Self Service Is The Best Policy

[McPhoenixDavid]

Episode 01​

---

Shirō was about to die. Like, actually die. By the hands of some blue-suited lunatic calling himself "Lancer." And, to top it off, with a spear. A spear? Who even uses a spear in modern times?!

He was cornered at the back of the storeroom, the cold wall pressing against his spine as Lancer's crimson weapon gleamed under the dim light. It felt surreal. This couldn't be happening. This shouldn't be happening.

His breath hitched as panic clawed its way through his chest. He shut his eyes tightly, his mind racing. He didn't want to die—not here, not like this. Not when there was so much left to do. That man... all those years ago... that man had saved him, given him a second chance.

He wanted to live. He wanted to be a Hero of Justice, to save everyone he could.

But Lancer's spear was already raised, poised to strike. "Prepare to die, boy," the man sneered, his tone dripping with mockery.

"I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" Shirō screamed, his body moving purely on instinct. He threw himself to the left, crashing into a stack of boxes. His arms flailed as he collided with something—or maybe someone—and before he could process it, a blinding light erupted around him.

Lancer cursed, instinctively leaping back. "A summoning?!" His sharp eyes scanned the light, his lips curling into a snarl. "Did this idiot brat actually summon a Servant?"

When the light finally faded, standing there amidst the chaos was a girl. She was dressed in a royal blue dress with silver armour accenting her figure. Blonde hair tied neatly in a bun framed her confused, dazed face, and her striking green eyes blinked slowly as if she'd just woken up from a nap. She raised a gloved hand to rub her eyes like this was all some bizarre fever dream.

Lancer's jaw tightened, his spear steady as he pointed it at her. "A Saber-class Servant," he growled. "Of course. Just my luck that an inexperienced little punk manages to summon the most powerful class." His sharp gaze flickered around the room. The boy was nowhere to be seen. "And the bastard ran away. Typical."

The newly summoned Saber blinked again, clearly not grasping the situation. Then, as her gaze locked onto Lancer, her expression twisted into pure panic. She yelped, tripping over the hem of her own dress and scrambling backward like a terrified puppy.

"S-Stay away from me! D-Don't kill me!" she stammered, crawling against the floor with all the grace of a newborn deer.

Lancer froze mid-step. Was this... acting? Some sort of elaborate ploy to catch him off guard? If so, it wasn't going to work. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could test her, his Master's voice echoed in his head, summoning him back. With an annoyed tch, he pulled his spear back and glared at the girl one last time.

"I'll kill you, Emiya Shirō," he growled loud enough for anyone hiding nearby to hear. Then, with a flash, he vanished into nothingness, leaving the trembling "Saber" alone.

The girl—or rather, Shirō—let out a shaky breath, his body collapsing against the floor. Relief flooded through his system, though it didn't last long. His mind raced. Was he coming back? Was he some kind of mage? This was way beyond anything she could handle.

He shakily stood up, brushing dust off his blue dress—

"Wait. Blue dress?!" He froze, his hands grabbing at the unfamiliar fabric. When had he started wearing a dress?

His mind screamed in alarm as he bolted out of the storeroom, her legs feeling oddly light, his body... strange. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but something was definitely wrong. Desperate for answers, he sprinted straight to the bathroom, his heart pounding as he shoved the door open and stumbled toward the mirror.

The moment he looked into the reflection, he froze.

What stared back at him wasn't Shirō Emiya. No, this was something else entirely.

Blonde hair. Green eyes. Soft, delicate features. It was the face of a girl—except now, it was his face.

Shirō's jaw dropped. Her fingers trembled as they touched her cheeks, as if trying to confirm the nightmare was real.

"Eeeeeeeeh?!"

[—(/-\)—]

Archer followed Rin Tohsaka as she strode confidently towards the house, her sharp heels clicking against the pavement with purpose. He remained a few steps behind, his mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts. This was it—he could feel the presence of Lancer nearby, but more importantly, 'she' was here too. Saber.

It had been what felt like an eternity since he'd last seen her, and yet, even now, her presence made his heart ache with a strange mix of nostalgia and regret. But he couldn't let himself be distracted. No. He wasn't here to reminisce or rekindle long-dead sentiments.

He was here to kill his past self.

Emiya Shirō. The naive, idealistic boy who thought he could save everyone, no matter the cost. Archer knew better now. Those foolish ideals wouldn't lead to salvation—they'd lead to suffering. To sacrifice. To betrayal.

He had to end it.

"Archer," Rin's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was already standing at the front gate, her finger raised and glowing faintly with mana. "We're not going to waste time here. If Lancer's inside, we'll deal with him. And if Saber's here too…"

Archer nodded silently, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the house. Something felt off. He couldn't quite place it, but there was an odd energy in the air.

Rin rapped on the front gate sharply. "Open up!"

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a soft, hesitant voice responded from inside. "W-who?"

Rin's eyes narrowed, her patience already wearing thin. "Open the door," she demanded, the tip of her finger glowing brighter.

"Um," the voice stammered. "Mr. Emiya isn't home…"

Archer froze. His eyes widened in disbelief. That voice—he recognized it immediately. It was Artoria's voice. Saber's voice. But why was she speaking like that? What was going on?

"Bullshit," Archer muttered under his breath.

Rin wasn't buying it either. She took a step forward, her tone growing sharper. "I'll count to three. One. Two. Three—"

BAM.

The door exploded inward as Rin unleashed a small mana beam, sending wood splinters flying everywhere. The entranceway was left wide open, smoke and dust filling the air.

And standing there, framed by the wreckage of the door, was a shocked-looking blonde.

