The offer hung in the air of the apartment, suspended between them with the weight of an impossible promise. Forget the dogs. Work for me. The proposal was so absurd, so direct, that for a moment Izuku Midoriya’s brain, the very same one that had just cataloged a professional heroine’s rear as “exhibition quality,” refused to process it.

He just stared at her, at Yu Takeyama, the woman who an hour ago was a twenty-meter colossus and now seemed almost small on her own living room sofa. Her face showed a mix of high-octane ambition and the panic of someone who had just invited a wolf to guard her sheep.

The silence stretched on. Yu began to shift, uncomfortable.

“Well, you don’t have to decide right now,” she said, her voice losing some of its conviction. “It’s just… it seems like a logical solution for both of us. You need a job, and I need… well, I need to understand what the hell happened out there.”

Izuku didn’t need to weigh the pros and cons. There was no risk benefit analysis. In his mind, there was only one line of thought, clear and bright as a neon sign: Work for Mt. Lady? Be near her every day? Have the chance to perform more… “calibrations”… for the sake of science and heroic progress?

The answer was so obvious that he felt almost insulted by the idea that there could be another one.

“I accept,” he said, and his voice came out with a calmness that surprised even himself.

Yu blinked, taken aback by the speed of his decision. “Just like that? You don’t want to know the salary? The conditions?”

“The details are secondary when the primary mission is so noble,” Izuku replied with the seriousness of a monk taking a sacred vow. “My duty is to assist you on your path to greatness. It’s an honor.”

A nervous smile played on Yu’s lips. This kid was dangerous. A fascinating danger.

“Alright,” she said, extending a hand to seal the deal. “Then, welcome to the team, Midoriya.”

Izuku took her hand. It was supposed to be a professional handshake, brief and firm. But the moment his fingers touched hers, a warm, familiar electric current ran up his arm. The same feeling from the alley, but more subtle. His thumb, almost instinctively, brushed against her palm. It was a fleeting, nearly imperceptible gesture, but intimate enough that Yu pulled her hand back a little faster than normal.

“Great,” she said, clearing her throat to hide her nervousness. “So… I guess you’re my personal assistant. Your first day starts… now.” She leaned back on the sofa, striking a pose that tried to be authoritative but only managed to look awkward. “So… what does a personal assistant do?”

Izuku sat in the armchair across from her, slipping into the role with astonishing ease. There was no shyness in his posture, only a direct, unfiltered curiosity.

“Well, to start, I ask you questions,” he said, leaning forward. “I need to understand the product to better assist it.”

“The… product?” Yu repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You,” Izuku clarified, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Your kick, for example. The one you used in your debut. The ‘Canyon Cannon.’ The form was impeccable. The hip rotation, the leg extension… it was a work of kinetic art. Did they teach you that at U.A., or is it something you developed on your own?”

The question, so specific and so focused on the appreciation of her form, threw her off. She had expected him to ask about paperwork or if she liked her coffee with or without sugar. Not an analysis of her combat biomechanics.

“Uh… we received basic combat training, of course,” she answered, a bit defensively. “But most heroes with gigantification Quirks focus on brute strength. I wanted to be different. More… elegant.”

“You are,” Izuku stated with absolute certainty. “Elegance is efficiency. Most giant heroes are clumsy, like hammers.  The way you fell was also interesting. You lost your balance, but your body instinctively tried to correct your trajectory and minimize the impact. That shows incredible control. I bet you were first in your class in the Quirk control tests.”

Yu stared at him. The kid wasn’t just flattering her; he was analyzing her with a precision that made her nervous and fascinated her at the same time. No one, not even her teachers at U.A., had ever broken down her movements like that. For the first time since she had put on the costume, she felt truly seen.

“I wasn’t first,” she admitted, a shadow of old frustration crossing her face. “There was this girl a year ahead of me, Rumi Usagiyama… you know her as Mirko. Her control was… infuriatingly perfect. She was the benchmark everyone was compared to. I had the flashier Quirk, but she had that raw, concentrated power.”

“Mirko,” Izuku repeated, and a spark of intense interest lit up in his eyes. “Her Quirk is incredible. The amount of force she generates with her legs requires superhuman bone density and muscle control just to avoid shattering her own body. Her fighting style, with no support gear at all… it’s the ultimate expression of confidence in one’s own power. But it leaves no room for error…”

“Hey! Don’t start analyzing the top heroes, too!” Yu cut him off, feeling a pang of jealousy she didn’t understand. “Focus on the ‘product’ in front of you.”

“Right, my apologies,” Izuku said, refocusing on her with an intensity that made her shift on the sofa. His curiosity was an incandescent spotlight. “¿And what about your personal life? How do you unwind? What does Mt. Lady do when she’s not being Mt. Lady?”

The question was so direct, so invasive, that it left her speechless.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s important,” he insisted, completely serious. “A hero’s mental and emotional state directly affects their performance. Stress, fatigue… they’re variables that can lead to failure. I need to understand your recovery and leisure protocols so I can optimize your schedule.”

