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The Plot to Assassinate the President – Part 02

Kazuya weaved his way through, slipping past people, until he finally made it to the front. Sweat trickled down his face despite the chilly winter air.

Displaying his press pass on his chest, he maneuvered through the crowd, his eyes searching for the lime-green coat.

Two seasoned journalists from the Daily Road recognized him and eyed him dubiously. “Oh, if it isn’t Kujou. What are you doing here?”

“Ah, guys! Have you seen Nico?” Kazuya asked.

“Hmph! Neither you nor him belong in places like this! Wait, aren’t you two usually together?”

Wiping his forehead, Kazuya hurried away from the inquisitive duo.

Meanwhile, Mr. Goldsworthy carried on with his speech. “The stock market continues to rise in the United States! Here in New York’s Wall Street, a new gold rush is happening. A new country means…”

His speech was filled with hope, but did it mean anything? Kazuya briefly pondered his own place in the shadows of a nation filled with young war casualties.

But finding Nico was his primary concern for now, he concluded, shaking his head. He continued his search, scanning the surroundings frantically.

He ran and ran, until he spotted him. Kazuya reached out towards the fluttering lime-green coat.

Just as he was about to grab it, it slipped away. He lunged forward, calling out, “Hey! Nico!”

“…”

“Nico!”

“Eek!”

A distinctly feminine voice.

Huh?

Kazuya gazed up in astonishment at the owner of the lime-green coat he had pulled hard. Spiral curls, glistening like butterscotch, framed large eyes of the same color. She stood tall and with confidence, as she always did.

“Rebecca?” Kazuya gasped.

“Oh, Kujou.” Rebecca was equally taken aback.

Noticing the notebook and pen in her hand, Kazuya asked, “Um, what are you up to?”

“Huh?! Um, well…” Rebecca cast her gaze down, fidgeting like a child caught in mischief. “Oh no! Already busted. I got this fake pass from Nico. He asked me to assist with coverage today. He was gone all night but rushed back earlier, all pumped up. Since you’re occupied, he said he’d handle the coverage of the speech himself and present it to the editor as your joint effort. I believe he mentioned something about besting your seniors.”

“I see. So you came with him to help, and he lent you his coat because it’s chilly, correct?”

“Exactly.”

“Which means Nico must be around here too?”

Rebecca nodded, indicating behind her with her right hand. Kazuya turned with a gasp.

There stood a tall figure—currently not in his coat, wearing only a fluffy long sweater. He sported an unkempt beard, with large and bright eyes.

It was Nico. He was brandishing something big and black. A gun?

No, it was his huge camera, eagerly capturing shots of the presidential candidate. Despite being jostled and kicked by photographers from major newspapers, he appeared unperturbed, simply being his usual self.

“N-Nico?”

Startled by Kazuya’s trembling voice, Nico spun around abruptly.

“Hmm? Wait, Kujou?! What are you doing here? What about Rokushou?! Just leave this to me and Rebecca. We’ll get some great photos and articles to show the editor. Just imagine outshining those jerks.”

“Um, Nico?” A growing sense of unease crept into Kazuya’s mind. “You’re just here to take great shots and outclass those guys?”

“Why else would I be here? Are you sure you’re fully awake?” Nico responded with a quizzical look.

He resumed taking photos. Click, click. Despite competing for position with other photographers, he stood his ground, making use of his large body.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Goldsworthy’s voice came from nearby. “We are comrades, brethren, and friends, all aboard the same state-of-the-art battleship.”

Kazuya pulled his eyes away from Nico. Slowly, he glanced down at his right hand. The speech echoed all around him.

“Regardless of race, place of residence, or occupation…”

Kazuya’s gut stirred.

“Holding a new awareness and pride as citizens of the United States…”

Could it be…

A bad feeling began to seep in.

It’s not Nico who was hypnotized by Dr. Boleid two days ago?

Was I the one ordered to assassinate the presidential candidate Mr. Goldsworthy?

This is bad! I finally found Nico, and he’s carrying a camera. I meant to stop him, and now…

In Kazuya’s right hand was the gun he received from Detective Benjamin earlier.

