Type-Moon Assassination Fist 1

Type-Moon Assassination Fist 1

Edited by: Tiny Fan Fiction

Chapter 1: Anxiously Waiting for Updates

It’s clear that things have developed beyond my control.

Kuzuki stands by the rusted iron window, his face pale as he looks outwards through the strong smell of disinfectant in the medical room.

There’s no activity outside, so Kuzuki pulls back the curtains and sits on the bed, beginning to think up a plan.

“Fifteen minutes ago, I was resting at home, flipping through some random ancient text I found in a book, only to get stuck trying to understand the unfamiliar words when I dozed off. Upon waking up, I found myself inside this medical room. After carefully observing my surroundings, I made several puzzling observations.”

“Firstly, this is a tropical climate in the northern subtropical monsoon climate region of a rainforest, so there are significant differences in weather, seasons, and temperature compared to where I previously lived. Secondly, some memories have appeared in my mind that didn’t exist before. Lastly, this body isn’t mine.”

Kuzuki furrows his brow while nibbling on his nails, trying to figure out: “Guess one, I was taken by a superorganism or an alien and underwent human modification and memory transfer. Guess two, what I’m seeing and feeling are illusions, perhaps due to being trapped in a reality-distorting dream or hallucination like the ones used in Inception. Guess three, maybe I’ve undergone time travel, making my current body different from my original one.”

To test guess one, Kuzuki begins a series of physical activities to check for any discomfort or irregularities in his body. Surprisingly, he finds none—his body is even more flexible and nimble than before.

“It’s amazing how strong my muscles are now!” Kuzuki single-handedly performs twenty push-ups, then presses down on the ground with both hands in a delayed flip to stand upright. “My strength, agility, and endurance have all increased significantly; it seems this body has been exercised for quite some time.”

There are clear signs of rough handling—fingernails that’ve been worn down over time from constant impact.

After testing his physical abilities, Kuzuki turns to his memories, recalling events since he first noticed something was wrong until just before the incident.

“My memory is intact—no gaps or omissions,” Kuzuki mutters, frustration setting in as he realizes this puzzle resembles brain in a vat. He quickly shifts focus to evaluating guess two.

“Considering my previous technological level, achieving something like this seems highly unlikely—the probability of it being true is lower than that of encountering an alien.” Guess one doesn’t seem very plausible, so Kuzuki moves on to test guess two.

“If I’m currently experiencing a reality-distorting illusion or dream, the premise would be that my original body still exists but my consciousness isn’t connected to it—using this as a foundation for reasoning…”

The medical room has two chairs. Kuzuki moves one aside as a tool and leans back in it, maintaining balance while slowly bending forward.

As he approaches a critical point, the chair suddenly becomes unstable, causing him to lose balance like slipping down stairs without proper footing. His muscles tense up involuntarily, trying to maintain equilibrium through muscle memory reflexes.

On his original body, Kuzuki would have certainly fallen backward from this height, but with this highly sensitive and agile frame, he instinctively performs a cobra-like movement—springing forward like a cat landing from great height while simultaneously pushing himself up to stand.

“This method didn’t work at all… So let’s try pain!” Kuzuki hesitates before sticking his finger into the flesh of his left hand, where it shouldn’t be.

As a medical room, there must have been some sort of IV stand with needle tubes in it.

Kuzuki finds a thin needle tube from the desk drawer and hesitates before piercing his left hand’s finger with its tip.

“Squeak!”

Heart-to-heart intense pain makes Kuzuki gasp for air, his left arm even causing him to involuntarily shake.

No changes.

Kuzuki’s face sweating, he pulls back the needle.

He discards the needle tube, waiting for pain to subside, Kuzuki begins moving around in the cramped medical room. He crawls under the bed looking for something, then lifts objects by hand, causing wooden chairs to break apart. Then he starts examining the broken parts’ textures. Then he closed his eyes and stood in front of the window without moving.

“There is nothing unusual in vision, hearing, smell, taste, touch and body instincts, and the details of things are very realistic, both macroscopic and microscopic, which are consistent with reality. In addition, the pain stimulation has no effect, so the second guess cannot be verified.” In fact, there is one last way to verify, that is death. If the second guess is true, then if he dies in this body, he may wake up in the original world, but the problem is that the possibility of the second guess is not very high, and he may not wake up in the original world after death. This world is so realistic that the brain will think it is reality. Maybe he will really die if he dies.

After trying various methods, This brings us to the third guess that Kuzuki is most reluctant to believe.

He has crossed over.

If guess three is true, then the premise that people have souls must hold.

This “soul” isn’t in the narrow sense but refers to a special kind of physical substance capable of carrying memories.

If souls exist, what happened to those who died? Are there heavens or hells? Those images are unacceptable to Kuzuki.

However, many signs point towards guess three being true.

First, extra memories appear in his mind.

Another person’s life.

He doesn’t know who his parents are or why it matters. Since birth, he has been trained and educated by a “group.” He doesn’t know what this group is or what they intend to do with him; all he knows is to follow orders and undergo constant physical exercise.

All he needs to do is obey.

Nineteen years of monotonous and lifeless existence.

“That is to say, the ability of my current body is all thanks to the “group”… and thanks to the small information capacity of this memory, I can still maintain my personality and self in the fusion of the two memories without being changed… No, there are still changes. I can feel that my willpower, execution, and endurance are much stronger than before, and my emotional fluctuations are much less. I don’t care about many things that I used to care about.”

In addition to memory, there is another point that can support the third guess.

Time is a key point.

When searching for the needle tube, Kuzuki also saw the medicine box in the drawers.

Kuzuki can read without issues using Japanese script; this isn’t an issue as it’s just memory fusion’s side effect. This line is significant, as it highlights a minor point but emphasizes its importance in context.

The production date is July 5, 1996, and the product has a 24-month warranty period.

It’s been exactly 20 years since then.