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The Plot to Assassinate the President – Part 03

As Kazuya pointed the gun at Nico, conflicting emotions tore through him. That one second seemed to stretch into eternity.

Behind him was the country’s patriarch, bearing the future of the United States. Before him stood his partner.

He recalled the day when he and Victorique crossed over to this new land. Holding hands, they searched for a place to live, prayed on the ship bound for the New World. He reminisced about the exhilaration he felt when they finally saw land from the deck after a long voyage. The warmth in Victorique’s small hand, the kind that only living beings possess. Each memory flooded him with emotion.

Kazuya, a regular East Asian man, one of the countless immigrants seeking a fresh start in the New World, shielded behind him a great man who would bear the future of this nascent nation, the president hopeful.

Mr. Goldsworthy!

The embodiment of hope for this nation’s future!

But…

Nicholas Sacco, a man he had partnered up with after a long job hunting in Manhattan. He had a different character than him, careless and rough around the edges, yet sometimes strangely passionate. After forming an unlikely duo, they encountered failure after failure, but gradually found their stride and began supporting each other.

Memories flooded back—the three culprits dangling from the church’s ceiling, the gunfire, the cries of horror. They were mere pawns manipulated by the true mastermind, Dr. Boleid.

With a trembling hand, Kazuya took aim. Should he pull the trigger, or should he hold back?

Nico, his finger resting on the trigger of the banana machine gun, turned the muzzles toward Kazuya, ready to fire again. His expression was tranquil, as though he was in deep slumber. He had lost all reason, propelled by a horrifying impulse of violence unearthed by Dr. Boleid.

“N-Nico!” Kazuya cried. “Forgive me!”

Holding back tears, he clenched his teeth, and squeezed the trigger a split second faster than Nico.

---

Kujou? Is he holding a gun? What is he doing?

Nico felt as if he were dreaming. The chaos surrounding him felt distant, and he couldn’t tell where he was or what he was doing.

His arms felt leaden. Bewildered, he looked down and found himself gripping a banana machine gun. His left hand supported it while his right index finger hovered over the trigger.

What is this? What am I doing here?

Seeking answers, he glanced up. Kazuya was staring at him with a determined gaze, biting his lips hard. He had never seen that look on his face before. And to top it all off, he was pointing a gun at him. Nico couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

And then, Kazuya’s finger twitched. Was he actually going to pull the trigger?

A distant gunshot sounded.

“Ugh!”

A searing pain shot through Nico’s side, and his breath caught. Releasing his grip on the banana machine gun, he crumpled backward.

He turned his head to assess the situation, and saw Kazuya nodding with relief. Others quickly swarmed in, restraining Nico. He was flipped onto his stomach and handcuffed.

“The bullet only grazed his side!” someone shouted. “He’s not in critical condition!”

Amidst the cacophony, Nico felt even more confused. Kazuya’s voice sounded closer now. He seemed to be saying something.

That hurt, Kujou! Sure, you only grazed me, but you actually fired. Wh-What are you saying?

“No, he was only hypnotized! Please, listen! The real culprit is someone else!”

Nico wondered what he was talking about. Was he having a weird dream? His body went lax, and he closed his eyes.

---

“Dr. G.I. Boleid is behind all of this!”

Kazuya pleaded with the officers, but they were focused on restraining Nico, deaf to his protests.

“So please…”

Kazuya’s desperate cry was drowned out by another voice from behind.

The rally descended into chaos. The crowd grew raucous, shouting. Police restrained Nico, while a swarm of journalists flashed their cameras, blinding everyone in sight.

Kazuya looked over his shoulder and saw Mr. Goldsworthy. The man attempted to place a reassuring hand on Kazuya’s shoulder, but his aides stopped him, and security personnel began ushering them away, signaling for evacuation. Mr. Goldsworthy’s imposing figure vanished into the throng, away from Kazuya.

Seemingly intrigued, the presidential candidate glanced back and met Kazuya’s gaze. He studied him intently. Then, he turned on his heel, breaking away from security, and approached Kazuya. He stood before the young man.

A closer look reinforced his image of a large and commanding gentleman. Kazuya met his gaze squarely.

An unnamed young East Asian man and a presidential candidate.

They were strangers, worlds apart in status. Yet moments ago, the young man had risked everything to save his life. And in turn, the presidential candidate had shielded him from gunfire without regard for his own safety. They exchanged nods, and for an instant, there existed between them an unspoken bond, like old friends who understood each other implicitly.

“Mr. Goldsworthy, the man being detained right now is innocent,” Kazuya said. “He was only manipulated by the real culprit.”

The presidential candidate listened attentively.

“His name is Dr. G.I. Boleid, a renowned psychologist.”

“What did you say?”

Mr. Goldsworthy did not expect the revelation. He scrutinized Kazuya suspiciously.

“A private detective who’s investigating this matter can provide further details,” he insisted firmly. “She’s also present at this gathering. Please, hear her out!”

