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A Midsummer Night’s Dream – Part 03

Then, the man sitting on the rear rack of the bicycle joined the conversation. “Very convenient, huh? You should be grateful.”

Victorique and the others eyed him dubiously.

The man puffed out his chest. “The grid plan was actually introduced by the 1811 Committee, established 119 years ago. It was a temporary group formed for urban planning, led by politicians, lawyers, and financier Rothschild the Third. Back then, Manhattan was a mess. People settled wherever they liked, and the streets were chaotic.”

“Oh?” Victorique stretched her neck. The frills hanging from the front basket stirred, opening like a flower. “Finance King Rothschild the Third, huh?” she murmured, studying the man’s profile.

Around them, the crowd pointed at the Federal Reserve Bank, and gazed at the sky where the contrails had vanished, discussing what they had just seen. Cars sped down the street, engines roaring, while voices of policemen and guards rolled from the distance.

“Hey, mister,” Kelly Sue said. “Is the 1811 Committee related to the 1911 Committee? The names are so similar. And the 1911 Committee was an urban planning group for the City Beautiful Movement. They focused on rebuilding unique buildings to give the city a unified look. Rothschild the Fifth was on that committee, wasn’t he? He’s the grandson of Rothschild the Third, right?”

The man beamed with pride. “Exactly! He’s the grandson. Thanks to Rothschild the Third’s grid plan he introduced 119 years ago, the streets were modernized, but the buildings… As the number of immigrants increased, people started building houses based on their own tastes, and the city’s appearance became chaotic. So, Rothschild the Fifth, honoring his grandfather’s legacy, established the 1911 Committee 19 years ago and launched the City Beautiful Movement.”

“I see,” Victorique said, still eyeing the man closely while puffing on her golden, lizard-shaped pipe. “I thought I’d seen that weird, smug face somewhere before. Now I know where!”

The man glared at her. “Is there something on my face? Blood from some king of a small nation overthrown by the ancient Romans?”

Kazuya cautiously stepped in between the two.

Victorique shook her head. “No, it’s just… I finally figured out who you are.”

“What? That’s impossible. My face has never been published anywhere. Not in newspapers, magazines, or books.”

“No, not you.” Victorique made a small rectangle with her fingers, roughly the size of a banknote, then tried to say something, but stopped herself.

Using his strong arms, the man jumped down to the wheelchair, then turned the wheels. “See you later,” he said, before swiftly disappearing into the crowd.

“Who was that?” Kelly Sue wondered.

“I don’t know,” Nico said, “but he sure looked rich.”

Victorique, pointing at the man, whispered to Kazuya, “Kujou, do you remember the colonial currency we saw at the Druid House this morning? The one with Rothschild the Third’s face on it?”

“Yeah… Wait!” Kazuya exclaimed. He looked in the direction the man had gone. “That face! S-So the man in the wheelchair was R-R-Roth…”

“He had the exact same face as the one on the bill.”

“But how is that possible? Rothschild the Third died a long time ago.”

“I believe the man we just met was Rothschild the Fifth, the grandson of Rothschild the Third, currently managing the New World’s financial scene. Since his face isn’t widely recognized, he can rule from the shadows, walking the streets without a bodyguard.”

“I see. But it’s still shocking. To think we’d see him here.”

“Indeed. A mysterious financial magnate carrying out the City Beautiful Movement and subtly influencing the national economy.”

“He seems dangerous, though.” Kazuya’s face darkened. “He ran over you with his wheelchair and then talked to you like that.”

A loud voice suddenly called from across the street, “Candy Holiday!”

Kazuya and Victorique turned with a start.

---

Doug sprinted back from the sidewalk in front of the bank, weaving through traffic. A car screeched to a halt. Horns blared.

“Hey!”
“Watch it!”

People buzzed with excitement, and the sidewalk became increasingly crowded.

Victorique leapt from the front basket of the bicycle, aiming for a graceful landing, only to stumble and fall.

“Be careful.” Kazuya said, helping her up.

Her green five-layered frills stirred as she steadied herself.

“There weren’t any suspicious cops or guards, but…” Doug pointed at the surrounding buildings.

“Hmm.” Victorique scanned the area.

Police officers swarmed the office buildings next to the Federal Reserve Bank, taping off entrances and filing inside. More were gathered in the buildings further down the block. Their numbers kept growing. Hundreds, maybe more.

“It’s like every cop in New York is here,” Doug remarked.

