By the time they were ready to leave, Shirou had locked himself in his room under the noble excuse of changing out of his school uniform. Alone.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he exhaled like he'd just survived a warzone.
"Just clothes," he muttered to himself as he changed into a plain black T-shirt and a zip-up hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. "They were just changing clothes. They're technically warriors. Modesty probably wasn't a thing back then. Or ever. Still."
He splashed water on his face, stared into the mirror… and still looked faintly pink.
By the time he stepped out, the others were gathered by the front gate of the Emiya estate, looking suspiciously not sorry.
.
The walk to the mall was… crowded.
Not because of foot traffic. But because the eight of them walking in a loose formation looked like something out of a fantasy-action promotional poster: tall, striking, absurdly attractive, and absolutely radiating aura—even if they were trying not to.
Florence looked elegant and commanding in her simple uniform, a buttoned trench coat on top of it to make it look more casual. Sigurd walked with a perfect posture. Karna's white hoodie still looked like it had been divinely tailored, like Arjuna's black one did, too. Yan Qing had already half-unbuttoned his shirt. Achilles was bouncing with energy like he was born for modern fashion.
Romani, smiling like he belonged, looked like a visiting university professor. And then there was Shirou—hood pulled halfway over his face, still faintly red.
"Cheer up, Lust-chan," Achilles called, elbowing him lightly. "We're going to get you desensitized to handsome men one shopping trip at a time."
"I'm not the one who needs shopping."
"You sure? I feel like your hoodie's clinging to you out of trauma."
Florence added helpfully, "His temperature is still elevated."
"That's because you're talking about it!"
A small group of girls on the other side of the street paused to stare.
Yan Qing leaned over. "We're being watched."
"We've been watched since we left the gate," Arjuna said flatly.
Romani gave a breezy smile. "You summoned seven mythological head-turners. This was always going to happen."
Sigurd muttered, "Should we have taken a more discreet path?"
"We're going to a mall," Shirou grumbled. "There's no discreet."
As they neared the main entrance—towering glass panels gleaming in the sun, automatic doors sliding open—Florence, ever prepared, adjusted her coat and looked over her shoulder.
"Everyone remember: no magical experiments, no public summoning, and no stripping in the changing booths."
Achilles raised a hand. "That last one feels targeted."
"It is."
Yan Qing smiled innocently. "Define stripping."
Florence didn't even dignify it with a response as the mall's cool air rushed to greet them as the doors opened, a welcome contrast to the sun outside.
"Okay," Shirou muttered, hands in his pockets. "Let's get you all something modern to wear before I lose the last of my social reputation."
"Too late," Romani whispered with a grin.
"I HEARD THAT."
.
As they stepped into the store, the smell of new fabric, cologne samples, and low synth music washed over them. Racks lined with trendy shirts, jackets, and jeans filled the floor.
Florence looked around like she was mentally inventorying the building's evacuation routes. Shirou muttered under his breath, already preparing to apologize to the first employee who made eye contact.
Achilles was the first to dive in. "Alright, alright—everyone scatter. Let's get dressed like normal people."
Florence shot him a look. "Don't stray more than fifty meters."
Achilles tossed her a salute. "Got it, Mom."
Five minutes into their browsing, Shirou was already juggling three neatly folded shirts, a package of socks Karna deemed "texturally adequate," and a growing sense of dread. Then he heard it:
Riiiiip.
Shirou's head snapped up. "Oh no."
He rounded the corner of a display shelf—and froze.
Achilles stood shirtless, practically glowing under the store's LED lighting. His abs gleamed like marble, and he was holding a fitted, neon-orange tee up to his chest, squinting at his reflection. The torn remnants of a different shirt lay nearby.
"...Achilles."
The demigod glanced over, perfectly at ease. "Oh hey, Shirou. You think this color's too loud?"
"You're naked. In a mall. In front of a mirror."
"It's just the top," Achilles replied, confused. "You said we needed to try things on."
"There are changing rooms," Shirou hissed, practically vibrating with horror. "That's what those curtains are for!"
Achilles waved him off. "The lighting's better out here."
Several teenage girls across the aisle giggled loudly, whispering behind their phones.
Florence, emerging from the far aisle, took one look and said flatly, "At least he's symmetrical."
"Florence, please."
Achilles tugged on the shirt he'd been eyeing—and promptly winced.
