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Remembrance – 02

Meanwhile, in the garden.

“Kujou was walking with a cake, all smiles. It’s definitely for the Gray Wolf.”

Avril was sitting on the bench with a frown on her face. Her foul mood ruined her pretty face, and she still had the newspaper on top of her head.

Girls passing by tried calling out to her, but they all swallowed their words.

“There’s something on her head.”

“That means she’s in an awful mood. Stay away from her.”

“God help us.”

The girls quietly kept their distance.

Still wearing a frown, Avril shook her head. The newspaper remained steady, as if it were taped to her head, with no sign of falling. She heaved another forlorn sigh.

“…Ah!”

She spotted Kazuya coming back through the gravel path. He had a thick book under his arm, still holding the cake. The same squirrel was perched on his shoulder.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know where the Gray Wolf usually spends her time. I can’t even be mean to her. Oh, how I want to pull her hair again and call her a monster. All right. Today’s the day!”

Avril hid behind the bench and crouched down.

Kazuya was coming closer, humming a tune. He didn’t notice Avril hiding. But the squirrel on his shoulder was staring grimly at the shaky newspaper peeking out from behind the bench, blinking. Its mouth, packed full of nuts, wriggled.

Avril, hiding her head but not the newspaper, watched Kazuya walk past with the sharp eyes of a female spy.

Kazuya stopped in front of the flowerbed maze, inclining his head.

A faint smile appeared on his face.

He plucked off a few yellow flowers and placed them softly on the plate holding the lemon cake. He nodded, then vanished into the flowerbed maze in an instant, as though sucked inside.

“…Kujou?”

Avril bolted to her feet. Newspaper still on her head, she ran, stopping in front of the flowerbeds.

“I knew it! He disappeared here yesterday too. And the day before yesterday. That means the Gray Wolf… Victorique is inside these flowerbeds!”

She sighed, and the newspaper fell from her head. She caught it in a fluid motion.

“But I got lost inside yesterday. I can’t just go in all willy-nilly.”

A moment later, she nodded firmly.

“All right. Once night falls, I’m going on an adventure inside the flowerbed maze. The blood of Adventurer Sir Bradley runs in my veins! As long as I go in prepared, I’ll be fine. I’ll head all the way inside and pull Victorique’s hair!”

Avril nodded cheerfully and looked up at the maze.

A sudden wind, carrying petals, blew against Avril in resistance.

---

“Victorique! Hello?”

Meanwhile…

Kazuya had arrived at the candy house on the other side of the flowerbed maze. He was standing in front of the tiny structure, calling out the name of his friend diffidently.

“Are you there? I didn’t see any sign of you in the library, so I thought you’d still be here. Did your fever go down? Hello?”

The two-story building looked as small as a dollhouse, with a green ornate door. Kazuya gently opened the first-floor window and peered into the living room. There was no one on the green couch, and on the dresser lay an empty strawberry-shaped plate. The roses and tulips that Kazuya had given her a few days back were sitting inside a glass.

But the master of the house was nowhere to be found.

“Victorique.”

“…”

“Hey.”

“…”

“I brought lemon cake.”

“…”

From somewhere far, a little higher up, came a faint groan. Kazuya leaned further into the window and stared at the living room. The small oak door was currently open, revealing a narrow hallway leading to the bedroom. At the end of the hallway was a small, perilous spiral staircase, with an intricate design of intertwining ivy.

As Kazuya fixed his eyes on it, something fell from atop the staircase. He blinked.

It was a tiny pink macaroon. Cherry-flavored, he was sure.

“Victorique, are you up there?”

“Can you keep it down?”

There came a grumpy, husky voice, yet tinged with delight, and Victorique toddled down the stairs.

Her right cheek was puffed up like a squirrel’s mouth stuffed with nuts. The white stick of a lollipop was peeking out the edge of her cherry lips. Holding a thick book in one hand and a white ceramic pipe on the other, she glanced at Kazuya. She was wearing a ruffled, puffy white dress and pink ballet slippers. Her magnificent golden hair, glittering like silk threads, cascaded down to the floor from her white bonnet made of lace.

The squirrel on Kazuya’s shoulder let out a small squeak, then scuttled along the window sill, jumped over to the couch and onto the floor with a nimbleness that Kazuya could never manage, and landed on top of Victorique’s head. It gave a short, triumphant squeak.

