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A Ghost Scattering Flowers – Part 04

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Translator: Kell

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“’I wonder if it will happen again. Ehehe.’ That’s the end of the letter.”

Casually skipping over the last lines, Kazuya neatly folded the letter and tucked it into his sleeve. He looked at Victorique, who was still flailing about in her cage.

“Do you have all the fragments of chaos yet?” Kazuya asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s great. It’s Frannie, isn’t it? She’s the only one with a motive. She wants to scare Avril out of the villa.”

Victorique raised her small face wearily. Her silky hair, long and golden, flowed straight down to the ground. Her lovely brows knitted a little.

“You’re such an idiot, Kujou!”

Kazuya felt relieved to have his status raised back from an imbecile to an idiot. “I-I’m wrong?”

“This Frannie woman probably just loves ghost stories. She not only looks like someone we know, she also shares the same interest. They’re cousins, all right.”

“I-I see.”

“It was Mitch.”

“What?!” Kazuya exclaimed, not exactly pleased.

Victorique’s brows furrowed deeper. “You’re so loud.”

“Mitch is the culprit? How do you know that? Besides, that Italian boy has no motive, does he?”

“He does.”

“Does it have something to do with the woman who threw herself into the sea?”

“No. It has something to do with the farting newt.”

“…Avril?” Kazuya said curiously.

“Yes.” Victorique nodded.

Then she stretched and yawned in boredom. When she noticed Kazuya waiting patiently, she frowned.

“What is it? Don’t tell me you don’t get it.”

“Well, sorry. I am absolutely clueless.”

Victorique growled. She stretched again inside the cage and exhaled sharply.

“Fine. I’ll try to verbalize it in a way that a simpleton like you can understand.”

“You sure are patronizing for someone in a cage.”

“Hmm?”

“N-Nothing.”

“Anyway, it’s the Italian boy, Mitch, who was controlling the ghost in the white dress,” Victorique began in her trademarked husky voice. “His trick is simple. Child’s play, even. He just put a balloon inside a white dress and inserted some petals.”

“What?”

“In the first incident, he took a balloon with a dress on it and slowly passed by under the farting newt’s second-floor window. And you have your White Lady. In the second incident, everyone fainted with the smell of flowers. A little too far for a prank, though, if you ask me. He probably planted a chemical called nitrobenzene in the hall. This chemical has a sweet scent similar to that of flowers, so florists sometimes sprinkle it on their goods. Too much of it can make customers sick.”

“Oh…”

“The third incident is what identifies Mitch as the culprit. As in the first incident, he dressed a balloon with petals in it, this time making the ghost walk on the street outside. But the balloon would go up in the air unless someone was pulling it. And if someone caught the ghost, they would find the balloon inside. That’s why Mitch was around the corner and all that was left was the ghost’s dress. He pulled the balloon to the corner, popped it, and hid the plastic. And when Frannie and the farting newt caught up to the ghost around the corner, all they found was the dress. Do you understand?”

“Uh-huh.” Kazuya nodded, still a little confused.

Holding up the parasol, he peered at the small, golden Wellspring of Wisdom still frowning in the cage.

“But what’s his motive?”

“The ghost was a gift to the girl.”

Victorique smiled thinly. Something akin to warmth flashed across her otherwise expressionless face, cold as a porcelain doll, then vanished like a fleeting dream at dawn.

Only the warmth’s remnants lingered for a while around the grass where they were standing.

“A gift?” Kazuya murmured.

Victorique nodded. “Yes. According to the farting newt’s first letter, the Italian boy bumped into her and gave her a bouquet of flowers. He must’ve really fancied her. But do you think that farting newt would be delighted to receive flowers? And since she couldn’t understand him, Mitch must have been distressed. He must have racked his brains trying to figure out what would be the best way to get this girl’s attention.”

“And a ghost is what he came up with? Sure, Avril loves ghost stories, but how did Mitch know about Avril’s interest in the macabre when he doesn’t even speak the language?”

“The farting newt mentioned in her letter that she was reading Ghost Stories: Volume 2 on the train. When she bumped into Mitch in front of the villa, her luggage was scattered to the ground, and Mitch picked them up. Even if you don’t understand the language, you can easily tell from the horrifying cover that it’s a book of ghost stories.”

Victorique paused, then suddenly chuckled. “A gift that’s not flowers. A ghost created by a boy that appears before the girl every night. It’s a little morbid, but quite romantic nevertheless. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I-I guess?” Kazuya wasn’t sure what to think about it. “To be honest, I’m a little bit clueless about these sorts of things. I’m a total amateur when it comes to romance.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

Kazuya stopped himself from saying ‘yes.’ He blushed a little.

He looked away from Victorique, straightened his back even more to hide his embarrassment, and held up the parasol stiffly upright. He remained silent.

Ms. Cecile hurried past in the distance.

The flowers in the flowerbeds swayed in the summer breeze. Water trickled down the fountain.

A beautiful summer afternoon.

A gift other than flowers. Doing everything to give the girl what she loved the most.

Kazuya wondered if the mysteries he brought Victorique counted as a gift that was not flowers.

The thought made him feel strange, a mix of pain and embarrassment, something he had never felt before.

“Should I tell Avril your deduction?” Kazuya said in a casual tone in an effort to hide his agitation.

“Knock yourself out.” Victorique looked away.

Kazuya nodded.

Victorique stood up inside the cage and stretched with a yawn. “It took no time at all.”

“Hmm? For what?”

“For the boredom to be back. The case was solved in the blink of an eye. Like a little piece of ice taken out of a midsummer garden. What do I do now?”

“Uhm, I see. Sorry…” Kazuya wore an apologetic look.

Victorique sniffed audibly. “You don’t need to apologize.”

A small smile touched her lips. Cold, expressionless green eyes glinted in the light.

Her magnificent golden hair, silky and glossy, stirred softly.

“This world was created using boredom as its foundation,” she muttered in a husky voice. “After every fierce revolution comes a lousy dictator. And this repeats for eternity. A period of dreadful monotony awaits every grand case. I’m aware of that, but I can’t stand it nevertheless.”

Kazuya recalled how Victorique solved the case of the monster lurking in St. Marguerite Academy’s clock tower just a week ago, right before the summer break started.

Victorique, the little Gray Wolf, who gathered all the fragments of chaos, reconstructed them, and solved the mystery in a magical way, all in the blink of an eye. Now she was once again caught in the grip of an incurable disease called boredom, lying on the grass in the middle of summer with no absolutely no idea what to do.

“I’m in a terribly foul mood at the moment,” Victorique declared. “I really feel like torturing you.”

“Wh-What do you mean by that? You can be so unreasonable sometimes.”

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Kazuya held up the parasol to shield Victorique from the summer sun.

A small stream was flowing across the lawn.

A fountain sculpture of a weeping goddess towered before them.

Flowers were in full bloom, their bright petals glistening in the flowerbeds of the deserted garden.

“I’ll make you suffer.”

“How exactly?”

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