Fuyuki – The Road to Homurahara Academy
Time flew by in the blink of an eye. Six years had passed without notice, and it had been a full ten years since the Fourth Holy Grail War came to an end. Miyama Town, once in ruins, had since been restored—regaining its original, peaceful charm.
Early morning. Radiant sunlight poured down onto the streets, painting rooftops and walls with gold and bathing the entire town in a warm, gentle glow. The hum of traffic mixed with the hurried footsteps of students and office workers, composing a familiar, bustling symphony.
Along the dirt path leading to Homurahara Academy, two teenage boys walked side by side. Both wore neat school uniforms, yet their expressions were far from lively—stripped of the energy one would expect from boys their age.
One had messy, seaweed-like blue hair and dull, baggy eyes. His sluggish gait made it look like his soul had yet to catch up with his body—Matou Shinji. His arms dangled limply at his sides, and his face bore the unmistakable weariness of someone utterly done with life.
The other was a red-haired boy with a bright, handsome face—no less striking than Shinji—but his expression was the exact opposite. Emiya Shirou wore a light frown, his eyes a mix of irritation and fatigue, walking like he was forcing himself to endure something unpleasant.
Their dragging footsteps stretched on for a while until Shinji finally broke the silence. With a loud sigh, he scratched the back of his head and grumbled:
"Seriously… What the hell was Zoth-sensei thinking, making us crawl out of bed at two in the morning just to deal with some low-level Familiar? Why didn't he just do it himself and be done with it…"
Shirou could only shake his head at that, letting out a dry chuckle as he shrugged:
"You still haven't learned after last time, Shinji? Remember when Zoth-sensei handled it himself, and somehow ended up getting dragged to the police station for 'tea' and a taxpayer-funded meal?"
"But STILL!! How the hell did he get caught so stupidly?!" Shinji practically howled, clicking his teeth as he gnawed on his fingernails, face twisted with frustration. "Isn't he supposed to be able to teleport?! And then we had to cough up 20,000 yen just to bail him out!"
Shirou exhaled, hands tucked in his pockets, eyes on the road ahead as he spoke calmly:
"Chill out… Anyway, Taiga's got him locked in his room now. He's not going anywhere for a while."
It was true. Five years ago—on the day Kiritsugu breathed his last, his body corrupted by the Malice of Humanity (a.k.a Ark's)—he entrusted a final wish: for Zoth to take care of Shirou.
Naturally, Zoth agreed without hesitation… but Kiritsugu, ever the cautious man, didn't put his full trust in him. So before passing, he quietly arranged for Fujimura Taiga to become Shirou's legal guardian—a safeguard, just in case.
As for Zoth? He continued to live carefreely, strutting around like the world was his playground. For the past five years, Shirou not only had to manage his own life, but also stay constantly on guard… against his own eccentric master.
Daytime was somewhat manageable. Zoth would usually drag both Shirou and Shinji into the Wonder World, hauling them off to some corner for "training"—more like a death trap—where they got beaten to hell and back. Sometimes, Zoth would personally "instruct" them, which basically meant using them as punching bags. He'd transform into Kamen Rider Solomon, wield his giant Caladbolg, and chase the two around like wild boar, occasionally summoning his Mecha Kings of Solomon just to crank the difficulty up even more. Those days were seared into Shirou and Shinji's memories like a never-ending nightmare.
Sometimes, just for fun, Zoth would rain down meteors or launch sword storms of Caladbolg onto the training ground. He'd unleash techniques like Rider Slash, Rider Kick, and [Solomon Zone]—turning the whole place into a war-torn death zone. His "beloved disciples" would run for their lives, screaming like cattle in a hellish illusion.
That was during the day.
And at night?
Well, just think back to the incidents in Tours. Every evening, Zoth had this habit of stalking lone pedestrians—quietly trailing behind them. And when they finally noticed and bolted, he'd burst out laughing and give chase with a manic gleam in his eyes, like it was all part of some twisted game. He got hauled in by the cops more than once for "suspicious behavior," but every time, he'd just say with a straight face:
"I was only making sure they got home safe…"
But that was just the tip of the iceberg.
