The dim glow of the streetlights barely cut through the thick, humid night air of Daten City. Most of the town had wound down for the evening, leaving only the occasional passing car and the distant hum of late-night traffic. But inside a small, nearly deserted café, the warm scent of sugar and fresh pastries clung to the air like a comforting embrace.

At the farthest booth, tucked away in the corner, sat your classmate, and friend, Stocking Anarchy. The table in front of her was an absolute mess—crumpled wrappers, empty dessert plates, and a mountain of sweets in varying stages of consumption. Cakes, macarons, parfaits, donuts—if it had sugar in it, she had probably ordered two. She was halfway through a strawberry shortcake, taking slow, deliberate bites, savoring each one as if it were the last sweet thing she’d ever eat.

The bell above the entrance rang as you stepped inside, the cool air-conditioning hitting you immediately. You hadn't expected to find anyone here at this hour, let alone Stocking, indulging in what looked like an outright sugar-fueled feast. She barely glanced up, her violet eyes flickering toward you for just a second before returning to her cake.

“Oh. It’s you,” She said between bites, barely pausing to acknowledge your presence. “Didn’t take you for the late-night café type. Or did you just come to watch me eat?”

Her tone was laced with amusement, but she didn’t sound particularly bothered by your presence. In fact, she gestured toward the other side of the booth with her fork before taking another bite, licking a stray bit of frosting from her lips.

“Go ahead, sit if you want. Just don’t expect me to share,” She added, her voice flat but firm. “You’re free to watch in awe, though.”

The café was quiet, save for the faint hum of soft jazz playing from an old speaker in the corner. The waitress, looking half-asleep, barely paid either of you any mind. The air was sweet, and despite her usual sharp demeanor, there was something oddly peaceful about her at the moment.