"Senji Muramasa… Senji Muramasa…"
At the breakfast table, Tiona chewed on her spoon while chanting the name like a prayer. Then she shot her head up, eyes sparkling.
"It's still so cool! It sounds like some cranky old grandpa blacksmith living deep in the mountains—eccentric, but terrifyingly strong!"
"Pff—!"
Emiya Shirou, mid-sip of milk, nearly choked.
A grandpa blacksmith…
In a certain sense—the Muramasa spirit he could be said to "carry"—Tiona's instincts were frighteningly accurate.
But hearing a cute girl describe him like that still made his feelings… complicated.
"Hey, 'Muramasa.'"
Across the table, the werewolf Bete shoved his empty plate over with a scowl.
"More meat. If you've got a title that arrogant, your cooking speed better keep up."
"Yes, yes, Lord Bete," Shirou replied helplessly, taking the plate.
Bete's mouth was still sharp, but ever since the "monster gift" incident, his attitude had clearly softened—if only because he was now willing to eat Shirou's food.
After all, "Today's Emiya meal" wasn't a joke.
"Anyway, Emiya," Finn said, wiping the corner of his mouth with refined elegance, "now that you've reached Level 2 and obtained an Alias, by Guild custom you're under a mandatory leave period."
"Leave?" Shirou blinked.
"That's right," Riveria explained. "After leveling up, both body and mind need time to adapt to the new 'vessel.' If you immediately return to high-intensity Dungeon exploration, poor control can easily cause accidents."
"Three days…" Shirou rubbed his chin.
For someone accustomed to being busy, suddenly being forced to slow down felt strange.
Back when he was still trying to be a "Hero of Justice"…
He'd been the Counter Force's most overworked wage slave.
And even earlier, when he was "just Emiya Shirou," he'd still been pushed into endless errands by a certain seaweed-haired acquaintance.
Free time had always been rare.
"If I can't go deep, then I'll stay in the familia and reorganize my gear," Shirou decided.
The Courtyard — A Sword, and a Question
After breakfast, the others headed out for a Dungeon expedition.
The Twilight Manor went quiet.
Shirou sat on a bench in the courtyard, lost in thought—studying a problem that had been gnawing at him:
If he tried to Project the "divine-made armaments" from that other world… would it work here?
"…Emiya."
A cool, clear voice came from the corridor.
Ais Wallenstein was standing there without him noticing, gripping her beloved sword—Desperate—tightly in both hands.
"Ais? You're not going to the Dungeon today?" Shirou asked, surprised.
"Finn said I should rest too." Ais walked over, hesitating slightly, eyes flicking toward him. "I heard… you can 'read' swords?"
"Read swords?" Shirou paused, then understood. "You mean structural analysis. Yeah—more or less."
"Then… can you look at this?"
Ais held her sword out with careful seriousness—like a patient handing over her own child to a doctor.
"Of course."
Shirou accepted the slender silver blade.
It was heavy in a way that didn't come from mass alone, and it radiated a cold, sharp presence.
A first-class weapon forged by the Goibniu Familia, known for its "unbreakable" quality—an honest-to-gods masterpiece.
"Trace—On."
Emerald magic circuits flowed from his fingertips into the steel.
In that instant, Shirou felt like he could hear the sword breathing.
The faint fatigue from countless swings.
The nearly invisible stress damage buried deep within the edge.
And… an unmistakable will that yearned for battle.
"You've maintained it very well," Shirou said, opening his eyes with genuine admiration. "It's been through endless fights, but the edge is still razor-sharp. Ais… you really cherish it."
Ais nodded once.
"It's my… other half."
And when Shirou praised it, the corner of her lips lifted—just barely.
"But…" Shirou's tone shifted as his finger brushed a tiny scratch near the guard. "Here. The internal structure is slightly misaligned. It doesn't affect use right now, but under high-intensity impacts, it could cause a delay in magic conduction."
"Delay…?" Ais stiffened.
For someone whose entire combat style was speed, even a millisecond mattered.
"Don't worry. I can fix it."
Shirou drew a slow breath and fed magic in—not as flame, but as precise interference.
He directly guided the metal's microscopic structure, gently "pushing" the misalignment back into place.
"Fix."
Humm—!
