Chapter Text
“I always hear Digital saying ‘yuri is love, yuri is life’. What do you think she means by that?”
TM Opera O’s ears flicked as she turned to look at Meisho Doto, sidelong. “Uh, I mean,” Doto fumbled with the strap of her bag as she fumbled with the conversation. “She could be talking about lilies, but I don’t think she’s a member of the gardening committee with Air Groove and the others, so…”
There was a beat of quiet between them in the otherwise busy hubbub of the shopping district. Anxiety crawled up Doto’s throat, threatening to pin her to the pavement even as she walked.
But Opera was never truly put off by anything. “Hmm!” she reached up and tapped her chin, swishing her tail thoughtfully. The ends of it brushed against the back of Doto’s knees and sent a tingle up through her whole body. She felt it rattle up her spine and shake her brain around in her skull. “Clearly it’s short for ‘eureka’.”
“Eureka?” Doto managed to keep her voice from wobbling. She mentally patted herself on the head for that.
“Because we Umas are always striving for victory, driven by the cheers of our audience.” Opera nodded, pointing definitively at the clear sky overhead. “Yuri is our way of life as we chase that glory!”
“Ah, that must be it. Digital is very passionate about racing, after all.”
Technically, Doto had Agnes Digital to thank for this whole nerve-wracking idea. Not blame, no—if anything bad happened, it would be Doto’s fault, of course.
She had been walking through the halls of Tracen a few days before, looking for a bin as she cradled the remains of her breakfast. She’d overslept, and tried to run to class with her toast in her mouth, but had bitten the bread too hard and broken the poor unfortunate slice in half. It had landed, jam side down, on the paving stones outside the dorms. And, well, she couldn’t just leave it there for a bird or unsuspecting tanuki to eat—jam on toast wasn’t in their natural diet at all!---so there was Doto, diligently carrying the sticky partly-eaten bread across campus in her cupped palms.
By the time she found a trash can, it was currently being emptied by the custodial staff. She didn’t want to get in the way, so she turned tail and skittered off in the other direction. Her fingers were getting sticky—maybe she had some wet wipes? Oh, no, now that she thought about it, she’d taken them out of her bag and left them on her desk…
Doto was distracted from her jam-and-bread predicament when she heard excited voices and a mechanical whirring. Jolting around, she spotted Agnes Tachyon sitting on a garden bench with a chunky computer in her lap (Air Shakur’s was much sleeker, Doto noted—Tachyon’s looked like it was a few years old and had possibly been dropped down at least one flight of stairs). Agnes Digital was next to her, gesturing wildly as she talked. She had something strapped to her upper arm, under the sleeve of her violet Tracen uniform. It looked like one of those velcro wraps the school doctors used to test blood pressure, but it was hooked up to Tachyon’s computer.
“Slow-burn, of course, is its own kind of sweet agony,” she said. “The build-up! The drama! The purity of yearning!”
“Of course.” Tachyon nodded, not looking up from the laptop screen.
Digital continued, sweeping her arms up into the air. “But sometimes you want something that gets straight into the action!”
Still without looking, Tachyon carefully reached out and pulled Digital’s arm back down so she didn’t stretch the cord connecting her arm to the computer. Digital let out a cry, clutching her chest with her free hand. “Maybe it makes me a rotten girl, but there’s something that really gets me about stories with immediate chemistry. Passion! Spice!”
Spice… thought Meisho Doto, leaving with her soggy toast.
Eventually she found somewhere to throw out the toast. And later that day, after training, when TM Opera O off-handedly declared that she and Doto should get some food on the weekend, spice came back to mind. “I know somewhere we could go!”
Opera’s eyes lit up like the blazing sunset behind her. Oh, she was always on fire from within, that girl. She grinned at Doto and said “Lead the way!” and Doto nearly melted into the track from the radiance.
So here they were, on Saturday, walking through the shopping district, Doto carrying her messenger bag and the weight of expectations. Opera would be used to fancy food, wouldn’t she? How could a simple ramen be appealing? Surely Doto was setting them both up for a bad time. But Opera had insisted: Doto should take her wherever she wanted.
