"Oh no. Oh no. Oh no."

All it took was a whiff of something burning to cause my jaw to drop. I yanked my torso away from the distracting television and into the kitchen, turning so quickly I nearly lost my balance. A shocked gasp escaped my mouth upon verifying the smoke hanging in the air. The cake I'd placed in the oven had, in fact, taken a dangerous turn.

It was hectic—racing back and forth between the oven and sink, yanking out the pan with oven mitts, both tossing and fanning it onto the wire rack to save what was left. By the time the smoke dissolved out the windows and the burnt crisps of what I'd call a strawberry shortcake sat on a wide plate, I was a mess. My curly hair had slipped from its once high bun, my cheeks sagged from exhaustion. Even my newly bought apron I'd wasted my allowance on a week prior was soiled in flour and sugar alike.

"Why does this always happen to me?" I whined, prodding at the black flakes that fell off like powder. "I only looked away for five seconds. Just five!"

"Koto?"

My heart fell in my chest. I raced to remove my battered apron, then in some inhuman speed, I dashed to tilt a slice of the charcoaled cake into a clear glass container. By the time I'd clasped on its lid and stuffed it into my backpack alongside a petite fork, my younger brother entered the room.

"Did you burn something again?"

Rubbing at his eyelid, Sota's mouth was curved in a tiny frown. His head of dark brown curls fell neatly on his forehead. Not that the same could be said for the rest of his attire. Even in his little uniform, the toddler was definitely too tiny for the dishevelled clothes. His dress shirt was sticking out from his slacks and even his tiny green handkerchief hung messily around his neck.

"O-of course I didn't," I responded, moving so that I could shield all evidence of the burnt cake. "What are you talking about? I wasn't... baking."

Sota's chubby cheeks were unusually puffed as his tiny hand rose and pinched his nose. "I didn't say you were," he said. "But it stinks. And I see smoke. Mommy!"

I screeched, racing toward him and bringing my finger to my lip. "Don't tell her—"

"Sota?" Exactly to my fears, my mom's voice came booming from her bedroom. "Where'd you go, honey? I told you to wait for me to help put your uniform on."

Sota's taupe coloured eyes met mine to which I returned a warning stare. Regardless, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and shouted, "Mommy, Koto burnt something! It stinks!"

"Again?" she demanded.

"It's not that burnt this time!" I cried in defence.

My mom's footsteps resounded as she hastened into the kitchen. Donned in a black blazer and pencil skirt—her work clothes as an accountant—she tucked wisps of her bangs behind her ears, her gaze scrutinizing.

"Kotori, you know how I feel about your baking. You shouldn't be in this kitchen—"

"—unless you're in the room supervising me," I recited, whisking my winter coat off the table and shrugging it on. "I know, I know."

"If you know that, why do you always sneak in here every morning?"

She stormed up to the oven and counters, registering the strewn containers and used pots and bowls. Sota clung to the fabric of her skirt, peering out from behind her legs and compressing his nose further.

"You always make so much of a mess before attempting to burn the house down," she complained onward. "One of these days a burnt cake or two will be the least of our problems."

Forcing a laugh, I slung my backpack straps over my shoulders. "That is why I have such a pretty mom watching over me like my very own guardian angel."

"Now, flattering me won't get you off the hook, young lady."

Gripping her sleeve, I pushed onto my tippy-toes and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. "Love you, Mom! I'm heading off to school!"

I dashed for the front door at that and squeezed into my boots. She gasped after me.

"But what about the cleaning—"

"I'll do it when I get back! I'm already late!"

"Mommy, it stinks! It stinks!"

"The smell will go away eventually, Sota." She produced another heavy breath. "Now come here. Let me fix your uniform before your sister decides to burn that too when I'm not looking."

The door closed behind me. I jerked my head around, slack-jawed. Rude much. Maybe I should go back and defend myself—

One glimpse at my phone screen and the time displayed defenestrated the idea entirely.

I couldn't be late. Not today.

