"Hey, mongrel."
"Are you the one who wishes to become my Master?"
Beneath Fuyuki Bridge, Gilgamesh stood atop a streetlamp, looking down at the child.
Wait, he was just a child?
"Ah, naturally, Hero King."
Matou Shinji wore an utterly deceptive, innocent smile.
Naturally, he knew Gilgamesh would not be fooled by such a smile, but the innocence unique to a child could still add a hint of goodwill to his negotiations with Gilgamesh.
"I am Matou Shinji. You should have fought my uncle before."
"Hmm?"
Gilgamesh raised his eyes slightly.
Burgundy hair, black pupils—going by those features, he indeed resembled that tedious Caster's Master.
"Heh. Your uncle was utterly lacking in spirit."
Gilgamesh sneered with a smile.
Though it could hardly be called mockery, since he was merely stating the truth.
"My uncle is better suited to a peaceful pastoral life. I do not think that means he lacks spirit. Some people simply are not suited to be warriors."
Shaking his head, Matou Shinji defended his uncle.
"And what about you? Are you suited to be a warrior, mongrel?"
Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes.
He would not look down on a child simply because of his young age. Besides, the composure and effortless air Matou Shinji had displayed so far were far more impressive than those of his spineless uncle.
"I do not know. Nor did I seek you out for the sake of fighting, Hero King."
When Matou Shinji left home, he had brought some money and his research notes.
Research notes written by a seven-year-old child.
Yet their standard was exceptionally high. Even at the Clock Tower, they would count as an outstanding thesis. Their only flaw was their extremely narrow range of application, since it was a special form of magecraft that only one person could use.