The list of Zoth's "achievements" over the past six years was long enough to rival a criminal record:
Illegal fishing – hauled off to the ward office!
Possession of firearms – Kiritsugu's old gun, kept in his storage – landed him in trouble for violating security laws!
Vandalism – kicked down a public park flowerbed, thinking it was a malfunctioning teleport gate – off to jail again!
Plus a slew of other minor offenses like disturbing public order, casting magic in public, walking through walls because he was "too lazy to open doors," and so on…
The fallout?
Not only did Shirou and Taiga have to take turns bailing him out—physically and mentally drained in the process—but even the Matou family ended up suffering guilt by association.
And now, Zoth's situation?
Under strict house arrest, confined to his home. His name had been officially blacklisted by the Fuyuki police, accompanied by a bright red warning:
"Extremely Dangerous – Do NOT allow near civilians!"
Both teenagers—Shirou and Shinji—walked on, lost in bitter memories, a faint sting lingering in their chests. At times, they couldn't help but ask themselves: Why did we ever take someone like Zoth as our master? A man so eccentric and dangerous... it truly was a baffling decision.
And yet, for all his flaws, there was another side to him.
Zoth, despite his bizarre personality and frequent disasters, was dead serious when it came to his role as a mentor. He didn't just teach them how to fight or hone combat techniques—he also guided them on how to view society, both its bright and dark sides. For Shirou in particular, Zoth even taught him how to interact with people, how to read them, how to exploit social systems for strategic gain.
And strangely enough… a lot of what he said—though absurd at first glance—actually made a disturbing amount of sense once you thought about it.
That's why, even if they often grumbled aloud, both Shirou and Shinji still held a quiet, genuine respect for Zoth—unspoken, but real.
Their conversation continued in lively banter until they reached the gates of Homurahara Academy. Students entering the school turned to look at them—some waved, others greeted them cheerfully. Though they weren't exactly mainstream popular, Shirou and Shinji had carved out a unique presence at school—the kind of "unofficially notorious" reputation.
After a few casual hellos, the two headed toward the shoe lockers, swapping out their outdoor shoes for indoor ones. The light clack of wood echoed softly through the clean, sunlit hallway—a familiar sound.
From there, they made their way quietly to class—marking the start of a peaceful morning.
Class passed like any other day: writing notes, answering questions, jotting things down, helping classmates—sometimes with small talk, other times with corrections or clarifications.
No strange incidents, no screaming, no out-of-control magic—just a perfectly normal morning.
When the lunch bell rang, Shirou pulled out two bento boxes from his bag. He handed one to Shinji and kept the other for himself. Shinji took it with both hands, eyes gleaming, giving a thumbs-up in delight:
"Arigato na~! Shirou! Sakura's busy today, so no lunch from her. Good thing you had this ready!"
Shirou waved it off like it was routine:
"Yeah yeah, just eat it… Just don't forget to return the box."
"Roger that, Mamamiya~!" Shinji grinned slyly, even mimicking Zoth's exaggerated tone.
Shirou frowned, voice exasperated:
"Would you please stop calling me that like Zoth-sensei does?!"
The two burst into laughter, dragging their desks together as they dug in, continuing their lively chatter. The lunchroom filled with a youthful energy—flavored by warm food and easy laughter.
Just then, a soft, lightly scolding voice rang out from behind:
"Oh~ Shirou, Shinji… starting lunch without me again?"
The newcomer was none other than Ryuudou Issei, the student council president. He approached with his usual gentle smile, pushing his glasses up in a habitual motion.
Shinji looked up, shrugged, then grinned:
"A~ Sorry! We didn't know you'd be eating with us today. You're always holed up in the council room!"
Without waiting for a reply, Shinji grabbed a piece of tempura and chomped down with a satisfied hum.
Issei let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head as if in defeat—but his eyes remained warm and friendly. He pulled up a desk, opened his own bento box, and joined in—blending into the energetic rhythm of the trio's lunchtime camaraderie.
