Kazuya passed by one of those corner convenience stores, the kind that sold everything from batteries to shady magazines behind the counter, and decided it was time to secure the evening's supplies.
He grabbed a few packs of instant udon, free-range eggs, fresh negi, and two bottles of iced coffee. Meanwhile, the old man at the register, with a face that suggested he'd seen more demons than paid bills in his life, gave a silent nod, as if he'd long accepted the inherent weirdness of the world.
Kazuya tossed the items into a bag and left, the jingle of the door echoing behind him.
The city was steeped in that eerie calm of every Japanese night, where it felt like a yokai, a vampire, or a team of magical girls could pop out of a random alley at any moment.
And guess where he was headed?
Straight to a random alley.
He slipped into one of those narrow corridors between two sketchy-looking buildings, where the smell of old oil, cheap cigarettes, and mysticism hung in the air like an invisible veil. Deep in the back, where even stray cats avoided passing, he stopped briefly, activating the Τροψα — Trofa.
The sensation hit immediately, as if someone yanked his consciousness out of his body and dragged it through dimensions where logic was negotiable, colors screamed, and space-time twisted into knots like paper ribbons.
It was damn uncomfortable, but Kazuya was used to it by now.
In less than a second, he felt his feet touch solid ground again. A polished stone floor, cold and firm.
The mansion loomed before him.
The porch lights were on.
Nothing like coming home.
Kazuya pushed the mansion's door open, the old latch creaking softly as he crossed the entrance hall with the convenience store bag swinging in his hand.
The familiar scent of polished wood, incense, and fresh coffee—probably Ishtar trying to figure out the coffee maker again—filled the air. He let out a satisfied sigh.
"I'm back!"
No immediate response. Just the muffled sound of voices coming from the living room.
He followed the noise, and when he turned the corner, he found Ereshkigal and Ishtar arguing.
"I told you that sapphire necklace looks better with a red dress! You always want to do everything your way just because you were born first!" Ereshkigal exclaimed, pointing accusingly.
"And I'm telling you that light blue with gold matches better, you underworld bonehead!" Ishtar shot back, rolling her eyes and tossing her long hair over her shoulder.
Each of them was dressed exactly as he'd expect.
Ishtar wore a dark wine-colored baby-doll dress, almost crimson, with golden details and a satin ribbon that fell carelessly over her shoulder, letting her pale skin glow under the warm living room light. Her long legs were stretched out on the sofa like she owned the world.
Ereshkigal, on the other hand, wore a pajama set of shorts and a sleeveless top in a pale cream tone, decorated with tiny skulls and symbols of Kur. Her golden hair was tied in a lazy ponytail, and even there, sulking, she managed to look like the most serious and dignified goddess of the Mesopotamian underworld.
They only noticed him when Kazuya cleared his throat, slightly raising the bag like he was showing off a prize.
"Interrupting the fashion goddess showdown to announce I brought udon and iced coffee."
It was instant. Both turned to him at the same time, like heat-seeking missiles, their annoyed expressions morphing into smiles so radiant they'd make any dating sim artist cry uncle.
"Kazuya!" Ishtar adjusted herself on the sofa, her eyes sparkling.
"You're back," Ereshkigal said, trying to keep her composure, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away.
"Right on time," Ishtar chimed in, already standing. "Tell me, who's right? Me or the grim reaper over there?"
"Tell her, Kazuya," Ereshkigal stepped closer too, arms crossed and a stubborn glint in her red eyes.
Before Kazuya could ask what they were even talking about, they continued.
"Kazuya already knows I'm right, because everyone knows red is the color of charm," Ishtar grinned with that mischievous spark in her eyes.
"You're delusional if you think that. Blue enhances the skin and aura, it's basic," Ereshkigal countered.
Kazuya tilted his head back slightly, sighing as if carrying the weight of a world of silly decisions.
"Look, if I were you, I'd wear both colors and call it a day."
Before they could press further, another sound came from the top of the stairs.
Tap, tap, tap.
Shuten-Douji descended calmly, a lazy smile on her lips, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her purple hair a mess like she'd just woken up from a hundred-year nap.
"Anata~" she called, dragging out the last syllable in a way that always made Ereshkigal and Ishtar huff.
Kazuya raised an eyebrow, a subtle smile on the corner of his lips.
"Yo, Shuten. Got udon, want some?"
"Hmm~ you know I'm not a big fan, Anata~, but I might take it if you give me a head pat later."
