The sun was high over Ashigawa Academy's open track, the faint smell of grass and paint mixing with the warm afternoon breeze. A sudden shriek pierced the air, sharp enough to make a flock of pigeons take off from the nearby fence.
"That's it?!" McQueen's voice was almost scandalized as she stared at Akuma, her eyes wide and ears flicking indignantly.
Akuma didn't even flinch. He was crouched down, brush in hand, methodically painting a fresh white line along the track. "What of it?" he asked without looking up.
"What of it?" McQueen repeated, aghast. She was kneeling beside Gold Ship, holding her ankles down while the other Uma was mid-sit-up. "That was the perfect time to recruit her! Do you understand how many trainers would sell their entire fortune for a chance like that?"
Akuma's shoulders moved in the faintest of shrugs. "Not the right time."
McQueen's tail swished in irritation, her voice rising as she leaned forward. "Not the—? You can't just—! You always do this! You keep assuming they'll reject you, so you don't even try!"
Somewhere beneath her, Gold Ship's face was twisting in discomfort.
Akuma kept working, dipping his brush and drawing another clean stroke. "She has something in mind. You could see it in her eyes. It wasn't the time."
"You won't know that unless you—" McQueen paused mid-scold, narrowing her eyes. "Are you even listening to me?!"
"Yes."
"You're impossible!"
By this point, Gold Ship's body was trembling, her voice cracking through clenched teeth. "McQueen… my thighs…"
McQueen didn't hear her. She was still caught up in her righteous indignation. "If you keep this up, the academy's going to miss out on so many talented racers, and for what? Because you can't stand the thought of a simple—"
"It hurts—!" Gold Ship wailed suddenly, her head snapping forward as she grabbed McQueen's wrists.
McQueen blinked, finally looking down. "Oh my." She let go instantly, and Gold Ship rolled to her side in the dirt, clutching her legs like a wounded soldier.
From a few meters away, a low chuckle rolled out. Mischa was leaning against the fence, arms folded, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Boss, you're a pessimist. But… I think in this case, you're just looking out for her well-being."
Akuma dipped his brush again, silent.
McQueen frowned. "That's not—"
She froze when she caught sight of the figure clinging to Mischa's arm like a koala. An amber-haired Uma, her hair falling loosely on her back, was tracing her fingers along the Russian's bicep with barely disguised admiration. Her tail swished lazily, her expression happy as it could get.
Akuma looked over, deadpan. "Who's that?"
"Mayano Top Gun," Mischa said casually, as if it were obvious. "My new trainee."
Akuma stared at him for a moment, then set his paintbrush down with a sigh. "…Am I the only one here who hasn't gotten a new trainee?"
"Yes," McQueen answered instantly, hands on her hips, her voice sharp as a tack. "And that's exactly why I'm doubling down on what I said earlier—"
Gold Ship groaned from the dirt, "Can we double down on not breaking my legs next time…?"
Nobody listened.
Off to the side, Daiwa Scarlet stood with her arms folded and an unamused expression plastered on her face. Her ears twitched flat against her head as she muttered under her breath, "Did I just get scammed…?"
Vodka, meanwhile, was already halfway smirking before Scarlet even finished the sentence. "Pfft—yep. Probably."
Then she suddenly bolted forward with a laugh, calling out, "I'll help too! I'll be way more useful than you, Scarlet!"
"What—?! Like hell you will!" Scarlet's cheeks flushed red as she stomped after her rival, her ponytail whipping behind her. In a flash, she snatched a spare brush right out of Akuma's paint bucket, glaring daggers at Vodka as she got to work furiously painting the track line like her life depended on it.
Standing a few paces away, Adal let out a long, almost theatrical sigh. "Ach… wunderbar!" He clapped twice in approval, his glasses catching the sunlight. "Training and helping maintain the academy facilities? Such an amazing idea, Headmaster!"
Akuma, still crouched over his work, didn't even acknowledge the compliment.
Unfortunately for everyone, Adal then took a step back to admire his own contribution… right into the section of track that had just been painted.
There was a split second of silence before Akuma's towel was already flying through the air. Smack! It hit Adal square in the face.
"Mind the paint!" Akuma barked, his voice like a whip crack.
Adal stumbled backward dramatically, landing sprawled out on the grass. "Hai…" he groaned from under the damp towel. Rice Shower, ever the quiet caretaker, quickly hurried over and began fussing over him as though he'd been mortally wounded.
Akuma let out a long, tired exhale, choosing not to look at the chaos. Instead, he dipped his brush back into the paint bucket and went back to his work.
Beside him, McQueen quietly joined in, her motions graceful and precise as she helped extend the clean white line. For a few minutes, they worked in companionable silence, the noise of bickering and laughter from the others fading into the background.
Eventually, McQueen broke the quiet. "So," she began, her tone casual but her ears tilting toward him, "what is your plan, Akuma-san? For me, I mean."
Akuma didn't stop painting. "Hopeful Stakes."
McQueen blinked. "The… G1 race at the end of the year?" she asked, lowering her voice as if just saying it too loud would jinx her.
"Yeah."
Her eyes widened slightly, her tail giving a small, uncertain flick. "…Do you think I'm ready?" she whispered.
Akuma finally glanced at her, his gaze steady. "I believe in you."
There was no hesitation in his tone. No waver. Just simple certainty.
McQueen blinked once, then smiled softly, her ears perking back up. "…Alright," she said quietly, giving a small nod. She returned to her work, brushing the line with renewed focus.
It was almost peaceful. Almost.
Splatter.
A cold, wet sensation spread across Akuma's back. He paused, looking down at the dripping streak of white paint running along his jacket sleeve.
McQueen froze in place, her brush still hovering guiltily over the bucket. "Oh no… I—"
"It's fine," Akuma interrupted before she could finish. His voice was calm, almost resigned.
"I'm so sorry, Akuma-san—"
"It's fine," he repeated, shaking his head as he went back to painting.