Unmindful of the squirrel on her head, Victorique looked at Kazuya, her bulging cheeks wriggling.

“Where is it?” she asked.

“You look well,” Kazuya replied. “Good. Your fever must’ve gone down, then. Hmm? What are you asking about?”

“Where’s the lemon cake?”

“Oh, it’s right here.”

Kazuya lifted the plate and bowed grandly, like some waiter. Then his face paled. If his father and brothers saw this flirtatious gesture, they would probably strip him naked, tie him with a rope and hang him from an upstairs window.

Victorique gave him a weird look. The squirrel’s eyes narrowed too.

“I suppose you’re at that age,” she said.

“You’re saying that like we’re not of similar age. For the record: we’re classmates. Now sit here and have your cake. I helped make it, so the dorm mother gave me half. And one more thing…” Kazuya’s face reddened a bit. “Here’s some flowers.”

“Thank you. Your effort is appreciated.”

Victorique took the bouquet of yellow flowers. For a while she just stared at them with a cool, emotionless face; it was hard to tell what she thought about it. Then she placed it carefully in the glass with the roses and tulips, turning it into a lovely, colorful flower vase. Victorique’s gaze was fixed on it.

A while later, she brought a small piece of lemon cake to her mouth, cut using a silver fork in the shape of a white horse. The squirrel on top of her head was also chewing on something. Victorique’s eyes never left the vase even as she was eating.

Resting his elbow by the window, Kazuya watched her curiously.

“Victorique?” he called.

“What is it?”

“Are you, by any chance, more bored than usual?”

“I am.”

“You’ve been staring at those flowers forever. But that also means you’re feeling a lot better. I’m glad.”

“Ahuh.”

Victorique turned her face, slowly and languidly, over at Kazuya. Then she directed her gaze back to the vase. Chewing on her cake, she kept staring at the flowers with her glazed green eyes.

After watching her for a while, Kazuya said, “I hope you don’t mind if I read a book aloud, then.”

Cheeks stuffed with cake, Victorique shot him a glance. The squirrel, letting out a curious squeak, turned to Kazuya as well.

“What kind of book is it?” Victorique asked.

“It’s a story about yellow flowers. It’s called ‘Beatrice’s Yellow Flower Garden. Biography of a Businesswoman Who Made a Fortune from Edelweiss’.”

“Beatrice’s Yellow Flower Garden? The title rings a bell.”

Victorique’s face took on a curious look. Her golden locks shifted, forming patterns on the floor.

Kazuya nodded. “It’s the name of a famous florist in the New World. It’s now a very big company, with branches everywhere. The founder was a successful businesswoman named Beatrice Baran, who was born in England about three hundred years ago. It goes without saying that she’s long dead. This is a mysterious success story about flowers, as seen through the eyes of her adoptive mother.”

“Hmm.” Victorique nodded, eating cake. “I’m hardly interested in any of that success story nonsense, but go on. Read it. If nothing else, it will serve to stave off my boredom.”

“Okay.”

Straightening his posture, Kazuya held the book up with both hands. Victorique plopped down on the emerald-colored couch and stretched like a lazy kitten. Her tiny body, hidden inside the ruffles, stretched surprisingly long, then curled up again.

Her green eyes, cool as jewels, flickered as she looked at Kazuya. Her fever seemed to have gone down considerably; her cheeks had regained their rosy hue. She cleared her throat, as though urging him to hurry up. The squirrel, too, let out a squeak.

Kazuya straightened his back and started reading aloud.

“We all have parents.

That includes me. You. Everyone else.

You probably get asked this a lot. Who do you take after?

Your strict father? Gentle mother?

An idealistic father? Or a pragmatic mother?

Depending on what kind of parents they have, children may have different feelings about which one they want to be like. This is that kind of story. It’s about my adopted daughter, Beatrice Baran, and which of her parents she took after.

Beatrice was born to parents of extremely different personalities, but she inherited the qualities of one of them so strongly that she made a fortune and lived a happy life in the New World.”

Kazuya’s eyes took on a distant look as he recalled his own parents. His strict father, his gentle mother. Two big, strong brothers, who took after their father.

A hint of rumination seemed to appear in Victorique’s cold, dim eyes. She yawned.

“Go on,” she said softly.

“Okay.”

Kazuya straightened his posture and continued reading.

A little bird landed on the flowerbed maze and started singing.