Behind One's Back

Prologue

"This... is not... GOOD ENOUGH!"

A man, known to the local civilian as Gabriel Agreste marches across his dark lair, a deep scowl imprinted onto his face as he seethes in frustration. Looking down at the tiny shaking kwami, seemingly meant to be his accomplice, only makes him angrier. 

Such fury was uncommon to this famous, rich man. In a world where he is successful, having a persona where he cannot seem to achieve his only goal has driven him to this mental state. His once clear aim of resurrecting his beloved wife is now blinded by a mask of insanity - created of broken hope, anger, and humiliation.

How can something that seemed so simple, right there before his eyes, slip away 25 times?

His loud footsteps echo in the chamber as he pushes his way through thousands of butterflies, so pure and bright that they contradict his stormy attitude. "Why should I always have to be chasing after those two pretentious 'heroes', huh?" he snarls. "Why don't they chase after me? I should be the one in charge, not them!"  Slumping into a rickety chair abandoned in the corner, he taps his cane on the ground as he ponders,"What would Ladybug and Chat Noir want that I have?"

That was the one question that lead to his sudden brainwave a couple of seconds later, resulting in him grinning like a maniac and laughing in malice.

Why should the failure of his persistent tries at getting two of the miraculouses stop him from getting the others? 

"Nooroo," he mentions absent-mindedly through the haze of his thoughts,  "-you're not working with me anymore."

The mauve creature freezes, unable to process what he had just heard. But he doesn't get a chance to interject as the man continues, completely absorbed into his new idea.  

"Well, at least not directly. All I need you to do is to change one girl's opinion on Ladybug for me."

'Why?' wonders the mystical kwami. 

"Why?" barks Gabriel. It was like he could read Nooroo's mind somedays. "Simple - she'll be perfect for my upcoming team against those masked idiots. Intelligent, creative, sweet, innocent, responsible, and as long as we get that damned 'Ladyblogger' girl out of her life, it should be easy." 

He smirks as he leans his cane against the chair, and rubs his gloved hands together in glee. "A couple of phone calls will be needed, but that can be arranged. Did I mention who she was, by any chance?"

The kwami timidly shook his head.

He chuckles, although his current emotion is indistinguishable. "Her age? 15. Her dream?  Fashion designer. And her name? 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng."