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The Traveler Who Arrives in Spring Brings Death to the Academy – Part 04

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Translator: Kell

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“What about you, though?” he snapped back. “You’re late too, and you’re skipping classes. You don’t get to mock me.”

Victorique snorted. “Wrong.”

“Which part did I get wrong, then?”

“I’m not late. I’ve been here all morning.”

Kazuya frowned. “Seriously? What were you doing here all alone?”

“Contemplating.”

Kazuya took a step up the stairs.

It was at this point that Kazuya finally noticed the bizarre scene all over the floor of the conservatory where Victorique was seated.

Several books lay open in a circle around her. Latin, higher mathematics, classical literature, biology—all complex subjects. Kazuya swallowed.

Is she reading all these books at once? Now that I think about it, she was occasionally reaching for something while talking to me. She must have been turning the pages. She was reading while sharing her deduction to me.

A chill ran down his spine.

Ms. Cecile’s sweet voice replayed in his mind.

“That child is a genius.”

For a while, Kazuya stared in amazement at the girl reading difficult books with a bored look on her face.

Somehow, he felt the urge to fight back. He wanted to surprise this standoffish, smart, but strange girl.

“I bet you don’t know I’m late, do you?” he said.

There was a momentary pause. Then for the first time, Victorique lifted her head.

Kazuya’s heart almost stopped.

Large, emerald green eyes gazed at him. They looked like gems, glistening mysteriously in an empty corner of the conservatory. The contrast with the girl’s long and bright, golden hair tugged at Kazuya’s heart.

And then there was the inexplicable expression on her face, sorrowful, like an old lady who had lived too long.

So pretty!

Unexpectedly moved, Kazuya, for some reason, became even more angry.

He pulled himself together, took a deep breath, and said, “It was because of a murder case.”

Victorique’s pipe fell from her mouth onto her luxurious ruffled skirt.

Kazuya quickly picked it up. Inspecting for any spilled ashes, he dusted off her skirt. Victorique opened her lips a little and puckered it, as though telling him to place it there, and so he did, gently. For a while, Victorique studied Kazuya suspiciously as he attended to her with such diligence.

Then she reached for her pipe, pulled it away from her mouth, and said, “Is that so?”

Frowning, Kazuya casually sat next to her. “Is that all you have to say?!”

“I expected nothing less from the Reaper. There. Better?”

“…”

A moment later, Kazuya regained his composure. “For the record, I had a really rough morning. I’m a witness to a murder, and this inspector with a weird hairdo is treating me like a criminal!”

“An inspector with a weird hairdo?”

The agitated Kazuya failed to notice Victorique making an odd face.

“I might actually get tried as a murderer,” he continued. “I don’t want to be hanged in a foreign land. Or maybe I’ll get deported back to my country. Man, after all the effort I spent in my studies these past six months. Why did this happen? Darn it.”

“An inspector with a weird hairdo, you said?”

Kazuya glanced up. “I did.” He nodded dubiously.

Victorique flashed a devilish grin. She took a deep puff from her pipe and exhaled.

White smoke rose to the skylight.

Then she turned to Kazuya, showing interest for once. “Speak. I will reconstruct the fragments of chaos for you.”

“Huh?”

“I’m saying that I’ll use my Wellspring of Wisdom for you,” she growled.

“…Why?” Perplexed, Kazuya eyed the petite, beautiful girl suspiciously.

“To stave off my boredom,” she replied flatly.

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Kazuya was compelled to explain the incident to her. He was feeling dejected, his excitement gone.

“Recount to me everything you said and thought in detail,” Victorique said, “down to the state of your rectum at the time.”

“N-No way! I have to tell you what I was thinking too? A gentleman should be allowed to have a couple of playful secrets.”

“If you’re a gentleman, then I’m a god. Stop your stupid, futile, pointless resistance and talk!”

Kazuya was flabbergasted. His brain stopped working, and he couldn’t say anything back. He had never had a woman speak to him with such a sharp tongue, and so imperiously at that. In his home country, women were much more quiet and reserved.

