The church was quiet, as it always was in the hours before evening mass. The light through the stained glass was thin and cold, painting the nave in fractured blues and reds. Kirei Kotomine sat alone in the front pew, hands folded loosely, head bowed just enough to suggest prayer. In truth, his mind was elsewhere.
The city was changing. He could feel it in the air, in the way people moved through the streets, in the way conversations dropped to whispers when uniforms passed by. The Steel‑Eyed Raven's strike had not just destroyed the Matou estate — it had shattered the illusion of stability. And in the cracks, Kotomine saw opportunity.
Footsteps echoed in the nave. He didn't turn. The man approaching was heavyset, his suit straining at the seams, the faint scent of tobacco clinging to him. One of the local underworld's mid‑tier operators — ambitious enough to be useful, not important enough to be dangerous.
"You wanted to see me, Father?" the man asked, his voice low.
Kotomine gestured to the pew beside him. "Sit."
The man obeyed, glancing around the empty church. "What's this about?"
"Zouken Matou is gone," Kotomine said simply. "His… enterprises are without leadership. That creates a vacuum. And vacuums, as you know, are dangerous."
The man shifted uncomfortably. "Dangerous for who?"
"For everyone," Kotomine replied, his tone mild. "Unless, of course, someone steps in to provide… guidance."
The man's eyes narrowed. "And you think that someone is you?"
Kotomine smiled faintly. "I think that someone could be you. With my blessing."
There was a pause. "And if I refuse?"
Kotomine's smile didn't change. "Then you'll find out what it's like to be on the Raven's list."
The man swallowed. He'd heard the stories — everyone had. The black‑armored figure walking through gunfire, the storm, the eyes. Whether or not the Raven would actually come for him didn't matter. The image was enough.
"I'll… consider it," he said.
"I'm sure you will," Kotomine replied, rising to his feet. "You have until the end of the week."
Later that night, Kotomine stood in the church's small office, the phone pressed to his ear. The voice on the other end was clipped, professional — a JSDF intelligence officer he'd been cultivating for months.
"We appreciate your cooperation, Father," the officer said. "Any information you can provide on the Raven's movements is valuable."
"Of course," Kotomine said smoothly. "I only wish to see peace restored to our city."
He fed them just enough to keep them interested — vague reports of sightings in distant cities, whispers from the underworld about planned operations. All of it true enough to be plausible, none of it useful enough to actually find Shirou. The officer thanked him, promised to keep in touch.
When the call ended, Kotomine leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. The JSDF was chasing ghosts, and he was the one leading them through the maze.
Two days later, he met with another figure — this one in the shadows of a shuttered warehouse near the docks. A woman in a leather jacket, her hair tied back, eyes sharp. She ran one of the smaller smuggling outfits in the city, and she was nervous.
"You're asking for a lot," she said, arms crossed. "Protection, information, a cut of my profits. What do I get in return?"
"Survival," Kotomine said simply. "The Raven's actions have drawn attention. The JSDF is watching the docks. The police are making arrests. Without someone to shield you, your operation will collapse within a month."
"And you can shield me?"
Kotomine's smile was thin. "I can make sure the eyes looking for the Raven don't see you instead."
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine. But if you're lying—"
"I never lie," Kotomine said, and for once, it was almost true.
In the weeks that followed, Kotomine's influence spread quietly through the city's underworld. He didn't take control — not directly. That would have drawn too much attention. Instead, he positioned himself as a mediator, a broker, the man you went to when you needed a problem solved. And always, in the background, the shadow of the Raven loomed.
He heard the rumors, of course. That the Raven had been seen in Hong Kong, in Istanbul, in Johannesburg. That he was training abroad, becoming something more. Kotomine knew better than to believe all of it, but he also knew the value of letting the stories grow. The more fear the Raven inspired, the more leverage Kotomine had.
One evening, as he was locking up the church, Rin arrived. She didn't bother with pleasantries.
"You're playing a dangerous game," she said.
Kotomine raised an eyebrow. "Aren't we all?"
"You're using him," she said flatly. "Using his name, his reputation, to scare people into doing what you want."
Kotomine's smile was faint. "And you're not?"
Rin's eyes narrowed. "I'm trying to keep him alive."
"As am I," Kotomine said. "But survival requires more than hiding. It requires control. Influence. The ability to shape the battlefield before the battle begins."
"This isn't a battle," Rin said. "It's a hunt. And when he comes back—"
"When he comes back," Kotomine interrupted, "the board will be set. And he will have a place on it."
Rin stared at him for a long moment, then turned and walked away. Kotomine watched her go, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.
That night, alone in the nave, Kotomine lit a single candle and placed it on the altar. The flame flickered, casting long shadows across the walls.
He thought of the Grail War to come, of the pieces moving into place. Zouken was gone. The Matou line was broken. The Raven was abroad, sharpening his claws. And Kotomine… Kotomine was exactly where he wanted to be.
He closed his eyes, listening to the silence. Somewhere, far away, a storm was building. When it broke, he would be ready.