The Fake Player

Chapter 13 - The 9th World Champion Tournament III

The noise refused to die down as the very walls of the stadium vibrated, and they weren't going to stop any time soon.

In contrast, Shirou's return to the lobby was marked by silence and stares from the rest of the competitors.

"Yo!" Warrior Takemikazuchi came from behind, slinging his arm around the magus's shoulder and bringing him in close. His boisterous laughter echoed throughout the hall. "Ha-ha! Not going to lie, I was a bit worried for ya' during the last half of the fight, but I knew you had a plan and an ace up your sleeve. Never doubted you for a second, Emiya-san!"

"I would hope not; otherwise, I might've been forced to rely on you to win this whole thing, and well..."

"Oi, what's that mean, you lil' sword spammer?!"

The armored Heteromorph tightened his hold as his other hand gave the magus a good-fashioned noogie. The two struggled, laughing all the while.

The other Players watched on with silent, judging looks, but the two friends paid them little mind.

Shirou broke free of the samurai's hold, his eyes scouring the waiting lounge.

The hallway area was quite spacious, with ample seating and a generous amount of room for the contestants to relax. However, the majority of the fighters chose to keep to themselves, positioning themselves far away from others, standing with their backs against a wall, or sitting down with their watchful eyes alert to anyone around them. Shirou found the prevailing mood within the waiting wing to be excessively somber and fraught with tension, even for a competitive tournament such as the World Champion Tournament.

Shirou felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him from his thoughts.

"C'mon, let's find a spot to park our butts down for a bit and get comfortable. It's going to be a good five minutes before the next round starts."

"A five-minute intermission? Why so long?"

Warrior Takemikazuchi shrugged.

"Hell, if I know. I don't make the rules."

With a small frown, Shirou took a step forward. A grimace flickered as a dull ache flared up in his left arm where The Mountain had struck him during the match. When the match concluded, all the damage and injuries sustained disappeared, but even at full health, the pain lingered, his body remembering the pain that was still all too real for him. He flexed his fingers, spying a quiet, empty seat out of the corner of his vision.

Shirou quietly made his way over. His guildmate joined him, and the two sat in silence. A small sigh escaped him as he leaned back and made himself comfortable. On one of the many viewing holographic screens, the two analysts continued their commentary on the previous fight while segwaying into the next match.

As he sat there, the world around him slowly turned into white noise. His eyelids grew heavy, and for a moment he allowed them to close, figuring a short rest wouldn't hurt.

And so, all was quiet.

"Emiya-senpai..."

Shirou jolted, his eyes snapping open. He was sitting in the living room at the table. He blinked, looking around, expecting a certain golden archer, only to see Sakura coming from the kitchen and carrying a small tray of food.

Shirou made to get up, but a strained pain shot through his arm, stopping him. Looking down, he saw his arm lightly wrapped in bandages.

Brows knitted in confusion as to how or when he got hurt.