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Victorique’s Dream Interpretation – Part 01

Outside the Italian Furniture Sculpture Importers’ Association building, a sinister wintry wind swept through. Victorique’s silver hair, resembling the Milky Way streaking through the frozen night sky, danced in the gust, stirring with fury. Her face was ashen, but her emerald eyes glinted with intensity.

Nico stood frozen. “Kujou… It’s my fault! Um… you see…” Bending his towering frame, he unrolled what he held in his hand. “The chief actually rejected the Wall Street Trial Rhapsody article.”

“Oh…”

I expected as much, Kazuya thought. He shut his mouth before he could say anything.

“They decided to publish a replacement article. It’s the fourth installment of Mafia’s World—I’m a Dangerous Guy!—the one you helped with.”

He handed over today’s evening edition of the Daily Road.

Victorique and Kazuya exchanged glances, and studied the newspaper. Their breaths caught simultaneously.

There, in the photo, was Carlos, smirking defiantly as he wielded a banana machine gun. The fourth article in the series had been published a day early.

Speechless, they stared at the image of Carlos Coppo, who had just been shot and killed by the fourth culprit, smiling as he displayed his weapon.

“I understand now,” Victorique finally said. “With this article published ahead of schedule, the fourth culprit also struck earlier.”

Nico nodded uncertainly.

“But the motive remains a mystery. For four consecutive weeks, articles in the Daily Road have drawn out civilians seeking vengeance on gangsters. Yet, we still can’t discern any common thread among the four incidents.”

“Oh, about that,” Kazuya interjected.

Leaving the gang’s hideout behind, they walked, pulling the bicycle along. Nico trailed behind, crestfallen.

“I… I recognize the fourth culprit who shot Carlos.”

Victorique looked up, surprised.

“Nico. You remember him too, don’t you?”

“Huh? Me?”

“I’m talking about yesterday. You know how we went to the Upper West Side clinic for an interview?”

“What?!” Nico exclaimed. “Dr. Boleid’s clinic?!” His voice echoed down the dark streets.

Kazuya nodded repeatedly. “Yup! When the door opened, a one-armed young man rushed out. He said he’d return tomorrow and then hurried away.”

Nico closed his eyes, scouring his memories. His expression contorted as he concentrated, then shock spread across his face when he reopened his eyes.

“I remember him now.”

Kazuya turned to Victorique. “I thought his face looked familiar. I assumed I had interviewed him before, but that wasn’t the case.”

“So, you’re saying that the fourth culprit is a patient of Dr. G.I. Boleid?” Victorique mused, puffing on her pipe. “Hmm…”

The wind howled.

Nico scurried off to report to Ruri and vanished around the corner.

Watching him go, Victorique murmured hoarsely, “I see.”

Her emerald green eyes suddenly glinted, ferocious as a predatory beast’s. The hem of her coat billowed out like smoke drifting from the underworld, while her silver hair fluttered, veiling her petite and delicate frame.

Gone was the blank façade that concealed fear, wounds, emotions. In its place swirled a strength that made her seem like an entirely different person—a resolve radiating an eerie, invincible glow reminiscent of cold, black steel. Victorique’s dark eyes gleamed in the night of Little Italy.

Slowly, a smile curled upon her lips. Her emerald eyes, repositories of ancient wisdom, narrowed a little, forming a faintly defiant smirk.

She exuded beauty so exquisite it bordered on artificial and an icy composure impossible for creatures of this realm, yet still retaining a trace of humanity, of delicacy. Victorique’s spirit burned like a distinct, dark flame.

“I see,” she murmured. Her voice, with its hoarse timbre of an elderly woman’s, reverberated eerily. She spoke not so much to Kazuya as daringly challenging some otherworldly force. Her breath, icy and foreboding, seemed to carry the chill of winds from the depths of hell.

With the regality of a queen of darkness, Victorique lifted her head high and slowly opened her green eyes.

“Kujou! It appears the Wellspring of Wisdom has begun to reveal its secrets to me,” she said majestically. “A glimpse into the hidden truth behind this case.”

Kazuya stared hard at Victorique’s face. In a world where others were unnerved by the sight of the Gray Wolf gazing at something otherworldly, he alone was unafraid. In fact, all he saw was a vulnerable girl. He leaned closer, a jet-black knight ready to protect Victorique—a natural sight for them.

