Chapter Text
The Baker wakes up at 3 am everyday.
His alarm blares with a single beep until it is silenced. Since he’s been getting up this early for years, the morning chill doesn't bother him nearly as much as it did.
Slipping out of bed with a yawn on his lips, he slips into his fuzzy bunny slippers, and then into the bathroom to freshen up for the day.
Brushing his teeth and rinsing his body only takes a few minutes and then he’s dressed in his usual uniform - a seafoam colored shirt with a pink apron.
It’s quiet as he makes his way down the stairs from the loft to the bakery, the room still dark since the sun hasn’t risen yet.
The Baker knows his mom will be waking up soon, so he needn't bother with waking her up and sets to work immediately.
Years of experience makes itself known through his easy motions as he estimates measurements that he knows won’t be off by more than a few grams.
He starts with making the palmiers first since he knows making the puff pastry from scratch will take the longest and the cold air of the kitchen will do the dough good.
“I’ll finish this first, then work on the shokupan so that it has time to rise,” the Baker mutters to himself lowly, as he rolls and layers the pastry evenly, mindful to dust it with flour every once in a while to keep it workable, and puts it back in the fridge to relax the dough.
He is already filling the row of loaf pans with the supple dough when he hears his mom come down the stairs.
”Good morning!” the Baker greets, laying a towel on top of the pans to let them proof before they head into the preheated oven.
”Good Morning, Izuku. You're up early as usual, aren’t you?” She says warmly, already working on gathering the supplies to make the almond and chocolate croissants they had both decided on yesterday.
The bakery rotated their menu every so often, but they also had some classics they keep for regulars. Through unanimous vote from their usual customers, their bamkucken and custard cornetts were not to be touched.
Still, the rotating menu kept newer customers coming back week after week to check out the newer selection, while also offering their more seasoned customers a chance to break routine and order outside of their usual. He had a whole notebooks dedicated to the experimental pastries and desserts he wanted to add to their menu for this very fact.
They worked in sync with one another, silent as they worked with deft hands and aprons dusted with flour. Apple turnovers, melon pan, citron tarts, and choux cream puffs came out of their ovens and on to their cooling racks quickly as the hours went on; the smell of fresh baked bread and cooling custard delighted the nose.
As the dark sky gradually lightened to dawn, soon enough it was already 6. Time to open shop.
Dusting off his hands, the Baker makes his way around the front desk to the front door, flipping on the dining room lights as he goes. The lights didn't do much since the real light was coming from the rising sun pouring in natural light from the windows. He notes that all of the baking they had done had bled some warmth into the room, banishing the morning chill inside the dining hall.
As he makes makes his way to unlock the door, the Baker smiles as he sees Tanaka, a regular who's been ordered the same thing for years (a red bean croissant with jasmine tea), waving at him through the doors, their smile bright behind their scarf.
Quickening his step, he unlocks the door and Tanaka rushes in to seek refuge from the morning chill, and receives a grateful nod for him.
Flipping the sign by the door, the Baker turns to where Tanaka is already settling in at their preferred table. And it's with a smile. and with a pretty good guess on what answer he will receive, that he says, "Good morning! Welcome to Bready or Not bakery. Your usual today?"
-
It started out as just a normal bakery.
His mother had always wanted to run one. To make a welcome space that was cozy and warm, that sold good food at a decent price. To share her mother's recipes to the world.
The location they had chosen had been affordable: a quaint shop with large windows that faced the sun when it rose and an upstairs portion the size of a small apartment. His mother had saved up a lot from her previous jobs and was able to afford the monthly rent easily. For just the two of them, it was perfect.
And the first few months were good. Their starting selection was small, but solid. When curious customers came in to try them out, they usually came back with satisfied reviews and hungry stomachs. The Baker could still remember his mother's teary eyes after they sold out their first case of cornetts. They went out for ramen that night to celebrate.
But was after a couple months later, after a group of drunks who flashed a familiar crest - a symbol of the local yakuza gang - that the Midoriya family realized something.
They hadn't realized that the suite had been vacant for so long for a reason, that the price was so low not because of the age of the building, but because of the location.
To their surprise, it had just so happened that they had bought a property located at the center of 4 major yakuza groups.
The owners of the property had failed to mention it seemed, probably because all of their previous buyers had given up on the location, no doubt after enough encounters with rowdy yakuza members who entered their store like they owned the place. Or maybe it was after the second incident of shoot outs near the area. Or the fact that you were more likely to find a dying man near the back alley than a stray cat.
All in all, being at such close proximity with these dangerous groups had brought about its own set of problems.
But the Midoriyas were anything if not determined.
They weren't naive to the world of the Yakuza. Far from it.
(He remembers a harsh argument. Of yelling and tears. It was for their own safety.)
They were aware of the laws and hierarchy of the yakuza world, of the general dos and don'ts they had to follow to stay out of trouble.
So sure, at first, the rough encounters and the bodies they'd occasionally find behind their shop had been a shock, but they adapted soon enough. The rent was good and it seemed like the locals were used to it all, so it's not like their location had any effect on their flow of customers.
Of course, they had their fair share of rowdy hot shots looking to start trouble stumbling through their doors, but they weren't defenseless.
Izuku was smart and fast (a rolling pin could make an excellent impromptu weapon). His mother had a baker's arms and a mean right hook. They could hold their own.
Soon enough, their little bakery had gained a reputation. Everyone knew that their bakery had the best melon pan in town, that they had free wifi for those who asked nicely, and that you shouldn't fuck around with the owners of the bakery next to the Hakubundo stationary shop.
