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The Bridge Builder – Part 02

Victorique squinted and pointed at the rooftop. “I see. Look, Kujou!”

“Huh? Oh, there it is again!”

A shadow leaped from the left building’s rooftop to the next one over.

“It looks like that girl is moving from rooftop to rooftop,” Kazuya said. “But if that’s the case, why not just keep jumping roof to roof? Instead, she comes down to the ground floor, enters the adjacent building, climbs up to the roof, and then jumps to the next building. Quite strange, don’t you think?”

“If you know what she does, it’s not all that strange.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“What? You still don’t get it?” Victorique said, stunned. She then raised her shoulders arrogantly. “If she had business on the lower floors, she would enter, climb up, and then come back down after finishing. If she only had business on the upper floors, she would just jump from rooftop to rooftop without descending. But this person isn’t doing either. She enters a building from the ground floor, climbs up to the roof, jumps to the neighboring building, descends to the ground floor, and so on. This means she has business on multiple floors from bottom to top. And the fallen morning paper is a clue.”

“Huh?”

“Her true identity is a newspaper delivery girl.”

“Ah, I see!” Kazuya nodded, catching on. “She enters from the ground floor, delivers newspapers from bottom to top, then crosses to the next building’s roof and delivers from top to bottom. That’s why the morning paper fell from the rooftop.”

“Look, there she goes again.”

The newspaper delivery girl leaped out from the building again, this time with a delicious-looking round bread in her mouth, likely given to her by someone along the way. She jumped into the adjacent building, looking serious but also having fun.

“Efficiency truly is the hallmark of the new world, don’t you think?” Victorique met Kazuya’s eyes with a smile.

They started walking again. The hustle and bustle of East Village felt a bit softer and brighter. In the middle of the intersection, a policeman on a platform was directing traffic. Carriages and black-painted cars sped past. Victorique and Kazuya walked hand in hand.

They arrived at the lively streets of Little Italy. There were more people than during the day, and tantalizing smells wafted from various shops.

“Oh?” Victorique stopped again. There was a food stall with large red letters that read “Poorboys.” Young workers were lined up. Kazuya also stopped, watching a tall young man who had just bought something from the stall.

The young man turned and raised an eyebrow. “Wait, I know you.”

It was Nicholas Sacco, the peculiar Italian youth Kazuya had met at the Daily Road editorial office. Kazuya introduced him to Victorique, but she showed little interest in him, focusing instead on what he was holding.

“Is that a Poorboy?” she asked, sniffing.

Nicholas spun around, surprised. “Wow, what an incredibly beautiful girl! But kinda scary!”

He held up a hard, square bread filled with meat, tomatoes, and lettuce, seasoned only with salt and pepper. “I don’t know what it is. I just eat it because it’s cheap and filling,” Nicholas said.

Victorique stretched and scrutinized it closely. “Based on the name and appearance, I deduce that it’s a food for workers. It’s designed to be eaten with one hand while working, and is quite filling.”

“That’s right,” the busy vendor chimed in. “Young immigrant workers scramble to buy it, hence the name.”

“Hmm. Its simple seasoning means people of all backgrounds can enjoy it,” Victorique remarked.

“Exactly, young lady. It’s not the tastiest thing, but it’s oddly addictive. Even old retirees sometimes crave it.”

Victorique and Kazuya glanced at the queue at the stall. Indeed, elderly gentlemen were in line as well, with three of them sharing one Poorboy and laughing. “With this size, there’s no way we can each finish one on our own,” they joked.

Nicholas continued munching away. “You learn something new every day.” He jerked his chin down the road. “My place, the Roma Café, is around the corner. Tomorrow’s your first day at work, right? Come pick me up, or you know, wake me up. I’m not a morning person. See you, Asian guy.”

As he walked away, Kazuya sighed, “I have to wake him up? Oh, well.”

Just then, Victorique called out to Nico. The young man turned around with his mouth full of bread.

“What is a home?”

“Home? I have no idea.” Nico swallowed his bread and shook his head. “I’m an orphan. The Sacco family took me in, and I grew up with my cousin. She’ll probably take over the restaurant. I guess I’m sort of a wanderer.”

“I see. So you don’t know either,” Victorique repeated cheerfully.

Kazuya peered at her. “Why are you so happy about that?”

Victorique, brimming with excitement, said, “There are people in the new world who don’t know what a home is either.”

“I’m a clueless guy, so,” Nicholas said. “If you need someone who doesn’t know anything, come to Roma Café.”

“Why would we need someone who doesn’t know anything?” Kazuya wondered.

Nico shrugged. “I don’t know either. See ya.”

From the stall, young men and older gentlemen, who looked like Nico, walked away one by one with Poorboys in hand, disappearing into various parts of the neighborhood. Residents of the new world all seemed to be in a hurry.

Victorique and Kazuya passed through the simple buildings of the business district towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Victorique, in her pink long dress, walked calmly and regally, like a queen. Kazuya followed beside her like an attendant.

“Oh.” Victorique stopped.

In the middle of the three-way intersection stood a small, run-down tobacco stall. It was filled with cigarette boxes from around the world, and evening newspapers were stacked underneath. The elderly woman running the stall was dozing off.

Kazuya also stopped and looked at the stall. He offered to buy something for Victorique, and she nodded absentmindedly. She then observed the stall.

Just like the tobacco stall she saw in East Village, there was a silver square object hanging by a string. Busy men stopped in front of the stall, held the square object in their hands, did something, and walked away again.

“Another fragment of chaos,” Victorique said. “Because of that silver object, people stop in front of the stall. It seems to serve some purpose, and it probably benefits the stall too. People buy things from the stall while they’re at it.” Suddenly, she let out a deep, devilish laugh. “I get it now!”

Victorique stuffed the leaves Kazuya had bought into her pipe. Her green eyes gleamed ominously.

She took a few steps, moving like a chick just hatched from its shell. Slowly, she approached the stall.

She reached for the silver square object, flinched, then firmly grasped it. It was a lighter attached to the tobacco stall. She lit her pipe with it.

“So, it was a lighter,” Kazuya said. “’Feel free to use it,’ huh? A freebie from the tobacco stall. I guess it makes sense. People might buy another pack of cigarettes while they’re at it.”

“It seems so. Hmph. A trivial mystery of the New World. I’ve already solved it.”

“Y-Yeah.”

“And so, as the Mistress of the Wellspring of Wisdom, I am once again bored.” Victorique took a satisfied puff from her pipe, then slowly exhaled. “A rational free service fitting the new world, where the people are busy, poor, and value efficiency.”

A thin wisp of strange purple smoke rose from the golden, lizard-shaped pipe, drifting magically into the evening sky of Manhattan, just like in the secret conservatory of the Kingdom of Sauville, before disappearing. Car horns blared, and hooves clopped on the streets.

A gust of wind blew. Victorique’s magnificent silver hair flowed endlessly along with the smoke. Catching the evening light, it shone like the mystical signal fire of an ancient warrior.

Victorique slowly turned around. She looked at Kazuya, her green eyes filled with a devilish, enigmatic, and cruel light.

“Shall we go, then?”