The 9th World Champion Tournament 4

The 9th World Champion Tournament 4

October 20, 2136. World: Midgard. Location: Unknown

Shirou's eyes glazed over, and the memory of that day rushed back into him.

He was lying on his bed; the Jeweled Sword plunged deep into his chest and heart, and bright light filled the room.

Zelretch's last word to him echoed.

"Take care, Shirou."

The kaleidoscope of colors grew brighter before darkness approached and swallowed him. And then he awoke to a brand new word.

An image of Zelretch way back then appeared before him, superimposing itself onto the man in front of him as Shirou was taken back to the present.

The Wizard Marshall, he hadn't aged a single day since Shirou last saw him.

Zelretch casually strode around his desk, making his way towards the center where his guest stood.

He raised his hand, a sphere of magic circles appearing and whirling within his palm. Shirou tensed up, fingers flexing instinctively to call upon the married blades, despite knowing the futility of such an action.

The magic circles spun faster and faster before light expanded forth from them. He braced himself as a close-to-indescribable sensation washed over him. It felt as if he was submerged in a lukewarm lake and dragged deeper into the depths.

He gasped, breathless, at the sensation.

"What did you—" He never completed his sentence, as his hand immediately shot up to his jaws, feeling movement. The projection user's eyes widened further as his senses rushed back to him.

Touch, taste, smell - all his senses, no longer were they muted or hindered.

He breathed in, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs, and then he breathed out, relishing the sensation.

He was human again, with flesh and blood rather than polygons and lines of code — as far as he could tell anyway. More than that, he felt better than he ever did before.

He felt alive.

Stunned heterochromatic eyes sought the Dead Apostle out, finding him reclined in one of the chairs with a golden chalice of wine in hand.

"H-how?"

"Oh, you know. Second Magic, full VR integration, technomagic... Take your pick." His hand waved off breezily, dismissing the question as he took a sip.

"It ain't the Moon Cell, but then again, what is, am I right? But it'll do the job."

Zelretch watched as Shirou inspected himself, his mouth opening and closing several times, but never a word left him.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day or are you going to sit?" He prompted.

Shirou snapped out of it. "B-but the tournament..."

"Is not going to go anywhere." The old man waved away. "A delay isn't going to harm anyone. Besides, how long has it been since we've last seen one another? Please, take a seat. I won't have it said that I'm a poor host, especially to an old friend."

Shirou's body moved on autopilot, and he sat down on the lone chair left. The cushion of the chair was soft to the touch, and as he leaned back, a sense of comfort eased him in.

"Drink?"

"...Water." He requested, finding his voice.

Zelretch nodded and poured his drink from one of the crystal pitchers. Shirou muttered a small thank you, taking the chalice and bringing it up to his lips.

His body let out an involuntary shudder as the crystal-cool water washed down his throat. A sigh of contentment left his lips, relishing the taste. It was only water, but he drank it with the fervor of a man dying of thirst amidst the scorching lands of Múspellsheim. Draining the cup in one gulp, he asked for more, which Zelretch easily obliged.

A minute or two passed in silence. The ancient sorcerer looked at him patiently, allowing his guest to gain his bearings before continuing. The magus could only return with a passive stare of his own. Doubt weighed heavily within him, and so he was unsure of what to say, let alone how to begin.

How many times has he wondered and pondered the chance to meet with Zelretch again? To stand in front of the man and look him in the eye. Countless times, but they've always remained what-ifs.

And now, here they were, at long last.

For Shirou, a thousand thoughts ran through his head, and a hundred questions rested on the tip of his tongue. After so long, this was his chance. The first and perhaps final opportunity to speak his mind with the man responsible for his current situation. To unleash it all, the years of confusion, doubt, curiosity, and even hopelessness.

Yet, in the most crucial of moments, he found himself tongue-tied.

Sitting face-to-face with the man who started it all, he found himself blanking out, unsure.

And so time stretched indefinitely onward.

"Well?" Zelretch looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Are you going to finally start talking, or are we going to continue sitting here staring at each other longingly, like long-lost lovers finally united? Because I can go either way."

He took another sip, never breaking eye contact with the magus. If anything, he concentrated harder, as if it were a staring contest.

'At least he hasn't lost his brand of humor…'

Shirou's mouth opened, and before anything else, these two words were uttered.

"Thank you."

Both blinked, surprised. None more than Shirou, whose mouth moved faster than his mind.

"Not going to lie, I wasn't expecting that." The master of Kaleidoscope admitted. "I had bets that you'd start with anger, screaming, or cursing me out. That, or try and interrogate me on what the hell I've been up to and for leaving you hung and dry for all these odd years. Heck, I'm surprised you didn't just demand for me to hand over the Saber Class Card outright."

Ignoring the slight rambling commentary, he swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.

"I never had the chance to thank you for your help all those years ago. Thank you, Zelretch." He repeated and bowed to him. "For giving me this second chance."

In spite of everything, it was thanks to his intervention that he owed his second lease on life. It was thanks to him that Shirou had the chance to escape from slowly wallowing away and meet those he was honored to call his friends.

Much of the fire against him has waned with the passage of the years, dulled into an idle ember. He couldn't find it within himself to muster any residual anger or resentment for the man after all this time. Only a sense of wane gratitude for all that he's done.

"Oh, sure, you're welcome. Next time you need to be stabbed, give me a call, and I'll head right over." Zelretch joked with a hearty chortle, his lips twitching into a smirk.

Shirou narrowed his eyes but ultimately shook his head. Even after all these years, Zelretch was still whimsical as ever. It was a cold comfort, a reminder of better times, yet he couldn't help but secretly enjoy it.

He did have questions, but all of them were superficial and, in the end, inconsequential. They would satisfy merely his curiosity and urge to know rather than any true desire. All but one question.

One question that has been simmering within the back of his mind ever since that fateful day all those years ago.

"When you first sent me into this world, I wondered how exactly all of this would allow me to escape Alaya's grasp. I spent the first odd years pondering on it, and I think I have an answer." His finger tapped the armrest, and his voice slowly gained momentum. "I'm alive in this world, a reality where gods, magic, and greater mystery reign supreme. A world that has its own structure and rules, separate from that of reality. Since not only my body and mind were digitized, or whatever process it was that you performed on me, so too was my soul. In other words, I'm no longer bound to the World while I am held within this virtual pocket reality. This means that Alaya has no true hold in YGGDRASIL and thus has no reliable method of reaching me within this separated boundary. This was what you had planned from the beginning, isn't it Zelretch?"

Zelretch said nothing. His eyes closed, giving only the tiniest of nods.

Shirou perked up, a ghost of a smile taking to his lips, only to deflate from what he would hear next.

"Yes, but actually no." He answered, gyrating his wrist with a small hand wave gesture.

The magus blinked, brows furrowing.

"I'm sorry, but what?"

"Apology accepted."

"I... you…! No! What do you mean by yes, but also no? How can I be both right and wrong?"

"Exactly how it is."

Another stretch of silence eclipsed them. Shirou looked to the Father of Jewel Magecraft, waiting and hoping that he would clarify himself, but nothing ever came of it.

"A-aren't you going to elaborate?"

"No, I don't think I will." He looked away, staring off with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

Once again, he got the feeling Zelretch was referencing something.

Shirou worked his jaw, staring at Zelretch in disbelief, unable to fathom what exactly the CEO was going on about, having received only a contradictory answer and then an outright refusal to explain himself.

Baffled, the Operator of Parallel Worlds seized the opportunity.

"So, since you had your turn, I'd say it's my turn." Zelretch proposed, continuing before Shirou even had a chance to object or say otherwise.

"It's good to see you again, m'boy. In the beginning, I was a bit worried, but in the end, I'm glad you were able to open yourself back up again to others."

His hand reached out, grabbing a fig and taking a bit of the succulent fruit.

"And what an emotional roller coaster it has been! Rediscovering friends, opening up to others, becoming part of something greater, and uncovering a mystery of the past. A desperate endeavor and a journey of self-reflection and companionship." He narrated.

"And now, here you stand, or rather, sit, before me. So tell me, for I have a curious question of my own. Have you given any thought as to what'll come next after you win the Saber Class Card?"

"Don't you mean if I win?" Shirou replied neutrally.

Zelretch snorted.

"Please. As if you haven't already sized up the competition while also coming up with dozens of plans for the upcoming fights against any opponents that come your way in that noggin of yours." He tapped his head before levying the finger at the magus. "Besides, does that mean you admit you're okay with the idea of losing then?"

The tightened and hyper-focused expression on Shirou's face was all the answer Zelretch needed.

"That's what I thought." He grinned auspiciously, helping himself to the plate of snacks.

"Why do you care what I do with it?" Shirou questioned.

"Because as you are now, I fear all the work that has been laid out would be for naught. So do please shut up and listen." Zelretch snapped, maintaining his cordial tone with a sideway glare.

The spontaneous and sharp reproach from Zelretch was enough to give Shirou pause, allowing him to press forward.

"Back to what I was saying. Hypothetically, let's say, should you or your friend, Warrior Takemikazuchi, win this tournament, it is finally within your grasp. The Saber Class Card, the one that you've spent countless years chasing after, is all yours. You have it at last, so that raises the question. What happens next then, hmm? Will you use it in hopes of bringing your precious King of Knights to join you? But what'll you do if who you call forth isn't your precious Saber? Or maybe you'll keep the card as it is, a memento in her name?"

Shirou leaned back, ruminating on the thought.

His first encounter with a Class Card was one of revelation and purpose. For the first time since he'd arrived within YGGDRASIL, something called for him. They were a piece of his past, a fixation.

The mere prospect that they existed was enough to spur him into action, along with the mystery of it all. Perhaps it had been the belief that Zelretch was taunting him with a promise of Saber. Perhaps it was a desire for purpose. Or, perhaps... It was a plea for a miracle.

He had not thought about the why; all he'd known was that he yearned for them... to his own detriment, as his friends helped him realize. And it wasn't until recently that their true value was uncovered. Which only rekindled his desire to be realized, if only against the slimmest of odds to find her again. Just as Zelretch promised him so many moons ago.

"Are you saying it won't be her? Did you not promise that I would have a chance to see them again all those years ago? If so, then why would that not be the case? You helped oversee and later dismantle the Heaven's Feel system. If anyone has the knowledge and capability of accessing the Throne of Heroes, it's you, Zelretch." He probed, fighting to keep his voice leveled at the possibility of being lied to for all these years while also fighting back against such a thought.

Zelretch was many things, but a liar he was not.

"I did. And I still intend to keep my promise." He acknowledged, and nothing more. Shirou resisted the urge to ask again, for he doubted that the man would offer a straight answer similar to last time.

"As for the latter, well, who knows? Perhaps if the gacha gods are feeling merciful, they'll reunite you with your precious Arturia. That or another one." Zelretch returned idly, neither confirming nor denying the question. Again, his expression was indecipherable.

Shirou's face knitted in confusion and irritation. Once more, the Second Magic user's words eluded him. His lips were drawn into a frown as he fought back the urge to sigh. He just wished that the Zelretch would just speak plainly for once.

"So, at this very moment, you have only two real goals." Zelretch drummed his fingers against the fine wooden armrest and held up two fingers.

"The first would be finally attaining the Saber Class Card that you have desperately yearned for and one that is well within your reach, giving you closure on this saga. The second would be making the most of the little time you have left with your posse before finally bidding them goodbye, whenever that may be. The first is more of a work in progress, and the second is more of an eventuality. But for posterity's sake, let's say everything goes exactly as you'd envisioned it. The Saber Class Card is yours at last. Whether you choose to use it or not is up to your discretion."

He paused to take a sip, wetting his lip.

