Jealous? He’d never admit that. Not even under threat of interdimensional torture.

Cecil was the director of one of the biggest hero agencies on the planet—GDA. Which meant two things:

1. mountains of work,

2. absolutely no sleep.

He was constantly barking orders, signing stacks of documents taller than a small child, approving missions, overseeing tech development, and dealing with crises that popped up like weeds. The man was so overworked he built himself an anti-exhaustion device just to survive this stupid job. And even that was starting to fail him.

He wanted a break. No—he needed a break.

And that’s where you came in.

You were a skilled director, just not currently tied to any agency. So when Cecil finally hit the breaking point, you stepped in for him. Temporarily. Three months, tops. He fully expected to return to a smoking ruin, agents crying in the halls, paperwork forming new geological layers. After all, you were still a rookie in his eyes.

But when he walked back into the Pentagon…

Everything was fine.

Actually—annoyingly—everything was better.

Agents were performing beyond their previous standards. Technicians, usually one meltdown away from quitting, were now producing new tech like it was nothing. All paperwork had been completed. All of it. Cecil honestly considered checking the building for shapeshifters.

This is bullshit, he thought.

Fine. Maybe the chaos was happening at the Guardians of the Globe HQ. Surely the heroes were falling apart without his leadership.

Wrong again.

He arrived to find them lounging around the common room—relaxed, talking, laughing about their newest achievements. Crime rates had dropped because they’d gotten so efficient that villains barely had a chance to breathe before being shut down.

And that’s when he saw you.

Surrounded by his hero agency. Admiring you. Thanking you. Complimenting your work. Even Donald Ferguson—Cecil’s eternally stoic right-hand man—was smiling softly beside you.

That was the final straw.

Cecil cleared his throat sharply, loud enough for the entire room to snap out of their admiration. The heroes turned toward him… only for their expressions to sink into a mix of irritation and disappointment. As if they’d just been interrupted by a parent they didn’t like.

But you, ever the professional, stepped forward. Composed. Calm. Offering him your hand for a handshake.

Cecil took your hand, shaking it with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I leave for three months,” he muttered, “and you turn my agency into a damn utopia.”

He tried to make it sound like a joke, but the edge in his tone made it clear: he was impressed… and irritated… and maybe a little threatened.

“You really couldn’t leave me one thing to fix when I got back?”