It was supposed to be just another routine patrol. Starbug perched atop an ornate streetlamp, finally catching a rare moment of peace. He nibbled on a blueberry scone, letting the warm sunset wash over the slate rooftops. The light gilded every window, turning the city into a mosaic of tiny mirrored lanterns. Down below, Paris hummed with life: café chatter drifted lazily into the streets, distant traffic punctuated the rhythm, and an accordionist near the Métro played a romantic tune for a couple curled together on a bench.

Then, something felt off. The pigeons—once the undisputed rulers of crumbs and chaos—had stopped squabbling. Instead, they clustered together, all staring in the same direction.

Rue Montparnasse.

A strange, trembling chaos filled the air: screams, blaring horns, and the unmistakable—almost absurd—sound of rolling dough. Starbug paused mid-bite, squinting against the honeyed sunlight. At first, he thought he was seeing things. But no. There they were: half a dozen croissants, each the size of a compact bus, hurtling down the narrow street. Scooters toppled like dominoes, café tables spun in wild pirouettes, and powdered sugar exploded into the air. One particularly ambitious croissant tumbled over a street mime, who, to his credit, stayed frozen even as he disappeared beneath a swirl of flaky pastry.

Starbug abandoned his scone, letting his blond-peach hair whip in the breeze as he leapt to a nearby rooftop café table for a better view. He sighed, rubbing his chin as he tried to think.

“Come on, Tsukasa. There has to be a way to save the city from… whatever this is, get home to practice acting, finish homework, do skincare, and be in bed by eight…”

The familiar light footsteps of his partner, Nocturne, made him groan. Shoulders slumping, he turned around.

“Don’t start, Kitty.”