I’m holding a gun!

Kazuya stared at his hand, paralyzed by the terrifying realization.

Victorique’s words echoed in his mind.

“Human beings are societal creatures, each carrying their own wickedness while sharing the same goodness. Dr. Boleid’s psychoanalysis aimed to bring that evil to the surface.”

Kazuya began to tremble.

“No way…”

Mr. Goldsworthy’s voice grew louder. “Our noble United States! A new battleship!”

The trembling intensified.

“Is it really me?”

Rebecca screamed.

“All immigrants, descendants of travelers…”

Kazuya raised his head, assuming she had noticed the gun he was holding. But Rebecca wasn’t looking at him.

“Welcome to the vast country that leads the world in economy and culture!”

He followed her gaze. The speech was finally nearing its end.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Our great United States of America depends on the pride of each and every one of you. Let’s not forget hope, let’s lend each other a hand, let’s have ambition, and let’s move forward together. Our rallying cry is… onward! Onward!”

The crowd repeated cheerfully, “Onward! Onward!”

Someone shouted, “Mr. President!” but at this point, when the speech was about to end, it no longer sounded like a joke.

“Mr. President!”

“Our Great President!”

The rally seemed to be a great success.

“Onward!”

“Onward…!”

“Onward!!”

In Rebecca’s line of sight, Nico had set aside his camera. He pulled something out from the black backpack he carried, holding it awkwardly, like it was too heavy.

It was entirely black, with an unfamiliar and weighty design. Glistening coldly in the winter air, its multiple gun barrels gleamed under the sunlight, targeting its prey.

A banana machine gun. Likely the one that Carlos left behind and Nico kept in storage.

As he advanced, attempting to hide the weapon on his body, a police officer inadvertently let him pass due to the press armband on his arm. Kazuya’s breath seized in his throat.

“Onward!”

“Onward! Onward!”

The voices of the crowd surged through the air like a massive wave.

Kazuya quickly went after him.

I was right…

Caught with a tense expression, Kazuya was the only one stopped by the police.

Kazuya shouted back, but his voice was drowned out by the crowd’s roar.

“Nico is the assassin!”

His shout was lost amidst the clamor.

“Onward! Onward!”

“Onward…!”

He couldn’t even hear his own voice.

“It’s Nico who was hypnotized by Dr. Boleid. The doctor found evil intentions deep within him. No, maybe he was manipulated into doing something he wasn’t originally inclined to do.” Kazuya shuddered. “Nico, please, stop it! Stop it!”

Evading the police officers trying to stop him, Kazuya swiftly maneuvered under them and pressed on.

Meanwhile, Mr. Goldsworthy, who had been responding to the cheers, turned around. His expression soured at the sight of the two young men suddenly appearing beside him.

One of them—a slight East Asian youth—lunged at him like a squirrel, attempting to bring him down to the ground. They grappled, attracting the attention of the crowd, who shook their fists at the intruder. Police officers rushed over, guns trained on the youth, ready to fire.

But they couldn’t pull the trigger, fearing they might hit the presidential candidate.

The youth was saying something, but no one could hear him. In desperation, he reached for the microphone, urgently relaying his warning to Mr. Goldsworthy.

“There’s a gun on you! Get down, now!”

Mr. Goldsworthy paled, and he quickly took cover. Realizing the danger the youth was in, the man pulled his arm, disregarding his own safety. They tumbled to the ground together.

In the next instant, shots were fired. As they lay on their backs, bullets whizzed past their heads in slow motion.

Did he almost just die? Just as he was on the verge of realizing the dream of a new great nation?

Mr. Goldsworthy lifted his head and saw the person who fired the shots. Despite brushing with Death, he appeared calm and composed.

A tall Italian youth, holding a machine gun, stared back at him, his face as cruel and emotionless as the grim reaper.

Police officers aimed their guns at him, preparing to shoot. Bullets would rain on him from all directions, filling him with holes.

At that moment, the East Asian youth, who was down on the ground with Mr. Goldsworthy, aimed a gun at the Italian youth.

He pulled the trigger, and… bang!