Days later, the bakery settled into its usual, cozy rhythm. Jazik, in his new dark clothes, moved with a quiet purpose, a gentle contrast to Tom's booming cheerfulness. He stacked fresh baguettes onto shelves, his Granute strength making the heavy wooden trays feel impossibly light. Upstairs, Marinette was probably lost in her sketches, the soft scratch of her pencil a faint, comforting sound through the floorboards.
Below, the Gochizos zipped around the busy space. One, with a cheerful round smile (°▽°), nudged a fallen crumb across the tiled floor, almost tripping Tom. Another, looking a bit anxious (っ˘ڡ˘ς), bounced nervously near a tray of cooling croissants. Jazik subtly guided them away from any potential mishaps, his movements quick and silent. He knew the little creatures meant no harm, but their playful antics often left a trail of sweet-smelling chaos.
"Don't get caught," he murmured, a low, almost silent warning just for them. The Gochizos, understanding his quiet command, scattered a little, their tiny forms flitting through the air like colorful, sugary motes. The warm scent of rising dough and melting chocolate filled the air, a constant, gentle embrace that slowly chipped away at the edges of Jazik's usual quiet sadness.
The cheerful clanging of the bakery bell announced new arrivals. Nadja Chamack entered, her magenta-pink bobbed hair perfectly coiffed, her sharp blue eyes scanning the room with a practiced intensity that Jazik recognized as a hunter's gaze. She wore a stylish purple blazer over a crisp white blouse, a silver necklace glinting at her throat. Her small daughter, Manon, clutched her hand. Manon, with her own dark brown pigtails tied with purple, her wide brown eyes full of bright curiosity, wore a purple overall dress adorned with small floral patterns.
"Tom, Sabine, my darlings," Nadja's voice was a practiced blend of warmth and urgency, already holding a phone to her ear. "Can Marinette possibly watch Manon for the day?"
Tom, massive and jovial, nodded. "Of course, Nadja. Always."
Marinette descended the stairs at that moment, her red-ribboned pigtails swaying. Before she could offer a word, Manon, spotting her, instantly let go of her mother's hand and tugged at Marinette's shirt.
"Marinette, play with me!" Manon's voice was a high-pitched demand.
Nadja's gaze, sharp and assessing, landed on Jazik, who paused mid-wipe, a faint tension settling in his shoulders.
"And who is this?" Nadja asked, her reporter's instinct immediately sparking.
"This is Jazik," Sabine said with a soft smile. "Our new guest and helper."
Manon's attention, fickle as a butterfly, immediately shifted to him. She stared up with wide, unblinking eyes.
"Are you new? What's your name? Will you play with me?" Manon barraged him with questions, her tiny hand reaching out to poke his jeans.
Jazik instinctively stiffened, his social discomfort a physical barrier. He was entirely out of his depth with this small, insistent human. Her relentless energy felt like a subtle, unnerving probe, entirely foreign to his guarded existence.
"Come on, Manon, let's go upstairs," Marinette intervened, already reaching for the child's hand, a quiet rescue. "Jazik can come too."
Upstairs, in Marinette's vibrant, slightly chaotic room, Jazik found himself an unwilling participant in an impromptu play session, the relentless energy of the little girl swirling around him like a miniature cyclone. Manon, with a child's unerring instinct for mischief, bypassed the colorful array of sketchbooks and fabric swatches, her gaze locking onto a partially finished hat resting on Marinette's design table. It was an intricate affair, woven with delicate, colorful threads that shimmered in the afternoon light, still awaiting its final touches.
"I'm a fashion designer!" Manon declared with the unshakeable confidence only a child could possess, snatching the hat up before Marinette could even react. She immediately began to parade around the room, the hat precariously balanced on her head, its delicate structure already threatening to unravel.
"Manon, be careful," Marinette pleaded, her hands hovering, worried about her delicate work. "You'll ruin it."
Jazik watched Marinette's face, a flicker of genuine distress passing over her features, the slight tremor in her hands. He saw the way her lips pressed together, holding back a harsher tone, and something in him clicked. He moved with a quiet swiftness, a blur of motion born of necessity, gently taking the hat from Manon's head.
"Hey!" Manon immediately protested, a whine building in her throat, a familiar prelude to a full-blown tantrum. "Give it back! I was being a designer!"
Jazik ignored her cries. Instead, he lifted her high into the air, a movement as smooth and effortless as if she weighed nothing. Manon gasped, a surprised sound turning into a peal of delighted giggles, her complaints forgotten as she soared above him. Her small hands instinctively grabbed his hair, holding on with unexpected strength, her tiny fingers tangling in the dark strands.
"Higher!" she squealed, her eyes bright with a joy that cut through his usual reserve. "Do it again!"
