Past

They found Su-Han hunched over a bonsai tree, clippers in hand and a peaceful expression smoothing over his usually stressed features. He'd made his own little corner in the lair, stacked with old scriptures and odd little souvenirs of the modern world that interested Su-Han (a suspicious amount of them were shoes).

Glancing around, Adrien saw Nathalie a bit away, sat under a pile of old scrolls with Tikki over her shoulder. She and Tikki had been spending a lot of time together lately, almost always working. Ever since Challot's ominous visit (that Nathalie had still failed to tell him anything about), the two had been throwing themselves into their work even more, not for productivity, but for distraction.

"Su-Han?" Alya's voice brought him back to their objective, pulling Adrien's attention to Su-Han. "Are you busy?"

Su-Ham hummed, "I'm almost done."

Adrien walked around to get a better view of the tree, looking over it curiously. His mother had been obsessed with gardening in her later years, a simple, quiet hobby that just required some patience – said it helped to have something she had full control over.

He'd remember her trying to explain all the different flowers, and seeds, and soils and everything that flew over little Adrien's head – but most of all, he remembered how much it made her smile. He supposed it was the one thing she could say for sure that she did on her own, without the help of her husband or her wealth, it was her accomplishment and hers alone.

Briefly, Adrien wondered if the same logic went through Su-Han's love for the tree. Everyone here held some measure of guilt for how everything had gotten to this point, things they failed to do that they thought would have stopped the worst from happening. Su-Han was born and raised to fulfil this exact role and he still fell short. Tending to a tree was an anchor, a simple task that he didn't have to worry about failing. His accomplishment alone.

Adrien never shared his mother's green thumb, nor her love for plants. It didn't help that Lila Rossi soured his opinion on the smell, he distinctly remembered the pungent odour of whatever perfume she used – it smelled like you were in a greenhouse surrounded by fumes and plant life, made your nose itch and your skin heat up like you were cramped in a hot greenhouse too.

"Bonsai Trees were Fu's favourite, you know." Su-Han murmured, peering closely before slicing through a section of loose leaves. "Back at the temple, we'd trim them together. Had our own little collection."

Adrien didn't interrupt, taken aback by the softness in the man's voice. He'd never gotten the impression that Su-Han thought highly of Fu, especially considering that Fu was the one responsible for the temple's 200 year absence from the world.

Su-Han continued, a small, though weary, smile reaching his lips. "It was the only real thing we had from the outside world. Made the temple feel less like a prison at times."

Alya plopped down next to him, a small, curious glint in her eye. It was funny to remember that, before Feast had been dealt with, Alya was the one constantly speculating and researching the Guardians, before anyone but Fu even knew they existed. "What, did they never let you guys travel?"

"Guardians are to remain in the temple until they are needed." Su-Han held his shears in place, frozen for a moment, giving off a distant look "In an era without active miraculous holders, we were without purpose. Locked away."

Adrien scratched his cheek, unsure how to respond without sounding insulting. "That doesn't sound like a good life." He murmured.

Su-Han finally looked up to him, offering a sour look that was as unsure as Adrien felt. "It is not a pleasant life, but for the sake of a better future, one must be willing to sacrifice a few comforts."

Adrien had spent most of his life in seclusion, bound to a gilded cage under the threat of the outside world being too dangerous, too ruthless for him to be trusted roaming it. All so he could be groomed for a role that would supposedly benefit him and secure his future. In a way, he uniquely related to Su-Han's living circumstances, though his duties were to shoulder a modelling career, not train for the sole purpose of protecting the world.

Even then, he couldn't imagine choosing to give up any of his friends, of his experiences, of his freedom. How much can you protect a world you know nothing about? That you refuse to engage with? In Adrien's experience willpower was always a heroes' most powerful tool, and that willpower came from a desire to protect or a duty to fulfil.

But both of those things require a connection, a passion that can never be generated from something you've never engaged with. It's one thing to be told to protect something, and it was something else entirely to feel that need to protect something echo within your very soul.

He wondered if Fu agreed with Su-Han. After all, Fu didn't leave the temple by his own choice. If Feast had never happened, Fu would have still followed the rules of the temple, he'd have never travelled the world, he'd have never found a woman to settle down with and retire.

"What was Fu like back then?" Adrien asked.

"Enthusiastic, unfocused, reckless, and prone to running off on whatever half-baked desire came to mind that day." There was a warmth to him, a glow of nostalgia that enveloped him for that moment. "Most of all, he was loyal."

"Mr. Lahiffe reminds me of him." He added, looking to Alya. "He was just a boy back then too."

Su-Han paused to sigh, heaving a great weight off his shoulders as the light in his eye gave way to thoughtful gloom. He stared down at the bonsai tree, the one connection he had left to the boy that left him behind all those years ago, a boy who had gone on to become a man while Su-Han and the rest of the guardians were held in stasis within Feast's belly. It was like watching it all hit him for the first time.

"It's a strange experience," He said quietly, "Waking up to find that 200 years have passed and that the boy you once knew is an old man who can't even remember your face."

Adrien took a steadying breath, "If it's any consolation, Fu's living a happy life now."

Alya chimed in, her tone softer than usual. "Amnesia isn't the best retirement plan, but… he's at peace. He's earned his rest."

Su-Han nodded, a thin but sincere smile breaking through his somber expression. "It is a comforting thought." He set his tools aside and met their gaze. "But tell me, what did you two need?"

Adrien's eyes shifted nervously before meeting Su-Han's gaze. "I wanted to ask about past miraculous holders."

Su-Han raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "I get the feeling you have someone specific in mind."

Adrien and Alya exchanged another look. After a beat, Adrien sighed, letting his question slip out in a low voice. "Who was the butterfly user before Hawkmoth?"

