Marinette couldn't help but smile at the thought of what Madame Dupont had said. Both of them together... The idea sent a warmth through her chest, one she wasn't afraid of anymore.

She turned her head and spotted Gurvinder taking a seat near the counter, letting out a quiet sigh as he stretched his shoulders. He grabbed his phone, casually scrolling through it while sipping water, his expression relaxed for once.

Marinette crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, tilting her head playfully. "Look at you, finally resting like a normal person. Should I be worried?" she teased.

Gurvi raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of water. "Oh no, you caught me. Guess I should start doing push-ups behind the counter to keep my reputation."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Honestly, I think I prefer this version of you. You're not a machine, Gurvi."

He chuckled, locking his phone and looking up at her with a small, genuine smile. "Yeah... I guess I'm starting to realize that too."

Gurvi smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You say that now, but wait until I start slacking off completely. Next thing you know, I'll be napping on the flour sacks in the storeroom while you do all the work."

Marinette rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Oh please, as if you could sit still for more than five minutes without feeling guilty about it."

He let out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand on his chest. "You wound me, Marinette. Here I am, just a simple, hardworking man trying to enjoy a sip of water, and you accuse me of being incapable of rest?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "I'm just saying, this is new. But... I like it. You, actually letting yourself breathe."

Gurvi shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. "Don't get used to it. I have a reputation to maintain as the most overworked person in this bakery."

Marinette leaned over the counter, smirking. "I think my parents would fight you for that title."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking another sip of water. "Fine, I'll settle for second place then."

Marinette's smile faltered as she saw her parents walk in, their expressions tense. She immediately straightened up, her heart pounding with anticipation.

"What happened?" she asked, stepping forward.

Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "His uncle… he's making things difficult."

Gurvinder, who had just been joking with Marinette, instantly stiffened. His grip on the water bottle tightened as he sat up straighter. "How?" His voice was steady, but Marinette could hear the tension beneath it.

Sabine glanced at her husband before explaining, "He's refusing to cooperate. He won't sign anything that would release his guardianship over you. He's even claiming you're lying—that you were never mistreated and that you willingly work for him."

Gurvi scoffed, his jaw clenching. "Of course, he'd say that. He's got too much to lose if I leave."

Marinette's hands balled into fists. "So what happens now?" she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

Tom exhaled heavily. "The lawyer says we can still fight this. We have enough proof—witnesses, photos, medical records of your injuries. But it's not going to be easy. If your uncle pushes back hard enough, this could take months… maybe even longer."

Gurvi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers running over the scars on his hands. "And if it drags on?"

Sabine hesitated before answering, "Then legally, you'll still be under his control until we win the case or find another legal option."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Marinette looked at Gurvinder, her heart aching at the way his face darkened. She could see the battle in his eyes—the fear of being pulled back into the life he was trying to escape, the exhaustion of constantly fighting, and the quiet, desperate hope that this time might be different.

Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it. "We're not giving up. No matter how long it takes, we'll fight this, Gurvi."

Gurvinder looked at their hands, his thumb brushing against hers before he nodded, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "Then I guess we better start preparing for war."

Gurvinder exhaled slowly, his fingers still laced with Marinette's. His gaze lifted, no longer filled with hesitation but with the same quiet fire he carried into every fight.

"If I could step into the ring against men twice my size and never lose…" he said, his voice steady, "then I can fight this battle too."

Tom and Sabine looked at him, surprised by his sudden determination.

Gurvi sat up straighter, his grip tightening. "I fought every day for survival, for a future I thought I could only earn by breaking my body." He turned to Marinette, then back to her parents. "But this? This isn't just about me anymore. I'll fight this fight—with you, for you. For everything you've done for me."

Marinette felt a lump in her throat as she watched him, her chest swelling with pride. He wasn't just saying it to reassure them. He meant it.

"We're with you," Sabine said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Every step of the way."

Gurvinder nodded, his jaw set. "Then let's win this."*

Adrien sat on his bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. The past few days had been intense—Marinette's absence from class, Alya's shaken expression, the hushed whispers about Gurvinder. And then there was Gurvi himself, standing taller, looking stronger, but carrying an unspoken weight on his shoulders.

Adrien leaned back, rubbing his forehead. How did things get so complicated so fast? He had always known Marinette as someone kind, always looking out for others. But this? This was something else. She wasn't just helping Gurvi—she was fighting for him. And from what little Gurvi had let slip during their project, Adrien could tell he was fighting too, in more ways than one.

Adrien sighed. He hated feeling useless. He had spent so much of his life being protected—by his father, by his bodyguards. But Marinette and Gurvi weren't just sitting back, waiting for things to get better. They were standing up, taking risks.

I need to do something too.

His phone buzzed on his nightstand. Alya had texted.

Alya: I can't stop thinking about what Mari said. We need to help them.

Adrien sat up, his mind racing. Maybe he wasn't sure how yet, but one thing was certain—he wasn't going to stand by and watch. Marinette and Gurvi weren't alone in this. Not anymore.

Adrien stared at Alya's message for a moment before typing back.

Adrien: What can we do?

Alya's reply came almost instantly.

