Chapter 339: Can't You Just Study Magic Properly?
Shinji stared at the three angry ladies, a slow, confused question mark practically hovering above his head.
'What the hell's wrong with these three?'
He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why they were mad—but even his brain, running on the fumes of pure self-preservation, knew better than to provoke a Bajiquan master, a Ryougi heiress, and a True Ancestor all at once.
"Alright, let's just… take a break for now."
Shinji grabbed Shirou's sleeve, intending to retreat before things exploded.
"Hey, come on, it was just getting good!"
Shirou's grin said everything—watching Shinji suffer was his only real joy as a production assistant. Seeing Shinji trapped in a three-way death flag was the kind of entertainment money couldn't buy.
"Oh, quit laughing like that," Shinji snapped, dragging him toward the exit.
"You think you can run, Shinji?" ×3
"Uh-oh…"
The moment those three voices overlapped in perfect harmony behind him, Shinji's shoulders slumped. He glanced back—just in time to see the trio turning their combined wrath on him.
"Shinji, this is exactly what I mean when I say you always run away from things! You never take responsibility!"
"That's right. Men these days are really losing their edge."
"Bunny boy, a rabbit only runs at full speed when a lion's chasing it, you know~?"
"What are you even talking about?!"
At this point, Shinji finally understood the saying 'a woman's heart is like the bottom of the sea'—completely unreadable.
He knew if he tried to reason with them, he'd just get tangled up in their logic and end up worse off. So, leveraging his almighty power as the film's assistant director, Shinji went for the nuclear option—flipping the metaphorical table.
"Alright, since everyone seems full of energy, why don't we move on to the next scene already?"
And just for good measure, he kicked Shirou's leg.
"Shirou, the next set's ready yet?"
"Wasn't that supposed to be Touko and Archer's job?!"
Shirou grumbled, rubbing his bruised leg, but Shinji ignored him, shoving him toward the next set like nothing had happened.
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By the time the chaos died down, the Garden of Sinners crew had finally wrapped for the day.
All the footage—both the scenes Shinji had shot himself and the action sequences supervised by Li Shuwen—was now in Shinji's hands.
Tomorrow, before filming started again, he'd go through every second of it.
And if he found anything off, he'd fix it on the spot.
A movie is the kind of thing that doesn't really exist until the very end.
No matter how carefully you plan it, how much you tweak it, or how many storyboards you draw—until the final cut is locked, nobody truly knows what the finished film will look like.
Even Shinji, who technically had the advantage of having seen his previous life's theatrical version, couldn't guarantee he'd reproduce the live-action adaptation frame by frame.
"Alright, that's it for today! We're clocking out!"
In the temporary office, Shinji stood and clapped his hands, signaling the end of the day's chaos.
A wave of collective relief rippled through the room as the crew began packing up, exhaustion melting into the satisfied shuffle of people ready to go home.
"Ah—right."
Shinji suddenly spoke up, catching everyone just as they were stepping out the door.
Before he could even finish his sentence, a chorus of despair echoed back.
"You're kidding me, boss! More work?!"
"We've been at it all day—I can't even feel my legs!"
"Shinji! I demand overtime pay!"
Shinji just shrugged. "Relax. I just wanted to remind you there's a screening party tonight. Come if you feel like it."
"YES!"
"Director, I love you!"
"Boss, I'll bear your children!"
—The complaints instantly flipped into cheers. The same people who claimed they couldn't move were now jumping like caffeinated kangaroos.
When Shinji said screening party, what he really meant was a low-effort, all-you-can-eat-and-drink lounge session where everyone sprawled on sofas watching random movies.
Since the set had basically zero entertainment options, these little in-house gatherings were the highlight of everyone's week.
Besides, according to the The Garden of Sinners crew's sacred tradition, the screening party meant one thing: homemade snacks by Miss Shiki Ryougi herself. Kinoko-sensei's personally certified "#1 Cook in the Nasuverse."
