The Paris skyline stretched behind the glass as evening settled over the city, tinged in hues of rose and gold. Inside the TVi newsroom, Nadja Chamack stood poised and composed beside a digital display, her expression serious as images of massive stone creatures flickered beside her.
"The stone beings are still dispersed throughout Paris," she reported, holding a tablet in one hand. Her voice remained steady, but there was a current of unease beneath it. "For the time being, they show no signs of movement."
Photographs flashed across the screen—hulking statues caught mid-motion, scattered across the capital like surreal sentinels. Some perched on rooftops, others halfway through city squares or frozen in lunges atop playgrounds. Police had cordoned off the areas, crowds kept at a wary distance.
Then, a split-screen appeared, showing André Bourgeois standing stiffly beside Officer Roger Raincomprix. "We won't stop until we figure out how to bring these people back to their normal selves," André declared, his mayoral pride bristling under stress. "But as of now… we're not making much headway."
The camera returned to Nadja, now framed beside a hopeful image of Ladybug and Cat Noir caught mid-leap. "Paris is relying on its new guardian angels," she said. "Ladybug and Cat Noir—our lives depend on them now more than ever."
In the cozy glow of the Dupain-Cheng bakery, Marinette stood beside her father, her eyes locked on the television while he scrubbed a pan in the sink. Flour still dusted his apron, but his warmth was undimmed even in a time like this.
Tom glanced down at his daughter, concern softening his brow. "I know it's scary, sweetie," he said, setting the dish aside and resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "But don't worry. We've got two superheroes out there watching over us. The best thing we can do is show them we trust them. That we believe in them."
He raised a baguette like a sword, striking a dramatic pose. "And if all else fails, Super Baker will be there to save the day!"
Marinette gave a small laugh, warmth blooming in her chest as she reached up and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Super Dad."
She ran upstairs, heart racing, and entered her room with purpose. She paused at her vanity, her gaze lingering on the drawer she'd been avoiding all evening. Slowly, she opened it and lifted the delicate box inside—the one that carried the weight of Paris on its hinges. She stared at it for a breath, then tucked it firmly into her purse. No more doubts.
Across the city in the Agreste estate, the mood was far less relaxed.
Nathalie Sancoeur stood in the grand dining hall, waiting with quiet composure. The table had been set with mechanical precision, and Jinx sat nearby, hunched over a digital tablet, sketching what looked like the interior mechanics of a toy box. His lines were quick, confident, but distant—as if his mind was elsewhere.
The ping of a message lit up his screen. He frowned, scanned the words, then stood wordlessly and slipped from the room.
Ten minutes passed.
Then fifteen.
Nathalie, who had been pacing lightly between glances at the ornate clock, finally straightened with concern. It wasn't like Jinx to vanish without a word—especially not without checking in with her first.
She walked briskly toward Adrien's room, pushing the door open gently.
Empty.
She checked again—study, hallway, bathroom. Nothing.
"Adrien? Jinx?" Her voice echoed faintly in the stillness.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour, its deep chime filling the silence like a warning bell.
Downstairs, Gabriel Agreste stood near the foyer staircase, his expression carved in stone. Placide, the IT technician, and Nathalie stood before him, and both could sense the frost forming in the room.
"You didn't see them leave?" Gabriel's voice was low, but biting. "If anything has happened to my son… or to Jinx… you'll be held responsible."
Nathalie stiffened under his gaze. Her lips parted to speak, but no explanation came.
The morning sun peeked shyly over the rooftops of Paris as Adrien dashed through the quiet, cobbled streets, his schoolbag bouncing against his back. He breathed in the crisp spring air, but his steps were heavy with frustration.
From the folds of his jacket, a dry voice muttered, "You're such a strange kid. Who wants to be at school when they can stay home all day?"
Adrien sighed, not breaking stride. "You don't get it, Plagg. I've had enough of being shut up in that house by my father. I want to meet people, make real friends. I want to live like a normal teenager—not like a prisoner in a designer cage."
A muffled groan came from the kwami hidden in his inner pocket. "Ughhh… I think I'm feeling weak."
