"Rin…"
Tohsaka Aoi opened her mouth to say something—only to find she couldn't force out a single syllable. She could only watch as the last flicker of reliance and trust in her daughter's eyes guttered out like a candle in the wind.
Tohsaka Rin bit down hard on her lip—so hard she tasted a faint, rusty sweetness of blood. She didn't look at her mother again. She spun around and bolted for the door like a wounded fawn, never once looking back, vanishing into the morning mist that had yet to lift.
"Rin… my child…"
Aoi stared after her daughter's resolute back. That look of utter disappointment felt like the cruelest punishment, robbing Aoi of breath.
She sagged against the cold wall, all strength drained from her at once, looking desolate and suddenly old. Two silent tears slipped free and fell onto the breakfast she had so carefully prepared.
From today on, this home might never be the same.
…
Across town, Matou Zouken's gaze latched onto little Tohsaka Sakura like two cold, clammy tendrils made solid. He split open that mouth—like a black crevice where you could barely see any teeth—and showed a smile so chilling it could give an adult nightmares.
"Heh-heh…" A rasp rattled from his withered throat, like a worn-out bellows forced to pump. It sounded like laughter—and like labored breathing.
"So this is your younger daughter, is it, Tokiomi? The Tohsaka family's second girl…" His voice was hoarse and shrill, like nails scraping glass, every syllable grating on the teeth. "As expected—excellent aptitude. A fine seedling. The Tohsaka blood really is superb…"
Sakura jolted at the old man's stare and smile, her small teeth chattering with a faint "k-k" sound. A primal, life-deep fear seized her. Instinctively she tried to flee, shrinking back and hiding behind her father, Tohsaka Tokiomi, clinging with all her strength to the neatly pressed hem of his suit jacket.
In that moment, Father was the only driftwood in a storm, the sole barrier against the horror in front of her. She buried her face in the fabric of his rigid back and didn't dare look at the old man again. Her little body shook like a leaf in autumn wind.
But Tokiomi seemed not to feel the terror and dependence overflowing from his daughter behind him. He didn't even shift because she was hiding there. With the calm, formulaic courtesy of one mage to another, he nodded to Matou Zouken and replied in a steady tone:
"Elder Zouken, I entrust my younger daughter Sakura to your care."
Then he angled his body, lowered his head to look at Sakura—clinging to his jacket like a frightened animal—and, with the clear, final tone of a verdict that permitted no appeal, he said:
"Sakura, this is the current head of the Matou family, Elder Matou Zouken. He is a venerable senior in the world of magecraft. From today on, he will be your grandfather in the future sense; you will inherit the Matou magic crest, become a rightful member of the Matou house, and study the Matou arts."
He paused—perhaps to let each word sear itself into his daughter's mind—and then spoke the cruelest line, the one that severed her from the past completely:
"So your name is no longer Tohsaka Sakura. A surname is a symbol of honor and duty. From this moment, you are Matou Sakura. Remember your new identity—and the Matou family's future that you now bear."
!!!
Thunderclaps burst one after another in her skull. A continuous, violent ringing filled Sakura's ears. Her father's voice warped and receded. The sounds, colors, and smells of the world seemed to rush away from her in an instant, leaving a vacuum.
Dad… Dad is really giving me to this terrifying old man who looks like the worst villain in a story.
Not only will I leave my only home, my beloved mother and sister—now even my "Tohsaka" surname, the identity that has been with me since birth, is going to be stripped away.
Tohsaka Sakura… turned into Matou Sakura?
To her ears, the distance between those two names was like the gap between heaven and hell. One meant sunshine, warmth, Sister's smile, the scent of Mother's embrace. The other meant only this grim mansion, this horrifying old man, and an endless, dark future.
The shock and utter despair surged over her like an icy tsunami, drowning her fragile heart. Thought deserted her. Her small face went as white as first snow, drained of all color. Her beautiful violet pupils dilated, yet her eyes were empty—like polished glass beads reflecting nothing at all.
She stood there, dazed. Her tiny body went rigid like stone; she even forgot how to tremble. It felt as if her soul had been wrenched out of her body by this brutal reality, leaving behind only a shell to face a plunging, endless nightmare of darkness.
If only this were a dream, she thought. If only I could wake up and have everything be the same as before.
Tokiomi flicked a look, signaling Sakura to step toward Matou Zouken. But stunned to the core, she didn't move. Zouken's withered hand—taloned like an eagle's, grime lurking beneath the nails, reeking of a strange mix of mildew and ancient spices—was slowly reaching to touch her slender shoulder.
"Sakura! Don't go!!! Stop!!!"
A scream—ragged with sobs, gasps, and absolute resolve—split the suffocating stillness before the Matou gates, knifing through the fog from the far end of the street.
It was—Tohsaka Rin!