Archive of Our Own

Special Week stood alone in the dorm kitchen in the dead hours of the night, illuminated only by the open refrigerator. Before her, on the shelf, sat one pudding cup, simply labeled: RICE.

“Rice pudding! Who’s been holding out on me?”

She turned the cup over, finding no other markings.

“No name on it... And it expires tomorrow!” Her eyes hardened. “Leaving it would be wasting it. As the Supreme Commander of Japan, I cannot allow this to pass.”

She held the cup up to the fridge light and gave it the thorough examination.

“I love rice. Rice has never once let me down. I will not let you down, little cup.”

Special Week savored the first bite. The creaminess, the mouthfeel, the flavor on her tongue and down her throat as she swallowed.

It did not taste like rice pudding. It tasted like plain vanilla. Perhaps the rice was at the bottom.

She ate the rest in four seconds.

“...Custard. That’s custard. Not rice pudding.” She stared into the empty cup, searching it for an explanation. “Then why does the label say—”

Her eyes found the sticky note on the fridge door.

Bourbon, thank you for saving the pudding for me!! I’ll have it right after morning practice. You’re the best! — Rice ♡

Spe looked from the empty cup to the label. To the note. Back to the cup.

Her ears went flat. She set the empty cup back on the shelf with trembling hands.

“Rice Shower,” she whispered.

In the waning darkness of pre-dawn, Special Week knelt at the edge of the koi pond in the gardens, head bowed deeply, seeking atonement for a most heinous and unforgivable act. Tears dripped from the corner of her eyes and plopped into the water below.

“Mama. It’s me. I did something terrible tonight.” She paused. “All the seas are connected, so... you’ve probably already heard.”

A koi surfaced, looking at her expectantly. It sank back down, finding no food. Special Week, who had found too much, bowed lower.

“I know. I know.”

Rice Shower’s morning stamina training was grueling and long. She had not let up since the Tenno Sho for a single day. If anything, the victory had cemented her resolve to be better.

Her training was lonely, once, but not anymore. She had Bourbon. And, today, something from Bourbon to look forward to.

Rice showered and came straight to the kitchen after her morning run, hair still damp. She smiled, hand lingering on the door, as she read the note on the fridge. Bourbon was strong and brave and everything Rice wasn’t but she believed in Rice, so for her, Rice would be her hero.

She opened the door and was greeted by an empty shelf. An empty pudding cup tumbled out and clattered to the floor.

Rice looked down at it as it rolled and came to a stop at her feet.

“Oh...” her voice cracked.

Mejiro McQueen was walking in the hallway and stopped mid-stride at the fragile noise. Her head peeked into the doorframe.

“Rice? What’s—”

Rice turned toward her, hair loose and damp, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“—wrong...”

McQueen’s heart did something usually reserved for hearing Tokai Teio say ’Makween.’

So cute.

“I will protect you,” McQueen whispered.

Rice blinked. “What was that?”

“What was what?” McQueen said, recovering her bearing. “What was that ‘oh?’”

“It was, um... it was nothing.”

“It was not nothing. A Mejiro recognizes grief at any volume.” McQueen came in and scanned the fridge. “Especially over sweets. What’s missing?”

“U-um, just my pudding. Someone probably mixed it up...? It’s one pudding, it really doesn’t—”

McQueen’s hand went up. “Don’t. Do not finish that sentence with ‘matter.’ Theft from a dormmate unanswered is a stain on every Umamusume under this roof.”

“I-it’s not theft, it’s—”

“The seal was broken cleanly.” McQueen held up the empty cup with a handkerchief. “No hesitation marks. This was not a first offense.” She set it down. “To be clear: my concern is purely a matter of principle. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the Tenno Sho.”

“I... didn’t say it did...?”

“Good. Because it doesn’t. You beat me fairly, in front of the entire nation, and I have given it no further thought.”

McQueen had given it further thought every night since the race, usually while awake in bed at two. Coincidentally, the number of lengths Rice had beaten her by.

Daiwa Scarlet arrived in full training gear, ready since five. “Given what no further thought?”

“Nothing. Rice has been robbed.”

Daiwa was instantly awake. “Robbed? Rice Shower?”

“It’s one pudding—”

“Get me a pen,” Daiwa said, snapping to attention. “We’re doing this properly. Inventory, statements, timeline. Rice will not come second to a thief.”

El Condor Pasa came around the corner at a dead sprint. “I heard weepin’!”

Then she got her first look at Rice: damp-haired, wide-eyed, cradling the empty cup like a baby bird.

El’s eyes stayed on Rice and her shoulder rammed into the doorframe.

“El-san?!” Rice was already kneeling beside her. “A-are you hurt? I’m so sorry, it’s my bad luck, i-it spreads to people who stand too close to me—”

“She’s apologizing,” El said from the floor. “To me. For my shoulder.”

“Nobody’s weeping,” said Daiwa.

“I heard it in my soul.” El rose, rubbing her arm, and took in the scene properly. “No. Rice. Your pudding?”

“H-how did you get all that from an empty—”

El dropped to one knee. “On my pride as El Condor Pasa, the strongest at Tracen, your pudding will be avenged.”

“I-I’d really rather it wasn’t...?”

McQueen and Daiwa locked eyes with her and nodded.

“Avenged,” McQueen said.

“Avenged,” Daiwa agreed.

Rice closed the fridge and rested her forehead against it.

“Look at her,” said McQueen. “Comforting us. In her darkest hour.”

El clenched a fist. “The strongest girl at Tracen.”

“It’s pudding!”

“She’s in shock,” said Daiwa.

“Scarlet, the inventory list. El, statements from everyone on this floor. I shall examine the scene.” McQueen adjusted her gloves. “We are three of the most capable Umamusume in this academy. This case will be closed by noon.”

Down the hall, in their room, Special Week lay face-down on her bed while Silence Suzuka sat beside her with tea.

A weary Vodka leaned against the doorframe.

“Just leave me be,” Spe mourned, muffled into the mattress. “I’m a pudding-eating monster from Hokkaido.”

Vodka frowned with mixed tiredness and irritation. “I would but I can’t sleep in because of the constant weeping through the wall. So whatever this problem is, it’s now my problem.”

“They hold tribunals for this kind of thing,” Spe said into the mattress.

“They don’t,” said Vodka.

“Teio told me Symboli Rudolf reads your crimes aloud in front of the whole academy, and then takes your cleats.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Rice will be in the front row. Crying. Because of me. The monster from Hokkaido. The custard criminal. The vanilla pudding villain.”

“Spe-chan,” Suzuka said reassuringly. “It was one pudding.”

Spe sat up, hair tousled and wild-eyed. “It was her pudding. Suzuka, food stolen from another is a betrayal.”

