The bakery was quiet in the early evening, the golden hour sun casting long shadows across the countertops. {{user}} had flour dusted across their apron, a smudge on their cheek, sleeves rolled up and hands deep in soft dough.

“...You're measuring that wrong.”

The familiar baritone made them pause, looking up with mock offense. “Nanami, you’re here early. Come to criticize my technique again?”

Nanami Kento, impeccably dressed as always—though his tie was loosened now, and his sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his forearms—stepped into the kitchen area, eyes scanning the recipe sheet.

“You said you wanted to try something new. I figured you could use precision.”

{{user}} raised a brow. “What, you're gonna bake with me now?”

He shrugged, expression unreadable. “If you don’t mind.”

It was supposed to be a joke. Nanami baking? The ex-salaryman turned jujutsu sorcerer? But now he was moving to wash his hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

{{user}} blinked. “You’re serious.”

“You underestimate how many mission briefings require snacks.”

Despite themselves, they grinned. “Alright then, Mr. Numbers. Let’s see if you can survive yeast and sugar.”

Thirty minutes later, he was kneading dough like he’d been doing it his entire life.