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Epilogue

That night…

The damp autumn wind that had arrived instantly and taken over the school was blowing through a black veil of darkness, battering against the old stone walls of the library tower, and turning into a small dark tornado. The trees in the gardens were shrouded in shadows, their dewy foliage gleaming darkly.

A large owl with glasslike eyes flew out of the woods, across the lawn, and leisurely passed over the flowerbed maze, its round, feathery body illuminated by the pale moon. From the dark sky above, the maze, with its complex geometric design, seemed to the owl’s glasslike eyes a strange sight not found in the natural world. The creature let out a short and deep cry, as though in awe of the complexity of man’s creation.

From a small, two-story special dormitory in the middle of the flowerbed maze, a tiny river of molten gold appeared—magnificent, long golden hair that fluttered in the night breeze, hanging down the pale face of a small girl. The owl swooped down and landed in a corner of the flowerbeds near the girl’s window.

The girl—Victorique—was sitting by the window, dressed in a white lace bonnet and a ruffled white dress. She looked outside, her mysterious green eyes glinting, even though the human eye could not possibly see through the darkness of night.

“An owl again,” she mumbled. “Every single night.”

The owl hooted briefly in response.

Victorique was staring at the pretty flowers in the glass sitting on the table, even resting her cheeks on her palms, as though she never grew tired of looking at them. But her small and beautiful face remained cool, with no emotion.

She got up, changed the water in the glass, and gently set it down on the table again. She reached for a book and opened it. With a white ceramic pipe in her hand, she began reading. Her gaze sometimes darted to the flowers. There seemed to be a slight change in her expression, but it was hard to tell.

Her glossy, cherry lips parted. “It’s the usual night.”

Puffing her pipe, she flipped through her book.

The owl hooted briefly and took off into the darkness of the night.

In the common room of the staff dormitory’s first floor, a woman with shoulder-length brown hair and round glasses over droopy eyes—Ms. Cecile—and a sexy, red-haired, freckled woman—the dorm mother Sophie—were laughing together while stuffing themselves with lemon cake.

“Cecile, you little…”

“Your impression of the headmaster is spot-on!”

“Ah, Sophie, is the bread done? Oh, it’s fresh. Give me one. Scrumptious!”

“And the chairman too! You’re a natural at this.”

“Oh, yeah. Things are starting to get wild. Let’s sing, Sophie!”

“All right!”

They stood up, flicking the crumbs from their lap onto the floor. Cecile sat down at the grand piano, rolled her shoulders, and began to play a jaunty Charleston piece. Sophie, flapping the bottom of her skirt, started dancing.

And they sang in unison.

“We are poor.

But we love each other.

We can’t afford a lavish wedding because we don’t have the money.

But you look lovely nonetheless. Riding your bike, smiling, eating your food.

You will always look wonderful.

We’re getting married tomorrow. Yahoo!”

“Yahoo!”

“Cecile! Sophie!”

The headmaster’s angry voice rose from afar. Cecile and Sophie exchanged looks, their faces twisting into identical grimaces. They closed the lid of the piano with incredible speed, put the tray of lemon cake on their heads, and jumped out the window like two puppies.

The headmaster entered the room, face red with anger. “Do you know what time it is?! You little… Students are in their rooms studying, while you’re both… Huh? Cecile? Sophie?” He looked around.

The large common room was empty and completely silent. The headmaster stood frozen for a moment, dumbfounded, and then glanced at the lemon cake crumbs on the floor and the white curtains swaying by the open window.

“Good grief.” The headmaster heaved a deep sigh. “I thought they’d settle down a bit when they grew older, but they’re still the same.”

As he moved to close the window, he heard the deep, reverberating hooting of an owl that just took off. Outside, the pale moon was faintly illuminating the school’s vast campus.

In one of the rooms in the boys’ dormitory, an oriental boy with jet-black hair and eyes—Kazuya Kujou—was facing a large mahogany desk, studying diligently by himself.

From time to time, his long bangs stirred softly in the wind blowing through the open window.

“I’ve mastered both French and English. I’m all good now. I can keep up with my studies.”

Talking to himself, he flipped through his textbook. He was wearing an earnest face, keeping his back straight.

“But I’m still behind on Latin. There’s so much to learn.” Worried, he cast his eyes down. “No, no, no, I represent my country. I must study hard and become a fine man. Let’s do this!”

He turned his attention back to the textbook.

The wind blew.

A while later, while running his pen across his notebook with his right hand without rest, he mumbled, “I want to see Ruri.” He flipped through his textbook. “I wonder if she’ll get married while I’m here. To a man with a square face shaped like a geta. That would be sad. No, wait.” He shook his head, his jet-black hair dancing. “Whether she gets married, or become a strict teacher, my sister will still be my sister. Maybe I should write her a letter. It’s been a while.”

Flip.

“Once I’m done with prepping for Latin, I’ll write her a letter.”

Wings rustled outside the window, and Kazuya looked up in surprise.

He rose and peered out the French window to see the darkness outside. He smiled.

“Just an owl.”

Softly he closed the window.

Avril had just emerged from the exit of the flowerbed maze, with a large bundle of her stuff.

She was covered in flowers that scattered whenever the wind blew, red, pink and yellow petals clinging all over her. Avril, now a colorful figure, wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“Phew, I finally made it out.” She was breathing heavily. “I made the right decision to bring emergency rations. I thought I’d never make it out… Huh?”