---
Fuyuki, Miyama Town – Late Afternoon
The sun was slowly sinking behind the distant rooftops, casting deep crimson hues across the school corridors and classrooms. The golden hour light spilled through classroom windows like streaks of blood. The chime of the final school bell echoed endlessly, mingling with the rhythmic footsteps of students making their way out of the building.
At the back of the crowd, two familiar figures walked lazily beneath the burning sky—Shinji and Shirou. Their pace was slow, casual, as if they were simply drifting along with the breeze. The sunset bathed their faces in a warm, amber-red glow.
As usual, Shinji chatted away while walking alongside Shirou. But just as they stepped past the school gate, he abruptly froze—his expression changed in an instant. Then he shouted, voice booming like a thunderclap:
"Crap!! I forgot to lock the kyudo dojo!! Shirou! You go ahead without me!!"
Before Shirou could respond, Shinji had already bolted, sprinting back the way they came like a man possessed.
Shirou watched his friend's panicked retreat with a tired smile, shaking his head. With a light shrug of his shoulders, he adjusted his schoolbag and continued walking the familiar road home—each step steady and calm.
As he reached a fork in the path, Shirou passed by a small silhouette—a girl with long silver hair, her light purple dress fluttering gently in the evening breeze. She walked past him without pause, but whispered something under her breath that sent a chill down his spine:
"If Onii-san doesn't summon a Servant… you'll die."
Shirou furrowed his brows. He turned around instantly—only to find the girl already gone.
…Or so it seemed.
Tilting his head slightly, Shirou raised an eyebrow and spoke with a teasing tone:
"You know… hiding behind a telephone pole doesn't make you invisible, little miss."
Caught off guard, the girl flinched—but quickly regained her composure, assuming he was just bluffing. But when she heard footsteps approaching and looked up, she saw a Homurahara student with bright red hair standing right in front of her, eyeing her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Shirou stopped and spoke, voice gentle but serious:
"So… you know who I am? And why did you call me 'Onii-san'?"
The girl hesitated, stepping back half a pace. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but then she let out a soft breath. Gripping the hem of her dress, she bowed politely and introduced herself:
"Hello, Emiya Shirou.
My name is Illyasviel von Einzbern. I'm the biological daughter of Emiya Kiritsugu and Irisviel von Einzbern.
I came here to tell you—
The Holy Grail War has begun.
If Onii-san doesn't summon a Servant…"
She slowly straightened up. Her voice remained sweet, her smile soft—but her eyes turned cold, emotionless, like frozen steel. When she spoke again, her words carried a sharp, almost playful malice that sent a shiver down Shirou's spine:
"…then I'll have to kill you, Onii-san~ So be a good boy and hurry up with the summoning, okay~?"
Shirou fell silent for a moment. He tilted his head, hand to his chin as if pondering, and sighed:
"Haah… Why would anyone want to chase after a Grail full of malice?
Illyasviel, right? Listen to me—
That thing only brings disaster.
It's not worth dying over.
Let it go."
Illya bit her lip, her eyes blazing with fury. She clenched her fists, her voice trembling with anger:
"Impossible…!
Claiming the Grail is the Einzbern family's final wish!
I'll never give up!!"
Shirou let out another sigh, stepping forward to place a hand on her shoulder, hoping to reason with her—but—
Killing intent.
Years of combat instinct kicked in. Shirou instantly withdrew his hand and dodged sideways.
BOOOOOM—!!
A thunderous explosion tore through the ground where he had just stood. Dirt and debris flew in all directions like shrapnel, engulfing the area in smoke and dust.
Shirou rolled out of the blast radius, then locked his gaze forward—eyes narrowing at the figure emerging from the haze.
A towering shadow stepped into view—dark gray skin, rippling muscles, and the aura of a wild beast. Resting on his shoulder was an enormous stone greatsword, heavy and brutal. Blood-red eyes glared at Shirou with the intensity of a predator sizing up its prey.
"Onii-san, really now… Aren't you scared of facing Berserker?
