Chapter 77 – The Line Between Joy and Pain
The thunder of boots echoed across the Tokyo Racecourse, the air trembling with every stride.
Dust rose, sunlight flared — and in that blur of color and sound, Aston Machan ran like she'd been born to.
Her form was perfect now — tight, smooth, each motion flowing into the next. She was no longer the nervous Uma from months ago. Her legs moved with intent, her focus razor-sharp as the wind rushed past her cheeks.
"Machan's holding the inside lane — still steady!" the announcer's voice boomed. "She's pacing herself beautifully, folks! Look at that stride! Look at that composure!"
The crowd roared, flags and banners waving like waves in a sea of color.
Akuma's eyes followed her every motion, the faintest smile twitching on his lips. He could read her rhythm, her posture, the faint twitch of her tail when she adjusted for the turn — every habit ingrained from weeks of training.
"That's it," he murmured under his breath, arms crossed. "She's waiting for her mark…"
Beside him, McQueen and Special Week shouted her name, voices raw with excitement. Adalbert and Mischa were yelling too, one in German and one in Russian, though neither seemed to understand the other.
Akuma barely noticed.
Because for a moment, his gaze flickered away from Machan — and found another Uma.
Haru Urara.
She was further back in the pack now, her pink hair flying behind her as she tried her best to keep pace.
Her smile was still there — that pure, radiant smile that had made her beloved by so many — but Akuma could see through it.
He could see the way her feet dug awkwardly into the turf, the way her momentum kept breaking with every shift of weight.
"…She's not used to it," Akuma muttered, frowning.
Adalbert glanced at him, but he wasn't listening to anyone anymore.
"Her form's fine," he continued quietly, his eyes narrowing as Haru stumbled slightly on the turn. "Good leg coordination, decent balance… but her transitions aren't made for turf. Whoever entered her in this race… didn't train her for it."
He didn't sound angry — but his tone carried weight. The kind of restrained disapproval that came from knowing exactly what it felt like to be thrown into something you weren't ready for.
Then, as he followed her trajectory along the curve, his eyes drifted toward the far bleachers across the track — and he saw her.
Akitsu Teio.
The resemblance was unmistakable — the same vivid hair, the same posture, the same quiet pride that masked the tremor in her hands.
She was leaning against the railing, her jaw tight, biting down on her lip so hard it looked painful.
She didn't cheer. She didn't blink. She just watched.
Akuma's expression softened into a faint, unreadable frown.
"…Akitsu-san," he murmured.
She gripped the railing tighter as Haru stumbled again, her entire body seeming to flinch with it. Even from this distance, he could feel the strain — the helplessness of a mother watching her child fall behind, knowing there was nothing she could do but hope.
McQueen's voice suddenly snapped him back to the race.
"Akuma! Look!"
He turned — and just like that, the focus returned to Machan.
She was shifting gears.
The halfway mark had passed, and Machan's eyes were locked forward, that same fire blazing in them. Her ears twitched once — the signal she always gave herself before a sprint.
And then she moved.
"Machan's accelerating!!" the announcer cried out. "She's cutting through the middle — this uma's not holding back now!"
Her stride lengthened, her breathing steady. Each motion was smooth, powerful, confident. She didn't flinch when the other Umas tried to block her lane — she simply adjusted, ducked in, and pushed forward.
The crowd went wild.
"Go Machan!" "Let's go!!" "Run, Machan, run!"
Every chant of her name became fuel. Her tail streamed behind her like a comet's trail, her heart pounding with exhilaration.
In that moment, she wasn't thinking about winning. She wasn't even thinking about the finish line.
All she could think about — was the faces waiting for her in the stands.
Akuma, smiling despite himself. McQueen and Special Week yelling until their throats hurt. Scarlet, Vodka, Tachyon, Teio, Oguri, everyone — all there.
That warmth filled her chest and burned away everything else.
She wanted to make them proud.
"Machan's taking the lead!" the announcer shouted, voice almost cracking. "She's pulling ahead — look at that acceleration! This girl's flying down the stretch!"
The turf thundered beneath her, every stride cutting through the resistance like wind.
One more turn.
One more push.
Her lungs screamed, her legs burned — but she smiled.
"Come on… just a little more!"
And then — the final hundred meters.
The crowd was on their feet now, a sea of color and sound.
"Machan! Machan! Machan!"
Akuma stood up without realizing it, his hand clenched unconsciously as the world seemed to narrow to that one single stretch of green.
And in that instant — she crossed the finish line.
A flash of color, the burst of the announcer's shout, and the explosion of cheers that followed told the story before the numbers did.
"Aston Machan takes the win!"
The stadium erupted.
Fans screamed, confetti burst, and Machan slowed to a stop, her chest heaving as she looked up to the stands — her grin wide, her eyes shimmering.
She waved both arms high, tail wagging uncontrollably as she called out, "Akuma-sensei! Everyone! I did it!!"
Akuma let out a long, almost relieved sigh — then smiled faintly.
"…Yeah. You did."
McQueen and Special Week were crying. Tachyon was proudly shouting equations about velocity between laughter. Even Gold Ship was crying for no reason, yelling something about "her wallet" while waving a Machan flag.
And amid all that celebration — Akuma's gaze drifted once more to the opposite side of the track.
There, crossing the finish line much later, was Haru Urara — still smiling, still giving the crowd her all despite finishing dead last. Her steps were heavy, her breaths ragged, but she never stopped waving.
And on the far bleachers, Akitsu Teio clapped with trembling hands, her lips forming the words I'm proud of you — even as her eyes shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
Akuma exhaled slowly, his smile fading into a thoughtful line.
"…She'll be alright," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Just needs the right track… and someone to believe in her again."
Adalbert and Mischa exchanged a glance but said nothing. They knew that tone — the one Akuma used whenever something in him had already begun to stir.
He kept watching Haru jog to the end, smiling despite it all — and then turned back to see Machan celebrating with her friends, laughter bright and pure.
Two Umas.
Two stories.
Two sides of the same world he'd chosen to guide.
The joy of victory, and the pain of being left behind.
Akuma sighed softly, leaning back as the cheers washed over him like wind.
"...This job's never boring, huh?"
And for once, his smile lingered.