And you thought it was just a joke...
Fight/Knight
The Emiya gym had seen better days. In fact, as its owner irritably noted, it probably hadn't seen a lot of worse ones. If there had been such a time, it was probably just a few weeks ago. Today it was dilapidated, but not too long ago, it had been empty.
The sound of leather on leather echoed through the mock arena. Emiya Shirou, the 16-year-old owner of the Emiya gym, the youngest trainer to ever receive sole official accreditation in the King of Boxers tournament. It hadn't been that long ago when he believed he would also be the youngest to wash out of it, either.
The King of Boxers tourney was a small but extremely popular and lucrative program rapidly gaining traction among both the casual boxing fan and the die-hard aficionado, made particularly interesting by the nature of its free-form rule set: Both men and women could attend, and there were no weight classes. Essentially, the only two rules were:
A: Be strong,
and
B: Represent your gym well.
That second rule was the only card left to the Emiya gym. Gyms with the accreditation necessary to enter in a tournament were rare. The problem was that it had long since lost the ability to compete in said tournament. Once renowned because it was both owned and managed by the famous Emiya Kiritsugu, one of the greatest boxers in a long time, the Emiya stable had been a place of wealth and fame. However, following the devastating title fight loss ten years ago, Kiritsugu had been forced to retire and had taken up coaching.
Misfortune would quickly follow.
Emiya Kiritsugu was a powerful and feared boxer, but his talent as a manager had been lacking. After several disappointing fighters had washed out, the gym had passed to his adopted son deeply in debt. It had not been long ago that Shirou had believed he would have to give up his father's dream of the championship.
But that was when she had shown up at his door.
How the mighty had fallen, that the once unrivaled Saber should have to rely on a prematurely washed-up manager like him. There had been a time in her life when it seemed like she would stand atop the world of professional boxing as its unquestionable master. From the age of ten, her light but powerful strikes had danced across the ring in a series of utterly one-sided victories. By twelve, she was regularly defeating fully adult fighters by knockout. Many wondered if she would already be the champ before she could legally watch an R-rated movie.
Then her secret had come out. Not doping, or cheating, but simple embarrassment. The mighty fighter whose light footwork evoked the picture of a dancing duelist, earning her the nickname “Saber”, was a girl. Clothes that might hide the subtle curves of a ten-year-old wouldn't conceal the developing body of a teenager, and for all her power she was still bound by the barrier of the sexes. Many of the fights she had taken part in were supposed to be for men only. Not a very large violation of the rules, but humiliated fighters and managers spurned due to the stigma of having been defeated by a barely teen aged girl had operated to have her blacklisted. In six months she had gone from the brightest star in a long while to not being able to get a fight at any respectable venue. Her career seemed to have died in its cradle.
“Again!”
Emiya Shirou and the newest fighter in his stable rose at dawn and trained by starlight, when the day was not long enough. The other members of the gym, whose money was welcome but whose talent was insufficient, often stopped to gape in helpless marvel at the talent and intensity displayed on the training floor and in the workout room.
When Shirou trained someone, he had the ability to impart a certain nervous energy; his style fought reality with his ideal, a desperate disregard of the absolute limits enforced by one’s physique. Had he not started from so poor a position, he might have gone on to be a fine manager in his own right; his pupils often said that working with him was to believe, if just for a moment, that they could become more than what they were, who they had been, and tried their hardest to achieve that impossible reality. It would be reasonable then, to assume his finest pupil would train with a similar ferocity and drive.
Saber didn't. Feet flashed back and forward across the ring, dazzling the eye. Her hips swayed easily, moving her balance across both feet and yet on neither; her blows on the training bag Shirou held were light yet filled with power, every jab thwacking and resounding harder than a full-powered cross.
“Hoo, hoo, HAA!” The sound of Saber letting out small gasps to empower her blows was her only response to Shirou's combination call-outs.
