Pairings (maybe not in this chapter, but in the future) may include casual mention of KeiichiroOC, RetasuOC, IchigoRyou, and a comical mention of a MintZakuro. (Sorry to any Kish/Pai/Tart fans. This is set two years after the last episode; and they do have a planet to clean, after all.)
The sun rose into the sky like seaweed to the ocean's surface. The pink, cheery exterior of Cafe Mew Mew bathed in the glorious weather as eighteen-year-old Zakuro Fujiwara stood outside the cafe, sweeping the pavement free of dust, litter and the general hustle and bustle of Tokyo city life.
Straightening up and leaning her broom against the wrought-iron archway, she flicked her long dark hair from her face and stared into the sky, feeling the warmth on her cheeks. It was certainly a relief to have the back of her neck now shielded from the seeking sun's rays; she never liked applying sunblock there as her hair would always cling to the surface of her skin. Rubbing the irritated area, Zakuro chewed her bottom lip and reached once more for the broom, vowing to buy herself a wide-brimmed hat for weather like this.
"Onee-sama! Onee-sama!"
Zakuro turned her head half-heartedly, already knowing who the voice belonged to. Sure enough, Mint Aizawa was hurrying along the pavement in her normal attire, clutching (presumably) her uniform dress in a bag. Zakuro stepped back as Mint immediately grabbed hold of the broom, a determined look adorning her face.
"Onee-sama, your delicate skin will burn! Let's get inside, and get that stupid cat-girl to quit messing about and to do her job ..." Mint snatched Zakuro's hand, and tugged her elder co-worker up the cobbled path, straight into the cafe. The broom toppled from Mint's hand and clattered to the linoleum floor as the pair made a dramatic entrance.
"Ichigo! You should know by now that Zakuro-onee-sama shouldn't be made to do sweeping like a common wench! That's one of your tasks, we agreed!" Mint snarled, glaring down at the Mew leader.
Ichigo looked up from scrubbing the floor, mystified for a moment. Retasu turned her head sharply, searching for the commotion, and promptly slipped on the glistening wet surface.
Deafening clatters of crockery and angry shouts filled the air, as Ichigo's senses came flooding back. She had leapt to her defence and locked horns with Mint while Retasu fretted over the broken cups. Zakuro - fed up with Mint's constant interfering - strode outside to finish her work, her eyes narrowed with annoyance and the bright sunlight streaming mercilessly down onto the city. Dragging the old broom with her; she was about to concentrate on venting her irritation onto the dirt littering the cafe's path with her bristled weapon when she heard a familiar voice.
"Zakuro-san!"
Ryou Shirogane - one of the cafe's co-owners - walked calmly to the supermodel, shuffling a few papers. Zakuro sighed deeply as she leaned against the wrought-iron archway, the cool metal soothing her skin.
"Would you mind doing me a small favour, Zakuro-san?" Ryou asked, raising one eyebrow. "It'll get you away from this atmosphere for a bit." He extended a hand clutching a piece of lined paper, featuring Keiichiro's neat italic handwriting.
"Sure, whatever." Zakuro said nonchalantly, reaching her hand out to take the small sheet. Upon closer inspection she noticed it was a shopping list for specific cake ingredients such as vanilla flavouring and royal icing. "Is it a birthday coming up, Shirogane-san?"
Ryou gave a small chuckle. "No, Zakuro-san ... however, Keiichiro has been entered into a competition, and he needs to practise his new recipe. Please fetch the ingredients for him."
Zakuro gave a curt nod as Ryou handed her the money needed to cover the cost, and strode down the path leading to the city centre. Even though she had glanced in the window with a passing interest as she'd walked on by in the past; she'd never actually stepped through the doors of this specialist cake shop. If she'd desired a sweet treat, one of her assistants would have ordered the hotel chef to whip up something, and wouldn't have dreamed of letting her buy the ingredients and make the cake from scratch.
Zakuro sighed as she stopped at the crossing. That was one of the disadvantages of being high class, she thought morosely. You never did your own dirty work.
She turned left into a small passage leading away from the high-street stores Zakuro was so familiar with. The little street with its small quaint buildings housed cafes, daytime nurseries, stationery shops ... and the cake shop.
Zakuro felt she was no longer in Tokyo, and that she was no longer a model. She was a citizen, a teenager, just like all the other smiling, happy faces she could see. A lot of pressure seemed to melt away, and Zakuro found herself smiling serenely as she stepped into the sweet aroma of baking pastry. Shutting the door behind her, she suddenly seemed very aware of her loud footsteps echoing throughout the shop. Standing in front of the counter, she pushed the shopping list over the smooth table and waited for service.
"Hello ... sorry to keep you waiting, miss."
Zakuro looked up from her shoelaces. "Oh, that's alright. I'm just here to buy what's on the list."
As the young boy smiled at her, Zakuro took in his appearance. His stature was extremely rounded, his chubby clean-shaven face framed with feathery dark hair, and at a guess, Zakuro figured he was slightly shorter than she was. The boy stepped from around the counter and reached up to a nearby shelf of small white boxes of icing, stretching on tiptoes.
"Here," Zakuro interjected, taking the box nearest to her with ease. This boy was originally shorter than I thought, she observed, casting an eye over his frame. With this dark hair and squinting eyes, he's like a little mole. He probably eats more cakes than he sells too.The boy laughed, and Zakuro let a sigh of polite mirth escape. He wrapped up the icing, and as he retrieved a bottle of vanilla essence, he seemed to take in her dark purple waitress's dress, complete with the stained apron.
"Do you work at one of the cafes nearby?" he asked conversationally.
"Yes, I do. Cafe Mew Mew." Zakuro replied, with a slight inclination of the head. She took the carrier bag of items and paid the boy with the money Ryou had given her. As he counted out the change, Zakuro tilted her head, trying to work out this boy's age. He looks a little younger than me too ... maybe Retasu's age?
The boy made eye contact with her and his jaw dropped. He looked away, then glanced back at Zakuro. A cog seemed to be turning in his mind, and with each slow second Zakuro felt more and more exposed. Finally, he made the connection: "Wow ... you're the model, aren't you? Z-Zakuro Fujiwara-sama?"
Zakuro immediately looked taken aback, and took a dubious step back from the counter, wondering whether to run for it or to try and get herself out of this situation. If Tokyo was made aware that she was employed by Cafe Mew Mew, the place would be overrun by photographers and reporters. Good for business, but not for Zakuro.
As she opened her mouth to try and improvise a lame excuse, the boy apologised. "I'm ... I'm sorry for making you jump like that. You just looked like someone famous, that's all ... w-what's your name, ojou-chan?"
Zakuro relaxed, but was now faced with having to make up a pseudonym - and fast: "I'm ... Kimiko Wakamatsu ... "
"It's nice to meet you, Wakamatsu-san." the boy said warmly. "I'm Hiromu Saionji. Once again, I'm very sorry for startling you like that."
Zakuro nodded, trying to stop the blush of embarrassment from spreading across her cheeks. I can't believe my cover was nearly blown just like that ... never in Tokyo have I been recognised ...but I've been getting careless recently with concealing myself. I should really not be so stupid in the future.
She bid farewell to Hiromu Saionji; and quickly exited the shop.