Getting to taste her food? That was winning the culinary lottery.
"Get outta here already!"
Shinji smacked the head of the cheeky stagehand who'd just volunteered to "bear his children."
"Stop fooling around, go shower, and don't be late tonight."
After chasing the crew out, Shinji tidied up his notes and gear, then left the office alongside Touko.
As they walked, the two discussed the upcoming filming schedule.
The number of unfinished scenes was shrinking fast, and the day of the final battle—the movie's climactic showdown—was drawing near.
Shinji had countless ideas for that fight sequence, but to make them happen, he'd need Touko's technical magic—literally.
Just as they reached the studio gates, someone stepped out of a nearby dressing room and crossed their path.
"Hi there, Shinji, Miss Aozaki."
Luviagelita Edelfelt greeted them, arms folded and smile sharp enough to cut glass.
"Hello, Luvia," Shinji replied with a polite nod.
It was clear from her posture she wasn't just saying hi.
She stopped, meeting Shinji's eyes.
"Tell me, Shinji—have you heard the rumors floating around the Clock Tower lately?"
"Rumors?"
Shinji blinked. He hadn't checked on the British side of things in ages.
As far as he knew, Kayneth hadn't asked for help, so everything over there was probably fine.
And honestly, Shinji couldn't care less about the filthy, exhausting swamp of magical politics.
"It's about Magical Illya," Luvia said. "Ever since the new episode aired, some weird rumors have been spreading inside the Clock Tower."
The latest Fate/Kaleid Liner Magical Illya episode had just broadcast in the UK. Naturally, the main audience there—actual magi—reacted much like their Japanese counterparts.
They all thought the show was a thinly veiled jab at the ongoing feud between the Modern Magecraft faction and the Aristocratic faction.
And because the British mages were living that feud daily, the gossip spreading through the Tower had grown even stranger.
The more the British magi compared notes, the more convinced they became that Magical Illya was secretly a reflection of reality.
"Honestly, maybe that's a good thing," Shinji said, taking it in stride.
"If they think the story's close to real life, more magi might tune in. Sure, it won't boost the ratings that much, but hey—meat's still meat, even off a mosquito's leg."
Luvia, however, didn't share his optimism.
"Something's off," she said flatly. "The rumors have… evolved into something strange. They've started mapping Illya and her friends to actual people in the Modern Magecraft Department."
That whole nonsense had started, of course, with that Tokyo Magical Society conspiracy nut, Fujita. From there, it somehow spread across the ocean to London—because of course it did.
In Tokyo, young magi barely paid it any mind.
No one really believed that Shinji Matou was some interdimensional visitor from a parallel world.
If you told a Tokyo magi that, they'd laugh and say:
"You've been watching too many movies, mate. Shinji Matou's a local boy from Fuyuki, through and through. Parallel world? Get real."
But the magi in London? Oh no, they believed it. They absolutely bought into the theory.
Because to them, Shinji Matou was an anomaly—a walking heresy against everything a "proper magus" stood for.
A man born from a long, prestigious family of magi… who sided with the commoners.
To the aristocrats of the Clock Tower, that was unthinkable.
A normal magus wouldn't think like that.
So their conclusion was obvious: Shinji Matou couldn't be from this world.
"…Should I be impressed or concerned about how dumb they are?"
Shinji rubbed his temple.
Sure, their conclusion was technically right—but their reasoning was completely insane!
Just how far up their own bloodlines were these noble idiots' heads stuck?
Even in the Type-Moon world, where mystery hadn't yet collapsed, the Clock Tower was still locked in an endless cold war between the Aristocratic Faction and the Modern Magecraft Department.
The nobles clung to the glory of their ancestors' magic like it was holy scripture—some families were so powerful they could go toe-to-toe with Heroic Spirits.
And yet, despite all that, the commoners still rose up to challenge them.
So much so that even some of the old families, disgusted by the aristocrats' arrogance, defected to the commoners' side—or went neutral just to avoid being lumped in with either.
