Inside the Tohsaka Residence of the Fifth Holy Grail War timeline, a mysterious holographic screen hung suspended in the center of the elegant living room.
Rin’s eyes went wide.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, her refined features contorting in sheer disbelief.
“Huh?
You’ve got to be kidding me!” She took a sudden step forward, staring intently at the impossibly beautiful woman displayed on the broadcast.
“One of the three great masters of the Renaissance…
that unmatched, all-around genius of human history…
is actually a girl?!” Across the room, the red-clad Archer leaned casually against a wooden pillar.
His arms were crossed over his chest, a few strands of white hair framing his sharp jaw.
He watched the broadcast with a placid, unruffled expression.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, carrying a dry, exasperated edge.
“Leaving aside the fact that the screen never explicitly stated his gender from the start…
Rin, why are you so hung up on him being female?” He tilted his head, a faint, teasing glint in his steel-gray eyes.
“That female version of King Arthur Alter appeared earlier, and you hardly batted an eye.” Rin choked on her words.
Her jaw worked, but no sound came out.
The shock on her cheeks rapidly deepened into a furious, apple-red flush.
She whipped her head away, her confidence deflating as she muttered a weak defense.
“Th-that’s completely different!
How can you lump legendary myths together with actual, documented historical figures?” Her voice shrank into a pathetic, mosquito-like hum.
She stared at the floor, her fingers twisting the fabric of her skirt, the tips of her ears burning scarlet in her flustered state.
A soft flicker of amusement passed through Archer’s eyes.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a faint, indulgent smirk—a quiet, knowing expression.
He turned his attention back to the broadcast, his features smoothing out into their usual stoic mask.
Meanwhile, inside the control room of Novum Chaldea, the sterile white glow of the overhead lights washed over the sleek metal consoles.
Holographic monitors hummed, casting a pale blue luminescence across the quiet room.
Ritsuka Fujimaru leaned his elbows against the edge of the main terminal, his fingers idly tracing the cool metallic surface.
His gaze was locked onto the mysterious broadcast suspended in the center of the room.
A deep nostalgia softened his eyes.
“It’s actually the big Da Vinci…
It’s been so long,” he murmured, his voice heavy with the bittersweet warmth of a long-awaited reunion.
“And the Doctor…” He lowered his head, a gentle, wistful sorrow tugging at the corners of his eyes.
Beside him, the diminutive Rider-class Da Vinci trotted forward, her footsteps light against the floorboards.
Her small fingers danced across a holographic keyboard, sending a flurry of glowing white data particles into the air.
She paused, raising an eyebrow as a soft gasp of surprise escaped her lips.
“Oh my.
This is quite different from our last Christmas incident.
We actually have records of this one.” She tapped a final key, expanding the retrieved data file so she could read the glowing text.
Her voice rose in pitch as she read the title aloud.
“Let’s see here…
The name of this mission is…
‘Da Vinci and the Seven Counterfeit Heroic Spirits’!?” [The broadcast shimmered.
Fragmented streams of light swirled across the screen like a galaxy of dying stars before rapidly coalescing into a solid image.
As the light faded, a tall, broad-shouldered figure materialized.
He was clad in familiar black armor, his hair as white as winter frost, the deep tan of his skin making his sharp, cynical features strike an imposing silhouette.] [His lips parted.
His voice was cold, steady, and utterly devoid of hesitation.
“…Trace, on.”] [The moment the incantation left his lips, two brilliant flashes of prana ignited in his palms.
The light solidified, instantly forging into two exquisitely patterned twin blades.
He gripped Kanshou and Bakuya tightly.
With a flick of his wrists, the heavy short swords spun nimbly through his fingers, the flowing arcs of steel showcasing a masterful, almost casually arrogant level of skill.] The image was crystal clear.
Watching from her living room, Rin froze.
Her previous embarrassment evaporated in an instant.
She gripped the hem of her shirt, leaning forward so fast she nearly lost her balance.
“Huh?
Archer?!” she shrieked, her blue eyes wide as saucers.
“Isn’t that you?!
Why are you in that place called Chaldea?” Archer’s entire body went rigid.