"Fast forward to some time in the future, and you and your guildmates — or what remains — fend off the invasion against Nazarick. With the day saved and Ainz Ooal Gown and Nazarick no longer under threat, you've hopefully made your peace and will eventually say goodbye to each of your beloved comrades in Ainz Ooal Gown when their time comes. A beautiful tear-jerking goodbye, a heartfelt promise for the future, and all that mushy crap. The perfect send-off between treasured friends."

Shirou didn't bother to comment on how he knew about the current state of affairs regarding Ainz Ooal Gown — it was doubtful he would've gotten a straight answer either way.

"And then…" Zelretch set his drink down, spreading open his arm, and looked around as if expecting something. It ended with a weak gesture, as if disappointed. "It's just you. What comes next, I must wonder, in the hero's journey that is the story of Shirou Emiya?"

Shirou didn't offer an answer immediately. Seconds passed before he found his voice.

"I do my duty. For them."

"And that is?"

"The safeguard of Nazarick. Protecting it and the legacy of Ainz Ooal Gown." The memory of his friends.

"Hmm, how admirable." His words were dry, deprived of a genuine compliment. Instead, Shirou was made all too aware of the flicker of animosity brewing within those scarlet eyes.

"Are you saying that is the final chapter of your story? The last great tale of your adventures? After everything you've been through, after everything you've done, and through all the trials and tribulations you've experienced in your life, this is how you choose your final act to be? To stand and keep up maintenance as a glorified guard dog for an empty tomb on the slimmest of chances that your friends might pop in for a quick hello if they ever have time in the future? Such loyalty! Why, it's the story of Hachikō born anew! Let's see if you can beat the record and make it past nine years."

Shirou's hand tightened around the armrest of his chair at the blatant sarcastic drawl, but he kept his tongue.

Zelretch drained his cup of every drop of wine before taking a moment to refill it.

"And how long do you expect this…" He paused here, rotating his wrist as if looking for the most appropriate word to use. "Last rite of yours to last, I wonder?"

"Until it is done."

"Oh, really now?!" Zelretch challenged, leaning forward with gleaming scarlet eyes. The ancient being stared down at him, piercing him to find any signs of falsehood.

Shirou stiffened under his gaze. All sense of levity vanished from the man, as if it were never there in the first place, replaced with a shrewd and calculating judgement.

"I see…" The Dead Apostle Ancestor rumbled, indulging the faker. His intense gaze never left him as he reclined back in his chair. "How dutiful and selfless of you, but tell me, what's the point of a guard dog if the purpose has long since passed? What'll you plan to do if the game keeps chugging along long after all your friends skedaddle? When the memory of Ainz Ooal Gown is reduced to nothing more than a fading memory? Five years, ten years, twenty years, fifty, a hundred, five hundred, a thousand? What'll happen if I decide to keep the game and server running for however long I want, with you being the only one left? When everyone you called a friend is buried and gone from this world and the next? Tell me, can you look me in the eyes and say that nothing will change? That you'll remain over that immaterial memorial, forever bound to a ceaseless duty?"

"Y-yes…" Shirou answered after a moment of hesitation, but even he couldn't prevent the small stammer that crept in.

Zelretch flashed him a sardonic smile, one that split his lips from ear to ear.

"You could. You surely could. But tell me then, how's that any different from a certain Counter Guardian's fate? How would such an existence be any different from what you wished to avoid under Alaya's in the first place?"

Shirou stiffened, his mind grinding to a halt. He'd never once thought of such a connection.

His mouth opened in reflexive denial, ready to deny the Wizard Marshall's word, to say it wasn't true, but no words came to him. As for Zelretch, he pressed on as if the magus had indeed spoken and denied the CEO's words.

"Is it?" He arched an inquisitive, ashen brow.

"Let's count them, shall we? Both of you are trapped in a circumstance that neither of you can truly change or hope to fight against whatsoever. Both of you are bound to an eternal duty of your own design that you can't quite escape from or hope to end by yourself. Both of you have done nothing but squander the kindness of others and wallow in a self-imposed duty. Both of you have spit upon the efforts of those you call friends and family for the sake of a stubborn, misguided, selfish desire. And both of you will continue, alone and forgotten, forever fighting for a deluded, unattainable wish. Oh sure, the circumstances and situations aren't one-for-one, but the parallels exist. That cannot be denied. Well, 'were' would be the more applicable term with regards to ol' EMIYA. Funny, isn't it? It was thanks to you that allowed him to rediscover himself and accept himself, and yet, here you are all but following in his footsteps. Were he here to see you now I'd imagine he'd be screaming with regret and wish he'd finished the job he started. Consequences be damned."

With every point, Shirou physically winced, leaning back further into his seat. His tongue dried up as he found himself unable to speak a word in retaliation, let alone refute him.

Shirou sat there, stiff as a board, shoulders locked and tight, his dichromatic eyes reeling. A flood of emotion swam through those silver and golden eyes as he averted his gaze.

He'd never thought about it like that, never thought to make such a connection. However, thanks to Zelretch's clarification, he couldn't deny it. No matter how much he wished otherwise. His mind supplied further parallels with his Counter Guardian self, hammering the point home all the more.

"You say you'll continue to protect the memory and legacy of your precious Ainz Ooal Gown, but I say that's hogwash. Your duty is nothing more than misguided sentimental tripe. Tell me, how will watching over an empty home help you, I must wonder? Will it suddenly give you an answer to the meaning of life?! Are you saying that this is what you wish for? Are you content with such an ending, Shirou? Surrounded by the ghost of the past, a constant reminder of better times, and refusing to properly move forward. A life without progress, one steeped in complacency. A life of pure stagnation. To live and exist, for other purposes than the sake of it. One would hardly call that living."

No, it wouldn't.

Zelretch's words echoed the same sentiments that he held within him all those months ago. Ainz Ooal Gown, his friends, helped pull him out of his slump, confronting the issue, but never was it ever truly resolved.

No, for it was merely a shift in perspective.

