Chapter 32: Volume 2 - CH 1.2

Translator: Kell

“So, late that night, as they were driving along the forest road, they were overtaken by something shiny and silvery. They looked out the window and to their surprise, it was the armor of a knight running at full speed!”

“Whoa, sounds scary.”

“As the armor passed them, it slowly looked back at the automobile. But…”

“Nice weather we’re having today, huh?”

“…It was empty inside! Kyaaaaaaaaa!”

Kazuya let out a shriek.

Avril laughed. “You screamed again. Scaredy-scat. Kujou, the scaredy-scat! Ahahaha!”

Kazuya continued walking with a somewhat resentful expression on his face. “Like I’ve been saying, it’s your screams, not the story.”

“Sure it is.”

“I’m telling the truth! Besides, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“Of course there is.”

“Have you seen one?”

“Not really… But a friend of a friend of a friend have.”

As they walked along, a wagon pulled by an old, hairy horse passed by.

The street was lined with wooden houses on either side, bright-green vines crawling on their white walls. The geraniums decorating the window sills were red dots swaying in the soft breeze.

The soft scent of earth and grass drifted in from somewhere, perhaps from the sprawling vineyards a short distance away from the village.

It was a mild, gentle season.

The village streets in the late afternoon was getting more and more crowded. Kazuya and Avril ambled along, arguing about the existence of ghosts.

Before Kazuya, uncharacteristically unyielding, could win the argument, Avril grumbled, “It’s more fun when ghosts exist.”

“That’s not the point. Besides—”

“You know that friend of yours? Victorique, was it? There’s a rumor that she’s actually not human, but a gray wolf. Isn’t it exciting? Your friend might be a legendary creature!”

“It’s not! Who spread that rumor anyway? It’s just rude.”

He had had a hard time making friends in the past six months since coming from Japan because of stories that said he was the Reaper. He didn’t think he would ever like horror stories, no matter how widespread they were.

Avril pouted. “You’re such a buzzkill.”

“Ugh…” Kazuya shut his mouth.

In the eastern island country where Kazuya was born and raised, men were taught to do what they had to do quietly without complaints. Kazuya tried to do his best, but things were different after he came to study in Sauville.

Avril Bradley, a foreign exchange student from England who had become a good friend of his, often made fun of him for being too serious and hard-headed. And his other friend—also a girl—constantly called him a simpleton and a mediocre egghead. Kazuya found it depressing.

“Ah, Kujou. We’re here.” Avril cheerfully pointed at something, completely oblivious to Kazuya’s brooding.

Kazuya raised his head. Countless villagers were gathered in the square at the intersection of two streets. A flea market had been set up in the square, overflowing with goods and shoppers alike.

“Today is the once-a-month flea market,” Avril said. “I’ve been saving up my allowance for this.”

“Really…?”

Avril pulled on his hand and dragged him into the middle of the crowd of shoppers.

A variety of stores stood in a row. Antique dealers, who had come all the way here just for this occasion, were selling antique dolls and lovely tableware sets that looked like they were made in the last century. A village girl, who seemed to be about the same age as Kazuya, giggled as she offered them handmade herbal soaps and potpourri. An old woman with a gentle smile was tending to a store full of colorful scarves.

While Kazuya was goggling at the sheer number of items, he felt a tug at his uniform.

“You there. Come take a look. It’ll be worth your time, I tell ya.” Their voice sounded awfully coquettish.

Kazuya turned around and saw a young nun sitting there, garbed in a stuffy habit. Her voice didn’t seem to match her appearance.

“Come take a gander,” she said.

“O-Okay…”

Avril, who had been walking ahead, noticed that Kazuya was not following and scuttled back. When she saw the stall in front of him, her face lit up.

“It’s a church bazaar,” she said.

“Is that what this is?”

“Yup. You should buy something, Kujou. A church bazaar sells items donated by followers, so they’re cheaper than the others. Besides, this stall is cute!”

She was right. Among the items laid out in front of the nun were delicate handmade laces, sparkling glassware, antique rings, and other items that were a little old-fashioned but still pretty even to a boy’s eyes.

Kazuya studied them with a stern look. “All right. I’m buying one.”

“What, really?” Avril was a little surprised.

Staring grimly at the items, he added, “Though I’m not sure which one to get.” Kazuya looked at the nun.

He couldn’t tell the color of her hair, as it was hidden underneath her robe, but she had clear, almond eyes, a peculiar bluish-gray that he had never seen before. They had a lonely but striking gleam to them, like looking at the desert skies. She must have been eighteen or nineteen years old.

But her puritanical attire and clear eyes conflicted with the casual manner in which she spoke and the way she sat on a wooden box with her legs spread out wide like a man.

What’s more, she had been snorting loudly and roughly scratching her head. Her mannerisms were unbefitting of a nun. Her waxen, freckled face looked somewhat distinctive—she could be odd or beautiful depending on the beholder.

