A/N: Hi Bakers! As promised, the chapter is one day early cuz I'm flying off at 4 in the morning tomorrow. This chapter is a little special, with a pinch of foreshadowing :> Hope you enjoy it! Also, apologies for not updating Crash just yet. I'm still working on the next chapter ;-; halfway through! Also, apologies in advance for the burst of activity on my Instagram in the next couple of days. Eep ;-;

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[A. Dempsey]

As much as I did not wish to admit, there was no forgetting the impeccable taste of pale strawberries—unexpectedly sweet on the tongue but light and fresh nonetheless—topped on a heavy cream filling and a crust of perfect measure. It had me by surprise, really; that a small bakery like his could produce something both special and irresistibly beautiful.

"Alfred? The meeting's on in five."

I'd assumed (and rightfully so, according to the rest of his desserts) his creativity had reached some form of a plateau, as with many pastry chefs as they age in the industry, that had come with the mastery of one. I suppose, then, surprises continue to exist in this day and age.

"Alfred?" Lia peered over the partition between her desk and mine, spotting the photograph of Julie and Vanille I had on my screen. "Alfred are you—what's that? It was Julie's birthday and you didn't come to mine for a cake?"

Goodness, this colleague of mine never fails to surpass my expectations of her nosiness. "I apologize for leaving the decision to Vanille. It was obviously my mistake."

Lia scoffed. "Vanilla chose well, either way. What a stunning tart," she nosed over, leaving her seat and pushing me aside. "What are those? They can't be strawberries."

"No Lia," I sighed, packing my documents for the meeting. "They are tiny rabbits, shrunk to the size of your thumb and all of a sudden, edible raw."

She wasn't listening. "Where'd you get this?"

"Honeycutt's bakery," I responded rather honestly, finding it worthless to hide. "He introduced it about three days ago. That was when we bought the tart."

"Ah, the one with that amazing shortcake?" Lia continued to pester with unwelcomed enthusiasm. "I didn't know you were a regular. What about that review you wrote back then? I was so sure you'd never go back a second time. So—you were the one who nominated Honeycutt for the invitation? Ruth rejected it twice before finally giving in."

"Rejected?" I frowned at once. "Surely, you're mistaken. Ruth would never reject my recommendations—it's been years since we've worked together, and she hasn't rejected a single one! The nomination hadn't gone through the first two times due to, perhaps, some technical error."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you Alfred," sighed Lia with an apologetic smile, giving my shoulder a ridiculous pat. "But I heard it from Ruth herself! She and some other guy from Holly's department. Something about having no choice. Apparently, one of our major shareholders were highly against that bakery of Honeycutt's. Perhaps just like you were!"

With a practiced roll of my eyes, I dismissed her comment with a curt nod. "Rubbish."

*

"As scheduled, we will be announcing the three main competitors of the annual prize today, having narrowed down from the invited thirteen. Again, we're looking for role models of the industry. Pioneers of creative and fresh ideas. All decisions are open to discussion but the purpose of the meeting will be, mainly, to agree on the top few. We have about a month remaining before the official announcement and the evening dinner. So," Gerard looked up from his documents. "Patisserie of the year. Go."

Kelly, the assistant chief editor, stood at once.

"On our list, according to the details given by the research team and the subsequent rankings we've come up with, ARCD, Andy's and Lovine's consistently top the charts."

I listened, unsurprised by the names that she'd dished out. They were very much predictable and yet, there remained an unpleasant itch of discomfort within. I brushed it aside.

"In terms of rising popularity and consistently fresh ideas, ARCD has exceeded our expectations." Gerard nodded.

"Have you seen their new collection? Just came about a day ago but already so well-received! The mini meringues were...how do they say it. The bomb," piped a member of the research team. "It's 'trending' right now."

"New collection?" Lia was at it with her half-smile, half-frown. It was her signature look of disapproval. "I've never heard of it. Tell me more."

The research team exchanged a couple of looks before one of them produced a tablet and began searching for what I assumed were pictures of the collection. They handed the tablet to Lia and I saw her eyes go wide as soon as they saw the screen. Whatever was on it must be giving her a pleasant (or unpleasant) surprise. At once, she scrolled through the images.

"Okay, hm. And these make the Pureberry collection?"

