The Emiya residence felt quieter than usual that night.
The grand European-Japanese hybrid house was usually filled with the clinking of kitchen knives in the morning, the comforting aroma of miso soup, and the sound of Shirou’s footsteps bustling about preparing everyone’s needs.
Tonight, however, there was only the ticking of an antique wall clock and the crackling of the fire in the living room’s hearth.
Kiritsugu Emiya sat in a single armchair, a financial newspaper open on his lap.
Yet, his eyes weren’t reading the stock market news.
He was looking at his wife, Irisviel, who was sitting gracefully on the opposite sofa doing embroidery, a perpetual faint smile on her lips.
“Iri,” Kiritsugu called out, breaking the silence.
“Yes, dear?” Irisviel looked up, her crimson eyes sparkling innocently.
Kiritsugu let out a long sigh, folding his newspaper.
“Did you really need to go that far?
I just looked at this month’s financial report.
The operational cost for a ‘special cargo delivery’ to New York…
that costs as much as a sports car, Iri.
Just to deliver a lunchbox?”
Irisviel let out a light laugh, a sound like wind chimes.
“Ara, it wasn’t just a lunchbox, Kiritsugu.
It was the representation of a mother’s love!
Shirou-chan must be missing home-cooked meals, and I simply wanted to ensure the important people at the WGO know just how amazing our son is.”
“And that phone call to Totsuki’s Director?” Kiritsugu gave her a sharp look, though it carried no murderous aura, only the aura of a husband exhausted by his wife’s extravagant antics.
“I heard you ‘forced’ your way into becoming a guest judge for any major events?”
Irisviel set her embroidery down.
Her smile shifted from sweet to something much sharper—the expression of the matriarch of the Einzbern conglomerate.
“Of course.
Shirou is far too kind of a boy, Kiritsugu.
Ever since he woke up that morning…
you remember, right?
The day before the entrance exam?”
Kiritsugu nodded slowly.
“Yes.
He woke up with a different look in his eyes.
Older.
Calmer.
And suddenly, his cooking skills skyrocketed far beyond the chefs we hire.”
They knew nothing of the Counter Guardian.
They knew nothing of the millennia of combat experience that had flooded their son’s mind.
To Kiritsugu and Irisviel, Shirou had simply undergone a sudden maturation phase—a miraculous “explosion of talent.”
“He has become incredibly independent,” Irisviel continued, her gaze distant.
“But out there in the real world, especially in an elite place like Totsuki, talent alone isn’t enough.
There are many wicked people who love to manipulate an innocent child like Shirou.
As his mother, I am simply clearing the pebbles from his path.
Let him focus on cooking; the might of the Einzberns will handle the rest.”
Kiritsugu leaned back.
“You’re being overprotective.
He’s a man, Iri.
He has to learn to fall and get back up on his own.”
“Perhaps,” Irisviel smiled meaningfully.
“But as long as I can still pamper him, I will do so.
Besides, who else is going to protect him?
You?”
“I just wanted him to grow up normal,” Kiritsugu muttered.
“But it seems the word ‘normal’ vanished from this family’s dictionary the moment he decided to step into that lion’s den.”
“And you’re too rigid, Dad,” another voice chimed in from the stairs.
They both turned their heads.
Illyasviel von Einzbern was trudging down the stairs.
The girl was wearing a pink onesie pajama, hugging a teddy bear tightly.
Her beautiful face was scrunched up, her lips pouting in a sulky expression.
“Illya, you aren’t asleep yet?” Kiritsugu asked.
“I can’t sleep,” Illya threw herself onto the sofa beside her mother, burying her face in a pillow.
“This house is so quiet without Shirou.
No late-night snacks.
No tea brewed at the perfect temperature.
It’s boring.”
Irisviel stroked her daughter’s silver hair affectionately.
“Be patient, dear.
Shirou is currently chasing his dreams at Totsuki.”
“Why couldn’t I go with him?” Illya whined, her voice muffled by the pillow.
“I could get in through the donation quota, right?
