Chapter Text
The rain hit the towering glass facade of the academy, but inside the hallway of the Grinder Wing, the tension was entirely self-contained.
Black Pudding Cookie leaned against the lockers, his arms crossed over his chest. The deep, rich scent of savory black pudding spice trailed around him like an aura. He was the star pupil of the Meat Boulevard blade discipline—a guy who took his master’s code of justice dead serious, whether he was breaking up hallway fights or leading the student patrol.
And then there was Camembert Cookie.
Camembert walked past, surrounded by the usual crowd of underclassmen trying to get in his good graces. Outwardly, he played the part of the calculating, cold enforcer for the school's top student faction. But Black Pudding knew better. He’d seen Camembert in the sparring club—the guy was a absolute menace who threw himself into every brawl like he had something to prove, all while secretly plotting to take over the entire student council.
As Camembert passed, he deliberately slowed his pace, his sharp, pungent scent cutting through the humid hallway air.
"Still standing guard over empty lockers, Black Pudding?" Camembert drawled, his tone laced with that familiar, icy mock-politeness. "You're going to miss the briefing for the inter-school tournament."
"I don't need a briefing to know my assignment," Black Pudding snapped, straightening up and stepping directly into Camembert's path. "And I don't need you trying to hijack the team strategy to make yourself look good in front of the dean."
Camembert’s eyes narrowed, a flash of pure, reckless heat breaking through his cold composure. He stepped closer, invading Black Pudding's space until they were virtually nose-to-nose in the crowded hallway. The underclassmen trailing Camembert immediately backed away, sensing the imminent explosion.
"Strategy?" Camembert scoffed quietly, leaning in so only Black Pudding could hear. "Your idea of strategy is charging in with your master's textbook rules. I fight to win, Black Pudding. I fight to climb. If you can't keep up, stay out of my way."
"Try moving me, then," Black Pudding growled, his hand reflexively tightening around the strap of his blade case. His savory heat flared, matching the sharp intensity radiating off Camembert.
For three agonizing seconds, neither of them moved. The entire corridor went dead silent, waiting for fists to fly.
Instead, Camembert let out a low, dangerous chuckle. He reached out, his gloved fingers catching the collar of Black Pudding's uniform shirt, yanking him a fraction closer. For a split second, the rivalry blurred into something thick, electric, and dangerously close.
"I'll move you on the mat at practice," Camembert whispered, his breath warm against Black Pudding's jaw. "Don't be late. I like it when you actually put up a fight."
Camembert let go with a subtle flick of his wrist and walked off down the hall, leaving a trail of stunned silence behind him.
Black Pudding stood grounded, his pulse hammering against his ribs. He adjusted his collar, his eyes tracking the cold enforcer's back until he disappeared around the corner.
"Insufferable," Black Pudding muttered under his breath, though his hand lingered on his chest, right where the heat of Camembert's grip had been