The conference room smelled faintly like coffee and dry-erase markers—corporate, stale, familiar.

You arrived a minute late.

Not enough to be unprofessional, just enough to be noticed.

And he noticed.

Seated at the far end of the table, Shoto Todoroki didn’t look up immediately when you walked in—but the subtle pause in his pen movement gave him away. A second later, mismatched eyes lifted, landing on you with quiet precision.

“Two minutes late,” he said flatly. . You pulled out a chair anyway, unfazed—at least on the outside. “Good morning to you too.”

A brief pause.

If this were anyone else, it might’ve been awkward. With him, it felt… intentional.

“I prefer to start meetings on time,” he continued, tone even, as if your comment hadn’t existed. “Deadlines are already tight.”

“And I prefer realistic expectations,” you shot back lightly, setting your things down. “Traffic exists.”

A flicker. Not quite annoyance. Not quite interest. Something in between.

Around you, the rest of the team stayed quiet—watching, waiting. Like this was normal. Maybe cause they've gotten used to it by now.

Shoto closed his notebook with a soft, decisive tap.

“Then we’ll adjust expectations once your department delivers results consistent with its projections.”

Oh.

So that’s how this was going to be.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, crossing your arms. “Funny. I was about to say the same about yours.”

Silence dropped over the room. Thick. Immediate.

Someone coughed.

His posture straightened—almost imperceptibly, but enough that you caught it.

“…Good,” he said after a second.

Not defensive. Not offended. Just… certain.

“If you’re confident, then this joint project shouldn’t be an issue.”

There it was.

The real reason you were here.

You tilted your head. “Joint project?”

“Yes.” He slid a folder across the table toward you. It stopped just within your reach. “You’ll be co-leading it with me.”

Of course you would.

You let out a quiet breath through your nose, half amused, half already tired. “Lucky me.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” he replied.

Your fingers tapped lightly against the folder before opening it. “Yeah, I figured.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter—almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud:

“…But I do believe in efficiency.”

You glanced up.

He was already looking at you.

Steady. Focused.

Like he was trying to figure you out before the project even started.

And for some reason—

You felt like doing the exact same thing.