The cold bit through the cracks in the clocktower, but Vivi had long since learned to ignore it. He sat up on the cot, pulling the blanket tighter as his phone buzzed on the crate beside him.
For a moment, his pulse jumped.
Nat?
He grabbed it, thumb unlocking the screen — only to feel the tiny drop in his chest when the name wasn't hers.
Emperor Rudolf.
The message was short, precise.
> Meet me outside at 06:15. Wear the tracksuit on your bag.
He stared at it for a second, the chill in the air suddenly sharper. No explanation, no small talk — just an order, though softened by the fact that she'd used please at the end.
He sighed, tossing the blanket aside.
Vivi set the phone down and glanced toward the frost-dusted glass. From up here, the academy grounds stretched out in every direction, still wrapped in the pale blue hush of early January. The running track, the dorm rooftops, the bare trees — all softened by a thin veil of morning mist.
For a moment, he just stood there, breathing against the cold and watching it fog the glass. From this height, everything looked still. Untouched. Serene in a way the academy rarely was when the day began in earnest.
. . .
His steps echoed down the spiral staircase. Somewhere between one turn and the next, his thoughts slid sideways…
What am I doing here again…
Where am I going…
Where's everyone…
How did I get here…
Why am I still walking…
When did I…
. . .
___________
"Good morning, Vivi. Sleep well?"
> "Yeah."
"I see, let's start then."
Snow crunched under their shoes as they took their positions. The campus was still half-asleep, their breath the only clouds in sight.
"We'll circle the campus. I'll ask questions from yesterday's tour. Got it?"
He nods.
"Follow me."
They fell into pace, shoes tapping against the frosted path. The air bit at their cheeks, but Rudolf's stride was steady, expectant.
. . .
Late January morning, crisp but softening. The first whispers of spring.
The path is nearly empty, the world half-asleep.
Rudolf's stride is smooth, practiced; Vivi's is clumsy but earnest, his phone bouncing in his hand.
Vivi just realized calling Cafe old last night was rude and he forgot to ask for her number.
A visit to the lab wouldn't hurt, though it means face-to-face with that gremlin again. Why are those two not on holidays? Why are they here?
"Question 1, what's that building on the right?"
Typing while jogging is kinda hard…
> "Golden Archive."
"A fancier name but same meaning. It's the place for?"
> "Read or see the journey of all the past Uma Star."
"Correct. Why haven't you visited it yet?"
. . .
Vivi takes longer to type. The silence stretches, only broken by footsteps on the pavement.
Finally: "…I want to, but I'm afraid of a certain feline."
Rudolf hums knowingly — not mocking, but not indulging either. "I see…"
. . .
"What did she do last night?"
Vivi quickly: "Examine. Just that."
Rudolf: "Nothing more?"
Vivi shakes his head. His hooves clatter lightly against the path.
Rudolf studies him a beat, then: "Very well then."
. . .
The river is low this time of year, the current moving with a lazy confidence. The path above it runs straight, brown winter grass on one side, steel railing on the other.
Rudolf slows her jog, scanning the stretch ahead. Her breath is steady, visible in pale clouds.
Then, without warning…
"Race me."
Vivi stumbles mid-step. The phone almost slips from his hand. He stares at her, eyes wide, hooves skidding a little on the pavement.
She doesn't look back—her gaze is already on the bridge ahead, about two hundred meters down. Calm, unreadable.
"From here to that bridge. You don't need to win. This is a warm-up."
. . .
He nods.
"Ready."
They took a stand.
"Steady."
She tosses a coin up in the air.
Bling.
Clink.
They launch.
For the Emperor, it's routine. Her body knows this rhythm better than breathing.
For Vivi… it's chaotic.
His heart slams, his legs lurch forward, hooves striking the pavement with a force he doesn't know how to control.
Rudolf is already three lengths ahead. Smooth. Measured. Every stride lands with surgical precision.
She knows his potential, she's watched that shaky viral clip of him sprinting across a street at impossible speed at least ten times before they met. The power was undeniable.
But that was just instinct.
No form. No rhythm.
A storm with no direction.
