Volume 1 - CH 5

“Boo-san.”

“…”

“Are you…okay?”

After that, I pulled Boudicia with me, as we ran toward my student dorm at Manor Hall. I thought of escaping to the 8-Bit World, but that was too dangerous. At the student dorm, outsiders aren’t allowed entry, so the police won’t suddenly come storming inside. Granted, Boudicia is an outsider, too, but that was something I had to ignore for now. Carrying Boudicia on my back, I ran up the hill road, as I took my key out of my pocket. I let Boudicia down on the bed, as my body sunk onto the small sofa in the corner of the room.

Boudicia turned her head around, staring at the wall opposite of me without saying a word. I took a deep breath and sighed. That incident just now felt like a lie, that’s how calm the inside of the dorm was. Only the faint chirping of the birds reached my ears. However, nothing was resolved. All I did was shelter Boudicia. What about after this…?

“Damn it…”

At first, it was a quiet voice. However, it quickly became more violent, eventually changing into an angry roar.

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She screamed as she pushed up her body, punching everything around her. “Why? Why?!”

“Boo-san!”

A pillow was flung at me, and when she wanted to grab the next item, her hand stopped. She held it in her left hand, staring at it. It was a spray can—The silver can with the number 94 on it. It was the can I picked up on that foggy day.

“This is…” She lowered her arm and stared at the spray can. “Why do you have that?”

“So it was you after all.”

“Then that day…the person I saw was…”

“Yes. That was me.”

“I heard somebody coming, so I panicked and…”

“We never even properly saw each other, right? I had no idea it was you, Boo-san.”

Boudicia slowly sat back down on the bed. When she ran away back then, I thought she was some sort of ninja, but a graffiti writer surely would know how to get away from a location like that. What really caught my attention was what she planned to do.

“Boo-san…what were you thinking of doing back then?”

“…Overwrite it.”

“But not just any overwriting, right?”

Now I know. This spray can…is a Montana White. And she didn’t have a backpack or anything else with her. When overwriting, write something that is more complicated or skilled than the previous work. She should know that rule more than anybody else. And with just white spray paint, she would have no hope of achieving something on the same level as that.

“You’re so attentive to the smallest details…Yeah, that’s right. I was planning on erasing that.” Boudicia faintly shook her left hand, which led the spray can to rattle. “I really despised that drawing. And yet, it’s been there this entire time. It was getting on my nerves.”

“Why…do you despise it?”

“No clue, honestly. When I first wrote it, I was happy about it. But now…it’s different.”

I somewhat understood what Boudicia was trying to say. She wrote her graffiti solely for the purpose of winning. In my memory, that graffiti was awe-inspiring…but it was also savage.

“That’s why…I wanted to turn a blank page by erasing my graffiti and leaving Bristol behind. I decided that I’d never write any graffiti again. Just go somewhere…except I didn’t know where. Japan and its Zen was an option, at least.” She laughed when saying that last part, but her voice sounded defeated. “…If you hadn’t called out to me back then, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.”

She was trying to run away…Just like me. I don’t know if that coincidence was a good thing or not. But…if I hadn’t met her, I probably would never gather any interest in graffiti. And…I would have never gotten to know her like this.

“Just now, I said that I understood everything, right?”

Boudicia had her gaze dropped on the spray can in her left hand, not looking at me. But even so, I continued.

“Boo-san…You’re actually right-handed, aren’t you? And…”

She slowly raised her head.

“…You can’t fully move your right hand. Am I wrong?”

That foggy day…She held the spray can in her left hand. And that was her only way…to erase the graffiti. Because her right hand wouldn’t move. She was even less of a beginner with her left hand, so the best she could do was cover up her previous work. When she dropped the figure from that shelf at the store when she almost slipped that Giants Cave, she used her right hand. The reason she didn’t like cleaning…is because she couldn’t do it properly. Her handwriting was so hard to read because she was forced to use her non-dominant hand.

So far, I always thought she was left-handed and just a bit clumsy. But, I was wrong. When she tried to write the graffiti at the Bearpit, she held the spray can in her right hand. If she was really left-handed, then there would be no reason for that. In other words…It’s not that she didn’t want to write. She simply couldn’t…From the very start.

Boudicia remained silent. Instead, she kept seated on the bed, switching the spray can from her left hand into her right. Her white fingers wrapped around the can, slowly raising it up. However, her fingers had already begun quivering. Eventually, the shaking grew out of control, as the spray can fell onto the bed. And then, she looked at me with her blue eyes.

“…Why?”

Unable to show restraint, I asked.

“I told you before. Beat me and I’ll fill you in.”

“Since I figured out the secret you were hiding, I think this counts as one victory.”

“Heh, that’s not fair.”

I’m well aware that my logic is messed up. But, I didn’t care. I’ve crossed the stage where I had the time to slowly get to know her.

“Or, do you wanna fight it out? I’m confident I could win now.”

Boudicia’s mouth moved up, forming a faint grin.

“That doesn’t sound too bad either.”

She pulled down the zipper on her chest and opened her hoodie. In doing so, I could see what she was wearing underneath, as well as her white shoulders. She then turned around a bit, pulling out one arm from inside her hoodie.

“H-Hold on! I didn’t mean it like that…!”

Met with the dazzling shine of her skin, I frantically looked away.

“Stop making a fuss and look over here.”

“But…”

“No buts.”

I slowly turned my head back toward her, opening my eyes. And then, the sight that opened up in front of me…grasped my heart. I immediately regretted my actions up to this point. Next to the elbow of her right arm, I saw a deep scar, resembling lightning.

“Boo-san, I…I’m sorry.”

She didn’t acknowledge my apology and just reluctantly opened her mouth.

“…Well, it’s a boring story. I found some lame-ass graffiti and overwrote it. The original creator happened to witness me during the act and lashed out at me. We started fighting and…I got stabbed. That’s all there is to it.” She spoke like she was reading the dull summary of a movie she’d seen.

“That’s all…?”

