Jazik woke to a gentle chorus of chirps and mumbles. His eyes fluttered open. He found himself surrounded. Dozens of Gochizos, newly formed, filled his small room. Poppingummies bounced with a soft thump, while marshmallow-like Fuwamallows floated lightly, their tiny faces beaming. A few Snack Gochizos, looking like miniature potato chips, rustled against each other. The sheer abundance was a direct result of all the bakery sweets he'd eaten lately.
"Hey, guys," Jazik whispered, sitting up carefully. "You're getting a little crowded in here."
A Poppingummy Gochizo, its tiny, translucent body jiggling, bounced off his nose. (っ˘ڡ˘ς)
"Yeah, yeah, I know you're happy," Jazik said, a soft smile touching his lips. "But remember the rules." He gestured vaguely toward the door. "Can't have Marinette or her parents seeing you all. They don't need to know about… all this."
A Gochizo floated closer, its round cheeks squishing as it made a soft, questioning sound. (っ- ‸ – ς)
"What do you mean, 'where should you go'?" Jazik asked, running a hand through his hair. "I just told you. Anywhere they won't find you. And keep an eye out."
Several Snack Gochizos zipped toward the window, their sharp edges glinting in the morning light. ( ⚔︎ _ ⚔︎ )
"Exactly," Jazik affirmed, his voice growing a little more serious. "Scout the area. Any signs of G.O.D. activity. Anything out of place, you come right back." He paused, looking at the assembled Gochizos. "Understood?"
A chorus of tiny, enthusiastic mumbles and chirps filled the room as the Gochizos, understanding his instructions, began to disperse. They zipped into cracks and crevices, some even seeming to melt into the shadows, leaving Jazik alone once more in the quiet room.
Jazik pulled on his dark hoodie and jeans. He moved through the quiet bakery, the scent of fresh bread already warming the air. Tom was already there, a comfortable giant in his flour-dusted apron, pulling trays from the oven. Steam drifted in lazy curls from the cooling racks.
"Morning, Jazik," Tom said, his voice a low rumble. He set down a tray of golden croissants. "Slept well?"
"Yes, thank you." Jazik kept his voice soft. He appreciated the quiet assumption of routine, the simple normalcy.
"Good, good." Tom gestured toward a large wooden table. "Dough's ready for shaping. Think you can handle the pain au chocolat today?"
Jazik nodded, moving to the table. His hands, accustomed to precise, demanding movements, began to work the rich, pliable dough. He folded it with an economy of motion, pressing the chocolate batons in place. Each careful action was a small, satisfying anchor.
"That's it, gentle but firm," Tom observed, watching him. "You've got a touch for it, my boy. A natural, I tell you." He paused, a warm smile touching his lips. "Never seen anyone pick it up so fast."
Jazik managed a small, almost imperceptible smile. The methodical rhythm of baking pushed back the edges of his thoughts, making the quiet hum of the ovens almost pleasant.
Jazik continued shaping the dough, the repetitive motion a soothing balm. He could hear Marinette's muffled voice from upstairs, a restless murmur. It sounded like a fast, worried whisper, rising and falling in quick bursts. She was clearly talking to herself again. He caught snippets of her frantic monologue.
"No, no, this feather is all wrong! It needs more… oomph! It's for Adrien, it has to be perfect, absolutely perfect! Ugh, why is this so hard? It's a derby hat, not a dragon costume!"
He carefully placed a row of pastries onto a baking sheet. Marinette often got like this when she was absorbed in her designs. It was one of the many things he had observed about her since he had come to live here. Her focus, her passion, it was all consuming.
"What if he hates it? What if Gabriel Agreste, the greatest designer ever, thinks I have no talent? Oh, this is a disaster! I'll never be a real designer, and Adrien will never notice me, and I'll just be… Marinette, the girl who can't design a derby hat..."