Su-Han's brows furrowed slightly, and he gave Adrien a knowing look. "Hmm, I'm not certain," he said, rising from his seat. "Let's take a look."

With a gesture, he directed them to Nathalie's workspace. She was already buried in her stack of scrolls, her concentration only breaking for a moment as she registered their approach. At Su-Han's subtle prompt, she wordlessly reached for a book buried under her pile, handed it to Su-Han, and watched as he began to flip through the brittle pages.

Adrien's heart pounded, his eyes tracking every page Su-Han turned. He saw sketches and names of past wielders, flashes of Ladybugs, Chat Noirs, and other miraculous holders he vaguely recognized. Finally, Su-Han's fingers came to a halt on a page depicting a butterfly holder.

Alya leaned closer. "So, this is the last guy?"

Su-Han's face took on an unexpectedly grave look as he examined the page. His voice was a tense murmur, filled with unease. "...No, it isn't."

Adrien's brows furrowed. "Huh? But I don't see any more after him."

Su-Han nodded. "I can see that." His voice dropped even lower. "But there should be one more."

Alya looked at him skeptically. "How do you know?"

Su-Han's gaze darkened as his fingers tightened on the book. "Because this holder's time is before the butterfly miraculous was broken."

The words hung heavy in the air, hitting Adrien with the force of a wave. "Broken!?"

For a second, Nathalie looked up, and in that instant, Adrien caught a brief flash of panic in her usually composed expression. Her mask of calm cracked before she glanced back down, eyes fixed on the table in front of her.

Su-Han closed the book with a slam, his jaw set. "I distinctly remember it when I first joined the temple. Of all the miraculous, the butterfly was the one that was locked away, never to see the light of day again."

Adrien's voice was barely a whisper, shock lacing his tone. "But why?"

Su-Han stared at the book in his hand as though it were a mirror to some long-buried nightmare. "It had been tampered with—corrupted. Something happened around 700 or 800 years ago, a great darkness was unwittingly released, covering the land. The only way the world was saved from calamity was by trapping that darkness within the miraculous, within Nooroo, and sealing it away under the temple."

Adrien blinked, his mind whirling as he tried to grasp the implications of Su-Han's words. "Wait, wait, wait," he stammered. "Seven to eight hundred years?" He paused for effect, a smug grin spreading over his face. "Alya."

Alya groaned, already knowing where this was going. "Don't say it."

Adrien's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Isn't that about…"

"Shut the fuck up," Alya grumbled, crossing her arms as Adrien giggled, unable to contain his amusement.

"I just need to hear you say it," he teased, leaning closer with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Alya rolled her eyes dramatically. "Urg, you are the worst. Fine. You were right."

Adrien leaned in, whispering obnoxiously, "Again."

Su-Han looked between the two, confusion etched on his face. "I don't follow."

Alya sighed, still side-eyeing Adrien's triumphant smirk. "Your timing places this great and terrible event around the same time as Adrien's vision."

Su-Han's eyes widened as he connected the dots. "You're right…" he breathed.

Adrien's smugness faltered as the full implications hit him. "Hey, I thought you said nothing big happened around that time!"

Su-Han scratched his head, his expression turning sheepish. "I-I-I said there were no records of it. And I didn't put together the timing until you did."

As if on cue, Tikki and Plagg floated over, their tiny faces pinched in concentration.

"Not just that," Tikki murmured, her tiny brow furrowed, "but we don't know about it either."

Plagg gave a dismissive wave, though his voice held a twinge of unease. "I mean, I know I have a bad memory, but even I'd remember a Nooroo-related disaster."

Adrien's gaze sharpened, his mind racing with possibilities. "Could someone have tampered with your memories?"

Su-Han shook his head firmly. "Impossible. Even guardian magic isn't powerful enough to manipulate a kwami in such a manner."

Alya's brow creased as a troubling theory formed in her mind. "So… a Senti-Monster invasion happened before. And the guardians covered it up."

Su-Han's expression hardened. "You don't know that."

Alya scoffed, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Come on, an inside job is the only thing that makes sense here."

Adrien glanced between Alya and Su-Han, his mind swirling with fragments of history and memory. "So, you're telling me that there's a centuries-old cover-up, a corrupted miraculous, and possibly an invasion of Senti-Monsters… And no one outside the temple has any clue?"

Su-Han remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Alya pressed on, her voice firm. "This isn't just some ancient history, Su-Han. If there's a connection between what happened then and what's happening now, we need to know."

Su-Han's shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of his knowledge heavy on him. "If this calamity truly connects to the current crisis, then all the guardians' efforts to prevent another disaster have failed," He admitted quietly.

"Su-Han, was the butterfly miraculous really… Broken?"

Adrien jumped at Nathalie's sudden interjection, and he barely stopped himself from jumping again when looking at her to find that, in the span of a minute, she looked considerably more dishevelled.

"As far as I know, yes." Su-Han answered solemnly.

"But wouldn't that-" A hundred unreadable expression passed, Nathalie's fingers desperately reaching for something that escaped her. "How would Hawkmoth be able to wield a broken miraculous? I thought the whole point of the miraculous was to stop the powers from killing the holder."

Su-Han stroked his chin, "It doesn't technically kill the holder, but the end result isn't much different."

A beat passed and Su-Han saw that the explanation didn't do much for the three's struggling faces. He sighed, moving his arms to his back, trying to think of a more understandable explanation. "Like I said before, the miraculous acts as a conduit for a kwami's power as well as a limiter. It ensures that whatever is taken is something manageable and given back."

