The six Saint Quartz felt like a disproportionate weight in Min-jun's pocket. He found Ritsuka in the common area adjacent to the cafeteria, the boy poking listlessly at a nutrient gel pack that claimed to be 'beef-flavored.'
"Fujimaru."
Ritsuka jumped, nearly dropping the pack. "Ah! Mr. Min-jun. You're up and around."
"Directive," Min-jun said, pulling the case from his pocket and opening it to reveal the six glowing crystals. "The Director has allocated initial spiritual resources. Three for you. Three for me."
Ritsuka's eyes widened. "Are those…?"
"Saint Quartz. Catalytic material for summoning. Da Vinci has reportedly finished calibrating the backup summoning chamber." Min-jun closed the case. "We have a window. Now is the optimal time to expand our operational assets."
The logic was irrefutable. Ritsuka stood up, abandoning the gel pack with visible relief. "Right. Yeah. More help would be good."
The backup summoning chamber was a smaller, more utilitarian version of the main coffins room. Wires and spiritron conduits snaked across the floor, converging on a circular platform etched with glowing lines. Da Vinci was there, humming as she tapped a final command into a holopanel.
"Perfect timing! The spiritual foundation is stable, and the Fuyuki leyline data has given us a lovely template to work with!" She beamed at them. "Who's going first? Feeling lucky?"
Min-jun extended the open case to Ritsuka. "You are the primary Master. Your operational need is greater. Use your three."
Ritsuka looked hesitant. "But… you sure? We could flip a coin or—"
"Efficiency. Summon," Min-jun stated, ending the discussion.
With a nervous gulp, Ritsuka took his three Saint Quartz. They felt warm in his palm. He stepped onto the platform, looking to Da Vinci for instruction.
"Just channel a bit of your mana into the circle and hold the intent to call forth an ally!" she encouraged. "The system will do the rest! Probably!"
Probably. Min-jun filed the qualifier away as standard genius operational risk.
Ritsuka closed his eyes, concentrating. The Quartz in his hand began to shine, their light bleeding into the etched lines of the circle. The air hummed, thickening with ozone and possibility. Min-jun observed dispassionately, running internal diagnostics on the energy spike. Standard summoning waveform initiation. Mana cohesion stable for a rookie.
A pillar of light, blue and white, erupted from the circle, forcing Ritsuka to shield his eyes. The hum rose to a crescendo.
Here it comes, Min-jun thought. Given his personality profile and the nature of this world's narrative tropes, there is a 78% probability the summoned entity will be female, likely possessing traits designed for audience appeal or to fill a tactical niche we currently lack.
The light faded.
Standing in the center of the circle, looking vaguely annoyed and already scanning the room with a critical, crimson gaze, was a man.
He was tall, clad in a distinctive black bodysuit and grey armor, a red coat draped over his shoulders. His white hair was spiked, and his tanned skin spoke of a life lived under harsh suns. The aura around him was not of majestic heroism, but of weary, pragmatic lethality.
"Servant, Archer. I ask of you, are you my Master?" The voice was flat, familiar, and dripping with a cynicism that felt earned.
Min-jun's internal diagnostic screeched to a halt. His perfectly calculated probability matrix shattered into static.
Emiya.
The Counter Guardian. The pragmatic weapon. The ideal support Servant he had just been thinking of. The one whose sheer utilitarian reliability seemed tailor-made for his own mindset.
Ritsuka had summoned him.
A wave of something utterly foreign washed through the hollow spaces inside Kim Min-jun. It wasn't anger. It wasn't even jealousy. It was a profound, cosmic sense of being personally NTR'd by fate itself. He stood perfectly still, his face the usual placid mask, but internally, he was a void screaming in silent, ridiculous frustration.
Of course. Of course he gets the functionally perfect, no-nonsense Archer. The one who cooks, cleans, snarks, and kills with equal efficiency. The one who wouldn't demand emotional labor. The one I wanted.
He watched as Ritsuka, flustered but earnest, introduced himself to Archer. He watched Archer's dismissive yet not entirely hostile assessment. It was a perfect match. A morally upright, stubbornly kind kid and his cynical, world-weary guardian. It was narratively sound. It made tactical sense.
It was utterly galling.