Each one of her blows visibly pushed Shirou back. Saber didn't fight to overcome her limits; Saber fought because she was born to do it. Her body had been a weapon from the very beginning. When she wasn't fighting, she was training for the fight. When she wasn't training, she was planning for the fight. When she wasn't planning, she was dreaming of the fight.
Her form was graceful, if a bit overeager, and it was rapidly regaining polish and precision after an enforced period without a full regimen. Saber hadn't been at his gym long, Shirou thought, turning his hips slightly with each strike to compensate the force of the blows. One of Saber's combination finishers saw her plant her feet and square her shoulders to deliver a stunning mid-section hook that sent shocks through Shirou's body right through the training bag, nearly knocking him off his feet. That tinged his lips with a smile; it brought to mind a recent and fond memory.
...That had been a truly fateful encounter. Shirou had always had a strong work ethic, and he often took extra time after his sparse group of students and common bodybuilders who paid for time at his facilities left, but that night he had been going over every inch of the gym with extra care.
...It had been the moment he had been ready to give up. He was cleaning one last time as the owner, setting everything in order. He didn't have a fighter who could enter the tournament, and by the time of the next one, his debts would have long since been called in, taking with them everything. He didn't mind the idea of being poor, or even homeless if it came to it. Shirou knew he could provide for himself if he worked hard and wasn't picky or prideful.
No, what filled his heart with regret was having to finally admit that he had failed his father. As Shirou wiped the last speck of grime off the metallic rim of a silver frame, inside which rested a faded old photo.
Shirou always saved cleaning this for last, it was almost as important to him as it had been to his father. The photo was of Emiya Kiritsugu, carrying in his arms a cute baby girl, a single white lock of hair just visible on her bald head. The girl was his daughter, real daughter, not adopted like Shirou. Her mother had died in childbirth, and her grandparents had launched a successful custody battle and taken her away from Kiritsugu, he wasn't even allowed visiting rights. Shirou had never met her, but he did know Kiritsugu might have been able to fight the expensive German team of lawyers for his daughter, if he invested all of his winnings, but he instead used part of the money to open this Gym.
The picture rested on a mantle in full view of the whole gym. A brass inscription was engraved over where the picture rested, which bore the slogan of Kiritsugu:
“What are you willing to sacrifice?”
Shirou turned the frame over and over in his hand, wiping off every last scrap of dust till it too was perfectly clean, and then placed it back on the mantle. It, like the whole of his gym, solemnly gleamed under the dim moon light filtering through the newly cleaned windows. It felt like his gym was saying goodbye. Shirou had to bow his head toward the stars outside and apologize.
It was at that very momentthe front door of the gym rattled, first in one bang, as if someone had simplytried to barge through the chained and locked doors, then repeatedly, onlyslightly softer, the sound of someone knocking, harshly. Maybe a burglar,though Shirou morosely placed a mental bet on a debt collector. The only realdifference between the two meant the more likely candidate was about to starttaking his possessions legally.
Maybe I should hope for the burglar, Shirou thought to himself sardonically. He would probably just take what he can carry.
The door rattled again, even louder than before.
“Coming, I am coming, just a moment!” Shirou called out, unlatching the heavy chain strung through the twin handles and threw the deadbolt...
...Just in time for the door to throw him. Shirou kept the hinges to the large and heavy double doors to his gym well-oiled and in good repair; as a result, with enough force they would open quickly. The force of someone entering the newly opened gym just as soon as he unlatched the door was enough to knock Shirou on his ass and send him sliding across the freshly mopped hardwood. He ended up bracing himself on his hands, his legs slightly raised at the knees, staring up at the entryway.
She was beautiful.
Her blond hair was tied in a short bun, with one errant lock shifted over her eyes. He could see she was dressed in a windbreaker over a sports vest Shirou foggily recognized from advertisements for a boxing series that had long since declared its yearly champion. Mostly though, he was held captive by her eyes, hard agates practically glowing with the light of the moon flowing in from the door, encircling her like the light of a holy crown.
“I ask of you...are you my manager?”
“Manager...”
