The Mejiro estate was buzzing with life, the sort of energy that rattled even the oldest, most stoic halls. The air was cold, the snow piled high outside, but inside? The warmth of voices, hurried footsteps, and laughter filled every corner.
Akuma stood with his arms folded, coat sleeves rolled up as he quietly observed the bustle. He didn't bark orders, nor did he dictate — he simply stood there, calm and sharp-eyed, the weight of his presence enough to make the whole scene move like an organized machine.
Rice Shower, Scarlet, and Vodka were on their knees scrubbing the polished wooden floors, the three of them exchanging half-grumbles, half-laughs as Scarlet tried to turn it into a competition, Vodka outright cheating by flicking water at her, and poor Rice trying to keep them both on task.
A little farther down, Special Week and Manhattan Café were setting up the tables — though it was clear only one of them was doing the "setting" while the other was muttering predictions of doom and gloom.
"If you don't place the chopsticks exactly right, something bad will happen," Manhattan warned, her eyes wide and serious.
Special Week laughed nervously, scratching her cheek. "Ehehe… I'll try my best to make sure nothing explodes, then!"
Through it all, McQueen ran from group to group, elegant and graceful even as she hurried, offering encouragement here, fetching supplies there, and carrying stacks of cloth with a determined look. She looked every inch the lady of the estate — yet with sleeves rolled and tail swishing, there was an air of earnest simplicity that made the others smile.
From the side of the room, a low, hearty laugh rang out.
"It hasn't been this lively since McQueen's tenth birthday," Mejiro Titan said warmly, arms crossed as he surveyed the sight of his daughter and the others.
Akuma turned slightly, offering a small smirk. "Then perhaps we should sit down and talk about that over tea sometime."
Titan chuckled at the suggestion, nodding once. "I'd like that." With that, he stepped forward to lend McQueen a hand, his tall figure moving easily among the group.
Beside Akuma, a quiet voice cut through the moment.
"My, my… it seems my guinea pig has been busy," Tachyon said, unusually subdued, champagne-colored eyes watching him with that ever-present curiosity. She tilted her head. "Getting the approval of the first's parents already. Bold of you."
Akuma blinked at her, brow furrowing. "…The what now?"
Tachyon only smirked knowingly, her lips curling into the kind of smile that was two parts playful, one part dangerous. "Oh, don't worry about it. I'm only confirming what everyone else already knows."
"…I have no idea what you're talking about," Akuma muttered, scratching the back of his head. "But… yeah. I guess I have." His eyes softened faintly as he watched McQueen laugh with her father. "They're good people."
Before Tachyon could respond, chaos cracked through the air like thunder.
"FIRE! FIRE! THERE'S FIRE!!"
All heads turned toward the courtyard, where Gold Ship was triumphantly holding a lit firework like it was a sword of destiny. Sparks shot in all directions as she laughed wildly, nearly toppling backward into a box of rockets.
"BEHOLD! THE NEW YEAR'S DAWN — GOLD SHIP STYLE!!"
"PUT THAT DOWN!!" several voices roared at once, McQueen's horrified cry leading the chorus. Titan himself lunged forward with surprisingly quick reflexes for a man of his size, grabbing the firework stick just as it fizzled out harmlessly in his grip. Gold Ship merely cackled, declaring she'd been "testing everyone's reflexes."
"Reflexes—? You nearly burned the whole wing down!" McQueen stomped her foot, cheeks flushed pink from both anger and embarrassment.
"Relax, relax!" Gold Ship waved it off with her signature grin. "Besides, if the estate burns down, we can all just live outside! Right, Mischa?"
The poor man, halfway across the hall rehearsing with Top Gun, nearly dropped his cue cards. "Please don't drag me into your madness!"
Who had been with Mayano Top Gun were in the corner practicing their so-called "comedic performance" for the evening. Mischa wore an unamused expression as he read lines with all the enthusiasm of a funeral director, while Top Gun — eyes blazing, chest puffed — declared each line as if he were performing on the grandest of stages.
"Behold!" Top Gun cried, pointing at Mischa. "The villain who dares to deny my elegance!"
Mischa sighed, deadpan. "…I deny nothing. I only want to drink my coffee."
"BAH! Your refusal proves your guilt!" Top Gun continued, spinning dramatically, nearly smacking Mischa with his cape.
Watching the two, Akuma couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose. "…That's going to be a disaster."
"Correction," Tachyon murmured beside him, eyes gleaming with amusement. "It already is."
McQueen hurried to his side, cheeks still pink from her encounter with Gold Ship, and sighed. "I fear this is going to be… quite the New Year."
Akuma chuckled lowly, crossing his arms again. "With this lot? It was never going to be quiet."
The doors to the estate's grand hall swung open with an elegant flourish, and in stepped Adalbert and T.M. Opera. Their laughter carried through the air like music, smooth and dramatic, each note rising above the bustle of preparations.
