"—Achoo!"
The sneeze ripped out of Akuma before he could stop it. His shoulders jerked, the knife in his hand halting mid-dice.
Immediately, four voices answered him in unison.
"Bless you, Akuma-sensei!" Special Week chirped, bright as ever.
"Bless you, Akuma-san," McQueen added, composed but with that faint softness that always crept into her voice around him.
"Guinea pig, your immune system is suboptimal again," Tachyon declared, pushing her fake glasses up her nose with clinical precision.
"…Tissue?" Oguri Cap asked, already holding one out with her free hand—the other clutching a half-empty plate of rice.
Akuma blinked. "…Thanks." He accepted the tissue, dabbed his nose, and shook his head with a sigh. "Someone must be talking about me."
"Who would talk about you behind your back, Akuma-sensei?" Special Week tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled.
"…A lot of people," he muttered, discarding the tissue.
But he didn't linger on it. Instead, he turned back to the cutting board, the knife flashing in his hand as he resumed slicing carrots with practiced precision. His motions were fluid, efficient, every cut exactly even.
Behind him, three pairs of eyes widened, and one pair continued sneaking bites of rice.
"Akuma-sensei…!" Special Week gasped, her hands pressed to her cheeks. "You're amazing at cooking too?"
"…Guinea pig, your knife work is more precise than the last time I watched you cook," Tachyon admitted, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose.
McQueen clasped her hands together, eyes soft. "…Akuma-san, how refined. Truly fitting of your character."
Oguri said nothing. She simply stared at the diced carrots and then shoveled another spoonful of food into her mouth.
Akuma exhaled through his nose, the faintest twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're all easily impressed."
But he didn't stop cooking.
The small dorm kitchen filled with warmth, the faint crackle of oil, the aroma of garlic and vegetables rising with each stir of the pan. The Umas gathered around the counter like children waiting for treats, their chatter light and unguarded.
"So," Akuma said at last, glancing back at them, "how are you enjoying your time at the academy so far?"
"Mm!" Tachyon raised a finger like a lecturer about to give a presentation. "It certainly beats staying in a cramped room all the time. Though your insistence on proper sleep cycles is hindering some of my experiments, guinea pig."
"Experiments aren't more important than your health," he shot back flatly.
"Debatable." She smirked.
"I'm having so much fun!" Special Week burst in, hands balled into excited fists. "There are so many amazing Umas to race with! Every day feels like a dream!"
"Truly," McQueen added with a composed smile. "The academy's facilities are truly becoming exceptional, and the competition is nothing short of inspiring. I too… am having a wonderful time."
Oguri Cap didn't say anything. She simply nodded once in agreement, then continued devouring the food already set in front of her, one plate sliding into the next like a conveyor belt.
Akuma arched a brow. "…I'll take that as 'good enough.'"
The girls laughed. Even Oguri allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch upward, though she buried it under another bite.
Satisfied, Akuma set down the knife and reached for a pan, his voice turning practical. "Well, enjoy the free time while you can. Things are about to get busy."
"Busy?" Special Week tilted her head.
"I'm entering Tachyon at the upcoming Spring Stakes, as she requested."
"Excellent choice." Tachyon adjusted her glasses, smugness blooming in her expression.
"And then," Akuma continued, "there's the Satsuki Sho. Both you, McQueen, and Special Week will be racing in it."
The reaction was immediate.
"Ehhhhh!?" Special Week yelped, her face lighting up. "Really!? I get to race in the Satsuki Sho!?"
McQueen straightened, her composure fracturing just enough for her eyes to sparkle. "The Satsuki Sho… then that means…"
"You'll most likely face your rival," Tachyon finished smoothly, smirking.
"Yes!" Special Week cheered. "I can't wait! Racing together will be so much fun!"
"I wouldn't phrase it as fun," McQueen corrected, though her smile betrayed her excitement. "But I welcome the challenge."
Tachyon only laughed, spinning a pen between her fingers like she was already running calculations in her head.
Amid their chatter, Oguri finally slowed her eating, blinking at the news.
Akuma noticed.
"Oh. Oguri." He turned toward her, wiping his hands on a cloth. "Do you mind coming along with me to watch the race?"
The fork in her hand froze halfway to her mouth. For once, her usually calm expression faltered. Her ears tilted down, her tail curling in close. A faint flush crept across her cheeks as her eyes dropped.
"…If… you want me to," she muttered. And then, flustered, she shoved another bite into her mouth, chewing with suspicious intensity to hide the expression.
Akuma's lips softened. Barely, but enough. "…Good. I'd like that."
He turned back to the stove, resuming his cooking as if nothing had happened.
But behind him, three pairs of eyes locked on Oguri Cap like hawks.
McQueen leaned in first, her voice a whisper. "…The fourth."
Special Week gasped quietly, covering her mouth. "…The fourth!"
Tachyon smirked, pushing her glasses higher. "…Yes. The fourth."
Oguri nearly choked on her food, shooting them a glare, but the three ignored her completely.
"Good grief," McQueen sighed softly, "how many is he going to get?"
"It wouldn't surprise me if he ends up with more than ten," Tachyon replied smoothly. "Guinea pig is too good at attracting strays."
"More than ten!?" Special Week squeaked, eyes sparkling with both horror and awe.
"Head wife," Tachyon said suddenly, glancing sidelong at McQueen.
"…What?" McQueen blinked.
"Obviously you. You were here first. So it's your duty to make sure no one problematic joins this… household."
McQueen flushed furiously, fidgeting with the ribbon on her dress. "…H-head wife!? That's not—"
"Mmhm. Head wife." Tachyon smirked.
"Do your best!" Special Week declared, throwing up a fist like she'd just accepted some great responsibility on her behalf.
McQueen nearly dropped her teacup. "Wait—what do you mean I''ll—!"
"You're the junior wife," Tachyon told her matter-of-factly.
"J-Junior wife!?" Special week whined.
Oguri snorted into her food, hiding her own blush behind another bowl.
At the stove, Akuma's knife paused mid-cut. A faint chill ran down his spine. He didn't look back. He didn't want to.
"…I should stay out of this conversation," he muttered under his breath and resumed his work.