Note: This Chapter is Re-Translated on 6 / 15 / 2025
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Chapter 13: A Magus Gathering (×) / A Matchmaking Party (√)
For most of the cast and crew, the end of filming meant one thing:
Vacation. Sweet, well-earned vacation.
Even the student actors—though burdened by the looming shadow of final exams—could finally catch a break, buckle down to study, and maybe earn themselves a relaxing winter holiday.
But for Shinji, such blessings were out of reach.
He only managed to rest for two days before packing his bags and heading off to Tokyo…
Alone.
It wasn't that he wanted to leave Fuyuki.
But the problem was simple: Fuyuki City had zero facilities for proper post-production work.
If Shinji wanted Fate/Stay Night to become a true cinematic masterpiece, he had no choice but to go to the heart of Japan's film industry—Tokyo.
Fortunately, things were progressing smoothly so far.
Thanks to his uncle, Kariya Matou, a tokusatsu actor based in Tokyo, Shinji was able to secure post-production space at none other than Tsuburaya Productions.
As one of Japan's oldest and most respected studios, Tsuburaya's editing suites were more than up to the task.
And to lighten his own workload, Shinji had even hired one of their veteran editors to help with the laborious editing process.
Everything was going according to plan.
...Except for one annoying issue.
Because all seven of his Servants had been summoned through the Holy Grail and were bound to Fuyuki's leylines, they couldn't leave the city.
This meant every time he needed their voice work—he had to personally return to Fuyuki to record their lines.
So recently, Shinji had been doing a lot of back-and-forth between Tokyo and Fuyuki.
And now, back at the Matou residence once again, he collapsed onto the dining table with a heavy sigh.
"That's it. Once Fate/Stay Night starts making money, I'm building a full post-production studio right here in Fuyuki!"
"Ooh~ Is that so~?"
The lazy voice came from across the table.
Zouken Matou, lounging on an oversized couch that could practically swallow him whole, gave the most half-hearted response imaginable.
Shinji's mouth twitched.
His right hand clenched… then relaxed.
Clenched again… then relaxed again.
He wanted to punch the old man so badly.
But alas, if he did, Zouken's ancient bones would probably shatter on impact.
The old fossil wasn't worth the medical fees.
Still… the guy was begging for it.
Right now, Zouken was reclining like some kind of corrupted, withered Buddha.
One leg crossed, a gilded wine goblet in one hand (probably looted from Gil's treasury), and in the other hand—he was fiddling with a cricket he had apparently bought from China for an obscene price.
To his right, the ever-humble Yan Qing stood at a respectful angle, holding a silver tray of freshly cut fruit.
To his left, a completely expressionless Heracles was fanning him with a bamboo fan like some kind of overqualified servant.
"Ojii-chan, what are you? Some kind of land god!?"
Shinji slammed his palm on the table and yelled.
Zouken lazily scratched his knee with his foot and replied in an infuriatingly casual tone.
"Mm? But I am a land god, aren't I?"
"That…. actually sounds kind of convincing—wait no! Why the hell are you using a fan in the middle of winter?!"
"Because the heater's on."
Zouken took a sip of wine, completely unbothered.
"Then turn off the damn heater! Do you have any idea how expensive electricity is?!"
Electricity bills in Japan were no joke—especially in summer and winter.
Even in a magi's household, ten thousand yen monthly bills could sneak up if you weren't careful.
The Matou family might not be hurting for cash, but still—this level of wastefulness was criminal.
"Shini, you idiot."
Zouken rolled his eyes and raised the cricket in his hand proudly.
"If I turn off the heater, my little precious will freeze to death."
"..."
At that moment, Shinji wasn't sure if he should be angry or not.
On one hand, it was insane.
On the other…
At least Ojii-chan was obsessed with crickets, not Crest Worms.
Small blessings.
"Don't mind Ojii-chan," Sakura said gently, walking over with a teacup in her hands.
She passed it to Shinji with a sigh.
"Ever since he bought that bug, he's been acting like a complete lunatic."
Zouken looked downright offended as he clutched the cricket cage to his chest like a precious heirloom.
"Sakura, that's so cruel~! You're being too harsh on your poor old grandpa! This is my only hobby left in life, you know!"
Sakura narrowed her eyes at him with thinly veiled disdain.
"Ojii-chan, if you keep acting like this, I swear I'll deep-fry that bug."
"Wha—! Nooo! You mustn't, Sakura! That would be far too heartless! Shinji! My dear grandson, talk some sense into your sister!"
Zouken turned his head toward Shinji with a desperate look.