"Tohsaka?!" the girl exclaimed, her green eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and fear.

Rin's gaze hardened. "It's Saber," she said coldly, her sharp eyes scrutinizing the blonde from head to toe. "Where's your Master?"

"M-Master?" Saber stammered, taking a shaky step back. Her blue warrior attire glinted faintly in the light, but her expression was anything but regal. She looked… scared. Pale. Like a cornered animal.

Archer's frown deepened. This wasn't the Saber he remembered. Something was wrong.

"Last chance," Rin warned, her voice like ice as she raised her hand again, mana gathering at her fingertips. "Tell me where your Master is, or I'll—"

Rin tch'd in frustration and barked, "Archer, attack!"

Archer hesitated for only a fraction of a second, his heart twisting at the thought of hurting her. But he had no choice. Orders were orders.

Without a word, he materialized his twin blades, Kanshou and Bakuya, in a flash of steel and mana. With a burst of speed, he lunged at Saber, his blades slicing through the air with precision.

To his utter shock, Saber reacted with surprising agility, darting to the side just in time to avoid his attack. She scrambled towards a nearby cabinet, her hands fumbling for something—anything—to defend herself with.

And then she grabbed… an umbrella.

Archer froze mid-step, his blades still poised to strike.

Saber turned to face him, holding the umbrella in front of her like it was some kind of makeshift weapon. Her hands trembled as she whispered, "Trace, on."

In an instant, glowing mana circuits lit up along the umbrella's surface, covering it in a faint, shimmering aura. The flimsy-looking object suddenly seemed far more threatening, and Saber held it like a blade, her stance wobbly but determined.

Archer blinked, his brain struggling to process what he was seeing. "What the fuck…?" he muttered under his breath.

Rin, standing behind him, looked equally dumbfounded. "Is she… holding an umbrella?"

Where was Excalibur? Where was the legendary blade that had struck fear into so many opponents? This wasn't Saber. This was…

A moron.

"What the hell is going on here?" Archer thought inwardly, his grip tightening on his swords.

Archer's twin blades clashed against Saber's mana-covered umbrella with a loud, jarring clang, sending vibrations up her trembling arms. Despite her best effort, her stance faltered, and with each blow Archer delivered, it became clearer just how outmatched she was.

"Is this really all you've got?" Archer asked, his voice cold and disdainful. He stepped forward, delivering a calculated strike that knocked the umbrella clean out of Saber's hands and sent her stumbling backward.

Saber dropped to her knees, gasping for air. She tried to scramble for the umbrella, but Archer placed the tip of one of his blades against her neck, freezing her in place.

"Stay down," he said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Behind him, Rin stepped forward, her arms crossed and an unimpressed look plastered on her face. She studied the defeated Saber with sharp, scrutinising eyes. "Alright, Saber," she began, her voice laced with authority. "This isn't a game. I don't know which legendary hero you were before becoming a heroic spirit, but you are at my mercy now. Got it?"

Saber raised her head, her green eyes burning with a mix of frustration and confusion. "What the hell is going on, Tohsaka?!" she snapped.

Rin's expression hardened. "The fact that you know my name tells me your master already knows about me." She took a step closer, her voice lowering into a dangerous tone. "Tell me where your master is, or I will kill you right here, right now."

Saber gulped audibly, her gaze darting nervously between Rin and the sharp blade hovering near her throat. "Uh… I'm sorry? I'm pretty sure I'm not anyone's slave! And… my Master?" She paused, wracking her brain for something that made sense. "You mean… Fuji-nee—I mean Fujiwara-sensei?"

Silence.

Rin blinked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Don't play dumb, Saber," she said, her voice sharp. "I know that you—"

"Master," Archer interrupted, his blades still firmly trained on Saber. "I think… there's something wrong with this servant."

"I told you I'm not a slave!" Saber snapped, only to receive a swift kick to the side from Rin that sent her sprawling back onto the floor.

"Shut up," Rin hissed, before turning her attention back to Archer. "What do you mean?"

Archer hesitated for a moment, staring at Saber with an uncharacteristic mix of disbelief and dread. Something about the way she moved, the way she spoke—it was all wrong. He had a sinking feeling, but he had to be sure.

"Um," he began, addressing Saber directly, "what's your name again?" He prayed silently that he was mistaken.

Saber hesitated, her eyes darting nervously between the two of them. "Uh… um… ugh, I guess there's no point in hiding it," she muttered under her breath, before straightening up slightly. "I am… Emiya Shirō."

More silence.

Archer froze, his grip on his swords loosening slightly as the words sank in.

"Sorry?" Rin finally broke the silence, her voice dripping with disbelief. "What did you just say?"

Saber—or rather, Shirō—swallowed hard, his face a mixture of shame and confusion. "I… I'm Shirō Emiya," he repeated, his voice quieter this time.

Rin's jaw dropped slightly. "Are you telling me that you—a servant—think you're my classmate?!"

"I 'am' your classmate!" Shirō shouted back, his face turning red as he jabbed a finger at himself. "I don't know how I ended up like this, but I swear, I'm Emiya Shirō! This is my house!"

Rin pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering curses under her breath. "Archer," she said flatly, "explain. Now."

Archer didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained locked on Shirō—on Saber—whatever this was. He was speechless, which was a rare occurrence in itself. Of all the insane things he'd seen in his long existence, this was… something else entirely.

"Master," he finally said, his voice unusually quiet, "I think this… might actually be Shirō Emiya."

Rin's hands dropped to her sides. She stared at Archer, then at Saber, then back at Archer. "That's impossible," she said flatly. "Shirō Emiya can't be a servant. That doesn't even make sense!"

