[Zhong, Rooftop of a Five Star Hotel Near a Plain]

The question has long been forgotten.

What is "wrong"?

If you ask a human this question, you will get a variety of answers. Wrong is incorrect, wrong is impossible, wrong is disgusting or disturbing or foolish.

At its core, wrong is wrong. It is one of the few concepts that is perfectly essentialist. Wrong is wrong. Right is not wrong because wrong is not right.

And so, as Zhong looked to the existence summoned at the same time as he himself, he was overcome by a feeling that could not be expressed in words. A sense beyond sight spoke to him, informing him of a truth both "of" the world and "beyond" the world.

This girl is wrong.

An inferior copy of wrong is still wrong. 

There are many different senses of fear.

The fear of a stronger human.

Of something which is perfectly understood, but which cannot be killed by your ability. Predictable, simple, trite.

The fear of a hurricane or an earthquake.

Of a process beyond your "control". Such a silly concept, control. As if there is anything which can be truly controlled by man.

The fear of a monster.

Of something that you are not, that you do not understand and yet you know you will die.

The fear of a god.

Of abject inferiority, of acknowledgement that you are nothing. A cosmic speck in the hand of the Bodhisattva.

This was none of those. This was all of those. 

How did that foolish ritual go? "I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead."

What if you bring into existence the copy of something that cannot be of that world? 

Plot, scheme, prepare, do magic, destroy, create, cry, ask why, cut your own throat, smash yourself into the ground—none of it will do you any good.

It is all useless because this is the most primal fear. Not the fear of man or process or god or devil.

This is the fear of [i]wrong[/i].

And so, before his Master had even given a reply to his question, Zhong began to laugh.

A bellow from the core that flowed forward unceasingly.

Those other fears, those other foes, they were meaningless. They were not worthy of fear. But this...this was different.

"I see, so this is what it means."

And in that moment, Zhong learned the answer to that question which had gone forever forgotten.

"Whatever you are, I thank you. When the true me reads the book of this story after its close, I'm sure it will be entertaining."

Pointless words are spoken to the girl. Whether she even acknowledges them is of no consequence. 

The Holy Grail War had begun.