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After returning to the mansion, the first thing Kazuya did was take a good shower.
He spent a good few minutes under the water, and as the shower poured hot water, it created clouds of steam throughout the luxurious mansion bathroom.
By now, he had turned off the shower and was towel-drying his silver hair while the foggy mirror reflected his relaxed face and almost lazy blue eyes.
He was in no hurry.
He put on just a simple black pair of shorts and left the bathroom, his impeccable, chiseled body moving with the casualness of someone who didn't care in the slightest about showing off every defined line of his muscles. Well, if anyone had a body like his, they'd do the same… Having a legendary physique is every man's dream.
He descended the mansion's stairs with calm steps, his bare feet making almost no sound on the wooden floor. The soft morning light filtered through the open curtains, bathing the furniture in golden hues. The fresh morning scent mingled with the faint perfume of the garden flowers, carried in by the breeze.
Reaching the kitchen, Kazuya opened the fridge and grabbed some eggs, rice, natto, and fresh fish.
All in the traditional Japanese style.
He liked the simplicity of it.
He wasn't a big fan of those over-the-top breakfasts he saw in harem anime, though he admitted, deep down, he always found it cool to see the characters competing to cook for the protagonist.
But here, he was the one cooking.
That made him think of his past life…
The truth was, he hadn't always been the charismatic, optimistic guy he was now, and sometimes, the reflection of his warped mind proved it; though it had become easier to move forward, it was in solitary moments like this that he remembered his past. The reason he didn't care much about it when he was reborn was because any life he could live was better than his first one. Someone in his situation would probably think of their parents or friends, right? But he had none…
In fact, he had a "mother" and a "father," if you could even call them that.
Compared to the "Kazuya" of this world, who had two good parents who unfortunately passed away, leaving him in the care of a church sister, he hadn't been so lucky. From a young age, he learned that breathing was an unforgivable mistake. His father died when he was very young after trying to rape him—he was about three at the time, his first memory; thankfully, he was saved by a neighbor who stopped being his neighbor after he was taken elsewhere by his mother…
His mother seemed to blame him for his father's death.
She pushed him down the stairs when he was four and laughed at his crying, saying it would've been better to have drowned him at birth.
The apartment they moved to was a hell of mold, vomit, and blood (his blood).
His mother's "friends," always high or drunk, took turns between beatings, abuse, and sick laughter. He woke up in puddles of urine or broken glass, sometimes with hands that left marks that never faded. When he tried to tell someone, the social worker called his mother, and the copper wire she used in the beating left scars. He was called a liar, a "problem child," a "lost cause." Locked in a closet for three days, without food or light, with rats and hunger, he learned no one would come to save him.
At school, they mocked his clothes, the marks on his body, his empty expression. One teacher called him an "animal," another said he deserved it. By twelve, hatred was the only thing keeping him standing. He tried to kill himself with pesticide, vomited for hours in a dirty alley, and no one helped. He tried again at thirteen, with a rusty blade in a train station bathroom. He survived. Again. And he understood: there was no salvation, no miracles, no hope.
He started stealing to eat, was beaten by the police, temporarily lost vision in one eye. They called him trash, a mistake, a dead weight. And he believed it. He threw away what was left of his soul and lived like a zombie—many things happened that made him believe it was his only option.
But everything changed on that day he'd never forget.
He was about to jump off a bridge, not out of drama but out of exhaustion, when he heard a soft, firm, impossible voice. There was no one there… but amidst the drizzle and darkness, he could swear he heard: "Get up. You haven't lost yet."
It was Guts' voice, coming from an old episode of *Berserk* playing on a phone someone had left nearby.
At that moment, he froze.
For the first time, someone understood. That fictional man, crushed by fate, betrayed by everything he loved, still walked. Still fought. He went back home—if you could call it a home—with burning eyes and clenched fists. He binged every episode, every page of the manga. He cried when Guts screamed against the world, when he bled for love, when he kept going despite having no reason.
It wasn't about happy endings.
It was about resisting.
About existing despite the pain.
For the first time, he wanted to live, not because the world was worth something, but because *he* was. Because if Guts could endure hell… then maybe he could too.
That's when everything changed. He fled to rural Japan, got a decent job and a house, and started living the way he wanted. Things got better from that point, and he became addicted to anime, manga, novels—living in those mental worlds made it worth staying where he was.
It seemed forced. Ridiculous, even. A character from an anime saving someone from suicide? He'd hate to admit it if it weren't true. And it was. Absurdly, rawly, desperately true. It wasn't a psychologist, the police, or a miracle from life. It was Guts. A man made of ink and pain, heavy lines and dense silences, who roared against fate in his place. He felt pathetic at first, crying over a cartoon while the real world spat on him. But that connection, that spark, was all he had left. And it was enough. The impossible happened: he got up the next day. And the next. And the next.
