tanya & Emiya × Worm

Chapter 22

I tried to deflect the incoming strike but failed miserably. Shirou's striped shinai smacked into my shoulder, sending a jolt of pain sharp enough to make me wince.

"Strike!" Missy announced cheerfully from the side.

I groaned and rubbed my shoulder.

I'd never been in a kendo club in my first life, but I was pretty sure shinai weren't supposed to hurt this much. Not with the amount of force Shirou was using—especially considering he was moderating his strikes since we weren't wearing any protective gear.

Maybe this body was just more sensitive. Or maybe Shirou had some uncanny talent for finding nerve clusters. Either way, it did wonders for my motivation to avoid getting hit again.

"You have good reflexes," Shirou said, lowering his shinai, "but your defense is still shoddy. If you want to deflect instead of parry, you need to do it after I've committed."

"I was reasonably sure you already had, brother," I replied, brushing a few strands of hair out of my face.

He gave me a flat look. "I anticipated you going for a deflection because that's what you always do. You fell for a feint. If you don't start changing your pattern, you'll never win one of these."

I scowled. So far, our score wasn't even worth tallying. Shirou had been demolishing me in our spars with casual, almost contemptuous ease.

"Didn't you say Tanya was doing well the other day by not letting you lull her into a predictable attack pattern?" Missy asked, tilting her head.

"Yes," Shirou admitted. "That was her attack pattern. A defensive pattern is another thing entirely."

I tugged at the straps securing the blade to my forearm. "To be fair, brother, this thing is meant to represent Mage Blade. I can't exactly parry with a weapon that either slices clean through the opponent's or, if it doesn't, risks being forced back into me when they push against it."

I flexed my wrist, checking the tension. Reinforcement formulas would help, I thought, but even setting Brutes aside, projecting Mage Blade from my hand means I can't brace with both arms.

"Then why try at all?" Shirou asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You left me no choice," I shot back. "You drove me to the edge of the ring—no space left to evade. It was a last-ditch effort."

"If you knew it would be useless in a real fight, you should have found another way," he scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

I exhaled through my nose. Fair enough.

"Alright," Shirou said, stepping back. "Grab a shinai. Time for more traditional sword practice."

I was just starting to unstrap my Fake Mage Blade when the door opened and Chris stepped into the Wards' training room—carrying Armsmaster's halberd.

"Hey, guys! Mind if I join in?" Chris called out as he stepped into the room, hefting the halberd like it was a trophy.

He looked more upbeat than I'd ever seen him. Brighter, almost buoyant.

"Why?" Shirou asked flatly, not even trying to hide his irritation.

"Well, I've made this," Chris said, attempting to twirl the halberd for dramatic effect—only to fumble it and nearly drop his weapon. He caught it at the last second, flushing with embarrassment. "But, uh... I don't actually know how to fight with halberds."

"Go bother Armsmaster," Shirou said, brushing him off with a dismissive wave.

"C'mon, man. You know he won't. He doesn't even tutor me on tinkering anymore," Chris added, a note of dejection slipping into his voice.

"And I'm supposed to tutor you in how to use a halberd because...?" Shirou gestured vaguely, unimpressed.

Chris clutched the weapon a little tighter. "Look, you gave me this thing. That means you care."

Shirou stared at him.

Missy giggled.

"I think that's a good idea, brother," I interjected smoothly.

"I don't," he said petulantly.

"We're a unit," I said firmly. "Chris being proficient with his new weapon can only benefit the team. You're already tutoring me—I don't think it's such a stretch to include Chris in our sessions. And besides, having a variety of opponents can only improve my own progress."

And, truth be told, it might finally let me win a spar or two.

I understood that losing in training was just part of the process. Each defeat was just another lesson to be studied and learned from. But being used as a glorified punching bag day after day wore on my nerves. Sparring with Chris wouldn't just help him—it would be a useful metric for my own improvement. Well, that, and a bit of a stress relief.

"You just want to help the redheaded idiot because he asked for it," Shirou... accused.

I blinked. "Yes?"

He studied me with a strange expression. What's with him lately?

Finally, Shirou let out a sigh and extended his hand toward Chris. "Give me that," he said, sullenly.

Chris hesitated for a second before handing the halberd over with both hands, as if offering a fragile heirloom. Shirou took it without ceremony and began inspecting it with a practiced eye.

Now that I looked closely, the halberd looked a little different. Protrusions and parts sticking out where there were none before.

"You stripped some parts," he said after a moment.

