The first of August came with a cool, briny breeze from the northern coast, carrying the chatter of the crowd that packed the stands of the Sapporo Racecourse. For most, it was a normal summer race day. For Akuma, it was a reminder that he'd just burned a significant hole in his budget.
He stood at the entrance gates, checking his receipt from the ticket office for the fourth time. Why did I bring all of them again?
"Chin up, Akuma-san," McQueen said, patting his back with a delicate hand, the gesture prim and gentle—except her words dripped with amusement. "It's money well spent. Besides, the girls are enjoying themselves."
"I'd enjoy myself more if my wallet wasn't screaming." Akuma grumbled, though he didn't move away from her hand.
Special Week, bouncing beside them like a spring-loaded rabbit, chimed in with a grin. "But Akuma-san, you're so reliable! Bringing everyone all the way here just for a race? That's amazing!"
From a few steps back, Scarlet and Vodka were already glaring at each other, the simmering heat between them enough to make Adal sweat. Unfortunately for him, he was positioned right in the middle of their silent duel, smiling nervously while trying to keep his elegant posture intact.
Directly in front of them, Rice Shower stood like a quiet statue, gaze fixed forward and hands clasped behind her back.
But the star of today's side attraction wasn't any of them. It was Mischa.
He wore his signature jet-black suit, pristine as ever, paired with his reflective shades that hid his expression but not his swagger. Sitting atop his shoulders like a child on a ride was Top Gun, legs kicking idly as she scanned the crowd. Behind him, Gold Ship was enthusiastically punching his back in rapid succession, shouting, "Body conditioning! Feel the burn, Mischa!"
Mischa, without looking back, muttered, "I swear if we get kicked out before the race starts…"
"…Please don't get us kicked out," Akuma mumbled as he passed them, rubbing his temple.
He made his way to the rails, resting his arms casually on the barrier. The grass on the track shimmered in the sunlight, and the distant silhouettes of the Umas warming up for their race made the air hum with anticipation.
McQueen stepped beside him, adjusting her hat as she followed his gaze. "So, Akuma-san… why this race?"
Akuma's lips curved into a smirk. "Because there's an Uma in this lineup I've heard a lot about. I'm curious to see if she lives up to the reputation."
The words had an immediate effect. Special Week's eyes widened like saucers. Scarlet actually stopped glaring at Vodka for a second. Rice's head tilted just slightly in interest. Even Adal, who usually kept a measured demeanor, blinked in surprise.
Mischa, however, tilted his head toward him just enough that the rim of his shades slipped, revealing a glint of his eye. "…You're actually interested in an Uma?"
Akuma straightened from the rails, looking at the lot of them with a raised brow. "…Oh, come on. I'm not that much of a flake."
"You are!" McQueen and Special Week shouted in perfect unison, pointing at him like prosecutors.
Akuma deadpanned. "…I'm starting to feel very appreciated right now."
Vodka leaned toward Scarlet, muttering just loud enough for the rest to hear, "Guess even the bossman's got drive sometimes."
Scarlet crossed her arms. "Doesn't matter. Whoever she is, she won't beat me when I enter the track."
Top Gun, still perched on Mischa's shoulders, leaned down to whisper with the tone of someone about to stir trouble, "Bet he's already thinking about poaching her."
"Probably," Gold Ship replied from behind, still punching Mischa's back. "Bet she's got some tragic backstory too. Bossman loves those."
Akuma pretended not to hear them, eyes fixed on the starting gate where the racers were lining up. The sun caught on their manes, glinting like threads of fire and silk. His gaze sharpened. The chatter from his trainees faded into the background.
McQueen glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She didn't say anything, but there was a tiny, knowing smile on her lips. She had seen that look before—calculated, assessing, already plotting ten steps ahead.
Special Week leaned in closer to the rail, her excitement contagious. "So, what's her name? The Uma you're here for?"
Akuma didn't answer immediately. Instead, he allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible smile. "…You'll see."
The air at Sapporo Racecourse shifted the moment the bell rang. The gates burst open, and every Uma on the field sprang forward—but one figure stood out immediately.
White mane, glinting eyes, and a stride so fluid it looked like she was running downhill on air. Oguri Cap. Known to veterans as a "pace chaser," someone who bided her time before striking late. But today?
She didn't wait. She took off.
The crowd roared in disbelief as Oguri exploded into the lead within the first few seconds. Her hooves struck the turf with measured force, each push sending her farther ahead. By the first turn, she wasn't just leading—she was already out of reach.
"Wait—she's a pace chaser, right?!" Special Week gasped, gripping the railing as her eyes widened. "She's not supposed to—"
"She's not supposed to do that," McQueen finished, voice tinged with awe. "But look at her… she's crushing them."
Akuma didn't answer. He leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, lips curling into a slow, rare smile that reached his eyes. The kind of smile the racing world once feared. The kind that earned him his old moniker—the Demon King.
Mischa, standing just behind him, noticed it instantly. He tilted his shades down, eyes lighting up. "Ohhh… here we go. It's been a while since I've seen that face."
Adal chuckled low, crossing his arms. "The Demon King once again finds a general. I pity whoever has to face her alongside his army."
Back on the track, the gap between Oguri and the others widened mercilessly. The second-placer was already fighting to keep the distance from ballooning further, but every stride Oguri took was like hammering another nail in the coffin.
McQueen's brows furrowed, but it wasn't from doubt—it was determination. "If she joins the team…" She trailed off, but the fire in her eyes was unmistakable.
Special Week pumped her fists, her competitive spirit flaring. "I'm gonna run that fast one day! No… faster! Just you watch, Trainer!"
The race, if it could even be called that, wasn't close. By the halfway mark, the commentators had stopped talking about who would win and had shifted to who could possibly catch second place. Oguri's form never faltered—her breathing steady, her pace unrelenting.
When she crossed the finish line, the crowd erupted into a frenzy. Cameras flashed, hands clapped, and even some of her competitors trotted over to congratulate her, their pride bruised but their respect earned.
Akuma watched it all with that same smirk, then finally pushed himself off the railing. Without a word, he turned and started to leave.
McQueen caught up with him, blinking in disbelief. "Wait—aren't you going to recruit her? This is your chance!"
Akuma stopped, half-turning his head just enough for the light to catch his eyes. "It isn't the time yet."
"What do you mean—?"
He nodded subtly toward the winner's circle. Oguri Cap stood there, politely but firmly shaking her head at every trainer who approached. One after another, they tried—some with contracts in hand, others with promises of glory—but she denied them all.
Akuma's smirk deepened. "See? She's not looking for a team yet. When she is… she'll come to me."
McQueen stared at him for a moment, torn between admiration and frustration. "You're impossible sometimes."
He started walking again, hands still buried in his pockets. His voice dropped to a murmur, almost lost in the noise of the crowd.
"Well… I suppose it's time for me to get serious too."
And with that, he disappeared into the bustling stands, already planning his next move.