"Congratulations, Fujimaru-kun!" Da Vinci chirped. "A solid, versatile Servant! Archer-class is excellent for flexible combat!"
"Thanks… I think," Ritsuka said, glancing at Archer, who merely shrugged.
"One down!" Da Vinci turned her sparkling eyes to Min-jun. "Your turn, Spinner! Let's see what your unique wavelength pulls from the Throne!"
Min-jun felt the three remaining Saint Quartz in his pocket. The hopeful fantasy of a dependable, cynical ally in red was gone, incinerated by Ritsuka's luck. Now, he was stepping into pure uncertainty. The Director's warning echoed: What you can summon… it will reflect something of you.
What did he reflect? A hollow man. A walking foundation. A soul that expressed itself as a relentless, drilling spin. A person who found the concept of a maternal bond psychologically revolting.
He walked past Archer, who gave him a brief, appraising look that seemed to see a bit too much, and stepped onto the now-cooling platform. He placed his three Saint Quartz on the central focal point.
"Just focus your will!" Da Vinci said. "And maybe that spinning energy of yours! Let's see if it interacts!"
Min-jun closed his eyes. He didn't try to envision a specific hero. He thought of the need. The gap. Mash was the shield. Ritsuka and Archer could form a solid frontline. What was missing? Control? Power? Stability?
He thought of the silence after trauma. Of walls that must hold. He thought of the Spin, the endless, perfect rotation seeking a path through an obstructive world.
Unconsciously, the energy within him stirred. A soft change in the air around him, felt more than heard. The golden-pink haze of Tusk's potential flickered at the edge of perception.
The Saint Quartz on the platform ignited. But the light wasn't blue and white like Ritsuka's. It was a deep, swirling gold, shot through with streaks of vibrant pink. The lines of the summoning circle didn't just glow; they seemed to rotate, becoming a shimmering, recursive spiral.
"Whoa!" Da Vinci breathed, her fingers flying over the holopanel. "The spiritual signature is merging with the summoning matrix! This is unprecedented!"
The light exploded upward, not in a clean pillar, but in a corkscrewing vortex of gold and pink. The air hummed with a different frequency—a resonant, drilling BRRMMM that vibrated in the teeth.
Inside the maelstrom of light, a form began to solidify.
The light collapsed in on itself with a sound like a closing vortex, leaving the chamber silent, save for the hum of Chaldeas and Da Vinci's excited breathing.
And standing there, amidst the dissipating motes of gold and pink light, was a small figure.
Min-jun blinked. His mental probability matrix, still recovering from the Emiya shock, attempted to re-evaluate, then simply failed.
It was a child. Small, unnervingly thin, clad in what looked like tattered, stained white bandages that barely constituted clothing. Her face was mostly hidden by a mass of dirty, white shaggy hair, but two large, unsettlingly luminous greenish yellow eyes peered out from the shadows. In her hands, she clutched a pair of wicked, bloodied knives that looked far too large and heavy for her frail frame. A dark, vaporous mist, like wisps of smoke, swirled around her feet.
Not Emiya. Not the wise strategist. Not the dependable shield.
A child. With knives.
The Servant titled her head, her voice a reedy, hesitant whisper, chilling despite its innocence. "Are you… are you my mummy?"
Min-jun froze. The question, the wavering vulnerability in her tone despite the bloodied blades, struck him like a physical blow. The specific term – "mummy" – had an almost archaic, deeply personal resonance for the fractured spirit of the girl. It was a word pregnant with longing, with a twisted, desperate yearning.
A jolt ran through Min-jun. His mind, trained by years of therapy to analyze and compartmentalize trauma, suddenly projected an image
A younger version of himself, small and anxious, sitting on cold steps, smoking a cigarette he shouldn't have, next to a man who called himself 'father' and who would betray him. And then, the true horror: a memory of his own mother, in a fleeting, unguarded moment, before the tonic, before the violation, a shadow of genuine maternal concern. A lie, but a potent, seductive lie that had once promised warmth and safety, before it curdled into something monstrous making him as a grown man feel tears building.