“Then just go say sorry,” said Vodka. “‘Rice, I ate your puddin’, my bad, here’s a new one.’ Done. Ten seconds.”

“A replacement pudding?! For a pudding she was saving? After practice? Do you know what pudding tastes like after practice, Vodka?”

“Like pudding?”

“Like love.”

Vodka turned to Suzuka. “C’mon, help me out here.”

Suzuka sipped her tea. “...If Rice Shower got angry at Spe-chan...”

She looked at the window for a while.

“...If Rice got angry, what?” said Vodka.

Suzuka sipped her tea.

“Suzuka. WHAT?”

“It won’t come to that,” said Spe, “because I have a plan. I make it up to her first. Offerings. Tribute. And when the debt is balanced and I’m ready, I confess everything, face to face, and accept my punishment.”

“Or, counterpoint: ten seconds, ‘my bad,’ new puddin’ and then I get back to sleep.”

“Vodka. I ate her pudding.”

Vodka let out a long exhale. “Fine. Gifts. We’ll need Bourbon. Nobody knows Rice better.”

Spe raised her fist to knock on Bourbon’s door. The door opened first.

“Special Week. You have been pacing outside my door for four minutes. This suggests a state of emotional distress.”

“Bourbon! I— wait, you counted?”

“Yes. Come in.”

Spe delivered the tearful confession from a formal kneel in the middle of the floor, Vodka and Suzuka flanking her.

“I see,” said Bourbon. “The pudding I labeled.”

“You labeled it?”

“Affirmative. My label maker printed four letters, then caught fire.” She gestured to a small charred device on the desk, in pieces. “It has been disciplined.”

The label maker had served Bourbon for nine days. In that time it had produced one partial label and caught fire twice, the second time terminally.

“So really, the label’s at fault,” said Vodka. “‘RICE,’ no last name. Anyone coulda read it as—”

“No!” said Spe. “A true Umamusume reads the heart behind the label!”

“That is not a real ability,” said Bourbon.

“It should be!”

Bourbon studied Spe for a long moment. “Assessment: you consumed one (1) pudding by accident, and your proposed response is a multi-stage restitution campaign culminating in a formal confession and acceptance of judgment.”

Spe bowed her head. “Yes.”

“It is disproportionate for an ordinary Umamusume, but for Rice Shower, it is sound. I will help. Rice Shower’s happiness is my desired outcome. You cried for Rice’s happiness. Our interests are aligned,” Bourbon said with a small smile.

“That smile freaks me out every time,” Vodka said under her breath.

“I think it’s nice,” said Suzuka.

“Thank you, Silence Suzuka,” Bourbon replied. “Commencing Operation: ‘Rice Pudding.’”

“We’re not callin’ it that,” said Vodka.

“It is already logged. Personnel designation: Team Spe.”

“We’re not callin’ us that either.”

“Also logged.”

“Okay!” Vodka clapped. “Ground rules. Spe. If anyone asks about the gifts, what do we say?”

“Nothing! The confession is mine. If Rice hears the truth from anyone but me, the apology is void and the debt doubles.”

“That’s not how debt— fine. So when people ask why we’re handin’ Rice presents?”

“We will say,” said Bourbon, “‘It is from Spe. She wants to express something.’”

“...Yeah, that works,” said Vodka.

“It’s honest,” said Suzuka.

“It is accurate, vague, and reveals nothing,” said Bourbon. “There is no possible way it can be misinterpreted.”

Team Spe assembled in the kitchen, which gleamed, recently cleaned by the investigation.

“Proposal: homemade pastries,” said Bourbon. “Rice Shower values handmade gifts above purchased ones. I have observed this.”

“Great idea. One problem.” Vodka pointed at her. “You. Machines.”

“I have prepared countermeasures. I will touch no device. I will stand here.” She moved to the exact geometric center of the kitchen, hands clasped behind her back. “I will provide verbal supervision only. Probability of successful pastries: 98 percent.”

“Perfect!” said Spe. “Suzuka, oven. Vodka, mixer. I’ll do the—”

The stand mixer whirred to life on its own.

“...Did anyone—” Vodka started.

“I did not touch it. 91 percent.”

“I know you didn’t touch it. That’s the problem.”

The mixer accelerated, batter hit the ceiling, and the oven light flickered on.

“The oven isn’t even on—” said Spe.

“It is now,” Suzuka noted as the oven entered self-cleaning mode.

“74 percent.” Bourbon did not move, her hands still clasped. “I would like the record to show that I am standing very still.”

The toaster fired. Nothing came out. It fired again, harder.

“We didn’t put bread in!” said Vodka.

“It is firing warning shots. 32 percent.”

The fire alarm went off, then the sprinklers, and everyone stood in the indoor rain. Spe held up one salvaged, charred lump.

“This one might—” It crumbled to ash in her hand. “Nope.”

Bourbon stood dripping. “... ...This kitchen is proving to be a fearsome foe.”

While the kitchen was being processed, Vodka led the survivors to the campus convenience store and stopped at the clearance bin.

“Phase one, take two. Chocolate. Foolproof.” Vodka explained.

She slammed an enormous heart-shaped box on the counter before them: red ribbon, a gold cupid on the lid, and a red-and-yellow sticker across the front.

Post-Valentine’s Day Clearance!

“That’s a great idea!” Spe cheered.

Bourbon nodded. “Rice likes chocolates as well.”

Suzuka tilted her head. “It’s... a heart.”

Vodka shrugged. “None of us got money for the fancy stuff and chocolate’s chocolate, y’know? It all tastes the same. On clearance, it’s the best value.”

“Verifying.” Bourbon took the box and read the fine print. “Eighteen hundred grams at four hundred eighty yen. 3.75 grams per yen. The nearest competitor offers 1.1. The claim is accurate.”

“I didn’t ask for an audit.”

“You received one.”

Spe’s eyes welled. “Rice deserves the most grams.”

“See? Perfect.” Vodka grinned.

“Vodka, I’ll pay you back. Every yen. With interest.”

“It’s four hundred eighty yen.”

“Compounding daily.”

“Don’t compound it.” Vodka sighed and headed for the register.

The cashier rang it up. “Just this?”

“Affirmative,” said Bourbon. “It is a gift for someone special.”

Special Week nodded emphatically.

“Aww.” The cashier tied a little knot in the bag handles. “For someone special? Week one of March has our best sales too.”

Suzuka stared at the heart-shaped box as the cashier slipped it into a bag and handed it to Vodka. “It’s a heart. Spe-chan is going to... give that to Rice?”

“Yeah? It’s just chocolate,” Vodka said, taking the bag.