He rifled through the parchment stacks for a blank one, retrieving a pen along with it and drawing out a quick diagram depicting the kwami, the miraculous and the holder in a line. The kwami and the holder both had arrows feeding into the miraculous.

"A broken miraculous is unable to contain the power, unable to limit it, or it's… Parasitic properties." A different pen drew new arrows, the kwami's power now coming from the holder, and the holder's arrows pointing back on themselves. "Using a broken miraculous has different effects on different miraculous because they take different aspects of the holder."

He writes down the symbol of the peacock, and then next to it the symbol of a heart. "For example, the peacock takes elements of your emotions to give form to a sentimonster, and then returns when that sentimonster is dismissed or destroyed."

Adrien had never seen Nathalie look so pale. Instinctively, he reached out to grasp her hand, an action that made her jump, but not pull away. "W-What happens to the holder then?"

"Without a working miraculous, the peacock drains all the emotion it can, leaving the user a hollow, husk of a person." Su-Han drew a heart with the inside turned black, "They're alive, yes, but… Empty."

"And what would Hawkmoth have faced?" Adrien spoke up, knowing that, for whatever reason, that was the question Nathalie wanted to ask but couldn't bring herself to say. "He'd use emotions too, right?"

Su-Han's face scrunched up, pulling his hand forward to repeatedly click his fingers together. There was a difference, but he was finding it hard to explain how it was a substantial one. "The butterfly doesn't use emotions themselves, it uses… Memories. It feeds off experiences that can be used to bolster the user's champions."

Another drawing. The holder, an arrow from his head feeding into an akuma, which then feeds into a haze around the head of the victim. "When empowered by an akuma, the driving force of the victim becomes that singular experience and their desire to either relive it or destroy it."

Alya sharply whistled, "That's a pretty dark power for a kwami as soft as Nooroo."

"It's only dark because Hawkmoth chose to prey upon negative experiences, to draw from his own darkness to connect to others." Su-Han said firmly, "In practise, the holder can bolster one's positive experiences, the reminders of their drive to protect or cherish."

"So, the broken butterfly would take what exactly?"

Su-Han's expression grew grave, a man watching another burn themselves alive; he grimaced at whatever he imagined. "It would trap him in the very experience that drove him to call upon the butterfly in the first place, becoming a black hole of memories, sucking in the terrible thought or harrowing experience of every akuma he released."

Su-Han's ominous words seemed to hang in the air, a grim prophecy bearing down on the room like a dark storm. His pacing slowed, and he glanced between Adrien, Alya, and Nathalie with a seriousness they'd rarely seen from him.

"I'd assume he became obsessed with chasing the miseries of others," Su-Han continued, his voice taking on a weighty tone, "addicted to it, to fill a hole left in his own heart. A man with nothing inside, yearning for the simple experience of suffering."

Nathalie swallowed, a look of something close to hope glimmering in her eyes. "Does that mean the miraculous could have… Forced him to become a villain?"

Su-Han shook his head. "No. Addictions and toxic mindsets are difficult to overcome, yes, but that descent into darkness was still a choice he actively made every day. If he'd separated himself from the miraculous, the damage could have been reversed."

He turned to Adrien, his gaze steady and searching. "Adrien… what exactly brought you down this line of questioning?"

Adrien hesitated, recalling Defect's chilling words. "Defect. He said the guy behind all of this, his so-called 'devil,' fed on Hawkmoth's akumas. He latched onto Hawkmoth, and then Chrysalis."

Alya crossed her arms, nodding as it all began to come together. "Both butterfly users got preyed upon. Which makes a whole lotta sense if this… thing was inside the butterfly miraculous."

"But Defect was affected by it too," Tikki murmured.

"When Defect was first akumatized, he was turned into a spirit that latched onto whatever he could. And that was…". Adrien's gaze snapped to Alya, giving her a cue with a snap of his fingers.

"The butterfly miraculous." Alya said, leaning forward. "So, Defect takes a tumble, wakes up in the miraculous, and gets roped into some nightmare contract with this thing. It gorges on Hawkmoth's leftovers, then, when it loses him, it latches onto Chrysalis as soon as she transforms."

Nathalie's hands shook as she clasped them together. "But what's the end goal? Darkness isn't exactly a motivation."

Adrien nodded. "We need to find out what really happened all those years ago."

Plagg floated up, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing. "But how? The information's been erased by magic."

"There has to be a way." Adrien looked around the room, his mind racing. "Ghosts exist, right? There's gotta be some magic that lets us talk to ghosts."

Su-Han tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Why not just ask the Chat Noir you saw in your vision?"

Adrien raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, that's what I said: ghosts."

"Not exactly," Su-Han clarified. "Plagg, did you ever give Adrien a kwagatama?"

Adrien tilted his head. "A kwaga-wha?"

Plagg floated up, waving a paw. "Remember that green rock I barfed up in your lap?"

Adrien wrinkled his nose. "…Oh, yeah. Now I do."

Su-Han gave a small nod. "Every holder has a piece of themselves stored in their miraculous. As the current Chat Noir, you can communicate with past Chat Noirs through these pieces."

"Oh shoot, I totally forgot about that!" Alya exclaimed.

Adrien spun toward her, incredulous. "You knew?"

Alya chuckled, a bit awkwardly. "Yeah, Marinette used it once to talk to Joan of Arc."

"Why?"

Alya pursed her lips, stifling a smile. "…No reason."

Adrien rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning. "Alright, so we have a plan, then. But do any of the other guardians know about this story?"

Su-Han's face turned solemn. "No. It barely survived until now. And anyone involved has long since passed on."

He paused thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. "There was one guardian, Salvadore, who was obsessed with this story. But he went missing after the Feast incident."

