[A. Dempsey]

I'd rushed down to the location only after dropping Vanille off at school and flagging down a cab willing to take me to the interchange where I could catch a train to the city, the million-dollar report in my arms. While it certainly did not cost a crippling number of zeroes in my bank account, I couldn't deny that a reserved table for five at Monsieur Moreau's patisserie on an unemployed man's tab was not the greatest idea.

The adrenaline rush anticipatory of something out of this world and completely beyond my comfort zone was beginning to make my head spin along with the number of buttons on the operating panel of the building's lift. Lia's text had said that the meeting would be held at the thirty-fourth floor.

By the time I'd conditioned my mind and placed everything I had to say in a chronological list, I was at the doorstep of a room labelled 'Conference'. Debating whether or not knocking was appropriate—since my very presence would, already, be a major shock factor for the team—I paused and hovered my knuckles over the wood, thinking twice before eventually throwing all manners out of the window and going straight for the doorknob.

"... and as for the three main competitors for the annual pri—" Good heavens. Lia didn't say a thing about all three judges being present.

I stood in the doorway, returning the several stunned gazes of what I supposed would be my team of writers and editors two weeks ago. Including the three organizers of the bake share who were, secretly, the main judges for the annual Baker's Times prize.

"Alfred," Gerard was the first to speak. "What... what are you doing here?"

I shuffled past the door, clearing my throat again and fixing my tie in the process. "Good morning—"

"Afternoon."

"Afternoon," I corrected myself without stumbling. Nervousness was an unusual feeling. "Apologies for the unprecedented visit, and if you were in the middle of things that I'd rudely interrupted. I am here for several reasons—one of them being the final decision of the pre-selected winner, which I was aware of thanks to Lia—and I would really appreciate it if you hear what I have to say. It is, unfortunately, rather urgent and I cannot wait till the meeting is over. Although, well, I am aware that you are perfectly capable of declining but on the account of our years together, as the pioneers of the Times. Well. I'd appreciate your attention for five minutes."

Halfway through, I'd noticed my excessive usage of the term 'well' which, although was the only indication of my unease, felt immensely childish and unprepared. I could only hope that they were all too surprised to notice.

"I mean," Kelly, the assistant chief editor, had began with a wry smile. "If it's only five minutes but knowing you, Alfred, you're going to take thirty. Though I can't say you haven't piqued our curiosity. Five years of working together and I've never seen your tie so crooked!"

Behind her, I could tell Lia was trying hard not to laugh. Ruth on the other hand, brought up a recent tip-off by one of the members of the research team who had informed her of my coming today.

"I would like to hear what you have to say," she ended with a nod, turning to the three judges to seek for their opinion. Thankfully, they didn't seem to mind.

I heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Again, I am very sorry for interrupting and I know this is insane and that I no longer have a say in the company or whichever article you choose to put out but," I produced the report, encased in a folder. "I would like to propose a consideration of this particular bakery, having examined all thirteen portfolios of the nominated few and done my thorough research."

I handed it to Gerard, who proceeded to flip open the folder and scan the cover letter of the report. "Baked Love? You mean Chip Honeycutt?" He almost laughed, handing the folder over to his assistant chief. "Didn't you give them a two on that article you wrote not long ago?"

"I certainly did," there was nothing else to do but be completely honest. "And they are a two—by my standards, at the very least. And you know I haven't given any patisserie more than a three since Monsieur Moreau's.

"But the purpose of this report, Gerard, isn't to say that Honeycutt is a four or a five. It is simply there to provide objective information—which was, of course, severely lacking compared to the other portfolios since they, unlike Andy's, ARCD and Lovine's, do not have a well-developed site—for the Times to make an informed decision."

I finished my sentence, ticking point number one off my mental list and waiting for a response before I could move on to the next. Ruth was nodding slowly; Lia had probably heard me rehearse this in my head a thousand of times and Gerard was speechless. Kelly had glanced through the report that he had passed on to her and was the first to break the silence.

"Well Alfred, we... appreciate your willingness to help us make an 'informed decision' but," she shook her head. "It is unprofessional to put in good words for a bakery to help them get noticed and you know that."

I'd seen this coming a mile away and had in my mind a well-prepared response.

