The morning sunlight filtered through the paper windows, casting soft, golden patterns on the walls. Shirō blinked groggily as she stirred in her futon, her body aching faintly in protest. She ran a hand over her neck, feeling the faint sting of the cut. The events of the previous night rushed back to her in a chaotic blur: the temple, Caster, the ambush, and—Archer.
She sat up slowly, glancing around her familiar room. Her futon was neatly laid out, and there was no sign of anyone else. "Did Archer bring me back here?" she murmured to herself, rubbing her temples. That had to be it. She certainly hadn't walked back on her own, not in the state she'd been in.
Her mind wandered further, piecing things together. That arrow—that crimson arrow that saved her from Berserker during their first encounter—it must've been Archer's doing too. She owed him twice now. The realization made her frown, partly in gratitude and partly in irritation. The guy wasn't exactly humble about his skills, and she'd bet he'd milk her debt for all it was worth.
"Not to mention he's already beating my ass in the dojo," she muttered, pulling herself to her feet with a resigned sigh. Archer's "tutoring" was less instruction and more of a brutal wake-up call about how utterly outmatched she was. Still, she couldn't deny that he was helping her improve—at least a little.
Stretching her arms overhead, Shirō winced at the stiffness in her shoulders. "Ugh, I need a hot bath," she grumbled, trudging to the bathroom. Freshening up helped clear her head, the cool water washing away the remnants of fatigue and the faint, lingering smell of sweat and dust from last night.
By the time she finished, the sun was higher in the sky, and her stomach growled in protest. She headed to the kitchen, throwing together a quick breakfast—rice, miso soup, and some pickled vegetables. It was simple but comforting, the kind of meal that felt like home. She ate quickly, her mind already on the day ahead.
Once her plate was clean and her hunger sated, Shirō stood and stretched again, feeling more awake and ready to tackle the day. "Alright," she said to herself, determination flickering in her eyes. "Time to train."
She grabbed her wooden practice sword and made her way to the dojo. The polished wooden floors gleamed faintly in the morning light, and the air inside was cool and still. Standing in the centre of the room, she took a deep breath, centring herself.
"Alright, Shirō," she muttered under her breath, gripping the sword tightly. "No more excuses. If you're going to survive this war, you need to get stronger. No one's going to save you forever—not Archer, not Rin, no one."
With that, she began her drills, each swing of the sword sharper and more focused than the last.
Shirō gripped the wooden katana tightly, her brow furrowed as she tried to focus. "Trace, on," she whispered, her voice steady but her hands trembling ever so slightly. She felt the faint hum of her mana circuits activating, enveloping the katana with a faint blue glow. For a moment, she thought it worked. She swung the wooden sword experimentally, hoping for a miracle.
But there was no difference. The swing was just as weak and clumsy as before.
Frustrated, Shirō let out a heavy sigh and sank to the floor of the dojo, crossing her legs. The katana rested beside her, still glowing faintly before the light fizzled out completely. She stared at it, lost in thought.
She was so weak. Everyone she had met so far—Rin, Archer, Caster, even that terrifying girl Illyasviel with her monstrous Berserker—was leagues ahead of her. She couldn't even call herself a participant in the Holy Grail War at this point. She was just surviving, barely scraping by on luck and the generosity of others.
Her powers—if she could even call them that—were laughable. Sure, she could "fortify" objects, but what good was that when her swings lacked strength, and she had no proper weapon to begin with? The only thing she'd managed to do consistently was… change her clothes. A useless skill in the middle of a life-and-death battle.
She clenched her fists, biting her lip in frustration. "This isn't enough," she muttered to herself. "If I want to stand a chance, I need something more. Something real. Something…"
Her thoughts trailed off, an idea slowly forming in her mind. It was a crazy idea, but it might just work. She needed something to trigger her potential, to unlock whatever was hidden deep inside her. And the only thing that had ever worked so far was when her life was in danger.
That's it. She needed to put herself in danger.
Shirō stood up abruptly, gripping the wooden katana with renewed determination. "This is insane," she said under her breath, her heart racing at the thought. But deep down, she knew it was the only way. If she kept hiding and relying on others, she'd never grow stronger.
Her mind raced, trying to think of a place where she could push herself to the limit, where danger was guaranteed. And then it hit her: the railway station. It was a hub of activity, and if there was one place where she could encounter something—or someone—it was there.
"Let's do this," she said, steeling herself. Without hesitation, she grabbed her coat and headed out the door, leaving the safety of her home behind. The cool morning air hit her face as she walked briskly toward the station, her heart pounding in anticipation.
It was a crazy plan, sure. But crazy was all she had left.