Chapter 1

The sky above was like cracked glass on the verge of shattering.

The air on the battlefield felt heavy—the smell of blood, iron, and dust mixed together. The ground beneath was littered with swords, some broken, some still intact, all bearing witness to the battle that had raged for so long.

Amidst it all, Emiya Shirou stood. His breath was heavy, his body covered in wounds, and both hands still gripped the pair of swords that had been with him from the beginning—Kanshou and Bakuya.

Before him, Gilgamesh stood tall with a smug smile. His golden robe was almost untouched, as if the battle they had fought was nothing more than entertainment for him.

"Enough playing around, Faker." His voice was filled with disdainful boredom. "Your rotten swords will never match my treasures."

Behind him, the Gate of Babylon opened wider, a row of mystical weapons ready to rain down on Shirou like a deadly arrow storm.

Shirou steadied his breath, but his body had already reached its limit. If he wanted to win, this had to end now.

However, as he tried to strengthen his Tracing, something happened.

C-CRACK!.

In his mind, there was a faint sound, almost like the hiss of glass beginning to shatter. The Tracing he performed felt strange—the sword that should have appeared perfectly now looked rough, unbalanced. The light that usually flowed within its blade appeared cracked, as if something was gnawing at the foundation of his power.

"Why...?"

There was no time to think further.

Gilgamesh raised one hand, and the holy blades and royal spears began to shoot toward him.

Shirou moved his sword to parry, but...

CLANG!

Kanshou broke.

The next attack came without mercy.

In a split second, a larger golden blade struck him. Shirou tried to retreat, but his body reacted too slowly. An open wound appeared on his side, blood flowed, and pain spread throughout his body.

His knees buckled.

Gilgamesh chuckled softly. "Of course. Your fake sword has finally reached its limit."

Shirou clenched his teeth. He had to move. Had to attack. There was no room for doubt.

With the last of his strength, he pushed his body forward, raised the remaining Bakuya, and leaped ahead.

But just as he was about to swing his blade...

Something happened.

Light.

Not an attack from Gilgamesh.

Not something from this world.

A blinding white flash tore through the air around him, swallowing everything with a force he couldn't comprehend.

Shirou could only see emptiness consuming the sky, then felt the gravity of his body being pulled into the light that was devouring him.

The world around him began to fade.

The ground beneath him disappeared.

The air became void.

His own voice sounded distant as he screamed, trying to grasp something that wasn't there.

Faces appeared in his mind—shadowy figures, voices he almost recognized but couldn't fully recall.

"Saber."

"Rin."

"Illya."

"Archer."

Those names echoed in his mind. But before he could grasp the meaning of them all—

They vanished.

And as his consciousness began to fade, the world he knew completely disappeared into the void.

—

Darkness.

No sky. No ground. No direction.

His consciousness floated in a formless void. Only he remained—adrift in a darkness that swallowed all sound, all color, all existence.

"This... where am I?"

Shirou tried to open his eyes, but it made no difference. There was no light to see. No body to move.

Yet, slowly, something began to emerge.

A faint vibration. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him realize he still existed.

And then—the sound came.

Not a human voice, nor a natural one. It was like a hiss, a whisper echoing around him. Unrecognizable, yet it felt so close, so unsettling.

"Am I... falling?"

Instantly, his consciousness jolted. A heavy sensation pulled him downward, as if falling into a bottomless ocean.

A flash of light crossed his mind—the shadow of a sword, a gleaming golden robe, blood dripping on the battlefield. But before he could grasp it, the memory shattered into pieces.

The names that had echoed in his mind were gone.

And then, he hit something.

BRUGH!

Air suddenly filled his lungs, as if he was breathing for the first time. His entire body throbbed with pain, as if he had just been thrown from an impossible height.

He jolted, coughed, then slowly writhed. The darkness that had swallowed him was now replaced by a faint light—a flickering street lamp in the distance.

The cold night wind brushed against his skin.

The smell of wet asphalt, the sound of distant vehicles, and towering buildings surrounding him...

This wasn't the battlefield. This wasn't the world he knew.

Shirou lay in a narrow alley between two towering concrete buildings.

