#ryoi

He kept believing it. Kept wishing for it. And in the very last moment, when burning pain dropped across the bowed line of his neck, Izou's life ended blinded by two thoughts at once:

Ah. So this is how it was after all.

And—

Why?

It should have ended there.

But somehow, by whatever mechanism governed such things, Izou was granted a second life as a Servant.

Though whether it could truly be called a good second life was another matter entirely.

He was a ghost summoned to fight for the salvation of the world. A Heroic Spirit of history, called upon to wield his blade for the sake of people still living in the present.

And yet Okada Izou—the man who should have met his end on that sunlit riverbank beneath the crowd's ridicule and fear—still existed in Chaldea as Izou.

His memories of the past. His feelings. His anger. His grief. His despair.

Everything that belonged to Izou had been carried over intact when he was dropped into that freezing white observatory at the ends of the earth.

And there, purely by accident, he ran into Sakamoto Ryouma—likewise summoned as a Servant.

What was worse, the man was dressed in crisp white clothes, smiling with that same easygoing, careless grin, as though none of the bitterness between them had ever existed.

"Been a long time, huh?"

That's right.

The bastard took one look at Izou and smiled—brightly, fondly, like he was simply happy to see an old friend again.

Needless to say, Izou saw red.

"RyoumaAAAAAA—!!!"

The roar tore straight from the bottom of his lungs.

He drew his sword in the same motion, stepped forward, and slashed upward from the lower left in one clean strike aimed to take Ryouma's head clean off.

And then—

"GANDR!!!!"

Thanks to the full-force curse shot from the young man calling himself Izou's Master—the so-called Gandr spell that slammed directly into him—his assassination attempt failed spectacularly.

"…So that's why you were already wearing your Mystic Code?"

"Thought this might happen."

"Tch. For a weak little worm, that was actually kinda dangerous."

In front of the immobilized Izou, the three of them carried on saying whatever they pleased.

Frozen mid-step, sword still raised in the middle of his strike, Izou let out a low growl in his throat like a cornered beast.

Ryouma was right there.

Ryouma—the man he hated so much he could hardly bear it.

The man who had abandoned his homeland, left Izou behind, and run ahead alone in pursuit of his beautiful dream.

If Ryouma had stayed, perhaps Izou's path would have turned out differently.

And not only Izou's.

The man Izou had revered as his teacher might not have died with his ambitions left unfinished, either.

If he— if Ryouma had been there—

His grip tightened hard around the hilt.

"—…"

With a small motion, Ryouma tipped down the fedora resting on his head.

Because of that, Izou couldn't see what expression crossed his face at that moment.

The glimpse he caught of those gently drooping black eyes almost seemed pained.

Maybe that had only been wishful thinking on Izou's part.

Ryouma slowly lifted his other hand and softly touched Izou's cheek, still unable to move.

The smooth fabric of his white glove brushed lightly across Izou's skin.

Something so soft, so finely made—Izou had never known cloth like that while he was alive.

Even now, the clothes he wore were the same worn hakama he'd had in life.

The hems were frayed, threadbare, falling apart.

That difference alone felt like the distance between them.

Even through a single layer of cloth, Izou could almost feel Ryouma's body heat.

And yet that single, immaculate layer divided their worlds entirely.

"I'm sorry, Izou-san."

Ryouma murmured the words quietly. Then he withdrew his hand, lifted his head—

and by the time his face was visible again, that same elusive smile had already returned.

"I think having me around just makes you restless, Izou-san. Shall we go, Oryou-san?"

"Yeah. Hanging around some weak little slug is boring. Hey, Ryouma, let's go catch frogs."

"Oryou-san, you can't catch frogs here."

"Then what exactly is Oryou-san supposed to eat?"

"Hmm…"

Still chatting away at their usual leisurely pace, Ryouma and Oryou left the room behind.

The only ones remaining were Izou, frozen with his sword still drawn, and the young man called his Master.

Eventually the magical restraint released him, and Izou dropped heavily to his knees.

Wearing a troubled little smile, Chaldea's Master held out a hand toward him.

And that was the beginning of Izou's life in Chaldea.

■■■

"Ryouma."

"What is it, Oryou-san?"

As they wandered aimlessly through Chaldea's stark white hallways, Ryouma answered the voice drifting along behind him.

"…That just now really was dangerous."

"…Yeah."

Izou had been serious.

He had genuinely intended to kill Ryouma.

Even Oryou stepping in might not have made it in time.

Honestly, it was a miracle the Master's Gandr had landed when it did.

The truth was, both of them had let their guard down.

Ryouma and Oryou both still carried memories of the Imperial Capital.

