The morning after the festival passed softly, the snow still blanketing the world in silver. By the time the winter sun rose higher, its pale light filtered through the wide windows of the Mejiro estate, giving the mansion an almost dreamlike quality.
Akuma followed McQueen through the quiet corridors, her steps elegant yet faintly hurried, as though she was excited to share a secret. He trailed behind, hands tucked into his coat, brow raised.
"You've been oddly persistent since breakfast," he remarked. "Where are we going, McQueen?"
"You'll see," she answered with a small, mysterious smile. Her tail swished gently with each step, betraying her anticipation.
Finally, she stopped before a pair of heavy double doors carved with the Mejiro crest. With a firm push, the doors creaked open to reveal a vast chamber filled wall-to-wall with shelves of leather-bound tomes, records, and displays of trophies. The air carried the scent of polished oak and old parchment.
"This…" Akuma muttered, scanning the towering shelves, "…is impressive."
"My family's private library," McQueen said softly, her voice carrying both pride and reverence. "Generations of champions. Histories. Their victories, their hardships. All here."
She led him toward a display at the far wall, where two names stood prominent among the shelves — etched on golden plates beneath preserved laurels.
"My father, Mejiro Titan," she said, gesturing to a framed portrait of the proud trainer. "The trainer of the winning Uma of the Tenno Sho (Autumn) in 1982. He trained his uma to be a high-class stayer, whose victory marked the rise of our line. He set the standard for all who came after."
Akuma's eyes lingered on the name. Titan's records, meticulously noted, showed stamina and unyielding endurance. A legacy carved into long-distance races.
"And here," McQueen continued, moving a little further down, "is Mejiro Duren. Kikuka Sho winner. Her triumph… it secured our reputation, solidified us among the strongest families in racing."
Akuma studied the name quietly, fingers brushing the spine of a thick book detailing Duren's career. His gaze shifted back to McQueen, who stood tall, her expression solemn — but her ears twitched ever so slightly, betraying the storm beneath her calm surface.
"…Do you believe I can surpass them?" she asked suddenly, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of her heart. "My father, my ancestors, all those who built the Mejiro legacy. Do you believe… I can stand as tall as they did?"
For a moment, the question hung heavy in the stillness of the library. Akuma tilted his head, considering her not with the eyes of a trainer assessing potential, but as the man who had come to know her — truly know her.
"McQueen," he said finally, voice low but certain. "Listen carefully, because I'll only say this once."
Her violet eyes lifted to his, ears perked, breath caught.
"No matter what happens, I will always believe in you. When the rain falls and drowns the tracks, when the sun sets and the world grows dark, when the crowd roars or when silence weighs heavy — I'll still be behind you. Always."
His words flowed steady, unflinching, like vows whispered at an altar. "Titles, legacies, victories — they're shadows compared to who you are. And if the world demands proof, then we'll give it to them. Together."
McQueen's breath hitched. Her heart pounded in her chest, ears trembling as if they could barely handle the weight of what she'd just heard. It was dense Akuma being himself — not realizing how much it sounded like a love confession, a lifetime promise. But to her, it struck deeper than anything else ever had.
"…Always?" she whispered, almost afraid of the answer.
"Always," he replied simply, without hesitation.
Her composure finally broke into a soft smile, her eyes shimmering. She leaned closer, almost instinctively, until her shoulder brushed against his arm. Her warmth seeped into him, and though he blinked in surprise, he didn't pull away.
The silence that followed was not awkward. Instead, it wrapped around them like the comfort of a winter blanket. They sat together at one of the long reading tables, McQueen gently pulling a book about her father's race records, placing it between them.
"I'd like to read with you," she said quietly, her voice almost tender.
"…Alright," Akuma answered, opening the book.
And so they read, the world outside drifting away. McQueen leaned lightly against him, her head close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender from her hair. Her eyes followed the lines of text, though often they flickered to his profile instead — the firm set of his jaw, the calm focus in his eyes. She let herself bask in that presence, a warmth steadier than any fire.
Akuma, for his part, didn't notice. To him, this was simple recreation with his beloved family member, sharing in her history as she wanted. But the way he stayed, the way he held himself just slightly so she could rest against him without falling, the way he turned the pages with quiet care — it all spoke volumes he didn't realize.
Hours slipped by unnoticed, the snow still falling outside, until the library's candles burned low. Yet neither moved, content in that stillness. And though Akuma was far too dense to see it, he had already tied his vow to her heart.
McQueen's breathing slowed as the hours stretched on, her delicate frame leaning a little heavier against Akuma's side. At first, he thought nothing of it — she was engrossed in the text, so close that her hair brushed his shoulder. But when he turned the page and waited for her to follow along, he realized she hadn't moved her eyes at all.
"...McQueen?" he murmured softly.
No reply. Just the faint, steady rhythm of her breath.
Akuma blinked, leaning down slightly. Sure enough, her eyes were closed, lashes resting lightly against her cheeks, her face relaxed in peaceful slumber. Her head tilted gently, now resting fully against him.
He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath. "…You fall asleep in a library, of all places?"
Still, he didn't shake her off. Instead, he carefully closed the book, setting it aside. For a moment, he studied her — the way her ears twitched even in sleep, the faint curve of a smile at her lips. She looked… lighter, freer, as if the heavy burdens she carried had slipped away.
"Tch… You really trust me too much," he whispered, though his expression softened despite himself.
With a careful motion, he slid one arm beneath her knees and another behind her back, lifting her in a smooth carry. She stirred only faintly, curling closer into his chest, murmuring something he couldn't quite catch.
"…Honestly," he sighed, walking through the quiet corridors of the Mejiro estate.