Shirou could only repeat the word; it wasn't even a question, it was simply a statement to retest a familiar word suddenly made foreign...and somehow precious. Just a few moments ago Shirou had been prepared to say goodbye to that word.
“You are Emiya Shirou.”
Her voice, as hard as her eyes, indicated it wasn't a question. Shirou felt himself nod as she let herself into the darkened room. There was a thump as she tossed a duffel bag Shirou had been too distracted to notice onto the floor of his gym. With her newly freed hand, she reached an arm to Shirou. After a moment, he realized she was offering to help him up.
He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. Actually, now that he was standing, he could see that she really was quite tiny; Shirou almost dwarfed her. All the same, she had an aura about her as if she was 100-feet-tall. It was at that moment Shirou realized he actually knew this person.
“Sa...ber” Shirou said wonderingly, the tale of the brilliant boxer who had been so great a warrior and yet tossed out of her field by jealousy and pettiness flashing through his mind.
Saber nodded, still holding his hand. Something about her expression softened, if only slightly, and just for a moment, at the word. Maybe for her, like the word “manager” was to him, it was one she had feared having to say goodbye to as well.
“Manager Shirou,” Saber said formally “Enter me in the King of Boxers tournament. Do so, and I shall win the title on behalf of your gym and in your name.”
The tournament, which to Shirou had been an ironic joke, something that would have been his desperate last bet if he had a contestant, had lately seemed just the last road sign he would pass by on his way to defeat.
“M-My gym is...I mean, we don't even have any money...” Shirou stuttered, trying to sum up the many problems at once to this forceful young lady.
“I am aware of the Emiya Gym,” Saber cut him off. “Once a flourishing home of warriors, now in disgrace, soon to be auctioned off and sold because of its debt.” Saber's grip on his hand tightened. “Enter me...in the tournament.” she finished.
Shirou's mind began to process the facts, if somewhat belatedly. Saber needed somewhere she could reclaim her lost honor, somewhere a victory would be convincing enough it would wash away her earlier mistakes. So she had looked for someone who was desperate enough to need a brilliant fighter no matter the background. She was from the English League, a Welsh fighter, according to his limited recollection. How far had she looked to wind up all the way out here in Japan?
“I won't give up.” Saber said, somehow sensing the direction of his thoughts. “But I will admit...after this...I am out of options.”
And that had, Shirou knew with sudden clarity, cost her something to say, both to him and to herself. Saber, he could immediately tell, was not the type of person who could easily admit when she had been driven into a corner. But all the same, she hadn’t stopped fighting. Hadn't thrown in the towel.
And that’s what it meant to be a boxer. If she was in a corner...well, then let it be his corner. For the first time since she had taken his hand and pulled him to his feet when he was down and out, Shirou felt himself return a bit of force to her grip, becoming a handshake that sealed their fates together.
“Enough!”
Shirou's voice boomed across the brick walls of the gym after the endless repetitions of strike, bob and weave. Sweat plastered both of the pair's hair to their heads. Shirou wore a white wife-beater along with faded grey sweatpants that lived up to their name, with tracks of grease all along his thighs not quite absorbed into the fabric. Saber wore a simple black training bra and black training shorts which clung to her thighs. Clung rather pleasantly, Shirou privately admitted to himself.
That morning Shirou had risen before the sun to bike with his prize fighter, who jogged alongside him back and forth across the Fuyuki Bridge. After that there was a high-protein breakfast he prepared himself, and then aerobic exercises till noon. The afternoon session, which was just ending, was to polish and hone already nigh-perfect technique, and then finally...
Well, what should follow would be enemy preparation. The King of Boxers tournament was not one that could be won simply with power. All of the boxers set aside a time of the day to prepare specifically for the abilities of their opponent. Usually this would be done by hiring an ex-boxer or trainer using the style of the opponents. Obviously, as such trainers were in high demand, they commanded exorbitant rates, sometimes as much as the entire purse of a match fetched. On the other hand, such training afforded a boxer a powerful advantage against his or her opponent.
