High jump

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. The school field was freshly mowed, and a perfect breeze wafted over the sports festival grounds. Shirou Emiya, ever the dependable upperclassman, was up for the high jump. Students from every class lined the bleachers, chattering with snacks and soda in hand.

“Let’s go, Emiya!” someone yelled. Probably Issei. Or maybe Taiga. Hard to tell.

Shirou stretched, rolled his shoulders, and took off running.

And that was his mistake.

Because his shorts?

They were *old* shorts. Worn down, threadbare, and stretched thin from way too many laundry days.

He sprinted, jumped—and just as he tucked his knees and cleared the bar…

**RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPP!**

It wasn’t subtle. It wasn’t small. It was the *symphony of shredded fabric.*

He landed. Triumphantly. And then paused.

The world paused with him.

And then someone gasped.

Then came the giggles. Then laughter. Then uproarious, howling laughter.

Because as he looked down…

His shorts were gone. So were his boxers. Gone.