There, Ryouma had met Izou again and managed to untangle at least part of the bitterness between them.

Even now, the memory of those final moments they spent together in the Imperial Capital still warmed Ryouma's chest softly.

Amid the collapsing flames, during the brief span before that Izou returned to the Throne, Ryouma had truly been able to spend peaceful, easy moments with him again—almost like the old days.

Not exactly like before.

It wasn't the same wholehearted trust Izou had once placed in him.

The child with honey-gold eyes sparkling brightly as he smiled at Ryouma had never truly returned.

And yet—

Even with the blunt words and occasional barbs mixed into his speech, the time Ryouma spent with Izou—listening to him grumble at his hopeless childhood friend in the familiar dialect of home—had been irreplaceable to him.

A dream he'd never managed to achieve in life.

Ryouma and Izou had chosen different paths, and things had ended that way.

Ryouma had left behind a precious friend—someone who had admired him, trusted him wholeheartedly, cared for him deeply.

There was a dream he wanted to fulfill.

He wanted to create a world where everyone could smile and live happily.

That was why he left his homeland behind.

But naturally, the "everyone" Ryouma wished happiness for had included the friends he'd left there.

More than anything, it was for their sake that he had kept moving forward.

And yet the child he left behind had drifted through the chaos of the era like a leaf caught in a storm—

and in the end, died alone beneath the executioner's blade.

Ryouma hadn't even been able to stay by his side at the very end.

Izou-san will be fine.

Ever since learning Izou had begun operating as an assassin, Ryouma had repeated those words to himself over and over, trying desperately to smother the anxiety smoldering in the pit of his chest.

Izou had been a smaller child than Ryouma.

But he had also been stronger.

When it came to pure swordsmanship, Ryouma knew very few people who could truly defeat him.

And so he had wanted to believe Izou would be all right.

If anyone could survive the hardships of that turbulent age, it would be Izou.

Even younger than Ryouma, Izou had endured brutal circumstances and learned far more about the ugliness of the world than Ryouma ever had.

Ryouma had wanted to believe that meant he would be fine.

He had wanted to believe it.

Even though, deep down, Ryouma had already known otherwise.

Izou had nothing except his sword.

At least, that was what he himself believed—what he'd been taught to believe.

That was why he took such fierce pride in his skill with the blade.

And to be fair, it was something worthy of pride.

But Izou had never understood that he possessed value beyond that.

There was something dangerously fragile in the way he believed that plain, ordinary Izou had no worth at all—that only the version of himself that existed as a tool for killing people deserved to exist.

Izou killed to be acknowledged by others.

He killed so nobody could laugh at him.

And every time his notoriety as a manslayer grew, the simple person underneath became more thoroughly buried beneath bloodshed.

Unable to see himself anymore, terrified by that emptiness, desperate for someone to recognize him—Izou kept killing.

And so Ryouma's precious childhood friend became a notorious assassin.

And so Ryouma lost him.

While Ryouma ran relentlessly forward toward the future, Izou died hating him, resenting the sight of his back disappearing farther and farther away.

That was why their reunion in the Imperial Capital had been the first miracle.

And why their reconciliation there had been the second.

The two of them, who had parted ways in life without ever truly understanding one another, had been granted another chance to meet as Servants.

And then a third miracle occurred.

Izou, too, was summoned to Chaldea—the place Ryouma now called home.

When the Master had called Ryouma over, saying that a Heroic Spirit so deeply connected to him ought to use Ryouma himself as a catalyst, Ryouma had only smiled wryly to himself.

There was no way things would work out that neatly.

And besides—

hoping too much only made the disappointment unbearable when things failed.

So Ryouma had approached the summoning with the attitude of maybe yes, maybe no.

But when the familiar shape of that young man appeared within the swirling light of the summoning circle—

the joy Ryouma felt had been indescribable.

Just as the Master had said, it felt like a bond he himself had managed to pull back together.

Or perhaps—

perhaps Izou had come to see him.

And yet this was how things had turned out.

Izou remembered nothing.

Leaving behind all memory of the Imperial Capital within the Throne, this version of Izou had descended into Chaldea.

But that was simply how Servants worked.

What was summoned was merely a terminal, something akin to a copy.

The true spirit remained in the Throne, where the memories experienced by those summoned selves were stored away as records.

No matter what experiences a Servant gained after being summoned, once they returned to the Throne, those memories became faint and insubstantial—like a single drop of ink dissolved into an endless current.

The Izou from the Imperial Capital was gone.

"…Izou-san really didn't remember after all."

Shoulders slumping slightly, Ryouma muttered the words under his breath.

