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A Train Moving Away From Summer – Part 01

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Translator: Kell

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The green grass glittered in the bright summer sun.

St. Marguerite Academy.

One summer day.

In a corner of the school, now deserted as most students had gone off to luxurious summer retreats along the Mediterranean or to the cooler plateaus of the Alps, there were small leather shoes adorned with cream-colored ribbons stepping on the soft grass, walking across the lawn.

The feet suddenly stopped, and its owner—a neatly-dressed, fifteen or sixteen-year-old girl wearing the uniform of St. Marguerite Academy—heaved a deep sigh.

Her shoulder-length hair, tied up with a cream-colored ribbon that matched her shoes, rippled in the dry breeze that was a little cool for summer. Casting her large eyes down, the girl let out another sigh.

“St. Marguerite Academy…” Her voice was soft, somewhat forlorn.

The girl was carrying in one hand a large, plain suitcase, while in the other a silver birdcage containing a big, richly-colored parrot. A thin string ran from the handle of the suitcase to a small, white dog playing around her feet.

“I guess this is goodbye,” she mumbled dejectedly as she started walking with the animals. There were tears in her large eyes.

The summer wind blew, wrapping around in gentle embrace.

One summer day.

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“You’re going too far, Victorique.”

Meanwhile, at the back of St. Marguerite Academy’s vast garden.

The scorching sun was beaming down on the grass, and gigantic clouds loomed high above in the blue summer sky.

A gray library towered bleakly in the distance. In front of it was a flowerbed full of colorful flowers, a stream, and a white fountain that trickled like a melting pillar of ice.

Petals and grass swayed in the hot wind.

A deserted garden in the summer.

“I’ve had it up to here with you!” bellowed a boy in a slightly oriental-accented French.

He was standing in front of a small, cozy gazebo situated in a corner of the garden, baked by the sun. A foreign student from a country in the Orient, the boy—Kazuya Kujou—was slowly earning a reputation in the school. Today he was dressed in a bright, indigo kimono, a thin bowler hat, and wooden sandals.

“I’ve had enough of your spoiled attitude!”

“Because you won’t apologize,” came a low, husky voice that sounded like it belonged to an old woman. The sweltering wind died down for a moment, as though startled by the coldness of the voice, and a chilling silence blanketed the area.

Kazuya was fuming, unfazed.

A small girl was sitting on a pretty stool beneath the round shadow cast by the gazebo’s pointed roof. Her laced socks, floral ballet slippers, and the hem of her frilly skirt were visible from under the small round table. Huge, difficult books lay open in a semi-circle atop.

Kazuya firmly faced the girl hidden behind the table and pile of books.

“You always get mad over the smallest things. Who cares about snacks? You can just buy another one.”

“Who cares?” The husky voice became icier, and grimmer.

Kazuya sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry.” Reluctantly he lifted his foot.

Under his geta was a strawberry cake that had been crushed by the two wooden bars of the sandal.

“I just dropped it and stepped on it by accident,” Kazuya mumbled wearily. “But you can still eat it. The middle part is still intact.”

“You can blame your firewood-looking sandals for that.”

“L-Leave my geta alone!”

Victorique exhaled sharply. She tilted her book to cast a brief glance at Kazuya. Her mysterious green eyes, melancholic and thoughtful, like those of an old timer who had lived for a hundred years, yet seemingly vacant, were glaring straight at Kazuya, tears in the corners.

Sh-She’s mad. Kazuya shuddered at the look on her face. She was staring fixedly at him. When we first met, I couldn’t really keep her attention for this long. Maybe this means we’re getting closer? Still, she looks terrifying!

Giving up on the strawberry cake, Kazuya entered the gazebo and sat down on the bench across from Victorique. He propped his elbow on the table, rested his cheek on his hand, then studied Victorique.

Today she was wearing a black laced dress with floral patterns. A thin belt made of white and yellow floral ornaments was wrapped around her waist, and atop her small head, on her magnificent golden hair, sat a tiny ruffled hat that looked like a flower in full bloom. Victorique looked as lovely as a bouquet of flowers.

She was staring at Kazuya with cold, expressionless green eyes. Stifling a laugh, Kazuya poked Victorique’s rosy, puffed-out cheeks with his forefinger.

