Fate/Sage Order

"Growth is not just about gaining knowledge, but discovering the path it leads you to."

Nagato's POV

The bus hummed beneath me as I stared out the window. Tokyo's skyline loomed in the distance, a stark contrast to the quiet village I had left behind. It had been four years since I decided to prioritize chakra mastery. That decision had shaped my life, pushing me toward greater heights of discipline and understanding. Now, at around twelve years old, I was on my way to the University of Tokyo. The acceptance letter felt heavy in my bag, a symbol of how far I had come and the future I was stepping into.

Leaving the Village

I gazed out the window as the bus left the village behind, memories of my final days swirling in my mind. This wasn't just about leaving home; it was about stepping into a new world, one where I could finally test everything I had prepared for.

As I looked back at the quiet streets of Matsushiro in my mind's eye, a deep ache settled in my chest. The village had been my sanctuary, a place that, despite its simplicity, had shaped who I was. It wasn't just the orphanage or the people—it was the sense of belonging, the grounding stability that now felt so distant.

I would miss the morning light streaming through the orphanage windows, the laughter of the younger children, and the quiet evenings spent helping them with their lessons. But I knew staying wouldn't keep them safe. Every moment I spent training, every ounce of effort I poured into my growth, was for them. The Grand Order loomed in my future, a crisis that threatened not just my world, but theirs. If I couldn't master myself and my abilities, then everything I held dear would be at risk.

My thoughts drifted to Ms. Kuroda, her ever-steady presence that anchored the orphanage. Leaving her behind felt like cutting a tether, but it was also what drove me forward. I wasn't just doing this for myself. I was doing it for them—for her, for the children, for the people who had given me a home. To survive the challenges ahead, to beat the Grand Order and protect them, I had to move on.I gazed out the window as the bus left the village behind, memories of my final days swirling in my mind. This wasn't just about leaving home; it was about stepping into a new world, one where I could finally test everything I had prepared for. My thoughts drifted to the younger children at the orphanage, their wide eyes full of wonder and sadness, and Ms. Kuroda's parting words about remembering to live. Even now, those words tugged at something deep inside me, a reminder of the humanity I was determined to hold onto.

The decision to leave Matsushiro wasn't easy. It had been my home for as long as I could remember, and the orphanage was where I'd built a semblance of family. When the acceptance letter arrived, I knew it was time to move forward, even if it meant leaving behind the familiar.

The children at the orphanage had gathered around me the night before I left, their eyes wide with curiosity and sadness. "Will you come back, Nagato?" one of the younger boys asked, clutching the hem of my shirt.

"I'll visit," I promised, ruffling his hair. "And when I do, I want to hear about all the amazing things you've been up to."

The matron, Ms. Kuroda, pulled me aside later that evening. Her voice was soft but carried the weight of a thousand unsaid words. "I'm proud of you, Nagato. But don't forget to live. You've carried so much on your shoulders for so long."

She paused, looking into my eyes as if searching for something. "You've been more than just a child here—you've been a mentor to the younger ones, a constant presence of strength. It's selfish of me, but I'll miss you. We all will." She hesitated, her hands wringing slightly before she continued. "But you have a future waiting for you, one that I know will be extraordinary. Just remember, it's okay to let others carry some of the weight too."

Her words echoed in my mind as I packed my things. My room, once filled with the chaos of books and tools, now felt eerily empty. I glanced at the storage scrolls holding my training materials and the carefully folded clothes in my bag. Leaving wasn't just about the physical journey; it was about stepping into a world that demanded everything I had prepared for.

Her words echoed in my mind as I packed my things. My room, once filled with the chaos of books and tools, now felt eerily empty. I glanced at the storage scrolls holding my training materials and the carefully folded clothes in my bag. Leaving wasn't just about the physical journey; it was about stepping into a world that demanded everything I had prepared for.

Flashback: The Training Years

Over the past four years, every achievement I had made was a reflection of my relentless effort. It wasn't just about mastering techniques; it was about integrating them into a cohesive foundation that prepared me for the challenges ahead.

1. Communication Magecraft: Using three charges, I developed rudimentary communication spells. They allowed me to transmit basic thoughts or messages across short distances using magical conduits. This would later integrate with my chakra sensing to create a hybrid system for long-range communication.

2. Weapon Mastery: Allocating three charges to weapon mastery allowed me to refine my skills with kunai, shuriken, and staves. I also experimented with combining weapons and jutsu, improving my versatility in combat.

3. Divination Magecraft: Using three charges, I unlocked knowledge of divination techniques, including the use of stars and tarot cards. While not directly combat-related, they provided insights into probabilities and paths, helping me anticipate outcomes and plan strategies.

4. Expanded Fuinjutsu: Fifteen charges into sealing arts transformed my understanding. Elemental sealing allowed me to contain and release elemental energy in controlled bursts, and my theories on sealing techniques hinted at their potential to affect phantasmal species. I envisioned creating seals that could disrupt or weaken these beings, a safeguard for the future.

