The bell over the café door jingled softly behind them as Akuma and McQueen excused themselves from the store owner. McQueen, still nursing the last crumbs of her Mont Blanc, blinked in confusion when Akuma led her not out into the street, but through a narrow side corridor marked Employees Only.
"Um… Akuma-san?" McQueen's voice pitched upward in surprise. "Where are we going? We're not… working here, are we?"
"Sort of," he replied casually, pushing open the swinging door without breaking stride.
The warm scent of coffee gave way to the sharper smells of sizzling oil and broth. They were in the café's kitchen now—small, tidy, and bustling with quiet efficiency. The staff barely looked up when Akuma walked in, instead offering nods and friendly greetings as if he were part of the furniture.
"Yo, Headmaster," called one of the chefs while flipping an omelet. "I heard rumors, but you actually poached McQueen from Lucien?"
"Haha, the rumors are way off!" Akuma replied with a smirk, waving a dismissive hand. "She forced me to take her in!"
"I did not!" McQueen blurted, her cheeks puffing indignantly. The whole kitchen chuckled at her outburst, only making her pout harder.
Akuma took a moment to enjoy her expression before rolling up his sleeves and moving to an empty counter. He selected a clean pot and began layering rice, golden-fried pork cutlet, and egg with practiced hands.
"…Why are you cooking?" McQueen asked suspiciously, watching him move like someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
"She won't talk to us properly if I don't," he replied matter-of-factly, cracking an egg into the simmering broth.
"She?" McQueen echoed, but when Akuma didn't elaborate, she bit her tongue and decided to wait. She could tell from his tone that this wasn't the moment to push.
Ten minutes later, the katsudon bowl was finished—piping hot, the aroma filling every corner of the kitchen. Without a word, Akuma picked it up and led the way toward a narrow steel door at the far end. McQueen followed, her curiosity mounting with every step.
He opened it, revealing a flight of steep stairs leading down. The air grew cooler as they descended, the faint hum of machinery replacing the clatter of the kitchen above. At the bottom, they stopped before a plain wooden door with a small nameplate, the letters half-worn.
Akuma didn't knock politely. Instead, he leaned forward and called, "I'm coming in, Tachyon!"
He didn't wait for an answer before pushing the door open.
The room inside was… chaos.
Books were stacked in precarious towers on the floor, some leaning against each other like drunken soldiers. Test tubes, flasks, and beakers cluttered every surface, their contents ranging from clear liquids to bubbling, suspiciously colored concoctions. There were diagrams pinned haphazardly to the walls—some of race tracks, others of skeletal diagrams of Uma Musume legs, and one incomprehensible sketch involving what looked like a treadmill in a pool.
In the center of it all, sprawled out on the only clear space—the bed—was a woman in an oversized lab coat. Her long, slightly disheveled hair spilled over the pillow, and her arms flailed lazily in the air.
Her ears perked up the moment she saw Akuma. "Guinea pig, feed me. Feeeeeed meee," she whined dramatically, as if she were on the brink of starvation.
McQueen blinked. "Did she just call you… guinea pig?"
Akuma ignored the question, stepping inside and setting the katsudon on a small table dangerously close to a bubbling flask. "You're a mess, Tachyon."
"I'm a visionary," Tachyon corrected without missing a beat, rolling onto her side and sniffing the air like a cat. "Is that… katsudon?"
"It is," he said.
"Then you're forgiven." She reached for the bowl with almost childlike eagerness, pulling it onto her lap. "You may stay."
McQueen stepped cautiously into the room, making sure to avoid stepping on any of the scattered papers. "So… this is the legendary Uma you were talking about?" she asked in a low voice.
Akuma smirked. "In the flesh. Agnes Tachyon—former prodigy, current shut-in scientist."
"Former?" McQueen echoed, her eyes moving between Akuma and Tachyon, who was already halfway through inhaling the katsudon.
"I haven't raced in years," Tachyon said between bites, waving her chopsticks like a conductor's baton. "Too much inefficiency. Too much… mediocrity. They didn't like my experiments, so I left. Simple."
