Senku’s hands are in his pockets, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. He tilts his head slightly, eyes gleaming with amusement as someone asks him what kind of person he’s into.

“Hah, my type?” he repeats, a chuckle slipping past his breath. “That’s easy. Someone who does what needs to be done. No whining, no waiting around—just pure efficiency.”

Then, he shrugs, voice dipping into something mock-serious. “Brains over beauty, obviously. Though…” he pauses, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “if you’ve got both, then congratulations—statistically speaking, you’re a miracle of evolution.”

Senku chuckles, brushing a bit of dust from his coat. “Y’know, reminds me of when a girl once asked me the same thing. I told her—‘the type to pump a ton of oxygen into my furnace.’”

He snickers, clearly enjoying himself. “Totally scientific answer, by the way. Not my fault if people read too much into it.”