“Seemed like he hit a vital part because I was told I wouldn’t be able to move it as I did before. I figured I could get it fixed by practicing, so I played games for a while…But that didn’t really work out.”

She gripped her hand mid-air and relaxed it again. And even that led to her fingers faintly quivering. She might be able to hold objects with her hand, but detailed movement or even the strength of her grip was out of her control. Now that I think about it, when we played the racing game, she only used the thumb of her right hand to accelerate, and all the detailed movement and such was done with her left hand. She struggled to press the small buttons with her right hand. That would explain why she was so clumsy at times. And…I may have never held a spray can, but I can compare it to playing the guitar. She definitely can’t. Writing anything good with a broken hand like that is impossible.

“…Then why did you accept my request?”

“…I thought I could do it.”

She wasn’t playing tough or putting herself down. She simply said so with a defeated expression. But in fact, I have no right to even ask her that. Because…I was the one who pushed her into it.

“Don’t make that kinda face. My arm not moving ain’t your fault.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“I kicked him off before he could finish me, so we’re equal now.”

“That’s not the problem here!”

“It’s what I did. Sure, it’s not like I’m happy about it, but it’s not impossible for me to live,” she said and put on her hoodie again.

She awkwardly put the zipper together with her left hand and pulled it up.

“But…what was really painful is that…I might have been able to win in graffiti, but that’s all. Can’t go anywhere. And I was painfully reminded of that…”

I remembered what Aeon once said. He wanted to give others the courage to make the impossible possible. However, that doesn’t guarantee that something positive will wait until the end. And if the wall you encounter doesn’t teach you anything…Then what are you supposed to do? And Boudicia said it herself. You overwrite something and win. Then your graffiti remains. And this is what brings honor. But…what if there was nothing beyond that? I was painfully aware of how that could feel. After all, I studied and practiced as if my life depended on it…and yet I ran into a wall.

“But…when I heard you play the guitar…I kinda felt like I could write again. Not to win, not for myself, but…”

That’s right. She tried to write…for the sake of Bristol. And was it possibly…for my sake?

“…Well, I was just cooking up fantasies in the end.” She said, her voice holding a gold and gloomy undertone.

Right when I was thinking of what to say, she thought for a moment and spoke up again.

“I told you I hated my name ‘Boudicia,’ right?” She didn’t wait for my comment and continued. “It comes from the British Queen Boudica who lived centuries ago. It’s supposed to mean victory. But, after she fought against the invading enemy, she still lost. She got beaten up and whipped with a whip. Her two daughters were assaulted. She tried to fight back but eventually killed herself by drinking poison. How would you associate that with victory? What a sick joke.”

I couldn’t say a thing. Surely, that name was given to her as a means of praying for her happiness…But to her, it turned into a burden to carry.

“And this is the result. It ended up exactly as my name prophesized. I’ve got nothing else left. Not even a reason to stay here…or a reason to be alive,” she mumbled and fell backward onto the bed, pulling the blanket up to her head.

“Boo-san…”

I was at a loss for what to say. It would be so simple to just say “That’s not true” and move on. But, I knew more than anybody else…how empty and void that sort of consultation was. Outside the window, the sun had begun to set. The days here in Bristol were especially short during fall. Soon enough, it was dark outside. Then, I heard her faint breathing from my bed, like she’d fallen asleep. She had even taken off her shoes.

“Wait, did you seriously fall asleep?”

Having her sleep here would bring about a lot of problems, so I gently shook her shoulder, but no response came. So much happened today. We ran away from the police and talked about something so grave, and yet…she fell asleep like nothing was wrong. I honestly couldn’t believe it. She really was like a stray cat…or just a wild animal. It felt like she was a bit too careless for her to sleep here, but I was reaching my own limit, too. I leaned against the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling.

I realized how exhausted my body was, begging for rest. Understandably so, after everything that happened today. I took off my glasses and put them on my desk. As my consciousness was slowly melting away, I thought to myself. Did I make the right choices today? Should she…continue to write? Winning, losing, the method to leave it all behind was simple—To put down the spray paint.

Not drawing any longer wasn’t like admitting defeat or failure. She’s been fighting this whole time, so she deserved some rest. And, I envisioned a lion sleeping on a large plain field. Leaning against the lion, who faintly moved up and down at every breath, I fell asleep. Enjoying the fluffy and warm fur, it was almost unbelievable that he was on the hunt not too long ago.

*

When I woke up, it was already late. It should have still been dark outside…and yet, the sunlight was so bright. I looked around, but…Boudicia was gone. I jumped up from the sofa. She couldn’t be hiding anywhere in this narrow room. I put my glasses on when I spotted a small note written on paper. I picked it up and read it.

[Goodbye.]

The memo was written with terrible handwriting. Reading this, I cursed my carelessness to fall asleep right then and there. For starters, I don’t believe the police came all the way to grab her. If so, then she must have left on her own desire. Maybe she had gone home…No, that was just wishful thinking. I couldn’t believe she would do that. What she told me last night flashed up in the back of my head. She had nothing left. No reason to stay here…or even to be alive.

That foggy day…If she had erased her final graffiti, she would have left Bristol. The fact that I ran into her…was a coincidence, or you could even call it a miracle. However, that same miracle won’t happen again. A part of me wanted to become her strength to keep going. But…I sold myself too high. The Ghost of Bristol is gone.

A terrible premonition filled me, grasping my heart to slowly crush it. I just started running. First, I headed to 8-Bit World. I asked if Radesh had seen Boudicia, but she apparently never came here. I immediately left and continued to run through Bristol. If she’s not here, then my next destination is clear. I headed straight to the Bearpit. Down the stone stairs, I ran through the tunnel until I eventually got out in the open again.

“What…is this…?”

And yet, the sight that greeted me was unlike anything I could have anticipated. The Bearpit—was snow white. All the graffiti had been erased, with fences set up around the vicinity. The stage Boudicia had stood on was no longer, probably torn down yesterday. The wild jungle that was the Bearpit was changed into a barren desert within a day. Only the lonely Ursa bear stood tall in its black and white colors.

