The four of them arrived in front of a wide, grey polished wooden door. Clean. Substantial. A brass plaque mounted at the center that said exactly one word.
CEO.
Nikola knocked with the energy of someone who had never once in his life been intimidated by a door.
"4 of Scones, reporting for duty!"
A beat. Then Foca's voice, warm and unhurried from the other side —
"Come in, guys."
They filed in.
"Was poppin', big boss—" Nikola's voice died mid-sentence.
His feet stopped.
Completely. Without warning.
Leo walked directly into his back. "Dude, keep it mov—" Isaac bumped into Leo. Nox into Isaac. A small, undignified 4 of Scones pile-up in the doorway of the CEO's office.
"Bro—" Leo pushed Nikola forward, which sent both of them stumbling slightly into the room while Isaac and Nox followed behind with considerably more composure — up until the moment their eyes landed on the same thing Nikola's had.
And then all four of them stood perfectly, identically still.
Staring.
Because sitting in Foca's office, looking back at them with the amused expressions of people who had been waiting for exactly this reaction —
Were two very familiar faces.
Foca sat at his desk, warm smile in place, blueberry hibiscus herbal tea in hand — one of Hyouka's personal creations, because tea blending was simply one entry on what was essentially a booklet-length resume rather than a standard page-or-two document. A booklet that included, among its many impressive entries, skills that were not listed on any official version thereof. Skills that operated somewhere in the vicinity of CIA, NSA, British Intelligence, and every covert organization operating globally — combined. She had been recruited by the CIA once, for reference. She declined. Make of that what you will. Stalker was simply too small a word and this author will not be entertaining Hyouka defamation in this establishment.
Hyouka herself sat beside him wearing the expression of someone thoroughly enjoying the view — which, given the four individuals currently frozen in the doorway, was understandable.
And in the chairs across from Foca's desk —
"Sup, fucker," Mikko said, the smug smirk arriving exactly on schedule. "Miss me?"
"Hi guys," Louie said, with a small, warm wave.
The 4 of Scones' brains caught up approximately one full second later.
"MOTHER FUCKER—" Nikola's voice came back online at full volume as he crossed the room and launched directly into the ultra-special handshake — the one that existed exclusively between him and Mikko, that had its own choreography, its own rhythm, its own deeply specific energy, usually concluded with a bboy freeze that they had, in consideration of the surroundings, wisely modified into something that would not result in anything expensive being knocked over. God only knew what the décor in this office cost. Nobody wanted to find out.
"Louie, man — it's so good to see you," Isaac said, crossing to him with the warm, genuine ease of someone who had missed a person and wasn't shy about it. The universal bro handshake happened — clasp, pull, back-clap — solid and real.
"Good to see you too," Louie said, returning it with the same warmth.
And just like that, Foca's CEO office had become the venue for a completely unplanned, entirely wholesome mini reunion — the noise and movement and overlapping energy of boys being boys and guys being guys filling the carefully appointed space without apology.
"Look at them," Hyouka said, one hand pressed dramatically to her chest, the other producing an invisible handkerchief to dab at entirely nonexistent tears. "Just boys being boys. Guys being guys. I am so blessed — so genuinely, deeply blessed — to be witnessing this much eye candy assembled in a single room. Truly a sight for sore eyes."
Foca said nothing.
Just smiled his signature warm smile and sipped his tea.
****
Anyhow — back to the boys.
Once the initial chaos of the reunion had settled into something resembling order, everyone found a seat. The energy in the room shifted — still warm, still buzzing quietly with something good — but attentive now. Present.
Hyouka moved.
And when Hyouka moved with purpose, things happened.
Refreshments appeared in front of each person with the smooth, unhurried efficiency of someone who had done their research — which, given Hyouka's particular set of skills, was a significant understatement.
Louie — iced cappuccino. Isaac — sparkling ginger ale, the good kind. Leo — Doctor Pepper float, because of course, because gamer gremlin, because this was simply who Leo was at his core. Nikola — strawberry mint refresher with a swirly straw that he had not requested and somehow already loved. Mikko — kiwi and green grape refresher. And Nox — a very specific, very deliberate protein shake blend that landed in front of him like it had always known it belonged there.
Every single one tailored. Specific. Personal.
Espionage organization type behavior, as this author has previously established. Not stalking. Never stalking. Something considerably more sophisticated and considerably more effective.
