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The Show Must Go On! – Part 04

“The culprit had accomplices all along,” Victorique said softly. “The people who hired Coco Rose’s double.”

“Hmm.”

“They couldn’t let Nicole Leroux meet the French envoy, so she was killed right before their meeting. But if the envoy saw her face, he might see through the ruse. Therefore, the culprit cut off her head.”

“But nothing was taken from the room, and no head was found anywhere!”

“As for that…” Victorique looked away. “I-I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I mean it.” She looked away again. “At any rate, the culprit had an accomplice, who opened Nicole Leroux’s grave in advance, cut off the head of the real queen, now covered in grave wax, and brought it back. Then, on the day of the murder, said accomplice went to the country house and made the head appear in the country house at about the same time that Nicole Leroux was killed.”

“My…”

“Look at the stage. The body in the palace is being played by the second actress, the one playing Nicole. And the head in the country house is being played by the first actress, the real Coco. When you think about it, the play is surprisingly realistic. Because in reality, the body found in the palace was Nicole’s and the head seen in the country house was Coco’s—two different dead women.”

“…”

“I think the audience here tonight, the representatives of the people, Coco’s Children, all feel it subconsciously. Tonight’s frenzy is that unforgettable. A truly wonderful show.”

Victorique brought her chubby palms together and clapped twice.

Marquis de Blois gave a low groan.

On stage, the floating head in the country house began to burn. A burning cloth was placed in front of the actress’s face to create the effect. Shrieks came from the audience.

“After showing the head to the visitors, it had to be burned. If they looked at it for too long, they would have realized that it was not fresh, but from an old corpse covered in wax.”

“Hmm.”

“Nicole Leroux’s head was placed in Nicole’s grave, where Coco Rose’s body lay. Thus Coco’s body and Nicole’s head rest in one grave. The gold tooth matches the one in the dancer’s portrait, so that’s for certain. While Queen Coco’s burned head and Nicole’s body were placed in Coco’s luxurious grave. That is the truth behind the murder of Coco Rose.”

“But…” Marquis de Blois stood up.

Tragic music rolled in from the stage. The play was coming to an end.

Wearing a savage look, the Marquis shook the little cub’s shoulders over and over. “Who killed her?! That’s what we want to know! Coco Rose was killed not in 1914, but fourteen years prior. Everyone since then was fooled by the double. A shocking truth, to be sure. But what we at the Ministry of the Occult really want to know is who the culprit is! The evidence!”

Victorique looked away. She put the pipe in her glossy lips and removed it.

“That was too long ago,” she said.

Marquis de Blois glared at her.

Music came from the stage, and the audience was quiet.

“Do you really not know?!” The Marquis tightened his grip on her shoulders and shook her wildly, as though wanting to break her. The intense force would have ripped a doll’s arms and legs.

Victorique grit her teeth and snapped her eyes open. “There are things that even I do not know!” she growled.

Marquis de Blois’s arms did not stop.

“The passage of time obscures truth. I really can’t see the face of Queen Coco’s murderer. I strain my eyes, but all I can see is the crime’s black pillar of smoke. It happens. That’s why it’s the past. Some things can never be recovered.”

Marquis de Blois gritted his teeth in frustration. Slowly, he let go. His eyes quivered ominously behind his monocle.

“Again,” he mumbled low. “Leviathan left, the Queen was taken, and the culprit slipped through my hands.”

The curtains fell quietly.

The actors returned. Their faces were calm, but flushed. Eventually the music ended, and with a jolt like an earthquake, the audience gave a round of applause.

“Bravo! Bravo!” they cheered.

The actors held hands and returned to the stage. His Majesty Rupert fixed the crown with one hand before escorting the Queen Mother.

Slowly, the curtain rose once more. A curtain call. A huge wave of applause followed.

Exchanging glances and holding hands, the two main actresses—the girls who played Coco and Nicole—ran out onto the stage. The applause grew louder.

Remember this moment. The memory of the cheers and applause will light up your lonely nights when you are old and alone. There is no business like show business. Live on stage, young ones.