That was how hated the nobles were.
So honestly, whether or not Shinji Matou existed, someone was bound to rebel against the aristocrats sooner or later.
At most, Shinji's presence had just made the path smoother—given the underdogs a symbol to rally behind.
"Forget it," he sighed. "It's just the usual losers' rage. Let them foam at the mouth."
"Well… about that…"
Luvia's wry smile deepened as she rubbed her cheek.
"The rumor about you being from another world has… escalated. Some people are saying you came from a world where mystery never declined—that's why you could write those stories."
"…They actually said that?"
Shinji stared blankly, unsure whether to groan in amazement or not.
"And that's not all," Luvia continued. "Some are claiming your body contains 'magic from the world before decline.' If they captured you and squeezed you dry, they could extract the primordial mystery from your circuits."
"…"
Shinji fell silent, his face somewhere between disbelief and existential horror.
And he knew exactly what Luvia meant by "squeeze dry."
No metaphors. No innuendo.
Just the good old-fashioned, literal kind—body and soul drained for mana until there's nothing left.
"…Wonderful," he muttered. "I've officially become a magical juice box."
To "extract" a magus meant to squeeze them—both magically and physically—until every last drop of mana was forced out of their body.
It was a brutal process, worse than a Sealing Designation, a fate so cruel it didn't even leave a corpse behind.
Once the extraction was done, not even bone dust remained—only a solid mana crystal, the final and pitiful proof that the magus had ever existed.
Normally, this kind of treatment was reserved for creatures made purely of magical energy—constructs or familiars, things without real sentience or research value.
But in the Clock Tower's newest conspiracy theory, it had found a new target: Shinji Matou.
"And they said," Luvia continued, her expression caught somewhere between disgust and disbelief, "that they should've extracted you sooner. Apparently now that you've gotten 'too close' to so many women from the Clock Tower, your mana's probably been 'contaminated.' They think it'd be best to have the Aozaki family rewind your time to when you were still a virgin."
"…"
Shinji's eyelid twitched. Then both did.
"…Those idiotic bastards—can't they just, I don't know, study magic like normal magi for once?!"
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London, the Clock Tower
"These rumors are getting ridiculous."
Waver Velvet slumped in his chair, scowling across the room at his teacher.
"Quite so," Kayneth Archibald replied, nodding gravely.
Then, almost reflexively, he reached up and ran his fingers along his hairline. After confirming that it hadn't receded since yesterday, he exhaled in quiet relief.
"I've already told the others to shut down that nonsense," Waver said. "But… I don't think it's going to help much."
Conspiracy theories were like curses—once they took root, they were almost impossible to dispel.
And considering how most magi were introverted shut-ins who never left their labs or read anything outside of thaumaturgical journals, it wasn't hard to see why misinformation spread like wildfire.
Waver knew better than anyone how tough it would be to stop the madness.
"…Then maybe we should just watch the show ourselves?" he suggested. "I think the latest episode's premiering in the UK tonight. If we see what it's actually about, we might find a way to debunk the whole thing."
"That's fine," Kayneth said casually. "If you've finished your assignments, I have no objections. I'm free anyway."
'Oh, you're free because I'm doing ninety percent of your work, you smug lemon-headed aristocrat! Don't act like you're some dedicated professor!'
"…Waver, what are you mumbling about?" Kayneth's sharp eyes flicked toward him.
"Nothing!" Waver said instantly, forcing a bright smile. "I was just admiring how dedicated you are to the Department's affairs, Lord El-Melloi. Truly inspirational."
Kayneth's expression softened, and he gave a satisfied nod.
"Well said. As expected of my disciple—you truly understand me."
'That flattery—did you learn that from Shinji?'
'And that face—definitely learned that from Shinji.'
Their eyes met for a brief, knowing moment.
Without speaking, both reached the same silent conclusion.
'Waver—You've gone bad.'
'You too, Professor.'
<+>
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