Chapter 1: Blood Mist and Powdered Sugar: First Contact
Icy rainwater lashed against the darkened cobblestones.
From the hem of a soaked black leather long coat, a viscous, dull red dripped.
The man, his jet-black hair roughly tied at the nape of his neck—Leonhardt, the assassin feared as 'The Reaper' in the Imperial Capital's underworld—his cold, blade-like grey eyes glinting, roughly shoved open the creaking wooden door with his shoulder.
Inside, a violently sweet aroma hung in the air: rich vanilla beans and baking fermented butter.
His lungs, accustomed to the stench of gunpowder and congealed blood, were violently filled with this alien fragrance. His throat constricted, and a dry gulp rattled his Adam's apple.
“...Don’t move. Make a sound, and I’ll slit your throat,” Leonhardt warned calmly.
His thumb rested on the hilt of a sharp dagger tucked into his utility belt, as he dropped his low, husky voice into the shop.
An absolute killing intent, like a blade being sharpened just behind one's eardrums.
But the amber, downturned eyes of the young girl who peeked out from behind the counter didn't waver in the slightest, even before the blood-soaked, murderous blade.
Celia Fitz, a petite girl with soft, milk-tea colored wavy hair tied half-up, wearing a flour-dusted cotton apron, tilted her head curiously, resting a white fingertip on her plump chin.
“Oh, welcome! ...Oh dear, what a mess,” Celia said calmly.
“You… didn’t hear me? If you value your life—” Leonhardt snarled angrily.
His gruesome threat was mercilessly cut short by a pathetic, rumbling growl from the depths of Leonhardt’s stomach.
Ggggrrrrowl...
In the silent shop, the growl of a hungry beast echoed.
Leonhardt’s cheek twitched, his grey eyes frozen between shame and murderous intent. His body, which hadn't even tasted muddy water for three days due to his mission, was convulsing, unable to withstand the stimulation of the sweet air.
“Oh my! Such a scary face… Could it be low blood sugar?” Celia asked, surprised.
“Wh-what?! Are you trying to mock me, you…!” Leonhardt stammered, embarrassed.
“Please wait! I’ll get you a miracle cure that works immediately!” Celia chirped happily.
Celia scurried, grabbed a pair of tongs, and retrieved a fist-sized, fragrant, golden-brown sphere from the glass display case.
With light, utterly unguarded steps, she entered Leonhardt’s absolute kill zone.
Zero intrusion speed. This fool doesn't even understand the basics of assassination. I'll rip her carotid artery immediately and use her as a meat shield—
“Here, open wide! Aaaah-n!” Celia said with affection.
“Mmph!?” Leonhardt gasped in terror.
What was unceremoniously shoved into his mouth was a freshly baked 'Supreme Crumble Cream Puff,' about the size of his palm.
The ultra-thin pastry, forcibly crushed, burst with a satisfying crunch.
A flash-like impact.
What flooded his tongue was a golden custard cream, refined to its absolute limit.
It melted luxuriously against his warm palate, and the rich depth of egg yolk and the fragrant aroma of vanilla surged through his nasal cavity in an explosive torrent.
…What is this? Sweet. Pure to the extreme. The osmotic pressure of the sugar and the emulsification balance of the egg yolk are too perfect…!
The taste buds of a killing machine, who had consumed nothing but poison and muddy water since childhood and perceived food only as fuel for survival, were unilaterally ravaged by this sweet violence.
Every pore on his body opened, and a dense euphoria coursed through his brain.
“...Ugh, delicious… What perfection…” Leonhardt whispered, almost delirious.
All strength drained from his knees, and the formidable giant collapsed to the floor.
A single tear silently traced down from his grey eyes, absorbed into the wet black leather collar.
“Hehe, feeling better now? Please stay and shelter from the rain. If you help out instead of paying, you can even stay in the empty room upstairs!” Celia said happily.
This girl… she’s no ordinary person. I must guard this supreme sweetness-manufacturing device and monopolize all its flavors…!
“...Deal. I will serve as your bodyguard,” Leonhardt stated calmly.
Meanwhile, in a gloomy alley shrouded in rain mist.
From the shadow of a utility pole across from the shop, a burly man with a crew cut lowered a fogged pair of binoculars.
Commander Baltz Heinz, stroking his stubble, his hand gripping a pencil in his investigation notebook, was trembling violently.
“Impossible…! That ruthless Reaper has taken a civilian hostage and is training them with the worst biological toxin in history, administered orally…!?” Baltz exclaimed in despair, trembling.
Amidst the pouring cold rain, the man's misunderstanding-fueled dread quietly deepened.