Ishtar huffed. "You're always trying to get the upper hand, you drunk."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ishtar-chan~"
Ereshkigal had already grabbed an iced coffee and plopped onto the sofa, still shooting side-glances at Ishtar. Ishtar crossed her arms but joined her. Shuten reached Kazuya, lightly draping herself over his shoulder.
Kazuya just smiled, set the bag on the coffee table, and sank into his favorite armchair. He leaned back, letting out a long, lazy sigh as he grabbed one of the iced coffee bottles from the bag. The clink of ice against the glass sounded like music in that space where ancient mysticism and domestic comfort coexisted in a weird harmony.
Ishtar didn't waste time. Before he could even open the bottle, the goddess had already approached with that walk that screamed she knew exactly the effect she had. Without asking, she plopped onto his lap, one leg dangling carelessly over the armrest, her arms wrapping around his neck.
"Finally, something good tonight," Ishtar smiled, her face inches from his. "I was starting to think you'd abandoned me to deal with these kids alone."
Ereshkigal grumbled from the sofa. "The kid here is you, you unhinged diva."
Kazuya laughed, resting his forehead against hers for a moment in an almost automatic gesture. He'd long gotten used to Ishtar's shameless advances and the way she treated any space like her personal territory.
"Relax, my goddess. I just went to restock after school. Don't want you all starving me to death."
"You should've bought more ice cream," Skadi's calm, velvety voice came from the kitchen, along with the sound of a spoon clinking against a glass. She appeared in view, wearing an oversized hoodie and shorts way too short for someone of Nordic royalty. "That raspberry one mysteriously vanished last night."
"If it vanished, it wasn't me!" Shuten put on an innocent face, but no one bought it.
"Of course not," Ereshkigal rolled her eyes. "You just hid five pints on the porch again."
Before anyone could respond, the sound of firm, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the stairs. And then, Scáthach appeared at the top, wearing black sweatpants and a simple tank top, her long hair tied in a high ponytail. Her pale skin and crimson eyes reflected the soft light of the hall, and for a moment, the atmosphere felt… heavier.
As it always did when the Legendary Queen of Dun Scaith showed up.
"You're all as noisy as ever…" she remarked, descending the stairs with the ease of someone who could kill everyone there before they blinked and still make everyone feel perfectly at ease in her presence.
"It's the group's charm…" Kazuya said, raising his coffee bottle in a lazy toast. "Want one? Got udon too."
Scáthach raised an eyebrow. "I'll take the coffee. I need something strong if I'm going to listen to Ishtar complain about clothes until dawn."
"I don't complain," Ishtar retorted, settling more comfortably in his lap like it was her throne. "I just demand perfection. It's Eresh's fault for being born to play the antagonist."
"You're still on about who looks better in blue or red?" Skadi huffed, flopping next to Ereshkigal on the sofa. "Everyone knows purple is the best color."
"That's your solution to everything, isn't it?" Ereshkigal crossed her arms, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. "But while I like blue, I also prefer black. It matches death, winter, and solitude."
"Yeah, it's a good color too…" Skadi added, taking another spoonful of ice cream.
Kazuya watched it all with that calm, lopsided smile, the kind of someone used to being in the eye of the hurricane and finding it amusing. He grabbed an iced coffee from the bag and tossed it to Shuten, who'd already sprawled half-lying on the armrest, her bare feet dangling over the side.
"For you, before you complain no one gives you anything."
Shuten flashed a satisfied grin, catching the bottle and scooting even closer to him.
"Anata's the only one who gets me."
"He only does it because he knows you turn into a monster when you're in a bad mood," Ishtar teased.
"And because he likes me," Shuten made sure to throw a cheeky wink at Kazuya.
Meanwhile, Scáthach took her coffee bottle and sat on the edge of the sofa near Ereshkigal.
"If you're all going to start throwing charm around, give a heads-up. That way I can leave and come back later with a spear to separate you."
"You and your grumpy big-sister act," Skadi rolled her eyes, earning a glance from her counterpart.
Kazuya let out another satisfied sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. It was in moments like these that he forgot everything: the fact that he'd been reborn into this hostile world for humans, the fact that he'd gained a mysterious unique ability, and the fact that he was incredibly powerful. It all made him feel normal… and yet, strange. He still wasn't fully used to this life. Not that he was complaining.