"Yeah," Chris nodded. "I figured if I didn't have the resources to finish the Alternator Cannon, I might as well repurpose what I had. Modify Armsmaster's halberd, you know—so I'm not just running around with his tech without adding anything of my own."

"Hm. You removed the flail and a few sensor arrays."

"Couldn't miniaturize my gear like Armsmaster," Chris admitted. "I needed the space. And I have no idea how to fight with a flail—I was legit worried I'd hit myself in the head."

Shirou's mouth twitched, either in amusement or judgment. Hard to say.

"As for the sensors," Chris continued, "they were rigged to feed directly into Armsmaster's armor systems. Not much use to me. Honestly, I was worried they'd still try connecting to his rig if I turned them on. Oh—and I pulled the tracking nodes too."

"What do the new parts do?" Shirou asked, eyes narrowing as he traced the modified segments. "They're disparate—completely different design philosophy compared to the original—but they're arranged like a parallel system."

"In this configuration?" Chris said, rubbing the back of his neck. "They shoot energy beams."

"Shouldn't you be able to tell?" I asked, stepping a little closer. "Blades are supposed to be easier for you, aren't they?"

"Remember what I told you about swordguns?" Shirou said without looking up.

I nodded.

"This is the same—but worse," he muttered. "The new parts slot into the halberd's mainframe almost seamlessly, but they don't integrate fully. It's more like a bolt-on bayonet than a built-in gunblade. They exist alongside the weapon's structure, not within it."

He twirled the halberd in one hand—clean and effortless, unlike Chris's earlier attempt.

"Surprisingly, the new parts have more clarity to them than Chris's other gear," he added. "To the point where I can actually—"

A small cube with jutting pins shimmered into his off-hand in a pulse of light.

"—copy some of them."

Chris blinked. "Wait, only some? What's wrong with the others?"

Shirou tilted his head. "...Did you cannibalize your pistol for this?"

"Yeah? I didn't have the resources to build another energy generator for the Alternator Cannon," Chris admitted, shoulders slumping slightly. "So I had to repurpose the one from my Spark Pistol."

Shirou gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment. "Well, that explains it. It's still the same jumbled mess for me as before."

He rubbed at his temple, irritation creeping into his voice. "But... these new modifications—aside from that—they're better built than your usual work. Or maybe it's more accurate to say they have the right purpose."

He pressed a finger to the halberd. With a soft pulse, several components vanished in a flash of light—including the cube in his hand. A moment later, the parts embedded in the halberd shifted—replaced by a different set of components with a low hum.

"Huh," Chris blinked, tilting his head. "I wonder what happened to the frequency modulator. The parts were supposed to be teleported back to specific coordinates in my lab. I, uh... never actually tested what happens if two objects end up in the same spot."

Missy raised her eyebrows. "Wait—you have teleportation tech now? That's... actually kind of cool."

Chris shrugged, trying to act nonchalant but clearly enjoying the attention. "The Alternator Cannon was supposed to be really big. Teleportation arrays were built into the deployment protocol. It was also supposed to be able to reconfigure itself into different modes."

He glanced at the halberd again, brow furrowing. "Can't really do that with Armsmaster's build, though. It's too tightly fitted for me to modify without the right tools. Which I don't have. Honestly, I would have to disassemble it, and the last halberd didn't survive that."

"I told you," Shirou grumbled.

"Yeah, I figured it was a dumb idea," Chris admitted with a sigh. "But your dad never let me work on his halberd, so I guess I just... couldn't help myself."

He gave a sheepish smile, then added, "Honestly, I'm just glad I managed to build something. I was starting to lose it. Gallant's armor started looking real interesting."

"That's why you were sneaking glances at Dean?" Missy asked slyly, one eyebrow arched. "I thought you were staring at his ass."

Chris rolled his eyes. "His ass is where I installed a servo control node, Missy. A lot of good parts down there."

He paused just long enough, then added, dry as dust, "Also, you would know."

"Shut up!" Missy laughed, cheeks flushing pink. "Man, it's good seeing you out of your funk."

"Yeah," Chris said, turning to Shirou with a suddenly radiant smile. "So thanks, Shirou."

My brother's expression twisted into something indescribable—somewhere between I want to strangle this boy and I just lost my lunch and found a nest of needles inside it.

Seriously, I thought, what's with him lately?

A moment later, green lines rippled across the surface of the halberd—curiously, only touching the parts Chris had added.

