C9: Magus Killer

As night falls, I wait for Kirei in the basement, my gleaming new spear—the same one I brandished yesterday, nearly catching him off-guard during our spar—resting across my lap, its surface dancing with the graceful flicker of candlelight. It's 1994... who still uses candles these days?

Risei, the late father of Kotomine Kirei did, apparently.

"Apologies, your Highness," The priest announces as he enters, his steps slow and deliberate, devoid of any sigh of haste. "I crossed a—"

I cut him off, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, let me guess: A black cat? Helped an elderly lady across the road? Stumbled upon an abandoned graveyard where ghouls have made their nest? What absurd reason will you give this time?"

He's already used the first two excuses.

The third, however, is something I've manufactured for the sake of banter, and to no surprise from me, Kirei unhesitatingly adopts it without so much as a hint of embarrassment on his features. "It's the third, your Highness."

"Were the ghouls as ferocious as the ones in the stories I've been told?" I decide to play along, leaning on my wrist which is propped up on my crossed thighs.

"They were… One even tried to take a bite from my arm, can you imagine? I politely declined, of course."

"So," I start, downing the can of cola I found in the fridge. "You're telling me that since that official left, you accidentally discovered an Apostle, murdered him, his ghoulish servants and overcame all the nuances, all in the span of six hours?"

"I never said it was a 'he,' your Highness."

He pauses, then adds, his unflinching gaze burning (faux) accusatory holes in my forehead. "It was a she, your Highness. Why did you automatically assume it was a 'he'? Tsk—" The priest condescendingly clicks his tongue.

"Such narrowminded view is no longer acceptable in this political climate, your Highness." Fucking Hell… The whole political correctness insanity is a thing in the 90's too? "It would be quite the blow to your public image and future prospects if someone were to leak this to the Tower's self-proclaimed Queen, wouldn't it?"

Or is Kirei just surprisingly 'woke'—deep in a CIA psyop—for a Catholic priest?

Come to think of it, the smugness and random accusation were pretty on point… 'How does he even know about these insane concepts?'

Either way, if he wants to play these games…

"Why'd I automatically assume it was a she?"

I counter expressionlessly, and add, dragging my nail on the can's top. "Is it not more mysoginistic to assume it was a woman? Are you implying something, Kirei?" Gazes meeting and throwing up sparks, the priest and I both turn away, breaking eye-contact at the same time. "When did you even learn about these things?"

"I've recently discovered the wonders of the Internet. It is a virtual space, I'm sure you are aware." My face pales at the revelation, early Internet is basically the Wild West, if even more unhinged. 'Good Gods! What have I unleashed upon this Earth?!'

Homie stumbled on a den of sleep-deprived cave-dwellers…

'I guess there is some truth to his words, after all… He did meet an vampires and ghouls.' Just of a different kind.

"How are you doing, your Highness?"

"I'm doing decent. Would've been better without our earlier conversation." I have not died; met Gods and gotten Isekai to still have these ridiculous modern 'pseudo-politics' debates shoved down my throat… Now, if it's talks about the economy and how to capitalize on the sufferings of others like the big pharmas and hospitals are doing, then I'm all ears. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing."

"Confidence doesn't look good without the accompanying capability." Kirei jabs.

"Yet I nearly managed to beat you yesterday," I retort, a hint of pride in my voice. It had been a sneak attack with my new spear, but a win's a win still. Kirei's lips curve into a thin and tense smile. "Keyword here being: 'Nearly.'"

"Being beaten by a kid and being nearly beaten by a kid at a physical contest is a very thin line, Kirei," I remind him, popping open the second can—this time, a Red Bull. "So thin, it almost doesn't fucking exist."

"Some lines may look thin, but are in actuality nigh insurmountable."

"Only one way to find out." Mumbling the response, I twirl the oversized spear in my hands, brandishing the Mystic Code as I rise to my feet. "Draw those toothpicks of yours, 'Man of Faith.' Let's see if your God's blessing still runs through them."

Kirei's fingers curl around the Black Keys, the mass-produced weapons glinting ominously as he levels them at me. A dangerous light shines in his eyes. "God has blessed me today, I can feel it. He has blessed me so that I may giveth thee a well-deserved beating."

Playing up his religious fanaticism—likely for the sake of intimidation, for I doubt someone like the priest truly fears death or failure, even if this younger version does seem to get riled up more easily than his older-self—he checks his boots, then launches into a flurry of slashes that I deftly avoid and deflect. "You're going to have to do better than that!"