Adrien froze, blinking. "Salvadore?" A laugh burst from him. "That's… funny."

Su-Han looked at him, eyebrows raised. "How so?"

Adrien chuckled. "Didn't Nathalie say that was the name of the guy who owned the mansion before my dad? Funny coincidence, right?"

He turned away, laughing. He completely missed the sharp looks that Su-Han and Alya shot Nathalie, who kept her face carefully neutral, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something they couldn't quite read.

"…Yeah," Alya said, her tone thoughtful. "What a coincidence."

Su-Han's gaze lingered on Nathalie, his expression unreadable. "Quite the coincidence indeed."

Present

Marinette couldn't believe she was doing this. She was not what you would call a subtle or remotely sneaky person, she could barely go two steps without knocking something over or tumbling right into the people she's trying not to alert. And yet here she was, in the dead of night, skulking about the empty hall of the resistance compound with the only comfort being the Mission Impossible theme playing in her head.

That conversation with Gabriel had been a proper bug in her ear well into the evening, the shameful truth that she in some ways agreed with him, and the realization that all the people in that room had agreed with him too though they loath to admit it. It left her antsy, an itch that refused to let her sleep a wink.

So, she did what she always did when she had that itch; find something to busy herself with. She didn't even think about it, she simply let her instincts guide her around the room and- Well, it turns out she knew how to pick locks. No, she didn't know when she learned this well enough for the movements to become muscle memory.

As to why she thought it was a wise idea to snoop through the base while everyone was asleep? Well, again, Gabriel's words left her a paranoid little bug. At the very least, it would serve her well to gain an understanding of the surroundings they were secluded to, maybe find a few 'just in case' escape routes or points of interest. And if she just so happened to overhear the resistance members discussion anything that could set her fears to rest or confirm them; lucky her.

It's like they always say – it's only a crime if you get caught.

Each step felt like it could be her last—anxiety fluttered in her stomach every time her foot even grazed the floor wrong. But somehow, she kept her balance, weaving in and out of alcoves and archways, hugging the walls whenever she heard footsteps approaching. The patrolmen here were routine, almost mechanical in their patterns, which made it just a little easier to predict and evade them.

As she rounded a corner, her heart skipped when she caught a low murmur of voices coming from a room just a few feet away. She pressed herself flat against the wall, holding her breath as she strained to listen.

"You're telling me she was threatening the community heads?" one voice hissed.

"Not the girl, no," another voice responded, quieter and somehow laced with irritation. "I'm talking about Hawkmoth. I hear he's been off his rocker since he got here. Do they really trust him? If he hasn't gotten around to akumatizing someone, it's just because he hasn't figured out how to do it without his precious miraculous."

Marinette bit her lip, glancing around the corner to get a quick look inside the room. She could only see their shadows—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other smaller, gesturing animatedly as they spoke.

"Maybe," the second voice continued, "But the girl seems trustworthy enough. She's… well, I don't know what she is, honestly. But she's not like him."

"She's not, but she's close to him." The first voice spoke again, sharper this time, as if he was daring someone to argue. "She's defended him, and everyone knows Ladybug was helping Hawkmoth behind the scenes. I'm just saying, we should keep an eye on them. Both of them."

A heavy silence fell over the conversation, broken only by the soft sound of footsteps echoing as they left the room. Marinette's heart sank a little, though she wasn't entirely sure why. She didn't expect everyone here to trust her, or even to welcome her after what she'd been through. And Gabriel, well… She sighed, leaning back against the wall. It was hardly surprising that no one trusted him.

She waited a few moments, letting the voices fade before slipping further down the hall. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but something kept urging her forward, deeper into the compound.

A small door caught her eye, half-hidden in shadows. Without thinking, she slipped toward it, glancing both ways before kneeling down to fiddle with the lock. Her fingers seemed to know what to do, and within moments, the door clicked open. She eased it open, slipping inside and closing it softly behind her.

The room was dim, lit only by a faint glow coming from rows of monitors. Papers were scattered across a desk, diagrams, and blueprints detailing various locations in the city—some circled and annotated in red ink. Her gaze drifted over the maps, and her eyes drifted to two in particular: a detailed layout of the compound, and an incomplete one labelled 'Gold Records'. The ink was faded, and a thin layer of dust had set atop them. These were old and hadn't been used for a while.

At least, that was the reasoning she used for why they probably wouldn't miss them. Quietly, she slipped the map off the table and stuffed it in her pocket.

The sound of approaching footsteps jolted her out of her thoughts. Marinette ducked behind a nearby shelf, holding her breath as the door opened. She heard someone enter, recognising Bertrum's voice, muttering under his breath as Alec followed after.

"...risk keeping him here… one wrong move and the whole operation is exposed…"

Alec shut the door with a sigh, "I get it, but there's nothing we can do about it."

A chair creaked as they sat down, their muttering growing quieter as they flipped through the papers on the desk. Marinette stayed perfectly still, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn't risk being caught now, not when she was so close to learning something useful.

"Gabriel Agreste," Bertrum said, tone dripping with disdain. "What in the world were they thinking, bringing that man here? He's as much a liability as any of Chrysalis's monsters."

"Yeah, feel like the guy's gonna look for the first opportunity to cut, run and throw us to the wolves."

There was the ruffling of paper and the sharp scraping of pen against parchment, peering around the corner of the shelf, Marinette could just glimpse Bertrum stuffing different pages into an envelope while Alec leaned against the desk. "As long as he's alive- As long as both of them are alive, they're putting all of us at risk. Damocles should have just let us go through with the execution, it's what the people demanded after all."

Alec jumped up like his perch was on fire, his eyes narrowing in disgust. "We're not executioners, Bert. I don't like the guy, and I hate what Ladybug did, but we have to keep some shred of decency. We can't let them take that from us too."

