The next morning found the estate blanketed even thicker in snow, the sky pale blue with sunlight scattering across the frozen fields like powdered glass. Akuma tugged at his scarf, trying to ward off the sting of the cold as he walked alongside Special Week. The girl's ears flicked merrily above her head, her tail swishing with every skip of her step.
They had taken the train into the nearby town, where a winter festival was in full bloom. The streets were lined with stalls strung in paper lanterns, their warm light glowing against the white drifts. Steam rose from food carts, the air rich with the smell of grilled squid, roasted chestnuts, and hot red bean cakes. Children ran between booths with charms tied to their coats, laughter spilling out into the frosty air.
Special Week gasped as she took in the sight, her hands clasped together. "Waaah! It's so lively, Akuma-sensei!"
Akuma smirked faintly, tucking his hands into his coat pockets. "Careful, you'll get lost if you run off. This place is crowded."
"Then you'll just have to chase after me!" she replied with a grin, already tugging him toward the nearest stall.
She bought two taiyaki — golden fish-shaped cakes, piping hot with sweet bean paste — and eagerly pressed one into his hands. Akuma eyed the treat skeptically before taking a bite. Warmth spread across his tongue, far sweeter than he expected.
Special Week laughed at his expression, eyes sparkling. "See? Delicious, right?"
"Tch. Not bad," Akuma muttered, though his lips curved faintly upward.
They walked slowly through the festival, weaving between booths of hand-woven scarves, wooden charms, and street performers juggling fire in the snow. The clamor of voices and the ringing of bells filled the air, yet for Akuma, the noise seemed to blur into the background. His gaze kept returning to the girl beside him, her energy like a flame that refused to be dimmed by the cold.
After a while, Special Week slowed her steps. She tilted her head up at him, her expression softer now, more thoughtful. "Um… Akuma-sensei?"
He raised a brow. "What is it?"
"I was just wondering…" She hesitated, chewing her lip, then asked in a quiet voice, "What were you like before? You know, before you became a trainer like this?"
For a moment, Akuma said nothing. The steam from his breath drifted into the winter air as he stared ahead, his boots crunching over snow. His hands tightened in his pockets.
"...I was once called a prodigy," he said finally, his tone flat, almost reluctant. "The racing world, the academy, all of it… they whispered my name like I was some kind of legend in the making."
Special Week blinked, her ears perking up in surprise.
"My grandfather," Akuma continued, his gaze far away now, "was the headmaster of the Ishigawa Academy. He built it, raised it to glory, and… dragged it into downfall. Everyone expected me to be his heir, the one to restore what was lost."
He let out a low, humorless laugh, his breath curling like smoke. "But I didn't want any of that. Titles, legacy, carrying on someone else's burden… I hated it. I wanted to prove that I — me, not the academy, not my grandfather's shadow — could make a difference. That I could impact someone's life. Not just one life… but the lives of everyone around me."
Special Week walked quietly at his side, her eyes wide, absorbing every word.
Akuma's steps slowed, his shoulders sinking slightly. "But I couldn't. Not back then." His voice grew quieter, trailing off, the words catching in his throat. "...I couldn't save her. I couldn't save myself. And so—"
He stopped speaking, the sentence broken and unfinished, fading into the winter air like snowflakes melting on stone.
For a moment, the two simply walked in silence. The bustle of the festival continued around them, but it felt distant, muted, as though they were in their own quiet pocket of the world.
Special Week's hand suddenly brushed against his. She slipped her fingers into his palm, small but warm, and looked up at him with a soft smile.
"Then… you're doing it now, aren't you?" she said gently. "You're making a difference. You're changing lives. Mine included."
Akuma turned to her, startled, but she only squeezed his hand tighter. Her smile was bright, unwavering, her eyes shimmering with earnestness.
"You gave me courage. You gave all of us a place to belong. That's more important than whatever anyone else expected of you. So… don't say you couldn't. Because you can. You are."
Her words struck him deeper than he wanted to admit. For the first time that day, the weight on his chest eased, even if only slightly. He let out a long breath, looking away with a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips.
"...You really are too bright for your own good."
Special Week giggled, her tail wagging happily behind her. "And you're too grumpy for your own good!"
After her words, silence settled between them once more — but it was not the heavy silence of things unsaid. No, it was a comfortable kind, one where the snow crunching underfoot and the distant chatter of festival-goers filled in the spaces their voices didn't need to.
Special Week's eyes kept drifting toward him, the corners of her lips curling upward. With a soft hum, she shifted closer and slipped her arm through his. Akuma blinked, glancing down in surprise, but Special Week only looked ahead with an innocent smile, tail swaying like a banner behind her.
"…You're clingy today," he muttered, though his voice carried a trace of amusement.
"Mm-hm," she answered simply, leaning her head lightly against his shoulder.
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
And that was that — Akuma, as dense as ever, dismissed the gesture as one of her usual bursts of energy and affection. He didn't dwell on it, nor did he notice how her ears flicked happily with every step they took. For him, the warmth on his arm was a small comfort against the chill of the evening air. For her, it was a silent confession wrapped in laughter and snow.
They meandered through the streets until the festival's lights dimmed slightly, the stalls quieting as families and couples gathered near the central square. Akuma and Special Week found themselves at the edge of the crowd, the rooftops of the town dusted in white, lanterns swaying gently in the winter breeze.
A loud crack split the night sky. Both of them tilted their heads upward just as the first firework bloomed — red, gold, and blue scattering across the heavens like painted stars.
Special Week gasped, her eyes wide with wonder as the lights reflected in them. Akuma watched too, his usually stoic features softened by the brilliance above.
For a while, neither spoke. The fireworks lit the world around them, casting their silhouettes against the snow, and in that fleeting moment, everything else seemed far away.
"…Not bad," Akuma finally said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.