Chapter Eight - A Bakery Needs More Than One Pair of Hands

It was nearly 2 AM when Mira barged back into the bakery, balancing a half-empty drink cup in one hand and her phone in the other. Elias had just finished wiping down the counter, already halfway to locking the door.

"You know what you need?" Mira announced, dropping onto the nearest stool like she was claiming her throne.

Elias sighed, bone-tired. "What now?"

"An icon." She swirled her drink like it held ancient secrets. "Something — or someone — people latch onto. Right now, all we have is 'vaguely sad cookies' and 'mysterious baker hiding in his flour dungeon.' That's good for a viral moment, but not enough to stick."

Elias leaned on the counter, arms crossed, flour still clinging to his fingertips. "If you want me to dress up like a giant cookie, the answer's no."

Mira cackled. "Relax, Cookie Wizard. I mean a part timer — someone with personality. A face people actually see. Right now, you're just hands through the glass. People love hands, but they love people more."

Elias' frown deepened immediately. "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to manage anyone."

"Then don't call them an employee," Mira said, as if she'd already planned this argument hours ago. "Call them a helper. An extra pair of hands so you don't collapse. Someone who can smile at customers so you can stay in your flour dungeon where you belong."

Elias drummed his fingers on the counter, tension coiled tight in his chest. Letting someone into his kitchen? Into his process? Into this fragile little world he built from scraps? It made his stomach knot.

"I'll think about it," he muttered.

Mira smirked. "For how long?"

"Two days."

"Deal." She raised her cup like a toast. "See you in forty-eight hours, boss."

The next two days blurred — flour into butter, sugar into dough, faces into orders.

Two girls returned for their second visit, giggling through the door and insisting they needed another "emotional cookie check."An older woman bought a loaf of yuzu bread, tracing the plastic with gentle fingers and telling Elias her late husband used to bake something similar.Even a pair of lost tourists stumbled in, Mira's chaotic Instagram post saved to their phones like a map to buried treasure.

Elias barely paused. The dough needed rolling, the glaze needed brushing, the cookies needed watching before they burned. There was no time to think, only to move.

By the second night, his arms ached from kneading, his shoulders tight with knots, his head thick with too much noise and too little air.

It was too much.For one person, it was too much.

At 2 AM, Elias locked the bakery door, slumped onto the flour-dusted bench outside, and stared at the sky. The stars were faint, swallowed by the glow of the city, but the Moonlight Crumbs sign flickered beside him — still crooked, still stubborn, still his.

He couldn't do this alone. Not anymore.

The next morning, for the first time since opening, he didn't unlock the door.

Instead, he left a handwritten note taped to the glass:Closed today. Back tomorrow.

By lunchtime, Elias stood awkwardly outside Kobayashi's ramen shop, hands stuffed in his pockets, feeling strangely guilty for not being in his own kitchen. The warm, familiar scent of broth and garlic curled into the street, and when he slid the door open, Kobayashi glanced up from the counter — surprise flickering across his face.

"You're… closed?" Kobayashi's brow lifted.

Elias nodded, sitting at the far end of the counter like a kid sent to the principal's office. "Needed a day off."

Kobayashi snorted, ladling broth without missing a beat. "About time."

A steaming bowl appeared in front of Elias — no words needed. Chashu glistened, egg perfectly split, steam curling like a sigh between them.

"So." Kobayashi leaned one elbow on the counter. "What finally knocked some sense into you?"

Elias stirred his noodles slowly. "It's getting… busy."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"It is." Elias took a breath, chest tight. "But I can't keep up. Mira thinks I need a part timer."

Kobayashi raised a thick eyebrow. "You hate working with people."

"I know."

"You don't trust anyone in your kitchen."

"I know."

Kobayashi grunted, nodding slightly. "Then that's exactly why you need one."

Elias blinked. "That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Kobayashi said, softer now. "The bakery's not just yours anymore, kid. It belongs to the people who walk through that door. If you want it to survive, you gotta let them in — not just to buy cookies, but to help make them."

Elias swallowed hard, looking down into his broth like it held all the answers. It was terrifying, the thought of sharing even a sliver of his sanctuary — but at the same time, something about it felt like relief. Like maybe this weight didn't have to be his alone.

"I'll do it," he said softly. "I'll put up a 'help wanted' sign tomorrow."

Kobayashi grinned, ladling more broth into the bowl. "Good. Now eat. You look like you're gonna pass out."

Elias lifted his chopsticks, the first bite of noodles slipping between his lips.They tasted like home. Like warmth.Like something you don't have to carry alone.