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The Bridge Builder – Part 04

Victorique and Kazuya stepped out of the waiting room to find the crowd had grown even larger. Young people, returning from school or work, filled the area. Looking up at the ring, they saw a Black announcer standing in the center, microphone in hand.

“Tonight, the fists of the national champion will clash on this Brooklyn Bridge!” he roared, his voice booming through the night. “Witness the fire in the challenger’s eyes!” He gestured dramatically. Fireworks exploded again, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Victorique stared intently at the darkening sky.

A tall, elegant woman in a green dress, Madam Wheafley, took the stage and began to sing.

“When the cranberry flowers bloom, I’ll go home. I’ll go home… Because you’re waiting for me.”

The audience fell silent, entranced by her crystal-clear voice. Kazuya listened intently, while Victorique closed her eyes, trying to get rid of the headache and the hallucinations. Her body was tense.

As the song ended and Madam Wheafley exited, the massive iron bridge filled with applause.

The undercard matches concluded, and the championship match was about to begin. At the announcer’s call of “Challenger!” the crowd began shouting, “Eddie!” “Southern bumpkin!” “Poorer than us!” “You’re gonna lose and cry your way home!”

“Eddie Sawyer!”

The curtain on the Brooklyn side lifted, revealing Eddie. Wearing bright red boxing shorts, he boasted a muscular build. Despite the large scar on his face, his big eyes shone with a kind, hopeful light.

Next, the announcer called, “Champion!” and the crowd cheered, “William!” “He’s so handsome!” “Show us your signature hard punches!” They even clapped rhythmically.

“William Trayton!”

Everyone turned to the waiting room on the Manhattan side, holding their breath. The bridge was deathly silent.

The curtain slowly parted. A well-built man in white boxing shorts, William Trayton, appeared with an air of dignity. The crowd whistled and shouted, “William!” A line of staff followed him. The champion jogged down the aisle, ran up the stairs, and leaped into the ring.

In the center of the ring, the two fighters glared at each other. Wearing fierce expressions, they pressed their foreheads together and started swinging their arms wildly.

William grabbed the microphone from the announcer and looked around at the audience, who watched in suspense.

William raised his arm and roared, “Behold! I am the champion!”

A massive cheer erupted. Puffing out his chest, he declared, “My name is William Trayton! A proud descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers!”

Fireworks exploded, lighting up the night sky.

Older men and women in the crowd shouted, “Your father helped me out back in the day!”

“Your mother was a good person too!”

Younger voices chimed in, “I don’t really get it, but he’s cool!”

“Is he a prince from a noble family?”

“He’s so handsome!”

“I will defeat any challenger. Why? Because I am the champion! And tonight, victory will be mine once more! Eddie Sawyer, you are no match against a descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers. KILL! BOMB! BLOOD!”

Amid the deafening cheers, he handed the microphone to Eddie.

Eddie, surprised, looked around nervously. William gestured for him to speak. The audience eagerly watched, waiting to hear Eddie’s response.

“Uh, um… uh…”

Eddie was at a complete loss. He turned to Mitch standing by the corner. Mitch scratched his head, unsure of what to do. A murmur spread among the audience. They didn’t expect Eddie to have such a feminine voice.

Kazuya and Victorique were right beside Mitch. Kazuya, anxious at first, came up with an idea and whispered into Victorique’s ear.

Victorique furrowed her brow. “What? You want me to help him?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Kazuya motioned for Eddie, who trotted back, gazing at Victorique with big, expectant eyes. Victorique looked baffled, but seeing Kazuya’s face, Mitch’s blank expression, and Eddie’s desperate look, she gave in. Reluctantly, she stood on tiptoe and whispered in Eddie’s ear.

The surrounding audience watched curiously as Victorique in her glamorous pink dress said something to the challenger.

“Who is she?”

“What a strange friend.”

“Look, there’s a really beautiful girl!”

“Is she an actress?”

Eddie shuffled back to the center of the ring, gripped the microphone and, blushing with embarrassment, stammered, “Y-You are a pumpkin.”

The audience was stunned, then burst into laughter.

“I read that in the papers!”

“What a funny insult!”

“And what is up with that wimpy voice?”

“What a funny guy. Let’s cheer him on!”

