---
Chapter 48 – Morning Chaos
The morning sun was already too bright when Marinette's alarm went off — for the third time.
She groaned, slapped the clock, and blinked at the numbers. 9:02 a.m. Her heart dropped.
"Oh no, no, no—" she muttered, tripping over the blanket tangled around her legs. She stumbled toward the closet, tugging open drawers like the world was ending. Half her clothes ended up on the floor before she found the outfit she wanted — a pale blue shirt and her favorite pink jacket, slightly wrinkled but passable.
The mirror reflected a half-awake girl with bed hair and mismatched socks.
She sighed. "Just perfect. Totally the image of professionalism."
Grabbing her brush, she attacked the disaster on her head, muttering under her breath about cursed mornings and unreliable alarms. A single strand of hair refused to behave; she finally pinned it down in surrender.
By the time she made it downstairs, the smell of warm butter and sugar wrapped around her like a blanket. Her father stood behind the counter, pulling golden croissants from the oven, while her mother was laying out bowls of jam and coffee.
"You're up late again," Sabine said, amused.
"I overslept a little," Marinette said quickly, stuffing notebooks into her bag and swiping a croissant on the way out.
Tom chuckled, his laughter big and warm. "You oversleep a lot lately."
"Creative mind, chaotic schedule," she replied between bites, crumbs dusting her sleeve. "I have fabric shopping today."
"With Adrian?" her mother asked, voice full of quiet mischief. "The one whose comic you draw?"
Marinette froze mid-bite. "Yes. Because we're partners. For the science fair. Strictly school."
"Of course," Sabine said, smiling wider than necessary.
Tom slid a small bag toward her. "For the trip — extra croissant. You'll need energy to shop."
Marinette sighed, kissed them both on the cheek, and bolted for the door before the teasing could grow fangs.
---
Metro Station
Adrian was already waiting by the platform, hands in his pockets, the morning light catching in his blond hair. He looked irritatingly calm for someone who'd probably been up since dawn.
"You're late," he said as she hurried over, half-smiling.
"I'm fashionably late," she shot back, brushing a loose strand from her face. "There's a difference."
He nodded solemnly. "I'll take your word for it."
They boarded the metro together, the hum of the train filling the quiet between them. Marinette found a seat by the window, sketchbook balanced on her knees. Her pencil moved in light, absent strokes — rough outlines of jackets, gloves, stitches looping like vines.
Adrian watched for a moment, curiosity softening his usual calm. "You do that all the time?"
"Sketching? Constantly. It helps me focus. If I don't draw, I start fidgeting — and that usually ends with me tripping over something."
He chuckled. "Good trade-off. Safer for the public."
She smiled. "Exactly."
The city outside blurred — bridges, sunlight flashing through tunnels, faces half-seen before vanishing. For a few stops, neither spoke; it felt comfortable.
---
Fabric Store
The store was enormous — rolls of fabric stacked high like colorful towers, the air smelling faintly of cotton and dye. Marinette's eyes lit up the moment she stepped inside.
"This place is heaven," she whispered.
Adrian followed, glancing around with less enthusiasm. "Looks… expensive."
"That's because it's good quality," she said automatically, moving deeper into the aisles. She brushed her fingers along silks and weaves, muttering to herself about thread density, color consistency, elasticity — a soft stream of jargon that sounded like poetry to her and like alien code to him.
Adrian watched, half amused, half impressed. "You talk about fabric like Ned talks about tech."
She smiled without looking back. "Fabric is my tech."
She stopped before a display of dresses — sleek, shimmery, floating on mannequins. One caught her eye; she leaned forward slightly. "That one's gorgeous. The layering's perfect. Though whoever designed it went overboard — mobility would be awful. It can be better."
"You could make something like that?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"I could. But I wouldn't. Simplicity has charm — and function."
He nodded. "Yeah, your design did look better than these."
She blushed slightly. "You're better at compliments than you look."
He smirked. "I'm full of surprises. I fence, speak three languages, and make excellent dishes."
She laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"Admittedly."
---
They reached the technical section at the back — rows of industrial fabrics, odd polymer blends that shimmered faintly under the lights.
Adrian leaned over the counter, addressing the shopkeeper. "Do you have anything Kevlar or aramid fibers? Something that is slash resistant?"
The old man frowned, rubbing his chin. "You want Kevlar? Try this one — not cheap, but it won't rip easily."
Marinette nodded and started stacking rolls in her arms. "We'll take—whoa!"
A bolt slipped; she gasped as several rolls tumbled forward. Adrian's reflexes kicked in — he caught them before they hit the floor.
Marinette blinked, momentarily frozen. "Wow. With reflexes like that… I can really see your fencing skill?"
He shrugged, casual. "Something like that."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Uh-huh. Totally believable."
He only smiled. "Lucky timing."
"Sure," she muttered. "Let's go with that."
---
At the Counter
By the time they reached the register, Marinette felt accomplished — until Adrian leaned on the counter with a calculating gleam in his eye.
"Fifty dollars per roll?" he said. "Can we get a student discount?"