"Nothing about this makes sense!" Shirō yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "Why am I blonde? Why am I wearing a dress? What the hell is going on?!"

"'I'M' the one asking questions here!" Rin shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "If you're Shirō Emiya, why do you look like Saber? And why are you in a servant's body?!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Shirō wailed, his voice cracking slightly. "One minute I was in my storeroom trying not to get killed by some crazy guy with a spear, and the next thing I know, I look like this!"

Archer stared at him, his mind racing. The pieces didn't fit together, but there was one undeniable truth staring him in the face.

"Well," Archer muttered under his breath, "this is a mess."​

TO BE CONTINUED

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[ArsMagna1337]

"Do it Rin. Seduce Shirou so you can have the Saber-class Servant you want the most." - Grail-kun, probably

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

"Do it Rin. Seduce Shirou so you can have the Saber-class Servant you want the most." - Grail-kun, probably

Click to shrink...

Lamo, that's probably what should happen if if was the Carnival Phantasm.

 

[Zetakille]

Oh no. Oh this timeline is fucking DERAILED.

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

Oh no. Oh this timeline is fucking DERAILED.

Click to shrink...

Yes it is, yes it is.

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

Episode 02​

---

A few moments later, Rin sat on the couch in the Emiya living room, arms crossed and glaring daggers at the blonde sitting awkwardly across from her. Her intense eyes burned with the fury of someone trying desperately to make sense of a puzzle with missing pieces. The blonde—who was apparently Shirō Emiya—flinched under her gaze, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap as if that would somehow protect her from Rin's unrelenting interrogation.

"So," Rin began, her voice sharp enough to cut steel, "let's see if you really are Shirō Emiya." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared her down.

Shirō, or whoever this was, gulped audibly. "I-I already told you—"

"Shut up," Rin snapped, cutting her off. "You're going to answer my questions, and you're going to do it right now. Got it?"

Shirō nodded meekly, her green eyes wide with nervous energy.

"Alright," Rin said, narrowing her eyes. "What's the name of our school?"

"Homurahara Academy," Shirō replied without hesitation.

Rin frowned. "Fine. Who's the Student Council President?"

"I-Issei Ryuudou," Shirō said, her voice a little shaky now. "He's a good friend of mine."

Rin's brow twitched. "What about the Archery Club? Who's the captain?"

"Uh, Shinji Matou," Shirō answered, looking away for a moment. "Though I wouldn't call him a good captain. He's… not great with people."

Rin's eyes narrowed further. "And Sakura Matou? Who is she to you?"

"Sakura? She's… she's a friend," Shirō said, her voice softening. "She comes over sometimes to help with cooking and cleaning."

Rin leaned back, her arms still crossed, her expression sceptical but less accusatory. "Hmph. Well, you've got all the answers right so far." She turned her head to Archer, who stood silently by the door, watching the exchange with his usual calm, calculating demeanour. "What do you think, Archer? Is she lying?"

Archer sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. "She's not lying. I've confirmed it already."

Rin's head snapped toward him, her expression somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. "What? You mean—"

"She really is Shirō Emiya," Archer said plainly, his eyes flicking to the blonde sitting nervously on the couch.

Rin slapped a hand to her forehead, groaning loudly. "This is insane. What the hell, Shirō? How are you a servant?!"

"I told you," Shirō said, her voice rising in frustration, "I'm not a servant! I'm an independent citizen of Japan, not some slave!"

"That's not the same thing!" Rin shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "God, I am losing my mind. Archer, go make me a coffee before I completely lose it."

"I'll do it," Shirō said quickly, standing up so abruptly that she nearly tripped over the hem of her blue dress. "I've got it. Just… sit tight, okay?"

Before Rin could protest, Shirō shuffled off toward the small pantry near the kitchen, her movements clumsy and unfamiliar. Rin and Archer exchanged a look, both of them unsure whether to be alarmed or fascinated.

In the kitchen, Shirō moved with a mixture of muscle memory and utter confusion, fumbling with the coffee maker but somehow managing to get everything in place. The sound of water dripping and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

"Uh, Archer, was itr?" Shirō called from the kitchen, her voice hesitant but polite. "Do you want anything? Tea, maybe?"

Archer blinked, momentarily thrown off by the question. "Uh, no. I'm fine."

Rin, still seated on the couch, buried her face in her hands. "This can't be happening…"

Meanwhile, Shirō returned with a steaming cup of coffee, carefully setting it down on the table in front of Rin before taking her seat again. "There. Coffee. Just the way you like it, I think."

Rin stared at the cup, then at Shirō, then back at the cup. "…Okay, now I 'really' believe you're Shirō."

Rin's explanation of the Holy Grail War left Shirō with a spinning head. Servants? Command Spells? A battle royale for a magical cup? It sounded like something straight out of a manga, not real life. Yet, here she was, sitting in her own living room, wearing a warrior's dress that didn't feel remotely like her own, listening to this madness. She scratched the back of her head, her green eyes flickering with confusion.

"So, uh… why am I like 'this' then?" Shirō asked, gesturing to herself as if her current appearance were someone else's problem to fix.

"You answer 'me,' Emiya-kun!" Rin snapped, crossing her arms with a glare. "How the hell did you become your own servant?"

"I don't know!" Shirō shot back, throwing up her hands. "I didn't even know servants existed until five minutes ago!"

In the corner of the room, Archer stood stiffly with his arms folded, his eyes closed in an attempt to look calm. Internally, however, he was far from it. His past self was Saber. His past self was Saber. His 'past self' was 'Saber.' The thought looped in his head like a broken record, threatening to shatter what little composure he had left.