“Um…” Before Kazuya could speak, his nose picked up a strange, sweet smell coming from the nun. It was an odd scent, not perfume.

Ah! It’s alcohol, he thought. But why would a nun smell like booze?

The tips of her leather shoes that he glimpsed through the bottom of her garb were stained white. A nun, who should be living an ascetic lifestyle, reeked of alcohol in the middle of the day, their shoes dirty. Was that even possible?

“What?” the nun said gruffly.

Kazuya panicked. “Oh, uhm… I-I was just wondering if you had some nice souvenir for a girl…”

“A girl?”

“Y-Yeah…”

He was getting embarrassed. While wondering if he should forget about it, Avril’s face lit up.

Kazuya picked up a laced detachable collar. “What about this? I’m not really sure… Avril, can you stand over there for a sec? Oh, bend down a little. A little more. More. Should be about right. She’s always sitting down, so I can’t really tell. Hmm…”

Avril looked happy at first, but each time she was asked to bend down, she looked more and more puzzled, until eventually her smile turned into a frown. The nun, her legs still spread open, regarded them with a dumbfounded look. When she realized what was happening, she stifled a laugh.

Kazuya picked up a cute little handbag and an old-fashioned but elegantly-designed ring, and pondered things over. Avril snatched them all away.

“Wh-What are you doing?”

“These won’t do.”

“Huh?”

“Are these for a certain someone whose name starts with a V?”

“Uh, yeah. She can’t… I mean, won’t get out of the academy. Wait, do you know Victorique?”

“Not personally, no.” Avril kicked at a pebble at her foot, looking disinterested, then lifted her head. “This one’s good! Trust me!” She picked up a golden skull the size of her fist.

The nun gasped in horror.

“Wh-What’s that?” Kazuya asked. “How do you use it?”

“Like this.” With a serious face, Avril placed the skull on top of her head.

“Quit pulling my leg.”

“I’m not. Also…” Avril pushed aside village girls who were looking at postcards. She rummaged through the pile and grabbed a postcard that featured a swarm of rats.

“…No way.”

“This one, then.” She picked up a glittering Indian turban designed like a crown.

Kazuya couldn’t imagine her wearing it, but the turban alone was definitely pretty, like finely-crafted candy sculpture. He thought it over.

Avril waved it around. “Look, isn’t it pretty? I’m sure she’ll like it.”

“Hmm…”

As Avril’s eyes began to tear up, the nun chimed in, either out of sympathy or just for fun. “She’s right. It looks great. I actually want it, but unfortunately, it’s for sale.”

“Really?” Kazuya asked.

Avril and the nun exchanged looks, then simultaneously turned to Kazuya and nodded.

After contemplating for several more seconds, Kazuya ended up buying the strange Indian turban.

There were many other items in the church bazaar. The most eye-catching one was the lone beautiful Dresden Plate carefully displayed at the back. A lanky, old man wearing a fedora asked the nun about its price.

The nun proudly told the man the price. It was so ridiculously expensive that Kazuya and Avril glanced at each other. The old man gave a grunt and walked away, shaking his head.

The village girls looked at the nun. “Why is the plate a lot more expensive than the rest?”

“I don’t really know much either,” the nun said, “but apparently it’s pretty old. It’s got that historical value. A lady of faith donated it. It’s today’s main item.”

The village girls bought postcards that featured pretty flowers and fruits and left.

“That plate’s so pricey!” one said.

“But it’s so old. You can’t use it.”

Their voices gradually faded away.

The old man still had not given up on the plate. He was staring at it from a distance, like he really wanted it. He had taken off his fedora, tucking it under his armpit, and was carrying a small vase of flowers that he had bought at some store.

“Would you like to buy this?” the nun asked.

Kazuya turned back to her. She was pointing at one of the items.

“I recommend this one. It’s really cute and the price is reasonable.”

“Hmm…?”

It was a palm-sized, square contraption—a music box. Avril reached for it.

“You put in a sheet music card, and it plays all kinds of tunes. You crank it manually. There’s a lever over there.”

“This one?” Avril placed the music box on her left hand and wound the lever with her right.

Bam!

There was a loud bang, and the music box broke into pieces. A big, white pigeon flew out, flapping its wings into the blue sky.

Avril shrieked, drew back a few steps, and looked at Kazuya. “Wh-What was that just now?”

The villagers were gaping at them. The pigeon circled the square twice, cooing, before flying away.

The nun screamed, drawing everyone’s attention. “The plate!” she shouted, cupping her cheeks, her bluish-gray eyes wide open.

Kazuya and Avril gasped.

The nun pointed with trembling fingers. The expensive plate had vanished like smoke. She sank down to her seat.

Avril’s lips were quivering from shock.

Kazuya looked around. The village girls who bought postcards were huddled together a little farther away, squealing. The old man was watching the scene with a curious look on his face.

“Call the cops,” someone whispered.

Kazuya, too, was stunned, but a different thought ran through his head.

I think this incident is the best gift for Victorique.