The shopkeeper didn't even blink. "No."
"Bulk discount?"
"No."
"Cash?"
"No."
"Compliment discount?"
Still no.
Marinette covered her face, groaning softly. "Adrian, please stop."
He grinned. "Worth a shot."
As they stepped outside, she muttered, "Cheapskate."
"I prefer smart spender," he corrected.
---
Their next stop was a cramped little shop wedged between a café and a pawn store. The bell above the door gave a half-hearted jingle as they entered. The shelves smelled faintly of alcohol and dust.
Marinette frowned. "So what exactly are we buying here?"
"Bonding polymers, stabilizers, maybe test tubes," Adrian said, already scanning the labels.
"You know what any of those are for?"
"Mostly. Kevlar is resistant to slashing, not stabbing, so we have to use some bonding agent so it survives a few stabs."
She sighed. "As long as it works."
He took out his phone. "These equipment are way too pricey. Let's just buy the chemicals. I'll ask Gwen; she has better lab gear."
It rang twice before Gwen picked up, sounding distracted. "Adrian? Kind of in the middle of something. What's up?"
"Need to borrow your chemistry kit."
"Can't. My brother broke half of it last week. I'm at MJ's — maybe she has one."
Faint chatter followed. MJ's voice came through, clear as ever: "Nope! Peter does."
"Figures," Gwen muttered. "MJ's grabbing it from Peter's place now. I'll drop it off at your house tonight."
"Thanks," Adrian said. "You're a lifesaver."
"Yeah, yeah. You owe me coffee."
When he hung up, Marinette folded her arms. "Cheapskate."
He blinked. "What?"
"Nothing. You're just… resourceful."
He smiled faintly. "Better word choice."
---
Dupain-Cheng Bakery
The scent of sugar and butter hit them before they even stepped inside. Tom looked up from the counter, beaming when he saw who'd arrived.
"Ah! Marinette's partner!" he said, wiping flour off his hands. "You must be Adrian."
Adrian smiled politely. "Nice to meet you, sir."
"Please, have something to eat!" Tom insisted, already loading a plate with croissants and macarons. "You can't talk science on an empty stomach."
"Dad!" Marinette hissed, mortified.
Adrian accepted the plate. "Thank you, sir. These look incredible."
Sabine peeked out from the kitchen, smiling knowingly. "You finally came. I asked her to invite you before, but you bailed out."
"Would you believe me if I said an alien army attack was the reason I couldn't visit before?" Adrian said, deadpan.
Sabine chuckled. "No, but it's a creative excuse."
Marinette hid her face in her hands while Adrian laughed softly. The tension melted into the warm smell of baking bread and quiet conversation.
Adrian bit into a croissant and paused. "That's… actually amazing. I don't even like sweets, but I could eat this all day."
Tom grinned. "Aha! I knew it — another convert."
Marinette rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. For a moment, it felt peaceful — sunlight filtering through the shop windows, laughter mingling with the smell of sugar and coffee.
Maybe, she thought, this science fair wasn't going to be so stressful after all.
---
Evening – Hell's Kitchen
Night fell early in Hell's Kitchen, swallowing the streets in a mix of smoke and neon haze. Mayura moved silently through a narrow alley, her dark blue coat brushing past damp walls. Her tablet flickered, streams of data scrolling across its surface.
"Three gangs," she murmured. "Two new players. One calling themselves 'the Hand.'"
Her lips tightened. "So this city has its own brand of madness."
She wasn't here to fight — not yet. Just to learn. But her quiet survey was cut short by a dry, confident voice from above.
"You know, most people who start poking around my neighborhood give me a heads-up first."
Mayura looked up. A silhouette perched on a rooftop, red suit blending into the night — the Devil of Hell's Kitchen himself.
"Daredevil," she said, calm but curious. "I was beginning to think you only come out after midnight."
"And I was hoping the rumors were wrong," he replied, dropping lightly to the ground. His movements were measured — all control, no noise. "But here you are. Looking for trouble."
"Not trouble," she said. "Information. I'm tracing criminal networks — Tinkerer's been dealing with thugs, giving them tech far above street level."
He tilted his head. "You're not wrong. But you're fishing blind. Down here, the water's murky."
She met his masked gaze. "Then perhaps you can help me, since this is your neighborhood."
He smiled faintly. "Follow me."
"Then lead, Devil," she said. "Show me how this works."
He gestured for her to follow, and together they disappeared into the shadows — two different kinds of vigilantes, drawn by the same kind of chaos.
---
Back in Queens
Later that night, a small package arrived — Gwen's note taped to the top. 'Don't blow anything up.'
Adrian set the chemistry kit on his desk beside the rolls of fabric. The apartment was quiet, soft light spilling across the table.
He brushed a hand across the polymer weave. It shimmered faintly beneath his fingers, reacting to his touch.
"Not bad," he murmured. "Tomorrow, we start testing."
For now, though, he leaned back, watching the city lights through his window — distant, warm, steady.
---
End of Chapter 48
---