After all, Berserker is the strongest class~"
Shirou slowly stood, his hand reaching behind his back. With a sharp motion, he drew the Seiken Swordriver. His expression was no longer light or relaxed—it had turned cold, eyes gleaming with rising battle spirit.
"Strongest class, huh…?
Sounds interesting.
I've always wanted to test myself against a real monster—
…besides Sensei."
With that, Shirou snapped the Driver onto his waist. From beneath his jacket, he pulled out a thick white Wonder Ride Book. Flipping open the cover, a bold, mechanical voice rang out:
[Dragonic Knight!]
[A fearless knight, masterfully riding a colossal dragon, steps into a dramatic battle…]
Shirou shut the book and slotted it into the Driver's slot. A roaring standby sound burst forth—like war drums beating before the clash.
He inhaled deeply, hand resting on the hilt of his blade—Rekka.
SHING—!
He unsheathed the sword. A spirited voice declared:
[Rekka Battou!]
"Henshin!!"
[Don't miss it!]
[(The knight appears. When you side,) Do-metallic Armor!]
[(You have no grief and the flame is bright) Do-hadenikku Booster!]
[(Ride on dragon, fight.) Do-hakuryoku Rider!]
[(Dragonic knight.) Dragonic Knight!]
[Sunawachi do tsuyoi!]
BOOM!!
A pillar of flame erupted—engulfing the street like a sea of fire. When the blaze subsided, a warrior stood among the ashes. Gleaming silver armor with vivid crimson trims, his build slender yet carrying the commanding presence of a medieval knight.
A small red dragon-shaped gauntlet clung to his left wrist. His helmet bore a fierce, draconic visage—twin glowing red eyes gleamed like beacons in the twilight. A single horn, shaped like a sword, pierced upward from the crown—like it sought to tear the sky asunder.
Kamen Rider Saber – Dragonic Knight Form – had entered the battlefield.
"Alright then… come at me."
Shirou gripped the hilt of Rekka with both hands. The Rider eyes on his helmet flared bright—locked onto Berserker like a targeting laser.
"RRAAAAARGHHH!!"
Berserker roared, his massive feet shattering the ground as he charged—a living missile of fury. He raised his enormous stone greatsword high, pouring all his strength and wrath into a thunderous, vertical strike aimed straight at Shirou's head.
Shirou didn't flinch. He raised Rekka to guard, bracing himself—
CRAAASH—!!
Dust exploded outward. The ground beneath Shirou caved in under the sheer force, cracked and cratered. He clenched his teeth, arms trembling as he held off the crushing blow. His muscles screamed under the weight.
But Shirou didn't falter.
With a sharp shove, he pushed Rekka sideways, redirecting the blade's force. In the same breath, he twisted his body and delivered a blazing roundhouse kick—his leg armor igniting as it slammed straight into Berserker's face.
THUD!
Berserker staggered back, eyes flaring like a wounded beast.
Shirou didn't waste the opening. He dashed in—Rekka trailing a blazing arc behind him, searing a blackened scar across the ground. Berserker howled and lunged back into the fray.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The sound of metal crashing against metal rang out in rapid succession beneath the glowing twilight. Sparks burst with each strike, the two clashing at breakneck speed—like twin firestorms colliding in the middle of a deserted street.
Berserker swung his greatsword horizontally. Shirou raised Rekka to block—but the sheer force sent him flying like a ragdoll, slamming him into a nearby wall. Concrete shattered. Dust filled the air.
Shirou burst out of the rubble, panting hard.
"Kh–... Strong, alright… but—
Playtime's over."
He reached for the Dragon Booster on his left wrist—the red dragon head snapping open its jaw. Shirou pulled a red Wonder Ride Book from his belt and shoved it into the dragon's mouth.
[Brave Dragon!]
The dragon eyes lit up. The system voice rang out like a solemn vow.
Shirou yanked the book out, gripping it tightly as he launched himself back into close range. Berserker raised his blade to counter—but Shirou slipped just out of range, bursting into flame mid-air.
Dragon Booster ignited, cloaking his fist in blazing fire. Shirou roared, driving a comet-like punch straight into Berserker's chest.