Rin, determined to make sense of the situation, leaned forward and grabbed Shirō's hands, startling the blonde. "Alright then, where are the Command Spells?"

"The what?" Shirō yelped, nearly pulling her hands away.

"The Command Spells!" Rin repeated, holding onto her hands tightly and scanning them like a hawk. "Every Master has Command Spells. You 'must' have them somewhere!"

"I don't know!" Shirō protested again, her voice rising in frustration.

"There 'has' to be some Command Spells," Rin insisted, narrowing her eyes. "If you summoned yourself as a servant, they're somewhere on your body." She straightened, her expression turning resolute. "Alright, Emiya-kun, take off your clothes."

"W-WHAT?!" Shirō's face turned bright red as she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. "Why would I do that?!"

"I need to check for the Command Spells," Rin said matter-of-factly, as if this was the most logical request in the world.

"That doesn't mean I'm just going to strip in front of you!" Shirō shot back, her blush deepening. "What kind of ridiculous logic is that?"

"Ridiculous?" Rin's brow twitched, her tone dangerously low. "You're the one who somehow managed to become your own servant, and 'I'm' being ridiculous?"

"Yes!"

"You are 'impossible!'" Rin huffed, glaring at Shirō with all the irritation of someone dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

"Uh, do I get a say in this?" Shirō muttered, shrinking back into the couch.

"Absolutely not!" Rin barked.

Archer sighed heavily, cutting through their argument like a sword through paper. "It doesn't matter," he said, his voice calm but firm. "Whether she has Command Spells or not, it's clear now that Shirō is a Saber-class independent servant. That's all there is to it."

Rin turned her glare on Archer. "Independent or not, she's still connected to the Holy Grail War, which means we need to figure out what she plans to do about it." She crossed her arms again, looking back at Shirō. "Alright, Emiya-kun. The real question is: do you intend to join the war or not?"

Shirō blinked, the weight of the question pressing down on her. "Join the war?" she repeated, her voice quieter now.

"Yes," Rin said firmly. "This war isn't a game, Emiya-kun. There will be a lot of deaths. Servants, Masters, even civilians—everyone involved gets dragged into this cycle of violence. You can't just sit this out if you're part of it."

The room fell silent as Shirō thought. Images of the fire that had devastated Fuyuki City all those years ago flashed in her mind, along with the faces of people she'd sworn to protect. Death and destruction, repeated endlessly, like a circle with no escape. And now, here she was, somehow tangled up in that same cycle again.

"I…" Shirō hesitated, her hands clenching tightly in her lap.

Seeing her pause, Rin's expression softened—just slightly. "You're coming with me," she said decisively.

"Huh?" Shirō blinked in surprise.

"I'm taking you to the church," Rin explained. "The overseer of the war is there, and he'll help us sort this out."

Shirō frowned, glancing down at her hands. "The church…?"

"Yes," Rin said, standing up and dusting off her skirt. "It's where the overseer—my guardian, actually—monitors the war. If anyone can explain this mess, it's him."

Shirō nodded slowly, though she still looked uncertain. "Okay… I guess that makes sense."

"Good," Rin said briskly, turning toward the door. "Let's go. And try not to do anything stupid, Emiya-kun."

Shirō sighed, standing up as well. "I'll try my best…"

Archer followed them out, his usual smirk replaced with a pensive frown. His past self was Saber. No matter how many times he thought it, it didn't get any easier to accept.

TO BE CONTINUED

Join my Discord Server and read this story ahead via early access if are feeling generous!​

 

[Zetakille]

They're not making it to the Church without a fight, are they?

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

They're not making it to the Church without a fight, are they?

Click to shrink...

Can't spoil that...

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

Episode 03​

---

The raincoat hung awkwardly on Shirō's frame, barely hiding the regal blue outfit beneath. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than borrowing Sakura's clothes, which felt too personal—and too strange—to even consider. Shirō kept the hood up, shielding her face as she followed Rin to the church, her footsteps hesitant, her mind spinning with questions and doubts. Archer, of course, remained outside, standing guard like the aloof sentinel he always pretended to be.

Inside, the dimly lit church carried a heavy, foreboding atmosphere. The air smelled faintly of old wood and incense, and the silence was oppressive. At the altar stood a tall, imposing man in black, his expression unreadable.

"Ah, Rin," Kirei Kotomine greeted, his deep voice carrying an almost unsettling calm. His sharp eyes flicked to Shirō, lingering for a moment before narrowing. "I see you've brought Saber… or perhaps not. Where is her Master?"

Rin crossed her arms, her gaze challenging. "That's… complicated."

Kirei raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident, though his expression remained neutral.

Rin took a deep breath and launched into an explanation of the bizarre events that had led them here, detailing Shirō's transformation and her apparent status as a Saber-class servant. She spoke quickly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself as much as the priest.

If Kirei was shocked by the story, he hid it well. His face remained impassive, though there was a glint of something unreadable in his eyes—amusement, perhaps, or intrigue. "Fascinating," he finally said, his tone as calm as ever. "But I'm afraid I have no explanation for this phenomenon. It seems you've encountered something truly unprecedented."

Shirō frowned, her fingers tightening around the edges of her raincoat. "So, no one knows why this happened?" she asked quietly, almost to herself.

Kirei shook his head. "No. But if you wish to uncover the truth, participating in the Holy Grail War may be your only option."

Shirō hesitated, glancing down at her hands. The memories of the fire ten years ago resurfaced, vivid and unrelenting. She clenched her fists, her resolve hardening. "Then I'll join," she said firmly. "If this war is connected to what happened ten years ago, I need to know."

