Paris, evidently, was certainly not the city of love. Not anymore. Adrien Agreste learned that way too late in his life as he took an evening stroll around the city.
Paris was supposed to be wonderful. Romantic places with beautiful people, baguettes and croissants everywhere one would go, small boutique hotels, and lovely artists stationed everywhere just waiting to paint a tourist's wonderful time they've spent here. It certainly was one of the many things somebody had to experience in their lifetime, a guaranteed pleasure.
It was the Paris his mother knew.
She used to go on telling him she loved wandering through the 6th arrondissement with his father on a nightly stroll, where it was a quiet and great spot to admire the beautiful Paris. It was what convinced her to convince Father to move from a picturesque little town near Rouen, just at the outskirts of the city.
So, what happened?
Paris was horrible. It had become such a dump; so littered with rubbish in the streets and bins overflowing with trash, like the city sanitation haven't been doing their jobs. Adrien had never before seen such a high homeless population anywhere in Western Europe as he did in Paris. Back when his family would take family trips—back when she was still alive—such as London, Berlin, or Rome, Adrien never felt the need to cling to his parents for safety, or nowadays, himself. It hadn't even been one full day yet and he easily had nearly a dozen people begging him for money, following him, trying to rob him, or trying to sell him some overpriced jewelry.
For a city with such a visible number of armed police, the sense of safety is almost non-existent.
Speaking of overpriced jewelry, he still couldn't believe he fell for it in the beginning. He still had the ring he bought from that old Chinese man when Adrien was waiting in the busy train stations: a ring which had a thick band with a circle surface surrounded by a lining with four-pointed diamond shapes on each diagonal side. In the black circle was a glowing green paw print, which with careful examination, looked to be a cat's.
The old man even had some elaborate fairy tale behind it; if Adrien remembered it correctly, it went something like this:
"Many centuries ago, magic jewels bestowing extraordinary powers were created. These were… the Miraculous. Throughout history, heroes have used these jewels for the good of the human race. Two of these Miraculous are more powerful than the others; the earrings of the Ladybug, which provide the power of creation; and the ring of the Black Cat, which grants the power of destruction. According to legend, whoever controls both these jewels at the same time, will achieve absolute power."
Apparently, for the low price of €5.99, Adrien could possess the ring of the black cat which would grant him the 'power of destruction'.
Honestly, Adrien bought it because he felt pity for the old man. It was plain as day the old man's spine was not alright and he seemed to be desperate to sell something, anything, just so long as he could buy something to eat.
It was, as he soon found out, a mistake.
They all took notice: the pickpockets, the people living on the streets, the sidewalks littered with expatriates from south-western Asia selling zoomy light up things you shoot into the sky—particularly around the Eiffel tower—the clipboard scammers pretending to be deaf, and so on and so forth.
They were swarming him like sharks that just smelled fresh blood in a small pond, all competing for a taste of the fish meat. They were all accosting him in languages he didn't understand. Neither a hint of French nor English out of almost all of them. When in the rare case where one of them does speak the language, it was some guy trying a metro scam on him, that Adrien had to give him €500 for a train pass today because the metro would go up in price tomorrow. As soon as Adrien lost him, some Bulgarian pickpockets stopped him in a train walkway between the ticket machine and the platform. Adrien managed to lose them too.
Parisians were unbelievably rude. If one hated Paris, Paris hated back, but even if one loved Paris, Paris still hated back. And Paris made sure to let Adrien know just how much the city hated him that it had him watch some woman stepping out of her Porsche in a red light, rushed out of the road, ignoring the public bathroom, takes a shit on the sidewalk—yes, the sidewalk, in public view—pulled her pants up, hopped into her car and left.
That was… disgusting, to say the least.
Adrien sighed. It was the one day where his father finally let him out to explore the city and this was what he found. He thought it would be paradise compared to his rigid and unyielding schedule of being homeschooled by his father's assistant Nathalie for six hours a day, then attending the fencing classes his father had him sign up for about two hours, then Chinese lessons for about an hour.
By the time he was done, he was exhausted. He didn't have the energy nor the time to go out and 'have fun'. How exactly do people 'have fun' anyway? From all the shows he's watched, it was mostly about sitting in a pub somewhere and drinking alcohol, which Adrien was not old enough to do legally. Sure, he was just one year away from the legal threshold, but it wasn't something he was willing to get in trouble for. Father would be most upset if he found out.
