Chapter 2: Bakery Haven
They emerged from the alley's chill and shadows onto a quieter cross-street, the oppressive dampness of the brick giving way to the promise of warmth. Newt spotted it first: a small, independent bakery, its window dark but its door unlocked—a stroke of opportune negligence.
The air inside was a sudden, jarring sensory contrast. The tense, metallic scent of ozone and wet wool was overwhelmed by the luxurious, comforting warm scent of yeast, cinnamon, and burnt sugar. It was a haven carved out of the city's metallic chaos.
They darted into the back room of the small, empty bakery, Newt fumbling his suitcase behind a towering set of flour-dusted wooden shelves. The creak of the floorboards beneath their wet boots was loud in the sudden, relative silence. Sam pressed his back against the cool, rough surface of the wall, his coat soaking the fine flour dust around him.
[ SYSTEM: Location: Low-Threat Cover. Caution: Low Visibility. +1 Magic Defense. Debuff: Fatigue creeps in. ]
"Fatigue is the cost of my 'Luck.' I'll pay it. Better tired than dead. But I need to stop running on pure instinct and start thinking like the tactical genius I'm apparently supposed to be."
Through the thin wall, they heard the MACUSA Aurors' voices, crisp and authoritative, arguing on the street. The front door creaked open, then shut.
"Any sign of them, ma'am?" a gruff voice asked.
Sam held his breath, every nerve ending screaming at the proximity of danger. He watched Newt, who was pressed against the shelves, his large eyes wide with fear, fingers nervously fumbling the lapels of his herb-stained coat.
And then, his luck rippled again.
Jacob Kowalski, the bakery's owner who had apparently been shuffling from the back room, suddenly woke up with a loud snort. In his haste to stand, his elbow caught a cleaning broom leaning precariously against a barrel of sugar. The broom clattered to the floor with a loud, attention-grabbing CRASH!
"Blimey!" Jacob yelped, a nervous, New York-accented swear.
They heard the Auror outside sigh in frustration. "Just a baker, ma'am. Let's check the next block. We'll secure the perimeter on 23rd Street."
The door shut again. Silence, broken only by the nervous, rapid breaths of the three men.
Sam let out a long, shaky exhale, sinking a fraction lower. Newt turned to him, the fear draining away, replaced by a quiet respect. "A broom," he whispered, his soft voice tinged with wonder. "That was… quite a piece of timing, wasn't it?"
Sam offered a dry, dismissive shrug, the exhaustion preventing a proper quip. "It was the first unlocked door. And a predictable center of gravity."
The universe wants me to live, but it's going to make a spectacle out of it first.
The tension had barely dissipated when the Niffler made its grand entrance.
Newt's suitcase, which had been rattling ominously, suddenly vibrated with alarming energy. The Bowtruckle on Newt's shoulder chirped a soft warning. With a sharp thwack, the suitcase burst open, and a small, mole-like creature with a duckbill and glossy black fur shot out like a cannonball.
The Niffler, driven by a primal, insatiable greed, ignored the flour bags and bolted straight for the pastry display case.
"No, not the shiny bits! Wait!" Newt yelped, scrambling after it.
The creature was a blur of motion, its small paws scrabbling and clinking as it began snatching Jacob's shiny utensils. Silver spoons, glistening spatulas, and a pocket watch were crammed, one after another, into its impossibly large pouch. The metallic symphony against the glass display case, glittering in the dim light of the bakery, was utterly chaotic.
Jacob Kowalski, eyes wide and coated head-to-toe in flour, stumbled out of the back room, clutching a wooden rolling pin like a club.
"What's that rat doin'?! It's eatin' me profits!" Jacob stammered, his thick New York accent immediately grounding the situation in an absurd reality.
Sam, exhausted but pragmatic, decided to test the limits of his new reality. He needed light to see the creature.
"Okay, let's see what I've got in the arsenal. Light. Lumos. Simple enough. Don't misfire, Sam."
He raised his hand, pointing his index finger at the Niffler, and muttered the word with confident authority. "Lumos."
