Hours later, after Alya and Nino had finished their impromptu tour, Jazik still felt a quiet uncertainty about attending Collège Françoise Dupont. He had learned a few things about the school, and a bit more about Alya's and Nino's easygoing natures, but the decision still felt heavy in his hands. He thought of returning to the familiar warmth of the bakery, a small comfort in this new, bustling city.
He spotted Marinette sitting on the steps in the Trocadéro, bathed in the soft afternoon light. She was bent over a sketchbook, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration, completely lost in her creative world. The quiet intensity in her posture made him hesitate, not wanting to break her focus. He was about to approach her when he saw Sabrina, recognized as Chloé's ever-present follower, lurking behind Marinette.
Sabrina held her phone up, angling it to capture a picture of Marinette from behind. Jazik did not know exactly what she planned, but the sneer on Sabrina's face suggested nothing good.
Jazik moved without thinking, stepping directly into Sabrina's line of sight, blocking her phone's lens. He stood still, a silent, unwavering barrier between Sabrina's ill intent and Marinette's unaware creativity. Sabrina's face twisted in annoyance, a faint whine escaping her lips. Jazik simply met her gaze, his own eyes holding a steady, unyielding quality that offered no room for argument. Sabrina visibly trembled under his quiet stare, her phone lowering slowly. She then turned, scurrying away from the Trocadéro steps.
Jazik let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. Sabrina's sudden retreat was a small, quiet victory, one that left a faint, almost imperceptible warmth in his chest. He looked at Marinette, still absorbed in her sketching. She appeared so open, so unburdened by the small cruelties of the world. It was a kind of innocence he felt a strange need to protect.
"Marinette," he called out, his voice soft, almost lost in the afternoon breeze.
Marinette jumped, her sketchbook nearly slipping from her lap. She looked up, her bluebell eyes wide with surprise, then softening into a relieved smile when she saw it was only him.
"Oh, Jazik! You scared me," she said, placing a hand over her heart.
"Sorry," he replied, a small, almost shy smile touching his lips. "Is your design finished?"
Marinette gathered her sketchbook and stood, shaking her head.
"Almost. I just need to finalize it," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of determination and a hint of worry. "I have to get it done soon so I can submit it later for the competition."
"You should hurry, then," Jazik suggested, his gaze drifting toward the setting sun, which cast long shadows across the Trocadéro. The light was beautiful, but time did not stop for beauty.
"Oh, you're right!" Marinette exclaimed, suddenly energized. She rushed down the steps, her pigtails bouncing with each stride.
Jazik followed, a quiet presence behind her, the rhythm of her hurried steps a gentle counterpoint to his own more measured pace.
Jazik and Marinette returned to the warm, yeasty embrace of the bakery. Marinette, still clutching her sketchbook, dashed upstairs, the faint thump-thump of her hurried steps fading as she went. Tom, a dusting of flour already visible on his apron, was carefully loading trays of freshly baked pastries into a delivery car parked outside. The aroma of warm bread and sweet fruit tarts filled the air, a comforting blanket that settled Jazik's quiet anxieties.
"That's quite a load, Tom," Jazik observed, stepping closer to the car.
"Oh, just a delivery to Monsieur Dupont's café," Tom replied, his large hands expertly stacking a box of croissants. "It's a bit far, but he loves our almond pastries."
"Do you want some help?" Jazik offered, a familiar impulse to contribute rising within him.
Tom paused, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "That's very kind of you, Jazik. Would you like to come along? It's a nice drive."
Jazik considered it for a moment.
"I don't mind," he said.
They settled into the car, the engine humming to life. Tom navigated the narrow Parisian streets with practiced ease.
"So, the school," Tom began, glancing at Jazik. "Did you like it? Marinette's always saying it's a good place."
"It was… big," Jazik replied slowly, choosing his words. "Marinette's friends, Alya and Nino, showed me around. They were very kind."
"That's wonderful!" Tom beamed, his eyes on the road. "Alya's a smart girl, and Nino, he's a good kid. So, what do you think? Would you like to go to Collège Françoise Dupont?"
Jazik's gaze drifted out the window, past the charming rows of buildings. He thought of the Magia, of the shadowy figures that hunted him, of the danger he carried. The idea of bringing that into Marinette's school, into her world, felt like a betrayal. He could not voice these fears, not directly.
"I... I'm not sure," he said, his voice softer than usual.
Tom picked up on the subtle shift in Jazik's tone. He slowed the car slightly, his expression growing thoughtful.
"Jazik, you look a little scared," Tom said gently, his eyes meeting Jazik's briefly in the rearview mirror. "What's wrong?"
Jazik looked away, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.
"I'm scared that my past will catch up to me," he admitted, the words barely a whisper.
"Well, who isn't, sometimes?" Tom chuckled softly, a warm, rumbling sound. "But you can't let fear stop you, son. How else are you going to move forward?"
Jazik remained silent, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, but Tom's words settled deep within him. How else are you going to move forward? The question echoed in his mind, a quiet challenge.
The delivery car screeched, tires scraping against the Parisian asphalt, as Tom slammed on the brakes. SCREECH! A dense cloud of pigeons exploded from the side street, their wings beating with frantic energy, a flurry of gray and white feathers. FLAP FLAP FLAP! Inside the car, trays of freshly baked pain au chocolat and almond croissants tumbled from the backseat onto the floorboards. The sweet, buttery aroma that usually comforted Jazik now mingled with the dusty scent of scattered crumbs and felt cloying. He watched the delicate pastries become a ruined mess, a small, unnecessary destruction. A sharp surge of frustration tightened his hands. Tom let out a low groan, his shoulders slumping slightly.
