Emiya Shirou Doesn't Want to Work Overtime [235]

“It’s really been a long time since I last cooked for myself.”

Shirou Emiya quietly tidied up his futon, careful not to disturb Shana, who was still asleep next to him. He neatly folded the bedding away into the closet, then arranged the low square table in preparation for breakfast.

“You’re up early,” came Alastor’s steady voice from beside Shana, the pendant gently flickering with a faint red glow.

“You don’t need to sleep, Alastor-san?” Shirou asked softly, placing dishes onto the table.

“As a Crimson Lord, I have no need for sleep.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Shirou nodded in understanding. It made sense—most beings unlike humans, like demons or Heroic Spirits, didn't really need sleep either.

Quickly, he slipped into the bathroom to wash up, then made his way to the refrigerator. Despite the apartment’s old appearance, its amenities were surprisingly complete—including a refrigerator.

Creak—

He gently pulled open the refrigerator door, yet it still emitted a harsh, grating sound.

The appliance had clearly seen better days; frankly, it was a miracle it still worked at all. Of course, Shirou had done his best yesterday to repair everything in the apartment—using Reinforcement Magecraft to hold some things together. He’d always been skilled at repairing appliances; back at school, he often fixed broken equipment, so he had plenty of experience in these matters.

Inside the refrigerator were a few vegetables, some fruit, and pork—courtesy of the café owner, who’d generously advanced Shirou a month’s wages upfront. That allowed him to quickly secure this place and purchase necessary daily supplies. After all, landlords typically didn’t provide basics like cooking oil or salt.

Shirou took out some vegetables. Breakfast didn’t need to be elaborate—just some miso soup and rice balls would suffice.

“First, let’s cut these vegetables…”

With a flick of silver, the kitchen knife resting on the rack was tossed neatly upward, spinning perfectly through the air before landing precisely in Shirou’s waiting hand.

Rapidly, he placed the freshly washed vegetables onto the cutting board, and with rhythmic chopping sounds, they transformed into uniformly sliced pieces.

“Alright!”

Shirou took a pot from the cabinet below, rinsed it clean, added water, and carefully stirred in his prepared seasonings. Once the water reached a gentle simmer, he added the vegetables, stirring lightly and sprinkling in a pinch of salt.

“Flavor seems good!”

Taking a small spoonful, he tasted the soup. The saltiness was just right. Now all he had to do was let it simmer gently, coaxing out the full richness of the vegetables.

Ding—!

Turning his head toward the sound, Shirou saw the rice cooker indicating that the rice was done steaming. He lifted the lid slightly, and a rich aroma wafted through the room.

“Better let it cool for a bit first.”

As Shirou thought this, he suddenly heard slight movements behind him.

“Mmm...”

Perhaps disturbed by the bubbling soup, Shana slowly rose from her futon, eyes half-open, staring blankly into the distance.

It was still quite early—barely half past six, well before Shana’s usual waking hour.

Swiftly, Shirou removed his apron and walked toward her, pulling up the pajamas that had slipped down her shoulders, buttoning them neatly.

While Shana was still in a daze, Shirou—somehow very naturally—took hold of her just below her shoulders and lifted her gently onto her feet, placing a pair of slippers directly beneath her.

Then, without hesitation, he led her carefully into the bathroom, opened a fresh toothbrush package, squeezed toothpaste onto its bristles, and guided her hand so that she brushed her teeth.

For some reason, Shana’s mind was still floating somewhere distant; she didn’t even offer the slightest resistance.

After guiding her to rinse out the foam, Shirou mixed hot and cold water to the perfect temperature, dipped a clean towel in it, and gently cleaned her face.

Then, from somewhere unknown, he produced a comb, smoothing out her messy hair until it lay neatly over her shoulders.

Only once he’d finished all this did Shirou suddenly remember he’d left the miso soup simmering unattended. Quickly, he brought Shana out of the bathroom, seated her neatly at the low table, where he’d previously arranged her clothes tidily.

Apparently, he’d noticed her clothing lying around earlier while tidying up the bedding and had decided to neatly fold them. Even Alastor was carefully positioned beside her clothes.

Shirou hurried back to the stove, switched off the heat, and ladled out a small spoonful of soup, gently blowing to cool it down before tasting it.

A pleasantly mellow sweetness filled his mouth.

“Just the right timing.”

Satisfied, Shirou glanced toward the rice. He checked the temperature, relieved to find it had cooled enough to handle. After moistening his gloves with freshly boiled water, he took a pinch of salt mixed with white sesame, lightly coating his palms. Then, scooping up a handful of fragrant rice, he expertly shaped it into perfect rice balls.

Moments later, he set the finished miso soup and rice balls before Shana, who’d finished changing.

“Thanks for the meal,” Shirou said quietly.

“Thanks for the meal,” Shana echoed after him, beginning to eat.

“…Shana…” Alastor’s solemn voice murmured softly from the pendant.

Alastor had quickly accepted the name Shana had chosen for herself. Despite having lived for countless years, he found himself honestly stunned at how Shirou Emiya had—without a flicker of hesitation—completed every step of Shana’s morning routine.

Leaving aside how and why Shirou seemed absurdly proficient at all this, what shocked Alastor most was Shana’s total lack of resistance from start to finish. He struggled to articulate exactly how bizarre the situation was.

Firstly, Shana was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She was entirely familiar with basic human necessities and required no assistance whatsoever.

Secondly, given Shana’s fiery temperament, it was absolutely unthinkable that she’d quietly let herself be maneuvered like a doll by someone else. Alastor genuinely couldn’t trust his own eyes.

But the strangest part of all was that, watching Shirou quietly coax Shana through her morning, Alastor somehow found this entire situation oddly…normal.

Yet Shirou Emiya was only fifteen or sixteen years old—was this kind of caretaking routine really common for modern high schoolers?

For the first time in ages, Alastor found himself deeply perplexed. Had he simply gone too long without contracting a new Flame Haze and lost touch with modern human customs?

Was the problem…with him?

With a sigh of resignation, Alastor gave up thinking altogether.

---

T/N: shirou emiya is built differently

This is a fan translation of 卫宫士郎不想加班 by 此世无存. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!