Jazik opened his eyes to an unfamiliar white ceiling, a stark departure from the rough stone or metallic panels that had framed his sleep for so long. A fleeting sense of unease passed through him, a phantom limb of his past life, before memory reasserted itself. This was the bakery, a kind family, and a small, quiet room. He exited the room, stepping into the warm, inviting aroma of fresh bread and brewing coffee. The scents enveloped him, a gentle embrace of domesticity he rarely experienced.
Tom, Sabine, and Marinette looked up as he entered, their faces brightening with cheerful "Good mornings." Such open, everyday warmth felt foreign, almost overwhelming.
"Good morning," Jazik mumbled, the words feeling rough on his tongue. He kept his gaze lowered, a small nod serving as a further acknowledgment. The genuine affection, so freely given, was a subtle pressure against the walls he had built around himself. He was accustomed to suspicion, to hidden agendas, but this simple kindness was a different kind of challenge, one he hadn't yet learned to navigate without feeling a deep, quiet apprehension. Marinette offered him a plate piled high with croissants.
"Eat up," she said, a bright smile on her face. "You must be hungry."
Tom's booming laughter filled the small kitchen as he swept Jazik towards the table, a mountain of golden croissants and other pastries waiting. Sabine poured a glass of orange juice, its vibrant color catching the morning light.
"You need to see Paris properly," Sabine said, her voice soft, her eyes holding a knowing glint. "Marinette could show you around again, perhaps retrace your steps. It might help you remember where you came from."
Jazik felt a familiar tightening in his chest. Tracing his steps would lead back to the Space Door, to G.O.D., to everything he wanted to forget. He shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the large, flour-dusted clothes Tom had given him.
"And we simply must get you some new clothes," she added gently. "Tom's are... a little big."
Tom heartily agreed, pulling a wad of euros from his pocket.
"Absolutely," Tom insisted, pushing the money across the table. "My boy can't be walking around in my old work clothes."
"No, really, it's too much trouble," Jazik managed, pushing the money back. The thought of accepting more charity, especially for something as trivial as new clothes, pricked at his carefully constructed independence.
Marinette, however, bounced with an enthusiasm that was difficult to counter.
"It's no trouble at all," she said, her pigtails swaying. "I'd love to show you around. We could even find some cool spots."
Her genuine excitement chipped away at his reluctance. He found himself nodding, a quiet surrender to their overwhelming kindness.
Marinette led Jazik from the bakery, her steps light and quick along the bustling Parisian sidewalks. He walked beside her, a quiet observer of the city's intricate dance. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of chestnut trees, dappling the pavement in shifting patterns of light and shadow. The rhythmic murmur of distant traffic, interspersed with snippets of French conversations and the occasional cheerful chime of a bicycle bell, formed a constant, unfamiliar symphony.
"And this is where we get the best macarons!" Marinette exclaimed, pointing to a quaint patisserie with a flourish. "Though not as good as Dad's, of course."
Jazik offered a small, almost imperceptible nod, taking it all in. Marinette pointed out various shops and landmarks with enthusiastic gestures, her voice a bright, melodic stream. He absorbed it all, the details forming a vibrant, if overwhelming, contrast to the stark, muted existence he had known before.
They soon arrived at a clothing store, its display windows filled with mannequins dressed in stylish, colorful outfits. Marinette pushed open the door, a small bell jingling softly above their heads, and a new world of textures and hues unfolded before him. He noticed the soft gleam of polished wood floors and the gentle hum of unseen air conditioning.
"Okay, Jazik, this is it!" Marinette announced, spinning around to face him, her eyes sparkling. "Time for a wardrobe upgrade! What do you think? Any particular style you're going for? Casual, chic, edgy, comfy?"
Jazik just blinked, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choices. "Uh… functional?" he managed, the word feeling utterly inadequate.
Marinette giggled, a bright, bubbly sound. "Functional, right! Well, everything here is functional and fashionable. Let's start with something you like." She began pulling out various shirts and trousers, holding them up for his inspection. "How about this vibrant green? Or this sunny yellow? Oh, wait, I know, you like darker colors, don't you?"
Marinette led the way, her bright chatter a counterpoint to Jazik's quiet observations. He wasn't really listening to her breathless descriptions of this season's trends, his gaze, instead, settled on a dark jacket, its material a heavy, almost-black navy. The fabric felt thick and substantial in his hands, a comforting weight that promised a measure of protection. He noted the horizontal zipper hidden discreetly across the midsection, a practical detail that offered quick access to his Gavv. It was a design feature that satisfied his ingrained need for preparedness, a small reassurance in an otherwise uncertain world.
