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A Dark Supper – Part 02

Translator: Kell

“Hey. Wake up.”

“Hmm…?”

“You bossy, quibbling, foreign exchange student. Get up.”

Kazuya bolted upright. “I don’t want to hear that from you!”

Victorique blew a puff of smoke on his face. Coughing, he fanned the smoke away with his hand.

“Stop doing that,” Kazuya said. “What are you, ten?”

She looked offended, but he didn’t care.

Kazuya looked around. “Uh… Where are we?”

“In one of the cabins,” Victorique answered, turning her face away. “We’re in the lounge.”

The lounge was about the same size as the big dining room. Unlike the dining room, however, the gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling was dazzlingly bright.

There was a small stage by the wall with an open music sheet, as if a band had been playing just moments before. In the middle were several small tables for drinking and playing poker. There was a bar counter in the corner with a number of expensive-looking liquor bottles.

The people in the dining room earlier were either sitting on chairs or lying on tables, using them as beds. The bright room revealed most of them to be men in their forties or even older. Their well-tailored suits, shiny shoes and cuffs, and well-groomed mustaches suggested they were all of high status, but now they were all groaning in pain, confused.

For some reason, there was a faint pungent smell of paint thinner in the room. It prickled Kazuya’s nostrils every time he breathed. Perhaps it contributed to everyone feeling unwell.

Victorique was sitting in a chair next to him, and Ned Baxter was sitting next to her. The actor was clutching his head with a pained look on his face.

Feeling a bit of headache, Kazuya glanced at Victorique. She seemed to be fine. “What’s going on here?” he asked.

“The food was drugged,” she replied. “When I woke up, all the guests had been moved to this lounge.”

“Why?”

She did not answer.

Kazuya looked around. He was again surprised to see that the men were all older than him. Ned, who was in his mid-twenties, was the youngest one.

“They’re all middle-aged men, Victorique.”

“Not really. There’s a woman over there.”

Kazuya followed Victorique’s gaze.

A young woman was sitting at a table near the door. Raven hair hanging down to her waist contrasted with her bright, red dress.

Sensing gazes, the woman looked at their direction.

Red lips that matched her dress arrested attention. Long eyelashes sat above her glittering blue eyes.

Her baby face made her look like a child dressing like an adult, but she was probably in her early twenties. Her lips were pursed, and she wore a tough look that said she was ready to engage in a squabble at any moment.

Aside from the moans and frightened whispers, the lounge was quiet. No one moved. Everybody looked anxious and in pain.

Victorique pulled her eyes away from the woman in the red dress, and whispered, “Kujou, something is off.”

“…What is it?”

“There’s one extra person.”

Kazuya blinked. “Well, of course. There were seats for ten people, then both of us arrived.”

“It’s still off. There’s one more besides us.”

“What do you mean?”

Victorique stamped her foot, irritated that he couldn’t understand. “What I’m saying is, there were nine of them in the dining wrong. Upon our arrival, the total number of people went to eleven. Now count them all.”

Kazuya did as he was told. “One, two, three, four, five, six… You’re right!” he exclaimed when he finished counting, puzzled. “There’s twelve of us!”

“That’s right.” Victorique nodded, satisfied to have gotten her point across. “In other words, someone who wasn’t in the dining room earlier had slipped in. They might be the culprit. They didn’t eat the food we had. They moved us here after we fell asleep, and blended in with us.”

Kazuya looked around the lounge.

Not only did the men have headaches from the drug, they were all looking around like they were scared of something. They seemed to recognize each other; they gave a yelp of surprise when their gazes met.

Only the young Ned Baxter looked baffled. “What’s happening?” he mumbled. “I… I…”

Abruptly the woman in the red dress stood up. “What’s going on here?!” she yelled. “Where are we?” She grabbed the doorknob with both hands and rattled it. “Darn it… I-It won’t open.”

Everyone in the lounge turned to look at her. She took her hands off the doorknob and looked around the lounge with an alarmed expression.

“Why is this happening? Where are we? Why is the door locked?!”

No one answered.

The older men awkwardly averted their gaze. Ned, Victorique, and Kazuya were all staring at the woman. She strode toward them and plumped herself down on a nearby chair. Her small purse hit Kazuya on the head with a dull thud.

“Ouch!”

The woman made no attempt to apologize; she only looked at him and snorted.

“Are you okay?” Ned asked.

“Yeah…”

That’s one heavy purse, Kazuya thought as he glanced at the woman.

He turned to Victorique, and whispered, “Victorique. What’s going on here?”