The Emiya gym couldn't afford it for Saber. All of the money they had and everything that could be borrowed had gone to simply paying the entry fee. It was an all-or-nothing gamble that had a thousand roads to ruin and a single one to success. A catch-22 in which they could not enter the tournament with any money, but would likely lose the first match without it. It had been Emiya's determination that had come up with a desperate countermeasure.
The first match was a qualification match, which did not mean their opponent was weak, merely that it was the first step on a long road. It was a surety that the Middle-Eastern Hush-Hushing Gym they had drawn was even now preparing their prize fighter to face off against Saber's Promised Victory style of boxing. Nicknamed the Assassin, their opponent was known for long, almost artillery style crosses at range which set up furious uppercuts to the lower body.
Shirou could not afford the training Saber would need to achieve victory, nor did he know someone who used the Assassin’s style who would do it for cheap.
…But he knew someone who came close.
“YOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOO, Shirouuuuuuuu-chaaaaaaaaan!”
The carefree voice rang out throughout the gym, causing newcomers’ heads to turn in surprise but older, more experienced boxers to pay no heed. The former top fighter of Emiya Kiritsugu, the one near-success amidst a string of failures, master of the Pouncing Tiger boxing style, and the notorious busybody of the Emiya dojo, Fujimura Taiga.
When Kiritsugu had passed, Taiga had been training for her first entry into the tournament. However, though a skilled and deadly fighter, she simply didn’t have the dedication for the extreme conditioning required. Though a victor in many smaller regional tournaments, her laissez-faire work ethic had led to a disappointing quarterfinal loss which ultimately lead to her retirement. Taiga's style, which involved vicious hooks and power crosses, was not precisely the same as the one utilized by the Assassin, but it was much closer than anything else that could be found on short notice, and she worked for a meal.
Unlike her father, a friendly yet scary man to whom Shirou had went for the money for Saber's entry fee. Raiga was not a man one lightly owed money to.
Of course, for all her good qualities, Shirou had to suppress a helpless sigh at Fujimura's attention-grabbing entrance. Her yelling across the gym was bad enough, but the way she draped herself across his sweaty back was embarrassing
“Shirou, you called onee-chan again, I knew you miiiiiiiiiiiissed me!”
Taiga said onto his shoulders. After a moment though she wrinkled her nose up and turned a criticizing eye on Saber.
“You two stink! Get a shower first; I am not boxing with one glove over my nose!”
Shirou and Saber could only roll their eyes in tandem, already used to this statement after the last few days of hearing it repeated. Taiga was doing them a favor, so they couldn't help but obey. They stepped into the respective men and women's showers for just a few minutes while Taiga went through a brief warm-up. Shirou stripped and changed into a new outfit almost indistinguishable from the last one save for the “Emiya Gym” emblazoned on the back. Saber, though, changed into a replica of her official boxing gear, a sport's bra emblazoned with the royal flag of England, her home country and similarly colored training shorts. When Saber actually practiced enemy preparation she trained properly attired so the feel was absolutely as close to the real match as possible. Taiga, as Saber entered the ring, stripped off her overshirt which she had worn to her day job as a teacher, revealing her old tiger-striped sports vest.
Actually, in most boxing arenas a sports vest like Taiga's was required for female boxers, but the King of Boxer’s tournament had looser rules regarding attire. One of the gym novices would ring the bell while another acted as the referee. Shirou, as would be the case in an official match, was in Saber’s corner. Before the match started, he leaned into her ear to offer some last second advice. It was the kind of thing they had talked about before, but a manager said it again to make sure it was on the forefront of a fighter’s mind as the fight started.
“Now, she has a lot of reach and stays light, you know she keeps her weight low and likes to step left on that right hook. Work your left jab, make her keep that right up, don’t try and trade punches with her; she has a lot of chin. If you get her to raise her hands, work the gut, she is has a good backstep but she is always a bit slow to drop her hands.”