Chapter 2: The Reaper's Whisk and the Observer's Overthinking
The warm morning sunlight illuminated the kitchen floor, filled with the sweet scent of wheat and vanilla.
A height of 188 centimeters, a steel-hard, inverted-triangle physique.
Adorning this imposing figure was a frilly apron, embroidered with a pink bear on the chest.
Leonhardt stood like a guardian deity, staring at the huge stainless steel bowl he'd been handed with a chilling gaze, as if targeting a prey's heart.
“These are egg whites for chiffon cake! Please whisk them firmly until stiff peaks form!” Celia said happily.
“...You. If you value your life, reveal the mixing ratio of that white powder. No concealment will be tolerated,” Leonhardt demanded calmly.
“Ahaha, that’s a trade secret! It’s 120 grams of cake flour and 80 grams of granulated sugar! Now, use your wrist snap!” Celia chuckled happily.
She had revealed everything so easily. Yet, Leonhardt’s eyes were deadly serious.
I see. An assassination order to maximize centrifugal force and air incorporation. Understood.
Leonhardt’s right arm blurred.
Thwack! Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!
The divine speed of his assassination martial arts, usually used for wielding blades, was now channeled into the silver whisk.
A high-pitched whooshing sound, tearing through the air at supersonic speed, echoed in the kitchen, and the transparent egg whites in the bowl instantly transformed into a pure white sea of clouds.
In just three seconds, perfect, smooth, and dense peaks rose, like porcelain, not a single drop falling even when inverted.
“A-amazing, Leon-san! You’re like a magician!” Celia exclaimed, excited.
“I’ve never seen such magnificent meringue before!” Celia added with affection.
Celia, cheering innocently, threw herself unguardedly onto Leonhardt’s muscular right arm.
The soft resilience of her ample chest pressed close against his upper arm through the thin cotton apron.
The mingled fragrance of sweet powdered sugar and the girl’s innocent body heat mercilessly assaulted his nostrils.
Thump, thump, an old scar on his neck throbbed hotly.
The assassin, who in his twenty-six years of life had never once touched a woman’s skin, let alone felt another’s warmth, stiffened every tendon in his body, his ears turning crimson. His shallow breaths caught in his throat.
“Guh… Y-you… get away…! The distance is too close…!” Leonhardt whispered, flustered.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Your arm muscles are so beautiful, I just got lost in admiration…” Celia said, embarrassed.
As Celia hastily pulled back, even her small earlobes were tinged red like a sunset.
Th-this is the mental contamination trap I've heard rumors about… A woman with terrifying destructive power, invading the brainstem through touch and smell…
Meanwhile, on the rooftop of a multi-tenant building across the street, Baltz, peering through a tripod-mounted telescope, was pressing hard on his stomach, sweating cold.
“Th-that abnormal rotational movement of his wrist… Is he demonstrating ultra-fine particle dispersion techniques for poison!? And the young shop owner is distraught with fear, desperately begging for her life…!” Baltz cried in terror, trembling.
Scribbled on the page of his investigation notebook were the words: 'Downtown-wide dispersal type - Vaporized biological weapon mixing site.'
The pencil lead, pressed hard, snapped with a sharp crack.
“That fiend! He’s set tomorrow’s new product announcement as the zero hour for the Imperial Capital’s destruction…! Summon all special assault units! We will protect the peace of the downtown district!” Baltz roared angrily.
On the street below, Leonhardt, with his rugged fingertips, gently and awkwardly brushed away the flour from Celia’s milk-tea colored hair.
Chapter 3: Clash at Teatime and the Ultimate Fondant Chocolat
The following afternoon, a line of downtown residents, drawn by the fragrant scent of freshly baked goods, formed in front of 'Petit Bonheur'.
In the center of the counter, the new 'Melting Rich Fondant Chocolat,' shimmering alluringly like a black jewel, rested beautifully on a silver tray.
“Here you go! Crispy on the outside, and piping hot and gooey on the inside!” Celia said happily.
Celia handed over a paper-wrapped treat with a beaming smile.
But the next moment, a deafening crash mercilessly shattered the peaceful atmosphere.
CRASH!
Kicking down the front glass door, a heavily armed group of military police, clad in black bulletproof vests, poured in.
As shards scattered across the floor, it was Baltz, with bloodshot eyes, who drew his saber at the forefront.
“Don’t move, Reaper! Get away from that dangerous lump of black powder! Release the civilian immediately!” Baltz roared angrily.
The muzzles of crude shotguns were mercilessly aimed at the trembling Celia, and then at the freshly baked chocolat.
All light of emotion completely vanished from Leonhardt’s eyes.
An absolute zero killing intent, as if the room's temperature had plummeted to below freezing. The cobblestones beneath his feet faintly creaked.