Swallowing back all arguments, I clamped my bag straps even tighter, spun on my heels and went barrelling towards the elevator. After getting down to the main floor of the apartment building, I sprinted outside and along the sidewalk. I ran across the wet pavement at a furious enough speed I was blurring past people and households alike. Even my breath came out in white puffs due to the January cold.

Fortunately, Soetsu High School came into view soon enough. Students were still piling inside, conversing animatedly. I sped past them, through the gates of the school and towards the entrance.

The casual banter of the surrounding teens increased my anxiety as I exchanged my boots for my indoor shoes, and after ensuring there were no teachers around to rebuke me, I bounded up flights of stairs to the second year floor. It wasn't long after I approached my classroom that I spotted a brown-haired girl of short-statured frame currently making her way inside.

"Miko!"

She stopped and craned her neck. "Kotori?" she asked once she saw me. "Did you sprint here all the way from your house again—"

"Miko!" I shouted again, practically driving toward her at top speed. Nearby students gawked as I halted, my shoes skidding across the linoleum, emitting an ear-piercing screech. Gasping, I surfaced the container from my bag and thrust it at her face. "Eat this and tell me it doesn't taste as bad as it looks."

My best friend since the beginning of the year took one good look at the container then flashed me a wide smile. "I'm pretty sure it tastes as bad as it looks."

"You didn't even try it yet!"

"I don't want to. I'm not a fan of sweets, remember? Let alone... coal?"

"It's supposed to be a strawberry shortcake!"

My lower lip quivering, I surveyed the burnt slice currently resting in the plastic container. I'd somehow convinced myself that if Miko were to try it beforehand I'd be in the clear, but she never did have an affinity for desserts as I did. And even though I hated to admit it, this piece of 'dessert' I'd burnt terribly was probably better off being used as coal instead of digested.

"How can I show this to Okito?" I demanded whilst pouting. "He'll put on his disgusted high and mighty expression and scoff 'Is that supposed to be edible?' then walk away!"

Miko awkwardly tittered. I stiffened like lead. It was a familiar reaction. More specifically, whenever he was in the area.

Oh no.

"Speaking of Okito Gouda," Miko whispered, gesturing over my shoulder, "he's coming this way."

"No way!" I hissed. "He's early!"

"Good luck," she whispered via a lopsided grin.

After a quick reassuring pat on my shoulder, she ducked inside the classroom before I could beg her not to go. My heart galloped in my chest in frantic rhythms. Should I make a break for it? Tomorrow was always an option, right? Then again, if he was coming up behind me now, should I really just let him walk away?

While rampant thoughts filled my mind, the incoming footsteps stopped behind me. All of a sudden, I couldn't move. Breathe. Insurmountable nerves welled up at the pit of my stomach.

"You're blocking the way."

Inhaling and exhaling to brace myself, I spun around and jutted out the opened container. I couldn't even find it in me to peer at the failure I was extending to him. Amidst the black and dark brown flakes, there wasn't a single speck of colour. You couldn't even identify the strawberries.

And yet, like an idiot, I still said: "Eat it."

Okito Gouda stared down at me, unbothered by the piercing stares of passing students in the hall. His dark eyes didn't carry any means of emotion, similar to the rest of his impassive features, iced into place.

I'd never been bothered by his stoniness. All our lives growing up, no matter what happened, I knew he cared deep down. He was able to stick by my side until the end of our first year of high school, after all. Moreover, he knew just what baking meant to me.

He could see my perseverance radiating off me—that much was obvious. Regardless, exactly as he had done since the beginning of our second year, he rose his chin higher and stuffed his hands into his school uniform pockets.

"And what is that supposed to be exactly?" he asked, deep voice radiating his monotone. "Coal?"

"Strawberry shortcake!" Anger fuelled me as I thrust it further. "Try it! It... probably tastes better than it looks this time. I think."

"'Probably?' 'I think?' So you can't even say it for certain?" Scoffing, he sidestepped around me. "Excuse me, I have to get to class."