Suzuka watched Vodka hand the bag to Spe and said nothing else.

Yellow caution tape ran across the kitchen doorway, where McQueen and Daiwa surveyed the wreckage while El paced and Rice hovered at the door.

“—Murder!” El was saying. “A massacre in our own home!”

“Savagery,” said McQueen.

Daiwa examined the wall. “The oven door is embedded in the drywall. The bolts sheared clean through.”

“Wh-where did you even get caution tape...?” said Rice.

“A Mejiro is prepared.”

“First a pudding theft. Now kitchen vandalism.” Daiwa shook her head. “In one morning.”

“The dorm is going downhill,” McQueen said, disapproval evident in her tone.

“M-maybe it was just an accident...?”

“Rice. The toaster is in the sink. The bread is in the wall.”

Daiwa wrote in her notebook, then stopped. “...I don’t have a category for this.”

“We are dealing,” said McQueen, “with a deeply troubling situation.” She turned from the wreckage. “Very well. The investigation expands. A full canvass: every Umamusume on this campus will be interviewed before noon.”

“All of them?” said Daiwa.

“Every last one. The list, Scarlet. We move as a unit. Rice stays with us, for her own protection.”

“I-I really don’t need—”

“For. Her. Own. Protection.”

“Vodka!”

Vodka turned, an enormous heart-shaped box under one arm. “What?”

The investigation arrived at the track in formation: McQueen at point, Daiwa with the clipboard, El with the witness statements, Rice trailing behind with an apology already half-formed.

“Routine questions,” said Daiwa. “Where were you at midnight?”

“Asleep. Some of us try.”

“This morning, between nine and ten. The kitchen.”

“In it.”

Daiwa’s pen stopped. “...Doing what?”

“Standin’ around while it exploded.”

“She’s confessing,” El whispered dramatically.

Vodka rolled her eyes. “Nobody confesses to standin’ around, El.”

“And the box?” said McQueen.

“This? Deliverin’ it.” Vodka deposited the enormous heart-shaped box into Rice’s arms. “From Special Week. She wants to express somethin’.”

“...Special Week? Why?” asked Daiwa.

“Just told ya. To express somethin’.”

McQueen tilted her head, examining the box. “Unusual. And Valentine’s chocolates.” She circled Rice and the box once. “The traditional offering of romantic intent.”

“There’s a discount sticker,” Daiwa said. “It’s March.”

“Spe is frugal and traditional,” McQueen agreed.

“...Huh,” El said. “Special Week and Rice Shower?”

“She is traditional,” admitted Daiwa.

Scarlet in the cheeks, Rice hid behind the box. “Th-there’s an explanation. There’s definitely an, um, an explanation—”

“Of course there is.” McQueen nodded. “The explanation is courtship.”

“Th-that’s not—”

“Rice. A heart-shaped box. Hand-delivered through an intermediary. This is precisely how it was done in my grandmother’s day. Frankly, I’m impressed. Special Week is more traditional than I had given her credit for.”

“She is a country girl,” Daiwa agreed. “They do things properly out there.”

“N-nobody is doing anything properly!”

“On the contrary. Special Week’s form is immaculate.” McQueen straightened. “It is also entirely outside our mandate. We are hunting a thief, not chaperoning a courtship. The interview is concluded. Onward.”

Daiwa held position a moment longer, eyes narrowed at Vodka. “You know more than you’re letting on.”

“Sure do.”

“Hmph.” Daiwa about-faced and set the marching pace at the front of the column.

Vodka watched them go.

Two stops later, McQueen had commandeered a courtyard bench and converted it into an evidence table. The box sat open as Exhibit A. Rice stood beside it, holding everything the box had displaced.

“The inscription is printed at the bottom of the lid,” said McQueen.

“‘Be mine forever,’” read Daiwa. “It says that?”

“It does.”

She poured tea from the travel set she had carried the entire canvass. “Understand, among the old families, sweets are never merely sweets. To offer a confection is to say, ‘I think of your happiness even when you are not present.’ It is the opening move of any serious courtship. No one of pedigree gives sweets by accident.”

“Is any of this thief-relevant?” said Daiwa.

“Context, Scarlet, is always relevant.” McQueen sipped. “But noted. I am simply saying a gift of sweets—”

Tokai Teio jogged past, doubled back, and presented herself for questioning before anyone asked.

“You’re interviewing everybody? Do me next, McQueen! I bet I can answer fastest!”

“It is not a race,” said Daiwa.

“Everything’s a race!” Teio stopped. “Oh — that reminds me!” She tossed a wrapped confection across the bench. McQueen caught it one-handed, without looking, and was already unwrapping it. “Taiyaki from that shop you like! I refuse to beat you at anything less than your best.”

“Naturally. I shall crush you at peak condition.” She took a bite. “Mmm.”

“She’s bribing the lead investigator,” said Daiwa.

“She is maintaining my condition,” said McQueen.

Teio had already bounced away.

Daiwa, El, and Rice stared at McQueen.

“...Are you and Teio—” Daiwa began.

McQueen tilted her head. “She’s my rival. We’re mindful of each other’s nutrition. Why?”

“You just said nobody gives sweets—” said El.

“I said no one gives chocolate by accident. This is a bean confection. Do keep up.”

“You definitely said—” Daiwa spoke up.

McQueen coughed. “The investigation must be continued. Focus, please.”

She refilled her tea. Everyone’s eyes slid over as she did to Exhibit A. One chocolate was now missing.

Vodka laid out a bouquet and a card on Spe’s desk.

“Phase two. Flowers. Bourbon said Rice loves flowers.”

“She does,” Bourbon agreed. “Rice Shower waters the camellia bed at 6:40 every morning. Affinity: confirmed.”

“Got a card too,” Vodka added. “Shows sincerity.” She set it down. “On sale.”

“It says ‘Get Well Soon,’” said Spe. “There’s a dog. It’s wearing a little cone.”

“Nobody reads the front, y’know. Cards are about the message. Write whatcha feel.”

“Everything I feel?”

Spe wrote. Vodka read over her shoulder, took the pen, and crossed out lines as they appeared. “Sorry” died first. Then “crime.” Then an entire paragraph about her mother, the koi pond, and dairy farms in Hokkaido.

“No ‘sorry.’ Sorry starts questions, and questions end with your confession comin’ outta somebody else’s mouth. Vague. Vague is safe.”

Spe read what survived. “...’Please wait for me. I promise everything will make sense soon. Until then, I’ll always be watching over you.’”

“I’m... not sure about the phrasing,” Suzuka murmured.

“Flagging,” said Bourbon. “This message reads as a romantic communiqué. Probability of misinterpretation: not negligible.”