"This one," he murmured, his voice soft but firm, a rare interruption to her stream of consciousness.
Marinette turned, a bright pink scarf draped over one arm, and blinked at the jacket.
"Oh, a bomber jacket!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.
"It's practical," Jazik offered, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks at her enthusiasm.
"Practical and stylish!" she countered, holding it up for him. "It'll look great on you, Jazik! Not everything has to be just about… functionality." She winked, a playful glint in her bluebell eyes. "Sometimes it's okay to just look cool."
He selected a few plain hoodies, soft and dark, alongside some comfortable t-shirts in muted tones. These he paired with slim-fitting jeans and sturdy, dark boots. The ensemble felt right, a subtle blend of utility and Parisian streetwear that allowed him to fade into the background while maintaining a quiet readiness. Marinette beamed, seemingly delighted by his choices.
"Perfect," she said, her smile wide and genuine. "Now you look like you actually belong here."
Jazik offered a small, almost imperceptible nod. Belonging felt a long way off, but at least he wouldn't stand out quite so much. The clothes, unlike the Dupain-Chengs' boundless kindness, felt like something he could control, a small shield against a world still too loud and bright.
Marinette and Jazik wandered through the bustling Parisian streets, a vibrant tapestry of sounds and sights. The melodic strains of an accordion drifted from a café, mingling with the distant, rhythmic clang of a construction site. Sunlight warmed the cobblestones, casting long shadows from the ornate buildings. Marinette gestured excitedly at a brightly colored display in a shop window, her pigtails bouncing. Jazik watched her, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. He noted the intricate details of a gothic cathedral, its ancient stones holding stories he could only guess at.
Suddenly, a loud, animated voice cut through the ambient city sounds. It blared from a street vendor's radio, drawing Jazik's attention.
[RADIO: NEWS REPORT]
"…and Ladybug and Cat Noir once again saved the day," the reporter exclaimed with an almost breathless enthusiasm. "Paris sleeps soundly thanks to its incredible heroes!"
Jazik tilted his head slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. He glanced at Marinette.
"Ladybug? Cat Noir?" he asked, the names entirely foreign to him. "Who are they?"
Marinette's expression shifted from excited chatter to a more focused, almost proud look.
"They are Paris's superheroes," Marinette explained, her voice brimming with a quiet, almost reverent admiration. "They're the ones who protect our city from these villains called Akumas. You know, when someone gets really upset, like super sad or incredibly angry, a bad guy named Hawk Moth uses that dark energy. He can turn them into what we call Akumas, making them into supervillains with all sorts of powers."
Jazik nodded slowly, a familiar weight settling in his chest. Heroes, monsters, and a hidden villain manipulating emotions—it sounded distressingly familiar.
"They sound a bit like Kamen Riders," he murmured, half to himself.
Marinette blinked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Kamen what now?" she asked, her head tilted. "I have never heard of them."
Jazik was not surprised by her lack of knowledge. Kamen Riders were heroes from another dimension, a concept likely too fantastic for a world so brightly mundane. Even in their own dimensions, most Kamen Riders operated as whispered legends, urban myths, or forgotten champions. Their existence was often shrouded in secrecy, their battles fought in the shadows, far from the public eye. Their presence was a response to threats that often defied conventional understanding, forcing them into a solitary, often thankless, fight against monstrous entities. They defended their worlds from invasions, ancient evils, or corrupt organizations, usually alone or with a small, trusted circle of allies. Their purpose was protection, their methods often brutal, and their existence rarely acknowledged by the wider world they saved. Here, in Paris, the idea of such heroes was simply an echo from a world that did not exist in this dimension.
Marinette, ever the enthusiastic guide, continued their tour, her steps light as she led them toward a brightly colored candy kiosk. It was a beacon of sweetness, its display bursting with tempting treats—a true feast for the eyes, a vibrant mosaic of gummies, chocolates, and lollipops that shimmered under the Parisian sun.
"Hold on, just a second!" she exclaimed, her voice bright with anticipation.
She quickly purchased an assortment of colorful gummies, their translucent forms gleaming like precious jewels in the afternoon light. Marinette then offered the bag to Jazik, a hopeful, expectant smile on her face.
"Here, try these!" she urged, her eyes sparkling. "They're my absolute favorite. I bet you'll love them too."