Life was an odyssey, a journey taken by all, and the road he and Ainz Ooal Gown have been on was on a fixed track. They were bound on the same path but with different endings. For Shirou, his journey started long ago, so long ago, and soon it'll come time for him to step off the train. But for Ainz Ooal Gown, theirs was just the beginning. There were plenty of roads left for them to tread, new sights to behold, and adventures to experience. They still had their whole lives ahead of them, and a bright future awaits. They'll continue onwards without him, and all he could do was wave goodbye from his terminus and watch as they moved on.

He told them, and even himself, that everything would work out in the end, but that in itself was nothing more than wishful thinking.

He would watch over Nazarick and the name Ainz Ooal Gown, no matter how long it took. However, the question that arose was: What comes next? Protecting the legacy and memories of his friends was a noble sentiment, but ultimately it was nothing more than an intent.

He had no answer, only the hope of one.

And in the uncomfortable silence, it became all the more damning as the clock ticked by.

Eventually, Zelretch offered him a way out on the matter, but the conversation was far from over.

"I've heard plenty of what you want. But…" He paused here, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, rectangular wooden case. Opening it, he took out a large and rounded cigar, and with a snap of his finger, the end of the cigar lit up. Taking a huge puff, he blew, the smoke forming a ring in the air before dispersing.

"But I've heard little of what your friends want. After all, friendship is a two-way street. If they truly care for you, then I very much doubt that your friends would be okay with the idea of you living like some recluse. To be cut off from the community and basic Player interaction, all to preserve your history."

He took another puff as a flicker of conflicted emotion spread across the magus's face.

"You're more than capable of opening back up to others, forming bonds, and making connections again; Ainz Ooal Gown is clear proof of that. There's nothing truly stopping you from, say, meeting other people and making new friends to help fill in the void for those who have departed. After all, protagonists always have a knack for forming bonds with just about anyone. So I doubt it'll be too much trouble on your end. Hell, look at it like this. When it's just you, you'll effectively be the new Guildmaster of Ainz Ooal Gown, and you'll get to decide how to run things. You can invite anyone you wish to join Ainz Ooal Gown. That way, you'll be killing two birds with one stone. You'll have people and friends to talk and play with again, and the name of Ainz Ooal Gown will be revitalized and carried on. You'd never have to worry about being bored or alone ever again." Zelretch laid out.

A heavy frown dominated the faker's face, showing exactly what he thought of the idea.

"You don't think I'll forsake my friends that easily, do you?"

"Then don't do it. I was just offering solutions." Zelretch immediately countered, staring right back at him. "And secondly, when did I ever say that you would "forsake" your friends? You can still move forward while keeping their memories alive and faithful. It doesn't have to be one or the other." He replied, offering him a pointed look.

"I'm not saying you have to invite people to Ainz Ooal Gown or anything like that. But the point still stands. There are options - you are not beholden strictly to Ainz Ooal Gown. There are plenty of Players in the game who are part of some guild but also hang out and play with different friend groups that aren't related to the guild. It's not an impossibility. If that's the case for them, why couldn't it be for you as well? What is stopping you from moving forward?"

Nothing was the answer, yet Shirou's month remained sealed.

The idea of meeting new people and making friends was far from an outrageous idea, nor was it an unreasonable notion, and it was one he ruminated on idly over the coming months. Heck, with his friend list filled with names of those that he met, helped, and saved over the years, it wouldn't be too hard to integrate himself with another group. A chance to open up to others and begin anew. The thought wasn't without its merit, but it always left him restless.

Perhaps the greater factor against the idea was the feeling of inquiétude behind the action. To seek others out the moment Ainz Ooal Gown was no longer with him for his peace of mind and his own sake.

There was a fickleness to it, and the idea never settled with him.

It would be as if he were seeking to replace them. He would be turning his back on Momonga and everyone's memory if he were to do so. The thought of that alone made his stomach churn.

Shirou knew that was far from the truth. Ainz Ooal Gown wouldn't want him to lounge in solitude, burdened as if shackled by their departure. There was little doubt in his mind that his friends would encourage him to do what Zelretch advised. To give others a chance as they once were.

After all, they were all but strangers once upon a time. And it was only by chance that he and Momonga met and became the closest of friends. From there, Peroroncino and Bukubukuchagama joined in, and later on, the likes of Touch Me, Ulbert, Tabula, and everyone in Nine's Own Goal, among others. It all culminated in them growing into Ainz Ooal Gown. Who was to say that a miracle couldn't happen twice?

So why, then, why couldn't he so easily accept such an idea?

It was illogical, he knew.

It was selfish, he understood.

Yet Shirou couldn't find it within himself to comfort the idea. Because deep down, he knew that all roads would eventually converge at the same end. So then, why bother setting himself up for further heartbreak and disappointment?

"No matter how many more friends I make, will it even matter? I hear that player numbers are on a slow decline for YGGDRASIL, especially with more games rivaling it popping up. Everyone stops and quits the game sooner or later. It'll be no different from now." He stated.

"In other words, it isn't because you can't, but rather because you won't." Zelretch said poignantly, cutting to the crux of the matter and the veiled attempt at sidestepping the question.

The unimpressed glare leveled at Shirou only made him wilt further into himself, unable to meet his gaze. Once more, he was unable to refute Zelretch's words, and the room was plunged into the same damning silence that told him exactly what the Magician wanted to know.

"I..." Shirou stammered, trying to speak up, only to falter as he had no satisfying answer to give.

Zelretch's face creased, marred with a growing frown. Seeing that it was going nowhere, the practitioner of Second Magic took another inhale, letting out an aggressive puff. His finger tapped on the cigar to loosen the ashes.

"Tell me…" He prompted. "What would happen if I decided to shut down the game completely tomorrow? Or better yet, if I shut it all down right here, right now?"

Zelretch held up his other hand, his thumb and middle finger pressed together threateningly, and he looked ready to snap his finger, all the while bearing down on Shirou with a hard stare.