Sports did not interest him. If a stranger offered him a ticket to the stadium because they had a last-minute change of plans, sure, he'd go check it out. But other than that, no.
Adrien sighed. It was getting dark as the sun set further beyond the horizon of the Parisian skyline, complete with the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower standing in the background and neon lights beginning to take over the streets.
Red neon lights, by the way. He's heard the stories.
"Hey, handsome." One girl grabbed his broad shoulders; she wore a leather collar around her slender neck and sleeveless vest covering a white tank top. She leaned toward him, closing the distance between her mouth and his ear. "You busy?"
"Yes." Adrien answered, showing his discomfort at the sight of her. He gently picked her touchy hands right off. "I'm busy."
"Shame, you look like a snack." The young woman snared under her breath. She thought he didn't notice, but he did. Once she determined he was a dead end, she recalibrated her focus upon other potential customers. He picked up the pace as he went on his way through the district, passing and ignoring all the prostitutes just like the one before. Adrien immediately extended the distance from them whenever they tried to get close.
Father would be furious if he caught wind that Adrien was seen around them, much less actually indulging with them. A couple of police officers sure didn't mind the same concerns with their superiors however, when Adrien saw them laughing, drinking, and getting their touchy hands all over their bodies. Prostitution was illegal, but it sure as hell seem like it wasn't being enforced, like all the other parts of Paris.
Mother would be disappointed by all of it. If she could see the city now… how it had been reduced to this. Somebody should do something.
And now he's hungry. Good thing he convinced his father that he could stay outside until two hours before midnight to enjoy the foods that Paris had to offer. Natalie would usually cook him all three meals of the day; she lived in the mansion after all, practically a housekeeper too. Breakfast from Paris was subpar compared to Natalie's, but at least lunch was tantamount. Now he's going to find out if dinner was what Paris is best at.
He spotted a bakery right before the road started to bend ninety-degrees to the right as he made his way up the incline. White walls with rectangles slightly outset from the walls, outlined in faded gold. The windows are tinted dark with capital letters in gold, which in contrast with the rest, was not peeling away; they were most likely recently replaced. The door was styled similarly to the outside walls, with the same black window, gold lettering, and white outline. Above the windows and door is a white overlap with ridges, gold lettering, and a black background.
"Dupain's Boulangerie Pâtisserie." Adrien read aloud. This bakery was certainly not well-maintained, he could deduce that much. Adrien considered just skipping this bakery and try finding a better one. But he was really hungry and the bakery wasn't really all that different aesthetically from the rest of the area for the past kilometer. "I guess I can give it a try."
There was no bell ringing when Adrien opened the door. There was a bell alright, but it's clearly broken. He was greeted by a collection of glass display cabinets, showcasing many treats. At least the glass was taken care of; he didn't think anyone would be willing to eat if it looked even a bit unsanitary. On top of the cabinets were small displays of baked bread, the floors are ornately styled, with repeating designs of lilies and fleur-de-lis. The walls are wood near the entrance and brick farther back. Further along was the register, with peels hanging from the ceiling above and a cast-iron oven in the background. Also in the back are various sacks of flour and a door leading to an open rear exit with stairs leading up.
There was nobody at the register, but Adrien certainly was hearing somebody behind the register, or rather, under the register. Somebody was crying, a girl's cry, to be more precise. Adrien peeked over the counter to see just who it was. It was indeed a girl, hiding and leaning against the register, with her face covered, body curved, and limbs drawn in.
"Are you okay?" Adrien asked.
Her body jumped so suddenly at the question. She snapped her head to face him, a surprised face that said there was actually a customer who entered her shop. She quickly got up and put on her biggest and sweetest smile.
"Yes, I'm fine!" She exclaimed. "Welcome to Dupain's Boulangerie Pâtisserie! How can I help you?"
She didn't look fine. She could wipe away the tears as best she could, but traces still remain, like how her eyes were still red. She looked to be a girl about the same age as him, slender, average height, the usual. She did look pretty with her light scarlet lips, bluebell eyes, light freckles on both sides and the bridge of her nose. What was most noticeable was her hair: black hair with blue reflections reaching down to her shoulders.
