Jagged Stone, who was exchanging pleasantries with the mayor, and his perpetually professional assistant, Penny, both turned their heads simultaneously upon hearing that familiar, almost nightmarish voice.
When he saw the figure, desperately waving his arms and camera, being firmly blocked at the door by the doorman, Jagged Stone's cynical smile completely vanished, replaced by a deep, undisguised sense of speechlessness and annoyance.
And Penny's already serious face became even colder.
"Why is it him again?" she whispered, her voice filled with exhaustion, audible only to herself and Jagged Stone.
Her patience had long reached its limit with this "number one fan" who had followed them like a persistent shadow through half of their European tour.
Vincent, blocked outside the door, clearly saw the main attraction.
He looked as if he had seen a savior, shouting even more excitedly through the doorman's firm arm: "Mr. Jagged Stone! It's me! Vincent! Do you still remember me?"
"Of course, I remember!"
Jagged Stone retorted loudly and impatiently towards the outside, his voice full of annoyance, "For the past 36 shows, you've appeared backstage like a ghost every single time!
I'll say it again, we are not friends!"
He was tolerant of fans, but he detested these fanatics who had no sense of boundaries and severely invaded his personal space.
"I just need one photo!"
Vincent was still making a last effort, holding his camera high, his voice full of pleading, "Just one! One photo with you! Please!"
The doorman's tone grew sterner: "Sorry, sir. Mr. Jagged Stone has made it very clear that you are not his friend.
If you don't leave now, we will take coercive measures."
Upon hearing the words "coercive measures," Vincent's fanatic fervor was like cold water thrown on a fire, gradually extinguishing.
He knew that if he kept pestering, what awaited him might be the police.
He reluctantly lowered his camera, cast a resentful look into the hotel, and then turned to leave, unwillingly.
This small commotion finally came to an end.
Jaden, seeing Kim still struggling with luggage not far away, walked over to him.
He didn't say much, but simply and naturally grasped one end of the luggage cart, helping Kim to smoothly push the mountain of musical equipment into the elevator.
The elevator slowly ascended, and in the confined space, there was only the faint sound of the equipment wheels.
With a "ding," they arrived at the top floor's presidential suite.
The two of them worked together to push the luggage cart into the spacious foyer of the room. Kim leaned against the wall, let out a long sigh of relief, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Whew… This is much more tiring than a full workout at the gym."
He complained jokingly, "Adrien is really something, if he were here for this kind of heavy lifting, it would be great…"
Before Jaden could speak, a gentle voice came from the elevator entrance; it was Teacher Caline, who had followed to check on the situation.
"Kim," she explained with a smile, "Adrien can't make it today.
Just now, his assistant, Miss Nathalie, called and said that Adrien has a very important family gathering at home today, so she specifically requested leave for him."
By the time they returned to the lobby, Jagged Stone had completely turned it into his personal playground.
He was happily playing a ring toss game with his pet crocodile, Fang, using several small, golden decorative rings from the hotel.
Fang was very cooperative; whenever a ring accurately landed on his thick, long snout, he would excitedly wag his tail and emit purring sounds, similar to a satisfied feline.
Meanwhile, Penny, with a serious expression, was conveying the "king's" decree to the mayor and Teacher Caline.
"…That's the situation."
Penny said in the tone of a professional agent, "Mr. Jagged Stone's performance in Paris tonight requires a brand new, unique pair of sunglasses."
She paused, then emphasized, stating the troublesome specific requirements: "The main colors of the sunglasses must be the French red, blue, and white.
The frames must have two Eiffel Tower-shaped decorations. The material is not limited, but the design must be cool enough, rock enough."
The mayor felt overwhelmed.
Such peculiar items, let alone finding them on short notice, couldn't even be custom-made in a single day.
He instinctively wanted to refuse, but then he remembered that the other party was a rock superstar who could bring immense media exposure, so he swallowed his words.
His gaze scanned the crowd, looking for a suitable "scapegoat."
Then, he saw Marinette standing in the corner, looking bewildered.
A brilliant (and blame-shifting) idea formed in his mind.
"This task…" The mayor cleared his throat and walked up to Marinette with a solemn tone of entrusting an important duty, "will be given to Marinette.
Your task today is 'odd jobs,' right?
Now, this is your most important 'odd job.' I believe that with your creativity, you will surely complete this arduous task!"
He even reached out and patted Marinette firmly on the shoulder, whispering in her ear: "Go for it! I have faith in you!"
Then, he and Teacher Caline, under the pretext of "inspecting the practical situations of other students," quickly slipped away as if their feet were greased.