Chris leaned forward slightly. "Uh... is it supposed to—"

Crack.

The weapon shuddered in his hands with an audible snap. Chris yelped as part of the halberd's head fractured—dissolving into blue motes of light. The remaining metal flowed and reformed with soul rending screech, reshaping into a single streamlined spearhead.

Chris looked like he'd just been through Arene. On the Francois' side.

Shirou shoved the transformed weapon back into Chris's arms—hard enough that he had to scramble to catch it.

"A halberd gives you more tools," Shirou said, voice cool and matter-of-fact. "If you have the muscle and training to use them. Which you don't."

He crossed his arms.

"But a spear, in the hands of a disciplined fighter, will kill faster, cleaner, and more efficiently. It is also a much easier weapon for a complete novice."

Chris blinked, gripping the spear awkwardly. "Uh... I don't really want to kill anyone?"

"Then find another hobby," Shirou said flatly. "I have time to beat you up exactly once. After that, I have work."

"Did you print out those business cards we made?" I asked, watching him retrieve his shinai.

"Yes."

"With the slogan?"

A good slogan could mean the difference between a one-off job and a repeat customer—not to mention drawing in new ones. Quality of service was always the core of any successful enterprise, but there was a reason even top firms invested in branding.

"Yes, yes. With a slogan," Shirou said with a long-suffering sigh.

He turned to Chris and raised his striped shinai. For some reason, the motion made me think of a roaring tiger. Probably the ridiculous little toy dangling from the handle—it twitched every time he moved, like it had a mind of its own.

Under Shirou's frankly hostile gaze, Chris swallowed hard... then squared his shoulders and stepped into the ring.

-/-/-

Emiya

He climbed the stairs of the apartment complex, still warm from the exertion of training with Chris.

He might not have been the redheaded fool Emiya longed to beat into pulp, but the experience was still cathartic and gave him an outlet for his worries. Just enough to quiet the noise in his head.

Chris will be fine, he thought. A few burned-out calculators and he'd bounce back. Hopefully. And hopefully not in Emiya's direction.

He rang the doorbell and took the pause as a chance to collect himself.

Tanya just wanted to help a teammate, he reminded himself. Nothing strange about that. I'm just... strung too tight. Overreacting.

The door swung open.

"Hi, Danvers-kun!" Lisa greeted him brightly, flashing a grin.

She was wearing a red blouse and a black miniskirt today. Stockings, too.

"Lisa," he said with a nod, keeping his tone neutral.

"Come in, come in!" she chirped, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside before he could protest.

For some reason, his mind conjured an image of Rin in a similar outfit—miniskirt and all. That was her favorite style, wasn't it? At least in school. His memory churned, making the long-faded image of the girl he once knew a little clearer. Yes, it definitely was. Although now he remembered that he styled matured a bit when they entered the Clocktower.

Also, did Rin's thighs look... thicker than Lisa's? No, that wasn't the point. Lisa clearly wasn't athletic. Rin had been. Emiya knew that firsthand. And just thighs, but her...

The grip on his hand tightened. He forcibly shook off the utterly ridiculous intrusive thought.

Lisa's apartment was the kind of place that should've been a disaster—but wasn't.

It radiated the energy of someone who knew exactly how much chaos she could tolerate before snapping, and arranged her environment to stay just under that threshold.

The air bore a scent of late nights, coffee and a certain artificiality. Emiya couldn't place it, but he would bet that Lisa didn't spend a lot of time here. It felt more like a place to get away rather than to live in.

The coffee table was buried under fast-food wrappers, Diet Coke cans, and the gutted remains of at least two laptops.

Emiya wrinkled his nose.

How hard is it to cook for one person?

"Is that what you wanted my help with?" he asked, gesturing toward laptops.

Lisa hadn't exactly specified over the phone.

"Erm, no. Don't touch that," Lisa said quickly, pulling him toward the kitchen. "My sink's clogged."

She stopped in front of a basin that was already starting to smell.

"You realize I work with electronics and appliances," Emiya said dryly. "I'm not a plumber."

"But can you fix it?"

"That's not the point—"

"Please, Danvers-kun!" she whined in exaggerated desperation. "I can't cook anything with my sink like this!"

He glanced back toward the living room, thinking of the pile of fast-food wrappers on her coffee table.

"You don't cook. Period."

"But I've always wanted to learn," she said brightly. "Oh! You could teach me!"

"What?"

"You look like someone who knows his way around a kitchen. You were getting ingredients from Ichirou's, right? You have that big cooking energy!"

