The sound of three pairs of boots striking the wooden floor echoed through the academy's training hall, their rhythm deliberate and strong. Then, all at once, they struck their final poses—Scarlet's arm raised high, Vodka crouched low with her usual cocky smirk, and Rice Shower hesitantly mimicking their movements, her form more elegant than she realized.
A loud clap followed immediately. Then another, and another—until the hall was filled with the sharp, echoing applause of Adalbert. His laugh rang out after.
"Wunderschön! Absolut herrlich!" he cried, striding forward with a flourish of his coat, as if he had just watched a grand ballet. "Magnificent! Amazing! You three are truly—ach!—a vision of strength and elegance!"
Scarlet turned away, flustered. "I-It was nothing special! Don't act like we're on some big stage or something…"
Vodka, however, chuckled while brushing her nose with a finger. "Heh. Well, can't say I didn't expect to impress. Still, good to see you're finally recognizing our cool factor, old man."
Adalbert wagged a finger and leaned forward, his grin sparkling like a performer under the spotlight. "Nein, nein, nein! This isn't simply cool. This is art in motion, my dear Vodka! Each of you—a different brushstroke on the canvas of today's performance!"
Vodka's smirk faltered slightly, a faint warmth creeping on her cheeks, though she quickly masked it with a scoff. Scarlet's tail twitched furiously, her blush much harder to hide.
"G-Geez! You don't gotta go praising us like that," Scarlet muttered, turning away, her ears red.
Adalbert ignored their protests, circling them like a conductor basking in the orchestra's tune. He produced a clean handkerchief from his coat pocket and, without asking, dabbed gently at Scarlet's cheek where sweat had gathered.
Scarlet froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her voice caught in her throat, and she jerked back, nearly stumbling over her own feet. "W-What are you doing?!"
"Why, tending to my precious stars, of course," Adalbert said, his tone casual but his smile mischievous.
Vodka snorted at Scarlet's flustered state, only to stiffen herself when Adalbert turned next to her and pressed the cloth against her jawline.
"Wha—?!" Vodka flinched, trying to play it cool. "Tch. D-Don't treat me like a kid, old man. I can handle wiping my own face."
"And yet," Adalbert said smoothly, "you didn't. Allow me this small joy."
Vodka turned her face aside, grumbling incoherently, her tail betraying her mood by flicking wildly. Scarlet, still fuming, suddenly blurted out, "Fine! I'll—! I'll go get us some drinks then!"
Vodka, quick to mask her own fluster, smirked. "Oh yeah? Bet I'll get back before you even pick out the bottles."
Scarlet snapped her head toward her rival, eyes sparking. "You're on!"
And just like that, the two bolted from the hall, both yelling over their shoulders at each other about who would return first, leaving Adalbert behind with a baffled Rice Shower.
Adalbert's laughter boomed through the training hall, rich and warm, the kind of laugh that always carried his troupe of girls forward. "Ach, my Siriuses… they never change."
Then, with Scarlet and Vodka gone, his attention turned gently toward the smallest of the three. He crouched low in front of Rice Shower, holding the handkerchief up like a magician presenting his next trick.
"Now, meine liebe Rice Shower, may I?"
Rice gave a small nod, her hands folded nervously in front of her. Adalbert leaned closer, his hand carefully dabbing the sweat from her pale cheeks. But as he worked, he noticed her gaze—unblinking, sharp, but not in the way of a glare. It was searching.
She was staring at him.
For a moment, Adalbert tried to brush it off with a joke. He grinned and cocked his head dramatically. "Careful, kleine Blume. If you keep staring at me with those eyes, I might think you've fallen in love."
Rice blinked, but her expression didn't falter. Instead, she whispered, so softly he almost missed it:
"Onii-sama… were you always a trainer?"
Adalbert froze.
The smile faltered, not completely gone, but trembling at the edges. For the first time, the mask slipped. His flamboyant cheer dimmed, replaced by a glint of something far more human—pain.
Rice noticed. Of course she did.
She tilted her head, unsure if she had gone too far. But she didn't retract the question.
Adalbert chuckled quietly, though it was nothing like his usual laugh. It was tired. Hollow. He reached forward and patted her head, ruffling her dark hair gently. Then, with surprising suddenness, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Rice let out a small squeak of surprise, her face reddening, but she didn't resist. She simply looked up at him as he exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the training hall.
"…That's quite the question, meine liebe Rice." He spoke softer now, the German lilt in his words losing some of its performative edge. "…And I suppose… perhaps it's about time I answered it. At least once."
Rice waited silently, her small hands gripping the fabric of his sleeve.
Adalbert leaned back slightly, eyes glinting under the dim morning light seeping through the hall windows. He raised his free hand and gestured as if opening a curtain.
"The story begins," he said, voice calm but heavy, "with a young man who wanted to reach for the stars. And eventually, he found a woman he wished to give them to. Only to lose both."
The hall went quiet. The faint sound of Scarlet and Vodka's bickering outside barely reached them. The laughter and grandeur were gone from Adalbert's tone now—what remained was something deeper.
Rice Shower's eyes widened slightly. She had never heard him sound like this before.
Adalbert's lips curled in a faint, bittersweet smile. "…It is a story of dreams, meine kleine. Of passion, of stage lights… and of how easily such dreams can shatter. But it is mine. And perhaps—" he looked down at her, meeting her wide, earnest gaze "—perhaps you deserve to hear it."
Rice swallowed, then nodded. "…I'd like to."
Adalbert chuckled again, softer this time, leaning his head back as if staring into memories written on the ceiling.
"Then listen closely, kleine Blume," he whispered, the shadows of his past creeping back into the light. "For this tale begins long before I ever stepped foot into a racetrack."