"I wouldn't consider this 'putting in good words', Kelly. I write nothing but the truth. Yes, it is my opinion—but it is, and will always be—my true opinion. It is not about wanting anyone to be acknowledged, for the matter.

"I may no longer be a part of this company or this magazine or have anything to do with the decision you are about to make but there is one thing I am certain about and that is I believe my readers deserve to know the truth."

I hadn't noticed that I had been hitting the table at every emphasis of a syllable and stopped to collect my thoughts at once, adjusting my blazer that had come awry.

That, at least, I'd put out there and allowed to settle, hoping that one of the judges had something to say soon. Mr. Yamazaki appeared to be deep in thought while Chef Randy and Mr. Huang were looking at me curiously.

"And this, you believe...? Is the truth?" Gerard inched towards the folder that Kelly had placed aside, flipping it open and scanning its contents.

I paused, reminding myself that complete honesty, while not exactly being that which others may have liked to hear, was necessary. "Yes... and no."

"I think burying our heads in pre-selected reports narrow our vision," I said, turning to the three judges. "These experts would know best."

At once, I could tell that they were starting to pay a little more attention after being called out. Mr. Huang had leaned forward in his seat, hands steepled.

"But you see, Mr. Dempsey," he spoke, thin-lipped. "Our power is limited. Organizing this is all we can do for company. You are concerned about readership, yes. But it is, ultimately, the shareholders that we report to."

By this point, I was appalled at how things had gone quite out of hand. Though I was aware that the Times had to change organizers and judges every year to keep biases at bay, I hadn't considered their attachment to the company's stocks and shares. Worse still, I could see in Gerard and Kelly's eyes how they were thinking the same; minds filled with fog and clouded by business when what we writers and critics were supposed to be doing was parting those very clouds.

"Shareholders? Do you not see that this 'shareholder' who, so willingly, axed your critic with the most readership and most experience in writing, is obviously pulling strings in a way that no longer fits the description of merely 'hiding the truth' but clearly steering us away from it and into the jaws of a lie?

"Take a look at the records and see for yourselves how many bakeries I've criticized and the patisseries I've awarded a single star. For years, I've written what I stood by—the truth—and never have I gotten fired for a single, honest article!"

Someone stop me now or I'd never be able to show my face in public ever again. Oh forget it. Wasn't as though I hadn't given my entire youth to writing for this magazine anyway, well. I've got nothing more to lose.

"I stand by my opinion that mochi waffles are ridiculous!

"And I stand by my opinion that Honeycutt's red velvet cupcakes are mediocre and that his cream cheese is far too light for my liking.

"But I also stand by my opinion that ARCD's new collection of pineberry pastries are simply inedible—that they are unoriginal and poorly constructed."

"And so if you for moment there thought that I had somehow taken sides because I am now a desperate, unemployed man in his mid-thirties, then I suggest you think again." I was insane, going as far to point at my ex-colleague as though accusing her of a crime. So invested I was in my explanation of logic that I'd by-passed every form of human manners.

The moment was followed by a block of heavy silence, half of the room staring up at me as though I was some crazed madman and the other half refusing to meet my gaze. Only Lia remained grinning at the back, nodding her head.

It was only after some time that I'd confirmed the lack of a response and the impossibility of further discussion, and so adjusted my tie and decided that it was perhaps time to take my leave.

"I've said my share. Been wanting to say this since the day I left but, you know. Never could." I sighed, stilted all of a sudden, reaching for my briefcase. "Rethink your decision, if you will. And I'm sorry I did end up taking more than five minutes. You all know me too well."

I headed for the door, head bowed. "Now, if, um, you would excuse me..."

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

"You know," Ruth began as soon as she heard his footsteps receding. "I missed his outbursts."

The room lightened up with quiet laughter, tickling even the guests who were merely partners of the baking magazine.

"Yeah," Gerard sighed. "The past two weeks without him did feel rather boring."

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

[Chip]

"Angel," I felt Xander's arms snake around my waist, forming a successful husband-trap. "Want to talk about it? We could hop in the bath."

I turned a little, just enough to see him lean forward and rest his chin on my shoulder, bending quite a bit just to reach it. "Thanks Xan," I gave his head a pat. "I'm alright... just, well, maybe just upset that Giselle didn't get to eat the roll when it was kind of meant for her in the first place. And to think that it was all part of being unlucky!"