She heard the flapping of wings, and she looked up at the sky.

Just then, an owl with its wings spread out wide passed overhead between her and the moon high above. Avril squinted at the large silhouette.

“An owl…”

Before she took a step, she looked back. Surveyed her surroundings.

The gardens had sunk into the darkness of the night, every corner wrapped in shadows. The fountain produced eerie sounds, and the grass was wet with dew. Sensing something in the darkness, Avril swallowed.

“Speaking of which, Victorique was acting a little strange. She was quick, and then disappeared when she turned a corner. Victorique the flower ghost in the darkness of the night.”

She looked up at the night sky.

The owl hooted loudly nearby.

“I was sure it was an intruder, what with her huge luggage,” Cordelia muttered.

She was sitting on a thick branch of a sturdy oak, swinging her small feet, which were enclosed in black shoes adorned with black pearls.

She possessed similar awe-inspiring, beautiful features as her daughter Victorique. Her blue eyes seemed slightly darker, but this might be due to the fact that she was blending into the darkness of the night. Her magical, luxurious dress of blue velvet overlaid with delicate French lace fluttered in the damp autumn wind. Her golden hair hung down from the branches like a muddy stream of gold, stirring as if it had a will of its own.

She was quietly watching the vast grounds of St. Marguerite Academy through the thin, black silk lace that hung from her small blue hat.

“Who’s the weird girl?” asked the man standing next to her.

He was tall, with a mane of bright-red hair, currently tied back. His black coat flared like a mantle in the night breeze, and his upturned blue eyes flickered coldly.

He kicked a branch with the tip of his black boots, causing numerous leaves to scatter down over Avril’s head as she was about to saunter away. Brows knitted in fear, she looked over her shoulder.

“Her friend, probably. Not something I expected, though,” Cordelia replied in a clear voice.

The red-haired man next to her—Brian Roscoe—laughed dryly. “A Gray Wolf can’t possibly have friends.”

“You should know better than to lump her together with the other Gray Wolves, Brian. That’s my daughter.”

Brian’s face contorted. “She’s a girl born from you and a nobleman of this country. A shoddy Gray Wolf, if you will. She has blood that should not be in her veins.”

“No. She represents a new possibility,” Cordelia declared firmly.

Brian opened his mouth to say something, but closed it when he changed his mind. Then, he casually took out a small red box from his coat pocket and showed it to Cordelia.

“After a decade of trying to get this back, the Ministry of the Occult and the Academy of Science are still at each other’s throats.”

“It would seem so.”

“In that case, we’re still safe.”

Brian leapt onto the branch of an adjacent tree with surprising ease. Watching him, Cordelia’s expression changed slightly. She followed him, leaping from tree to tree with the grace of a blue velvet breeze.

From one tree to the next. Down to up. Light as a bird.

“Soon, my daughter will find herself involved in something else,” Cordelia uttered. “The days of peace won’t last long.”

“So you were worried and came to check on her. Hmph. Good on you, I guess.” Brian shrugged.

“Do you remember Coco?”

“Coco? Oh, you mean Coco Rose.”

Brian looked over his shoulder and grinned, a grin that held a bizarre eeriness, like a predator opening its mouth. The moon disappeared behind the clouds, and the darkness of the night shrouded them both. Only their voices echoed in the shadows.

“I do,” Brian added. “She was a lovely queen. She came to Sauville from a faraway land and was very popular with the people, along with Charles de Gilet. I believe she was called the Blue Rose of Sauville. Lovely Coco Rose, with her golden hair and blue eyes. She was like a small rose.”

“But the uneasiness of being royalty led her into the occult. She also had a strong connection with the alchemist Leviathan, who lurked in the clock tower of this academy. The pretty, always anxious, little rose of Sauville. Do you remember how she died?”

“How could I forget? That mystery remains unsolved to this day. There was the whole mess with the Great War, and even Coco’s last years were riddled with the occult. If I recall correctly, she was found dead in the royal palace, and at about the same time, a part of her body was found in a country house far away in the sticks.”

“That’s right.”

“What about it? Either way, it happened a long time ago. It was a royal scandal, to be sure, but it’s long since been unsolved.”

“Yeah.”

“So what kind of mess are you afraid your little pup would get into?”

“…”

“Are you serious?”

“The Ministry of the Occult wants to solve the mystery of Coco Rose’s murder, so they could have dirt on a certain someone. If there’s anyone the Ministry of the Occult would use, it’s my daughter. A Gray Wolf, the last and most powerful brain in Europe.”

“Who’s Albert’s suspect? He thinks the person he wants to get dirt on is the murderer, right?”

“A big shot.”

“…You’re kidding.”

The wind rose, the clouds slowly drifted away, and the moon began to reappear.

Avril, walking along the gravel path toward the girls’ dormitory, suddenly turned around with an anxious look on her face. A dazzling moon sat up high.

“Is anyone there?” she called with a trembling voice, glancing around.

There was no answer.

The clouds drifted away, and the pale moon lit up the night-shrouded garden darkly. Wings rustled loudly, and she spotted an owl fly away from the tree tops, hooting.

“Oh. Just an owl.”

Avril resumed walking.

The moon shone on the gardens. A damp autumn wind blew through the black veil of darkness, shaking the trees and stirring the dew on the grass.