I scream, batting away one of the Black Keys thrown in my direction.

Even with my unusual talent for them, polearms and spears are still rather unwieldy due to my stature. They would not have been nearly as easy to use if not for the fact we are both Superhumans with the ability to weave and dance through the battlefield.

The same holds true for the Black Keys…

Our clashes reverberate with the force of the impacts, yet somehow Kirei has managed to avoid breaking any fingers thus far.

Doubtlessly a result of a lifetime of dedication, specialized training, not to mention the benefits of [Reinforcement] thrown in the mix, I'm sure.

Rolling beneath his leg sweep, I lunge for a chair, flooding it with Mana before hurling the charged furniture at his exposed back.

Then, with one hand, I stab my spear into the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust to obscure the priest's vision.

Knowing how devilishly intelligent Kirei can be, I even kick two pieces of debris to the side, deliberately trying to distract him from real location. The moment I hear the explosion, I lunge again through the cloud, this time to the left, hoping he's been drawn into my trap.

He hasn't.

The tip of Senza Esitazione strikes something, the resulting metallic clang that echoes ever sharply.

Unsurprisingly, it's Kirei's Black Keys, clustered together to form an impenetrable shield, locking the spear in place. A smirk plastered across his face, the priest lets out a triumphant scream, his grin so wide it's as if his lower-jaw has detached, pure elation radiating from every pore of his. "GOT YOU!"

For but a brief moment, the insane thought that I will have to block three Black Keys barehanded due to how my spear is currently positioned crosses my mind, but Kirei swiftly switches grip on the weapons, reluctantly sparing my life.

His fist slams into my cheek, knocking out four of my teeth, which will thankfully grow back in a matter of hours.

Turns out having all F-Rank Stats includes the benefit of rapid regeneration.

Teeth will take a day to return, and a day and a night to fully form.

Not the most convenient timing, given my obligations tomorrow, but hardly worth complaining about. "How the hell did you spot me?"

I inquire, gingerly rubbing my bruised cheek. "There are some secrets I prefer to keep to myself, your Highness…" He responds with a smugness that practically seeps from his every word, only to be interrupted by a sudden voice. "It was a guess, Boy-King."

Both of us whip our heads towards the source of the voice, where a blonde woman stands, her curves barely concealed by the white shirt she's sporting.

"A calculated risk, and one that seems to have paid off." She remarks, hopping onto the sole table that has, against all odds, survived the aftermath of our spars, crossing one leg over the other.

'Calculated' being the operative word here— 'Which suggests there were still clues for him to pick up on.' I conclude, wanting to hit myself over the head for my mistake. Humans don't just rely on sight to explore nature and assess threats, we use hearing, smell and even touch as well.

The speed of my strike must have been the first thing to catch his attention, considering the heft and weight of 'Senza Esitazione'.

I wouldn't put it past anime logic for him to have noticed even the slightest shift in the dust particles. It sounds preposterous, but I have seen way more outlandish feats accomplished in anime before. "It was just a guess."

Kirei replies, voice monotonous. "It was the distraction, wasn't it?"

"It was far too obvious." Kirei nods in confirmation.

"Damn…" It's surprising, even though it really shouldn't be. Kirei's not just an old fox, he's also had far more fighting experience than I could ever claim. There's no way he'd mistake the sound of pebbles for footsteps, and there' even less of a chance he would believe I made such a colossal blunder of kicking up a cloud to hide in, only to give away my position in the process…

We are cut from the same cloths, after all. Whatever strategy my brain may have cooked up, Kirei has undoubtedly already considered and thus he was able to outmaneuver me in 5D chess. "Smart plan, your Highness, but very poor execution."

"Go ahead, rub it in some more, why don't you?"

I hiss, collapsing onto my back to find bare feet behind me. "Enjoying the show?"

"More than you know." I answer, feeling a warmth stirring in my lower abdomen that I do my best to suppress. "Flirting… in the house of God? Sacrilege."

Kirei moves to tower over me, a subtle smirk on his lips. "How are you holding up, your Highness? I imagine your ego stings far more than a sore jaw."

"How very amusing," I reply, my gaze fixated on the cut across his forearm. "I see I managed to scratch you."

"Yes, you did scratch me." He echoes, as if hoping to shame me for my seeming failure. But I have learned my lesson—slow progress doesn't mean no progress.