His body still felt heavy. His hands pressed against the ground to rise, but his knees trembled. His breath was ragged, his chest tight.

"I... where am I?"

He tried to think. Tried to remember something—anything that could give him a clue about his situation.

But all that remained was emptiness.

"My name is Emiya Shirou."

That was the only thing he could be sure of.

Beyond that... there were only fragments of incomplete memories. He knew how to fight. He knew how to ignite the power within his body. But memories of where he came from, of who he knew... they were all blurred.

Shirou clenched his fist, feeling the remnants of strength within him.

"I can still fight."

But before he could take a deep breath to calm his mind—

Something was watching him.

—

The wind in the alley changed.

The air suddenly felt heavier, as if something was creeping around him.

Shirou looked up.

At the end of the dark alley, something stood there.

Black mist writhed like moving flesh, forming a figure with no face, no definite shape. Only a pair of faint red eyes glowed from within the darkness.

From that creature, Shirou could feel something alien—a presence that was evil, filled with hatred and a thirst for blood.

And then, the creature moved.

"GHRAAAAAH!!"

In an instant, the shadow lunged at him, slashing through the air with a speed that should have been impossible for something of its size.

Shirou reacted immediately.

His body moved instinctively—pushing himself to the side, dodging the first attack with a quick step.

The black claws struck the concrete wall, shattering it like fragile paper.

Shirou gritted his teeth.

"What is this? This isn't a Servant. This isn't a demon. But its aura... this isn't human."

The creature gave him no time to think. It was already charging again, its arm extending like a black whip aiming to tear his body apart.

Shirou jumped back. His right hand immediately rose—

"Trace... On."

A flash of light appeared in his palm.

But the next second—something strange happened.

The blade that should have appeared perfectly, trembled in the air. Its blue light flickered, as if something was hindering its existence.

And in a matter of seconds, the sword shattered before it could fully form.

Shirou jolted.

—

"My Tracing... cracked?"

But he didn't have time to analyze it further.

The black creature was already right in front of him, its claws raised high, ready to strike him from above.

And Shirou... had no weapon.

Just as the attack was about to hit him—

A flash of gold streaked through the air.

SLASH!

The creature's arm was suddenly severed. Black blood sprayed into the air.

Another figure appeared beside him, standing casually despite having just slashed through the curse in a single strike.

A tall man, wearing a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, a loose tie, and a long coat.

A dull sword with strange engravings was in his hand.

With a lazy expression, the man adjusted his glasses before glancing at Shirou with sharp eyes.

"Can a normal kid see this?"

Before Shirou could answer, the man sighed and looked at the creature he had just cut down.

"Troublesome."

Without wasting any time, he stepped forward and swung his sword again—

And with a single, simple slash, the black creature was perfectly split in a 7:3 ratio.

Black blood splattered onto the walls, and within seconds, the curse crumbled into dust.

Shirou stood frozen.

Not because he was shocked by the man's strength, but because he could sense something strange about the technique that had just been used.

The man glanced at him again, this time more seriously.

"You can see curses."

His tone changed—no longer lazy, but sharper, more evaluative.

"Who are you, really?"

Shirou stared at him, still trying to process what had just happened.

The night air fell silent again.

And for the first time since arriving in this world... he realized that this wasn't just a coincidence.

This was the beginning of something bigger.

—

The rain began to fall. Not heavily, just a drizzle enough to make the asphalt reflect the faint light from the street lamps.

Shirou looked at the man who had just saved him.

The figure appeared older than him, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. The white shirt with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows looked neat despite having just been used in combat. His long coat fluttered slightly in the wind.

However, what stood out the most was his lazy expression—as if this fight was just a minor inconvenience in his routine.

Shirou took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The scent of rain and wet asphalt filled the air, mingling with the faint smell of blood from the curse the man had just slain.

"Nanami Kento," the man finally spoke, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "A jujutsu sorcerer."

Shirou remained silent, his mind still trying to piece together the fragments of information that had just hit him.

A jujutsu sorcerer?

That wasn't a term he had heard before. But seeing how the man had defeated the black creature earlier, it was clear there was something different about him.

Nanami looked at him for a long moment. His gaze was full of assessment.