"Um…" Adrien didn't know what to do. "If this is a bad time—"
"NONONO!" She spat out, rushing to grab something from the back, which was a piece of macaron. "It's not a bad time! Please, try some of our samples!"
She sounded desperate and acted like it too. Practically poking him with the macaron like it'd entice him to eat it or something. Something in his gut was telling him to forget about this place and leave. She was giving off those same vibes Adrien experienced right after buying the ring from the old Chinese man. "I don't know…"
"It's tasty! I promise!"
Well… it wasn't like this time there would be any witnesses to swarm him.
He bit into it. A bit weird after he realized he didn't take the macaron for himself and instead just ate off her hand. He tasted almonds, something sweet-but-also-tart flavor, and a fragrant aroma of kiwi and pineapple.
It's… pretty good! It's great actually! His face lit up as the taste settled in his tongue. "What flavor is it?"
"Passionfruit!" She definitely picked up on his facial cues. "Do you like it?"
"Yes, I do—"
"I have whole boxes of them! I've got chocolates, vanilla, hazelnuts, whatever you want!" She literally stacked a tower of boxed macarons in front of him, expecting him to buy all of it. "I guarantee you, you'll never find another bakery that makes them as good as this bakery does! You'll love it!"
"That's nice and all, but—"
"And we even have them on a special sales offer! Just €20 per box! That's incredibly cheap for macarons of all things!"
"I don't—"
"Buy two, get one free!"
Adrien raised a brow and stayed silent. Was she going to let him talk? She picked up on that message quickly as soon as he did and quietly sulked in embarrassment.
"Are you new to this?"
"Of course not! This bakery has been here since 1945! We're experienced and excellent bakers!"
"No, I mean you personally."
"Me? I'm experienced! My dad taught me everything I ever need to know about baking! I've been doing this since I was five~!"
"Is he the owner?" If he was, that would explain why she wasn't in some sort of uniform. Instead, she wore a dark gray blazer with rolled-up sleeves and a white t-shirt with black stitching underneath. Pink rolled-up jeans and light pink ballet flats would certainly not be tolerated in any professional manner outside of skilled-trade labor.
"He… was the owner…" A tear leaked through her best attempt to hold it in.
"Oh…" That would certainly explain why she was crying. Poor girl, she must've just lost him recently. "I'm sorry…"
"Don't be… you're not the one who murdered him." She clamped her hands together and shut her mouth. She wasn't supposed to let that slip, especially not to a stranger. "Forget I said that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be such a downer."
He didn't know what to say to her. Tell her that he was sorry for her loss again? Should he say that her father must've been a great man if those words ring hollow from somebody who had never met him like those faceless lines of people at the funeral of Adrien's mother? He didn't remember what condolences they've said to him because he just tuned it all out. If he didn't want to hear empty words, then neither would she.
The best course of action right now would be to just respect her wishes. Forget about it. He stretched out his hand and offered a handshake.
"I'm Adrien."
She accepted his hand and smiled. A poor mask. "Hello Adrien, I'm Marinette."
He wasn't going to call her out on it. "I think I'll have a box of macarons."
She lit up. Even if it was just a little bit, it was nice to see an improvement. "Of course, which flavor would you like?"
"Surprise me." He was a sucker for tragic stories, wasn't he? One sad story and he became all too willing to part ways with his money. But look at her, she looks better now that he was here buying from her, that somebody enjoys the taste of her work.
"I'll give you a box of passionfruit—" She froze. A veil of dread covered her head.
"Marinette? What is it?" Adrien followed her terrified eyes. She was staring at something behind him. Or rather, someone.
Adrien turned aboutface, and came face-to-face with a group of rugged men in questionable choice of clothes. A diverse selection, one was definitely Romanian, a few looked like they were from Syria, and the one composed, standing over two meters tall, was sub-Saharan. All of them had some visible but faded tattoos either on their necks or arms.
First thing anyone would notice would be the cold eyes. Zero emotions, looking through Adrien, sending a chill up his spine. Once blinked, the emotionless stare was gone and in its place was… the sadistic satisfaction that he could send the hair on the back of Adrien's neck rise, as if the body was trying to tell him something about the danger he was staring straight at.