“…Yoshi.”

I heard someone call my name and turned around when I spotted a small but chubby man.

“Peni-san.”

His round face was riddled with bruises and bumps. He must have gotten beaten up by the police yesterday. At the very least, he wasn’t arrested…Or so I sighed in relief, but that didn’t resolve a damn thing.

“What happened after we left?”

“…We couldn’t win against the police,” Peni said with his head hanging low. “We fought back and got beaten up without any hope, and then were thrown out. After that, the city council brought these workers with them…and they turned the graffiti…all white…JF got hurt protecting the Captain, who continued to fight until the very end…but even she was captured by the end. I somehow managed to escape, but…How could they do such a thing…? The Captain said she got permission for this…!” Peni grasped his chest.

His heart must hurt much more than his physical injuries.

“I’m so frustrated. Even mine and JF’s shop was taken away. Everything we’ve ever made…was stolen from us.”

I looked past the fence. The bus the two of them used to sell coffee and burritos…Even the tables and chairs in front of it…It was all gone.

“Aeon’s shop closed up too. Right now, you can’t even buy a single spray can in Bristol.”

They weren’t naive in the slightest. However, the police were just even more thorough than they anticipated. The police officers stormed the event and crushed all opposition. The Bearpit was cleansed of all graffiti and underground activity. All major writers have been apprehended. The spray business was halted. They set up police to not allow any new graffiti—And Boudicia has vanished. It’s perfect for them. Too perfect…

“The thing is, Boo-san’s gone…”

“No way! Where did she go?!” Peni grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

“That…I don’t know…”

“Ugh…” He groaned, but I didn’t know what to say.

If only I’d stopped her…But, it was too late to regret. I just needed some sort of hint.

“Is the Bearpit off-limits?”

“…They made sure you can’t sneak over the fence, but you can get inside. Then again, with the police, you can’t even write.”

“I’ll go check it out.”

Sure, the chances of Boudicia being here were extremely slim, but I had to confirm it either way. We headed down the steps that turned snow white, entering the plaza. Just as Peni said, several police officers were keeping watch. And the citizens walking past gave it passing glances.

“Everything…is gone.”

“Yeah. Except, there is one graffiti left. Though, I think it’s a completely new one.”

“New? In this situation?”

“I’m guessing the police haven’t seen it yet? It’s over there.”

I followed after Peni and headed deeper inside the Bearpit.

“This right here.”

Just like he said, it was written in a place that wouldn’t stand out too much. And it was probably put here for that reason.

“Yoshi.”

As I was observing the graffiti, Peni called my name.

“This is for you,” he said and put down the bag he was carrying on his back. “I wanted to protect this no matter what. Though I got beaten up badly for it.” He showed a self-deprecating smile as he handed me the bag.

The moment I accepted it, I could hear something rattle inside. It must be the same bag Boudicia carried with her up to the stage.

“You did this all by yourself…”

“I’m not some amazing writer. I’m a pathetic nobody. But when I saw this in front of me, I…”

The bag I accepted with one hand suddenly felt a lot heavier.

“Yoshi, I want you to find the Ghost and tell her. To write another graffiti using this. I want everyone to know…that not everything is gone. That Bristol’s graffiti…hasn’t died yet!”

“Peni-san…”

It was a dear plea, but I couldn’t respond.

“I’ll ask all the writers I know about the Ghost and let you know if I find anything.”

“Please do, and thanks.” I thanked him and watched him run out of the pit.

Once he disappeared out of sight, I turned back toward the graffiti. It was written with black spray, using round letters, which made it look like a sentence. At first glance, it looked like nothing special. However, it was written freshly in this situation, in a place where police officers were patrolling. It might hold some meaning. And while observing the graffiti, I thought to myself.

What if Boudicia was with me right now? She probably would have uncovered the meaning behind this already. But, I shook my head to rid myself of that thought. Pull yourself together. The situation’s different now. I have to find Boudicia. Nobody else can help me. And for that, I took a closer look at the graffiti. With how clear the black color was, it must have been written just recently. After the white spray erased all graffiti in the Bearpit. It didn’t seem like anything that was written out of spite or passion. In fact, it looked fairly average. And that brought up the question of what it actually said.

The particularly deformed letters and writing seemed foreign to me. But, while staring at it for a while…I could see letters of the alphabet form.

“Ah…”

The graffiti told me a message. When I had just come to Bristol, I didn’t know anything. I met Boudicia, got to know George, talked to Aeon, and faced Lara. Even now, I’m not a writer. I wasn’t raised in this town. However, they weren’t strangers to me any longer. And I could hear the voice that spoke to me from the wall.

[At Home Is Princess]

That’s all it said. But, it was plenty for me. The message couldn’t be clearer.

*

Bristol Museum and Art Gallery—The tallest building in all of Bristol, close to the Wills Memorial Building. Of course, compared to the museum in London or the one in Tokyo’s Ueno, it was still comparatively small. Usually, the citizens were allowed to come and go as they pleased, which created a feeling of being welcome. However, the outside appearance signaled dignity and pride. I stood in front of the museum, gazing at it for a moment. The plate hanging above the entrance had the number 1904 written on it. It showed that this museum stood tall here for more than a hundred years.

How many generations must have passed through here? How much art was being admired and loved here? And I stood at the beginning of it all. I instinctively knew that someone was waiting for me up ahead. However, I didn’t know what exactly I would have to deal with. Even so, I had to see it with my own eyes. I took a deep breath and entered inside by opening the glass door.

The vast entrance hall was built as an atrium that reached up to the third floor. On both walls hung old paintings, as well as what looked like an Egyptian stone statue. Standing inside the arch of the stairs was a tall oriental bear. It felt odd to stand in a place that gathered objects from across the world. But, I wasn’t the only one. The person present in the center of this large place wore his leisure jacket the same way as always, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m happy you made it here. Welcome to my home,” George said and opened his arms.