“It’s vague,” said Vodka. “Vague’s the whole point.”

“Vague plus flowers does not suggest apologetic intent.”

“But...” Suzuka spoke from the window without turning around. “...if Spe-chan wrote it, it’s good. Anyone would be glad to get it.”

Bourbon processed the sentence. The result was unfavorable.

“Rice Shower should not receive a card that would lead to mistaken intent, regardless of how unlikely her reaching that conclusion would be.”

Suzuka turned. “...Are you saying Spe-chan wouldn’t be good enough for Rice?”

Bourbon met her gaze. “I am saying it is an improbable outcome.”

The two Umamusume held eye contact and the space between them chilled.

Special Week and Vodka didn’t notice as they continued workshopping the card.

“Great, no objections,” said Vodka. “There. Mysterious. Dignified. Cool, even. Nobody can misread that. And this time, you deliver it. Baby steps toward the big confession.”

Spe clutched the bouquet like a sword. “I won’t fail.”

Rice looked up from the card. Suzuka stood in the path ahead, the bouquet already in Rice’s arms, the investigation arrayed behind her.

“From Spe,” said Suzuka.

“And the occasion?” said McQueen.

“She wants to express... something.” She paused. “More than last time.”

“More?!” said Daiwa.

Suzuka left.

The canvass resumed, slower than before.

“The card,” said McQueen, walking. “From the top.”

Rice turned it over, navigating by El’s shoulder. “Um. The front says ‘Get Well Soon.’ There’s... there’s a dog. It’s wearing a little cone.”

“Is she sick?” said Daiwa.

“I’m not sick!”

McQueen took the card with two fingers. On the back, a clearance sticker. “The message, then.” She opened it and read. “‘Rice — Please wait for me. I promise everything will make sense soon. Until then, I’ll always be watching over you. — Special Week.’”

“What is she plannin’?” said El.

“It’s... intense,” said Daiwa.

“It is a declaration of intent. She is begging patience until she can declare herself properly. Textbook. My grandmother received a card exactly like this.”

“D-did your grandmother’s have a dog in a cone...?”

“The dog is a modern flourish. The meaning is identical.”

“A-and?”

“They were married within the year.”

“Married?!”

“The flowers confirm it. White camellias.” She looked again. “—waiting. White camellias mean waiting.”

“Waitin’ for what?” said El.

“For Rice, presumably, to be ready.”

Rice put her face in the bouquet, still walking. “I’m not ready,” she said, muffled. “I’m not ready for any of this.”

“The thief,” Daiwa reminded them.

“Of course,” said McQueen. “The thief. Next witness.”

Before noon, the canvass reached the garden. Gold Ship stood among the vegetable beds, watering can in hand, perfectly still, watching a cabbage.

“Gold Ship,” said Daiwa. “Have you seen anything suspicious lately?”

“Define suspicious.”

“Out of the ordinary.”

“This cabbage has been following me since Tuesday.”

“...People. Anything with people.”

“Hm.” Gold Ship thought. While she thought, she drifted over and began watering McQueen’s shoes, slowly, with great care.

“Gold Ship,” McQueen hissed. “You are watering my—”

“You stood still too long. The garden gets confused.”

McQueen relocated two steps to the left. Gold Ship followed with the can.

“The question,” said Daiwa.

“Right. Well, I did see Spe-chan hiding behind a tree this morning, clutching a bouquet of flowers and murmuring Rice Shower’s name over and over.”

Nobody spoke. Water pattered gently onto shoe leather.

“...Over and over?” said McQueen.

“Like a prayer. Or a summoning. Figured she was either in love or planning an ambush. Same thing, really. Didn’t stick around to find out which.” She strolled back toward the vegetable beds. “Anyway, if you see the cabbage, don’t make eye contact.”

Daiwa stared after her. “That is the single most reliable witness statement we have collected.”

“I am aware. We will not be telling her that.”

“Oh, Big Mac.” Gold Ship watered the cabbage without looking back. “I saw chocolates too. Two so far.”

McQueen froze. “...This interview is concluded.”

“What is she talking about?” said Daiwa.

“Nothing. Crime. Unrelated crime. Onward.”

El intercepted them in the courtyard, a yearbook under her arm. Red lines were already visible on the open page.

“It’s bigger than Rice, don’t ya see? Grass Wonder. Silence Suzuka. Now Rice Shower. She’s collectin’ hearts the way the rest of us collect trophies!”

“Where did you even get red string?” said Daiwa.

“A condor is prepared.”

Daiwa looked at McQueen.

“I am choosing to take it as homage.”

“Choose to take it as a warning!” El cried. “Who’s next to fall for her charms? It could be me, it could be you.” She pointed at Daiwa. “It could even be Vodka!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Vodka and Spe-senpai would never—”

Across the courtyard: Spe and Vodka, huddled close, whispering intently. Vodka pressed an envelope into Spe’s hands and gripped her shoulder, nodding gravely. Spe nodded back, earnest with glistening eyes.

“...No,” said Daiwa.

“It’s spreadin’.”

“It was an envelope, El. People hand each other envelopes.”

“An’ it’s not just the gifts. It’s the words, Scarlet.” El produced a notepad. “Three separate witnesses. ‘I love rice.’ ‘Rice is my favorite part of Tracen.’ ‘I think about rice every single day.’”

“She means the food.”

“Does she? Or did she just stop botherin’ to hide it?”

“She says it in the cafeteria. While eating rice.”

“The perfect cover.”

“That may be your theory, El,” said McQueen, “but a Mejiro does not indulge in gossip. Whatever is happening between Spe, Rice, and however many other girls is their business alone.”

Rice flushed, hiding behind the bouquet whose flowers she had been admiring. “N-nothing is going on?!”

“Of course not, dear. Nothing official until she declares herself. That’s what makes it so respectful.”

“Th-that’s not what I—!”

The evidence was finally permitted to go home, and Rice with it. She set the chocolates and flowers in a neat row on her desk, and the investigation followed her in.

“Why’s it arranged like a shrine?” said El.

“I-it’s evidence.”

“Then why does it have a doily?”

Rice snatched the doily away. “...Th-the desk was cold.”

She sat back down on the bed, the doily still in her hand. Her eyes drifted to the chocolate box.

“...U-um. Weren’t there... weren’t there more of these?”

McQueen’s teacup stopped halfway to her mouth. “I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Nobody said it was you,” said Daiwa.

“N-nor should they! I have been cataloguing the evidence! With my eyes only!”

“Even if it were true,” said Rice, “wh-which it isn’t, but if it were, I couldn’t. Someone like Spe-san deserves someone amazing, and I’m—”

“Stop right there! You’re the Tenno Sho champion!”

