in an apron appeared in the doorway, her face blossoming into a loving smile upon seeing her son.
But instantly, her smile froze.
She saw his colorless face, empty blue eyes dulled by burden, and thin, trembling body.
"Ritsuka—what happened?"
Mrs. Fujimaru quickly set down what she'd been holding and hurried to kneel in front of him, worry etched deep in her voice.
"Did something happen at school? Did someone bully you? Or did something go wrong on the way home?"
A mother's worry, like a key, unlocked all the doors he'd kept tightly shut to his strength.
All the sorrow he'd bottled up—all the farewells, all the deaths—welled up at once, and could no longer be contained.
He pressed forward and buried his face in his mother's embrace, in the familiar apron scented of food.
And he cried.
At first, his sobs were quiet, just hot tears soaking the apron.
But then, his stifled sobs repeated again and again.
When his mother's warm hand finally stroked his back, he lost all self-control.
Like a true six-year-old lost and found at last, he broke down completely.
"Uwaaaaahhh——!"
That sound was pain and grief, unlike any sound a child should make.
In those cries was the sorrow of losing the Director, grief for the Doctor, the pain of Mash's sacrifice, mourning for countless companions lost along the journey, and agony from bearing the guilt of pruning the world time and again.
In the warmth and safety of home, that overwhelming emotion at last found its only outlet.
"Oh, Ritsu, darling—"
She was startled by her son's collapse, but she didn't ask for details, only held him tighter, stroking his back, her voice endlessly gentle:
"Don't cry, don't cry, Ritsuka… It's alright, I'm here. It's all okay…"
His father, who'd been reading the paper in the living room, came quickly at the commotion.
Seeing what was happening, a mix of shock and uncertainty flickered across the father's face.
He, too, quietly approached, knelt, and clumsily patted his son's head.
For a very long time, Ritsuka cried till he was breathless, then slowly began to calm, left only with intermittent hiccups and sobs.
His body, drained, fell entirely into his mother's arms.
"Feeling better?"
Mrs. Fujimaru gently wiped the tears from his face and smiled softly.
"Can you tell me what happened? Why you're so sad?"
Eyes red, Ritsuka shook his head.
What could he possibly say?
Did he claim to have journeyed through time and witnessed humanity's ruin and rebirth?
Say he was about to battle a magus risking mechanical apocalypse?
He could say none of it.
So he chose the only reason he could truly give—a vague, yet true, answer:
"I… I had a nightmare,"
he sobbed.
"A really, really long nightmare… I forgot so many good friends—and so many, many important things…"
Hearing this, his parents exchanged a glance, both letting out a relieved sigh.
A nightmare, after all, is only a nightmare. However terrifying, it was better than real-world danger.
Mrs. Fujimaru hugged him again, pressed her cheek into his damp hair, and spoke with infinite love:
"I see… It must've been a terrible dream.
But if you're so sad about your friends and the things you never wanted to forget,
doesn't that mean they really are important to you?"
The boy nodded hard.
"Then it's fine."
She smiled, her logic strong in its motherly simplicity:
"See? You remember them now, right? If you keep them in your heart, you'll never lose them again.
So there's no need to be sad anymore, okay?"
Though simple—and a little illogical—her words shone into Ritsuka's heart like a warm light breaking through, overbearing his sorrow and fatigue.
Yes… He would forget nothing.
This time, there would be no system pruning by Chaldea; no cold, world-resetting edits.
Those memories, those bonds—they were really his, now.
Something warm bubbled up from the depths of his chest, gentle heat returning to a heart numbed by a lifetime of adult memories.
He wiped his nose and hugged his mother back, as hard as he could.
…
That night, with his parents, Ritsuka ate a warm meal for the first time in ages.
The soft, sweet taste of his mother's tamagoyaki nearly made him cry again.
After dinner, soaking in a hot bath, he gazed at his small hands and feet, feeling like a ghost trapped in a foreign body.
At bedtime, his mother told him a story as always.
Lying beneath a blanket decorated with manga drawings, he listened to her gentle voice as his eyelids grew heavy.
Right as sleep took him, the last thing on his mind wasn't the King of Magecraft, nor the Holy Grail War.
It was the thought of tomorrow—
Tomorrow, he would see them.
[Director… Mash...]
This time—no matter what—he would protect them.
...
Next bonus chapter at 500 PS