"Do you really wanna risk stirring up a riot?"

"There isn't gonna be a riot." Alec shook his head. "They'll moan and whisper, but they'll keep it calm. As long as Hawkmoth doesn't pull anymore 'motivational' speeches."

A few tense moments passed before they rose again, the shuffling of papers accompanying their steps as they left the room. Marinette exhaled in relief, waiting until the footsteps faded completely before slipping out from her hiding spot.

It felt like a weight pressing on her chest—the knowledge that these people saw her as a risk, a potential danger just for being associated with Gabriel. She knew they had every reason to be wary, to be cautious, but it didn't make the words sting any less.

Moving quickly but carefully, she left the room, heading further down the hall, her mind racing. She'd found enough for this to be a fruitful outing; it was time to get back to her room.

She was about halfway back before two broad-shouldered, angry looking chaps rounded the corner and she had to wordlessly hop her ass back into the nearest room just to escape their inevitable gaze.

Marinette let out a sigh of relief as she pressed her back against the door, safe from the two patrolmen she'd barely managed to dodge. But that relief quickly disappeared as a low, guttural growl echoed through the room. She froze, heart racing as a shadowy figure lumbered forward, the sharp snap of teeth growing louder. Her mind filled with images of claws, fangs, and the smell of wet leather and old rubber. Whatever it was, it sounded big. And hungry.

Just as she was about to panic, the creature bounded into view and, to her utter surprise, nuzzled against her leg with a familiar toothy grin.

"Oh, Fang," she whispered with a nervous laugh, crouching down to the crocodile. "It's good to see you too."

She scratched his scaly head, her earlier fear turning into amusement. But then a loud scrape echoed through the room as a chair moved across the floor. Marinette looked up, startled, to see Jagged Stone in the corner, pulling off a sleeping mask and fumbling to turn on a small lamp beside him. The dim light revealed that she'd stumbled into what seemed to be a converted storage closet filled with music equipment, dusty boxes, and scattered memorabilia.

Jagged gave her a sleepy smile. "I still have your shades, you know. Don't worry, I'm not gonna rat you out."

Marinette stammered, "I was just—uh… looking for the bathroom."

Jagged raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Bathroom, huh? That's a terrible escape route."

She shook her head, feeling her cheeks warm. "L-Look, I'm not going to do a runner on you guys—"

Jagged chuckled, cutting her off. "You're just making sure you know your options in case everything goes tits up."

His tone was understanding rather than accusing, and Marinette couldn't help but feel slightly embarrassed. "It's not like they don't have a good reason not to trust me… and him."

Jagged's expression softened. "You sure did make quite the mess. Maybe you really are a rockstar."

Marinette's gaze dropped to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I thought I was doing the right thing."

Jagged tilted his head, watching her closely. "For who?"

"For Adrien." She paused, fidgeting with her hands. "And for me, I guess."

There were so many times that Marinette had almost given in and confessed her lies to Adrien and Chat Noir, before she even knew that they were the same person. She remembered watching him be interviewed about Gabriel after his death, all the praise he heaped on his father under the assumption that Gabriel died a hero, all the confusion he felt trying to connect who his father died as to the cold, disconnected father he knew.

She wanted to tell him the truth there, to dispel any guilt he had for not seeing that his father was a hero sooner, but then the interviewer dropped in, kept pelting him with these uncomfortable, relentless questions. And suddenly all she could think of is what they'd do to Adrien if they knew what his father was really like.

She remembered watching Chat Noir get into a bitter argument with an akuma who dared to question Ladybug's trustworthiness, defending her through thick and thin against any attack on her character even while the akuma pelted him with attacks.

She chickened out of that one when she realized how much her trust in Chat meant to him, and how many times she so easily took it for granted and hurt him with it. How would he feel when he realized that she didn't even trust him enough to tell him the truth about their nemesis?

She remembered her and Chat's celebration, where Chat bemoaned that he wasn't there to deliver some real payback to that sick bastard.

She remembered Adrien pulling her into a warm embrace, tearing up against her shoulder as he relentlessly reminded her how important she was to him. That just being there has been enough to help him get through his grief, and how he wished there was anything he could do that could help her half as much.

She remembered so many times, so many opportunities to end this before it began. But she always had an excuse.

Jagged's voice cut through her thoughts. "I abandoned Luka and Juleka before they could even walk. Left their mother to raise two kids on her own for years while I drank myself to sleep all around the world."

Marinette looked up, surprised by his candor. "Did… did you not want kids?"

A wistful look crossed his face. "They scared me. You know, playing the rebel rocker for most of my life, I got my fair share of hecklers, concerned parents saying I'm no good, blaming my music for making their kids lousy and all that." He let out a low chuckle. "Being the metal head I am, I always answered that with my middle finger and a sick guitar riff."

"But the day I learned that I was gonna be a father…" Jagged's smile faded. "I guess, suddenly all those comments came back, and I couldn't shake 'em this time. Can you imagine it? Jagged Stone, quaking in his boots over how his music would affect a kid." He sighed. "I ran. Told myself I was too lame to take care of a kid, that it was better for everyone involved if I wasn't there. I loved them, but I convinced myself that I was doing what was best for them."

Marinette's expression softened. "But it was the wrong thing to do. Your family needed you."

Jagged nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "In a way, I have to thank Hawk Dude for that one. If he hadn't turned Luka into Truth, allowed him to hunt me down…" He gave a small smile, the sadness in his eyes clear. "I'd probably have never gotten my head out of my ass."

"Did Luka ever tell you how we reconnected?" he continued, voice soft. "I just told him I had no idea how to talk about it, so we should just sit down and write a bitching song."