"You can see curses," he continued. "And you can fight them."

Shirou narrowed his eyes. "Curses?"

Nanami sighed, as if reluctant to explain. "The creature that just attacked you. It's not a ghost or a demon. It's a manifestation of human negative energy. We call them curses."

Shirou digested this. This world had creatures like that?

"Not just that," Nanami added. "What interests me more is how you can see them, let alone try to fight them."

A brief silence.

Shirou glanced at his hand. The injuries he had sustained in the previous battle were still there, but his body felt... strange. As if it wasn't entirely his own. And the sword he had tried to project earlier—it was unstable, almost as if something was hindering it.

"I don't know why I can see them," Shirou finally replied. "I don't know why I'm here."

Nanami stared at him for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

"That's a bad answer."

He pulled out his phone, pressed a few buttons, then put it back in his pocket.

"Either way, I can't just leave you alone here."

Shirou tensed slightly. "And why is that?"

"Because you're different," Nanami answered without hesitation. "And in my line of work, strange people can mean two things—danger or trouble. Sometimes both."

He glanced at the darkening sky, then looked back at Shirou.

"Come with me. It'll be easier to explain in a safer place."

Shirou considered his options.

This man clearly had the answers he needed. However, there was something about him that felt dangerous, not in a threatening way, but like someone who wouldn't hesitate to act if he saw a threat.

But in the end, Shirou had no other choice.

"Alright."

Nanami didn't say anything more. He turned and started walking, leaving the alley behind. Shirou followed in silence.

—

They didn't talk much during the walk.

Passing by wet sidewalks, empty streets, and city lights that felt unfamiliar to Shirou.

This city... Tokyo.

He knew its name. He recognized its layout, the way the buildings stood, how the streets were arranged. Yet, at the same time, everything felt wrong. Like looking at something that should be familiar but had no connection to the memories he had.

And there was something else.

The longer he walked, the more he could feel something in the air—a subtle energy creeping behind every shadow, filling the gaps between buildings, floating around the humans who were unaware of it.

It wasn't magic.

Nor was it mana.

But something else.

Cursed energy.

Unconsciously, Shirou clenched his fist.

This world... was truly not the world he knew.

—

They finally stopped at a small building with a sign in front of it. A bakery, looking simple and unassuming.

Nanami opened the door and entered.

As Shirou followed, the smell of coffee and baked bread greeted him, creating a strange contrast to the battle they had just been through.

Nanami walked to a corner table and sat down, gesturing for Shirou to do the same.

"So," Nanami said, taking off his glasses briefly to rub his face. "Let's start from the beginning. Who are you, really?"

Shirou stared at the table in front of him, thinking hard.

"I..."

The simplest answer was Emiya Shirou. But that wasn't enough.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I only remember my name. I know how to fight. I know... that I was somewhere else before this. But other than that..."

Emptiness.

Nanami tapped his fingers on the table, his expression still flat. "You said you can fight, but you don't have cursed energy. Where did you get that ability?"

Shirou shook his head. "I don't know."

"Then how were you able to summon that weapon earlier?"

Shirou fell silent.

He could summon weapons, but the sword was unstable. Not like before—before he woke up in this world.

"I can't explain it," he finally said.

Nanami sighed. "Of course."

A brief silence.

Nanami sipped his coffee. "You're not a jujutsu sorcerer. That much is clear."

Shirou raised an eyebrow. "So, you believe me?"

"Not believe," Nanami replied. "Just accepting the fact that you're too clueless to lie convincingly."

Shirou wasn't sure if that was an insult or a compliment.

Nanami sighed again. "Either way, this isn't something I can decide on my own."

He took out his phone again, sent a quick message, then put it back in his pocket.

"I'll take you to someone who might be able to answer your questions," he said.

"Who?"

Nanami raised an eyebrow. "Gojo Satoru."

The name meant nothing to Shirou.

However, the way Nanami said it—with a hint of dislike and reluctance—made him realize that this person wasn't ordinary.

Nanami took another sip of his coffee before standing up from his seat.

"We're leaving now."

Shirou looked at his empty cup, then nodded.

Outside, the rain began to let up.

Yet, the feeling that something bigger was waiting for him grew stronger.