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Femina Economica Monster – Part 07

At the grand hall on the top floor.

“Esteemed ladies and gentlemen who have gathered for what may become the world’s greatest tower, or rather, the ark of the new world, Apocalypse!” exclaimed the emcee.

Victorique, wrapped in fabric, listened with a yawn.

“What’s taking Coup so long?” Bon Vivant muttered as he awkwardly sheathed his sword. “It’s so boring without him around.”

Victorique suddenly looked down, murmuring, “I supposed I can understand that feeling.”

A mystical light faded within her green eyes. She briefly revealed a vulnerable expression, like a child left behind by the parents she trusted. But it was fleeting, witnessed by no one. Victorique quickly reverted to her doll-like, stoic expression, retreating into an aloof silence.

Bon Vivant looked into the distance, passing Victorique another slice of cake while continuing his grumble.

“Me and Coup are the best duo in the world, you know.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re not the best.”

“Huh? Then who is? Well, second-best works too, I guess.”

“That will do.”

“But it’s weird, you know? When I was running around the mansion corridors, Coup was already helping out his old man at the store. When I was getting bullied like crazy at New York High, Coup was working at the harbor with adults. Different upbringing, different personalities… but we clicked from the start. Ever met someone like that?”

Victorique puffed her cheeks, looking lonely as she busily ate. “Perhaps it’s not so uncommon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s not proximity that draws people together. Sometimes it’s distance. Anyway… pass me another slice of cake!”

“I get it. Wait, more cake? Coming. Why’re you blushing?”

Bon Vivant drew his sword again and dug into the Tobacco Road Cake.

In the center stage stood a distinguished old priest clad in lavish, gold-embroidered vestments. He was apparently the emcee. His luxurious pocket watch shimmered under the lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed, “bear with me for a bit as I share a somewhat mundane story about the distinguished individual I’m about to introduce. Some of you might already know, but I’ve been preaching to immigrants for decades. ‘Young folks, strive to be wealthy!’ Perhaps some of you have heard this spiel before. Our church is quite large, after all!”

The guests nodded, indicating they were well-acquainted.

“‘Of course, life has other important aspects: love, friendship, conviction. But it’s easier to protect them when you have money. And the more, the better! Being rich is happier than being poor; being super rich is happier than being rich! That’s life in the new world! Faith and money-making are not mutually exclusive, so dive into the river of gold with confidence! Money is power!’ To guide the lost youth, I’ve continued to preach. Then one day…”

As he paced back and forth, the golden embroidery on his black vestments glinted. The guests followed the old priest with their eyes. Bon Vivant listened with delight.

“She appeared on Manhattan Island! A lovely and dignified lady. Femina Economica. Fearless and resolute! With her iron fist, she absorbed and merged countless companies, swiftly creating the giant tobacco conglomerate, Bluecandy. A force to be reckoned with, she has wisdom, courage, and as evidenced by the Magic of Coin Toss, a profound affinity with currency, the very essence of power in the New World! She’s a modern-day sage, wielding her power and influence wisely! When I teach the youth about navigating the New World, I never fail to mention her name. I tell them to follow Lady La Guardia’s footsteps and seize success!”

He burst into loud laughter. Then, he straightened up.

“She is the ideal mother of the new workers! The Virgin Mary of coin! The tobacco grandma! Without further ado, let us call forth our esteemed guest…” Holding a Bible in one hand and a mic in the other, he shouted, “Lady La Guardia!”

The hall erupted solemnly. The priest pointed to the ceiling with the hand holding the Bible. Silence fell.

A thunderous noise erupted from above. Chandeliers and banners swayed perilously. Women scattered, shrieking, while men stood poised, scanning the room for threats.

Victorique, her complexion still ashen, lifted her gaze to the ceiling. Swallowing a morsel of cake, she murmured in a husky whisper, “Well, well. What an entrance. And it hadn’t been long since we arrived.” Her emerald eyes glimmered, and she stifled a yawn. “The New World’s chaos descending from the skies.”

From above cascaded a mysterious voice, resonant as an actress’s or a singer’s, yet rich with theatrical flair, simultaneously charming and unsettling.

“Life is but a coin toss!”

Abruptly, a section of the ceiling parted, unveiling a luxurious gondola worked in gold and blue, resembling a majestic ship. Its descent clashed with the solemn melody from the organ. The emcee’s trumpet blared discordantly. No antiquated music would have matched her modern and bizarre appearance.

A petite woman was perched atop the gondola, striking an oddly elegant pose.

Brandishing a microphone, she offered a sophisticated smile and declared with her enigmatic voice, “Fortune favors the bold!”