5. Phantasmal Knowledge: Using several charges, I delved into the nature of species within the Fate universe—true ancestors, magical beasts, and divine spirits. This knowledge enriched my training, allowing me to devise strategies and potential counters for each type.

6. Chakra Sensing and Sealing Integration: I advanced my chakra sensing to detect subtle differences in energy signatures. By integrating it with fuinjutsu, I could create seals that responded to specific chakra patterns, increasing their adaptability and efficiency.

7. Medical Ninjutsu: Mystical Palm and Chakra Scalpels became more refined, and I succeeded in complex tasks like transplanting fish organs. This progress spurred my growing interest in medical sciences, both chakra-based and magecraft-based.

Flashback: Experimenting with the Rinnegan

As I honed my skills, the Rinnegan demanded more from me than any other discipline. Its power wasn't just about control—it was about responsibility. Each path I unlocked deepened my understanding of what it meant to wield this gift.

Unlocking the Rinnegan's paths was an experience that redefined my understanding of power.

Deva Path: Manipulating gravitational forces became second nature, allowing me to push and pull objects or opponents with precision. Over time, I refined this ability to the point where I could subtly alter gravity around myself to achieve flight. This opened new possibilities for mobility and strategy, both in combat and during training. Additionally, I used controlled increases in gravity on my own body to enhance physical training, pushing my endurance and strength beyond normal limits.

Preta Path: Absorbing chakra and magical energy turned battles into tests of endurance for my opponents. Initially, I had assumed this ability would only counter chakra-based attacks, but as I experimented, I discovered it extended to the Nasuverse's magical energy. Preta Path could absorb spells and energy constructs, making it an invaluable tool against magecraft-based adversaries. This revelation broadened the path's utility and reinforced its role as a key defensive ability.

Animal Path: Summoning creatures expanded my tactical options, from reconnaissance to direct combat support. I discovered that I could adjust the size of the animals I summoned to suit my needs. A small bird, for example, proved invaluable for reconnaissance, quietly scouting ahead and relaying information. Conversely, summoning a massive bird provided me with a reliable method of flight, complementing the Deva Path's gravity manipulation. Each summon added a new layer of strategy, whether in combat or exploration.

Asura Path: Though still in its infancy, the Asura Path hinted at possibilities far beyond my current understanding. Initial experiments with alchemical tools and mechanical constructs barely scratched the surface of its capabilities. It felt as though the path contained a vast, untapped reservoir of potential—technology and combat merging in ways I could only theorize. The glimpses I caught hinted at something truly transformative, yet elusive, as if the path itself was waiting for the right moment to reveal its full scope.

Human Path: Training the Human Path proved nearly impossible in a small village like Matsushiro. This path's ability to extract souls for interrogation or knowledge required ethical boundaries I couldn't cross and resources I didn't possess. Testing it on animals yielded no meaningful results. While its potential was undeniable, it remained a tool I could only theorize about, rather than practice.

King of Hell: I summoned the King of Hell once, its towering, grotesque presence unnerving even me. Its purpose and full range of abilities eluded my understanding, and I hesitated to experiment further without a clearer path forward.

These paths were more than tools; they were extensions of my will, reinforcing the belief that the Rinnegan was not just a gift but a responsibility.

The Village Reacts

To the villagers, my departure was more than just a young man leaving for the city—it was a symbol of hope. Matsushiro was a small place, where dreams often stayed grounded and the horizon felt impossibly far away. My journey represented what could be achieved through determination and hard work, a reminder that even from humble beginnings, greatness was possible.

The local grocer, Mr. Yamashita, had clapped me on the back when he heard the news. "You're doing something incredible, Nagato. You'll show the world what Matsushiro can offer."

Mrs. Takeda, who had known me since I was a child, wiped a tear from her eye as she handed me a small bag of rice balls for the journey. "You've made us all so proud. Don't forget us when you're famous."

Mr. Fujimoto, my first teacher, had beamed with pride when he heard the news. "I always knew you were meant for great things," he said. "But remember, Nagato, it's not just about where you go. It's about who you bring with you in spirit."

Ms. Kuroda's Reflections

The night before I left, Ms. Kuroda sat alone in the orphanage's small office, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a well-worn notebook. She had always known this day would come, but the weight of it was heavier than she had imagined. Nagato had been more than just a child under her care; he had been a mentor to the younger ones, a figure of stability, and a quiet force of change in their little world.

She thought of the countless nights she had seen him hunched over books, training in the woods, or helping the younger children with their studies. There was pride, yes, in what he had accomplished, but there was also a hollow ache at the thought of his absence. Who would the children turn to now when they needed guidance? Who would be the steady presence they could rely on?

As she prepared herself to say goodbye the next morning, she resolved to smile, to let him see only her pride. The weight of her worry, her longing to keep him close, she would carry alone. "This is his time," she whispered to herself, a bittersweet smile forming. "He deserves this."

The graduating students, however, were a mix of pride, envy, and inspiration. Most planned to stay in Matsushiro or move to nearby towns. I was the only one heading to a university, let alone one as prestigious as the University of Tokyo. "You're so lucky," one muttered during our last class. I didn't correct him. Luck had nothing to do with it.

