"Jazik! You made it back." Tom's voice, always a warm rumble, filled the bakery.
He stood amidst scattered flour and a few squashed pastries, a gentle giant tidying up. A sigh escaped Jazik; he had been too slow.
"The delivery?" Jazik asked, his voice softer than usual.
"Oh, it's quite all right," Tom assured him, waving a flour-dusted hand. "Monsieur Dupont understands completely. Paris is like this, sometimes. He even said the pigeons gave his day a little zing." Tom chuckled, a deep, easy sound.
Jazik simply nodded, though he couldn't quite imagine zing being the right word for a pigeon siege. He picked up a fallen croissant, carefully placing it back in a basket. Tom was always so understanding, always ready to see the good. It was a stark contrast to the world Jazik had known, a world where every disruption meant danger, every unexpected event a threat. This simple mess, this small moment of chaos, was just part of life here. He found a strange peace in that realization, a quiet sort of gratitude for this gentle corner of the world.
Marinette burst down the stairs, a whirlwind of energy and determination. Her hair, usually so neat, had a few strands escaping her pigtails, and her cheeks were flushed. In her hands, she clutched a small, elegant derby hat, adorned with a single, perfectly placed pigeon feather. It was quite striking.
"I finished it!" she announced, her voice a mix of triumph and breathless urgency. "I have to get back to school now for the competition!"
She began to gather her things, a flurry of motion. Jazik watched her, a small smile touching his lips. Her passion was a force, something bright and unstoppable.
"I could come," Jazik offered quietly, his voice a steady counterpoint to her rush. "To watch."
Marinette paused, her eyes, usually so focused on her own tasks, softened when she looked at him.
"Really? You would?" she asked, a hopeful note entering her voice.
"Yes," he confirmed. "If you would like the company."
"Oh, I would!" she exclaimed, beaming. She gave a quick, grateful nod, then grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. "Come on then! We can't be late!"
Marinette pulled Jazik down the bustling corridor of Collège Françoise Dupont. Alya, perched on a bench near the art room, spotted them and waved enthusiastically, her phone already aimed. Around them, other students buzzed with nervous energy, hovering near several white pedestals arranged in a semi-circle. Each pedestal held a derby hat, a unique expression of its creator's vision. Some were simple, elegant; others were wild bursts of color and fabric. The room hummed with quiet anticipation.
"You made it!" Alya exclaimed, lowering her phone as Marinette approached.
Marinette carefully placed her hat on the last empty pedestal. Its feather, a soft grey, seemed to pulse with a quiet story of its own. Jazik looked at the hats, each a testament to a different personality. There was one adorned with miniature Eiffel Towers, another covered in sparkling rhinestones, and a particularly avant-garde design that looked like a bird's nest. Marinette's pigeon-feathered creation stood out with its gentle charm, hinting at a quieter strength.
A shrill, cutting voice sliced through the murmuring crowd, pulling Jazik's attention to the corner of the room. Chloé Bourgeois stood with her arms crossed, her blonde ponytail swinging with indignation. Sabrina, her usual shadow, wrung her hands, a picture of apologetic misery.
"I cannot believe you picked this ugly thing," Chloé declared, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at a rather plain hat with a crumpled flower. "It's an absolute disaster. Everyone knows my hat is the only one that stands a chance."
Sabrina's shoulders slumped further.
"I am so, so sorry, Chloé," Sabrina mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. "I tried my best. The instructions were confusing, and I thought the flower added a touch of rustic charm."
Chloé scoffed loudly.
"Rustic charm? Darling, this isn't a farm, it's a fashion competition. This looks like something a pigeon coughed up after a bad meal. It's an embarrassment!"
Sabrina visibly flinched, her face flushing. The words seemed to hang in the air, sharp and unyielding, a stark contrast to the delicate designs around them.
Principal Damoclès cleared his throat, his posture rigid and imposing. He was a stout man, with ruddy skin that spoke of stress, and small, sharp brown eyes behind thick glasses. His thinning gray hair was combed severely across his head.
"Attention, students," he announced, his voice carrying through the room. "We have the distinct honor of hosting a representative from the esteemed Agreste fashion house today."
He gestured with a flourish toward a tall, elegant woman. She possessed pale, almost porcelain skin and sharp, ice-blue eyes that peered from behind stylish red-framed glasses. Her sleek auburn bob framed a face that seemed perpetually neutral, and she wore a tailored dark suit with subtle red accents.
"This is Nathalie Sancoeur, Mr. Agreste's executive assistant," Principal Damoclès continued, a hint of awe in his voice. "She will be relaying Mr. Agreste's decisions via video call, as his schedule unfortunately prevented him from joining us in person." He held up a sleek tablet, its screen dark.