Adrien rolled his eyes, skidding to a stop. "You know what's really strange?" he said, swinging his bag off his shoulder. He unzipped the side pocket and pulled out a wedge of Camembert. "That this—this foul, moldy, smell-it-before-you-see-it cheese—is apparently the fuel for a magical being. And I have to stink like it all the time."
Plagg popped his head out, snatching the cheese gleefully. "If you want to be a superhero, then stinky cheese is the deal, my friend." He disappeared back into Adrien's jacket with a contented sigh.
Adrien groaned, ready to resume his run, when something dropped in front of him—no, hung in front of him.
Jinx dangled upside down from a branch above the sidewalk, legs looped effortlessly over the limb, hands jammed deep in his coat pockets like gravity didn't apply. His long trench coat fluttered lazily in the breeze, and he blinked once—slowly—like a cat watching a mouse that hadn't realized it was being stalked.
"Jinx!" Adrien laughed, startled.
"Adrien!" Jinx replied in the same mock-enthusiastic tone, flipping off the branch with a gymnast's grace. He landed silently, as if the ground had agreed in advance not to make a sound beneath him.
Adrien clapped slowly, smirking. "Ten out of ten as always."
Jinx dusted nothing off his sleeves. "Thank you, thank you. I live to impress."
Adrien sobered a bit. "Hey, you remember why I asked you to meet me, right? I've been thinking... haven't you ever wanted to live a little more freely? Make new friends? Be around more than just me, Alix, and… well, Chloé and Sabrina?"
Jinx blinked at him. Blank. Deadpan. Unimpressed.
"Dude," he said, "first of all, Sabrina is not my friend. She's not even an acquaintance. She's like a sick puppy so pitiful I can't even bring myself to put it out of its misery."
Adrien's jaw slackened, but Jinx wasn't done.
"And Chloé?" Jinx continued, waving a dismissive hand. "Please. She's a spoiled daddy's girl who'd set the whole city on fire just to keep everyone looking at her. They aren't my friends. They're your friends. I got roped into hanging around them because her father's the mayor and your dad wanted to keep up appearances."
Adrien blinked, stunned into silence.
Jinx's tone softened—barely. "Look, the only friends I need are you and Alix. You? You're like a brother. And Alix—she's my ride-or-die. Me and her? We are chaos. And we love it. Why would I waste my time with boring people when I can be building freak shows and setting history on fire with her?"
Adrien stared, mouth open slightly. It wasn't like he hadn't heard Jinx rant before—he'd known him long enough to become fluent in his cynicism—but there was something brutally honest in this delivery that left no room for doubt. He wasn't even mad. Just… shocked.
He supposed he shouldn't be. After all, he'd seen the lengths Jinx had gone through just to become friends with Alix Kubdel. Winning over Alim Kubdel—her father and head historian of the Louvre's Egyptian Department—hadn't been easy. Alim had high standards, especially where his daughter was concerned, and letting someone like Jinx into her life had required proof of character, patience, and more than a few oddball bribes.
Jinx had done more than prove himself. At just five years old, he'd started sketching designs for what would become Carnaval de Minuit—a dark circus-themed park with historical and cultural inspirations woven through every attraction. It had taken two years before it opened, and though Jinx had been young, his involvement had always been strangely intense. His aunt Nathalie had been the official face of the project then, representing Jinx's interests while he remained the quiet force behind the curtain.
At thirteen—two years ago—Jinx had taken full creative control.
The park was unlike anything Paris had seen. A fusion of haunting wonder and dusty archives, of ancient Egyptian lore and surreal sideshow flair. Gabriel Agreste had served as a silent partner, offering money and image. But it had been Jinx and Alim Kubdel who turned concept into spectacle. That park was Jinx's beating heart, and Alix had helped shape its soul.
And here Adrien was, trying to pitch him friendship with Chloé Bourgeois.
He groaned. "Okay, okay. Point taken."
The morning bustle of Collège Françoise Dupont hummed in the background—students chattering in the courtyard, lockers slamming open, the occasional bell ringing across the halls. But just outside on the steps, Alya Césaire was practically buzzing with excitement, holding out her phone to her best friend like it was a sacred artifact.
