The Mejiro estate was a world unto itself — a palace of white marble, towering pillars carved with intricate vines of gold, and walls lined with family portraits that seemed to stretch back to antiquity. On this night, the ballroom was dressed in finery fit for royalty: chandeliers glittered with thousands of crystal facets, each reflecting the glow of candlelight like stars brought down from the heavens. A live orchestra filled the air with a lilting waltz, its rhythm slow and dignified, perfectly matched to the graceful sway of noble guests already mingling on the polished floor.
At the top of the staircase, clad in a gown of amethyst silk that shimmered beneath the light, stood Mejiro McQueen. Her posture was perfect, her every movement precise — a jewel among jewels. To her right was her mother, Mejiro Aurora, whose elegance seemed untouchable. Aurora was a woman of serene composure, eyes sharp as glass yet warm enough to maintain the illusion of approachability. She carried herself like the matriarch of an empire, her gown a deep ivory embroidered with silver snowflakes that caught the light with every motion.
To McQueen's left was her father, Mejiro Titan, a mountain of a man in both presence and physique. His tailored suit strained against his frame, but rather than brutish, he exuded the quiet authority of someone who had endured both scrutiny and expectation all his life. Where Aurora's presence was refinement, Titan's was gravity — unshakable, immovable.
As the guests quieted, the family head stepped forward. Aurora's voice, though calm, carried across the hall with the weight of command.
"Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the Mejiro family, I thank you for gracing us with your presence this Christmas Eve. May tonight be filled with warmth, grace, and the promise of a prosperous new year."
The crowd erupted in polite applause before returning to their chatter, the orchestra swelling once again.
And then came the trio.
Akuma entered at McQueen's side, his usual dark attire exchanged for a tailored suit of midnight black trimmed subtly with crimson. Though he carried himself with the nonchalance of someone unimpressed by grandeur, his very indifference drew eyes — whispers followed him, as if even in such noble halls the "Demon King" could not escape his shadow.
Beside him, Agnes Tachyon drew immediate attention. Her oversized lab coat had, mercifully, been traded for a gown that was uncharacteristically refined — a pale gold ensemble that flowed to the ground in layered chiffon, paired with long silk gloves. Even so, she couldn't help but wear it with a scientist's absent-minded slouch, a faint smirk tugging her lips as she muttered about the "pointlessness of aesthetics." Yet, she dazzled nonetheless, the genius wrapped in unexpected elegance.
And then, there was Special Week. She had insisted her dress be "simple," and so it was — a gown of soft rose pink, modest in cut, lacking the elaborate jewels and embroidery of those around her. Yet when she descended the staircase, her bright eyes, unfeigned smile, and natural warmth transformed the dress into something more radiant than all the glittering fabrics in the hall. Several nobles, used to stoic masks of refinement, found themselves disarmed by her cheerfulness. She bowed clumsily, causing the hem of her gown to swish awkwardly — and still, the crowd adored her for it.
McQueen introduced them with poise, her words precise and polite:
"May I present Akuma, Agnes Tachyon, and Special Week. It is my honor to have them as part of my circle, and I trust the Mejiro name will treat them as honored guests."
Aurora nodded approvingly, though her gaze lingered on Akuma, weighing him as if to measure what her daughter saw in him. Titan, meanwhile, extended a firm hand to Akuma, his expression unreadable. "So you're the one making waves," he rumbled. "Let's see if you can weather the tides of the Mejiro sea."
Akuma merely smirked. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."
The tension was cut as Special Week bounded forward, her cheerful bow nearly knocking into Aurora. "Thank you for inviting us! It's my first time at a place like this, so I'll do my best not to mess up!" Her sincerity earned a rare chuckle from Titan, while Aurora's lips curved in the faintest smile.
"HO-HO-HO-HO-HO! PARTY STARTS NOW!"
The voice boomed like thunder, shaking the dignified atmosphere apart as the doors burst open. Gold Ship burst into the ballroom, her gown somehow both gaudy and magnificent — a deep red dress with far too many frills and a golden bow that seemed about ready to decapitate someone if she spun too fast. Trailing behind her was Mischa, strutting in with a chest bare beneath an open vest-like tuxedo, his hair tied dramatically as though he'd walked straight out of a heavy-metal concert instead of a ballroom.
They were loud, they were absurd — and they were impossible to ignore.
Behind them, the rest of Akuma's circle arrived in more fitting grace. Rice Shower wore a modest black gown trimmed in blue lace, shyly clutching Adal's arm as though she might be swept away by the sheer grandeur of the hall. Vodka, bold as ever, wore a sharp black dress that looked more like battle armor than evening attire, while Daiwa Scarlet dazzled in crimson satin, her every motion a challenge to outshine the chandelier. Beside them, Adal — in a white suit with crimson detailing — swept into the hall with the grand flourish of a man who thought he owned it.
"Forgive me…" McQueen muttered through clenched teeth, her face in her hand as Gold Ship cartwheeled into the crowd. "They are… part of our circle."
Her mother arched an eyebrow but said nothing.
To McQueen's horror, however, Titan's booming laugh rolled across the hall. "Hah! Let them be! A ball too stiff with etiquette is no ball at all. This… brings life."
Gold Ship, overhearing, saluted him as though she'd been knighted, causing McQueen to groan audibly.
The moment passed, and the party began to find its rhythm again. Akuma leaned down to McQueen and, with a faint smirk, said, "Come on. Let's join them before they do something stupid." Reluctantly, she nodded, bowing gracefully to her parents before allowing herself to be led toward their circle.
But before they could make it far, another ripple crossed the hall.
A laugh — low, slow, deliberate.
"Ahh… what a delightful gathering. To think even you would walk into such light, Mon Ami."
Lucien approached, clad in a dark violet suit, a silken scarf trailing elegantly behind him. His smile was warm, almost fond, yet his eyes carried the glint of a predator acknowledging another. At his side strode two figures: Symboli Rudolf, dignified and austere in her regal attire, and T.M. Opera O, who wore an elaborate ensemble of white and gold, every movement radiating drama.
The air around them shifted. Whispers spread like wildfire, eyes flickering between the Demon King's circle and the Destructeur's.
Akuma merely smirked. "Of course you'd be here."
Lucien's smile widened, his laugh spilling out like honey laced with venom. "But of course. Where else would I be, on a night as magnificent as this?"
McQueen felt the tension but held her composure. Tachyon muttered something under her breath about "collision courses of egos." Special Week looked between them, confused but smiling nervously.
Then, without words, another ripple:
Adal and T.M. Opera's eyes met.
For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to still. Opera's flamboyant grin softened into something sharper, more personal. Adal's own smile — gaudy, flamboyant — faltered into something genuine.
And the ball had only just begun.