Alya: I don't know yet. But we have to do something. Marinette is doing everything she can, but this isn't just about her. Gurvi needs more than just emotional support. He needs real help.

Adrien sighed, running a hand through his hair. Real help. He wasn't naïve—fighting a legal battle, especially against someone as manipulative as Gurvi's uncle, wasn't something that could be solved with a simple conversation.

Adrien: You're right. But we can't just jump into this without knowing what we're dealing with. Do you know anyone who understands this kind of stuff? Lawyers? Immigration laws?

Alya took a moment before responding.

Alya: I can ask my mom. She knows a lot of people in journalism, maybe she can get us in touch with someone. But Adrien… if Gurvi's uncle finds out what we're doing, things could get ugly.

Adrien frowned. He knew that all too well. People in power didn't like losing control. And from the little he knew, Gurvi's uncle wasn't just an average guardian—he was someone who used Gurvi's talent for his own gain.

Adrien: I don't care. Gurvi's our friend. We're not letting him fight this alone.

Alya didn't reply for a while. Then finally—

Alya: Okay. I'll start asking around. And Adrien?

Adrien: Yeah?

Alya: Thanks. Marinette isn't the only one who believes in Gurvi. He needs to know that.

Adrien put his phone down, determination settling in his chest. He had spent his whole life being told to stay out of things, to smile and nod, to let others handle the hard parts.

Not this time.

This time, he was going to fight too.

As Adrien sat on his bed, deep in thought, a familiar little voice broke the silence.

"You're making that face again, kid."

Adrien glanced to his side to see Plagg floating lazily near his shoulder, nibbling on a piece of cheese. The kwami's usual playful smirk was absent—he was watching Adrien with an unusual seriousness.

"What face?" Adrien asked, though he already knew the answer.

"The 'I'm about to do something reckless' face," Plagg replied, crossing his tiny arms.

Adrien sighed, leaning back against his headboard. "I just... I want to help, Plagg. Gurvi's fighting so much on his own, and Marinette is doing everything she can, but it's not enough. His uncle—he's powerful. He's got control over Gurvi's whole future."

Plagg munched on his cheese for a second before floating closer. "You know, Adrien, there was a time when you didn't care about these kinds of things. You smiled, waved for the cameras, and let the world pass by. Now, here you are, ready to throw yourself into a legal mess for some kid."

Adrien looked down at his hands. "He's not just 'some kid.' He's my friend."

Plagg's gaze softened. "And what exactly do you plan to do?"

Adrien exhaled. "Alya's reaching out to her mom's contacts. I was thinking... maybe I could ask my father's lawyers for advice."

Plagg immediately tensed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa—hold on. You really think asking Gabriel Agreste's legal team is a good idea? The same lawyers who handle your father's empire? The ones who could easily report everything back to him?"

Adrien frowned. "I know it's risky. But they're some of the best in Paris. If I can just get some information—"

"—Then you risk your father finding out and dragging you into the mess too," Plagg interrupted, voice firm. "Adrien, I know you want to help, but you have to be smart about this."

Adrien clenched his fists. He hated this feeling—being powerless when someone he cared about was suffering.

"Then what do I do, Plagg?" he asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "I can't just sit here and watch!"

Plagg sighed, floating down to sit on Adrien's shoulder.

"You don't have to sit and watch," he said, his voice quieter this time. "Just... find a way that won't destroy everything in the process."

Adrien took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Plagg was right. Rushing into this without thinking could make things worse.

"Alright," Adrien murmured. "I'll be careful."

Plagg smirked, nibbling on his cheese again. "Good. Because if you get yourself in trouble, I will say 'I told you so.'"

Adrien rolled his eyes but smiled just a little. He had a lot to figure out. But one thing was certain—he wasn't backing down.

As Adrien sat in his dimly lit room, his thoughts drifted back to everything he had learned about Gurvi. He tapped his fingers against his desk, his mind spiraling into comparisons.

He had always felt neglected by his father—ignored, treated more like an accessory to the Agreste brand than a son. The empty dinners, the cold responses, the way Gabriel only seemed to notice him when it was convenient. It had hurt for years.

But Gurvi…

Gurvi never even had a father figure, let alone a distant one. Instead, he had an uncle who beat him, used him, treated him like a tool rather than family. Adrien had grown up in a golden cage, isolated but still surrounded by luxury, while Gurvi had fought every day just to survive.

Adrien had a home, security, people who cared about him. Nathalie, despite being strict, looked after him in her own way. Gorilla never spoke much, but Adrien knew he cared. Even though his father never paid him attention, Adrien was never physically harmed.

But Gurvi…

Gurvi flinched when people moved too fast around him. He never sat with his back exposed. He was always watching, always ready—as if expecting danger at any moment. And then there were the scars. The ones Adrien had caught glimpses of, the ones that told a story Adrien couldn't even begin to imagine.

"I thought I had it bad," Adrien muttered to himself, gripping his arm.

He had spent so many years feeling sorry for himself. Feeling trapped. But compared to Gurvi? Compared to the fight Gurvi had to endure every single day?

Adrien exhaled shakily.