"Ladyblog," she declared proudly, "bringing you all the latest news about the coolest superhero ever—Ladybug!" She passed the phone to Marinette, who hesitantly took it. "How awesome is that?!"
Marinette blinked at the screen. Thousands of views. Tens of thousands. Her transformation from earlier, captured by Alya's quick camera work, was already spreading like wildfire.
Alya snatched her phone back with a grin. "Check out the views since I posted it last night! People are obsessed. She's amazing."
"But… why do you trust Ladybug so much?" Marinette asked quietly, eyes shifting to the ground. "With all these stone beings appearing across the city…"
Alya turned to her, eyebrows raised with unshakable confidence. "She's gonna handle 'em."
Marinette hesitated. "But what if she's not really cut out to be a superhero? Even if everyone thinks she is?"
Alya stared at her for a moment, lips slowly curving into a knowing smirk. "Oh. I get it." She stepped closer, tapping her friend on the forehead lightly. "You're scared. But don't be!"
Marinette's eyes widened in panic. "Wait, I didn't mean—!"
"No, no, listen." Alya waved a dismissive hand. "I saw Ladybug with my own two eyes. The way she fought, the way she acted? That girl's the real deal. Ladybug's going to protect us. I believe in her."
Marinette stared at her, stunned. There was no mockery in Alya's voice. No teasing. Just unshakable faith. That trust—so freely given—settled into Marinette's chest like a spark, reigniting something that had dimmed the night before. Her fingers gripped the strap of her purse, where the Miraculous rested in its tiny case.
Maybe… maybe Alya was right.
The girls walked further into the courtyard, chatting, when a cluster of students ahead caught Marinette's eye. A small crowd had gathered around Ivan Bruel.
"So you really don't remember anything?" Alix asked, arms crossed and tone skeptical, but not unkind.
Ivan scratched his head, his voice subdued. "Not really. I remember being angry… but the rest is just kind of a blur."
"You were totally going ballistic," Juleka chimed in, oddly impressed. "It was… kinda cool."
Kim gave Ivan a friendly nudge. "You were seriously out to crush me, dude! Like, Hulk mode."
Ivan looked sheepish. "I'm sorry. I wasn't myself."
"Pff." The scoff cut through the conversation like a knife.
Everyone turned as Chloé Bourgeois stepped forward, flipping her hair with disdain. "Once a monster, always a monster," she sneered, voice cold as ever.
Ivan's face fell, his shoulders tensing. He turned sharply and stormed off, fists clenched, as Chloé kept going.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out, you oversized brute!"
The words hung in the air like venom.
Somewhere far from the school—hidden high in the shadows of his darkened lair—the window to Hawk Moth's observatory slid open.
The villain watched with narrowed eyes as the scene played out through a glowing magical window. A cruel smirk twisted across his lips.
"Yes… yes," he whispered, fingers curling tightly around his cane. "Feel the sting of her words. Let it fester."
The camera focused on Ivan's clenched fists, his breath shallow, his jaw tight.
"Lose your temper, Ivan," Hawk Moth purred, pressing his gloved hand to the top of the cane. A faint shimmer rippled through the embedded butterfly Miraculous.
"Your akuma awaits you."
And with a sinister hum, the dormant akuma inside his staff stirred, ready to corrupt.
Outside the school, the crisp morning air buzzed with the restless energy of students arriving for the day. Adrien sprinted up the wide stone steps leading to the front entrance, determination etched into every line of his face. Hot on his heels, Jinx followed effortlessly, somehow matching his pace with an uncanny grace that defied reason.
Just as Adrien reached the doors and prepared to dash inside, a voice called out sharply behind them.
"Adrien! Don't do this!" Nathalie emerged briskly from the sleek black bodyguard's car, her tone edged with concern. "Your father will be furious if he finds out."
Adrien glanced over his shoulder, desperation flickering in his eyes. "Tell him you got here too late, please!"
Before Nathalie could reply, Adrien slipped inside the school, disappearing into the throng of students. Nathalie sighed deeply, watching his retreating back. She turned her gaze toward Jinx, who was lingering just behind her.
With a practiced flick of her wrist, Nathalie produced a brightly colored lollipop seemingly out of thin air and held it out to him.