Sighing, I wriggled my way around the husband-trap and turned to face Xander instead, requesting a hug. It was accepted at once.

"But it was sort of my fault too," I said into his chest. "I should have just placed it in the middle. I mean, of course people are going to bump into each other... accidents do happen, after all, I mean, I bump into people all the time because no one sees me, a-and tripping over air isn't impossible either, so. I guess I should have taken further precautions to prevent it from happening. Ohhh... I'm such a dummy." I squeezed a little tighter, wanting to sink into his arms.

The three of us had returned to our rooms after the tasting part of the first segment, politely declining Mr. Yamazaki's invitation to the social dinner that everyone, including guests, were invited to. Giselle had hopped into the shower after finishing the comfort pudding we got her as a consolation prize sort of thing, since she wouldn't stop talking about the cake on the ground and that it was only missing a plate. Anyone would be able to tell how upset she was about it.

"These things happen," the husband-trap lifted me off the ground and put me on the bed instead, thoughtfully including a fluffy pillow for additional comfort. "It wasn't completely your fault either. I'd thought those invited would have been a lot more professional about it too—not some bunch of fuckers pushing the blame around."

I gave Xander the look. "Language! And, well... we can't blame them either. Maybe it's the truth. Maybe no one really saw what happened. We'll never know."

Cuddling further reduced the guilt of deciding not to attend the fancy dinner party that everyone else agreed to attend, somehow convincing me that social interaction was unnecessary when all I needed was my family. Yet, I couldn't seem to get rid of the odd discomfort in my chest—that I'd let something so minor affect me till turning up for dinner had become a chore.

"You don't have to turn up for something you don't want to, Angel. It's not like you owe them anything," Xander seemed to have read my mind once again, brushing my fringe aside.

"W-well, you're not wrong, but still. It's only polite to attend something Mr. Yamazaki had made the effort to organize. What if he thinks I'm some weakling for being fazed by this tiny incident?"

I could tell that my husband was about to launch into some mini-speech about how he, too, had been furious and frustrated over said 'tiny incident' when my iconic ringtone popped out of nowhere and startled us both.

Xander loosened his grip on my waist and I was able to snail towards the bedside table where my phone was. One look at the caller ID and my nerves were all over the place.

"Shea? Did something happen?" It was the bakery phone, which we rarely used to make personal calls. I could hear a lot of bustling in the background on the other side and it took them a while to get on the phone.

"Hello dear, it's Rose," I could tell from her voice, even by the very first word. "How are things on your side?"

Coco wouldn't call Rose over to the bakery to help out without a special occasion. The fact that she was, however, didn't really seem like the best news either.

"I'm okay! O-or not... it's a long story. But I'm learning a lot of things and the people here are very nice. And Xander's with me, so," I peered up at my husband and mouthed Rose's name. He leaned closer to greet her with a 'hey Rose'.

"That's good Chip. And Giselle?"

"She's taking a shower in the other room. Is everything alright?" I went full-circle, wondering what could have prompted my sister to start asking about me like this.

"Just a little busy. Coco called me in this morning and I never knew you had so many new things on the menu! Penny isn't very confident about the new strawberry tarts yet so I'm going to make them instead with the recipe sheet you gave her. Though I'm thinking of cutting down the number of tarts these days just in case the quality differs and replacing it with a white strawberry shortcake instead. It is my first time doing the tart after all."

"Oh! I see what you mean," I moved the phone to my other ear, poking Xander's abs so that he'd stop teasing me by nuzzling the side of my cheek. "I honestly think Penny's tarts aren't any worse than mine! She's made them before I left and there really is no difference. Although I do think the shortcake idea would be good as well, it would be a pity to use white strawberries in a shortcake because you'd be hiding some and the flavour would be masked by the cream. I really do think it's better as a tart."

"Goodness dear. I never thought about it that way but you're absolutely right!" Rose was laughing on the other side. "It's always the adorable side of you that I see so it is fairly hard to remember that you are, too, the owner of our bakery now. I'm glad you are! You've grown so much... from a tiny little boy who's always worn hand-me-downs from Loki and Hansel—oh, and sometimes from Gretel and myself, did you know that? I still have the picture..."

I began to panic and blush, turning further away from Xander and hoping he wasn't able to hear all the embarrassing things that Rose was saying over the phone. "R-Rose! We can talk about this another time, can't we? How's the bakery doing? Why don't we talk about that."

