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Good Morning, America – Part 01

“I am a Woodman, and made of tin. Therefore I have no heart, and cannot love. I pray you to give me a heart that I may be as other men are.”

—Lyman Frank Baum, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

The Daily Road

July 10, 1930, Morning Edition, Front Page

Wonder Girl Appears in Manhattan!

At last night’s celebration party for the completion of the world’s tallest skyscraper, Apocalypse, a mysterious girl who looked exactly like the comic superhero Wonder Girl appeared. A beautiful girl with flowing silver hair in a blue dress! When she arrived in a star-spangled Wolf Car, the comic fans gathered in the square in front of the tower went wild.

After that… during the series of explosions that occurred in the party venue at the top floor of the tower, the mysterious Wonder Girl played a major role in… or so the rumors said…?

(For more details, see the feature article on the second page.)

The Daily Road

July 10, 1930, Evening Edition, Page 8

Missing Person Notice

Long white-blonde hair, deep green eyes. About 140 centimeters tall. Female. Sauville immigrant. Speaks English and French. Can read German, Yiddish, Latin, Sanskrit, Polish, Italian, and Spanish. Wearing a traditional outfit called a yukata, a pink floral cloth with a light blue stiff cloth tied around the waist. Got separated from their guardian on the main street of East Village.

(If seen, please contact the Daily Road editorial office.)

Chapter 1: Good Morning, America

A bird chirped cheerfully outside the window.

Red and gold oriental patterns covered the wall of the large and rectangular room. An oriental chandelier shaped like a stone lantern hung from the ceiling. The furnishings, like the dresser and chairs, had a distinctly foreign feel.

In the center was a king-sized canopy bed, draped in delicate oriental fabric. From the seemingly-empty bed came a gentle, child-like snore, followed by a strange sneeze.

A breeze carrying the summer’s heat blew in with the morning light through the open window. The thin curtain swayed softly before settling back in place. The snoring continued.

The bamboo screen over the small window stirred. Time seemed to flow slowly. It felt as though wandering into the setting of an old fairy tale.

From the front of the room, another snore could be heard.

The ceiling and walls were softly illuminated by the morning sun. A large green door with a golden doorknob shaped like a tiger led to the hallway. On a small couch lay a slim, young East Asian man with short, jet-black hair. His eyes were closed, and though his arms were crossed sternly, his body was relaxed. He appeared to be asleep, completely still.

The pleasant summer breeze blew again, gently ruffling the thin canopy fabric and the young man’s black bangs.

It was a peaceful summer morning.

Suddenly, a small figure emerged from down the wide hallway, adorned with a green carpet featuring oriental patterns, ink paintings of mountains and rivers, and a large Arita ware vase. A young boy, whimpering as he crawled.

His skin was smooth as jade, with long black hair and a mature, handsome face resembling the young man on the couch. He was clad only in a pure white loincloth, wearing a folded English newspaper on his head like a helmet, and holding a miniature Wolf Car in his right hand.

With a fearless smile, he pushed the miniature car and crawled closer. He stood up in front of the green door, stretched to grab the tiger-shaped knob, and twisted it. The door opened, and the boy crawled into the room.

He glanced at the young man sleeping on the couch. Indeed, they bore similar features. The boy snorted indifferently and continued crawling, pushing the Wolf Car. He zigzagged right and left, approaching the bed.

A summer breeze blew through the curtain, stirring the thin canopy fabric. The boy’s eyes widened, and he dropped the Wolf Car.

On the bed lay a goddess of unparalleled beauty, sleeping. Her white-blonde hair spread like a fan in the morning light. Her body was so small it was hard to tell if she was an adult or a child. With only her luminous hair atop, she lay completely buried under a soft feather quilt, resembling a mysterious princess in a coffin washed ashore in some distant land.

Her golden eyelashes quivered. A well-shaped nose. Small lips as glossy as cherries. Slender, graceful neck. The frills of her white muslin nightdress rippled like petals in a garden.

For some reason, she had a blue radio with star patterns next to her pillow. A golden, lizard-shaped pipe gleamed on the bedside.

The boy stared with his mouth agape. Then he took off his newspaper helmet and tossed it aside. Looking around, he saw the thin canopy fabric and wrapped it around himself, tilting his head as he tried to comb his hair. He was trying to look like a beautiful lady.

“Ah!”

Then, he tugged too hard, and the wooden rod fixing the thin fabric to the canopy fell straight down with a thud.

A tiny, animal-like cry came from the bed. The boy looked up curiously. An ominous silence followed.

“Ah!”

A low, angry, raspy voice echoed through the room. The boy froze. Someone slowly sat up from the fluffy feather bed.

The small, radiant goddess sat upright, her eyes wide.

Her eyes were as green as an ancient lake. Her expression was calm, like someone who had lived for a hundred years. Her long hair glittered golden in the morning sunlight streaming through the window.

The small goddess rubbed her forehead in pain. She reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed the radio next to her pillow. Then she noticed something. Her small, pretty lips quivered.

“I-It can’t be.” A deep voice, unbefitting her appearance. “How could you do such a horrible thing, you little scoundrel?! Do you understand the weight of the sin you’ve committed?! This boy… this lad… this good-for-nothing, mini Kujou.” The goddess’s voice took on an eerie tone. “You little imp!”

The radio’s edge had chipped from being struck by the stick. The goddess’s pale forehead flushed with anger. She slowly turned, opened her glossy, cherry lips and, with the force of a legendary beast whose roar could turn all living things to stone, she screamed.