Marinette let out a small laugh, remembering Luka's version of the story. "He said you fumbled with your guitar for an hour, completely forgetting how to strum out a tune."

Jagged chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Hehe, I actually snapped one of the strings too. Guess I was just that nervous." His smile grew a bit wistful. "That night my heart was like a killer drum solo."

He hesitated, then added, "But Luka… he gave me some tip-top words of wisdom."

Jagged leaned back, a soft, almost nostalgic smile crossing his face. "He looked me dead in the eye and said, 'Dad, you don't have to be perfect to be here. Just be here.' That kid... he's wise beyond his years, you know? Took the weight of my mess-ups, turned 'em into something I could carry, like a melody you can't shake."

Marinette gave a small, understanding smile, though her chest ached. Jagged's story, his regrets, and Luka's forgiveness stirred up feelings she'd been burying for a long time. All the chances she'd had to tell Adrien, to tell Chat Noir, the truth, and all the excuses she'd made to protect them—but really, to protect herself. The fear that they would hate her, that she'd lose them forever.

"Do you regret it?" she asked softly, watching as Jagged's fingers idly traced patterns on Fang's scales.

"Every damn day," he admitted. "But regret's just a heavy riff, y'know? Can't change the notes already played, but I can make sure the encore's worth listening to." He paused, letting the silence settle before looking at her with surprising seriousness. "Marinette, whatever mess you've made, you've still got time to make it right. You don't have to get it perfect, but you do have to show up."

The words hit her like a wave. She swallowed, glancing away as guilt and determination warred within her. Maybe she couldn't fix everything, couldn't undo the secrets she'd kept or the hurt she'd caused, but she could at least try to be there, really be there, from now on.

Jagged, sensing her conflict, gave her a gentle nudge with his boot. "Listen, kiddo. You're not the first to stumble. But life's like a mosh pit—when you fall, there's always a hand to help you back up. You just gotta let it."

She nodded slowly, a small glimmer of resolve building up inside her. "You're right. I've been so afraid of messing things up that I... I made everything worse. But it's time to fix this."

Jagged chuckled, a proud gleam in his eye. "That's the spirit! And if you ever need a backup band to belt out the truth, you know where to find me."

Marinette laughed, the heaviness in her chest easing just a little. "Thanks, Jagged. I think... I think I might actually do that."

She gave Fang one last affectionate scratch behind the jaw and turned to go, the Mission Impossible theme once again buzzing in her head, though this time it felt a little more triumphant.

Past

It was fitting that the day decided to end with rainfall. Curled up on a window ledge, staring out into the storm, Adrien couldn't help but see his mental space reflected in the glass smudged with rain splatter.

He liked the rain, just hated that it was always attached to an emotional downpour. He loved the tingle of drops hammering down on him while the outside world was painted with a dim brush that made every bright spot stand out. He liked how it made the inside feel that much warmer when he watched it through a window. And there was something calming and therapeutic about the rushing sound of a hundred tiny droplets hitting something solid.

But rain was made to be a sad affair, the skies crying at the tragedy of the world. And today he shared that cloudy visage of his place in the world, where not even the comfort of his home could give him the warmth he needed.

Plagg had been watching him for half an hour now. It was unusual for the kwami to go so long being so quiet, especially when his holder was brooding. But today, he let the kid get on with it without one interruption or sarcastic comment. On any other day, it would be a boon, but today Adrien was really struggling to initiate the conversation, and he'd appreciate Plagg's drawn out sigh before asking what was bugging him.

"Plagg…" He started in a quiet, breathless whisper. "Was I chosen to be Chat Noir?"

He saw the emerald glow of Plagg's eyes reflected in the window as the kwami drew closer, two distorted, chaotic pool eclipsing his own reflection. "What do you mean?"

"Like, how easily could your ring have gone to someone else that day?" Adrien rested his head against the glass, and if he squinted hard enough he could just blur the line between water splatters to make memories. The image is distorted, fluctuating – one slight adjustment and it could be made so different. "What if Master Fu fell down an inch or two out of my sight, or somebody else reacted faster?"

Plagg scoffed, "I think Fu already had a feeling about you two before he made with the test."

"But how did he know?"

"Guardian senses or some destiny bullshit, I dunno." The green turned into a whirlpool, rolling around as Plagg's tone became more exasperated. The same tone Plagg would use when mocking Adrien's oblivious petty teenage drama. "Does it matter?"

Adrien finally turned to face Plagg, his brow set into a depressing crease. It mattered to him. It mattered more than he cared to admit, to know that he was here because he was supposed to be. Because otherwise he'd have to think of how much the hypothetical alternate Chat Noir would have done everything right. "Sometimes I just wonder if there was a better candidate that you missed out on. And I just got in the way."

"Is this because of what Defect said?"

Plagg sighed, floating up beside him. "Kid, Defect's just messing with your head. You know that, right?"

Adrien shook his head. "He just said what I was already thinking for a while, Plagg." His shoulders slumped as he leaned against the wall. "Am I… am I a good fit for the miraculous of the Cat? I don't like destruction, and I'm not the chaotic kind of guy in general."

"You're telling me," Plagg muttered, but Adrien pressed on.

"I'm organized, I'm terrified of change, and I couldn't even stand up to my father until he was on his deathbed. Not even for Marinette." Adrien's eyes drifted over to the grimoire he'd been combing through on the coffee table. He'd been searching for answers, for any reassurance that his place in this centuries-old legacy meant something. "I look at all these Chat Noirs of the past, and all I see are legendary warriors, genius generals, righteous knights—heroes who lived and breathed combat. They were never afraid of their power. Destruction suited them."