Eddie turned even redder. “A shriveled pickle, a worm destined to be fish bait.”

Victorique listened silently. The audience’s laughter warmed the venue.

“And also, an eggplant.”

Embarrassed, Eddie handed back the microphone and scratched his head. William chuckled, shrugging at the amused audience. Both fighters returned to their corners of the ring. The match was about to begin.

Night had fallen, and the moon cast a pale light. Artificial lights illuminated the bridge. The faces of the spectators, tired from a day of work and study, glowed with excitement.

As Kazuya looked around, Victorique groaned. Kazuya quickly leaned in to check on her.

Holding her head, Victorique murmured, “The Christmas Truce Murder—a wartime mystery casting a shadow on this hectic day. Kujou, look at William Trayton and Eddie Sawyer.”

Kazuya turned his gaze to the ring. The two men faced each other, fists raised. An ominous moon shimmered high above.

“That night, they were on a bridge too. In the distant Old World’s battlefield. And between them stood a man.”

She pointed at the referee with her pipe, then raised her other hand and formed her fingers into the shape of a gun.

“And then, William fired!” She pretended to shoot. “Eddie claimed the man was Luke. There were white flowers in his hair.”

Victorique looked up at the night sky. In her eyes, the summer sky began to appear as winter, the stars turning to falling snow. Kazuya squinted, as if seeing the same vision.

“He looked just like an angel, apparently.”

Kazuya took out his notepad. “Yeah. Eddie said he saw the man’s face, and it was definitely Luke. He also said his eyes were closed for some reason. William, on the other hand, said he didn’t see the man’s face because it was obscured by a hat, but he was wearing a German uniform. What does it mean?”

There were seats for important staff right next to the ring. Eddie’s mother sat there. Two seats away sat former mayor Trayton. Holding his cane, he watched his son with concern.

“The match is starting,” Victorique said.

Kazuya turned back to the ring. The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. The audience’s voices echoed in the night sky.

The champion and challenger sprang from their corners, touching their gloved right hands.

William landed two consecutive punches to Eddie’s face. Cheers erupted from the men, while the women screamed. Eddie’s head snapped back like it was broken, then returned to its original position. Eddie hastily threw jabs of his own but missed.

“Go, champion!”

“Descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers!”

“The mayor’s pride and joy!”

“You’re pathetic, challenger!”

“Is that all you’ve got?!”

Victorique stared wide-eyed at the ring, clutching her head in pain. Hallucinations assaulted her again. She squeezed her eyes shut. Kazuya held her hand tightly.

In Victorique’s eyes, the stars vanished from the night sky, and it seemed to snow. The summer’s heat turned into winter’s freezing air.

“Winter of 1925—the beginning of the Second World War, when shadows swallowed the world. The darkest chapter in our history.”

Holding Kazuya’s hand, Victorique closed her eyes. And once more, she found herself in the shadows of the past.

A cold, damp, dark room. Her limbs were bound, her body strapped to an iron chair. Drugs were administered into her system, and her brain was flooded with war data from every corner of the globe.

“Filthy beast… my daughter… cursed Gray Wolf!”

In thellish depths of the prison known as The Black Sun. From her small, helplessly open mouth, cursed words predicting future battles spilled out.

“Run, my daughter… She represents… a new potential.”

“A bridge on the outskirts of Germany,” Victorique muttered. “A battle between the American army and the German-British allied forces. Christmas morning breaks. A skirmish at dawn. Of course I know of it. During those hellish times, I was a machine. I still remember nearly every battle in that storm. My memory is a vast wasteland at the end of time, where the trees of the past have withered and piled up.”

Her green eyes snapped open.

“There!”

A translucent map of the Old World appeared in the night sky above the bridge. A spot outside East Germany glowed white. Victorique’s consciousness rose, hands raised, drifting toward the night sky.

A bridge. A snowy night. People singing. The laughter of young men. The ominous rumble of approaching tanks and the hurried footsteps scattering to both ends of the bridge.

“Take care.”

“See you again.”

“My friend!”

The sinister gleam of the state-of-the-art German tanks approaching through the morning mist. Cannon fire thundering from the riverbank. White smoke. The black luster of someone’s gun barrel.

An apocalyptic world cloaked in gray. The ground flipped over.