"Ugh. Tight in the front," he muttered, pulling at the hem. "Not a fan."
Shirou made a strangled noise, face flushing bright red. "WH—WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT OUT LOUD?!"
"It's relevant to the fit!"
"You're—just—here!"
"I'm not ashamed of my body," Achilles said, beaming. "Shouldn't be, really."
At this point, an employee appeared in the distance and then wisely retreated when she recognized Shirou's expression.
Shirou dove into a clearance bin, yanked out a pair of loose-fit shirt, and hurled them into Achilles's chest.
"COVER YOURSELF. IN THE NAME OF SANITY."
Achilles caught the pants midair and inspected them. "Oooh, these are breezy. Thanks, Lust-chan."
"STOP. CALLING. ME. THAT."
Someone nearby dropped their phone.
"Lust-chan's losing it again," Romani whispered to Yan Qing from behind a clothing rack.
"Like a kettle on a stove," Yan Qing agreed, sipping his complimentary water before walking away.
Shirou hadn't even realized Yan Qing was missing until Florence said, "Where's the thief?"
Ten minutes later, Shirou found him. One moment he was asking about sleeve length. The next, poof—gone like smoke. Shirou checked behind two racks, peeked around a row of discount scarves, and was debating whether to call mall security when a voice drifted over from behind a fitting booth curtain.
"Looking for someone?"
Shirou turned and blinked.
Yan Qing stepped out, already fully dressed in what looked like a custom ensemble: sleek, dark trousers with silver seams, a deep green patterned shirt (half unbuttoned, naturally), and a slim dark coat he hadn't even brought to the fitting room.
His hair was pulled slightly back, his collar popped just enough to suggest "fashionably disreputable."
Shirou gawked. "Where—how—when did you change?!"
Yan Qing shrugged smoothly, hands in his pockets. "I found a staff hallway. Fewer people. Better acoustics. Less fluorescent buzz."
"You're not supposed to be back there!"
"Shirou, I'm an Assassin. I thrive in backstage environments."
Florence, who had followed the sound of voices, raised an eyebrow. "You realize that's illegal."
"Only if you're caught," he replied with a wink.
Shirou looked like he was this close to dropping to his knees. "Please. Just go to a changing booth next time."
Yan Qing leaned closer, his grin sharp and gleaming. "You're lucky your Sin isn't Wrath, Lust-chan."
"I will set your pants on fire."
Yan Qing spread his arms. "Too late. Already hot."
Romani choked on his water somewhere in the background.
He spun once on his heel, striking a pose in front of a mirror. "How do I look?"
Shirou sighed. "Like you belong on a runway. Or a wanted poster."
Yan Qing winked. "Both are valid."
Romani, walking by with a hoodie that still had the tag hanging, gave him a slow clap. "The phantom thief reinvents himself again. Truly, you live for this."
Yan Qing grinned. "I was built for flair."
Shirou just muttered, "I was built for suffering," as he trudged off to stop Achilles from posing shirtless again near the women's section mannequins.
.
Sigurd approached the mirror like he was preparing for a duel.
He stepped out of the changing booth—thankfully fully dressed—wearing a black turtleneck tucked into dark gray slacks. A silver belt buckle and minimalist boots completed the look. He looked like a high-end hitman on his day off. Or a very serious violinist about to get into a bar fight.
Florence gave a curt nod of approval. "Functional. Clean lines."
Romani adjusted his glasses. "Very 'your lover was kidnapped and you're calmly executing your revenge' vibes."
Sigurd blinked. "...That is not the intended aesthetic."
Achilles grinned. "You look like you're about to scold me in four languages and then disarm me."
"That is... vaguely accurate," Sigurd admitted.
He turned toward Shirou, uncertain. "Does this say... approachable?"
"No," Shirou said without hesitation. "But you do look like someone important. Just... maybe don't wear it for informal stuff."
Yan Qing leaned in. "Do you own a sword that turns into a sniper rifle? Because this look demands one."
Sigurd looked down at the sleeves, flexed one arm experimentally. "It's oddly comfortable."
Arjuna, browsing nearby, murmured, "You look like a divorced CEO in a revenge drama."
Sigurd sighed. "I'm taking that as a compliment."
.
Karna's dressing process was… minimalistic.
He emerged wearing a plain white hoodie with the strings untied and a loose pair of heather gray sweatpants. His white hair fell gently across his forehead, and he looked utterly serene, like a monk who had reincarnated into a Nike ad.