“She is,” McQueen agreed, her teacup perfectly level.

El winced. “I— sorry, McQueen.”

“Why? It is a fact. A fair, public fact that I never think about.”

“B-but what do I do? If she confesses and I say yes, I’ll only end up disappointing her... A-and if I say no, I break her heart now. Either way Spe-san gets hurt, and it’s all my fault!”

“Follow your heart and stop dithering,” said Daiwa.

“My heart is the problem!”

“Then follow etiquette,” said McQueen. “You must acknowledge the gifts within three days, or it signals contempt.”

“C-contempt?!”

“I don’t make the rules, Rice.”

“Then who—”

McQueen produced a small leather-bound volume. “Mejiro Family Etiquette, Revised Edition. Page forty. ‘On Receiving Suitors.’”

“S-suitors?! Wh-why do you have that with you?!”

“Why would I ever be without it?”

El opened the yearbook across Rice’s lap. “And while you compose yourself, look. Really look. Every red line is a girl Spe has charmed. The pattern only goes one way.”

Rice stared at the web of string and ink. “...W-why is there a line to the cafeteria lady?”

“She gives Spe extra rice. Every single day. Wake up, Rice.”

Rice shut the yearbook. “No. No.” Then she whispered to herself, “You can do this, Rice... Yeah!” She stood. Her shoulders went back. “I’ve decided. I’m going to act completely normal around her. Perfectly, totally normal. She’ll see that nothing has changed, there will be no pressure on anyone, and everything goes back to how it was.”

“Rice—”

“Completely. Normal.”

At lunch, Rice carried her tray with a rigid gait that showed she was consciously thinking about the movement itself. She reached the dessert rack where one pudding cup remained and reached for it absentmindedly.

Special Week arrived at the rack from the other side.

They reached at the same moment.

Their hands touched.

They both flinched backward like they’d been burned.

“Yours! It’s yours! Take it!” Spe stammered.

“Oh, no, you have it!” Rice said, in a normal voice three notes too high. “Honestly, I don’t — I don’t even really like pudding that much!”

Spe went white and her ears went flat. “You... don’t like pudding.”

Rice committed. “B-barely think about it!”

Spe looked at the pudding. At Rice. She took the dessert off her own tray and stacked it on Rice’s. Then her side dish. Then her dinner roll.

“Spe-san, wh-what are you—”

Spe pressed the pudding cup into Rice’s hands, on top of the pile, not meeting her eyes. “Please. Eat well. You deserve everything on this tray and more.”

She fled.

Rice stood holding two desserts, a side dish, a dinner roll, and a pudding. At the next table, Nice Nature leaned over.

“That’s so sweet,” she said. “I don’t think she’s ever given anyone food before other than Suzuka, y’know. You must be special to her.”

“P-please don’t say that,” Rice said.

Rice sat down slowly and disappeared behind the pile. From behind it, the sound of chopsticks and a small and wavering voice:

“I-it’s too much...” The sound of eating. “...it’s too much, isn’t it...” More eating. “...a-as long as I exercise after... it should be fine...”

Rice finished everything in forty minutes.

Special Week was draped across Suzuka and sobbing into her shoulder as Suzuka awkwardly patted her on the back and desperately tried to think of running, of the view from the lead, of anything other than the scent of Special Week’s shampoo.

Bourbon stood, observing, and considering how Rice Shower’s smaller frame made her easier to hold and comfort than Special Week’s.

“She turned down PUDDING!” Spe wailed. “Rice loves pudding and she said she barely thinks about it anymore! I broke pudding! I broke pudding for the nicest girl at Tracen!”

“So she’s over it,” said Vodka.

“She’s not over it,” Spe said into Suzuka’s shoulder, “she’s destroyed—”

“There, there,” said Suzuka, rubbing her back.

Bourbon watched Suzuka. “Observation: Silence Suzuka’s heart rate has decreased by eleven percent.”

“...It’s a calming technique,” Suzuka said, still rubbing.

“For which of you?”

Suzuka did not answer.

Spe surfaced, eyes hardened with resolve. “I gotta fix this. Whatever it takes. I’ll run to Yubari and bring back the best pudding in Japan! Tonight! It’s only 831 kilometers!”

“That’s—” Vodka pinched the bridge of her nose. “No, sit down.”

“I’ll drag Vodka along too!”

“Why?! Sit.”

Spe sat down, deflated, and leaned back into Suzuka, who accepted her weight without complaint.

Then she went still with a worse idea, and sat up.

“...No. Not pudding. Words. The whole truth, or as close to it as I can.” She lunged for a notebook. “A letter.”

“...Sure,” said Vodka. “Have at it.”

Spe wrote. Stopped. Crossed it out. Wrote again. Made a noise like a tire losing air and crushed the page into a ball.

“Every word is wrong. There aren’t enough of them. There are too many. ‘Sorry’ isn’t allowed but everything I feel starts with sorry—”

“Spe.”

“—and how do you tell a girl the seas are connected without sounding—”

“Spe. C’mere.” Vodka held out her hand for the pen. “Just let me write it.”

Spe surrendered the pen.

Vodka scribbled a few lines like she was signing for a parcel, read them back once to herself, and folded the page in half.

“There. That oughta do it. Rice’ll figure it out.”

She held the folded page out into the room. “Anybody wanna check it?”

“It is acceptable,” said Bourbon, who had not looked at the page, or at Vodka, or at anything in the room except Silence Suzuka.

“Ya didn’t even look at it.”

“Rice Shower appreciates all consideration. She is the most gracious Umamusume at this academy.” Bourbon did not break the stare.

Suzuka held it without blinking. “...Spe-chan is gracious too. I gave her a carrot this morning. She was very thankful.”

“Special Week should not give Rice Shower her carrot.”

“No. But if she did, I think Rice Shower would be delighted to receive such a personal gift.”

“If Rice Shower received such a gift,” said Bourbon, “it should come from someone she trusts. Such as me.”

Suzuka’s ears flattened. “Spe-chan is trustworthy. I trust her with everything.”

Neither of them blinked. The room got colder.

Vodka looked from one to the other, then sealed the envelope without waiting for the gut check she’d asked for. “Great. Unanimous.”

A knock. Rice opened her door. Bourbon stood holding an envelope at a perfect horizontal.

“Correspondence. From Spe. She wants to express something.”

Rice took it. “B-Bourbon... do you know what’s going on?”

“Yes.”

“W-will you tell me?”

“No,” said Bourbon. “It will be okay, Rice-chan.” She turned to go, then paused, her attention drifting down the hall toward a window two rooms over. “...Rice. Do you consider me trustworthy?”

“O-of course?”

“Good. Remember that.” She left before Rice could ask.