Here, on the river path, it shows. His strides are wild, uneven. He wastes energy in every motion. He's fast, unbelievably fast. But it's like watching a cannon fire in the wrong direction.
Still behind her, Vivi pushes harder, but it's sloppy. His hooves pound too wide, his balance shifts with every stride. The river path rattles with raw energy, but none of it is sharp, none of it is honed.
Rudolf can't help comparing it. The boy in that viral clip, the one who cut across traffic like a blade, saving a kitten without hesitation, that boy looked like destiny incarnate.
But here, stripped of adrenaline, of instinct, of necessity… he looks like what he really is.
A boy who doesn't yet know how to run.
The bridge closes in. Rudolf's strides don't falter, each one landing with the same effortless command. Vivi pumps his arms harder, lungs burning, but the gap stays the same—unyielding, merciless.
Clatter, clatter, clatter—then silence.
Rudolf's hooves still the moment she crosses the line. When Vivi staggers several lengths behind, chest heaving, she turns her head just enough to look at him.
Not with disappointment. Not with pity.
With expectation.
"Welcome to your first loss," she says calmly. A faint exhale, almost a sigh, as her gaze sharpens.
"And I'll make sure it's your last."
. . .
Tap. Tap. Tap.
> "What?"
Rudolf doesn't reply. She steps forward and crouches, her hands pressing lightly against the muscle of his shin, then his thigh. She kneads, tests, slides her thumb along the line of his tendon.
"You lack muscle density here. And here." She presses higher, firm, clinical. "Your stride is raw power, but it bleeds efficiency. We'll fix that."
Vivi stiffens. His ears twitch back, then flick upright again. His tail swishes once, sharp and awkward, like he's not sure what it's supposed to be doing.
She moves higher, kneading carefully at the muscle above his knee. He jerks a little at the touch, hooves scraping the pavement.
Rudolf doesn't react. She presses along his thigh with professional detachment, nodding to herself. "Yes. We'll fix this."
"Come. To the gym. I'll show you the equipment."
. . .
And Vivi follows, his chest tight, legs still tingling from the press of her hands.
____________
Vivi still wasn't used to the size of Tracen. Empty halls stretched like a maze. Third day in, and it already felt less like a school and more like a kingdom he'd been dropped into without a map.
His phone buzzed.
> Agnes Tachyon:
"Meet me in the Lab."
He stopped dead. His ears flicked straight up. His tail bristled.
"…?"
He scrolled back. No history. No previous messages. Just this.
When did she even—how did she even–
> Agnes Tachyon:
"Now. Don't make me wait, boy."
. . .
Sigh…
Surely Cafe is there too.
__________
Oh, it's just me and her…
"Sit there."
Please be quick, Please be quick, Please be quick–
"Why so tense already? I haven't done anything."
I can't control my tail, okay! It has a mind of its own.
I almost asked where she even got my number. But then I look up and…
Oh…
The dark crescents under her eyes are impossible to ignore. Her lab coat hangs loose, hair more messier than yesterday.
> "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, don't mind me, just compressing the calibers here and there and… voilà."
She suddenly leans in, close enough that Vivi's ears twitch back and his tail lashes in panic.
"Try this prototype. It's safe, don't worry."
Her voice is even, soft. Too soft. Like a lullaby hiding in static.
Cold fingers adjust something against his neck. A metallic click. The strap is snug but not harsh. She handles it like glass.
Vivi freezes. She still hasn't blinked.
And yet… her hands are steady. Her voice, unnervingly gentle.
"…There. Not so scary, hm?"
. . .
She steps back, almost too casually, and turns to her monitor. Lines of data flicker across the screen, graphs hungry to make sense of him.
"Now breathe. Just breathe."
Vivi obeys, though his breaths come shallow at first. His ears flick nervously, tail betraying his restlessness.
She doesn't even look at him—her gaze is locked on the monitor.
"Good… deeper. Again."
He feels the strap shift slightly as his throat moves. The rise of his Adam's apple, the faint tremor in his neck, vibrations he's never paid attention to before. For her, it's everything. She's watching muscle fibers, resonance, the ghost of a voice he lost.