"Expecting a slug-brain to remember anything was your first mistake."

"Hey now, that's not Izou-san's fault."

It wasn't Izou's fault.

That's simply what Heroic Spirits were.

If anything, Ryouma and Oryou—the ones who had retained their memories between summonings—were the exceptions.

"It'd be nice if I could get along with this Chaldea version of Izou-san too."

"Oryou-san doesn't care either way. Next time, I'll eat him before he can draw that sword."

"You can't eat him."

Trading those trivial little remarks back and forth, Ryouma found himself thinking about the Izou they'd left behind with the Master.

Those moon-colored eyes had blazed with murderous intent as Izou stepped forward in a single breath and swung his blade.

He had looked intensely, fiercely alive.

Filled with absolute determination to kill Ryouma no matter what.

"…Well. As long as he's alive, I guess that's enough."

Izou-san was alive.

Not truly revived, not truly living in the strictest sense—but he existed here now, manifested in this world where they could speak to one another once more.

And that alone was already a miracle.

Beneath the shadow of his fedora, Ryouma smiled quietly to himself.

■■■

"Honestly, Izou-san…"

"What."

"Fighting's forbidden inside Chaldea, okay?"

"…"

Izou jutted his lips out in obvious displeasure, and the Master who had summoned him let out an exasperated sigh.

By now, Izou's sword had long since been returned to its sheath, and introductions had already been exchanged all around.

Somehow the conversation had naturally flowed from greetings straight into a lecture, and Izou gave a dismissive huff, turning his gaze away.

The Master, however, made no attempt to scold him for the attitude.

Master and Servant.

Their relationship should have been one of master and familiar, yet this particular Master didn't seem interested in forcing that hierarchy onto Izou.

A small sense of relief settled quietly in his chest.

"But, y'know, Izou-san."

"Hm?"

"You weren't actually trying to kill Ryouma-san, were you?"

"Hah? The hell'd you say?"

The rough, hostile tone slipped out before he could stop it.

The Master gave a startled little yelp at the sudden growl in Izou's voice, but there was still something amused flickering in his eyes.

Not mockery.

If anything, there was trust hidden in that expression.

As though he believed that even if Izou got irritated, he still wouldn't actually hurt him.

Despite having only just met, Izou somehow found himself unable to imagine cutting down the young man standing before him.

Though he hardly recognized it himself, perhaps that was what people meant by the bond between a Master and Servant.

"And what makes you think that?"

"'Cause you hesitated a little, didn't you?"

"…"

Scowling, Izou buried the lower half of his face deeper into his scarf.

That silence was answer enough.

In that instant—

right before his blade could reach the Ryouma he had hated and hated and hated—

something had tugged at his sleeve.

"'Cause otherwise, someone like me could never have stopped someone like you, Izou-san."

"…I just wasn't feelin' it."

Yeah.

He just hadn't been into it.

That hesitation had been his greatest mistake.

Before his blade could ever reach Ryouma, Izou had remembered the bitter taste of regret.

For some reason, he already knew that cutting that man down in a fit of rage wouldn't bring him any satisfaction at all.

"…Am I broken or something?"

"Maybe some of your memories from the Imperial Capital are still lingering a little."

"Imperial Capital?"

"There was a Singularity like that a while back. That's where I met you and Ryouma-san. We made a connection there, and that's how I was able to summon you this time."

"Huh."

Izou wasn't particularly smart.

He knew that much about himself.

So his understanding of the whole Servant system was vague at best.

"…This sucks."

"Hm? What does?"

"That version of me in the Imperial Capital cut Ryouma down, didn't he? But I don't remember any of it. All I've got left is this shitty feeling. Ain't that unfair?"

Unfair.

Hidden beneath his scarf, Izou pouted irritably.

Why had the version of himself from the Imperial Capital felt so awful after cutting Ryouma down?

He remembered nothing—not the sensation of slicing through flesh, not the satisfaction of finally striking down the man he'd hated and resented for so long.

And yet some nameless regret, some lingering unpleasantness, had still stopped his hand.

"…Seriously. It's bullshit."

The muttered complaint—who exactly had it been directed at?

Smiling softly, the Master gestured for Izou to follow and began leading him through Chaldea.

Izou didn't know.

He didn't understand.

The experiences accumulated by a summoned Servant were supposedly stored away within the Throne as mere records.

Like a single drop of ink spilled into a vast current, they were said to lack the power to truly change the Heroic Spirit at their core.

But—

what if that wasn't true?

What if the experiences gained by a summoned self could leave behind something stronger?

Something that wouldn't disappear, even after dissolving into the great stream of records.

Then perhaps—