The courtyard had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Long wooden tables stretched across the snow-covered stones, steam rising from hotpots, grilled skewers, and trays of freshly baked bread set down by the estate's staff. Lanterns dangled from poles stuck into the snow, their warm orange glow making the flakes overhead sparkle like fireflies frozen mid-flight.
Akuma exhaled, watching his breath plume into the crisp evening air. "All this for a farewell… they really went overboard."
"Overboard?" Gold Ship popped her head over one of the tables, already balancing a mountain of meat buns on her plate. "This is perfectly necessary!" She stuffed one in her mouth before anyone could argue.
Laughter rippled through the gathering, and soon the feast was in full swing.
At one of the nearer tables, Mischa and Mayano Top Gun had somehow cornered Stay Gold into a lively conversation. The short, mischievous Uma — her dark hair flowing like ribbons, her brown coat neat even in this casual setting — listened with a faint smirk as the two spoke over each other, both trying to one-up their stories.
"—and then I told him, you can't handle these turns unless you've got a pilot's instincts!" Top Gun declared, puffing her chest out with pride.
"Pfft, instincts? That's just reckless flying on dirt," Mischa shot back, leaning halfway across the table.
Stay Gold didn't flinch at the bickering. She chuckled softly, covering her mouth with one sleeve. "Both of you sound like you nearly killed yourselves just to prove a point."
"That's the fun part!" Mischa and Top Gun said at once, then glared at each other immediately after.
Beside Stay Gold sat Fenomeno, her arms crossed and her sharp eyes narrowed, though the faint curve on her lips betrayed amusement. She was dressed in her usual dark uniform, the red straps and polished buttons catching the lanternlight. When the arguments grew too heated, she simply placed a hand on Stay Gold's shoulder and murmured, "Don't encourage them."
Stay Gold only smiled wider, the faintest flush coloring her cheeks.
Meanwhile, at the next table, chaos of an entirely different kind unfolded.
The seats had quickly filled, forcing Rice Shower to perch herself on Adalbert's lap. At first, the little uma had protested, cheeks pink as she muttered something about "being a burden," but Adalbert only laughed and said, "If the table won't make space, then I will. Simple solution."
Now she sat stiffly on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, though the red tips of her ears gave her away.
On the opposite side, Scarlet and Vodka were in the middle of a heated competition — not racing this time, but seeing who could stack the most grilled skewers onto their plates without toppling them.
"Cheating! You definitely touched the base skewer!" Scarlet accused, pointing at Vodka's growing pile.
"Strategy, not cheating," Vodka countered with a wolfish grin, balancing yet another piece on top. "A true racer knows how to balance risk and reward."
"Balance my foot—!" Scarlet lunged across the table.
"Oi, don't knock the food!" Opera, sitting beside them, snapped his fan open dramatically and bopped Scarlet on the forehead with it.
Rice squeaked at the sudden movement, clutching at Adalbert's sleeve, but he only chuckled and patted her head gently.
Across from him, Opera raised his chin with theatrical flair. "Really, what is it with this generation? Even at a feast, you turn it into a battlefield."
Dream Journey, lounging beside him with her long silver hair flowing down her back, laughed warmly at that. " Opera. You've been laughing louder than anyone else."
Opera fanned himself, pretending to pout. "Nonsense. I am the picture of restraint."
"Restraint?" Adalbert snorted. "You practically joined their skewer war five minutes ago."
Opera leaned forward with a smirk. "And you're one to talk, hmm? Sitting there with a bride on your lap. Careful, or people will start making assumptions."
Rice made a sound like a kettle about to explode, burying her face into Adalbert's coat. "D-Don't say things like that!"
The table erupted into laughter, even Dream Journey shaking her head fondly.
Akuma stood by a central table—snowflakes drifting down like confetti around him. Across the courtyard's feast, laughter echoed against the paper lanterns and black pine branches trimmed in snow. Warm aromas of grilled skewers, dashi broth, and miso stewed vegetables trailed through the air. A contented smile tugged at Akuma's lips. This—this bustling, chaotic warmth—was exactly the family he always hoped to build.
But then, his smile turned into a groan.
He scratched the back of his neck as he spotted McQueen approaching—meat still wobbling inside her mouth.
"Hmm? Is Something wrong Akuma-san?" she asked after finally swallowing.
Akuma sighed long and deep. "…This is a party meant for us, right?"
McQueen nodded, tail flicking behind her.
"Then why am I the one cooking here!?" His tone held mock exasperation. Sure enough, theirs was the only table with a built-in grill. He stood there turning skewers while Tachyon and Lucien leaned forward hungrily, their eyes glued to the sizzling meats. Even Orfevre—known for her refined posture—had drifted over beside Stay Gold, her attention snagged by the smoke curling off Akuma's cooking.
"It is because your cooking is magnificent, guinea pig!" Tachyon grinned, reaching over to snag a skewer.
Lucien, clutching his plate, nodded in agreement. "You have always been talented at cooking, mon ami." He accepted a skewer, his accent lilting around his approval.
Akuma narrowed his eyes at Lucien. "Why are you at my table, though?"
Lucien just shrugged, grinning. "I couldn't possibly let you enjoy all of this alone."
Akuma grunted, then turned back to the grill to continue working—flipping and seasoning with practiced grace.
Next to them, two young figures sat respectful and attentive: Satono Diamond and Kitasan Black, both around two years younger than McQueen.
Satono Diamond—her long bay-brown hair braided into a half-updo with the diamond marking shaped crisply on her bangs—watched each skewering motion with gentle admiration. When Akuma handed her a skewer, she closed her eyes and savored the first bite before speaking softly, "Thank you… this is delicious."
Kitasan Black, with her energetic bob cut accented by that signature white streak, took her skewer and nodded with a delighted grin. "The flavors melt in my mouth," she added, voice bright.
Their praise warmed Akuma in a way words alone rarely could.
At a nearby table, Teio and Special Week had just cleaned off their plates and were already chanting for more.
"More food! Please!" Special Week bounced on her seat—usually demure, she now looked like a child at her first festival. Teio laughed and added, "Yes, more!"
Akuma threw up his hands in mock horror. "Wait—damn it! I still need to prepare more ingredients!" But the tone of his complaint was soft, headlighted by a fond smile.