Rose laughed. "Speaking of which, Xander did ask for photos of your younger self. I've forgotten all about it. Tell him I'll show him a few when he gets back."

I whined, cutting my sister off with a long version of her name.

"Alright, alright. Well you'd be happy to know that there's been a line outside the bakery before opening every day! Sales have been going up and more and more people have been asking about your special tart. Leaves me partly envious, dear, I must admit. I've never seen such numbers during my time as head baker."

I laughed.

"Also, I didn't know you hired a new part-timer. He's very popular among the older customers. Mrs Somersby came by this morning and asked where he was! Penny even said his tarts were better than hers."

"Shin?" I blinked, feeling proud of him myself. "He's my student from the home economics class I take from time to time—and the definition of talent."

Giselle tottered into the room in her pyjamas, hair dripping wet and the back of her dress drenched. I heard Xander sigh as he went after his sister who was eyeing the mini-fridge and the electric kettle at the same time, a towel in hand.

"Really? Well that's actually a brilliant way of scouting for talent, don't you think so? I've never even thought of that—" There was a knock on the door and my attention drifted for a second, unable to catch the latter half of Rose's sentence. Xander waved my concerns aside, signalling me to get back to the call while he checked the door. I nodded in thanks.

"Oh, sorry about that Rose. You were saying?"

My husband's back completely blocked off my view of whoever it was at the door and I could only hear a vague voice muffled by the narrow corridor, left wondering about his or her identity. I craned my neck. Still, to no avail.

Since I was in my macaron-printed pyjamas, I was a tad too embarrassed to peak out any further just in case they somehow had a view down the hallway even though Xander's shoulders were mostly blocking whatever view they wanted to have over it.

"Oh no it was nothing. Only that everyone's on about when you'll be back, so. Come back soon, alright?"

My heart squeezed and fluffed into a ball. "Aw Rose. Don't worry! I'll be back in a jiffy, alright? Oh, and say hi to Joe for me. I heard from Coco he's being promoted to head doctor of the hospital."

I wriggled over to the edge of the bed and peered past the corner of the hallway. !!! Isn't that Shin?

Rose was laughing when I apologized and told her that I'd drop her a text in a moment, giving myself a quick check in the mirror before embracing the embarrassing macarons and heading down the hallway. "Take care!"

"You too, dear."

I hurried over to my husband standing in the doorway, tapping his arm so that he'd actually notice I was there. Behold, the scene consisted of Xander looming over a panicked Shin. "Xan! Why didn't you invite him in?"

"Sir! Y-you're dressed," whispered our student in shock, appearing immensely taken aback by the fact that I was. I blinked, puzzled.

"Eh? But. W-why wouldn't I be?"

Xander laughed. "Because I opened the door?" He seemed to tease, returning his gaze to Shin who looked absolutely petrified by the fact that he was received by my husband instead of myself. Admittedly, he could very well be quite the fright at times, pebble me recalled the times I'd bumped into him in high school.

"Sorry sir. I really hope I didn't interrupt anything and and and if I did, I'm honestly very sorry I didn't mean to do that I just wanted to tell you something very quickly and I think I said 'very' twice."

"No no no," I wriggled past Xander and invited the poor boy into our room. "Please come on in! We were in the middle of nothing."

"We were?" Xander decided to follow up with the usual tease and I was a disapprove. I peered up at him with a decent glare and he laughed.

Shin looked terrified as he entered our room and stood in the very corner of the rest area as he did, not giving the two arm chairs a single glance. I had to sit him down and place a glass of water on the coffee table for him to comply.

"So what is it that you wanted to say? Is everything alright with you and Nguyen?" It had been the very first thing that came to mind, really. I couldn't help but worry that their cute friendship (and possibly more) had taken a turn for the worse.

Shin shook his head and waved his hands altogether. "Nonono it's not about me and Nguyen, sir. We're very good. Actually, she told me to take a picture of you and Mr. Jaxon whenever you guys are baking together but uh—I'm going off topic.

"So, uh, I came to tell you that I'm actually participating in tomorrow's second segment and, um. Someone who wanted to get in my father's good books came to tell me what the theme was going to be and well although I didn't exactly want to hear it, they'd just said it right out so um I wanted to ask if you'd like to know, too. The theme. I mean."