Victorique’s expression turned blank, and then, with the sluggish movements of some large, ancient creature, she hid behind the book.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, come on. It was just a poke.”

There was no reply.

“I’ll buy you a different one,” Kazuya said. “Apparently this shop is popular among the village girls. Aside from strawberry cake, they also have lingonberry cake and apple pie.”

Victorique was still not showing her face, so he was starting to get worried. “Victorique, are you still there? You’re so tiny, sometimes I don’t know if you’re there or not. Ouch! You kicked me again! Which means you’re still there. Victorique?” He peeked under the table.

Victorique was still there, a mass of frills with floral patterns crouched under the table, holding something in her tiny hands.

It was white and rectangular. Like a letter.

Kazuya crawled under the table. “What’s the matter?”

“I found this here,” Victorique said wearily, pointing at the leg of the table. She still sounded grumpy.

The old round table was splintered and chipped in places, and she had found something in a small tear in the wood.

“Right there? Maybe someone hid it there on purpose. Is it a letter?”

“An envelope. There’s a piece of paper inside.”

“What’s a letter doing here? Maybe it’s a secret mailbox between two people. Though I’m pretty sure you can just hand-deliver letters in this academy. Victorique? Hello?”

Victorique was examining the letter, turning it over and back. She was so focused on it that it didn’t look like she could hear Kazuya.

The sun’s scorching rays were beaming down on the grass and the gazebo’s pointed roof.

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“After cleaning the windows, next is the school building. Hmm?”

A freckled girl striding down the corridor of the girls’ dormitory shot a curious look outside the window.

She was wearing a simple yet functional, white-and-blue maid’s uniform, and her hair was kept in place by an unadorned headdress. Holding a mop and bucket in each hand, she was watching a girl walking dejectedly outside.

“Miss Lafitte?” she muttered.

Her signature cream-colored ribbons swayed in the wind. She was carrying a silver birdcage and pulling on a small, shaggy white dog, but what really caught the maid’s attention was the large suitcase. The girl tossed the mop and bucket aside. Lifting her heavy, navy-blue skirt, made of cotton velvet, and plain white petticoat, she ran down the stairs, jumping three steps at a time, her cotton bloomers fully exposed. An older cleaning lady yelped as she passed her on the way.

“Hey, Sophie!” the woman shouted.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be right back!”

“Stop! Where’s your shame?!”

The girl—Sophie—did not wait, of course; she continued running down the stairs and dashed across the lawn with her skirt pulled up.

She caught up to the neatly-dressed girl with the cream-colored ribbon just as she was about to step through the huge iron gate.

“Miss Lafitte! Where are you going?”

Surprised to hear someone calling her name, Miss Lafitte turned around, then regarded the girl in a maid uniform curiously. “Wh-Who might you be?” she asked.

Sophie turned red. “M-My name is Sophie. I-I’m a maid. I’m always at the girls’ dormitory, cleaning.”

“Oh, I remember now.” Miss Lafitte nodded cheerfully. “We passed each other sometimes in the mornings and evenings. You’re the girl who wipes the windows, right?”

“Yes! That’s me!”

“I used to watch you. It looked like you were wiping with such force that the windows might break. So your name is Sophie.”

Sophie nodded, then shared how she was born and raised in the nearby village and that she had started working as a maidservant at St. Marguerite Academy this year.

“I see…”

For some reason, Miss Lafitte looked deep in thought. She then lifted her head and looked Sophie straight in the eyes.

“Sophie, do you like dogs?” she asked.

“What? Yes, I like dogs. My brothers and I had one back home.”

“Then if you don’t mind, can you take care of this little guy?”

Sophie stared back at Miss Lafitte, stunned. She knew how much Miss Lafitte loved this white dog.

“I can’t keep him anymore,” she said tearfully.

“What do you mean? And what’s that huge suitcase for?”

“To tell you the truth, I have to quit school because of my father’s job. We can’t afford the tuition here anymore. So I have to leave with my things before summer break ends.”

“What?!”

“We’ve lost our home, so I have to work now. It will be rough, I’m sure.”

Miss Lafitte began sobbing. Sophie stood still before her, flailing her hands around in panic. She couldn’t think of anything to say to comfort her.

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