In the library, the investigation commandeered a corner table. McQueen unfolded the letter and held it flat. Rice hovered at the edge of the huddle, up on her toes, trying to see her own mail.

They read.

They read it twice.

“It’s utterly scandalous,” McQueen said at last.

“It’s bold,” said El.

“It’s—” Daiwa had gone scarlet to the ears. She tugged at her collar. “It’s something.”

El’s tail swished once, slowly. She produced a notepad and began to write. “To say such things. So brazenly.” She underlined a word, twice. “...So this is what Grass likes. No wonder.”

“El, what are you writing—”

“Shh. I’m studying the technique.”

McQueen held the letter at arm’s length, turned it ninety degrees, and tilted her head. “I do not believe anything quite like this has ever been committed to paper at Tracen. And how does she even propose Rice Shower has the flexibility to—”

“Can I see?” said Rice.

“No,” said McQueen.

“No,” said Daiwa.

“No,” said El.

Rice rose onto her toes again. Daiwa’s hand came up flat over Rice’s eyes.

“You’re too young.”

“Um. I’m actually older than—”

“You’re too young,” Daiwa repeated, and did not move her hand. “It’s forward, fine, but Spe-senpai is intense about everyone—”

“Does she write everyone a letter like this?” El asked.

“There will be an innocent explanation,” Daiwa said through her teeth. “There is always an innocent explanation with Spe-senpai. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

McQueen held it up to Daiwa, angling it away from Rice Shower. “Ordinarily, I’d agree, but this—”

“M-McQueen?!” a new voice spoke up.

Mejiro Dober stood at the end of the shelf, flushed, eyes wide. She was staring at the letter.

“Y-you wrote—”

“Dober!” McQueen’s tail went ramrod straight and she shoved the letter on the table behind her. “N-no! This isn’t— you mustn’t misunderstand— this was written for Rice Shower—”

“Rice Shower?” Dober’s flush deepened. “I know you two have a history, but—” She leaned past McQueen and took one look at the contents. Her hand went to her mouth. “I didn’t know you could write like that.”

McQueen opened her mouth, but Dober was already running. The librarian rose from her desk, shaking her fist as Dober disappeared around the corner.

McQueen’s mouth closed. She looked down at the letter. She looked at it for a long time.

“Perhaps,” she said, “I was wrong in my assumption that Special Week was pure in her intent toward Rice Shower.”

In the commotion, Rice had picked the letter up from the table. She was reading it now, while everyone else watched the door Dober had fled through.

Nobody noticed until the library went quiet and Rice was still standing there, letter in both hands, ears pink to the tips.

“...It’s not that bad,” she said.

Every head turned.

“It’s — I mean — some of it is actually—” She’d gone bright red. “N-no one has ever said anything like this to me before.”

“Rice,” said McQueen. “You cannot possibly find that flattering.”

“I-I didn’t say flattering! I said not that bad!”

McQueen looked at El. El looked at Daiwa.

“She needs protecting,” said El.

“Agreed,” said McQueen.

Daiwa looked at Rice’s face and could not find an innocent explanation. “...Agreed.”

“It’s everyone,” El said. “Grass, Suzuka, Rice...” she turned toward the group. “The spring formal. Spe gave Dober her dessert.”

McQueen sank into a chair. “Spe has never relinquished a dessert in her life.” Her voice went hollow. “My own family. Under my nose.”

El laid the yearbook open between them, red string already strung corner to corner. “Now you see the board.”

McQueen steepled her fingers above it. “Then let us assemble the full picture. The chocolates. The flowers, with a card begging patience. And now this.” She did not touch the letter again. “Set against the established pattern. Grass Wonder. Suzuka. A Mejiro. ...Possibly Teio.”

Daiwa blinked. “I don’t think we mentioned Teio—”

“Possibly Teio,” El agreed.

McQueen took a long breath. “The conclusion is unavoidable. The Special Week we thought we knew does not exist. We are dealing with a methodical, patient, relentless, harem-building playboy.”

Rice put her face in her hands. “This is so much worse than a thief.”

“...Speaking of,” said Daiwa. “Should we get back to the thief? We still have a thief.”

“Scarlet. A girl’s heart hangs in the balance.” McQueen rose. “The thief can wait.”

“...The thief was now the good part of my day,” Rice said, into her hands.

She took the letter back from the table, folded it carefully, and left without looking at any of them.

In Spe’s room, Bourbon had taken the desk chair. Suzuka had taken the windowsill.

Spe stood at the door, breathing.

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. Okay. The gifts are done. The letter was the last of it. There’s nothing left between me and the truth.” Spe gripped the doorframe. “I walk up to her. I tell her. Whatever happens, I earned it.”

“For what it’s worth,” Vodka said, leaning back, “I think the gifts are workin’. Rice has gotta be softened up by now. She’s probably sittin’ in her room thinking about ya.”

Bourbon frowned. “This operation should be concluded... No. It was inadvisable to initiate it to begin with. Rice Shower has been subjected to significant emotional disruption today.”

“...Spe-chan is not a disruption,” said Suzuka. “But I agree, this is distracting Spe-chan from other things.”

“Rice Shower is not a distraction.”

“...Spe-chan has done enough to apologize. She doesn’t need to think about Rice Shower anymore.”

“Good. Rice Shower doesn’t need Special Week. This operation was atonement for Special Week’s conscience.”

“Spe-chan was thinking of her feelings.”

“Rice Shower is stronger than you think. She won the Spring Tenno.”

“...Spe-chan won the Spring Tenno too.”

“Rice Shower won it twice.”

“Spe-chan won the Japan Cup.”

The two Umamusume stared at each other.

“We should go,” said Vodka.

Spe nodded. “Let’s go.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Rice said, trembling.

She stood in her room with the letter pressed to her chest. McQueen, Daiwa, and El had arrived in formation to escort her to the courtyard.

“You are ready,” said McQueen. “A Tenno Sho champion does not falter.”

“I didn’t falter in the Tenno Sho! I had a plan! I don’t have a plan for this!”

“You’ll be fine,” said Daiwa. “Just say what you feel.”

“What I feel is the problem!”

They marched.

In the halls, voices scattered ahead of them.

“Did you hear?”

“Special Week is confessing—”

“To Rice Shower!”

“I didn’t even know those two had a thing.”

“They didn’t, but that letter—”

“You heard about the letter?”

“How could I NOT, it was the most—”

The formation rounded the corner, and the hallway fell silent. McQueen at point, Daiwa flanking, El at the rear. Rice in the center, making herself as small as four people would allow.

“Remember,” said McQueen, walking. “Respond with composure. Do not let her nefarious charms sway your judgment.”

