Gone. All gone.

You spun around to face the General of the Midnight Rangers, who was calmly sipping tea by the window, golden eyes full of unreadable calm.

“Jiyan...” you said, voice dangerously soft. “Where’s my candy?”

He didn't even blink. “I confiscated it.”

“Confiscated? What am I, a rogue ranger violating snack protocols?”

Jiyan set down his teacup with surgical precision. “You’ve exceeded the daily ration. It’s a matter of national security.” His voice was deadpan, but you saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

You stomped up to him. “You’re enjoying this.”

He finally allowed a small smirk. “Perhaps. Seeing you this animated is... refreshing.”

You crossed your arms, pouting. “I will rebel.”

Jiyan leaned forward, brushing his fingers under your chin. “Then prepare for war, sweetheart.”

Behind him, the faint outline of the Qingloong coiled protectively around a locked drawer.

“BRANT!” you yelled from below deck, voice echoing through the ship. “My candy! My marzipan dragons! They’re GONE!”

Laughter floated down from the crow’s nest, musical and maddening. “Ah, the tragic tale of the Great Candy Vanishing. A sweet sorrow indeed!”

You stomped up to find Brant reclining in his ridiculous cape, casually tossing a licorice piece into his mouth. “You villain.”

He gasped dramatically. “A villain? Me? Surely I am but a humble admirer of your exquisite taste in confections!”

“You ate all of it?!”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging you close. “I’m merely ensuring our stockpile is... shared.” His eyes glimmered with teasing affection. “But fret not, dear heart. I hid a secret stash for you. But you’ll have to earn it.”

“How?”

“A duel! A dramatic reenactment of love lost and candy stolen. You may kiss me at swordpoint.”

You stared at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you adore me.”

You did. Even more when he produced a bag of candy from his coat’s lining and bowed like a knight. “For the fairest of fools.”

“I know you took it.”

“Define it,” Rover said, reclining on your shared couch like he hadn’t just been caught red-handed.

“You know exactly what I mean. My secret reserve of strawberry chews is missing.”

He raised a brow. “Secret? You kept them in the exact same spot as last time.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Where are they?”

Rover shrugged, but you noticed the faint crinkle of a wrapper in his pocket. You lunged.

Ten minutes later, your apartment looked like a pillow battlefield.

You straddled him, victorious, one hand clutching the precious candy bag, the other pinning him down. He looked up at you with a grin that was way too smug for someone defeated.

“Admit it,” you said. “You did it just to get me riled up.”

“Maybe,” he said, pulling you down for a kiss, “but you’re cute when you’re mad.”

You punched his chest lightly, cheeks warm. “Next time, I’m booby-trapping the stash.”

“Challenge accepted.”

“Xiangli,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing at the empty candy tin, “did you run an experiment on my chocolate again?”

He looked up from his datapad, feigning innocence with the grace of a guilty cat. “I may have needed a... caloric stimulant during prototype calibration.”

You crossed your arms. “That prototype being the mechanical candy retrieval arm you said was ‘just for fun’?”

He cleared his throat. “In my defense, it was fun. And successful.”

You walked over, peering at the robotic arm now quietly holding a half-eaten candy bar.

He glanced at you, amused by your frustrated pout. “You may initiate a retrieval protocol of your own, if you like.”

“Are you... flirting through robotics?”

He smiled faintly, tilting his head. “I would never. I’m simply... offering equilibrium. Would a trade suffice?”

You blinked. “What kind of trade?”

He held out a fresh box of sweets—your favorites—neatly wrapped. “Access to your stash, in exchange for dinner tonight. Just the two of us.”

You melted. “...You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He chuckled softly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You glared at the spotless countertop. You glared at the sterile lab drawers. You glared at him.

“Mortefi,” you growled, “I know you hid them.”

He didn’t look up from his notes. “Hid what?”

“My almond toffee stash.”

“Perhaps you misplaced it. Or perhaps,” he glanced your way, “you’ve developed an unhealthy dependency on caramelized sugar.”

You stormed closer. “You love seeing me mad about this.”

“Not mad,” he murmured, finally smirking. “You’re... endearingly wrathful. It’s like watching a kitten attempt war.”

You huffed. “Fine. Keep them. See if I care.”

Ten minutes later, a music box appeared on your desk. You opened it, only for it to play your favorite melody and slowly reveal the toffee inside, nestled like treasure.

Taped underneath?

“Reclaim your rightful throne, Candy Ruler.”

You turned to Mortefi. “You’re such a dork.”

He blushed faintly. “And yet you tolerate me.”

You kissed his cheek. “More than tolerate.”