That’s right. This place is supposed to be his home.

“It was supposed to be closed today, but I really wished for you to come to see me. So I used my connections to keep it open just for today. That being said, all the CCTV cameras are turned off, so nobody will bother us. Wonderful, don’t you think?” He turned around with his arms still spread.

His home…his garden. I knew this place probably as well as his own body.

“…So you were the one who wrote the graffiti in the Bearpit.”

George smiled as he answered happily.

“I’m glad to see my invitation has reached you. Of course, I had complete faith in you…But you never know what may happen. Don’t you agree?”

“That graffiti was written with bubble letters. That’s why I could read it. Because you taught me about them when we looked at the big graffiti covering the window at the 8-Bit World.” I took one step forward. “Just reading it…I’m not the only one who could do that. But, the only person who could make their way here would have to know that you consider the art museum your home. Being able to read that graffiti while connecting the dots…Only I could pull that off.”

If possible, I didn’t want to speak any further than this. However, I took a deep breath and continued.

“George-san, you knew I would come to the Bearpit. No…you were certain of it. Because you knew I would have a reason to do so.”

And that leads me to a single conclusion.

“George-san. Where is Boo-san?!”

“Bravo!”

George cheered to himself, clapping his hands. In this empty entrance hall, the shrill sound reverberated several times.

“Truly, you are magnificent. I’m quite confident in my eye for people, see. And what awaits you after you successfully make it to the castle…is the princess.”

George vanished into the hall behind him, only to reappear, carrying someone in his arms.

“Boo-san!”

She didn’t seem to be conscious. I was on the verge of running over to her, but George denied that.

“Now, now, let’s not rush things. You see, it was quite simple to abduct the runaway girl…Come on, Boo. Your prince has come to save you.” He put her down in the center of the hall, gently tapping her on the cheek.

“Mmm…” Boudicia groaned once and opened her eyes.

After a brief pause, she jumped up in shock.

“…! Wh-Why am I…?!”

“Boo-san! Are you okay?!”

I ran toward her. This time, George didn’t get in my way. Rather, he stepped away, as if to give us space.

“Yoshi…? Sorry…I wanted to leave Bristol after all, and that’s why…”

“Don’t worry about that! Are you hurt anywhere?!” I inspected her body, but couldn’t see any injuries on her.

“Oh, please. You needn’t worry about that. I simply used a bit of medicine so that she would have a peaceful sleep. I mean, I would have had my way with her if I was so pleased, but as you know…I am a gentleman!”

Why would he do such a thing? I didn’t want to bet my money on it, but a single answer popped up in my mind. And I have to confirm that…Because that’s why I came here.

“…George-san. It was you who set up everything, wasn’t it?”

“Oh my, oh my. So I was found out. Well, I felt like it was only a matter of time now.”

“What’s your goal with this?!”

“Oh, Boo…I had figured you would already know, but this pains me greatly. Or maybe you simply can’t accept it. Because…we all know how clumsy and dishonest you are.”

“What did you…?”

“What is my goal, you ask? Please, try to use your head, Roasted Beef-chan. Isn’t that obvious? …It’s to have you write.”

This was different from his regular banter with Boudicia. Like a prosecutor during a trial, he pointed at her.

“Of course, the fact that that punk caused such an injury is definitely unfortunate. However, I can’t have you simply stop without ever writing another thing. Because you are our muse. The individual who will change the history of art in Bristol.”

“Don’t give me that crap. Why would you care what I write and where?!”

“But why wouldn’t I care? Come on, consider my feelings for once.”

George completely ignored Boudicia’s howl, as he acted like an aged university professor.

“Let’s assume there is a childhood friend that you’ve always been together with. Even seeing her as a little sister you always doted on. You yourself love art more than anything, always sneaking into the art museum and one day dream of being an artist yourself as you draw in your sketchbook on a daily basis. Then one day, your childhood friend happens to draw something on the wall with a spray can. How would you feel? Not to mention that her talent was overtly, otherworldly, historically on a fundamentally different level. That she could possibly even stand shoulder to shoulder with one of the greatest artists of our time…Yes, with Banksy, even.” George’s voice reverberated through the empty museum. “Naturally, you yourself would try to write something on the wall yourself—only to taste true despair. Realizing that you lack all and every critical talent. Boo is absolutely correct. No matter what I do, I will never be more than the parsley left behind on the corner of the plate, eventually ending up in the trash bin.”

George was a writer once. He realized he could never make it anywhere, threw away his spray can, snapped his brush, and remained an average person. Listening to it, it was a story that probably happened countless times. However, this also revealed some of the factors of this incident that had remained unsolved up to this point.

“…So the graffiti we assumed was written on the shop for the sake of revenge…The one we thought Lara-san was responsible for…It was you all along.”

“Indeed. I may have no talent, but there is one thing I excel at…Replication. It was a copy from an older graffiti Lara-kun had written at some point. For the sake of anti-graffiti measures…Or under the pretense of such, I regularly walk around town, see. I’ve recorded countless works. Of course, as part of my hobby, too.”

Lara said she wasn’t the one who wrote it. And it didn’t seem like she was lying about that. At the same time, she disagreed that someone from her crew could have done it. And looking at how much her crew cares for her, it’s hard to believe someone would betray her. Thus, it must have been written by someone else entirely. Someone who…had a proper reason.

“You’re just copying other people’s graffiti…? You have no right to talk about art!”

“I was never an artist, to begin with. I did it for a reason…For the greater good, as they say. Though I feel bad for having insulted Lara-kun this way,” George said as he continued to smile. “I do have to say, it was quite the fortunate coincidence that Peni-kun would put that graffiti on your shop. I could make it seem like an act of revenge, forcing you to make your way to the Bearpit once more. You then encountered Captain Lara, and figured it would be a good influence for your own desire to draw…But, that wasn’t enough. Then again, I expected as much. You’re a stubborn girl, so I had to corner you more.”

