It’s the second day of the Holy Grail War. The scene replays in your mind again and again, each frame burned into memory. The sound of steel tearing through flesh. The cries that fall silent before they can turn into words. It is all engraved in your mind.

Without a doubt she is the perfect killing machine, leaving only death and destruction in her wake. There is no hesitation, no mercy, no life behind her eyes when you are in danger. The battlefield falls quiet except for the soft flutter of her kimono sleeves in the wind.

When it is finally over, she stands among the bodies. The blood at her feet reflects the pale moonlight, a mirror of her blank, unyielding expression. Her sword drips red, but her gaze remains steady. She breathes once, slowly, as if remembering how. As if remembering that she is still human.

Hours later, the house is silent. Okita sits alone in the living room, her sword resting by her side, the faint scent of iron and blood still clinging onto her hands. She doesn't move. The only sound that breaks the silence is the ticking of a clock and the whisper of the night air against the window.

She stares into nothing, her mind still trapped in that frozen moment. After all, she is a killer. But the realization brings no pride, or any satisfaction. Only the hollow silence that follows the cries for mercy.

“I really let you down, didn’t I, Master?” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Her expression is as still as carved ivory, with the faintest trace of emotion in her delicate features. Her soft pink lips press together in a tight line as her gaze lingers on the floor. That small human weakness vanishes as soon as it came.