He slid the baking sheet into the oven, the heat a familiar presence against his skin. Marinette's internal monologue, though he only heard fragments, conveyed a familiar cocktail of artistic ambition and self-doubt. Adrien Agreste was the son of Gabriel Agreste, a renowned fashion designer and a powerful figure in the industry. For Marinette, this competition was more than just a school assignment; it was a direct line to her idol and a chance to impress the boy she so obviously adored. The stakes were high because Adrien himself was modeling the designs. Her admiration for Gabriel Agreste was immense, bordering on reverence. This meant that any design she submitted wasn't just a reflection of her own talent, but a potential gateway to a future she desperately wanted, both professionally and personally. Her fear of letting herself down was intertwined with the fear of letting Adrien down, and by extension, failing in the eyes of the fashion world she yearned to join.
"Okay, okay, deep breaths, Marinette. You can do this. Just one perfect design. For Adrien. For my future. For… everything."
Sabine's gentle voice drifted up the stairs.
"Marinette, dear, you're going to wear yourself out. Your talent speaks for itself, you know."
Marinette's frantic pacing above them quieted slightly, though Jazik still heard the rustle of paper. He had finished loading the fresh pastries into the display case, the sweet, yeasty scent clinging to his clothes.
"Your mother's right, honey," Tom called out, his booming voice softened with affection. "Sometimes, the best inspiration comes when you're not looking so hard. Just trust your instincts."
Jazik, leaning against the archway to the kitchen, found himself nodding almost imperceptibly. He had seen Marinette sketch, quick, confident lines forming elegant designs. Her hands moved with a purpose he understood, a focused determination. She had a keen eye for detail, a way of seeing things that others missed. She did not need to rush. He knew this about her.
"Thanks, Mama, Papa," Marinette's voice sounded a little less strained now. "I guess I just… really want this."
He heard her footsteps move away from the frantic pacing.
Sabine turned from the counter, a thoughtful expression on her face. Her gaze settled on Jazik, who still lingered by the kitchen, watching the morning light filter through the bakery window.
"Jazik," she began, her voice soft but firm. "Tom and I have been talking."
Jazik straightened slightly. He could feel a familiar tension building in his chest.
"You're a bright boy, and you're here in Paris now," Tom added, wiping his hands on his apron. "A boy your age should be in school with friends."
Jazik's gaze dropped to the floor, his hands instinctively tracing the subtle scar over his Gavv organ. He knew what they were doing. They were offering him a normal life, a safe place, a future that felt impossibly distant from his past. The weight of their generosity pressed down on him, a heavy, warm blanket he didn't feel he deserved.
"We took the liberty of looking into Collège Françoise Dupont," Sabine continued, observing his quiet demeanor. "Marinette's school. They were happy to have you."
Jazik looked up, surprised. School? He hadn't considered it. His world had only ever been about survival, about staying hidden.
"We won't force you, of course," Tom said, stepping closer. "But we think it would be good for you. To be around kids your own age. To learn."
Jazik felt a pang of guilt. They offered so much, asked for nothing, and he repaid them with a secret that could shatter their peace. Danger follows me, he thought, the words a silent warning in his mind. He didn't want to bring that into their lives, into a school full of innocent people. Yet, the thought of being near Marinette, seeing her smile, learning new things… it was a fragile hope he hadn't known he harbored.
Marinette descended the stairs, her eyes wide and sparkling. She bounced on the balls of her feet, an infectious energy radiating from her.
"Jazik, that's amazing!" she exclaimed, a bright smile on her face. "You'll love the place. Everyone's really nice, and the teachers are great, and you can sit with me and Alya at lunch, and oh, we have a really cool art class!"
Jazik simply nodded, a quiet acknowledgment. He could feel her excitement, a bright, foreign thing that threatened to overwhelm his own apprehension. The idea of a school, a place of routine and ordinary life, felt distant and precarious. He was not used to such open displays of warmth, or the expectation of joining something so… normal.
Sabine, ever the gentle mediator, stepped forward.
"Why don't we go visit the school tomorrow, Jazik?" she suggested, her voice soft and reassuring. "You can see it for yourself, meet the principal. No pressure, just a look around."
Jazik glanced at Marinette, who was now practically vibrating with anticipation. He saw the hopeful gleam in her eyes, a silent plea he found himself unable to ignore. Refusing her felt like rejecting a piece of the kindness they had all shown him. He swallowed, the words catching in his throat for a moment.
"Okay," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will go."
***
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