Saber nodded once, her mouth guard preventing more response then that, and then it was time for the match to begin. The pair met at the center of the ring, bumping gloves amicably as was tradition, and then retreated to their corners. The bell rang to start the bout. Saber, as was her usual style, immediately advanced...
...But Taiga advanced even quicker. Moving with her shoulders hunched and her weight centered just off her lead foot, she opened the bout with a straight left followed by a swift drop of her upper body to deliver a combination pair of hooks directed towards Saber's breadbasket. Saber shifted her head behind the hook, robbing it of momentum. Remembering her actual opponent preferred uppercuts instead of hooks, she caught the first strike low on her right glove and then twisted to the side around the second, using her momentum to throw a punishing 4-count combination string of jabs towards Taiga's temporarily unguarded head. The first and second landed squarely, but the third and fourth were caught and deflected by Taiga's upraised fist in a standard block that placed the gloves, palm turned in, between the punch and the strike zone, the thick leather robbing blows of any force. To regain her momentum, Taiga stepped backwards, shaking her head as if to clear her ears. Saber didn’t let up, pressing the advantage behind a straight cross.
...But the Pouncing Tiger technique had deadly repercussions for the unwary, and as Saber threw the punch, the momentary opening closed, revealing itself as a feint. As Saber advanced, her weight behind the blow, Taiga lowered her body under the strike, faded slightly to the side, and leveled her entire body weight behind a wild haymaker centered on her left fist.
A punch not preferred by most professional boxers due to its risks, massive haymakers tended to unbalance the thrower more often than they landed square on the target , but it was that deadly force that lead the Pouncing Tiger to receive its name, the one strike that could end a fight less like a technically precise fighter and more like a wild animal dragging down its quarry. It was what made Taiga an appropriate substitute for the Assassin, whose skillful parries and feints were designed to push an opponent into a corner and then provoke the one-punch unpredictable defeat.
Saber's guard was broken by the dodge and for a critical half-step she was too off-balance to pull back; it was the kind of opening that could result in an instant knockout. It might have too, if it wasn't for Saber's combat instincts. As her first punch fired, she was already reading the situation as going against her. Lacking a proper defense, she ducked her head to her chest, taking the blow across her forehead as opposed to squarely across the lower jaw, which might well have disabled her.
The blow still threw her bodily to the mat, but she was up on her feet before the count could start. No-Count knockdown, a point for Taiga on the cards, and a terrible way to start a match. Saber pressed her fists together with a rap of pounding leather in displeasure.
Taiga, true to form, did not step on her back heel to defend the round as might be standard for a first round knockdown. Like the Assassin, she pressed the attack ruthlessly, opening with a one-two jab combination in front of a tight uppercut on her instep. Saber fended the first pair of blows with her upraised gloves and gave ground to let the uppercut trail air. For a few seconds the pair circled each other trading jabs and crosses, neither really able to create an opening, till a moment where Taiga stepped behind a successful cross to deliver a punishing left hook....that may have just been a little too loose.
Taiga had wound up just a hair too much, looking for just a bit too much force and Saber was able to read the telegraphed punch well, curling under the blow that sent her ahoge whirling in the air pressure from how close it was, and delivering an uppercut that staggered Taiga backwards, followed up by a precise jab-cross jab combination strike to just below Taiga's floating ribcage. Taiga was forced to jump backwards to avoid further punishment, her gloves coming up at the same time, preventing Saber from following up further.
There was a moment where the pair watched each other warily, before Taiga visibly straightened out her bruised mid-section, grimacing slightly and resettled herself. The bout was about to resume when the bell rang, signaling the end of the round and the training.
Normally the fighters would retreat to the corners in a proper bout, but in these practice sessions Saber and Shirou would go over the match details. It was clear from the outset however, that Saber was too frustrated from her mistake in the opening moments to be as constructive as she could be.
“You are stepping too hard on your straight right,” Shirou chastised as Saber took some water from a purified thermos, “It's good to be aggressive, but your weight isn't settling quick enough.”
