“Life was always a recipe missing one final ingredient—until fate dropped me into a sugar-coated dream.”

  At 23, Mahiro Tsubasa had finally carved her pce in the pastry world. No longer the awkward girl with dreams too big for her budget, she was now one of Japan’s rising stars in the patisserie scene—thanks to grit, long nights, and more failed macarons than she could count.

  She wasn’t fshy. She wasn’t famous. But she was good.

  Her small Tokyo bakery, Crème Bloom, had started as a weekend pop-up, born from savings, secondhand ovens, and a fire that burned deep in her chest. Customers loved her mochi-stuffed ecirs, her matcha mousse domes, and the signature “Cloudberry Tart” that tasted like a dream wrapped in nostalgia.

  Behind the counter, she was calm, collected, and in full control.

  But even with her success, something always felt... missing. Not in a sad way, but in a “there’s more to life than this kitchen” way. She dreamed big—of France, of magic, of anime worlds where sweets had power and girls wore magical uniforms.

  It was silly. Childish. She never told anyone.

  Until the day the universe apparently decided to take her seriously.

  It happened after her te shift. The rain was soft, Tokyo glittered around her, and she walked home humming the ending theme from Yumeiro Patissière, a nostalgic comfort. She paused at a crosswalk when the world suddenly tilted.

  The scent of vender sugar hit her. The traffic lights blurred into pink.

  And then—light. Blinding, warm, and too sweet to be real.

  When Mahiro opened her eyes, she was standing in a world that looked like it had been baked by Studio Ghibli and frosted by CLAMP.

  The sky sparkled. The trees shimmered with candied leaves. The air was warm and sweet, ced with vanil and honey.

  She looked down at her hands—still hers. Adult. Capable.

  But her clothes had changed.

  A pastel patissier’s uniform clung to her form, frilly but powerful, the kind worn by fantasy anime heroines. A soft breeze carried the scent of sugar roses and melted chocote.

  “What in the sugar-gzed heck…?”

  She wasn’t alone.

  A gentle glow formed beside her. A floating spirit—elegant, graceful, with lic curls and crystalline wings.

  “I am Ezabe, your sugar guardian,” the being spoke, voice like wind chimes. “And you, Mahiro Tsubasa, are here by royal mistake… but perhaps, fate intended it after all.”

  Mahiro’s eyes narrowed. “So I’m… in an Isekai? Like, a real one?”

  Ezabe smiled knowingly. “Yes. The Sweet World—a realm where pastries hold power, chefs train like warriors, and taste is tied to magic. You arrived during the Selection of Spirits… a ritual meant to bond magical girls to sugar beings. But… you’re not a girl. You’re a grown woman. And you’re not like anyone we’ve seen.”

  Mahiro crossed her arms. “So, what now? Am I stuck?”

  “Maybe,” Ezabe said, swirling in the air. “Or maybe, this is where you were always meant to be.”

  And with that, a portal opened beneath her feet—a sugar-spun path leading to a castle that looked like a gingerbread cathedral with whipped cream towers.

  “Wait, what is that?!”

  “The Sweets Kingdom Pace. Her Majesty wants to meet you. And so does the Prince.”

  Mahiro blinked. “Prince? Of pastries?!”

  Ezabe giggled. “Oh, darling. You have no idea what’s coming.”

  Mahiro followed Ezabe down a caramel brick road that sparkled like sugar gss beneath her shoes. The Sweet World didn’t just look magical—it felt enchanted, like it was humming with energy. Every building was sculpted from confections: gumdrop rooftops, jellybean street mps, licorice trees that gently swayed as she passed.

  The pace loomed ahead, both regal and ridiculous. A gothic cathedral made of sponge cake, towers dripping with honey gze, stained-gss windows tinted with melted rock candy.

  Mahiro muttered under her breath, “If Willy Wonka had a shojo budget…”

  Ezabe heard that and just smiled wider.

  Inside, the pace gleamed like a high-tier patisserie. The floors were polished marzipan, chandeliers were made of spun sugar. Uniformed patissiers bustled around, and pastry spirits flitted between arches.

  They brought her before the throne—where sat the Queen of Sweets.

  She looked like a being from an ancient fairy tale, adorned in robes that shimmered like golden frosting. Her hair was a cascading swirl of cream and stardust, her eyes both kind and sharp.

  And beside her stood him.

  The Prince of Sweets.

  He was tall. Handsome, obviously. Probably 19 or 20, with soft golden curls and eyes like molten caramel. His uniform was crisp, dignified, lined with pastel blue and gold. His aura? Power and elegance with a dash of “I’ve got secrets.”

  He tilted his head, curious. “You’re… not a child.”

  “Nope,” Mahiro said coolly. “Name’s Mahiro Tsubasa. I’m 23. Professional patissière. And apparently the universe dropped me into a candy kingdom.”

  Silence.

  Then the Queen ughed. Not mockingly—warmly, delighted.

  “A patissière from another world? How splendid. Perhaps the spirits chose more wisely than we imagined.”

  The Prince stepped forward, intrigued. “Have you trained at St. Marie Academy, like the legends of our world?”

  “St. Marie?” Mahiro blinked. “Wait, that exists here?”

  Ezabe nodded beside her. “Indeed. But it’s not the same one from your world. This one is magical, competitive, and only for the most talented. Still… it might be the perfect pce for you.”

  The Queen raised a hand. “Mahiro, you’ve been summoned by accident, but that doesn’t mean your presence is without purpose. Will you accept an invitation to study at our academy—to learn our ways, and perhaps… uncover the reason you were brought here?”

  Mahiro looked between them.

  Ezabe’s hopeful glow.

  The Queen’s wise gaze.

  The Prince’s calm curiosity.

  And deep inside, that same restless feeling stirred. This world was strange, sure. But it fit. Like a missing puzzle piece clicking into pce.

  “I accept,” she said. “But I’m not here to py the ditzy magical girl. I want to learn, compete, and maybe show you what a real-world patissière can do.”

  The Queen smiled. “Then so it shall be.”

  Mahiro’s new dorm at the Sweets Academy was like a boutique tea salon from a fairytale. Her uniform? Powder pink, with golden piping and a silver whisk brooch.

  Ezabe floated beside her as she explored the campus.

  “This is insane,” Mahiro whispered. “That’s a croquembouche climbing wall. That’s a macaron b. That’s a duel kitchen—wait, do people fight with cakes?!”

  Ezabe: “Only if they want to win.”

  She met Vanil on the second day—a firecracker spirit with strawberry-white pigtails and a grumpy gre. They cshed at first (Vanil was not used to grown-up chefs), but something clicked when Mahiro whipped up a fluffy choux cream in record time.

  The Prince visited again, often.

  They weren’t romantically tied—yet—but something gentle was blooming between them. A shared respect. An unspoken connection. He admired her calm. She admired his mystery.

  She also met Hanry Lucas, a visiting instructor from Japan who noticed her precision and speed.

  “You remind me of someone,” he told her, narrowing his eyes. “Ever considered joining St. Marie in Tokyo?”

  She smiled. “Already did—in another life.”

  He blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Nothing,” she winked. “Just sugar-induced déjà vu.”

  Back in her old world, the original Ichigo Amano had struggled.

  But Mahiro? She came in seasoned, focused, and talented. And it showed.

  Her cssmates were stunned. Her rivals were intrigued. And slowly… the S

  weet World began to wonder—

  Just who is this strange, grown-up girl who whips magic into every dessert she touches?

  To be continued..??