The next morning came far too early and yet… not early enough.
Whether it was the promise of a legendary breakfast buffet or the ruthless body clock drilled into them back at LEAVEN, everyone was up before the sun had fully stretched. Trainees stumbled out of their rooms rubbing their eyes, only to realize—oh shit—they felt… good. Rested. Glowy. Suspiciously radiant.
Parents noticed it too.
"Why do you all look like you slept in a skincare commercial?" someone muttered.
The answer, of course, was Damascus.
Or rather, Foca's third eldest sibling, Alexandrite—who had casually informed Foca that they had "boxes of luxury skincare just lying around collecting dust." Whether that was rich-people delusion or truth remained unclear, but the results were undeniable. Faces were plump. Skin was dewy. Under-eyes? Gone. Vanished. Thanos-snapped.
When Foca thanked him, Alexandrite simply gave that soft, sleepy smile—the one reserved exclusively for his favorite sibling—looking absurdly pleased with himself, like a cat that had knocked over something expensive on purpose.
And so, glowing like freshly polished porcelain dolls, everyone filed into the buffet hall.
And it was ho-leeeee.... You get it 😏.
The spread was obscene.
Rows upon rows of breakfast dishes from all over the world greeted them like a carb-filled dream sequence. Muffins in every flavor imaginable. Sausages of all kinds. Hotcakes and waffles—no choosing sides in this establishment. Eggs done every which way, avocado toast for the health-conscious, plain toast for the emotionally exhausted.
Freshly squeezed juices lined up like a rainbow. Smoothies in towering glasses. Coffee beans from regions half the trainees couldn't pronounce. Teas for days. Protein shakes for the gym rats who refused to take a vacation from suffering.
It was… a lot.
The trainees didn't hesitate.
They descended.
Plates were stacked with reckless abandon. Someone had four glasses in one trip. Another trainee nearly cried while holding a waffle like it was a newborn baby.
The breakfast feast began.
"うまい! (Umai!)" Ryu shouted after one bite of his fluffy chocolate chip pancake, eyes going wide like he'd just laid down on clouds, as angels sang.
"おいしいです! (Oishii desu!)" Corsair nodded solemnly, chewing his berry waffle like it had personally healed him.
"Chotto a minute! This is hella umai!" Yone exclaimed, short-circuiting mid-sentence as his brain failed to choose a language.
Nikola squinted at him. "Uh… Yone, you good, dawg?"
"Ah? Sorrymasen… I'm daijokay," Yone replied seriously. "The food was just… subaramazing."
Corsair lost it. "Bilingual you say. More like bye-lingual."
"Urushuddup!" Yone snapped, pointing his fork threateningly.
That only made Ryu, Corsair, and Nikola laugh harder.
And just like that, the morning bloomed—full bellies, loud laughter, and not a single care in the world.
For once, nobody was counting calories, points, or expectations.
Just pancakes.
And peace.
On the other side of the buffet hall sat Isaac and Bobby—calm, composed, and absolutely terrifying.
Isaac was nursing a cup of jet-black coffee so dark it looked like it could legally qualify as a void. No sugar. No milk. No mercy. The kind of coffee that didn't wake you up—it threatened you into consciousness.
Across from him, Bobby was doing something equally alarming, cradling a cup of tea so strong it looked offended at being diluted by water at all. Steam curled ominously from the cup as he drank it like this was just another Tuesday morning and not an act of violence against the nervous system.
They drank in silence. Slowly. Peacefully.
Like whatever they were consuming could wake the dead—and they welcomed that possibility.
This was the first time the trainees had ever seen them drink like this.
Back on the island, the pressure had been too high, the schedule too tight. No room for personal indulgences. No time for comfort rituals. Now? No classes. No training. No judges breathing down their necks.
Just vibes. Friendly chat. And caffeine strong enough to see through time.
"Tell me Bobby is British," one trainee whispered, eyes wide, "without telling me Bobby is British…"
"I swear," another trainee said, sniffing the air dramatically, "I can smell Isaac's coffee from here and it's waking me up just from the fumes."
Isaac didn't react. Bobby didn't blink.
This was just breakfast for them.
Elsewhere, chaos took a more protein-forward form.
Eli was chugging protein shakes like his life depended on it—one after another, unbothered, unfazed, thriving. At some point, Mika had been lured into taking a sip.
One sip became a full glass.
Then another.
And another.
Watching Mika eat properly again—slowly, steadily, with color returning to his face—made his sister smile softly from across the table. Relief settled in her chest like warmth.
…Until she noticed him eyeing Eli's protein shaker like it owed him money.
"Okay," she muttered, narrowing her eyes, "healthy eating is great. Protein addiction? Less great."
Nearby, Monarch and Jordan were on a mission.
They had successfully introduced Kang Ian to the Filipino breakfast staple: silog.
Garlic rice. Egg. Choice of meat. Simple. Perfect. Life-changing.
Kang Ian took one bite.
Then froze.
Then his eyes lit up like he'd just discovered fire.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh my god."
He proceeded to demolish silog after silog like a man who had seen the truth and could never go back. Monarch and Jordan watched him with proud nods, like elders passing down sacred knowledge.
"Yes," Monarch said solemnly. "Another one converted."
On another table, the Kweens were serving coordinated realness even at breakfast.
Aqua had an iced matcha oat latte.
Pink opted for hot, ceremonial Japanese matcha.
Kitty was sipping a strawberry matcha smoothie.
Javi? Brown sugar matcha boba, obviously.
Four different matchas. One shared vibe.
They munched delicately on avocado toast, their table glowing green like a wellness ad come to life. It was healthy. It was aesthetic. It was mildly intimidating.
And then—
There was Leo.
Laptop open.
Tablet on.
Phone propped up.
All three devices running different games.
In front of him sat a plate piled obscenely high with bacon, accompanied by a lonely little side salad that looked like it was there purely for moral balance.
"Dude," one trainee said, staring in disbelief, "give the games a rest for a minute, will ya?"
Leo didn't even look up.
"Then who's gonna do my dailies?" he replied, eyebrow raised.
The trainee opened his mouth.
Closed it.
"…Exactly," Leo said calmly, returning his full attention to his screens. "Move along now."
And that—tragically, beautifully—was the life of a gaming addict.
Breakfast continued in laughter, caffeine, carbs, and chaos.
And for once?
Nobody was rushing.
Nobody was scared.
They were just… full.
In every sense of the word.