"But—"

"No matter how many times you do this, I'm not accepting your application into the Cooking Club." He spared me a sidelong glance, and without a shred of hesitance, added, "You don't have what it takes."

My top teeth met with my bottom, grounding hard. I clenched the container tighter. "I can work at it."

I was working so hard at it.

"You can proudly say that after looking at whatever you conjured up today?"

I gritted my teeth harder. "Just because you're the vice president of the club in less than a year of joining doesn't mean a thing. As long as I don't give up, I can reach your level in no time!"

Seeing as my conviction wasn't going to waver today either, Okito groaned. It was swift, him slinging off his bag and tossing something for me to catch. Baffled, I stared down at the neatly wrapped golden-brown treats.

The inner glutton in me immediately recognized what it was: canelé.

My inner glutton was also the reason why I couldn't help but drool and eat one despite knowing it'd be a total loss for me if I gave in.

And lo and behold, as soon as I did, my tongue landed on cloud nine. It encapsulated everything one would want in a pastry: a delicate balance of sweet and savoury flavours. A crunchy crust; a custardy interior.

My hand met my cheek, utterly content. "So good...!"

An airy sneer in tow, Okito faced the other direction. "You'll reach my level, huh?"

I woke from my daze after gobbling down a second one. Immediate embarrassment swelled inside of me like a balloon. What was I doing? It was super delicious, but this was not the time to be gushing over his pastry!

Shoving the last one in my mouth, I yelled through my bloated cheeks. "Jush you wait, Okito! I'll mwake you something so delicwious you're the one who's going to be begging me for more!"

He waved me off, already taking his leave to his classroom. I swallowed back all traces of the sweet and stormed into my own. Ignoring all the goggling from my classmates, I tossed out the plastic wrap and surged toward the back of the room.

"I see that went well," Miko chuckled as soon as I arrived at my desk in front of hers. "Did he give you something today?"

"Canelé." Clamping the container lid back on and stuffing it into my bag, I slammed my palms onto her desktop. "It was so good, Miko. How can it be that good? He only started baking this year!"

"Geniuses really are something else."

The blissful aftertaste lingering in my mouth only weighed on my shoulders.

Flailing in my seat, I dropped my ear onto the cool wood of her desk. "Miko," I whined.

"Gouda and you have known each other your entire lives, right?" she said, gently patting my arm. "I'm sure there's a reason besides talent making him adamant on not letting you into the club."

"Personal feelings?" I jeered, momentarily raising my head. "There's no way. That guy is colder than ice."

"But think about it," she said. "You two were inseparable until the end of our first year of high school when you decided to become a pastry chef. You started around the same time and he's gotten way ahead of you, sure, but there's no way you could have a fallout so easily."

"I wanted to believe that too but at this point, I don't care anymore. If he wants to be rude and undermine all my efforts, I'll make him regret angering me. Even if it means I have to start up my own club..."

My words trailed off. My torso jerked upright. It was as if I'd gotten smacked in the face with a pan.

"No," Miko snapped as soon as she saw my expression. "Stop and rewind, Kotori."

I bolted to my feet, a wide beam taking over my lips. "Miko!"

Her countenance washed blank. "Oh no."

"That's it!" I exclaimed, pushing my face close to hers, twinkling. "I'll start up a club! My own club!"

"Knew it..."

"You have to join it!" Being as easily excitable and touchy-feely as I was, I slipped my hands through hers. "We'll take that jerk down together!"

"No thanks."

Not quite expecting her refusal, it stunned me. My hold on her hand loosened as my heart sank in my chest. I pushed out my lower lip. "You really don't like desserts, Miko?"

Unable to beat my extremely effective puppy dog eyes, she peered elsewhere. "Well..."

Brightening at her lenience, I gripped her palm tighter. "Come on! There has to be something you like! Cakes, pies, waffles—anything we can make together, so long as our goal is to take down Okito!"

