Chapter 323: Shinji — If Magecraft's Handy, Then Use the Hell Out of It!
A spotless, sterile hospital room.
On the bed sat Ryougi Shiki, her eyes vacant and lifeless.
Click… click…
In her hands was a Rubik's Cube, which she absentmindedly twisted, one move after another.
Of course, this cube wasn't a coincidence—it was a prop Shinji had deliberately chosen.
Its jumbled state reflected Shiki's fractured psyche.
This technique wasn't something Shinji had invented either. Plenty of characters with split personalities were often given little props like coins or cubes.
Especially a Rubik's Cube—divided into colors, fragmented into parts—it was the perfect metaphor for a divided self.
Sure, people loved to joke about "the blue curtains" meme, mocking literature teachers for overanalyzing texts:
"The curtains were blue—symbolizing the author's crushing depression and suffocating sense of despair."
In reality, the curtains were blue just because the author liked blue.
But that kind of over-interpretation rarely happens in film or visual arts. The reason's simple: movies and artwork are visual mediums. For the sake of aesthetics, creators don't waste space on meaningless details.
For example, if a scene's supposed to feel melancholic and someone splashes in bright cheerful red—it's either intentional irony, or the designer failed their art theory course and needs to retake it.
Of course, sometimes what audiences interpret and what the creator intended don't line up at all. That's a whole other story.
Anyway, for The Garden of Sinners, Shinji stuck with classic cinematic symbolism.
The Rubik's Cube in Shiki's hands was exactly that.
As the cube gradually fell back into order, it represented the death of Azaka's personality, and Shiki's fractured self slowly unifying.
Even though her eyes were still wrapped in bandages, her fiddling with the cube was more symbolic than practical—so it worked fine for the scene.
Naturally, in Shinji's plan, the cube would never be fully solved—because Shiki still had that third personality, the Root-connected Shiki, lurking in the background.
But since that aspect would never appear in this film—just a subtle bit of foreshadowing—the cube was destined to remain unfinished.
And right when Shiki was about to align the last pieces—
Click
The door to the hospital room swung open.
"Yo, what's up?"
Though she wore a doctor's coat, nobody would ever mistake Aozaki Touko for a real doctor. At least, not a proper one.
After all, what respectable physician greets a patient like that?
"Huh, I was expecting you to look worn out… but wow, your skin's glowing. Didn't think you'd be this healthy-looking."
Touko's casual, flippant tone carried not a shred of bedside manner.
"When I first heard about you, I thought you'd be some kind of ghost girl. Honestly, I didn't even feel like coming. But turns out you're my type after all—a cute little thing. Lucky me~"
Despite being in her mid-twenties, her speech carried the cadence of a perverted middle-aged man.
And her behavior matched—ignored by Shiki, she still carried on blithely, pulling up a chair beside the bed and scrutinizing the bedridden beauty.
"Nice to meet you. I'm the speech therapist here to help with your aphasia. I don't have any official ID since I'm not local."
If anything, her words only made her more suspicious. But Touko herself seemed completely unaware.
"Still, since your eyes don't work right now, I guess it doesn't matter."
"…Aphasia? Who are you talking about?"
Without hesitation, Shiki snapped back, her tone flat.
Touko nodded in satisfaction, humming softly as if she'd just confirmed something.
"True enough. Normally, being told you have aphasia would make anyone upset. Not exactly the most flattering diagnosis. But really, it was a misdiagnosis."
Touko tapped Shiki lightly on the forehead, almost teasing.
"Your attending physician, the Ashiya guy? He's the type who clings to textbooks. Not much good with unusual cases like yours."
"Of course, you're partly to blame too. If you weren't too lazy to talk, there wouldn't have been a misunderstanding in the first place."
Touko smiled, almost warmly—carrying a faint glow of maternal affection.
A shame Shiki couldn't see it.
"…So they thought I had aphasia?"
Her tone wasn't cold so much as… bewildered.
"Yup. The story is, your brain got damaged in the accident. They assumed your speech pathways were compromised."
Touko's voice drifted, soft and lazy, with a languid, almost sultry timbre—as though she were half-asleep while teasing Shiki.
"But really, it's a misdiagnosis. The reason you don't speak isn't physical—it's psychological."
"So not aphasia, but mutism. Which means… I don't actually have a job here. One minute in and I'm already unemployed—that'd be tragic."
Touko gave a sly little grin.
"Luckily, my real line of work isn't too busy. So I'll keep you company a while longer. Besides, freeloading a paycheck's the best deal someone like me could ask for."
"…"
Shiki silently reached for the nurse-call button.
Only for Touko to snatch it from her hand with lightning speed.
"You—"
"Cut!"
Shinji's voice rang out, halting the performance.
Both Shiki and Touko froze mid-action, turning toward him.
"Shiki," Shinji said bluntly, "your expression's not there yet."
Shiki tilted her head, instinctively reaching for the bandages on her face, only for Touko to grab her wrist just in time.
"Don't move. If the wrappings come loose, we'll be stuck rebinding them for half an hour."
"…Sorry."
Head bowed, Shiki apologized.
Shinji walked closer, studying her face. After a moment's thought, he explained:
"Right now, your Shiki should be confused and annoyed when faced with Touko. To her, Touko's concern feels completely unnecessary."