Jazik gently placed the hat back on Marinette's design table, carefully smoothing a ruffled ribbon. Marinette met his gaze, a soft, silent "thank you" passing between them without words, a gentle warmth in her bluebell eyes. Jazik returned his attention to Manon, who was still bubbling with excitement. He continued to lift her, swinging her playfully in wide, effortless arcs, her bright laughter filling the room.
The television in Marinette's room flickered to life, its bright glow illuminating the scattered fabric scraps and half-finished designs. Manon, now perched on Marinette's desk chair, bounced with a restless energy, her eyes glued to the screen. A local Parisian event, the KIDZ+ Weather Girl contest, was nearing its conclusion, a yearly spectacle capturing the city's attention. Two finalists remained: Mireille Caquet, with her gentle demeanor and calm forecasts, and Aurore Beauréal, whose dramatic flair and competitive edge had made her a local sensation. Manon clapped her hands with innocent enthusiasm whenever Mireille appeared.
"Go, Mireille, go!" she chanted, a small, unwavering champion for the gentle meteorologist.
"She really has a lot of energy," Jazik observed, a quiet understatement in his voice, as Manon continued to dance around the room, mimicking the weather girl on screen.
Marinette sighed, a small, tired sound. "You have no idea. She is always like this. I usually spend the entire day chasing her around." She brushed a stray ribbon from her hair. "I really appreciate your help. I do not know what I would do without you."
The sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the television's distant murmur, pulling Jazik from his quiet observation of Manon's endless energy. He was closest, so he opened the door. Alya Césaire stood there, a whirlwind of confident energy, her dark skin glowing warmly against her white tank top and orange-and-purple plaid shirt. Her black horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, framing keen golden eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Wavy reddish-brown hair with vibrant orange tips framed her face, adding to her already dynamic presence. A smartphone was clutched in one hand.
"Marinette, you are not going to believe the scoop I just got!" Alya started, her voice a rapid-fire burst of excitement, before her eyes registered Jazik. She paused, a curious intensity replacing her initial zeal. "Oh. You're not Marinette."
Marinette, hearing the voice, hurried to the doorway, her cheeks coloring slightly. "Alya! This is Jazik, he's our guest who has been staying with us for the past few days."
Jazik offered a small, almost imperceptible nod. He didn't offer his hand, a habit born from years of avoiding physical contact.
"Jazik," he murmured, his voice soft, almost lost in the bakery's cheerful hum.
Alya, however, was not easily deterred. Her golden eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on him for a beat longer than usual. She wasn't just looking at him; she was trying to read him, a habit Jazik was all too familiar with from G.O.D. interrogations, though Alya's curiosity felt far less threatening.
A playful smirk touched her lips. "Alya."
She gestured dramatically with the smartphone clutched in her hand, almost hitting him in the face.
"Marinette's best friend," she continued, her voice gaining speed, "and the one-and-only, full-time, dedicated reporter for the Ladyblog!"
She leaned in conspiratorially, her gaze still fixed on him.
"You might have heard of it," she added, her tone suggesting he should have.
"Nice to meet you, new guy." She flashed a wide, confident grin, her eyes still sparkling with that insatiable journalistic curiosity. Jazik felt a strange flutter in his chest. It wasn't unpleasant, just… unexpected.
She turned her attention back to Marinette, her tone shifting to an excited whisper. "Adrien's having a photoshoot in the park right now. We have to go!"
Marinette sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as the vision of Adrien's dazzling smile at the photoshoot flickered in her mind.
"I can't, Alya," she said, her voice tinged with a familiar strain of disappointment, "I promised to watch Manon."
"No problem," Alya declared, dismissing Marinette's dilemma with a wave of her hand, a confident smirk playing on her lips. "I am an expert babysitter, Marinette. I wrangle my little sisters all the time. We will just take her with us. It'll be an adventure for all of us!"
Jazik found himself speaking before he fully considered the words, the impulse to help Marinette, to somehow ease the subtle tension he saw in her shoulders, overriding his usual quiet reserve.
"I can help," he offered, his voice a low rumble. "I will keep an eye on Manon. She won't be any trouble."
Marinette's face brightened, relief washing over her features like a warm wave.
"Oh, thank you, both of you," she said, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "That would be amazing!"
Manon, who had been observing Alya with wide, inquisitive eyes, tugged on Alya's shirt. "Who are you?"
Alya crouched down, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "I am a mythical unicorn from the world of Rispa, disguised as a fabulous human girl." Her eyes twinkled playfully. "I grant magical wishes to only the best-behaved little monkeys."
Manon giggled, a bright, questioning sound. "Are you serious?"
Alya scooped up Manon with an effortless motion, the child's small frame light in her arms.
"Up you go, little monkey!"
Manon shrieked with delight as Alya swung her onto Marinette's shoulders, giggling wildly and holding onto Marinette's pigtails for balance.
"Let's all head to the park, shall we?" Alya suggested, already moving toward the bakery door, her stride confident and purposeful.
***
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