"Well, they call it the Original Angel collection but it's really pineberries," added the intern, before hurriedly turning back to her papers. "B-but uh, how about we take a look at what the other patisseries are doing, too?"

While the remaining writers and editors exchanged opinions with the research team and Gerard, Lia slid the tablet towards me. I turned to her with a look.

Unlocking the screen and taking in the entire image took me some time. It was processing the colours, the lettering and the sheer amount of pink in the space of some five inches that was the bulk of what proved difficult. The research team wasn't kidding at all when they said it was a 'collection'.

But just how much of a coincidence must it be for them to come up with a collection featuring pineberries—more specifically, white strawberries? And within two days of Honeycutt's first release...what an uncanny coincidence.

I now understood the disapproval written all over Lia's face. She had always been a strong advocate of originality and despised bakeries or patisseries that jumped on trends and bandwagons, hoping to ride on the craze and increase sales for that temporary period of time. Having been in the industry for years, both Lia and I had witnessed uncountable names (both big and small) copy the ideas of their fellow firms, bold enough to even give their copies the exact same name.

This was not uncommon at all.

"But is it really sparking a new trend? We best tread carefully on this matter. Other patisseries boast a similar concept, I believe, earlier than Miss Rachel. I don't see how this could be termed the sparking of a new trend," was what I said with regard to the matter.

The research team nodded, taking note. While they were heavily involved in the process of evaluating each candidate, the final decision rested on the chief editor and her team. Occasionally, shareholders would pitch in their opinions as well.

"Is that so? Perhaps we should reconsider it, then...but the selection commences next week. We must come to a consensus," Gerard frowned in thought. "How about Andy's? One of the most delectable teacakes I've ever had. Traditional and extremely rich in flavour."

"That would be boring," I dismissed after a thought. "Teacakes require no effort to decorate and little to no creativity—far from fulfilling the criteria we began with."

"A little far-fetched, but Alfred's right," Lia nodded with a sigh. "We need something more than that."

Silence. No one else seemed to have a solution that could reconcile the issue.

Our chief editor was the first to break it, scanning through the rest of the reports, sorted according to the patisseries. "Can we have the research team do up two more reports on these three patisseries that we've narrowed down? Details have to be listed according to the criteria: fresh, creative ideas; technique; taste. It's a little...all around. I can't tell what I'm looking at."

"Understood."

The scribe from the research team began typing away and Gerard nodded, approving Lia's decision before marking another date on his organizer for the next meeting. "Friday afternoon. That's the latest I can manage."

"That's good enough," a member of the research team nodded, turning to the rest of his department to give instructions and allocate work. Lia dismissed us critics and I watched Holly and her co-workers leave.

I stayed.

"What's wrong Alfred?" Lia lowered her voice. "You don't need to facilitate their discussion. Gerard's already made a move."

I shook my head. "It's something else. You go on ahead, I need to speak to them privately."

"Okay then," shrugged Lia, gathering her documents before making for the door. "I'll see you at lunch."

Before long, the remaining members of the research team had noticed me staring at them from the other end of the conference room, standing by the projector screen. They went from arguing about work allocation (report writing wasn't everyone's cup of tea) to being completely silent.

"Mr. Dempsey. How can we help you...?" One of them said of a slight raise of his brow.

I cleared my throat.

"I have a favour to ask of you...which might add to some of your workload, but I promise will be rewarding," I began by saying, producing a folder. "I need your team to produce one more report. Just one. I've gathered key pieces of information so far but I need this to be furthered and organized according to the same way the rest of them are. By criteria."

They took turns flipping through the folder, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. "It's rare for you to raise a fourth candidate, Mr. Dempsey."

"Not a candidate," I corrected at once, stiff. "This is...back up. A just-in-case."

One of them laughed. "So...what do we get?"

"A completed and well-written research will get you a table at Monsieur Moreau's," I offered, knowing how extremely hard it was for anyone to get a table at the acclaimed patisserie without a month's reservation in advance unless the guest was acquainted with the pastry chef himself. "And I'll be footing the bill."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I'd decided to pay the new collection a visit in the afternoon, having had an early dismissal for submitting the three pieces of writing for next month's issue. Naturally, I hadn't told Lia—who would have strongly disapproved of my decision to 'support' copies of an original, who actually termed themselves original. Yet, I wasn't all too sure if this was an actual attempt at plagiarism, or simply a mere coincidence. After all, all Honeycutt had for advertising was the poster of his new tart outside of the bakery.