His relaxed, arms-crossed posture locked up like a rusted gear.
His steely eyes stared unblinkingly at his own face on the screen, a rare flash of genuine shock cracking his stoic facade.
His brow furrowed deeply.
Slowly, he uncrossed his arms, his fingers curling inward.
He lowered his gaze, his mind racing to formulate a plausible excuse.
When he finally looked back at his thoroughly bewildered Master, he forced a tone of measured, academic patience.
“Well…
Rin, you are aware that our true selves exist as Heroic Spirits upon the Throne of Heroes, correct?” He paused, glancing back at the screen to ground his lie.
“Therefore, it is entirely possible for a Servant to be summoned multiple times across different timelines., this ‘Chaldea’ is clearly a parallel world relative to our own.” Rin blinked.
The logic was sound.
She nodded slowly, chewing on her lower lip.
But as she looked back at the screen, a new wave of suspicion washed over her face.
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing into a piercing glare.
“I guess…
But, this version of you with your hair down…
it looks awfully familiar.” Her gaze darted back and forth between the white-haired Servant in her living room and the projection on the screen, her curiosity sharpening into a deadly spear.
On the outside, Archer remained a statue of perfect composure.
His back was straight, his face an impassive mask.
But down at his side, his hand clenched into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white.
Internally, alarms were blaring.
Total panic seized his chest.
He forced his vocal cords to work, injecting a desperate, calculated nonchalance into his voice.
“Hmm.
Perhaps it’s just a common hairstyle.
It hardly means anything.” [But the mysterious broadcast seemed determined to ruin his life.
As if seeing right through his flimsy excuses, the scene abruptly shifted.
Rows of crisp, glowing text scrolled across the screen, accompanied by a gentle, mercilessly detailed narration that stripped away every last one of his secrets.] [Heroic Spirit Emiya.
Formerly known as Shirou Emiya.
Unlike the origins of orthodox Heroic Spirits, he is an irregular existence—an agent of the Counter Force, Alaya.] [He acts as a localized defense mechanism, born from the collective unconsciousness of mankind that prays for humanity’s continued survival.] [Though classified as an Archer-class Servant, he was a magus in life.
He is a Faker who uses Projection Magecraft to replicate countless famous Noble Phantasms and demonic swords.] [He once called himself an Ally of Justice, and upon becoming a Counter Guardian, he devoted himself to the sole goal of killing his past self.
However, during his time at Chaldea, he has long since abandoned this tragic obsession.] The irrefutable, painfully detailed biography lingered on the screen for all to see.
Archer’s stoic mask shattered into a million pieces.
His forced composure evaporated.
He slapped a hand over his face, his fingers digging into his temples as a groan of deep, exasperated despair ripped from his throat.
“…Seriously?” he muttered, a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips.
“Then what the hell was I trying so desperately to hide just now?” He glared daggers at the glowing monitor, his voice rising in flustered irritation.
“You just went ahead and broadcast my true name to the entire world!” Beside him, Rin was paralyzed.
She stared at the glowing text, reading the name over and over again.
Her pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Her jaw dropped open.
It took several agonizing seconds for her brain to process the apocalyptic revelation.
When she finally found her voice, it was a breathless, escalating squeak of pure hysteria.
“Oh?
Oh?!
Huh?!!” Rin spun around, pointing a trembling finger at the tall man in red.
“Archer, you’re Emiya-kun?!” Before he could even attempt to defend himself, she closed the distance, her blue eyes swirling with a chaotic mix of bewilderment and horror.
“What is going on?!
Why did Emiya-kun become a Servant?!” Bombarded by her frantic interrogation, the usually silver-tongued Archer was reduced to a stammering mess.
A faint, deeply embarrassing flush crept up his dark neck.
His steely eyes darted wildly around the room, desperately avoiding Rin’s piercing gaze.
He waved his hands vaguely in the air, his brain completely short-circuiting.
“I…
um…
that is…
er…” He swallowed hard, utterly defeated.
His grand, tragic masquerade had been dismantled in less than a minute, leaving him with absolutely nowhere to hide.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?