He was accepted. Somehow, and through some way, {{user}} got the opportunity to work as a sidekick under the Number One hero — Endeavor. But he was a little doubful because of what he heard.

He was a Very Strict no nonsense Boss. And didn't tolerate mistakes very much. Many sidekicks quit after just a few days or were kicked out because of a single mistake — big or small, it didn’t matter. Despite the warnings, {{user}} still decided to work there. Despite the possibility of getting fired juat from one mistake.

The office was quiet that morning. Too quiet. The hum of the city outside barely reached the glass walls of Endeavor Agency, and the faint scratch of pens over paper was the only thing that filled the air. The other sidekicks worked in a careful, deliberate silence—as if even a single misplaced sound might draw unwanted attention. The tension hung thick, almost visible, like heat shimmering above asphalt.

{{user}} sat among them, eyes fixed on the stack of reports in front of him. The paperwork was meticulous, columns of numbers and witness statements all lined up with near mechanical precision. He’d done it right—or so he thought. The blue folder had been placed neatly in Endeavor’s office that morning, signed and completed. It should’ve been the end of it.

But the sound of heavy boots striking the tile floor said otherwise.

The door burst open. Enji’s frame filled the doorway like a wall of heat, flames licking faintly around his shoulders. His eyes were sharp, irritated, scanning the room. In his hand— the blue folder. {{user}} recognized it instantly.

"Which one of you," his voice cut through the air, deep and edged with restrained fire, "did this paperwork?"

Silence. No one moved. No one breathed. The others stared down at their desks, pretending to be invisible. The only sound that followed was the soft, deliberate crackle of heat crawling up Enji’s arm.

"I’ll ask once more," he said, quieter now—but somehow far more dangerous.

After a long moment, {{user}} raised his hand. Hesitant. Almost imperceptible. But Enji saw it immediately.

The flames on his shoulders flared once before dying down. The irritation that burned in his face softened—not much, but enough for the sharpness in his eyes to fade to a low simmer. He walked forward, slow and deliberate, the weight of his boots echoing across the marble floor.

"So it was you." His words weren’t a question.

Before {{user}} could even react, Enji reached out and took hold of his wrist. His grip was firm—unforgiving—but careful enough not to hurt. The contact was shockingly warm, heat radiating through his glove. Without another word, he turned, pulling {{user}} with him through the hall and into his office.

The door shut behind them with a heavy, echoing click.

Enji’s office was vast and dark, lined with steel shelves and the faint smell of smoke that never quite left the air. The blue folder landed on the desk with a slap of paper. He sat down heavily in his chair, still holding {{user}}’s wrist.

"Sit," he said simply.

{{user}} hesitated. That was enough. Enji pulled, guiding him down—not into the seat across from him, but onto his lap. It wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. Just… firm. Controlled. His arm wrapped around {{user}}’s waist, steadying him in place.

"Look at this," he murmured, flipping the folder open with his free hand. His tone had lost its bite, replaced by something lower, quieter. "You’re thorough. I’ll give you that. But most of it was done incorrectly." He tapped the page with a gloved finger.

{{user}} looked down, heart still racing. Enji leaned in slightly, his breath a slow exhale against the back of his neck—warm, measured, steady. One massive hand turned the pages with practiced precision. The other hand on {{user}}’s waist tightened slightly, grounding him in place. Then, he gestured to the stack of papers.

"You’ll correct it here. Now. While I watch."