Emiya closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Her relentless stream of nonsense was starting to give him a headache.

She was just... too much.

"Just let me deal with the sink."

Lisa nodded with exaggerated innocence and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, watching him like he was a performer and she had front-row seats.

"So," Lisa said, chin resting on one hand, "how's your home life?"

Emiya paused mid-turn of the pipe wrench and looked over at her. "What?"

"Your home life," she repeated breezily. "Parents? Siblings?"

His 'father' was an obsessive freight train. His sister might be warping under the weight of his soul.

"It's fine."

Lisa gave him a look that made it clear she didn't buy it for a second.

Not her business.

"I know a thing or two about crappy parents," she added, a little too casually. "Got as far away from mine as I could. I could even give you some advice."

Emiya rolled his eyes and returned to the pipe. "It's fine. We're not close anyway."

The only family he actually cared about was Tanya. Speaking of which—Lisa had mentioned being in parahuman studies. Maybe he could—

He glanced up.

Lisa was leaning forward, gripping the hem of her skirt, eyes locked on him with an oddly eager expression.

"…Do you have any siblings?"

The change was immediate. A flicker of pain crossed her face—and then all expression dropped out of it like a shutter coming down.

What the hell was that?

Emiya shifted, starting to stand—but Lisa slapped her palm flat against the table with a loud smack.

"Appapap, Danvers-kun!" she sang. "You haven't finished your work. Just do it while I make some tea."

She turned her back to him, grabbing a bottle of water and pouring it into the electric kettle.

Emiya watched her for a while, saying nothing. Slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased.

The sink was clogged solid.

Almost like someone had intentionally crammed food down the drain until it turned into a dense, gluey paste. The texture was... questionable. How does fast food even decay like this? Had Lisa just dumped everything in here instead of using the trash?

By the time Emiya extracted the foul, half-liquefied mass from the pipe, he was sorely tempted to throw it at her. Not out of malice—just as a lesson. Maybe next time she'd remember what garbage bins were for.

Meanwhile, Lisa had set two mugs on the table, dropped in tea packets, and was now pouring hot water. A plate of cookies—store-bought, obviously—completed the "spread." She was clearly waiting for him to join her.

"I'd rather get my pay and go home, Lisa."

"Oh, come on, Danvers-kun," she said, feigning offense. "I went through all this trouble to make you tea and snacks!"

"You turned on a kettle and opened a pack of cookies."

"It counts," she said with a shrug. Then, quieter: "Please?"

Her tone had shifted—quieter, less theatrical. "I haven't had a tea party since... a long time."

Emiya sighed. There was something disarming in the way she said it—enough vulnerability to make it harder to say no.

"And don't worry about your payment," she added. "I've got you this."

She reached into a drawer and dropped a pendant on the table—a ruby, large and bright, set in a plain metal frame.

Emiya raised an eyebrow. "Bit much for unclogging a pipe, Lisa."

She rolled her eyes. "Flame Fusion synthetic ruby. Stainless steel setting. Doesn't even cost a hundred bucks. And I got it cheap. Practically a steal."

"I'd still call it excessive."

"Then next time I'll ask for a discount," she smirked.

"Next time?"

"I'm bad at domestic stuff and always breaking electronics," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "Technology and I just don't mesh."

She leaned forward, eyes glinting. "But enough about me. Tell me more about you."

Before Emiya could respond, the front door creaked open.

"Hey, Lisa, your door's open," a male voice called from the living room. "I need you to look at my mom's admission—uh…"

A tall, dark-skinned teenager stepped into the kitchen—and froze.

His gaze locked onto Lisa, drifting slowly from her twin-tails to her blouse... then down to her skirt... and legs.

Boyfriend? Emiya wondered, watching Lisa turn an alarming shade of red.

"Alright," Emiya said, standing up and collecting the pendant. "I think it's time for me to go."

Definitely the boyfriend. And not very subtle about the staring, either.

Lisa buried her face in her mug.

The boy's eyes snapped to Emiya—widening to the size of saucers, his jaw dropping.

Emiya had absolutely no interest in deciphering teenage romantic drama.

Still, perhaps a life lesson was in order.

"And Lisa," he said, pausing at the doorway, "please take better care of your plumbing. I don't mind getting my hands dirty, but that was seriously disgusting."

Maybe public shame would finally teach her to use a trash can.

Yes—she was now staring at him in mute, mortified horror.

Definitely sunk in.

Emi