Chapter 67 The Goose That Lays Golden Eggs
"You're practically the goose that lays golden eggs."
After calming down, Rin delivered this sharp critique.
By "calming down," it refers to the ten-plus times she switched her moist gaze back and forth between the gems in her hand and Shirou, the dozens of times she rolled around on the bed clutching the gems while making strange whimpering noises, and the several minutes she spent unable to resist rubbing her face against them...
After completing these maneuvers, she seemed to realize she had done something quite embarrassing. She consciously retracted the flush from her face and pulled back the corners of her mouth, which had been uncontrollably leaking a mixture of huffs and whines.
Rin sat up straight as if nothing had happened, doing her best to cultivate an elegant atmosphere.
Shirou was willing to believe that it's never too late to start being elegant as long as you try, and if she believed it, he'd believe it with her.
"So, could you stop looking at me with such resentful eyes?"
"You were definitely thinking something weird just now."
"I certainly wasn't thinking it's a bit too late to start acting serious now. Must be your imagination."
Even though they were "believing together," there was apparently still something to nitpick. As Rin sulked indignantly, Shirou spoke to her:
"I'm heading out."
She didn't reply with "Have a safe trip," but instead revisited her evaluation from a minute ago in front of Shirou.
"Wait a second. Was it a bit rude of me to call you the 'goose that lays golden eggs' just now...?"
Shirou thought for a moment and replied, "I think the imagery is fine."
There was surely meaning in obtaining the ability to produce "golden eggs" out of thin air. Having something to give to others is a good thing in itself. Shirou added:
"As long as I don't get slaughtered and eaten, all is well."
As long as the "usage" wasn't a problem, the difference between tragedy and comedy depended entirely on how others chose to repay the favor. And as for whether Rin would repay him, that went without saying.
"I see, so that's how Shirou thinks."
Rin spoke slowly. "Well then, Shirou has nothing to worry about."
She seemed to have reached an understanding and began to put her hands on her hips with high spirits:
"I'll raise this goose until he's nice and plump, wash him clean every day, keep him until he's old and gray, and look after him until the very end, okay? I won't do things halfway!
And I won't make that classic, shameless mistake of forgetting what's important. Golden eggs, silver eggs, it doesn't matter if they're just ordinary eggs... to me, the goose is what's most important."
Rin showed a crisp, radiant smile.
"Though I'm the one who started this topic, Shirou doesn't need to worry about the eggs being golden or not—just remember to work with me to protect this troublesome goose, okay?"
The core of what she wanted to say finally appeared, wrapped in roundabout phrasing. During this time, the feminine fragrance belonging to her gradually diffused through the room where they were alone. Rin reached out, straightened Shirou's untidy collar, and released him with a satisfied nod once it was fixed.
In response to Rin's version of "Have a safe trip," Shirou answered the topic seriously, as was his way.
"I'll be careful."
Rin saw him off with a beaming smile, leaning back against the headboard again, casual and languid like a cat claiming its nest. Her elegant gaze never left Shirou.
As if drawn in, Shirou even felt a momentary reluctance to leave. Seeing that she looked like she had more advice to give, Shirou used it as an excuse to tell himself to wait until she finished speaking...
"Just be extra careful. There are plenty of people outside eyeing the goose that lays golden eggs, so you must hide yourself and not let them find out. And there will be those who act a little bit kind but actually want to keep you all to themselves—like certain drill-hair young ladies—you absolutely must stay away from them, got it?"
"..."
The atmosphere had been so good right before that part.
Forget it, time to go.
.
.
.
Snowfield City, Police Department
Chief Orlando Reeve had to make many phone calls in a day. Among these bothersome but necessary calls, they could be divided into three types:
Instructions commanding subordinates. Negotiations with those harboring ill intent. Requests he didn't want to make, but had to.
A call with Faldeus could be categorized as the second type. And although it was frustrating enough to make his brow furrow... the call the Chief was currently making was of the third type.
"Brother, brother!"
Upon hearing the high-spirited, noisy voice on the other end, the Chief immediately moved the phone away from his ear, fearing the volume would give him tinnitus. Although he had heard that Writer-class Servants were mostly unique, this Servant was particularly baffling even among the unique ones. Rather than being annoying, he was more numbing.
"Caster, I'm not here for small talk. I want to ask you, how is the production of the Noble Phantasms going?"
"Haha, work again? This is probably what the internet these days calls a 'boss email,' though it's very debatable whether you count as a boss, brother! I figure since you can't fire me, we might as well get along better. For example, let's have a meal together and talk about life, fine wine, beautiful women, and the like—"
"Caster."
While the Caster camp fought using the Clan Calatin, all their Noble Phantasms came from the hands of this behind-the-scenes creator. This great man of letters, capable of writing false legends for objects and thereby making the fake real, was a writer in the truest sense—one who broke the boundary between fiction and reality.
"Oh right, you have no luck with women. Why do I get the feeling you're the type who says boring things like 'My lover is this country'? It's common for young people these days to balance love and work side-by-side; you'll be left behind by them sooner or later."
The Chief felt the veins on his forehead throbbing. But he forced himself to suppress it and took a deep breath:
"How about this: you answer the question first, and I'll listen to your nonsense afterward."
"Impossible, impossible. You're definitely thinking of hanging up the moment you hear my report. But, well, fine—work is work."
The man on the other end seemed to shrug his shoulders. "I've already replenished the Noble Phantasms that the vampire destroyed with new ones. That should be fine, right?"
The Chief's face relaxed slightly with weariness.
"Then I'll get back to chatting, yeah? You seem quite gratified lately, brother. Did something good happen?"
"......As if."
"Such a tsundere! Whatever, luckily I've gathered most of the clues on the internet, otherwise I'd have to chase you for answers."
Caster whistled, clearly enjoying the drama. How on earth did Caster's internet intelligence network function? The Chief fell into deep confusion. But immediately, he prioritized taking a long, deep breath, and then roared with an intensity that suggested he wanted to reach through the receiver and lift the guy up by his head:
"You only spoke one sentence about work!"
"Eh? Is there other work?"
The Chief covered his forehead deeply. "You at least have to tell me: how did you handle that?"
"Oh, you mean that."
Caster chuckled. "I thought a hidden structure built into a prosthetic hand would be more discreet, but since among our Clan Calatin —no one is missing a limb—I ended up making it into a dagger. You can pick the person you think is most suitable to give it to yourself."
Having received his answer, the Chief finally moved to hang up the phone as if being liberated. But before he could press it firmly back into the cradle, Caster's voice forced his movements to halt for a few seconds.
"I'm also quite curious. How did you get your hands on that stuff?"
The self-proclaimed friend, Caster—Alexandre Dumas—said boisterously, as if he had long heard of it but was seeing it for the first time:
"I mean, the Hydra venom."
Read ahead (60 chapters) by supporting me on buymeacoffee com/varietl or ko-fi edwriting