“So you were the one who instigated the purge of the Bearpit.”

“Exactly as you say, Yoshi-kun. I pushed the city council’s aggressive stance against graffiti. Then, I made my way to the center of the Bearpit to raise a resistance. However, Aeon-kun’s deed did throw a cog into my plans. I didn’t expect him to write that graffiti. He created trouble that almost made things turn south. However, I let him get off scot-free, so please don’t mind that.”

“Don’t joke with me! Aeon wrote that for the sake of Bristol! He didn’t do it for you!”

“You might be absolutely right. However, it helped me greatly. Thanks to that, the resistance became even more active in their fight against the city council. Much appreciated, much appreciated.”

Boudicia was fuming with anger when suddenly all color drained from her face.

“…Hold on. So the police…was that also you…”

“Indeed, it was. Lara-kun asked me for permission. We may have been in a truce, but I am still her enemy. I admire her courage and resourcefulness, so I agreed to help. I even brought up the idea of having everyone write graffiti. It is the stage that will decide the fate of Bristol’s graffiti. And you have the Prince by your side. Surely, the Princess should awaken…And yet, here we are. You see, I’ve tried my best. Indeed, I asked the city council for permission.”

What sophism. No way the city council would agree. It’s like he was leaking information.

“But Boo-san was in danger, too, right?! What if she had been caught by the police?!”

“I left you by her side for that reason. You are the Knight that feeds on the Pawns so that the Queen can move freely. I told you, didn’t I? I was buying into you.”

“But Lara and JF got caught! Because of what you did!”

“Because of what I did? That isn’t quite right. They were arrested because they wrote graffiti.”

“You damn liar!”

“How cruel…Who would say such a thing to their childhood friend?” George put his hands in his pocket and sulked—or pretended to. “Boo…If this is the attitude you intend to have with me, then I need to use desperate measures.” George took out something from his pocket.

“Boo-san!”

It happened in an instant. The object he took out from his pocket shone in a silver light. He grabbed the knife and headed straight for Boudicia. But before I could think, my legs moved. I pushed my body between George and her.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“Huh?”

Right as the knife was in front of me, George pushed my shoulders. I lost my balance and almost fell over, as an arm wrapped around my neck. In the blink of an eye, George had me restrained. I tried to rip off his arm with my own hands, but he tightly held onto me. And when I felt something sharp pressed against my neck, I roared in anger as I understood the situation.

“George, you bastard!”

“Now, now. No moving, okay? Boo, you can see what’s going on right now, can’t you? Really, as long as the blade is within three inches and not a lock knife, you can carry a flip knife around without legal problems. Whoever thought of that, I’m genuinely thankful. If they’d just be a bit more creative with the blade, you could easily kill a single person.”

He anticipated I would try to protect Boudicia and aimed for me from the very start. I thought I was being careful. I figured I knew George. He liked to be prepared. So when he took out the knife and charged at me, I didn’t have time to think. This was George’s win.

“Come on, Boo. Look at this. It’s your fault that your precious Yoshi-kun ended up in this peril.”

“…I’m sorry, Boo-san.”

“Why…Why are you apologizing?! It’s all…it’s all because of me…!”

I couldn’t answer her question. Why did I apologize? I mean, there were so many reasons I didn’t know where to start.

“Stop it! Please, stop! Yoshi has nothing to do with this! This is my problem, right?!”

“Exactly. See, I knew you’d understand. You no writing at all is why our dear Yoshi-kun ended up in this predicament.” George kept the blade of the knife close to my neck, as he removed the backpack I was carrying.

Surely, I could move a bit like this, but one wrong move and he will surely stab me. He then threw the backpack at Boudicia. I could hear the clanking sound of spray paint cans inside, as Boudicia accepted it.

“This is my…”

“You have to write, Boudicia.”

“And where am I supposed to write?”

“You…are a genius. You have the right to overwrite wherever. Even if…it is a historical object.”

“You’re making no sense…”

“I swear…You love to play dumb, don’t you? Then…Yoshi-kun, do you happen to know what this statue is?” George pushed his face closer to me, gently asking me like a teacher or a parent, as he pointed at a statue next to the stairs.

It was—the statue of an angel. She was clad in loose clothes, standing high up on a foundation, as she carried flowers in both her hands. It was a common statue of an angel. The thing that made it stand out…was the fact that you couldn’t look it in the eyes. After all, she wore a paint can over her head. Pink color dripped off of this, reaching down to her chest and legs, even on the foundation she stood on.

“The Paint Pot Angel—A sculpture made for the Banksy exhibit that happened here in 2009.”

Banksy—I’ve heard that name many times up to this point. But the fact that there is an exhibit here for him was news to me. Leaving a sculpture like this behind…he crossed the level of simply being a graffiti artist.

“Listen well. The Bearpit incident has gathered attention all over town. As well as the mystery of who would have been the writer kept as the main dish.”

I remembered how all the citizens were watching the events unfold. You could say that the Bearpit is the center of Bristol. Nobody would miss such a ruckus.

“And that’s why…You must write, Boo,” George said as he faintly moved the tip of the blade.

I didn’t know where he was pointing, but his gaze was directed at the backside of the stairs. There stood a tall pedestal, just like the one the Paint Pot Angel stood on. But, nothing was on top of it. Facing the angel…was an empty pedestal. But, what if someone happened to write graffiti on there? The pedestals stood around the stairs in the center hall, right after entering. On one side stood the angel, and on the opposite side, you could probably see the graffiti clearly. They could be regarded as beings who watch over the museum.

“That’s right. Tonight, you will stand on the same level as Banksy. He left one of his works in the museum without anybody knowing, but this time, things are different. You will write your graffiti here. And nobody will be able to look away from your creation. The news will cross the limits of Bristol, reaching the whole world! The Ghost of Bristol…will surpass the Angel!”