Rin arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning on her heel and heading for the door. Shirō followed, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of determination and uncertainty.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air greeted them, and Shirō pulled her hood tighter against the drizzle. Rin suddenly stopped and turned to face her, her expression cold and distant.

"From this point on, we're enemies," Rin said sharply.

Shirō blinked, startled. "What? But—"

"No buts, Emiya-kun," Rin interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "We're competing for the Grail, and that means I won't hesitate to kill you if I have to. As your classmate, I'm giving you a head start. But the next time we meet, only one of us will walk away."

"But Rin—"

"Goodbye, Emiya-kun."

With that, Rin turned and walked away, Archer following silently at her side. Shirō stood frozen, watching their retreating figures until they disappeared into the darkness.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she turned to make her way home, her footsteps slow and weary. The raincoat felt heavier than ever, the events of the night pressing down on her shoulders like a physical weight.

Thump. Thump.

The sound of heavy footsteps behind her snapped her out of her thoughts. Shirō froze, her heart racing. The footsteps were slow but deliberate, each one sending a jolt of unease through her.

She turned, her breath catching in her throat.

A massive figure loomed in the darkness—a hulking, dark-looking man with an aura of pure menace. Beside him stood a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, her delicate features twisted in shock as she stared at Shirō.

"Big Brother," the girl said, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and confusion. "I heard that you summoned your—" She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as she took in Shirō's appearance. "Is that you… Big Brother?"

Shirō blinked, utterly baffled. "Uh… I'm Emiya Shirō," she said awkwardly, giving a small, hesitant wave. "Nice to meet you?"

The girl's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "But my big brother was a boy!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of bewilderment and indignation.

Shirō scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "Uh… yeah, it's… complicated. But who are you, anyway?"

The girl straightened, placing her hands primly on her hips, as if offended Shirō didn't already know. "I am Illyasviel von Einzbern," she announced, her voice dripping with pride. "You can call me Illya."

"Oh, uh, that's… nice," Shirō replied, still trying to process what was happening. She gestured toward the massive figure standing like a mountain behind Illya. "And this… gentleman?"

Before Illya could answer, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the night air. The sound alone sent a shiver down Shirō's spine.

"He is Berserker, my Servant," Illya said cheerfully, as though introducing a beloved family pet rather than a hulking monster that looked like it could tear through a steel wall with ease.

"Oh, uh…" Shirō took a hesitant step back, her instincts screaming at her to flee. "The Holy Grail War? You too? Cool. So, uh, I just remembered—I left my rice in the cooker, so I should probably go take care of that. Bye—!"

A massive fist smashed into the ground where she had been standing. Shirō stumbled back with a gasp, her body moving on its own as she narrowly avoided being flattened. Dust and debris exploded into the air, and she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. "What the—?!"

Berserker rose from his crouch, towering over her like a shadow given form. His eyes glowed with a terrifying intensity, his every movement radiating raw, primal power.

"Berserker," Illya called sweetly, her smile widening. "If this really is my big brother, then I suppose I should capture him!"

"What big brother?!" Shirō shouted, her voice rising in pitch. She darted to the side as Berserker's massive arm swung down like a guillotine, obliterating the ground. "I don't have a sister! Unless you're talking about ten years ago, from—"

Her words faltered as another attack came her way, forcing her to leap back. Her movements were smooth, almost graceful, each dodge taking her just out of Berserker's reach. Shirō blinked, startled by how natural it felt. Her body moved faster, lighter than it ever had before. How was she doing this?

"Stop!" she shouted, her voice cracking as she narrowly avoided another blow that left a crater in the street. "Hey, I'm serious, cut it out!"

Illya tilted her head, pouting. "Big Brother, you're no fun. I thought we'd play together!"

"THIS ISN'T PLAYING!" Shirō yelled, her breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. But her words fell on deaf ears as Berserker lunged at her, his sheer size and speed overwhelming.

Before she could fully react, Berserker's massive hand closed around her torso, lifting her off the ground as though she weighed nothing. Shirō squirmed, panic setting in as the pressure on her ribs grew unbearable.

"Let's go home now, Big Brother," Illya said, her tone as sweet as ever. "I'll take good care of you, I promise!"

Shirō struggled, her voice coming out in a pained gasp. "No—wait—stop! This isn't—ugh!"

Berserker's grip tightened, and Shirō braced herself for what felt like certain death. But before the monster could crush her, a sudden flash of crimson streaked through the night.

A small arrow struck Berserker's shoulder—not enough to harm him, but enough to startle him into loosening his grip. Shirō didn't hesitate. Using the opportunity, she slipped from his grasp and hit the ground running.

Her feet carried her faster than she thought possible, her body a blur as she darted through the streets. The wind whipped past her face, her raincoat flapping wildly behind her. She didn't stop, didn't look back, her only thought to get as far away as possible.

Behind her, Illya clicked her tongue in annoyance, watching as Shirō disappeared into the distance. "Tch. She's fast," Illya muttered, crossing her arms. "But that's fine. Big Brother won't get away from me for long."​

[—(/-\)—]​

Huffing and out of breath, Shirō leaned against the cold walls of the school's student council room. Her heart was still racing from the events of the night before. Was this how the Holy Grail War was going to be? Six pairs of Masters and Servants hunting each other down, and her—apparently a Saber-class Servant—being the weakest of them all? She loved helping others, but now, saving her own skin felt like an impossible luxury.

