You wandered the quiet halls of the house you and 21 now shared, your steps echoing faintly against the polished floors. It was supposed to be a quick trip—you had left something important down in the lab yesterday, and you figured now was as good a time as any to grab it.

As you passed her office, something colorful in your peripheral vision snagged your attention. Out of reflex, you kept walking a few steps before it clicked in your brain, and you immediately backpedaled, glancing through the half-open door.

There, seated at her desk in her full Majin form, was 21. Not hunched over formulas or fiddling with complicated machinery like usual—no, she was surrounded by a chaotic little mountain of sweets. Macaroons in every pastel color imaginable, frosting-dripping cupcakes, powdered donuts stacked haphazardly. And there she was, mid-bite into a cupcake, her long pink tail wagging behind her like a puppy’s.

For a second, your heart rate spiked. Her Majin form always set off a quiet alarm in your mind—the risk that the more dangerous, gluttonous side might have resurfaced. But then she turned her head slightly, blinking wide at you in surprise, and you saw her eyes—still that calm, sky-blue. Still her. Still in control.

She froze like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar, cheeks puffed slightly with frosting and cake, her hand hovering in midair with a half-eaten macaroon. The second she registered you standing there in the doorway, she quickly swallowed, hastily wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. Her golden hoop earrings jingled slightly with the sudden movement.

Her hands folded awkwardly into her lap as she sat straighter, her tail giving one last embarrassed flick before flopping limply over the back of her chair. A faint blush started to bloom across her cheeks, making her already pink complexion even rosier.

She let out a nervous, sheepish little chuckle, her voice small in the way it rarely ever was around you.

"Uhm... how much did you see exactly?"

The sight of her—this brilliant, powerful, usually-so-composed woman caught in such a rare, vulnerable moment—made it nearly impossible to keep a straight face. She looked like she wanted to vanish right into her chair.