Enjou Tomoe was jokingly called "Shirou's alt account" by netizens because he had a face almost identical to Shirou's. In other words, they shared the same actor.
But unlike Shirou, who breezed through life with cheat codes and passively built a harem, Enjou Tomoe had it pretty rough. First, he died the moment he appeared... Hey, Enjou, did you know you were disgracing that face?
Then Enjou Tomoe shamelessly moved in with the rough-and-tumble, masculinized Shiki... Hey, how could you so casually live with another man? What about Mikiya, who had waited for you for three years, always stayed by your side, loved you, and cared about you?
Later, Enjou Tomoe learned that he was not even a substitute, just a puppet. He proclaimed something along the lines of, "A counterfeit is not necessarily inferior to the genuine article." (No, you're still a long way off! —Echizen Ryoma.) In short, plagiarism was innocent and piracy was justified, in every sense of the word.
Well, at least he was starting to look the part.
In the end, poor Mr. Enjou ran into the boss on the other side, Souren Araya. After a barrage of trash talk along the lines of, "You're completely f***ing useless," he died, leaving not even ashes behind. It was cleaner than Thanos snapping his fingers... Seriously, Enjou, you should just leave the group. You had a protagonist's face and still lost to trash talk.
Besides, Enjou Tomoe also played a major role in Shiki's path through life. It was precisely because ordinary people like Kurogiri Kanya and Enjou Tomoe existed that Shiki could better continue existing as a "person" in this mysterious world.
All things considered, Shirou decided to try finding his "alt account." At the very least, he could not let him die so thoroughly, right?
But when Shirou stood on the streets of Kanbiko City, he realized just how stupid he had been.
Kanbiko City was not small; it was a city no smaller than Fuyuki. Finding someone in such a large area when he knew nothing but their name and appearance was no easy task. As for Ogawa Apartment, forget it. That place was already full of dead people and toy people, ever since Shirou helped Reines kill someone there.
After standing around for about thirty seconds, Shirou practically wanted to throw down his hat, even though he hardly ever wore one. Just as he was about to go home and ask the elders for a better way to find someone, a young man who looked ridiculously like him ran past as if fleeing for his life, with three delinquent-looking punks chasing behind him.
See? I knew it. When a protagonist wanted to find someone, how could he possibly fail?
Shirou followed them all the way to that shoddy little alley where a heating pipe had burst because of a fight.
This time, let's not let the pipe break again, Shirou thought. Pipes had it hard enough already. Not only did they have to do their proper job, they also had to handle sneak attacks, gang shootouts, and street punk brawls. Just thinking about it was a lot to process.
"Yo! Gentlemen, thanks for looking after my brother here. If there's nothing else, I'll be taking him with me." Shirou silently appeared at the entrance to the alley and spouted nonsense at the people inside with a straight face.
Yet despite it being nonsense, every single person inside believed him. Shirou looked like a miniature Enjou Tomoe, after all. They could hardly help believing it. Not just them—even Enjou Tomoe himself believed it.
"Could Mom and Dad really have had another child without telling me?"
Poor Enjou had apparently forgotten that his parents were already dead, and that he himself had already kicked the bucket too.
"Hey, kid! Your brother beat up our guy, so hurry up and pay!" A punk was still a punk. He did not think about how Shirou had appeared; all he cared about was money.
"Ehh, that's a real headache. I never carry money," Shirou said, putting on an embarrassed expression as he walked deeper into the alley.
"What do you mean, no money?" The punk closest to Shirou walked toward him in dissatisfaction. His meaning was clear—no money, and you still dared come here?
"Hey! Stop it! He's just a child!" Hmph, a child! Without realizing it, Enjou had earned another mark in Shirou's little notebook.
Thud! The guy who had intended to attack Shirou suddenly collapsed unconscious without warning. A closer look would reveal a steel needle embedded in his neck. Shirou swore he was not copying a certain elementary-school grim reaper; it was 1996, and Detective Conan had not even been published yet.
"Oh my, sir, it seems you've been overindulging yourself lately. You've worked yourself to death!"
Shirou crouched down and poked the unfortunate man lying before him with a finger, his face utterly innocent. If someone White-Winged Duke or anyone else he had cut down saw him like this, they would definitely punch a wall.
"What do you mean, worked to death? Are you kidding me?!" After hearing Shirou, the punk in the middle wore an expression that screamed I don't believe you. He yelled at the man on the ground, "Hey, you! Get up already!"
"Stop calling! That poor brother has already gone up the mountain!" In the blink of an eye, Shirou had appeared beside the middle punk, wearing the expression of a charlatan.
"But I see that your complexion is dark today, brother, and death is written all over your face. You are certain to suffer a bloody disaster before the day is out." Shirou once again spouted nonsense with a perfectly serious face, then used Sonido to move behind him and planted a palm on his back. "Come on, count down from three. Three, two, one, down!"
"Wha—" The punk clearly wanted to say more, but the next moment his eyes rolled white and he crumpled limply to the ground. Shirou shook his head, though inside he was overjoyed. Reaching behind himself, Shirou used Projection to create a bundle of white paper flowers and tossed it onto the man.
"I have nothing more to say. Rest in peace!"
By this point, anyone could tell that something was wrong with Shirou. Otherwise, how could two perfectly healthy people simply collapse one after another?
When Shirou turned his gaze toward the last delinquent, the poor guy nearly dropped to his knees. It felt as though some monstrous beast had fixed its eyes on him.
"Hey, I'm warning you, don't come any closer! Don't come closer, you hear me?! Otherwise, otherwise I won't be nice!" The punk pulled out a butterfly knife from his pocket. Luckily, this was Japan—if it had been America, he probably would have drawn a gun instead.
His warning was nothing but wind in Shirou's ears. With a piece of junk like that, Shirou could stand still and let him chop away without even breaking his defense.
"Oh my, don't be so nervous! I'm not some kind of monster." As he spoke, Shirou slowly walked forward. "But have you heard the saying, 'Life lies in movement'? You move around that frequently, so you're bound to die quickly!"
Shirou spoke in an exaggerated tone as he walked toward the final punk. When he was around one or two meters away, he suddenly used Sonido again and vanished.
"Where are you?! Come out!" Shirou's sudden disappearance threw the punk into a panic. He wildly swung his butterfly knife around and frantically looked in every direction.
"Right here!" Shirou suddenly appeared behind the punk and gave him a shove. "There, that was some intense exercise. If you're not tired, I'm tired for you. Down you go!"
The moment Shirou finished speaking, the final punk lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground as well.
"Tch! Pretending to be young is exhausting!"
"Hey, they aren't all—" Enjou Tomoe stared at Shirou in utter terror. A dreadful thought suddenly occurred to him.
"Uh." Shirou turned back toward Enjou Tomoe and opened his right hand—a steel needle was taped to his palm. "Of course not. It was just a little trick with anesthetic needles. I'm not some kind of devil, after all."