Chapter 51: Cu Chulainn Dies Again!

                                      

Chapter 51: Cu Chulainn Dies Again!

Besides Gilles de Rais of France, Hassan of the Hundred Faces was the only Servant Shinji didn’t summon for the Fate/Zero production.

The reason was simple—Shinji wasn’t confident he could summon the right one.

According to the system of the Fuyuki Holy Grail War, if you didn’t cheat, summoning an Assassin-class Servant meant you’d always get a Hassan.

Except for that Grandp—well, Grand Servant, it was basically a gacha with unknown odds.

But for Shinji, the filmmaker behind Fate/Zero, summoning just any Hassan wasn’t enough.

If it wasn’t the Hassan of the Hundred Faces, it was meaningless.

Rather than wasting time and resources rolling the Servant gacha, he figured: why not just have someone play Hundred-Face?

It’s not like they had some unique Noble Phantasm that was impossible to replicate.

Throw a fit actor into a black bodysuit, slap on a skull mask, and voilà—you've got yourself a Hassan.

And so, that’s how the ridiculous sight of Cu Chulainn dressed like a Hassan happened on set.

In fact, it wasn’t just the blue doggo. The other "main" Hundred-Face appearance—a purple-haired, single-ponytailed Asako—was actually played by Medusa.

Yes, that Medusa.

From a producer’s perspective, having Cu Chulainn and Rider play Hassans was killing multiple birds with one stone.

First off, when it came to martial prowess, those two were easily top-tier. Playing a Hassan? Child’s play.

Second, they already had Fate/Stay Night experience under their belts. No need for training, no need to teach them camera angles or stage combat. Just toss them in costume and yell "Action!"

Even better, Cu Chulainn’s big unmasking scene could be marketed as a post-credits Easter egg.

Everyone knew the movie wasn’t real anyway—having familiar faces cameo like this made it even more fun for the fans.

Everyone was happy.

Except for Cu Chulainn.

“...Tch. Damn slave-driving Master,” he muttered, twisting his neck with a sulky expression.

“You call this acting? I’m basically being used as free labor.”

Medusa adjusted her glasses with a cold smirk.

“You’ve known him this long and still don’t get it? If there’s a way to do a two-dollar job for one, he’ll never spend even one-fifty.”

Cu Chulainn let out a long, resigned sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll act. I’ll act.” He raised a hand with mock cheer. “Once again, please take care of me, Master~~”

That “Master” wasn’t aimed at Shinji—but at Kotomine Kirei.

To help audiences distinguish between Fate/Zero and Fate/Stay Night, Kirei had even cut his hair short for the role.

He definitely looked younger now…

But the essence of the tofu-munching priest hadn’t changed a bit.

‘I wonder if the crew’s lunch has mapo tofu today…’

Standing on a fake rock built by the set team, Kirei ignored Cu Chulainn’s greeting and stared solemnly into the distance.

“...One after another, it’s always the same,” Cu Chulainn groaned.

He was starting to think his fate as a Servant was to always be at odds with his Master.

Getting screwed by Shinji every day was bad enough—in the movie, he had to get betrayed by Kirei, too.

Twice.

And the one pulling the trigger both times?

Gilgamesh, of course.

“What did I do in my past life to deserve this…” Cu Chulainn muttered as despair clouded his future.

Outside the set, Shinji gave the final OK after confirming all departments were ready and the camera rail was clear.

He nodded to the assistant director.

“Fate/Zero. Scene 7, Take 1—”

The clapboard snapped in front of the camera.

“Action!”

In front of the rolling lens, Cu Chulainn had already donned the white skull mask and slipped into spirit form.

The moment he heard the cue, he materialized silently behind Kotomine Kirei.

“Master.”

He deliberately lowered his voice, giving it a raspy tone to distinguish his character.

“The final Servant has been summoned. The Holy Grail War has officially begun.”

Kirei, staring at the prop garden that stood in for the Tohsaka mansion’s courtyard, spoke without emotion.

“Now, I want you to go to the Tohsaka estate immediately.”

“You mean...?”

“With your skills, even the fortress-like bounded fields of the Tohsaka family would pose no challenge.”

“Is that really okay?” Cu Chulainn raised a teasing eyebrow. “Aren’t we supposed to be allies with the Tohsakas?”

Kotomine Kirei’s voice remained as calm as still water. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that. Even if you end up facing Archer, there is no need to fear.”

“Hah, no need to fear one of the three Great Knight Classes, huh?” Cu Chulainn sneered with a scoff.

Kirei’s eyes didn’t so much as twitch. “I leave it to you. Eliminate Tokiomi Tohsaka—quickly.”

—You had to admit, Kirei’s emotionless delivery had a strange kind of charm. The more you heard it, the more addictive it became.

If Arturia hadn’t been the marketing centerpiece and Kirei hadn’t been so laser-focused on his beloved mapo tofu, Shinji would’ve made him the lead of his midnight gourmet drama without hesitation.

After all, a stoic middle-aged priest whose soul burns for spicy food? That kind of stark character contrast had massive gap moe appeal.

Compared to that, Cu Chulainn’s performance was just... eh.

He wasn’t acting like Hassan of the Hundred Faces.

He was acting like Assassin-class Cu Chulainn cosplaying as Hassan.

Big difference.

Watching the footage on the monitor, Shinji shook his head slightly.

“And this guy wanted to be the lead? Still a long way to go, buddy.”

Thankfully, Zayed’s scenes were minimal, and since Cu Chulainn never showed his face, the audience wouldn’t make the connection.

What mattered more than the dialogue scenes, though, was the next part: the Leap of Faith.