"So," he started, with a smirk tugging at his lips. "Is anyone going to make the udon, or are you leaving it to me?"
Ishtar was the first to jump up. "If it's up to Eresh, you'll all die poisoned."
"If it's up to you, you'll die of hunger, because the princess thinks she's too royal to use a stove," Ereshkigal shot back.
Kazuya raised a hand. "Settled. I'll cook. But whoever spills sauce on the sofa sleeps in the backyard."
"Anata~ you're a hero," Shuten sang.
"I'm someone who's hungry, that's what."
Kazuya gave a light tap on Ishtar's thigh and leaned forward, asking for passage with that usual calm smile.
"Off you go, invasive goddess. I'm heading to cook…"
Ishtar pouted but slid off his lap, lingering half a second longer than necessary, just to make it clear who was in charge—or who wanted to be, at least.
"Go, but I want my udon done right, got it?"
"I never disappoint, my goddess…" He winked at her before standing, grabbing the bag of ingredients he'd bought at the convenience store.
As the girls started wrestling over the remote on the sofa, and Skadi threatened to switch to a documentary about Viking battles, Kazuya crossed the hallway and entered the kitchen.
Inside, the lighting was soft, the marble countertop impeccably clean, and the open windows let the night air drift in, carrying the distant scent of trees.
Kazuya set the bag on the counter and began organizing everything with the precision of someone who took the craft seriously.
He lit the stove, tossed the dashi broth into the pot, and as the steam began to rise, he chopped the green onions, separated the eggs, and arranged the sides. Shrimp tempura, fried tofu, narutomaki. Everything meticulously prepared.
If any of those girls dared say they preferred cup noodles after this, he'd personally toss them onto the porch.
The savory aroma started spreading through the room, and he allowed himself a moment to lean against the sink, watching his reflection in the window glass. His own face, half-obscured by the warm kitchen light, showed that relaxed air he only managed when no one was around.
Kazuya let out a low chuckle.
"Tch… crazy world…" he murmured to himself, recalling how his life had turned upside down in the past week.
But what bothered him was that he still didn't know what to do in this world. Though he'd set his goal to prevent humanity from being mere cattle in the eyes of supernatural beings, he hadn't done much to fulfill that purpose he'd created. Maybe he was wasting time at school? Sure, part of him liked that normalcy, but was that all?
Maybe it was time to create his own "Chaldea" in this world?
He was wasting time at school, that was a fact.
And it's not like he needed to study to have a better life. He was no longer an orphan raised abroad who got a study opportunity in Japan, thanks to that red-haired man who wanted to use him as a slave for Rias. He was rich and powerful now.
A sigh escaped his lips.
What should he do?
He felt somewhat lost.
Setting a lofty purpose for himself—was that really the right idea? Living carefree alongside women who loved him for a "past life" he remembered through his unique ability—was that really what he should be doing? Should he be selfish and accept it all? Move forward and bring all supernatural beings to their knees, showing what a human could achieve? So many doubts swirled in his mind…
He'd dreamed of a life like this many times. In his past life, he was a bit delusional, considering all this, but it was his only escape from that horrible life. Yet living this "dream" was far different from what he'd imagined. Obviously, it was simple—just accept what the universe had handed him on a silver platter. But as a mere human, he had to complicate everything.
Though he'd accepted his life as [Ritsuka Fujimaru] and even regretted not accepting it sooner to fully embrace the maximum affection his Servants had for him, there was still a bit of reluctance in his heart. It felt like his Servants hadn't fallen for *him*… Sure, it could be considered "too much drama," since the mods he'd installed in [Ritsuka Fujimaru]'s journey had a touch of his own personality or who he wanted to be. So, from that perspective, did they fall for him? That doubt lingered heavily in his mind.
He didn't need to be a genius to know it stemmed from his own self-devaluation, from not seeing himself as worthy, due to everything that happened in his first life—a reflection of his flaws that insisted on following him even in this world.
But he didn't want to let that trap him in doubts and uncertainties forever. So, after some thought, he decided to first formulate a series of goals to achieve in the coming months of his new life. It was a good start…
It had been a week since he was reborn in this world. Burying his head in a routine and going with the flow, as he always did when lost, no longer made sense.
If he remembered correctly, there was a Sacred Gear perfect for a Gacha Player, the [Telos Karma], which had power over probabilities. It'd be perfect if he could get his hands on it! Imagining manipulating the odds of obtaining a Noble Phantasm or even summoning a Servant he liked? That got him excited, so he set it as one of his goals.