"Ah, mein Gott, you still have it, Opera!" Adalbert declared, one hand pressed to his chest as if her very presence had taken his breath away.
Opera tossed her curls back with equal flair, striking a pose in the entryway. "And you, Adalbert! That voice! That carriage! To think that time has not dulled your shine one bit. A reunion of legends!"
The two of them moved as if no one else existed, hyping each other up with the unrestrained joy of performers who had missed their stage. Every step they took was dramatic, every word dripping with the rhythm of practiced theatrics.
McQueen tilted her head slightly, blinking at their antics. Tachyon, for once, had fallen into a stunned silence, though her lips twitched as if fighting back commentary.
On the other side of the room, Rice Shower froze mid-step. She had been carrying a stack of decorations in her arms, but the sight of the pair together rooted her to the floor. Her wide, blue eyes softened with something she didn't quite understand — admiration? Longing? Jealousy? She hugged the decorations tighter to her chest, her tail flicking nervously.
Akuma, standing between McQueen and Tachyon, took one look at the glowing duo in the doorway and sighed, the weight of it carrying more than weariness. He muttered under his breath, "…Guess I should prepare some tissues."
34
The Mejiro estate's grand banquet hall glowed with the brilliance of a thousand lanterns, their soft golden light dancing across polished wood and glittering decorations of pine, bamboo, and plum — the sacred trio of New Year. Tatami mats stretched across the floor, low lacquered tables groaning beneath the weight of extravagant dishes: sashimi as fresh as the mountain rivers, steaming osechi boxes stacked like treasure chests, mochi glistening under the sheen of honeyed glaze, and simmering hotpots that filled the air with the comforting scent of broth.
But all of this grandeur paled compared to the sight of the Umas.
Each one had been dressed in formal kimonos, and if the estate had seemed a stage before, tonight it had become a gallery of living artwork.
McQueen entered first, walking with the quiet grace of a Mejiro princess. Her kimono was a soft lavender trimmed with silver waves, patterns of chrysanthemum petals cascading like falling snow. A delicate obi, tied with the precision of a master, hugged her waist, and her pale hair was gathered in a bun pinned with a single white camellia. She glowed like moonlight incarnate, serene and untouchable. Yet her eyes softened whenever they strayed to Akuma, as though she anchored her radiance to him.
Special Week bounced into the hall not long after, a whirl of scarlet and pink. Her kimono was embroidered with bold patterns of plum blossoms, the colors lively and playful — a perfect match to her bubbling personality. She spun in place, laughing as her sleeves fluttered like wings. Her ribbon-tied hair framed her eager smile, and she waved at Akuma with such energy one might mistake her for greeting a lifelong friend after years apart.
Then came Tachyon, and the room tilted. She wore deep emerald green patterned with lightning-bolt streaks of white, her obi tied carelessly yet somehow elegantly, as if chaos had been shaped into fashion. Her wild hair had been tamed into a loose ponytail, secured with a black-and-gold ribbon, though a few strands deliberately rebelled. She adjusted her glasses with one hand, smirking faintly as if daring anyone to comment. And Akuma… did.
"You three look incredible," he said honestly, though in his usual flat tone that betrayed no hint of fluster. He looked to McQueen. "Like a quiet winter moon." To Special Week. "Like the first sunrise of the year." And to Tachyon. "And you… like a cloud waiting to strike."
The three froze. Silence crashed into the hall, only broken by the clatter of Gold Ship dropping a dumpling.
McQueen's face flushed pink, her usually perfect composure faltering. Special Week squeaked something incomprehensible before hiding her face in her sleeves. Tachyon blinked behind her glasses, then coughed into her hand to hide her smirk — but her ears, traitorous, turned a deep shade of red.
"…You really don't notice, do you?" Tachyon muttered, almost to herself.
Akuma tilted his head. "Notice what? I'm just saying what came to mind."
"Dense as a brick," Special Week squeaked from behind her sleeve, though she didn't stop herself from stepping closer to him.
McQueen simply exhaled, trying to regain her poise, though her hand now brushed against his sleeve as if it belonged there.
And so, Akuma found himself surrounded — flanked by three dazzling Umas who clung to him far closer than they ever would admit aloud.
Meanwhile.
Rice Shower had been coaxed — or rather dragged — into a crimson kimono patterned with falling sakura petals, her hair tied in a neat braid with a golden cord. She fidgeted, tugging at her sleeves nervously until Scarlet and Vodka appeared like twin devils in waiting.
"Rice!" Scarlet gasped. "You look adorable!"
Vodka grinned wide, slinging an arm over her shoulder. "Forget adorable. You look like the kind of bride every groom would faint over."