As long as I'm not procrastinating and steadily improving, the occasional failure doesn't matter. Of course, it's no reason for celebration either. The only thing worth celebrating is true success. The definition may vary from person to person, but right now, mine is to best Kirei as soundly as he's currently besting me. "Well, if you've had enough of my knuckle-sandwich," Oh, how I despise the fact it's me who showed him the Internet. "Perhaps we should call it a night."

"Nah…"

I jump to my feet. "I ain't done yet."

"Are you certain?" The slight uptick in his tone tells me the priest is purposefully goading me, but I can still fight, so I will. "You seem to be in need of a nap, your Highness."

Letting out a thoughtful hum before I can respond, the priest raises two fingers in front of me. "Now, tell me—how many fingers do you see?"

"I see no finger, only a smug prick who will get the beatdown that's coming to him."

Kirei clicks his tongue 'anxiously,' "It appears I have given his Highness a concussion. He's hallucinating."

"Square up! I'll definitely beat you tonight!"

Naturally, I lose that fight,

And the one after,

And the one after that as well.

In a blink of an eye, days have passed.

Of course, my training regimen was not the sole focus during that period. I made frequent visits to see both Rin and Shiro, even trying to orchestrate a meeting between the two, though their schedules proved uncooperative.

Rin's steadfastly dedicated to her academic studies—not the magical kind, the regular ones—triving to be the model student, while the aspiring Hero was busy climbing the ranks within a particular Yakuza family. Aside from Taiga herself, I'm almost certain Shiro has become something of an unofficial mascot for the Fujimura Group.

This, naturally, came with its own set of unique complications. "You little punk, you're here to harass the girls again, aren't you?!"

A gruff, middle-aged man steps in front of me just as I'm about to take the turn towards the Emiya Residence. "We ain't gonna hand her over without a fight, you arrogant, smug lil'—!"

The Fujimura Group is excessively concerned about her safety, to the point of overbearingness. Of the handful of friends Shiro has attempted to make, nearly all of them have been driven off, with the exception of myself. "Kanaka-san, good afternoon. Is Shiro home?"

"Who the hell gave you permission to call Shiro-chan 'Shiro'? She is 'Emiya-sama' to you!" The thug leans in aggressively, his eyes darting around like loose lightbulbs, a cheap cigarette dangling from his lips. I bow politely. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. While I dislike this subservient posturing, I must follow the expected protocols or my current standing could easily be jeopardized. "Yer really think just 'cause you're some big-shot 'hero,' you can go after whoever the Hell you want?"

"Don't think we haven't seen you with the Tohsaka girl! What, is our lil' lady not enough for yer?" His croonies join in, cackling like the bunch of fillers they are. "We ought to teach you a damn lesson, boyo!"

If it's any consolation, at least they're not decked out in the standard rookie getup—complete with an oversized uniform. Instead, they've got on a worn suit, like a bunch of sleazy conman, paired with a purple and pink button-down. Not exactly a step up, one may argue, but at least they're making an effort to look menacing. 'A for effort, I suppose.'

The over-the-top acting is pretty ridiculous, though. 'Gonna be a B-, then.'

"The hell you laughin' at, you little punk?!" One of the thugs raises his fist threateingly, his face practically in mine.

You'd think a guy with yellowing teeth like his would have some rancid breath, but surprisingly, it smells like the kids' toothpaste—strawberry-flavored too. Strange choice for a gangster, but maybe he's got kids or younger siblings at home? I'm not one to judge, I loved that kind of toothpaste as a child too, but they were quite a bit more expensive.

"Hey!"

The notorious Tigress—appearing out of thin air—lets out a ferocious roar down the end of the street, barreling towards us like an abused pitbull eyeing a helpless 5-year-old across the road. "What the hell do you idiots think you are doing?"

Her wooden blade, drawn just moments ago, now rests against the thug's neck, frozen nanoseconds before it could pulverize his spine. "You wanna make Shiro lonely all over again?! You tryin' to cause more problems for Emiya-san?" I'd bet my money that the 'Emiya-san' she's talking about is the retired Magus Killer. "Has Mr. Emiya already come back from his business trip?"

I ask, clearly taken aback by how… Fast he's moving.

Has Kiritsugu really only spent a week trying to get his daughter back? I mean, being persistent might not change the Einzberns' minds, but he couldn't have thrown in the towel this fast, right? If that's the case, and if I were in Illya's shoes, I'd be pretty pissed too. This doesn't seem like the kind of effort that a dad should put into rescuing his daughter. But then again, it could also mean he's just given up on himself completely.

