Author's Note:
I sincerely apologize for the brevity of this chapter. Due to certain constraints, it's shorter than usual, but I hope it still delivers meaning and value to the story. Thank you for your understanding and continued support.
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The streets of Shinto blurred together as Souta continued his fruitless search for Waver Velvet. Three days. Three days of dead ends, false leads, and growing frustration.
Waver *should* have been easy to find. In the original timeline, the young mage had lodged with the Mackenzies—an elderly couple completely unaware of the Holy Grail War. Their home had been a perfect hideout: unremarkable, unassuming, and far from the usual battlegrounds.
But either Souta had misremembered the address, or Waver had chosen a different location this time. The uncertainty gnawed at him like a physical ache. Without an alliance, his position in the war grew more precarious by the hour. His Servant was powerful, but unpredictable. And if Ryuunosuke summoned Gilles de Rais soon…
Souta exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He needed a break.
A small café stood at the corner of the next block, its warm glow inviting against the gray afternoon. The scent of coffee and fresh pastries drifted through the open door as he entered, the bell above jingling softly. He took a seat near the window, where he could watch the street without being too conspicuous.
The first sip of coffee burned his tongue, but the warmth was grounding. He needed to reassess. If Waver wasn't at the Mackenzies', where else would he—
The bell chimed again.
Souta glanced up.
And froze.
Irisviel von Einzbern stepped inside, her silver hair shimmering under the café lights. She moved with an otherworldly grace, her crimson eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity.
And beside her—
*Saber.*
Artoria Pendragon, dressed in modern clothing but unmistakable in her bearing. Her gaze was sharp, analytical, sweeping over the patrons with the precision of a warrior.
Souta's grip tightened around his cup.
*Don't react. Don't move.*
He forced himself to look down, to take another sip of coffee as if he were just another student killing time. But his pulse roared in his ears, his magic circuits humming with tension.
A mistake.
Because the moment he lifted his hand—
Saber's eyes snapped toward him.
Directly at his Command Seals.
Three crimson marks, vivid against his skin.
*No.*
Souta's blood turned to ice.
Saber's expression didn't change, but he saw the flicker of recognition in her eyes. She knew.
*Move.*
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. The other patrons glanced over, but he didn't care. He had to leave. *Now.*
Irisviel turned at the sound, her gaze curious.
Souta didn't wait.
He was out the door before either could react, vanishing into the flow of pedestrians outside. His heart hammered against his ribs, his mind racing.
*Stupid. Stupid.*
He'd been careless. He should have worn gloves. Should have hidden the marks. Should have—
A sharp pain flared along his neck—his scars, burning as if in warning.
The game had changed.
Saber knew there was another Master in Fuyuki.
And Kiritsugu Emiya would be hunting him soon.