[ID: Harold Hamgravy eagerly walks up to Olive Oyl's dining room table. An open box of chocolates sits on the tabletop. /end] Hamgravy: Oh boy, look at the swell big two pound box of candy.

[ID: Olive walks up to the box and finds it totally empty. She turns around to yell at Hamgravy and points at the box. /end] Olive: Hamgravy, did YOU eat all my candy? Hamgravy: No, your pup ate it.

[ID: Olive puts her hands on her hips and bends over to glare at her puppy, sitting bashfully on the floor. /end]

[ID: Olive picks the puppy up by the scruff of its neck and walks off with it. /end] Hamgravy: I just noticed him as he was eating the last of the two pounds.

    Natemare shook a large box wrapped in black and orange wrapped paper.

    “Just open it, ye milk drinker,” Anti insulted, the glitch demon was chewing on the contents of a bag of chocolate caramel-filled turtles.

    “I just wanna know if there’s a knife inside,” Natemare responded before ripping the top of the box open and dumping it out to reveals bags of skittles, bars of chocolate, gummies, and a pocket knife etched with music notes on the handle.

    Natemare grabbed the knife and stabbed the closest candy bar, “Yes!”

    “Do you think he liked it?” Wilford was suddenly standing next to Anti, the glitch demon flinched, clearly not expecting the mad reporter there. Wilford had a bag of black licorice in his hands.

    “Shite! Wilf!” Anti cursed. “Dark needs ta put a bell on ye.”

    “You like it?” Wilf asked, ignoring the bell comment.

    “Thanks for the knife,” Natemare grinned. “You forgot my favorite, though.”

    “I didn’t forget,” Wilford warned, “you’re just a cretin. No one actually likes that stuff, you’re just defiling perfectly good candy.”

    “Spicy starbursts are the best,” Natemare has a rather feral grin on his face. “I like mixing them in with other people’s bags and watching them suffer, it’s good for a laugh.”

    Wilford pointed his favorite knife, a stiletto, at  the younger of the two glitch demons. “The only laugh we’ll be having is when I tickle you with my knife,” Wil threatened.

    “You don’t have the spine, old man,” Natemare teased.

    Wil, however, just stabbed him in the chest, which would have killed Natemare if Wilford wasn’t dealing with an aberration of sentient matter.

    “Really?” Natemare rolled his eyes, “Great, now I have to get a new shirt.”

    “You were the one making a fuss,” Wilford reminded, gesturing wildly with his knife, the bag of licorice on his hip, trapped by his other hand.

    “What’yah doing with that?” Anti asked, pointing to the bag.

    “Oh, this?” Wilford smiled, holding the bag up. “It’s for Yan. She and Dark love it. I can’t stand this stuff personally.”

    “Americans,” Anti scoffed in disgust. “Just one bag? What lightweights.”

    “Oh no, these are the leftovers, I got more but I figured I’d play a little bit of a joke with them first,” Wilford chuckled, snapping his fingers and an old fashion TV in a wooden shelf, with just a remote, appeared next to him.

    Anti and Natemare just looked at it, mostly confused. The monitor didn’t appear to have anything attached to it but with a press of the button it turned on and the news appeared as clearly as if it were a 4K monitor.

    “This just in,” the news woman on the screen commented, the headline on the screen had both the glitch demons roaring with laughter: Candy Thief Strikes Again: City Hall Flooded with Candy.

    “An update on the recent theft of over 500lbs of licorice and dark chocolate from all over town, recently found in City Hall,” she continued, a quiver at the side of her mouth. That was all Anti needed to know that she found this as funny as they did.

    Then it cut, and Anti was almost crying as Mayor Damien’s rather unamused, downright resigned, face on camera. Which Anti knew he was only finding it so funny because that was Dark and Wilford was about to get away with stuffing the entirely of City Hall with candy.

    “I don’t think it takes a career detective to figure out who did this, now if you don’t mind, I have an office to clean,” Damien then proceeded to just walk away.

    Wilford turned off the monitor, “I planned putting this one down too, but ran out of room in Dames’s wine cupboard and didn’t want to put it on the floor.”

    “Why not?” Natemare grinned. “It’s one bag.”

    “Candy on the floor?” Wilford frowned. “It’s tacky and unprofessional. Not to mention a complete waste.”

    The entire room got some of the color bled out as the TV sparked to life and then Dark’s typical face appeared on it, a bag of black licorice half hidden from frame. “Wilford M. Warfstache! Why am I being blamed for this?”

    “Welp, they found the note, time for me to make myself scarce, gentlemen,” Wilford smiled. “Happy birthday my friend.”