"What is the true nature of your professional relationship, Mr. Midoriya?"
Koya Oogami's question was direct, precise, designed to provoke a reaction. The journalist watched him calmly, waiting for the stutter, the denial, the panic of a teenager trapped at a high society party where he clearly didn't belong. His suit was a rental, it was obvious, and he had spent the last ten minutes circling the dessert table.
But Izuku Midoriya did not panic.
Instead, a small, almost imperceptible smile formed on his lips. It was not a nervous smile, but one of recognition. The kind an expert gives when they finally meet someone who appreciates the quality of their work.
"An excellent question, Oogami san," he said, his voice calm and surprisingly firm. "I'm glad someone is finally asking the important questions, instead of focusing on the superficial tabloid gossip."
Oogami blinked. That was not the reaction he had expected. Not at all. He expected a deer in the headlights, not someone who seemed to be enjoying the interrogation.
"The tabloids pay well, but they rarely get to the heart of the matter," Oogami replied, not yielding any ground. "And the heart of the matter here is that you appear out of nowhere, and the career of a promising, yet failing, heroine skyrockets. I am not a gossip columnist, Mr. Midoriya. I am an investigative journalist. So I ask you again: what is really going on between you and Mt. Lady?"
Izuku set down the small dessert plate he had been holding and straightened up. His posture shifted, a strange mix of formality and total confidence. He adjusted his slightly crooked tie and looked the journalist directly in the eye. The change was so sudden that Oogami felt the boy had grown several inches.
"I understand your skepticism. In fact, I value it," Izuku stated. "Allow me to introduce myself properly."
He extended a hand, a sharp, professional gesture.
"I am Izuku Midoriya, Professional Hero Assistant."
Oogami, a seasoned journalist who had interviewed prime ministers and top ten heroes, found himself shaking the boy's hand out of pure reflex, his brain trying to process the ridiculous title. The boy's hand was firm, his grip confident.
"That's not a real title," Oogami said, pulling his hand back abruptly.
"It is not a standardized category yet, if that is what you mean," Izuku conceded, withdrawing his hand and adopting a professional, calculated tone. "But innovation rarely fits into preexisting boxes. My specialty is performance optimization for high potential heroic assets. I analyze, identify systemic and Quirk application inefficiencies, and apply customized methodologies to maximize the operational output and public impact of my clients."
He was not lying. Not a single word. He was simply translating the truth into corporate language so dense and absurd that it became his best defense.
Koya Oogami was completely thrown. For weeks, he had been investigating this kid. He had seen the tabloid photos, read the reports of Mt. Lady's disastrous debut, and watched the recordings of her incredible, meteoric improvement. His hypothesis was that the boy had some kind of unregistered support Quirk, and that their relationship was an open secret, probably something shady or illegal.
He had expected the boy to deny, lie, or break down. He had not expected to get a marketing pitch from a top tier consulting firm.
"Excuse me?" was all Oogami managed to say, feeling the conversation slipping from his grasp before he had even taken hold of it.
"Think of it this way, Oogami san," Izuku said, his tone like that of a patient teacher. "The world of heroes is a highly competitive market. You have hundreds of talented heroes competing for a limited number of high profile incidents and public attention. People think it all comes down to raw power, but they're wrong. A powerful Quirk is no longer enough to stand out. You need efficiency. Optimization. A solid personal brand. That is where I come in."
Oogami tried to regain control of the conversation. "So you are some kind of coach? A publicist with a fancy title?"
Izuku smiled calmly, as if the question was adorably naive.
"Those are facets of the service, but they do not define the core of my work," he explained. "A coach improves an existing skill within an established paradigm. A strategist plans the use of available resources. A publicist manages image. I do something more fundamental."
He leaned in a little, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone that drew Oogami in instinctively.
"My job is to correct the inefficient. And as you yourself have so astutely observed, the results speak for themselves."
The audacity. The absolute, glorious audacity of the boy left him speechless. He was not denying his involvement; he was proclaiming it. He was selling it like a luxury service. Oogami felt the situation had been completely turned on him. He had come to corner a nervous young man and found himself facing someone who not only admitted his involvement but presented it as an exclusive service.
"I see," Oogami said, his journalist's mind racing to adapt to this new, strange reality. "A hero trainer. It's a... unique title. Sounds expensive. But it is still vague. What exactly do your 'customized methodologies' consist of? Are they physical training programs? Psychological counseling? Data analysis?"
This was the key question. The one that got closer to the "how." The one that approached the secret of the Quirk Oogami suspected existed, but did not know how it worked. there had to be a trick, a mechanism.
Izuku poured himself a glass of water from the table, taking his time. The gesture was deliberate, a pause to show that he was not improvising, but selecting the right response from a well rehearsed repertoire.
