In a stone-walled room, on a white hospital bed, a woman ravaged by terminal illness looked at him with a smile full of love. That frail body, reduced to skin and bones, unable even to stand—Kirei could never forget it. And he had no reason to.
Claudia Hortensia.
His wife, who had passed away four years ago.
Kirei Kotomine quickly grasped what was happening.
He had originally come to Einzbern Castle, hoping to reach Kiritsugu Emiya before Tenkei Shiomi did, to confront that man once more and seek the answers he still lacked.
But once he entered the castle, the world around him shifted—and now he stood in this scene.
A sunlit room. Kirei stood by a hospital bed, gazing down at his wife.
It was that day.
He didn't know how it worked, but he could guess. Some kind of barrier had conjured this illusion, letting him see his long-dead wife.
And yet, it was too real. Even if he wanted to break through it, he couldn't find the way. More than that, he remembered exactly what day this was.
A man born flawed.
Kirei understood that truth deeply. Though incapable of understanding morality, he still possessed common sense. He spent his entire youth trying to overcome that emptiness.
His ascetic pursuits did nothing to ease his suffering; every effort ended in futility.
His final attempt was with the woman before him.
It was the simplest thing in the world: everyone dreams of loving someone, starting a family, and at life's end, exhaling their final breath in peace.
Kirei wanted that.
Even if he couldn't truly feel the appeal of such a calm, happy life, he still wished it could be real.
To love someone. To have a child.
But why, then, had he chosen a woman with no future?
Her body already ravaged by disease, it was obvious to anyone she didn't have long to live. Kirei couldn't recall what made him choose her.
For two years, he loved his wife—and she loved him like one would love a child.
But nothing changed. No progress, no healing. The only time Kirei felt something like happiness was when he saw her suffering, writhing under the weight of her illness.
The more he loved her, the more misfortune he brought her.
Claudia was like a saint. She loved Kirei unconditionally and deeply understood the anguish and torment in his heart.
And that was exactly why it tormented him even more.
Someone who could understand him so completely—someone like that would soon vanish. After her, who else could ever understand him?
He recognized his inherent defect, knew there was no cure and no solution. There was only one conclusion left.
Kirei made up his mind—to end his life.
And as a husband, once he had resolved to die, he owed it to his wife to tell her.
Claudia Hortensia loved Kirei Kotomine.
Kirei believed he should feel the same.
Which is why he knew exactly what he needed to say to her.
Just like every time they met, even in the depths of her illness, Claudia waited for him that day with quiet anticipation. And when she saw Kirei walk into the room, his face full of anguish, she greeted him with a smile as gentle and compassionate as the Virgin Mary's.
"I couldn't fall in love with you."
That's what Kirei said to his wife that day.
"No, you do love me."
As if she had known this moment would come, Claudia calmly drew a dagger she had prepared in advance and brought it to her throat.
Kirei remembered clearly—he had cradled her in a pool of blood, and in her final moments, she had spoken her last words:
"...Because you're crying."
It was on that day that Kirei's wife departed this world, in a way that defied doctrine, defied faith.
So he had never imagined—not even in his dreams—that he would relive that day again.
Claudia looked at him with that same warm smile, waiting for his next words.
Kirei's throat moved. In a composed, even voice, he spoke the same line he had before.
He could have chosen to say something else—but he didn't. He chose to repeat it.
As if following a script, Claudia's expression didn't waver. She reached under the white sheets, pulled out the dagger, and raised it toward her throat.
"No, you do love me."
But this time, before the blade could touch her skin, it was taken from her.
For an executor trained to perfection, stopping a dying woman was effortless.
He caught her and snatched the dagger away with his other hand.
Claudia looked at him in surprise, smiling in a way Kirei had never seen before—a smile filled with peace, with the joy of being saved.
Whether it was she who had been redeemed, or Kirei himself, he didn't know.
And it didn't matter.
"See? You really do love—"
She was about to declare her victory, tenderly refuting Kirei's denial, when her voice suddenly cut off.
The dagger plunged into her heart.
Even then, this woman—who had loved him like a saint, who had always understood him—didn't lose the look in her eyes. She simply grasped Kirei's arm, the one holding the dagger.
Her lips moved. A faint, rasping sound came from her throat, as if she still wanted to say something—but the words wouldn't come.
Kirei didn't wait. He didn't ask.
He twisted the blade in her heart without hesitation. He heard something inside her shatter—like a piece of fine amber falling and splintering into irreparable fragments.
Blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. With the last of her strength, her hand fell limply onto the bed.
Kirei watched the light fade from her eyes until it was gone completely.
She was dead.
Claudia Hortensia had been killed by his own hand.
Maybe it was because he had broken the script—ignored the illusion's intended outcome—but the sunlit stone room darkened and was swallowed by boundless blackness.
The dagger, the woman, everything else lost all meaning.
Only one thing remained: the moment he killed her. That moment filled the hollow inside Kirei Kotomine for the first time.
In more than twenty years of an empty life, he finally felt whole.
He didn't know what the creator of this illusion had wanted him to see. But Kirei was grateful.
Without this, he might never have had the chance to choose again—or to face what he truly felt.
Yes, he had cried four years ago, when his wife took her own life in front of him.
They were tears of sorrow. But not because he loved her, as she believed.
Now, Kirei could finally remember it clearly.
He hadn't cried because she died.
Back then, this is what he had thought:
"This can't be. If she was going to die anyway... I wanted to kill her myself."
What made him sad... was simply that he couldn't savor her death. That was all.
Now that he had a chance to "relive it," he chose differently.
Still, he couldn't help but think—maybe, even in death, that woman had fully understood who Kirei Kotomine really was.
That thought left him with a twinge of regret.
But only just that. Nothing more.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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