Chapter Eight: Malice That Draws Each Other In

The next morning, Roland pushed open the door to his home, rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn.

After such a good night’s sleep, he had woken even earlier than usual.
“There’s still two hours to go. What should I do?”
At this hour, the street was still shrouded in silence. The sky resembled a mirror wiped clean, then veiled again by a thin mist—only the faintest dawnlight filtered through, vast yet serene and warm.

Without dwelling on it, Roland, now thoroughly disciplined under the influence of his pact spirit, quickly found his answer.
“A morning run, of course. After indulging myself, I have to return to a regular life if I want to find happiness. How delightful, how delightful…”

Fighting in anger was always draining. Though this was common sense, Roland, thinking long-term, decided it was time to build up his stamina. Stretching as he went, he cheered himself on.

He deliberately kept his voice low to avoid attracting attention, but apparently, someone with acute hearing had still caught it.

A greeting called out from behind him.
“Good morning.”

Roland froze immediately. Talking to oneself wasn’t all that odd, but being overheard always brought embarrassment—especially when you weren’t yet twenty. If he were thirty, perhaps he could have laughed it off.

He turned instinctively, quickly searching his memory. The greeting sounded like mere polite small talk between acquaintances, but the voice was oddly familiar.

Its owner soon approached—a tall, solidly built young man with neatly cropped hair. His features were pleasing, but his indifferent expression made him seem severe, even intimidating.

He wore a voluminous robe like a uniform, but it did not restrict his movements. A golden cross hung at his neck, yet perhaps due to his stern countenance, he gave the impression of an unwelcome, old-fashioned priest.

“Good morning…” Roland looked at the newcomer with an odd expression, inwardly on high alert, ready to summon Killer Queen at a moment’s notice. “Are you a priest?”

“Yes, forgive my rudeness.” The priest stopped at a distance that would not raise suspicion, meeting Roland’s gaze with eyes as calm as a still well.
“I am the priest of Fuyuki Church—Kirei Kotomine.”

Did I get found out?

No, that can’t be. I haven’t done anything! If you don’t get caught, it doesn’t count as a crime, right?
There shouldn’t even be a trace left at yesterday’s scene. Not even the most tenacious detective could find me.
Besides, why would Tohsaka Tokiomi or the Church bother with this? Unless there’s a trace of the occult or magecraft, they don’t care about serial killers. Why would they care about me?

Despite the shock in his heart, Roland’s face remained expressionless. He hesitated, then asked, “My name is Roland. May I ask why you’re looking for me, Father Kotomine?”

Killer Queen was already poised to strike. Should Kirei so much as make a move, Roland would let him taste the power of a Stand—with no need to hold back.

He let his gaze drop slightly. Kirei stood upright, but his hands were hidden beneath his sleeves.

Kirei, unaware of Roland’s thoughts and subtle gestures, simply looked back at Roland and issued an unexpected invitation.

“I overheard you just now. Would you like to go running together?”

For a moment, silence fell.

“…Huh?”

Roland’s bewildered exclamation seemed to make Kirei realize his own awkwardness. He began to explain, somewhat haltingly, about just having returned to Fuyuki, his enthusiasm for morning exercise, and his lack of a companion—filling the entire street with an oddly cheerful air.

Roland, finally recalling what he’d said earlier, came to his senses. Had this guy been triggered by a keyword? Was he subconsciously drawn over?

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Roland resolved to refuse, determined to avoid trouble with a firm attitude.

“…Alright, but I’m not a professional. I won’t be fast.”

Some time later, sweating lightly and feeling his body warm, Roland stopped running.

“That’s enough for me today. I have work soon. What about you, Kotomine?”

“I still need to practice boxing,” Kirei replied calmly, not bothering to conceal anything. “My father once received the transmission of Bajiquan from China, and was taught by a master, so that’s my fixed morning training.”

After they agreed to run together again the next morning, Kirei turned and jogged off toward the church with no hesitation, resuming his exercise.

Only when his figure faded from sight did Roland shrug lightly.

“So it really was just morning exercise… I thought I was being tailed.”

It wasn’t hard to see through Kirei at this stage. Knowing his current personality was as stagnant as a dead pool, it was clear he could not disguise much.

During the run, neither of them spoke—just ran in silence. Roland had even feigned fatigue a few times, revealing deliberate openings, but Kirei showed no reaction.

If he’d been ordered to monitor him, even just to keep an eye out, he wouldn’t have acted this way. Still, from another perspective, he was being watched.

It would be a lie to say Roland didn’t know what trait of his had drawn Kirei’s attention—but he hadn’t expected their meeting to happen like this.

Could there really be such a thing as gravitational pull between people?

Frowning, Roland sat for a while on a bench. Once his breath had steadied, he rose and looked to the nearby row of vending machines.

“I’ll buy some tea, then go home for a shower. It’s almost time for work.”

He walked to the vending machines, picked his preferred drink, and reached into his pocket—only to find it empty.

Huh?

Trying the other pocket yielded nothing either, and his body stiffened as he stared wordlessly up at the sky.

A rookie mistake. His first morning run, he’d switched to comfortable clothes and completely forgotten any logistical preparations.

Oh well, just ten minutes of patience. He’d wait until he got home.

Just as he was about to leave, he heard footsteps approaching—a young man in a flashy purple jacket with leopard print at the collar, orange hair, giving off the air of a playboy.

The orange-haired youth looked as if he’d just come from a nightclub, out for a stroll in this quiet place.

He stepped past Roland, dropped a few coins into the machine, pressed the button for a hundred-yen barley tea twice, then took one bottle and handed it to Roland.

“When you’re out, this sort of thing happens. If you feel bad, just pay me back later… Ah, I have something to do, so I’ll be off.”

Seeing Roland hesitate, the young man cheerfully pressed the bottle into his hand, waved casually, and strode away.

No expectation of repayment, no unnecessary conversation—the young man simply performed a good deed with a cheerful smile and optimistic attitude.

Anyone witnessing such a scene would probably take a liking to him, even if their first impression was less than favorable.

But Roland could not, because he knew the young man’s name.

Ryunosuke Uryu.

So it was not only Stand users who were drawn to each other—even villains, too, were fated to meet.