Three weeks after the raid.
Everything went back to normal.
Patrols. Paperwork. The occasional low-level villain. Nothing exciting. Nothing that made the news.
Rank 98 became rank 94. Then 91. Steady climb. Slow. The algorithm liked consistency. Liked heroes who showed up every day and did the work without drama.
She showed up every day.
Did the work.
No drama.
Mostly.
The agency had settled into a rhythm. Morning briefings. Patrol assignments. Lunch in the break room with Kamiko and a few other sidekicks. Evening reports. Home by eight unless something went wrong.
It rarely went wrong.
Today was a Tuesday.
Tuesdays were quiet.
She was in the locker room. Changing out of her costume. Her shift had ended twenty minutes ago. Her shoulders ached. Nothing serious. Just the usual strain from holding crystal formations for too long during a building evacuation.
Gas leak. Third floor apartment. She'd made a protective barrier around the entrance while the fire department cleared the building. Standard. Boring.
Good.
She pulled on her jacket. Checked her phone.
Nothing important.
Emi had sent a meme about Shoto. Something about his new promotional photos looking like a modeling shoot. Amaya didn't respond.
She left the locker room.
The operations floor was winding down. Most of the day shift had already left. Just a few night patrol heroes gearing up. Hana was still at her desk. Always at her desk. Amaya was pretty sure she lived there.
She headed for the exit.
Stopped.
Bakugo was in the lobby.
Not unusual. He was always somewhere in the building. But he wasn't alone.
There was a woman with him.
Tall. Professional. Fitted blazer. Skirt. Heels that made her legs look impossibly long. Hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She was holding a tablet. Stylus in her other hand. Talking.
Bakugo was listening.
Actually listening.
Not scowling. Not interrupting. Just... standing there with his arms crossed. Nodding occasionally.
The woman smiled at something.
Not a polite smile. A real one. Warm. Familiar.
She touched his arm.
Amaya's stomach dropped.
Who the fuck was that?
She didn't recognize her. Not from the agency. Not from any of the briefings. Not from—
The woman handed Bakugo the tablet. He took it. Looked at the screen. Said something. The woman laughed.
Laughed.
Amaya's hands clenched.
She should leave.
She was staring. Standing in the middle of the operations floor like an idiot. Staring at her boss talking to some woman who was probably just—
The woman touched his arm again.
Amaya turned.
Walked to the elevator.
Pressed the button too hard.
The doors opened.
She got in.
Hit the button for the ground floor.
The doors closed.
Her reflection stared back at her in the steel.
Her face was hot.
Why was her face hot?
It didn't matter. It wasn't her business. Bakugo could talk to whoever he wanted. Could have women touching his arm. Could laugh at their jokes.
It didn't matter.
The elevator dinged.
Ground floor.
She walked out.
The lobby was empty now.
They were gone.
Good.
She pushed through the front doors. Out into the street. The air was cold. Late autumn. The kind of cold that bit through jackets and settled in your chest.
She started walking.
Her mind was racing.
Who was she?
Support engineer? No. Wrong vibe. Support engineers didn't dress like that. Didn't touch heroes like that.
Agency liaison? Maybe. Some agencies had dedicated PR people who coordinated with other agencies. Scheduled joint operations. Managed cross-jurisdiction cases.
But that didn't explain the familiarity.
The way she'd smiled.
The way he'd... not pushed her away.
Not that he should push her away.
There was no reason to push her away.
Unless—
Amaya stopped walking.
Was she his girlfriend?
The thought hit like a punch.
No.
No, that was—
She'd never heard anyone mention a girlfriend. Not in the three weeks she'd been here. Not in any of the interviews she'd watched. Not in any of the fan forums.
The fan forums would know.
They documented everything. His schedule. His patrols. His coffee order. If he had a girlfriend, someone would've noticed.
Right?
Unless he was private about it.
Which he would be.
Because he hated the media. Hated people in his business. He'd probably go out of his way to keep a relationship quiet.
Amaya's chest felt tight.
She pulled out her phone.
Opened the fan club chat.
Scrolled back. Looking for... what? Evidence? Proof that he was single?
There was nothing.
Just photos of him working. Fighting. Yelling at press conferences.
No women.
Except—
There was one photo from six months ago. Some charity gala. He was in a suit. Looking miserable. And there was a woman next to him in the background. Blurry. Out of focus. But tall. Professional-looking.