"You didn't convey that just now. What you gave me was just 'Touko's noisy.' But Shiki's not some emotionless doll. You need to show her layered, negative emotions through micro-expressions."
He patted her shoulder firmly.
"Remember, Shiki isn't a 'three-no' girl. You need to show her complex inner world with subtle shifts."
"…Shinji—uh, Director. I'll do my best."
Shiki gave her assurance.
Sure, the popular image of Ryougi Shiki was the icy-eyed girl with mismatched pupils, brandishing a blade and saying, "I'll cut even a god down."
But in truth, in the original works, Shiki was far more emotionally rich. Beneath that aloof exterior lay the heart of a gentle young woman.
She looked indifferent, but no one cared more deeply about "her people" than she did.
She could boast she'd slay a god, but when faced with Fujino—a girl who literally wanted her dead—what did she do? Performed an emergency appendectomy for free.
Even later, in Sanda's The Case Files of Lord El-Melloi II, Shiki quietly acted as Mikiya's bodyguard all along.
And when he realized it, he even thanked her.
For Type-Moon fans, getting Shiki × Mikiya sweet moments in Sanda's writing was an unexpected delight.
No wonder some fans argue Sanda's the one carrying the "true torch" of the Nasuverse—while Sakurai's melodramatic romance writing is… well. Cough.
Anyway, Shinji had said from the start he wanted the movie-version Shiki to come across like a spoiled young lady—moody, temperamental, but with depth. So these nuances couldn't be missed.
"Alright, slight adjustment."
He glanced between Touko and Shiki, then suddenly called over to Shirou, who was temporarily filling in as prop assistant.
After listening, Shirou's face twisted as though he'd just swallowed something foul. Still, he gave a reluctant nod and walked out.
Two minutes later, he returned—holding two shiny, sparkling stickers.
"What's this?"
Shiki, though her eyes were still wrapped in bandages, could sense the new glint of light in the room.
"New tech. Flash stickers."
Shinji grinned as he stuck the shining stickers onto the inside of Shiki's gown and the corner of the bed frame—carefully hidden from the camera's view.
Shiki stayed silent.
Everyone on set knew that Shinji's so-called "new tech" was just code for magecraft.
"What's it even do?" Touko asked, eyes narrowing.
"Adjusts the lighting. Shapes the mood."
Shinji tossed out the explanation casually. Once he confirmed the stickers were glowing properly, he returned to his director's chair.
"All departments, ready… The Garden of Sinners: Remaining Sense of Pain, Scene Two, Cut Three… Action!"
Filming resumed. This time, the spotlight was firmly on Shiki's character. Touko might've been making her first appearance, but the focus was on the blindfolded heroine—meaning the weight of the performance fell squarely on her.
Fortunately, with Shinji's coaching, Shiki's expression this take was much sharper—no repeats of the earlier mistakes.
And with the glowing stickers subtly shifting the room's illumination, shadows flickered across her face, perfectly mirroring her inner turmoil.
Touko, clutching the call button she'd "stolen," exhaled in relief. Seeing Shinji hadn't yelled cut, she pressed on with her lines.
"That was close. If Ashiya heard me say that, I'd have been thrown out on the spot. But really, what's so bad about being labeled aphasic?"
Settling back into her chair, she leaned lazily forward.
"Wouldn't that mean you never have to answer boring questions again? Think about it."
Shiki found the reasoning oddly convincing. Beneath her bandages, her eyes turned toward the strange "doctor."
"You're… not a doctor."
"Mmhm. My real profession is Magus."
Same sterile hospital room. Same enigmatic mentor guiding the protagonist.
Some fans might see this as a deliberate callback to Kiritsugu's infamous "I'm a Magus" line to Shirou.
But truthfully? Touko's line came first. The Garden of Sinners had already been serialized back in '98.
And unlike Shirou, Shiki wasn't the type of kid who'd swallow a stranger's words whole.
"Stage tricks don't work on me."
Touko chuckled.
"Ahaha~ true enough. Sleight of hand won't fill the hole in your chest. Only ordinary people can do that."
"…A hole in my chest?"
"That's right. You've noticed too, haven't you? The existence of your other self."
Smiling softly, the "doctor" rose from her seat.
"…But perhaps it's too soon to say more. That's enough for today. I'll be back tomorrow. See you then~"
As suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished.
Shiki didn't try to stop her. Instead, she lifted her stiff right hand to her lips.
"…Azaka."
She softly called the name of her other self.
At that moment, the entire room dimmed, as if echoing her melancholy.
Lights seemed to be swallowed by something invisible.
Out in the control area, crew members looked around in surprise, whispering to one another—it was as if all the light had been sucked away.
"Hey, Shinji." Shirou leaned close, voice low. "Isn't this a bit much? Just because magecraft makes things easier, doesn't mean you can keep spamming it. What if someone catches on?"
Of course, this wasn't an illusion or a trick of the eye. The glowing stickers Shinji had placed earlier were literally absorbing the room's light, plunging it into shadow for dramatic effect.
But Shinji just waved his hand dismissively.
"No problem. Outsiders will just say, 'Wow, science is amazing!' No one's gonna suspect magic."
He leaned back with a smirk.
"Seriously, being able to use magecraft is the best. Saves me from having to mess with color correction in post. Straight to editing—done."
"…You're unbelievable." Shirou buried his face in his hands. "You just love taking the lazy way out."
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