"Take care of him, Jinx," she said softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "His eagerness will get him into trouble if no one keeps him in check."
Jinx caught the lollipop effortlessly, peeling back the wrapper with a single smooth motion. He tossed it into his mouth with the same elegant flair, a grin spreading across his face.
"Don't worry, Aunt," he replied confidently, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable. "He'll be fine when I'm around… assuming Alix and I don't kill him first."
With that, Jinx skipped lightly toward the school entrance, his footsteps echoing faintly as Nathalie shook her head, a blend of amusement and exasperation crossing her features.
Inside the hallways of Collège Françoise Dupont, tension buzzed in the air like static before a storm.
Alya Césaire stood with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed, glaring daggers at Chloé Bourgeois. Around them, a few students watched in awkward silence, unsure whether to intervene or let the social skirmish play out.
"How could you say that to Ivan?" Alya snapped, voice sharp with indignation. "You're the real Stoneheart."
Chloé scoffed, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder with a dramatic huff. "Ugh, so I'm the one who broke Sabrina's dad's arm, am I? Please. Just because your boring little footage of those lame superheroes made it on TV, doesn't mean you get to parade around like Queen Paris." She leaned in close, smirking. "And newsflash—your outfit still screams last season."
Then, with the subtle grace of a brat, she blew a large pink bubble of gum right at Alya's face, letting it pop a little too close for comfort.
"You little—!"
Chloé gasped, mockingly placing a hand over her heart. "Look out, everyone! She's angry! She's gonna Hulk out, rip her undies, and become a giant, rampaging journalist monster!"
Alya's face flushed with fury, but she clenched her fists and turned away, storming off before she could say something she'd regret.
But the moment was far from over.
Suddenly, a streak of orange zipped across the hallway tiles—Alix Kubdel, skating over in one smooth arc, came to a halt directly in front of Chloé. Her expression was all scowl and stormclouds.
"Hey, Chloé," Alix said coldly, planting her foot with a sharp thunk. "You don't get to talk to people like that and walk away like some runway queen."
Chloé arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Oh please. And what are you gonna do? Skate around me until I apologize? Shouldn't you be off with your little circus boyfriend, scheming about your next tragic clown routine?"
Alix stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "You mean Jinx? Yeah, I'm with him a lot. Not that it's any of your business."
Chloé smirked wickedly, then leaned in close enough for her words to sting. "Right. And we're all supposed to believe you're not trying to seduce him? Please. Hanging around a boy with a theme park, money, mystery, and power? You're just a little gold-digger skating in circles, hoping he notices."
That was enough to make Alix's nostrils flare. "You know nothing about me, Chloé."
But before the verbal battle could explode into something bigger, a voice called out down the hallway.
"Chloé!"
The sharpness of it cut through the tension like a blade. Both girls turned to see Adrien Agreste standing nearby, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Adrikins!" Chloé chirped, instantly changing demeanor. "You came! I knew you wouldn't let me suffer in this prison alone!"
She made to skip over to him, but Adrien barely reacted. Around them, students were starting to murmur and approach him, excited to see the famous model in their school.
But just as the buzz began to rise—
Whistling.
Soft at first. Barely noticeable. But it crept into the space like fog, curling around the spine with invisible fingers.
A strange, haunting melody, slow and eerie, filled the hallway.
A shiver ran through the crowd. Students turned their heads toward the source of the sound. Conversations trailed off into silence. Even the usual background noise of lockers slamming and feet scuffing seemed to dim under the weight of it.
Everyone froze.
Everyone, except Adrien… and Alix.
Alix's serious expression cracked into a wide, knowing grin.
And there, at the far end of the hallway, framed by the morning light streaming through the entrance doors, was Jinx.
He strolled in casually, hands in his coat pockets, whistling the eerie tune as if it were the theme to a long-forgotten lullaby. His black trench coat swayed with each step, casting strange, shifting shadows across the floor. His presence seemed to distort the air around him, like the hallway couldn't quite hold his shape.
Students instinctively moved aside, a path opening without a word.