Amaya zoomed in.
She couldn't tell if it was the same woman.
The photo quality was too low.
Fuck.
She closed the app.
Shoved her phone in her pocket.
This was stupid.
She was being stupid.
It didn't matter who that woman was. It didn't matter if she was his girlfriend or his PR rep or his fucking accountant.
It. Didn't. Matter.
Amaya kept walking.
Her apartment was four blocks away. She usually took her time. Stopped for coffee or food or just to walk off the stress of the day.
Not today.
She walked fast. Eyes forward. Jaw tight.
By the time she got home, her hands were shaking.
Not from cold.
From something else.
Something ugly.
Jealousy.
She hated the word.
Hated that she felt it.
But she did.
She was jealous of some woman she didn't even know. Some woman who'd done nothing wrong except exist near Bakugo. Touch his arm. Make him listen.
Amaya unlocked her door. Went inside. Dropped her bag on the floor.
Walked to the bathroom.
Stared at herself in the mirror.
She looked tired. Hair messy from wearing the hero mask all day. Dark circles under her eyes. Her jaw was still tight. She forced herself to relax it.
This was pathetic.
She was pathetic.
She splashed water on her face. Cold. Shocking. It didn't help.
She went to the bedroom. Changed into a tank top and sweatpants. Sat on the bed.
The Dynamight plushie was on the pillow.
She picked it up.
Looked at it.
Soft. Harmless. A piece of overpriced merchandise she'd bought because she was obsessed with a man who didn't know she existed.
Except he did know she existed now.
He'd hired her. Worked with her. Told her she did good work.
And it didn't matter.
Because there was some woman in a blazer who could make him smile.
Who could touch his arm.
Who probably didn't have a plushie of him on her bed like a fucking teenager.
Amaya threw the plushie across the room.
It hit the wall. Fell harmlessly to the floor.
She stared at it.
Then got up.
Picked it up.
Put it back on the pillow.
Sat down again.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
Buzzed again.
She checked.
Kamiko: You left your water bottle in the locker room. I'll leave it on your desk.
Amaya didn't reply.
Another buzz.
Emi: did you see the new rankings? shoto dropped to #3. deku is #2 now.
She didn't care.
She opened her photos instead. Scrolled to the hidden folder.
The one with all the pictures of Bakugo.
Action shots. Candids. Press photos. Screenshots from interviews.
Hundreds of them.
She scrolled through slowly.
Looking for... what?
Evidence that she had a chance?
She didn't have a chance.
She'd never had a chance.
He was rank 5. She was rank 91. He was a war hero. She was a sidekick who'd gotten lucky on one raid.
He was Katsuki Bakugo.
She was nobody.
And even if she climbed. Even if she made it to rank 50. Rank 20. Even rank 10.
It wouldn't matter.
Because there would always be women in blazers. Women who fit into his world. Who understood the work. Who could stand next to him without looking like a fan who'd won a contest.
Amaya closed the folder.
Opened the fan club chat instead.
Someone had posted a new photo. From today. Bakugo leaving the agency. Alone. Hair messy. Hands in his pockets.
No woman in the frame.
The comments were already rolling in.
god he's so hot
why does he always look angry
angry is hot
i would let him yell at me
Amaya typed: does anyone know if he's seeing someone?
She deleted it before sending.
Typed again: has he ever been photographed with a girlfriend?
Deleted that too.
Closed the app.
Put her phone face-down on the nightstand.
Stared at the ceiling.
Her chest still felt tight.
She hated this.
Hated feeling like this.
Jealous. Possessive. Over someone who wasn't hers. Would never be hers.
Someone she'd barely spoken to outside of work.
Someone who probably didn't think about her at all.
Her phone buzzed.
She grabbed it.
Unknown number.
She opened the message.
Gear check tomorrow. 0900. Don't be late. - Bakugo
Her heart did something stupid.
He'd texted her.
For work.
About gear check.
It didn't mean anything.
She typed: Copy.
Sent it.
Put the phone down.
Lay back on the bed.
Closed her eyes.
And tried very, very hard not to think about the woman in the blazer.
...
She failed.
Obviously she failed.
Because her brain was a traitor.
And because some part of her—the ugly, irrational part—had already decided that woman was the enemy.
Even though she didn't know her name.
Didn't know what she did.
Didn't know anything except that she'd smiled at Bakugo.
And he'd smiled back.
That fucking bitch.