Only a completely petrified Marinette was left in the entire lobby.
She stood rooted to the spot, feeling like an unarmed soldier pushed onto a battlefield.
She forced a smile on her face that was uglier than crying, her mind blank, completely unsure of what to do.
"I need to go back to my post, good luck!" Kim, standing nearby, gave her a fist bump and ran back to his own position.
Just as Marinette felt she was about to be crushed by the immense pressure and burst into tears, a gentle figure came to her side.
"I'll help you."
It was Jaden. He looked at her expression, which seemed about to shatter, and said with a smile.
This voice, these words, were like the warmest sunshine, instantly dispelling all the gloom in Marinette's heart.
She suddenly looked up, staring at him in disbelief, and the long-dry spring of courage in her heart seemed to gush forth with new water again.
"You… aren't you supposed to be in charge of the front desk?" Her voice carried a hint of imperceptible surprise and fluster.
"Marinette can't handle it."
Before Jaden could answer, Alya had also come over at some point. She hugged Marinette's arm and gave her an encouraging look.
Marinette didn't want to lose face in front of Jaden. She immediately straightened her back and stubbornly said, "Who… who said I can't handle it? I can do it alone!"
(Oh my god, what am I saying?!) The little person inside her mind was frantically pounding his head. (This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Marinette! You idiot!)
"I'll be at the front desk with Chloé."
Alya seemed to have read her mind and immediately added, directly making the decision for her.
"Alright then."
Jaden nodded. He looked at the girl beside him, whose cheeks were flushed and whose body was stiff like a puppet, finding it a bit amusing, but still patiently said, "Shall we… leave now?"
"Mm… Mm!" Marinette nodded like a pecking chick, feeling so happy she was about to faint.
She followed behind Jaden, and the two walked out of the hotel side by side.
Inside the hotel, Chloé, who had witnessed all of this, had a face so grim it looked like water was about to drip from it. She was about to step forward and stop them but was held back by Alya.
"What do you want?" Chloé hissed, sparks of anger flashing in her eyes.
Alya didn't flinch in the slightest. She met Chloé's gaze, leaned close to her face, and said word by word in an equally soft but threatening voice, "Do you… want me to tell Jaden everything that happened last night, in detail?"
Chloé's pupils constricted.
"You wouldn't dare!"
"You can certainly try."
Alya retorted without backing down, "Say whatever you want. But, once Jaden finds out that you've also been lying to him… I think the two of us will probably be in the same boat, won't we?"
These words were like a precise dagger, piercing Chloé's soft spot.
She could not care about Alya, but she could not not care about Jaden's opinion of her.
Chloé was so angry she couldn't speak. She glared fiercely at Alya, and finally, could only toss her head and turn away haughtily.
Anyway, the hotel was booked out today, there would be no guests, and she had no interest in staying at that boring front desk anymore.
She walked straight back to her exclusive suite, deciding that out of sight, out of mind… On the streets of Paris, the sun was shining brightly.
Jaden and Marinette walked side by side, passing through bustling squares and past one dazzling shop after another. They searched every possible place—high-end fashion eyewear stores, antique shops full of unique goods, and even souvenir shops crowded with tourists.
However, the result was always the same. No one sold those exaggerated sunglasses that had the red, blue, and white colors and two Eiffel Tower decorations.
In a small street park, the two sat on a bench, feeling a bit disheartened.
"What should we do… we can't find anything at all…" Marinette hung her head dejectedly, her voice full of disappointment.
Jaden looked at her like this and gently spoke: "Marinette."
"Hm?"
"Since we can't find anything ready-made," he said earnestly, looking into her eyes, "then why… don't you design a pair yourself?"
"…Huh?" Marinette was stunned.
"You're the most outstanding designer in the entire school, aren't you?"
Jaden's tone was full of encouragement, "Such a unique design shouldn't be difficult for you, right?"
These words were like a ray of light, instantly illuminating Marinette's cloud-shrouded heart.
That's right… design it herself… A long-lost passion, named "creation," began to burn in her blood.
"I… I can do it!"
She stood up, and the light of confidence rekindled in her eyes.
"Then let's go."
"Go… go where?"
"To your house."
Jaden said as a matter of course, "To the place where the best designs can be born."
Half an hour later, the two stood at the entrance of Marinette's house.
Inside the bakery, it was still the same busy yet warm scene.
Tom and Sabine saw their daughter return with Jaden, simply greeted them warmly, and then went back to serving customers.
They passed through the shop and arrived at the living room on the third floor.
"You wait here for a moment, I… I'll be right back!"