"Emiya-san is back~!"

Taiga says in a singsong voice, twirling on her feet—her initial anger nowhere to be found; replaced by a pink, lovesick atmosphere that makes me want to barf. "He even brought gifts from Germany!"

"Let me guess: Walnut chocolates?"

"How did you know?"

"What else could it have been?"

When I think of the word 'Germany,' I think expensive, high-quality cars; I think wine and beer;—neither of which could be used as a souvenir for two underage girls—I think the World Wars, both of which the country was in the center of; and last on my list of thoughts is chocolate. "I admit, walnut was an improv, but it seems the thing he'd buy."

Kiritsugu used to play find-the-walnut with Illya in the snow-blanketed German wilderness when he was living amongst the House with the greatest claim to the Third Magic. And now that his daughter seems forever out-of-reach, it is only natural for him to seek out some sort of solace in familiarity. "I know you must be quite nervous meeting the parent so soon, but he's a very cool guy,"

More like severely depressed, but I suppose 'cool' does the job just fine.

"So relax, Leo-tan!" The Tigress says, her hand frantically rubbing my back, like a merciful butcher trying to reassure a panicking pig that's on track to the slaughterhouse. "Come on, I'll introduce you to him! Shiro's already waiting for us, I bet."

Taiga drags me along excitedly, but not before shooting a nasty glare at the cowering thugs. "I won't say it again, if you keep threatening him, I'll tell grandpa!"

"It's the boss' orders…" I hear the lead thug mutter, but whether intentionally or because she's actually daydreaming of food—because she's just that airheaded—the Tigress merely giggles absentmindedly in response, ignoring them completely. The Emiya Residence looks the same as always—solemn, but introspective and, best of all, peaceful—yet there's also this undercurrent of tension in the air; an electricity I can't quite put into words.

We navigate through several doors before arriving in the living room. The moment I cross the threshold, a wave of unease courses through me and causes the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Turning to the only other man in the room, I wave, my earlier expression from earlier vanishing in an instant. 'A Bounded Field?'

But I must not have concealed it fast enough, judging from the intense stare he's sending me—reeking of suspicion and paranoia.

There's no way Kiritsugu won't detect my peculiarity, but I'd hoped conversation would be farther into the future—a year at least. By that time I'd have 'perked' up and the retired Magus Killer's condition would have deteriorated to a point where the man's no longer as substantial a threat as he currently is. "You're that boy…"

Taking my seat next to directly in front of the Magus Killer, I wave at him, a grin on my face. "Told you I was strong."

"You did."

His gaze, still keen and unflinching, rests on me. "Emiya-san, this is our local Hero!" Taiga interjects, picking up on the palpable tension underneath.

The word, however, seems to ensnare Kiritsugu in his own thoughts and visions. "Hero, huh?" Mumbling blankly, the Magus Killer rises to his feet. "Fujimura-san, may I talk to..."

He pauses, gazing at me pleadingly, and I helpfully introduce. "Leonis Magnus."

"May I speak to Leonis alone?"

Casting a glance between Kiritsugu and myself, the Tigress reluctantly backs out of the room.

"I will go prepare some tea and refreshments for you two. Just, uh, don't kill each other while I'm gone, okay?"

"No guarantees." I jest as she departs.

"You're not normal." The Magus Killer matter-of-factly murmurs once her footsteps have faded, prompting me to shrug and sarcastically remark. "Oh-Geez, what gave you that idea? Is it the hair? I do have the hair of a Greek God... That or a 90's action hero."

"I won't pry into what or who you are," He starts, jaws tense. "All I need to know is your intention regarding my daughter."

Halting his fatherly speech with a raise of my hand, I add with a slight quirk of my brow, "Which one, exactly?"

Eyes narrowing in an instant, "You know who I am?" He demands.

I flash a knowing grin.

"Of course! Who doesn't? The dreaded Magus Killer, bombing public buildings daily to get rid of your targets… The Shura whose answer to everything is brutality and violence… The Hero who fell at the gates of Elysium, through no fault of your own…"

I drag my fingers across the table, then plop my chin up. "The husband who sacrificed his perfect family—"

"That's enough!" Kiritsugu growls threateningly—a beast, even broken and beaten, is still a beast.

My tone turning somber, I finish. "The father who has failed his daughter."

The small table crumbles beneath his fist as he lunges to grab my collars.

