Something was off.
Something was very, very wrong.
Shirou Emiya leaned against the alley wall, trying to piece together the events that had just occurred.
He didn't understand—he couldn't figure out what he'd been doing just moments ago.
Yes, Shirou couldn't comprehend why he'd been standing in the middle of that street. He felt he had forgotten something crucial, yet strangely, his memory told him he'd lost nothing at all.
It wasn't as if Shirou couldn't recall recent events—quite the opposite. From the moment he arrived in this city until he stood facing the street, his memories flowed seamlessly.
There were no gaps, no blank spaces he couldn't fill.
Yet, Shirou had the inexplicable sense that he'd been drawn towards the busy street without reason—almost like he'd been possessed.
It felt as though he'd wandered aimlessly from one district to another, like a tourist visiting this famously scenic city.
But according to his own logic, shouldn't the first thing he did upon arriving in this world have been finding a job and a place to stay?
With no money, no identity, and no resources, securing food and shelter should've been his immediate priority.
So, why did I just drift towards that street? What exactly happened to draw me there without even realizing it?
He wasn't some trained operative dispatched with clear instructions. Shirou had always acted simply according to his instincts.
It wasn't that he actively sought involvement in strange events. Rather, much like Stand users inevitably attracted one another, extraordinary individuals naturally gravitated towards extraordinary occurrences. From the moment Shirou passed through the door, an ordinary life in another world had become impossible.
Having endured countless strange incidents, Shirou knew better than to accept a simple explanation like an impulsive whim leading him here.
From the unnatural sensation he'd felt upon arrival, to the eerie incidents happening right now—everything gave Shirou the impression that the entire city was teetering on the edge of crisis.
He felt a deep, instinctive dread—the kind of danger suggesting he could die at any moment.
Shirou trusted his intuition implicitly, convinced that he hadn't wandered onto that street by chance.
He was no local—unfamiliar with every part of the city—and certainly hadn't gone to that area seeking employment.
Indeed, according to his memory, he hadn't even asked anyone about finding work.
Yet, oddly, he recalled vaguely that he had asked something of those passing students:
"Did you bump into someone?"
Shirou rubbed his forehead thoughtfully, struggling to understand why he'd asked the students such a strange question.
But they didn't bump into anyone, did they?
He replayed the scene in his mind clearly: the students had simply walked by without incident.
"No! No! No! This doesn't make sense!"
Shirou banged his head lightly against the wall, frustration building as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
This was unnatural.
This was bizarre.
It was as if a huge shadow had enveloped him—no, the entire city—in a way he couldn't explain, suffocating him with anxiety.
Never before had Shirou pondered something so thoroughly.
Why had he asked those students if they'd collided with anyone? And why had he questioned that shopkeeper about someone being knocked down?
"Unless at that moment, I actually saw someone fall."
That was the only logical explanation. Yet his memory insisted clearly that no one had fallen. The students hadn't even flinched as though they'd bumped into anyone.
Others might dismiss it as a simple misunderstanding or momentary dizziness. But for Shirou Emiya—dizziness?
He'd sooner doubt his memory than his own eyes. Especially regarding matters of observation—Shirou had absolute confidence in his vision.
"Oi, brat! How 'bout handin' over some cash?"
Before Shirou could unravel the mystery, a coarse, contemptuous voice echoed from deeper within the alley.
Emerging from the shadows came a delinquent with spiky blond hair, dressed in a grimy grey-black tank top. Missing several teeth, he flicked open a butterfly knife menacingly.
Behind him were several younger boys, sneering greedily as their eyes roamed over Shirou.
No matter the city, these parasites—who preyed on others—were everywhere.
Shirou hesitated only briefly before stepping forward.
If this were Fuyuki City, Shirou might have taken the trouble to investigate their backgrounds or even speak with their families.
But in an unfamiliar city, delinquents wouldn't listen to lectures from a stranger.
If words couldn't reach them, Shirou reluctantly resorted to something he disliked intensely:
Violence.
Running away wasn't an option; allowing these delinquents free reign would only lead to more innocent people suffering.
Shirou didn't know precisely how many terrible deeds they'd committed. But since he'd clearly identified them as threats, he couldn't let them off.
Bang—! Bang—! Bang—!
In mere moments, the gangsters lay groaning on the ground.
Even those who tried to flee were swiftly brought down.
Shirou slowly lowered his fists and stood straight, surveying the scene.
Yet one individual remained standing.
He stared, slightly stunned, at the delinquent with white hair who remained unharmed. Had he somehow overlooked him?
He was certain he'd defeated all of them.
But in the next instant, flames erupted from the white-haired delinquent's body, devouring him completely, like a ravenous beast consuming its prey.
Every trace of the young man's existence vanished. In that instant, everyone in the world forgot he'd ever lived.
Even Shirou Emiya, who stood mere steps away, instantly had his memories altered.
Slowly, Shirou turned away from the delinquents sprawled across the alley, his voice filled with righteous anger:
"I don't like solving problems with violence—but as long as I'm in this city, I won't allow you to harm others."
If there'd been another way, Shirou would never have resorted to force. Many delinquents became so due to troubled families or mistreatment at school. He would have gladly taken time to understand and save them, one by one.
Yet here, Shirou lacked that luxury. He could only use the most straightforward method—violence—to restrain them.
Meeting violence with violence wasn't exactly unfamiliar—after all, he and Shinji had done similar things back in Fuyuki City.
Whenever they encountered unreasonable people, they'd used their fists to suppress them.
But afterward, Shinji had twisted, warped into someone Shirou found utterly repulsive.
Not that Shirou had seriously hurt these delinquents. He had fought many times before, always careful not to go too far. Even the gang leader had suffered nothing beyond superficial injuries.
They wouldn't even need hospital care—after some rest, they'd resume normal lives. The wounds might linger slightly, but their lives wouldn't be impaired.
Yet even now, Shirou had no memory of the delinquent who had just vanished before his eyes.
No matter how hard he tried to recall, Shirou found no trace of him. The delinquent simply no longer existed.
Just like that office worker Shirou had tracked earlier—Shirou's memories of them were erased, seamlessly filled by his mind, leaving behind no noticeable gap.
All these lost fragments of memory were perfectly, disturbingly replaced.
---
T/N: hjow is bro gonna combat this he's sokcocoked
bonus chaps
100 stones -> 1 chapter
200 stones -> 2 chapters
300 stones -> 3 chapters
and so on
discord.gg/wisetl
patreon.com/wisetl