He lived alone for over a decade, helped people, tried his best to become the man he is today, who despite everything often felt unworthy and didn't want to be as useless as he was in his first life. That's why he set such high ambitions for himself in this life. That was the reason he perhaps had so many problems with execution—he never truly wanted anything enough to fight for it. It was ironic that he, of all people, was chosen to be reborn in this world with the [Fate Gacha] and everything else.
But he believes that because of his somewhat delusional way of seeing the world, he managed to stay sane after "absorbing" the life of [Ritsuka Fujimaru], which, despite being modded with several tweaks he created in his first life, was still tragic and insane.
… Facing ORT, for example, was minimally despairing for Chaldea and him.
Letting out a sigh and pushing his thoughts about his past aside, Kazuya turned on the stove, skillfully arranged the ingredients, and soon the smell of grilled fish began to fill the kitchen. While stirring the rice and preparing the miso soup to heat, he heard soft, dragging footsteps behind him.
"Hmm… Kazuyaaa… good morning…" came the sleepy, gentle voice of Ereshkigal.
Turning slightly, he saw her entering the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. The blonde with golden hair and red eyes, normally the Underworld Goddess herself, was dressed in an absurdly cute light blue pajama with little sleeping fox designs. Her messy hair and sleepy expression made it clear she had just woken up.
Kazuya flashed a smile.
"Good morning, Eresh. Sleep well?" he asked, returning to stirring the rice.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen upon noticing he was shirtless, and even though she'd seen it plenty of times, she blushed. Ereshkigal, the fearsome goddess of death, averted her eyes like a shy schoolgirl.
"I… um… slept… I mean… slept well, yes…" she replied, trying to sound casual, but her voice came out cuter than menacing.
Kazuya let out a low chuckle.
"You're so cute like that, it almost makes me want to bite you."
She puffed out her cheeks, pouting.
"Kazuya! Don't say stuff like that so early! I… I'm still in my pajamas, geez…"
"It's my favorite pajama…" he commented, winking.
If someone said that to any other god or servant, it'd probably turn into a mortal competition. But with Ereshkigal, it only made her blush more and tug the hem of her pajamas down, even though she didn't need to.
"Coffee first or just breakfast?" he asked, serving the fish and rice onto perfectly arranged plates.
"Just breakfast… it smells amazing…"
She approached, standing beside him as he finished setting the plates. Kazuya noticed her glancing at the food, then at his arm, his chest, and quickly looking away again. She couldn't hide it. Though he noticed the Underworld Goddess's reaction, he chose not to comment and ignored it. He grabbed a tall glass, filling it halfway with ice. With calm, practiced movements, he prepared a Japanese-style iced coffee, using freshly brewed strong coffee poured carefully over the ice, the aroma blending with the smell of the grilled fish. He took a metal straw from the drawer and stirred the drink slowly, the dark liquid contrasting with the ice cubes.
At that moment, elegant footsteps echoed from the kitchen entrance. Skadi appeared, still adjusting a strand of hair with her fingers. She wore a simple yet refined white silk pajama with light blue trim. Even so, she maintained her innate elegance as a Nordic queen. Her expression was still tinged with sleep, her eyes half-closed, but her dignity never left her, even in that state.
"Good morning, Master…" she said in a low, gentle voice, typical of someone who just woke up, but still filled with a quiet tenderness she reserved only for him.
"Good morning, Skadi," Kazuya replied with a relaxed smile, taking the first sip of his coffee. "Sleep well?"
She walked over to him and stood beside Ereshkigal, leaning lightly against the counter.
"Yes… though your arms make any pillow seem irrelevant…" she commented without much thought, then yawned discreetly, covering her mouth like a true Nordic lady.
Ereshkigal grumbled softly.
"He should sleep with me tonight… You already had him the night before…"
"Oh, dear Eresh," Skadi said, still sleepy, "That's why we share the nights, isn't it? Nordic justice."
Kazuya just shook his head. Yesterday, when Scáthach dragged him back to the mansion, the girls had come to a consensus to split the nights, ensuring each had a night with him—something he predicted wouldn't work out, and he was right when both versions of his Shishou dragged him to the bedroom. That's why neither had woken up early this morning.
But leaving the details aside.
"Are you two going to start fighting this early?" he asked with that calm, charming tone, sounding more like a teacher tired of spoiled students.
Before either could retort, the sound of carefree footsteps echoed, and the energy shifted with the arrival of another figure.
"Tch… you guys are so noisy in the morning," came a familiar, provocative, slightly sleepy voice.
Ishtar appeared, yawning loudly, wearing a crop top that showed off part of her stomach and tight shorts. Her black hair was still a bit messy, but she exuded natural sensuality. Instead of heading straight for the coffee or food, she approached Kazuya from behind, wrapping her arms around him and resting her face against his neck.
