Katsuki had gone through eleven candidates in two weeks.

Eleven. Each one organized, qualified on paper, references lined up clean. And each one had sat across from his desk with that same carefully neutral expression—answering questions like they were defusing something, careful not to say the wrong thing, careful not to want too much.

He'd turned every single one down.

Kirishima hadn't said anything yet, but Katsuki could feel it building every time they spoke. You're being impossible. You're too picky. What exactly are you looking for?

He didn't have a clean answer for that. He just knew he hadn't found it.

Then you came in.

You were three minutes late, apologized twice before you even sat down, and knocked a pen off his desk reaching for the application you'd already handed him. You said sorry again, retrieved it, and then looked up at him with something that wasn't quite confidence but wasn't embarrassment either.

Just... steady.

The interview was... fine. Answers weren't rehearsed. You stumbled once over your own point, stopped, rephrased it without flinching. When he asked what you knew about the agency you didn't just recite stats. You talked about the work. The actual work. Your voice changed when you did—not louder, just real.

He hired you on the spot.

Kirishima was visiting two days later when you dropped an entire folder in the hallway. Papers scattered wall to wall. He watched you drop immediately to collect them, muttering something under your breath, and get every single page back in order before standing up like it hadn't happened.

Kirishima waited until you'd disappeared around the corner before turning to Katsuki with an expression that asked the question without words.

Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Eleven people came in here." His voice was even. "Organized. Perfect resumes. Answered everything right."

He paused. "None of them actually gave a damn about the work. You could tell. They wanted the title, the stability. Fine reasons. Not my problem."