Next, Stelle pulled out a weekly manga magazine, more than half-soaked in sewage and with a tattered cover, from beneath a pile of coffee grounds and cigarette butts.
"'Weekly Shonen'... a vessel of hot-blooded passion, ultimately keeping company with caffeine residue and nicotine traces. This is the inevitable fate of spiritual food after materialization—an interesting metaphor for degradation."
Kirei Kotomine's brow twitched.
Then, from deeper within, Stelle pulled out a single knitted glove with a hole in it and half of a broken plastic toy sword.
"A lonely guardian of warmth and a broken hero's dream. Abandoned together. Perhaps their owner experienced the growing pains of maturity, or perhaps they were simply lost. But their coexistence forms a silent allegory of growth."
Kirei Kotomine found himself involuntarily following Stelle's commentary, interpreting the...'stories' these scraps might carry?
This act of forcibly imbuing meaningless objects with meaning was utterly absurd, yet it possessed a strange allure.
It was just like the twisted curiosity he felt when watching others struggle in pain.
Finally, from the bottom of the bin, Stelle solemnly took out one last item—a limp object that looked like the remains of a stuffed rabbit, so dirty its original color was unrecognizable, with only one ear left and a button eye missing.
She held this bundle of trash in both hands and turned to face Kirei Kotomine, her golden eyes seemingly filled with light.
"Look,"
Her voice carried the solemnity of someone discovering a supreme treasure. "The ultimate form of a childhood phantom. Worn, incomplete, yet it exists here. Its journey reaches its end here, or rather, a certain stage. Only by exploring this far Can one understand that what the container holds is not just discarded items, but a monument where countless trajectories converge. Every discovery is a small tribute to such a trajectory."
Kirei Kotomine fell completely silent.
He looked at the unsightly lump in Stelle's hands, then at her face, which held no hint of a joke, only pure earnestness.
Reason told him this was all nonsense, a forced association.
But something deeper—that sense of emptiness that could never find stable satisfaction through common sense, faith, or the pain of others—was lightly tickled by this absurd philosophy.
(Meaningless actions... forcibly given complex explanations... the process itself enshrined as a golden rule...)
(Is this not another form of...)
He suddenly took a few steps forward, no longer satisfied with being a mere bystander.
On the other side of the alley, there was another, slightly cleaner blue trash Can.
"Then,"
Kirei Kotomine spoke, his voice still flat, but with a slight ripple if one listened closely. "What will... this container hold?"
Stelle looked at him, then at the blue bin, and nodded as if praising a student's initiative.
"Practice is the only way to test possibilities."
She said, "Do you need gloves? I have extras."
Kirei Kotomine shook his head and reached out directly, somewhat stiffly lifting the lid of the blue trash Can.
A faint but undeniable odor wafted toward him.
He frowned slightly but did not back down.
Imitating Stelle's manner, he began to rummage.
First were a few empty Cans, then crumpled advertising flyers.
His movements were clumsy, devoid of any aesthetic grace.
Stelle observed from the side, offering timely 'guidance': "No need to be impatient. Feel the difference in texture upon contact. Pay attention to the layers; the surface is often straightforward, while the depths require patience."
Kirei Kotomine slowed his movements.
He felt something soft and wet, and when he pulled it out, it was half a waterlogged, smelly sock.
"...This, a remnant of a guardian of warmth?"
He subconsciously tried to apply Stelle's 'theory'.
"It Can be interpreted that way,"
Stelle nodded, "but it could also be an accidental leftover of a hurried daily life. The point is the moment you establish a connection with it upon discovery."
Kirei Kotomine threw the half-sock aside and continued downward.
His fingers touched a hard object. He pulled it out; it was a rusty but uniquely shaped old keychain with a blurry little dog figure attached to it.
"A companion to keys, a symbol guarding the portal. Rust signifies being replaced, being forgotten. A tiny remnant of loyalty."
He murmured, not even realizing he was attempting an interpretation.
As the rummaging continued, a strange emotion began to sprout in his habitually hollow chest.
It wasn't pleasure, nor was it pain, but a kind of... curiosity toward the unknown, and a fleeting illusion of having grasped something real when 'interpreting' 'meaning' according to some absurd rule.
Just like when watching others' pain, a momentary sense of existence was confirmed, only this time the fuel had changed from others' suffering to the scraps in a trash Can.
He even began to actively predict: "Under this pile of newspapers... could there be the corpses of information?"
He flipped them over, and sure enough, there was more waste paper and fruit peels.
"Beside this bag of kitchen waste... perhaps the final form of daily consumption is hidden?"
He dug through and found a broken plastic hair clip.
Every discovery, no matter how insignificant or even disgusting, seemed to take on a halo of plausible meaning under the lens of that forcibly operating 'Trash Can Philosophy'.
Kirei Kotomine's expression still didn't change much, but his rummaging became smoother and smoother, even taking on a hint of focus.
Stelle watched from the side with her arms crossed, occasionally nodding like a teacher watching a student hit their stride.
Before they knew it, the angle of the sunlight had shifted.
Kirei Kotomine finally stopped. His hands were stained with some grime, but he didn't seem to care.
He looked at the mess around the trash Can he had explored, then at the results he had just unearthed—a few pieces of worthless junk.
However, his heart did not immediately sink into a deeper void after the action ended, as it usually did.
Instead, there was a subtle sense of fulfillment... of having done something, experienced something, though the feeling was fleeting, like an illusion.
He looked at Stelle.
Stelle looked back at him, then began to methodically take off her gloves, fold them carefully, and put them back into her small bag.
"That's about enough."
Stelle said, "Exploration must be done in moderation; overdoing it loses the freshness of discovery. Leave the remaining possibilities for next time, or for other 'Trailblazers'."
Kirei Kotomine nodded silently.
He looked at Stelle's calm, expressionless face, remembering her absurd yet strangely self-consistent remarks, and his own brief, bizarre state of immersion.
This girl... He suddenly took a step back, hands at his sides, and gave Stelle an extremely formal—bow.
"Thank you very much."
Kirei Kotomine's voice still had no ups or downs, but his wording was eerily solemn. "Your... guidance has given me... a new understanding."
He straightened up, his hollow eyes staring at Stelle, saying word for word:
"...Sensei."
Stelle: "...?"
But she quickly regained her composure and nodded indifferently, accepting the title.
She thought for a moment, fished a small pebble she had picked up at some point from her pocket, and handed it to Kirei Kotomine.
"A souvenir," she said succinctly.
Kirei Kotomine solemnly took the cold little pebble with both hands, as if receiving a holy relic.
He looked at the pebble, then at Stelle, and bowed again: "I will preserve it properly, Sensei."
"Mm."
She gave a response and then turned, walking toward the other end of the alley to find the next container radiating the light of possibility, leaving Kirei Kotomine standing alone, lost in thought before the two ransacked trash Cans.
The winter wind blew through the alley, kicking up a few scraps of waste paper.
Kirei Kotomine raised his hand and looked again at the stone in his palm and the slight stain on his fingertips. Deep within those hollow eyes, something indescribable seemed to have been gently stirred.
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