"Adrien… I think you should leave." Marinette said that like she expected that in just minutes, there will be police to cordon off the bakery. Adrien may not have much outside experience, but it was even obvious to him that they were of the criminal element. What business do they have with Marinette?
"Why?"
"Forget about paying me," Marinette pushed the box of macarons into his hands. "Please, just leave."
"Who's the kid?" One of them asked Marinette like they knew her. Short gray hair, thick eyebrows, large nose, and that wide, evil-looking smirk. Considering that he was also wearing a gold—hence expensive—pendant around his neck and he stood in front of the rest, he must be the one in charge of them. "Your boyfriend?"
"Nobody." Every muscle on Marinette's face tightened, eyes widened, face jutted downward. She was petrified, could barely move anything else in her body except the motion of gently pushing Adrien towards the exit. "He's just a customer."
"Marinette, what's going on?" He whispered to her. Such a low volume that he wasn't sure if she even heard what he was saying. "Do you need me to call the police?"
"No, they're not going to do anything anyway." She sadly whispered back.
The police or these people? Adrien wanted to ask, but now he was within earshot of the group, so he gave up his curiosity.
"Take her advice and get the fuck out of hell, kid." The man with the gold pendant slumped his weight onto one hip, bending the other knee just slightly, and lit up a cigarette. And then this asshole decided it was a good idea to blow a puff of smoke directly into Adrien's face. The heck was wrong with him!?
"May I ask who you are?" Adrien passively tried confronting the rude con.
"None of your business."
Fine, then Adrien was just going to refer to him as Petit Connard from now on.
"Get out of here, kid. Scram."
The urge to stay out of pure spite arose within his seething mind. So, this was how it felt. He's watched tons of media where the antagonist shouted to the protagonist that he'd better run as the protagonist backed out due to the fear of getting into legal trouble. Adrien never understood why those words would provoke the protagonist so much that he'd jump back at the antagonist regardless of any previous cautions of the law.
Oh now he knew. Adrien just gave them the satisfaction those men wanted as he closed the bakery's door behind him. Power, control, the twisting of events to make it seem that they were superior to him. Every step he took away from the bakery was another jolt of gratification feeding into their ego.
Adrien looked back. Through the glass, he saw them having an argument. Was it even an argument when Marinette was basically taking the brunt of their verbal abuse? It was so loud that Adrien could hear the men's muffled shouts in the distance. What were they going on about?
He sighed.
Forget it. It was none of his business. If Marinette wanted him to not be involved, then so be it. She said not to call the police anyway, so she must not be in any sort of danger. Besides, it was getting late anyway; his father would be most displeased that Adrien abused his privilege of having free time to stay late as long as possible. He'd have to come back to the bakery again the next time his father would let him out, he couldn't possibly accept this box without paying. Marinette seemed like such a sweet girl, helping the family business and all. Adrien could relate to that.
All that changed when the deafening noise of shattering windows erupted behind him. He jolted aboutface, fanatically scanning up and down, left and right for the source of that sound. And he found it. Back at the bakery, a window was broken. A tray amongst the shards.
And they were beating Marinette as she cried for them to help. They were beating her as she held her hands up as a shield against their kicks. They were kicking her as she fell down and crawled into a fetal position.
THEY WERE BEATING HER! THEY WERE GOING TO KILL HER!
"STOP IT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?" He screamed, sprinting right back into the bakery. Opening the door made him stop for one second, thus losing all that momentum he had built up. And he didn't have enough distance to build up that same momentum again to tackle the assailants down.
He grabbed a metal tray by the door side and flung it straight at the head of one man and rushed to punch another. That was two, but Adrien had weak punches and there were still the rest beating down on Marinette.
"I SAID STOP!" Adrien grabbed the same tray he flung and slammed it as hard as he could into the heads of the remaining men. Now, he had all of their attention.
"RUN TO THE BACK, MARINETTE! AND LOCK THE DOOR BEHIND YOU!" Adrien screamed at her. He just hoped that there was a back exit in this building, because the group of men divided them, and the front entrance was blocked for her.
"But—" Marinette tried to protest. If it was about him in danger, that was kind of her to think about, but he had a better chance of fighting them off than she could. He had taken both fencing classes and acrobatic classes. Of course, that doesn't mean it'd translate well in reality with a fully resistant, non-compliant opponent. And he had nothing close to a saber.