The assembled guests watched in fascination. She was a figure of singular peculiarity.

With her silvered hair cascading nearly to the floor, a crown of thorns atop her head, and clad in nothing but a swath of white fabric, she bore a striking resemblance to the depiction of the Statue of Liberty on the Miss Cigarette packaging. Apparently the woman in the illustration of America’s most famous cigarette brand was the legendary founder herself.

In her hand, she held a golden, lizard-shaped pipe, a fitting emblem for the goddess of this new world, enriched by the spoils of tobacco. She was thin and diminutive in stature, barely reaching five feet. As she descended, her wrinkled skin, her blue eyes and thin lips resembling knots in aged wood, became clearer.

A petite elder, garbed as the Statue of Liberty and regal in demeanor, smiled down at the enraptured guests.

Bon Vivant bounced with excitement. “She immigrated at fifteen in 1865, making her eighty now! Isn’t that remarkable? Though she insists she’s only sixty-five! Go, Granny, you look so cool!”

Victorique, momentarily silent in awe, suddenly noticed something, her emerald eyes alight with intrigue. She fixed her gaze intently on the elaborately designed golden pipe, a hint of envy flickering across her features, like a child coveting a toy.

“A lizard… Golden,” she mused to herself, visibly captivated. Attempting to gain a better view, she stretched, unnoticed by Bon Vivant beside her.

“Anyway, about our earlier conversation…”

“The gems in its eyes are glittering. Green. And such a big tail!”

“Wonder Girl’s model is none other than Granny La Guardia—silver hair, petite frame! Fearless and resolute! A girl with Wonder Power! Don’t you think they bear a resemblance?”

“What?”

Visibly taken aback, Victorique studied Bon Vivant’s profile with wide eyes. She glanced up at La Guardia, squinting as if comparing her to Wonder Girl, before turning her attention to the ‘Miss Cigarette’ banner, and finally pressing her plump cheeks with her small hands, an expression of bemusement crossing her face.

“A resemblance? Preposterous. Impossible. You must be joking!”

At that moment, on the gondola, La Guardia’s eyes widened. Initially appearing calm, a closer look revealed dilated pupils, a dangerous glint similar to her grandson’s.

“Would you care for a coin toss?” she said elegantly, with laughter in her tone.

Her words, a familiar refrain, elicited cheers from the guests. Acknowledging the applause with a smile, La Guardia set down her pipe, and slowly, tossed a golden coin in the air.

“Heads or tails!”

The coin gleamed as it soared. An eerie hush fell over the hall as every eye tracked its trajectory.

The coin flew through the air as if guided by its own will and somehow landed near Victorique. She huddled inside her gray cloak, attempting to conceal herself discreetly. Nevertheless, everyone’s attention drew closer as they followed the coin’s path.

The chandeliers glittered. Guests’ eyes sparkled with excitement. Beyond the windows, the night vista twinkled.

La Guardia’s voice cracked loudly, its volume belying her age as she declared to the gathered assembly, “Heads!”

In the dim and eerie underground parking lot.

“Who the hell are you?”

Kazuya stood in front of the Miracle Car, wearing a puzzled expression along with Coup de Grâce. Despite Coup de Grâce’s visible irritation, the diminutive gentleman perched on the bonnet showed no signs of remorse.

“I just wanted a closer look at the modifications on the new Wolf Car.”

“That doesn’t give you the permission to ride someone else’s car! And could you at least introduce yourself? Act like an adult!”

“Just call me Troll. It’s a childhood nickname. Sort of like your alias, Coup de Grâce. By the way, you’ve given the new Wolf Car quite the flashy paint job. Any other modifications?”

“No. We just painted it blue, white, and red.”

“Really? Well, it must be fate that allowed me to make acquaintance with Bon Vivant’s partner and this Asian guy who looks just like Linlin. Nice to meet you!”

He winked, tugging on his beard with both hands.

“Nice to meet you, my foot! Damn it. Anyway, I just want to get back to Bon.”

“Oh, looks like the rumors were right. You’re quite the stick-in-the-mud.”

“You’re messing with our precious car. Of course, I’d get angry!”

Before Kazuya could intervene, a severe vibration came from above. Kazuya and Coup de Grâce instinctively dropped to the floor.

The mysterious gentleman—Troll—remained unperturbed, muttering, “Gentlemen don’t get shaken,” as he hunched down slightly on the bonnet.

Kazuya lifted his gaze and listened intently. His expression grew tense. “What was that just now? What happened up there?”

“Wh-What was that?” Coup de Grâce exclaimed.

Kazuya sprang to his feet. “V-Victorique!”

He dashed off in the direction they came from.