The owner of ARCD never appeared to be that sort of person, at least not according to the polite emails we have exchanged and the one formal meeting at the pavilion. Her shortcake, too, had been exquisite with the roses, although skies apart from Honeycutt's taste.

Nevertheless, I had convinced myself that a mere taste-test of her new collection wouldn't exactly be 'supporting' it. Lia would think otherwise.

While I gave Julie a call and asked if she was in the mood for meringues, the first thing I'd noticed as I stepped into the store was the blinding pink interior; that, and the line that snaked back and forth, neatly organized by white velvet dividers that slung from pole to pole.

Slightly miffed but knowing that it was mere courtesy to be treated like most customers, I joined it. After all, critics should never be given any form of privilege no matter how established they were.

"Hello," I began as soon as the pair of teenaged girls in front of me left the line with boxes of 'Pureberry' meringues and cupcakes. The entire display case had swept its regular collection aside and replaced it with the new one, featuring an array of blush pink and white berries, piled up on slices of cake and crumble. "Is the owner in the kitchen?"

"No, she's over at the main branch in the city until five," said the assistant with a curt turn of her head. "Can I take your order?"

At once, I was stunned by the service. The previous time I'd come by for a review, they had greeted me with radiant smiles. I gave them the benefit of doubt, attributing her attitude to the humongous line.

"I understand. I'll have three mini-meringues. One having here and two in a box. Then I'd like to have...a slice of the pure angel shortcake—make that two. One in a box. And just one crumble."

She nodded at every word, tapping away at the cash register before nodding at another assistant beside her, who packed the pastries according to my order. "That'll be thirty-four-fifty."

The process was completed at lightning speed and I was already taking out my wallet within seconds of arriving at the counter. Having an entire line at my back was certainly not doing well for an old heart like mine.

As the assistant behind the counter calculated my change, she asked—offhandedly—what business it was that I had with Miss Rachel, the owner.

I shook my head. "It's nothing. I'm just a critic from the Baker's Times. The new collection of yours looked interesting, so I came by to try it out and, perhaps, learn more about its origins from the owner."

At once, she froze. I was thinking it might have something to do with 'Baker's Times'. The name never fails to turn one into stone or, in her case, a petrified ice block.

"Wait. Baker's Times?" Brilliant, she's finally gotten 'round to wrapping her mind around it. "I. Um. Hold on for a sec."

The assistant nudged the co-worker to her right and whispered something in her ear. Behind me, murmurs from the line began to snake its way up front.

"Uh, sorry, um, sir. Could I get your name, please?" A different member of the staff took over for second, leaving the former attendant bolting to the kitchen. "We'll let Miss Rachel know at once that you have come to see her. She'd be so honoured and happy."

I nodded shortly, slightly taken aback by the sudden change in their general tone. "It's Dempsey. And no, it's alright. She's in the city, isn't she? There's no need to tell her."

"Oh no no she might be on her way here right now. In fact, she usually arrives at this time of the day!" She reassured rather forcibly, making things fairly uncomfortable. "Why don't I show you to a table? We'll keep your take-away well-refrigerated. All you have to do is tell one of us when you are leaving, and we'll hand it right back to you."

I took the rest of my order (served on a pink tray) and declined at once. "That is quite alright—I will show myself around. Please attend to the line, as it is more important."

*

Thankfully, a group of high school students had left a tiny table they were huddled around as I'd left the line, leaving me with a nice little spot by the window. Most importantly, no need to stand and wait for someone to leave! Very pleasant.

I made myself comfortable and began by surveying the desserts on my tray. Pink, pink, pink. The pineberries were white with red seeds, giving it the impression of a pinkish blush. Nevertheless, I noticed how they were rather small and almost round, which resembled those in Delilah's garden more than anything else. They were quite endearing.

Starting with the slice of cake (which I calculated to cost about a grand total of seventy-two, since each slice was nine dollars), I made sure to get every part of it on the dessert fork and spoon it in. A strange detail that I noticed was the odd sinking of the sponge nearing the end of the slice, as though it had been dented. Otherwise, the overall aesthetic was decent and the colour was—no. It was lacking.