It appears I've pushed him too far. A sympathetic look crosses my face as I regard him. "You can't beat them, Kiritsugu. In time, you may find a way to breach their defenses, but…"

I pause, my voice tinged with sorrow. "You don't have much time left, do you?"

"What do you want?"

"A lot of things—money, fame, power, to name a few."

"People like that can't be trusted…"

"As opposed to what? A jaded fool who sacrificed his family for something as ridiculous as a world without conflict?" I counter, my voice possessing not a hint of the previous humor.

Leveling a contemplative gaze at him, I continue. "Humanity's rise has hinged on conflict, Kiritsugu. We've pitted our shields and spears against Nature; we've dethroned the Gods and will soon set our sights upon the stars—all made possible because we have 'sharpened' ourselves with ourselves. A world without conflict is a world devoid of difference– a contradiction in itself. And yet…"

My eyes search his, a touch of disgust in my expression. "You sacrificed your own for such a vision… What rights do you have to renounce me? Who's more dangerous, Emiya-san? The one with very real, if materialistic restraints or the one without?"

I give him a firm but empathetic look as I step back, straightening my collar.

"If a zombie outbreak were to occur tomorrow, I'd focus on implementing quarantine procedures and supporting Humanity through the crisis, because there wouldn't be a people left to rule if I don't. You, on the other hand… You would kill everyone—the healthy and the infected alike, because it is the most effective strategy, with the least amount of risks."

I meet his gaze steadily. "So tell me, Kiritsugu, who poses the greater danger here? Who can't be trusted, again?"

The Magus Killer harbors disdain for Artoria, yet their Paths bear uncanny resemblances. The distinction lies in their self-perception. Artoria carries a certain pride in her role as the ruler of a nation, while the Magus Killer, as an assassin-for-hire, seems to believe any sense of accomplishment from the act of taking a life, even if it's done in protection of others, should be shunned their entire life.

The self-loathing radiating from him already churns my stomach, yet the audacity to try and impose it upon others, to pass judgment and then claim his ambitions are somehow nobler than mine when he himself is a murderer, and one of great renown at that too—it's simply just laughable.

"Now, as for what I want from your daughters, the answer is simple: nothing."

Shiro will join the Grail War, with or without my intervention.

I merely require her to summon Saber. "No, what I'm truly interested in is a proposition for you."

Fixing him with a level gaze, my tone measured but firm as I demand. The time for veiled words has passed; now, we shall speak plainly. "Every trick of yours, everything you have learnt during your time as the Magus Killer, I want to learn it." In other words, "Teach me the Art of Guns!"

"In exchange for?" Hands resting in the billowing sleeves of his Jinbei, Kiritsugu asks.

"Safe passage for your daughter, back to Fuyuki, or wherever you decide to bring her to."

"What else?" He prompts, his sullen gaze glued to the table. "The Emiya Crest… I want it as well."

"The surgery has a success rate of 1:1000 with a good Spiritual Doctor around, less without. Those are not odds I'm willing to bet on."

"I'll make arranging for her rescue my first priority, then we can proceed with the surgery. I even know a Spiritual Doctor already."

The doctor I have in mind, of course, is Kirei, but no need to tell him that. It's better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after all. "Give me a year's time—teach me all you know about hunting Magi—about killing them, and I shall join you in retrieving your daughter."

"Why'd I need you?" The Magus Killer chuckles, looking like he's off-his-meds. "How can I even trust you after what you've just confessed?"

"Because while I tend to be benefit-oriented, I'm more concerned with long-term benefits. It will look bad on the records if I sell out my first business partner to his enemies, won't it?"

What could the Einzbern possibly offer that could outweigh the power of [Time Manipulation]? Homunculus creation, perhaps? But I've never been one for crafting dolls, no matter how formidable they may be. External power is so often fleeting and unreliable, as the Homunculi have demonstrated time and again.

Their Familiar creation and Alchemy are intriguing, to be sure, but they don't quite align with my preferred fighting style—one that emphasizes rapid, abrupt movements and heavily leans on the offense.

I'm afraid the Einzbern's repertoire holds little appeal for me, 'Not to mention I can break into their library after killing them…'

"If you're still worried, we can sign on it."

"Geas have many loopholes one can exploit."

"Then we'd best get to work on hammering out an ironclad agreement, post-haste." I give a casual shrug.

I must admit, I was a bit caught off guard Kiritsugu's swift return—had I known, I might have taken the time to draft up a more comprehensive list of terms and conditions beforehand. "Hey, you two—!" Taiga barges in, carrying a tray of biscuits and teas. "Thank you, Fujimura-san."