Instead of a focused beam of light, a blinding, dome-shaped flash of magical energy erupted from his fingertip. It didn't illuminate the Niffler; it brilliantly, utterly illuminated the ceiling, bathing the dusty rafters and the cobwebs in a blinding, temporary white light. The light fizzled out, leaving an acrid smell of ozone and burnt sugar—the Niffler had apparently knocked a few pastries onto a heating element.
Jacob threw his hands over his eyes.
"What'd you do to the lights, fella?" Jacob yelled.
Sam grinned, the absurdity momentarily washing away the tension.
"He's not a rat, pal. Rats don't typically smuggle out the silverware. You always bake for creatures with a crippling hoarding problem, or is this a special order?" Sam replied, the dry, sarcastic Midwestern drawl cutting through the humid air.
Newt finally managed to corner the creature, wrestling it gently.
He knelt by the flour-dusted shelves, speaking to the creature in a low, soothing mumble.
"No, no, you absolute menace. That's not yours, is it? We talked about this. You only get to borrow things if they're, well, not owned."
The Niffler let out a pitiful, squeaking sound, burying its snout into its pouch, which was now distended to the size of a grapefruit and jingling with a ridiculous amount of stolen cutlery.
Sam crossed his arms, leaning against the shelves.
"The System gives me the spells, but not the training. It's not a spellbook; it's a cheat code sheet. And I just spent all my mana making a dramatic entrance for a couple of cobwebs."
Jacob Kowalski finally lowered his hands, his face smeared with flour and the anxious sweat of a man whose life had just been irrevocably broken by a beast and two strangers.
"You're not normal, are you?" Jacob whispered, the question heavy with disbelief, his gaze lingering on the phantom light spot Sam had created on the ceiling.
"That's a subjective judgment, pal," Sam replied. "I feel pretty normal. Just tired. The coat guy, though? He talks to sticks and carries a portable treasury thief."
The tiny Bowtruckle on Newt's shoulder chirped defensively, its wooden body swaying in a micro-conflict of allegiance.
"This is Pickett," Newt inserted awkwardly, rising to his feet, "and he's quite cross with the Niffler, aren't you, my dear?"
Jacob just stared, his hands clutching the dough-covered rolling pin tightly.
An empty, heavy metal baking tray, dislodged by the frantic movements of the Niffler earlier, began to slide off a high, flour-dusted shelf behind Jacob. It was aimed directly for the back of Jacob's unguarded skull.
Driven by empathy for the poor, overwhelmed No-Maj, Sam's luck triggered again.
[ SYSTEM: Luck Ripple Activated: Ally Protection. +1 Charisma. Debuff: Minor Distrust. ]
Just as the tray picked up speed, a loose thread from Jacob's apron, which had been snagged on a nail in the wooden frame, tore free. The sudden, tiny snap of the thread was enough to make Jacob flinch and shift his weight a fraction of an inch to the left.
The heavy tray, instead of connecting with a sickening thud, struck the side of a sack of sugar with a loud CLANG, spilling a cloud of sweet, sticky powder that coated the air.
Jacob spun around, wide-eyed, his panic momentarily replaced by simple, physical shock. He missed the near-death experience, but the sound was enough to break his panic. He just stared at the tray on the floor, shaking his head slowly.
"I'm really not doin' well today, fellas. I'm just… I'm not doing well."
Sam let a genuine smile soften his cynical façade.
"We will. We just need five minutes to figure out which animal is going to cause the next catastrophic international incident," Sam said, cementing their "normal–not normal" dynamic.
Newt finally managed to secure the Niffler and the increasingly agitated Bowtruckle back into the battered suitcase, its heavy leather latches clicking shut with a sound of profound relief.
The warm air of the bakery, however, was suddenly pierced by a new sound: the sharp, rhythmic clack of women's boots on the wet street outside.
"That's Tina," Newt whispered, his soft voice tight with alarm. "MACUSA. We have to go. Now."
The pursuit was renewed, pushing them back toward the city's heart. Sam pushed the lingering fatigue and the phantom ache of his lost memories aside.
MORE POWER STONES == MORE CHAPTERS
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ Fantastic Beast Man Cheat Luck ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ Fantastic Beast Man Cheat Luck ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [ Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse, Breaking Bad , The Walking dead ,The Hobbit,Wednesday].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!