Cu Chulainn leapt high into the air, spun three and a half times like an Olympic gymnast, and landed—

Not in water.

But into a big, fluffy bush.

Immediately, he took off, sprinting through the greenery at breakneck speed as he charged toward the Tohsaka mansion’s garden.

With one light leap, he soared over the fake set “wall,” and beneath the skull mask, Cu Chulainn smirked with disdain.

“Hmph. That was way too easy.”

But just as the tip of his foot touched the garden’s ceramic-tile floor—and he prepared to strike a stylish pose worthy of a gold medal in gymnastics—

BOOM!

A massive firework detonated at his feet, sending a bloom of sparks into the sky. The Fate/Zero set had just experienced its very first “artistic explosion.”

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

More explosions followed in rapid succession, transforming the quiet garden into a festival of chaos.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

“DAMN IT, MASTER! YOU’RE OUT OF YOUR FREAKIN’ MIND!”

Ten minutes later, Cu Chulainn was still rubbing his sore wrist as he unleashed his fury at Shinji.

The wrist injury had actually come from a planned scene where Gilgamesh stabbed him—completely rehearsed in advance.

What wasn’t rehearsed? The literal minefield Shinji had planted in the Tohsaka garden.

The whole fireworks thing had come out of nowhere. Cu Chulainn hadn’t been warned at all.

Thankfully, he was a veteran actor under Director Matou by now.

Years of experience had taught him to always expect the unexpected on Shinji’s set.

So even as pyrotechnics went off around him like a budget Michael Bay film, Cu Chulainn stayed cool and improvised a more flamboyant acrobatic sequence than originally planned.

Then, like a proper background extra, he got promptly offed by Gilgamesh.

The shoot had been a success.

But complaining was still necessary—otherwise, Shinji would only get bolder, thinking up even wilder ways to torment him next time.

Faced with Cu Chulainn’s righteous indignation, though, Shinji just shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm doing it for realism," Shinji said with a perfectly straight face.

Cu Chulainn massaged his temples and sighed. “There’s definitely something wrong when you start equating ‘realism’ with explosions, Master.”

“And don’t you think you went a bit too far this time?” He gestured helplessly. “It’s way more over-the-top than the last movie.”

“That’s because the two films have different tones,” Shinji replied, giving Cu Chulainn’s shoulder a friendly pat. “You’ve gotta keep bringing fresh excitement to the audience. Otherwise, they’ll just move on.”

Cu Chulainn frowned. “It still feels too much, though...”

Thinking about all the upcoming big scenes, Cu Chulainn couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

It was like Fate/Stay Night and Fate/Zero weren’t even written by the same person.

And, well—he wasn’t wrong.

The difference in storytelling between Kinoko Nasu and Urobuchi Gen was pretty stark. If you jammed both styles into one timeline, it would feel awkward.

In fact, if someone who knew nothing about Type-Moon or the Fate setting were to watch only the Fate/Stay Night and Fate/Zero adaptations, they’d probably walk away thinking the Fate/Zero Servants were on a whole different level from the ones in Fate/Stay Night.

Only after diving deep into the lore would they realize:

Oh. The Fifth War’s Servants are actually stronger than the Fourth’s.

This kind of gap mostly came down to writing style.

Because no matter how amazing a setting is, it only hits home when the story delivers it in a visceral way.

If it stays on paper, then it’s just—well, paper.

Hence, the now-legendary Type-Moon meme:

The Floor Tiles of Ryuudou Temple.

They’ve survived Caster’s light cannon.

They’ve taken hits from Gilgamesh’s Ea.

They’ve withstood Lancelot’s NP.

And through it all, they didn’t crack once.

The tiles is more durable than Mash’s dining table.

At the end of the day, Nasu and Urobuchi were just very different types of writers.

From Tsukihime to Kara no Kyoukai to Fate/Stay Night, Nasu’s stories had always been about urban mages fighting under hidden rules.

It was subtle. It was mysterious. Magical warfare hidden beneath the surface.

And Urobuchi?

Subtlety? Rules? Please. Just blow everything up.

No survivors = no witnesses = no need to keep secrets.

Take Fate/Stay Night’s biggest fight scenes.

Whether it’s the light beam battle at Ryuudou Temple, Rin’s jewel sword on Mount Enzou, or that legendary seven-slash showdown between Saber and Shirou vs. Caster, they all happen in remote forests or private domains.

The one “public” fight—Saber vs. Rider—takes place on a rooftop where no ordinary people would be around.

Across all three Fate/Stay Night routes, the biggest impact on civilians were a suspicious gas leak at school and a few mysterious murders.

That’s it.

Now contrast that with Fate/Zero.

Buildings explode.

Arturia nukes the giant sea demon with her NP.

Lancelot, who is in a jet fighter, has an air war with Vimana.

It’s a completely different genre.

To Shinji, the difference between Nasu and Urobuchi’s writing styles was like comparing the Black Organization in the Detective Conan anime vs. the movies.

In the TV episodes, they sneak around in the shadows, terrified of leaving a fingerprint.

In the movies?

They’re unloading machine guns at Tokyo Tower.

Of course, from a literary perspective, there’s no such thing as “better” between the two. Just different focuses.

Some prefer Nasu’s sense of mystery. Others love Urobuchi’s high-octane, no-holds-barred storytelling.

But when it came to film adaptations?

Urobuchi’s style clearly had the edge.

Cinema is a visual medium.

The louder, flashier, and more direct it is, the easier it grabs attention and wins over audiences.

And Shinji could feel that in his bones.

Urobuchi’s Fate/Zero was way harder to shoot than Fate/Stay Night.

But the payoff?

The footage looked absolutely insane—in the best way possible.

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