Death. A simple word, yet a concept layered in contradiction.
In the framework of Abrahamic belief, the soul is eternal—judged and sent to either Heaven or Hell. In such theology, death is not an end, but a passage. The body perishes, yet the soul persists, untouched by decay.
However, in this world—in the system governed by the Throne of Heroes, Root, and Akasha—such permanence is a lie.
The soul is not immutable. It is a phenomenon composed of records, spiritual weight, and accumulated information—no more divine than a complex magecraft formula. And eventually, that record cannot sustain itself.
All souls, no matter how powerful, will begin to erode.
Over time, the individuality that defines a person begins to fade. Memories become static noise. Emotions lose their shape. Identity flattens—compressed and broken down into pure information.
And when nothing remains but pure data, the soul is finally returned to the Akashic Record—the Root.
That is why our boy—the protagonist of this story—cannot truly die, no matter what destroy the future embodiment of his Noble Phantasm.
"HAAAH————!"
The scream tears from his throat—Only to be replaced by a choking gasp.
He crashes down from above, coughing violently as his body slams into the unforgiving ground. His hand slaps against it, stopping his fall.
"Wh—what the hell...?"
Blood spills from his mouth. His chest tightens.
It feels like something has been forcefully implanted inside him—something that doesn't belong.
His blurred vision catches the surface before him.Cold. Grey. Rough.
Concrete.
(That's… weird.)
The last thing he remembered—his Reality Marble was a desert of swords, not this lifeless, urban floor.
His eyes remain locked on the unfamiliar world beneath him, confusion and dread creeping up his spine.
Where is he now?
"Emiya, a-are you okay?"
A voice. Female. Distant—filtered, almost—as if spoken through glass and fog. But still clear enough to be heard.
"Who—?"
Shirou lifts his head slowly, his body still aching, pain pulsing through his limbs like aftershocks. (What the hell...?) He clenches his teeth, holding in what pain remains.
A figure stands before him.
A schoolgirl.
She has loose, shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair that sways slightly in the breeze. The sun frames her silhouette like something out of a different reality.
But that's not what throws him off.
No. The biggest question in his mind isn't who she is.
It's—
Why the hell is there a schoolgirl standing in front of me?In a place where there should only be swords and ruin.
Shirou looked around.
(Huh?)
It was… a classroom.
A cold sweat formed on his forehead.
Why the hell am I in a classroom?One he didn't recognize.With people he definitely didn't know.
"Hey, isn't that the introvert guy? He's... bleeding from his mouth!"
"Teacher! I don't think Emiya's okay!"
Shirou looked at the teacher.
"Well, that's not good, is it?" the teacher muttered, almost too casually.
"Sorry—I need to go!"
Without waiting, Shirou sprinted out of the classroom.
"Emiyachi, WAIT!" the girl shouted after him.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
He had to run.He needed space to think.His mind was already on the verge of collapsing.
He passed through classrooms, down hallways, and stairwells—until he finally exited the school building.
It was strange.
His body moved on its own, as if it knew the layout of this place.Muscle memory. Guiding him, pushing him forward.
Before he even realized it, he are standing in front of... his house.
Or so he thought.
The path leading there felt off—familiar, yet different in subtle ways.(Is this really it?) he wondered, uneasy.
Something wasn't right.
Though without a doubt, it was the Emiya residence—the home left behind by his late adoptive father. The traditional Japanese wooden architecture… everything was exactly the same.
"I... I'm home," Shirou said quietly.There was a chance Taiga might be here.
She had her own place, sure—but she often came over for dinner, keeping him company like always.
He looked through every part of the house—the bathroom, the extra rooms—everything was exactly the same.
Finally, he sat down in the living room.
The situation was utterly surreal.
Ryuudou Temple… the Grail... everything that had happened—And now this.
"What happened to the others?" he muttered.
Saber. Tohsaka.He had to find a way to contact them—somehow.
