Mejiro McQueen stood at the foot of the hill, her suitcase beside her, looking up at what would—apparently—be her new home.
Her smile was steady.
Or at least… she was trying to keep it steady.
Her tail swayed once behind her, the silky strands catching in the breeze. But every so often, it flicked the other way—sharp, twitch-like—betraying the nerves she kept hidden from her face. Her ears twitched, sometimes perking toward distant sounds, sometimes drooping faintly before she caught herself.
Ashigawa Academy.
From afar, it could have been charming—one of those quaint old institutions steeped in history. But up close, the truth was harder to ignore.
The grass was overgrown, reaching almost to her knees in places. The main building's paint peeled in curling strips, the faded crest above the doors so weathered it was barely recognizable. The track on the far side of the grounds was cracked, tufts of green jutting through like nature reclaiming its space.
Most, she knew, thought this place wouldn't last the year. Some had even taken bets.
Her ears dipped again, just slightly.
But she kept walking.
She adjusted her grip on her suitcase handle and pushed open the rust-flecked gates. They groaned like they hadn't been moved in decades, a sound that made her wince but not stop.
A low hum met her ears—not the hum of voices or engines, but the steady drone of machinery. Following it, she rounded the corner and found a man in rolled-up sleeves, pushing a battered old mower across the uneven grass.
She blinked. Stared. And then, with her usual poise, approached.
"Good afternoon," she called out politely. "I'm Mejiro McQueen. I was hoping you could tell me where to find—"
The man turned his head, and she froze mid-step.
"Oh," Akuma said casually, as if meeting her here was the most natural thing in the world. "It's you, McQueen. Sorry, let me finish this up."
And just like that, he turned away again, continuing to push the mower in long, deliberate rows.
McQueen's mouth opened slightly in disbelief. She stood there for a moment, her tail flicking once—sharp—before she managed to speak again. "What are you… doing?"
"Mowing the lawn." His answer was so flat and matter-of-fact she almost tripped over her own thoughts.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "I know that. I meant… why are you doing it?"
"Because I like taking care of the place," he replied without looking up. "Besides… there's only me and two others here."
She stared at his back. "You're telling me this entire academy… has three people running it?"
"Three and a half," Akuma said after a pause. "The half's the part-time janitor."
McQueen let out a long, slow sigh and set her suitcase down near the front steps of the building. She crouched, resting her arms across her knees, and simply… watched him.
For a few moments, the only sounds were the mower's engine and the soft rustle of grass in the wind. Her tail swayed lazily behind her now, ears perked toward the sound of the machine.
"You mow it yourself… often?" she asked at last.
"When it needs mowing."
"That's… quite dedicated of you," she murmured, though the faint smile on her lips carried an edge of disbelief.
"Just doing what has to be done."
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You know… most trainers I've met wouldn't be out here sweating in the sun. They'd have someone else do it."
"I'm not most trainers."
Her smile softened—genuine this time, even if her ears flicked with lingering curiosity. "No. I don't suppose you are."
McQueen sat there, tail curling slightly to the side, chin resting on her hands as she watched Akuma methodically push the mower along. There was something strangely calming about it. A trainer who cared enough to do even the smallest things himself… it was different from what she knew.
But the moment was destined to be short-lived.
The peace shattered with the sudden metallic CLANG of the academy gates swinging open far too hard.
"HEEEEY~!" a voice rang out like a cannon blast.
McQueen's ears shot up, and her tail stiffened.
Through the gates came a tall, lanky figure with a mop of silver hair tied in a messy ponytail and a grin that looked like it had been permanently carved into her face. Gold Ship. Her energy hit the academy grounds like a storm front, arms flailing as she bounded forward.
Behind her, walking with a deliberate, powerful gait, was a man who seemed carved out of granite. Mischa.
Latinum blond hair—cut close on the sides, slicked back neatly on top—caught the sunlight as if each strand had been polished. His ice-grey eyes swept the grounds like a man used to measuring every situation. The faint smirk on his lips didn't waver. The tailored black trousers clung perfectly to his massive legs, but the shirt… wasn't there.
Instead, Mischa carried a solid wooden beam across one broad shoulder as if it weighed nothing. His chest and arms looked like they could have been sculpted by someone with an unhealthy obsession for perfection, muscles shifting with each unhurried step.
McQueen felt heat crawl up the back of her neck before she could stop it, ears twitching sharply.
"Oh?~ Oh-ho-ho-ho~!" Gold Ship's grin went full devil mode the moment she saw McQueen's reaction. She darted to her side, crouching to her height and stage-whispering just loud enough for Mischa to hear. "Oooh, someone's blushing! Is the queen melting already?!"
"I—I'm not blushing!" McQueen said too quickly, tail swishing sharply behind her.
Mischa, for his part, only gave a quiet chuckle, shifting the beam on his shoulder. "It is very warm today," he said casually. "Better without a shirt."
McQueen's ears twitched in betrayal.
Gold Ship looked like she'd just been handed front-row seats to the funniest show in her life. "Ohhh, better without a shirt, he says. Hey, McQueen, should we get Akuma to work shirtless too? You know—for 'morale'?"
McQueen shot her a glare sharp enough to cut stone.
The noise drew another arrival—Adalbert, trudging in from the side with his usual calm demeanor, except his suit jacket and shirt sleeves were splattered in streaks of wet blue paint.
Right beside him, Rice Shower padded in quietly, her usual modest smile on her face. She gave McQueen a shy wave. "Um… welcome."
McQueen returned the wave warmly, thankful for the break in chaos. "It's good to see you, Rice."
Adal glanced toward Akuma, then back at McQueen, his voice warm but dry. "I'd shake your hand, but…" He gestured at the streak of paint dripping from his palm. "Renovations wait for no man."
Gold Ship was already circling McQueen like a vulture, snickering under her breath. Mischa went to drop the beam against the wall, Rice Shower quietly began moving McQueen's suitcase closer to the building, and Adal wiped his hands on a rag.
Amidst it all, Akuma kept mowing.
For about ten seconds.
And then—
"CAN'T I MOW IN PEACE?!" he bellowed, stopping mid-row.
Every single one of them froze, then in perfect unison yelled back—
"HAIIII!!!"