The blade rang out, crisp and bright, like a cheer.
The silver sheen looked even more radiant than before.
"Done." Shirou handed it back. "It's perfect now. Want to try?"
Ais took it and casually flicked a sword flourish.
Shff—!
The air parted cleanly—smooth, effortless, without the slightest drag.
Her eyes lit up.
"So amazing…" Ais stared at Shirou, golden eyes glittering with honest admiration. "Better than when I get it serviced at the shop. Emiya… you really are 'Muramasa.'"
"I just know swords," Shirou said with a small smile.
"…Um."
Ais stepped closer—close enough that Shirou could catch a faint, clean scent on her.
"As repayment… I want to help you too."
"Help me?"
Ais nodded seriously.
"You can't go deep right now. But I can stay with you in the courtyard… and practice."
"I can teach you… a faster sword."
A one-on-one lesson from the Sword Princess.
An opportunity half of Orario would sell their souls for.
"Then I'll be in your care, Instructor Ais," Shirou said without hesitation, picking up a wooden sword and rising to his feet.
In the sunlight, the red-haired boy and the golden-haired girl crossed blades—
Not just a sparring match,
But a process where two hearts drew closer with every ringing clash of wood.
Midday — The Hostess of Fertility
By noon, training ended.
Shirou left the Twilight Manor carrying a food box.
To thank Ais, he'd prepared a special lunch for her—but he also needed to go buy ingredients for dinner.
Passing through West Main Street, his steps stopped before the doors of The Hostess of Fertility.
"Perfect," he murmured. "I'll drop off what I promised."
It was the midday break; the tavern had no customers.
Inside, only staff were cleaning.
"Welcome—ah, Mr. Emiya."
Ryuu Lion looked up from wiping a table.
In her sky-blue eyes, a softness flickered—subtle, but real.
"Miss Ryuu, good afternoon." Shirou lifted a small paper bag. "I came to repay a favor. Last time, thank you for helping me out of a tight spot."
"That was nothing," Ryuu said, setting the cloth down and walking over. "And you've helped me too."
"This is for you."
Shirou offered the bag.
"I was experimenting with a new dish—lemon-and-honey pickles. It's good for fatigue recovery. I thought you might like something light and refreshing."
Ryuu paused, then accepted it.
Inside was a delicate glass jar—golden lemon slices steeped in honey, crystal-clear and gleaming.
"…Made specifically for me?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah." Shirou smiled. "It felt like that sweet-and-sour taste would suit you. You're always so tense—once in a while, you should take in a bit more sugar."
"…Nosy."
Ryuu turned her head, but her hand tightened around the jar.
Then she spoke again.
"About that Alias…"
"Senji Muramasa."
Shirou scratched his head awkwardly. "Haha… is it weird? Even I think it's kind of edgy…"
"No."
Ryuu turned back, eyes steady and sincere.
"I think it suits you."
"Huh?"
"Muramasa—the legendary cursed blade that cuts through causality and fate."
Ryuu's gaze deepened, as if looking past Shirou's body into the soul that swung a sword for justice in dark alleys.
"Your sword is wielded to protect."
"But the resolve inside it… is sharper than anyone's."
"If it's that sword…"
"…maybe it truly can cut through the malice spreading in this city."
Shirou looked at Ryuu.
This elf—someone who had been torn apart by hatred and justice alike—was looking at him with unmistakable trust.
"Cut through malice…" Shirou clenched his fist, feeling that power inside him—the shape of Unlimited Blade Works.
"Yeah."
"If it's something that must be cut…"
"Whether it's the Dark Faction, or anything else."
"If it blocks the road to everyone's happiness… I'll sever it."
"That's how a 'Hero of Justice' does things."
Ryuu stared at his smile—and her heart skipped a beat.
That brightness… was unbearable and irresistible to someone used to living in shadows.
"…Idiot," she muttered, lowering her head.
Her face looked faintly red.
And it was worth noting—
Ryuu's former familia had embodied the concept of Justice itself.
And "Emiya the giant hero"…
Was also a twisted, stubborn kind of Ally of Justice.
Their personalities didn't match smoothly—
But at the very least, they were both chasing the same ideal.
-------
My : pat*eon*com/RuneA
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