The evening sky was painted orange and lilac when Akuma finally stood at the front gates of the Ishigawa Academy. The lights from the dorm windows shimmered faintly behind him, laughter echoing faintly from within.
"Alright, that's everyone for the night."
He turned to the small group in front of him — Daiwa Scarlet, Vodka, and Rice Shower. All three looked tired but content after another long day. Scarlet waved enthusiastically, Vodka gave a lazy salute, and Rice bowed slightly, her soft "Goodnight, Headmaster," barely rising above a whisper.
"Night," Akuma replied with a small smile, watching them head off before turning his attention to the other cluster still hanging off him like decorative ornaments.
On his face, clinging with both legs and arms, was Teio. McQueen was latched onto his back like an indignant koala. Oguri Cap, cool and composed, had somehow wrapped herself around his left arm. Tachyon occupied his right arm with a grin that promised "field research." Special Week hung from his front, smiling like this was the greatest game in the world, while Machan gently held his hand — the only one acting remotely normal.
Akuma's expression was pure deadpan resignation.
"…Can you all get off me now?"
"NO!" they all answered in unison — except Oguri, who calmly added, "I'm hungry."
Akuma blinked slowly. "…Of course you are."
He didn't even have time to sigh before footsteps approached from behind.
"Now, now, girls," Adalbert's voice came, smooth and amused, his tone that of a man walking into chaos with open arms. "While I'd usually enjoy watching this, we do need the good Headmaster in one piece tonight. Important business, ja?"
Mischa followed behind him, his towering form blocking part of the setting sun. "Da. Important plans," he repeated solemnly, even as he snuck a sip from a flask.
Akuma shot them both a look. "What plans?"
"You'll see," Adalbert said mysteriously, grin widening.
The Umas groaned collectively as they reluctantly let go, each one doing it dramatically — Teio sliding down with a whine, McQueen huffing and turning away, Special Week waving frantically as if Akuma was leaving for war, and Machan smiling softly, her tail flicking behind her as she gave one last squeeze to his hand before letting go.
Akuma exhaled deeply, stretching his shoulders and neck as he muttered, "Finally."
Then, he turned toward the two troublemakers with a serious face. "Alright. What's the problem?"
A beat.
Then—
A karaoke bar.
Flashing neon lights. A disco ball spinning lazily. The muffled bass of terrible singing shaking the thin walls.
Akuma sat dead center of a small booth, elbows on the table, staring straight ahead with the flat expression of a man whose soul was trying to detach from his body.
Mischa was on stage. Singing.
Loudly.
"RA-RA-RASPUTIN! LOVER OF THE RUSSIAN QUEEN!"
The entire building was shaking with his voice. Half the bar was clapping along. Some drunk guy in the corner was yelling, "YEAH, BIG MAN!"
Akuma closed his eyes, lips tightening.
"THERE WAS A CAT THAT REALLY WAS GONE!"
He opened one eye and sighed through his nose. "…What are we doing here?"
Adalbert — seated next to him, already nursing a beer — smiled like this was the best night of his life. "Faculty bonding, mein Freund."
Akuma turned his head slowly toward him. "…This is faculty bonding?"
Before Adalbert could answer, Lucien's smooth, French-accented voice drifted from across the booth.
"Ah, come now, mon ami. A little chanson, a little drink — it heals the soul, non?"
Akuma blinked. "What's he doing here?"
Lucien, dressed far too elegantly for this cheap bar, raised his mojito with a lazy smile. "You wound me! I simply heard my friends were drowning their sorrows in mediocrity and decided to elevate the evening."
"He just tagged along," Adalbert said with a chuckle. "But admit it, he makes the booth look classy, ja?"
"…Barely," Akuma muttered.
Mischa's performance finally ended to thunderous applause from the random patrons, and the big man stomped back toward the table, grinning wide. "Da! Crowd loves me."
"They're drunk," Akuma replied flatly.
Mischa shrugged. "So am I."
Adalbert stood and clapped Mischa on the back, grabbing the mic next. "My turn!" he declared dramatically, switching between German and English as he set up the next song.
The first few notes of Erika began to play.
Lucien chuckled, swirling his drink. "Of course.."