She probably shouldn’t have been so nervous. It wasn’t like this was a date, or anything. Still, even though Doto had resigned herself to always looking dull next to Opera, she had put the effort in. She’d shampooed and conditioned her tail. She’d tried putting eyeliner on and poked herself in the eyeball with the pencil, patiently waiting out the next few minutes of spotty vision (she had planned ahead and given herself extra time in her schedule for mishaps like that). She had bundled herself in her second-favourite sweater (her first-favourite had a hole in the hem) and a floral skirt and ventured out of the dorms with her head held high. She was going to do this. It was going to be fine.
Doto was jolted out of her thoughts and back into the present when she felt warmth at her side. TM Opera O sidestepped, linking one arm through Doto’s—crisp blazer against soft wool. “What drifting thoughts pull you away from me?” she laughed. “Come, I’m following you, remember?”
“Y-y-y-yes!” Despite the sensation that her ankles had turned into pudding, Doto kept her posture and her step certain. “This way!”
The shopping district was lively on that sunny afternoon, and it was easy to scan the milling crowd and spot familiar silhouettes: Grass Wonder poring over the bouquets out the front of the florist, Ines Fujin darting into a convenience store doorway in a fluttering apron. There were girls from school inside the ramen shop, too. Air Shakur and Fine Motion were sharing a booth near the front, and Opera and Fine exchanged a regal wave as they passed each other. Doto picked out Tamamo Cross’ voice at the back of the room, squawking out critiques of the takoyaki, while next to her Super Creek patiently portioned out food onto small plates. Oguri Cap’s twitching grey ears were visible over the top of the booth.
Opera and Doto slid onto stools at the counter. Doto pulled up the menu, watching from the corner of her eye as Opera gazed around the room. Did she like it? Did she think it was foolish? What food habits did someone who called herself The Overlord have, anyway? She had a conqueror’s countenance, but none of the princessy airs Doto saw in Umas like the Mejiros (or Fine, who was literally a princess).
TM Opera O moved through the world as if the path before her was lined with limelights and a spotlight was following her every step. She always knew where to put her feet. Doto wondered if she should have felt envy towards this girl.
Instead she felt… well, she felt like it was time for lunch. She pointed to the Umazing Ultra Spicy Ramen Experience on the menu. “This is what I usually order.”
“Splendid!” declared Opera. “Make that two.”
Doto nodded, hair falling into her face. Once she’d placed the order, she took a deep breath, then nearly choked on it when Opera reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Eep!”
“Apologies,” Opera smiled, crooked and amused, but still dazzling. With the back of a curled finger, she brushed a shock of Doto’s hair back from her jaw. “I merely wanted to push the curtains back from your face.”
“Y-yes, it would be terrible to dip my hair in the broth by accident!” Doto laughed airlessly and patted at her fringe, smoothing down her ears too. She felt Opera’s eyes on her, and felt like the heat of that spotlight had swung around to shine on her. She felt dazzled. She felt… sweaty. Good thing the food would be here soon, and then she could disguise her blush as the effect of the ramen.
Two bowls arrived soon after, emitting curls of steam. Doto’s eyes watered, but the spicy smell was familiar by now, and an old friend. The bright broth with jewels of oil floating on top, the noodles swirled together just beneath the surface, the fan of seaweed poking out the side… food like this had caused her so much trouble in the past, but she’d come to love it. She realised she was smiling fondly at her lunch, and she realised Opera was smiling fondly at her.
“Well, let’s see what you love so much about this,” she picked up her chopsticks. In that haughty way Opera often spoke, such a sentence could have sounded condescending. But she looked so strangely sincere as she inhaled the steam and stirred her noodles around. There was a studious glimmer in her eyes, the joy of a new challenge. Doto watched her, leaning her chin in one hand, and—sure that Opera was occupied with the soup and not looking at her—allowed herself to let out a pleasant sigh. Opera took a spoonful of broth.
