The announcer's voice burst to life over the stadium's speakers, the tone bright and electric, amplified by the roar of the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what a beautiful treat we have for you today!"
The noise in the stands swelled immediately, thousands of voices overlapping into a sea of cheers and applause.
"Not only are we witnessing the first trainees taken in by the Le Destructeur himself in years…"
A wave of camera shutters went off toward the trainer's box. Lucien, ever the showman, gave a graceful nod in acknowledgment, soaking in the moment.
"…but we are also welcoming the esteemed return of the Demon King!"
That one hit differently. The cheers spiked again, but this time mixed with murmurs, the sound turning into an excited, restless hum. Down in the lower rows, a handful of older fans stood up, craning their necks for a better view, pointing toward where Akuma sat.
"And if that wasn't enough," the announcer's voice reached an almost theatrical pitch, "this lineup of ultra-amazing Umas is topped off by the appearance… of the tragic legend—Agnes Tachyon!"
The crowd erupted in a thunderclap of applause and camera flashes.
Akuma chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly as the familiar metallic click of lenses filled the air. Beside him, Tachyon simply gave a lazy wave toward the photographers, her wrist flicking like she was batting away a persistent fly. Her gaze, however, was elsewhere—scanning the track with that absentminded sharpness only she could pull off.
"…It's strange," she murmured just loud enough for him to hear. "Why are they still showering me with attention when I retired years ago?"
Akuma didn't look at her, his eyes fixed on the warm-up lanes below. "Because they still love you," he said simply. "And they still dream of seeing you on the tracks again."
She tilted her head toward him, one brow lifting. "Sentimental, are we, assistant?" The faint chuckle in her voice came with a sigh that deflated it.
Her eyes fell back to the dirt track, to the sleek lines of the runners preparing to take their marks. "As much as I want to race…" Her voice softened, the words curling at the edges like paper near a flame. "Taking me in is more trouble than you think, you know?"
Akuma stayed quiet.
"Not only my condition…" she continued, her tone almost playful but lacking the warmth to sell it. "…but my… obsession, I suppose. My need to chase the potential of Umas, to push boundaries that maybe shouldn't be pushed. Isn't that too big of a burden for you? For your academy?"
The faintest giggle left her lips, but it was empty. More of a sound made to fill the silence than to express joy. There was a guilt in her voice—buried under her flippant delivery—that made her words feel heavier than they should.
Akuma's gaze didn't shift from the track. His posture was calm, almost lazy, but there was a tension there—subtle and restrained—that betrayed how carefully he was listening.
Tachyon kept going, her tone drifting like she was talking more to the air than to him. "If you were smart, you'd give up on me now. Let me keep… being the has-been they wave at between races. It's cleaner that way. Easier for everyone."
She didn't notice—or maybe she pretended not to notice—that Akuma hadn't reacted at all. No sigh, no smirk, not even a sarcastic comment. He just let her words roll into the cold air between them, all while his eyes followed the Umas down below, watching every stride, every twitch of muscle, every calculated breath.
The announcer's voice rose above the already thunderous crowd, each word slicing through the air like a spark.
"The crowd here is absolutely electric today! And who wouldn't be, with such a stacked lineup in the Hopeful Stakes!"
The camera panned over the starting gates, each Uma shifting, some restless, others still as statues.
"In third place for the crowd favorite—we have the ever-refined yet deceptively fierce Mejiro McQueen!"
A wave of cheers rolled over the stadium, a sea of white-and-blue banners waving proudly in the stands.
"Second favorite, the racing icon herself—Silence Suzuka!"
That got a different kind of cheer, sharper, brighter, the kind reserved for someone whose very name was synonymous with dominance.
"And the top favorite today—no surprises here—the invincible smile, Tokai Teio!"
The response was deafening, fans chanting Teio's name in unison, the vibration of their voices thrumming in the bones.
Even then, Akuma didn't react. He wasn't clapping. He wasn't smiling. His focus stayed locked on the stables, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass.
Tachyon noticed.
Her brow twitched, a flicker of irritation breaking through her usual lazy composure. "Honestly, assistant, could you at least pretend to enjoy the show?"
But Akuma didn't answer her—not right away. The warning bell for the gates rang, the tension in the air turning into something palpable, the crowd leaning forward in anticipation.
And then—
"I'm not just some trainer anymore," Akuma murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost under the building roar of the audience.
Tachyon's eyes turned toward him, caught off guard by the sudden gravity in his tone.
"…and no longer am I alone."
The gates clanged open—
BAAANG!
The Uma bolted forward, the dirt exploding under their first strides. The announcer's voice went from smooth to panicked surprise.
"What's this—!? What's this!?"
But Tachyon barely heard the words.
Akuma's eyes, lit with that dangerous, unwavering resolve she hadn't seen in years, stayed glued to the track.
"Watch, Tachyon." His voice cut through the cheers, the thunder of hooves, the announcer's frantic exclamations.
"Watch as those that will support not only me…" he said, finally turning his head to meet her eyes.
"…but you in the future… prove to you today what they're capable of."
Something in her chest tightened—not from her condition, but from the sharp, unshakable certainty in his voice. For the first time in a long time, Agnes Tachyon found herself silent.