Rice nearly combusted on the spot, stammering protests as her cheeks burned. Before she could hide, Adalbert appeared with a camera in hand, eyes shining like a man who had just discovered treasure.
"Wunderbar!" he cried. "Hold it right there — nein, nein, tilt your head! Yes, that innocent look! Perfekt!" He snapped photos like a man possessed, while Mischa stood behind him with the weariness of a man who had already given up on logic.
Gold Ship and Top Gun, of course, had chosen chaos. Both had shown up in kimonos designed with muscle patterns. Every seam stretched, every pose exaggerated as they flexed like bodybuilders who had mistaken the banquet for a contest. Mischa muttered darkly about embarrassment, but the two only grinned wider.
"Behold!" Gold Ship cried, flexing her arm. "The Demon King's Elite Guard — muscle form!"
Top Gun mirrored her pose. "Absolute elegance in bulk!"
Rice, Scarlet, and Vodka promptly died of laughter on the tatami.
Dinner itself was a spectacle. Lantern light glimmered off lacquerware, steam rising from every dish as conversation wove across the room. The Umas clinked sake cups, laughter and warmth chasing away the winter chill.
McQueen, however, remained faithfully by Akuma's side. She sat close enough that her sleeve brushed his arm every so often, and whenever someone tried to draw him into conversation, her cool gaze shifted — subtly reminding them he was her trainer tonight.
It did not go unnoticed.
Special Week leaned over from across the table, grinning like a fox. "McQueen, you've been guarding Akuma all night."
McQueen stiffened, nearly dropping her chopsticks. "…I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you dooo~!" Special Week teased, sing-song, before retreating behind her cup of tea with a laugh.
Akuma raised an eyebrow but let it slide, instead turning toward Tachyon, who had been smirking all evening.
"You've done it, guinea pig," Tachyon said between sips of sake. "Secured three wonderful specimens at your side tonight."
"I don't know what you mean by 'specimens,' but…" Akuma rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I really am lucky to have you three."
The silence that followed was deafening. McQueen blinked, her cheeks blazing. Special Week squeaked again, burying her face in her sleeves as her tail thumped against the tatami like a drum. Tachyon adjusted herself quickly, hiding her fluster behind forced composure — but her smirk wavered.
"…You absolute idiot," she muttered, though her voice trembled.
None of them moved away. If anything, they pressed closer — three brilliant colors of moonlight, sunrise, and lightning, clinging to him as though afraid the warmth of the moment might vanish with the turn of the year.
Akuma only looked faintly puzzled. But he didn't move either.
The table rattled faintly as new arrivals settled in. Among them was Manhattan Café, who quietly drifted over and took a seat right beside Mischa, her long sleeves trailing like shadows. She folded her hands on her lap and offered no greeting, only the faintest smile that seemed half there, half somewhere else. Mischa, used to Gold Ship and Top Gun's constant noise, twitched at the sudden shift in atmosphere.
Akuma glanced at her, arching an eyebrow. "You're quiet, Café. What's your New Year's wish?"
She tilted her head ever so slightly, her soft, monotone voice carrying across the table.
"…That you survive your women trouble, headmaster."
The table froze. Rice Shower nearly choked on her tea. McQueen's eyes narrowed slightly, though she pretended to adjust her sleeve. Special Week turned scarlet. Tachyon snorted into her cup.
"…My what?" Akuma asked flatly, more confused than anything.
Café simply smiled, her gaze lowering back to her teacup. "You'll see. Or maybe… you won't."
Mischa groaned, rubbing his temples. "Of all the tables… I had to sit next to a prophet of doom."
Gold Ship, of course, seized the moment to break the tension by loudly flexing in her bizarre muscle-patterned kimono, nearly ripping the seams in the process. Beside her, Daiwa Scarlet rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips.
Scarlet's own kimono was a fiery crimson adorned with elegant gold maple leaves, her sash tied with the perfection of a woman determined to look her absolute best. She stood tall, hair pinned neatly with a dazzling comb, embodying both beauty and pride.
Vodka, meanwhile, had chosen something completely opposite — a sleek black kimono decorated with silver cranes in mid-flight, paired with a sharp obi that screamed cool and bold. She had slipped her hair into a simple tie, leaving her bangs free to frame her smirk. Together, the two looked like rival empresses of fire and steel, and when they stood beside Rice Shower, the trio became the undeniable center of the banquet's visual storm.
Amid the laughter, fluster, and noise, a sudden hush fell as Adalbert rose from his seat. He brushed imaginary dust from his shoulders, the glint of mischief in his eyes matched only by his poise. With one sweeping bow, his voice carried through the hall, rich and theatrical.
"Meine Damen und Herren — tonight, I ask only this: enjoy the show."
Then, with a swirl of his sleeve, he stepped back into the lantern-lit shadows. The chatter quieted. All eyes turned toward the stage, where the first act of the night was about to begin.