Two days went by; they’re on a Seine river cruise, appearing as civilians and using his grandmother’s surname, Damian Kane, with no name change, no red flags from them because his back from the dead story hasn’t hit the news yet. And the Kanes had many sires, so no one would care about someone like him. They would believe he is just some rich entitled brat, not related to the Waynes.

They’re in the river’s artery, nearer to the Eiffel Tower. He observed the scene with fresh eyes, trying to be subtle. They’ll board in fifteen minutes and can head near Marinette’s bakery; the anticipation, his growling stomach, famished, and salivating for his first Dupain-Cheng macaron experience.

The tourist chatter mingled with the Seine’s distinct, musky scent of old water. He had to reorient himself.

He’s living every MLB fan’s dream, a little obsessed with The Bakery, researching their foods and how the Dupain-Chengs created their unique flavor. He’s still star-struck, so please forgive him.

Alfred smiled while patting his shoulders. He’s aware of the setup; simply act like a tourist who only wants bakery refreshments. He felt self-conscious about his attire as they walked in silence. His outfit included: turtleneck sleeves, styled hair, trousers, and converse shoes. He felt this was his first fight, making sure Marinette was at the bakery counter. How was he aware of that? research along with an insane quantity of staking APR stats.

He saw it here, stunned, at the street’s center corner.

Before he could smell the sweet aroma of the macaroons, he noticed a strikingly outrageous shade of yellow—a tremendous color—peeking out from behind a post near the bakery; it looked familiar. She sported a yellow ponytail, striking earrings, and a sparkly bright yellow bolero with light blue buttons and a pocket over a white shirt.

What in the nine hells is Chloe Bourgeois doing here?

He checked; the classes were still a week away, despite being mid-fall. He understands it’s implied and reveals a history of Chloe bullying Marinette; why is Chloe present, and will she repeat those actions? His nostrils flared; not on his watch. Mayor’s daughter or not, he refused to tolerate this harassment any longer.

He took a step forward, each one suggesting he was preparing for a fight, but before he could …

Alfred grabbed his shoulder. He looked at his grandfather, whose hand was firm. Alfred coughed, directing his gaze toward the blonde.

For a moment, she remained hidden. Her mannerisms were puzzling; she didn’t seem like a spoiled brat, but rather she’s searching for someone, which was suspicious. But a moment later, the girl sighed, held her head high, walked away, and disappeared into the throng of people.

“What an odd occurrence, Did you know the girl Master Damian?” His grandfather prodding.

“In a way, she’s one of the key people I need to watch out for; I’ll fill you in on the details later at the hotel.”

He learned how to collaborate, and it’s better to have someone on his back, especially in a delicate situation like this.

Returning to his primary task. A nervous tick, beads of sweat on his neck, and cold hands; thankfully, nobody was in line. This is the critical moment, so act naturally and don’t intimidate them. You’re capable of it. He glanced at Alfred. whose stoic optimism gave him strength.
”Shall we?”

He opened the door a bit. The bell jingles, showing a customer’s presence. He took a sniff. The warm aroma of baking bread and sweet macaroons washed over him all at once. Alfred’s cooking in the Wayne manor kitchen is a comforting memory for him, but he can no longer return.

Now, in the present. The counter is not yet staffed. However, he didn’t mind; he could smell the sweet aroma of the baked goods. Madam Dupain-Cheng wasn’t here, perhaps she was on the second floor. Looking at the racks of fresh-baked French goods, he can feel his nose tingle. He’s overstimulated by the nostalgic and perfect scents.

“Coming!”

As he looked at the stairs, it was her voice, a soft, high-pitched voice in French, the sound of a panic-ridden girl, not grating but of a sweet disposition that he heard. And saw his favorite heroine brought to life for the first time. With her hair dangling in a low ponytail, her petite Asian with delicate features, dressed in a t-shirt and pink pants, is panicking as she rushes by, clutching a container.

Out of balance, she hurried down the stairs.

A single misstep caused her to lose her footing and drop the container. Oh no... as opposed to running away. He leaped from the stairs and was immediately coated in a slimy, sticky liquid that smelled of old fish; is this a pantry mistake?No time to deduce it as he closed his eyes, remembering his training, and caught the girl as she fell, pulling her to his chest, stopping their descent and causing them to somersault across the floor. Making sure she’s protected from any harm.