Jazik, a small, almost hidden smile gracing his lips, accepted the gesture. He popped a handful of the chewy candies into his mouth, the familiar sweetness a comforting sensation that momentarily softened the edges of his guarded demeanor. As he chewed, his innate Gavv organ, a biological marvel unseen by Marinette, activated.
A subtle tremor ran through Jazik's shirt, originating from his Gavv. He felt a familiar tickle on his abdomen, a soft movement beneath the fabric of his new clothes. His eyes darted downwards, a quick, almost imperceptible glance, confirming his quiet apprehension. A small, translucent Poppingummy Gochizo, a vibrant blue with tiny, wide eyes, peeked out from the hem of his hoodie, blinking innocently at the unfamiliar Parisian light. He quickly pushed it back inside.
Jazik's unique biology as a half-Granute meant his very digestive system, the Gavv organ on his abdomen, served a dual purpose. When he consumed human snacks like the gummies Marinette offered, his Gavv processed the ingredients differently than a normal digestive tract. It transmuted the caloric intake and flavor profiles into small, sentient snack-creatures known as Gochizos. Each Gochizo was a living embodiment of the snack it originated from, possessing distinct appearances and abilities tied to its flavor and texture.
"Do you like them?" Marinette asked, her eyes searching his face for a reaction.
Jazik swallowed, the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
"They are good," he said, the words a quiet affirmation. "Thank you for the clothes, too."
He touched the fabric of his new hoodie, feeling its softness.
"It's no problem," Marinette said, waving a dismissive hand. "We're just glad you're feeling better. Paris can be a lot to take in."
"It is different," Jazik admitted, glancing at the bustling street. He considered the vibrant chaos around them, so unlike the sterile confines of his past.
Jazik realized, as they walked through the sun-dappled streets, how little he knew about the girl beside him. Her constant energy, her bright explanations of everyday Parisian life, felt both fascinating and strangely distant. He found himself wanting to understand more about this world she inhabited so easily.
"Marinette," he began, his voice softer than usual, his gaze sweeping over the intricate details of a nearby fountain before settling back on her. "You talk a lot about your friends. Tell me about them."
Marinette's face immediately lit up, her eyes sparkling like the water in the fountain. She gestured animatedly as she spoke, her pigtails swaying with her enthusiasm.
"Oh, my friends are the best," she said, a wide, genuine smile gracing her lips. "There's Alya, my absolute best friend. She's so brave and smart, and she runs the Ladyblog, where she talks all about Ladybug. Then there's Nino, Adrien's best friend, and he's super sweet and loves music." She paused, then giggled. "And Juleka and Rose, they're always together. Juleka is a bit shy, but she's so cool, and Rose is just the kindest person you'll ever meet."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, painting a vivid picture of camaraderie and warmth. Jazik absorbed the names, the brief descriptions, filing them away. It was a tapestry of connections, so different from the solitary threads of his own past. A slight, almost imperceptible frown touched her brow as she mentioned another name.
"Then there's Chloé," Marinette continued, her voice dropping a little, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "She's... well, she's the mayor's daughter, and she can be a real mean girl. She thinks she's better than everyone else." The frown, however, vanished quickly, replaced by a shy, almost dreamy expression, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. "But anyway, my biggest dream is to become a fashion designer, just like Gabriel Agreste, Adrien's father. I want to make clothes that make people feel amazing." She looked down at her hands, twisting them together for a moment. "And Adrien... well, he's just... perfect." She sighed softly, a quiet, wistful sound. "He's really nice and so kind. He's also a model, you know."
Jazik simply nodded, observing her carefully. He noted the way her eyes softened when she spoke of her friends, the genuine passion in her voice as she described her dreams, and the almost painful vulnerability that flickered across her face when she mentioned Adrien. This world, with its heroes and villains, also contained intricate webs of affection and aspiration. It was a kind of complexity he had rarely encountered, and it felt strangely compelling.
"So, what about you, Jazik?" Marinette asked, her head tilted slightly, her bright gaze unwavering. "What are your dreams? What do you want to do with your future?"
The question hung in the air, light and innocent, yet it felt heavy to Jazik. Marinette's dreams shimmered with color and clear purpose, a vibrant tapestry woven from passion and friendship. His own future felt like an empty canvas, stretching out into an uncertain gray. He had never considered such things, not in the sterile labs where every moment was about survival, nor in the endless flight from G.O.D. He had only known the constant, gnawing need to escape, to remain hidden. His parents had dreams, he vaguely remembered. He had none.
He offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. His eyes held a distant look, filled with the echoes of sterile labs and the cold pursuit of G.O.D. "I haven't thought about it."
***
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