Shinji calmly avoided his gaze and took a big sip of tea.
Not a chance.
He'd seen this trick far too many times already.
If he opened his mouth now, trying to defend his grandfather, he would be the one finding crispy fried crickets in his rice bowl by dinnertime.
"This tea's really nice, Sakura. Your brewing skills keep getting better."
He smoothly changed the subject with a smile.
Sakura blinked, her stern expression softening into a shy, pleased one.
It was always like this—just one bit of praise from her brother, and she lit up.
"Thank you… Onii-sama."
"How's work lately?" she asked after a short pause.
Shinji sighed and leaned back in his seat.
"It's… alright, I guess. I've been arguing with Obara-san every other day though."
Obara is his editor from Tsuburaya Productions.
The man was highly experienced, no doubt about that.
But when it came to creative vision?
They were planets apart.
Obara thought Shinji's editing style was reckless and incoherent.
Shinji, on the other hand, thought Obara was unimaginative and painfully conservative.
But Shinji didn't pull his ideas out of nowhere.
He had data. Research. Science.
Back in his previous life, Hollywood studios had spent millions on refining their editing formulas.
Through painstaking surveys, psychological studies, and box office analytics, they had developed a perfect template for commercial movie editing.
Yes, down to the exact second.
How many minutes before the first action scene.
When to introduce emotional conflict between the leads.
What time stamp the kiss should happen.
It was all on a chart—every beat, every moment calibrated like a machine.
Of course, by the time Shinji had died, that system was already starting to break down.
Audiences had grown tired of formulaic films—everyone could sense the predictability, and innovation had become the new gold.
But in this world—the Nasuverse—where most people hadn't even seen Star Wars?
It was like handing out calculus problems in an elementary school math class.
Shinji truly believed that his film would be nothing short of a cinematic atomic bomb.
A wake-up call to this stagnant, self-indulgent industry.
Unfortunately, Obara had no way of understanding that.
From his point of view, Shinji was just a young upstart who had no respect for proper structure or pacing.
Thankfully, in this era—where arthouse films reigned supreme—the director still had the final say.
Even the most stubborn editor couldn't override the director's creative control.
Shinji wasn't too bothered by the man's attitude anyway.
This was just a business deal.
As long as Obara could cut the raw footage into a watchable film, that was all that mattered.
"Enough already, Ojii-chan! Just get rid of that bug!"
Sakura's sharp voice once again sliced through the room.
"Don't be like that, Sakura! My dearest granddaughter, this is the one thing I've ever asked of you in my life!"
"Lies!" Sakura snapped. "That's the 417th 'only request' you've made!"
Their argument quickly spiraled into chaos, pulling Shinji out of his thoughts once more.
He glanced between the two of them, sighed into his teacup, and muttered:
"Peace and quiet… is truly a foreign concept in this house."
Realizing that the bickering between his grandfather and sister was reaching dangerously unstable levels—and might soon engulf him—Shinji wisely drained the last of his tea and made a break for the stairs.
"Shinji!"
Just as he stepped onto the bottom stair, Zouken called out to him.
Shinji didn't even turn around.
"Ojii-chan, I'm not getting in between you and Sakura. If she says the bug goes, it goes. You're on your own."
But Zouken chuckled, his voice light and slippery.
"It's not about that. Tomorrow night, there's a gathering in Tokyo. A little get-together for Japanese magi. You're coming with me."
"A gathering…?"
Shinji's brow furrowed at the mention.
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Despite his strong internal protests, the next evening found Shinji boarding the train to Kyoto, of all places, alongside his incorrigible grandfather.
Apparently, this wasn't just any gathering—it was the annual Year-End Assembly of Japanese magus families.
Held every winter in Kyoto, the event rotated hosts among a few of the old magical lineages entrenched in the ancient capital.
As Shinji stepped into the grand banquet hall, he couldn't help but glance around.
The place was crawling with legends.
Veteran magi whose names were whispered with awe in magical circles, and in some cases even recognized by mundane society as powerful business magnates, politicians, or historical scholars.
Led by a courteous attendant, Shinji followed his grandfather into the crowd, a glass of wine in hand.
To be perfectly honest, Shinji had zero fondness for Japan's native magus community.
If the mage world was already conservative, then Japan's was downright fossilized.
The rigidity of traditional Japanese culture only amplified the archaic attitudes of these cloistered spellcasters.
If European mages were stuck in the past, Japanese mages had buried themselves in it and built a shrine on top.
For someone like Shinji—who followed a more practical, modern approach to magecraft—he was practically a blasphemer in their eyes.