"Oh, for the love of… these pigeons!" Tom exclaimed, his voice filled with dismay. "They're everywhere today."
"Are you okay?" Jazik asked, his voice steady despite the sudden chaos.
"Yes, just a bit startled," Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "And our poor pastries. Monsieur Dupont will understand, I hope."
Jazik and Tom both peered out the windshield, seeing Mr. Pigeon ascend, a ridiculous figure in a grey, bird-patterned bodysuit, his pinkish-red chest resembling a pigeon's plumage. A mask covered the upper half of his face, and his signature bird call whistle hung around his neck. He hovered aloft on a massive, swirling flock of pigeons, each bird beating its wings in perfect, unsettling synchronicity. Xavier Ramier, the pigeon enthusiast turned villain, now commanded these flocks, akumatized after repeated city bans on feeding his beloved birds. He looked both triumphant and strangely mournful.
"Coo-coo, Paris," Mr. Pigeon cooed, his voice high-pitched and chirpy, yet echoing with a peculiar, bird-like intensity. "What a dreary day for these poor Parisians, coo-coo."
He flapped his arms dramatically, as if mimicking his feathered companions, sending a gust of wind rattling the car.
"I apologize for ruffling your feathers, dear humans," he continued, a strange mix of politeness and menace in his tone. "But this city, coo-coo, it belongs to the pigeons now."
Jazik watched as Ladybug arced over the rooftops, a flash of red against the pale Parisian sky. Her yo-yo sang through the air, a confident hum of motion and purpose. Cat Noir scrambled after her, his staff extending to bridge gaps between buildings, but his movements were punctuated by sharp, uncontrollable bursts.
ACHOO!
He sneezed, his lithe form faltering mid-vault, a momentary pause in his pursuit.
ACHOO!
The pigeons swirled around Mr. Pigeon, a living shield of feathers and frantic wings. Cat Noir recoiled from a particularly dense cloud, his eyes squeezed shut against the irritation.
"Coo-coo, little kitty," Mr. Pigeon cackled, his voice carried on the wind. "These fine feathered friends do not appreciate your presence."
Cat Noir stumbled, his balance wavering as he landed clumsily on a ledge. He rubbed his nose with a gloved hand.
ACHOO!
"My lady, a little help, perhaps?" he called out, his voice slightly muffled by his latest sneeze. He looked toward Ladybug, a clear plea in his emerald eyes. Ladybug, meanwhile, maneuvered with practiced grace, trying to find an opening through the feathered barrage. She circled, a red blur of focused intent, her brow furrowed in concentration. The wind whipped her pigtails around her masked face. She moved with a decisive precision that contrasted sharply with Cat Noir's hindered flailing.
Mr. Pigeon, now standing atop his feathered mount like a conquering general, soared above the streets.
"Coo-coo, you two!" Mr. Pigeon chirped, his voice fading slightly as he picked up speed. "Catch me if you can, my little birdies!"
Ladybug shot a look at Cat Noir, a mixture of exasperation and determination in her bluebell eyes.
"He is not getting away," she declared, her yo-yo already extending toward a distant lamppost.
"Wait up, My Lady, my nose is still feeling ruff," Cat Noir quipped, stifling another sneeze as he struggled to keep pace.
Ladybug shook her head, launching herself after the villain. Cat Noir, after one last miserable ACHOO!, finally followed, his staff extending to propel him forward, even as a lingering cloud of feathers drifted in his wake.
Jazik watched them go, his expression unreadable. He could not leave Tom alone in this, not with the pastries scattered and the danger in the air.
"Where are you going?" Tom asked, his voice thick with concern, seeing Jazik step out of the car.
"I have to go," Jazik said, his tone firm yet reassuring, as he moved with a swift, purposeful stride toward a nearby alley, leaving the ruined pastries behind. He knew this feeling, the insistent pull of necessity, a quiet command to act when others could not.
The alley offered a narrow strip of shadow, a welcome cloak from the glaring sun and the curious eyes of Paris. Jazik reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around the smooth, soft form of a gummy Gochizo. The small creature, a vibrant purple, stirred in his palm. It awakened with a joyful mumble, its tiny (っ˘ڡ˘ς) face flipping open to reveal a wide, gummy smile. He held the Gochizo to his abdomen, the blue Gavv organ on his stomach already beginning to hum with a low, expectant thrum.
The Gavv organ opened, its thick, blue outer lip parting to reveal a dark internal cavity lined with white, blocky teeth. Jazik placed the Poppingummy Gochizo inside.
[GUMMY!]
The Gavv organ's teeth clamped down, a wet, CRUNCH! reverberating through Jazik's body. Energy pulsed outward from his core, warm and electric, coating him in a shimmering, translucent blue aura.
[EAT GUMMY! EAT GUMMY!]
Rhythmic, upbeat music pulsed from the Gavv, a carnival tune accompanying the surge of power.
"Henshin!"
Pieces of vibrant blue and magenta armor began to materialize, snapping into place with crisp mechanical clicks. The helmet formed, its pointed ears reminiscent of a bat, and oversized, golden-yellow lenses glowing to life. The chest and shoulder plates, segmented and bulging, settled over his form like hardened jelly.
[POPPINGUMMY! JUICY!]
The transformation was complete. Kamen Rider Gavv stood tall, his dark grey under-suit now adorned with a bright yellow band at the waist. He was ready.
***
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