"JUST DO IT!" That made her move and thank God not one of them chased after her. But then it occurred to Adrien just then that they know where she lives; they could always come back for her later. For now, they'll deal with the guy whose address they don't know.
Crap. What a situation Adrien got himself in. Still better than Marinette getting beaten to death but wasn't much better. He couldn't run away either, Marinette has to be safe. The only thing that Adrien could rely on was for Marinette to call the police and let them take over.
But how long would they take to get here? Guess he would have to hold out until they get here. "Alright, who the hell are you guys!? Normal people don't beat down on girls!"
"You could've just walked away, kid." Petit Connard sneered at him. "Get him, boys!"
The first man was fast. Damn fast. Adrien barely had the time to deflect the incoming punch when the second punch came hurling in. Adrien sucked in his stomach, nearly missing that one. The fact that the man was fast made it difficult to maintain his footing as Adrien was backed against the door. So, what chance did he have against the second and third men flanking him from the side and grabbing ahold of both his arms?
He was trapped already. So quick was his loss, unlike the sanction match of a one-on-one fencing duel. He still had one thing going for him; however, his back was against the entrance door. His only hope was that the glass and his back could generate enough friction for carrying his entire body when he jumps.
He went for it, he jumped against the door and the friction indeed held. Two feet drawn in, then rushed forth into the first man's torso! The man didn't see that coming and collapsed backwards, falling violently to the floor.
Arms still bound, so Adrien pretended to kick the second man in the shin. That man tried to grab Adrien's leg, a more useful limb to restrict.
And that was his mistake. Adrien easily freed his right arm now that only one hand was bounding it. Immediately, he delivered a full-swing of his right fist and sucker-punched the third man who held his left arm hostage.
The second man thought he was smart when he anticipated Adrien's return swing and attempted to grab it again. But Adrien anticipated two moves ahead, bringing a wide swing of his left shin directly into the wall, crushing his head for a brief moment between them.
"AHHH!" The second man screamed in pain, clutching his ears. He collapsed less violently than the first man, but more painfully.
But then came the fourth man, the tallest over two meters, charging into Adrien and punching him straight in the gut.
Holy crap. HOLY CRAP! Adrien really felt it. Immense throbbing at the point of impact that sent shivering nerves into his head with a blinding whiteness. It wasn't just hard knuckles that Adrien felt. It was brass. Cold, hard, solid brass.
Going in further sent Adrien crashing through the glass door, sending him flying. He was as light as a feather compared to the sheer strength backing that punch alone. The brass knuckles really kicked it in like needles being jammed straight into his veins. Entire body showered in the scalding pain which was crawling at his flesh and running throughout his body. And last but not least, the clashing of his spine against the concrete.
If there had been stairs to the bakery, if he had to fall an extra decimeter, he would never be able to walk again.
Adrien crawled backwards away as the men followed him slowly, confident that he wasn't getting away. It took two attempts to get back up.
Every part of his gut instinct was screaming at him to run, mocking him as a fool who would stay and fight. Just walk away; there was no need to die for someone he just met. So, what if she takes his place? It doesn't concern him in the slightest. It shouldn't concern him in the slightest. Just a guy in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wouldn't expect him to stay, so why should he? Please just go. That's it. Take another step back. Keep taking another step back. One, then two, then three, then…
Stop.
Why? His instincts screamed even louder. Why did he stop? He was in the process of accepting that her blood would not, in any possible scenario, be on his hands. If he goes down here, they will just continue onto Marinette. Stay, and two lives would be lost in vain. Run, and only her life would be. It was simple mathematics.
Adrien eyed the brass knuckles. He gulped his fear down his throat. He took out the ring he bought earlier today from the old Chinese man and put it on. If he was going to go against a weapon like that, then he wanted something similar, even if a ring won't do as much damage as a brass knuckle. Adrien readied himself against them, putting his hands up on guard and…
Why was everything clearer? His vision was suddenly better in the dark as soon as he wore the ring. And the screaming instinct of his body immediately just went quiet. And he felt… better? Rejuvenated. After that beating he just took? What?
"The fuck is wrong with his eyes?" Petit Connard raised a brow. "Honestly, it's creeping me out. Finish this, boys."
Adrien's eyes? What was wrong with his eyes?