“Follow your heart,” said Daiwa. “But if your heart says anything suspicious, override it.”

“Don’t make eye contact at sunset!” said El. “That’s how she gets ’em!”

“I-I really think this might be a misunderstand—”

“That,” said McQueen, “is exactly what she wants you to think.”

Spe approached the courtyard from one side, flanked by Vodka, Suzuka, and Bourbon. On the way, she stopped at the koi pond for three seconds and bowed to it.

When she looked up, the courtyard was not empty.

Students lined the edges, watching, murmuring, some on tiptoes. Spe’s stomach dropped. Nobody should be here. This was supposed to be between her and Rice.

Rice emerged from the other side, flanked by McQueen, Daiwa, and El. All three were watching Spe with guarded expressions, as if she were the threat.

They know, Spe thought. They found the thief.

Rice was scarlet and shaking. Spe’s chest tightened. She’s still hurting from the pudding. I did this to her.

From across the gap, Daiwa’s eyes moved to Spe’s formation. Bourbon and Suzuka stood on opposite sides, looking past Special Week and at each other. Suzuka as if idly regarding a particularly troublesome insect, Bourbon as if evaluating a malfunctioning appliance.

“...What is happening between those two?” Daiwa muttered.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” said El. “Eyes on the target.”

The two formations stopped ten meters apart.

Spe stepped forward. Rice stepped forward. They met in the middle.

“Rice Shower. Before anything else, you deserve the truth. All of it. From the very beginning.”

Rice’s hands were shaking. “Then... th-then me after. I have something to say too.”

Spe took a deep breath. “I love rice.”

The courtyard went silent.

“I’ve loved rice since before I can remember. And on my very first day at Tracen, I was lost, and scared, and I walked into the cafeteria, and there was rice. Waiting for me. And I thought: I’m going to be okay here.”

“The first day,” El whisper-shrieked. “She’s been at this since the FIRST DAY—”

“Since then, not one day has gone by without rice. I think about rice every single day. Rice is my favorite part of Tracen.”

Daiwa gripped El’s arm. “The food. Tell me she means the food.”

“Look at Rice’s face and tell me she means the food.”

“I love the way rice looks. The smell. Some nights I lie awake just imagining the taste—”

“The... taste...?” Daiwa said in a strangled voice.

McQueen covered her mouth. “This is quite scandalous.”

“—and I told myself: just once. Just one taste. But my body moved on its own. And by the time I came back to my senses... there was nothing left.”

“Nothing... left...?” El managed.

McQueen fanned herself.

“I’m so sorry. I’ve felt sick ever since. I see your face and I can’t think about anything else. I didn’t sleep last night. I’ve barely eaten. Well, I’ve eaten. But joylessly!”

Rice opened her mouth. “U-um. I. I also—” Her voice faltered. “Th-the chocolates, and the flowers, and the camellias mean waiting, and McQueen said her grandmother— m-married within the—”

Spe stepped closer. “Rice. Let me say it properly.”

The setting sun lit Spe’s hair. Her amethyst eyes shone. Her tail swished once. Her ears perked up with eagerness.

“The truth is, I... I love rice—”

“F-FINE!” Rice was completely red in the face. “I’ll be your girlfriend, Spe!”

“—pudding.” Spe blinked. “Wait. What?!” Her eyes went wide; her face went red. “R-Rice, where is that coming from?!”

Silence. Suzuka had stopped breathing. A deep frown was etched into Bourbon’s face.

“...Pudding?” Rice whispered.

“Your pudding! The one Bourbon labeled! It only said RICE, so I thought it was the flavor, and I ate it, and it was custard, it wasn’t even rice, I was deceived and I still ate all of it, that’s the kind of Umamusume I am, and then I saw your note!” She dropped into a deep bow. “I’m so sorry! The chocolates, the flowers, the letter, all of it was an apology, so the debt would be paid before I confessed! Please don’t have me banished!”

Wind crossed the courtyard. Rice’s hands fell to her sides.

“The letter... the chocolates... a-all of it?”

“All of it!” Spe said from the ground. “Apology!”

Behind Spe, two people had not moved.

“Girl—” said Bourbon.

“—friend?” said Suzuka.

They both stepped forward.

“Special Week.”

“Rice Shower.”

Bourbon and Silence Suzuka were moving in sync, their thoughts and actions aligned to something beyond front-running.

Daiwa looked between them. “...What’s happening? What is that?”

Vodka was already backing away. “They’re fightin’. I can finally tell. RUN.”

Spe took one look at Bourbon’s expression and her fight-or-flight response activated. She grabbed Rice’s hand and they ran away.

“...She’s running,” said Suzuka. “With someone else.”

A long moment. Her eyes were fixed on a point well past the dorms.

“My view...”

“I do not understand what that means,” said Bourbon, beside her, watching the same horizon. “However, I am experiencing it also.”

They started walking in step, and everyone watching understood.

What remained of the formations: McQueen, Daiwa, El, Vodka. Distantly, the sound of running.

McQueen composed herself and brushed something off her sleeve. “Well. The thief has confessed, restitution was made, exhaustively, and the victim has fled the scene. I hereby close the investigation.”

“You said it would be closed by noon.”

“It is noon somewhere. Naturally, I found the courtship theory implausible from the start.”

“You compared the card to your grandmother’s wedding.”

“I was being thorough.”

Daiwa looked at her sleeve. “...Is that gold foil?”

“I-it is confetti. From the emotional climax.”

Daiwa looked at her.

“A Mejiro does not consume evidence! I must ask that you believe me!”

Of the original two dozen chocolates in Exhibit A, nine remained.

“And Spe-senpai was innocent the whole time.” Daiwa pointed at El. “Innocent. Like I said.”

“Innocent of courtship. Guilty of the puddin’.”

“...Hmph. I’ll take it.”

El stared at the yearbook. “The thief and the suitor were the same girl. All along.” She looked up, electrified. “Do ya understand what this means? It goes deeper.”

“It goes nowhere, El. It was a pudding.”

“That’s what she wants ya to think.”

Vodka stared in the direction they had run. “...Hold on. Everyone thought the gifts were a courtship. The chocolates. My chocolates.”

“The large heart-shaped box, hand-delivered through an intermediary. What else would they be?”

“An expression of somethin’! Like we kept sayin’!”

“That’s what courting is!”

A hand drifted toward Vodka’s nose. “So when someone gives someone— when ya give a girl—” Her ears went flat. “—chocolates—”

“Vodka. You’re bleeding.”

Vodka pinched her nose, voice up an octave. “Wait. Then w-what did you think when I gave you discount chocolates last week?!”

“S-Shut up! Of course I knew you were just being a dummy!”

