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Reborn in Type-Moon: Starting by Adopting Sakura - Chapter 31
🕑 Added 2025-08-01 07:24:26 +0000 UTCKirei held the silver case in his lap, feeling its weight. Tokiomi had given it to him just hours ago—a relic, the kind of ancient artifact that would serve as an anchor for summoning a Heroic Spirit. The fact that his mentor had entrusted him with it meant something. Trust, maybe. Or just necessity.
The Holy Grail War was coming. Legendary figures from history would be dragged back into the world to fight each other all over again. And this case held the key to calling one of them.
The bus lurched as it pulled away from the stop at the bottom of the hill. Kirei had chosen a seat halfway back, and now he sat alone with maybe three other passengers scattered throughout the nearly empty vehicle. The case felt warm against his thighs.
A Holy Grail that could grant any wish. That's what they said, anyway.
Kirei stared out the window at the passing streetlights and wondered what he would even ask for. He'd been turning the question over in his mind for days now, digging deeper each time, but he kept coming up empty. Other people seemed to overflow with wants—money, love, power, revenge. But when he looked inside himself, he found... nothing. Just a hollow space where desires should have been.
Nobody had ever understood that about him. The emptiness. Not his father, not his teachers at the church, not even—
His head started to pound.
Claudia. Even thinking her name made his vision blur around the edges. Every time he tried to remember her clearly—really remember her, it was like walking into a wall of static. His mind would simply refuse to go there, pulling him back before he could see too much.
After she died, he'd thrown himself into Executor training. Brutal, punishing work that left no room for thought. He'd also started learning healing magecraft, telling himself it was practical, necessary for his new role.
But if he was being honest—and Kirei tried to be honest, at least with himself—he wasn't sure that was the real reason. Had he learned to heal because of Claudia? Or was there something else, something darker driving him?
The case slipped slightly as his grip loosened. Despite years of rigid self-control, exhaustion was winning. His eyelids grew heavy.
The bus jolted to a stop, and Kirei jerked awake. Through the windows, he could see a small group of children climbing aboard—elementary school kids in matching t-shirts, probably heading back from some summer camp activity. Their chatter filled the previously quiet space as they argued over who got to sit where.
…
One hour earlier— Fuyuki Station.
The tour bus wheezed to a stop under a sky so blue it almost hurt to look at. Mrs. Matsushima stepped down first, clutching her little flag like it might save her from what was coming next.
Summer camp. Three days of hell disguised as educational opportunity.
"Kana Murasaki!"
"Here!" came the bright response.
"Yuki Matsukita!"
"Present!"
"Keita Minato!"
"Shit, it's already like a furnace out here!"
Mrs. Matsushima bit back her automatic correction about language. Pick your battles, she reminded herself. She had bigger problems than a kid saying "Shit" in the heat.
"Alright, everyone," she called out, raising her voice over the chatter. "We're heading to the inn now. You can rest up this morning, but I want to see every single one of you in front of the building at two o'clock. Not two-oh-one. Two o'clock."
"Yes Sensei!" The chorus of voices rang out, some enthusiastic, others already bored.
"And remember—no wandering off by yourselves during this trip. I mean it."
She held the flag a little higher, like a battle standard. The black stockings she'd chosen this morning suddenly felt like a mistake. They'd seemed professional when she'd pulled them on in her apartment, but now, under the unforgiving summer sun with a pack of hormonal kids, they felt like a target.
Sure enough, she caught sight of them in her peripheral vision. The five boys who made her question every career choice she'd ever made. They were huddled together near the back of the group, heads bent in conspiracy, voices low but not nearly low enough.
"Dude, check out Mrs. Matsushima's legs," one of them whispered. She couldn't see which one without turning around completely, but she'd bet money it was Keita. It was always Keita.
"Those stockings are seriously hot," another one chimed in.
"I wonder if they go all the way up," came a third voice, and Mrs. Matsushima felt her jaw clench.
They were just kids—and already talking like the worst kind of men she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter.
"I bet if you touched them, they'd feel so good—"
"That's enough!" The words burst out of her before she could stop them, her face burning with embarrassment and fury. "Stop that whispering right now!"
The boys looked up with expressions of pure innocence that fooled absolutely no one.
"What?" Keita had the audacity to look confused. "We weren't doing anything wrong, Sensei. You're the one who dressed up all fancy. Kinda seems like you want people to notice."
A few of the other students giggled. Mrs. Matsushima felt something cold settle in her stomach.
"Yeah," another boy jumped in, emboldened by the reaction. "I bet you even coordinated your underwear to match."
The laughter came from the five troublemakers, sharp and loud in the silence. The rest of the kids glanced around nervously, shifting in place, and Mrs. Matsushima could only watch as her authority crumbled in real time.
Her face went white. Not red with anger—white with the kind of rage that comes when you realize how completely powerless you are.
One more year. Just one more year until these little monsters graduated and became someone else's problem. She could survive anything for one more year, couldn't she?
But standing there in the summer heat, listening to the kids discuss her body like she was some kind of object put there for their entertainment, she wasn't sure she believed it anymore.
These weren't just curious kids being inappropriate. There was something darker there, something that made her skin crawl. She could already see the men they were going to become, and it terrified her.
She turned and started walking toward the inn, her heels clicking against the pavement. What else could she do? Hit them? She'd lose her job. Scream at them? Their parents would be calling the principal before dinner.
So she walked, and behind her, she could hear them still snickering, still whispering, still treating her like she was less than human.
Just one more year.