The fall made a deafening sound that quickly alerted his grandfather and her parents. But in these moments, as he opened his eyes, he saw her up close, only centimeters away, her perfume filling his senses. As he shielded her from the fall, she landed softly on top of him, their gazes lingering despite the sharp pain shooting through his back. Her face was shocked, her blue ocean eyes staring, demanding answers yet uncomprehending, as he remained stonily silent, refusing to move for what felt like an eternity.

Lost in the cerulean depths of her eyes. Oblivious, he didn’t feel the sticky substance slowly seeping into his suit.

Here she was, in the flesh, her softly curved features a delicate blend of Asian and Western descent. Up close, the soft roundness of her jaw, dotted with tiny freckles, was mesmerisingly cute. He didn’t want this scene to end, so he sat up but as she bolted up, instead of getting away, Marinette’s klutzy nature kicked in again, causing her to slip on the slimy floor, resulting in both of them.

The moment came to a standstill as their lips met, and he was surprised by the unexpected softness of her lips. From the heat rising on his chest, the world stops for him. what… what happening.. It is a kiss. They’re kissing, right? Oh hell, what in the world is happening? Is Bat-Mite responsible for this?

She bolted again.

“Ouch, sorry Monsieur, I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?” she blurted, cringing at her clumsy mistake. Her face pulls into crimson shame.

For a minute, he was speechless, the throbbing pain in his body and the lingering, sweet plum blossom scent of her perfume a stark contrast to the slimy, foul-smelling liquid dripping on his shirt.

“Oh my gosh—are you bleeding? Please tell me you’re not bleeding.”

She looked mortified, already scanning his face for damage.

He can not move, as he is looking at the girl in front of him.

A cough from Alfred, had stopped his thought.
”Master Damian, can you stand?”

”Ah, yes.” He stood up, the unknown liquid on his shirt, has dripping, the stench lingers, He snorted. “I'm fine.” He gathers himself up, schooling his face

Marinette looks afraid. Shamed, panicking voraciously.

He is not angry. Don’t be a fool and think that you’re irritated with her. That didn’t make a very good impression. Actually, that’s his face. Yes, his angry-looking eyebrows are just his natural appearance.

”I’m sorry, Monsieur, I did not mean to fall like that, I … I.”

An adult authoritative voice chimed in.

”Monsieur, I'm sorry for my daughter’s clumsiness. Maybe to appease you we can go upstairs, and we can give you a fresh set of clothes.”

“That would be lovely, Mademoiselle.” Alfred nod.

Madam Dupain-Cheng had already taken the lead. As he was led upstairs. droning like a short-circuited fan. The events unfolded too quickly, and his sharp, tactical thinking was absent.

A minute went by. Get over yourself. He was ushered into the bathroom and given a change of clothes. And now they are on the second floor, sitting in the living room.

Alfred, in contrast with him, is leisurely sipping tea. And Madam Dupain-Cheng speaking enthusiastically with his grandfather. Marinette was next to him, remaining quiet. He should have introduced himself already; this awkwardness has gone on too long.

”Damian Kane,…ni.. nice to meet you, Mademoiselle?.”

“Oui, I'm Marinette Dupain-Cheng, nice to meet you too. I’m sorry I'm just a klutz.. I really didn’t mean to do that to you.”

”it's fine, I'm not hurt, are you?” he asked.

”Oh no, thank you for catching me up earlier.” She answered.

She quietly nibbled her arms. He remembers a close-up gesture that captures her nervousness, a scene from the manga highlighting her shyness. His cheeks flushed again.

The awkward silence returned.

Think, Damian, think, what topic you can divulge to her, not looking at her like he already knew her hobbies.

Spotting a game console as he glanced around, he recalled Marinette’s love for Ultra Mecha Strike. He’s fortunate that this game in his universe mirrors its tie-in role in the manga. He was familiar with it, and in fact, he mastered it, just like Superboy; they played this after their mission. And he always wins.

”You like games? Ultra Mecha Strike?” he awkwardly asked her. He swallowed, uncertain whether she would catch on.

“Oui, yes!” Her face lightens up as she continues. “I just got this game earlier this week. Oh, Oh you wanna try?”

“Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.”