The night had settled into a comfortable stillness. The grand chandeliers of the Mejiro ballroom had been dimmed, the laughter of nobles and trainers fading into distant echoes as the last guests departed or retired to their rooms. The vast hall, earlier alive with music and chatter, now rested under a veil of silver moonlight streaming through the tall windows.
Mejiro McQueen lingered by the great doors, offering a final, graceful bow as her last well-wishers vanished beyond the estate gates. When the carriage wheels grew quiet, she exhaled deeply, her hand resting on her chest. The carefully practiced smiles, the polite nods, the endless introductions — all necessary, all expected. But finally, it was over.
"...At last," she murmured to herself, the faintest curve of relief softening her lips.
She turned back into the ballroom, her heels echoing lightly on the marble floor. That's when she noticed him.
In the far corner, slouched in a chair with his coat spread awkwardly across his lap, sat Akuma. He was grumbling under his breath, tugging roses, confetti, and even a glittery ribbon from his poor coat — all the handiwork of Mayano Top Gun's "fashion upgrade." Every now and then he muttered curses at the stubborn glitter clinging to the fabric.
The sight pulled a quiet laugh from McQueen, uncharacteristically soft and genuine. She crossed the hall and lowered herself beside him without a word, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she watched him struggle.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence was not heavy — rather, it was soothing, a rare reprieve after the storm of a grand event.
Finally, Akuma sighed and broke it. "...Your parents seem nice."
McQueen blinked, her lips parting slightly. Then, she lowered her gaze, her smile dimming into something more fragile. "They are… yes. But…"
Her fingers tightened faintly on her dress. The moonlight painted her face in silver, highlighting the weariness that her elegance had hidden all night. "Sometimes it feels like they don't truly see me as me. Only as the daughter of the Mejiro family. An heir, an image to be upheld."
Akuma paused, his hands stilling over his coat. His expression softened, but he didn't rush her.
She continued, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "I love them, and I do want to carry on our name. I want to meet the expectations placed on me — for their sake, and for my own. But… sometimes it feels like it consumes everything. My entire life, defined before I can even choose."
The weight of her words hung in the silence.
Akuma finally exhaled, shifting in his seat. He slipped the battered coat over his shoulders and stood, his back turned to her as he adjusted it.
"…If it helps," he mumbled, almost too casually, "I see you as just McQueen."
Her eyes widened slightly.
He tugged the coat into place, refusing to look at her as he spoke on. "That's all I want. Just you, as yourself. No races, no Mejiro pride, none of that matters with me. You don't need to worry about any of it… because you and I are going to stick together through anything. No matter what."
McQueen stared at his back, her chest tightening with something warm, almost overwhelming. For a fleeting second, the weight of her family's legacy, her carefully polished composure, seemed to lift away.
Slowly, she stood. Her steps were soft as she closed the distance between them. With delicate fingers, she reached up and straightened his tie — a small, intimate gesture that made Akuma freeze just slightly.
Her lips curved into a tender smile as she whispered, so faintly it was nearly lost in the still air, "…Who knew finding a home would be this warm?"
Akuma blinked, finally glancing down at her. "...What was that?"
McQueen's cheeks tinged faintly pink. She let out a light, airy laugh and stepped back, twirling gracefully toward the grand staircase. "Nothing~. Goodnight, Akuma."
And with that, she disappeared up the stairs, her long dress glimmering under the moonlight, leaving Akuma standing there with his hand brushing the tie she had fixed.
Out on a balcony not too far from the moonlit ballroom, two figures lingered in the crisp winter air. The soft glow of lanterns bathed them in gold, and the faint scent of pine trees carried over from the snow-draped gardens.
Adalbert, his coat draped flamboyantly over one shoulder, raised a crystal glass and let the wine catch the moonlight as if it were a stage prop. Beside him, T.M. Opera stood with her usual commanding elegance, her hand curling gently around her own glass as though it were an extension of her soul.
Neither spoke at first. The silence was not heavy, but reverent, as though they were savoring the taste of not only the wine, but the rare company.
Finally, Adalbert broke it, his voice low and dramatic, heavy with a nostalgia that clung to his words like perfume.
"...Does this not reflect the nights after our shows, Opera?" he whispered, as though he were on stage, addressing not just her but the audience of memory itself. "The clinking of glasses, the lingering taste of joy… ah, the echoes of laughter and tears we shared with the world."
He raised his glass slightly toward the stars, eyes half-closed. "I can still hear them, you know. The applause, the gasps, the sighs… all of it. The happiness we spread, the sorrows we carried, the dreams we bled upon the boards of that stage."
Opera chuckled softly, a sound touched with both mirth and melancholy. She too lifted her gaze upward, her glass shimmering in the moonlight.
"Yes… I remember those nights," she said, her tone rising and falling like the swell of an aria. "The nights where I would be forced to watch over you, when your merriment of drink far exceeded your limits."
Adalbert laughed — a rich, self-indulgent sound that rolled out into the winter air.
"And yet," Opera continued, her smile faint but warm, "you were always there for me, Adal. In triumph and in despair. When the curtains fell and the world's applause quieted… it was your voice I heard. The same foolish, dramatic voice that kept me standing, reminding me of our shared dream."
The two shared a laugh, their glasses touching with a gentle clink. Yet beneath the laughter lay something heavier, something unspoken. The wine may have loosened their tongues, but it also loosened the grip on memories best left buried.
Adalbert's smile softened. Slowly, carefully, he reached for her free hand. The moment stretched, fragile, as he lifted it and pressed a chaste kiss to the back. His lips lingered for only an instant, but his words that followed seemed to echo louder than any curtain call.
"Oh, how woe is a man…" he whispered, his eyes darkened with a melancholy rarely seen from him. "For something so beautiful, something so amazing… to be torn apart by ambition. By the whims of fate, tearing threads of dreams we once wove together."
Opera's breath caught, her lashes lowering as she closed her eyes. For a heartbeat, she let herself simply feel the warmth of his touch, the weight of his words. Then, with the faintest of smiles, she whispered back, her voice like a final note fading into silence.
"Dreams achieved are beautiful, Adal… but they shine weaker than those still out of reach."
The words lingered between them, poignant and bittersweet. Neither spoke further. They simply raised their glasses once again, drinking deeply, letting the memories and the alcohol blur into the night.
Unbeknownst to them, not far from the balcony doors, a small figure sat on the cold marble floor. Rice Shower hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her face hidden in the shadows.
She had followed quietly, curious at first… but now, as she listened, she wished she hadn't. The words exchanged, the gentle laughter, the tender touch — they struck at her chest with something she couldn't name. A burning, twisting feeling that made her breath uneven.
Jealousy.
The thought alone frightened her. She had never known the feeling, not like this. Adalbert was her trainer — her guiding star, her light. And yet, watching him with Opera… hearing the softness in his voice, seeing the way his eyes looked at her…
Rice buried her face deeper into her arms, trying to smother the strange ache in her heart. Why? she asked herself silently. Why do I feel this way? Why… why do I want to be the one standing there?
The muffled laughter of the two above her reached her ears again, bittersweet and distant. Her grip on her knees tightened, her small frame trembling as she tried to contain the unfamiliar storm swelling inside her.