The excuse was so absurdly professional that Yu didn’t know whether to laugh or throw him out of her house. She opted for an evasive answer.

“I don’t have much time for ‘leisure,’ Midoriya. My life is being a hero. The rest is… secondary.”

“No one is a hero twenty-four hours a day,” he replied. “That’s statistically impossible and psychologically unsustainable. You have to have something else. A hobby. Something you’re passionate about.”

As he spoke, his hawk like gaze swept across the apartment. It stopped on a corner of the living room. It was a glass cabinet, elegant and modern, and inside, perfectly arranged, were dozens of jars and bottles of all shapes and sizes. They were beauty products. Not just a few, but a collection. Creams, serums, lotions, perfumes… all from brands so exclusive that Izuku was sure a single one of those bottles cost more than his entire wardrobe.

He stood up and walked over to the display case with the fascination of an archaeologist discovering a lost tomb.

“Wow,” he said, his voice full of genuine astonishment. “This is… an impressive collection of… dermal regeneration potions. Is it to repair cellular damage after battles? The exposure to the elements at twenty meters up must be brutal on the skin. It’s a very clever countermeasure.”

Yu’s face flushed. She leaped to her feet as if she’d been caught in a criminal act.

“It’s nothing! It’s silly!” she said, her voice jumping an octave. “It’s… it’s a stupid hobby. A heroine shouldn’t worry about these things. It’s embarrassing.”

Izuku turned to look at her. He saw the shame on her face, the raw vulnerability of someone whose silliest secret had just been discovered. And he, with his strange and wonderful lack of a filter, saw nothing to be ashamed of.

“Embarrassing?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Why? It’s fascinating. Look at the organization. By brand, by product type, by expiration date, I assume. This isn’t a hobby, it’s a system. It’s a science.”

“It’s an obsession,” she corrected, her voice a whisper. “My Quirk… the size changes… they’re hell on my skin. It stretches, it contracts… I’m terrified that one day a reporter will get a high definition photo of me and the headline will be ‘Mt. Lady, the Hero with Stretch Marks.’ It’s stupid, I know, but…”

“It’s not stupid,” Izuku interrupted her with a softness that surprised her.

He stepped closer to her, and the smile on his face was so genuine, so free of judgment, that it completely disarmed her.

“It’s not silly. For me, it’s action figures,” he confessed, as if he were sharing the deepest secret in the universe. “I have limited edition All Might figures that are worth more than all my clothes combined. But I don’t see a toy.”

He stopped in front of her, his green eyes shining with the passion of a true believer.

“I see the sculpture. I analyze the anatomy of the musculature, the paint application, the detail of the costume, the margin of error in mass production… It’s my way of studying the heroes I admire, of understanding their form, their power’.”

Yu looked at him. And in that moment, the weird kid who had spanked her, the teenager who had lectured her on the quality of her rear, the fanatic who analyzed her kicks… disappeared. In his place was someone who understood her. Someone who saw her “embarrassing” obsession not as a weakness, but as a passion, a form of control in a chaotic world. A nerd, just like her.

A laugh erupted from her throat. It wasn’t a forced or seductive laugh. It was a genuine, liberating laugh that filled the apartment and broke the last barrier of tension between them.

“Action figures,” she repeated, wiping away a tear of laughter. “So I’m the boss of a doll collector.”

“And I’m the assistant to a cosmetic logistics expert,” he retorted, laughing too.

The pact was sealed. It was no longer an agreement of convenience. It was an alliance of weirdos.

They stood in silence for a moment, a comfortable silence, filled with a new understanding. Izuku looked out the window. The sun was beginning to set, staining the Musutafu sky a melancholy orange. He saw the news vans still lingering in the battle area. And he remembered the look on Yu’s face when she realized her debut had been a disaster.

“Hey,” he said, his tone changing, becoming softer. “I know the day didn’t end the way you hoped. The fall, the dogs, me… it was all chaos.”

Yu sighed, the smile fading from her face. “It was a disaster. My grand debut. Tomorrow the headlines will probably be talking about the ‘Clumsy Heroine’.”

“No,” Izuku said with a firmness that made her look at him. “They’ll talk about the heroine who saved the city. Your kick was perfect. You took down a giant villain in less than a minute. That’s what matters. And that… that’s worth celebrating.”

She looked at him, confused. “Celebrate? What’s there to celebrate?”

“Your debut,” he insisted. “A debut is a debut, even if it ends with a crash landing. It’s a big day. And big days deserve a good dinner. Let me take you out to dinner.”

The offer left her speechless. This kid, whom she had just hired, whom she had almost crushed, whom she had dragged into her home… was now inviting her to celebrate her own failure. And in his eyes, there was no pity, only sincere admiration and a kindness that overwhelmed her.

A smile, this time small, genuine, and incredibly warm, formed on Yu Takeyama’s lips.

“Alright, Midoriya,” she said, her voice a whisper. “I accept. But you’re paying. An assistant has to take care of his boss, right?”

“Of course,” he replied, his own smile mirroring hers. “It’ll be my pleasure.”