A month had passed since the short yet grand Fifth Holy Grail War had ended.
For the majority of Fuyuki City's residents, this month was no different from any before it. But for Steve, the comfort of such perfect peace began to stir within him a feeling of boredom long lost to the depths of his soul.
For the past month, he had played the role of Steve flawlessly: preparing late-night snacks for his adopted daughter while she studied, taking her and Sakura to the capital's shopping malls on weekends, even using the Shadow Border to cross the sea to a fast food store in America just because Saber wanted to try the hamburgers over there.
He immersed himself in his hard-won everyday life, playing the perfect father, teacher, and friend.
But when night fell silent and he sat alone atop the apartment building, gazing down on the city lights, he could no longer suppress his instinctive craving for excitement.
The cast was assembled, Act One had ended perfectly, but Act Two would not begin for another eleven years.
For someone used to controlling stars and fate, this long wait was truly agonizing.
He needed some new entertainment—a fresh, easily observed variable to ripple the waters during this span of peace.
On yet another sunny afternoon, Steve wandered through Fuyuki's streets, bored out of his mind. From the corners of his memory, a figure he'd intentionally forgotten slowly floated up, like silt stirred from a pond: Kirei Kotomine—a man cast as the ultimate villain across countless parallel worlds.
How was he living, on this timeline where the past had been entirely rewritten?
With this thought, Steve suddenly stopped. He closed his eyes, allowing his cosmic magecraft to activate quietly. For his perception, unhindered by time or space, the laws of physics vanished in an instant.
Instead, there existed countless threads glowing faintly—the bonds of cause and effect.
He quickly found a dull, lifeless thread labeled Kirei Kotomine. From the very start, it was twisted and fragile, worn thinner and thinner by endless self-contradiction over the past decade.
Now, at its end, a faint light pulsed there—the sign of imminent collapse and death.
The moment was set. Not far from today, the thread would snap.
"Is the worldline converging…?"
Steve opened his eyes, a curious smile on his lips.
"Even without the catalyst of the Holy Grail War, the world itself is adjusting this flaw… Now, that's interesting."
"But letting him die of a heart attack, alone in a deserted confessional, feels like such a waste..."
With complicated thoughts, Steve turned on his heel and strolled slowly toward Kotomine Church on the other side of town.
Compared to ten years ago, the church seemed even more empty and lifeless. Tohsaka Tokiomi's magus workshop was gone; the lavish living room once belonging to Gilgamesh was gone. Now, the only inhabitant was an ascetic constantly suppressing his pain.
The air brimmed with the stifling mix of old wood, incense, and disinfectant. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, but instead of warmth, it made the dust motes swirling in the air more obvious, casting a cold, gloomy atmosphere over the entire space.
As Steve pushed open the heavy wooden doors, Kirei Kotomine was scrubbing the benches with rough cloth, over and over with a mechanical precision almost ceremonial in strength and accuracy. But his eyes were empty, as if his soul had long drifted away.
He was a suffering prisoner, locked in the cage of being ordinary, fated never to understand what normal truly meant.
Hearing footsteps, Kirei stopped. He turned slowly, staring at Steve with those deep, emotionless eyes. He recognized this man—the nominal father of Caren Ortensia. An enigmatic, apparently affluent man with no ties to the church or the magical world.
"The guardian of Caren Ortensia."
Kirei's voice was low and hoarse, like rusted metal shards scraping together.
"What are you here for? It's not a time for prayer."
His tone was formulaic, edged with both apathy and caution.
Steve ignored the attitude, glanced nonchalantly around the empty church, and looked back at him. Without revealing any emotion, he spoke gently but clearly:
"Father Kotomine… do you wish to know the true cause behind the innate mental abnormality that has plagued you all your life?"
His words echoed like thunder in the deathly silent chapel.
For the first time in millennia, a crack appeared on Kirei's stony face.
He gripped the rag tightly; his knuckles turned white from effort.
For a moment, his breath caught in his throat, and a storm raged in those empty eyes—shock, disbelief, and the extreme murderous intent and vigilance that all agents feel lashing back and forth.
For more than 30 years, he had listened to music for beauty, delved into art, studied theology to understand goodness, and acted out his life as a pitifully tragic imitation of a normal person. He had perfectly hidden his deepest abnormality and flaws, never revealing them to anyone.
But now, this man (with whom he'd barely had any dealings), in a casual tone, had exposed the festering wound hidden deep in his heart.
"…Who are you really?"
Kirei's voice was hoarse with agitation. He stared fixedly at Steve, body slightly tensed, ready to strike a deadly blow at any moment.
"What are you talking about?"
He stared with the wariness of a cornered beast, regarding Steve as the most dangerous tempter to ever come from hell.
And yet, beneath all the killing intent and vigilance, there was a desperate, almost unrecognizable hope—like clinging to a lifeline.
He had searched a lifetime for answers.
And now, it seemed, an answer stood right before him.
...
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