"What will be the last thought that'll run through your head, I wonder? Will it be all the regrets you have made in your life and a final desperate wish for a chance to somehow redo it and make it right? Or, will it be one of acceptance? No matter the folly or regret, a life well spent?"

For a moment, Shirou was taken back to the dream with his old man. The final words left to him by his father echoed within his mind. A question posed by Kiritsugu and now Zelretch.

One that bodes the same acknowledgment as he had in the beginning and throughout his moment of doubt.

His mouth opened, trying to speak or say something, but nothing came besides mute words.

Again, he had no answer.

Shirou looked at the man in front of him helplessly.

That was the wrong choice to make, for it only incensed the Dead Apostle Ancestor even further. His nostrils flared, and his lips twitched into a snarl, baring his fangs. Ardent crimson eyes gleamed with fervid emotion and intent as all traces of civility were gone.

Zelretch looked thoroughly fed up with Shirou.

"Is this how you wish to continue, Shirou? Will you remain forever isolated, clinging to the memories and glories of time's past? Are you unable to accept the past and move on because you're unsure of what the future holds? Are you saying you are fine with that?! Lamenting the reality of it all while doing nothing to try and change it? Tell me, how is that any different from the miserable existence of when I first found you in the beginning?! Wasn't that the reason you accepted my offer in the first place? A second chance, only instead, all you've done is retrace your steps right back to square one!"

Zelretch rose from his seat, towering over the faker, his normal calm replaced with a building fury with every punctuated sentence.

"You have no end game, no answer, and no plan besides waiting to see how it'll all end. You're dragging your feet. Your duty is nothing more than a half-measure, a pathetic stopgap! All you're doing is putting the matter out of sight and hopefully out of mind. Even if an ostrich sticks its head into the sand at the sight of a stampede of elephants, that doesn't mean the elephants will just up and disappear!"

It was in the middle of this that his hands reached out and grabbed onto him, yanking Shirou to his feet as he brought him in close. He was forced to endure Zelretch's challenging gaze as he ripped into him.

"What happened to you, kid? Where was the boy who knew of the impossibility of his ideals yet chased them regardless, for no matter how impossible they were, they were still beautiful? The one who proclaimed it was never wrong to help someone in need? Where did that passion, that drive, that fire that you used to have go?! What happened to the young hero who vowed to help anyone he could, even when the whole world was against him? Have you truly fallen so far that you can't even see the light anymore? Even EMIYA, that heroic, bitter fool, still has some fire left in him, despite being tempered by centuries of cynicism. He may not be the same as he once was, but his true nature still shines through. Who was it that reminded him of what it meant to be a hero? Who helped rekindle his hope?!

The old you would have died with a smile on his face, remorseful for hurting and leaving behind those he loved, but he would've been content with it and had absolute faith that they were more than strong enough to accept his death and move forward. He would have died fulfilled, knowing that he had saved one more life and made it better before passing on. Even that alternate version of you went to the gallows with a smile on his face! But with you standing before me here and now, it's like you're an entirely different person!

Forget your friends, forget the Class Card, forget your ideals, forget Saber or Rin, forget everything! And ask yourself this one simple question. What are you fighting for? What do you hope to do? JUST WHAT EXACTLY IS EMIYA SHIROU LIVING FOR?!"

His every word cut into him, gutting his hesitations and indecisions alike. With every point, it felt as if he was being stabbed through the heart by Gáe Bulg. But unlike Gáe Bolg's cursed barbs, there was collateral. Scars that he'd hoped to hide, scars that he'd wished could be forgotten, and scars that he thought had healed. None of that matter, as they were torn open and salted anew, burning shame and guilt into his mind. And he could do nothing, as the Ancestor's vitriol rang true.

That crimson stare, the gaze of someone beyond human but deeply humane. One filled with unparalleled power and knowledge, coupled with an overwhelming sense of empathy. The twisting expression that peered down at him was equally imploring of him as it was menacing. However, what struck him the most was the rawness of the emotions that emanated from the voice.

A whirlwind of anger, a flood of weariness, a hurricane of annoyance, an oasis of hope, and all of them blurred, with a dozen lesser emotions that he could not distinguish. Yet he didn't need to name them to know that they were spoken out of grief for his diminished self.

Tearful aqua eyes stared at him imploringly. A shrill-full voice cried out his name in equal parts frustration and desperation but also a mournful plea.

"Please... help me, help you, Shirou…!"

Just what was he living for again?

Once, it was in pursuit of a smile. An ideal.

Another, it was to protect those that he loved and cherished.

Here, it was to care for and watch over his guildmates, his friends.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

But after them, what comes next?

"I... I don't know…" Shirou finally answered.

And so, the truth surfaces at last.

He had long known the answer, deep within him, even if he never voiced it.

But by admitting it, it became His words, His truth. A quiet and solemn admission.

"Neither do I, kid." Zelretch replied in an equally soft voice.

All of his anger evaporated, leaving only a sympathetic melancholy. His fingers untangled themselves from the magus, allowing Shirou to fall listlessly back into his seat.

"That's a question only you and you alone can answer."

After all that was said and done, the room returned to silence from whence it came. Shirou had nothing to offer for Zelretch's final word. Nothing but a numbing, lost stare.

Heterochromatic eyes drifted, finding themselves staring into the chalice. His lost reflection stared right back at the water's tranquil surface.

His eyes drooped, half-lidded, as the light within them dulled. A single droplet ran down his cheek and fell, splashing against the calm water of the chalice, dispelling the fragile clarity as his reflection rippled.

How long, he wondered. How long has he been walking this winding, distorted path of his with nothing more than a hope and a prayer for the end?

At that moment, the truth of Shirou Emiya was revealed.

A man who has lived for too long.

The sound of sniffling came from Shirou, making Zelretch's cheek twitch. His lips pursed, puckering at the cheek, as a hand reached up to scratch his finely trimmed beard. He suppressed the urge to sigh while giving the magus a sidelong glance.

