Chapter 14: Duel (3)
Chapter 14: Duel (3)
“So your name is…?”
“François Mathieu. I sat next to you a few times in class—don’t you remember?”
“Uh… um…”
Well, if I’d actually taken interest in other people, I would’ve known at least something.
I regret not having time for friendships because I was busy studying and running my business.
“Whatever. I haven’t exactly treated you like you mattered up to now either.”
Mathieu, with his easygoing face, said that and held out his hand.
“Let me properly introduce myself from now on. I’m François Mathieu. Born in ’69, from Dijon. Looking forward to working with you.”
“I’m Guillaume de Toulon. Born in ’71, from Gehenne near Toulon.”
I said that, taking his hand and shaking it.
After the handshake, Mathieu shifted his gaze to the fifteen or so cadets who had come with him.
“Everyone here, including me, came because we heard this was a chance to land a punch on those Paris bastards.”
After taking in every last cadet with his eyes, Mathieu looked back at me.
“I think I’ve gathered enough troops. What do you think, kid?”
“They’re worth ten thousand troops.”
I answered with a bright smile.
The headcount problem—the biggest weak point in this ‘duel’—was solved in that moment.
“Isn’t that a bit much?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Three days after the provisional “Anti-Paris Cadet Alliance” launched, we were going through a serious internal conflict.
It wasn’t about choosing a commander.
That part was settled easily—largely because Napoleon-hyung was top of our class.
“Guillaume, who are you thinking of making the commander?”
“Uh… I was thinking Napoleon-hyung.”
“If it’s him, he’s trustworthy.”
“Huh? Hyung Mathieu, you know Napoleon-hyung?”
“Even if people haven’t talked to him, nobody in our year doesn’t know he’s top. Honestly, the cadets might like it even more if our year’s number one takes command. Me included.”
“I see…”
So what were we fighting about?
For reference, the men of this era were packed with hot-blooded romantics who lived and died for flair.
So…
“All right then—how about this?”
“Ugh, that’s so lame. You seriously have no naming sense.”
“What are you talking about? If someone can name things better than me, let them come out and prove it!”
“Still—‘White Chicken Legion’ is a bit lame, isn’t it?”
“Mm, exactly. A chicken? Come on… not an eagle cutting through the sky, calmly stalking its prey—a chicken.”
“What? An eagle? Are you some Austria fanboy? What kind of Frenchman goes around with an eagle? An eagle, seriously?”
“No, I’m just saying, that’s all.”
“No! We’re doing White Chicken Legion!”
That’s right.
These people, with brains full of romance and swagger, had spent almost three full days doing nothing but arguing about the official name of the “Anti-Paris Cadet Alliance.”
White Chicken Legion.
Eagle Unit.
And so on.
What I learned over those three days was that Mathieu-hyung, no less than Napoleon-hyung, was also someone with a massive pride problem.
Did these guys join this ‘duel’ because they wanted to beat up Paris bastards, or because they wanted to decide what name to write on our flag?
After watching this mess for three days, anyone would think that.
“Guillaume!”
“Hey, Guillaume!”
Huh? Me?
No—decide it yourselves. Why are you suddenly calling me?
You’ve been growling at each other over “white chicken” and whatever—why are you suddenly calling my name?
“Ha… what is it?”
“What do you mean, what is it? This is the name future talents who’ll lead France will use. Of course we need the opinion of Guillaume—you, the instigator of this whole incident.”
“Yeah, Guillaume, your opinion matters most, doesn’t it.”
Ah, shit! You two were just snarling at each other—why are you suddenly in sync now?
So… you want me to come up with a name that’ll satisfy both of you pride-monsters?
Something that looks impressive—something these romance-addicted Frenchmen high on swagger will like.
France. Romance.
Come to think of it, what did the tricolor flag represent again?
“Liberty, Equality, Fraternity,” I think.
Liberty Legion? No. That sounds like wandering Polish mercenaries who lost their homeland.
Fraternity Legion? Also no. This isn’t the Sacred Band of Thebes—what “love” between men, love my ass.
Equality Legion?
Hm… that might not be bad. Everyone here is pissed off at the dirty tricks of those annoying Paris bastards—maybe they’d like the idea that you and I are the same.
“How about ‘Equality Legion’?”
Napoleon and Mathieu’s faces both sank at the same time.
What the hell is wrong with you people? Then why dump it on me?
“If you don’t like it, then keep fighting for the next four days!”
That evening, our “Anti-Paris Cadet Alliance” was officially named the “Equality Legion.”
Two days before the duel, in the evening.
Napoleon-hyung, Mathieu-hyung, and the rest of us—including me—gathered in my room, spread out a map of the Grenelle Street area where our school was, and planned strategy.
“First, we’ll split the unit into three. Mathieu—you take ten and defend our flag. Pick people sixteen and up and assign them.”
Our commander, Napoleon, began once everyone had gathered.
“Wait. Why do I have to defend? I want to attack and kick those Paris bastards in the ass too.”
“The anvil has to be solid for the hammer to hit hard. We’ve got fourteen-year-old kids and seventeen-year-old older guys—mixed ages. We’ve got to distribute strength properly.”
“What does that have to do with me defending?”
“Look. Those Paris guys are all Hugo’s friends, right? They’re all lanky dudes sixteen and up. If our defenders don’t have size, we’re going to get crushed. You’re tall—around 170 cm—and you’ve got a solid build, so you have to block those bastards. Other than you, there’s nobody among us who can.”
“Mm… I get it. I’ll carry out the role you’ve given me properly.”
Mathieu-hyung said, thumping his chest.
“Next, I’ll take eight and swing around the buildings to hit their left flank. Those stuck-up bastards will be totally careless—they’ll never expect it.”
“Why do you think they’ll be careless?”
One of the cadets asked.
“Because they don’t even know we’ve gathered like this. Those vile bastards—would they have accepted Guillaume’s proposal if they knew? They think we can’t possibly fill thirty people. They’re probably trailing after girls right about now.”
Laughter broke out here and there at Napoleon’s words.
“Now the last twelve—twelve are a special detachment. Guillaume, you take them. Go all the way around the right side of the school and come in from the opposite side of Grenelle Street. Hit from behind—ambush their rear. You get what I’m saying?”
“Yeah. I get it.”
“If everything goes according to plan, they’ll get hit from below, the left, and above, and they’ll collapse into chaos.”
Of course, that was only if the anvil held until our special detachment could slip into their rear.
At Napoleon-hyung’s added words, Mathieu-hyung nodded with a resolute expression.
“And lastly, Guillaume. The thing I told you to prepare—did you prepare it properly?”
“Yeah. More than enough. I can make the deadline.”
“I still don’t get why the kid boss told us to do this.”
“Seriously. What are we even supposed to do with these snowballs?”
“Well, still—working one extra hour and getting two sou more isn’t hard. Isn’t it good for us?”
“That’s true, hohoho!”
For the past few days, the cooks at People of Isaac had received a “special instruction” from the boss.
Work one hour of overtime, and receive an additional allowance of two sou.
The work was simply to pack snow into snowballs about the size someone could hold in one hand and throw, then leave them outside the door for a day.
It was honey work, nothing less.
Today too, warm laughter bloomed in the People of Isaac kitchen.