Everyone turned.
Silence.
"You look like you're about to lead a yoga class where people ascend into godhood," Romani muttered.
Florence tilted her head. "Surprisingly fitting."
Arjuna frowned slightly. "You look like someone who's about to walk through a rainstorm just to deliver a flower to someone's grave."
"I am warm," Karna replied simply. "And unburdened."
Achilles gave him a thumbs-up. "You're comfy-core. Respect."
Yan Qing smirked. "So, you're the effortlessly cool one. Great. The bar has been raised."
Shirou stared for a second too long before shaking his head. "I thought you'd go for something more… armored?"
Karna blinked. "This is sufficient. Fabric is soft. And I enjoy the mobility."
He did a full squat to demonstrate. No creases. No resistance.
Florence watched, noting quietly, "Excellent flexibility."
Karna nodded solemnly. "I have nothing to prove."
Sigurd, still in sleek dark layers, glanced at him, then at himself. "Should I… change?"
"No," Karna replied, folding his hands into the sleeves. "We are balanced."
"I don't feel balanced," Sigurd muttered.
.
Arjuna emerged from the changing booth in quiet grace—no fanfare, no dramatic flourish. But the silence that followed as the others turned toward him was almost reverent.
He wore a crisp, high-collared mandarin shirt in deep blue, fitted perfectly against his lean frame. A tailored black vest rested over it, subtly embroidered at the edges. His dark trousers were ironed into perfection, and he'd even chosen loafers instead of boots—quiet, modern, understated.
He looked like he had stepped out of a high-fashion catalog—or possibly a royal delegation.
Florence gave a faint nod. "You look sharp."
Romani made a noise. "You look like the villain in a romantic drama who's way too charismatic and steals the lead in episode seven."
"Second male lead energy," Achilles added, sipping a soda he definitely hadn't paid for yet.
Yan Qing gave a mock bow. "I can hear the dramatic background violin music already."
Shirou blinked. "It suits you, actually."
"I chose for functionality," Arjuna replied. "These materials breathe well. And the design is... symmetrical."
"You're wearing a $400 outfit like it's temple robes," Yan Qing said, sounding vaguely offended.
"I value comfort and discipline," Arjuna replied, buttoning his sleeves with immaculate care.
"You also look like you own the mall," Florence said.
Arjuna tilted his head thoughtfully. "Should I?"
"No!" Shirou shouted.
Achilles gave a low whistle. "If I had that face and those sleeves, I'd own the mall out of spite."
"I don't do things out of spite," Arjuna replied calmly. Then paused. "Usually."
Florence and Karna exchanged a look.
.
Romani didn't go into a fitting room. He didn't even pretend to look through the racks.
Instead, he wandered over to the accessory shelf, picked up a pair of sunglasses, and put them on upside-down. "Done."
"You're not even trying," Shirou said flatly.
"I'm already dressed," Romani replied, gesturing to his familiar orange-and-white coat, open at the collar, black slacks, and loafers. "Besides, I own this look."
"You also own that exact shirt on aisle two," Florence added.
Romani glanced over his shoulder. "Ah. Yeah. I've got two."
"You don't want something different?" Shirou asked.
Romani considered this seriously. "Not really. I already know how this outfit washes."
Achilles leaned over, squinting. "You're really going to mall trip in the same outfit you died in?"
"I didn't die in this. I transcended in it," Romani corrected with a grin.
Yan Qing muttered, "Sloth."
Romani pushed his sunglasses down his nose. "Efficient."
Florence gave a soft sigh. "You are the only one who could make survival look like a vacation."
"I strive for consistency."
Shirou pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're not even buying anything."
"Oh, I am," Romani said cheerfully, holding up a pack of mints and a novelty mug that said World's Tiredest Dad.
Shirou groaned.
.
.
So, I had a month of no updating mostly because my account on AO3 was suspended because of a comment I made about a paying site that I will not mention (because apparently just mentioning the name is enough). Though I do admit that while I wrote in this free month, it wasn't much. Mostly because now that I'm in the final steps of the process of buying a house. I will sign the documents and receive the keys this Thursday so wish me luck.
Also, I'm studying at the same time I'm working. Btw, I've been promoted and got a new role since the start of this month, so yay for that! (And for the extra stress)
I'm sorry for the delay, but now I should be able to update weekly once again.
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Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS