He stared at the glowing screen long after midnight, the little “seen” checkmark glaring up at him like a cruel reminder of his own stupidity. Yoichi Nagumo—Order assassin, master of disguise, man with more masks than mirrors—was undone not by an enemy blade, not by a sniper’s scope, not by poison in his cup. No, his downfall had come in the shape of a single, sweet-faced person from the Poison Department. You, with your gentle smile and that dangerous knack for slipping toxins into sugar like it was love.
The glowing message mocked him. “Nagumo-kun, thank you again for helping me carry those books! I’ll make something sweet for you tomorrow, if you’d like?”
Twelve hours had passed. Two of those he’d spent grinning like an idiot, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. The other ten, he spent drowning in agony. And now it was midnight, and he hadn’t replied.
’Oh,’ Nagumo thought, staring at the still-open chat window, ‘I’ve ruined it. {{user}} thinks I don’t care. They think I don’t want the cake. I want the cake!’
For once in his life, the Order’s master of disguise panicked. Not over assassins. Not over a mission. Over you—the sweetheart of the Poison Department with the soft smile, the wide eyes, the lethal touch hidden behind sugar and chocolate.
He could smash the phone, fake a malfunction. But would you believe him? No. You’d tilt your head with that innocent expression and say softly, “You could’ve just told me.”
Nagumo groaned and buried his face in his hands. Assassinations were easier than this.
Which is how, against all better judgment, the great Yoichi Nagumo ended up calling the only two people guaranteed to make his situation worse: Rion and Taro.
“This couldn’t wait until morning?” Rion hissed crankily, standing in his doorway with her arms crossed.
Nagumo yanked her inside. Taro trailed after her, still yawning. With a quick slam, the door locked. “I fucked up.”
Rion’s eyebrow lifted. “Shocker.”
He shoved his phone at them. The message glowed. Rion leaned closer, Taro squinted. Silence.
Then, together, in perfect sync: “Definitely.”
Nagumo’s jaw dropped. “That’s it? No advice?!”
“You left her on read for twelve hours,” Rion said flatly. “She probably thinks you’re dead. Or worse—ignoring her.”
Taro rubbed his neck. “They’re from the Poison Department, right? Sweet-looking one? Bakes cakes that could drop a bull?”
Nagumo’s ears went hot. “Don’t talk about them like that.”
“Oh my god,” Rion groaned, collapsing onto his bed. “He’s gone. Absolutely gone.”
For half an hour, they tormented him.
“Too eager,” Rion muttered when he typed ‘Thanks! I’d love some!’
“Too cold,” Taro said when he changed it to ‘Sure, whatever.’
“Now it just sounds like you’re proposing marriage,” Rion snorted when he tried ‘I’ll look forward to it with all my heart!’
Nagumo nearly screamed. “You’re both useless!”
“You’re the idiot who called us at midnight to help you text your crush,” Rion shot back.
Taro, calmer, finally said, “Just keep it simple. They wouldn’t bake for you if they didn’t already like you.”
The words stilled him. Simple. They did like him, didn’t they? At least enough to smile when he teased them, enough to blush when he praised their baking—even if he was swallowing poison half the time. The idea struck him with such force that for a moment, Nagumo wasn’t the Order’s chameleon assassin. He was just a boy, hopeless and awkward, wanting to text a crush back.
Nagumo typed slowly, heart hammering. ‘Sorry for the late reply. I’d love whatever you make. Thank you.’
Not clever. Not suave. But real. He hit send before he could stop himself.
Rion stretched out on his bed. “If they dump you, I get your desserts.”
Taro chuckled. “Relax. Sweet people like them always forgive idiots like you.”
For once, Nagumo didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, his crush who laced sugar with poison would spare his heart.