For him, it's… uncomfortable. Like being seen inside-out.
"Now say a word."
'wha—'
The monitor twitches. A ripple in the flatline.
Tachyon's gaze sharpens. Her fingers hover over the keyboard but don't move.
"…Again."
'what'
Another spike—clearer this time. Distinct. Not random.
Her breath stalls. She doesn't even blink. Her eyes glue themselves to the graph, tracing the tiny convulsions, the way the waveforms want to form a pattern.
"…Say something else."
'something else'
The lines jump. Jagged, imperfect, but undeniably alive.
Tachyon doesn't speak. Doesn't look at him. One hand rises slowly, clutching her own sleeve so tight her knuckles pale.
A sound. A signal. A… voice?
Her lips barely part. Not triumph, not certainty—just the raw, fragile edge of revelation…
"…there's a way."
She doesn't elaborate. Just pushes back her chair, the wheels squealing faintly against the lab floor.
The coffee pot gurgles. She pours, black and steaming, then dumps in spoon after spoon of sugar until it looks less like fuel and more like syrup.
She stirs once, twice, her reflection in the dark liquid stretched and sleepless.
Vivi shifts awkwardly in his chair, tail flicking. He doesn't know if she's talking to him or herself.
> "You should rest."
"Oh no no no—sleep? Now? After this?" She waves her coffee like a toast, sugar granules still clinging to the rim.
"This was supposed to be a fluke. Me humoring an idea. A little experiment before bedtime."
She downs a gulp, wincing at the sweetness.
"And yet—" she gestures toward the monitor, eyes glittering in the harsh lab light. "Look where we are. My own genius scares me sometimes…"
. . .
> "You really need sleep."
"Correction: you need sleep. I need results."
> "But you shouldn't forc-
Before he can finish, she plucks the phone from his hands, leans down close—too close. Her eyes gleam with exhaustion and caffeine.
"Who's in charge here, hm?"
The question isn't sharp, more… teasing. But the proximity, the way her voice dips low—his ears flick back, tail betraying every nervous jolt. He doesn't even notice her deft fingers unclipping the prototype from his neck, slipping it away as naturally as if she were brushing lint off his shirt.
She smirks, finally pressing the phone back into his palm.
"Go back to your tower, boy. It's past your bedtime."
And before he can react—boop. Right on the nose.
His ears snap flat. Tail lashes once, betraying his fluster. She's already turned away, humming, device in hand.
His screen stays blank.
Not because he doesn't want to reply, but because his thoughts are still… lagging. Too many windows open, none responding. The way she leaned close, the strange hum of the device still ghosting at his throat, the bop on his nose—his brain hasn't caught up yet.
So he just… stands. Slowly. Like a program running on one frame per second. His tail flicks, ears twitch once, then settle flat as if even they've given up processing.
No words. No nod. Just footsteps. clop, clop—drifting out of the lab.
By the time the door clicks shut behind him, Tachyon's already buried in her monitor again, muttering about resonance frequencies like he was never there.
__________
The Clocktower halls are silent, the kind of silence that presses in like velvet. Vivi doesn't even bother with the lights. His hooves echo softly against the floor until he reaches his room, slips in, and lets the weight of the day drag him down onto the bed.
The gears above—massive, frozen relics of machinery—loom in the ceiling. Dead metal, never moving. He just stares, blank and heavy, his chest rising in slow, uneven breaths.
Then—hop.
Yukki lands lightly on the mattress, circles once, then settles right on his chest. No hesitation, no permission asked. Within seconds she's purring, already asleep as if this boy's heartbeat is the only lullaby she'll ever need.
Vivi doesn't move. He couldn't, even if he wanted to. His tail hangs limp over the bed's edge, ears flick once at the sound of Yukki's tiny breaths, then fall still.
For the first time tonight, the tightness in his chest eases.
Just him, the frozen gears, and the warm weight of a sleeping cat.
. . .
He check his phone.
There are three numbers.
2 chat him today.
1 still hasn't replied.
. . .
Tomorrow is Spring.