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Hello, New York! – Part 06

Knock, knock! Knock, knock!

A giant of a woman, tall and broad-shouldered, with honey-colored narrow eyes, a large pointed nose, thick lips, and butterscotch-colored hair, appeared. While her majestic appearance evoked that of an ancient goddess from mythology, her attire was simple—a modern navy blue dress paired with an apron.

“Good morning, Ms. Rebecca,” Kazuya greeted with a tip of his hat, and the woman nodded gravely.

She was the daughter of relatives who had taken in Nicholas Sacco when he was orphaned. It was through this connection that she was recently hired as a maid for the Mushanokouji family.

“Kazuya?” Ruri Mushanokouji called from inside. “You’ve finally brought Victorique along! I just finished a new dress, and she absolutely must try it on.”

“Huh? Is that the urgent matter?”

Kazuya blinked in surprise, while Victorique remained silent, her expression implying a resigned acknowledgment.

Ruri hurried down the long, elegant corridor, basking in the sunlight pouring in from the backyard.

“Rokushou was getting restless, wondering why Victorique hadn’t arrived yet. He’s absolutely itching to see her in the new dress. Right, Rokushou? Oh, don’t be shy now. Why are you acting so coy? You’re so silly!”

Ruri, now the wife of Mushanokouji, who worked for an international police organization, appeared alongside the young Rokushou.

Ruri’s jet-black hair was casually tied up with a ribbon, and she wore a haori and hakama in shades of blue and purple. The thread in her right hand and scissors in her left suggested she had been busy with needlework.

Young Rokushou, with glossy black hair adorned with a flannel ribbon, wore a blue kimono with a polka-dot obi. Despite his youth, he possessed the delicate beauty of an intricate ichimatsu doll. While he bore a resemblance to Ruri at first glance, his jet-black eyes sparkled with sincerity, and his tightly pursed lips mirrored those of his uncle Kazuya.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Kazuya cheerfully greeted. “You’re as lively as ever!”

As he reached out to pat Rokushou’s head, the boy, for some reason, recoiled and hid behind Ruri.

“Wh-What? Rokushou?”

“Oh, Kazuya.” Ruri shot her brother an exasperated gaze.

While Kazuya scratched his head, puzzled as to why the boy avoided him, Rokushou looked up admiringly at Victorique, whose appearance was in stark contrast to his.

“It’s my masterpiece. Victorique, please try it on right away,” Ruri said, leading the way. Rokushou hurriedly followed behind, and so did Kazuya.

In the spacious living room, Victorique stepped out wearing Ruri’s new creation—flapper-style long dress with layers of white and red laces, complemented by lace gloves and a bonnet adorned with peacock feathers. Meanwhile, Ruri started adjusting the size and temporarily securing different parts of the outfit. Rokushou peeked out from behind the couch, munching on fried chicken, completely captivated.

Ruri chuckled. “He really likes Victorique. As soon as he could, he started wanting to dress up like her. Oh, are you blushing again? You’re such a strange child.”

As the adults all turned to look at him, Rokushou shrunk down in embarrassment and hid behind the couch, occasionally reaching out to grab some fried chicken from the table. Victorique, puffing on her pipe, followed him with her gaze as if she were observing a peculiar creature.

Rebecca sauntered into the living room. “Kujou, telephone call from Nico,” she said, then disappeared again.

Kazuya rose and answered the phone.

“Hey! The editor wants you back right away!” Nico said from the other end.

“O-Okay.”

“There’s an urgent field job and he wants us on it. Hurry up!”

Before Kazuya could respond, the call ended. He nodded at the receiver.

In the living room, the dress fitting was finally over. Kazuya reprimanded the carefree Victorique, urging her to stand up, and bid farewell to the Mushanokouji family.

---

Leaving Greenwich Village, they headed east this time, riding together toward East Village.

The elegance and grandeur of the upscale residential area faded away, replaced by a clutter of buildings and shops. Since it was lunchtime, various food smells mingled in the air.

New York, a melting pot of races and cultures, bustled with activity. Businessmen hurried by, and young people played basketball. A large woman with dark skin wearing curious ethnic attire strolled past. A flapper drove a rainbow-colored convertible down the bustling street. A Chinese candy seller sang cheerfully, carrying a basket as they crossed the road.

In a corner of East Village, opposite the church, lay a small densely green area—the Miracle Garden, as indicated by a metal plate, resembling both a park and someone’s backyard.

Kazuya, astride his bicycle, entered the premises, navigating the winding paths with practiced ease. Behind him, Victorique leaned against his back, her emerald green eyes wide open as if ensnared in a dream.

Round and round they went, deeper into the small, mysterious forest, until finally, they stopped before a strange, dome-shaped building.

Standing around three to four stories tall, it had a weathered facade, old green and blue tiles peeling in places. Its design bore resemblance to a Middle Eastern mosque, topped by a peculiar decoration that looked like a fountain. It seemed as if cold water would burst forth at any moment.

In East Village, known for its odd buildings and houses, this eerie structure bore the moniker Monster Apartments and was more commonly known as the Carousel. Despite its convenient location and affordable rent, its age and rumors of hauntings dating back to pre-World War eras rendered it surprisingly unpopular.

