The fourth year of Akuma's career.
The year the shine dulled.
The academy was thriving. École Royale de Cheval had risen from nothing into brilliance. Trainers were flooding in, eager to join the place that produced legends, eager to walk the same halls as the Demon King and Le Destructeur.
And Akuma… should have been proud.
But instead, he found himself staring at them from a distance with nothing but disdain.
Not because they were incapable. Not because they lacked effort.
But because they were enough.
Their victories, their methods, their smiles — they never reached further. Never clawed for more. Never tried to burn the way Lucien had, the way Machan once had, the way he himself demanded of his girls.
They trained because it was their job. They coached because it was expected. They celebrated mediocrity because it was safe.
And though Akuma told himself it was fine… it wasn't.
"It has to be fine," he whispered into the mirror one evening, his own tired eyes staring back at him. "It has to."
The board assured him everything was stable. The academy was prosperous. His name, feared and worshipped, hung over every race.
But cracks were already forming.
And in those cracks, Machan fell.
Aston Machan. The star that once outshone them all. The Uma who had conquered legends and made the crowd weep with awe.
The golden girl.
Her light dimmed.
First it was a stumble. A close loss. A bad day.
Then another. And another.
The crowd still cheered, but the whispers grew louder. Machan isn't what she used to be. Machan can't win anymore.
Akuma watched from the trainer's box as her stride slowed. Watched her ears droop. Watched her eyes, once blazing, now carry shadows darker than the track beneath her hooves.
Each race, she gave everything. And each race, it wasn't enough.
Rudolf outpaced her. Grass Wonder broke her rhythm. Even when Akuma's own Umas faltered, Machan couldn't seize the chance.
She was slipping.
And he—he did nothing.
Because she wasn't his. Because Lucien was there. Because it wasn't his role to save her.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But every night, when silence pressed against his walls, he heard her ragged breaths in his memory. Saw her trembling hands gripping reins. Saw her smile cracking at the edges.
And he hated himself for it.
Lucien wasn't blind.
He saw it too. He knew Machan was breaking under the weight.
But he didn't stop.
He doubled down.
Pressure after pressure, race after race, piling expectation on her thin shoulders until she could barely stand.
"You will shine again, Machan," he told her with that blinding smile. "Tu dois. You must. The world waits for you. They do not want your tears, they want your brilliance."
Akuma confronted him once, late at night, when the moonlight carved hard shadows across the academy's courtyard.
"Enough," Akuma said, voice flat, quiet, but sharp. "She's cracking. You're crushing her."
Lucien only laughed.
"Mon frère, you do not understand. Diamonds—do you know how they are born? Under pressure. Toujours. It is pain, it is fire, it is pressure that makes them shine. She will burn bright again—because she must. That is what it means to be a star."
Akuma clenched his fist. His nails dug into his palm until he bled.
Because those were the same words Lucien had said to him years ago. The same philosophy Akuma once believed in.
And for the first time, the words sounded rotten.
But he let it be.
Because he didn't know how to fight them. Because he didn't want to see the truth.
Because it was easier to look away.
But Machan's eyes betrayed everything.
Fear. Sadness. Shame.
Lucien's eyes burned too — with frustration, with self-hate, with the refusal to admit he couldn't save her.
And Akuma… saw himself in the mirror. Empty. Helpless.
Every morning, his reflection asked the same question.
Why aren't you saving her?
He had no answer.
The present.
Akuma's voice was steady, but his hands trembled around his glass.
"It wasn't until Tachyon's incident," he said, eyes lowered. "Until I saw her trainer throw her away. Give up on her like she was nothing. That was when I realized it. This world is broken."
The table was silent. Chopsticks hovered in midair.
"Oh so broken," he whispered, shaking his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips.
He leaned back, eyes drifting to the ceiling, as if searching for a memory that no longer wanted to be found.
"So I left. I left École Royale. I begged my father for Ishigawa Academy. That rumor you've all heard—the one about the headmaster being my grandfather? Lies. I forced him to retire. I forced the board to hand me the reins. Because it was the only choice I had left."
He set the glass down with a sharp clink.
"My only chance to keep dreaming. To make sure no Uma—ever again—would experience what I witnessed. I swore to change this damn world. To make it so every Uma would run only for their dreams. Not for pressure. Not for glory. Not for someone else's pride."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Finally, Akuma sighed. He forced his voice steady, calm, as though nothing heavy had been said at all.
"Now… eat. Before the food gets cold."
He picked up his chopsticks with practiced ease, lifting a piece of sushi to his mouth. His face was unreadable, back in its usual stoic mask.
The others obeyed. Slowly, cautiously, they resumed eating.
But the air was different.
The weight of his words lingered, heavy, suffocating.
For the first time, they understood.
The Demon King wasn't just a title.
It was a scar.
And though his vow inspired them… it scared them too.
Because they saw what it cost.