We’re rich!
I could enroll in…
whatever, restaurant management maybe?”
Kiritsugu offered a wry smile.
“Illya, you know Totsuki is a school strictly for culinary practitioners.
Every student must know how to cook.
And you…”
Kiritsugu didn’t finish his sentence, but they all knew the truth.
Illya possessed terrible hand-eye coordination in the kitchen.
The last time she tried to turn on the stove to boil water, she nearly set the kitchen curtains on fire because she forgot to turn the flame off.
Illya was the epitome of a princess who could only eat, not create.
“Ugh!
So annoying!” Illya lifted her face, her cheeks puffing out in frustration.
“It’s not fair!
Why is Shirou the only one who suddenly became a master chef?
We used to be at the exact same beginner level!
Why did he leave me here all alone?”
Her ruby eyes dimmed.
Beneath her spoiled whining, there was a genuine loneliness.
“I’m…
I’m worried,” Illya murmured softly.
“Worried about what?” Irisviel asked gently.
“There…
at that school…” Illya played with the edge of her pillow nervously.
“There are a lot of girls there, right?
I heard the Director’s granddaughter is pretty.
And there are tons of other female students who are great at cooking.”
Illya bit her lower lip.
“Shirou is…
he’s so perceptive about others, but completely dense when it comes to his own feelings.
What if he…
you know…
finds someone who is more ‘compatible’ with him?
Someone who can help him in the kitchen, unlike me who can only wait at the dining table?”
Illya’s greatest fear wasn’t Shirou failing school.
Her greatest fear was Shirou discovering a new world she couldn’t enter, and finding someone who could stand proudly by his side.
Irisviel, realizing the shift in her daughter’s mood, slid closer and hugged Illya.
Her maternal instincts picked up the signal loud and clear.
That wasn’t just the worry of an older sister for her younger brother.
It was the jealousy of a girl in love.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Irisviel whispered in Illya’s ear, shooting Kiritsugu a playful glance.
“Shirou is loyal.
He’s the type of man who will always come back home.
Besides…”
Irisviel’s eyes glinted sharply—the exact same glint she had when sending the threat letter to Azami.
“…Mom has already made sure no girl can approach him easily.
The standards to become Shirou’s partner are sky-high, you know.
Mom will be his iron wall.”
Illya looked up, her eyes sparkling with hope.
“Really?
You’re on my side, Mom?”
“Always,” Irisviel winked.
“Shirou belongs to us.
We aren’t going to let just any girl steal him away, are we?”
Illya’s spirit reignited.
She clenched her tiny fists.
Her sad expression was replaced by a fiery determination.
“That’s right!
If any ‘thieving cat’ dares to approach my Shirou, they better watch out!
I’ll ask Dad to buy out all their parents’ company shares!”
“Oi, oi…” Kiritsugu massaged his temples.
“Illya, don’t use the family wealth to bully your brother’s schoolmates.”
“I don’t care!” Illya stuck out her tongue.
“Anyway, during summer break, Shirou has to come home!
I’m going to lock him in the kitchen all day to cook for me!”
Kiritsugu could only let out a resigned sigh.
In this house, logic and common sense were often defeated by the emotional dominance of the Einzbern women.
The night deepened.
Outside, the spring breeze blew gently, rustling the trees.
Even though Kiritsugu and Irisviel didn’t know the truth about Shirou’s origins, they felt the change.
Shirou had grown.
Kiritsugu worried for him in silence as a realistic father.
Irisviel protected him with wealth and influence as a fanatic mother.
And Illya…
Illya waited for him with a racing heart, nurturing a feeling that thrived in the distance, hoping that she would be the one and only “home” Shirou would return to.
Just you wait, Shirou, Illya thought while staring at the moon through the window.
You won’t be able to run from me forever.
Far away, in the Polar Star Dormitory, a sleeping Shirou suddenly sneezed violently, feeling a sudden chill run down his spine as if a target had just been locked dead on the back of his neck.
“Like my work?