Saber's reply was an uncommitted and entirely unladylike grunt in response. It wasn’t that she did not listen to shirou, quite the opposite; he knew she was taking his words in mind, but she had a tendency to be a bit self-critical after losing bouts, and despite her successes in landing blows later in the round, in an official bout, the No-Count would have put the round in Taiga's column.
“Shirouuuuuu!” Saber's reverie was broken when Taiga burst between them; despite the fast-paced and bruising fight she still was full of energy, as always.
“How about something to eat? You promised me something good if I had a good match!”
That was true, this was the last time they would have a chance to train before setting out for the tournament’s qualification match, and he had wanted Taiga to really give it her all so Saber wouldn't grow overconfident. Actually, Shirou privately felt that today's match had almost certainly been good for his prize fighter; it would keep her sharp and focused in tomorrow’s match.
With that in mind, he changed out of his workout clothes again and slipped into a T-shirt and shorts, and began to put dinner on while the girls took showers and got changed. The kitchen was attached to the gym along with a small set of sleeping quarters they had prepared for Saber. Shirou slept in the Emiya household nearby.
Shirou took personal interest in precisely managing Saber's diet, which was not as easy as one might have thought. Saber's might was his single hope for the future; her spirit was a joy to coach and train, her body was as fit as could be and rather easy on the eyes, and, despite what some might have thought, her heart was warm and kind.
But stars above, her stomach will be the end of me! Shirou thought to himself, thinking about dinner.
Normally he fed Saber eggs, rice, and whatever he could afford for cheap at the market to keep her impossibly vast furnace of energy flowing. But today was special, it was the last meal they would have at home before they left for the qualification match tomorrow. Shirou was determined to make it a good one. He had scrounged up a bit of money from normal membership dues that should have gone to paying minimum payments on his debts, and bargained thriftily at a local delicacy shop. The reward had been steaks from a massive fresh-caught tuna and a free plate of tea cakes alongside as a purchase gift. Shirou prepared the fish by pan-broiling it in a delicate broth, along with a side of rice with a fresh pot of tea, sliced a few chilled oranges up as a desert, and prepared an extra helping of eggs for Saber.
Shirou smiled to himself. For freaking once he was going to win a match against Saber's endless requests for more helpings.
Taiga and Saber settled themselves into the front room, while they smelled the food cooking.
“Excellent bout, Taiga.” Saber opened after a quiet moment, her mood much improved by the smell of food in the air. Meat was a rarity at the Emiya gym, much less fresh-caught fish. “Your victory was well earned.”
“Heehee, thanks Saber-chan, from you that means a lot!” Taiga said, pleased at the compliment. “It was one good punch though, the rest of the time I felt like I was trying to keep up. I have noticed when fighting you that you turn slightly on your lead foot behind your straight right, so I was kind of able to see your attack coming.”
“Is that true?” Saber said with a surprised look on her face. Shirou had warned her she was telegraphing her straights by putting a bit too much pressure on her lead foot, but that she was also bracing it was new.
Had she simply misspoken...or had the tiger perhaps really picked up on something subtle enough that both she and Shirou had been missing?
Dinner arrived, and Saber was too polite to immediately ask Shirou about it through a mouthful of slightly too hot fish. Taiga wasn't.
“Shirou, Saber says nobody told her she is bracing her straight, did you miss that? I think you should have me over for dinner more often!” Taiga said brightly, holding a hand to her face in a dreamy-eyed stare.
“And this is really good too!” Taiga continued, eyeing the hot meal appreciatively. “We should have this every night!”
“Heh, that’s up to Saber,” Shirou said a bit self-deprecatingly, “As long as she keeps winning, we can stay away from tea and rice for a while.”
...Just then, Shirou felt a rush of heat coming from the other end of the table. Saber hadn’t responded to his last sentence…but somehow it seemed as if just behind and superimposed over her, a fiery lion was created by her aura, ready to do battle. Shirou knew Saber was the type that was ready to get into the ring anytime, anywhere...but maybe she was suddenly getting even more fired up?