I turned to Xander at once, slightly stunned. My husband didn't seem very fazed by Shin's offer, continuing to dry Giselle's hair with a towel and blow dryer.

"You're going to be baking too? But that's... it's so exciting! If it's you, Shin, I'm sure you can come up with amazing recipes out of the new ingredients. With your talent and all."

Japanese boi did a double take, spilling water from the glass that he'd raised to his lips. "W-what? I'm nothing though I'm very nothing."

I laughed. "No you're not! You have what it takes to be an amazing pastry chef. I'm definitely excited to be participating with you tomorrow. Although... about the theme... well, it's definitely a pity that you weren't able to experience the thrill of it being a surprise but! I think I'll just stick with what I have now."

Beside me, Giselle had returned to her room after getting her hair dried and I shuffled over to share the seat with Xander. I ended up sort of halfway on his lap instead, which I believed was very embarrassing for Shin to witness so I sat on the arm of the armchair instead.

"Really sir? But. A lot of people participating seem to know what the theme is, already. It's really not what I thought it was—I don't know how to bring this up to my father, too."

"The world's a fucked up place, Shin," Xander cut in and both Shin and I turned to stare with gaping mouths. "Don't be surprised."

"X-Xan! Language omomoajdalkwjdka," I proceeded to stand in front of my seated husband to block him from Shin's line of sight. "Don't listen to him Shin. I-I mean, okay, there are times when not everything is fair in the world and that is correct but that doesn't mean we, too, are entitled to do the mean things that other people have done.

"That said, you're a very good boy, Shin!" I patted him on the head. "I'm glad you came to seek advice on this. Maybe you could break it to your father after some time. You don't have to do it now."

Japanese boi thought for a moment before opening his mouth and then closing again. "Nguyen's right sir. You don't deserve that many lemons in your life."

I blinked, confused. Sometimes I feel Shin and Nguyen go perfectly well together primarily because they spoke on the same level of confusing.

"Either way, Shin. I honestly think regardless of whether you, w-well, whether or not you know the theme of tomorrow's segment, I'm pretty sure you'll do amazing because you're just so full of ideas! Bythewayareyougoingtoculinaryschoolaftergraduatingfromhighschool?"

The last sentence had been unnecessarily rushed and awkwardly phrased because my husband had unsuspectingly caught me from behind (it was a mistake to stand right in front of him) and pulled me into his lap. I struggled to get up.

Shin had stared for a moment before hastily fishing out his phone and I swear I heard the snap of a camera. "I will apologize in advance sir but I think Nguyen will thank me for this and I cannot let this opportunity slip I'm sorry."

"lakwjdaoijwkd??"

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

[Rachel]

I had intended to drop a box of top-grade green tea chocolates at Mr. Yamazaki's room during the hour's break between the end of the first segment and the dinner party when I was re-directed by the translator in his hotel room to another floor where the judges were apparently having a post-segment meeting in the conference room.

Although slightly miffed by the fact that I'd made the additional trip and was turned down at once, I was professional enough to understand the lengths that one had to go to get into another's good books, and Mr. Yamazaki's worth and position had to be worth the effort. Moreover, I'd heard from Jennifer that he was Christian.

A nice man like that was no doubt worth the effort.

In any case, this was a good given opportunity for the other judges to witness my giving spirit. Mr. Yamazaki was so kind as to provide all of the participants with premium chocolates last night and so this was my act of appreciation in return for his kindness. Handing him this in front of everyone else would leave a good impression not only on him but an extended audience.

Definitely worth the effort.

And so I made my way to the conference room without complaint, carrying the box of twenty-four pristine chocolates in my arms. Upon arriving at the doorstep however, I noticed that the door was left slightly ajar. A mistake unlikely of the organizing team.

I was about to knock and enter when I heard clearly hear voices coming from inside. A familiar one, at that.

"... like to propose a consideration of this particular bakery, having examined all thirteen portfolios of the nominated few and done my thorough research."

It was Dempsey. That horrendous, lying man who calls himself a critic! Nearly dropping the precious chocolates in my arms, I held on to the conversation—staying out of view from those in the room.

"Baked Love? You mean Chip Honeycutt? Didn't you give them a two on that article you wrote not long ago?" There was a long pause and I could feel my fingers turning cold.

No.