Jinx didn't stop whistling. He didn't even acknowledge the dozens of eyes on him. He simply walked forward, every step calculated, like a phantom making its rounds in a house that didn't yet know it was haunted.
Alix folded her arms and tilted her head. "Showtime," she murmured with delight.
Adrien blinked, not quite sure whether to be amused or alarmed. But he stepped forward, raising a hand.
"Jinx!"
The whistling stopped.
Jinx looked up, smile curling on his lips like smoke as his silver eyes gleamed faintly beneath his dark bangs. He didn't say a word. Not yet.
But one thing was clear—class was about to get a lot more interesting.
Jinx tilted his head ever so slightly, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes curling at the corner of his lips. His voice was smooth, low, but laced with a subtle tension that made the air around him feel like it might snap.
"Well, well, well," he said, each word deliberate as he took a step forward, "what's this I'm hearing? Are you insulting my best friend, Chloé?" He emphasized her name like a quiet threat. "If so… I would very much like you to repeat your words."
The hallway, which had just moments ago been buzzing with murmurs and tension, now went utterly still. It was as if Paris itself had drawn a breath and decided to hold it.
Chloé froze. Her confident facade crumbled instantly. She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Her eyes widened as Jinx approached, each step echoing like a drumbeat in her skull.
No one blamed her for the sudden terror on her face.
It was an unspoken rule in Paris—one everyone learned without needing to be told. Gabriel Agreste was the most powerful man in the city, controlling the fashion world and the political web with his cold influence. But Jinx… Jinx was something else entirely. He was second only to Gabriel, and far more unpredictable. A genius, a performer, a designer of illusions, and a creature of poetic chaos.
And above all else—Jinx was fiercely loyal.
Anyone who dared to cross Adrien, or Alix, or—God forbid—his aunt Nathalie, was setting themselves up for a reckoning. Not even the mayor had dared to challenge him publicly. Rumor had it he'd once forced a city official to resign simply by showing up outside their office for three days straight, saying nothing, doing nothing… just watching.
Now that silent intensity was directed at Chloé.
Jinx stopped just inches from her face, standing still as a statue. His long black coat pooled around his boots, shadows crawling at the hem. One eye was hidden behind the drape of his raven-dark bangs, but the other—his bright violet eye—gleamed like a shard of amethyst struck by moonlight. It didn't blink.
"I didn't hear you, Bourgeois," he said softly, almost kindly.
But the kindness made it worse.
Chloé's lips trembled. "H-huh? J-Jinx, there must be a misunderstanding—I clearly misspoke!" she blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. "What I meant to say is… is that Alix is a charming little darling! Yes! Witty, stylish, so full of spirit!"
There was no conviction behind her words, only fear.
Jinx didn't move. He just stood there, staring down at her, like a phantom pulled from a shadow puppet show, judging whether or not to strike.
Then—he smiled.
And somehow, that was worse than anything else.
"Well," Jinx murmured, backing away a single step, "glad to hear we understand each other."
He turned to Alix, who had been watching with arms folded, her expression unreadable but her grin unmistakable.
"Shall we, mademoiselle chaos?"
Alix gave a mock curtsy. "After you, prince of petty."
Jinx gave a theatrical bow, flipping his hair from his eye with a graceful flick. Together, they sauntered off, leaving behind a stunned Chloé, a very confused group of students, and a lingering silence that no one dared to break.
Except Adrien, who just shook his head with a sigh.
"Every time," he muttered. "Every time he makes an entrance."
From somewhere down the hallway, Jinx's haunting whistle echoed once more.
And nobody—not even the teachers—dared to scold him for being late to cla
The literature classroom buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the faint shuffle of backpacks and notebooks. Students filtered in, the smell of paper and faint traces of perfume lingering in the air. Just outside the classroom door, a small crowd was still disbanding, having just clamored for autographs.
Adrien Agreste entered the room with an awkward smile, still tucking away the last signed notebook as he passed the threshold.
"Could I have your autograph, please?" a boy called after him, barely audible over the din.
"Adrien! I'm a huge fan!" a girl chimed from the hallway.
He gave them a wave, but he looked almost relieved to escape into the classroom. Fame, even in a school hallway, was exhausting.
"Wow," Chloé Bourgeois chirped, flipping her golden hair as she all but skipped up to Adrien's side. "This is your seat, Adrikins. I saved it for you—right in front of me!" She patted the desk with a possessive smile.
Adrien gave a polite nod. "Thanks, Chloé." His tone was measured, like someone who had learned how to say thank you to a clingy relative without encouraging further closeness.
Then his eyes shifted to a boy in a cap and headphones sitting nearby—Nino. Adrien brightened. This was his chance to meet someone normal. Someone outside of the velvet bubble of haute couture and Chloe-induced headaches.
He stepped forward with an outstretched hand. "Uh, hey! Adrien."
Nino eyed the handshake warily, raising a brow. "You're friends with Chloé, then, huh?"
Before Adrien could respond, a sudden squelch drew his attention.
He turned to see Chloé and Sabrina kneeling at a desk behind his, conspicuously placing a piece of chewed gum on the seat. Adrien's brows knit together.
"Hey! What's that all about?"
Chloé stood up, brushing invisible dust from her designer skirt. "The brats that sat here yesterday need a little attitude adjustment," she said airily. "I'm just commanding a bit of respect, that's all."
Adrien looked at her incredulously. "You think that's really necessary?"
Chloé scoffed as if the question itself was offensive. "Ugh, you've got a lot to learn about school culture, Adrikins. Watch the master."
Adrien sighed inwardly and slid into his seat, subtly pulling his chair forward so he didn't have to watch more of Chloé's reign of petty terror. As he set down his bag, he glanced back at Nino with an apologetic half-smile.
"Yeah… no. Chloé's no master. Jinx and Alix—they're the masters when it comes to pranks," Adrien thought to himself, remembering how effortlessly those two turned chaos into art. "Maybe I should've listened to Jinx more when he warned me about her… But hey, at least I met someone new."
With that thought, Adrien turned back toward Nino, still hoping for a fresh start—away from gum traps and fashion heiresses.
Outside the literature classroom, the late morning sun cast golden light through the windows, warming the hall tiles. Marinette and Alya leaned near the door, their conversation low but animated.
Marinette clutched her purse tighter, a subtle edge of nerves in her voice. "Alya, wouldn't you like to be a superhero? You know, go out and fight monsters and villains?"
Alya grinned, brushing her braids over her shoulder. "Totally! I'm not scared of anyone. Why? Is Ladybug taking job applications or something?"
Marinette laughed nervously. "Oh! No reason." She slipped her hand into her bag, pulled out the Miraculous case, and—after a quick, unsure glance—tucked it into Alya's satchel when her friend wasn't looking.
They entered the literature classroom together, and immediately, Marinette's eyes narrowed. Adrien was standing beside her desk, frowning and fiddling with something stuck to the chair.
"Hey!" Marinette called. "What are you doing?"
Adrien turned quickly, caught in the act. "Oh, uh... I—"
Behind them, Chloé and Sabrina burst into laughter, their smug expressions all the confirmation Marinette needed.
"Okay, I get it," Marinette said flatly, folding her arms. "Good job, you three. Very funny."
Adrien looked flustered. "No, no. I wasn't part of it—I was just trying to take this off!" He held up the wad of gum.
"Really?" she asked, unconvinced, her eyes briefly darting toward Chloé and Sabrina still snickering.
"You're friends with Chloé, right?" she added with a sigh.
Adrien's brows drew together. "Why does everyone keep saying that?" He looked genuinely bothered as he walked back to his seat.
Behind her, Chloé smirked and whispered, "Now do you see what I mean about respect?"
Marinette shook her head. "I know I've seen him somewhere before…" Her eyes caught the image flashing across Alya's phone screen—Gabriel Agreste standing beside his son in a magazine photo.
Her jaw dropped slightly. "Of course! He's the son of my favorite fashion designer, Gabriel Agreste!"
Alya snorted. "Daddy's boy, teen supermodel, and Chloé's buddy? Ha! Forget it."
Meanwhile, at the back of the class, Nino leaned closer to Adrien. "Why didn't you tell them it was Chloé's idea?"