BOOOM—!!
The blast erupted point-blank. Fire tore through Berserker's torso—a deep, scorched crater burned into his chest. His massive frame recoiled, smoke pouring from the wound.
Shirou stepped back slowly, never taking his eyes off the enemy.
Berserker fell, his body crashing to the ground like a collapsing steel monolith. Shirou turned toward Illya, the soft clink of his armored boots echoing with each step.
"Now…
Can we talk like normal people?"
His voice was low—but not cold.
Illya shook her head, hands clasped behind her back. She smiled sweetly—voice soft as silk, but sharp as a dagger.
"Onii-san… you dropped your guard.
This war… isn't over yet."
"What do you mean—?"
SMASH—!!
A thunderous blow from nowhere struck him squarely. Shirou was sent flying into another wall, buried in shattered bricks.
He coughed once, then stood again—only to freeze at the sight before him.
Berserker… was still standing.
Untouched.
The massive hole in his chest—gone.
"What… the hell is this…?" Shirou muttered, genuinely shocked.
He raised Rekka again, shifting into a defensive stance, his gaze turning heavy and serious.
Berserker was about to charge once more, but Illya raised her hand to stop him.
"I didn't expect Onii-san to be this strong… You're full of surprises.
I wonder what kind of training Kiritsugu gave you~?"
Shirou lowered his sword, voice low and firm:
"Illyasviel, listen to me…
Kiritsugu didn't want to leave you in Einzbern.
He couldn't. He tried everything—
But the bounded field stopped him. He couldn't break through."
Illya froze for a moment. Then—
"Shut up!!" she screamed, eyes brimming with hatred.
"He's not my father anymore!!
He failed the purpose of the Einzberns!
He abandoned me in that lonely prison!
I don't need him!!"
Silence.
Shirou gripped his sword tighter.
Illya took a deep breath, then smiled—colder than autumn wind:
"Anyway… the fight ends here.
Surely someone else has seen all this by now.
Let's hope you don't die too early, Onii-san…
I want to be the one to take your life~"
She turned away, her voice barely above a whisper:
"Berserk… we're leaving."
Berserker growled low in his throat but obeyed.
The two departed, leaving Shirou standing alone in the smoke—quiet and unmoving.
Shirou returned Rekka to the Driver, but didn't cancel the transformation.
He could feel it—someone was watching him from the shadows.
He cast a faint glance toward where Illya disappeared, then sighed, weary.
From his Driver, he drew a [Book Gates], opened the portal, and stepped through.
Light engulfed the figure clad in silver armor.
The gate closed behind him.
Silence fell.
From behind a collapsed wall, tucked away in the ruins,
a lone figure had witnessed the entire battle — a young woman.
Twin-tailed black hair, a striking red coat, black fitted mini-skirt paired with thigh-high socks and polished black shoes.
No doubt about it — Tohsaka Rin.
Only after both sides withdrew did Rin step out from hiding, her shoes tapping lightly on the cracked cement.
She approached quietly, eyes sharp as she studied the remnants of the battle — the slashes on the ground, scorched marks still faintly smoldering.
The breeze picked up, fluttering her red coat.
"That white-haired girl… definitely Berserker's Master."
Rin frowned slightly, hand to her chin, deep in thought.
"And that silver-armored figure…
Was that Saber?
If that was Saber…
Then I missed my chance to summon him argh!"
Her voice cracked with frustration.
She shouted, kicking a rock nearby — it clattered hard against the wall with a dull thud.
"Damn it…!"
She turned to leave, steps firm, but her eyes gleamed with determination.
"It's time… to summon my Servant."
But just as Rin left the battlefield, another figure appeared—
A girl with long golden hair, clad in a form-fitting black outfit.
A long sword hung at her side, and in her hands, she carried a massive flag bearing a holy symbol.
She raced toward the scene, boots pounding on the fractured road.
But when she arrived… all that greeted her was the aftermath of battle.
Broken remnants. Charred stones. Scorch marks etched into the earth like trails from a dragon's breath.
