A sharp gasp tore through Souta's throat as he jolted awake, his body drenched in cold sweat. His vision was hazy, his breath ragged as his heart pounded violently in his chest. The remnants of the void still clung to his senses—the weightlessness, the suffocating darkness, the strange glow—but now, he was somewhere real.
He lay in a futon, the scent of tatami mats filling his nostrils. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—wooden beams supporting a traditional Japanese-style roof. A soft morning light seeped through the shoji doors to his left, casting long, delicate shadows on the floor. The air felt crisp, and for a moment, he could hear the distant hum of the city outside.
"This… isn't my room," he murmured, his voice hoarse. He sat up slowly, his mind still foggy. His body felt normal, but something was undeniably wrong. Everything was too real for a dream, yet too unfamiliar for reality.
Then, the headache hit.
Souta groaned as a torrent of memories surged into his mind—memories of a life he had never lived. He clutched his head as visions of childhood flashed before his eyes. An orphanage. A small, quiet home. Meetings with lawyers. Bank transactions. A substantial inheritance left by unknown parents, granting him financial independence. The memories settled in his mind as if they had always been there, but he knew they weren't his. It was as if someone had rewritten his past, replacing his real life with this fabricated existence.
He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, grounding himself in the present. He was in a house in Fuyuki City. Fuyuki City. The name sent a shiver down his spine.
No way… This can't be real.
But everything pointed to the truth—he was in the world of Fate/Zero.
His stomach twisted as the implications hit him like a freight train. The Fourth Holy Grail War is going to start soon. The war where almost everyone dies.
He stood up, his legs slightly unsteady as he walked toward a nearby mirror. The face staring back at him was still his, but subtly different—his features sharper, his body leaner, more accustomed to movement and activity than his previous self, who spent most of his time indoors. His mind still screamed that this was impossible, but the weight of the memories told him otherwise. This was his life now.
"Okay… okay… I need to think." He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to focus. What do I know? The Holy Grail War would be starting within weeks, maybe even sooner. The city would become a battlefield between Servants and Masters, most of whom far outclassed him in terms of skill, knowledge, and resources. If I don't do something, I'll get caught in the crossfire.
Panic bubbled in his chest, but he suppressed it. I need information. I need a plan. His eyes drifted to a desk in the corner of the room, where a set of papers was neatly stacked. Walking over, he scanned them quickly—bank statements, property records, utility bills. His financial situation was secure. The inheritance ensured that he wouldn't need to worry about money, at least not in the short term. That was one advantage.
But money wouldn't save him from a Noble Phantasm to the face.
His mind raced, considering the possible dangers. The Masters in this war weren't ordinary magi—they were killers, manipulators, or worse. Kiritsugu Emiya, the Magus Killer. Kotomine Kirei, the empty priest. Tohsaka Tokiomi, an experienced mage with too much faith in his own control. And the Servants—Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, could annihilate him in an instant if he attracted his attention. Even Waver, the most inexperienced Master, had Iskandar at his side, a force of nature in battle.
He clenched his fists. I can't let myself be dragged into this war blindly. I need to be proactive. I need to be careful.
Stepping away from the desk, he moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The city stretched before him—peaceful, normal, utterly oblivious to the bloodshed that would soon stain its streets. He clenched his fists. If I want to survive, I need to be smart. I need to stay hidden, stay ahead.
A thought flickered in his mind. And if I play my cards right… maybe I can change things.
But first, he had to figure out what his place was in this war.
He glanced at the papers again. The name written on them wasn't 'Souta Fujimura.' It was a different name, one that felt foreign yet familiar.
He wasn't just dropped into the war—he had been given an identity in this world. And that meant something was expected of him.
Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly. First step: gather information. Second step: figure out my role. Third step… stay alive.
Simple in theory. Nearly impossible in practice.
But he had no choice.
The Holy Grail War was coming.
And he was already caught in its grasp.