"I keep telling you, just call me Taiga!"

Watching as one flirts, and one denies reality, I take a careful sip of my tea. "The tea's perfect, thank you Taiga-nee."

"Aren't I the best?"

Ego boosted, she says with an upturned nose.

"Fujimura-san, can you go help Shiro with dinner?"

Like a cat whose tail's been stepped on, the Tigress bristles. "That's enough! I want to know what you two are talking about, you can't keep shooing me out!" Despite her intelligence, her childishness is currently displayed in full.

Only children believe they should be privy to everything.

She sees Kiritsugu and me as these two well-meaning and regular guys with a huge misunderstanding, when in truth we're two businessmen on opposite sides with very few things to lose and everything to gain. "Taiga-nee, it's fine. We'll finish shortly."

"But—!"

"Taiga-nee, please." I plead, my voice hardening slightly, which causes the Tigress to pout. "Can't you see we're busy?"

"But—"

"The kid's right. Respect my wish, Taiga." Kiritsugu politely shoos.

Faced with our insistence, the Tigress has no choice but to oblige, leaving while muttering to herself.

At first, I thought she was angry, but—"He just calls me Taiga!" Ah, to be young and believe in love so purely.

It's a shame her first love is bound to be naught but heartbreak.

"One more clause… I want you to protect them after I've passed."

"For?"

"Their whole lives."

I waste no time declining. "I will not." Who would want that kind of burden placed upon them? The issue isn't just about the necessary protections, but the sheer logistical challenge. I'm not omniscient – what if his enemies strike one target while I'm occupied safeguarding the other? It's simply not feasible.

What will I do when my list of responsibilities inevitably grow?

"The most I can offer is a decade's time. After that, the moniker 'Magus Killer' will likely fade from memory, and your daughters will be safe to wander about." After a moment of thoughts, I decide to add.

"Also, I can only be held accountable if I'm aware of the danger and can physically be there to intervene."

Kiritsugu narrows his eyes sharply. "What is to say you won't ignore my daughters and claim ignorance?"

"We can add a clause that I'm obligated to check on them every week or month, either in person or call."

"Not good enough."

"Additionally, I'll commit approximately 30% of my available resources to searching for your daughter, should she be abducted. That's the most I can provide."

The reality is: No matter how much Chinese romance novels try to, I simply can't afford to halt all my operations and devote myself to a singleminded search for one or two missing people.

There are limits to what I can reasonably agree to. "Do you have no heart?"

"I do,"

I shrug. "It simply hasn't been touched yet… I… May be willing to go the extra mile and beyond for them if I develop more attachment, but until then they're nowhere near the top of my priorities."

"You- You're just… Reprehensible." He accuses.

"Am I? I'd argue I'm merely indifferent."

The Magus Killer hisses spitefully, "My daughter calls you her friend, and yet here you are, haggling over her life." His tone acidic, and dripping with contempt.

"Is my life not a life as well?" I counter with a bored look on my face.

"I get your frustrations, but you are only seeing this from your perspective. Is my life objectively worth any less than theirs? They matter to you because they're your daughters, but to me, Shiro is just an acquaintance, one to whom I owe no obligation to."

Staring him in the eyes, I continue—genuinely confused. "I'm doing business, not charity. Do you expect me to put my life on hold for them? Should I discard everything—every dream and aspiration I've ever had and stay in this quaint little town for them? Make no mistake, I can be empathetic when the time calls for it, but I am a capitalist and opportunist at heart whose entire life philosophy can be summed in: What's in it for me?"

"You're not supposed to expect things in return—!"

"Oh, shut up!" I roll my eyes in exasperation. "You're telling me I'm supposed to give up my fucking life for NOTHING, and be happy about it. Fuck. That! I'll give them a decade, take it or leave it." Even firefighters and cops get paid for their troubles, but I'm the ass when I demand compensations? What a joke.

Kiritsugu clicks his tongue, then sighs in resignation. "Do you have any arrangement tomorrow's evening?"

"I should be free for a few hours before 9."

"Visit me when you have the time." He rises, his steps the opposite of Kirei's steady movements—weak and feeble, like a gust of wind can knock him over. "Come, I have a few Geas laying around somewhere."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Emiya-san."

Happily, I trail behind him, a happy grin adorning my lips.

'Emiya Crest secured.'

— — — — —

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