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Mean Frills and the Farting Newt – Part 01

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Translator: Kell

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—Leviathan 2—

I still remember that time.

I was still much, much younger back then.

I was in a pitch-dark place.

A dark, sealed, stifling place.

Deep in the earth.

The bodies of my brethren were piled up like unwanted objects and covered with dirt. And I was with them. It was hard to breathe. I could not see anything. Deep in the dirt, I regained consciousness and called for God. Then I coughed and desperately called out the names of my brethren, one by one. Only a few responded with faint moans.

It took me a long time to dig my way out of the dirt. When I finally emerged, it was dark outside. The faint moonlight illuminated my mud-covered face.

At that moment, I felt it.

There was no God.

I could no longer feel the God I had believed in and worshiped devoutly. It was clear that I had been revived in hell. I was still very young back then. Too young to lose God. As I was digging my way through the dirt, my brethren perished, and I, the only one who had risen, had nothing left to believe in.

We prayed as we were buried. But God did not save us.

I looked around and found myself in a small cemetery. The cemetery of the village we stayed in. Several white crosses were stuck into the ground at an angle. We were buried. Buried alive. Why? Everyone died. Why?

One thing was certain: if I was found, I would be killed and returned to this cemetery.

So I left God there with the remains of my brethren, and ran.

Ran through the cemetery.

My body felt oddly light.

Was I still alive? Or was I already dead?

I did not know what was what anymore. I had left everything I knew in that grave. In my heart, I swore. Swore firmly, that I would become immortal and take my revenge. On this kingdom. On those who killed me. I would exact my vengeance in the most unholy way possible.

It had been a long time since then.

How time had passed.

My memory was hazy.

My soul had been wandering ever since.

If I should ever die in the future…

My soul would continue to wander.

In the clock tower.

For eternity.

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Chapter 4: Mean Frills and the Farting Newt

Noon was nearing, and the blinding sun cast its bright rays on the French-style garden sprawling across the vast campus of St. Marguerite Academy, shining on the verdant lawns, well-kept flowerbeds, the pathways paved with white stones.

Cold water flowing from the crystal fountain glistened under the summer sky.

After returning from the village, Kazuya and Avril walked along the pathway and stopped in front of the fountain.

Avril held her hand over the cold water. “So refreshing!” she exclaimed.

“Really? Me too, then…”

Kazuya placed the bag he was holding—a sandwich for lunch that he bought from the village bakery—on the edge of the fountain and touched the water. The coolness permeated into his warm body.

Feels nice, he thought.

Avril suddenly scooped up water with both her hands and poured it over Kujou.

Kazuya yelped in surprise. He then grabbed his bagged lunch and ran away. Avril chased after him, laughing merrily.

It was a fun moment, like it was summer break already.

Kazuya was running along the pathway when he spotted a mass of white frills on the grass on a hillside. He picked up his speed.

“Kujou? What’s wrong?” Avril wondered as she watched Kazuya recede further and further away.

Kazuya kept running toward the colors white and pink at immense speed. He left the pathway, weaved past the benches, and stopped abruptly before the lawn.

“Hey, Victorique,” Kazuya called.

Victorique was wearing an organdy dress, enamel shoes, and she was holding a pretty parasol now. Her stunning golden hair hung down over the grass. Her pale emerald eyes were narrowed irritably.

“Victorique?”

“…”

“Hello?”

“…”

“I know you can hear me. Here, I got you something.”

“…What would that be?” Victorique furrowed her brows and twirled her parasol. “Let me guess. Another weird hat or a skull.”

“Excuse me. It’s a sandwich. I got grilled chicken, asparagus, cold ham and purple onions. And some sweet stuff that you like. Lingonberry jam, raspberry jam, and also…”

Victorique turned around with a smile and extended her small hand. Kazuya handed her the whole bag. She then rummaged through the sandwiches, tossing the ones she didn’t like onto the grass. Kazuya picked them back up and returned them inside the bag.

Eventually, Victorique picked one of the sandwiches, sniffed it, and looked very delighted.

“I’m glad there’s something you like,” Kazuya said. “Let’s see… Oh, you like raspberry jam, huh? Avril seems to like it too. You should eat it quickly before she gets it.”

Victorique’s eyes widened. She immediately took a bite out of the sandwich.

Munch. Munch.

She chewed as much as she could.

Kazuya watched her with a smile.

The wind blew, twirling Victorique’s parasol. Her golden hair billowed like a living creature, then slowly settled back down.

Munch. Munch.

Victorique continued eating the raspberry jam sandwich.

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“Haa… haa… Kujou’s… got so much stamina,” Avril muttered. “Does he jog every day or something? Maybe he runs up hills or some stairs.”

Avril, breathing hard, finally caught up to Kazuya.

He had completely forgotten about her, and was talking to a white mass of frills.

“Who is he talking to?” she wondered. “Wait, that fluffy white thing… must be Victorique.”

Avril quietly approached them.

Victorique gave curt replies. Her muffled voice suggested she was eating.

“There’s a Protestants’ grave in the cemetery,” Kazuya said, “and the old man shared a story about an invisible ghost. Also, houses in the village have lots of hidden rooms to hide the Protestants. Oh, by the way, do you know this song?”

Much to Avril’s surprise, Kazuya started singing.

Africans say,

March, march I say!

Till the hens sing!

Till the stars fall from the torn roof!

Du da du da doo…

Even in dreams

March, march I say!

Du da du da doo…

Enthused, he repeated the last part over and over again. He seemed to be having a lot of fun.

What is he doing? This is a competition. Why is he sharing all the intel we gathered to the enemy?! And he’s singing!

Avril sat down next to them with her lips pursed.