Offstage in the dim light, Marquis de Blois’s shoulders were trembling. A moment later, he turned his back on the cub and turned to leave. The officials of the Ministry of the Occult followed. Inspector Blois rushed after his father, holding the rabbit above his head. The creature, with an unconcerned air, was sitting on top of the golden cannon like a witch on a broomstick.

Victorique, left alone, stirred forlornly on the shabby wooden chair. There was a squeak. Underneath her icy, cold, emotionless, doll-like expression, was intense agitation. She had been sitting in a wobbly and noisy chair, but not once did it make even the slightest creak. Like a motionless puppet, she faced her terrifying father alone, hiding her fear.

Victorique slowly closed her eyes.

“Bravo!” the audience cheered.

The actors on stage, the crew gathered offstage, hugged each other, smiling and holding hands.

In the shadowy space, Victorique sat alone.

Her eyelids quivered.

---

Someone came for it from the darkness.

Their breath was hot. Sweat dripped from their forehead, temple, neck, like it was the middle of summer, not winter. Black leather gloves squeaked. Eyes watched the prey—Victorique de Blois—closely.

The Gray Wolf was still small. It was much prettier than he had feared and imagined from the rumors, yet at the same time astonishingly frail. This frightened the man. The gloves squeaked again as he clenched his hands into fists. It struck him that now… now was the time to take its life. The pup was sitting alone in a shabby wooden chair. The men who had surrounded her earlier were gone, and the actors were in the middle of their curtain call. Right now the Gray Wolf was in a dangerous place, out of anyone’s sight. It was a miracle—no, a God-given opportunity. The man signaled his subordinate standing beside him, and with silent footsteps, he approached Victorique from behind.

The closer he got to the Gray Wolf pup, the more he realized how tiny she was. She was reported to have been born fourteen years ago, but she looked more like a small, helpless child. Her golden hair swept down to the floor like a mighty and bountiful river flowing through a kingdom of gold. Wrapped in a bright-red taffeta dress, she looked like a bouquet forgotten on a chair. Her sleeves were puffy like rosebuds, and the ornaments on her small, pink hat swayed softly like smooth cream.

The man slowly extended his gloved hands to grab Victorique’s slender neck. To silently pluck a legendary flower that was destined to bloom one day. Gloves touched her neck. The man put strength in his hands.

Suddenly his body lurched. Something had hit him hard from behind. The man turned around. Startled, his subordinate braced himself, and a silent scuffle broke out. The subordinate grabbed whoever it was that slammed onto them. Their figure was small and slim; they seemed to be a foe not to be feared, but they were unexpectedly quick, full of will and strength to fight.

The subordinate loosened his grip. Sensing this, the figure stepped away from the men.

The man lifted his head and stared at the sudden intruder with surprise and displeasure.

---

“Get away from Victorique.”

Hearing Kazuya’s voice, Victorique looked over her shoulder.

The applause continued raining down to the stage, where the actors were standing in the light of the curtain call. There was only supposed to be Victorique left offstage. But behind stood two men, and Kazuya Kujou.

The men exchanged glances, then stepped forward, squinting at Kazuya, sizing him up. Determined to stand his ground, Kazuya braced himself in front of Victorique, his chest puffed out and his arms outstretched. The men observed him for a moment, then stopped.

The men and the boy stared each other down. Kazuya was small and slim even for a boy, but his whole body was brimming with the will to fight.

“Kujou,” Victorique muttered. “I thought you were in the audience with Cecile and Sophie.”

“Of course not! I was looking for you. I was worried.”

“Hmm. I see.” Victorique nodded. “No wonder I couldn’t hear you crying.”

“I-I wouldn’t cry from watching the play! A man is only allowed to cry three times in his life. When his parents die, when his child dies, and when he himself dies. No, wait. I got the last one wrong. I can’t remember. What was it again?”

“Be quiet.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You were worried?” the man asked in a deep voice.

His golden hair, short and combed smooth, peeked out from inside his deep hat. He carried himself in a sophisticated and dignified manner. The other man behind him, as Sophie had explained, had the look of a bureaucrat, and his whole appearance seemed colorless, his presence itself monochromatic.