Chapter Text
The afternoon sun dipped low over Tokyo, painting the streets in the amber hue of summer’s final stretch. The small bakery tucked away at the corner of an old shopping street smelled of sugar, yeast, and warmth– the kind of scent that could soften even the hardest heart.
Inside, Barou Shouei wiped his hands on his apron and glanced toward the front counter. It was nearing seven in the evening, one hour before closing. Flour dusted his forearms like snow; his dark hair, tied loosely at the back, was slightly damp from the heat of the ovens.
He’d spent every summer here since he was old enough to reach the counter. His parents had poured their souls into this place, a humble bakery that stood stubbornly among chain cafés and gleaming convenience stores. His mother said that bread only tasted right when made by hands that cared. Barou never said it aloud, but he agreed.
The day had been long, as most days were in August. Kids came and went, tourists snapped pictures of melon bread cooling on the racks, and his younger sisters darted through the back room. He didn’t mind the routine. It was predictable, grounding, the kind of quiet rhythm that kept his restless mind occupied.
He was wiping down the display case when the bell above the door chimed.
Barou looked up out of habit.
The person who entered didn’t belong to the dusty, sun-faded world of his family bakery.
They were dressed in what could only be described as theatrical grace— a cascade of black lace and velvet layered over a tailored train skirt, silver chains glinting with every step. They had long, sleek black hair that flowed down to their waist, shining with a healthy, effortless grace. Their eyes, lined with precision and framed by lashes that seemed too perfect to be real, glanced around the small bakery with gentle curiosity.
Barou had seen strange things before— Tokyo was a city of contradictions— but this was… something else. The air felt different, like a quiet stage spotlight had fallen over the stranger.
“Welcome,” Barou said gruffly, his voice breaking through the silence.
The stranger turned to him and smiled, soft, polite, a practiced curve of lips that could melt away judgment before it was spoken.
“Good evening,” they said, voice smooth. “Do you still have any strawberry tarts left?”
Barou blinked, realizing he’d been staring. “Uh, yeah. Two left.”
“Perfect. One will be enough.”
They took a seat near the window, the hem of their skirt brushing against the wooden chair. For a moment, Barou hesitated behind the counter. He wasn’t used to this kind of customer. Their clothes, their presence, was so carefully composed it almost felt unreal. Yet there was nothing arrogant about them.
He plated the tart, added a small fork, and brought it over. “Here.”
“Thank you.”
Their hands brushed when they took the plate. Delicate. Cold from the evening air.
Barou cleared his throat and stepped back, suddenly aware of the flour on his apron and the faint smell of yeast clinging to him. He didn’t know why it mattered.
From behind the counter, he tried not to stare too obviously. The stranger ate in silence, savoring each bite with a kind of reverence that made the act itself seem elegant. Occasionally, they’d glance out the window where the sun dipped behind the tall buildings.
Barou caught himself studying the curve of their jaw, the glint of silver earrings shaped like roses, the faint shimmer of gloss on their lips. It was artistry, he thought— the way they carried themselves, the small grace in their movements.
They finished, wiped their lips with a napkin, and stood.
“How much?” they asked softly.
“Four hundred yen,” Barou replied.
The stranger nodded, slid a few coins onto the counter, and smiled once more, the same polite, distant warmth as before. “It was delicious. Please tell whoever made it that they have a talent.”
Barou froze for a moment before muttering, “That’d be me.”
Their eyes flickered with mild surprise and then genuine appreciation. “Then… you have a gift, Mister Baker.”
Before he could reply, they turned and left, the soft jingle of the bell marking their exit.
Barou watched the door close, the faint scent of rose perfume lingering in the air long after they disappeared down the street.
He realized he’d never asked their name.
Summer passed, as it always did, quietly, then all at once.
The mornings turned cooler, the cicadas fell silent, and Barou’s days shifted back to school. The hallways filled with laughter, chatter, and the shuffle of hurried footsteps. Some students joked boisterously in clusters, their energy spilling into every corner, while others moved with quiet composure, their calm presence a steady contrast to the surrounding chaos. These things brought the school to life.
Barou adjusted the strap of his bag and glanced to his right. Kunigami Rensuke walked beside him, tall and broad-shouldered, his ginger hair catching the early morning light. The guy was annoyingly cheerful for someone awake before eight.
“Man, it feels weird being back,” Kunigami said, yawning. “I didn't even get to finish my homework over the holidays.”
“I'm not letting you copy mine,” Barou gritted his teeth, already used to the ginger's habits.
Kunigami chuckled.
The two continued walking through the crowded familiar halls, bickering back and forth about after-school clubs, lessons and whatnot. As they made a turn to their classroom, Barou barely had time to register the flash of movement before someone collided into him. Hard.
He stumbled back, grabbing the stranger’s shoulder to steady them both. “Oi— watch where you’re going—”
“My dearest apologies”
The voice was smooth, holding itself up with elegance, yet familiar in a way that made Barou blink. The boy before him was dressed neatly in the school's uniform: white shirt, dark blazer, a tie knotted perfectly at the collar. His hair cascaded down beyond his waist and his face–
His face was—
Barou frowned. Something tugged at the edge of his memory.
The boy bowed slightly. "I should've been more careful, I'm truly sorry."
“Yeah, whatever,” Barou grunted, brushing off his sleeve. “Just watch it next time.”
He should’ve walked away. But he didn’t. His eyes lingered.
There was something about that voice, the way the light caught his hair, the softness of his expression— something that made Barou’s chest tighten with vague recognition. For the first time, the so-called King found his resolve crumbling.
“Are you alright?” the boy asked, noticing Barou’s stare.
Barou blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”
The boy smiled politely– a gentle, genuine curve that looked eerily familiar. “Good. I’ll be more careful next time.”
He turned and hurried off in the other direction, joining a group of students who called out his name, though Barou couldn’t quite catch it through the noise.
Kunigami nudged him. “You good, man?”
Barou’s eyes stayed fixed on the retreating figure.
“…Yeah,” he said slowly. “Just thought I’ve seen him before.”
“Who, that guy?” Kunigami asked, glancing back. "Haven't seen him around before, must be from the other block."
"Maybe.”
But Barou wasn’t convinced.
He could still remember the faint scent of rose perfume. The delicate way a stranger had held a fork in his bakery a month ago. The silver earring shaped like a rose glinting in the afternoon light.
The boy didn’t have earrings. Or makeup. Or lace.
But something in his eyes were warm, steady, kind. They felt exactly the same.
Barou exhaled through his nose, turning towards his own classroom.
“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, “probably just my imagination.”