He flinched. His body recoiled almost imperceptibly, a phantom memory of revulsion and despair rising unbidden. The past man screamed, *Don't touch it. Don't engage. It's a trap.*
But the child, Jack, took a tentative step forward, her eyes wide with a fragile hope, the knives clattering slightly. "I… I want to be held. I want a mummy. Will you… be my mummy?" Her voice was so small, so utterly broken.
The ghost of his own past, the small, desperate boy yearning for a mother who would never be, clawed at his chest. His heart clenched. He saw it all: the longing for protection, the profound loneliness, the twisted means by which she sought connection, the innocence that was already corrupted. It was a mirror. A terrible, crushing mirror of what he had been, and what he could have become.
He had promised himself a clean slate. This was a chance to build something new, not repeat the cycle of neglect and quiet horror.
The hollow man retreated. The foundation of the newer him as a builder stepped forward.
Min-jun didn't answer her question. Before Jack could utter another word, before she could articulate the terrifying context of her existence, he moved.
He knelt down, he reached out, not with hesitation, but with an unfamiliar, almost fierce tenderness. He set aside the knives that seemed to grow from her tiny hands, gently but firmly taking them and placing them on the ground. Then, he pulled her into a tight, encompassing hug.
The child Servant stiffened for a moment, surprised, then clung to him with a desperate, crushing strength that belied her size.
"It's alright," Min-jun murmured, his voice rough. He held her close, feeling the fragile weight of her small, trembling body against his. "It's alright now. You don't have to look for one anymore. I'm here."
He felt the familiar crushing weight of his past trauma—the fear, the betrayal, the memory of his own childhood innocence being ripped away—threaten to overwhelm him. He saw his younger self in her, a lost, damaged child. He saw the potential for ruin, for a cycle of pain. For a moment, he was scared. Truly, deeply scared, in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be since before the void.
But he was an adult. He had walked through hell. He had come out the other side. He had received help, real, honest help, to stitch together the pieces of himself. He had come to this world to grow, to build, to be the foundation. This wasn't a curse; it was an opportunity.
This was the moment to finally leave the filth of his past behind, not by forgetting it, but by actively choosing a different path. To give the child he once was, reflected in her, the unconditional acceptance he was never shown even if he knew them and their past from a game...a kid is a kid...and he lost his childhood
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes. Her red gaze was still wide, bewildered, but the desperate hunger had softened into something akin to hope.
And then, for the first time since he had been reborn, Kim Min-jun smiled. It wasn't the polite, empty curve of the hollow or detached man. IT was a genuine smile, warm and a little shaky, reaching his eyes, banishing the shadows that had lived there for so long.
"I won't be your mummy," he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. "But I will be your Master. And I promise you, Jack, I will give you my all. My absolute everything. I will be your support. I will protect you. You won't be alone. Ever again."
He extended his right hand, the one that had fired nails through reality, the one that had punched a corrupted King, his pinky finger outstretched.
"So, what do you say?"
Jack's yellow-green eyes searched his for a heartbeat, trembling with a confusion that was rapidly melting into a raw, overflowing relief. She looked at his outstretched pinky—a tiny, human gesture of a bond that didn't involve the weight of her dark history.
A small, choked sound escaped her throat. Then, a sob broke loose—not the high-pitched wail of a child, but a weary, jagged release of hundreds of years of loneliness. She reached out, her small, pale finger hooking around his with a surprising, desperate strength.
"Promise?" she whispered through the tears.
"Promise," Min-jun replied, his own voice cracking.
She didn't let go of the finger; instead, she lunged forward again, burying her face against his chest. Her white hair was soft against his chin, and the cold, damp mist that usually followed her seemed to settle into a gentle, dissipating vapor. Min-jun held her tight, his own eyes stinging. A single, sharp sniffle escaped him, a sound he hadn't made in a decade.
The summoning chamber was quiet. Ritsuka and Emiya had slipped out minutes ago; the Archer had sensed the shift in the room's gravity and steered the young Master away, giving the technician and the Assassin a moment of unobserved sanctity. They were alone in the golden-pink glow of the fading summoning circles.
As he felt Jack's small hands clutching the fabric of his uniform, Min-jun's mind drifted. The touch didn't trigger the revulsion he expected. Instead, it pulled a thread from a place deeper than his trauma—a memory from before the red diary, buried under the soot of his life.