This whole meeting and conversation had veered far off course from what he originally intended. He had hoped for Shirou to draw from his failures and fire back with equal vigor, invigorated, but instead, he simply accepted it.

Then again, Zelretch partially blamed himself as well.

YGGDRASIL wasn't simply designed to house him; it was also to give Shirou a second chance to recover.

And it worked. He found a sense of comfort at long last.

But it was this very same comfort, that peace, that cost him his strength, his fire.

Zelretch knew he'd never been good at this gentle emotion stuff besides a few noticeable examples, but they were too few and far between for him to be considered decent at it.

But he made a promise to her, and he'll keep it no matter the obstacle. Even if the source of it was the man himself.

"Time for a different approach." He muttered under his breath.

"Did you know that she finally got the hang of how to use a phone?"

Shirou's ear twitched, catching his words, but he remained as he was.

"Magus society has always been old-fashioned, even to the point of being technologically inept, but Rin was nothing but persistent. Anyway, she came barging into my office one day, as smug as she could be. Showing off this and that on her new phone she acquired." Zelretch conversed, drudging up a sudden story as Shirou listened in.

Bubbles of memories resurfaced as the magus recalled the event. Rin, Saber, and he were in London at the time, and he got around to purchasing a phone for the twin-tailed magus and taught her how to use it.

"You should've seen her, head held high as she showed off. She even suggested that I should ditch my old and reliable flip phone for one of the new-fangled touchscreen phones and that she'd be willing to teach me how to use it. Cheeky lil' brat. Which made it all the funnier when I told her about voicemail. 'You can leave entire voiced messages for people to hear?!' It cracks me just thinking about it." Zelretch imitated her voice at the end, shrill and in disbelief.

He chuckled, his voice tinged with nostalgia and full of familiar pride.

Unbidden, the ghost of a smile slipped across Shirou's lips as the two shared in the memory.

As quickly as it came, it left him with a thought. Shirou glanced at the Magician, silent but attentive. He was unsure of why he was suddenly in a talkative and reminiscing mood, bringing up memories of simpler and better times.

"Did you know that she called your number multiple times over the years? Only Root knows how many times... It did serve as a good form of catharsis, leaving voicemails and venting. Perhaps the reason she kept doing it even in her later years was because she knew… Either you'd lost it or simply changed it, the chances of you hearing them were nonexistent. So she vented into that dead number. How many times did she hear that automated operator? I didn't keep track, but they always seemed to be quite long... and they were the things she never could tell you directly."

That piece of information was news to him. When was the last time he used a phone, he wondered? Better yet, when was the last time he kept an on-hand number for others to contact him? Far too long was the answer, long enough that he had completely forgotten about such a necessity.

But it seemed that Rin never did.

A fact that only compounded his guilt even further.

Shirou heard a sound, a rustling. He perked up in time to see Zelretch reaching into his breast pocket before pulling out something small and holding it out to him. It looked to be a small thumb drive.

"Care to take a gander at what I'm holding?"

He said nothing, giving it an idle look.

"I took the liberty of collecting all of Rin's recordings, including a final message from her for you, during my final visit to her."

Shirou's eyes widened, his melancholy overshadowed by the revelation given to him. However, it was only a fleeting moment, as he was quickly consumed by a shroud of guilt. His hand trembled, almost reaching out to it, but he quickly reeled it in.

The magus shook his head.

He couldn't. Not after all that happened. Not after the way things ended between them, not after the anguish he caused the two women he loved. He failed them, he failed his promise to them, and above all, he failed his promise to himself.

An oathbreaker like him didn't deserve someone like Rin or Saber again…

"Catch!"

Shirou blinked, snapping back to the present and reacting. He grabbed the thumb drive safely out of the air. He stared at it and then back at Zelretch in disbelief.

"I — I don't deserve it..."

"Probably." Zelretch did not deny it. "But it was never mine to keep in the first place."

He leaned back in his chair, facing Shirou wholly once more.

"I have grown tired of holding onto a gift that isn't mine, even if I was entrusted with it. It was always meant for you. I was just the middleman. I thought about making it a secondary prize, using it as a further incentive to motivate you to take that final step forward. But…"

He trailed off before ultimately shrugging.

"Things aren't going as smoothly as I had hoped, so we're improvising. Perhaps you can draw some comfort from Rin's message."

"Were these... her final moments?"

"Make of them what you will, it is not my place to tell you anything that isn't included in that thumb drive. I am the delivery man, and isn't that a hilarious thought?"

He chuckled, though Shirou did not share in the feeling. Yet again, Zelretch neither confirmed nor denied it.

Dichromatic eyes focused on the item in his hand, conflict waning in them.

"The way I see it is that you have two options now. Either keep it in the deepest parts of your inventory, collecting virtual dust for as long as you live and continue believing that you're undeserving and unworthy of whatever she has contained in the thumb drive. Or, you suck it and make something of yourself. We all stumble on the road called life. For some of us, we trip and fall to the ground. Sometimes we skin our knees. At others, we sprang an ankle, and periodically, we break our goddamn legs. It's a part of life, but what defines a person is how they choose to get back. And for someone with such an interesting life, you've had your fair share of skinned knees and broken legs over your life, and worse, I'm sure."

Zelretch paused here, taking another puff of his cigar.

"We all wonder and doubt; some of us even lose sight of what we thought was true and right. That doesn't mean we just give up now, does it? Your raison d'être, I'm sure you'll find it once more."

"How can you be so sure?" Shirou found his voice.

"You're still alive and kicking, aren't you? That means you still have time. You still have a chance. And while people say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, that doesn't mean the old boy can't pull out a trick or two from memory. That's, of course, not counting dementia setting in. If that's the case, then you're right fucked, m'boy!" The sorcerer answered rather cheekily, smirking at his joke.

Shirou said nothing, once again looking at the small thumb drive in his hand. His thumb caressed its surface. Gently, a fist clenched around it protectively over his heart. Heterochromatic eyes flickered from it up to Zelretch, doubt intermixed with determination.