“…Chaos,” she said irritably.

“What?”

“Unfortunately, there’s not enough fragments to reconstruct yet.”

“So you’re clueless.”

Victorique scowled. Puffing her creamy cheeks like a child, she shot Kazuya a glare. “I simply acknowledged the lack of resources. It’s not that I’m clueless.”

“…Now that’s what you call sophism.”

“Hmph! There’s nothing I don’t know. I—”

“…Arrogance.”

Kazuya and Victorique glared at each other, their jet-black and emerald eyes creating sparks.

Several seconds later, Kazuya gave in.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized despite doing nothing wrong.

“Hmph. Know your place.”

After gradually recovering from the headache caused by the drug, Kazuya got up and began checking out the lounge.

He studied the bar counter. There was nothing special about it. While he was examining the liquors on display, Victorique came up to him and cast a sweeping glance over the bottles.

“There’s wine,” she said.

“Yeah…”

Victorique uncorked one bottle and poured it into a glass nearby. The bright, reddish-purple liquid glittered under the light of the chandelier.

She stared at the label on the bottle. Then she picked up the glass, held it close to her nose, and smelled it.

“It’s an old, fine wine.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “According to the label.”

Ned tottered towards them, holding his head. “What are you doing?”

“Just wondering if there were clues around.”

“Better not touch anything, then,” the man said in a low voice.

Kazuya lifted his head, perplexed.

Ned’s face twisted. “The food was drugged. We don’t know what else they got in store.”

“Right…”

Ned scanned the room and went to a table with a tennis racket and a ball.

Ice, two glasses, and a bottle of whiskey sat at the table, as if there were people sitting there just a moment ago. The ice hadn’t melted yet. Playing cards lay scattered on the next table, as though someone left in the middle of a game.

Meanwhile, Kazuya wandered in and out of the bar counter, then went toward the stage. The sheet music was left open in the middle of what looked like a classical piece. It was as if someone had just been playing there.

Suddenly, a man stood up. “Stop wandering around!” he barked.

Startled, Kazuya and Ned turned around.

He was a fashionable man in a fine suit and gleaming jeweled cuffs, with dark brown hair parted to one side.

His freckled cheeks quivered in rage. “Y-You know this ship is dangerous! Just stay put! We don’t know what will happen if you move around!”

“What do you mean?” Victorique’s muffled voice echoed in the quiet lounge.

The man turned around, but he couldn’t find anyone that would own such a raspy voice. He just stood there, bewildered.

“Who was that?!” he said finally.

“Me.” Victorique raised her hand, drawing all eyes to her.

Everybody swallowed at the sight of the girl sitting in a chair in the corner. Victorique’s green eyes gleamed as she gave them a sweeping glance. Her golden hair hung down her tiny body like an untied turban.

There was a resounding sigh of disappointment, followed by whispers of “What a beauty!” and “Stunning!”

Awestruck, the men regarded her elaborate doll-like figure with great interest.

Kazuya rushed in front of Victorique, blocking their gaze.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Protecting you from their evil gaze.”

“…Go away. I can’t see.”

Kazuya lumbered back to his spot.

The man who had been yelling was glowering at Victorique. “Keep your mouth shut, child!”

Appalled, Kazuya tried to talk back, when someone stepped forward. He raised his head. It was the woman in red dress. Her feisty eyes glimmered.

“But there’s something wrong with this ship,” she said.

The man turned around with an indignant look.

The young woman pointed at the nearby table. “Look at that table. There are rackets, a ball, and whiskey. The ice hasn’t melted yet. It’s like someone just finished playing tennis and came here to drink. There are cards on this table here. But there’s no one else around except us.”

“Quiet!” the man roared. “Keep your mouth shut, woman!”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock.

Ned, who was standing next to her, backed her up. “Come on, man. She has a point.”

“Silence, lowly actor!”

“What?!”

Ned almost lunged at the man, but the lady locked his arms from behind. “S-Stop it!”

Fearfully, Kazuya spoke. “But still…”

The man turned and shot him a glare. “Shut up, asian boy!”

Kazuya shut his mouth. Looking around, he realized that only the four of them were enraged at the man’s outburst—Victorique, Ned, the lady, and himself. The remaining seven men, all of the same age or a little older, gradually grouped up and kept their distance.

Ned and the lady drew closer to Kazuya.

“By that logic, he’s the only one allowed to talk,” Ned grumbled.

Kazuya gave a groan.

“A stupid logic, if you ask me. Think he’s hot shit,” the actor added.

“…Chaos,” Victorique mumbled gravely.