*Seoul, 2004.*
Twelve-year-old Min-jun sat cross-legged on his bed, the floor heater humming a low tune. He held a cheap, spiral-bound notebook—the neon green one with the boy band stickers. He wasn't writing about exams or mock tests yet.
He was drawing.
It was a crude sketch of a man standing in front of a small house. The man was tall, his shoulders broad, wearing a cape that looked suspiciously like a bath towel. He was smiling. In the man's hand was a shield, and behind him, a small stick-figure family was laughing.
Beneath the drawing, in the earnest, rounded script of a boy who still believed the world was good, he had written: *"My Wish: When I grow up, I want to be a father like the ones on TV. The kind who always makes everyone laugh and risks everything to protect his family. I want to be the one who says 'It's okay' and really means it."*
The young Min-jun giggled to himself, a light, bubbly sound, imagining a future where he was a hero of the mundane.
Then, the floorboards outside his room creaked.
"Min-jun-ah? Are you studying?"
The voice of his mother, sweet and melodic, drifted through the door. It was the voice that would later become a nightmare, but in that fleeting second, it was just the signal for him to hide his secrets. He quickly slammed the notebook shut and slid it under his pillow, his heart thumping with a mix of innocent mischief and a tiny, unrecognized seed of dread. He wiped his face, put on a serious expression, and opened his textbook just as the doorknob turned.
*Chaldea, Present Day.*
Min-jun blinked, the memory receding into the quiet white walls of the workshop. He wasn't that twelve-year-old boy anymore, and he would never have that "TV family." But as he looked down at the white-haired girl currently weeping into his shirt, he realized the universe had offered him a strange, distorted version of his wish.
He wasn't a "Mummy." He was a guardian. He was the shield.
He gently pulled Jack away, though he didn't let go of her hand. Her sobbing had slowed to small, rhythmic hiccups. He reached out and wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb, his smile returning—more solid now, rooted in the fulfillment of a twelve-year-old's dream.
"Better?" he asked.
Jack nodded, her yellow-green eyes shimmering with a newfound light. She didn't look like a legendary serial killer in that moment; she just looked like a girl who had finally been found.
"Good," Min-jun said, standing up and keeping her small hand firmly in his. "I promised I'd give you my all, and that starts with the basics. You must be hungry, and you definitely need to see where we're going to live."
He began to lead her toward the door, his gait steady despite the lingering ache in his side.
"Come on, Jack," he said, looking back at her with a warmth that felt like the first sunrise after a long winter. "I'll show you around. This place is a bit of a maze, but don't worry. I know exactly where the foundation is."
The door to the summoning chamber hissed open, and Min-jun stepped out into the wide, sterile corridor, Jack's small hand tucked firmly into his own. The "hollow man" who had walked these halls just days ago felt a world away, replaced by a technician who finally felt the weight of his own footsteps.
"Stay close, Jack," Min-jun said, his voice regaining that calm, technical steadiness. "I was only a mechanic here for forty-eight hours before the world went to hell, but I learned more about these walls in those two days than most people learn in a lifetime."
As they walked, Min-jun stopped at an inconspicuous wall panel near a secondary life-support junction. He tapped a specific sequence into the keypad, and the panel slid back to reveal a glowing network of spiritron conduits.
"See that weld?" He pointed to a solid, silvery bead on a thick mana-pipe. "I did that six hours before the explosion. The pressure was spiking, and the senior staff were too panicked to notice. I had to fix it with a manual torch and a lot of swearing. Every time you feel the air change in this wing, that's my handiwork keeping the circulation even."
Jack leaned in, her wild white hair brushing against the cold metal. Her yellow-green eyes widened as she traced the line of the weld. She didn't see a repair; she saw her Master's presence etched into the very bones of their home.
Eventually, the savory, mouth-watering scent of frying spices and slow-simmered broth began to waft through the vents. They reached the entrance to the cafeteria, where the light was warm and the sound of clinking pans echoed.
Emiya was already there. He had his red coat discarded, moving with a practiced, rhythmic grace that made the kitchen look like a symphony. He didn't ask if they were hungry—he was, for all intents and purposes, the "mother" of this ragtag group. Sensing their presence, he simply slid a perfectly plated tray of omurice toward the nearest stool without looking up.