"Is this a protein shake?" Nox asked, looking at his glass with genuine pleasant surprise.
"My own concoction," Hyouka said, with the serene pride of someone who had nailed it and knew it.
"How do you even know I love strawberry mint?" Nikola asked, already pulling the swirly straw toward him with the inexorable gravity of a man who had already decided he was going to drink this regardless of the answer. He took a sip.
His eyes went wide.
The cool, sweet, perfectly balanced rush of strawberry and mint traveling down his throat and leaving exactly the kind of clean refreshing trail that made a person sit up slightly straighter and reassess the afternoon.
"Damn," he said. "That's really good."
A chorus of agreement moved around the room as everyone sampled their own beverages. Leo was already three sips into the Doctor Pepper float with the quiet contentment of a man whose needs had been correctly understood.
With everyone settled, refreshed, and approximately one beverage happier than they'd been five minutes ago — six pairs of eyes turned to Foca.
"You're probably all wondering why you're here today," Foca said, with the calm, unhurried warmth that was simply how he spoke about everything, "— and specifically why Mikko and Louie are here when they should be on holiday break."
Mikko and Louie both nodded. They'd come the moment Foca called. No hesitation, no questions asked — because when Foca called, you came — but the what and the why had remained a pleasant, slightly nerve-inducing mystery until this moment.
That's when Hyouka moved again.
Two leather folders slid across the desk. Precise. Deliberate.
Dark leather. Golden outline. Gold hardware that caught the light in a way that suggested the gold was not decorative.
The four members of 4 of Scones recognized them instantly — because they had seen the exact same folders on the day they had signed their own contracts with Bread Music.
The room went very still.
"Is that..." Isaac's voice came out barely above a breath. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Holy—" Nikola turned to Mikko. Mikko had already turned to Nikola. Two sets of wide eyes meeting in real time. "—fuck, dude."
Even Nox — calm, composed, cucumber-adjacent Nox — was visibly, genuinely, unmistakably in shock.
"There are decisions in life," Foca said, in that voice of his — soft and certain and carrying the particular weight of someone who had thought about something fully and arrived somewhere good, "that simply don't require much deliberation."
He looked at Mikko.
Then at Louie.
"With that said — Mikko, Louie. Welcome to Bread Music. And welcome to 4 of Scones."
Louie's head turned slowly toward Leo.
"Wait—" His voice came out unsteady. "Am I hallucinating? Did I actually just hear that correctly?" He reached over and pinched Leo's cheek — the instinctive, slightly desperate reality check of someone whose brain needed external confirmation.
Leo swatted his hand away. Not gently. But with the efficiency of someone who accepted the situation while objecting to the method.
Louie didn't even register the sting.
Because it was real. The pinch was real, which meant Leo was real, which meant this room was real, which meant what Foca had just said was—
Real.
"MOTHER FUCKER, YOU'RE IN—" Nikola was already out of his chair, arms going around Mikko before the sentence finished.
"I'M IN, FUCKER—" Mikko grabbed him back, and then both of them were jumping — actually jumping, together, arms locked, the ultra-special handshake completely abandoned in favor of something that didn't have a name but didn't need one.
Louie, on the other side of the room, was crying.
Not quietly. Not politely. The real kind — the overwhelming, full-body kind that happens when something you wanted so badly finally, actually, completely arrives and the emotion has nowhere else to go.
Isaac was beside him before it fully started. Steady, warm, present in the way Isaac was always present.
"Congratulations, Louie," he said, in that Alabama drawl — soft and genuine and landing exactly where it needed to. "You deserve this."
Which made Louie sob harder.
Because of course it did.
And so, at approximately ten o'clock on a perfectly ordinary morning, inside a CEO's office that smelled faintly of fresh bread and blueberry hibiscus herbal tea —
The 4 of Scones became six.
The day, as previously noted, was very much still young.
****
After the celebrations had settled into something that could charitably be described as order — the jumping concluded, the tears mostly dried, the Doctor Pepper float approximately halfway gone — Foca spoke again.
And the room temperature dropped approximately ten degrees.
Not literally. Just the specific effect that Foca's voice had when it shifted from warm to intentional.
"It's good to celebrate," he said. "But I wouldn't celebrate too much just yet."
Ice bucket challenge energy. Every single one of them. Metaphorically drenched.