He’s gone mad—Is what I thought first thing when I heard George’s voice, who sounded like a child who had just received a new toy for Christmas. He created this whole situation solely to have Boudicia write. He made preparations as the whole mess escalated to ensure that all roads would lead here. And the knife signaling the checkmate was currently touching my neck. His devotion…wasn’t normal.

“Even if you say that, I can no longer…”

“I know. Oh, I know. Your right arm won’t move much anymore, right? Forget it.”

His tone made it sound like it was not a problem in the slightest. Boudicia attempted to say something, but no words came out.

“If you’d like to write, I’m sure you can do it. Just one missing arm can’t stop you. You’re just making excuses.”

“I…”

I grit my teeth. He wasn’t sane in the slightest, but his logic made sense. His argument was sharper than the blade of the knife. And I knew…that this argument was invincible against whatever you may say. It really hurt. Because I’ve been running away this whole time for that reason…with that excuse. And yet, I grabbed my guitar for the sake of Boudicia. Sure, her arm was injured and wouldn’t move much. That wasn’t a problem a change in her attitude could fix. That alone can’t be fixed. And even with recovery, she probably won’t be able to write as she did before. However, moving on despite this and not doing anything are two different things.

George wasn’t wrong. But even as Boudicia held the backpack full of spray paint, she wouldn’t move. She had glared at George not too long ago, and now that gaze was dropped down onto the clean museum floor.

“…I feared not even this would get you to write. I swear, you’re such a troublesome child. But, it’s okay. Roasted beef always takes a long time to cook. And I need to slowly turn up the heat for it to turn out just perfect.” George said, speaking extremely lightly of this situation. And then, without any hesitation, he moved the knife—and stabbed it into my arm.

“Gah…!”

Sharp pain assaulted my brain. I groaned and struggled, but George’s arm wouldn’t let me go. The pain wouldn’t stop. I could feel my arm pumping, as Boudicia screamed. I heard the sound of her backpack drop to the ground, with George laughing.

“George, stop it!”

“I told you to write. Yet, you wouldn’t listen. Now here you are, giving me orders? Why would I obey you?”

“This has nothing to do with Yoshi! If you’re gonna hurt someone, then choose me!”

“Although it pains me to admit it, I’m a bit too clever to do that. I cannot confuse my methods with my goal. I knew that this would be the most effective for you.”

The knife twisted deeper. More pain assaulted me, forcing me to gasp. The blood that should be running through my arm now ran down my fingers, dropping to the ground. Meanwhile, Boudicia’s screams were losing their voice.

“Yoshi-kun…You played the guitar, right? And quite diligently, no less.”

I was bewildered. I never once told him about that. No, in fact, Boudicia is the only person who should know about that.

“It’s not something to be this shocked over. Looking at your short nails and solid fingertips, I had a hunch. Am I right? Please, you can call me Detective now.”

The way he spoke wasn’t different from usual, which was the most terrifying part about all of this. He seemed perfectly fine. Rational, even.

“And this arm is quite precious, isn’t it?”

“Stop…”

“Boo, you should know that more than anybody else.”

“…Don’t…”

“The pain of an artist who lost their arm, that is.”

“George! Please!”

Hearing this plea, George laughed.

“Please, you say? That’s my line. Or rather…would it be Yoshi-kun’s? Boo save me! I’m being attacked by a mad Clown! Please!”

He was fooling around with his tone, but I could tell. He was serious. George will do it. He will choose whatever method he deems necessary, and he won’t hesitate. For the greater good, just like he said. As long as it meant that Boudicia would write again. He will do…what he must.

“Even if you do this…I can’t write anymore.”

“You can. Just be confident in yourself. Grab that backpack and stand on the pedestal,” he spoke with a gentle tone.

Like he was trying to give courage to his child. Like a teacher slowly teaching a student. Boudicia slowly picked up the backpack. And while staggering, she slowly approached the pedestal.

“Good girl,” George praised her while his knife remained stabbed into my arm.

While my consciousness was getting close to blanking out from the pain, I thought to myself. Isn’t this…a good thing? Sacrificing the writers at the Bearpit to corner Boudicia is absolutely vile. However, at this point…it’s all in the past. It’s not just George, either. Aeon, Lara, and many other people wished for her to write again. And…I’m no exception. Using her arm in the argument is just an excuse. That’s what George said. And I can’t deny that. I managed to play the guitar for her. Making something move that once stopped…it’s too difficult. But at the same time…Once something starts moving again, the rest is simple.

What Boudicia needs right now is a reason. Something that…might even force her to write. And assuming that was me right now…Then, in the end, George and I are wishing for the same thing. We want Boudicia to write. Other than the knife stabbed in my arm, we are the same.

Then, Boudicia stopped her backpack on the ground. In her right hand, she held a spray can. And yet, I could tell even from here. Her grasp was weak, her hand quivering.

“Now, Boudicia. Write.”

If I told her to write, would she do it for me? If I begged her…asked her to help me…Because then…I was tempted for a moment, about to open my mouth, when I saw it. As she held the spray can with a shaking hand…a single tear ran down her cheek.

“Write! Now!”

George’s voice called me back to reality. No, this isn’t what I want.

“Boo-san!” I screamed.

As loud as possible to ensure she could hear me. Then, she turned around. There was no sight of the prideful lion I knew. Nor was she as free as a stray cat. She was just…terrified. Like a kitten locked inside a box.

“…Do not write.” I slowly but decisively pronounced a single English sentence.

And then, her eyes shot wide open.

“Yoshi-kun! What are you saying?! Don’t you want Boo to…”

“No…Not particularly, to be honest.”

The knife was still stabbed in my arm. And yet, the pain didn’t bother me much. Instead, I remembered something. Why was I so drawn to Boudicia? I didn’t really understand it…But, now I know. It’s because nobody can own her.

Dirtying the walls, ignoring the risk of being caught, and even getting involved with violence. A competition. Writing. The work then gets overwritten, or completely erased, and vanishes forever. It’s art that nobody truly wishes for—Graffiti. But, that’s exactly why…

“This isn’t like you, Boo-san.”