"Maybe I need to take a shower or something," Shirou muttered as he stood up and walked toward the bathroom.
…
He opened the bathroom door.
…
His eyes widened.
(A–a girl?!)
She had medium-length black hair, with a single ahoge standing straight from the top of her head. A towel was wrapped around her body—barely enough to cover her.
Their eyes met.
For a brief moment, time froze.
Her face slowly turned bright red.
"Onii-chan, you idiot!"
Without hesitation, she hurled a chair straight at him.
Shirou instinctively dodged.
(Wait—why was there a chair in the bathroom?!)
And wait a damn minute—When the hell did I become an Onii-chan?!That exact thought echoed in his mind as he ducked behind the door.
"Who are you?!" Shirou shouted, peeking back into the bathroom—
Just in time for another chair to come flying at his head.
(How is there a second chair?!)
Where were these chairs even coming from?
This made absolutely no sense.
"Onii-chan! Seriously?! Peeking on your adorable little sister while she's in the bathroom?!"She huffed, face red and towel clutched tight. "Do you have a death wish or just no standards?!"
Shirou flinched. "Wait, stop! I didn't mean to—"
Before he could finish, she raised a plastic chair like a boss-battle NPC.
"I knew it. You're officially hopeless. Is this your youth? Because it's tragic."
"I'm actually asking you—who the hell even are you?!"** Shirou shouted, ducking as the chair narrowly missed.
"What kind of big brother forgets his own cute little sister?!" she scolded, hands on hips and still wrapped in her towel. "Unforgivable!"
Shirou opened his mouth to reply, still utterly lost.
"ZERO Komachi points for you!" she declared, stabbing a finger in his direction like she'd just passed divine judgment.
Shirou blinked. "What... Komachi points...? What are those?!"
"The only score that matters in this household!" she huffed. "And right now, you're bankrupt!"
A sharp pain flared in his chest the moment he heard the word.
(That's... weird.)
Was it just the aftershock of pushing himself too far in the fight against Gilgamesh?Or… was it because of that word?
"Say that again?" Shirou asked, his voice low, uncertain.
The girl gave him a confused look."Zero... Komachi points?"
The pain struck again—sharper this time, like a blade digging into his chest.
His breath hitched.
(Why...? Why does that hurt? That name—no, that phrase—what is it...?)
The girl looked at him closely, her expression shifting from annoyance to concern.
"Oni-chan… why is there blood on your mouth?!"
Shirou blinked, touched the corner of his lips, and stared at the red smear on his fingertips.
"Ah... right. This."He had nearly forgotten.
Then it hit him — pain.
A forceful surge, like memories being shoved into his mind.
For some, this might seem like a typical isekai situation. But the soul doesn't work like that.Memories can't just be inserted by force — not truly. They can only be gained naturally, as an extension of the soul itself.
So whatever was happening to Shirou...It was something far stranger. Far more unnatural.
"Ah," he muttered. "Now it makes sense."
The memories were vivid—too vivid to be fake. And now, he understood.
He must be in an alternate timeline… or something like that.
In this version of events, the Fourth Holy Grail War happened in Germany. Kiritsugu found him there, just as before, when he was only seven years old.
He lived with Kiritsugu for a while, just like in his original timeline. But after Kiritsugu's death… something changed.
He was adopted by the Hikigaya family.
And now—somehow—he was the older brother of this very cute little sister who, for some reason, kept calling him "Onii-chan" like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Ah, right, right. Sorry, Komachi, for barging in," Shirou said, trying to play it off with an awkward chuckle. "The teacher told me I could go home to take a rest."
He lied as he took a slow breath.
There was no way he could tell her the full truth—because that would be more absurd than a flying pig.
"oni-chan, you arent dying are you?"
"Of course, I'm fine. Don't worry about it, Komachi," he said, unsure how to even respond to his non-biological sister.
Seems like his situation arent as simple as he thought it be.