"No," he whispered. "I won't let him go through this alone."

Gurvi had never given up. He had never let the world break him, even when it tried its hardest. If he could do that, if he could keep fighting despite everything—then the least Adrien could do was fight with him.

Adrien sat up as a thought struck him.

The Gabriel Agreste Annual Fashion Competition. It was one of the most prestigious events in the industry, a platform where young designers were given the chance to showcase their talent. His father handpicked the finalists himself, and the winner often got an internship under the Gabriel brand.

Adrien knew how much Marinette loved fashion. It was her dream, the thing she had been working toward for years. But lately… she had been too focused on Gurvi, too worried about him to think about herself. He saw it in the way she ignored her sketches, the way her notebooks remained closed.

Maybe—just maybe—if he could get her a place in the competition, it would remind her of who she was. It would push her back toward her dreams. And at the same time, if Gurvi saw her thriving, it would force him to believe that he wasn't holding her back.

"Maybe this could help both of them," Adrien thought.

But there was one problem.

His father.

Gabriel never listened to him. Even though Adrien was technically the "face" of the competition, his father made all the real decisions. Getting Marinette into the contest wouldn't be easy.

Still…

"I have to try."

Adrien took a deep breath and grabbed his phone. It was time to have a conversation with his father.

Adrien took a deep breath before stepping into his father's office. The air inside was cold, sterile, just like always. Gabriel Agreste sat behind his desk, eyes focused on a tablet, flipping through designs with the same detached expression he always wore.

"No turning back now," Adrien thought as he cleared his throat.

"Father, I wanted to talk to you about the fashion competition."

Gabriel barely glanced at him. "If you're asking to be a judge, the answer is no. You're the face of the brand, Adrien, not a designer."

"It's not about me," Adrien said, stepping forward. "It's about Marinette."

That made Gabriel pause. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng?"

"Yes." Adrien nodded. "She's incredibly talented. I know you only pick the finalists yourself, but I think she deserves a chance. She's been designing since she was a kid, and she's—"

"She didn't apply," Gabriel cut in, his voice cool and dismissive. "I only consider applicants."

Adrien clenched his fists. "That's because she's been dealing with something personal. But she's more than qualified—"

"Personal problems are not my concern," Gabriel interrupted again. "This competition is for those who are ready for the industry. If she lacks the drive to apply, then she lacks the discipline to succeed."

Adrien's frustration boiled. "That's not fair. You don't even know what she's going through—"

"I don't need to know," Gabriel said sharply. "Talent alone is meaningless without initiative."

Adrien's jaw tightened. He knew arguing would be useless. His father never listened.

But he couldn't give up. Not when this could change everything for Marinette—and for Gurvi.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted his approach. "Then let me ask you this—what would it take for you to consider her?"

Gabriel studied him for a long moment before sighing. "If she presents a full collection by the end of the week, I'll consider it."

Adrien's eyes widened. "A full collection? That's—"

"That's my condition," Gabriel said, turning back to his tablet. "If she's as talented as you claim, she'll manage."

Adrien exhaled sharply. He knew this was his father's way of making things difficult. But difficult wasn't impossible.

"Marinette can do it."

Now, he just had to convince her.

Adrien hesitated for a moment before remembering something—something important.

In his wardrobe, tucked away with the utmost care, was a shirt. Not just any shirt, but one Marinette had designed and gifted him years ago. He had never worn it, not because he didn't like it, but because it was special. Something about it always made him feel… seen.

If there was anything that could prove Marinette's talent, it was that.

He turned back to his father, determination burning in his eyes. "Wait here," he said and rushed out before Gabriel could protest.

A few minutes later, Adrien returned, carefully holding the folded shirt. He placed it on his father's desk and stepped back. "Marinette made this."

Gabriel raised an unimpressed brow but unfolded the fabric, his fingers brushing over the detailed stitching, the elegant design. His sharp eyes scanned every inch, analyzing. Adrien knew that look—his father was impressed. But, of course, he wouldn't admit it.

"She designed this years ago," Adrien added. "And I know you see the skill in it."

Gabriel remained silent for a moment, setting the shirt down neatly. His expression was unreadable. "A single design does not make a designer."

"But it proves her potential," Adrien countered. "She doesn't need to submit a whole collection. Just give her one chance. Let her prove herself with one outfit. If she succeeds, you'll see what I see. If she doesn't…"

Gabriel leaned back in his chair, finally looking at Adrien. "If she fails, I won't even let her near my building again, let alone the fashion world."

Adrien clenched his fists but held his ground.

It wasn't fair. It was cruel.

But it was still a chance.

And he knew Marinette would take it.

Adrien took a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides. He hated how cold and ruthless his father could be, but at least—at least—he had gotten Marinette a chance.

Even if the conditions were harsh.

Even if it wasn't fair.

But he believed in her.

"I agree," Adrien said firmly.

Gabriel gave a curt nod, his attention already shifting back to his work, as if the conversation had been nothing more than another business deal. Adrien turned on his heel and walked out, his heart pounding.

As soon as he stepped out of the office, he exhaled heavily. He had done it.

Now, he just had to tell Marinette.