"Okay, calm down," she muttered, pacing the room. "Let's just get back home. Totally, it's not like Illya is waiting outside my house with that Berserker to turn me into a pancake..."

...on second thought, maybe spending the night here wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Wrapping herself in her raincoat for warmth, she curled up on the floor. The soft hum of distant streetlights and the quiet creaks of the school building lulled her into an uneasy sleep.

[—(/-\)—]

The next morning, Issei Ryūdō, the ever-dedicated Student Council President, entered the council room in high spirits. Training to be a monk was no easy feat, but he'd managed to balance his responsibilities well. Among his peers, he prided himself on being one of the few untouched by the distractions of romance or anything weird. Well, aside from Emiya-kun, but that guy was weird in his own way.

As he stepped further into the room, his foot caught on something—or rather, someone.

"Eep!" Issei stumbled, catching himself just in time to avoid falling. His eyes darted down, widening in shock. There, sprawled out on the floor, was what he initially thought to be a thief.

But as his gaze adjusted, he froze. It wasn't a thief at all—it was a girl. A girl with flowing blonde hair, dressed in a peculiar, almost medieval blue-and-gold armoured dress. She snored softly, using what appeared to be a yellow raincoat as a makeshift pillow.

What the heck was going on?

His voice wavered as he reached out hesitantly, trembling slightly. "Um... Miss? Excuse me, but... what are you doing here?"

The girl stirred, her eyelids fluttering open to reveal forest-green eyes. She blinked blearily before her gaze landed on him.

"Issei?" she mumbled, her voice groggy and confused.

He flinched. She knew his name?! How? His mind raced, flipping through every possible scenario. Was this some kind of prank? A test? Or worse, a curse?!

"Um... Miss?" His voice cracked slightly. "What are you doing here? And... who are you?"

The girl blinked again, sitting up slowly as she rubbed her eyes. "What do you mean—" she started, only to stop short as she finally took a good look at herself. Her eyes widened in horror.

"...That wasn't a dream," she muttered under her breath.

"Huh?" Issei tilted his head, still utterly lost.

The girl turned to him with a sheepish look on her face, clutching the raincoat to her chest. "Sorry! Gotta go!" she blurted out before bolting for the door.

"Wait, what—?!" Issei called after her, but she was already gone, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

The students milling about the hallways and campus grounds were met with an unusual sight that morning. A blonde foreign girl, clad in what appeared to be medieval armour beneath a hastily donned raincoat, darted through the school, her expression a mix of embarrassment and panic.

"Who was that?" one student whispered to another.

"Is there some kind of cosplay event today?" another asked, tilting their head.

"I didn't hear anything about it... but she looked like a knight or something."

Shirō kept her head down, ignoring the murmurs and stares as best as she could. Her face burned with shame. She just needed to get out of here, get home, and figure out what in the world she was going to do next.

Who was she now? And how on earth was she supposed to survive like this?​

TO BE CONTINUED


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[McPhoenixDavid]

Chapter 04​

---

Shirō paced the living room, her freshly showered hair still damp and her mind running in circles. The note left by Fuji-nee sat on the table, her usual dramatic handwriting standing out like a declaration of war.​

"Shirō! Where were you?! Call me as soon as you see this! I'll be back later—don't think you can slack off on cooking dinner tonight!"​

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. How in the world was she supposed to face anyone who knew her? This wasn't just a matter of explaining things—it was a whole existential crisis with no instruction manual.

"Okay, Emiya," she muttered to herself. "Step one: calm down. Step two: plan. Step three: survive."

The first step was easy enough—or so she thought. A quick shower was in order to wash off the grime of the last few chaotic hours. Refusing to even glance at the mirror, she stripped out of the raincoat and tattered clothing, stepping into the warm spray of water. The sensation of the water cascading down her new body was…strange. Unfamiliar yet oddly natural. She avoided thinking too much about it.

Once out, she toweled off quickly, wrapping herself up like a burrito to avoid catching even a glimpse of her reflection. Back in her room, an idea struck her.

If she had to make this work, she needed to reinvent herself.

Without hesitation, she opened her laptop and started browsing. The first order of business? A new phone case. She scrolled through endless designs before her eyes lit up at the sight of Makima from 'Chainsaw Man'. Perfect. She added it to her cart.

Next, footwear. She needed something practical. Not the usual sneakers she wore, but something sturdier. Her mouse hovered over various boots until she found a pair designed for women but plain enough to avoid standing out. She clicked "add to cart."

Clothing was next. Shirō had to admit, even though she wasn't thrilled about her new situation, she could have a little fun with this part. A cream-coloured overcoat, a pair of jeans, and three T-shirts caught her eye—each featuring her favourite characters: Gojo Satoru, Naruto Uzumaki, and All Might. It felt nostalgic, almost comforting, to pick them out.

Underwear was…awkward. She groaned as she scrolled through options, her face burning as she quickly skipped over anything frilly or overly feminine. Eventually, she settled on plain shorts and a vest. Functional, nothing fancy. That was good enough.

Once her orders were placed, Shirō leaned back with a sigh. "Step two complete," she said, giving herself a mental high five.

While waiting for her purchases to arrive, she pulled out an old luggage bag from the storeroom. The thing was practically falling apart, but with a little ingenuity, she tore off the damaged outer layer and repurposed it to look almost brand new. It would work as part of her cover story. She also changed her phone's theme, wallpapers—both lock and home screens, font, pin and so on.

The doorbell rang intermittently over the next couple of hours as packages arrived one by one. Each delivery brought her a little closer to becoming someone new. She changed into her newly delivered clothes, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail and lacing up her boots.

By the time she was done, she barely recognised herself in the mirror.