And it was with this reputation, coupled with the fact that the locals loved the place, and partly because they made a mean katsu sandwich, that they got their first offer of protection just a year later.
It had been a local gang, a respectful one whose members frequented their shop quite often. Their leader, a woman by the name of Hakuo had offered them protection at no cost - an offer born of appreciation for their craft and service.
"You'll be under our protection," Hakuo had said, her tattoo sleeves depicting fierce tigers prowling on her outstretched arms. "No harm shall come upon you under our watch. I guarantee this."
They had asked for some time to think about it and after some deliberation, they had respectfully declined over coffee.
"We thank you for the honor, we do. It's just...we don't want to officially align ourselves with anyone." He remembers his mother say. Her voice had the slightest bit of a tremor, but her face was resolute. "We just want to own our shop in peace. We can handle whatever's to come like we always do."
Hakuo took the rejection in stride and after accepting a box of their mochi donuts as a token of their gratitude, nods in a farewell before leaving without a fuss.
She must have spread the word out of respect for their decision (or maybe because she really liked the black sesame flavor of those donuts), because after that meeting, they didn't receive any more offers, much to their relief.
All in all, they were doing great. Their sales were going up, their newest additions to their menu had been hits, and they had made enough to install flowerbeds outside of the store windows.
And then everything changed when a bloodied man crashed through their doors in the middle of a rain storm.
Things became hectic after that, so much so that it almost felt like a dream. Meetings were scheduled, contracts were discussed, rules were formed, and just under a month, their little bakery had become an official neutral zone, a sanctuary welcome to all those part of yakuza world - all by the decree of the council.
However, even with the newly acquired title, not much changed. Izuku had his new role as Baker, their clientele had transformed to include more shady individuals with a penchant for sweets, and they never had to worry about bills again, but that was it.
They still had good food, decent prices, and a dining hall where you could sit down and relax for a couple of hours.
Yes, not much changed at all.
-
A commotion makes Izuku’s head tilt to look behind the customer he had been dealing with. From the looks, and frankly sounds, of it, it seemed like an argument was escalating into a shouting match.
One from Takashi and the other from the Yuruzu’s, Izuku thinks instinctively.
He excuses himself from the customer he was helping with an apologetic smile, heading to table two, with the yelling getting louder as he nears it.
“You dumbass, you’re the reason why I’m stuck in this mess!” One man shoving his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket - an action the other man mirrors. "Easy money, my ass!"
“Like shit I did, Ko! You fucked up that job by yourself! If you had just listened to me, we wouldn't have ran into Iida's guys in the first place!”
After navigating behind the two men, Izuku tries to calm the two of them down with a easing gesture. “Gentleman, please! You’re disturbing the other guests-”
But it seemed as though his words were loss on deaf ears. A few other curious patrons sitting at the tables surrounding the them had turned around to watch as the shouting continued.
“Yeah right. Your intel was shit from the start. I should’ve left your ass at the mercy of the Hizashi’s, if this is how you repay me!” Teeth are bared in a snarl and spittle flies from his mouth.
“Why you-” Tokio looks livid now, body shaking, and his gun is already half way drawn. The click of the safety pin is heard-
The Baker halts the movement with a calm hand.
Tokio winces as the grip on his shoulder grinds his arm to a halt with a painful jolt. He turns his attention to the Baker.
“Tokio Hito of family Takashi,” the Baker says says, voice seeming to pierce through the bakery. Tokio can feel all of the eyes on his back, the silence making him still. Had it always been so quiet in here?
“Shall I remind you where you are?”
Tokio can feel his blood run cold. ”N-no.” Looking to his side, Ko seems equally off kilter by the Baker's appearance.
He steps back from the other man hastily, retracting his hand from his inner jacket, and holding his empty hands up. “Sorry, Baker. I, uh, got a bit caught up with everything.”
The two glance behind themselves, as they both realize that everyone in the bakery was looking at the two. Many of them with hands in their own hidden pockets and all of them donned harsh glares, the intensity of their collective stares making them shrink further into themselves.
Ko notices that at the corner of the dining room, a pair of red eyes glint over black shades staring right at him and nearly falls to his knees when he recognizes who it is. Did he over hear their conversation or-
"And what of you, Ko?"
"Wha-huh?" He whips his head back to the Baker, sweat pouring down his face in rivets. He meets unblinking emerald eyes and hastily amends his answer with stuttered breathe. "Yea-I mean, yes! Yes! Sorry. W-won't happen again. Promise."
A moment of complete silence, and then...
"Great!" Izuku says cheerfully, clapping a hand behind either one of their backs, the act snapping the tension in the room like a twig underfoot. The cold air seems to rise a couple of degrees and the chatter of the bakery resumes, everyone going back to their own devices. Like nothing happened.
"Please refrain from making too much noise in the future, okay? We have to be mindful of the other customers!" Izuku scolds, but his expression has softened and his voice is light. The whiplash of it makes the two men feel faint.
"Now, why don't you guys sit down and enjoy a slice of cake. My treat!"
The two fall down into their chairs, watching numbly at the Baker's back as he heads to the kitchen. Both then look back down at the table, realizing that they very well could have died back there.
When the two them finally look back up at each other, its with twin expressions of grim agreement.
Maybe it would do them both some good to lay low for a while...
-
At the center of Yakuza world lay a small bakery where everyone is welcome: Bready or Not bakery. A neutral zone with good food and even better gossip: a safe haven for members of any family.
Why not drop by for a pastry or two?