And the feeling was mutual.
"So, Ojii-chan… seriously. Why the hell did you drag me into this?"
He lowered his voice as he leaned toward Zouken, scowling under the warm chandelier light of the lavish Kyoto hotel ballroom.
But the old man only chuckled with that same annoying smugness.
"Now, now, my dear grandson. Don't be so sour~ You never know, maybe you'll find a family that understands your way of thinking."
"Hah! As if."
Shinji snorted dismissively.
"If they actually existed, I wouldn't have had to go all the way to the Clock Tower to find collaborators."
To him, these people were exactly the kind of deadweight who'd been dragging the magecraft world down for centuries.
As the great Cao Cao once said: "You petty men are unfit to discuss strategy."
But Zouken didn't budge.
"Come now. Think ahead. You'll need to summon more Servants eventually, right?"
"...So?"
"Well then," Zouken said with a glint in his eye, "maybe one of these families will be willing to lease you a leyline."
That made Shinji pause.
"Pfft. Yeah right."
He rolled his eyes—but noticeably didn't stop walking.
Sure, he complained. But he also kept following along as Zouken began introducing him to one elder magus after another.
The truth was: even if the chances were slim, he did need new leyline access.
Winter's Grail War had maxed out the spiritual energy of Fuyuki's current leylines—seven Servants was already pushing it.
To summon more Heroic Spirits, he'd need to either expand the Fuyuki leyline or link it to other spiritual veins.
And as annoying as these old magi were, some of them had territory.
Territory he needed.
"Tch… Guess I'll play nice for now."
Shinji swirled the wine in his glass, eyes scanning the room like a predator among ancient prey.
Among all the magi families in Japan, the ones gathered here tonight held dominion over the most powerful leylines in the country.
So, while Shinji remained skeptical, he had to admit his grandfather wasn't entirely wrong—networking with these people might be worthwhile after all.
—Or so he thought.
But as the night wore on, something started to feel off.
With each introduction, Shinji noticed a pattern. Out of every ten magi that Zouken introduced him to, at least nine would casually mention their daughter—or granddaughter—and go out of their way to praise her.
How clever she was.
How deep her magical circuits ran.
How graceful and well-mannered she had become.
It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
"Ojii-chan."
Shinji pulled his grandfather aside the moment they were free of the latest round of forced smiles and flowery compliments.
"This doesn't have anything to do with leylines, does it? You basically dragged me into a magical marriage fair, didn't you?"
His voice was low, but his expression was all exasperation.
Zouken simply gave a wheezy chuckle, utterly unbothered.
"So what? All those girls are quite nice, aren't they?"
"Hey!"
Shinji nearly dropped his wine glass.
But Zouken only tapped his cane against the marble floor with a self-satisfied grin.
"My dear grandson, whether you like it or not, you're the most gifted magus of your generation in all of Japan. Of course these families are going to eye you like a prime breeding stallion."
He gave Shinji a sideways glance, eyebrows raised.
"Didn't you live it up at the Clock Tower? Now you come back to Japan and suddenly grow a sense of decency?"
"That's completely different," Shinji shot back. "And don't act like these people care about what I want to do. Most of them completely brushed off my ideas, remember? So why are they suddenly eager to marry their precious daughters off to me?"
Zouken let out a dry cackle.
"They don't give a damn about your ideas. They care that your family line can knock their daughters up and give them talented heirs."
Shinji's face twisted into a grimace.
Sure, back at the Clock Tower he'd had his fun. But those were consensual, spontaneous encounters driven by affection, charm, and a shared fondness for beauty. Even if some were fleeting flings, there was at least mutual desire.
This?
This was something else.
"Calling this matchmaking is an insult to inflatable dolls… This is just livestock breeding."
He muttered the words under his breath, but Zouken still heard them.
"You finally understand," the old man said with a proud nod. "This is the nature of magi. Cold, practical, and utterly heartless."
Then he leaned in, his voice a teasing whisper.
"But it's not all bad. If they ever refuse to lend you their leylines… just trade them your genes instead."
"Ojii-chan…"
Shinji's voice was heavy with both warning and weariness, but he didn't get the chance to finish.
Two figures approached.
Another pair of magi: a grandfather and his companion—though in this case, the one standing beside the elder wasn't a grandson, but a young woman with vibrant crimson hair.
Shinji recognized them immediately.
The old man was the head of the Aozaki family, one of the most prestigious magical families in Japan.
And the woman by his side?
None other than Aoko Aozaki, one of the famed "Four Heroines of the Nasuverse."