"Shh," Adalbert said, pointing dramatically at the screen as the lyrics began. His baritone voice rolled through the small room — powerful, perfectly in tune, echoing through the booth like it belonged in a war movie.
"Auf der Heide blüht ein kleines Blümelein!"
Akuma sat there, deadpan as ever. "This is absurd."
Lucien smirked. "You sound like an old man already."
"I am an old man."
"Und das heißt: Erika."
They both sipped their drinks in silence for a while before the conversation drifted — as it always did — back to work.
"Team Rigel's been getting rowdier," Lucien sighed, resting his chin on his palm. "Ever since Nice Nature joined, they've become more… lively, shall we say."
Akuma grunted. "You mean you've lost control."
Lucien smirked. "Control is such a boring word."
Adalbert finished his song with a dramatic pose, sweat glistening under the cheap disco light. "Ach, wunderbar! My voice is still magnificent."
"Magnificent, sure," Akuma muttered. "Deafening, definitely."
Mischa chuckled, slamming another drink down. "Da, at least better than my singing."
Lucien chuckled softly. "Non, my friend. Yours had passion. Just… not melody."
The four of them laughed, clinking glasses together.
As the laughter died down, Lucien turned toward Akuma, eyes glinting mischievously. "And how is our dear Machan, hm?"
Akuma paused, setting his glass down. "…Doing great. You'll see her at the Aoba sho."
Lucien's expression softened slightly. "Good. I am glad to see her win again."
Adalbert grinned. "You speak as if it has already happened!"
Lucien winked. "When it comes to the two of them, I prefer to have faith over doubt."
They all laughed at that — the kind of laughter that came from men who'd seen too much and were too tired to care.
Then Lucien stood, taking the mic. "Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to show you barbarians what music sounds like."
The room fell quiet as soft piano notes filled the air — Le Festin.
His voice was smooth, melancholic, perfectly measured. The song wasn't loud or showy — it was gentle, like something that belonged in a quiet Parisian café. Even Akuma found himself relaxing, leaning back in his seat as the lyrics carried across the booth.
When the last note faded, Adalbert clapped slowly. "Not bad, mon cher. Still pretentious, though."
Lucien smirked, bowing dramatically. "Merci."
Akuma chuckled softly, shaking his head.
Adalbert leaned toward him. "So, tell me, mein Freund… your Umas. Still driving you insane?"
"Every day," Akuma replied without hesitation.
"And yet?"
He sighed, swirling the last bit of whiskey in his glass. "…And yet I wouldn't trade them for anything. They're chaos. But they're my chaos."
Adalbert smirked knowingly. "Ah. You are lost, then."
Akuma frowned. "What?"
"Hopelessly lost to them," he chuckled, raising his glass. "Welcome to the club."
Lucien laughed quietly, sipping his drink. "It's true. They drain us, frustrate us, terrify us… and yet, we find ourselves smiling every damn time they do something ridiculous."
"Speak for yourself," Akuma muttered — but even he couldn't hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
The night rolled on. More drinks, more bad songs, more laughter.
And then it was Akuma's turn.
The three men turned toward him as the machine beeped, waiting for his choice.
"Come on, mon ami," Lucien teased. "Let's hear the voice of Ishigawa's finest."
"Fine," Akuma muttered, scrolling through the list. "Don't laugh."
They didn't laugh. Not until the opening notes started playing.
Lucien blinked. Adalbert grinned. Mischa's jaw dropped.
"...Is that—?"
"'Baka Mitai,,'" Akuma confirmed flatly, gripping the mic like it was a death sentence.
The room fell into stunned silence.
Then Akuma began to sing.
His voice wasn't bad — just serious, painfully earnest in the most ridiculous way. Every word came out with too much emotion, like a man confessing his heartbreak to the void. The neon lights flickered, the screen showed slow zooms of rainy streets, and for a moment, it was pure, tragic art.
"Baka mitai kodomo na no ne"
The other three just stared.
Then Lucien leaned over to Adalbert and Mischa, whispering, "…His Umas are going to drain him."
Adalbert nodded solemnly. "Ja, completely."
"Da," Mischa agreed, finishing his drink. "Drier than za prune of ancient."
"DAME DA NEEEEE…"