I knew it was because garden pineberries simply didn't look as pleasing as the ones that Honeycutt had used in his tart. Not only did they not look as pleasing (round beads with red dots, much bigger and bulkier compared to blueberries), the sharp taste of pineapple that pinched my tongue on the first try startled me immensely.

The cake was sweet. Awfully sweet because I realized that on top of the pineberry's strong and heavy taste, they had coated it was syrup like one would have one with strawberries to rid of the sour sting. The cream was heavy and sweetened as well, which explained why the sponge was sinking overall.

My first thought was water.

I got up to dispense a cup nearby, glad that they had slices of lemon in the jug. It did well to remove the sickly aftertaste in my mouth, and the thought of ever taking a second serving of that cake. Her original shortcake was mountains better than this one. Perhaps experimenting was not her forte after all.

Embarrassed to let Vanille taste this—the take-away slice was intended as his dessert after dinner—I decided to give it to Lia...who would probably refuse to eat it anyway.

Moving on, I decided to give the mini-meringues a chance, judging by its considerable popularity compared to everything else in the new collection. The first thing I noticed was that the leaves of the berry were not plucked. Small detail that would add some colour to the dessert but inconvenience the customer. I removed them myself.

Mm, not bad, I suppose. But not amazing either.

It was, in simple terms—average. I was neither impressed or disappointed by the tiny thing (nearly gone in a single bite), priced at three-fifty per piece. I could, however, see why it was favoured by the common tongue.

The flavour of pineapples was slightly less prominent in the meringue and for some reason, the pineberries in it were blander as well. It would certainly be addictive to a selective group of people. Between the cake and the meringue, I'd say the meringue was definitely better.

I was about to challenge my taste buds to start on the pineberry crumble when I saw a familiar silhouette approach my table in the periphery of my vision.

"Mr. Dempsey!" Ah, the owner. I nodded in greeting.

"How have you been? Thank you so much for coming by—you surprised me," she laughed. "You never said a word about coming!"

"I wouldn't have," I admitted without hesitation. "I never announce my visit in advance. It is part of a critic's job to be treated like any other customer."

Her smile turned stiff. "I see what you mean. But I was sure I'd known of you coming the previous time—"

"Only because you invited me," I finished for her, correcting conveniently. "No matter. I am here now, and I was in the middle of...appreciating the new collection you released a...day ago? Yes? What inspired you to create such a, well, a unique combination of flavours?" I asked, picking up the dessert fork once more and giving the crumble a quick inspection.

Miss Rachel didn't appear very keen on giving me a detailed answer.

"It all started with the weather, of course. Such beautiful colours for a beautiful season. Nature was created for a reason and a purpose. It is perfect the way it is and cannot be any other way! These pineberries were perfect for the occasion."

I could not help but laugh. "My apologies, Miss Rachel, but there was a logical flaw in your explanation that simply stood out like a sore thumb. How does nature being created perfectly have anything to do with pineberries being perfect for the occasion? Please do explain."

There it was again; the habit that made myself so disagreeable in social situations. I didn't mind it being part of my personality at all since friends didn't particularly appeal to me in any manner. Only, I was afraid that Vanille would somehow adopt this trait of mine. I didn't want him to be alone like I was.

"Oh no no, I just thought," Rachel paused, seemingly troubled. "Well, it was just an idea. I was running by the farmer's market for ingredients when I came across these beautiful pineberries that had such a sweet scent. It matched its appearance perfectly and so it made me think about how perfect nature is and how is was made to be this way. So I thought of an entirely new collection out of these beautiful jewels."

I frowned in thought, letting her pass. "Hmph. I see. Will you tell me more about this...wide range of desserts, then? Why not just a cake? And why name it the 'Original Angel collection'?"

"Variety is always welcome," Rachel gestured to the line. "People have different preferences, so I did my best to come up with as many pineberry desserts as I could to suit all their needs." And to secure the entire idea to yourself, yes?

"So, correct me if I'm wrong but," she continued with a cross between a smile and a frown, as though sure that I was in the wrong for whatever reason. "Isn't it normal to call a collection original if it is original?"

Again, I snorted—thinking all this rather absurd. Alright, assuming this is an original idea and the entire thing was all a huge coincidence, upon her insistence, she therefore wouldn't mind if I told her the entire truth?

"Well, Miss Rachel. There certainly isn't anything wrong with that," I laughed. "Only that I find your pineberry cake simply...inedible."