Adrien glanced down at his desk. "I've known Chloé since I was a little kid. I know she's not perfect, but… I can't just throw her under the bus. She was like my only friend growing up." He paused. "Besides Jinx. And I guess Alix, though I don't talk much with her. She's practically glued to Jinx these days. But Jinx is more like… a brother than a friend."
Nino blinked. "Wait—you're friends with Jinx?"
Adrien tilted his head, confused. "Um… yeah? Isn't that kind of common knowledge? His aunt's my dad's assistant. Jinx basically helps with the fashion line now too. They've been around since I was born. He was actually born a day before me—on the 13th. I came two minutes later on the 14th."
"Wait… really?" Nino looked like someone had just handed him a mystery novel and told him the ending was real. "That's wild."
Adrien nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah. His mom and my mom were close back then, and our families go way back. But after his mom passed two years ago, it's just been him and Nathalie. He doesn't seem to mind, though. Always says he's content—more than content—with just her." Adrien smiled softly. "Honestly, I think he was closer to her than even to his mom."
Nino stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Wow. That's… kind of extreme, dude. You ever find out who his dad is? I mean, nobody's ever seen the guy."
Adrien blinked. That thought hadn't occurred to him until now. He paused, eyes narrowing slightly in thought.
"…You know, I actually don't know. It's weird—no one ever brings it up. Jinx never talks about it. I guess I just assumed… it didn't matter to him. Or maybe…" He trailed off
The classroom buzzed with a low hum of conversations as students slowly settled into their seats. Adrien, still half-distracted from his conversation with Nino, looked toward the door just as it opened—revealing the unmistakable duo who made every hallway whisper and every teacher sigh in either fear or frustration.
Jinx and Alix entered like they owned the place.
And, in a way, they kind of did.
Jinx strolled in with the usual cool detachment etched across his face, dressed in his signature monochrome palette—today a fitted, black and silver longcoat with faint embroidery at the cuffs, almost too regal for a school uniform. In one hand, he held a sleek black tablet, his long fingers tapping something rhythmically. Beside him, Alix Kubdel tried—and failed—to keep her voice down, clearly exasperated.
"Jinx, you don't have to dedicate a whole section of the park to me!" Alix hissed, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I mean, a couple of attractions is fine, but a whole damn section?!"
Jinx didn't look up. He just paused, turned toward her, and stared with the expression of someone who believed the answer was so obvious it bordered on idiotic to even ask. His voice, low and even, carried through the classroom despite the noise.
"Ali," he said, "you're my best friend—besides Adrien. And one day, when you inherit your dad's position as co-owner, we'll be running Carnaval de Minuit together. So of course you get your own section. Every owner has one."
Alix opened her mouth to protest, but Jinx was already continuing, eyes still fixed on his tablet.
"I've already started the preliminary layouts. I've modeled it around your style: modern, wild, chaotic—but also timeless. It blends classic skate architecture with futuristic X-Games vibes. Your aesthetic. I even added a history trail that nods to your dad's Egyptian exhibition. Like the egyptian section that i Made adults-only, so visitors can enjoy high society re-creations. Had to go through five modeling agencies just to cast the actors. They had to be super hot. I'm talking—divine statue tier."
He finally looked up and handed her the tablet like a royal scroll.
"Anyway," he added casually, "I just need your approval. Once you're in, I'll text the builders and construction starts by the end of the week."
Alix blinked, took the tablet with both hands, and scrolled through. Her eyes widened with every flick. Ramps designed like sand-swept dunes, grind rails winding through stone temple facades, a neon-lit oasis lounge nestled inside a pyramid replica—it was her, translated through Jinx's absurd genius and dark, visionary charm.
"You—" she said, staring at the screen. "You really know me, J."
Without thinking, she turned and smacked his shoulder with a grin that could outshine any spotlight.
"Ughhh, fine! You win! Tell the builders to get started, you magnificent freak!"
Jinx chuckled, the sound low and rare, like a distant drumbeat in the dark. He tapped open his messages and sent a text without looking.
"I knew you'd love it," he said. "Phase one: greenlit."