"Waffles... are all right I guess?" Seeing the level of exuberance filling my grin, Miko eventually gandered my way again. Though, it was her frown that sucked away all hope welling up inside of me. "I'm really sorry, Kotori. Even if you start up a baking club there's no way I could ever help nor enjoy it alongside you. I want to, so badly, but—"

"Sakurauchi!"

The sudden shout of Miko's surname drew our focus left. Bounding down the row was a fairly tall boy. With a head of blond hair and a soft smile that illuminated his amber-coloured eyes, he came to a halt right beside her. Instinctively, I slid my hand from Miko's and crouched behind her desk, keeping my head poking out slightly to survey the situation. Regardless of my off-putting stance, the boy in no way or form acknowledged me at all.

"Do you think you can stop by the Film Club today?"

Bashfully, Miko shook her head. "Not today, Tamura. I have work."

He sucked in a breath then went to muss his hair. "That's right. You work part-time."

His shoulders slumped as he sighed as conspicuously as possible. All hopeful desire once radiating from his features vanished only to replace itself with disappointment.

"Is... something wrong?" Miko asked.

"Well," he said, "we're a character short in the film we're trying to create. I was hoping since you were apart of the Drama Club last year we could get you to fill in, but..."

A film...

I followed the scene back and forth between them.

It didn't take long for Miko to respond, "Sorry. If I had the time..."

"No, it's fine." He flashed her a heart-stopping smile as he turned to go. "Don't worry about it. Thanks anyway."

He went ambling back to the front of the room. More precisely, the second row, before collapsing into his seat with another sigh. He was our classmate?

I slowly got up from squatting behind Miko's desk and prodded her arm. "Who was he?"

"How do you not know?" she asked, evidently startled. "He's been in our class all year. Koyuki Tamura."

I bobbed my head, fixated on him in the distance. "He's really handsome."

She shooed me off. "Of course that's what you notice."

"But handsome guys aside, I need to find members to join my club!"

"A club you that haven't even appealed to the Student Council yet," she reminded me.

I waved it off. "I can deal with those details later. To start up a club, first you need five members, right? And if you can't join I need to find four more people who are really talented at baking so I could rub our desserts in Okito's and the rest of the Cooking Club's obnoxious faces."

Miko primmed her mouth, but her disbelief was the least of my concerns at the moment.

Seriously, how could I not have come up with such a brilliant idea before? For the longest time, the Cooking Club was all I saw. Mainly because it was the only baking-related club in the entire school. But with Okito belittling me every single day whenever I asked to join—the rest of his uppity clubmates being no different—I had grown sick of such a repetitive cycle. And it was only now that I realized that it didn't have to be this way?

Who cared about my 'baking aptitude' or whatever that was. If I could start up my own club with my own standards, it was the perfect way to rub my effort in that jerk's snarky face!

"Kotori," Miko exhaled, transferring me from my reverie. "Let's say this does work."

"Which it will," I giddily replied.

"Or will not," she corrected. "There are only three months left until the school year ends. Then we'll be third years. How are you going to get everything together in time, let alone persuade the school into letting you start another baking club when we'll be faced with college applications around the corner?"

Humming, I tilted my head with my finger at my chin. "Hard work?"

She sighed, again. "Kotori, you really are..."

Just as her words trailed off, her eyebrows knitted together.

I immediately perked. "What?"

She shook her head. "Forget it."

"No way!" I drew my face to hers. "That's so your I've-got-an-idea face! Hey, what is it? Tell me! Tell me! Tell—"

"It's a rumour I've heard!"

I stopped just centimetres from her nose. Miko reeled away, signalling I'd gotten too close. Again.

Pursing her lips, she beckoned to give her space, and once able to breathe again, murmured, "Apparently Tamura used to be a member of the Cooking Club."

"NO WAY!"

"Shh!"

I clasped my hands over my mouth. Thankfully, nobody paid any care to my outburst this time around. Flopping into my chair, I vigorously bobbed my head. "And? What happened?"