“Not…like me…” She looked at me, baffled.

A bit of light had returned to her blue eyes.

“You’re selfish, all over the place, and never listen to what other people tell you. Isn’t that right?”

I remembered the first time we met. That’s why I was so attracted to her.

“I was always jealous of that. Doing something not for the sake of others, but just listening to your own heart…Your own soul. That’s the Boo-san I admire.”

I was always hurt. Being told that I have no soul, I was destroyed beyond repair. No matter how much I practiced, how much I studied, that one line made it feel like everything was erased. That I had nothing left inside of me. But…that was the right thing. Practicing to become better. Studying to write better songs. Eventually, I became able to just accept that. The problem was…what to do with all of that.

“But if I don’t draw, then your arm…”

“None of that matters right now.”

“It matters very much! You practiced so much for the sake of your music! If that’s ruined, then for what reason did you…”

“Does everything have to have a reason?”

Even if there’s nothing left…If your soul so wishes for it, then we all can do something new.

“…Yoshi-kun, I’m reaching the limit of my patience here.”

I could tell that George put more strength into the rip he had on the knife. He’ll do it, surely. However…

“George-san…You’re not the only one who’s serious about this.”

I took a deep breath and prepared myself. And then—I opened up my arms outward.

“Guuuuh…!”

I couldn’t hold myself from groaning. The knife dug deeper into my arm. I could feel it grinding against my bones. The numbing pain was much greater than before. It hurt so much I just wanted to black out. But…this much is nothing. Having someone else deny my own music…was so much more painful. And right now…Boudicia is the one who’s really hurting.

“Yoshi!”

“Yoshi-kun, what are you…”

Boudicia dropped the spray can in her hand. Meanwhile, George’s grip grew weaker, and I broke free. The knife dropped to the ground, and blood came gushing out of my open wound. My consciousness was starting to waver, but I kept myself standing.

“…Please, don’t write, Boo-san. Not right now.”

I was staggering toward her. One step after the other. Because there was something I needed to tell her…Because there was something I had to say.

“Don’t do it to win.”

Like she had been in the past, only living to overwrite someone else’s art.

“Don’t do it for the sake of the town.”

Like Lara would, only living to protect Bristol.

“Don’t do it for the sake of history.”

Like George asked her to, only wishing to remain in someone’s memories.

“Don’t do it for my sake.”

I don’t matter one bit. What’s the point…if she’ll just cry while looking at the graffiti? What’s the point if the wild lion I had always admired would end up locked inside a cage? Right now, Boudicia still looked like a weakened kitten, who was thrown out by its owner. But…that’s not the face. That’s not why I began to admire you.

“If you…If you really wish to write graffiti again someday…”

I lowered my body and grabbed the spray can that had fallen to the ground. The silver can began to turn red. But, none of that mattered. As her translucent blue eyes looked at me, I faintly grabbed her hand. And then…slammed the spray can into her right hand.

“Write for your own sake, Boudicia!”

“Yoshi…I…”

She dropped her gaze down to the spray can, her face distorting. However, she quickly closed her mouth and looked up again. Seeing that, I knew that it hard returned—The sharp gaze of the prideful lion parading through the Savanna.

“…Well, you really caught me off-guard there. I truly didn’t expect that. I’m jealous of you, Yoshi-kun. Believe that.”

When I turned around, George picked up the knife and looked at the blade, still drenched by my blood. His voice was as calm as he laughed. However, the smile on his face had vanished.

“So…Roasted Beef-chan. Let’s hear your answer. Are you going to write?” He pointed the knife at Boudicia as he asked.

“I won’t.” She declared without hesitation. “George…I won’t draw for you.”

“That…is your answer?”

“That’s right. So get lost, your turn is over!”

Roaring laughter filled the museum. George shook his head as he laughed like he was told a joke, and then opened his arms with a shrug.

“Should you really be saying that to the childhood friend who went so far just to have you write again?!”

“…Oh, I know. You’ve always watched over me. And I’m thankful for that. But erasing the graffiti of Bristol…hurting other people…I can’t accept you for that!”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear Boo.” He said with a smile. “Really, I thought this plan was progressing in the right direction. But, that was my last play. I have no more cards left…so I’ll have to start from zero.”

And then—his smile vanished.

“…After I get rid of you, Yoshi-kun.”

Pointing the blade of the knife at us, George started running. But before I could get between them again, she took one step ahead of me.

“Georgeee!”

“Boudiciaaa!”

They roared at each other, which was silenced by an odd sound. It was like metal and metal clashed, followed by a small ball rattling. I know that sound. In her right hand, she held the spray can. As always, her grip was unsteady, the spray can about to fall out of her hand. However, she used her left hand to support that. She had pushed her right arm forward, pressing the spray paint with her left hand. The soul that inhabited her right arm…now was transferred into her left. Even after being hurt…experiencing loss, she won’t drop it again. Her sharp gaze pierced George—as she pointed the spray can at him, holding it like a can.

“Go to hell, you parsley bastard!”

Together with that scream, a wave of spray paint gushed out of the can, covering George’s face.

“Waaah?!”

His face had turned crimson red as he groaned. And then his knees gave in.

“…Let’s stop this.”

He probably ended up with spray in his eyes, as he held his head.

“You don’t like your own art, right? If so, you gotta write yourself. No matter how much you suck at it, how much it annoys you, you’re the only one who can overwrite yourself. Even if I write for you, it won’t change a damn thing.”

George didn’t answer. This…is the end.

“You really don’t get it…You don’t understand how I feel…!”

George squeezed these words out of him as he stood up once more. I do sympathize with George. As I was tormented by the same thing. From the arms George covered himself with, a sharp gaze flashed up. He readied his knife and approached us. He still hasn’t given up. I had a feeling this would happen, which is why I was ready. I moved between Boudicia and the knife, blocking it with my own body—Or, that’s what should have happened at least.

