The faint hum of the old fan in the corner was the only sound for a moment, save for the quiet rustle of Akuma wiping the sweat from his brow with the towel McQueen had just handed him.
"Ah—sorry," he muttered, looking almost guilty as he folded it neatly in his hands. "And… thanks. I probably look like a mess."
McQueen's ears perked, her expression soft. "It's no trouble at all, Akuma-san." Her tail gave a small, controlled swish—more out of relief than pride.
The two were currently in the only room of the academy that looked like it belonged in a functioning school: the headmaster's office. The air here smelled faintly of polished wood and old paper. Sunlight streamed in through half-open blinds, casting shadows across the shelves lined with weathered trophies—each engraved with dates from more than two decades ago, the names of horse girls and races now long faded from the public's mind.
It was a museum of forgotten glory.
Mischa and Gold Ship sat together on one couch, their long legs stretched out, looking at ease despite the worn cushions beneath them. Across from them, Adal sat in perfect posture beside Rice Shower, a coffee table between the two groups.
McQueen had taken the seat closest to Akuma's desk, her hands folded neatly in her lap as she watched him settle in behind the desk.
He glanced around at them all before speaking.
"Sorry for the late introductions," he began, voice steady but informal. "My name is Harunaga Akuma, headmaster and one of the trainers here at Ashigawa Academy."
Mischa leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees before speaking in his deep, smooth voice.
"Mischa Aleksandrovich Volodin Markov-Belinsky," he said, each syllable rolling with the weight of his native tongue. "Stamina and power specialist. I train horses to endure what others cannot… and to strike when the time is right."
Rice Shower blinked rapidly, her eyes darting as though she'd gotten lost halfway through his surname. Gold Ship, however, lit up like a child who had just found a new toy.
"Say that again!" she demanded. "No, wait—better yet, I'm gonna try! Mishka Alek-sandwich… Velodin Markov… uh… Billiard-table—"
"It's Belinsky," Mischa corrected without looking at her, his smirk never faltering.
"Yeah, yeah—Mishka Alek-sandwich Belinsky," she finished proudly, earning a quiet sigh from McQueen and a chuckle from Adal.
Speaking of which—
Adal chose that exact moment to rise slightly from his seat, placing a hand over his heart in what could only be described as the prelude to a dramatic monologue.
"Adalbert Johann Friedrich Himmler," he announced, his tone rich and deep, as if he were standing beneath a spotlight on some grand stage. "Precision trainer, refinement coach, and the guardian of form and grace on the track."
He finished with a slight bow, his platinum hair catching the light like spun silver.
McQueen covered her mouth politely, a small, almost embarrassed laugh escaping her before she could stop it.
Rice Shower, however, beamed brightly, leaning forward with sparkling eyes. "You're so cool, Onee-chan!"
Adal froze for a split second, blinking as though unsure he had heard correctly. "O… nee… chan?"
"Yes!" Rice nodded earnestly, completely serious. "You're like… elegant. But scary if someone messes with you."
Gold Ship immediately doubled over laughing, clutching her stomach. "Ohhh, That's gold! Hey! Hey! Can I be the really rich aunt then!?"
Akuma rubbed his temple with two fingers, already regretting letting the conversation wander.
McQueen's tail gave a small amused flick as she looked between them all. In her mind, it was… strange. The academy might have been falling apart outside, the trophies gathering dust, the air thick with the scent of the past… but here, in this cramped office, the people were alive.
Messy, loud, ridiculous—but alive.
As if reading her mind, Akuma exhaled—long, heavy, and unfiltered.
The sound carried weight, like someone letting go of a burden only to brace for another.
He pushed himself up from his chair, standing tall.
Instantly, the room shifted.
Gold Ship's lazy grin softened, Mischa leaned back in his seat with his smirk dimmed, Adal tilted his chin in curiosity, and even McQueen straightened her back.
All eyes were on him.
Akuma's gaze swept the room once, lingering just long enough to make them feel seen before he spoke.
"…First of all," he began, his voice carrying that rare mix of firmness and warmth, "I want to thank all of you. Truly. For choosing to stay in this… forgotten, and almost shunned-away academy."
His eyes found each of them in turn—Mischa's wolfish stare, Adal's poised elegance, Rice Shower's quiet focus, Gold Ship's restless energy, and finally, McQueen's composed grace.
"You all had options. Good ones. You could have been anywhere—prestigious programs, top-tier facilities, places where your talents would be celebrated instantly. But you chose here."
He paused, his expression tightening, the faint lines under his eyes deepening. "And for that… I'm grateful."
A beat later, his gaze dropped slightly. "…And guilty."
Nobody spoke.
"Let's not sugarcoat this," Akuma continued, stepping out from behind his desk to stand in front of them. "We have no staff other than us. The buildings are falling apart. The grounds look more like an abandoned park than a racing academy. Whatever fans we had… most of them have probably moved on. And if they haven't, there's a chance they'll ridicule you now—or worse, later—once they see you've tied your names to this place."
The words weren't cruel. They were simply… the truth.
McQueen's tail gave the slightest twitch at that, but her ears stayed tall.
Akuma let the silence hang for a moment before going on.
"I didn't choose to become headmaster here. It wasn't some dream job I chased. I got this position because no one else wanted it."
His jaw tightened, but there was no bitterness—only a strange, quiet conviction.
"But I stayed because… this is where I belong. This is the fight I want to take on. And I hope—" he looked at them again, one by one, "—I hope you share that drive. The drive to see this place breathe again. The drive to see Ashigawa stand on the podium once more."
He paced slowly as he spoke, his voice deepening. "The journey will be hard. You'll be tested. There will be easier paths—you could walk out of here tomorrow and find them. But I'm asking you…" he stopped in front of the coffee table, his hands resting on it, "No—begging you—to see what I see. To fight for what this place could be."
The room went still.
Even the hum of the fan seemed quieter.
And then—
"HAA-HA-HA-HA-HA!" Mischa's booming laugh shattered the tension, his voice rolling like thunder in the small office. "Boss, what the hell was that? You trying to chase us out already?" His Russian accent thickened as he grinned wide, leaning back with his arms spread across the couch.
Gold Ship snorted mid-laugh, nearly falling sideways. "Pfft—yeah! That was so dramatic! You're supposed to make us want to stay, not sound like you're giving a farewell speech!"
Akuma's eye twitched, but he didn't respond right away.
Adal rose to his feet instead, clapping slowly but with impeccable timing, like he was in an opera house rather than a crumbling academy office. "Beautiful, headmaster! Absolutely beautiful! I nearly wept. Your passion, your… rugged stoicism… ah, it could move an audience to tears."
Rice Shower had been quiet through it all, her hands folded in her lap. But now she nodded once, her voice quiet but certain. "I'll… do my best. I don't want to let this place down."
Akuma's shoulders eased a fraction, but before he could reply, McQueen stood.
Her tail gave a graceful flick, ears tilting forward as her gaze locked onto him with the kind of seriousness that could silence a room on its own.
"I've chosen to walk my new path with you, Akuma-san," she said, her tone as poised as it was unwavering. "So…" she tilted her head slightly, the faintest curve of a smile touching her lips, "I hope you're prepared to take responsibility for me."
The words landed with a weight all their own—firm, final, and leaving no room for refusal.
For a moment, Akuma just looked at her, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, before yet again, he chuckled in defeat.