Kazuya parked the bicycle and followed Victorique inside.

The open ceiling allowed sunlight to filter down from the fountain-shaped décor. At the center was a grand spiral staircase, winding gently upwards. It was like entering the interior of a beautiful shell.

Tropical plants thrived within, and exotic creatures—large black birds with red beaks, brown penguins, giant tortoises, tiny owls—roamed freely.

The Carousel rented out office spaces and doubled as a pet shop managed by an enigmatic proprietor. Peculiar creatures smuggled from the Old World, Africa, and Asia lived more comfortably than its human tenants.

Kazuya and Victorique navigated past the animal droppings of different sizes on the floor. Victorique appeared absent-minded, while Kazuya was intensely focused as they made their way to the green-tiled spiral staircase.

Slowly they climbed the stairs, round and round. The cold staircase made it feel like they were swimming in a palace beneath the sea.

Spaces on both sides showed people absorbed in their own obscure activities. A young entrepreneur working at his table. An East Asian shoemaker surrounded by leather, scissors, needles, and thread. A half-naked old man in what appeared to be meditation. Tropical trees and birds stirred in between.

Finally, they reached the topmost floor at the end of the spiral staircase and entered a remarkably strange space.

Here, on the third floor, the ceiling was low, creating a cozy alcove bathed in sunlight. Triangular windows offered commanding views of the Miracle Garden and the main street beyond, while a pink Victorian-style hammock hung from above. A mound of candies—chocolate bonbons, animal-shaped lollipops—lay scattered on the small, cabriole-legged table. Three bookshelves and an Eastern-style cabinet carved with a floral design stood in the corner. The red and purple potpourri strewn on the floor smelled sweet.

Time seemed to flow differently here, as if drifting in the interstice of history.

As though handling a precious gem, Kazuya gently seated Victorique on the swing, covered with pink fabric and ornamented with covered buttons.

Kazuya boiled water, brewed tea, and began tidying up diligently. He gathered the scattered books, uncovered a lovely telephone hidden behind the sweets on the table, and reconnected the disconnected phone line. He tossed a chocolate bonbon into Victorique’s mouth as she swung on the swing.

“Do not pretend that there’s no one around, okay?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re such a handful. Oh, I almost forgot something important.”

He rushed back, tore down the carefully stacked pile of books, and retrieved a rectangular iron plate from the back. After carefully dusting it off, he placed it on the cabinet, leaning it against the wall.

The inscription read: Gray Wolf Detective Agency—No Mystery Goes Unsolved!

---

After a thorough cleaning and checks, Kazuya gave what sounded like a lecture.

“Bye, Victorique. Do actual work, okay? You just earned a spot in the New York phone book after bragging about being able to solve every mystery. If any troubled souls come knocking, make sure you unravel whatever mystery they bring. Your honor as the Philosopher in the Fur Coat, legendary Gray Wolf, descendant of the ancient Saillune tribe, is on the line. Do you even get what I’m saying? Ah well, I have to go, or the editor will give me another earful.”

“Hmm, hmm, hmm.”

Remembering something, Kazuya placed the TIME magazine he purchased on top of the cabinet. With a hesitant glance backward, he descended the spiral staircase, eventually disappearing from view. Meanwhile, Victorique, perched on the hammock swing, puffed her cheeks up to their fullest.

“Does he ever stop nagging?”

Her words belied the hint of loneliness in her eyes as she glanced towards where Kazuya disappeared to.

She stared at empty space for a time before eventually lowering her gaze. Yet, she couldn’t help but raise her head once more, her eyes drifting subconsciously toward the staircase. Slowly, any trace of human emotion vanished from her face until there was only a trace of discontent left. And then, Victorique’s warmth dissipated, replaced by an iciness of a doll painstakingly crafted by a legendary doll maker, almost frozen in time.

Birds twittered near the ceiling. One fluttered close to Victorique. Feeling reassured by her stillness, it perched on the tip of her shoe. Victorique remained lost in thought.

Time passed, and it wasn’t until the bird took flight again that Victorique stirred. A childish yawn escaped her lips, a stark contrast to her ethereal beauty.

Still wearing a semblance of displeasure, she reached for the TIME magazine on the cabinet. As she flipped through its pages, her eyes widened and she tossed the magazine back to its place.

Collecting herself, she reached for the next book and devoured its contents astonishingly fast.

Sunlight streaming through the ceiling cast a dazzling glow on her long silver hair. Tropical birds in magnificent blue colors circled above.

In this moment, Victorique, operating a small detective agency as a private investigator in Manhattan’s East Village, looked just like the small Gray Wolf from her days in the secluded academy nestled in the Sauville mountains of Europe, where she read books incessantly on the top floor of the library tower, enveloped in profound solitude, too young to know if that was a curse or a blessing.

Piles of books. A lone radio on the floor. A golden, lizard-shaped pipe resting on the back of an alligator-shaped pipe stand. She devoured the pages at a feverish pace.

A mysterious Gray Wolf, rare creatures, exotic trees and flora. And strange New Yorkers immersed in their own task in the Monster Apartment.

Time crept by slowly. And then…