At the end of the night, Taiga was preparing to leave and Shirou and Saber were both planning for an early night, when the door to the gym rattled. It was the sound of a late visitor bursting into the gym proper. Curious, they all went to receive Shirou's visitor.
It was a man wearing a postbag that was marked with the KoB logo; he was out of breath from running. He handed Shirou an envelope. After unfolding it and beginning to read it, Shirou froze up in chagrin, looking almost stricken. Worried, Saber and Taiga moved behind him to read over his shoulder.
To whom it may concern,
The Assassin is currently incarcerated due to failing a drug test, a pre-fight examination revealed the presence of multiple illegal narcotics in his system, most notably an extremely high concentration of THC. As a result, Hush-Hushing Gym is considered to be in forfeit of the match, the purse will be awarded to the Emiya Gym, but since the match will be called, the gate reward will not be provided. However, his manager has suggested using a free agent that he has contracted in his place. If you agree to the substitution, the match will go on as scheduled. In that case, please sign the enclosed form and return it to the bearer of this message. If he does not return in time, or you choose not to agree to the substitution, then your prize fighter, Saber, will be declared the winner and entered to the tournament proper. Either way, the tournament committee wishes your stable good luck in the King of Boxers tournament.
The message was stamped by the office of the Treasury Corporation, the conglomeration of businesses which produced the tournament.
Shirou looked at Saber and Taiga. If the match was called, even in their favor, they were in big trouble.
The gate the envelope referenced was the portion of the proceeds a victorious fighter received from ticket sales. The Emiya Gym could probably at least make its monthly payments without the gate, but without a specialist trainer, they would likely lose the next match.
“Shirou...” Taiga's voice sounded worried. “You can't, if Saber goes in blind...”
That was the whole point of having Taiga train Saber to begin with; without an understanding of an opponent's style a boxer was at a nearly insurmountable disadvantage,
“It’s not just that, Taiga,” Shirou said, his brow wrinkling. “This...seems like a set up.”
At that, both Saber and Taiga looked even more thoughtful at the unexpected remark.
“Their prize fighter makes a rookie mistake and gets drummed out, but they have some complete unknown ready to go already who is good enough to compete? And they are up against us...”
“I was able to find out about this gym's financial problems without difficulty,” Saber chimed in, adding to his thoughts “If our opponent did likewise, and I am sure he did, then he certainly knows we cannot afford to not take up his challenge. If our enemy wanted to gain an early edge...”
“Ooooh I see!” Taiga's eyes went as wide as saucers as she suddenly caught on “They give you and everyone else one name to get ready for, and then bam!” she said, miming an offhand sucker punch. “Then everyone's opposition research goes right out the window! Wow, how underhanded!”
“And if this truly was a set up...then the new fighter is likely more talented than the Assassin, else they wouldn’t be using him instead.” Shirou said, completing the thought.
The Assassin was a skilled and merciless fighter who easily deserved his place in the tournament. If their theory was correct. Saber would be going in blind against an extremely dangerous fighter.
Shirou exchanged a look with Saber.
“...I'll fight.” Saber said quietly. It was a pure statement of willpower. No arguments, no questions, no second guesses. “I did not enter this tournament for money, for fame, or even for the belt. ...I did it so that I could get back in the ring. Let this new man come. Let this trap spring then, I’ll break through it, and his jaw with it! Saber's green eyes were alight with fire. “I'll simply win,” was her last words on the matter.
Against determination like that, Shirou could only nod. Saber was his prize fighter; if he couldn't maneuver her into an advantage, he would just have to rely on her battle ability. He signed the form and sent it back with the messenger.
After that, Shirou and the others opened up Taiga's tiny laptop to check the new standings. It appeared word had traveled quickly. Where Saber's match had recently said “Assassin vs. Saber” the new bout read:
Saber vs. FAIndex of chapters
Coming soon!
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Originally Posted by Bird of Hermes
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