The locker room door creaked open to the soft hum of fluorescent lights and the echoing tap of footsteps on tile. Mylène tiptoed out from the girls' bathroom, drying her hands on her skirt and glancing nervously at her phone.
"Oh no, I'm gonna be late—"
"—AHH!"
She nearly jumped out of her shoes. Standing stiffly in the shadow just outside the door was Ivan, clutching something behind his back. His large frame looked even more imposing under the pale hallway light.
"Mylène," he said, awkwardly but earnestly, "I made this for you."
He pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker from his pocket, pressed play on his phone, and then began to sing. Loudly. Off-key. Desperately.
"♪ Mylène, be serene, don't be so mean— ♪"
Her eyes widened in horror, not just at the song, but at the sheer volume. The hallway walls vibrated with his shrill voice. Her mouth opened, but no words came—only a squeak of panic as she turned and bolted down the hall.
Ivan stood there frozen, the music still playing as if mocking him. His shoulders sank. His eyes dropped to the lyric sheet in his hand. He crumpled it with a snarl, threw the phone to the ground, and stomped it underfoot, letting the final notes of his humiliation crackle into silence. He slumped onto a bench, face buried in his hands.
Far away, in the cavernous, shadow-drenched lair of Hawk Moth, the petals of his sinister window unfurled once more. The swirling violet light cast sharp shadows across his face.
"Ah," he whispered, a slow, satisfied breath curling around his words. "This is what I've been waiting for."
He raised his cane. The akuma, coiled tightly within, pulsed with darkness.
"You know the way, little butterfly. Find him. Fly away, and evilize him."
The dark butterfly burst forth, slicing through the air and out into the city, a predator on wings of malice.
Back in the locker room, Ivan sat still, fury and shame boiling within him. The akuma darted in like a bullet, circling the crumpled lyric sheet at his feet.
Hawk Moth's voice echoed within his mind, silk-laced and poisonous.
"This is your second chance, Stoneheart. And this time… you'll have help. No one will stop you from capturing the love of your life. But remember, I want something in return."
The lyrics pulsed with violet energy. Ivan's eyes snapped open—black sclera, glowing purple irises. Stoneheart was reborn.
Across Paris, the silent stone creatures standing watch like ominous statues… stirred. Their limbs creaked. Their eyes flashed.
And then—they moved.
Inside the classroom, Miss Bustier stood at the front, calmly ticking off names from her attendance list.
"Agreste, Adrien?"
Adrien, whispering with Nino, jolted as Nino leaned toward him and murmured, "You say 'present.'"
"Oh—uh, present!" Adrien shot up, arm stiffly raised. The class burst into light laughter. Adrien grinned sheepishly and sat back down. Nino reached over and they shared a quick fist bump.
Nearby, Jinx sat at his desk, seemingly bored, thumbs dancing silently over his phone as he finalized instructions to the park builders. Then—his fingers stopped.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
The sound wasn't audible to anyone else, but it echoed clearly in Jinx's mind, radiating from the pocket watch that lay nestled inside his coat. The ticking was slow, cold, deliberate—signaling the birth of another akumatized victim.
"Well," Jinx muttered, his eyes narrowing with quiet thrill. "This just got interesting."
"Bourgeois, Chloé?" Miss Bustier continued.
"Present!" Chloé answered with a smirk, filing her nails.
"Bruel, Ivan?"
The classroom door exploded inward in a storm of shattered wood and dust. Gasps erupted as students screamed and ducked. Towering in the doorway was Stoneheart, massive and furious.
"Present," he rumbled. Then his stony gaze fixed on Mylène.
"Mylène?"
She turned pale, frozen in place.
"No," she whispered. "Ivan—let go of me!"
But the rock behemoth didn't hesitate. He marched into the classroom and snatched her up in his massive fist.
"I'm not Ivan anymore," he said. "I'm Stoneheart."
"Why are you doing this?" she cried, struggling in vain.
"So you and I can be together… forever."
From the other side of the room, Jinx and Alix stood side by side, watching with the kind of amused dread only they could conjure. Their eyes met, sharing the same unspoken thought.
"Wow. That's some real yandere vibes."
They both grinned and bumped fists without a word—chaotic minds in perfect sync.