(And yes, this author just referenced the ice bucket challenge. This author is aware of what that implies about their age. We are moving on immediately and not discussing it further.)
"Signing a contract with Bread Music does not mean either of you are finished competing at LEAVEN," Foca continued, looking at Mikko and Louie with the calm, clear directness of someone who meant every word precisely as stated. "You will both continue competing. And the moment — the single, solitary moment — I see either of you slacking? That contract becomes kindling for my fireplace. You can be removed just as quickly as you were added." A pause. "Am I making myself clear?"
"Crystal, Sir Foca," Mikko answered immediately. "Fiji water clear. Still water on a windless day clear. The void of space clear—"
"Thank you, Mikko."
"Yes sir," Louie said, and the determination behind it was the real kind — the kind built from having lost something, having it given back, and having absolutely no intention of wasting it. Not today. Not ever. He would throw himself off a cliff before he let laziness get a single foothold. Not today, satan. Not. Today.
"This information stays between everyone in this room," Foca added. "Nobody outside knows. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Royal Highness!" Mikko said.
Everyone blinked.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Louie said, approximately one second later.
Then blinked himself.
Looked at Mikko.
Realized what had just happened to him.
The laughter that moved around the room was immediate and warm — Foca's included, the smile settling onto his face with the quiet amusement of a man who had seen many things and was never quite prepared for Mikko specifically.
Foca pressed a button on his desk.
"Please send the lawyers in."
The door opened. Two lawyers entered with the efficient energy of people who had places to be and documents to execute. The 4 of Scones made way graciously. Everyone settled.
"Now — listen carefully to what they have to say," Foca began. "Don't just nod along. Ask questions if you have them. Make sure you understand what you're signing before you—"
His voice stopped.
Because Foca had looked up.
And was experiencing, with full clarity and complete recognition, a serious case of déjà vu.
Mikko was already signing.
Not just signing — signing. With flourishes. Extra loops here, additional curves there, the pen moving with the joyful confidence of someone who had decided this document was also a canvas. He finished with a smiley face at the end of his signature. Set down the expensive pen. Leaned back. Admired his work with the quiet satisfaction of a man who had done something well.
Then looked up to find the entire room watching him.
Nikola had both hands pressed against his mouth. The laughter was visible in every part of his face except the mouth, which was doing everything in its power to keep it contained and losing badly.
"Mikko," Foca said.
"Yesh?"
"You and Nikola," Foca said, with the measured calm of a man processing something, "are definitively two peas in a pod." He set down his tea. "Because what you just did is exactly — exactly — what Nikola did. He even wrestled with the lawyer who attempted to explain the contract to him."
"I trust you, Sir Foca," Mikko said simply. "I've known you long enough to know you won't screw me over. Plus my ADHD don't got time for all that talking."
"And that," Nox said, from his corner, with the quiet marveling tone of a man observing a species he could not fully explain, "is word for word what Nikola said."
He looked between the two of them — Nikola and Mikko. Two German men. Built like sculptures. Talented beyond reasonable measure. Potty mouths so advanced that holy water would evaporate on contact without making a dent. Soulmates in chaos, in friendship, in the specific brand of unhinged that somehow produced extraordinary results.
Nikola slightly more sane than Mikko.
Mikko slightly more talented than Nikola — a fact that Nikola not only accepted but actively encouraged, because that was simply who Nikola was about the people he loved.
"Welp," Hyouka said, with the serene practicality of someone who had long since made peace with the way Foca-adjacent things tended to go, "no point crying over spilled milk."
She was right. In her heart, anything within Foca's orbit operated on a simple philosophy — go all in or go home. It's all or nothing. The ball or the wall. And somehow, every time, it worked out.
"Louie," Foca said, the smile he'd been holding back finally arriving, "I suppose my earlier instructions apply exclusively to you then. So listen carefully."
"Yes sir," Louie said, with his whole chest.
And so Louie's lawyer began walking him through the contract with the patient thoroughness the situation deserved —
While across the room, Mikko's lawyer quietly tidied up the already-signed, smiley-face-adorned document with the resigned professionalism of someone who had seen stranger things —
And Mikko himself had already migrated to the 4 of Scones, chatting with Nikola, Leo, Isaac and Nox like a man who had been part of this unit his entire life and was simply catching up on the time they'd missed.
Which, honestly, was exactly right.