The sky was still gray when Akuma felt the weight pressing down on his chest. At first, he thought it was just the fatigue of last night — the fireworks, the rooftop, the endless chatter of the banquet. He tried to roll over and return to his half-dream, but something wouldn't let him. Something warm, persistent, and shifting above him.
He cracked an eye open.
"…Are you serious?"
There, straddling him as though he were her personal mattress, was Tachyon. Her hair, usually pinned into practical order, tumbled loose around her face, the tips catching the early dawn's glow seeping through the paper screens. She was dressed not in her usual coat or blouse, but a light blue kimono with a subtle pattern of snowflakes stitched across the hem. A thin sash bound her waist, slightly crooked, as if she hadn't cared enough to fix it properly before barging into his room.
"Rise and shine, guinea pig," she said cheerfully, leaning closer until her nose nearly brushed his. "We've got a shrine visit waiting for us."
Akuma groaned, rubbing his face with one hand. "It's not even six… we were going to go later. With everyone. At a normal hour."
"Normal is relative. My relative is me," Tachyon said without hesitation, poking his cheek with one finger. "And I say now."
"…Tachyon, I'm serious. Get off."
"Nope." She leaned back a little, arms folding smugly as if declaring victory. "Not until you agree."
Akuma exhaled through his nose, staring at her for a long moment. The kimono swayed lightly as she shifted, and despite her eccentricity, there was a calm sort of beauty about her in that outfit. He finally muttered, "You're impossible."
She beamed. "So you'll come?"
"I don't think I have a choice," he said flatly.
"Correct." She hopped off him at last, letting him sit up.
By the time they reached the shrine at the far end of the Mejiro estate, the sun had begun painting the snow in shades of gold and pink. Their footsteps crunched softly against the frozen path, the air crisp enough to sting their lungs. Lanterns lined the way, still faintly glowing, remnants of the festival carried over into the new year.
The shrine stood tall and quiet, its red gates vivid against the white landscape. A scattering of villagers and estate staff had already passed through, leaving faint trails of incense in the air.
Akuma pulled his coat tighter, still half-asleep. Tachyon, on the other hand, practically skipped the last steps, her sleeves fluttering.
They bowed together at the offering box, tossing in their coins. Akuma closed his eyes for a long moment, hands pressed. He didn't pray often, but he found himself thinking of each Uma — their laughter, their tears, their triumphs.
When he stepped back, Tachyon was already peeking at him with a fox-like grin. "So, guinea pig, what did you wish for?"
He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. "…That they keep racing for their dreams. That the academy, the rules, all the nonsense… none of it matters compared to that. Win or lose, as long as they're happy, then so am I."
Tachyon tilted her head, hair catching in the morning light. For a moment, her usual mischief softened. "…You're a very idealistic guinea pig."
"Not idealistic," he said quietly. "Just… it's all I want. For them. For you."
Her lips quirked, half amusement, half affection. "Then I'll make it easy for you. My wish is simple: a good year. That's all." She leaned in, lowering her voice. "Of course, that includes you cooking for me regularly, and my experiments succeeding, and maybe winning a race or two if the stars align."
He snorted. "That sounds less like a wish and more like a grocery list."
"It's an efficient wish. Multi-purpose." She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels. "Besides, the universe owes me."
They lingered a little on the shrine steps, watching as others began to filter in. For a rare moment, Tachyon wasn't speaking in riddles or formulas. She just stood beside him, arms tucked into her sleeves, face unreadable as her gaze lingered on the snow.
"…You know," she said finally, her voice softer than usual, "I'm still baffled that you went so far just to convince me."
Akuma glanced at her. "Convince you?"
"To run again," she clarified, brushing a stray lock from her face. "Most people would've let me hide behind my amazing excuses. You didn't."
He shifted, leaning against the railing. "…Because you're more than excuses, Tachyon."
She didn't answer at first, only tightened her arms around herself. Then, almost too low to hear, she whispered, "…I'm still afraid to run."
The admission caught him off guard. "Why?"
For a moment, her expression cracked. Her lips trembled, her eyes darted away. The words slipped out, raw and small:
"…If I can't run anymore… then I'll lose my only connection to you."
Akuma blinked. "…What?"
But Tachyon's eyes widened a second too late. She forced a laugh, waving her hand dismissively. "Ah—! N-No, no, forget I said that. What I meant was, if my legs give out, the pain will be unbearable. That's all."
"…Tachyon—"
She cut him off by groaning dramatically, stomping one foot like a child. "I'm hungry. Guinea pig, I demand you cook for me."
Akuma stared at her, brows knitting. "…That was the worst subject change I've ever seen."
"Hungry-hungry-hungry-hungry," she chanted, tugging at his sleeve, her voice exaggeratedly whiny. "Make me breakfast. Eggs. Rice. Miso. Oh, and something sweet—yes, sweet! It's a new year, after all!"
Despite himself, Akuma let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."
"Hungryyy," she repeated stubbornly, leaning on him as they started down the path.
"Alright, alright. Let's get back before you think of collapsing dramatically in the snow."
"I'd do it, too," she said proudly, though her smile was small and real.
As they walked back together, her sleeve brushed against his arm, her steps just a little too close to his.