"Sit," Emiya said, his voice calm and brooks no argument. He caught Jack's eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, sliding a second plate of sliced fruit beside the main dish. He didn't need to be thanked; providing was his nature.
Min-jun felt a strange, pleasant lightness in his chest. He gently nudged Jack toward the stool. "Go on, Jack. He's the best we've got. Eat up."
"Master?" Jack asked, looking back.
"I'm not hungry just yet," Min-jun said, and it was a truth. For the first time, he didn't feel empty; he felt *too* full of everything—the contract, the girl, the survival. He felt open, raw, and remarkably alive. "I'll be right outside."
He stepped out of the cafeteria, the door sliding shut on the warm scene of Emiya already handing Jack a spoon. Min-jun walked a few paces down the quiet hall and leaned against a cold support pillar. He took a deep breath, a small, genuine smile lingering on his face.
Then, the air shifted.
The temperature didn't just drop; it crystallized. A sound, deeper and more resonant than any he had heard before, vibrated through the floor, the walls, and the very marrow of his bones.
*CHUMI~MIIIIIIIIIN!*
Min-jun's eyes snapped open. The white walls of Chaldea blurred as a monumental spiritual pressure descended upon the hallway.
Standing before him was a titan.
Having a colossal silhouette draped in a heavy, star-patterned mantle. Its head was a sleek, metallic visor, and its massive, square-shouldered frame radiated a power that felt absolute.
**Tusk Act 4.**
Min-jun couldn't move. The sheer presence of the Infinite Spin made the air feel thick like syrup. The Stand didn't attack. It simply loomed, the embodiment of a "Shortest Path" that had finally been reached.
Slowly, the massive entity raised its right hand. It pointed a single, heavy metallic finger toward the center of Min-jun's chest—directly over his heart. Min-jun braced himself, but instead of a drill, a tiny spark of golden light jumped from Tusk's finger to his skin.
Instantly, a perfect, glowing Golden Spiral erupted across his heart. It didn't burn. It felt like a warm, rhythmic pulse of infinite energy, spinning with a frequency that matched the rotation of the universe itself. The spiral pulsed once, a bright flash of prismatic gold, and then dispersed, soaking into his soul.
In the same breath, the massive form of Act 4 vanished. The corridor returned to its sterile, quiet reality.
Min-jun stood there, his hand clutched over his heart. He felt… unified. The confusion of his two lives—the traumatized boy and the hollow man who took over—had finally been spun into a single, unbreakable and unstoppable spin.
He felt the absurdity of it all. The tragedy, the magic, the pink titan, the "mother" Archer in the kitchen.
A small, breathless sound escaped him. "Hah..."
Then a bit louder. "Heh... haha..."
And then, it broke. Kim Min-jun threw his head back and laughed.
"AH-HAHAHAHAHA! HAHA!"
It wasn't a manic laugh; it was the loud, boisterous, and healthy roar of a man who had finally been unburdened. It was a laugh that contained thirteen years of silence, three lives worth of pain, and the sheer, ridiculous joy of being *here*. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, his eyes watering as he let out great, heaving bellows of laughter that echoed through the empty halls.
"Haha... ah... god..." He gasped for air, wiping a tear of genuine mirth from his eye. "Infinite... it's all just... a spiral."
He stood up straight, his face flushed and full of life. The fear was gone. The trauma was just a part of the spin now. He felt invincible.
Wiping his eyes one last time, he adjusted his glasses and turned back toward the cafeteria door with a spring in his step.
"Alright," he murmured, his voice brimming with a newfound energy. While heading back to Jack, I felt something shift in my head...like a gear frozen in time click just once
Arigato...Min-jun
(Hint for the next stand pretty easy but the next one will be much harder to guess...but the question is if it will be a canon version 😐)
( also to make sense what happened was pretry much a split personality and what happened was pretty much tusk unlocked it and much more will happen throughout as he gains more stands and masters their ability)
(...ngl just rushed getting tusk act 4 as...well some servants are broken and while tusk act 3 is cool i want him strong but not TWOH strong to just reality overwrite and stop time forever)
(Anyway yeah I was actually just stumped because I didn't know what Servant I wanted as his first but decided on a daughter figure instead of a love interests...because WE all love a happy Jack the ripper!!!)