"Kid," Plagg interjected, "do you even know how the miraculous wish works?"

Adrien looked over at him, a bit taken aback. "Uh, you make a wish. And you sacrifice something in return."

"Not exactly. You exchange aspects of reality." Plagg floated closer, his tone unusually serious. "Think of the universe like a big old grid, and everything inside it has a place. Colors, people, concepts—everything has its own unique position in the universe."

Adrien furrowed his brow, trying to follow along. "And…?"

"With all the powers of destruction and creation, you can't change that." Plagg's eyes glinted knowingly. "You can move pieces around, change the details, but you can't change that board. You can't add something or take something away. All you can do is change the values."

Adrien nodded slowly, as if he was beginning to understand.

"That's what the Ladybug and Cat miraculous represent: Change. Not order and chaos, not good and bad luck, not even creation and destruction, really." Plagg gave Adrien a mischievous grin before flying off toward the corner of the room. He returned balancing a large circular box on his head, and Adrien wrinkled his nose, catching a whiff of its pungent contents. He didn't need to look to know it was cheese. Terrible, terrible cheese.

"Look at my gooey, smelly, delicious old camembert," Plagg announced with pride.

Adrien sighed. "Do I have to?"

"This is my analogy, and you will accept it," Plagg said sternly, plopping the cheese down in front of Adrien. "Where does this camembert come from? Does it just pop out of thin air? No! It's made of ingredients, which come from animals, which come from… well, other animals. So on and so forth."

Adrien rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it was created. What's your point?"

Plagg gestured toward the cheese dramatically. "This marvel of human ingenuity was created, yes, but only because something else was broken down to make it. To create the future, you break down the past. You don't throw it away, you don't erase it. It will always exist in some form. Like I said, you can never add or take away from the board."

Plagg floated up to Adrien, pressing a paw against his forehead. For a moment, it was like Adrien could feel that chaotic cataclysm energy flow from Plagg's touch, swelling within him and stretching his body out, pushing it forward. Becoming Chat Noir changed the trajectory of Adrien's entire life, it gave him an outlet to explore himself outside his family's rigid expectations, it gave him the courage to stand up on his own two feet; in a way, it carved out the path to his friends, to Marinette. Chat Noir was change.

"Being Chat Noir isn't about destruction, kid. It's about knowing what needs to be broken and what needs to be kept. It's like knowing which of Pigtail's or Fu's rules to ignore and which rules to respect." Plagg smiled, tapping Adrien's forehead lightly. "In a way, you're still protecting the future. You're just deciding what kind of future that is."

Adrien stared at him, speechless for a moment. "Plagg… Sometimes I forget how old you are."

Plagg chuckled, floating back a little. "Believe me, kid, so do I. It makes things a whole lot easier if I don't have to balance multiple centuries of wisdom and whatever you humans call 'baggage.'" He grinned, his usual mischievousness back in full force. "But you, being Chat Noir? You're right where you need to be."

Adrien's lip wobbled a bit as he leaned over and gave Plagg a light tap with his knuckle. "Thanks, you old softie."

"Hey! Don't let the other kwami hear that," Plagg grumbled. "I've got a reputation to keep, you know."

Adrien chuckled, heading toward the door for a much-needed drink. Just as he reached for the handle, he realized Plagg hadn't followed him. He glanced over his shoulder to find Plagg in the same spot, but now he was the one gazing into the foggy window, facing reflections of his own.

"…Hey, kid?" Plagg's voice was quiet, and Adrien's chest tightened at the rare vulnerability in his tone.

"Yeah?"

"I can't tell you anything about the final fight with Monarch." Plagg's voice trembled slightly. "I want to tell you everything about that day, but I can't go against the Guardian's orders. Even if they're dead."

Adrien's brows furrowed. "But couldn't Su-Han—"

"He's tried," Plagg interrupted, his voice a little sharper than usual.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I just…" He seemed to hesitate, tensing up as if waiting for a punch, before continuing. "There's some answers I can't give you. I just want to make sure you know that, if I'm holding out on you, it's under some serious protest.

Plagg offered him a little smile, the sadness in his gaze barely hidden. "I've always got your back, kid. No matter what."

"I…" Adrien had to take a moment to readjust. "Thank you, Plagg. I know you don't need it, but I got your back too."

The kwami grinned, but Adrien thought he caught a flicker of relief in his gaze. "You'd better, Kit. Now go get yourself a drink, or I'll start thinking you're getting sappy on me."

Adrien rolled his eyes, giving Plagg a light, playful swat before heading downstairs. The dimly lit hallway and quiet sounds of the house around him were oddly comforting after their conversation.

He was surprised to find the rest of the gang downstairs, assuming they'd have left as soon as night fell. They sat in the dining room, around the head of the table, sipping on hot chocolate and coffee while Nathalie rifled through the mail on the other side. At first glance, it would be a warm, cheery sight, but as soon as he stepped in, he felt a palpable tension in the room.

"I just think it's an odd coincidence." Alya was in the middle of saying, pausing to take a sip from her cup and glare down at the contents. Waiting for it to reveal the answers for her. "Andy Defame, the Disruptor guy, and the akuma we took out while Chat was fighting Defect; they all had beef with Adrien before they were akumatized."

"Adrien's a popular topic. Doesn't mean anyone's out to get him specifically." As Luka spoke, he locked eyes with Adrien, but Adrien was content to just listen for now and continued on his way. "Though it does worry me."

Chloe scoffed, "It's a frame job, obviously. Keep akumatizing or setting up sentimonsters that have something against Adrikins, eventually someone's gonna be suspicious that so many of Chrysalis' victims are also Adrien's enemies."