Smoke still hung in the air, refusing to fully fade.
She stood still, clutching the flagpole tight in both hands, scanning the area.
Her brow furrowed with doubt.
"I… arrived too late?"
Her voice was low, tinged with regret.
But then—her eyes sharpened.
A trace of familiar magical energy had just passed through the wind.
She looked up sharply, lips pressing into a tight line.
"Could it be… him?
But why would his mana signature be here, in this town…?"
She shook her head, exhaled slowly to steady her emotions, then gave the battlefield one final survey.
No one left. No immediate danger remained.
"In any case… the Church's sanctuary agents will clean this up."
With those resolute words, she turned and walked away,
her black-clad figure vanishing into the deepening dusk.
---
Fuyuki – Miyama Town. The Emiya Residence.
Inside the old-fashioned house, a burst of magical light flashed like lightning. At its center, a massive book floated open — Book Gates.
From within, a silver-armored figure stepped out, covered in dust and scratches. His armor clinked softly with every movement.
The moment Shirou set foot back home, he closed the book, detached it from the Driver on his waist, and unbuckled the Seiken Swordriver, releasing his transformation.
The light faded, revealing a young man with a tense face, burdened by heavy thoughts as he looked at the familiar house before him.
He took a deep breath to calm himself, then walked to the front door and called out quietly, but clearly:
"Tadaima… Zoth-sensei."
From inside came a voice — lazy and irritable at once:
"Oh! Shirou's back? Well then… hurry up and cook dinner, I'm starving to death here!"
Shirou took off his shoes and entered the living room, face filled with disbelief:
"Sensei… I just got home. Can't I rest a bit first?"
The living room was a disaster zone — empty cans scattered, snacks everywhere.
Lying flat on a futon was a black-haired man in a red pajama set covered in sword patterns, holding a controller and staring intently at the TV screen — none other than Zoth, the shameless bastard himself.
Without even looking up, he kept hammering buttons while speaking:
"Yeah yeah, do whatever you want, just make sure there's food!
Aye! Who combos like that!? That's so basic!!"
Popping open a can with his left hand, he chugged it like a dragon and continued sinking into his game.
Shirou could only sigh, utterly powerless in the face of his trainwreck of a mentor.
He turned, changed clothes, and went to the kitchen to prepare dinner — a routine he knew by heart.
But just as he was about to start cooking—
A sudden scream echoed from the living room.
Raw panic. Despair. No attempt to hide the horror.
"DAMN IT!! Why the hell has she been summoned already aaaaaaaa!?"
Shirou immediately froze, eyebrows furrowed as he quickly made his way to the living room.
He pushed the door open, puzzled:
"What's going on, Sensei? Why are you yelling like that?"
Zoth practically crawled over to him, face pale, eyes wide like he'd just seen death itself:
"It's… it's my girlfriend, dammit!!
If anyone named Jeanne comes looking for you — asking if you know me — REMEMBER!! Don't say a single word!! You hear me!?
Don't let her know I'm here!!"
Shirou stood still, a twitch forming at the corner of his mouth.
He tilted his head, looking down at Zoth with a mixture of exhaustion and pity:
"Sensei… are you seriously pulling my leg right now?
You've done nothing but hole up in this house or run around causing chaos for the past ten years.
Where the hell would you even get a girlfriend to hide from?"
Zoth flailed his arms, nearly in tears:
"That's not the point!! Just remember what I said!!
I don't care if there's a war, if there's fighting, whatever!
JUST DON'T say my name or tell her you know me!!
I… I don't have the face to see her again… please!!"
With that, he grabbed his console, snatched up an armful of snacks, and bolted straight into his room — slamming the door shut and locking it with a loud click.
And Shirou?
He just stood there, scratching his head with a sigh that came from the bottom of his soul.
But after a moment… something clicked. His eyes gleamed.
"So that's it…
Looks like I finally found a way to deal with Sensei."
With a dangerous smile curling on his lips, he turned back to the kitchen and continued cooking dinner — completely ignoring the frantic screaming from the locked room.