But not all were resentful. Some, like Aiko, looked at me with a spark of determination. "If you can make it out there, maybe I can too," she said with a small smile. "You've shown us what's possible."

Her words lingered with me, a reminder that my actions weren't just for my future—they were proof that even from a small village like Matsushiro, one could reach for the stars. Perhaps my journey would inspire others to pursue dreams they had once thought impossible.

One of my peers, Hideki, had approached me just before our final school gathering. "Nagato," he began, hesitating slightly, "you're really leaving, huh? You always seemed... different. Like you didn't belong here."

I could hear the mixture of resentment and sadness in his tone. "It's not that I didn't belong," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "I just... have something I need to do. But Matsushiro will always be a part of me."

He nodded but didn't say more. The weight of my departure seemed to linger in the air, unspoken yet palpable.

Present Day: On the Bus

As the bus journeyed on, I couldn't help but think about the Holy Grail War of this timeline—the one where Marisbury Animusphere and his Caster Servant Solomon had emerged victorious. Even the thought of stepping near Fuyuki had filled me with dread. Solomon's clairvoyance would have unraveled every secret I carried, and I might have been eliminated before I could even act. It wasn't just the danger; it was the certainty that I wasn't ready to face someone of that caliber yet. Avoidance wasn't cowardice—it was survival, and that survival demanded patience.

The year was 2006, and the world around me was rapidly changing, much like my own life. As a child of around twelve years old, traveling alone would have been impossible in the eyes of adults. Seated beside me was Dr. Hashimoto, a representative from the University of Tokyo who had been sent to ensure my safe arrival. A kind but formal man in his early forties, he occasionally glanced my way, his expression a mix of curiosity and professional decorum.

Dr. Hashimoto's Perspective

As the bus rumbled along the highway, Dr. Hashimoto adjusted his glasses, sneaking a glance at the young boy beside him. A nearly twelve-year-old prodigy, traveling to Tokyo for a university education—it wasn't just uncommon, it was unprecedented.

The university had sent him, not just as a chaperone, but as a representative of its growing interest in this boy. Nagato Uzumaki wasn't just a student; he was a symbol of the institution's dedication to nurturing exceptional talent. Expectations were sky-high, but so were the whispers of doubt among the faculty. Could someone so young handle the rigor? Would his brilliance hold up under the pressure?

Hashimoto had seen the boy's records, though, and they were unlike anything he'd encountered in his career. Beyond the grades and accolades, there was a quiet determination in Nagato's demeanor that struck him. The boy barely spoke during their journey, his gaze fixed out the window, yet there was a calm intensity that hinted at something extraordinary.

"The university is eager to see what you'll accomplish," Hashimoto said, breaking the silence. "You have a rare opportunity, Nagato. I hope you're ready to meet it."

Nagato turned to him briefly, his expression unreadable. "I'll do my best," he replied, his voice steady but distant.

Hashimoto nodded, sensing that there was far more to this boy than anyone truly understood.

Nagato POV

"The university has high hopes for you, Nagato," he said after a long silence. "It's rare for someone of your age to achieve what you have academically. There are professors who are eager to see how you'll develop."

His words carried an undercurrent of expectation that both excited and unnerved me. I nodded politely, keeping my thoughts to myself. There was no need to explain to him the weight I carried or the reasons behind my relentless drive. The survival of those I loved and the world I inhabited depended on my progress.

The bus ride to Tokyo felt surreal. The year 2006 marked a turning point, not just for me, but for the plans I had laid so carefully. Every moment felt like a collision of my past and the future I was striving for. My mind flickered between memories of long nights spent refining jutsu and the promise of everything the University of Tokyo could offer.

My past had prepared me for this. Years of relentless training had taught me discipline and focus. Shadow Clones allowed me to juggle multiple tasks at once, a skill I now intended to use to balance university studies and my secret training. Medical sciences weren't just an academic pursuit; they were an extension of the techniques I had honed with chakra and magecraft.

The University wasn't just a stepping stone; it was a proving ground. I planned to test my theories, refine my healing techniques, and expand my understanding of the human body and energy manipulation. Beyond that, it was a way to prepare for Chaldea, the organization I knew I would encounter one day. Mastering medical spells and blending chakra techniques with magecraft would make me indispensable, not just another recruit.

Even with my confidence, doubts lingered. Would I have the time to train? Could I keep my abilities hidden? Would the challenges ahead demand more than I had prepared for? These questions pressed at the edge of my thoughts, but I pushed them aside. The only way to find answers was to keep moving forward.

The bus ride to Tokyo felt surreal. I was leaving behind everything I had known, yet I couldn't ignore the thrill of what lay ahead. The University of Tokyo wasn't just a school; it was an opportunity to bridge the gap between my medical studies and the techniques I had mastered in secret. It was a stepping stone to something greater—Chaldea.

I thought of Ayumi, studying in the same city. Knowing she was nearby brought comfort. She had always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. As the city skyline grew closer, I clutched the letter in my bag and whispered, "This is only the beginning.