"Okay," she whispered, staring at her reflection. "From now on, you're…Saber."

The story was simple: Emiya Shirō, her distant cousin, had gone on a trip. In his absence, she—Saber—was staying at his house to take care of things. It wasn't foolproof, but it was the best she could come up with on short notice.

Hopefully, Fuji-nee wouldn't think too much about it.

Now, all she could do was wait for the afternoon and evening to arrive, praying that nothing else absurd happened in the meantime.

[—(/-\)—]

Sakura Matou nearly burst into her senpai's house, her heart racing with worry. He'd been gone for an entire day! Even Fujimaru-sensei didn't know where he was, which only made her anxiety worse.

Stepping inside, she immediately caught a whiff of something comforting and familiar. Food. Shirō's cooking? Relief washed over her. 'Senpai's back!'

But when she rounded the corner to the kitchen, her jaw nearly hit the floor. Instead of Shirō, a blonde foreign girl was standing at the stove, casually cooking as though she owned the place.

"Ah, Sakura," the girl said, glancing over her shoulder. Her voice was calm and friendly, with an unsettling familiarity. "Have a seat."

Too stunned to argue, Sakura quietly sat on the floor, folding her legs beneath her. She didn't know what else to do.

The sound of hurried footsteps interrupted her confusion. Moments later, Fujimaru-sensei stormed in, yelling, "Shirō—!" only to freeze mid-step at the sight of the unfamiliar blonde.

The girl turned to her with a polite smile. "Please, have a seat as well."

Fujimaru-sensei blinked, then sniffed the air. The smell of the food was too enticing to ignore. Reluctantly, she sat down beside Sakura, still eyeing the girl suspiciously.

One by one, the mysterious blonde brought out the dishes, filling the table with a spread that looked—and smelled—exactly like Shirō's cooking.

"Hope you like it," the girl said cheerfully as she set the last dish down.

Despite their hesitation, neither Sakura nor Fujimaru-sensei could resist the aroma. A few bites in, and both were stunned. This was Shirō's cooking. The taste, the texture—everything was identical.

But that only raised more questions.

Fujimaru-sensei slammed her chopsticks down, pointing at the girl. "Alright, stranger! Who the hell are you, and why are you here?"

The blonde gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of her head. "Um… this might take a while to explain."

"I'm not going anywhere until I get answers!" Fujimaru-sensei snapped.

Sakura finally found her voice, her tone cautious. "Um… who exactly are you?"

The girl hesitated before responding. "I'm Shirō's distant cousin. From far away. My name is… Saber."

Both women stared at her, incredulous.

"...Sorry, what?"

It had taken some effort, but she finally managed to convince them. Sending a carefully crafted message from her (or rather, Shirō's) phone had sealed the deal. "Going on a trip. My cousin Saber will look after the house," it had read, perfectly mimicking Shirō's casual tone. If nothing else, the simple explanation was enough to disarm any suspicion.

Fujimaru-sensei quickly warmed up to her, affectionately calling her "Saber-chan," while Sakura, though more reserved, politely addressed her as "Saber-san."

Thankfully, neither had argued to stay the night. Once they left, Shirō—'or Saber now'—finally had the house to herself.

Sitting cross-legged in her room, she couldn't keep the thoughts from racing through her head. How long could she keep this up? This web of lies felt paper-thin, ready to tear apart if anyone so much as tugged at the wrong thread. She had no legal identity, no real existence beyond the mask of "Shirō's cousin." And what if someone decided to dig deeper?

It wasn't just the mundane dangers that plagued her thoughts. The Holy Grail War loomed like a storm on the horizon. Illya—'her sister?!'—had tried to kill her with that monster of a Berserker. And then there were six other pairs of Masters and Servants, all equally dangerous. She couldn't even forget Rin, who'd already declared them enemies despite their history.

But something else gnawed at her. That crimson arrow… the one that had saved her from being crushed. Who had fired it? And why?

She sighed, pulling herself from the spiral of thoughts. Sitting around worrying wouldn't protect her from anything. If she wanted to survive, she needed to act.

Grabbing a metal rod from the corner of her room, she straightened her back, focusing her mind. It was a familiar routine, one she'd done countless times to hone her skills. But now, it wasn't just for practice—it was life or death.

Placing the rod across her lap, she closed her eyes, her hands brushing the cold, smooth surface. 'Focus. Breathe. Analyze.'

"Trace, on."

The words came instinctively, and she felt the flow of mana surge through her body, extending into the rod. Her mind's eye opened, peeling back the layers of the object in her hands. She could see it—every crack, every imperfection, every microscopic detail etched into the metal. But that wasn't enough.

Delving deeper, she began to unravel its structure—the carbon content, the arrangement of atoms, the balance of weight. Her mana flowed into the rod like water filling a mold, seeking to reinforce and replicate its form. She could feel it resisting, her own lack of mastery creating friction.

If she could do this with precision, with intent, she could turn this basic object into something more. A weapon. A sword.

The rod began to tremble, faint sparks of energy dancing along its surface. Shirō's brow furrowed as she gripped it tighter, pouring her focus into the task.

The metal responded. Slowly, impossibly, it began to change. Its dull, featureless surface shimmered like liquid, the shape warping and elongating in her hands. The weight shifted, becoming lighter and more balanced. Lines appeared, tracing a blade's edge, sharp and pristine.

Her breath caught. It was a sword. A real sword. For a fleeting moment, she held it in her hands—gleaming, perfect, radiant.

But the moment shattered as quickly as it had come. The sword flickered, its form breaking apart like glass. The energy collapsed, and the rod reverted to its original shape, clattering to the floor.

