Plagg was devastated.

He had spent a whole week without being given any camembert. Honestly, Adrien should have known that cats don't eat vegetables, much less carrots. Curse his chosen's stupid diet plan!

There haven't been any akuma attacks recently, which was relieving. Plagg didn't know how his powers would be influenced after such a terrible ordeal. In fact, he had recurring nightmares throughout the week in which he would turn into a cute fluffy rabbit. The worst part was that everyone suddenly wanted to do the worst thing ever after laying their eyes on him. They would cuddle him. Eww. The black kwami never was one for physical show of affection.

So it was a given that the little being would react in the most reasonable way a cranky kwami would.

He would go mew at other peoples' doorsteps.

However, what he did not factor into his equation, was that normal cats were not fed cheese, of all things.

So he had to improvise.


A dark figure in a black cloak and hat entered the delicatessen Adrien frequented every Friday for cheese and beelined towards the counter.

'Sorry, we're closed' stated the man behind the display counter, not lifting his eyes from his workspace.

'The usual', the figure replied, confusing the man.

'What do you mean, "the usual"?'

Suddenly, a small, shiny tube peaked out of the cloak as the stranger repeated, 'I said, the usual!'

'W-what-Okay. Just tell me what the usual is so I give it to yo-'

'-Ugh! Just give me the usual! The one I order every Friday!'

Recognition dawned on the frightened man's face, eyes widening in disbelief. 'Agreste?'

'You're damn right. Now, the usual.' The cloaked figure's words were cold as ice.

Mr Farbomage did not waste any time cutting the cheese and roughly wrapped it before placing it on the counter, in front of the figure.

'I want you to place it in the alleyway behind your place', instructed the stranger. The man could only nod before rushing and doing exactly as he was told. When he came back in, the stranger was gone. The black cloak and hat on the floor were the only evidence of what had transpired a couple of minutes ago. Mr Farbomage reached for the clothes and checked the tag. Agreste Fashion, it read.

The delicatessen owner wiped his brow as he called the police. He was still shocked that the Adrien, his favourite customer who had a strange fetish for cheese, would pull off such a terrible act.

It seemed one couldn't know his customers well enough nowadays.


To be continued... 🐞