A long silence fell. Security personnel and aides tried to remove the unidentified East Asian man.

Kazuya staggered as he was dragged away. He tried to plant his feet firmly on the ground.

Eventually, Mr. Goldsworthy nodded, wearing a somewhat skeptical look.

“Very well. Let us hear what you have to say.”

---

Security personnel in black stood by the white walls of a big waiting room inside the Empire State Building. Simple yet luxurious furnishings adorned the space. A cup of cold coffee sat abandoned on the sleek black table.

Mr. Goldsworthy sat comfortably on the black couch with his arms crossed.

Before the distinguished presidential candidate stood Victorique and Kazuya. They looked out of place in this room bustling with American government officials. A humble young man and a strikingly beautiful girl in frills and laces, as if plucked from a medieval European painting, gazed silently at Mr. Goldsworthy.

The petite woman’s emerald green eyes, serene like a lake deep in the mountains, held something mysterious within. The man’s jet-black eyes were clear and unwavering.

Mr. Goldsworthy observed them for a moment before nodding. “So, you’re Kujou from the Daily Road. And you…”

“I’m Victorique de Blois, a private detective from the East Village. But you need not remember my name, Goldsworthy. As soon as I outline the case, I’m leaving.”

Mr. Goldsworthy blinked in momentary surprise at the deep, husky timbre of her voice, before adopting a serious expression.

“I see. Please proceed.”

Holding a pipe in her hand, Victorique nodded. Her silver hair shimmered darkly, and her coat, trimmed with ruffles, stirred gently with each movement. Her emotionless emerald gaze enhanced her doll-like appearance.

Mr. Goldsworthy shuddered. The figure before him was only an unknown immigrant from the old world, a young—very young—woman leading a presumably modest life. As a third-generation immigrant and a man of considerable wealth, Mr. Goldsworthy was wholly unfamiliar with the old world. A prosperous figure in this new land, he knew nothing of Europe’s vast magical realm or the potent forces born of its long history, now lost forever after two storms. Yet, in the presence of this unfamiliar silver-haired queen, he felt an inexplicable reverence, an impulse to kneel before her, to offer prayers in forgotten ancient tongues, to kiss her beautiful feet if granted permission.

Her allure was irresistible, radiant with the glow of twilight and dawn. It was an unknown power absent in the thriving new world he was on the verge of governing, terrifying and ruthless and darker than the deepest night, exuding an eerie charm that defied the natural order. Mr. Goldsworthy resisted the urge to bow to this young figure before him with all his might. He reminded himself that he was a presidential candidate. He suppressed, swallowed, forced his entire being to forget the desire to surrender to the silver queen of bygone times, to forget the genuine longing in the depths of his soul.

Victorique de Blois, along with her attendant Kazuya Kujou, appeared completely unaware of the intense turmoil raging within Mr. Goldsworthy.

Smoking her pipe, Victorique proceeded to expound her deductions. Her voice carried a hint of irritation. Her lips parted slowly, an ancient sorceress rising from the dead to speak forgotten incantations.

“We begin with the gang serial murder case that commenced three weeks ago. Italian mafiosi from Little Italy were being killed one by one, each week. In response, the leader of the Mafia, Garbo Boss, initiated an investigation, enlisting the aid of a private detective.”

“I-I see.”

“There were four bodies and four culprits. However, it soon became apparent that a mastermind lurked in the shadows, manipulating them like pawns. This mastermind is none other than the esteemed psychologist, Dr. G.I. Boleid. He hypnotized patients at his clinic and ordered them to commit these heinous acts.”

“What…?”

“In reality, Dr. Boleid had a specific target, and the gangsters served as a dry run. My deductions led me to believe that the intended target was you. The actual perpetrator of this assassination, as per the previous cases, would be one of the doctor’s hypnotized patients. Hence, our haste to intervene at the venue of your speech, in order to thwart the would-be assassin.”

Midway through Victorique’s explanation, several aides and special police discreetly left. There were whispers to search for Dr. G.I. Boleid immediately.

Detective Benjamin’s voice could be heard from outside the waiting room door. He was demanding entry, causing a ruckus.

The commotion outside was escalating. They couldn’t stay long.

Mr. Goldsworthy gradually composed himself. “I see,” he said, furrowing his brows. “So if it weren’t for the private detective uncovering the truth and the reporter rushing to stop the plot, I might have ended up in the New York City morgue by now.”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I have to thank you both.”

“No need. But…”

Victorique drew on her pipe slowly. Wisps of white smoke curled towards the ceiling, carrying an icy chill. Even her breath seemed cold. She exchanged silent glances with Kazuya.

“Dr. G.I. Boleid’s reason for targeting is still a mystery,” she said hoarsely. “It may seem crude to ask, but do you have any leads?”

“Hmm. No, nothing in particular.”

Mr. Goldsworthy reclined in his chair, and smiled confidently. Suddenly, warmth spread across his face, from the corners of his eyes to his entire face. The kindness, cheerfulness, and optimism that underscored his popularity shone through.