“Indeed. Since they don’t know where Kid might be hiding, they’re covering every nook and cranny.”

“I see. But at this rate, we’d have to watch every officer in every building to track him down.” Tears formed at the corner of Doug’s eye. He sighed and glanced back at the buildings. “I’ll do another round.”

“That would be great.”

Doug ran back across the street, moving along the buildings on either side of the bank, scanning the faces of every officer and guard. His figure soon faded into the chaos.

Kelly Sue, perched on the bike, muttered, “What a mess. What’s gonna happen to New York?”

Victorique, watching Doug with concern, turned to Kelly Sue. Her expression darkened further. Noticing Kazuya’s gaze, she turned red and looked away.

The surroundings were still in turmoil. Onlookers in tattered clothes, well-dressed passersby, countless police officers, and a line of cars crowded the streets. Reporters had begun to arrive, some raising cameras, others gesturing toward the sky as they explained things.

Shouts. Honking. Cries. The noise was deafening.

“Yes, we have no bananas!”

A chorus of young women’s voices rang down the street. Victorique and Kazuya turned to look.

“Nobody, nobody has them!”

The bizarre song carried through the cacophony. Victorique and Kazuya exchanged puzzled glances.

“What could that be?” Victorique wondered.

“Some new hit song from the New World?” Kazuya replied. “You know, weird tunes come from your blue radio sometimes.”

“Bananas? Pure imagination! No one’s ever eaten them!”

Two women came skipping along the sidewalk, hand in hand, bouncing high with each step.

Kazuya craned his neck. “Oh, I know them.”

Nico, noticing them too, groaned, “Ugh, those two?”

One of the women had soft, straw-like blonde hair tied into pigtails, almond-shaped eyes, and wore a fitted mini-suit that accentuated her long, dainty legs. The other woman was tall and dandy, with dark hair neatly tucked under a man’s hat, dressed in a sharp pantsuit. They were the secretary and PR woman from the Daily Road.

The blonde spotted Kazuya and pointed. “There’s that brunette old man.”

“Brunette old man?” Kazuya muttered darkly.

The woman in the pantsuit grinned at Nico. “Pizza and kitty are here too. And I see you’ve got a camera.”

“Pizza and what now?” Nico grumbled.

The two women, still holding hands, rushed over, their high heels clicking.

“The editor-in-chief sent us to find you. The whole office is losing it over the Kid story.”

“My dad—oh, I mean, the editor-in-chief. I’m his daughter Cherry, his ever-capable secretary. Anyway, my dad said, ‘Didn’t we send the new duo to Central Park? They might’ve seen something.'”

Kazuya pointed to Nico’s camera. “We did. Nico even took photos of the contrail.”

“Great job!” Cherry exclaimed, then suddenly clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes squeezing shut. “Oh no. I sound just like my dad.”

The tall woman in the pantsuit took various items from Nico, stuffing them into her large leather bag.

“I’m Anastasia from PR,” she said.

“You can call her Anaconda,” Cherry said. “‘Cause she’s big.”

“Ch-Cherry! Quit it with the weird nicknames.” She paused. “Wait, is that the lost girl from yesterday’s ad?” Anaconda pointed a manicured red nail at Victorique. “White-blonde hair, green eyes. A Sauville immigrant, fluent in a few languages?”

She crouched, meeting Victorique’s gaze with an unexpectedly gentle smile. Her dark eyes narrowed.

In polished Russian, she asked, “Skol’ko vam let?”

“Sto dvadtsat’,” Victorique replied in an old woman’s voice.

Anaconda rolled her eyes. “Oh wow! You’re way older than me, huh?”

Victorique leaned toward Anaconda, puffing on her pipe. “So you’re Russian, huh? A noble who fled the revolution and came to the New World, I take it?”

“You got it. My mom worked in a tavern. She was quite popular, actually. I worked there too. Met this troublemaker here, and she got me a job at the newspaper.” She studied Victorique for a moment. “You’re nobility too, aren’t you? From Sauville?” She paused. “Hmm. Well, you’d better blend in here in the New World. Fix the way you act, the way you talk. You should try to hide your face a little as well.” She pointed to the tilted hat on her head.

Cherry peered in from behind, studying Victorique, then Anaconda’s gentle expression, then Kazuya, quietly observing. Pouting, she stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Victorique’s magnificent silver hair, and tugged it.

“Hey, ultra tiny spider girl.”

Victorique stepped back, startled, blinking up at Cherry with watery eyes. Cherry smirked.