Omake: Dan Browned
Rin Tohsaka opened her eyes, yawned, and fumbled on her nightstand.
Rin didn't ask for much. Really, she didn't.
Even her guilty pleasures were just that: guilty pleasures.
Indeed, aside from these pleasures, her days were essentially interchangeable: Wake up. Breakfast. Pour prana into gems. Shower thoroughly. Apply makeup and clothes. Arrive at school ten minutes early. Take notes. Reread notes. Edit notes for content. Eat lunch – not too much. Socialize. Preside over club meetings. Take suggestions. Gently correct loafers. Do homework. Check homework. Double-check homework. Triple-check homework. Exercise. Train kung fu. Eat. Pour more prana into gems. Inspect experiments. Add observations to progress notes. Study magical theory – all five subjects. Shower. Prepare for bed. Make sure hair doesn't get messy. Study more magical theory until you fall asleep; you retain more that way, don't you know. Just be sure to lean away from the book when reading, so you don't wrinkle the pages when you flop into the sheets unconscious.
On the weekends, Rin could delete the "go to school" part, although she sometimes yearned for the classrooms' compulsory study-time. Gemcraft usually filled the temporal void.
But not today.
Today, Rin had guilty pleasures.
Today, she'd get to read about an intricate maze of symbols and violence – a maze prowled by shadowy albino priests, nonconformist polymaths, mystics, and Harvard professors.
Today, she'd rush through the streets of Paris on a millennia-old chase through wild, ridiculous conspiracy theories. She'd dodge bullets and solve cryptograms. She'd squint at tiny splotches of paint on DaVinci's canvasses; splotches that bespoke ancient coverups.
And the books were autographed! That Ebay thing was amazing. If only she could figure out how to use it on her own.
The fact that Kirei disapproved of the novels was just icing on the cake. Assuming he was serious, that is; it was always hard to tell.
Except that the novel wasn't on her nightstand. Instead, her hand closed around a note.
Her eyes shot open.
Dearest Rin,
In the spirit of your passion for MacGuffin hunts, certain shadowy persons have conspired to hide your Dan Brown novel.
…Oh look, a clue!
IN FUYUKI LIVES A TROLL A MAGE ENDURED.
CONCERN FOR PROPER METER HE ABJURED.
HE SENT THE MAGE'S BOOKS ON A VACATION.
THEY REST (FOR NOW) AT THE CHURCH BOOK DONATION.
Sincerely,
The Ancient Order of Sinister Franciscans (AOSF)
Rin stared at the paper for a good two minutes, as if expecting it to burst into flames.
What.
The.
%#*$.
She hated him.
Hated him with every fiber of her being.
And yes, Rin's internal monologue did self-censor.
Rin checked her watch. The book sale had been going on for an hour now. Knowing Kirei, he'd probably put her novels front and center. And how could she get her fix then?
Rin ran.
She emerged from the Tohsaka mansion five minutes later. One of her pigtails was a frizzy, bunched-up mess. Her stockings were askew. Sweat dripped from every pore as she sprinted through one of the nastiest heat waves in Fuyuki's history.
She burst into the church book sale at two o'clock. The doors slammed. Hard.
No matter. Rin made a beeline for the tables, elbowing through children and old ladies in knitted hats. Books flew. She nearly yelped when she saw a woman pick up a red book that ultimately turned out to be a Grisham novel. Hurricane Rin descended on table after table, leaving messes where proud towers of books had once stood.
Where is it where is it where is it where is it–
A note. On parchment. Real parchment.
Rin snatched it and shoved it in front of her nose.
RIN,
JUST KIDDING.
THEY'RE ACTUALLY UNDER THE PEWS.
(THEY HIDE BENEATH THE ROWS).
Rin blinked.
Blinked again.
"…I'm going to kill him."