She halted, all at once. The stool squeaked against the shop's wooden floor; Doto glanced down and realised that Opera had jammed her boots into the foot-support struts of the seat, the same way she might brace her cleats against the turf in order to make a sudden stop. Confusion and horror lodged in Doto's throat as she looked back up. She watched as Opera's face slowly turned the same vibrant pink as the stripes on her racewear.
“O-oh… are you—”
Opera let out a single sonic blast of a cough. It propelled her backwards in a flurry of her jacket and a toss of her hair. Her stool clattered to the floor, splayed sideways. She dropped, as if a star fallen to earth, into a crouch, curled over on herself, one arm thrown out, the other clutched to her chest. And she coughed, and coughed, and heaved, and hacked, and Doto felt her own face burning up.
“Ahhhhh I'm so sorry! Let me, here, I'll just—” She reached for their water jug and knocked it with her hand. It swung sidelong with an unhelpful GLUG and splashed water all over the counter. “Awawa—! Wait, I've got it—oh, but you're supposed to drink milk if something is too spicy—I should have gotten you a—augh!” She pivoted back around to reach for the drinks menu and whacked the side of her chopsticks, sending them flipping out of her bowl in a splatter of broth.
Doto, you idiot!! What if poor Opera got a… a throat injury from this, and could no longer perform? What if she never wanted to eat with Doto again? Probably a very sensible decision…
A new sound came from the hunched figure of T M Opera O. A hoarse rumble. A… laugh. She threw her head back and cackled, her voice rich and deep and soaked in chilli oil. “A formidable foe, this ramen!” She croaked. “Who would have thought a simple noodle dish could have the fortitude to best me, TM Opera O?”
Her triumphant laugh dissolved into a fresh round of coughs. Doto helped pull her up off the floor. “Weh! Come on, get back up! You're not defeated yet! I'll get you some plain white rice!”
In a rare stroke of luck, the restaurant had dairy drinks for sale for this very purpose. Doto watched, hopping from foot to foot, as Opera stood by the counter, one hand on her hip, and gulped down a whole carton of strawberry flavoured milk. “Ahh!” she exclaimed, when she was finished. Her voice, Doto noted, was still scratchy, though now it was thickened and waterlogged. She was projecting with perfect clarity, though, as if enunciating on-stage. “How thrilling!”
Doto wanted nothing more than to dissolve through the floor. To add insult to injury (though hopefully Opera wasn’t actually injured…), she spotted Fine Motion crossing the room, Air Shakur following reluctantly behind. Noooooo. If only they had gone to a less popular spot… now everyone at school would know that Doto had been the one to maim the Overlord…
“Oh my.” Fine Motion clasped a hand to her chest, watching with a bright-eyed morbid curiosity that didn't match her ladylike posture. “Are you alright?”
“I think she died,” muttered Air Shakur.
“Perished, yes,” agreed Opera without hesitation. “But as my very own Orpheus, Sweet Doto here has retrieved me from the Underworld.”
Air Shakur arched her eyebrows. Doto wrung her hands. “Oh… I don't know about that… but I'm glad you're feeling better.”
Opera laughed again, more softly this time. “And this is what you usually order, to eat and enjoy with no problem at all! A reminder, as ever, that I must not underestimate you.”
Doto hid her blush by gathering up the empty milk carton. “Here, let's… let me get you some gyoza instead. So you can still enjoy something for lunch that's less… explosive.”
“Much as it's my nature to burn bright, I think I will be sensible and take you up on that.”
The humility in that sentence took her by surprise. Doto searched Opera’s face, trying to read her expression. There was no malice there, truly, not even any regret. A bit of lingering pain and a terrible blush, but she was smiling. There was that radiance again, beamed directly at Doto even in her foolishness.
Eureka, she thought, though she wasn’t quite sure why.
Behind her, Fine Motion was looking eagerly over the menu. “A ramen to vanquish even Opera O… Shakur, let's try it!”
“Uh, let's not.”
To be continued…? 🐎