Shirō stared at it, her chest heaving. She didn't know whether to feel exhilarated or defeated. For a brief second, she had done it. She had 'created' something extraordinary. And yet, it wasn't enough.

She gritted her teeth, picking up the rod again. If she could do it once, even for just a moment, then she could do it again. And next time, she wouldn't fail.

"Trace, on," she muttered, determination burning in her eyes.

[—(/-\)—]

The next morning, Shirō woke up to the familiar routine that kept her mind from spiraling—cleaning, cooking, and practicing in the family dojo with wooden swords. The rhythmic motion of her strikes helped ground her, but something about her movements felt... different.

Her arms moved with a flexibility she'd never known before. Each swing was instinctive, precise, and impossibly smooth. Even her stance had shifted into something foreign, something that felt like second nature but completely unfamiliar.

As she moved, her thoughts drifted back to the blue, frilly dress she'd worn during her desperate flight from Berserker. Despite its impractical appearance, she'd felt oddly comfortable fighting—well, 'running away'—in it.

She stilled as a strange sensation washed over her, like a ripple of energy. She glanced down, and to her utter shock, her casual outfit shimmered and transformed. In the blink of an eye, she was once again clad in that exact blue dress, down to the armour-like plating and the snug fit of the bodice.

"Whoa," Shirō muttered, staring at herself in disbelief. "Instant outfit change? That's... actually kinda cool."

Experimentally, she thought about her casual clothes again, and the same ripple returned. Her attire shifted seamlessly back to the jeans and graphic tee she'd bought online, now featuring Gojo Satoru striking a cool pose with the words '"Yoai Mo."'

Curiosity sparked, and she spent the next hour searching the internet, trying to find information about blonde, green-eyed swordswomen in European history. Maybe this was some weird inherited memory? Maybe her new abilities had a historical link?

The results were... disappointing. Every lead turned into a dead end. No one seemed to match her description, and any hope of finding an explanation fizzled out.

With a sigh, she realized it was already lunchtime, and she was out of vegetables. Grumbling, she decided to head to the market.

Changing into her casual outfit with a flick of thought, Shirō made her way through the streets. The glances people threw her way didn't escape her notice. Her distinctly European appearance, coupled with her unusual sense of style, made her stand out like a sore thumb. Still, she couldn't help but admit that she looked good.

"Flat chest," she muttered under her breath with a small smirk, glancing at her reflection in a shop window. "Thank god. Flat is justice."

At the market, a few vendors tried to take advantage of her, assuming she was a clueless foreigner. Their tactics didn't work. Shirō was blunt, firm, and armed with enough common sense to haggle down their ridiculous prices.

On her way back, however, she found herself bumping—quite literally—into someone familiar.

"Tohsaka-san!" Shirō's face lit up with a relieved smile. Finally, someone who understood the situation, someone who could help!

Rin Tohsaka, however, didn't look nearly as pleased. Her sharp eyes scanned Shirō up and down, suspicion and annoyance written all over her face.

"Are you going to fight me, Emiya-kun?" Rin asked bluntly, her arms crossed as her Servant, Archer, appeared beside her in a swirl of light. Her gaze drifted to the bag of groceries Shirō was holding. "Because it doesn't look like you're taking this war seriously. What are you planning to do? Fight me with that cucumber?"

Shirō faltered, her smile wavering. "I, uh—"

Before she could even explain, Rin stepped closer, her tone cold and cutting. "You're weak, Shirō. Inexperienced. Vulnerable. Do you understand how easy it would be for me to kill you right now?"

Shirō froze as Rin raised her hand, a ball of crackling mana forming at her fingertip. It hovered there, glowing with ominous energy, and Rin's expression left no doubt that she was ready to use it.

"But—" Shirō tried to interject, only for Rin to cut her off.

"This is a war, not a game. You're not taking it seriously, and that makes you a liability. If you can't fight, then you're just another obstacle in the way."

The weight of her words hung in the air, and Shirō couldn't help but feel the truth in them. She 'was' weak. She didn't even have a real plan beyond surviving.

"Rin," Archer's calm, measured voice broke the tense silence. "There's no need to kill her."

Rin turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"A Saber is always a Servant with potential," Archer continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "And an ally, even an inexperienced one, is better than an enemy. Think about it. Wouldn't it be more beneficial to have her on your side rather than as another obstacle you have to deal with?"

Rin frowned, considering his words.

Shirō couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. "He's right," she said quickly. "I can help! I'm not... I'm not totally useless, you know. And I'm a good cook!"

Rin's frown deepened, but there was a hint of hesitation in her eyes. After a long moment, she sighed, lowering her hand and letting the ball of mana dissipate.

"Fine," she said at last. "Let's talk this over at your house."

"Great!" Shirō beamed. "It's lunchtime anyway. I'll cook something for you guys!"

Rin pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something under her breath about priorities, but she followed Shirō anyway. Archer, ever composed, gave a small shrug and fell into step behind them.

As they walked, Shirō couldn't help but feel a strange sense of optimism. Sure, her situation was still a mess, but perhaps she could turn things around.​

TBC
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[AstertheAshara]

It feels so weird for Archer to be the one wanting to team.

 

[Yoyomir]

im betting he has some very mixed feelings on this whole situation very funny ones or sad we wont know good chapter

 

[McPhoenixDavid]

It feels so weird for Archer to be the one wanting to team.

Click to shrink...

That's true.

im betting he has some very mixed feelings on this whole situation very funny ones or sad we wont know good chapter

Click to shrink...

Yeah lol