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Hello, You’ve Reached the Daily Road Editorial Office – Part 03

Behind him was a dirty window, and the East River was visible through the crooked blinds. The residential neighborhoods of Brooklyn lay on the other side of the river, with small, cozy-looking houses, glowing pink and inviting.

Remembering something, Kazuya pulled out a map from his pocket. Handmade by Ruri, it depicted the Brooklyn Bridge as an old man lying down with a long beard, the East River as a green snake, and beyond that, a mountain of pink cake, oranges, and pineapples for some reason.

Tough times. Kazuya fell into deep thought. But I have to find Victorique first. He reached for the doorknob.

The editor-in-chief’s gruff voice sounded from afar.

“However, a second-rate paper like ours doesn’t do lofty things like reporting. We write amusing and entertaining articles for the common folk to read after work and forget their fatigue. Instead of such highbrow talk, hey you! Yeah, you, trying to sneak away quietly. You’re looking a bit yellow. What’s wrong?”

Realizing the editor-in-chief was pointing at him with his cigarette, Kazuya straightened up.

“Uh, I’m Asian… sir?”

“A young guy from Chinatown, huh? We’ve got all sorts of odd applicants.”

“No, that’s not it, I’m…”

“I don’t care, so shut up! Hush!”

“Wh-What?” Kazuya’s blood boiled.

Ignoring him, the editor-in-chief perched coolly on the edge of the desk, swinging his short legs.

Scratching himself like a gorilla, he said, “Details are a pain. I want to finish this quickly and have a rib steak. Although I wrote all sorts of specifics in the job ad, I don’t care anymore.” He froze, his eyes gleaming eerily. “Hopeful sewer rats… A hot and spicy boy like I was in my youth… heh heh heh.”

He ran a hand through his short hair, smiling at his own words. His shoulders shook as he continued to chuckle alone.

Finally snapping out of it, he continued, “Anyway, testing each applicant one by one is exhausting. Let’s do a mass test instead. You too, Chinese boy.”

“I have urgent business, so if you’ll excuse—”

“Shut up! I don’t care, so just shut up! Impudent brat. Do you have a job? Cute, round-eyed Chinese boy?”

Kazuya blushed, feeling a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Round eyes? Uh, no, I don’t have a job. I just immigrated yesterday.”

The young men all turned to look at him at once.

“Yesterday?”

“Just arrived at Ellis Island?”

“You’ve got family?”

“Well, there’s a girl…”

“You have a daughter? Can’t tell an Asian’s age at all!”

“No, not a daughter.”

The editor-in-chief’s face darkened. “Shut up, and just take the test!” he bellowed, spewing spit. “You don’t have a job, right? Enough chit-chat. All right, boys. Let’s start the test. Everything depends on my mood. Prepare for hell.”

The man stood up and struck a cool pose, spreading out the newspaper. Kazuya, caught in the swirl of young men, moved closer.

But I have to find Victorique. How did this even happen? Kazuya panicked, but he couldn’t escape the crowded circle of young men. I gotta find her quick.

“Boys, attention!” The editor-in-chief knocked Kazuya on the head.

“Ow!” Kazuya yelped.

The editor-in-chief opened the second page of that morning’s paper.

The Daily Road

July 10, 1930, Morning Edition, Page 2

Boxing Showdown! Champion VS Challenger, The Big Fight Tonight!

The highly anticipated event is happening tonight. Yes, it’s an outdoor boxing match on the Brooklyn Bridge!

Even those who aren’t boxing enthusiasts might be interested when they hear the name of the national champion William Trayton’s father.

The former mayor of Brooklyn, Mr. Trayton!

“This is the article Victorique was reading avidly this morning,” Kazuya muttered. His thoughts drifted back to Victorique, and he sighed.

“Listen up. There’s a boxing match happening tonight, right in the heart of the Brooklyn Bridge,” the editor-in-chief began in a gravelly voice. “These two will be fighting: the champion, William Trayton, and the challenger, Eddie Sawyer.”

He pasted two photos on the desk lamp. Gleaming under the light, the photos showed men staring hard at the camera.

William Trayton stood shirtless, proudly displaying a champion’s belt. In contrast, Eddie Sawyer hung his arms limply, glaring fiercely at the camera. The champion was a handsome young man of fine upbringing, while the challenger had a terrifying face with piercing eyes and a large scar running from the upper right to the lower left.

“The challenger looks familiar,” Kazuya said, tilting his head. “Where have I seen him before?”

As he thought back to the streets he passed earlier, memories flashed through his mind—landscapes of various neighborhoods, prisoners inside the wagon, the voice of the coachman.

The editor-in-chief continued, “The champion is the son of a former mayor of Brooklyn, who contributed to New York’s development by building the Brooklyn Bridge. He’s a descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers, deeply religious people. In short, he’s from a prestigious family. Though not wealthy, he grew up in a strict Puritan household. The challenger, on the other hand, is a poor youth from the South, raised by a single mother. Furthermore, they struggled to make ends meet after they were kicked out of the estate they worked in for many years. Despite his intimidating appearance, the challenger is said to have a gentle personality. A nice guy, so they say.”

Kazuya scrutinized the challenger’s photo.

