The morning sun spilled from the heavens, illuminating the street below. Emerald leaves carpeted both sides of the road, swaying gently in the breeze, filling the air with a refreshing, spring-like fragrance.
Rather than bustling, this street was best described as orderly.
Though plenty of people moved along the avenue, it lacked the noisy chaos of a major city. In fact, much like Shirou Emiya's hometown of Fuyuki City, the atmosphere here was serene and humble.
Small stalls lined the sidewalks neatly, displaying an assortment of wares. Their owners smiled warmly while enticing customers, yet never raised their voices. Everything exuded peace and tranquility.
The street was populated by people from all walks of life:
Women holding baskets or bags, heading out to buy groceries;
White-collar workers in neat suits, bags in hand, on their way to work;
Residents dressed casually, empty-handed, preparing for their morning jog;
Students in uniform, backpacks slung over their shoulders, making their way to school.
People continuously moved in and out of the surrounding homes, creating a steady yet remarkably quiet stream. For a street hosting such a large crowd, this sense of calm was surprisingly rare.
Fuyuki City, by contrast, could be quite noisy in its central, densely populated areas. Although usually peaceful and calm, Fuyuki maintained its tranquility mostly when there weren't any so-called "gas explosions."
However, despite standing amid such peace, Shirou Emiya felt anything but calm.
On one hand, just like in previous worlds, he was essentially undocumented: no residence, no identity, not even money.
After all, preparing to storm the Holy Church for a final battle while carrying cash would have felt strangely impolite.
Ever since his experience in that Taishō-era world, Shirou had also given up on bringing his phone through the door. Considering his combat style, any newly-purchased phone would likely be destroyed within days.
So now Shirou Emiya was not only undocumented, but penniless. If it weren't for his enhanced constitution, his stomach would probably already be growling.
From casual inquiries, Shirou quickly discovered where he was:
Misaki City.
From what Shirou understood, Misaki City was considered relatively large within its prefecture, renowned for its unique cityscape.
The city's distinguishing feature was its neatly structured layout.
A river ran directly through its center from north to south, dividing the city into distinct halves:
The eastern side of the river featured the densely-packed commercial district;
The western side consisted mainly of residential areas lined with homes.
Connecting these two sides was a majestic iron bridge known as Misaki Bridge. The river itself was called Manami River.
Of course, after learning these details from the locals, Shirou quickly confirmed one thing: he hadn't returned to his own world.
Instead, he'd arrived in yet another unfamiliar place.
Confusion welled up within him. Why hadn't he returned home this time? Previously, he'd returned swiftly to Fuyuki after passing through just one world.
Though he knew he couldn't take that one experience as a rule, this was already the third world he'd entered—something definitely felt off.
Shirou paused, calculating carefully. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was related to the length of time he'd spent in each world.
He hadn't stayed long in the Empire; even counting the days spent alone with Esdeath on that deserted island, it barely totaled a month.
Then came the parallel world resembling his own, where the Holy Grail War lasted just four days.
Adding it all up, it seemed he'd barely spent a month combined.
Yet in the Taishō-era world, Shirou had stayed for two full months. Perhaps, he concluded, it was simply a matter of time.
Strangely though, the parallel world had felt much longer—perhaps due to his own helplessness. After all, even now, Shirou struggled to intervene effectively in battles among Heroic Spirits.
But another factor greatly disturbed him—the unsettling strangeness of this world.
Or perhaps it wasn't the world itself, but the people within it who unnerved him deeply.
As if on cue, something strange occurred right in front of him.
Thud—!
A white-collar worker was knocked down by a student walking toward him. Yet the student continued casually forward, chatting with classmates as if nothing had happened.
Not a single apology, nor offer of help; the student simply walked past.
Likewise, bystanders seemed oblivious, not a single person extending aid to the fallen man.
Yet the worker himself didn't react like someone who'd been bullied or even startled. Instead, he silently rose, expression blank, mechanically resuming his walk forward as if nothing had happened.
Though Shirou might be slow in emotional matters, often oblivious to subtle kindness or hostility, he was exceptionally observant.
And this wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this occur.
When Shirou first saw such a scene, he'd found himself inexplicably not stepping forward to help. Even his memory of the incident had blurred strangely.
That was when Shirou realized something was deeply wrong.
He couldn't fathom why he'd unconsciously overlooked helping a fallen person. It was as if that individual's very existence had gradually faded from perception.
Even now, Shirou found his gaze involuntarily drifting away, his recollections fading into confusion.
If Shirou hadn't encountered Jack the Ripper before, he might've naively dismissed this as mere illusion.
But Jeanne had warned him that Jack possessed the ability to erase information. Since then, Shirou had remained alert whenever his memories blurred.
Despite resistance from his own subconscious, Shirou forced himself to refocus and approached, helping the white-collar worker to his feet.
Yet the man merely replied with a cold "Thank you," then walked on mechanically, as if merely a doll guided by instinct.
Afterwards, Shirou questioned both the students who had bumped into the man and the nearby stall owner who should've witnessed the incident.
Their answers were disturbingly identical:
"I didn't feel like I bumped into anyone."
"I didn't see anyone knocked over."
They weren't heartless. Rather, they truly hadn't noticed the man's existence at all.
This revelation deepened Shirou's confusion.
Moreover, he noticed something even more troubling: on this street, the man wasn't alone in his near-invisibility.
An unsettling unease gnawed at Shirou, his fists clenched tightly.
This world might not be as beautiful as it seems on the surface.
---
T/N: this world is shakugan no sana!
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