Marinette said to Jaden, then like a happy little bird, she pattered up the stairs leading to the attic.
Jaden sat on the soft sofa, listening to the rustling sounds of tools and materials being rummaged through upstairs.
He could imagine that the girl at this moment was sitting in her little world, piled high with fabrics and design sketches, her eyes sparkling with creativity, and her paintbrush dancing rapidly across the white paper.
He smiled, picked up a fashion magazine from the coffee table, and waited patiently.
However, in the attic, Marinette's mood at this moment was completely at odds with this tranquil creative space.
She had not immediately plunged into passionate design work as Jaden had imagined.
On the contrary, she was sitting on a chair piled with spools of thread and fabric samples, hugging her knees, and complaining in a low, muddled voice.
"What exactly should I prepare…"
She pressed her forehead against her knees in frustration, her voice muffled: "Should I sketch first? But with what kind of pen? Colored pencils, or markers? No, I should find materials first… But where can I find suitable materials? Red, blue, and white lenses, and an Eiffel Tower decoration… Oh my goodness, this sounds like a disaster…"
The more she thought, the more chaotic her thoughts became, and she was almost overwhelmed by the messy, unformed ideas in her mind.
"Tikki…"
She looked up, her eyes almost pleading, at the little sprite floating in mid-air, a hint of a whimper in her voice: "Right now… right now my mind is a mess, I completely don't know what to do…"
"Marinette, you need to calm down," Tikki flew in front of her, speaking softly in his small, soothing voice, "The more you panic, the more lost you'll be.
Take a deep breath and think about how you usually do things."
"But it's not the same as usual!"
Marinette retorted excitedly, "Usually… usually Jaden isn't waiting downstairs!"
This sentence was the root of all her anxiety.
"I know… I know he's downstairs," She covered her face with her hands, as if to block out the immense pressure, "So… so I absolutely can't mess this up!
He trusts me so much, he thinks I'm the most outstanding designer… What if… what if what I make disappoints him? In his eyes, I'll definitely become a big-mouthed idiot…"
This design was no longer just a task for social practice.
In Marinette's heart, it was imbued with too many additional meanings.
It became her response to Jaden's trust, a gamble on her image in his eyes, and her proof of herself… a crucial test.
"Marinette, look at me."
Tikki flew closer, gently touching Marinette's hand with his small body: "Jaden said that, and came back with you, precisely because he believes in your ability.
He's not expecting a flawless, impeccable work of art by a master. He's expecting a creation by you—Marinette, using your own style and talent."
"So, you don't need to think 'what will he like,' you just need to do 'what you would do' as usual. That will be the best."
Tikki's words were like a cool breeze, dispersing the thick fog of "pressure" in Marinette's heart.
She slowly lowered her hands, the churning panic in her blue eyes gradually subsiding, replaced by a rekindled, clear and firm light.
That's right… Tikki is right.
I just need to be myself.
She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, as if expelling the last bit of unease from her body. She stood up and walked to her workbench, piled with various tools and drafts.
She picked up her most comfortable 2B pencil and twirled it between her fingers. The moment the pencil tip touched the pristine drawing paper, her entire demeanor changed.
All distractions had receded; at this moment, she was no longer the shy girl who would be flustered by a single word from her crush.
She was a designer… Meanwhile, at Agreste Mansion, in Adrien's room.
The room was so quiet you could hear the second hand of the wall clock ticking.
Adrien lay bored on his somewhat exaggeratedly large bed, idly scrolling through his phone screen.
On the screen was a short video Nino had just sent from the hotel kitchen.
In the video, Nino and Max were clumsily trying to spread cream evenly on a cake base, ending up with cream all over their faces.
Juleka and Rose were laughing hysterically nearby, and the entire kitchen was filled with a joyful atmosphere.
Adrien watched the video, a faint smile on his lips, but a hint of loneliness in his eyes.
He also wanted to be with his friends, even if it was doing something silly like this.
He scrolled through the video, seeing other photos Nino had taken of classmates: Kim standing at the door looking utterly dejected, wearing a bellhop hat, and Chloé at the front desk, arm in arm with Jaden, smiling radiantly… He remembered his father's unusually gentle demeanor at the end of dinner yesterday.
"Get some rest, Adrien," He remembered his father saying then, his tone flat, yet more intimate than ever before, "We have guests tomorrow."
Guests? Who could it be?
He thought about it all night but couldn't figure it out. His father's social circle had always been a mystery to him.
He tossed his phone aside in annoyance and rolled over.
"Mmm… This Camembert cheese tastes truly rich…"
From under the bed came Plagg's muffled, satisfied chewing sounds.