“...You deserve ten thousand deaths,” Leonhardt whispered, a chilling madness in his voice.
His shadow exploded.
Leonhardt, having completely vanished from sight, stepped into the first officer’s personal space in an instant, disarming him by hyperextending his elbow joint.
He crushed the barrel of the seized shotgun with his bare hands, turning it into a lump of scrap metal, and tossed it to the floor.
With whirlwind-like martial arts, five officers were successively sent flying towards the ceiling, then collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony.
In Leonhardt’s hand, a sharp cake server had appeared, its polished silver tip pressed a hair's breadth from Baltz’s throat.
“You bastards… Do you intend to let dust settle on the supreme chocolat that Celia perfected with three days and three nights of temperature control, down to the second?” Leonhardt snarled angrily.
“Ugh, kill me…! I’d rather choose an honorable death than succumb to your conspiracy…!” Baltz cried in despair.
The moment Baltz, his face contorted in agony, clenched his back teeth and closed his eyelids, bracing for death—.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough! No fighting in the shop, please!” Celia interjected, sounding annoyed.
Celia, who had stepped between them, unhesitatingly shoved the entire fondant chocolat, wreathed in rising steam, into Baltz’s gaping, shouting mouth.
“Mmph!?” Baltz exclaimed in surprise.
The crispy, ultra-thin sponge shell cracked under his teeth, and the super-rich bitter ganache, overflowing from the center, flowed hotly into Baltz’s dry mouth.
The deep bitterness of carefully selected cacao, followed by the clear sweetness of high-quality granulated sugar.
A melting nourishment permeated every corner of his internal organs, which had been ravaged by overwork and stomach ulcers.
“Wh-what is this… It’s too delicious… My stomach doesn’t hurt at all!?” Baltz exclaimed in surprise.
From the burly man’s clouded eyes, large tears streamed down like a waterfall.
“Hmph, I didn’t think a crude man like you could understand the delicate emulsification technique of this ganache,” Leonhardt said calmly.
“People get grumpy when they’re hungry, you know! Would you like another one?” Celia asked happily.
“P-please…! Let me buy all of them with this month’s military police secret funds…!” Baltz pleaded happily.
The siege, which should have been utterly gruesome, had instantly transformed into a peaceful tasting event in the downtown district.
Chapter 4: The Reaper's Vow and the World's Sweetest Epilogue
After the military police, each carrying armfuls of pastry boxes and all wearing melted smiles, had departed.
The two sat side-by-side on the stone steps of the kitchen's back entrance.
The crimson light of dusk warmly dyed the intricate alleyways of the downtown district.
They carefully cut the last piece of chocolat remaining on a white plate in half with a silver fork.
“Leon-san, thank you for protecting my shop,” Celia said with affection.
Celia gently enveloped Leonhardt’s large right hand, which sat beside her, with both of her warm hands.
A hard palm that must have been stained with the unforgivable blood of dozens of lives taken.
“Leon-san’s hands are so big and warm. They’re the kindest hands in the world, treating sweets with such care,” Celia said with affection.
His chest pounded fiercely, as if being squeezed deep inside.
Leonhardt, awkwardly averting his gaze to the corner of the alley, roughly raked his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
His throat constricted, unable to produce a proper sound.
“...I just want to eat delicious sweets. If you were to collapse, that taste would vanish from this world,” Leonhardt said, embarrassed.
“Hehe, then I’ll keep making them for my whole life, you know? As long as Leon-san stays here with me,” Celia said happily.
Her amber eyes, reflecting the setting sun, sparkled dazzlingly like jewels.
A smile like a flower blooming in spring sunlight, devoid of all calculation or betrayal.
For life…!? De facto lifetime employment… No, this is a permanent exclusive contract for my soul…!!
Leonhardt, his earlobes flushed crimson, gently placed his rugged hand on Celia’s soft head.
His low, cold voice, which had once terrified countless targets, now trembled slightly, softening into a surprisingly gentle tone.
“...The contract is sealed. As long as you bake sweets, I will protect you to the ends of the earth,” Leonhardt whispered with affection.
“Yes! I’ll make lots of delicious things tomorrow too, Leon-san!” Celia said happily.
As twilight enveloped the town, a sweet and warm sanctuary was indeed lit within the cold assassin’s heart.
The next morning, a new wooden sign was proudly displayed in front of 'Petit Bonheur'.
'Today's Special: Reaper-Whipped Ultra-Fast Soufflé'
At the head of the long queue waiting for the shop to open was Baltz, his stomach medicine completely discarded, his coin purse clutched tight, and a firm, satisfied smile on his face.