"About time." Zelretch nodded to himself, approving of the look in the magus's eyes.

Shirou quickly stored it in his inventory for safekeeping, awaiting the right time when he was ready.

"Thank you, Zelretch." He managed with a small but true smile.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. If you really want to thank me, how about you start by learning your lesson and get some more character development already?" The Wizard Marshall waved his arm dismissively.

Zelretch then barked out a laugh, reclining in his chair. He'd seen to have found something amusing about the whole situation.

"Heh, don't we make quite the sight? Old men arguing like children over what is right and wrong, like we haven't done and experienced worse. I suppose it is the lot of old men to look back on themselves in their youth and the mistakes they made, and the regrets they carry. That's both the folly and the joy of growing old. Making those mistakes, but also learning from them and growing. Yet, even all these years later, you lack that selfishness that Rin tried to instill in you. Or rather, it's a different type of selfishness. I wonder, will you be able to find it before it's too late? Especially in the fighting to come." He added cryptically.

Shirou shot him a look, latching onto the immortal's words at the end.

"So, while I have you here, I gotta ask."

Zelretch savored the taste of his cigar, relishing each puff as he drew in a deep breath and then exhaled a cloud of roasted, chalky smoke.

"Are you planning on going after the Archer Class card next?"

Shirou's eyes briefly widened.

That was right. He possessed five of the seven Class Servants: Berserker, Rider, Lancer, Assassin, and Caster. That left Saber, as the tournament's prize, and lastly, Archer.

"I'm uncertain..." He said after a brief pause.

"How so? What's the matter, don't you want to complete the set?" Came the Magician's question.

Another short pause.

"It simply never came up." He answered.

"Well then, let's change that."

Zelretch held out his arm. Opening his hand, a kaleidoscope of soft, rainbow lights danced as the final Class Card appeared.

Shirou's eyes locked onto the World Item. His hand twitched, almost as if wanting to reach out for it. Yet, he stayed his hand.

"What's the matter? Don't you want it?"

Zelretch held it out to him, inviting him to reach for it and take it.

"I do." Shirou said after a moment.

"But not yet."

Zelretch looked at him, curious.

"There's something I have to take care of first."

His eyes drew away from the Class Card, finding the Magician's.

"In the meantime, keep it nice and warm for me when it comes time." He said with a small challenging smirk.

Zelretch's own lips curled up, mirroring the magus's confidence.

"Very well."

His hand closed, and the Archer Class Card disappeared.

"But let it be known that you asked for it." He said, almost like a warning for what was to come.

Before the conversation could continue any further, a notification window popped up in front of Zelretch. His crimson eyes skimmed the content of the text box before dismissing it all with a wave.

"Welp! We need to wrap this whole shindig up. If we delay the tournament any longer, I'm afraid the audience might start a tournament of their own just so they don't have to wait any longer. And as interesting as it'll be to see the total pandemonium of tens of thousands of Players going at it in a full-on fisticuffs, I'd rather not deal with a full-blown riot and paperwork from all the bans that we'd no doubt be handing out like candy on a Halloween night. Then again… I could always pawn off the work to someone else."

Zelretch stroked his chin, seriously considering the idea.

"Please don't." Shirou deadpanned.

"Ruin all the fun, why don't ya." The Wizard Marshall childishly whined, pouting.

Rolling his eyes, Shirou stood up. He performed small stretches, bringing sensation back to his limbs. It felt as if they'd been sitting for far longer than they were.

A growing part of him was anxious to get the tournament underway. After all that was said and done between the two, he could use a much-needed distraction. An objective to keep him centered and grounded for the time being so that he can sort himself out later.

"Wait a moment." Zelretch called out one last time.

"You know, this is usually the part where I, the all-knowing mentor figure, leave with a final quote or some parting words for you to think over. Which will no doubt be later used as foreshadowing to help remind you and push you towards that final character development. Something like, "Why do we fall?" or some other powerful speech. But I figured this would be more poignant. So..."

The Old Man of the Jewels smoothed out his clothes, drawing back his shoulders and straightening his back. He was making an effort to look prim and presentable while giving Shirou a heavy look. Shirou straightened up, matching Zelretch's gaze.

Clearing his throat, he began.

"Tell me, why did the chicken cross the road?"

Shirou blinked.

Out of all the things he'd come to expect, a chicken joke would be by far the lowest on the list. At the same time, he couldn't have imagined a more Zelretch thing to say.

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, guess."

He thought about it for a moment before answering with the first thing that came to mind.

"To get to the other side?"

"Ding ding ding! You got it right! The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side." Zelretch crowed and clapped, completing the riddle.

Several ticks of silence passed.

A soft, unexpected sound left his lips. The corners of his mouth curled into the barest of smiles. The tiniest snort of a chuckle escaped him.

With such a setup for the joke, he had expected some kind of wild punchline or an extreme non-sequitur.

Shirou didn't know why, but he couldn't help finding it funny, so he laughed. His light and vibrant titters filled the room, bringing a sense of levity after everything that had happened, however brief or small it may have been.

"Was that it? I'd expected a bit more from someone of your reputation, Zelretch." He lightly teased.

The vampire shrugged, nonplussed.

"It's a chicken joke, it's not exactly rocket science. Although you do have to wonder, why might the chicken have crossed the road? Perhaps it had a reason, or perhaps it was simply instinct. Who's to say? Some food for thought."

Shirou quirked a brow.

"Good luck in the tournament, Shirou."

Zelretch would leave him on that as he waved his hand. A magic circle appeared under Shirou as light bloomed from below, and he was teleported away.

Alone, the wielder of True Magic blew out a drained sigh as he slumped unceremoniously into his chair, his head rocking back until he faced the ceiling.

"And now comes the most challenging part of all: waiting..." Zelretch's voice drifted, bouncing off the enclosed room.

"Will you finally stand with your head tall, or will you fall for good? I suppose we'll have our answer upon this tournament's end."

