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The Black Bishop Prays – Part 02

The sunlight was dazzling yet terribly cold at the same time. Snow had accumulated atop the gazebos’ roof. The fountain had long frozen, and the statue of the goddess standing in the middle glistened as if made of ice. Birds spread their wings as they slowly passed by the two.

Pushing open the door to the kitchen on the dormitory’s ground floor, Kazuya and Ms. Cecile both jumped in surprise.

Kazuya’s face beamed with joy, his previously vacant expression vanishing like a piece of paper burning into ashes and swept away by the wind.

“Victorique! I didn’t expect to find you here,” Kazuya said with a radiant smile. “I was just about to run around the entire academy looking for you. I consider myself very lucky this morning.”

With an uncharacteristically buoyant spirit unbefitting the third son of an imperial soldier, he strode toward Victorique, who was sitting on a chair, resembling a grand rose in full bloom.

Meanwhile, a wave of fury washed over Ms. Cecile at the sight of Sophie, a black horse dummy on her head.

“Judas, you traitor!”

“J-Judas? What are you babbling about? And what’s with the getup?” Sophie replied.

“Judas… Judas…”

Sophie laughed. “You’re such a drama queen. You tripped on your own. Forget about the ancient past and help me whip the cream for the orange cake. Here’s the bowl.”

Cecile caught the wooden bowl that Sophie tossed and swiftly threw it away.

Kazuya, quick to react, managed to catch the bowl. Wearing a serious expression, he began vigorously whisking the cream, all the while smiling at Victorique.

However, his attention was immediately drawn to the trails of tears etched upon Victorique’s delicate, porcelain cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” Kazuya asked, surprised. “Have you been crying all morning?”

“K-Kujou…” A frustrated and sorrowful howl escaped her pursed lips.

Kazuya’s face turned grim, and he knelt on one knee on the cold, tiled floor, assuming a posture reminiscent of a loyal knight before his princess.

“What’s the matter?”

“My brother…”

“Huh? Your brother? You mean Inspector de Blois? He’s such a jerk.”

“H-He said…”

Kazuya’s eyes fell upon the wide window beyond Victorique’s small head adorned with a golden rose crown, his gaze drifting off into the distance.

Through the window, he could see the snow-covered space that stretched out in front of the school building. For reasons unknown, Mrs. Signore, now dressed as a white queen, and Inspector de Blois, clothed in an inexplicable costume, were engaged in a game of giant chess with the students.

Victorique heaved with sobs, and Kazuya’s eyes flitted back toward her.

“My brother… called me… a square box!”

“Huh?”

Kazuya’s gaze darted back and forth between the weeping Victorique and Inspector Blois.

“He called me… a white, square box! Me!” Victorique cried out between sobs.

“He did? Unbelievable…” Kazuya stood up.

Inspector de Blois, a white square box fastened around his waist, was aimlessly roaming the vicinity with the students, his golden drill glimmering under the sun’s rays. Whether he was having fun or wearing a frown, Kazuya wasn’t sure. It was difficult to see his expression from this distance.

Meanwhile, the dorm mother, wearing a black horse headpiece, and the homeroom teacher, garbed as a bishop, were running around.

“Get off my back! Besides, you were the one who stole my grandmother’s homemade cookies six years ago!”

“Now look who’s bringing up the ancient past! And don’t say that in front of my students!”

“Thief! Thief! Jean Valjean!”

“Judas!”

“Give up already!”

“I shall deliver punishment upon you and your horse!”

“Why would he say that?” Kazuya was burning with rage. “Why would he call someone a square box? I won’t let it slide. Not today. Not when he’s the one looking like a box.”

“He called me a white box,” Victorique sobbed. “A complex box that doesn’t exist in this world.”

“I don’t know the whole story, but this is unacceptable!”

“He’s always been like that.” Victorique wiped her tears with the back of her plump hand. “He always bullies me. When he’s in a bad mood because of Jacqueline, he tells me that I don’t know love, that I’m a cold-blooded animal, a square box, to make himself feel better. He takes out his frustration on his little sister.”

“Cold-blooded animal? Square box? Who, you?” Kazuya looked at Victorique curiously. He went down on one knee again and peered at her face from below. “I don’t know if you see it, but your cheeks are as red as apples. Forget cold-blooded, you should cool down and calm yourself. Here, blow your nose.”

“Uh…”

Ding!

The delightful aroma of freshly baked orange cake wafted through the kitchen.

“Oh?” Sophie came to an abrupt halt and produced a timer from her apron pocket. “It’s done!”

Ms. Cecile stopped, too, and wriggled her nose. “What’s done?”

“The orange cake. This little lady here wouldn’t stop crying, so I baked one. Sweet treats for sadness. Sweet treats for irritation. Isn’t that what girls like? Oh, Cecile, would you like some too? Well, it’s all right if you don’t.”