The fast man came charging at Adrien again, trying the same punches Adrien managed to dodge. Left jab, right hook, undercut, Adrien dodged them all. And when the man went straight for Adrien's face, Adrien caught it by the wrist and didn't let go. The man tried to wrestle away his grip, but Adrien felt stronger than before. Adrien twisted it, making the man's entire body try contorting to relieve the pain, until he was literally on his knees crying out in pain.
Adrien wasn't strong enough to snap the man's wrist in two, but holy cow did he certainly felt like he could. The man was in no position to block any attacks unless he was willing to twist his body like a pretzel, so Adrien kicked him under the chin.
And he kicked hard. Harder than he intended to. The man fell to the ground, crying in pain. Curling into the same fetal position Marinette was in before. A couple of seconds later, Adrien could confirm that the man wasn't going to get up anytime soon.
There was a certain amount of joy Adrien was feeling when he watched the man struggle to keep it together. The comeuppance of a criminal who didn't hesitate to beat a defenseless young girl.
"The hell you are waiting for!?" Petit Connard yelled at his gang. "Get him!"
Wow, they're really repeating the same thing they've tried in the bakery, aren't they? The same second and third men rushed at him together, albeit with different tactics. One, they both drew out knives this time and went on slashing at him. Two, those were, in no better words, bloody huge shanks. The British can be sometimes right from time to time.
Adrien leaned to the side when one of them messed up the attack order and left his back completely open. An opening Adrien was going to exploit to the fullest. He took advantage of the misused momentum and pulled the man down whilst grabbing the other by the arm when he struck out beyond his ability to keep his balance and then twisted the goon in front of him. Both of them screamed in the same pain as the first man, dropping their knives as Adrien further twisted.
Adrien kicked them both in the head, severely disorienting their senses. If one kick weren't enough, then two and three followed. Adrien kept kicking until they couldn't get up anymore. All that was left of them was the constant groaning as if it were a chant to soothe their pain. They were down for the count too.
Adrien couldn't believe it. Where did this extra strength come from? Somebody of his build would not have been able to do the things he just did. Was it… was it really the ring?
Petit Connard retreated behind his last man, suddenly unsure of himself. The thought of strong-arming someone they misperceived as weak nobody dissipated from their minds and faces. They weren't quite so confident now and Adrien flashed a confident smile. Guess all those fencing lessons his father made him take weren't so useless after all. He may not have a saber, but that didn't mean his agility and reflexes were suddenly gone too.
"You sure you want to do this!?" Adrien shouted at them, picking up the knives the men dropped and pointed them at the remaining two. They have to surrender now, right? Brass knuckles won't do anything against real knives. And even if the giant had knives of his own, he just saw Adrien taking out three of his fellow criminals with his bare hands.
The tall man didn't hesitate to take an offensive stance. Okay, maybe Adrien got a little over his head there. Adrien prepared himself for a fight, stretching out his legs and crouching his frame to a lower position. Time was on his side; his advantage was to wait for the man to make the first move. Once he does, Adrien would pounce.
Then, the faint noise of sirens sounded through the air. Oh, thank God.
The gangsters noticed it too, cursing under their breath when they realized how short on time they were. And so, they walked away. Walked, not ran. They weren't afraid of the police, more like they didn't want to deal with the police.
Adrien dropped the knives. If the police saw him with it, they'd immediately assume he was the aggressor. He breathed a sigh of relief. He made it to the end of the time limit. Marinette was safe for now. It was just a shame that the bakery was trashed. But no worries! It was only property after all; those were always replaceable, and life will always take precedence.
Adrien took off the ring.
Everything instantly became darker. The surge of new strength Adrien once felt was now gone. Every hit he took hurt much more again. And other things he didn't notice before: enhanced hearing, peculiar sense of smell, anything else a cat might have, are all gone now.
This confirmed it. There was something about this ring.
The ring of the Black Cat, which grants the power of destruction.
Adrien held in his hands some supernatural power that he didn't know if he wanted anywhere near him. Black Cat and destruction, those were not the words that formed a sentence that boded well for Adrien. Was it safe? Were there any costs to using it? How powerful was it, exactly? Those were all questions he was dying for somebody to answer. But he knew at least one thing for certain: this was power. Power that could possibly change the fate of Paris regardless of whether he used it correctly or not.
Fate of France could well be in his hands.