The forge didn't burn hot.
It didn't roar. It didn't rage.
It pulsed.
Slow. Constant. Deep in Shirou Emiya's chest — a quiet rhythm that shaped everything he did.
Not everyone saw it. Most didn't even look.
But some did.
Middle school was a quiet war of routine.
Shirou arrived early.
Swept the hallway even when it wasn't his job.Helped teachers carry boxes without being asked.Fixed broken window latches, jammed lockers, leaking taps.He did it not for praise — he didn't expect any.But because things needed fixing, and he could.
People started calling him "the school janitor."
Not as a joke. Not as a mockery.Just as truth.
"Hey, the fan's broken—ask Emiya."
"He'll know what to do."
"He's always around when something's wrong."
Some students said he was emotionless.
Others said he was "cool in a creepy way."
But a few?
They watched the way he showed up when it mattered.
And they remembered.
That's how Itsuka Kendo noticed him.
She was sharp. Reliable. Student rep material from day one.
They were paired during cleanup week. No real conversation at first — just efficient teamwork. Silent rhythm.
Until she broke the silence:
"You really never talk unless someone's bleeding or something's broken?"
Shirou glanced at her, nonplussed. "Talking doesn't fix things."
She smirked. "Sometimes it does."
Later, she told someone, "He's kind of like a ghost who does maintenance. But I trust him more than half our class."
Eventually, she became student council president.And Shirou kept fixing things.
But she always saved him a seat near the back at every meeting.And he never left early.
Taiga Fujimura — now an English teacher — was louder.
"EMIYA!" she once bellowed across the hallway. "Stop fixing things that aren't your problem!"
He kept walking.Carrying a desk with one hand and a broken door hinge in the other.
"...Ugh. Stubborn little robot," she muttered.
But every now and then she could storm into the emiya household bringing chaos.In her words like ''Shirou-chan's cooking skill is too good for only two people.'' or ''After tasting that heavenly feast nothing else can't satisfy me any more. So Shirou-chan take responsibly.Okey😉.
Not that Shirou will ever mind cooking for others.In a way Shirou appreciates the chaos Taiga begins in his steady life.Not than he will even say that to her.
Then came Hitoshi Shinso.
Purple-haired. Dull-eyed. Labeled early as "dangerous" because of his brainwashing quirk.
Shirou watched as he got sidelined, whispered about, and ignored.
Until one afternoon, after a minor villain panic drill, Shirou approached him.
"You're strong," he said.
Shinso looked up. "...What?"
"Your control under pressure. You didn't panic. That matters."
Shinso blinked. "You're not freaked out by my quirk?"
"I'm not afraid of power," Shirou said. "Just people who misuse it."
They sat in silence for a bit.
Then Shinso muttered, "...You're weird."
"You get used to it," Shirou replied.
And just like that, they became friends.
Mirio Togata and Tamaki Amajiki were third-years when Shirou started.
He saw them only once — passing each other in the hallway.But that single moment stayed.
Mirio was a beacon — laughing, loud, shaking hands with teachers, backslapping first-years he didn't know.
Tamaki was his shadow — quiet, eyes downcast, muttering into his sleeves as he followed one step behind.
Sun and moon.
One lit the way.
The other carried the silence.
Yet somehow, they moved in perfect sync.
No one pushed the other.
No one led.
They belonged beside each other.
That vision didn't leave Shirou for days.
That night, on the rooftop, Shirou sat with his back against the fencing. Sky clear. Air cold. Forge quiet.
Shinso joined him minutes later. Wordlessly. Sat beside him, shoulder brushing his but not close enough to crowd.
"I saw Togata and Amajiki today," Shirou said after a while.
Shinso grunted. "Yeah?"
"They didn't feel like heroes."
Shinso raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean?"
"They just… felt real. Like people with doubts. But they walked the same path anyway."
Shinso was quiet for a second.
Then:
"You think you could walk it too?"
Shirou didn't hesitate. "I will."
Shinso stared at the sky.
"I want to," he said, voice quieter. "Even if everyone says my quirk's not hero material."
"You're not your quirk."
"That's easy for you to say."
Shirou looked over. "You think it's easy for me?"
Shinso opened his mouth. Closed it.
"…No. I guess not."
He sighed.
Then muttered, almost too low to hear:
"...You're kind of what I want to be."
Shirou blinked.
Shinso didn't look at him.
"Just… focused. Steady. Like you know what you're doing even when everything's loud."
Shirou thought about that.
Then said, "You're not far off."
Shinso scoffed. "Don't patronize me."
"I'm not."
A beat.
Then both boys sat quietly again.
The stars didn't say anything either.
Outside school, training never stopped.
Kiritsugu's body was failing slowly, but his mind never dulled. His teachings became sharper. More refined. Less about fighting — more about intent.
"The wrong weapon in the right hands is still the wrong answer."
"Your enemy isn't the villain. It's the situation."
"Win without killing. Lose without dying. End it before it escalates."
Shirou absorbed everything.
The forge inside him became quieter, more focused.
When he projected now, the blades hummed.
Not loud.
But true.
Archery became peace.
Every draw of the bow, every breath and release — a reminder that precision was more than aiming.
It was knowing when not to fire.
Some called him the best in the club. Others said he was scary — too calm.
The captain said:
"He doesn't just shoot arrows. He commits to outcomes."
Shirou didn't react.
But later that day, he hit the center five times in a row.
By the time middle school was ending, Shirou had become something people noticed.
Not because he wanted them to.
But because he showed up.
In quiet ways.
Holding umbrellas over kids caught in rain.
Walking injured classmates to the nurse without being asked.
Standing behind Kendo when the student council got overwhelmed by complaints.
He wasn't flashy.
But when he was there —
Things didn't fall apart.
The world hadn't noticed him yet.
But a few people had.
And they would remember.
The boy who fixed things.
Who stood still when others broke.
Who carried a fire inside him…
Not to destroy.
Not to shine.
But to build something lasting from the ashes he came from.