"How cunning, Master—you're totally cheating!"
"Why do you say that?"
"Numbers, numbers! You summoned two familiars, but I only have one."
"Musashi, that's not fair. The sword servant isn't just my familiar—it's also my weapon. And aren't you fighting with two swords yourself?"
"…That… actually makes sense. But something still feels wrong about this."
Through their contract, the two exchanged words even as their blades clashed.
Miyamoto Musashi's Niten Ichiryu shone brilliantly under the blessing of the [Void] realm. Her katana carried the offense, while the kodachi guarded her defense. She could swap roles instantly, or launch both offense and defense together—a perfect, fluid dance of blades.
"Master, I won't admit defeat so easily—not when it comes to swordsmanship!"
Her eyes gleamed like rainbows, sharpened by the divine clarity of her Heavenly Eyes. She cut down the sword servant's strikes before they could even fully unfold.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each collision sent out shockwaves of compressed air, shredding nearby buildings into honeycombs of holes. The clash of sword and sword alone turned Fuyuki's mirror world into a battlefield.
The fight stretched on for tens of minutes.
As a Berserker-class Servant, Musashi's physical attributes were boosted. Yet with the [Void] sword realm suppressing her inherent madness, her technique rose instead of fraying—her strikes cleaner, sharper, stronger.
If the heart is empty, the sword is empty.
One swing answered another, one cut met another.
And yet—her Zero Slash, a strike meant to sever all connections, couldn't break through [Infinity]. The duel between Void and Infinity had no resolution.
She realized it was an endless struggle. Victory wouldn't come, and for once, she didn't choose to retreat.
[Void] is the sword of possibility.
"This won't work…"
Floating high above, Muramasa Shirou frowned. Musashi was his Servant—every ounce of mana she spent came from him. He couldn't let this drag on.
A prolonged war was meaningless.
Void and Infinity. Two supreme realms of swordsmanship. With strength so evenly matched, the outcome would never change.
"…Then let's try this."
His eyes sharpened. He reached deep into his soul—into the origin of the sword.
That primal blessing awakened. All things sword-related fell under his dominion.
At his call, the two sword servants fused into one. Empowered by the Sword Origin, they advanced beyond [Infinity] itself, shattering the balance. In an instant, Void's influence was completely nullified.
The servant's speed spiked—soaring past limits. With a brutal strike, it pierced Musashi's shoulder and sent her crashing across the battlefield.
"It hurts!"
Her sleeve was shredded, red soaking into silk. The sword-aspected mana ate at her body mercilessly.
"Master…" Musashi's voice wavered between pain and a pout, "even if I asked for a real fight, couldn't you have gone a little easier?"
But Shirou's answer was calm, almost cold:"Don't forget what you did to me when you were first summoned."
His body and pride still remembered the torment she'd put him through. Besides, she'd heal. Time magic or standard magecraft could restore her.
"The Master really holds grudges," Musashi sighed, though her lips curved. "I should've bullied him more back then. His defiant but helpless face was priceless."
Half the fun, after all, was teasing him.
She sheathed one blade and stared at the sky. "Even after reaching [Sky], I still can't call myself the strongest swordsman. Is that… good or bad, I wonder?"
It meant there was room left to grow. But it also stung—years of pursuit, and still not the peak.
This duel had been pure sword against sword. No Noble Phantasms, no gimmicks. Just pure technique.
And she knew: her Noble Phantasm wouldn't measure up against that thing Muramasa had created anyway.
"…Maybe the most terrifying one isn't you, Master. It's that blue raccoon who gave you the means to make it."
Yes. Doraemon. Cute, harmless-looking, but his strange tools bent logic itself.
"Let's go home~"
After the sparring, the two—plus cat—returned to their temporary residence. The Matou manor had been destroyed by mana leakage; now it was nothing but rubble.
Doraemon, still rummaging through his pouch, muttered about wish-making gadgets.
Meanwhile, Shirou set about healing Musashi's shoulder. She wasn't a normal Servant—her body was partly real, partly spiritual foundation. Mana alone couldn't patch her up.
Placing his hand on the wound, he focused.
"Synchronization start. Discarding concepts… repairing structures… stabilizing framework. Injecting activity… project complete."
Piece by piece, he reconstructed her form until the damage vanished.
Musashi's eyes softened. Watching his little face furrow with such seriousness stirred something in her. And then—without warning—she lunged forward, toppling him.
Pinning him down, she rubbed her face against his like a mischievous cat."You little sharp-tongued brat—time to teach you a lesson!"
Her laughter rang bright. She'd lost the duel, but her pride refused to yield.
"Cheating after losing?" Shirou deadpanned, though he didn't push her away. The faint scent of flowers, her pink hair brushing his skin—it left him strangely flustered.
Who could resist a big-sisterly hug?
Eventually, Musashi let up, wrapping him close instead. Her chin rested on his head, her chest warm against his small frame."Fine, Master. I'll admit it—for now. You're stronger than me. Take this as your reward."
She slipped a sweet dumpling into his mouth.
"…Mm. Not bad."
Without hesitation, Shirou wiped his sticky hands on her elaborate sleeves.
"Master!" she scolded, scandalized.
"What? Didn't you say Servants can auto-clean as long as they've got mana?" He smirked. Clearly teasing.
Her hand chopped his head lightly. "Two very different things. If you ever do that again, don't blame me for showing you Miyamoto Musashi's ruthless Shura side."
Shirou only chuckled. "Sorry, no next time."
His gaze fell on her outfit—resplendent red and blue, fluttering with elegance. Gorgeous, yes… but maybe too much of the same."Musashi, why not try wearing modern clothes?"
"…Oh? What kind of clothes does Master like?"
"No particular type. Just… something that fits you."
She tilted her head, amused. "Do you have time tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Good. Then you'll accompany me shopping. Since it's Master's request, refusal isn't allowed."
"As you wish."
He leaned back into her, exhaustion finally seeping in. A child's body tired quickly, especially after expending so much magic.
Just as sleep began to claim him, a voice burst through the door:
"Found it! Finally, a proper wishing tool!"
Doraemon rushed in, clutching a piece of glowing green bamboo. His round face beamed with excitement."Behold—the Starfall Wishing Rocket! Just write your wish on this slip, tie it to the rocket, and launch it. Within one year, your wish will come true!"