Victorique brought her golden pipe to her mouth. “Consider this, Kujou. What if, despite their apparent disparity, the four suspects in these gang murders share a bizarre commonality?”

Her voice was a low murmur, her breath as cold as ice. Kazuya tilted his head, regarding her curiously.

Victorique’s green eyes gleamed enchantingly as she pieced together the fragments of chaos.

“What if the culprits were all patients of Dr. Boleid?”

---

“The files are arranged alphabetically! All right, then.”

Beyond the black door on the fifteenth-floor of an old and magnificent apartment building, which must have borne witness to the entire history of the United States, was a vast and strange space—Dr. Boleid’s clinic.

Kazuya, after hurrying there with Victorique, left her at the ground floor entrance and slipped into the clinic alone. He knelt before the cabinet in the back room, carefully examining the files.

Occasionally, he cast anxious glances out the window, muttering, “I have to hurry. We don’t want the doctor catching me here.” He returned his gaze to the files.

The clinic tonight was shrouded in an eerie silence. With the dancing doctor absent, it was deathly quiet. The disconcerting paintings and sculptures that adorned the walls and cabinets seemed to observe Kazuya.

He pored over the files keenly until…

“There it is! Nancy Doldor, the juice stand vendor at Central Park!” he whispered excitedly, raising his head. He snapped photos with his tie pin camera. “Just as suspected. Perhaps Victorique’s deductions were right all along. Two of the four gang murder suspects turned out to be patients of Dr. Boleid. Maybe the other two as well.”

He hastened to search for the next file. From left to right, he combed through the cabinet. The chilling moonlight streamed in through the window.

And then…

“Found it! Michael Kenton, the white cook from Harlem!” he exclaimed, almost leaping. He captured images of the files. “He visited the clinic too. All right. I need to go through all of them before the doctor returns.”

He replaced the files and hunted for the next one. Cars roared incessantly as they raced down the street outside. He quickly reached for the cabinet. Opening, closing, then opening again.

After a thorough search…

“Benny Sander too! The college student who blew up a gang member at the New York Public Library. She was right. Victorique’s deductions were correct! All the culprits were patients of Dr. G.I. Boleid!”

He looked up at the ceiling in astonishment. He took photos of the files, then placed them back, scanning his surroundings.

“According to the files, they all served in the second war. Come to think of it, Michael Kenton and Benny Sander both had scars on their bodies. Nancy Doldor was a wartime nurse. I’m one of them too, I guess. Dr. Boleid mentioned that despite the immense growth of this city, there are still many young war veterans whose wounds have yet to heal.”

Kazuya glanced out the window once more, then returned his attention to the files.

“Plus, it looks like all three of them had violent tendencies.” He inclined his head. “Hmm?”

He thought he saw a figure dancing while strolling down the main street. One of the two towering men strolling side by side appeared to be prancing around excessively, while the other proceeded with a straight gait, seemingly accustomed to the antics.

Kazuya frowned. “Oh, crap! That dancing guy has to be Dr. Boleid. He was supposed to be out, and now he’s back already.”

He scurried to the exit, but after taking three steps forward, he glanced back curiously. He looked around, puzzled, and scrunched up his nose.

Sniff, sniff… Hmm?

“This strange smell… Sweet and bitter. What was it again? It feels familiar,” he muttered, sniffing again.

He spotted a cabinet and opened it. Inside were several cans of tea. He grabbed one, opened it, and took a whiff. He scowled.

“Ugh, this is it. During yesterday’s interview, Nico and I were forced to drink this tea during counseling. And then, I passed out. In the end, we couldn’t conduct the interview.” He sniffed it again. “That’s a really intense smell. I’m not sure about the ingredients, but maybe it could help with Victorique’s deductions.”

He slipped one can into his coat pocket, then hurried to the door, scanning the clinic’s interior once more. He wondered if he missed something.

Nodding in assurance, Kazuya hastily left the room.

The hallway, covered with a red-black carpet, was dark, enveloped in an eerie atmosphere that hinted at lurking ghosts around the corners. Kazuya’s footsteps sounded muted as he darted toward the elevator hall, away from the black door. His silhouette wavered like a specter from ages past.