Kazuya glanced at her. “Oh, Avril. Why the long face?”

Before she could reply, the mass of frills muttered in her husky voice, “The farting newt has returned.”

“What did you say?! Wait, my raspberry jam sandwich! Why’s this frill eating it?!”

“She has a name, and it’s Victorique,” Kazuya said. “And Victorique, her name’s Avril, not farting newt. What’s wrong with you two? You just met, and all you do is fight, calling each other names. Here you go, Avril.”

Kazuya gave Avril her second favorite flavor, lingonberry jam sandwich. Without any other choice, she started eating it.

“Why are you telling her everything when this is supposed to be a competition?” Avril grumbled.

“Huh? Uh, I just thought it would be better if we exchanged intel. Did I mess up?”

“No, it’s fine. But anyway, you were furious earlier. Did you already forget?”

“Furious? Who, me?” Kazuya looked perplexed.

Avril was deeply shocked by his reaction. “You two had a huge fight earlier. I was worried and all…” She glanced at Victorique, asking for backup, but she just looked away and gave a small shrug, as if saying, ‘It’s nothing new.’

Kazuya regarded Avril curiously. Then, he spotted a pair of large round glasses lying next to Victorique and picked it up.

“Are these Ms. Cecile’s glasses?” he asked.

“Ahuh,” Victorique replied coolly. “We were in the clock tower, and she suddenly screamed and ran away. She left her glasses behind for some reason. I don’t know where she went. I really don’t get that woman.”

“Ah, I see.”

Kazuya nodded. Once when he entered an abandoned warehouse with Ms. Cecile, a strange voice surprised her, and she removed her glasses and took off at full speed.

“She probably can’t see well right now,” he said.

“That’s none of my business,” Victorique replied.

“Of course not. I’ll look for her, then. You wait here.” Kazuya stood up, glasses in hand.

Victorique let out a surprised grunt. She wanted to say something, but Kazuya, not noticing, left.

“W-Wait, Kujou…” Victorique murmured. “Don’t… go…!”

Avril, chewing on her sandwich with a frown, began stealing glances at Victorique.

For a while, Victorique just watched Kazuya go.

Then she spun around, turning her back to Avril, and used the parasol as a shield. Actually, it was more like she crawled into the parasol. Silence descended. She looked like a hare trying its best to hide in the presence of a predator.

Avril watched the parasol, confused. She then stood up and circled around in front of Victorique.

Victorique looked up, and yelped at the sight of Avril. She spun around again, but Avril followed her. After repeating this a few times, Avril became annoyed.

“Why are you avoiding me? What a rude girl.”

“…”

“Look at me. Your classmate’s over here.”

“…”

There was no reply.

For a while Avril was irritated, but when she noticed the parasol quivering, she became worried.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Avril peered in from above. Victorique’s supposedly rosy cheeks were as pale as this morning when she entered the classroom. Her lips were trembling, her eyelashes quivering. She seemed frightened.

“S-Sorry,” Avril said. “But what’s the matter?”

“Get away from me, you farting newt!”

“What?! I’m trying to be nice here, and you’re just being rude. Look at me!”

“No! Go away!”

“No. You go!”

Avril thought Victorique would not give in, but after a moment’s hesitation, she stood up. Holding a parasol in one hand and a golden book in the other, she walked away.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Avril stomped on the hem of Victorique’s dress.

Victorique tumbled. The golden book rolled across the grass. Her dress flipped, and her dark pink drawers with its rose-patterned embroidery billowed softly in the air.

Victorique was lying flat on the ground, not moving a muscle. Her parasol was blown away by the wind.

Avril dashed across the lawn, leapt high, and caught the parasol before it could fly away. She then ran back with the nimble strides of a doe, and begrudgingly returned the parasol to Victorique.

Victorique slowly got up and held her forehead with her little palms, moaning in pain.

“Let me see!” Avril said, peering into her face. Victorique resisted, but Avril grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her face.

“I don’t see anything,” she said. “You’re overreacting.”

Victorique groaned.

“I’m sorry, anyway. Here’s your parasol.”

Victorique quietly took the parasol from her.

Avril frowned. “But you’re not very nice. Why do you hate me so much?”

There was no answer, so she grabbed her hand, but quickly let go.

Victorique’s small, fair hands were surprisingly cold. Her face was growing paler by the minute, and her green eyes, staring nervously at Avril, were quivering.

“Wait… you’re not mad. You’re nervous?”

“…”

“So that’s what’s going on. But why? You’ve never met a girl your age before?”

“…”

“Hmm? What did you say?”

“No!” Victorique snapped, glaring at Avril with a red face.

“Why not?”

“…”

“Okay, whatever. You’re a Gray Wolf, after all. You must have your reasons. So you were just shy, huh?”

Avril chuckled. She sat down on the grass, throwing out her slender legs. Victorique stared at her as if she were looking at something peculiar.

“In that case, we should get to know each other more. Nice to meet you. My name is Avril Bradley, an international student from England. My beloved grandfather was an adventurer, so I want to be an adventurer too.”

“I know,” Victorique murmured timidly.

“You do?”

“Kujou tells me all sorts of things about the outside. The village flea market overflowing with goods, the quiet Sunday church, the small newly-built movie theater. Your name often comes up in his stories. You’re always having fun, going wherever you want.”

Victorique’s voice sounded gloomy. Worried, Avril looked into her small face, but she looked away.

Her small figure, clothed in a luxurious dress, and perfect features made her seem like a porcelain doll. Her mysterious, melancholic, husky voice sounded like a terrifying cacophony, making Avril uneasy.

Avril tried to sound as cheerful as possible to drown out the noise. “How about we talk about the alchemist?”

“Sure,” Victorique answered curtly.

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