“I want some!” Ms. Cecile responded begrudgingly, anger still evident on her face.

Kazuya cleared the cluttered large table, making space for all four of them to sit down.

Hiding behind Kazuya, Victorique stuffed herself with a generous slice of cake that Sophie had cut. Kazuya breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of her chewing her food.

Outside, the human chess game was heating up. It was still only the first match; the long winter tournament had only just begun.

Two grownups—Mrs. Signore and Inspector de Blois—caught Kazuya’s attention. Marion, Mrs. Signore’s maid, watched anxiously from a corner of the playing field. Beside her stood the inspector’s subordinates, curiously observing their superior officer. They wore matching hunting caps, holding hands even in the chill of the winter morning.

“Ian and Ivan?” Ms. Cecile mumbled, snapping Kazuya back to his senses.

Cecile and Sophie, seated across the large table, seemed to had aside their quarrel. They were engaged in casual conversation while enjoying the delightful cake.

“Yeah.” Sophie nodded, and so did the black horse atop her head.

Dressed in her priestly attire, Ms. Cecile, with her glasses glinting, asked, “Which one is Ian and which one is Ivan again?”

“Hmm… I forgot,” Sophie admitted.

“Who are we talking about, then?”

“Ian, I think. No, wait, maybe it was Ivan. I can’t recall. But it doesn’t really matter. The important part is that he proposed.”

“Proposed? While holding hands?”

“Exactly!”

Their heads drew closer, their noses almost touching.

Sophie inclined her head. “Ian… or was it Ivan? Well, one of them proposed to my friend who works at the general store. You know, the orphaned guy with the younger sister who has a big appetite. I’m not really sure if that’s Ian or Ivan, though.”

“In that case, it must have been Ian. No, wait. Was it Ivan?”

“Make up your mind.”

“And you’re one to talk!”

“Hmph! Anyway, one of them got along well with my friend and asked her to marry him. She was all for it. She believed they would get along with his sister since they both share a love for food. And, of course, she likes Ian… or Ivan as well.”

“She does eat a lot,” Ms. Cecile agreed, taking another slice of cake. “A little too much, even.”

“But you see…” Sophie’s expression turned dark.

Ms. Cecile, slightly unnerved, asked, “Is there a problem?”

Snow thudded outside the window.

“Her mother was firmly against it,” Sophie continued. “Do you know why?”

“No…”

“Because of Ian and Evan holding hands! I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“Oh…”

“She wonders why they still hold hands like childhood friends even though they’ve grown up. It’s clearly weird. She told my friend to dump the guy, but she wouldn’t listen. I get it, though.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Cecile put on a stern expression reminiscent of the three wise men seeking an audience with baby Jesus in the stable.

“They are childhood friends, but I don’t think they’re that close,” Sophie went on. “I’ve known them since way back when we were kids, but they never held hands. Anyway, my friend asked him directly when it all started and why.”

“Ahuh, ahuh.”

Kazuya served another slice of orange cake to Victorique.

Victorique had stopped crying, her attention now captured by the ladies’ conversation. Her delicate ears twitched as she listened close.

Kazuya blinked in surprise, realizing how rare it was for Victorique to show interest in other people’s conversations, especially regarding the affairs of the village youth.

Victorique listened silently, devouring the slice of cake in her hands.

“Now get this. Even they don’t know why they hold hands. They’re just following orders.”

“Wh-Whose orders?”

“Well…” Sophie made a disgusted face.

Ms. Cecile, completely clueless, copied her friend’s expression, and like long-time companions who understood each other well, their faces were astonishingly identical.

Sophie pointed outside the window. “That guy! Inspector Grevil de Blois. That insufferable, pointy-headed jerk!”

“Him?” Ms. Cecile almost fell off her chair.

Kazuya stared fixedly at Victorique. Victorique shrank back awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

Sophie leaned forward. “During his first case as inspector of the village, he arrogantly ordered Ian and Evan to hold hands. And then after that, the case was swiftly solved! Remember that infamous kidnapping incident? It occurred during winter break when a prominent businessman’s son, visiting the village for leisure, was abducted. The culprit managed to evade the authorities for some time, causing quite a stir.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that,” Ms. Cecile recalled.

“That was the first case that insufferable, pointy-headed jerk managed to crack. And ever since that day, Ian and Evan have been holding hands.”

“But why?”

“Who knows?”

Kazuya’s gaze remained fixed on Victorique.

Victorique, the descendant of the Gray Wolves, Europe’s most brilliant mind and Sauville’s secret weapon, retreated further into herself, avoiding Kazuya’s penetrating stare. She was stuffing her mouth with cake.

Outside the window, the snow-covered landscape sparkled under the sun. Laughter of students echoed through the air.

The sun rose higher, its rays growing more intense with each passing moment.