"Do you have any idea how criminal it is to look like this so early?" she murmured with a smile, her voice slow and teasing.
Kazuya wasn't fazed in the least. He just took another sip of coffee and commented, as if talking about the weather.
"I'm innocent here…"
"Shut up… A criminal doesn't get to have an opinion. Nobody told you to walk around shirtless on this goddess's property…" she said, still clinging to him, her body's warmth pressed against his as if she wanted to meld right there.
Kazuya let out a light sigh, coffee cup still in hand as Ishtar remained glued to him.
"The real criminal is you, Ishtar. And I'm not even talking about the destruction in Uruk…" he remarked casually, with a slight, teasing smile on his lips.
Ishtar got a bit flustered: "I-I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't destroy anything…"
"Hmm. I'm sure Gilgamesh would disagree…" he countered with the calm of someone utterly unimpressed.
Before she could snap back with one of her witty retorts, another sound cut into the scene—light, barefoot steps with an intoxicating aura that announced their owner before she even appeared.
"Anata~… what a delicious sight to start the day…"
Shuten-douji entered the kitchen in her characteristic way. Her kimono was slightly open, revealing her shoulders, and her sleeping cap was still crooked on her purple-haired head. In her hands, as usual, a small bottle of sake. She took a sip as she approached, her half-closed eyes gleaming with pure delight.
Kazuya raised an eyebrow.
"Sake this early, Shuten? Won't you get into a bad habit?"
She let out a melodic giggle.
"My body doesn't fall for trivial vices, my beloved… only for you~"
Ereshkigal made an adorable grimace at the sight of Shuten.
"Why is she drinking in the morning? That's not healthy…"
"Coming from someone who rules the underworld…" Ishtar muttered, not letting go of Kazuya.
"Are you all going to start now?" he asked, slipping out of the Mesopotamian goddess's arms while setting the plates on the counter. "Let's eat before the fish gets cold."
With the efficiency of a five-star hotel chef, Kazuya finished setting the American-style counter table. Four perfectly arranged plates: fluffy white rice, grilled fish with lemon, natto with green onions, steaming miso soup, and even tsukemono. A true traditional Japanese breakfast.
The three sat on the high stools, one on each side, while he settled in the center.
"It smells good…" Ereshkigal murmured, carefully picking up her chopsticks.
"As always…" Skadi commented, now more awake, taking her place with natural elegance, holding the bowl as if it were a disguised Nordic ceremony.
"Food made by Kazuya always has a… special taste," Shuten added, her tone carrying more double entendre than necessary.
Kazuya just gave a small, sideways smile, silently accepting the compliment.
They chatted about trivial things while eating. Skadi mentioned the lack of ice cream in the house. Shuten wanted to prepare a "sake and poetry banquet" for the next night, and Ereshkigal innocently asked if they could visit a bookstore downtown, which prompted a teasing comment from Ishtar about how that was "so her."
Then the inner door opened with a soft creak. Scáthach appeared, looking like she'd been awake for a while. She wore a casual outfit: tight dark pants, a burgundy knit top that left her shoulders bare, and black leather boots. Her eyes scanned the room with familiarity.
"You started without me," she said, but without any hint of complaint. It sounded more like a practical observation.
"You were dead asleep yesterday," Kazuya remarked, grabbing another plate and serving her.
Scáthach sat next to Skadi and raised an eyebrow: "Whose fault was that?"
Ishtar huffed.
"For a legendary warrior, you snore like an ogre."
Scáthach shrugged.
"And for a goddess of love and beauty, you're surprisingly noisy when you sleep. Like an angry boar."
Ishtar was about to retort, but Kazuya raised his hand calmly.
"Peace at the table, ladies. This is the only sacred moment of the day."
They all finished breakfast with a certain comfort in the air. It was a routine they'd come to love, filled with teasing, laughter, lingering glances, and meaningful silences.
When the last sip of coffee was taken, Kazuya stood up.
"I'm going to get ready. I want to take a walk around the city today."
"May I know why?" Skadi asked, glancing sideways.
"To feel the vibe. Buy some things. Maybe eat something sweet," he replied calmly. "That's all. Want to come with me?"
Scáthach gave a half-smile.
"I'll pass. I need to check some seals on the mansion grounds."
Skadi nodded.
"I'll stay too. Bring me some ice cream, husband, and I'll be satisfied…"
"And I have new sake to try~" Shuten said, swinging her bottle with an intoxicating smile. "But bring me a souvenir, anata~?"
Kazuya nodded and started up the stairs.
Ereshkigal and Ishtar exchanged a glance. They didn't say anything, but the gleam in their eyes was clear: they weren't going to miss this chance.