Nathalie looked up from her work at his arrival, beckoning him closer. "Adrien, I think you'll want to see this."

"What, more fan mail?" He asked with a cheeky grin. The Agreste Mansion was no stranger to a tidal wave of junk mail from obsessive fans. It had dwindled in recent years (and there was a period of angry death threats after he and Marinette became official), but there was still enough to give Nathalie a headache sorting through.

"I thought so at first, but then…" Nathalie pulled up a neatly stacked pile of envelops and dropped them in front of Adrien. The others moved to join them, peering curiously down at the envelop.

"Ah." Was all Adrien could say upon spotting what set them apart from the other mail; they were stamped with a butterfly symbol.

"No way." Nino gaped, "You don't think Chrysalis would really…"

Alya was the first to dive in, as always, snatching the latest letter off the table and ripping it open. Unfolding the contents, her face immediately scrunched up in distain. She let out a sharp whistle, turning the letter to everyone to let them see that it was entirely comprised of cut out newspaper letters in place of a handwritten note. "Jesus, it's straight out of the serial killer catalogue."

"Is it a death threat or something?" Chloe asked, and Adrien couldn't help but appreciate suddenly feeling her hand on his arm while Nino took over his shoulder.

"Not exactly…" Alya's eyes narrowed, letting out a low, disgusted sneer. "It's a love note."

Adrien stared at the letter in Alya's hands, feeling a chill crawl up his spine as she read it aloud. The strange, almost tender words scrawled in magazine cutouts felt like an invasion of the worst kind. Even the handwriting—or rather, the careful arrangement of the clippings—had a manic edge, the edges sharp and uneven, as if they'd been glued in a hurry.

Dear Adrien,

I'm so sorry for having to reach out like this, but it seemed time for us to speak, just the two of us. You've been surrounded by such noise, so many distractions… but I've been watching. I know you see the truth behind their empty words. How can they claim to care for you when they let people throw such horrid accusations at you?

I tried to protect you, Adrien. That's why I akumatized those men. They defiled your name, painted you as something you're not. But I know the real you—the one buried under that mask they make you wear. I know what it's like to yearn for love, to be hurt over and over by those who claim they care.

We're the same, Adrien, two souls cast adrift in a world that doesn't understand us. They hurt you, betray you, and lie to you. Your family, your friends… Even your heroes. They've used you as a brand, an accessory, hiding their true motives behind false affection. But I see past all that. I see you. And I love you, Adrien. Unconditionally. The way you deserve to be loved.

With Marinette out of the way, there's nothing left between us. I know the truth of her, Adrien. I know the lies she's told you. All you have to do is ask me, and I'll reveal everything—everything she kept from you. I'll be anything you want me to be, anything to make you happy, and I'll never hide it. Because you deserve the honest truth, that you are loved, that you are adored. She betrayed you, just like everyone else. But I never would. We're meant for each other.

When you're ready to meet face-to-face, you know how to call me.

Love (with a lipstick mark next to the word), your servant.

The letter was capped off with a little drawing of a black heart with a cross inside it.

Silence, a long uncomfortable silence hung over them for a while. It was only Alya, heaving a heavy sigh, who broke it. "You know, we made jokes about Marinette being a little obsessive over you." Her lips curved, biting back her own disgust as she shook the letter. "But this is… Uncomfortable."

Max's nose wrinkled. "Urg, and what's that smell?" His voice reached a nasially pitch as he reached up to clamp his hand over his nose.

Nino sniffed the air only to instantly jolt, instinctively raising his hand to wave it off. "Yeah, it's a little pungent."

"Really planty." Luka mused, "It smells like a green house."

Hmmm, why did Adrien suddenly feel like that was an important piece of information? He turned to Alya to ask if she felt it too, only to find her eyes wide and her shoulder's trembling.

"Alya?" He asked cautiously.

"Shit, where's my phone?" She suddenly cried out stumbling back over to her chair. It was utter chaos as she hurriedly swept aside everything she could find, plates, cups and food alike, even getting on her knees and scanning the underside of the table. "No, no, no…"

Nino broke away from Adrien to hurry after his girlfriend, "Alya, you're scaring me."

"That bitch, that fucking bitch." Alya was in her own world, hissing into the void with more anger and bile than Adrien had ever heard from her. "Of course it's her."

She rose from her spot with phone in hand, unintentionally shoving poor Nino aside as she stomped up to Adrien and shoved the screen in his face.

"I knew that smell was familiar." On her screen there was a picture of a collection of letters, sent the Marinette over a year ago, marked with the caption 'Guess who has some fuel for the fire?'. He couldn't make out the writing of the letters, but he could make out something instantly recognisable; they were all capped off with a drawing, of a heart as black as night, with x marking its spot.

"It's Lila Rossi's perfume."

Next Time: The Dreadful Truth

Chloe Bourgeois was fearless. She was stunning. She was a star, a fucking queen! When she set her mind on something, there was no force on this earth that could get in her way.

"Come on, Chloe, you can do this."

And currently, she was losing her nerve peering around the corner of the street like she was watching for predators. The object of her rising panic was a middle aged portly man wrapped in baggy clothes, sitting hunched over a coffee that had long since gone cold, nervously staring down at his table.

This man was her father. And he looked old. Why did he look so old?

She tried to turn away, but Adrien and Nino stood tall and firm as 'supportive' (frustration) obstacles in her escape route. She cleared her throat, trying to pretend that she was just looking around, casually pushing her fingers over locks of hair – and not trying to bail on what suddenly felt like the most daunting meeting of her life.

Chloe breathed in.

"Of course I can do this."

Chloe breathed out.

And choked before trying to dive in between the two men and wiggle her way to freedom.

"I can't do this!" She squeaked.