Adrien looked at the ceiling, only able to continue waiting. This waiting made him a little anxious.
Just then, there was a rhythmic knock on the door.
"Adrien," Nathalie's usual steady voice came from outside the door, "The guests have arrived. Sir asks you to come downstairs."
They're here.
Adrien immediately sprang from the bed, whispered "Hide well" towards the direction of under the bed, then quickly walked to the mirror, straightened his collar and hair, took a deep breath, and walked out of the room.
Plagg, with the last bite of cheese in his mouth, quickly scurried into the pocket of his jacket hanging on the clothes rack.
As Adrien walked down the grand spiral staircase, he saw his father standing silently in the center of the hall like a statue.
He didn't turn around, only looked at the closed, elaborately carved grand mansion door, as if waiting for a significant moment to arrive.
Adrien also walked to his side and stood silently.
The hall was brightly lit, yet felt no warmth. The air was filled with an invisible, solemn sense of oppression.
Nathalie nodded slightly towards the door.
Two servants in black suits silently stepped forward, one on each side, slowly pulling open the heavy oak door.
The afternoon sunlight instantly poured in, casting a slender, elegant silhouette of a woman on the polished marble floor.
The figure stood at the doorway, quietly looking inside.
The moment Adrien saw who it was, he was instantly stunned.
That face… that long, meticulously styled hair, shimmering like gold… those emerald eyes, like the purest lake water… His breath caught in his throat at that moment.
His heart first skipped a beat, then began to pound wildly and uncontrollably. A surge of emotions, a mix of surprise and disbelief, rushed through him.
He involuntarily opened his mouth, and in a dreamlike, trembling whisper, he uttered the two words he only dared to call out in his dreams:
"…Mama?"
The woman standing at the door—Emilie—heard the call and showed an elegant yet somewhat complex smile.
She walked in slowly, her steps as precise and elegant as a runway model, the sound of her high heels echoing crisply in the empty hall.
She walked up to Adrien and reached out a hand, gloved in white lace, gently stroking his cheek.
Her gaze, however, passed over Adrien and fell on the man beside him, who had remained expressionless throughout.
"Gabriel," Her voice was as melodious as a cello, yet carried a subtle, detached metallic quality, "I didn't expect Adrien to have grown so much. He's truly… adorable."
With that, she leaned down and gave Adrien a perfunctory hug.
The hug was light and brief. Adrien could feel that although the body was soft, it carried a strange, tense detachment.
It wasn't her.
This hug… wasn't Mama's.
The hope that had just risen shattered silently like a burst bubble in that instant. Disappointment, like cold seawater, enveloped him once more.
He stood stiffly, allowing the woman to release him.
Gabriel, beside him, showed no change in his stern expression.
He said in a factual, cold tone, "Although today isn't a special day, I imagine, Adrien, you must still be very happy to see your aunt."
Aunt?
Adrien looked up at his father in confusion.
And the woman referred to as "Aunt"—Amelie's twin sister,
Amelie, gave Gabriel a meaningful smile: "Yes, if we could have more days like this, with the family reunited, that would be even better. Don't you think, Gabriel?"
Gabriel did not answer her, only looked at her coldly with his deep, icy blue eyes.
Adrien could only nod in confusion.
Just then, the Bodyguard pushed in Amelie's luggage cart. And from outside the door, another person entered.
It was a young man about his age. He was wearing a well-tailored blue shirt and black vest, his hair meticulously styled, and his entire demeanor exuded a mature competence and aloofness beyond his years.
And that face… except for his eyes, was almost identical to his own.
"Felix!"
This time, the joy on Adrien's face was genuine and unadulterated. He quickly ran over and gave his cousin a big hug.
However, Felix stood stiffly like a log, allowing Adrien to hug him.
The serious expression on his face did not soften in the slightest due to his cousin's enthusiasm.
His hands hung naturally by his sides, showing no intention of responding.
Adrien also felt his coolness and awkwardly let go.
"Oh, look at them."
Amelie, at his side, looked at the two young men and let out a delighted laugh: "They really look like twins, don't they? Gabriel, do you remember?
When they were little, they loved to pretend to be each other. One time, you and Emilie were completely fooled by them for an entire weekend.
We were all practically dying of laughter then."
Her words seemed to be a nostalgic recollection of a warm past, but every word was like a needle, precisely pricking Gabriel's nerves.
Gabriel's eyes grew colder when he heard the name "Emilie."
He looked at the young man in front of him, who looked exactly like his son but whose eyes were filled with calculation and detachment, and spoke coldly:
"I will not be fooled again."