[—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—][—]

October 20, 2136. World: Midgard. Location: The Town of Und Ljósinn - The Champion Colosseum

In a blink, Shirou found himself in the chamber halls, where the rest of the competitors were waiting.

Many were caught off guard and jumped at his sudden appearance. Shirou stood stock-still, Zelretch's last words replaying in his mind.

"Emiya-san?!" A familiar voice called out.

From the side, Warrior Takemikazuchi rushed toward his friend. He let out a sigh of relief. He looked him up and down, making sure everything was alright.

"There you are! I was looking everywhere for you! I was almost afraid something bad happened to ya' and—"

The samurai's concern would be placed on hold as Shirou leaned forward, embracing Warrior Takemikazuchi's side without uttering a single word.

Warrior Takemikazuchi peered down, his eyes blinking in surprise.

It could almost be called half-a-hug as he leaned his body against the armored Heteromorph's own, leaning on him for support. Due to the Nephilim's towering height, his head hung low, resting against the samurai's side.

To any outsider, the action would seem unusual, but for Warrior Takemikazuchi, it was clear as day for him. His friend needed a shoulder to lean on, both physically and metaphorically.

Emotional displays were far from extraordinary, especially in the case of Shirou and with the recent tribulations that he and the rest of the guild members were going through. However, only in the appropriate company would he ever allow himself to indulge in his more sensitive side.

For him to do this so spontaneously...

One of Warrior Takemikazuchi's arm wrapped around him in an instant, and he reciprocated the embrace by patting his friend's back.

Their odd display of affection more than garnered the attention of the fighters in the vicinity, who were taken aback by the unexpected display of affection between two reputedly skilled and powerful Players. Several among them snickered under their breaths, pointing and mocking them.

Normally, such a display of public affection would invoke a burning sense of embarrassment from the armored Heteromorph. Especially in a crowd of so many reputable and well-known Players. He'd always fought and strived to maintain a certain persona in public. He was Warrior Takemikazuchi - the unstoppable force, as noble as he was powerful.

But in the face of his friend's ails, whatever they may be, he couldn't care less about his reputation or what others thought of him.

Warrior Takemikazuchi looked around, flashing everyone a nasty glaring emoticon. While far from intimidated, they at least turned away and minded their own business.

"You got this." Warrior Takemikazuchi whispered, loud enough that only the two of them could hear.

A glimmer of a smile cracked through for Shirou.

He didn't say, "Are you going to be okay?" or "What's wrong, can I help?"

It was a simple, resolute statement.

He believed in Shirou, that everything would be okay, and that was more than enough for him.

"Yeah…" He muttered.

Breaking away, the Bujin kept a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No... Not now."

Warrior Takemikazuchi nodded and gave a reassuring squeeze on his friend's shoulder.

"So, you mind telling me where you were? I couldn't find you anywhere. `Was afraid that you might've gotten cold feet and dipped out of the tournament."

"As if." Shirou let out a small grunt, regaining some of his spirit. "I met up with an old acquaintance... and well, let's just say that our talk went on for a little longer than expected."

A curious brow arose from hearing this. At the same time, the Nephilim samurai's ear twitched, catching an announcement. He turned his head away just as the commentators made a statement regarding the delay being resolved and that the tournament would begin properly momentarily.

Warrior Takemikazuchi looked back at Shirou, the faintest of ideas scratching against his noggin.

"You wouldn't happen to know the reason why the whole tournament was delayed, would ya'?"

"Who knows..."

Warrior Takemikazuchi snorted. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"Always full of surprises, ain't you, mate?"

Takemikazuchi chuckled as he playfully slapped Shirou's shoulder, earning a playful fist that rapped against his armor-clad chest, with the two sharing a gentle, budding laugh.

Silence played out as they waited for the final check-ins to finish up.

While waiting, Shirou's thoughts drifted back to the riddle that Zelretch left him.

On paper, it was a strange and innocuous riddle at best. Yet, no matter how many times he poured it over, he couldn't quite get rid of it.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

There wasn't some elaborate purpose or obscure reasoning behind it, nor was the setup or nature of the riddle anything less than straightforward. It was the oldest joke known to man and could be used in a multitude of ways due to its simplicity, yet Zelretch opted to use the most traditional form of the joke.

He seemed oftly fond of metaphors throughout their conversation, Shirou reminisced. So there must be a purpose behind it.

The chicken crossed the road to get to the other side. Nothing more, nothing less.

A simplistic action that bore a simple reason.

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side. Why? Because it could. And because it could, it did. And on it went in a circle.

The very question and answer were cyclical, feeding back into itself.

With little progress made, the magus then pondered an alternative, looking at it from another angle. Another way of wording it would be, why wouldn't the chicken walk to the other side of the road? What was stopping it from happening?

The answer he came up with was nothing.

Does it need a reason?

A single question rang out.

The world around him faded as he was pulled in deeper by his inner thoughts, his mind racing with a realization.

Shirou, he was on the cusp of it. He could feel it, the faintest glimmer ahead, and all he needed to do was reach it.

But before he could explore it any further, he was taken out of his inner deduction by the gentle and persistent shaking of his friend, bringing him back to reality.

"Oi! Don't space out now, or did you forget that you picked to go first?" Warrior Takemikazuchi softly chided, reminding him that there was a tournament going on and that took precedence over everything for the moment.

"Hurry it up, or else they might disqualify your ass for holding up the tournament. Again."

Shirou rolled his eyes at the snicker, thanking him with a nod. As he turned to race off to where he needed to go, there was still one final thing the armored Heteromorph wanted to share with him before his first match.

"You remember the plan, right?"

The faker looked at him curiously. It didn't take long before a light bulb went off in his head, and he remembered exactly what his friend meant.

"Kick ass and take names?"

"Never a doubt!"

With his infectious high spirit, Shirou grinned alongside Warrior Takemikazuchi as the two fist-bumped.

"Give'em hell." The samurai waved goodbye and wished him the best of luck.