The afternoon rolled on with warmth and noise. The farewell feast sprawled under rows of lanterns that swayed against the snowy wind. Tables groaned beneath plates of steaming hotpots, skewers, and freshly grilled fish, while the air smelled of charcoal and winter pine.
Akuma finally escaped the grill after handing Satono Diamond and Kitasan Black their third round of skewers. He sat down heavily at the trainers' table, exhaling relief.
Mischa, Adalbert, and Lucien were already seated together, cups raised in the glow of sake and laughter.
"Finally decided to stop slaving away for the brats?" Mischa teased, smirking into his cup.
Akuma rubbed his forehead. "Don't start. You're all useless—you could've taken the grill from me."
"Non, non." Lucien wagged a finger dramatically, the lamplight catching the edges of his smirk. "You see, mon ami, you wield the spatula like a maestro. To rob us of that display would be a crime."
Mischa snorted and downed her drink, while Adalbert leaned back with his usual dignified grin, raising his own glass. "Bravo, Akuma. To be both trainer and cook—what a marvel."
Akuma only sighed, muttering into his cup as he poured himself some sake. "You three are hopeless."
Their laughter blended into the crackle of firewood and the clamor of Umas chattering in the distance. Soon enough, the conversation mellowed into memories. Lucien leaned forward, elbows on the table, his grin widening with mischief.
"You remember," he began, "the day you left the academy?"
Adalbert's brow arched. Mischa perked up, sensing something juicy. Akuma only narrowed his eyes. "…Don't."
Lucien continued anyway. "He didn't just resign. Oh no. He stood in front of the headmaster, with all the faculty there, and punched him right in the face!"
Mischa's laugh exploded so loudly it startled the neighboring table. He nearly spilled her sake as he slammed his hand down. "You did what?!"
Adalbert clapped, his voice booming with approval. "Bravo!" He even stood to deliver the word with a dramatic bow in Akuma's direction.
Akuma waved his hand as though swatting a fly. "…The old bastard deserved it. Tried to lecture me about how I should 'fall in line' if I wanted my students to succeed."
Lucien grinned, nodding slowly. "And he thought you'd bow your head. Instead, you gave him a reminder why we feared you in training."
Akuma took a sip of his sake, unbothered. "He was lucky I didn't kick him while he was down."
Mischa was still wiping tears from his eyes from laughing.
Their table erupted again in raucous laughter, cups clinking, the sound carrying over the courtyard.
Meanwhile, Across the Way…
The Uma table was far less harmonious.
Scarlet, wearing her confidence like a crown, leaned forward with her arms crossed. "It's okay, McQueen, you're amazing in everything else. But this time? You're just plainly wrong."
McQueen's ears twitched upright, tail bristling like a drawn bow. "Absurd! I am not wrong. It's one thing to be blinded by admiration—but another to not even realize it!"
Vodka chuckled, backing Scarlet. "Face it, you guys—we're right."
Special Week, cheerful as ever but with a stubborn pout, shook her head furiously. "Nuh-uh, we are!"
The nearby tables grew quiet, sensing a storm brewing. Even Symboli Rudolf, normally calm and regal, decided to join in. "Not to say you're both wrong—but I think you are."
Her underclassmen Teio flatly stared at her, unimpressed. "...Really, senpai?" She crossed her arms and sided with McQueen. "I agree with McQueen."
Stay Gold, perched like a lazy cat beside Orfevre, added fuel with a grin. "Hmm… but I think we aren't wrong either."
Fenomeno nodded primly, her serious face unshaken by the rising tension. "Agreed. We're the correct ones here."
McQueen shot her a look, cheeks flushed with irritation.
Orfevre finally smirked, swirling the drink in her hand. "Does it even matter what any of you think? At the end of the day, I'm right."
The remark earned an instant chorus of groans and barks, voices overlapping in every direction.
Akuma and the other trainers were mid-toast when the first clash of voices rang out. They turned, watching the Umas argue louder and louder.
"Here we go," Mischa muttered.
Adalbert hid a grin behind his glass. "Ah, the drama of youth."
Lucien shook his head, clearly enjoying the show.
But before the debate could spiral into chaos, a familiar booming voice cut through it all.
Gold Ship, sitting like a queen atop the table itself, raised her arms wide. "Enough already! There's only one way to settle this—"
Everyone in the courtyard froze.
"…A race!"
The Umas lit up with unanimous agreement. Teio slammed her fist into her palm. McQueen flipped her hair back with sharp dignity. Scarlet smirked. Even Vodka cracked her knuckles like she'd been waiting for this moment.
The trainers sighed in unison, shaking their heads.
"Kids," Mischa muttered.
"They'll argue about anything," Adalbert chuckled.
Lucien smirked. "At least it is never boring."
Akuma leaned back, sipping his sake with a weary groan. "Whatever. Let them tire themselves out."
And then—
Gold Ship, still on her makeshift throne, laughed loud enough to make the snow tremble. "The question is—who the best trainer is!"
The trainers choked on their drinks simultaneously, spraying across the table in a sputtering chorus.
Akuma coughed into his sleeve, Mischa pounded his chest, Adalbert nearly dropped his glass, and Lucien wiped his mouth with a muttered curse in French.
For a long second, the courtyard froze. Then the Umas' bickering returned twice as fierce, the "debate" suddenly high-stakes and chaotic.
Akuma pressed his fingers to his temples, muttering, "Why me…"
The feast carried on, laughter and tension mingling like fire and snow.