And so Kazuya ended up telling her what went on his mind back then, including his fantasies about having his own girl and his hopes for a wonderful encounter, things he had never shared to anyone ever, until now. Kazuya hugged his knees, feeling down in the dumps. His spirit was sucked out of him, as his father would put it.

“I see. I get it.” Victorique nodded with satisfaction, oblivious of Kazuya’s state of mind. She smoked her pipe. “That inspector with the weird hairdo has a point.”

Kazuya snapped back to his senses, regaining a little bit of spirit. “What are you saying?! I swear I—”

“Silence.”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“Think about it. It’s impossible to jump onto a running motorcycle and cut off the rider’s head. Nor would it be possible to jump off quickly after committing the crime. When the motorcycle slammed onto the fence, there was no one else around but you.”

Kazuya nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. There was definitely no one else there.”

“So when was it possible to commit the crime?”

“Let’s see…”

“It would have been after the motorcycle stopped. And you were the only one there at the time, Kujou. In other words…”

Butterflies fluttered in Kazuya’s stomach. He recalled the time when Inspector Blois pointed at him in that eerie room of globes and medieval weapons.

And Victorique, like the inspector, pointed at Kazuya with her pipe, and said, “You’re the culprit.” She stared at Kazuya as he fell silent and on the verge of tears. Then she smiled devilishly. “Wouldn’t that be amusing, though?”

“You were messing with me?!” Kazuya flared, rising to his feet.

Victorique’s face abruptly turned serious, and she looked up at Kazuya. “I believe the inspector suspects you of the murder for the same reason,” she said in a husky voice. “Which means that sooner or later, if they don’t find the real killer and your innocence is not proven, you’ll be deported at best, and hanged in this country at worst. Sounds horrifying, doesn’t it?”

Kazuya turned as pale as a ghost. He sank down to the floor, clutching his head.

The faces of his father, mother, family members, and friends he had left behind, as well as the scenery in his hometown, began flashing through his mind.

Victorique glanced at him, then turned back to her books and resumed flipping the pages, as though nothing had happened.

“I know what really happened, though,” she mumbled with a yawn, puffing on her pipe.

The spring sun shining through the skylight provided warmth to the conservatory. A fresh breeze blew in from time to time, rustling the palm leaves, the large red flowers, and Victorique’s golden hair.

Several seconds passed.

Kazuya slowly raised his head. “Did you say you know what really happened?”

Victorique said nothing. Kazuya peered closer, and found her absorbed in reading as if she had already forgotten about him. She was turning pages at great speed.

“Hello?”

“…Hmm?” Victorique glanced up, and came to her senses. She nodded dispassionately. “Of course. The word ‘clueless’ is not in my dictionary. I know everything. What about what I said?”

Kazuya stamped his feet. “If you know, then tell me!”

“Hmm?” Victorique looked puzzled. “Why?” she asked curiously.

For the next few minutes, Kazuya, tearful and enraged, uttered every word he could possibly use to beg Victorique to explain.

All the while, Victorique ignored him completely, until eventually she gave in, and lifted her eyes from the books.

“By the way,” she said.

“Yes, yes.”

“My worst enemy is boredom.”

“Uh… what?”

“The same applies to food,” she added smugly. “If you’re going to eat mediocre food, it’s better to just stay hungry. Isn’t that the very reason we have intellect?”

“Uh….”

Annoyed that Kazuya wasn’t quite getting it, Victorique leaned closer to him. “Bring me food from your country tomorrow.”

“Why? Does it help with your reasoning?”

“Of course not. It’s just food.” Victorique snickered. “Here’s the thing. If the food you bring is rare, delicious, and suits my palate, then maybe I’ll help you.”

“Whaaat?!” Kazuya cried. “Don’t you, like, have compassion, or something?!”

“Compassion?” Victorique snorted. “What’s that? Compassion is the death of intelligence.” She shooed Kazuya away with her small hand.

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