McQueen hesitated. "But… do you want to race again?"
Tachyon didn't answer right away. She simply kept eating until the bowl was clean, setting it down with a satisfied sigh. "I want to test theories," she said at last. "If racing happens to be the optimal way to test them… well." She shrugged. "That's just a coincidence."
Akuma chuckled. "Same old Tachyon."
Tachyon's humming was oddly melodic, even if the lyrics were… unconventional.
"Guinea pig makes me the best food~ Guinea pig brings me katsudon~ Guinea pig is so very useful~"
McQueen sat in the only chair in the room, legs crossed neatly, trying to pretend she wasn't hearing the bizarre tune. Akuma, on the other hand, leaned against the edge of her worktable, arms folded, watching her eat with a mixture of patience and familiarity.
The katsudon disappeared in record time, and with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction, Tachyon set the empty bowl on the bed beside her.
"Guinea pig massageee," she whined, stretching her arms forward like a spoiled cat demanding attention.
Akuma closed his eyes for a moment, clearly questioning his life choices, before stepping over and placing his hands on her shoulders. His thumbs pressed into the stiff muscles with a steady rhythm, and Tachyon hummed again—this time without lyrics—melting into his touch.
McQueen blinked, looking between them, something nagging at her curiosity until she couldn't help but ask, "What exactly is your relationship?"
It was like someone had poured a bucket of cold water over the room. The light air vanished instantly.
Akuma didn't stop massaging, but his expression shifted. "…Tachyon was a trainee at my previous academy."
Tachyon chuckled low in her throat, tilting her head toward McQueen without opening her eyes. "He says it like he was just some random trainer who happened to be there."
Akuma shook his head. "I wasn't her trainer. That's the problem." His tone grew heavier, the faintest edge of regret creeping into his voice. "When she retired… I couldn't do anything. I wasn't in the position to stop it."
McQueen frowned at the weight behind his words. "Akuma-san…"
Tachyon's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a softer look. "It was my own choice," she said quietly. "There were no other options for me back then."
"There's always a choice," Akuma snapped, his hands stilling on her shoulders.
For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of the faint bubbling from an abandoned beaker filled the silence.
Akuma finally pulled his hands away and stepped back, squaring himself to face her fully. "Tachyon. I want you to be my trainee."
Her lips curved upward into a playful smile, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Oh? Nostalgia isn't enough to have a legendary racer such as myself join your academy, you know?" she teased.
Akuma didn't take the bait. He simply stared at her, unblinking, the kind of gaze that refused to yield or play along.
The smile on her face faltered just a little, and she exhaled a small sigh. "…I'm not sure even you have the ability to train me. You know my situation."
"I know," he said firmly.
"Talk isn't impressive, you know?" she replied, crossing her arms beneath her coat as if to shield herself from the weight of his conviction.
"Then what do you want?" Akuma asked plainly.
Tachyon leaned back on the bed, considering him for a long moment. Her gaze softened just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through it before she let the smirk return. "If you win a major race this year… I'll consider it."
There was no hesitation in Akuma's answer. "Done."
Her brows rose, amused by how quickly he accepted. "You didn't even ask which race I meant."
"Doesn't matter," he said, turning toward the door.
Tachyon chuckled to herself. "That confidence will either get you killed or make you interesting to watch."
Akuma was already halfway up the stairs by the time McQueen stood to follow. She glanced back at Tachyon, who was already pulling a notebook toward herself, scribbling something down as if the conversation had been a mere side note in her day.
But McQueen caught it—a small, fleeting smile on Tachyon's lips, the kind that hinted she was more intrigued than she wanted to admit.
When McQueen stepped out into the cooler air of the café's back corridor, Akuma was waiting for her, hands in his pockets, his usual calm mask back in place.
"…So," McQueen started, "you're actually going to do it?"
"I told you I'd get serious," he said simply, and began walking toward the front of the café again.
McQueen trailed behind, her mind spinning at the prospect. A major race in less than five months… and Akuma had just agreed without hesitation.
For the first time in days, she realized she was smiling.