“I swear…Seeing this play out reminds me of something I’d rather have forgotten.”

Standing in front of me…wasn’t George. It was a tall back with chocolate-colored arms.

“…Aeon-san!”

“Sorry for the wait. Took me some time to get past police surveillance.

“Guh…!” George’s arm with the knife was grabbed by Aeon, not moving at all.

“Not my style, but it’s time we should steal the candy from the bad boy.” Aeon twisted George’s arm, and the knife dropped to the ground.

Following that, he restrained George with movement smooth as a river. I audibly gasped at the sight of a professional at work. At the same time, a pair of slender fingers picked up the knife next to George, as her accessories jingled.

“Oh dear. Not half bad of a knife. Though it probably wouldn’t help much while cooking,” she observed the knife as her beryl green hair swayed.

“Lara-san, you came too.”

“Why…are you here…?” George asked with a weak voice, as Lara put one hand on her hip.

“Boo’s in trouble, so of course I’d come running.”

“Ugh…But I had the police arrest you…!”

“Heh, don’t underestimate the Captain. Escaping from the confinement of the marine is easy peasy lemon squeezy. Aeon, punish our city council puppy.”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

Aeon grinned as he put George’s arms together, taking out a zip tie from his pockets, and putting it around George’s arms.

“…How did you know we were here?” George groaned as he asked.

“I made sure that the message you left at the Bearpit was readable for others, too. Though I was very nervous to actually write my own graffiti.”

I had a hunch that something on this scale might happen, so I made the necessary preparations before coming here. That being said, it was a pleasant surprise that Aeon could shake off the police and that Lara could escape her own confinement.

“Exactly. And with the entrance open, you probably didn’t expect us to come storming in, Mr. Strategist.”

Lara, Aeon, and now Boudicia. All these writers were now looking down at George.

“Grk…Boudicia, are you going to keep living without ever writing again?! Ruining the tremendous talent you old?!”

“The hell are you on about? I only said I’m not drawing for your sake.”

As George’s red face twisted in anger, I could hear a shrill sound in the distance. A siren that resembled a broken toy’s sound.

“The police, huh? Let’s get away from here.”

“If we get caught here, it’ll be all for nothing.”

Lara and Aeon headed for the entrance.

“Boudicia, come with us,” Aeon said.

“No, there’s something I gotta do first. You go ahead without me.”

Boudicia didn’t turn around and looked at the Paint Pot Angel.

“Boo…? What are you saying…?” Lara showed a worried tone, but Aeon grabbed her hand.

“…Judging from my experience, they’ll be here in four minutes.”

“I just need three,” Boudicia said and took out her red hoodie, wrapping it around her waist.

This revealed her white elbows, as well as her right elbow. Everybody could see the scar forming like lightning.

“Boudicia, you…”

Aeon spoke up but quickly cut off his words. He understood everything with just that.

“Let me ask one thing. Why do you write? What is the wall telling you?”

“Can’t know that without writing a thing. Aren’t you the same? That’s why we write.”

Aeon didn’t respond, but I could see a faint smile on his face.

“Let’s go, Lara.”

“But, Boo…” Lara’s worried gaze met mine, and I nodded.

She hesitated for a moment but quickly followed Aeon to leave. Now it was just Boudicia, George, and I left.

“All right.”

Boudicia pumped herself up, and I understood what she was going to do. That’s why I called out to her.

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” she showed me a gleaming smile.

I sat down next to George. My arm was still bleeding buckets, so standing was getting tough on me. I then looked at George. He had one eyebrow raised, as his arms and legs were restrained, showing a somewhat bewildered face. Seeing that made me snicker. He was someone who stabbed me with a knife not even minutes ago. We were attracted to the same person and wished for the same thing. And now, that wish is being granted. Boudicia got up the pedestal on the opposite side of the Paint Pot Angel. And then, I heard the rattling of the spray can.

As she did before, Boudicia held the can with both hands. Quickly and thoroughly, a shape appeared. Words were written on that previously empty space. Each time she moved the spray can, I could see the letters being imbued with life, almost jumping out at me. The predominant smell of paint, together with the sound of the can spray on the walls, now felt oddly comfortable. George and I just watched this in silence.

“Yoshi-kun.”

“Yes?”

George spoke up and I answered.

“Just what…was I lacking?” He said, as if he had forgotten the previous incident already.

However, when I saw his complex expression as he gazed at Boudicia write, even I could let it pass. In the end, it was very simple. It’s because George loves Boudicia.

“I don’t think you lacked anything.”

George looked at me in shock but quickly gazed back at Boudicia.

“A lion…is much more beautiful when he’s in the wild. That’s all there is to it.”

Hearing my words, George laughed.

“I see. Yeah, you might be right.”

And as we had this conversation, Boudicia added the final highlight of the graffiti. She threw the spray can into her backpack and opened her mouth.

“I’m done.”

It was completely different from the graffiti that had begun to lose its color. Unlike the art that was filled with killing intent to the smallest stroke, this one was bold, yet simple. Even so, the letters written on the wall vibrated with life, like they would start dancing any second. And this graffiti consisted of a single line—Here I’m allowed everything all of the time.

“Yoshi, let’s go!”

The sirens were closing in on us. We couldn’t afford to take our time.

“C’mon,” she offered me her right hand.

When I grabbed that hand, she held onto it and pulled me up. Even though we’d have to run away from the police after this, her expression seemed so calm and refreshed. We didn’t exchange any words. We had the graffiti to look at, as that was all we needed. Boudicia turned around and ran toward the entrance. I chased after her when George called my name.

“Yoshi-kun!”

I turned around.

“One last thing,” he said with a saddened face. “You went to the Giant’s Cave, right? I think that…Goram actually lost against Ghyston on purpose.”

“What do you…”

“Yoshi, hurry!”

Before I could give his words any deeper thought, Boudicia grabbed my arm. And then we escaped from the art museum—leaving behind a single knife, a man, and a single piece of graffiti.