Nathalie's finger tapped the screen of the tablet. Gabriel Agreste's face, stern and unreadable, materialized on the display. His gaze swept over the hats, cold and methodical, lingering for only a second on each design. The silence in the room stretched, thick with anticipation. Jazik could feel Marinette's slight tremble beside him.
"This one," Gabriel's voice finally cut through the quiet, flat and decisive. The image on the tablet zoomed in on Marinette's hat, the pigeon feather a soft, unexpected detail. "The originality, the subtle nod to Parisian street life... it captures the essence of the new campaign."
A collective gasp, then a wave of excited chatter, swept through the students. Marinette's eyes widened, a flush spreading across her cheeks. Alya let out a whoop, pulling Marinette into a quick, tight hug. Nino gave a thumbs-up, a wide grin on his face. Jazik felt a quiet warmth bloom in his chest, a soft, unfamiliar feeling of pride. Marinette's hat was beautiful, a reflection of her gentle spirit, and it had been recognized.
"Marinette Dupain-Cheng is the winner!" Principal Damoclès boomed, his voice momentarily losing its usual sternness in the face of such a high-profile decision. "Her design will be featured in Adrien Agreste's next advertising campaign!"
Marinette buried her face in Alya's shoulder, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming joy washing over her. The room erupted into cheers, a genuine outpouring of happiness for her. Jazik watched her, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. It was a good feeling, this happiness, a soft contrast to the sharp edges of his own world.
"Excellent, Marinette!" Adrien exclaimed, his politeness almost perfectly masking the sudden itch in his nose. "A truly inspired design."
He reached for the hat, his green eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation for her talent. As his fingers brushed the soft pigeon feather, a tiny gasp escaped him. His nose twitched.
achoo
A loud sneeze ripped through the quiet admiration of the room, startling everyone. Adrien staggered back, bumping into a pedestal.
Achoo!
"Oh, Adrien, are you alright?" Marinette asked, her voice laced with concern.
Adrien rubbed his nose, his face flushing a bright red. He tried to speak, but another sneeze caught him mid-sentence.
Achoo! Achoo!
"I... sniffle... I'm so sorry," he managed, his voice thick with congestion. "It's just... I'm terribly allergic to feathers. Especially... achoo!... pigeon feathers."
Nathalie, ever efficient, stepped forward. Her expression remained neutral, but a flicker of concern touched her sharp blue eyes.
"We must leave immediately, Adrien," she instructed, her voice calm and firm. "Your father would not approve of you being unwell."
She steered him gently but firmly toward the exit, Adrien still sneezing periodically, leaving a small flurry of confused murmurs in their wake. He offered a sheepish, apologetic wave as he disappeared, leaving Marinette standing by her winning hat, a mixture of pride and bewildered disappointment on her face.
"Wow, Marinette, you won!" Alya cheered, pulling Marinette into a hug. "I knew you could do it, girl!"
Marinette's face was still flushed, her bluebell eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and joy. She hugged Alya back, a soft, happy sigh escaping her lips. The students around them offered congratulations, their voices a warm chorus of approval.
"It's really good," Jazik added, his voice quiet but sincere. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He watched Marinette, her joy like a bright, warm light in the room. He felt a faint, pleasant hum inside him, a resonance with her happiness.
Marinette and Jazik walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of Paris slowly replacing the competitive buzz of the school. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the familiar streets in hues of orange and purple. Marinette's expression, though still bright from her victory, held a hint of thoughtfulness.
"Jazik," she began, her voice soft, "are you going to enroll in school? For real, I mean?"
He considered her question, the quiet weight of it. School meant routine, a kind of anchoring he hadn't known since… well, since before. It also meant a schedule, a predictable rhythm that might allow G.O.D. to pinpoint him more easily. Yet, it also meant seeing Marinette every day, being part of this new, gentle world. It meant a chance at something resembling a normal life.
"Yes," he finally said, the word feeling both small and significant. "I think I will."
A wide smile spread across Marinette's face, lighting up her eyes. She practically bounced, a small, happy hum escaping her.
"That's great, Jazik! You'll love it, I promise! Everyone's really nice, mostly." She giggled, a warm sound.
Back at the bakery, the aroma of freshly baked bread wrapped around them like a comforting hug. When Marinette told Tom and Sabine, their faces mirrored her joy. Tom's booming laugh filled the space, and Sabine's smile, gentle and knowing, eased a small knot in Jazik's chest. It seemed a simple decision could bring so much light.
***
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