"My methods are, of course, confidential. It would be unprofessional to reveal the details of a client's strategy," he said, with impeccable seriousness. "But I can give you a general overview. They are adapted to the specific needs of each client. I analyze their Quirk on a fundamental level, their fighting style, their psychological profile, and even their media impact and public perception. From there, I design a comprehensive improvement program."
"That still sounds like a combination of existing services," Oogami pressed, narrowing his eyes. "What do you do that a team of trainers, psychologists, and public relations agents cannot?"
"Integration," Izuku answered without hesitation. "A team of specialists sees the problem from their respective boxes. The trainer sees muscle, the psychologist sees the mind, the agent sees the press. They are information silos. I offer a solution. I see the whole picture. The 'heroic asset' as a single operational unit. I identify the fulcrum where one small change generates maximum performance in all areas."
Oogami felt a chill. The boy spoke of people as if they were companies or stocks on the market. "Heroic assets." "Operational units." It was unsettling, but dangerously convincing.
"And what kind of 'optimization' did Mt. Lady need?" Oogami insisted, returning to his original question.
"Miss Takeyama is a special case, so I am afraid the training methods are protected by the privacy that must exist between my client and myself," Izuku recited. The sentence was so neat and rehearsed that it was impossible to pick apart.
Oogami felt he was losing control. Every time he tried to corner him with a specific question, he responded with a wall of professional jargon that was both an answer and a non answer. It was infuriating. And brilliant.
"And this service you offer... is it just for Mt. Lady?" Oogami asked, trying a new angle. If he had more clients, there might be a pattern.
"Currently, she is my primary client, yes. The initial phase of our contract requires exclusive dedication to ensure optimal results," Izuku said. "It is a high intensity project. Establishing the right foundations is crucial for long term success."
Just as Oogami was about to press further about the exact nature of his "methodologies," Yu appeared out of nowhere, with panic written on her face.
"Izuku!"
Her gala smile was gone, replaced by an expression of absolute panic. She saw Oogami, and the terror in her eyes intensified.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, her voice an urgent, terrified whisper, audible only to them. "I told you to stay by the snack table and not to talk to anyone! We're leaving, now!"
She grabbed Izuku's arm and began to pull him with a force that would have unbalanced most people. Izuku barely moved.
Oogami saw his opportunity vanish. "Miss Takeyama, we were just having a very interesting conversation about the development of heroic assets."
The mention of Izuku's own jargon made Yu's eyes widen. She looked at Izuku, a silent, terrified question on her face: What the hell did you tell him?
"The night is over!" Yu declared loudly, without even looking at Oogami. Her celebrity smile returned to her face, but it was tense and fragile. "My... assistant... is not feeling well. Too many appetizers. Goodbye!"
She was dragging Izuku through the crowd, which parted for the heroine who seemed to be in the middle of an emergency.
"I am managing a brand development consultation, Takeyama san," Izuku said in a low voice, letting himself be pulled along but showing no sign of distress.
"You're going to be managing my fist in your face if you don't shut up right now!" she muttered through her teeth, while still smiling at the guests who were watching them.
But Izuku, even while being dragged away, moved with astonishing calm and professionalism. With a smooth motion, he freed one arm, reached into the inner pocket of his rental jacket, pulled out a small rectangle of cardboard, and, turning with a fluidity that defied Yu's pull, offered it to Oogami.
"It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Oogami san," he said, his voice perfectly calm despite being kidnapped by his own client. "I have been impressed by your insight. Few journalists take the time to look beyond the surface."
Oogami took the card out of pure instinct. His fingers brushed against the thick, high quality cardstock.
"Mr. Midoriya, one last question!" Oogami shouted, trying to make use of the last few seconds.
"If you ever hear of a hero, rookie or veteran, who is not reaching their full potential," Izuku added, as Yu pulled him harder, almost lifting him off the ground, "do not hesitate to give them my contact information. My rates are competitive, and I offer a free initial consultation."
And with that, they disappeared into the crowd, leaving Koya Oogami alone by the dessert table, the echo of a sales pitch ringing in his ears.
He stared at the chaotic retreating duo. The image was absurd: the giant heroine Mt. Lady dragging her tiny "consultant" like an angry mother pulling her child out of a candy store.
Then, he looked down at the card he was holding in his hand. It was made of a thick cardstock with a matte finish. The design was minimalist and elegant, almost insultingly professional. In the center, printed in crisp, serious letters, was the name and the title.
Oogami studied the card as if it held an incomprehensible secret. He had come looking for a simple story about a secret romance or a hidden Quirk. A juicy piece for the heroes section, maybe with a touch of scandal.
Instead, he had found a fifteen year old consultant with a revolutionary business model.
He tucked the card into his jacket pocket with the care reserved for a crucial piece of evidence. This was no longer a story. This was something much deeper and stranger.