“Right! Right. A dummy.” Vodka’s eyes narrowed over the pinched nose. “...Why’s your face red?!”

“YOURS IS BLEEDING!”

Tokai Teio jogged into the courtyard.

“I heard screaming! What did I miss?”

“You were interviewed once today,” said Daiwa. “That was plenty.”

“And yet here I am. What happened?”

Daiwa collected herself. “Spe-senpai confessed to Rice. Sort of. At sunset. In front of everyone.”

“A sunset confession? Eyes shining, ears flat, the whole staging?”

“The whole staging.”

Teio nodded, impressed. “That takes guts. You only get one shot at a sunset.” She turned. “McQueen!”

The setting sun caught Teio’s hair. Her eyes shone. Her tail swished once.

“The truth is... at the next race, I’m gonna beat you so completely you’ll dream about it for a week!”

McQueen swept her hair aside, chin up, eyeing Teio.

“And I will think of nothing and no one but you, Teio. Every meter of the way.”

Daiwa, El, and Vodka stared.

“That’s— that is exactly what just—”

“What Spe did was a confession, Scarlet. This is a declaration of rivalry. They could not be more different.”

“Completely different!” said Teio.

They nodded at each other, satisfied.

El quietly pulled the yearbook closer. “I need more string.”

Grass Wonder arrived at the courtyard’s edge, serene.

“I heard shouting. Where is Spe? I owe her congratulations.”

“She, uh. Ran off. With Rice.”

“...To where?”

“The dorms? Probably? They were holding hands.”

Grass smiled. “Spe ran off with Rice Shower. That’s... wonderful for them.”

Her hand was white-knuckled on her sleeve. The smile did not move.

“I’m happy for her. Truly. First Suzuka, and now this. Spe is very... loved.” She sat at El’s bench.

El closed the yearbook slowly. “To the dorms, huh. Alone. Together.” She leaned in. “Well... Grass. Should you— should we... get back at ’em?”

Grass considered it seriously. “Yes. At the next race. We’ll crush them both.”

A long exhale. “...At the next race. Sí. That’s what I meant.”

Spe and Rice tumbled into an abandoned classroom and eased the door shut, breathing hard. Rice started giggling first. Spe clapped a hand over Rice’s mouth, then started giggling too.

“Shh— shh— they’ll hear—” Spe whispered.

“You grabbed my hand,” Rice whispered between giggles. “In front of everyone. While they were standing right there. We made it so much worse—”

“I panicked! You were closer than the exit!”

Footsteps in the hallway. Both froze. A muffled voice came through the wall.

“Halt. Have you seen Special Week? Height: one hundred fifty-eight centimeters. Last seen fleeing the courtyard. Holding hands with Rice Shower.”

“I— I don’t—”

“Your voice wavered on ’don’t.’ Try again.”

Rapid footsteps, departing. Spe and Rice exhaled together.

“How is she so... like that?” Spe whispered.

“She practices,” Rice whispered, a little proud. “In the mirror. She doesn’t know I know.”

“...I’m never telling her you told me.”

“Spe. The chocolates. I-I have to know about the chocolates.”

“We found them on clearance. The heart box had the most chocolate per yen.”

Rice put her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. It was not crying.

“There was a cupid on the box—”

“The card too. Also on clearance.”

“The dog in the cone.”

“The dog was free.”

Rice’s shoulders started shaking again.

“They held a hearing about it. Scarlet defended you until the very end.”

“She did?” Spe whispered, touched.

“She lost.”

Rice was quiet for a while. She pulled her knees up on the desk and rested her chin on them.

“...You know what’s funny? I haven’t thought about the pudding once. Not since this morning.”

“You haven’t?”

“The whole day, everyone kept telling me someone was thinking of me. Leaving things for me.” Her voice got smaller. “And I know it was just an apology, but... it was nice. Being the person somebody was thinking about.”

“I was thinking about you, all day,” Spe said. “I felt so bad about the pudding and—”

More footsteps, slower. Both went still.

“Um... e-excuse me,” came Suzuka’s voice through the wall, very quiet. “Have you... have you seen Rice Shower?”

“N-no—?”

A long silence. Nobody moved.

“...Okay.”

Nothing. Then running footsteps, and a door slammed somewhere far away.

“She didn’t even raise her voice,” Spe whispered.

“She never does.”

“Rice... the girlfriend thing. You don’t have to explain. But—”

“I panicked. An entire day of everyone telling me you were courting me, and then a speech, and a sunset, and your ears did that thing—”

Spe’s ears perked up and rotated slightly.

“That.” Rice pointed. “My mouth just... answered for me.”

Spe laughed into her sleeve. “I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Don’t be.” Rice shook her head. “It’s the most exciting day of my life. P-please never do it again.”

“Deal. You’re my friend, Rice. Officially. No takebacks.”

“No takebacks.” Rice looked at her hands. “...Nobody’s ever thought about me the way you did today. Nobody’s ever—” She stopped. “...well. Besides Bourbon-san, maybe.”

“The one hunting me?”

“Y-yeah. She’s...” The rest barely made it out. “...she’s my rival.”

Spe watched Rice’s face. “...Oh.”

Rice went redder. “D-don’t say ‘oh.’”

“It’s okay,” said Spe. “Suzuka is—”

“The one hunting me?”

“My roommate.” A quiet laugh. “So, yeah. I... I get it. But, um, if you ever want to run together sometime...”

“I’d... like that.”

Outside, footsteps somewhere. Inside, two girls sitting in the dark, smiling at the floor.

The classroom door slid open. Bourbon. At the window, Suzuka’s silhouette.

Spe’s hands rose slowly. “It was about pudding.”

Rice’s hands also rose. “N-nobody heard anything.”

“I heard one thing,” said Bourbon.

“One word,” said Suzuka.

Bourbon extended a hand to Rice. “We’re going home, Rice. I will make you a replacement pudding myself.”

Rice took the hand. “...P-please don’t go near the kitchen.”

Bourbon turned to Spe. “Special Week.”

Spe saluted. “Bourbon-san.”

“We will talk.”

“Spe-chan,” Suzuka said from the window. “Let’s go home.”

“Coming!”

They were escorted out in opposite directions. At the end of the hallway, Spe and Rice looked back at each other once.

“Good luck,” Rice mouthed.

“You too,” Spe mouthed back.

Bourbon sat at her desk. A store-bought pudding cup, untouched. Beside it, a brand-new label maker, pristine, still smelling of the box. She typed, one key at a time. R. I. C. E. S. It printed “RICE S” and burst into flames.

She eyed it. She set it gently into a metal bin beside three identical charred label makers.

“Progress,” she said. “Five letters.”