The late afternoon sun spilled across the academy's freshly repaired track, the faint smell of paint still lingering in the air. The crowd—mostly other trainees and a few curious locals—murmured with excitement.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!" Adal's voice rang out over the portable loudspeaker, smooth and theatrical. He stood at the track's edge like he was on stage at an opera, hand dramatically outstretched toward the assembled runners. "I am your most humble, yet undeniably fabulous commentator for today's breathtaking practice race—Adal, the Conductor of Glory!"
He gave a graceful bow, coat tails swaying behind him.
"With me," he continued, "is the one and only Butcher of Dreams, the terrifyingly blunt Mischa!"
The Russian trainer was already slouched in his chair under a wide-brimmed hat, signature dark shades in place. He raised one hand lazily in greeting. "Good luck to all our lovely Umas," he said, before turning his head toward the track. "…and Gold Ship—don't forget you're racing, da?"
Somewhere down on the starting line, Gold Ship's mischievous grin widened.
"Finally," Adal's voice grew rich with mock drama, "with us is our very own headmaster… the Demon King, Harunaga Akuma!"
Akuma, sitting between the two in a folding chair, didn't bother looking up from his thermos of tea. "…Is this really necessary?"
"Yes," Adal replied instantly.
"Absolutely," Mischa added without hesitation.
Akuma's sigh was long and weary, but he didn't protest further.
"Excellent!" Adal clapped his hands once. "Let us introduce our daring competitors!"
He stepped to the edge of the announcer stand and gestured toward the line of runners.
"In Lane One—Mejiro McQueen! Refined, graceful, yet armed with a competitive spirit to rival any seasoned Uma!"
McQueen offered a polite wave, her posture perfect, every strand of hair in place.
"In Lane Two—Gold Ship! A wild card in every sense of the word, both a genius and a chaos bringer, possibly in the same breath."
Gold Ship winked toward the stand, already chewing on something suspicious.
"In Lane Three—the petite storm herself, Rice Shower! A runner who carries the weight of her own doubts, yet charges forward with unmatched tenacity."
Rice Shower gave a shy nod, adjusting her hair ribbon.
"In Lanes Four and Five—ah, a dangerous pairing indeed! The fierce, flame-haired Daiwa Scarlet, and the unyielding, steel-eyed Vodka!"
The two rivals were glaring at each other like they were seconds away from turning the race into a wrestling match. Scarlet's foot tapped impatiently while Vodka's grin promised trouble.
"In Lane Six—the lightning bolt from above, Mayano Top Gun! The Uma who brings the roar of the sky to the track!"
Top Gun saluted dramatically, clearly enjoying the theatrics.
"And finally, in Lane Seven—" Adal's voice faltered slightly. "Uh… who exactly is that, boss?"
Akuma didn't even look up from his tea. "That's Special Week. An Uma I grabbed from the streets."
There was a pause.
"…You shouldn't be kidnapping Umas off the street, headmaster," Adal said carefully.
"Especially with a face like yours, bossman," Mischa added, not looking away from the track.
Akuma slowly turned his head toward them, his expression unreadable. "…???"
Adal cleared his throat loudly. "Well! Moving along—Special Week, the newcomer whose energy is matched only by her optimism, and whose potential is yet to be revealed!"
Special Week, standing at the line, gave a cheerful wave to the (invisible) crowd before shifting into her starting stance, eyes darting toward her competitors.
The runners pawed at the track, the air buzzing with anticipation. From the stands, the recorded chatter blaring off the speakers grew louder, the energy thickening like the moment before a summer storm.
"Wait a minute, are you using my speake—"
"Now then," Adal cuts Akuma off, his voice lowering into a silky, anticipatory tone, "let us see who will seize glory today… and who will be left eating dust!"
The starter's whistle cut through the air.
Seven pairs of hooves exploded from the line, the thundering rhythm immediately rattling the stands.
"And they're off!" Adal roared into the microphone. "McQueen surges forward with textbook form, her stride measured, elegant, perfectly composed—ah, poetry in motion!"
"Scarlet's already trying to muscle her way ahead," Mischa commented, leaning forward slightly, "and Vodka's blocking her lane. Gonna trip each other at this rate."
"They call it rivalry, I call it dangerous foreplay," Adal said, ignoring the glare Akuma sent him. "And look at Gold Ship—oh heavens, she's actually focused this time!"
"I give it two laps," Mischa muttered.
Special Week, eyes wide, kept herself steady in the middle of the pack. Her breathing was quick, but her legs pumped with the eager, untrained power Akuma had seen in her earlier. She fought to match Rice Shower's pace, who, despite her size, darted between openings like a slippery shadow.
"Top Gun's hugging the rail, conserving energy," Akuma finally spoke, his voice calm but sharp. "She's planning to sling past them on the straight."
Down below, the first turn approached fast. Scarlet and Vodka were still shoulder-to-shoulder, their glares so intense they might as well have been shooting lightning bolts.
"They're going to burn out before the last lap," Akuma noted.
"They'd still rather die than let the other win," Mischa replied.
By the second lap, the field had split into two groups. Suzuka-like speed wasn't present here—but Gold Ship, McQueen, Scarlet, and Vodka were pulling ahead, with Rice Shower, Special Week, and Top Gun forming the chase pack.
"Special Week!" Akuma shouted as they hit the next curve. "You've got more—push it!"
Special Week grit her teeth, leaning forward, her strides lengthening.
"Oh, she's waking up now!" Adal cried, nearly toppling his chair in excitement. "The mysterious seventh Uma is catching Rice Shower, her form tightening, her drive igniting!"
On the home stretch of the lap, Gold Ship made her move, slipping between Scarlet and Vodka like a fish through water. For a moment, the two rivals' surprise gave her a half-stride lead.
"Don't let her—!" Scarlet's yell was drowned out by the roar of the small crowd.
Vodka laughed, low and sharp. "Try and keep up, princess!"
They kicked harder, all three pounding forward, Gold Ship cackling as the tension between Scarlet and Vodka drove them to match her speed.
"Final lap!" Adal shouted. "It's a three-way war at the front, with McQueen quietly holding back—oh, she's timing something, I can feel it in my bones!"
Akuma's eyes narrowed. "She's going to break them after the turn."
True enough, McQueen surged on the curve, sliding past the chaos ahead with the quiet efficiency of a blade through silk. Gold Ship howled in protest, Scarlet snarled, and Vodka cursed—but all three chased after her.
Behind them, Special Week had pushed past Rice Shower and Top Gun, her heart hammering like a war drum. She could see them—McQueen's flowing silver hair, Scarlet's furious red, Gold Ship's unpredictable swerves.
She wanted in.
On the final straight, the lead pack bunched tighter, all four abreast, each stride tearing chunks from the dirt.
"This is it! This is—" Adal froze. "…Wait."
"What?" Mischa asked.
"Boss," Adal turned toward Akuma slowly, "where exactly is the finish line?"
Akuma didn't even blink. "…We didn't exactly made one yet."
Down below, the seven racers blasted through the "finish" with no sign to stop—so they just kept running. Gold Ship was laughing, Scarlet and Vodka were still yelling at each other, and Special Week passed Rice Shower again in sheer confusion.
"…How do we stop them?" Mischa asked.
Akuma took a sip of tea. "We wait until they get tired."