Morning in Orario carried a clean, misty freshness.
When the first rays of sunlight touched the spires of Twilight Manor, Shirou Emiya was already standing in the courtyard.
He wore the Loki Familia's issued light leather armor. Two ordinary spare short swords hung at his waist—Captain Finn's recommendation. Constantly relying on projected weapons would put too much strain on a rookie's mind.
"Good morning, Emiya."
A cool, clear voice drifted over.
Ais Wallenstein stood beneath the colonnade, her long blonde hair stirred gently by the breeze. She wore her familiar light armor, the Desperate Sword at her side, looking every bit the Sword Princess.
"Morning, Ais," Shirou greeted her with a smile. "Up early for training?"
"No."
Ais shook her head. Her golden eyes were locked on Shirou—no, on the large wicker picnic basket hanging from his hand.
"I'm waiting for you."
"Waiting for me?" Shirou blinked.
"Finn said you're new, so you need someone to 'carry' your first Dungeon run," Ais stated, expressionless. "It was supposed to be Lefiya. I refused."
She paused, then added with absolute seriousness:
"I'll do it."
Not only because she was curious about his sword-summoning magic… but also because last night's hamburg steak had been far too good.
A very simple instinct guided the Sword Princess:
Follow Emiya. Eat meat.
"Then I'll be in your care, Instructor Ais," Shirou said, amused. He could guess a little of what she was thinking, but having a top-tier Level 5 adventurer personally escort him was the kind of privilege people dreamed about.
…
On the way to the Dungeon, their pairing drew countless stares.
That was Ais Wallenstein, the Loki Familia's icon—the Sword Princess, the dream of gods and adventurers alike.
And she was walking beside some red-haired Level 1 newbie?
"Who's that guy? He's allowed to walk next to her?"
"Tch. Probably just a pack mule support."
"Man, that face is infuriating…"
Ignoring the murderous jealousy in the air, Shirou and Ais entered the towering Babel Tower and stepped onto the spiral stairs descending underground.
"Floors 1 to 4 are goblins and kobolds," Ais explained as soon as they entered the labyrinth.
The moment they crossed into the Dungeon, her aura sharpened. Focused. Keen—like a drawn sword. Even so, she slowed her pace, patiently teaching.
"They move fast, but their patterns are simple. If you time it—"
Slash.
Before she finished, a flash of steel cut past her side.
A goblin that had leapt from a crack in the wall didn't even get a proper screech out before its head hit the floor.
Shirou held an ordinary steel short sword. He flicked off the blood with a crisp motion—clean, efficient, no wasted movement.
"…Like that?" he asked, turning back with a smile.
Ais's lips parted slightly. The "beginner lesson" she'd prepared got stuck in her throat.
Fast.
Not fast in raw physical stats—
fast in prediction.
Shirou had swung a full second before the goblin attacked.
That was the instinct forged by endless fights to the death—
Mind's Eye (True).
"…Yes," Ais said at last, nodding. There was a trace of recognition in her gaze now. "Who taught you your sword?"
"An old man with a terrible personality," Shirou said casually, "and a very naggy red-coated archer."
A lie, of course.
His style was the fusion of Kiritsugu's ruthless practicality and the countless refinements of the Heroic Spirit Emiya.
"Let's continue."
They went deeper.
As the floors increased, monster numbers rose. By Floor 5, groups of Killer Ants and Battle Shadows were common.
"Trace on."
Against a swarm, a simple short sword wasn't enough.
Shirou snapped a low command. Green circuits flared along the steel in his hand.
Reinforcement Magecraft.
A mundane blade became unnaturally sharp. Its hardness surged.
Shirou plunged into the pack like a red whirlwind.
Sidestep. Parry. Counter.
Every strike severed joints or pierced straight to the magic stone with surgical precision.
Ais followed quietly behind. She'd intended to step in the moment he was in danger—
but now…
she was honestly just a spectator.
This rookie didn't need protection.
His fighting was too mature. Too calm—machine-like, yet burning with explosive decisiveness.
"Ha…" Shirou exhaled after the last ant fell.
His technique was more than enough, but this Level 1 body still lacked stamina.
"Let's rest," he said.
He found a clean rock to sit on—and as if performing a trick, set down the huge picnic basket.
Ais's eyes brightened instantly.
"Lunch time," Shirou said, opening it with a smile.
Inside weren't the usual hard jerky rations.
Instead: neatly packed sandwiches still warm with steam, and a thermos filled with thick soup.
"Special tonkatsu sandwiches. Still crisp even when cooled. And cream mushroom soup."
He handed a portion to Ais.
Ais took it and bit down immediately.
Crunch.
The breading shattered. The thick cutlet released a burst of juices.
Pure satisfaction flooded her mouth.
"…Good," Ais murmured.
A faint blush appeared on her cool, pale face. She chewed in small bites—fast and possessive, like a cat guarding its food.
"Slow down," Shirou said gently, offering her a handkerchief. "There's plenty."
Ais accepted it, wiped the corner of her mouth, then lifted her head. Her golden eyes fixed on him with unusual seriousness.
"Emiya. Strong."
A statement, not an opinion.
"Not just cooking," she added, fingers brushing her sword hilt. "Your swordsmanship too. Your sword… doesn't hesitate."
"No hesitation, huh…" Shirou gave a small, bitter smile, staring at his sandwich. "Maybe. I'm just a fool who can only walk toward one goal."
To become a hero of justice.
No matter the world—
that was his only road.
"…A goal," Ais echoed softly, her voice dimming. "I also want to become strong. Strong enough to defeat that… even if it costs everything."
The black dragon.
The nightmare that had taken her parents.
Suddenly, a warm hand rested lightly on her head.
Ais stiffened—instinctively ready to draw—but the hand carried no malice. Only steady, reassuring warmth.
She stopped.
"I don't know what you're carrying," Shirou said, gently ruffling her soft blonde hair, "but don't push yourself too hard. Strength isn't for dying—it's for protecting. If you ever get tired… come find me."
He smiled.
"At the very least, I can cook you something good."
Ais stared at him.
Backlit by the Dungeon's crystal glow, his smile was warm—almost painfully so.
Protecting…
"…Mm."
Ais gave a small sound, didn't swat his hand away, and instead lowered her head slightly—almost as if she was enjoying being soothed.
"ROOOOAR—!!"
The moment the atmosphere became perfectly—dangerously—soft, an ill-timed roar shattered the calm.
The ground shook.
At the far end of the corridor, a massive half-orc burst out, leading more than a dozen smaller ones.
A rare monster on Floor 7?!
"Looks like lunch break is over," Shirou said.
He withdrew his hand and stood. In an instant, his warmth vanished—replaced by a cold, battle-hardened focus.
"Ais. Keep eating."
He stepped in front of her, both hands lifting as his circuits surged.
This time, there was no need to hold back.
"Trace—On!"
Black-and-white twin blades materialized out of empty air—
Kanshou and Bakuya.
"Level 1 or not," Shirou said, eyes sharp as steel, "don't underestimate an Emiya man!"
He launched forward.
Watching that not-particularly-broad—yet strangely reliable—back, Ais took another bite of her sandwich.
Somehow…
it tasted a little sweeter than before.
She didn't draw her sword.
Because she believed he would win.
And because—
Ais touched the top of her head where he'd patted her. The faintest curve appeared at the edge of her lips.
This feeling…
wasn't unpleasant.
-------
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