“In other words, boys raised in traditional homes support the champion, while the poor and immigrants support the challenger. The elderly root for the former mayor’s son, and the youth cheer for the aspiring Southern man, spicing things up. It’s a well-thought-of matchup. That’s how a show should be.”

Still seated on the table, he punched the air a few times.

“But as mentioned in the article, there’s a rumor about these two having a peculiar connection from their time serving in the same unit during the war. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but young war veterans seem interested in that as well.”

He paused, looked around, then went on.

“How about you guys? The Christmas Truce Murder, whether it’s true or not, is a well-known story among young folks, right? Supposedly, during the first Christmas after the war began, some troops decided to cease fire for the day. The so-called Christmas Truce. And that night, a murder occurred on a certain battlefield.”

Gazing out through the glass window, he added, “There are various rumors flying around regarding this. Even during the first Great War when I served, there were eerie stories like that. Achoo!”

Victorique would find this topic intriguing, Kazuya thought. Maybe I can bring it to her.

The young men exchanged glances.

“I’ve heard of that. They say during the Christmas ceasefire, the spirits of the dead from the first Great War attacked from the river under the bridge.”

“That’s not what happened. The bridge itself supposedly flew through the sky, and the soldiers were yelling ‘Stop! Let us off!’ causing a commotion.”

“Wrong! During the ceasefire, an American soldier was killed by a comrade. And the guy who did it was wearing a uniform from the first Great War that no one recognized. Then he vanished into thin air.”

“Yeah, yeah. And Eddie Sawyer, the challenger, witnessed it.”

“That’s weird. In my unit, the rumor was…”

So many supernatural accounts. Kazuya cocked his head.

The editor-in-chief started waving his arms. “Shut it, you noisy lot!”

Kazuya tried to slip away quietly. I should go look for Victorique. But the editor-in-chief noticed and grabbed his arm.

Kazuya tried to say something, but he was drowned out by the voices of the young men.

“I heard someone from their unit is the culprit.”

“Same here.”

“The guys who came back are still haunted by nightmares.”

Noticing the editor-in-chief’s glare, they all fell silent.

“Well, whether that rumor is true or not,” the editor-in-chief continued, blocking Kazuya’s way, “and whether it’s relevant to the champion and challenger, I don’t know. Both refuse to comment on questions related to the war, so that’s that.”

He rolled up the newspaper and hit the wall and Kazuya’s head.

“Anyway, before matches like this, newspapers like to publish articles about the fighters trash-talking each other to drum up excitement. I know I was the one who brought it up, but we’ll ignore the whole connection between them since it’s all vague stuff. Instead, we’ll feature some heated exchanges.”

A chorus of dissatisfied voices rose up. The editor-in-chief turned bright red.

“Quiet! The article on the champion is already done. Here it is!”

He pulled out the draft, and everyone gathered around to read it.

The Daily Road

July 10, 1930, Evening Edition, Page 2

The Champion Speaks! ‘KILL! BOMB! BLOOD!’

At the top floor of Manhattan’s finest hotel, the Hotel Arlianton, the handsome national champion William Trayton, gazing out over the breathtaking view of Central Park, spoke.

“I’m William Trayton. The champion. Above all, I’m a descendant of the distinguished Pilgrim Fathers. Therefore, tonight…”

His eyes snapped open wide.

“I will BOMB the ring! KILL the challenger! Spill BLOOD on the bridge!”

“The champion has always had a nasty streak,” the editor-in-chief went on. “He’s used to being a boxer, so he’s good at making sharp comments for the media. But the problem is the challenger.”

Frowning, he grabbed Kazuya by the neck to pull him back as he tried to sneak away again.

“Like I said earlier, the challenger is likable, not scary at all in what he says or how he sounds. He’s supposed to be a fiery challenger. So, your test is this: write an article for the challenger that can match the champion’s sharp tongue.”

He showed a handwritten draft of the article title. The young men craned their necks to look at it. It was unfinished.

The Challenger’s Ruthless Ballad: Promises to Spill the Champion’s Blood!

Challenger Eddie Sawyer spoke directly to our reporter!

…

…

The editor-in-chief crossed his arms and looked around.

“The test will be to come up with a continuation. Write an article imagining the challenger saying something fierce and interesting. We often print things the person didn’t actually say. Stuff like that don’t matter to us at The Daily Road.”

He started pacing like a caged bear, and everyone stepped back.

“Hurry up and write. I’ve already rejected ten people this morning. What I’m looking for is… something unheard of… astonishing… groundbreaking and shocking… sharp as hell.”

He started speaking in that unsettling, entranced manner again. The young men looked confused. The editor-in-chief chuckled. Kazuya exchanged glances with the other young Caucasian men standing next to him.

The wind rattled the window, and the broken blinds shook ominously. The sky outside seemed to tremble with unease.

I have to go find Victorique.

Kazuya tried to leave again but was caught and pulled back by the editor-in-chief.

“The article that gets accepted will be published in today’s evening edition. Only one person will be hired. On probation.”

The editor-in-chief snapped his fingers. He stood with his short legs planted firmly and his hands on his hips.

“That’s right!”

Outside the window, the East River sparkled in the summer light. A bird flew in a beautiful arc through the sky.