She looked over my shoulder, at the boy casually scrolling through his phone, then back to me before continuing, "I'm not really sure. I think something happened during our first year that made him leave. Of course, his leaving didn't really impact the club too much, but since then Tamura joined the Film Club and has been a member since."

Lowering my hands to my sides, I couldn't help but gape. "He gave up cooking to pursue filming? That's boring!"

"There must've been a reason for that," Miko insisted. "I've only gotten to know him since we were in the same class last year, but Tamura is really good at directing. I wouldn't have ever thought this were true if I hadn't heard the upperclassmen of his club talking about it last year."

"A past member of the Cooking Club..."

"That's only if this rumour is true," she replied. "But, as I said, Tamura is really, really good at directing. I highly doubt baking would be apart of his past—"

"I've decided."

Miko halted her rambling and blinked. "Decided... what?"

"Koyuki Tamura," I practically cried, grinning as I yet again burst her personal bubble. "He'll be the first member of my club!"

Miko's reaction was absolutely priceless. Appalled, shocked—she couldn't even scramble for her voice for a fair amount of time.

"Kotori," she hissed the moment she could, "have you been listening to a thing I've been saying?"

"Not after you told me he was in the Cooking Club."

"So blunt... Listen to me! You can't go recruiting members for a club that doesn't exist!"

I bloated my cheeks with air. "But if he was in the Cooking Club, then I need him! I need all the help I can get if I want Okito begging on his knees for my desserts."

Miko recoiled, knowing I'd struck a good point. Nonetheless, her expression represented her untimely unease. "But trusting a rumour so wholeheartedly is..."

"He's leaving the class!" I bumbled to my feet, watching as he casually strolled toward the doors. I barely paid Miko any mind and nearly tripped over my chair and desk on the way over. "I-I'll be back!"

"Wait— Kotori!"

"Tamura!"

I'd screamed his surname loud enough to jolt the entire class and those standing outside. Koyuki in particular nearly jumped from his skin, swerving around. I skidded out of the class, doing my best to not lose my balance. Then, I dashed straight for him.

His limbs trembled, complexion blanching drastically. "Why are you suddenly charging at me? W-wait— a-agh!?"

I tackled him to the ground.

He crashed back-first, letting out an audible gasp of pain, and I tumbled on top of him. Eyes wider than saucers and hair ruffled, he immediately grappled for freedom.

I clearly weighed too much to let that happen.

"Wh-who the— Wh-what the— Teruhashi?" he yelled.

"You know who I am?" Palms positioned by either side of his head, legs straddling his torso, I lowered my head to his. My lips stretched back to my ears from delight. "Then that makes things quick."

Pure terror crossed Koyuki's countenance, along with an insane blush that enveloped the entirety of his charming face and ears. Onlookers were gawking with as much shock and awe as Koyuki beneath me, but I was way too gleeful to pay it any mind.

Descending my face closer to his, I burned every nook and cranny of his melting amber-coloured irises into my mind.

His first instinct was to squirm—escape. "C-can you get off of me—"

"Tamura!"

He flinched, the redness soaring across his cheeks darkening further. "Y-yes?"

"I need you to join my club!"

Inwardly, I couldn't believe I'd said it—sealed the deal for this entire thing. I was on such an elated high I could care less about the loudness of my voice or the fact that I was pinning Koyuki to the ground, mouth centimetres from his. Even watching him resist a full-on panic attack amidst his scorching blush and swirling vision couldn't dismiss me from this thrilling moment.

"You need me to what?"

***

Hey, readers! Thanks so much for clicking onto this story! It really means a lot! <3

Here's what you can expect: delicious, mouth-watering desserts, multiple love interests (a reverse harem), and a quirky main character. Also, updates every Tuesday and Saturday! I know I always say I'll frequently update and fail to follow through but I can guarantee it this time since I've actually prewritten chapters. Unless, of course, something comes up, but I'll try to notify you guys beforehand.

Also, character names are written first name, last name despite being set in Japan.

This lengthy author's note aside, I do hope you enjoy!

Don't forget to vote & comment! Thanks for reading! <3

—Misty