“How dare you!”

The window rattled loudly. The boy instinctively covered his ears with both hands.

“You. Destroyed. The. Radio. Kujou. Gave. To. Me. Just. Yesterday!”

Her voice reached the young, East Asian man lying on the couch at the entrance. Kazuya Kujou jumped awake.

“You broke it, you imp!”

“What… huh? Vic…?” Kazuya looked around.

“You… rascal!”

A loud crash followed. A child crying. Sad and pitiful.

“What? Vic… Um, wait… Victo…”

“Imp!”

“Waaah! Waaah!”

“Victo… rique?”

Kazuya stared blankly.

Victorique de Blois, the last and greatest mind of Europe, once known as the human weapon of the Sauville Kingdom, was on a luxurious canopy bed, her silver-white hair standing on end, swinging her small fists wildly in all directions.

“Victorique!”

She was fighting with Rokushou, who was wearing only a loincloth, and despite being an adult and a toddler, the battle was almost even. She lifted a pillow, but finding it too heavy, fell backward with it. Angered by her own failure, she got up with a bright red face.

Kazuya hurried over. “What are you doing? Stop it. And you too, Rokushou. Stay away from Victorique. Let go, Victorique. Ouch! Who bit me? Both of you? Come on, cut it out!”

“Little imp! Child of an imp!”

“Waaah! Waaah!”

“Stop it, Gray Wolf, imp… I mean, Rokushou! Ugh, it’s no use.”

Kazuya, caught in the middle of the chaos, was smacked continuously from both sides, while Victorique and Rokushou kept yelling and crying. Kazuya’s screams echoed throughout the house.

“Ow, ow! Hey! W-Wait, Ru… Ruri!”

It was the early 1930s, shortly after the end of the second World War.

Kazuya Kujou, born and raised on a small Eastern island nation, had studied abroad in Western Europe’s Kingdom of Sauville, where he met the enigmatic captive Victorique de Blois. The outbreak of the war separated them, but they finally reunited after it ended. Seeking a place to live together, they boarded an immigrant ship and arrived in the New World, America, just yesterday.

Shortly after their arrival, they were caught up in the Apocalypse Incident that shook New York. After resolving it together, they reunited with Kazuya’s sister, Ruri Mushanokouji. Ruri had also recently just moved here, along with her husband, who worked for the Interpol, and their son Rokushou.

And so, after Kazuya crashed at Ruri’s place for the night, this is what happened early the next morning.

“A radio? Imp? Bitten? What are you talking about?”

In the spacious living room of a luxurious apartment in Greenwich Village’s high-end neighborhood, Eastern-style lanterns hung from the high ceiling, and opulent gold and purple bamboo blinds draped the windows. A circular platform covered in tatami mats stood in the room’s center, where one would remove their shoes before stepping up.

Seated at an ebony tea table, a young woman in a purple kimono—Ruri Mushanokouji—sat on her soles. She had long, jet-black hair and eyes to match, looking much the same as she did in her school days. Good-natured and intelligent, a slightly childish expression flickered across her face. She was resting her chin in her hand with a look of exasperation.

The French windows behind her offered a view of the lush courtyard where a newly planted pine tree and an oversized stone lantern shimmered in the morning sunlight.

“Um, Ruri.”

Victorique, Kazuya, and Rokushou were lined up in front of the table, from right to left.

Victorique puffed out her rosy cheeks even more. In the middle, Kazuya scratched his cheek awkwardly, while Rokushou…

Ruri blinked. “Oh my, Rokushou, your forehead and cheeks are swollen. Who hit you?”

With a frustrated grimace, Rokushou ground his teeth. He stepped forward, raised his right hand, and pointed at Victorique. Victorique awkwardly averted her gaze.

Just then, a pleasant morning breeze blew in. Victorique’s silver hair, streaked with gold and shimmering like starlight on a clear night, flowed gently. Her cold emerald eyes sparkled like glass beads on a doll’s face.

Rokushou fell silent. Then, he shifted the angle of his arm and decisively pointed towards Kazuya’s face.

“That’s the thing, Ruri,” Kazuya said gravely. “Victorique did something unthinkable to Rokushou. Wait, what? Not Victorique, me? Rokushou? What?”

Rokushou nodded assertively, while Victorique maintained her indifference.

Ruri sighed. “Did you really have a fight with your nephew this early in the morning? Unbelievable. I firmly believed you were different from your bossy father and wild brothers. But now, you’ve turned into a brute, hitting your little nephew. My adorable Kazuya has grown up to be such a violent adult.”

As soon as Ruri began her lecture, Rokushou fled. Kazuya watched in astonishment as his plump, pinkish butt disappeared into the distance.

“A violent… A violent morning, indeed.” Victorique looked up at Kazuya. Her white-blonde hair swayed gently in the breeze. Her glossy, cherry lips parted. “Unbelievable!”

She had no intention of defending him.

“What’s with you?” Kazuya asked with resignation.

Victorique raised her chin. “I was just thinking how you’re a lost cause. You’ve grown into a terrifying adult, Kujou.”

“You’re one to talk! You’re the most abrasive lady in the New World.”

“And now you’re taking it out on Victorique,” Ruri said.

Caught between familiar women scolding him, Kazuya glanced back and forth, then let out a heavy sigh.

I don’t get it. Why is this happening to me?