Another was to train and get stronger.
He didn't want to rely on the [Fate Gacha] for everything, though ironically, everything he had came from it—his Mystic Eyes, Magecraft, True Magic, Noble Phantasm, Reality Marble, even his near-infinite money… Ironic, right? The only exception was his [Longinus], which wasn't exactly his but belonged to the previous owner of his body, and that bothered him. He wasn't the type to like getting everything handed to him without working hard for it.
But he wouldn't exactly refuse what he'd been given…
…He just wanted to earn what he'd received.
Speaking of which, he had another goal to work on: trying to live the way he wanted, not tied to his past. The hardest one of all…
Among many other goals he'd define in the coming days.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
He let the udon cook to perfection while searing the tempura in the pan with absurd dexterity. The movements were as natural as breathing. It was in that simplicity that he felt most in control of himself.
With everything ready, he plated the dishes with the perfection that would make any Michelin-starred chef bow. Steaming udon, a perfect egg in the center, fresh green onions sprinkled on top, and golden tempura pieces neatly arranged on the side.
He gave the spread a final look and smiled, satisfied.
"Showtime."
He grabbed the plates and headed back to the living room, ready to dive back into the chaos he called home.
Ishtar was the first to pounce on him, claiming her bowl like it was a trophy.
"That's what I'm talking about…" she said with a slightly smug smile. "If every mortal was like this, I might even go easier on the rest of humanity."
"Doubt it," Kazuya laughed, distributing the plates, handing Ereshkigal's with a knowing look.
"For you, my underworld goddess, not too salty, just how you like it."
Ereshkigal, blushing in that awkward way only she could, accepted the plate like it was a divine offering.
"Thank you… Kazuya. You always… always get it right."
Skadi, sitting cross-legged on the armchair like she ruled the place, took hers with a slight nod, not taking her eyes off the TV. They were showing a documentary about Antarctic animals, which interested her far more than the girls obsessed with school romance dramas.
"Hmm… this smell is worthy of a Valhalla feast. If this broth is as good as it looks, I'll admit you're useful for more than being annoying," she commented, her tone serious, but the faint smile at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
Shuten-Douji, half-sprawled on a cushion, took a sip of sake no one remembered approving and grabbed a piece of tempura with her fingers, with zero trace of etiquette.
"Kukuku… good food, good drink, and a charming master… all we need is music, and this turns into a festival."
"You're going to spill sauce on the sofa again, Shuten," Ishtar grumbled, but without real irritation.
"She'll clean it if she does," Kazuya said, before picking up his chopsticks and digging into the udon.
Ishtar huffed but gave a smile and attacked her own plate.
The night went on like that—light conversation, jokes, jabs, and banter only a group used to wars and catastrophes could have in moments of peace.
Sometime after ten, when the movie session had devolved into a debate with multiple opinions, Scáthach stood up.
"Kazuya. Dojo. Now."
Her tone was neutral but left no room for argument. The other girls grumbled, but they knew intervening was pointless.
"Man, I barely finished my sake," he commented, standing with that half-lazy smile. "But alright, let's go."
Ishtar gave a wink. "Come back alive, yeah."
"If I don't, you get the remote," he joked, heading down the hallway.
In the dojo, the immaculate wooden floor reflected the soft light. Scáthach was already in the center, without her spear, wearing simple training clothes, but still exuding the aura of someone who'd killed gods before breakfast.
"You're getting too soft," she said, starting to stretch. "If you're going to live in this world, you need to be ready. And I'll make sure of it."
Kazuya rolled his neck, loosening his shoulders.
"Relax, Shishou. I can handle it."
"We'll see."
The training started light—or at least what passed for "light" by her standards. Precise attacks, millisecond dodges, strikes designed to break bones if they landed. But Kazuya kept up easily, thanks to several factors: his superior physical attributes, skills inherited from Senju Muramasa and even Karna, though he avoided relying on them, wanting to refine his own fighting style. He found it came almost reflexively.
Beyond combat, he focused heavily on training with his [Longinus]. When he explained it to Scáthach, who was mildly surprised by its capabilities, she helped him improve through tips that lived up to her reputation as a teacher of heroes. Though he was only in the early stages, it was a great start.
The training stretched until nearly eleven at night, when Scáthach decided to call it for now, leading him back into the mansion…